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Hitoshi was mad. Above all, as he stormed down the sidewalk — blocks away from home by now — he was angry. To think that his dads would say that to him? Gods, Hitoshi was so fucking angry. That was why his hands were curled into trembling fists, why his face was contorted in a scowl, why his eyes were burning with tears.
He had no idea where he planned to go now, what he planned to do. But he knew that he had to get out of that apartment, and now he was left wandering the streets in the darkness without so much as a sweatshirt. A chill ran down his spine, and Hitoshi wrapped his arms around himself as he shuddered in the cold. Already, he was beginning to regret his rash decision to storm outside without stopping to pull on a long sleeved shirt.
He just couldn't stop thinking about how they'd looked at him. Like he was broken, like he needed to be fixed. Like they were sorry for him. Like. . . they were worried. Hitoshi slowed, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he began to slowly think over the conversation. The conversation that he had turned into an argument, he realized.
Just as he was starting to mull over turning around and dramatically locking himself in his room instead, he heard a shriek from the alleyway he was passing. It was quickly muffled, but Hitoshi whipped his head to the side to spot a girl around his age being shoved up against the wall as a man easily triple her age and size was attempting to steal the purse that was clutched against her chest in trembling pale hands.
And maybe it was a bad idea, but Hitoshi hadn't gotten himself into the hero course for nothing. “Hey!” He started down the alley with a furious glare adorning his features, “Why don't you pick on someone your own size, man?”
“Mind your — !” Got him.
“Let go of the purse and get away from her,” Hitoshi snapped, shoulders slumping in minute relief as the man jerkily walked backwards away from the girl. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes were wide, and she looked like a strong breeze might blow her over. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish for a few seconds before Hitoshi nodded to the other end of the alley. “You should get home, I’ll deal with him.”
Finally, she nodded frantically. “Thank you!” She immediately turned and ran, leaving Hitoshi in the alley with the brainwashed criminal. Once she disappeared from view, Hitoshi pulled out his phone to call the police, then changed his mind and pulled up his dad’s contact. His head began to pound right as he hesitated, their argument a half hour ago fresh in his mind. Finally, he shook his head with a sigh and was about to hit call when something — someone — collided with his back and sent him sprawling, his phone hitting the ground a few yards away and the connection in his mind snapping.
Before his cry of surprise could finish leaving his mouth, his vision went white and the surprise turned to agony. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire, his bones ached like he was being crushed into a trash compactor — he felt like he was dying.
And all he could think was, Dad, I’m so sorry. Papa, I love you, I love you, I’m sorry —
Hitoshi no longer felt like he was dying when he woke up, but that wasn't to say he was completely pain-free. There were a few bruises and scrapes he could feel scattered all over his limbs, and his side ached fiercely. He knew from experience that he probably had a few cracked ribs, though it felt. . . different. The pain was familiar, but everything was off in a way he couldn't explain.
The first thing he noticed after cataloging all of his injuries was that it was freezing, and the scent of the trash littered alleyway was way stronger than before. With a pained breath, Hitoshi finally peeled his eyes open to find himself laying sprawled next to the brick wall the girl had been pressed up against earlier.
It looked a bit larger, though, now? “What the fuck?” He tried to say, though all that came from his throat was a mangled yowl. Why did he sound like that? Why the fuck did he sound like that?
“Hello?” Once again, no words were produced, instead a panicked wail. Frantically scrambling up, Hitoshi immediately realized his predicament as he wobbled on four legs. Four. How could he not recognize his favorite animal?
Holy shit! Holy fucking shit, he was a cat! Catching sight of his actual, real tail, Hitoshi spun rapidly, tripping over his useless legs and finding himself sprawled back on the ground with a pained cry. He was an actual cat.
Hitoshi was a cat.
This was what he got for fighting with his parents. This was what he got for joining his dad’s cursed hell class. This was so par for the course of Hitoshi’s life. Of course the moment he took for granted how lucky he'd been, he got turned into a freaking cat. Slowly, he raised himself up on trembling legs until he was standing again and experimentally lifted up his front leg to stare at his hand paw. His toe beans were pink, much like his dads’ cat, Dumpster. Named after the dumpster he was found in, of course.
Hitoshi’s fur, unlike Dumpster’s orange and white, was a dark grey that covered every part of himself that he could see. He put his paw down and lifted the other. For a moment, he just stood there, staring in wonder at his own toe beans that really weren't all that cute now that they belonged to him.
And then he recalled the amount of times he'd mindlessly massaged Dumpster’s little paws, releasing his claws over and over again while the little loaf dozed in his lap. Tilting his head contemplatively, Hitoshi flexed the limb and watched in wonder as razor sharp claws extended out of his murder mittens.
He retracted them, then flexed the muscles again and watched them extend. “So cool.” He felt his nose scrunch in annoyance at the curious chirp he let out instead of words. Very quickly, he was reminded that he was a cat with no way to communicate, and no idea how long he'd be stuck like this.
Hitoshi’s heart sank as his thoughts immediately went to his dads, probably sitting at home worrying like crazy. Worrying like they'd already been before their son wandered off in the middle of the night and got himself turned into a small animal. How was he supposed to get home like this? He couldn't even remember where he was, had been relying on his phone to get him home once he cooled down enough.
His phone! Hitoshi whipped his head around and spotted the device at the other end of the alley, so much farther away from him than he remembered. Then again, what with the fact that he woke up near the wall with a foot sized sore spot on his side, one of those assholes had probably kicked him away from it before he woke and then left him to die.
Gods, he couldn't believe that he hadn't turned around or bothered to check for another assailant. If his parents could see him now he just knew they'd be so disappointed in him. Nonetheless, his phone was right over there and probably his saving grace, so he began a stumbling walk over to it. Hitoshi was used to walking with two legs, not four, and it was incredibly hard to adjust to these new limbs.
