Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

By the time Aizawa Shouta found Shinsou Hitoshi, the small boy had already given up hope of ever having a family or a home, at least most of the time. The foster system and the families they tried to place him with didn't necessarily disagree with his birth mother's stance on his quirk so he still was forced to wear a muzzle on occasion. The scars hadn't ever healed right and the chafing and pain paired with his insufficient food, restricted outdoors access, and constant insomnia to turn the eight year old into a stick-thin, dead-eyed waif. Aizawa and his husband got custody of him by the end of the mission.

It took nearly a year for the infections to heal and the scars to fade. During that time, the Yamada-Aizawas had their work cut out for them getting Hitoshi to a healthy weight, helping him cope with the nightmares and flashbacks, and get caught up in the school lessons he'd missed or been too ill to absorb. They also had to first teach him to speak again, then slowly coax him into doing so without prompting, then help him slowly grow accustomed to not only telling the truth about his needs and desires, but to accept that they weren't going anywhere even if he did. With such love and patience, he thrived and blossomed into a brilliant, sassy, kind-hearted teen with the whole world ahead of him and hope in his heart.

Of course, he still had his struggles. There were a lot of scars to pick through in therapy and life rarely gave him or his loved ones much of a break. Nightmares and flashbacks became less frequent, but never went away. Anything touching his face from the cheekbones down sent him into a panic he struggled to break out of. He still said things that caused his fathers to grow pale and concerned, not even realizing that those habits, those ways of thinking, those truths living inside him weren't true or necessary until they were pointed out. A lot of questions he asked still came out sounding like statements as his attempt to avoid people’s fear surrounding his quirk.

There was a duality about Hitoshi that always fascinated Shouta. A shroud of glass knives and sarcasm and metal set into skin that contrasted with a love of all things soft and silly, heavily sweetened coffee and sweetly sung ballads. Both were authentic parts of his son. They both suited the boy perfectly. It was always just a slight shock to see them juxtaposed. A boy terrified of isolation and abandonment and touch turned around and couldn’t bear company or intimacy or contact. That was the trauma, Shouta knew. Despite years of knowing Hitoshi and counselors working with him and little things seen that added up to equations Shouta hoped he was wrong about, he doubted he’d ever know everything his son went through prior to falling into his arms.

Hitoshi was footie pajamas and leather jackets, split lips and blanket forts, snarling venom and gentle hugs, steel-sharp by moonlight and soft-edged in daylight. What he said with his mouth was either intensely sincere or a distraction to protect his tender soul. He loved deeply and hated totally. Everything about Hitoshi contradicted itself and yet somehow tetris-ed into their beautiful, growing, perfect son.

Hitoshi had been insanely proud of himself when he got into UA High. Gen Ed notwithstanding, he was already blaring 80's rock and dancing around the table when his dads came home that day. They'd turned down the music just long enough for him to scream out his victory, thrusting the page into their hands to read and fully understand his joy. Then the music got cranked up again and they ordered pizza and ice cream and danced until they collapsed, giggling, onto the couch. Hitoshi got to eat his ice cream first and pick the movie and skip his night for dishes. It was amazing.

Now, on day one of high school, Hitoshi was nervous. Only his dads really saw it, saw the slight trembling of his hands as he checked his backpack for the umpteenth time and how he slurped down his more-cream-than-coffee way faster than usual (even though they were out of cinnamon) and how he was quiet in a way that didn't mean safety and contentment, but overthinking through every situation. Not to mention he was wearing just the slightest layer of expertly applied makeup to cover the nearly invisible scars on his cheeks, a rarity even in public these days. Hitoshi was about to race out the door an hour early and forgo the ride in with his dads when Shouta stopped him, stepping into his sightline and getting eye contact for a moment before taking his son's hands in his own. He was relieved when Hitoshi squeezed back.

"Big day, huh? I understand." He left the gap for Hitoshi to answer, but knew it wasn't likely for him to speak up at a time like this. "You're prepared. You blew the middle school graduation tests out of the water. You earned your way into your class. Your pops and I will help you get settled in your dorm but we have an extra room in ours at any time. You have both of our numbers and our permission to text us for anything, even if it takes us a little while to get back to you. Your anxiety is valid and you will be okay." Logic and reassurance needed to balance with Hitoshi. Too much logic and he tended to shut down. Too much emotion and he tended to feel patronized. Balance was key. Shouta knew he'd hit the nail on the head when Hitoshi took a few deep breaths, depressurizing, body unfolding and head lifting until he was able to meet his father's eyes again for a few seconds.

"You sure you aren't the one just a little anxious for your big boy's first day of school?" He teased and Shouta rolled his eyes even as he grinned.

"Of course not. I know what my son is capable of. If anything, the other kids should watch out." Hitoshi grinned, wide and lazy. Shouta couldn't help but note that Hitoshi's under eye bags were darker than normal but considering that the battle with his insomnia was ongoing and vicious in a way even Shouta couldn't relate to, he wasn't too worried. Hitoshi was gearing up to speak again, a request by the way he became more serious again and asked the question with oh so careful wording.

"I don’t suppose you or Pops could find room in your schedules to eat lunch with me. It's okay if you'll be too busy." Shouta smiled fondly.

"Of course, sweetheart. Just to clarify, are you walking to meet us at your dorms or can you wait another half hour or so for us to finish getting ready so we can drive together?" Hitoshi jutted his lower jaw towards the door rather than pointing or tilting his head, an endearingly Hitoshi habit Shouta wasn't sure the origin of, but adored.

"I'll walk. It's only a little chilly and it'll help me clear my head. I can still be there in plenty of time to meet you and Pops at the dorm." Shouta nodded, offering one last hug before releasing his son and heading back to the kitchen to finish his coffee.

"I'll text you if we get held up." He called over his shoulder, only receiving the flash of a thumbs up through the kitchen window as reply while that purple mop walked away. He watched his son as long as he could see him, Hizashi joining him at the window in a side hug.

"Has he seemed way more tired to you lately?" Hizashi asked. "I've caught him napping in all sorts of weird places the last few months."

"He's moving around more at night again." Shouta agreed with a soft sigh. "I just attributed it to stress from testing and waiting for his acceptance and then getting ready for school." Hizashi nodded, but his face reflected in the window pane was still pensive and worried.

"He'd tell us if something was up, right? He knows he can do that." Shouta took a long sip. Neither had been able to see Hitoshi for a good long while but they watched the direction he would be traveling for a bit all the same.

"It was always the hardest thing for him. We just have to believe in him, make sure we make it as easy as possible for him, make sure we ask and nudge where we can. We have to trust him to trust us."

As he planned, Hitoshi took his good, sweet time walking to school. He already had his student ID to get past the gates (granted to him early on Nezu’s authority so he could help his dads set up their classrooms) so he just strolled straight in, hands in his pockets. He did feel better after speaking with his dad this morning, but his anxiety wasn’t so easily shoved aside on such an important day. And that was okay, he reminded himself. At least with the anxiety and coffee combined, he wasn’t the least bit sleepy. Tired, always, but not sleepy.

It was a bit of a relief. His day-to-day sleepiness had been worse lately, the urges to just give in and nap wherever he sat or lay growing more intense and frequent. He knew he shouldn’t nap, that that was probably contributing to his struggle to sleep at night, which was also only getting worse. But often now, he didn’t realize he was dozing off until he woke up. Hopefully his classes would be interesting enough and his homework and training with his dad would keep him busy enough to start sleeping better soon. The routine would likely help too, especially if he went back to being totally anal about his med/sleep/wake times. He could do it. He didn’t even need to ask his dads for help. They did so much for him and were so, so busy. He could take care of himself. With that resolve, he plopped down on the steps to the Class 1-C student dorms.

He was a little relieved to learn that the dorms would largely be empty, since most students had homes and families to go home to off campus every day. Technically, so did he but he also had his entire family on campus with him regardless. Most of the other dorm kids were either scholarship students staying in the dorms to help their families with finances or they lived too far away to commute every day. In that way, Hitoshi was lucky among them. His dads were a five minute walk away in another dorm and right now, they were parking in the lot across the green, waving him down. He grinned and dumped his backpack on the steps, racing across the lawn to meet them. He had this. As long as he had his dads, he wasn’t alone and he could get through anything.

That didn’t mean it was easy though. At the beginning of the school year, everything was new enough to be stressful, which was followed by the speed of assignments picking up over time, and then his dad and class 1-A getting attacked and then the Sports Festival meaning Hitoshi was lined up to transfer if someone in 1-A left or got expelled. Then Bakugo Katsuki got kidnapped and retrieved, Hitoshi lending himself to scour security tapes after school for days. Back to back stressors and Hitoshi only noticed his issues getting worse. He got reprimanded for falling asleep in class a few times, leading to a chat with his dads and a discussion about tightening his sleep hygiene expectations. But it was more than that. Sometimes he checked back into reality in his dorm, not remembering his last class or his dad would ask him in the morning of a long weekend to not be quite so loud washing windows at two in the morning when Hitoshi didn’t remember leaving his bed. He didn’t say that to his dad, just apologized and made a snarky comment Shouta smiled at. He had no idea what was happening.

Still, Hitoshi was so, so damn happy when Ba- Katsuki became part of their family permanently, not only because it meant that one more abused kid was safe and one more abusive parent was on the way to receiving their karma, but because he had always, always wanted a sibling. He even had one hazy memory of asking his mother in the time right before his quirk came in if he’d ever get a little brother or sister. She’d laughed, but in that distant way that he now associated with memories where she had to pretend to love him in public. Foster families in the two years they were attempting to place him often had other kids in them, but he was kept separate due to his quirk and strangeness. Group homes encouraged everyone to stay away from him as well. But now… now he had a (technically older) brother to tease and play with and fight with and talk to and he absolutely loved it.

That wasn’t to say he liked every aspect of it. Sharing wasn’t hard for him necessarily, but he’d gotten used to having certain choices almost always be his and he wasn’t used to having his favorite snacks or preferred leftovers he was looking forward to eating gone when he went to get them. Adjustments were always necessary though and he never said anything to Katsuki. Honestly, he was just so damn proud that the blond was eating enough and not waiting for permission every time anymore. He just added his mini cinnamon rolls and fruit leather to the grocery list and started writing his name on any leftovers he really, really wanted.

Katsuki's big heart might be the hardest part though. Hitoshi was used to it being a lot easier to hide very occasional secrets from his dad because he was the only growing teen hungry enough to get up in the middle of the night or play Minecraft or Stardew for hours on end to give himself time with his brain off. He wasn’t used to needing to add sound to his steps so he didn’t startle someone doing a full face mask on the bathroom counter at seven in the evening. More to the point however, he wasn’t used to a third set of very observant eyes and ears caring enough to worry about him.

He woke up on the couch in the dark a month or two after moving classes, an empty bowl and spoon in his hands, his jaw aching. Strangely, it seemed the dishes were used and he didn’t remember getting them. Then he realized what woke him was Katsuki, coughing slightly as he recovered, likely, from a breathing tic, and cradled Jelly in his arms. The blond was a little paler than usual, in pajamas, and staring at him with undisguised concern.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He said, whistling softly at the end of his sentence as he tentatively sat on the far end of the couch. Hitoshi hated how careful he was being, like Hitoshi was a bomb that might go off or a startled animal that might run. Hitoshi flashed back to the first they’d met outside school, in the kitchen lighting Katsuki from behind right now. Katsuki, terrified and confused on the floor, surrounded by broken glass. Hitoshi, reaching out with a soft voice and a gentle hand to help take the glass he scrambled to collect and guide him out of danger. It felt both like a terror and a relief to be on the other end.

“Depends on what you saw.” He hedged, not totally sure what he’d been doing himself and unwilling to implicate himself without knowing what evidence was already known. Katsuki read him like a book, but nodded and explained.

“I got up for a -yoshi!- drink. You were in the kitchen getting a bowl. You made some -die, just die!- cereal and went to the couch to eat, but you didn’t seem to see me -I’m blasting off- or answer me and you were moving like a -fuck off, fuck off!- robot.” Katsuki took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the increasing tics. Hitoshi processed what he’d already heard, freaking out internally. He remembered being hungry and leaving his room for cereal even though he was super sleepy, but nothing after that. His anxiety spiked, but Katsuki continued and distracted him from whatever was going on inside him.

“You ate the cereal just staring off into the distance and then when you were done you just…” He paused, blinking harshly, a cluster of tics firing off. Hitoshi felt sick with suspense, but just tried to help him relax a little. “You passed the fuck out and then woke up like, 60 seconds later when my lungs ticced. It was freaky.” Translation: You scared the ever loving shit out of me you idiot. Hitoshi blinked. It sounded like something out of a movie. Or something someone under his quirk would experience. He shivered, looking away from his brother as he tried to puzzle together some explanation. Finally, he sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face to try to wake up a little. He was so tired.

“Sorry, Kat. Midterms are freaking me out and I’m behind on homework so I’m really, really tired. I remember being hungry after finishing the project for Cementoss and wanting cereal but I don’t remember the rest.” Katsuki frowned.

“Have you -yoshi!- been taking your meds?” Hitoshi hesitated, scanning his brain. He was pretty sure he remembered dumping the little cluster from his pill organizer into his palm after dinner, but it was such a routine thing… maybe that was last night.

“Go check.” Katsuki instructed, gentle in a way that made Hitoshi feel sick and guilty. Katsuki needed his sleep and Hitoshi was keeping him up. Still, he nodded dumbly, heaving himself to his feet and stumbling to the bathroom. He hadn’t taken his meds.

They didn’t have school tomorrow. He was about to dry swallow them when Katsuki appeared in the doorway with a water bottle. Hitoshi took his meds, drank more of the water when he realized he was beyond thirsty, then offered Katsuki a hug. The blond happily accepted and they just stood there for a minute.

“Sorry for scaring you. I’ll set more alarms on my phone so I don’t forget again. Thanks for taking care of me.” Katsuki just nodded, giving him one more squeeze. Then they separated like it had been planned and Katsuki headed back to bed, Jelly on his heels. Hitoshi stared at himself in the mirror, swallowing hard. It was just missing his meds and being tired and stressed. That was it. He could handle this. He didn’t need to bother and burden his dads for his continuing struggle with doing what he was supposed to be doing. This was basically his fault. He stumbled to bed, praying that whatever was fucked up in his brain would let him pass out and sleep all night without waking.

He lay there staring at the ceiling for hours, watching car headlights and shifting moonlight make patterns on the walls. He was so tired. He couldn’t fall asleep. The light was warming in color, increasing in strength. He hadn’t slept. He let his frustrated, exhausted, terrified tears leak into his hair without a sound. It wasn’t his first sleepless night. He could do this. They didn’t need to know and worry about him. He could keep doing this.

He couldn’t do this anymore. Hitoshi pinched his wrist, hard, chugging down the remnants of the energy drink he’d snuck into his room to do homework over the long weekend. He technically wasn’t supposed to have anything with caffeine or sugar after three in the afternoon (except on special occasions) as part of his insomnia treatment plan, but he’d already gotten in trouble for dozing in class half a dozen times last week and he absolutely had to get this project done tonight so he needed this caffeine.

His head felt so heavy, propped on his off hand, and his left wrist felt so weak, like the pencil weighed a million pounds. He tried to shake himself, thought about going to the bathroom to splash water on his face, but something felt so off, all through him and he wasn’t sure he could make it without collapsing or passing out. He sighed. It was time. It had probably been time for a while, but his stubbornness and anxiety put off telling his dads something was wrong until now, when he was scared by his body.

Dad, I need to talk to you, if you’re not busy. He sent the text before he could think about it any further. Then, knowing his dad was a worrywart, he added, I’m safe. Just need your help with something. He yawned harshly as a bolt of… anti-energy? Fatigue?... went through him, his hand giving up on holding the pencil as it clattered to the table. He blinked at the noise, startled, but then his other wrist gave out and his heavy, heavy head thunked against the desk. It wasn’t quiet and his dad’s otherwise soundless footsteps grew audible as he picked up speed, knocking on the door with a call of his name. Hitoshi cursed, just leaving his head where it was and focusing on his breathing when his head seemed too heavy to lift back up, no matter how much he strained, hands non compliant and floppy. The panic in him rose sharply.

“Dad…” He cried out, terrified. Shouta took it for the permission it was and entered, closing the door behind him as he took in the scene.

Hitoshi was sitting at his desk, head down with his forehead resting near the edge of the wood, panting sharply. One arm lay on the desk, hand crumpled in a strange position, moving weakly on the surface. The other rested against the back of Hitoshi’s neck, but flopped onto the desk as Hitoshi fought to regain control. The whole of it reminded Shouta of a puppet with its strings cut, limbs and body left to rest where they fell with no regard for comfort or intention. Hitoshi was sweating, clearly fighting with something and that’s what broke Shouta’s trance, moving to Hitoshi’s side and gently lifting the boy onto his bed, rearranging his body into a more comfortable position against the massive stack of pillows and plushies. Hitoshi’s head wobbled around on his neck, his eyes blinking like when he tried to fight his new medications.

“Hitoshi? Do you need to go to the hospital? Is this a quirk?” Hitoshi licked his lips, swallowing hard, unable to meet Shouta’s eyes.

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think it’s a quirk but I don’t know if I need a hospital.” Hitoshi was slurring despite his best efforts to speak clearly. Was his jaw bothering him as well? Shouta texted his husband to bring the blood pressure cuff and pulse oximeter from their ever growing first aid kit, trying not to alert Katsuki recovering from a tic attack in his room across the hall. Considering the boy wasn’t currently knocking at the door or in the doorway, Shouta’s headlong race up the last few stairs hadn’t woken him, but the kid needed rest over this long weekend.

“Can you talk about what happened right now or do you need to do some breathing first?” Shouta offered, since Hitoshi’s condition didn’t seem to be getting worse and he was coherent. Hitoshi took a deep breath, taking a moment to assess himself. Shouta was struck with pride alongside the worry he’d been coping with for months. All of Hitoshi’s teachers had been reporting plenty of sleepiness, but Shouta and Hizashi had just thought it was his insomnia acting up with stress. Now, Shouta was kicking himself for not insisting on asking more questions.

“Can I have some water?” Hitoshi finally asked. Shouta nodded, reaching into Hitoshi’s mini fridge for the last water bottle within. He frowned at the number of energy drinks and iced coffees in the fridge alongside. That was a lot of caffeine. He hadn’t seen or known Hitoshi to want or drink that much caffeine possibly ever, despite the jokes he made about it. Hitoshi’s overflowing garbage told a sequel to the fridge story that Shouta really wanted to hear. Still, he focused on opening the lid on the water bottle before turning to hand it to Hitoshi. To his shock, Hitoshi’s head was dipped against his chest, eyes blinking long and slow, head bobbing just a little. He seemed to be falling asleep right there, despite the uncomfortable position and the situation and the boy’s own best efforts. Hitoshi managed to open his eyes a bit more, meeting the unsure gaze of his father. He couldn’t help the tears squeezing from his eyes.

“Dad, I can’t... I swear, I’m trying.” Shouta could hear what his son was really trying to say, even over the noise of Hizashi’s arrival.

Dad, help me.

Chapter Text

Shouta ended up making the executive decision to bundle his son into the car, leaving Hizashi with Katsuki in case he should wake. The two could join them at the hospital later if it came to that. Hitoshi cried himself to sleep, clutching his favorite Bat-Cat plush and his raggedy ghost teddy to his chest with his forearms because his wrists still weren’t responding properly. Shouta leaned his son's seat back to try to help his head rest and Hitoshi fell asleep within minutes of the car starting. Shouta didn’t stop. Chiyo would be meeting them at the hospital to do the initial exam and determine whether any other kinds of tests or screenings were needed, since Hitoshi’s hospital anxiety was bad enough that Chiyo always did what she could to offer house calls and hospital consultations for them.

Sure enough, Hitoshi woke up the moment the car stopped, his neck and wrists seeming to be completely back to normal as he scratched at the seatbelt in a panic. Shouta hummed softly until Hitoshi froze, then took his hands. Hitoshi flinched in a way so rare to him these days, but the clinging immediately afterward and the calming, counted breaths meant that he knew who Shouta was and that he was safe. Shouta released him after getting a nod, then moved around the car to help Hitoshi undo his seatbelt and gather his things.

“Do you feel steady enough to walk?” He asked and Hitoshi stood, arms outstretched carefully as he retrieved his balance. He swayed a little, but nodded.