Eventually, though, he found himself mere inches away from his phone, eyes narrowing at the sight of its shattered screen. Please still work, please still work. . . He attempted to hit the power button with his paw but was rewarded with the phone sliding a few inches to the left. Cursing internally, he crawled over to it and planted one paw on it and attempted to push the button again, only to yank his paw away with a literal hiss when it just served to dig into his skin. He couldn't put enough pressure on it with his paw to actually click the button without it hurting.
For a few seconds, he just sat there staring at the offending device, before he ran his tongue over his strange new fangs and was struck with a wonderful idea. He could use his teeth! He was fully prepared to bring his mouth to his phone when he suddenly recalled the dirty alleyway it was laying in and paused. His need to go home and get his dad to use his quirk on him overruled his disgust, so Hitoshi sighed and was just about to bite down on the power button when the sound of sudden, rushed footsteps met his ears.
Startling, Hitoshi whipped around, planting himself in front of his phone and widening his stance. His eyes darted around for the source of the footsteps, but it was another few seconds before a form emerged at the mouth of the alley, walking hurriedly toward him. Having tensed in preparation for the criminals to return, Hitoshi’s eyes widened at the sight of his dad stalking right toward him with a deep crease between his brows.
“Hitoshi!” Eraserhead in all his glory was right there, and instantly Hitoshi’s worries seeped away.
“Dad! Dad, I'm right here! I got turned into a cat, can you fucking believe this?” Hitoshi was circling the man’s feet instantly, pathetic meows leaving his mouth. Even though his dad couldn't understand him, he had to realize that it was him. His dad had abruptly frozen when he began weaving through and around his legs, and although his eyes lingered on the small feline form for a moment, his attention quickly moved to the broken phone that Hitoshi had been about to start gnawing in.
His dad's face dropped, and he stepped over Hitoshi to scoop up the phone. Hitoshi watched as Aizawa flipped it over, running his thumb over the dumb Pikachu sticker Kaminari had put on the case weeks ago. “Shit.” His dad ran his free hand through his dark hair as he hit the button Hitoshi had been struggling with and thumbed in his passcode with ease.
“What the fuck?” Hitoshi meowed affrontedly as he used his front legs to balance against his dad’s legs and look at his phone. “Since when did you know my pin?” Maybe making his password Dumpster’s birthday (technically the day he was brought home, but Yamada insisted it was his birthday) was a little on the nose. . .
His offense quickly washed away when Aizawa’s face dropped upon seeing his own contact pulled up. “Shit,” he repeated softly, quickly looking away and tucking Hitoshi’s phone into his pocket. “Where are you, kid?”
“Here!” Hitoshi cried insistently, digging his claws into his dad’s legs to garner his attention. “Dad, I'm right here! I know I'm a cat, but it's me! I'm here!”
Aizawa finally looked down at him, and Hitoshi noticed with a start that his eyes were shining. “Hey, little guy,” he murmured quietly, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. For a moment, Hitoshi’s brain blanked as he practically melted into the touch, but he quickly pulled his head away at his father’s next words. “I'm sorry I can't help you right now. I need to find my son.”
No, no, no, no! “No, don't leave! Dad, it's me! It's me, I'm right here!” Hitoshi was practically screaming now, his meows loud, scared and hurt sounding. Aizawa’s brows furrowed as he gently removed Hitoshi’s claws from his legs and set him down on the ground.
“I'm sorry, kitty.”
“Dad!” He cried out, immediately scrambling to follow after him when he turned and began to leave. Hitoshi was fully prepared to follow him all the way back home until he realized that the son he was looking for was right there. And then Aizawa glanced at him one more time, then gripped his capture weapon and launched himself onto a nearby roof in seconds.
Before Hitoshi could even think to begin climbing the fire escape, his dad had disappeared into the night. Hitoshi slumped against the wall with a trembling breath as he stared in the direction Aizawa left. He could barely keep up with him on patrols as a human, let alone as a cat.
Hitoshi took a few moments to attempt to steady his breathing before he went to run his hand through his hair and got instantly reminded that he was a fucking cat and his whole body was covered in hair and he'd just awkwardly rubbed his paw against the back of his head. Okay.
Okay, this was fine. He could still try his. . . Hitoshi was sure that under his fur, his face was rapidly paling. Aizawa took his phone. His dad took his phone with him and now he had no way to communicate with anyone, and no way to get home, and no clue how long he was going to be stuck like this. He was truly and utterly fucked.
Hitoshi’s day had actually been going relatively well before everything happened. It was the last day of classes before the weekend and he'd thoroughly exhausted himself during Foundational Heroics, simply because every single member of the ‘Bakusquad’ were unable to keep their mouths shut. Kaminari was the easiest to get under his control, all he had to do was flirt with the blond and he had him. Kirishima, he just had to mention how manly Bakugou looked that day as Mina. Sero and Ashido both, he got by pretending to be Kirishima.
One might think that Jirou and Bakugou would be smarter, but one comment in Yaoyorozu’s voice got the purple haired girl, and literally anything challenging in Midoriya’s voice or a compliment from Kirishima got Bakugou. Every damn time. By the end of the exercises he'd been so proud of himself that he'd barely even noticed his headache and the blood dripping from his nose.
When he looked towards his dad, though, his mood plummeted, anxiety grabbing hold of his lungs and squeezing tight. All day, his dads had been giving him those looks like they were hiding something. Like they were biding their time — but for what? The anxious energy followed him home, and he found himself stewing in his nerves as they sat down for dinner.
It reminded him all too much of many of his previous foster homes, of the ones that weren't bad enough that he actually wanted to leave. The ones where his heart would drop when he realized they didn't want him anymore because surely the next home would be worse. His last foster home was like that.
The Fujimotos were far from the worst home he'd been in, and he'd thought they were the last foster home near UA that would take him so he'd been determined to make it work. Sure, he'd been muzzled at the house and sure they smacked him around sometimes, but only when he broke the rules. Only when he'd deserved it. It wasn't like they were just beating him for the fun of it like so many before had.
The Fujimotos had never hurt him severely, had never hospitalized him. He would've been okay staying with them until he aged out of the system, but for some reason Yamada and Aizawa hadn't been.
He'd been forced to wear the muzzle overnight because his foster mother forgot to unlock it before she went to sleep, and when she removed it for school the next morning there were red marks on his face that he could do nothing about but hope that nobody saw. But of course Yamada had during English, throwing him concerned glances when he thought Hitoshi wasn't looking.
And by the time his training session with Aizawa had arrived, he knew his English teacher had to have said something to the man because Aizawa was watching him from the moment he opened the door and he hadn't let it slide this time. Not like the unexplainable bruises on his arms that were because “he was just so clumsy,” or the way he sometimes flinched after asking a question.
It seemed that the marks of a muzzle on his face were just too much to ignore, and by the end of the night he had two new guardians that swore to him they'd never lay their hands on him.
And they hadn't, ever. So much as thinking about a muzzle disgusted Yamada, and Aizawa had been so quick to get rid of his when he found it in his closet that Hitoshi had begun to think that maybe this was real. That they were serious about treating him like a person instead of the villain everyone else thought him to be. Maybe he finally had a home and a set of parents who loved him.
Perhaps that was why he was so anxious about the way they were eying him and each other as they ate dinner. It tasted like ash on his tongue because he was so worried about what they were going to say. He didn't have an appetite at all but he managed to choke down his plate of food a little after his guardians had finished theirs.
All that was left after that was to sit and wait, because neither adult had gotten up to excuse themselves like they normally did. Instead they remained sitting, doing that thing that adults always did and always thought they were slick with — having a conversation silently just by looking at each other.
Just when Hitoshi was on the brink of asking them what the hell was going on, Yamada took a deep breath and leant forward, his hands clasped together on the table. “So, ‘Toshi. . . me and Shou have been talking,” he began slowly, as if that sentence didn’t send Hitoshi hurtling to the edge of a panic attack.
When Yamada didn't continue, instead glancing at his husband, Aizawa was the one to say, “We think you should start seeing a therapist.”
It was nothing like what he expected, but at the same time that his anxiety fled, anger took its place. Jaw clenching and hand curling into trembling fists, Hitoshi shot to his feet. In a monotone voice, he said, “So, you think I’m broken?” The only hint that he was upset was the way his voice cracked audibly on the last word.
“What — No!” Aizawa replied immediately, brows furrowing as Yamada shook his head rapidly, waving his hands out in front of him.
“No, no, of course not! Never, ‘Toshi! That's not what we mean at all!”
But Hitoshi didn't want to listen. He spread his arms wide as he felt his face burning. “I don't need therapy! I've done fine without it, I am fine!” All Hitoshi could hear was his blood roaring in his ears, breaths trembling. “I don't — I don't need ‘help!’ I’m with you guys now, I’m — I’m fine!”
Yamada got to his feet, and Hitoshi could see his mouth moving but he didn't hear a word he said, his vision blurred and eyes burning. The blond looked so comforting when he wasn’t dressed up as Present Mic. In his soft maroon cardigan, with his hair thrown up in a bun, arms reaching out for him and piercing green eyes boring into him.
Maybe it wasn't what was really there, but in the moment, all Hitoshi could see was condescension in his eyes and the curve of his brows. He couldn't bear to look at them anymore. So with clenched fists and an angry scowl on his face, he started toward the door. “I don't need fucking fixed!” He spat, and slammed the door behind him as he left.
Hitoshi was so fucking mad.
He resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to find his way home within the next hour. His eyes drooped and his footsteps grew slower and slower as he circled around the same few alleyways near where he'd first got turned into a cat. Hitoshi was afraid to go too far in case either his dads or the police or someone came back to investigate, because surely eventually they'd realize that the strange yowling cat that wouldn't leave them alone was a little suspicious.
So when he stumbled over his new legs one too many times, jarring his cracked ribs for the nth time, Hitoshi finally began to look for a place to hide away for the rest of the night. Eventually, when no better options presented themselves, he got down low and crawled under a dumpster. He curled up in a ball on a piece of dirty cardboard forgotten beneath it and tucked himself as close to the wall as he could in an attempt to keep himself warm.
What the hell was the point of all this fur if it didn't even keep him warm? Hitoshi had always felt bad for the strays he saw on the streets and he felt even more so now. He wondered how many nights Dumpster had to curl up in the cold like this, and found himself so grateful for his dad’s soft spot for cats.
Hell, maybe he'd find Hitoshi here and bring him home and he'd be Dumpster No. 2. The thought made him huff in laughter, though it sounded more like a whine. He was pretty sure that cats couldn't cry, but there was that familiar feeling forming in his throat. He didn’t want to be stuck like this forever. Hitoshi hadn't heard of transformation quirks that lasted longer than a few months, but even that felt impossible. It'd only been an hour or two and that was far too long.
He loved cats and had even had a dream or two about being one, but it wasn't like this. He was still at home and he knew everything was going to be okay in the way that dreams just made sense at the moment. But he wasn't at home and he didn't know that everything would be okay. Because what if there were requirements to change back that he never figured out?
What if he was never able to find his way back to his dads? What if he never got to see his friends again or hold his cat or lay in his own bed again? What if they didn't want him back after this? The thought tore a quiet sound from his throat that only served to make him cry more. He just wanted to go home.