“Just… stay close?” Shouta nodded, closing the door and offering an arm that Hitoshi gratefully looped his own through for balance. Hitoshi glanced down regularly at the plushies stored carefully in a tote over Shouta’s arm, preferring anonymity but never knowing if he’d need comfort, especially in such a terrifying place as the hospital. Shouta whisked them both in, taking care of the paperwork and requesting a wheelchair for Hitoshi. Hitoshi only regretted telling his dad about the weak feeling in his knees a little bit as he sat, allowing Shouta to wheel him straight through a door into the exam room directly off of the check in disk. Recovery Girl held a lot of sway in the local medical community and Hitoshi was insanely grateful for it in moments like these.
As his anxiety shot back upwards however, that feeling returned to his neck like a lightning bolt and his head dropped, chin bruising his collarbone. He gasped with the pain, grateful when his dad stood behind him, lifting his head gently to rest against his abdomen. Recovery Girl had just let herself in when Shouta removed his hands, only for Hitoshi’s head to start to drop sideways. Shouta’s reflexes stopped it before it completed the movement, but Hitoshi was sniffling now, panicking as he dropped his plushies out of hands gone limp at the wrist. How were his eyelids dropping now?

Hitoshi was pretty sure his dad thought he was falling asleep again but even before, at home, he hadn't felt sleepy when his hands and head dropped. Just weak, so weak, and like his neck and wrists and jaw just weren't responding. His dad, his hero, was right beside him now, gently supporting his head so it didn't drop while running fingers through Hitoshi's hair to help keep him calm. Chiyo took his vitals and felt around and asked questions like nothing was that out of the ordinary. Luckily it seemed he hadn’t sustained any concussion from hitting the desk, so Hitoshi focused on answering what he could. He appreciated the patience they had since some questions his dad couldn't answer for him and his jaw was still freaking out. As he relaxed over the next couple of minutes, his body returned to his control. Chiyo seemed to be reaching a conclusion, her questions getting more specific and pointed.

"Do you ever find yourself becoming aware in the middle of tasks you don’t remember starting or with others saying you did things you don't remember doing?" Hitoshi swallowed, leaning forward a little bit, eyes bright and intense. Neither he nor his dad had mentioned those weird occurrences.

"Yes. Washing windows and eating cereal specifically. I also sometimes don’t remember going to classes or walking back to the dorms." He felt his dad’s fingers stutter in his hair a little and he remembered with a gut-twisting of guilt how much he’d been hiding from his dads. Chiyo only nodded, seeming as totally unperturbed by that as by his descriptions of weak wrists, intense sleepiness, and inability to sleep at night.

“How about nightmares outside the normal or seeing or hearing things as you’re falling asleep or just as you’re waking up?” Hitoshi shrugged. His nightmares and flashbacks had been getting worse with exhaustion and stress and he wasn’t sure how to separate them from anything out of the ordinary. “How about not being able to move for several seconds or minutes right after waking up? You’re aware and alert, you just can’t move.”

“No. Not that I’ve noticed anyway. Sometimes my meds make me groggy in the morning but not like, paralyzed.” He was terribly grateful for that because being aware while only small areas of his body were non-responsive was difficult enough. He couldn’t imagine being trapped in his own body upon waking. Chiyo hummed softly, tapping something into her tablet before focusing her gaze on the two again.

"Hitoshi, I have my own professional opinion of what is going on. Most importantly, you're safe and okay. You aren't in danger in the future as long as we can get some safeguards in place with your family, dorms, and the school. I will go over those in more detail in a moment. But Hitoshi, you need to see a neurologist, specifically a sleep specialist. I believe you may have narcolepsy." Hitoshi blinked. Above him, his dad's fingers stopped carding through his hair for several seconds before starting up again. Hitoshi formed his question carefully before speaking.

"I thought narcolepsy was just falling asleep all the time." He said, breathing slowly. He couldn't help but be curious, the anxiety held at bay by the chance to absorb something new. Chiyo smiled, pleased by his interest.

"Not at all. Excessive daytime sleepiness is the core symptom of narcolepsy, often accompanied by insomnia, hallucinations just before falling asleep or when waking up, nightmares, sleep paralysis, brain fog, and automatic behaviors. But there are two types. Type 2 is just the sleepiness with or without those other symptoms. It sometimes develops into Type 1, where cataplexy becomes involved." Hitoshi signaled for a timeout. He wanted his dad with him and the two shuffled around to the tugging of their joined hands to sit together on the exam table, legs dangling. Shouta hugged his son close. Chiyo continued.

"Cataplexy is the sudden weakness of muscles and joints due to strong emotions or physical distress. It's not only connected with narcolepsy but it's certainly what has given narcolepsy its most famous visuals. In most cases, only a handful of joints are affected, most typically the neck, wrists, and jaw. Less commonly, the legs or whole body. Even in cases where the whole body is affected, usually the person is at least semi conscious." Hitoshi gripped his dad's hand. Shouta squeezed back, passing him Bat-Cat to squish or fidget with.

"What caused the shift in symptoms?" Shouta spoke up, feeling Hitoshi lean heavier against him with the proof his father was listening and getting involved rather than running. He’d known, logically, Shouta would be right in the thick of it with him but the interest felt like evidence, shutting up the constant muttering in his brain for a few minutes. Chiyo nodded approvingly at the question.

" Most cases either show themselves around age fifteen or age thirty five. Hitoshi is right in that age group, though his symptoms at a younger age in line with type two were likely brought on by stress and trauma, perhaps possible infections or malnourishment at a young age or even genetics. There’s still some back and forth in science about the advancement or not of symptoms, and I repeat that this is my professional opinion from experience not in the field and I strongly recommend a specialist." Hitoshi leaned heavier against Shouta, yawning. Shouta shifted his arm around the boy's back, supporting him.

"Chiyo, thank you so much for coming in tonight. I think I want to get him home to bed as soon as possible. Do you think you could send me any literature that might be helpful as well as any safeguards we should put in place?" She nodded, clasping both Hitoshi's hand and Shouta's fondly.

“Anything for my boys and their boys, so long as they also take care of themselves and don’t make idiotic choices.” She said pointedly. Hitoshi huffed a tired laugh at the familiar and found back and forth between them. Shouta’s lips twisted in a barely contained grin as he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah yeah Granny, I know the lecture. We’ll be careful.” Hitoshi unfurled himself from Shouta’s side to approach his Granny Chiyo.

"Thank you." Hitoshi whispered, bending over to accept her fond hug. She'd been his doctor and friend for years at this point. Outside his dads, she'd been the first adult he ever trusted. She didn't have to come see him at the hospital personally on a school holiday, but she did without hesitation or complaint and that meant a lot to him. Thoroughly enjoying her hug and speaking his gratitude aloud was the least he could do.

"Of course, Hitoshi. Happy to help." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, squeezed her hand once more, then gladly let his dad lead them away. He tucked himself tightly against Shouta's side, clinging to the yellow hoodie from Hizashi’s side of the closet Shouta was half drowning in. It was like having both of them there, though he missed his pops enough to call as soon as they got into the car to head home. He tapped the video option, preferring to give Hizashi as much visual as possible even if he did have his hearing aids.

"Hey there, kiddo! How'd it go?" Hitoshi couldn't help but smile softly, even as he tapped the button on the side of the phone to reduce the speaker volume.

"Granny Chiyo doesn't think there's anything worth being concerned about tonight, but wants me to see a sleep specialist as soon as possible. She thinks I may have narcolepsy." Saying the word made it real, which was why he insisted on saying it again so soon, so he couldn't escape from that probable reality. It also gave him just enough anxiety for him to almost drop the phone when his wrist gave out. Luckily, he had his dad's reflexes and caught it with the other hand. Hizashi's smile had dialed from "enough wattage to cure cancer" to "powering the house for a day" by the time he steadied his mind enough to notice.

"Sounds like it's time for you, your dad, and I to do some research and set some appointments. We've got this, starshine." Hitoshi relaxed, smile turning sweet and open. He couldn't help it around his brilliant, sweet, determined Pops. No other person brought this much joy out of him and openly onto his face.

"Yeah, we do. We'll be home soon, Pops."

"And I'll help -red riot unbreakable!- help too, Toshi." Hitoshi's grin turned wide and sharky. God, he loved Katsuki more every day.

"I can't stop you so I guess I won't try, stubborn bitch." Katsuki's returning grin was a maniac promise.

"Damn straight, Eyebags." Hitoshi made a show of flipping his hair.

"I've never been straight a day in my life, try again." Katsuki's tics fired off a few choice hand gestures as he and Hitoshi dissolved into a giggling mess. This time, Hitoshi noticed the internal tremble that signaled his head about to go and managed to hand off the phone before it dropped. Shouta reassured those at home they were safe and hung up before pulling over. The episode sobered Hitoshi up pretty quick so his neck was already regaining strength by the time Shouta reached over to gently rub his neck and help him straighten.

"Just got a little too excited there, huh? You okay?" Hitoshi nodded, then hesitated and shook his head. Shouta nodded, understanding. "You're safe, and we can work on making all those feelings not feel so big together, okay? Take some deep breaths for me?" Hitoshi sank into the familiar rhythm, soothed by his father's breaths intentionally matching his, by the soft murmurs of praise. He let his head hang a little bit on purpose this time, pressing his hands over his eyes until colorful sparks danced against the deep gray.

He was so, so tired. He'd seen the text show up on his father's phone that Chiyo was sending in a new med for him and the email titled "Narcolepsy Information and Safeguards" with the helpful info line of "4 attachments". He still had several projects, papers, and tests to complete and study for. He had his training to keep up. He was supposed to do a work study for part of winter break to make up for the stuff he missed prior to his transfer. He was too tired now to even feel stressed, just… weary.

"Let's go home, please." He murmured. His dad started saying something about taking his time, no rush, but he tilted his head, making eye contact, not letting Shouta look away.

Shouta's heart broke. Hitoshi's insomnia was a demon they'd been fighting alongside him since they adopted him. They were used to seeing the boy sleepy, moody, exhausted, unfocused, dizzy, and even achy or nauseous from the effects of fatigue. They had grown accustomed to the ups and downs of medication, the strict schedules, the rationing of caffeine and sugar and fluids and screen time around bedtime. The AC units and weighted blankets, the counseling and cuddles after nightmares. They'd watched him resolutely do his best to obey and never complain or use it as an excuse. They'd watched him grow and flourish on some days and cry or isolate in crippling depression and anxiety and fatigue on others. Shouta thought he'd seen every kind of tired his first son could show him in those amethyst eyes.

He was wrong.

Hitoshi's eyes were not filled with fatigue. They were not filled with anything. Quite the opposite, they were empty, hollow even. The irises looked darker than they should have been, like the warmth and light of him had been drained away to meet the energy requirements of his internal organs. For the first time in years, Shouta wasn't sure at all that he wanted to know what was going on behind Hitoshi's eyes.

"Dad, please. I want to go home and go to bed." So rarely did Hitoshi state his desires so bluntly that Shouta didn't even think to deny or delay granting his request. He put the car back into gear and pulled back onto the street. He replayed for himself what had just occurred, recalling when he came back to it his own selfish lack of desire to understand the darkness he'd seen in his son.

He wasn't afraid of Hitoshi, not in the least. The boy had never shown any penchant for violence to others. On the contrary, he was almost unerringly kind, watching people from the edges of rooms and the fringes of groups with a goal to understand how to speak to them and act with them for them to be the most comfortable and receptive to him. He spent hours researching to understand that which he did not yet grasp. His therapist in childhood had worked most with him on putting himself first, on speaking up for his needs and desires, and for balancing his self sacrifice with his self care, with some success. Hitoshi, however, still identified with being someone who saw and heard and knew it all so he could stop evil and pain from occurring as much as possible, even if it meant feeling all the pain himself.

No. The reason he had cowered from that darkness was because Hitoshi tended to take the love offered to him as something he did not deserve, something he had to repay or atone for. Everything in his mind was a transaction, a calculation where the wrong answer meant he or someone he loved or even just someone innocent and uninvolved got hurt or abandoned. The kid didn't even realize sometimes that he was inflicting a punishment on himself regardless of its necessity or appropriateness to the situation because it was just… the way things were for him. Shouta had just avoided that darkness because he feared what his sweet son, his beautiful boy, his little star, might be thinking. Worse, he feared what Hitoshi might plan to do to repent for the sins he was plucking from nothing to try to make sense of this situation.

They pulled up into the driveway. Shouta made sure Hitoshi got safely into the house and up the stairs to his room, tucking Bat-Cat and Kuma into his arms with a soft forehead kiss before leaving. He walked downstairs, past his husband and second son, through the master bedroom, and into the master bathroom. Splashing water on his face helped him ground, helped him quell some of the panic rising like bile in his throat. He still has so much to do. He still has another son to help keep calm and happy and safe and a husband he needs to inform and plan with and support. They need him. He can’t break down right now.

"He's just like you, you know." Hizashi, luckily, wasn't quiet enough on the approach to startle Shouta even when he was distracted. Shouta met his eyes in the mirror. God, his husband was beautiful, those long fingered hands feeling so damn good digging into his trapezius. He couldn't help but relax a little, sighing softly. Hizashi grinned in triumph. Then Shouta caught up to what he said.

"What are you referring to this time? The love of cats and easy food may come from me but I thought we agreed his music taste is mostly you." This had been their back and forth for years, one that usually made Hitoshi giggle when he overheard it. Hizashi kissed him on the nape of the neck, gentle and warm.

"He thinks the worlds of those he loves, their happiness and safety, are dependent on him and him alone. At least, when he gets way up into his head." Shouta huffed softly, a laugh and a confession all in one.

"I'm his dad though. You're his pops. It's our job to care for him and share his weight." Hizashi's fingers were joined by palms, guiding them both away from the bathroom and to the bed. Shouta felt a certain amount of detachment from the time on the alarm clock. 7:21 in the evening did not make sense after everything but he couldn't think of a time that would make more sense. Hizashi took his hands, working out the knots in the meat of his scarred and calloused palms.

"Yes Shouta, but his birth mother and father, his foster parents, his social workers and teachers and doctors… until us, no one proved to him that not everything was his responsibility. And then the first thing that happened here is he finally had someone to protect in you and I and then Chiyo and Nemuri and even Nezu. He fought long and hard for his place in the school where he became attached to even more people he wants to protect and love. I can’t help but wonder if he, like a certain little blond we know, thinks something like this is going to stop him from reaching his goal, after all that work. There may be other things as well, and I could be wrong, but that's the part that seemed obvious to me." Shouta sighed, bringing those lovely hands to his mouth for kisses while he thought.

"He looked so hopeless, Zashi." He finally whispered. "I was so scared. I couldn't even say anything because I didn't know if I could bear…" He trailed off. Hizashi finished his thought.

"If you could bear what he was thinking of doing with that emptiness." Shouta nodded, releasing Hizashi's hands, only to hug his husband tightly. They’d seen Hitoshi like that before and it had shaken them both to the core. Their little boy had come so far, but it was so hard to overcome years of conditioning and trauma and repeated pain. Losing his goal now… it would devastate him.

"Oh Shou." Hizashi murmured, hugging him back. "He isn't alone. We'll make sure he knows. We'll get more information. We'll make a game plan. He likes that, the learning and the logistics. He likes to be involved. He’s so brilliant, I don’t doubt he’ll come up with solutions and support structures we wouldn’t dream of in a million years. But he needs time. Space. He's like you." Shouta sat with that for a moment, remembered self isolating sometimes for days over every decision and feeling that felt major at fifteen or sixteen, making charts and lists to compare and contrast or trying to think his way to every conclusion. Between Hizashi, Nemuri, and Oboro, as well as the time and experience of growing up and leaving puberty (and getting some therapy under his belt), he'd learned to trust a little more (certain people at least) and not take every decision quite so seriously. Hitoshi could do the same. Shouta sometimes forgot his son was just sixteen.

"You're right, as per usual." He muttered, kissing his husband silly in gratitude. Hizashi looked smug enough, Shouta almost regretted saying it out loud.

"I know. Now, Katsuki missed you and I have food coming so let's start with taking care of those two things and then move on from there." Shouta hesitated for a split second, then gratefully released the reins of control over their evening. He stood first, drawing Hizashi with him, then walked back to the living room. Their fingers intertwined, Shouta's wedding band knocked comfortably against Hizashi's various rings. Shouta let his eye be caught occasionally by glittering gold on the hand Hizashi was waving about to illustrate his story. And if he dragged his stupidly lanky husband down for another kiss or three right before entering the living room, well, that was his business.

Katsuki might have made some gagging noises that he couldn’t blame on tics when Shouta was just far enough down the hall for him to see all of said kisses. Shouta fixed him with a pointed glare.

“Remind me how I walked in on you and Kirishima just a few weeks ago.” He deadpanned and Katsuki flushed, unable to stop the rush of “red riot unbreakable” tics that poured out until Jelly jumped up on his lap and broke the cycle. Katsuki gratefully pet the sweet cat, tics slowing until he could pick up his math homework and pencil again. It was quiet as Hizashi went to get each family member’s favorite chopsticks for dinner and start working on his famous hot chocolate. Shouta sat on the opposite end of the couch, giving Katsuki a bit of space but resting his arm on the back of the couch so Katsuki knew he could cuddle if he wanted. He watched the blond work, starting to read through the first article Chiyo sent him.

“How’s the grape zombie?” Katsuki’s careful speech was accompanied by a new motor tic, a fair imitation of Hitoshi’s hair flip in the car. Katsuki just rolled his eyes, letting the question hang in the air. Shouta sighed softly, turning off his phone screen and setting it on the coffee table.

“He’ll be alright. We have a lot of research to do and some adjustments to make, but he’s our son, just like you, and you of all people know what lengths Zashi and I will go to for our own.” Katsuki snorted, dropping his pencil to avoid stabbing himself as his tics thumped his chest a few times. Shouta passed him the small, round bomb pillow they kept on the couch for moments like this. He tucked the pillow against his chest, whistling a few times until Hizashi picked it up from the kitchen. Shouta laughed, sighing much more heavily this time. Never a dull moment.

“He’s a strong kid and he has a lot of people that love him. Even if he falls, we’ll help him get back up. But it’s going to be hard for a while. Whatever is happening with him, he has to accept it. So he’ll need time and space and love.” Katsuki nodded, thoughtful. The pillow was still doing a great job of protecting his poor collarbone from bruising. He tipped himself over, resting his head on Shouta’s lap. He glanced up once, making sure to catch Shouta’s eye and his nod before getting comfy with the blanket that had been draped over his shoulders.

“Maybe this time, I can be the big brother.” Katsuki said, thoughtful and shot through with humor. Hitoshi was technically two and a half months younger than him, but Hitoshi’s position as first son adopted in the home and his total comfort here had kind of created a dynamic with Katsuki as the kid brother. It had led to a few arguments at first, but soon boundaries and preferences were established and their relationship had improved faster than ever at that point. Shouta bent over to kiss his forehead, avoiding the flying hand with practiced ease.

“He might just like that. Let me know if you need help setting up any ideas or getting ingredients or something.” He knew Katsuki would do just about anything to cheer up and support his brother and that he rarely did anything halfway. Katsuki’s smirk only confirmed that the planning had already begun.

“Will do, Dad.”

Chapter Text

Hitoshi couldn’t sleep long, despite everything, and woke in the dim gray of ambient light after the sun has set enough for the gold to fade. He could hear laughter, utensils against the coffee table, a scattering of distinctive noise patterns he knew were tics or lines quoted from well-loved media. He didn’t feel left out of it at all. He knew if he went downstairs, his family would wrap him in their easy love and comfort and be happy to do so. This distance was something he craved right now though, trying to figure out everything that happened and pick apart the repercussions and tangled feelings until they were too tiny to hurt him. Hearing his family so near kept the despair sucking at his soul like a tar pit from taking him to a place he was afraid to return to. Having them that far meant he didn’t have to calculate each word and facial expression to ride the line between being honest and not causing them to worry. They’d done enough worrying for him.

So, now there was this. He didn’t just have insomnia. What was wrong with him was possibly psychological, but most likely neurological in nature. He’d likely had it for years without knowing. His Granny Chiyo, the famed Recovery Girl, who had multiple degrees and years of experience (and who he trusted explicitly), thought he had narcolepsy. He needed to see a neurologist for the needed testing to prove it or discover the true cause of his struggles on the off chance that she was wrong. All of these were simple facts. So were the symptoms she’d listed off, one after the other, matter of fact and each the nail in a coffin on his dreams… no, he couldn’t think that way. Focus on the facts, Hitoshi, the symptoms. Excessive daytime sleepiness, check. Insomnia, check. Nightmares, check. Sleep paralysis and specific kinds of hallucinations, not that he’d noticed but apparently there were a few new symptoms he’d developed. Those two in particular sca- no, that could be concerning in the long run.The automatic behaviors were dangerous enough in the everyday, but as a hero in training who basically fought quirkless and required all of his mental faculties for his survival and success, he couldn’t afford to just lose time and do random tasks without remembering without any real warning that he’d noticed. The cataplexy as well. Even if it was just one hand, what if he’s in a battle and his wrist just gives up? What if his head drops while he’s swinging somewhere and he crashes into a building? If the neurologist or Granny can’t fix this for him, if they can’t find a cure he…

Hitoshi shakes his head hard, sitting up and taking deep breaths. He doesn’t need another episode, even if he doesn’t feel particularly sleepy at the moment, at least by his scale. Logic, Hitoshi. He had to remember to stay in the logic until his feelings weren’t so raw or he felt safe to vibrate himself to pieces. He reached for his headphones, making sure they were connected to his phone before selecting a playlist he reserved for distracting his brain away from intense feelings. It’d been played a lot in recent weeks. The drum beat settled into his brain as he got back on track.