He'd do anything to go home right now, to wake up and realize this was all just another awful nightmare. To go back and just accept the fucking therapy because it was a better option than this. He'd go to therapy every damn day of the week if it meant his dads took him back with open arms. He was beginning to realize too, that he'd overreacted when they suggested therapy. Maybe. . . Maybe if he found his way home he'd sit down listen to what they had to say.
But for now he covered his face with his paws and cried quietly until he fell asleep, shivering in the corner. And if anybody heard the pained yowling of a dirty alley cat that night, nobody paid it any mind.
The next morning, it was the growling of Hitoshi’s stomach that woke him up. Sadly, the hunger pangs were achingly familiar to him, having lived in dozens of homes that withheld food as punishment. It had been such a long time since he'd felt like this, though. Since he'd woken up terrified, in pain, and not knowing where his next meal would come from. Aizawa and Yamada had promised him when they took him in that he would never again.
Hitoshi knew that they couldn't help this, that it was his fault, but he couldn't help the thought that flitted through his mind then, that they lied to him. And then he felt immediately guilty for thinking it — They’d done nothing but take care of him and do what they thought was best for him, and when he threw a fit and ran away, Hitoshi really tried to blame them? There was nobody to blame for his predicament but himself, and maybe that was what hurt so much.
He finally had everything he'd been dreaming of his whole life. He clawed his way into the hero course with the help of his idol, who then became his dad along with his other idol, and he had friends. Hitoshi was surrounded by people who genuinely cared for him, who didn't hesitate to answer his questions, who thought his quirk was cool instead of villainous. He'd had it made and then sabotaged it all over not wanting to go to therapy?
He felt so pathetic. He probably looked pathetic too as he crawled out from beneath the dumpster that he'd slept fitfully under for most of the night. Even though it hurt his battered form, Hitoshi took the chance to stretch his limbs out like he'd seen cats do a hundred times, almost immediately feeling a little better. Now actually able to see himself in the daylight, he carefully sat down and turned to take in his appearance.
When the light hit his fur in a certain way, he noticed a slight sheen of purple. Nowhere near the shade of his hair normally, but it made him realize that more of his human traits had transferred over than he thought. He wondered what color his eyes were, though he doubted they'd remained the same because his dad would've instantly realized who he was.
Thinking back to the feeling in his chest when Aizawa had turned away and left him sitting there yowling for him made his heart clench. He couldn't fault the man for not realizing that his kid was a cat, seeing as that would probably be the last thing he'd think of too. But damn had it hurt. A small part of him was whispering that his dad had known and had chosen to leave him there anyway, but the larger, more rational part of his brain shot that ridiculous idea down because there was no way.
There was no way he'd just leave him here like this. (Right?)
Hitoshi shoved the thoughts away when his stomach reminded him very loudly that he needed to find something to eat. He took a few steadying breaths as he peered around the alleyway. Right. Find food, worry about his parents possibly abandoning him forever later. Tentatively, Hitoshi slinked out of the alley and found himself trotting down the sidewalk, dodging and weaving around the legs of people walking past him.
Gods, everything looked so huge from this size, every person so much more terrifying. Because what if one of them decided to kick him away when they saw his dirty, mangy condition? What if someone swiped him up while he was watching someone else? So many unnerving scenes were flickering through his mind as he walked that he was practically hugging the wall, ears back and gaze shooting frantically around himself.
Was this how every wild animal in the streets felt constantly? The circumstances were wildly different, but Hitoshi felt like he'd been transported back to his childhood. Small, helpless, terrified, alone. At fault for his circumstances.
“Mom! Mom, look, it's a kitty!”
Hitoshi startled at the yell, head snapping to the side to find a young girl with wide orange eyes and hair pointing at him and tugging at her mother’s hand frantically. The mother, with a matching complexion and furrowed brows followed her gaze and Hitoshi had the pleasure of watching her face scrunch up in disgust, before she was knocking him away from her daughter with her foot and a hissed, “Don't touch that thing, it's probably got a dozen different diseases, Haru!”
Hitoshi had tried to scramble away from the foot, but he wasn't fast enough and yowled sharply when her foot connected with his already aching side. Panic filled his senses as he was briefly lifted off the ground before he landed a foot or so away on his other side. Cats did not always land on their feet, those motherfucking liars.
Before he could get stepped on or kicked by any of the other people around him, Hitoshi scrambled to his feet, ignoring the way his ribs screamed in agony, and took off in a sprint. Why were people such assholes? He hadn't even done anything! Before long, he reached another alleyway, this one much wider and with a much stronger scent of. . . food?
Even though he was panting and desperately wishing for Recovery Girl’s quirk, the smell of food was too tempting to let him rest. Just as he was about to start following the smell, a door opened to his left and he startled so badly that he nearly tripped over his own feet for the nth time. Hitoshi scrambled to hide behind a stack of boxes conveniently right beside him, then peeked his head around the corner to watch as a man emerged from the door with a large trash bag in his hand.
Hitoshi’s nose lifted in the air by its own accord as he registered the scent, and his eyes widened. The food! Without so much as a glance around, the man hefted the bag into the dumpster closest to him and then turned around and disappeared back through the door he'd come from. It had to have been the back door of a restaurant. While normally the thought of dumpster diving would have his nose curling in disgust, Hitoshi found his mouth watering at the thought of getting to whatever that delicious scent was.
Why was he so hungry? He'd eaten dinner the night previously, and he'd survived much longer without food than this, so why was his stomach cramping so badly? Why did it seem impossible for him to get through this day without finding something to eat? Hitoshi couldn't even begin to guess the ins and outs of the quirk he was under, so he once again shook the thoughts from his head and crept out from his hiding place.
How was he supposed to get into that dumpster? Hitoshi approached it slowly, eyes roving around it for anything he could climb on, and he noticed a half-rotted wooden pallet leaning precariously against its side.
Cautiously, he put his front paws on it, testing its strength by leaning more of his weight against it. When the part he was leant against didn't bend nor break, he stepped back, getting down low on the ground like he'd seen cats do before. And then he jumped as high as he could in an attempt to get to the top of the pallet, though he missed it by a few inches and instead let out a panicked yelp as his claws dug into the side of it.
For a few seconds he was just hanging there in a panic, but his brain rebooted and he utilized his back legs to scramble up on top of the pallet, claws still extended and digging into the wood like his life depended on it. With the shape of his ribs, it probably did. He imagined there were only so many more hits he could take before his very small, fragile internal organs were damaged.
Hitoshi panted quietly for a couple of moments, trembling minutely where he was balancing on top of the pallet. Eventually, when his heart was no longer racing, Hitoshi prepared himself for the jump up onto the dumpster. There were two lids, though only one was open. The one closest to him was closed, which made this next part much easier.
Alright, Hitoshi. You're a cat, you can do this. Just. . . jump!
He actually made the jump this time, landing heavily on all four legs and sliding a few inches, but he stopped himself before he could topple over the edge straight into the dumpster. Instead he carefully looked inside, spotted the dozen bags in there stacked high enough that he'd be able to jump back out.
And then with one final thought of, I can't believe I'm doing this, Hitoshi jumped in. “Shit!” He chose to ignore the meow that escaped from his mouth as he landed with a solid thud in the trash. If he were human, he'd be cringing visibly at the feeling. As it was, he gave himself a few seconds to be thoroughly grossed out, then he extended his claws and raked them across the bag that had just been tossed in. His eyes widened as the scent finally registered, mouth dropping open in shock.
It was a sushi restaurant! Something out there had to have been looking out for him for Hitoshi to be this lucky. Immediately, he began to dig through the scraps of leftover sushi, feeling only a little shame about the fact that he was eating out of the trash. How could he care when it tasted so good? He'd eaten maybe four or five bites when he heard the crinkling of a trash bag and froze mid bite.
That sound. . . was not outside the dumpster. That sound was right behind him. His heart dropped at the same time that a low growling sound began. Slowly, tensed in preparation, Hitoshi looked behind him to see an animal bigger than him rising up on its haunches, mouth curled in a snarl.
He recognized the animal as a raccoon (were they seriously that big?) as it started to hiss at him, and he promptly realized he'd fucked up. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me al —!”
Hitoshi began to clamber awkwardly back onto the lid of the dumpster when the raccoon abruptly lunged at him and pulled him tumbling back inside with a panicked shriek. “What did I do to you? Holy shit, get off me!” The creature’s claws narrowly missed scratching at Hitoshi’s face as he frenziedly threw his head back at the same time that he lashed out with all four legs. They grappled at each other with all they had, terror holding Hitoshi by the throat.
He swiped his claws frenziedly at the raccoon, doing his best to rip himself out of its grip with little to no success. It was so much bigger than him with so much more dexterity in its limbs. Within seconds he felt a line of scratches across his back and a jaw clamping down just below his neck. Hitoshi yowled in pain, and in a stroke of luck managed to swipe his own claws over the raccoon's eyes. It hissed loudly as it released him from its clutches.
Without so much as a glance backwards, Hitoshi threw himself up onto the lid and then skipped the pallet entirely and leapt to the ground. Everything hurt so much more as he landed that he couldn't help the wounded wail he let out. Still, Hitoshi steadied himself and took off as fast as he physically could, ignoring every twinge and spasm, ignoring the small, pained noises he released with every step.
Hitoshi ran until his vision began to swim and even then, he kept going. Until his legs gave out beneath him, Hitoshi kept running. It was almost ten minutes before he finally dropped, collapsing underneath a store awning. He landed in a heap, limbs limp and wheezing for breath. If he thought he was in pain before, he felt as though he was being tortured now.
Every inhale felt like a knife to his lungs and every exhale reminded him of the open, bleeding wounds he now sported. Was he going to get rabies? Did that raccoon seem rabid? After surviving that encounter by the skin of his teeth, would he now die slowly from the claw marks over his spine and the teeth marks on his shoulder?
After surviving every single shitty foster family and villain on patrol, would it be a raccoon that took him out? Black spots danced across his vision, then Hitoshi realized his breathing wasn't slowing down, nor was the pain lessening. No, no, no, this can't be it!
He couldn't die here, damn it, he couldn't die here. He had to get up because if he didn't, he never got to see his family again. If he didn't get up, Yamada and Aizawa would never know what happened to him. If he didn't get up, he'd never get to go on a date with Kaminari, never get to be a hero.
If Hitoshi didn't get up, he didn't get to go home.
And all he wanted was to go home.
So Hitoshi breathed a little longer, and he got up.
If it hadn't rained Hitoshi’s second night of wandering the streets as a cat, he was pretty sure he'd be dead by now. After he finally managed to peel his trembling body off of the ground the day before, he’d limped away until he found himself a nice large bush to hide in and promptly passed out.
When he awoke the sky was dark and he was being pelted by icy rain, but instead of dread at the cold, Hitoshi had been so relieved to see water that he didn't give a shit at all about the temperature. He licked water off the leaves of the bush until there was a large enough puddle on the ground for him to drink from. He drank as much as he could, until he was so full that he'd be sick if he took another sip, and then he'd passed right back out in that bush.
The following day, Hitoshi wasn't keen on repeating his mistakes and he kept to the shadows and dirty alleyways, more cautious of people and of other animals. Every noise he heard made him just about jump out of his skin, and the longer he stalked about, the slower his movements got. By the time night fell once again, Hitoshi’s every step was sluggish, his head swimming and breaths shaky.