He needed a plan. Just get through tonight and then he’d start research in the morning. Knowledge was power. He could fight this if he just understood it, he was sure. He could think his way out of this or into the treatment that could fix him. Nothing was ending, nothing was in jeopardy, it would all be fine. He was spiraling, wrenching his mind back on track, focusing on his plan.

Tonight, he needed to eat as he hadn’t done so since… the night before probably. He didn’t eat breakfast at the dorms and he didn’t really recall lunch but he felt pretty hollowed out so last night was a good guess. He needed to hydrate. He needed to make an appearance so his family didn’t worry, even if he kept his headphones on and didn’t interact and sat in his own bean bag chair across the room. They knew what that meant and never pushed him. That trust in them was the only reason he was willing to go through the exhausting ordeal of body maintenance tonight. God, he loved them. Then he needed to take his meds and lay down with his music cranked up to vibrate his brain into mush as he slept.

Resolved, he tucked Kuma and Bat-Cat under his arm, tucked his phone in his sweats pocket, hesitated with his weighted blanket under his finger tips before just grabbing his purple, fuzzy blanket and heading down. Pops saw him first, waving and rustling around in the plastic bags on the table as he set his things down. By the time he turned around, Dad had a box of takeout and his favorite iridescent black chopsticks in hand. On his knees at the coffee table, Katsuki was emptying a cherry electrolyte packet into a bottle of water with a few drops of blue food coloring. The shade of purple was perfect, even if Pops had to help Katsuki hold the bottle until the lid was on so his tics didn’t splash purple dye all over the living room. In the end, Hitoshi was all tucked up in his bean bag chair, his sinfully soft blanket protected by a towel, purple cherry drink and black pepper shrimp over rice with extra sweet chili sauce and gyōza in his lap. He received occasional glances, people whisked his garbage away the moment he was finished with it, but no one spoke to him. There were no expectations. He was out like a light in no time at all.

He woke a little when his dad scooped him up, humming softly. He didn’t think his dad could tell that his headphones were dead because Aizawa Shouta rarely allowed anyone, family or not, to hear his gravely, slightly off key, but strangely sweet singing voice. Hitoshi had only really heard it in moments like this, when his dad thought he was asleep or unconscious or otherwise couldn’t hear him or wouldn’t remember. He remained limp, nuzzling just slightly into Shouta’s sweater. He could smell the household laundry detergent (something like “linen and lavender” but mostly, it just smelled like home) and a little bit of sweet and sour sauce from Katsuki ticcing and knocking food onto his shirt. He could smell his dad’s aftershave and shampoo, smell a little bit of his pop’s cologne too, this close to the collar. The humming continued, low and just that tiny bit off key that would have annoyed him from anyone else but that just meant he was safe and loved right now. He recognized the tune, but his brain was too syrupy to figure it out right now.

He was laid out in bed, Pop’s footsteps coming in to meet them while his dad was untangling his legs. He let himself sink into the care without shame, since they had no idea he was even awake and thus wouldn’t know he still loved being carried and tucked in like he was eight again. Every once in a while, he amended himself. Always would get annoying. The rarity made it special. He realized his dads were speaking to each other in soft murmurs and focused in.

“I know he needs his meds. I’ll wake him in a second he’s just…”

“Sweet and sleepy and warm and he looks younger when he’s asleep.” Hizashi finished, like he’d heard it a thousand times, fond and singsong. “You’ve said that every time you carried him to bed, whether he was actually asleep or not.” The tone of his voice meant that Hitoshi was caught and he froze, immediately opening his eyes. They weren’t angry, of course, even if Shouta rolled his eyes and tossed his hands in the air. The motion and posture read as both ‘really, you’d take advantage of your old man?’ and ‘and I’d do it every night if it made you happy because it's worth it’. Still, Hitoshi’s face dropped out of the softness and contentment he’d been wearing to something weary and dead when he spotted his med organizer, including a new bottle, and a glass of water in Hizashi’s hands.

He took the meds without a fight, knowing logically that the results of refusing them were way worse than taking them and them not working properly. The blue pill he’d taken before to help him stay asleep rather than waking up a half dozen times. He didn’t have anything in particular against it, though he was grateful for the long weekend to adjust to it. He sipped his way through the water, taking his time so he didn’t get nauseous. He enjoyed watching his dads talking and barely touching in that sweet, intimate way of theirs in the doorway. Hitoshi knew some people would get upset from this sort of thing, feel ignored or hovered over maybe, and he did in certain situations as well, but never at home. Rarely with his dads. It allowed him to breathe and exist neither alone nor pressured. Then the glass was empty and he knew it was time for them to get some rest and some time alone together in their own room.

“Hey Dad, I would appreciate it if you forwarded the stuff Granny Chiyo sent you about narcolepsy to me so I can start research tomorrow.” He said. A question disguised as a statement. Hitoshi was a master of never adding a question mark to a sentence, though as his quirk evolved, the verbal question-answer formula was becoming much more flexible. It still made some people feel better. Both his dads moved forward, Hizashi grasping the glass and planting a soft kiss on his forehead at Hitoshi’s nod of consent. Shouta pulled out his phone to send it off immediately. Hitoshi’s phone buzzed on the bedside table where it was laid to charge. Then, he copied his husband, pressing warm, dry lips to Hitoshi’s forehead.

“You know where we’re at. We love you, son.” Hizashi chirped his goodnight from the doorway on the heels of his husband’s.

“Sleep well, see you in the morning. Remember, Kirishima is coming over to join in on the crepe bar.” Ah, of course. No wonder Katsuki had been so anxious tonight and so nervous saying goodbye to his boyfriend earlier at school. Even if Hitoshi hadn’t been participating in family time tonight, he’d still noticed. Hitoshi couldn’t help the softest of smiles, laying down again and getting comfy as they left, closing the door softly. On the wall, his night-light glowed softly, pastel light shifting slowly from pink to orange to green to blue to purple to pink and around and around. The filaments were shaped into a tiny cluster of toadstools and fern fronds and one dewdrop at the tip of a wide leaf. He laid on his side, gentle instrumental video game music washing through his mind from the headphones, hugging his comfort items close. He amused himself by slowly tracing his eye along each bundle of filaments, focus softening, eyelids drooping. He didn’t notice when he closed his eyes, slipping into sleep.

The following morning started well after the sun rose, Hitoshi yawning as per usual and already mentally planning a heavily flavored coffee. Katsuki tried yanking him to the kitchen the moment he poked his head out of the door, only begrudgingly allowing Hitoshi to go shower and change before planting him in front of the pan.

“I’m ticcing -yoshi!- too much for something as delicate as crepes so I’ll oversee the toppings -~Strawberry Jelly~- if you’ll just not burn these.” Hitoshi could already see that Katsuki’s motor tics might be edging on a tic attack and contentedly took over. It was a simple enough task and he felt as good as he ever did this morning. When his pops called out a request for Hitoshi to DJ the morning’s work, Hitoshi connected to the TV and the fantastic speaker setup.

“Kitkat, what’s the vibe?” He yelled over the sound of the blender. Katsuki’s tics cursed several times before he heard the reply.

“For Narnia and for Aslan!” Hitoshi laughed, selecting a playlist that was an eclectic mix of epic instrumentals, rock/alt/metal rage hits, and favored family sing-alongs. They’d named it after the absolutely legendary line in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe movie and it was their “something big is about to happen and it will go well or else” pump up playlist. Clearly this little date was a big deal for Katsuki. They’d be starting it here with crepes, they’d planned the activity together, and then Kirishima was in charge of lunch. Katsuki wouldn’t be so anxious if he wasn’t oblivious to the way Kirishima looked at him like was solely responsible for the sun rising every morning.

Still, this was fun. They had yet to have a morning like this with everyone home since Katsuki came to them, one where it was a planned massive endeavor of fun after a late start with music filling the house and nothing much planned the rest of the day. Well, unless you had a date like Katsuki with his boyfriend or Hitoshi with a pile of homework and research. He wasn’t thinking about that yet though. He wanted to be as calm and centered for Katsuki’s big morning as possible. He didn’t want to draw attention or have his dads or Katsuki himself worrying about him. So far, anxiety and laughter both seemed to cause his body to just give up so he was aiming for calm and even-keeled as possible.

Eventually everything was ready and the table was set. Katsuki had calmed his body to his normal level of ticcing, the couch had been vacuumed of cat hair, the stack of crepes were staying warm in the microwave and… Kirishima was late. Five minutes, then ten, then fifteen. Katsuki kept checking his phone, picking at the hem of his outfit he’d agonized over for hours until his tics took that as a sign to actually start trying to destroy it. Hitoshi took it upon himself to play distraction while his dads checked their phones and compared news stories to see if maybe he could have gotten held up in traffic or in a villain attack. The answer was no, not really, nothing that made the news feeds or traffic reports anyway.

The knock at the door, when it came at the twenty-two minute mark, was frantic. Katsuki went to stand but his leg wasn’t cooperating just long enough for Hizashi to get there first. Hitoshi heard the tones of Hizashi’s company voice and “I totally understand” chuckle.

“Is he very upset?” He heard Kirishima murmur. Hizashi’s laugh was a little more real this time.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Then Kirishima was nudged out into the living room and this time, Katsuki’s legs held him when he stood. Kirishima looked good, in a black, sleeveless button down and burgundy skinny jeans and scarlet converse all-stars. But he was also holding a bouquet of flowers and a bag of the chili chocolates that Katsuki favored, the knees of his jeans were dirty and torn in a decidedly unintentional way, and his hair was falling around his face. Katsuki took it all in too, his posture relaxing a little even if his expression still remained angry.

“What happened Sh-?” He cut himself off from the old nickname, but didn’t replace it either. Hitoshi and Shouta made a study of scrolling on their phones, pretending not to watch, but Hizashi didn’t even go that far, watching the proceedings openly. Kirishima took a deep breath, then gestured with the chocolate-wielding hand at his flower-wielding hand as his story spilled out at a frantic pace.

“I got the chocolates last night but I wanted the flowers to be as fresh as possible so I waited for this morning only my mama was reorganizing things and decided to do the heavy stuff and I didn’t want her to get hurt so I was running behind and was sprinting to the flower shop and I tripped and my Hardening saved my knees and hands but not my jeans and I was already late but I know you love flowers even if you pretend not to and so I got up and kept running and…” He paused to breathe and Katsuki took pity on the poor boy, dragging him into a kiss.

“You would be late because you were helping your mom and getting gifts. You’re forgiven, you dork.” He pulled back, grabbing the chocolates from the redhead so he could take his hand and drag him to the kitchen. Hitoshi’s sharky grin matched Hizashi as they followed, Shouta stoutly pretending he wasn’t grinning behind his hand.

The table was set for five. Hitosh was grateful to sit on the long side of the table nearest the window so the bright light warmed his back rather than blinding his eyes. Pops sat to his right at the head of the table, his dad across. Per Katsuki's request, the blond had the other end to Hitoshi's left, leaving Kirishima sandwiched between his boyfriend and his boyfriend's adoptive father. Luckily, it was already well known that Kirishima was well loved by every member of the Yamada-Aizawa household. Conversation flowed easily, toppings spun smoothly on lazy daisy turntables to avoid needing to lift and pass containers of staining fruit and bottles of sticky syrups with Katsuki's tics, Hitoshi's cataplexy (he had a name for it now instead of just thinking he was so tired his wrist was giving out and it was a bit of a relief), and the whole family's generally distracted joviality on long weekends and late mornings.

Of course, with joviality generally came mirth and with mirth came laughter and Hitoshi forgot in the depth of a pleasantly fond word war with Katsuki what that strange trembling sensation against his spine meant. He had no more warning than anyone else when his neck lost strength mid laugh, mouth falling slack, and his jaw thudded harshly against his collarbone. Between his confusion and the suddenness of the drop, he felt panic hit for a moment before he remembered what was happening and embarrassment and shame joined the panic. Above him, he heard his Pops take initiative to guide Katsuki and Kirishima to the living room, leaving him and his hot eyes and spasming chest alone with his dad.

He felt warm hands gently rest on him for a moment to allow him to adjust before they gripped his shoulder and forehead gently. They didn't move yet, just held him, taking the weight of his head and grounding him on earth. Two tears hit the edge of his plate, some distant part of him enjoying the way the light caught the water as it spattered against the surface. He closed his eyes. Shouta took slow, deep breaths audibly behind him, both a reminder to breathe and a guide in how to do so effectively. Hitoshi did his best, but his sobs were only getting stronger, so close and long that the only breaths he could sneak in were hitching gasps. His agitation and emotions caused the drops, the drops brought agitation and emotions, and soon the cycle was out of control.

"I'm going to turn you to rest against me, and then I'll lift your head. We'll breathe and Hizashi will bring you your headphones shortly and we'll ride this out together. I know you know that relaxing and calming down will help and I also know that panic doesn't work that way. So we'll just be here. I'm not going anywhere. We have time." Hitoshi managed some version of affirmative noise, lifting his feet a little to assist the motion as he was spun ninety degrees. His dad's legs pressed warm and reassuring to his back, his head gently lifted and supported against a soft stomach. No student, past or present, of his father's believed the man had a little bit of a dad bod, but they also only saw him in uniform or the occasional suit and tie and many also forgot that muscle jiggles when it isn't being flexed. He smiled a little to himself and finally found the strength to open his eyes and raise his gaze to meet his father looking down at him.

"What's so funny?" Shouta asked, knowing him too well for even a mostly internal smile to get lost in the moment. Hitoshi's jaw was not cooperating, still loose and outside his conscious control, but he never missed an opportunity to tease his dad so he simply raised a hand to pat his father's stomach, undeterred by the awkward angle. Shouta raised an eyebrow.

"Are you pointing out the crepe and strawberry food baby or is there another layer to you picking on me?" He kept his tone light even as his facial expression maintained a facade of offense. Hitoshi wasn't sure how to pass on the rest of the joke and his jaw still wasn't working enough to just say it. The frustration and shame rose again and the flare of feeling added insult to injury by causing his wrists to flop. The curse that ripped from his throat was malformed and incomplete but the shift in Shouta's expression was easily visible before Hitoshi's eyes squeezed shut again.

"I'm sorry, starling. I can't imagine how upsetting this must be. Your pops is here with your headphones though. What playlist do you want?" Hitoshi cracked an eye open, allowing his pops to unlock his phone with his fingerprint and scroll through his music app. He managed to tap the correct one and the pair of his dads helped him get his headphones arranged comfortably and his volume just right and then he floated, held firm and safe against his father.

By the time Katsuki and Kirishima were safely away on their date, Hitoshi had control of his body again. Truthfully he'd had it and lost it several times in those fifteen or twenty minutes, but each time he was overcome by emotions again. Finally though, he felt stable enough to head to the couch. He was exhausted and sleepy and trembling faintly from wash after wash of adrenaline. He was grateful when his dads spent the rest of the morning orbiting him on the couch, dozing and watching cartoons and generally being a listless, boneless blob. They'd sit with him every so often, but never stayed long. One was always in sight, but rarely did they speak to him. Food and water and various comfort items just seemed to appear in the brief moments he closed his eyes. He couldn’t really sleep, but the rest and solitude in good company refreshed something that no nap ever touched.

He knew it couldn’t stay like this though. He had a metric fuckton of homework to do, research on his suspected condition to finish, relationships with family and friends to maintain, daily training to catch up to his classmates and make sure his fighting skills could keep him alive, meetings with the Support Department for new and better gear, that internship coming up… he didn’t have time to be down or careful or a useless blob on the couch.

He noticed the spiral his thoughts were taking him into, knew he should activate one of the many, many coping skills he had in his toolkit at this point. All he had to do was open his eyes and the TV would be on, water and decaf coffee to sip, one or both of his dads within distance to easily ask for help without a word. He had his phone charging within reach, his headphones on the table beside him. With a little more effort output, he could go take a shower or bath, get his coloring books and pens, switch on either of the gaming consoles to play games, step outside for some sunshine… he had so much he could do to halt this depressive and self-abusive spiral he was leaning over.

On the other hand, that was all effort. It was so much easier to just lay here, eyes closed, and mentally punish himself for a while. Allow the fear of failure, of wasted effort to trickle into whispers about how much easier it is to abandon a failure, a broken thing rather than something useful, someone desirable. Allow himself to be dragged back into a place where he half believed his dads would give him up again, even seven years later. From there of course, it was easy to let the poison spread, reminding him they had a new son now. Remind him that if his own birth family could give him up just for who he was, two men with no such ties to him could do so as well. Remind him he was second choice for the position he had in the classroom with his hero-turned-adoptive-father, adoptive brother, and various friends. From there, he would basically be trapped in the rotted core of his depression, trauma, and anxiety.

He was there now, using the excuse of reminding himself of what would happen if he spiraled to do just that. He deserved to, just a bit. His life was quite possibly ruined. His chest felt heavy, and yet hollowed. Like a star collapsing in on itself into a core so dense it sucked in everything around it, including light itself. His depression couldn’t be measured, except by the effect it had on everything around it. It left him feeling empty. There wasn’t despair, not really. Not fear or sadness or anger. Just an emptiness and an exhaustion that had nothing to do with narcolepsy. A total apathy he knew he’d broken before but didn’t care enough to remember how.

He couldn’t just give up of course. He would get up in thirty seconds and go sit at his desk with his homework and complete it. It wouldn’t be his best work, but it would be done. He’d take a shower, build up the mask from the time a few years ago he last felt like this, work on clearing the dead things out of the garden in preparation for fall like he said he would days ago. He’d workout, increase his stamina and strength. He’d keep moving, smile when appropriate, allow the dark hole inside him to keep his emotions sucked away. If stress and intense emotions triggered the cataplexy, he’d eliminate the problem.

Some part of him was fully aware that this had spun out of control far, far too quickly. That this reaction was unhealthy, extreme, and he needed to get help. That part of him took some effort to ignore, to swallow down the nauseating rise of guilt that nearly caused him to call for his fathers right then and there. But he did succeed in crushing it.

It’s just until I get more answers, get the symptoms under control. This is necessary to keep functioning until then. I will be fine.

Even he didn’t believe himself.

Chapter Text

Eventually, school had to start again. Hitoshi knew his dads and his brother noticed his reserved behavior, something off about his smile, something stilted about his movements. It seemed, however, that they were brushing off his behaviors as stress or worry about the looming diagnosis or just being tired without his input whatsoever. It made it easier. The cataplexy only surfaced one more time over that weekend and he dozed off a couple of times at random but always managed to drag himself back up after not too long. No one reported him doing anything without really being awake so he assumed that there hadn’t been any significant episodes of automatic behaviors, but he was missing little pockets of time so he couldn’t be sure. Of course, his depression and PTSD could cause that sometimes as well, so it was even more uncertain. It didn’t really matter, so long as it didn’t affect his schoolwork or put his family and friends on high alert.

He did set the appointment with the neurologist recommended by Granny Chiyo, doing it himself with his father standing by on the off chance the receptionist requested to speak with a parent. They didn’t and he had an appointment scheduled three weeks out in a matter of minutes. Shouta patted him heavily on the shoulder in lieu of verbal praise for “doing the thing” and returned to his grading. Normally this was when Hitoshi would sit across from him to do homework in companionable silence before they left for the training field or gym together, but this time he didn’t. He simply left, doing his homework in the locker room where he could prop himself into a corner with walls and benches and lockers to keep him uncomfortable so he couldn’t get comfortable enough to pass out… usually.

The days passed in a blur, classes with lunch he rarely had appetite for sandwiched in the middle, homework, training, excuses passed for squad and friend hangouts and study sessions, mindlessly swallowing whatever protein bar or jelly pouch he could get his hands on, then bed where he restlessly tossed and turned between brief, blessed periods of unconsciousness. Then he woke up after his fifth or sixth alarm, showered in cold water to force himself awake, dressed, and left again, often barely on time to class despite his best attempts. There were no more breaks for a month or two so he only saw his dad as his teacher or his mentor during classes and training and he saw his pops even less, only in English class. It made it easier to keep the mask on.