Every hour that passed, the boy’s doubt that he'd ever get home grew. So by the third night, Hitoshi was pretty sure that he was never going to see his parents again. He'd tried so hard to just keep going, to just keep believing that if he held on a little longer he'd be found. But he had no idea where he was, and nobody knew that he was a cat let alone where to even begin to search for him.
Unless Hitoshi was bestowed a genuine miracle, this was going to be how he lived out the rest of his life. He knew it. He wished he'd just said yes to therapy. He wished he hadn't been such a horrible son. He wished he'd never left. He wished he was at home, wrapped up in his dads’ arms.
He wished. . . He wished.
And maybe something, somewhere heard him.
Hitoshi was beyond tired as he limped down the street, head drooping and paws dragging. It had to be well past midnight, but something told him he shouldn't go to sleep yet. Something told him to keep walking, so he did. Every step hurt, but he kept going.
Until in the distance, a voice made him freeze. Voices meant people meant danger, but he didn't run away. He didn't run away because that voice. . . that voice was so familiar it made his heart skip a beat. In an instant, Hitoshi was running towards the voice.
“I already told you — No, I know, just —” A sigh. “I know. I know. I'm heading home now.”
Please, oh Gods please be who I think you are!
There, rounding a corner and walking right towards him was Present Mic. “Papa!” Hitoshi cried out as he ran as quickly as he could straight at the blond. He collided with his legs and made his father stumble to a stop.
“U–Uh, I gotta go, Nemuri.” Yamada slipped his phone into his pocket as he peered down at Hitoshi with a frown. “Oh my goodness, what happened to you, sweet baby?”
“Papa! Papa, please, please, please, you have to see me! Papa, it's me. It's Hitoshi, it's your son!” Hitoshi was wailing as he tried to climb Yamada’s legs. The relief he felt when the man crouched down and gently began to caress his small body nearly made him collapse.
“You poor, poor thing. You look like you've been through the ringer, little one.” Yamada pet Hitoshi’s head carefully, the other hovering over his lower back. Hitoshi, finally remembering that he couldn't actually communicate with his dad, stopped his loud mewling and instead did all he could to climb into his arms.
Yamada looked surprised, but held Hitoshi against his chest easily enough, looking worriedly down at the cat shaking in his arms. “So trusting for such a hurt little thing. . .” He murmured softly, and Hitoshi lifted his head to meet his gaze. How could he not trust him? However, as he looked up at him, slowly beginning to relax into his hold, he finally noticed how awful Yamada looked.
The first sign was that his hair wasn't its normal gelled up tower, instead greasy and limp, thrown up in a tangled looking messy bun. One of his greatest prides was his hair, so seeing it like this was shocking. The next thing Hitoshi noticed was the deep, dark bags beneath his eyes. He could give Aizawa and Hitoshi a run for their money. His dad looked so tired and so sad.
Gently, he put one shaking paw on Yamada’s cheek. The man offered a small smile at the feline. “Yeah, I look like shit too, huh?” He ran a hand down Hitoshi’s back, carefully avoiding the scabbed up scratches. “My kid's missing, and it's my fault. I pushed him too far, too soon and now he's gone. He's gone and we don't know if he's even alive, and the last time I saw him he thought we thought he was broken.”
Yamada’s voice cracked, and it broke Hitoshi from his stupor. “Are you kidding? It's not your fault, you didn't do anything wrong! It was my fault, Papa! I'm right here, I’m okay!” When his words failed to become – words, Hitoshi did the last thing he could thing of and wrapped his paws around Yamada’s neck.
The sight of his father’s teary eyes broke his heart, and the thought of either of his dads blaming themselves this whole time made him feel so guilty. He'd been the one to freak out. How could they possibly think it was anybodys fault but his?
“Oh. . . Oh, you sweet kitty. Shou’s gonna kill me for this, but let's get you home, huh?”
Hitoshi’s trembling began anew as Yamada stood up and he let his eyes fall closed as he melted into his chest. He was going home. They didn't yet realize who he was, but he was going home.
He got to go home.
Hitoshi didn't remember falling asleep, but when he woke up it was to the sound of running water. Groggily, he lifted his head and for a moment he panicked but then he remembered just whose arms he was being held in and he relaxed. “Oh, are you awake now? Yeah, little guy?” Yamada was gently petting his head as the sink slowly filled, and Hitoshi realized pretty quickly that he was about to be bathed. “Don't fight me too hard, buddy, you're so dirty. . .”
His dad was clearly wary as he lowered Hitoshi into the water but of course he didn't fight it. Instead, Hitoshi heaved a heavy sigh and let his eyes slip closed as the warm water enveloped him. “You must've been someone's pet, huh?” Yamada murmured as he carefully began to scrub the blood and dirt from Hitoshi’s fur. “Maybe if you don't still have an owner we can keep you. I'm sure Hitoshi will love you if — when we bring him home.”
His eyes cracked open again when Yamada’s voice wavered, and he could do nothing but meow softly as he peered up at him. He'd figure out a way to show him who he was soon, but he didn't have the strength right now. It killed him to see Yamada so sad, though. He misses me so much, doesn't he?
Hitoshi stayed still and silent as he let his father clean and dry him, then stayed cuddled up close to him until Yamada set him down and set a can of wet cat food and a bowl of water out for him. He didn't care in the slightest that he was eating cat food, not when he was starving and literally a cat.
Once he was finished, he immediately made his way back toward Yamada, who sat on the couch now, staring off into space until Hitoshi settled on his lap. “You're a clingy little baby, aren't you? Yeah?” His dad’s voice raised in pitch as his baby voice emerged, and slender fingers gently began to scratch under his chin.
Maybe human Hitoshi would be embarrassed, but cat Hitoshi had missed Yamada so much, had missed the gentle touches of his parents. So he closed his eyes and leant into the affection, only to blink them back open in confusion a few moments later at the strange rumbling sound he’d accidentally produced. Was that. . . Did he just purr?