Katsuki was harder to avoid. They shared most classes, lived in the same dorm, only across the hall from each other since Hitoshi had point blank refused to stay in the same room as the now-expelled Mineta. Katsuki also had a habit of watching him more closely now, analyzing and scrutinizing, whispering or passing notes to check in or remind him to drink water and take breaks. As much as he wanted to, Hitoshi couldn’t hate it. It was sweet and caring and everything he ever wanted out of a family. And it was so Katsuki, the meals left outside his door and the gruff nicknames and cuss words interspersed with his worry and the gentle shoulder checks Hitoshi knew just meant “I’m here, dumbass, and don’t you forget it.” Hitoshi was sure the older boy saw right through him, or at least suspected.

So he wasn’t all that shocked two days before his neurology appointment when Katsuki bodily grabbed him by the arm (below the elbow and above the wrist to avoid trauma trigger areas) and yanked him into his own bedroom. It was after Hitoshi’s extra evening training with their dad and he was sore, sweaty, exhausted, and dizzy. He didn’t have the strength or cognizance left to fight the pull so he just followed it to avoid the strain on his aching shoulders (capture weapon training could be brutal some days) and found himself swaying lightly in Katsuki’s dorm entryway, just far enough inside that Katsuki could close the door without hitting him.

Hitoshi blinked in the soft, golden light of the corner lamp Hizashi had insisted on getting to help with headaches and eye strain. Hitoshi had a matching one with purple shades rather than green in his own room. Katsuki toed off his slippers at the foot of the bed and sat heavily on the mattress, ticcing lightly but much less in his own space now that he ticced freely almost always. Hitoshi stayed awkwardly where he’d been left, shifting his weight back and forth in a slight rock to ease the pressure in his chest and the ache in his feet.

“Sit down, dumbass.” Katsuki said finally, his tone contradicting his words as per usual. Hitoshi mechanically walked to the desk chair and sat on it backwards, leaning against the back until it tipped precariously. Neither spoke for a long moment, both observing the other. Hitoshi’s observation was faux-subtle, gaze filtering through long, lilac eyelashes without lingering anywhere long enough to become weighty or oppressive. Katsuki was open with his scrutiny, the press of his stare as obvious and distinct as the shade of his eyes, which was far more burgundy than crimson in all but direct sunlight.

Katsuki looked good, Hitoshi thought. Healthier, less drawn and stressed. Even as whistles and mumbled phrases tumbled from his lips regularly, his fingers and knees and shoulders dancing and eyelids fluttering oddly every so often, he looked relaxed and intense all at once, focused but not on edge. Even his scar seemed softer and less distinct in this lighting. It was a marked difference to the Katsuki he’d helped up out of a circle of glass shards all those months ago.

Hitoshi knew he looked like shit. His under-eye concealer was mostly sweated off after training, he knew he’d lost a little weight despite more workouts and he was likely paler than ever with how he saw the sun even more rarely than before. He could tell that shortly, he’d be nodding off without his permission unless he got some caffeine or a cold shower in the next few minutes, but running off too quickly would only increase suspicion. So he bore the scrutiny without so much as a grimace, patient and silent, awaiting judgment with resignation.

“Have you talked to them lately?” Katsuki asked. Hitoshi shrugged, knowing he meant their dads.

“Mostly after classes or training, the occasional lunch or dinner. Not much though. I’m not sure why you ask though.” Katsuki didn’t answer, firing off his next question after a weighty pause that made Hitoshi’s neck prickle.

“How much sleep have you gotten this week?” Hitoshi sighed, too tired to say anything but the truth when he knew avoiding the question wasn’t an answer. Well, it was. He could say stop and Katsuki would drop it, but then their dads would hear about it and Hitoshi was much less able to lie to his pops, or worse, his dad. That didn’t mean he couldn’t stall before answering though.

“Since Sunday? It’s Tuesday right?” Katsuki’s lips pressed together for a moment, but whether it was from concern or irritation, Hitoshi couldn’t tell.

“Thursday.” Okay, the stalling had been on purpose, but not missing the date by that far. His mind spun as he threw out his best guess, adjusting for the two days his mind had apparently forgotten.

“Maybe 15 hours. I snuck an extra nap yesterday when training got canceled for Dad’s teaching conference.” He didn’t add that the nap wasn’t more than ten minutes long and involuntary. Katsuki sighed, pointing at the desk behind Hitoshi where a tray waited. He hadn’t even seen it. The dishes were covered and steamed as Hitoshi mutely lifted the lids. His mind couldn’t fathom the effort of lifting the food to his mouth, chewing, and swallowing, but his stomach growled despite himself. He slowly turned the chair, drawing the tray closer and taking his time to pick up and arrange the chopsticks in his hand.

“I know for a fact you skipped breakfast and lunch today and probably yesterday and didn’t eat enough for dinner last night so you’d better eat up.” Every other word was punctuated with the hand motion Katsuki’s tics now associated with Hitoshi or a thump to his collarbone, the agitation visible in his body as it intensified. Hitoshi did his best, starting slow as his mind still tried to reject the motions from sheer fatigue. Hitoshi knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it up in the silence, his mind running so quickly and yet so unbelievably slow. He cleared his throat, working himself up to the single word request.

“Talk.” He whispered, and Katsuki did. He started with catching Hitoshi up on the last few weeks of hot gossip that he pretended not to listen to when Mina prattled it off every night, repeating stories slightly differently in order of how scandalous they were like the UA version of Arama! or the national news. Then he started doing his own homework, thinking out loud. Hitoshi was well through the food at that point, slumped against the chair and desk and just drowsing on the edge of sleep. It felt so good to just… relax. He barely noticed when Katsuki started steering his constant flow of speech into more dangerous territory.

“I bet you haven’t done this -yoshi!- homework yet. Bet you’re planning on doing it when you get back to your dorm tonight even though it’s due tomorrow. Bet you -blast!- won’t get to bed on -blasting off!-time. Gonna miss more sleep, make those designer eyebags even bigger. How are you supposed to thrive -die!- and catch up to me if you’re taking shitty care of yourself, huh?”

“‘M not gonna.” Hitoshi mumbled with a deep, weighty sigh. “You’re somethin’ else, man. Only cert’fied geniuses could hope ta catch up.” Katsuki glanced over at him, looking a little surprised, like he hadn’t expected an answer. Then he turned back, tossing his head a little in exaggerated exasperation.

“Bullshit. You just refuse to do the shit that makes your weird-ass clockwork -tick tock!- brain work -tick tock!-.” Hitoshi raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Except his stupid, sleepy mouth didn’t get the memo.

“You try doing anything this tired and depressed. I’m shocked I made it to class every day this week when I don’t even remember two of them.” Katsuki’s glance was full on stare this time, heavy and sickeningly worried. Hitoshi felt sick, the weight of guilt and shame slamming into him after weeks of repressing almost every feeling that arose. His head wasn’t raised that much, but the desk was hard enough that his head dropping to the surface still made a loud thump. Hitoshi took a shaky breath, moving his heavy arm up to hide his face, half smothering himself and causing his heart to thump at the weight on his jaw.

“Oh no, none of that. If I don’t get to suppress my tics -blasting off again!-, you don’t get to hide what is apparently way worse depression than I suspected.” He delicately grasped Hitoshi’s forearm, giving him plenty of time and opportunity to pull away as he removed the blockage. Hitoshi made enough token motions to communicate that he wasn’t happy with any of this, but allowed Katsuki to remove his arm. He’d managed to school his expression, but his brother had seen that expression enough times on his own face to recognize it and he knew it.

“Don’t tell them.” Hitoshi whispered, begging even though he knew it was useless. He mother-henned Katsuki plenty and the blond always gave as good as he got. “Please. Thinking about it and… and feeling everything about it only makes it worse and I just want it to go away and if they know they won’t let it just go away.” Katsuki tsked through his teeth, a sound that sometimes meant he was annoyed and sometimes meant he was uncomfortable with a choice or request of him that he was trying to cover with annoyance.

“Of course they won’t. This shit isn’t just -blast-blast-blasting off- going away Hitoshi.” Katsuki’s motions were increasing in frequency and intensity, allowing Hitoshi a window to turn the tables. Luckily, his neck decided to only throw a temper tantrum for a few seconds instead of minutes so Hitoshi was able to sit up, rubbing out the painful knots in his neck and on his forehead.

“I’m starting to think I need to call Dad anyway. Looks like you might be heading into an attack.” He asked. Katsuki fixed him with a glare that would have been way more intense if his eyes weren’t rolling a bit.

“Not yet. Just -red riot- come do that pressure -red riot unbreak-breakable!- thing, please.” Hitoshi hauled himself up, arranging himself behind his brother to give him a firm hug from behind, placing the bomb pillow between Katsuki’s fist and his collarbone first.

“If you’re sure you don’t want your boyfriend to come do it.” He teased gently, feeling Katsuki relax a little at the familiar teasing and the relief of anxiety that came from the deep pressure. They fell into a comfortable space where the only noises were Katsuki’s tics and their breathing. Hitoshi rested his head heavily against Katsuki’s, exhausted and unable to deny himself the small support. Katsuki didn’t comment, just trying to issue warnings if his head felt like it might toss back to avoid Hitoshi getting a black eye. It felt… nice.

“I’m ser -die!- serious though.” Katsuki murmured after a few minutes, as the tics began to slow and reduce in variety. Hitoshi nodded, setting his jaw and releasing a long breath as his eyes began to close against his will.

“I know you are. I’ll… I’ll work on it. Eat better for sure. Try to sleep more.” Katsuki snorted, disbelieving, but reined himself in.

“You can co-come talk to me, you know.” He said, tone low. “I almost always have extra food even if I share -red riot!- with Ei and the dorks -million volts!-. And I have two weighted blankets now so you can use one to nap or study with me.” Hitoshi slowly released his hold, shoulders screaming but the tics had eased enough that he didn’t feel bad for letting his arms rest.

“Let me know if you need me to squeeze again.” He said, processing Katsuki’s words and his own reaction. “I don’t know how to sometimes.” He admitted, refusing to look even in Katsuki’s direction. “The words… they won’t come out when I’m down deep.” Katsuki hummed, not forcing or even asking Hitoshi for his eye-gaze attention, just acknowledging and leaving the space where it was for the moment.

“What if we arranged another signal? An emoji you can text or an innocuous object or action you can throw at me to mean you need me to drag you away?” Hitoshi blinked, half turning back in partial curiosity but mostly shock.

“What?” He knew he sounded like an idiot, especially as his jaw went lax for a few seconds with the emotions and pain and exhaustion. Katsuki grabbed his phone from where it had teetered precariously at the edge of the bed and opened their text thread, scooting close to Hitoshi again. Hitoshi copied him with his own phone, waiting with his heavy, heavy head on Katsuki’s shoulder as the dots bounced a few times on his screen before a black cat emoji popped up on his screen. He couldn’t help the twitch at the corner of his mouth. He loved cats more than life sometimes, sue him.

“Send me that emoji -yoshi!-, anytime, day or night. If I see it, I’ll come find you and drag you away for down time or whatever you need. If you can call or find me in person and say “black cat” -meow!-, same thing.” Hitoshi looked down at the tiny emoji, the little cat with its barely visible nose and eyes and haughty tail. He pictured it, Katsuki chilling in the common room or cooking or cuddling with his boyfriend and seeing the emoji and dropping everything to come to his aid. Friends disappointed, food ruined, boyfriend hurt. He laughed breathily, pretending it wasn’t easy to hear the tears congested in his throat.

“Only if you’re not busy or tired or something.” He haggled. Katsuki sighed, shifting close enough for their shoulders and knees to brush.

“Anytime, Hitoshi. I mean what I say. If I don’t see it or absolutely can’t make it, I won’t. But I mean it -unbreakable!-. And if you’ll let me, I’ll let the old men know what it means too.” Hitoshi let out a long breath, considering. In the end, he couldn’t bear the slippery slope in his mind and shook his head. Even them knowing he was allowing Katsuki to set this up with him would invite questions and closer watch. Katsuki whistled their pop’s tune a few times and tsked again, but nodded his acquiescence.

“You’d better use it. I’ll kick your ass -die, extra!-if you sit alone and fucking depressed or some shit -fuck off!- when I’m literally across the hall. Stubborn dumbass.” Hitoshi huffed out a laugh, allowing himself a few brief seconds to lean completely against Katsuki’s warm side. He was so tired. He wasn’t even sure he could make it to his bed at this point. His head was so heavy, his eyes already closed, body loose enough to just slump off the bed if Katsuki leaned forward even a little. Just a few more seconds…

Katsuki gently laid Hitoshi back on his bedspread once he was sure his adoptive brother was actually asleep. He looked both better and worse now that he’d passed out, the pallor of his skin and darker bags contrasting more without his brilliant eyes (so dull lately, it was upsetting) to take up more of the attention paid to his face. The relaxation looked good on him though, his face smooth and his overall appearance younger without tension hardening every line. Katsuki carefully laid down beside him, not wanting to wake him but also not willing to throw off his own sleep schedule that much.

The other boy would eventually wake up and go back to his own room and wake up probably a dozen times overnight and then have to get up in the morning and go about business as usual. Hitoshi would probably continue to fake it and repress his emotions and drag himself around in a depression and fatigue clouded haze and avoid eating and resting because he was a driven, stubborn, sacrificial idiot. Too much like Dek- Izuku in so many ways. They both had something to prove, a heart that couldn’t bear to see pain without poking into it no matter the cost. The difference is that Izuku insisted on seeking out that pain, eyes wide open and searching. Hitoshi just couldn’t stop seeing it, playing out the scenario to its many possible ends and weighing the pain anyone else might feel, always finding his own survival and comfort less compelling. Izuku couldn’t help but run toward those that needed saving. Hitoshi couldn’t stop seeing the pain no matter where he ran. Neither could let go once the need was in front of them. It was ingrained in them, deeper than DNA. Katsuki wished sometimes that he could be the same way.

For now, he dozed, kept warm by his own internal fires as Hitoshi unconsciously curled closer like the cats he so loved. He did what he could to redirect his tics only to his left side or to facial or vocal tics on the quieter end. The tics were much calmer now in the calm and drowsy warmth of his room, the difficult conversation over, his loved ones all safe to his knowledge and his natural circadian rhythms guiding his brain to dump out sleepy, content hormones in preparation for sleep. He didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep until he woke up with his knees stiff from dangling over the bed with the Hitoshi-shaped dip beside him cool to the touch. He rearranged himself, asleep again in less than a minute with the lamp still on
.
Hitoshi would have been lying if he said he didn’t feel significantly better the next morning. It was a bit easier to get up on time, to shower and dress, and he even managed to grab a granola bar for breakfast on his way out the door. He arrived at his first class and got the homework assignment Katsuki had talked through done during homeroom so even though he was pretty sure it was shit work, at least he’d done it and it would be on time and complete. He still didn’t have the energy to go to lunch, but he did set himself copious, loud alarms and go allow himself just a little nap outside. It didn’t help that much, but he was less stressed than when he spent all of lunch not eating and fighting the pull of sleep for the entire hour.

He did better in hero training and extra training that night too, if only marginally. His quirk control had become shit lately but this time, he got Kaminari to the edge of the ring before the distraction his partner was causing ran out and Sero snapped his electric friend out of the trance. Todoroki still managed to clinch their win by shooting a gout of flame at Kaminari’s feet just as he came too so Kaminari jumped out on his own. It was a dirty tactic, and Hitoshi grinned as he jogged over to Todoroki to high five him. His teammate looked a little startled, but his own smile was actually visible for once as he awkwardly completed the gesture. It felt good to feel halfway in his skin again.

But of course since it was him, it didn’t last. He got distracted talking to Katsuki and Kiri in the locker after class as everyone filed out, taking their sweet time packing up their things. Hitoshi was taking his gym things out to wash since he’d be skipping out of class the next day to go to the doctor. His backpack was a mess and thus he had to take everything out to make room for the small pile of stinky fabric wrapped in a plastic bag. The other two were nice enough to hang back and chat. They were discussing something unimportant as per usual, but Kiri was reminded of a stupid meme and dug through his phone to find it. Hitoshi rubbed his neck a little, thinking that he must have pulled it a little in training or slept funny. Katsuki noticed and shot him a look. Hitoshi frowned, trying to decipher it and then a phone was shoved in his face and the meme was hilarious and his head dropped.

Again, the sudden forward drop threw off his balance and he was grateful for Kiri’s quick reflexes that save him from slamming into the lockers ahead of him or the floor below. Kiri didn’t to more than just step to the side, hands coming up to steady his shoulders. Hitoshi started to panic, the placement of his hands unwanted in this shameful and frightening moment but he couldn’t get his mouth to say the words with his jaw so loose. Katsuki took charge, moving behind Hitoshi and explaining himself as he slowly pulled Hitoshi up to sit against him by his forehead and a gentle hand over his shoulder and pressed to his chest.

“Ei, please get some water -yoshi!- and watch the door, okay? And find my phone if you can.” Kirishima obeyed without a word, retrieving the phone and water bottle from Katsuki’s still-open locker and then standing nearer the end of the row where he could see and reach the door easily. Hitoshi’s face flushed blotchy red as the redhead had to return to open the water and pour a little into his mouth for him, his hands useless at the wrists. Hitoshi thanked him softly, focusing on his breathing as his eyes slid closed. He was so sleepy all of the sudden.

“Do you want me to call or text one of them?” Katsuki asked, voice steady even though Hitoshi could feel his hands trembling. It wasn’t fair to ask the two of them to handle this alone. So he nodded, even though he really didn’t. “Dad?” He nodded again. Katsuki tossed his phone back to Kiri, already unlocked.

“Text thread with Dad, just -red riot!- send ‘sos locker room’.” Kiri obeyed, placing the phone on the nearest bench for now in case he needed it again. Hitoshi closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear to watch this all play out, not when he was so tired. He felt his knees drop tension, though in this position he couldn’t imagine it looking all that different from the outside. Shouta’s voice echoed through the metal and tile, then a different, cool set of hands took over for Katsuki’s heated, sweaty ones and he felt his brother sit beside him instead.

“You with us, son?” Shouta asked. Hitoshi did his best to respond, making some sort of affirmative noise. “You’re alright. Do you want to stay here while this rides out or have us move you to the gym on some mats?” Hitoshi tried to blink his eyes open, finding them borderline unresponsive so he sluggishly pointed in the direction of the gym doors. His back and neck were starting to hurt sitting up like this. He heard the two boys run for the doors and the plastic slap of mats being laid down as his dad scooped him up. His head lolled against the front of Shouta’s hero uniform. He’d missed feeling this safe, this loved. He knew he was being stupid and dramatic when he didn’t need to be but he did it anyway. And for what? Nothing. Here he was again. Stupid.

Tears leaked down his cheeks as he was laid out on the mats, eyes closed still, body only half in his control. He was so tired. His dad didn’t go far, sitting cross-legged to rest Hitoshi’s head in his lap. Katsuki and Kiri spoke to Shouta over his head, eventually heading back to the dorms with the promise that Shouta or Hitoshi would update them. Then, it was just him and his dad on mats on the gym floor, every noise echoing above them.

“You’re okay, starling. I know it’s scary and probably embarrassing for you. That appointment is tomorrow though. We’re going to figure it out. You’re not alone, you’re okay.” Hitoshi fought his eyelids again, finally managing to look up at his dad. Shouta looked back, calmly, no trace of anger or disappointment in his face. Just love and concern and fondness and a fatigue so familiar, Hitoshi wasn’t sure he’d recognize his father looking well rested. His jaw shuddered, returning to his control as he tried to lick his lips a few times until it worked.

“‘M sorry. Been pulling away f’r no good reason.” He slurred, the exhaustion still getting the best of him as he fought his eyelids still. Shouta just shook his head, tucking stray strands of staticky hair back behind Hitoshi’s ears, being ever so careful not to touch anything from Hitoshi’s cheekbones down.

“I understand the fear, the multitude of evidence you have that needing help is a great way to get abandoned. I understand why you did it and I can’t blame you. In the end, I’m here now and I know Katsuki would have asked you before texting me so that means you chose to reach out. I’m incredibly proud of you.” Hitoshi’s blotchy blush returned, eyes closing despite himself. He wasn’t sleeping (yet) but it did feel so good to relax, to feel gentle fingers in his hair and hear the voice of home above him. All he needs is Hizashi’s lemon smell and constant humming and whistling and he could half believe he was laid out on the floor at home.

“Think it’s time to see my psych again.” Hitoshi admitted. “I’m not thinking very safe thoughts these days.” He’d also blown off his counseling this week with the excuse of excess homework, but he wasn’t quite ready to admit that yet. Shouta hummed his acknowledgement.

“Proud of you, son. Let’s rest for now and tackle that when you wake up. I can see you losing against that nap.” Hitoshi stuck his tongue out tiredly, falling limp against the mat. His dad ran cool fingers from his temple, behind his ear, and danced through his hair once, twice, three times more, and he was out.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi’s symptoms only worsened throughout the day and into the evening. The looming presence of the neurology appointment along with his afternoon episode and the fallout of his feelings after suppressing them for so long meant that he and Katsuki were asked to have a sleepover in the teacher’s dorms. Katsuki’s invitation was optional, but Hitoshi knew without them saying that his own wasn’t. He both resented the forced safety watch (not just for his mental health, but his physical; he was grateful for that at least) and felt incredibly relieved by it. His belief that he had to hide things around his dads had been successfully countered as far as it ever was and so he knew he could simply exist in whatever form he was tonight and be loved and accepted and cared for regardless.

So here he was, bundled up on the couch in his dad’s sweatpants and his pops’ hoodie, Katsuki’s extra weighted blanket on his lap, Bat-Cat and Kuma tucked under his left arm and a case of nearly a hundred glitter gel pens splayed under his right. He tried to ignore the donut-shaped travel pillow around his neck in case his head dropped again. His earbuds played Studio Ghibli music softly into his ears. He had his favorite lap desk perched somewhat precariously over his lap, decorated with stickers of stars, moons, planets, galaxies… anything space related really. Under his hands, fingers speckled with silver and gold from the glitter in the ink he used, he was drawing nonsense shapes and spirals over a page of pastel colors, blotches and spots and wild lines all indistinctly melded. It was a reverse coloring book, where colors were provided and your task was to use lines to make a distinct image, and when he allowed himself to really let go and not be a perfectionist he loved it dearly.

His mind drifted. He was too sleepy to really pay attention and didn’t really follow the passage of time, but too anxious from three panic attacks that day to pass out just yet. Katsuki would be home later so for now, it was just his dad curled in his half-zipped sleeping bag at the coffee table to grade everyone’s Foundational Heroics essays. It couldn’t have been more than twenty, maybe thirty minutes, he figured based on the amount of his drawing he’d finished.

Shouta checked on his son regularly, trying to be subtle about it until he realized he didn’t need to bother. Hitoshi was asleep far more than he was awake. Despite the just over three hours they’d been sitting like this as Shouta worked his way steadily through 20 essays at two to three pages each (except of course Midoriya and Iida who always managed to turn in more and Kaminari who turned in one and a half, but considering he actually had decent sources and capitalization as well as much improved spelling, Shouta was fully intending to give him at least a B, since the improvement was significant and he was very proud). Hitoshi’s head rested on the travel pillow at lax, odd angles, hand falling still around the pen every few minutes for at least three times that amount of sleep. Shouta had taken great care to prop his son up against the arm and back of the couch with his feet up so he wouldn’t fall, but Shouta’s concern was more for this in and out without seeming to be at all aware than anything else. For now, he just filed the info away and continued to the pile of late work he also needed to get graded.

Shockingly, Hizashi beat Katsuki home but a quick glance at his phone eased any anxiety when he saw that Katsuki had simply sent him an uncharacteristically aesthetic picture of his and Kirishima’s hands very nearby while they worked on homework, like they’d been holding hands and only stopped for the picture. It was very sweet and he mentally advanced the time he expected his second son home by a few hours. That anxiety calmed, he looked up at his husband.

“You’re home early.” He called softly. Hizashi nodded, seeming lost in thought. He’d been out of school today to assist with an ongoing case that required his quirk but hadn’t expected to be back till late. His hair was still stiffly gelled upwards, costume on except his directional speakers, not visibly hurt or showing any signs of physical pain, but also seeming far away. Shouta pressed gently.

“Did something go wrong on the mission?” He asked, making sure his husband was facing him in case his hearing aids were out or dead or not working. Hizashi shook his head, seeming to come back a little.

“Not at all. It went much better than expected honestly. Just thinking.” Shouta glanced toward Hitoshi, making sure the boy was asleep and his headphones were still on properly. He was out and they were, so he gestured Hizashi into the kitchenette where they could speak freely without worrying about waking up Hitoshi or being too far if he needed something. Hizashi followed, sitting in a stool at the breakfast bar for hand holding and body resting while they chatted. Shouta didn’t push, knowing Hizashi was not the kind of person to withhold much of anything with a safe person. Sure enough, he only gave himself time to format the words by peeling off his leather jacket, boots, shades (Shouta noticed the eye tics were a lot more frequent right now than usual, but said nothing) before starting in.

“We ended up having to go in way earlier than expected when we heard shots fired. They needed me because my quirk is capable of overwhelming the EMPs the hacker ring set up around their bases to kill both our tech and theirs in case of attack so they can get away without us being able to trace them.” Shouta nodded, as always impressed by his husband’s insane control and range, having been there through all the blood, sweat, and tears of practicing and improving. He squeezed Hizashi’s hands and Hizashi squeezed back with a faint smile.

I love you.

I love you too. Shouta had never been very good with the words, but they figured out their own language of touches and glances and code words that frankly, meant more than a flowery declaration ever could. Hizashi continued.

“I pitched up and matched the resonance frequency and the internal components I was targeting shattered. We moved in. Caught everyone. Got lucky because they were expecting us this evening and weren’t ready for us and the gunshots were actually from some idiot outside the base taking potshots at birds because he wanted to prove he was a badass and not just a basement hacker nerd. No one got hurt, the evidence is intact, and they’re all fighting to flip on the other cells and the higher-ups for a plea deal first.” Shouta hummed his understanding, running his thumb along the knuckles of Hizashi’s hand back and forth, nice and slow, bump bump bump.

“But?” Hizashi waved his free hand in a motion like he was wiping out an incorrect answer on a chalkboard.

“No buts. It was afterward when I was waiting at the station in case they needed to ask me follow-ups on my statement or needed help with interrogations or something, since we were done so early. But that meant I had time to think. To overthink maybe.” He stiffened, head dropping a little to partially avoid Shouta’s gaze. He looked embarrassed, ashamed even. Shouta just kissed the top of his head, waiting. Hizashi kept on, slower and quieter, voice wavering just a little.

“You know I will support Hitoshi and Katsuki in whatever they choose to do with their lives and that I will fight tooth and nail to get them the support they need to do so and make anyone who doubts or shuts them down regret it.” He paused, biting his lip until Shouta clicked his tongue to remind him that he no longer needed to restrict his voice, that he could speak freely. Another one of their little codes.

I love you.

I love you too. Hizashi took a deep breath.

“Do you really think they can be heroes safely with their conditions? Katsuki’s tics are so much more intense and varied than mine, but I’m more comfortable with the thought of him out there at least because I know there are little tips and tricks he can use and that his tics greatly decrease when he’s focused on that stuff and if I’m being honest, because I’m more experienced with Tourettes. So I really only worry about Kats to this level when I’m already freaking out.” He trailed off to breathe, glancing back over his shoulder towards the living room as though worried that Hitoshi was awake. In the silence that fell for a moment, they could hear faint snoring and see his face still lax. Hizashi relaxed a bit.

“But I’m really scared for Hitoshi. I know a lot of it is lack of familiarity and that we’ll likely see a lot of improvement with the right lifestyle changes and treatments and knowledge like any other chronic disorder. But Shou, seeing his head just drop like that and he starts gasping like that and then his hands just dangle so limp and it’s… it’s terrifying enough from the outside and then I think about how scared and upset and probably ashamed of himself he feels and I just picture him in the field and getting terribly hurt because his brain just can’t handle the feelings that come with it. Or using his capture weapon and falling. Or his jaw giving out when he’s giving commands and his quirk failing or…” Shouta cut him off with a soft kiss, squeezing both hands now in slow, rhythmic pulses. Hizashi closed his eyes, whistles and soft meowing noises escaping him as he tried to calm down. Shouta couldn’t help his bittersweet smile. The meow tic only showed up when he was upset because he associated it with the cat videos they always watched together to calm down. They pressed their foreheads together, sharing breath and warmth for a moment.

I love you.

I love you too. Now it was time for Shouta to do his best to call upon his own voice to counter the racing tumble in his sweet husband’s head.

“Fear isn’t always rational or controllable, nor is it a lack of trust or belief in our son. I have the same fears sometimes. Being afraid for him without any attempt to stop him or convince him to abandon his dreams is called loving someone.” Shouta pressed the words into the space between them like a silken handkerchief to dry falling tears, loving and gentle and firm.

“Worry and the chance of loss are the price we pay for love.” Hizashi parroted one of Shouta’s favorite phrases, tone brightening a little at the flood of both bitter and sweet memories.

“And it’s a price I’ll gladly pay every single day.” Shouta finished, pulling back a little and guiding Hizashi’s head up to meet his gaze. “They’ll be okay. They’re resilient, they’re strong, they’re master problem solvers, and they’re not alone. They have us, they have each other, they have other teachers and pros that they’re working with, and they have their friends. They know how to pick themselves up and how to call for backup. Hero, doctor, cop, lawyer, florist, writer, whatever. They know we’ve got their backs. They will be okay.” Hizashi nodded, leaning forward for another chaste, sweet, comforting kiss. Shouta gladly reciprocated.

Behind them, Hitoshi was just waking up, still a little groggy, but not about to pass out again. He actually felt pretty okay, relaxed and comfortable at least. His stomach growled as he stretched, lap desk tilting precariously towards the floor but as always, he’d calculated perfectly how far he could reach up to get it right to the tipping point and stop without dumping anything. Call it a secondary quirk if you will or maybe he was just that cool.

When the headiness of such a fantastic stretch passed, he glanced around and took off his headphones taking in his surroundings. Pops’ unmistakable gunmetal gray mission duffel was dropped somewhat haphazardly beside Dad’s equally unmistakable yellow sleeping bag pile and black shoulder bag. They both sat at the breakfast bar, having an intimate moment. Katsuki’s backpack was not beside them, nor were his shoes haphazardly kicked off near the door. Probably off making out with Kirishima after just enough time doing homework to get away with saying that was the reason they were meeting up. Hitoshi smirked fondly.

As he became more awake, he could hear his parents talking quietly into the space between them, voices too low to make out the words, but the rise and fall of the tones was enough that he was pretty sure his pops was upset. With a frown, he set the lap desk where his feet had been and carefully extricated himself from the veritable nest he’d slept in. He unearthed his phone from the grading piles on the table, resisting the urge to peek at his score before everyone else got theirs, and padded up to them.

Both his parents looked up as he approached, both looking tired and solemn and Pops’ eyes were rimmed with red, but their smiles upon seeing him were sweet and genuine and familiar. He smiled back, awkwardly standing in the space between the bar and the pantry doors that separated the kitchenette from the living room area. He rocked a little side to side, never fully able to stand still when these small motions were so comforting.

“Everything okay?” He asked, eyes sliding back and forth between their faces. They were emotional yes, but not overwhelmingly so and not only negative emotions either. Mostly just tired. Pops just nodded; Dad was the one to open his mouth to answer.

“Your pops was having a rough moment when he first came home, but we talked and he’s feeling better.” Hitoshi nodded his understanding, stretching again with a groan of satisfaction. As he relaxed, he took stock of himself, then of his mental to do list and grimaced.

“I’ve got so much homework and makeup work to do.” He whined, making a face at his parents that had them both fighting smiles, Pops more visibly than Dad.
“Welcome to high school, son.” Shouta deadpanned. Hizashi lost the battle with his giggles as they erupted out of him.

“Welcome to life.” Hizashi added, still giggling. Shouta nodded sagely with a slight eye roll at the veracity of that statement. Hitoshi pretended to pout until he couldn’t hold it and grinned. He was satisfied with his efforts to improve their moods. Hizashi got a hold of himself after a few minutes, sounding calm and happy and ever so slightly breathless with laughter when he made his offer.

“Tell you what, I’ll order in or make whatever you want to eat if you work until it’s ready.” Hitoshi jumped at the offer without hesitation.

“I want your homemade gyoza and then I want to roll our own sushi together.” He said, already salivating. He quickly realized he was more hungry than he’d been in weeks. “Crab, salmon, tuna, avocado, asparagus, kimchi, the works.” Hizashi laughed again, sounding even more like himself.

“Throw in you playing DJ and you’ve got a deal.” Hitoshi stuck out his hand to shake, trying to avoid laughing along in case it triggered his stupid cataplexy. Dad sighed heavily but his eyes were still bright and his lips pressed to avoid a smile as he gathered what he needed to make a store run for all the necessary ingredients.

Hitoshi scurried off to retrieve his backpack and set up at the opposite end of the table from the grading piles, connecting to the speaker setup to play his jazzy lofi playlist. A calm settled over him there, even if the anxiety of too much homework and the looming doctor’s appointment still hovered in the back of his skull. He focused on one assignment at a time, sipping on the flavored water that appeared at his elbow. He allowed himself to pet the cat that settled in his lap under the table when he got stuck on a question or just needed a moment to breathe. It wasn’t perfect; his problems hadn’t disappeared. It was simply a breather, and in it he managed to enter that rare state where he could focus without losing track of reality or getting overwhelmed or feeling aggressively sleepy.

Hizashi called him in to work on the sushi sooner than he expected, only five or ten minutes after Dad returned with the groceries and almost exactly as Katsuki came in the door. Katsuki dropped his bag and raced to wash his hands when he heard what they were doing, joining in the fun.

It was messy, as always. Hitoshi used a fork instead of chopsticks when his left wrist gave out after a particularly hilarious exchange between Katsuki and his tics. Said tics decided the avocado needed extra smashing at more than one point. The bowl was moved to the opposite corner of the bar and no more smashing occurred. Hitoshi used way too much eel sauce and imitation crab and Katsuki used way too much sriracha and spicy nori. Everything was as it should be. A little bit wild, very messy, not at all quiet, and full of little moments where they supported each other’s difficulties. Hitoshi was content.

That wasn’t to say it stayed that way. The rest of the evening held that contentment as Hizashi combined forces with Katsuki to clean up while Hitoshi and Shouta returned to their homework and grading, respectively. The playlist entitled ‘Classy Nerds’ (piano covers of video game, movie, and anime music) filled the spaces between each of them when their voices fell silent, a thread of connection. Shouta finished first, tidying everything into his bag before he stood to tidy up the nest on the couch. Hitoshi grabbed the edge of his shirt as he walked near, taking the extra time to formulate words for the feelings rising inside him. Shouta looked down, waiting patiently.

“Thank you. I really needed tonight. I felt safe.” It wasn’t much, there was a lot missing and a lot of sentiment hiding between the lines, but they both knew that the more he talked (until he fell silent) the more he was masking. This, right now, this was Hitoshi at his most real, most raw, most genuine. Shouta smiled softly, taking his son’s hand for a quick squeeze.
“Anytime, starshine.” Then they both continued with their tasks. Hizashi brought drinks and Hitoshi’s meds when he and Katsuki joined them in the living room, prompting Hitoshi to put his homework away for movie night. Shouta sat on the couch with Katsuki’s head in his lap. Hitoshi pulled his beanbag chair over to Hizashi’s recliner so his pops could play with his hair. Katsuki picked a romcom (a secret Hitoshi would take to the grave), and drifted in and out of sleep as his medications kicked in.

Before he knew it, his dad was carrying him to bed again. This time, he couldn’t stay awake past that moment of knowing, only vaguely aware of blankets tucked around him and dry lips pressed to his forehead and soft music starting near his ear. He was half certain it was a dream. He was completely gone before he could grasp the thought.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi remembered his neurology appointment the second time he woke up and after that, any hope of getting some rest was destroyed. He phased in and out of dissociation, sleep dragging at his eyelids and jaw and knees while his fingers fluttered over the sheet beneath his body. His stomach clenched like he was expecting a punch and his toes scrunched and flexed where they peeked out from the edge of his blankets (anyone who could sleep with their toes under the blankets was suspicious as hell and anyone who slept in socks had to be a psychopath, he abhorred both). His head rolled back and forth on the pillow, never comfortable. His music had turned from a point of grounding to a soundtrack that further prohibited his grasp on reality. He didn’t even think to turn it off. It simply existed and he endured.

The next thing he was aware of was feeling a seatbelt strapped across him, his body pressed against a hard surface. He blinked, suddenly assaulted with the light he’d surely been experiencing for hours like it was the first time. The turn finished and Hitoshi instinctively followed the sway of inertia back upright.

“You back with us, starlight?” He blinked again and turned toward the voice, head bobbing just a little as confusion began to creep into anxiety. This partial sensation was so much more familiar than the full drop. How had he never questioned it before? He’d just brushed it off as fatigue, let it go. “Hitoshi?” Right, Pops asked him a question.

“Mostly.” He said, processing Dad driving, Pops in the backseat with him, buildings and trees blurring past as they drove to the appointment. He looked down at his clothes, identified the slight chill in his hair as the remnants of dampness from a shower. His mouth tasted like toothpaste. He wasn’t starving or overly dehydrated. He didn’t remember any of getting ready and knew some of those tasks his dads wouldn’t do without an emergency or a discussion of consent.

“You got ready mostly by yourself today, son.” Shouta’s voice was calm, firm, unbothered, like all this was normal. It eased Hitoshi’s bubbling panic just a little. “You seemed pretty out of it and struggled with some tasks, but you got it done and you were safe so we’ll handle the rest with the help of your doctor, okay?”

“Automatic behaviors.” Hitoshi wrapped his tongue and lips around the phrase, labeling the event, forming the tentative link between this frightening lack of control and an actual, clinical event that someone, somewhere, understood and could possibly treat. His dad nodded from the front seat, eyes fixed on the road. Hizashi smiled, every inch the proud papa just for a little thing like basic extrapolation.

“Exactly, starlight. You did really well and we’ll be at the doctor’s clinic in…” He trailed off, Shouta easily filling in the answer.

“Just under an hour.” Hitoshi blinked, bowing his head a little as he processed. It was a simple concept. Why was his brain so slow? Thinking felt like trying to walk through waist high mud.

“That’s so far away.” He finally managed, then when his Pops looked totally confused, “I’m sure there were neurologists closer to home.” The furrow between blond eyebrows smoothed out, head nodding in sudden understanding.

“Your dad and I researched all the neurologists in a larger radius, prioritizing sleep specialists. The only one in town has a reputation as a quirkist so we knew you wouldn’t want to see him.” Hitoshi filtered through the words, grateful for the time he was given to do so before nodding.

“Fuck quirkists.” He agreed. His pops continued.

“The next two nearest were both about an hour from home and those plus a couple of regular neurologists nearer to us were what we presented to you to choose from. After looking at the info, you chose this one.” Hitoshi vaguely remembered that day a few weeks ago, remembers comparing specialties, qualifications, experience, patient reviews, and his own gut vibes before selecting his preference, as well as indicating his second choice just in case. He nodded again, slumping against the seat, head bent back until it couldn't go any further. He was so damn tired.

“‘M sorry.” He mumbled out, unsure what for, but absolutely convinced one was owed in this situation. Maybe for choosing a doctor so far away. Maybe for needing one in the first place. Maybe for acting so strangely this morning. Maybe for existing at all. He was too tired to parse it. He felt Pops' fingers tentatively touch his own, testing the waters. Hitoshi intertwined them, somewhat distantly grateful for the proof that he wasn't alone, that he was loved and safe and supported.

“You don’t need to apologize, kiddo. We’ll get you checked out and work with you every step of the way because we want to and we love you.” Hizashi murmured. Hitoshi breathed for a moment, simply raising his free hand in a very lazy ‘I love you’ sign. Pops hummed happily, a few whistles escaping into the quiet. Dad's exaggerated sigh completed the familiar joke and Hitoshi couldn't help his smile if he wanted to. It felt so normal, easing the tightness in his chest.

The car hummed smoothly to their destination, Hitoshi managing to claim a little rest along the way as he drifted in and out. When they arrived at the building, Hitoshi did his best to balance the anxiety in his chest: enough to keep him awake but not enough to trigger cataplexy. He didn't think he was doing it right because he felt unstable, staying tucked to Pops' side in case his knees gave out. Hizashi was only too happy to wrap an arm around Hitoshi's shoulders, steady and warm. If Hitoshi clung onto Hizashi's jacket like he had when he was oh so small, none of them would ever say a word about it.

The clinic was clean and professional, decorated in muted blues and greens and creams. Hitoshi shook his head when Shouta asked him if he wanted to come with to check in, instead letting his Pops guide him to a small couch that felt more like a padded bench with a back on it. They made it work and it didn’t take long for his dad to settle in the seat on Hitoshi’s left. Now that there were strangers around, Hitoshi didn’t lean or cling, pulling out his phone and vegging out to stay calm. There was no way he was falling asleep now, not with an audience and not with his appointment looming just minutes away.

“We need to get through the rest of this paperwork together.” Shouta murmured, not trusting Hizashi’s handwriting on a good day, much less with something so official when anxiety was high. He watched Hitoshi put his phone away, ultraviolet eyes clearing as he shifted to look at his father more comfortably. It was true that Shouta knew most of this information, but he likewise knew that Hitoshi valued his independence, including the right to choose whether his parents helped him with tasks he was usually capable of and the wording of any reported information from him. He offered the pen to Hitoshi, only for his son to shake his head.