“You love me so much more than my other cat. I swear Dumpster loves Shouta and Hitoshi so much more than me.” Yamada said softly, a small grin forming on his face. Hitoshi meowed upon hearing his name, simply based on the off chance that his dad realized something was suspicious there.
The mention of their cat had Hitoshi’s head lifting, his gaze roaming around what he could see of the apartment. Where was Dumpster anyway? As if on cue, there was a light thump from behind Hitoshi’s closed door. He whipped his head back around to shoot a betrayed gaze at Yamada who was in the process of cringing. “. . . I’ll clean whatever that was up before ‘Toshi comes home.” False.
Hitoshi did appreciate not getting attacked by Dumpster though. He wondered if the other cat — the actual cat would be able to tell it was him. Would he be able to understand him? Hitoshi’s eyes widened at the prospect of being able to have a conversation with his pet, and he even almost started for his bedroom door, but it was that moment that the front door opened.
Dad!
Aizawa trudged inside, and all Hitoshi could see was how exhausted he looked. Not his usual kind, but the bone-deep tiredness that Yamada encapsulated as well. His posture was slouched and his eyes looked almost dull. Aizawa’s hair, while not as important to him as Yamada’s was to him, was held back in a loose braid that had obviously fallen out throughout the day. Frankly, he looked miserable.
Yamaha shifted like he was going to get up, but Hitoshi leapt from his lap and had made his way to his other dad before he had the chance. “Dad! Dad, you gotta recognize me!” Hitoshi couldn't help the way he was practically climbing the man’s legs as he meowed as loudly as he possibly could.
“What. . ?”
Hitoshi whipped his head back around when Yamada began to speak, but continued his attempts at using his dad as his personal jungle gym. “The little guy just looked so pitiful when I found him, Shou. I figured maybe once we find ‘Toshi, he'd be a nice gift?”
Pitiful? Rude. Hitoshi briefly imagined having himself as a cat for a pet and shuddered at the thought. He knew he'd be a little shit, he just knew it. Aizawa sighed, but instead of arguing like Hitoshi might've thought, he bent down and gently picked him up, holding him gently in his arms. “You really don't recognize me? You saw me that night, come on, Dad.”
“Hitoshi will appreciate it,” Aizawa murmured, carefully brushing his fingers against the cat’s face. That was his dad's version of assent, and while Hitoshi was beyond annoyed that he now had to find another way to show his parents who he was, finally having both his dads with him again had thoroughly eased most of his anxiety.
A crackly purr erupted from his chest, and Hitoshi buried his face in Aizawa’s elbow. The familiar scent made his heart twinge. He was finally home.
Hitoshi was back to being mad. How were his parents this oblivious? He'd tried everything he could think of, from pawing at his school books on the coffee table to attempting to open the door to his room. But everything he tried just got him a gentle scolding and careful redirection. How did they not get it? Once Yamada had finally sent himself to bed after pressing a chaste kiss to Aizawa’s cheek, Hitoshi had resigned himself to giving up for the night.
And then his dad had brought out his laptop, and suddenly it was like a lightbulb had appeared over his head. Keyboard! Hitoshi jumped up on the table next to the laptop and stared at the screen. He was rewarded with a few scratches behind the ears that almost made him start purring again. He waited until his dad opened up Docs, and took his chance to pounce.
He only managed to hit six keys by the time Aizawa swore and swiped him up, placing him on the floor with a quiet curse. “Should've expected this. . .” His dad sighed, finger hovering over the backspace key. And Hitoshi feared the man wouldn't even look at what Hitoshi had typed, but he did hesitate.
km hit
“Hm.” Aizawa shook his head and deleted the gibberish. Hitoshi threw his head back and yowled in frustration. His dad startled, turning his attention to the cat with a raised brow. An expression the boy was very familiar with. “What is your problem?
“My problem is that I am your son!” Hitoshi explained, giving his best version of a glare. While Aizawa was turned away from his computer, Hitoshi took his chance and jumped back onto the table, this time focusing on typing his name. “No, let me go!” His dad was faster this time and had him scooped up into his arms like a baby in seconds.
“You really like computers, huh? How am I expected to get any work done with you in my way?” Aizawa reached for his chin, likely to give him more scratches, but Hitoshi was in a mood so he chomped down on the finger and hissed when his dad tried to pull away.
They both froze, Aizawa with a deadpan look on his face and Hitoshi with narrowed eyes as they stared at each other. “I hope you don't get any work done, thank you very much. How can you not remember me? You saw me just a couple days ago!”
Meowing with a finger in his mouth proved to be harder than he thought so Hitoshi finally relaxed his jaw, though he kept the annoyed look on his face. “Guess I'll have to hold you hostage then.” Aizawa directed his gaze back to his laptop, and with one hand reached again for the backspace key. This time, his pause lasted longer as his eyes roved over what Hitoshi had managed to type out.
hiyo
“Hit. . . Hiyo.” Slowly, his brows began to furl. “Hit. . . o?”
“Yes!” Hitoshi squirmed excitedly in his arms, wiggling his way free so he was sitting in his lap with a paw against his chest. “Yes, yes, it's me!”
Aizawa swallowed audibly as his eyes began to widen, slowly looking back to the cat. Hitoshi sat there with large, excited eyes, his tail whipping back and forth eagerly. His dad stood suddenly, holding him in one arm as he sped down the hallway to his room, turning the light on and moving toward the bed at the same time that Yamada groaned and began to shift. It hadn't been long enough for his other dad to have fallen asleep yet, but he'd clearly been on the brink of it.
Yamada sat up and blearily rubbed at his eyes, signing clumsily. “Shouta? What's wrong?”