“My wrists aren’t all that stable right now. Better if you write this time.” Shouta nodded, beginning to fill out Hitoshi’s basic information, hearing Hizashi whisper how proud he was of Hitoshi for knowing and speaking his limits. Shouta also put in his and Hizashi’s pro hero insurance information, then flipped over to the medical history and symptom information. The pattern was familiar to them at this point, Hitoshi listing off the medical history of his biological parents in that wooden voice that meant thinking about them was affecting him today. That was a rare occurrence after all this time, but Hitoshi started his breathing and grounding exercises without prompting, only swallowing harshly a few times and closing his eyes to refocus as his wrists did, indeed, give out. When he opened his eyes again, they continued.

Shouta read off the checklist of symptoms, some unrelated to neurological difficulties in his experience, but they filled everything out thoroughly just in case. Shouta was aware of the sleepiness, the insomnia, the cataplexy, the automatic behaviors, the anxiety, and the depression but he hadn’t known about the dizziness, loss of appetite, or the uptick in headaches, brain fog, and dissociation. The nightmares hadn’t changed, Hitoshi said, but they marked them off regardless. It took all three of them to remember every medication and their dosages, and Shouta couldn’t believe he’d forgotten the med list on the counter.

“Things were a little hectic this morning for everyone, Shou.” Hizashi reminded him. “I forgot too. Things happen. We’re okay.” Everyone took another deep breath, united in their anxiety over this, united in their love and care for Hitoshi, especially in this difficult time. Shouta signed the paperwork as the parent and insured party of the patient, then helped Hitoshi grip the pen for a sloppy set of initials. They weren’t technically needed when Shouta had already signed, but Hitoshi had always made a point of putting his name and signature to any statement he gave, whether in a matter of professional, academic, or personal conduct. He was honest to a fault and took responsibility, no matter the consequences. Never had his parents, teachers, or any other authority figure had any reason to doubt his integrity, despite his laid back and sardonic personality. Shouta and Hizashi were so unbelievably proud of the man their boy was becoming.

The receptionist accepted the paperwork, promising the nurse would be out to retrieve them in just a few minutes. When Shouta returned to their seats, Hitoshi was resting his head on Hizashi’s shoulder, breathing shakily as his Pops gently massaged his wrists. Another head drop then, though it looked like he’d had enough warning to get comfortable before he lost strength. Shouta sat down and rubbed Hitoshi’s neck, starting up a soft conversation with Hizashi about the improvement in Kaminari’s homework and the ever-overachieving Midoriya and should they talk to Koda about getting some visual communication aids. They knew some distraction without focusing too much on Hitoshi would help him center and relax.

It seemed to work since Hitoshi raised his head just as his name was called. It looked for a moment like he might drop again, but after a short wobble Hitoshi set his jaw stubbornly and his neck steadied. Shouta stayed close to him regardless, taking his left hand to continue to rub out the wrist in case he needed his dominant hand. Hitoshi was weighed (he’d lost weight again, worryingly), vitals taken, and a bit of heinous small talk conducted while the group was ushered into an examination room. Knowing Hitoshi would want to avoid the paper-covered table as long as possible, Shouta chose to stand near the back wall while his husband sat in the chairs beside his son.

“So, what brings you in today?” The perky, periwinkle-haired nurse asked. Hitoshi took a deep breath, preparing himself to speak and signaling to his parents that he had this.

“About a month and a half ago, I started having more trouble with sleeping than normal and feeling so sleepy during the day that I couldn’t stay awake. Sometimes I didn’t even realize I was falling asleep until I woke up. I had pretty bad insomnia and sleepiness due to lack of sleep to begin with, but this was extreme and I hadn’t changed anything about my medications, sleep schedule, or sleep hygiene.” He glanced at his dad while he took a breath, gaining reassurance from his dad’s encouraging nod and his pops’ hand squeeze. Then he continued.

“Just over three weeks ago, I had my first major head drop event. I’ve had moments in the past year or two of my wrists, knees, jaw, and neck feeling weak or unstable, but it always went away and I always thought that I was just overtired or working out too much or reading into something that wasn’t really happening. When all of those gave out completely all at once that night and my dad found me like that, we ended up going to the hospital. My doctor met us there and she said her professional opinion was narcolepsy with cataplexy and recommended I see a specialist.” The woman kept up with him, fingers flying across the keyboard with a regularity that was soothing to Hitoshi’s ears. He subtly withdrew his hand from his pops’ gently stretching and rotating his wrists before returning to the grounding hold.

“Okay! Do you know how much sleep you’re getting every night? Just a best estimate.” Hitoshi shot an apologetic glance at his dads.

“Maybe four to five hours on average. Broken up, though. I usually wake up at least three times a night.” Shouta nodded sadly. It was about what he’d expected but it still sucked.

“Alright, and how many times a day do you fall asleep, on purpose or by accident?” Hitoshi thought about it for a long moment, trying to count and average it out.

“When I’m in school, probably like, two or three times a day? If I have a day off probably half a dozen times. I fight it a lot more in school.” She also asked about caffeine intake, exercise, double checked his med list, and asked about his basic school schedule. As he answered, she tapped and clicked through a few more screens, then turned off the tablet and held it to her chest, keyboard and all.

“I’ve got that all put in for you. The doctor will be in shortly.” Then she left, the door slowly easing closed with a quiet thud behind her. Hitoshi let out a sigh, laying his head back and throwing an arm over his eyes in an overly dramatized show of his dwindling social meter. Shouta sighed in agreement, shifting his weight to reduce the pressure on an old injury. Hizashi silently stood and when Shouta tried to just as silently insist he keep his seat, the ensuing nonverbal battle of stubbornness, sacrifice, exasperation, and love lasted all of ten seconds before Shouta plopped down beside his son and left his husband to slouch against the wall with one foot up like a model.

It was unfair how hot Aizawa-Yamada Hizashi could look in simple navy slacks and a pearl-gray sweater with a worn leather jacket tossed over one arm and chunky-heeled short boots on his feet. He’d plaited his hair in thirty seconds, tossed on this outfit from his closet in under five minutes, and still managed to look totally put together and perfect. Unnaturally hot bastard. Shouta himself had just pulled his hair back into a low ponytail, tugged on a clean black tee and track pants with his high tops and called it a day. If it weren’t for Shouta seeing every ugly face and questionable date outfit and hearing every unattractive snort, complaint, and mumble his husband had made since they were fifteen, he might think the blond was out of his league. Well, Hizashi definitely was but Shouta didn't mind when he knew all it took was a button down, slacks, winged eyeliner, and an empty gun harness around his shoulders to bring his husband to the ground.

The doctor was pleasantly and unexpectedly on time, shaking Shouta from his thoughts as they slipped in and introduced themself as “Ritsu, just Ritsu”. They got comfortable on the spinny stool near where they set their computer, cracking some jokes and congratulating Hitoshi on his place in UA's hero program. Hitoshi liked them on sight, from their comfortable, yet professional speech patterns to their androgynous appearance to their way of balancing eye gaze so Hitoshi felt like he was being heard and focused on without feeling oppressed or exhausted by the weight of it all.

“So, it sounds like your typical medical professional is pegging your recent uptick in symptoms as a shift from narcolepsy type two to type one, is that correct?” At Hitoshi’s prompt nod, they hummed thoughtfully. “You strike me as the type to research anything you can get your hands on in a situation like this.” Hitoshi nodded again, unable to withhold a grin. Ritsu leaned back, almost looking like they would fall off the chair. “So why don’t you tell me why you either agree or disagree with that doctor.” Hitoshi took a steadying breath. Most doctors giving a request like that would send him into fight or freeze mode, trying to calculate what they wanted, feeling like they didn’t believe him. Here, a little anxiety flared, but he forged forward.

“My insomnia never saw very much improvement from typical sleep hygiene practices, even when I was little. It took a lot of messing with medications to get me to where I could usually get a pretty okay night’s sleep and while I’m grateful for that, it didn’t matter how well I slept, I was always tired during the day. My dads and I have been fighting that battle for years, but that’s consistent with what I learned about narcolepsy without cataplexy. We always connected the nightmares and dissociation with my PTSD but who’s to say it’s not both?” Ritsu hummed and nodded encouragingly and Hitoshi picked up speed and energy, really getting into his thought process.

“When this head dropping and everything kinda hit all at once the other night, I was scared out of my mind. Even when my eyes closed, I was still conscious and listening and feeling everything, I just couldn’t open my eyes or move my head or my hands or my jaw and my knees felt like jello. Like I was a puppet with the strings cut. I hate the hospital but I asked to go because all I could think was that I had a seizure or a tumor or something bad. When Gran- my doctor said that what happened that night plus the times I kept, like, coming around without remembering doing things, it could very possibly be narcolepsy. When I researched it, it felt like relief because there was proof that I wasn’t the only one like this and it wasn’t going to kill me and there were some treatments and things so I could be safe and function more normally." He stopped to breathe, the excitement and intensity of his conviction making him dizzy, jaw tingling and warning him. Ritsu leaned forward.

“Well Hitoshi, my quirk is the ability to see the electrical energy moving in living things as long as I don’t move much while I do so. I can’t influence them or anything, but since it seems you’re close to something giving out, I’d like to ask you to allow or trigger one of these drops so I can get a look at what’s happening in your brain and nerves. You are free to say no and we can just move directly to more conventional testing means, which will happen regardless.” Hitoshi hesitated, looking at his dads, then down at his lap as he thought.

“It should be easy to trigger right now. Can my pops get a chair too though, so they can sit on either side of me?” It was moments like this that Shouta was reminded that his son was just sixteen years old. Nearing adulthood, yes, but still just a kid. A kid who needed his parents, family, teachers, and friends to help him feel safe, loved, and happy. Ritsu left to get the chair themself, helping to situate it when they returned and then moving themself to an ideal position.

“I know it’s difficult, but just try to pretend that I’m not here. Do what you need to get yourself to whatever place typically causes the drops. ” Hitoshi nodded; that wouldn’t be hard at all. Then, Ritsu spoke to his dads.

“Once it happens, I know, parents, that the instinct is to try to right his head and offer physical support in the affected areas, but outside of initially catching his head to avoid injury, I need a clear view of the affected areas, his torso and his head. Anywhere he’s not dropping on his limbs you are free to offer tactile comfort, but I need a clear view until I say otherwise. Can we do that?” Hitoshi’s throat was dry, but he nodded as his dads looked to him for his go ahead. His anxiety was already ramping up at the cycle of thoughts from fear that the doctor would see nothing through anxiety and guilt that he *might* be faking or exaggerating to the absolute terror that maybe, just maybe, Granny Chiyo was wrong and it wasn’t narcolepsy and it was something terrible and…

“Whoa there, starshine. You’re okay.” Hizashi said, catching Hitoshi’s head before his chin could hit his chest, gently helping Hitoshi settle as comfortably as possible before removing his warm, dry hand. Hitoshi knew his wrists were flopped strangely over the arms of the chair but kept his eyes squeezed shut, jaw loose and mouth open to release his harsh, wet gasps. He wanted to disappear when that also allowed the wet plap of his drool to hit his lap. He didn’t know if his knees had gone too, he just knew that his dad was rubbing firm, slow circles on the outside of his thigh and his pops was speaking softly, the rise and fall of his voice familiar as Hitoshi fought to keep his crying to just tears and hitching breaths, but no sobs. There was something terribly vulnerable and wretched in the knowledge that he’d chosen to drop this time, that someone was analyzing him from the inside out.

“Alright, I got what I needed." The doctor finally said, voice soft and gentle as they stood. "I will step out of the room for a little while. Please take the time you need to comfort each other and restore Hitoshi’s body to his control. There’s no rush. Thank you very much Hitoshi for trusting me with this. I got a lot of very helpful information from this. Take your time.” Then they left and Hizashi was gently raising Hitoshi’s head, Shouta working on his wrists while they both quietly whispered praise to their son, soothing him as best they could. Hitoshi released the sob he'd been holding, hating the chairs in that moment got the restrictions they placed on how near he could be to his dads.

"Hang on, starling, let's try this." Shouta said, pulling over the doctor's stool and helping Hitoshi sit on it. That allowed Hitoshi to sit with his back to his pops' chest. Hizashi continued to hold Hitoshi's head, singing softly into his son's ear while Shouta crouched below them both, squeezing and massaging Hitoshi's hands rhythmically.

"You did so well. You didn't have to do that but you decided it was important and did it. You are so brave, Hitoshi. I'm so proud of you, my son." Hitoshi's jaw returned to his control and he swallowed hard, fighting to calm his breathing.

"I ch-chose to dro-o-op." He sobbed. Neither Shouta nor Hizashi understood why that was important, and when Hitoshi didn't clarify, they gently prompted him to clarify.

"You did, sweet starshine. Do you want to explain why that's so upsetting?" Hitoshi almost interrupted Hizashi, tripping over shaking lips and tongue to explain.

"It's gonna take everything away-way-way from me an'-and I did it on purpose." His sobs only increased, coughing and choking on the phlegm from crying so hard. He didn't understand how it wasn't obvious to his dads, how giving in felt so much like giving up, like betraying himself. They spoke softly across him, clarity entering the tones that before rang of confusion.

"Oh sweetheart." His pops whispered, returning to his singing when he didn't know what to say. Hitoshi wasn't even sure at this point that his neck was limp anymore, but he was crying too hard and taking too much comfort from being surrounded by them to care at this point.

"Hitoshi, we need to ground, son. Do you want to talk senses or talk logic? Either way we'll breathe first." Hitoshi cracked an eye open, noticing for the first time that his pops was taking deep, steady breaths for Hitoshi to follow. Below him, his dad gently squeezed his hands in time, gaze patient and earnest and almost unbearably loving. No matter how many years Hitoshi had been so unconditionally loved, it sometimes overwhelmed him with a level of sincerity and intensity that he didn't know how to sit with. Hitoshi squeezed his eyes shut, squeezing his dad's hands weakly.

"Logic." He whispered, focusing his brain only on the warmth and breathing behind him, the pressure on his hands and his dad's steady voice ahead of him.

"Alright. Hitoshi, you were starting to drop anyway. You could not have fought it for long. Letting the doctor watch and not putting it off didn't change anything except the amount of information the doctor could get." Hitoshi felt his brain and body responding to the breathing and the dose of rationality, tears slowing and Hitoshi regaining bodily control. Shouta continued.

"This isn't going to ruin your life and may not even change it much with the right help. There's no point in overthinking until we have more information. The doctor got what they needed, we're on the right path, and we'll likely get some tips or treatments soon. It's going to be okay." Hitoshi managed to shut his jaw fully, eyes cracking open again.

"It's going to be okay." He whispered in return, squeezing back once more. Shouta hummed in agreement, sitting in the moment with his son and his son's big, scary feelings like he had for eight years. It was, as always, as close to a religious experience as he ever had. He felt humbled, honored, dare he say blessed to be able to share moments like this with his not-so-little boy and have his touch and glance returned with flawless trust. It reminded him that he was a good father and that no matter what, pain could be healed.

Hitoshi eventually took the initiative to sit up on his own, getting back up into his seat while his dad used the need to put the stool back at the opposite wall to stretch out his aching body. It only took a few minutes after they were all settled and talking quietly about the plans for the rest of the weekend before Ritsu returned, calm and pleasant as always with a slim folder in hand.

"Alright, Hitoshi. The cataplexy is obvious to me at this point, but as a professional who prides myself on my thoroughness and accuracy, I have to make sure it isn't any conditions similar in appearance no matter my initial opinion. Similarly with the narcoleptic symptoms, there are a few tests I need to run to be certain. Those tests are listed here along with details on time frames, what each test entails, and options to call for getting them." Hitoshi sighed, clearly exhausted, but accepted the folder.

"I'm ordering some blood work, mostly basic things but a few very specific ones as well. Also a sleep test and a daytime sleepiness test to be performed together over a 24 hour period." Hitoshi passed the paperwork over to his dad, finding it harder and harder to focus but not wanting to trigger his brain to switch to autopilot. He wanted to hear this.

"So, you're pretty sure but we have to do the testing anyway just in case and for… to… to be thorough." He said, catching himself losing focus and driving off halfway through the sentence. Ritsu, to his credit, gave him time and acted like it hadn't happened.

"Exactly. I really don't foresee it taking long, especially with two hero licenses and a name like Recovery Girl's at your back. Tell her I'm a huge fan will you?" Hitoshi snorted, smirking crookedly as he gave in and leaned against his pops.

"Will do."

"Anything to change at home in the meantime?" Hizashi spoke up and Ritsu's smile closed a little, looking sad now around the edges of his expression.

"My recommendation is mostly a lot of dialing back and safety stuff until we have more concrete answers. Reducing hero training or stopping it entirely, letting up on workouts, not working out or traveling far from home alone, considering precautions in the shower, and speaking with teachers at school so he can take naps in a safe place before he drops rather than waiting until things get dangerous." Hitoshi felt the blood drain from his face, an expression of horror locking onto Ritsu as the doctor raised a finger in pause.

"That stated, if Hitoshi can be communicative and practice checking in with himself, I think it's reasonable to come up with a system between him, you, your family, his teachers, and anyone else who assists him or interacts regularly with him in his daily life. Things like only joining certain types of hero training if he's below a certain level of sleepiness, only having someone accompany him if he's going farther than a certain distance. It's up to you three to decide what is reasonable, practical, and bearable for you." Relief replaced most of the panic, but Hitoshi kept his head to a bobble then a drop by the skin of his teeth. The doctor was still talking, gesturing to the folder laying open on Dad's lap so Hitoshi trusted at this point that the important information was being gathered. He had nothing left in the tank.

They was halfway home before he woke up, and then he was only awake long enough to make sure he was safe and his dads were okay before he was out cold again.

Chapter Text

Dear all my lovely readers and supporters, I just wanted to post a quick update as to why I have not uploaded a new chapter in so long. This is not an apology, as I have always been frank about my barriers to writing and publishing in this forum. It is, however, an explanation because I myself feel less anxious and more important to my favorite people and writers on and offline when I have some level of information. So here we go.

As I have stated, I have multiple chronic illness including mental, physical, neurological, and autoimmune. Along with this comes many disabilities, for which I am continuing to fight a years long battle with the United States government for income, housing, medical care, and adequate support. Recently, my symptoms have reached the worst they have ever been. Sitting, typing, holding my phone, resting my arms and hands on any hard surface, performing complex thought tasks, and expressing myself through language in written, spoken, and signed formats have been partially to fully inaccessible day to day and even hour to hour. Thus, writing is very difficult, especially at the standard I hold myself to. Add into that being homeless with limited access to internet, computers, privacy, quiet, rest, food, and accommodations for my safety and mobility and it becomes nearly impossible.

I am not giving up on this story. It's important to me and I'm dedicating small units of time and energy to it whenever I can. My muse must simply bow to my physical form at this time. I will be back when I am able and until then, thank you for your understanding and for the love this story continues to receive. My doctors, counselors, and case workers make a wonderful team with me and this cannot last forever. Change will come. Until then, stay tuned and make sure that you, too, are caring for yourself, your loved ones, and your responsibilities before stressing out over any optional projects.

See you when I see you!

Angel

Chapter Text

     Hitoshi woke up when the car stopped at home, not the dorm home, but for real home. Something inside him settled, resting now that he was in his safest place. He let himself be tucked between his parents, listening to them talk about dinner plans and wait, did they bring the leftovers back from the dorms for lunch tomorrow? When they opened the door, he smelled something delicious, but couldn't put his finger on it. Katsuki was waiting, ticcing loudly in time with the game he was playing with his friends, headphones over only one ear. He looked over quickly when they clattered around in the entry, turning back to pause the game and ask his friends for a moment. 

     “Are we eating, talking, or napping first?” He called over. Their parents didn’t exactly watch Hitoshi for his answer, but there was a clear pause giving Hitoshi a chance to decide first. Hitoshi took a deep breath to clear the edges of the drowsiness, then met Katsuki’s eyes with a grin.

     “Depends on what you made. Smells fantastic.” Katsuki’s expression mirrored Hitoshi’s, pride and anticipation glowing out of him. 

     “Thai sweet chili shrimp pasta and cream cheese rangoons.” Hitoshi wriggled out of his parents arms and scampered towards the kitchen.

     “If you don’t hurry, there’ll be nothing left.” He called back over his shoulder, heading to the cabinets for plates before noticing that Katsuki had already set the table as well. He’d really thought of everything. Hitoshi had to really scurry now to sit down first. Eating together made things feel more normal again, enough that for once, Hitoshi wasn’t done first. Only Hizashi was still eating when he put his chopsticks down and sighed with indulgent satisfaction. Katsuki looked way too directly focused on the random historical cat facts they’d both heard at least a few hundred times from their dad, which likely meant he was trying really hard not to pressure Hitoshi for the story of the appointment. Hitoshi let his dad finish a few more factoids just to drag out the torment a tiny bit, then cleared his throat. 

     “So the appointment then.” All the attention flicked to him with a momentary intensity that made him freeze, relaxing when his parents looked back to their plate and phone respectively to reduce the overall pressure. He swallowed, breathing and sipping on his strawberry soda to give himself a moment. 

     “How far behind were they? Specialists always take for fucking -fuck fuck fuck!- ever.” Katsuki asked. Hitoshi shrugged, setting his can down. 

     “Not very, I don’t think. I dozed off but it was easy to wake up so I don’t think it was very long. We did vitals and then the doctor came in. They were really professional but also easy to talk to. We went over my history, test results, and the records from my recent… episodes, and he used his quirk to watch the electrical energy in my body and brain move when my head dropped in there.” Katsuki snorted.

     “Don’t tell the nerd, he’ll grill you about that one.” Hitoshi raised his hand in a mockery of an oath.

     “I swear on my life I will not tell Izuku, lest I never make it to classes or even home ever again.” They both cracked up, cackling as Shouta and Hizashi chuckled and shook their heads in their peripherals. Eventually, Hitoshi remembered the less than desirable result of the appointment, and that it was the last thing to tell. 

     “But yeah, anyway, Ritsu gave me a bunch of testing to do and they want me to cut back a lot, put a bunch of precautions in place. It’s still stuff we all need to talk about but I’ll have to cut back some no matter what and definitely work something out with the school so I can leave before an episode. Details will come later but…” He trailed off. 

     “But that’s enough for now.” Shouta finished, firm but kind as he stood and began shuffling dishes into piles for easy carrying. Hizashi stood as well, carefully skirting around his husband with a brief kiss to one shoulder, and starting up the sink to wash. Katsuki and Hitoshi easily fell into other tasks, the former gathering up the garbage into the kitchen bin and pulling the bag out for disposal while the latter dampened a cloth and pulled the disinfectant spray off the breakfast bar and set about wiping down the table and counters.

     It took all of ten minutes to restore the kitchen and dining room to their proper forms and the family migrated as one to the couch for a Mario Kart tournament which drifted into a movie party and from there into soft music playing as they all napped (or at least dozed) comfortably in each others’ company. They all woke at some point throughout the night, needing the bathroom or confused by a noise outside or jumped on by a curious cat. None of them felt the need or the desire to do anything other than return to the cuddle puddle. 

     In the morning, Hitoshi woke to Katsuki pulling on his shoes for his morning run. This early, still sleepy and warm and relaxed, Katsuki wasn’t ticcing at all, body and voice calm and smooth in a way that was almost strange after all this time. Feeling strangely rested, Hitoshi crept and wriggled his way out from under Pops’ arm and stepped over his dad to get closer to Katsuki. The blond pulled out one earbud at his approach, looking up expectantly. 

     “Give me a minute to change and I’ll join you.” He whispered, snorting out a single noise of amusement at Katsuki’s look of pure shock. “I am a hero student too you know, and if I’m with you then they won’t worry so much.” Katsuki’s features shifted into something closer to his school norm, the impassive scowl familiar enough for Hitoshi to grin.

     “Hurry up Eyebags, I’m not waiting more than three minutes for your insomniac ass. And I’m doing the full five miles today so you’d better keep up.” Hitoshi sighed, knowing there was no way he could make it that far, especially not at the pace Katsuki set. 

     “I’m running a mile and a half to the cat cafe, getting scones and whatever hot coffee drink catches my eye, waiting there till I see you come back past and then running a mile and a half home. I’m not fucking insane.” Katsuki sucked his teeth in faux annoyance and disappointment, then jerked his head towards the stairs to their bedrooms. If that set off a ripple of head jerk tics that settled after several seconds, Hitoshi didn’t comment. 

     “Your three minutes started one minute ago, Eyebags. Hurry it up.” Hitoshi moved, practicing the silent movement techniques he’d been working on with his dad as he dashed to his room. It would be chilly at first this late in the year, but exercise would warm him so he stuck to a long-sleeved navy blue t-shirt with a buffering symbol, his worn gray athletic shorts, and some fingerless gloves. He shoved his socked feet into his training shoes and met Katsuki at the open door, almost forgetting to snag his phone and wallet off the counter where he’d left them before they shut the door and stepped into the gray haze of very early morning. 

     They stretched for a minute to warm up, Hitoshi wincing while Katsuki seemed to enjoy each stretch, looking more alert by the second. Hitoshi was seriously considering going back to bed now, but he’d already committed to this and Katsuki would be pissed if he backed out and he was already dressed so he might as well. They started slow (for Katsuki) getting into a rhythm side by side on the empty sidewalk. Eventually the pace picked up but to Hitoshi’s surprise, he wasn’t actually having that hard of a time keeping up. He was panting sure, and sweat was making patches on his back that startled him with cold every time they brushed him, but he wasn’t wheezing or dizzy or fighting for it. He turned to his brother to say something to that effect only to catch Katsuki in the midst of pulling back from glancing at Hitoshi’s legs and adjusting his pace to match. Hitoshi sighed, a flicker of annoyance making his lip twitch.

     “You can…whew… just leave me behind you know. I won’t be… huff… mad.” Katsuki just shook his head in reply at first, then offered a reason a moment later. 

     “I’ll go faster while you’re having your coffee and getting covered in cats enough to make Jelly and them jealous. This speed ain’t a bad warmup.” There was an unspoken something between the lines. They were true, but something vital had been omitted. Hitoshi panted, thinking it through. Katsuki didn’t do warm ups at this speed for more than a minute. Hitoshi had seen his settings on the treadmill in the dorm gym. Hitoshi had been to this cafe a thousand times, so there was no concern that he’d get lost. Katsuki seemed to be in good shape this morning, besides the fact that he never took things easy anyway, especially on himself. And Hitoshi was actually feeling better than he had in a few weeks so there was no reason for Katsuki to stick to his side like he was going to…

     Hitoshi skidded to a stop, grabbing the jacket tied around Katsuki’s waist for a brief moment to catch his attention. Katsuki slowed and turned, jogging in place for a moment before he realized that Hitoshi had stopped. They stood there, maybe three sidewalk squares apart, studying each other. Katsuki was searching for pain, dizziness, panic. Hitoshi kept finding worry, pity, and little else. The flicker lit sharp and hot at the base of his throat, stomach flipping with hurt and rage and just a touch of fear underneath the heat.

     “You’re keeping pace with me so you don’t have to let me out of your sight until I’m in a familiar place with known people and lots of cushions damn near everywhere so I’ll be safe and monitored until you can come pick me up again.” Katsuki frowned, his blinking tics picking up at the uncomfortable tension in the air. That didn’t mean he backed down in the slightest. 

     “What? I’m not allowed to care about you now? Not allowed to care that your body can hurt you with almost no warning? Not allowed to be extra cautious until we have more information and a plan?” Hitoshi sucked in a breath through his teeth, trying to stay calm on the outside even as his anger burned and Katsuki’s voice rose in volume. 

     “Not if you’re going to hide it and lie about it. I’ll hate it either way but at least be honest when you’re babysitting me.” Katsuki bared his teeth, hands twitching like he was preparing for battle.

     “Well I’ll tell you I’m fucking worried about you and that I want to make sure you don’t fucking keel over into the sidewalk or a building or goddamn fuck-fucking traffic when you stop lying about whether you’re feeling dizzy or weak or tired-” Hitoshi cut him off, the fury concentrating into acid, spitting from his lips and teeth into the space between them.

     “I’m always fucking tired!” He yelled, his volume managing to overwhelm Katsuki’s, startling the blond into silence for long enough that Hitoshi continued his rant like he could melt the other feelings eating out his guts. “I’m dizzy most of the time! It’s been like that my whole damn life. But I paid my dues and put in the goddamn work and took every med they told me to. I recorded my sleep and my food, my social interaction and my mood and even my goddamn jerk off sessions for doctors for fucking years and I was making it work. I was…” He swallowed, the rage receding as quickly as it had come, replaced by something freezingly hot and wriggly in his chest. He set his jaw, trying to keep up the same heat, eyes fixed on the sidewalk.

     "I did it by my fucking self, alone, till I was eight. And Dad and Pops only helped with my insomnia and nightmares, none of this other shit. And you've got your own bullshit going on; what right do you have to babysit me?" The wriggling burn expanded to fill every orifice until tears sprang from his eyes and his throat closing off whether he liked it or not. It was several long, long seconds of uncomfortable, early morning silence before he found some creaky, washed out version of his voice again.

     “I was gonna be a hero. Every dream I’d ever had to this point was coming true by virtue of my resilience and determination. Now who am I? What am I supposed to do?” He had to cut off to catch his breath. Katsuki had moved closer, not touching him yet, voice careful as he responded. 

     “Some of this is pretty new now right? You’ve got all those tests to do and there’s probably a bunch of different therapies. You can still be a hero.” Hitoshi shook his head, leaning his back against the wall of the store they’d stopped by, eyes blurring as he slid his ass to the ground. 

     “Most of the- the treatments are shit I’ve been doing for years. Sleep schedules, avoiding caffeine and sugar, eating a healthy diet, exercise, no phone an hour before bed, and on and on. If my narcolepsy symptoms have only gotten more severe despite all that, how will doing more of it fix me?” Katsuki sat beside him and let the silence stretch for a moment, arms folded and heel tapping in a way many assumed meant impatience, but that Hitoshi knew usually meant he was trying to think of a solution or the right thing to say. Finally, he just sighed, leaning against the wall beside Hitoshi.

     Hitoshi shivered, the morning chill catching up now that his clothes were sweating and they'd stopped moving. He knew for a fact that Katsuki was even less comfortable than him since he depended on warmth to create enough sweat to use his quirk. Guilt mixed with the burning chill in his chest. Hitoshi could feel the beginnings of tingling in his neck and wrists and jaw but just buried his head, crying silently.

     "There's not a right thing to say here, is there?" Katsuki murmured, watching wisps of clouds skitter across the sky from the golden dawn to the last remnants of night behind them. "And if there is, fuck if I have any idea. But fuck, Hitoshi. All I know is you're the strongest person I know and that I want you to be safe and happy. So whatever I can do to make that happen, I'll do it." He could feel Hitoshi's incredulous eyes peeking over at him, but he steadfastly refused to make eye contact, at least not yet. "I'm not going to stop watching over you, so I guess the compromise is that I'll just tell you I am. I know your dream is to be a hero so I'll do research and be involved in appointments and treatments and join in your training or whatever the fuck else you want me to. I'll let you use my notes if you miss class and study extra with you and help you with homework so you can keep your grades up." He finally turned his head, letting his lips pop a few times to dispel the static in his jaw from his tics waking up. "But what I won't do is let you sit too long in a place where hope can't find you or let frustration and anger and grief drive you to make dumbass decisions without some backup." Hitoshi's head tucked back into his arms. Katsuki's little speech was sweet, clearly sincere, but Hitoshi just didn't have the energy to believe in such hope right now.

     Of course that's what Katsuki was thinking, probably what they were all thinking. With Hitoshi and them it always went to two distinctly different places: Hitoshi choosing to listen to the dark parts of his psyche that only knew pain and them to an unshakeable faith that Hitoshi was entirely capable of succeeding no matter the obstacle. He knew they never meant to increase his shame, his self hatred, by kinda sorta unintentionally implying that his suicidality and depression were his own fault. The product of a lack of application and effort. Katsuki had only known him in any setting outside the classroom for a few months and he already knew that Hitoshi was both powerful and fragile, that one day nothing could touch him and the next day would find him impaled on his own anguish. His own Ouroboros, at once his own salvation and his eventual destruction. He was so, so goddamn tired.

     Hitoshi didn't remember Katsuki pulling him to his feet, didn't remember the blond ticcing as he walked them both home, phone pressed to his ear as he let their dads know what to expect upon their return. He didn't remember being bundled up on the couch only to stand and start getting ready for school out of habit. After that, Hizashi sat on the couch with him, feeding him small bites to allow Katsuki to spend some time with Shouta calming down. He had a midday patrol shift but it was still early and Shouta had an eye on the time.

     Hizashi was just feeding him a blackberry, eyes on his phone and the teacher group chat when he felt Hitoshi's chilly hand grasp his, shaking slightly. Hizashi glanced over to see his son thoroughly avoiding eye contact, jaw trembling.

     "Good morning, starburst." Hizashi cooed, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. Hitoshi didn't release his pops' hand, trying to regulate his breathing. Hizashi gave him the time, combing his free hand through Hitoshi's hair, gently enough not to pull, firmly enough to offer some pressure for grounding. Hitoshi leaned into it a little, like he couldn't help it, despite the twist to his face like he was ashamed of himself. Hizashi's heart broke.

     "Toshi, sweetheart, you know I love to comb your hair like this. There's no shame here. You're allowed to have soft, sweet, nice things no matter how bad you feel." Hitoshi couldn't resist the words he'd heard so many times over the years, though much more as a tiny, broken child than in more recent years. He tipped himself over, scooting and shifting until he could hug his pops and press his face into a turquoise sweater-ed stomach and let those long fingers massage and comb his sore, tired, foggy head. He felt his knees and wrists drop, but in this position, it hardly mattered and he tried to ignore it. If his tears and snot and maybe a little spit soaked into Hizashi's shirt, the blond said nothing, just focused on humming and trying to ease some of the tension his son always held in his shoulders, neck, and scalp.

     Shouta and Katsuki came down to the sight, at first assuming Hitoshi had fallen asleep like that until a muffled, wretched sob quaked through the bodies of the comforter and comforted alike. Hizashi raised red-rimmed eyes to his husband, noting their second son heading into the kitchen with an expression of determination. Cooking had always been a refuge for Katsuki, where the blond could work through his own emotions, relieve stress, and express love and care in a way that made sense to him. The cats trailed after him, meowing loudly for breakfast that he was quick to serve them with a half hearted string of insults and empty threats. He'd be alright and in any case, they could see him over the breakfast bar if his tics didn't cooperate this morning.

     Neither Shouta nor Hizashi knew what to do for their first son though, or if there even was anything they could do. Shouta perched on the arm of the couch nearest his husband's head, trying to soothe the blond while Hizashi tried to hold this space for their son. Hitoshi sounded so devastated, so scared, so lost and hopeless and the way his body shook and shifted revealed the way his knees had given out. Whether other areas were similarly affected was impossible to tell at this angle and in this position but it served as a visual reminder of just how much Hitoshi's own body was betraying him right now, leading to this storm of emotions with enough gravitational pull to bring Hitoshi to despair. It was heartbreaking.

     Eventually though, the intensity of the emotions was forced to drain away by Hitoshi's exhaustion, leaving him sweaty and shaking against Hizashi's damp sweater. Shouta fiddled with the end of his shirt, holding a silent conversation with his husband. Except where both of them had the same questions, neither of them had any answers.

     Should we say something? If so, who? When? Now or later? What should we say? What could we do that would help him through something like this? What can we do? Can we do anything at all? This is the part of parenting we were never prepared for. 

     “I can hear you eye fucking over my head, you old queens.” Hitoshi's voice was quiet and creaky, but they both couldn't help a snort of laughter, Shouta’s soft and fond and Hizashi’s sharp and voiced. Of course he'd know what they were doing and just how to break the tension.

     “Not that old, kid.” Shouta returned, just a few edges shy of gruff. Hitoshi pulled his head back just far enough to stick his tongue out, eyes still closed. His face was splotchy red and wet, but it seemed like his jaw was under his control and possibly his neck as well.

     “So you don't deny the eye fucking.” He drawled out, one bloodshot eye opening to look up at them. His eye wasn't really focusing but with how much he'd cried and pressed his face against Hizashi, not to mention his exhaustion and likely headache, Shouta wasn't all that worried at this point.

     “No comment, starbrat.” It was an old nickname, unused for several years, but it made Hitoshi smile so it was well worth it to blow the dust off and reuse it. The moment held until Hitoshi picked his lips, gearing up to speak.

     “It would be really awesome of all you guys to not mention this again. I'll apologize to Kats for freaking out on him, but I don't really think we need to uh, discuss this incident again.” Shouta heard the begging, the pleading question marks, the fear and shame and self loathing twined between the words as they left his son's mouth. He wished so deeply that he could give the boy whatever he wanted, make all this pain dissipate into the ether. But as a father, a teacher, and a hero, he couldn't.

     “We can wait to discuss it till tonight or tomorrow after school, but we can't put it off forever. I love you too much to not try to get to the bottom of what happened this morning so we can all help you as best as possible.” Hizashi chimed in.

     “We're still here for you kiddo, like we've always been. No matter what.” Hitoshi's mouth fell closed, sighing through his nose as his lips twisted into a faint, but wry grin.

     “And that's why you're both the real kind of heroes.” He sighs again, muscles tensing as though he intends to sit up when he hesitates, takes a deep breath, and speaks cautiously.

     “If we get it done after breakfast, can I have some alone time to rest and think after that?” He asked, as though expecting his dads to deny his request. Shouta tried not to draw attention to the strangeness of the request, reminded of the tiny kid who asked permission for everything for a couple of years after adoption and still fell back on it for a few years more afterward.

     “Of course, Hitoshi. Between Zashi’s and my shifts tonight, we were planning on doing a family meeting about new safety guidelines and expectations so I could bring it to Nezu the next day, so we can either do that after breakfast as part of that conversation or do it later. Just let us know.” Hitoshi nodded, fully sitting up this time. He awkwardly hugged his dads, then tested his knees before standing and heading to the stairs.

     “I'm going to shower and change really quick.” Then he was gone and the two men were left alone, holding hands and letting their eyes linger on the empty staircase. Katsuki's vocal tics were on a roll this morning but there were no pained shouts or other noises that would signal a be for help and Katsuki hadn't appeared to ask so they let him be. They just sat, wordless and thoughtful, trying to process their own thoughts and feelings about what had just happened and all the other events that had led up to it. They felt out of their depth, a feeling they'd grown more used to since adopting tiny, wary, sensitive Hitoshi all those years ago. They didn't always know what to do, how to handle a situation, whether or not they should do something or let their kid struggle and grow. It had been quite the learning curve to realize that every single parent that tried to do right by their kid went through the same realization. All they could do was their best, to love and accept Hitoshi no matter what and get professional help for anything they couldn't do.

     It reminded Shouta that Hitoshi had mentioned that he needed to get back in to see his psychiatrist and he quickly set an alarm in his phone to remind his son or help him as needed. Maybe he should make sure the kid had been attending his therapy sessions as well. Couldn't hurt to ask. It didn't feel like enough, but Shouta and Hizashi both knew that they couldn't protect or save their kids forever and Hitoshi was not a tiny child anymore. He was a hero student, well trained and hardworking and determined. He needed to be an active part of his own growth and recovery.

     Shaking himself to clear his head, Shouta stood and stretched, offering a hand to his husband. 

     “Come on, let's go set the table or something.” Hizashi grinned, taking his hand only to use it to drag Shouta down for a warm, familiar kiss. Then they both stood, wandering to the kitchen to put themselves under the capable management of Chef Katsuki.

Chapter Text

Sorry it's been so long. Since the last time I updated, I found myself living on the streets, dealt with repeated violence on my person, finally got safe again, and have been absolutely warring with my health. I'd be lying if I said this fic was on my mind every day. Honestly, survival has been hard enough. I still probably won't be able to make a new chapter happen for a bit since I'm at risk for homelessness again in the next couple of weeks. I haven't forgotten you guys. I do know what I want to write next. I just have to survive day to day until I find a safe place again before I can make it happen. Thank you to everyone who is still supporting this work and thinking about it. I'll be back!

Chapter Text

     By the end of his discussion with his dads, Hitoshi wanted to scream. By the end of that conversation’s results being repeated to Katsuki, Kirishima, Granny Chiyo, Auntie Nemuri, and Principal Nezu, along with all of Hitoshi’s other teachers, he was starting to seriously consider villainy. The restrictions themselves, haggled down from his dads’ and Ritsu’s initial recommendations, still felt fucking ridiculous.

     Hitoshi had carte blanche permission to leave any class to find a safe place to have “sleep attacks” or cataplexy episodes. Whether he fell asleep/dropped in class or left, his teachers would immediately contact his dads and Granny Chiyo who would designate one of them or someone else from Hitoshi’s safe list to go find him and make sure he was safe and made it back to class afterward if he was able or escort him to his dorm room or the infirmary if he wasn’t. He had to report his sleepiness and cataplexy warning signs out of ten before any physical hero training or workout. If he was outside a certain range, he would have to participate in lessened intensity activities or sit out. Nezu had basically assigned him to be a hero class TA in the case that he was outside his range but wasn’t out for the count entirely. Shouta had promised to come up with non-physical training for underground work he could do.

     It still royally sucked.