“Hearing aids,” Aizawa grunted, signing awkwardly along with one hand. The blond’s frown deepened, and he clearly looked confused about Hitoshi being held limply in one of his husband’s arms, but he listened. Yamada grabbed his hearing aids off his nightstand and took a moment to place them in his ears and switch them on.
“What's going on? Is everything okay? Is it Hitoshi?” Yamada began immediately, voice rushing the moment he could hear. He tended to keep completely silent when he couldn't hear, afraid that he wouldn't notice himself using his quirk.
“Yes! It is me!” Hitoshi cheered in agreement, noting with glee the way Aizawa’s gaze sharpened upon hearing him vocalize only when he heard his name.
“I think this cat is our son.”
Yamada froze. And then he blinked very, very slowly. Green eyes looked incredulously at Hitoshi. “Um. Why. . ?” Even as he asked, he didn't look away from Hitoshi. Growing restless, Hitoshi hopped out of Aizawa’s grip and landed on the foot of the bed.
“I think he was trying to type his name with my keyboard. And —” His dad frowned down at him. “There was a cat. The night Hitoshi went missing. There was a cat in the same alley I found his phone, a cat that looked just like this one. And. . . it wouldn't leave me alone.”
Hitoshi had the displeasure of watching the guilt and horror spread across his dad’s face. “And he kept messing with Hitoshi’s stuff,” Yamada breathed, slowly bringing one hand up to cover his mouth as tears flooded his eyes.
Hitoshi looked back and forth between them, waiting for one of them to finally ask the damn question.
“Hitoshi,” Aizawa whispered, barely audible as he met his eyes. “Is that you?”
“Yes! Yes, it's me! It's me!” Hitoshi yowled in affirmation, bobbing his head as rapidly as he could. The sheer relief washing over him felt unreal. “Finally! It's me, Dad! It's me!”
Yamada let out a loud, guttural sob, and the next second Aizawa’s eyes were glowing, his hair floating in the air. And back was that familiar agonizing feeling of his bones shifting, of every nerve ending in his body lighting up in white hot pain. It was over as soon as it began, Hitoshi slumping forward in exhaustion to collapse into his dad's arms. He groaned, eyes clenched shut, and weakly brought his hands to his face to rub at his eyes.
Only to suddenly freeze, eyes snapping open. His hands. “Oh my Gods, I have hands!” He gasped. Then gasped again because, “I can talk!” His head shot up and Hitoshi met his father’s gaze with the beginnings of a trembling smile. His face fell when he saw the tears in Aizawa’s eyes. “Wh —?”
“Hitoshi!” Yamada shrieked, throwing himself at the boy from behind and wrapping his arms tightly around him. Aizawa followed suit from in front of him, releasing a long, trembling breath. “You're okay, you're okay, you're okay,” Yamada mumbled over and over again into his hair, his voice wobbling.
“You're home,” Aizawa whispered. That was what got him. Hitoshi burst into tears, throwing his arms around his dad and letting out a loud sob.
“Dads,” he cried out, his eyes squeezing shut as he shook in their arms. “Dad, Papa, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, I love you. I love you, I'm sorry!”
“Oh, ‘Toshi,” Yamada whimpered. “Baby, it's okay. It's okay, we love you too. I love you so, so fucking much.” He pressed a kiss into his hair, arms tightening around him but still mindful to avoid his ribs.
“I love you,” Aizawa told him gently, pulling back and placing his hands on either cheek to peer into his eyes. Hitoshi couldn't stifle his sobs, but he managed to crack his eyes open to look up at his dad. “I love you, Hitoshi. You're safe now, okay? We've got you.”
And maybe he'd already kind of known that since Yamada had brought him home, but the reassurance had him once again breaking down. He pressed his face into his dad’s chest and he cried. For what had to be close to half an hour, Hitoshi wept in his parents’ arms, reveling in their quiet soothing words. They kept up the soft, comforting words even after his cries faded, murmuring sweet nothings until he was almost asleep in their arms.
It was only once his eyes began to flutter that Hitoshi finally shifted, sniffling feebly. His dads let him pull back a little but neither fully let him go, keeping him sandwiched between them. “I'm so sorry I fed you cat food,” Yamada whispered guiltily.
Hitoshi wasn't expecting it and barked out a laugh, only to cringe when it made his side spasm in pain. He curled his arm over his ribcage. “What happened?” Aizawa’s fingertips brushed over his side, just barely making contact.
“I — Uh, wasn't exactly awake when it happened but I think the asshole that turned me into a cat may have kicked me?” He said unsurely. It was so unfair that the wounds he'd obtained as a cat transferred over to him as a human. He watched Aizawa’s jaw clench in anger, but he didn't say a word, instead bringing his hand up to Hitoshi’s shoulder.
The bite wound on his shoulder still throbbed if he moved wrong. A shudder ran down his spine, and Hitoshi’s face scrunched. “A raccoon. It's what scratched me too. Fucking asshole,” he grumbled. It spoke volumes of how worried they were that they didn't bother scolding his language.
Instead, Yamada let out a small hurt noise and buried his face in Hitoshi’s — probably very dirty — hair. Aizawa’s face crumpled. “I'm. . . so sorry for leaving you there. If I had known —”
“If you knew, you’d have immediately taken me home. I know, Dad.” While Hitoshi had obviously been hurt when it happened, he also didn't blame the man. “Besides, it'll give me something to talk about in therapy, right?” He looked between his parents with a shaky smile.
When they didn't react, his grin slowly faded. “Was that too — ?”
Suddenly they were hugging him again, and Hitoshi found his face being pushed into Aizawa’s shoulder. But he didn't really mind all that much. With a heavy sigh, Hitoshi let his eyes fall closed again and he melted into their grips.
Everything was going to be okay, he was sure of it now.
He was home.