     What sucked more was that despite Hitoshi’s sincere apology and Katsuki’s insistence that they were fine and he wasn’t mad or hurt, Hitoshi was still fairly sure that Katsuki was avoiding him. It was little things, things Hitoshi only noticed because they both thrived on routine and thus were used to catching sight of each other in a few very specific places every day where they could look each other over and nod in acknowledgement. But Hitoshi kept finding protein bars and jelly pouches in his bag or on his desk instead of Katsuki throwing them at him when Hitoshi inevitably ran in seconds before the bell. They weren’t brushing shoulders or meeting eyes in the locker room just before stepping out for hero training. Katsuki didn’t personally bring him his dinner on his cooking nights like he did before (and still did for Kirishima), instead leaving him to flounder in line with the rest of the “extras”. It hurt in a way Hitoshi remembered from long ago.

     It shouldn’t have hurt at all though. He was still being fed, still training with and living with his new brother, who was still part of  his very tiny inner circle of people he would live for and trusted implicitly. Still, he couldn’t help but remember foster parents with real kids that sneered as Hitoshi scraped what he could from the dishes for his dinner. Remember other students avoiding even brushing the villain kid like any physical contact would poison them somehow. Remember the few relatively good situations that he ruined by speaking, by daring to ask a question. Attention and care turned to revulsion and fear by air whistling through his vocal folds and out his lips.

     And why shouldn’t he conflate the two? He’d said the wrong thing to Katsuki one too many times, and now he was paying the price for it. In the same thought string that had almost convinced him to confront the blond and try to figure out what was happening, he answered his own question and closed his mouth. He took it upon himself to stock up his own breakfast replacements so he could leave Katsuki’s untouched in his bin in the cupboard. He ran to the locker room so he could change and leave with as little overlap with Katsuki as possible. He started making his own dinner (usually another protein bar or jelly pouch or cup noodle) on Katsuki’s nights before he started cooking.

     His health declined under the strain, but it didn’t hit his schoolwork as hard as he feared. As much as he hated them, the restrictions allowing him to escape the classroom for naps two or three times a week meant that all he had to do was let whoever came for him drag him to one of his dads’ offices, sleep a bit, and then he could spend a bit of time forcing himself to pick at his schoolwork until the next time he could bear to be seen by anyone as his brain and body vibrated into non-existence.

     He still worked incredibly hard in hero training, compartmentalizing all his interactions regardless of who he was working with or against. On the occasions he really couldn’t keep up, he ruthlessly worked what muscles he could while he graded tests or typed up lesson plans for his class. He caught himself allowing a white lie about his symptoms now and then, especially on days he really just needed to burn the anxiety and rage and grief out of him in sweat. Nothing bad happened so maybe he was lying about all the higher numbers. Maybe all of this bullshit was in his head.

     His head never shut down at night. He could barely tell when he was awake or asleep much at all anymore. Nightmares, memories, and dissociation melded straight into fatigue, automatic behaviors, and racing thoughts until it was all one exhausting muddle he just had to live through, minute to minute, with no beginning or end in sight. Cataplexies became more frequent and more varied, and Hitoshi learned that if his neck and jaw went, he could still work his legs. If his legs went, he could still do homework or study. If his wrists went, he could still practice his vocal training. If they all went… he was still working on the alternative for that.

     The automatic behaviors became worse. He remembered less and less of his classes, and started to be pulled aside for coming to school with missing or filthy uniform pieces. More than once he found himself in odd places at weird times, like when he found himself fully clothed standing in a communal dorm shower stall at four in the morning or when he was guided to his pops by Lunch Rush as he mechanically mopped a section of cafeteria flooring in the middle of 5th period. Usually though, he just lifted his head where he was hiding under his dad’s desk without remembering even leaving for school that morning, much less what class he’d left from or how long ago.

     It was the shower incident that led him to begrudgingly open a dialogue with his parents before Katsuki’s good heart forced him to care about Hitoshi again. They sat around the coffee table in his parents’ dorm, sipping on various sodas since it was past Hitoshi’s caffeine cutoff and Shouta tried to restrict himself in front of his son in solidarity. Hitoshi fiddled with a coaster, trying to figure out how to start.

     “Stuff’s getting worse.” He finally said, flopping backwards against the couch with a huge sigh. He could hear the frown in Hizashi’s voice when he answered.

     “Can you be more specific, please?” Hitoshi ran his fingers through his hair, destroying what little order it had.

     “The dissociation, the nightmares, the fatigue. I barely know what’s going on anymore, what day it is. The automatic behaviors are the worst.” He closed his eyes. He’d expected the stress of this conversation after a full day of anticipation to cause a drop but now that it was happening, he just felt empty. Scraped out and numb and resigned to total honesty. He heard Shouta speak but missed the meaning, so he dragged his head up and opened his eyes again.

     “Didn’t catch that.” The eye contact felt borderline invasive so he let his eyes slide to the table between them.

     “How long has this been going on?” Hitoshi frowned, swallowing the anxiety that he didn’t know what day it was to know. He checked his phone, ran some calculations. It felt more like trying to tie his shoes with his hands coated in motor oil than just adding some days together.

     “Almost a week. Wanted to see if the new schedule would fix it before I said something.” Zashi beamed.

     “But you did say something before we asked or you got hurt. I’m really proud of you.” Hitoshi wanted to roll his eyes but it took a lot of work and despite his reasoning, some tiny part of him was really proud of himself too. His dad’s smile said the same.

     “Not only that but you’ve been stepping back from training and leaving class as needed too. I know how hard this is for you, so I’m incredibly proud of you.” Hitoshi waved the praise away, not in the mindset to really take it in.

     “So what now?” He asked, fidgeting to try to find a position that didn’t let him fall asleep. His dads shared a look.

     “Now we move up the scheduling of the testing, for a start.” Shouta’s voice was firm, final. They had been trying to wait until the break between terms, but Hitoshi could only nod in agreement to the shift. It wasn’t like he was getting much out of school now.

     “I don’t think taking you out of school and training entirely is necessarily the right move, not with the improvement we’ve seen.” Hizashi continued. Hitoshi looked at him, startled that he wasn’t pushing for a total break. Even Shouta seemed to be silently seeking an explanation. Hizashi provided.

     “You’ve been more focused and spreading your time out more evenly since you’ve been focusing on your health more. Your grades have improved despite missing class, your overall physical strength has improved, and you’re remembering breakfast on your own so your self-care has improved.” Hitoshi tried not to flinch at the reminder and also the knowledge that his self care in regards to food was actually tanking without Katsuki’s assistance. Hizashi continued. “I don’t want to punish good habits, even indirectly, or remove your independence any more than necessary. So I think that we should readjust the safety rules a little instead of a lot.” Hitoshi ducked his head, hiding his face while he regained control of such a confusing mix of emotions.

     “A drop?” Shouta asked, shifting as though to reach out and Hitoshi waved him off.

     "Nah, Pops just had to go and embarrass me.” He said, letting the soft chuckles bounce off his skin as he reset his face. It also served to relax the strain in his dads’ faces. Hitoshi gathered his thoughts together.

     “But… I can’t actually agree with him.” He continued, resisting the urge to look up at their reactions. “It’s getting unsafe and really, really scary.” He tried to keep his breathing calm, to not think of the terror he kept experiencing as he lost time, lost control. What if he walked out into traffic or got lost? What if he slipped in the shower or on that wet floor and brained himself? What if he lost cognizance in training and jumped right in front of a superpowered punch or electric current or gout of flame? He just… He was tired. And if he was here or at home or even confined to his dorm room, maybe it would be easier to avoid Katsuki as well.

     “So, you think you need to step back further?” Shouta asked. Hitoshi nodded.

     “Not far enough that I lose my grades or whatever, but…” He steadied himself, trying to reach out for that numbness inside him just to get through this without a drop. “If we move up the testing and I get recorded or live streamed versions of the lectures in my classroom classes and then you or Pops can administer my tests or whatever, then maybe I can stay safer at home or in my dorm until we get more answers.” Hizashi frowned.

     “That sounds really isolating, Toshi. Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Hitoshi turned, already having planned his response to this particular inquiry.

     “I’ll still go to class when I feel okay and I’m sure Izuku or Tokoyami or Ka-” Hitoshi cut off, rubbing his throat to dispel the intense desire to cry over missing his brother that welled up in him. “Kaminari would be willing to help me study.” He knew his parents were exchanging looks over his head, but his neck and jaw were hanging on by a thread and he had to focus on that first. When he managed to look up, only a little wobbly, they were waiting with concerned expressions.

     “Are you and Katsuki fighting?” Shouta asked bluntly. Hitoshi lost control of his neck but considered it a win that his voice was still steady and level when he spoke.

     “No. I think he’s just focused on his grades and his new relationship.” Hizashi came around to help lift his head, running soothing fingers down his neck. Hitoshi allowed himself to relax into it. Shouta nodded, pensive.

     “I think that’s a reasonable set of precautions. I would ask that either you or we be allowed to speak to a few members of your class so if you wander off on your own, someone will be able to follow you and make sure you’re safe until we can get to you.” Hitoshi grimaced.

     “Counter offer, you or someone else from my safe list escorts me to one of your offices for lunch and then to my dorm or whatever during hero training.” Hizashi’s hands froze in their tracks.

     “Wait, you want to step fully away from hero training?” Hitoshi looked up, eyebrows furrowed. Hadn’t he been clear about the dangers he was afraid of?

     “Well, yeah. Even if I don’t participate, all it takes is one distraction for whoever is teaching and I could just wander out into the middle of fights and quirks and stuff. Kaminari almost got me the other day when I was supposed to be grading and wandered off.” His dad had been so panicked, walking in to take over from Nemuri who was currently checking on the results of a three-way battle at the far end of the gym only to see a clearly out of it Hitoshi stumble onto the field and prepare to walk right into a quirked spar between Tokoyami and Kaminari. Only Tokoyami’s speed and Shouta’s erasure of Kaminari’s quirk kept Hitoshi from receiving an electrified kick under the jaw. Hitoshi hadn’t been aware of anything until Shouta’s concerned touch and Kaminari’s loud concern and apologies had startled him awake. His wrists, head, and jaw had dropped immediately, his knees going halfway back to the stadium benches. Kaminari still trailed them, wringing his hands and babbling anxiously, and it took the combination of Shouta, Tokoyami, Kirishima, and Katsuki after a moment to get the electric boy to calm down and walk away. Hitoshi had simply fallen limp, closing his eyes and allowing the sleep that wanted so badly to take him to wash through his mind.

     The memory was still fresh in all of them, so Hizashi nodded.

     “Maybe you can sit up in the booth and do analyses on the days you feel up to it.” Hizashi said. Hitoshi nodded, grateful to note his neck being back online and gently pulling away from his pops. The blond only shifted his hands to run through Hitoshi’s hair instead, a pretty strong sign he was nervous or worried or just thinking too hard.

     “Alright then. I’ll update teachers and staff and we’ll start on this plan tomorrow.” Hitoshi nodded again, standing with a stretch and a yawn.

     “I’ll make the call to the testing center Ritsu recommended in the morning.” Hizashi offered. Hitoshi stumbled a little, exhaustion hitting him fast and hard now that it was all over.

     “I’m, uh, gonna go take a nap b’fore dinner.” He mumbled, not making it far before he was being guided. When had his eyes closed? It didn’t matter much. He knew this home like the back of his hand and his dads would never let him be harmed… at least so long as Hitoshi was honest with them about what danger he faced. He felt so guilty for lying, even by omission, about his current relationship with Katsuki. Logically he knew he should just request to sit down with Katsuki and communicate openly, that that would almost certainly work. He couldn’t make himself do it though. Anxiety and trauma and sheer self-hatred were boiling up in him like they hadn’t in years and he was too damn tired to fight them that hard right now. He was tucked up in bed, asleep, before he even realized he’d swapped from waking, anxious thought to sleeping, dreadful nightmare.

     The following day, Hitoshi made an effort to go to class, even though he was already losing chunks of time from the moment he woke up. He handed off the tablet with a stand and clip on microphone to his dad, collapsing into his seat. The tablet would record and/or stream everything either to his laptop at home or onto the tablet itself now so if he missed lectures, he could rewatch. He fought just to stay upright and somewhat awake for the entire morning, grateful when a warm hand that he recognized subconsciously as “safe” took him gently by the arm and guided him away from the class. He recognized the path by now, wobbled as the safe memories of his dad’s office made his knees weak. Another warm hand slipped around his waist, the first drawing his arm over broad shoulders.

     He snuggled down into his nest under his dad’s desk and lost consciousness, waking only when the lunch bell rang. He startled at that, blinking up into the dim office. He was startled to see a pair of legs in student uniform pants and fidgeting hands lit up with tiny sparks sitting in the desk chair He couldn’t see anything above the elbow, much less a face, but he knew that quirk, those hands, the mumbling fall of tics into the air. They fell silent for several seconds as he shifted into a more upright position.

     “Uh, hi?” Hitoshi said, not really making a move to get out from under the desk. Katsuki didn’t answer, toe tapping and sparks increasing as he stayed stubbornly quiet. “Uh, I appreciate you getting me here but I’m safe to stay alone. You can go back to class or lunch or whatever.” The meaning sat in the air between them: You don’t need to babysit me. I free you from the chains of my care. Katsuki didn’t move. Hitoshi sighed. Stubborn ass.

     “Say it.” He mumbled out. “Just say what you need to say. I probably deserve it so just get it out there.” Katsuki slid to the floor with a thump, red eyes bright and wet and swollen.

     “You deserve what?” He hissed, hands ticcing harshly. Hitoshi instinctively passed him a pillow, helping him tuck it against his chest to protect his collarbone and sternum. “I’m the one who fuck - fuck! F-fuck off - fucked everything up.” Hitoshi felt his brow furrow, confusion racing around inside his brain trying to find a solution.

     "I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” He said, carefully keeping his hands in his lap. A wound up Katsuki was an easily triggered Katsuki.

     “Ever since that -yoshi!- that run and the f- fuck off!- fight, I’ve been trying t-to back off -blasting off!- and you j-j-just… just…” He had to break off, a flurry of tics going off so rapidly that Hitoshi was moving before he could even think, using his speech to text to text their dads and getting Katsuki into a pressure hug. Katsuki’s legs still kicked, his head still twitched against Hitoshi’s jaw, but there was relief in his voice when he started to speak again.

     “You shut me out.” He whispered, pressing back against Hitoshi like he’s afraid he’ll disappear. Hitoshi blinked, reframing everything that had happened with this new information. Of course Katsuki would try to be the same amount of caring without getting in his space as much. He understood the hovering that came with a new diagnosis, the worry, the sheltering. Of course Hitoshi pulling away left Katsuki feeling unloved, uncared for, probably guilty or ashamed as well based on what he knew of his brother’s incubator and sperm donor. He groaned, dropping his head to Katsuki’s shoulder.

     “I’m an idiot.” He murmured, then raised his head to explain. “I thought you were mad at me and that’s why you were backing off. Too good to leave me supportless but not wanting to be close anymore. I was trying to respect that.” Katsuki turned his head to give Hitoshi the most deadpan look out of the corner of his eye.

     “If I don’t want you around, you’ll know about it, Eyebags. What the fuck, you mean we’re both idiots?” Hitoshi shook his head, nudging Katsuki’s head back into prime hugging position.

     “Nah, I’m definitely the idiot. I’ll take the blame for this one.” Katsuki harrumphed. Hitoshi had the good sense not to point out how weak and wet it sounded.

     “Well yeah, you should. It is all your fault, you drama queen.” Hitoshi laughed, slowly starting to ease off the hug. 
     “Hey, just remember it’s your turn next time.” Katsuki flipped him off, stretching gently. He was still ticcing, but it wasn’t an all out storm now. Hitoshi remained on the floor, trying to breathe through the wash of relief and joy that wanted to take him out at the knees. He wasn’t all that surprised when Katsuki awkwardly hugged him back, not saying anything or moving as Hitoshi resisted the tears for a few more moments before giving in and sobbing silently into Katsuki’s blazer. Hitoshi didn’t have the words to express the overwhelming release of tension and grief that flooded through his nerves, just gripping Katsuki fiercely. For once, he wasn’t afraid when his neck gave out, dropping his head heavily onto his brother’s shoulder, his wrists following suit so his hands dangled loosely against that broad back. Katsuki didn’t flinch, didn’t falter. He held on, tics disappearing into the air somewhere behind Hitoshi’s head. Neither of them moved for a long time, eventually tugging Hitoshi’s nest under the desk out into the main portion of the office.

     At the end of lunch, when Hizashi entered his husband’s office with a soft knock, he found them both buried in the bedding, sound asleep. Both of them were sporting dark eyebags, swollen eyes, and tear stained cheeks, but they were also both peacefully resting, cozy and comfortable and not-quite-touching in a way that suggested they fell asleep hugging or holding hands. Hizashi left the food on the desk and crept back out, standing outside to ward away noisy teachers and students alike until he had to get to his next class.

     Both boys were in their classes the rest of the day. Katsuki was a bit subdued in rescue exercises, but focused well enough to lead his team to the second best time ever on the course. Hitoshi took analytic notes up in the booth, losing focus every so often but taking full advantage of the separate screening station he’d been given to rewind, replay, and pause footage while he worked. He was turning in a series of assignments directly to Nezu, it seemed, as data collection on a new software update. His dad was also going to read them and grade them as a replacement assignment series for the physical training he was missing.

     Halfway through the class, Hizashi poked his head into the booth, gesturing Hitoshi to follow him into the hallway. Hitoshi did so, stretching and catching himself as the head rush hit, but then walking out with faux calm. The moment the door closed, his papa rushed to ease his mind.

     “You’re not in trouble and everyone is okay. I just wanted to pull you out to call the testing facility since we forgot this morning.” Any loosening of his shoulders from the reassurance reversed back into tension when Hitoshi registered both the hated phone call and the words “testing facility”. It brought to mind white walls, anonymous doctors, clandestine experiments, and captivity. Of course, that was due to a combination of movies, Eri’s experiences, and threats made to his own life years ago. He grimaced a little regardless.

     “I didn’t bring the paperwork.” He said, not sure why he was stalling. He was capable of making the call, his Pops would help him if he needed it, and neither of his dads would let anyone in any facility hurt him again.

     “I took a picture of the paperwork this morning.” Hizashi searched his son’s face, noting the hesitance there. “Do you want me to take care of it?” Hitoshi scowled a little, irritated with himself. He wanted to be independent, to be mature and capable of his own care. He also wanted nothing to do with the phone call to set up twenty-four hours of tests and electrodes and observation. He sighed, rubbing his temples.

     “Together, on speaker. I’ll do what I can and you step in if I can’t.” Hizashi grinned and pulled out his own phone to dial. Within a few minutes, working together, they scheduled an appointment from Saturday night through Sunday evening, the facility having been recommended largely due to the accommodations made for hero schedules and those of their families. Only a few days away. Hitoshi zoned out, knowing his Pops would take copious notes on all they were saying about medications, sleep, preparations, packing lists, etc and go over it with him and his dad and probably Katsuki as well later. For now though, he just focused on staying still, on not letting the fear drop him.

     He didn’t remember anything until he came too in the kitchen washing the same dish over and over. His dad watched him do so from the entryway, calm covering all but the slightest hint of concern. Hitoshi’s hands were raw and pruney as he turned off the water. His sleeves were soaked and he fidgeted with the desire to either strip it off with all haste or run to his room to change. His father was still watching him though, less intensely but Hitoshi knew what he was doing all too well.

     “How long?” Hitoshi asked, wondering if he could rip the sleeves clean off. Shouta held out one of his own t-shirts and a towel, turning around so the sensory issue could be managed.

     “Almost twelve hours, starbrat, if your pops is right.” He murmured. Hitoshi balked halfway through pulling the new shirt on, glancing out the window. It was pitch black outside. The microwave clock a little further to the left said 3:06 AM. He let out a shaky breath, tugging the worn, oversized band tee into place.

     “Shit.” He murmured. Silence fell between them, their backs still to each other, their breathing falling naturally into near synchronization. Shouta spoke first, voice low and velveteen in the dim kitchen.

     “The appointment. I’ll be there the whole time, if you want.” Hitoshi turned, needing to confirm the promise visually. Shouta had already turned, meeting his son’s eyes for a split second before they drifted, sharply taking in the tension of his jaw, the line of his shoulders, the minute motions of his hands. He had nothing to hide so he simply waited, waited for his son, his boy, his little starbrat now so big, to believe him. Relief made Hitoshi sway and as always, Shouta was there to calmly help him to the couch and hold him, keeping a space that was safe and open and all made of home for Hitoshi to feel it all, say it all, ask anything he wanted to.

     “Love you, Dad.” He whispered, enough moments later that each of his blinks was a little longer than the last one. Shouta tucked him in closer and let him sleep.