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Hitoshi had been plagued with insomnia and nightmares for as long as he could remember. It began when he was young, small dreams that could be classified as nightmares common as a child. A missing shoe, a cup of water that he could never quite finish, an endless hall he had to walk through - classic things that happened to everyone in dreams.
But as he had grown and the abuse he experienced began to take its toll, his nightmares morphed from childish realism to horrifying flashbacks of his everyday surroundings. At some point, his dreams had been a pleasant escape from his daily life but by the time he was four they had morphed and become gruesome memories that he had to relive again and again.
The abuse he experienced had gone on for many years but now at 15 years old, he had finally found a loving family in his teachers Present Mic, Hizashi, and Eraserhead, Shōta. Despite that, he still found himself plagued with nightmares that seemed to never go away. His therapist told him it was a symptom of PTSD but knowing that didn’t make his dreams any less frightening when he found himself trapped in his young body being repeatedly hit and insulted.
He had been good about dreams recently, taking his medication and attending his therapy twice a week was good for keeping his dreams at bay, manageable enough to handle on his own. But tonight, he saw himself in his dreams. A young boy, no older than 5, shaking in the corner of the room. He looked thin, his body marred with purple bruises, and his foster mother was lingering over him, telling him what an awful child he was. He felt his chest tighten as she raised her hand to hit his small body and he felt himself lunge forward, shouting “NO”.
Then he woke up.
He was panting his bed, his eyes wet with tears. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands but this only served to encourage a stronger flow of tears and he gave up cleaning up his face as sobs overtook him and racked his body. He curled in on himself and clenched the cat plushie Shōta and Hizashi had gifted him when they first met. He tried to calm himself down using techniques his therapist had taught him but it felt impossible to think rationality when he was in such a high stress state. His next best option was to get Shōta and Hiazashi.
In the beginning, they would stay on high alert for his cries and immediately come to him but they found it wasn’t a perfect arrangement. After all, Hizashi had little hearing in his ears and Shōta barely got enough sleep as it was. The compromise was made that Hitoshi would come to their room and ask for help when he needed it.
With this in mind, he managed to control his breathing just a bit and when his sobs subsided into shuttering hiccups, he was able to collect himself enough to stand and shuffle to the door. He opened his bedroom door to the hallway and heard the sound of soft ticking from the clock they kept in the living room. He was suddenly thankful for the annoying clock because it gave him something to focus on and ground himself as he walked down the hall to his parent’s room.
It was an interesting adjustment referring to Shōta and Hizashi as his parents but he had known them for a little over 2 years now. They took him in when he was 13 as foster parents, the first ones Hitoshi could rely on, and they adopted him just a few months ago right before he had been admitted into UA. Thankfully, because they had been his parents before UA, it was easier to refer to them as such and not as teachers.
As he crept closer to their door, he heard muffled movements from inside. He held his breath and listened but it seemed someone was just adjusting in bed so he knocked on the door before cracking it open.
“Hello?” he whispered. He noticed then that there was light in the room from their bedside table and Shōta and Hizashi were already sitting up, heads bowed together in low voices. “Sorry.” He quickly began to shut the door as he felt another wave of tears coming on.
“Hitoshi, wait,” Hizashi called.
Hitoshi felt a chill go through his body at the command and he opened the door again slowly.
“What’s wrong?” It was Shōta's voice now, rough from sleep. Hitoshi closed his eyes as he felt more tears well at his eyes. He heard footsteps approach him and he wrapped his arms around himself, hugging himself and making himself smaller.
“Hitoshi,” Hizashi said again, softer.
Hitoshi’s body shook as he slipped to the ground. “I’m scared,” he said. His voice sounded weird in his ears like a helpless child instead of a teenage hero in training.
His eyes were still shut tight when he felt arms wrap around him. He counted four arms and he knew he was being embarrassed by both Hizashi and Shōta. He sighed and wrapped his arms around whatever he could reach and let himself finally feel safe for the first time all night.
He realized minutes later that someone was stroking his hair and that Hizashi was singing a soft lullaby for him. He melted into whoever’s embrace he was in and snuggled into their sleep shirt.
“Are you feeling better?” someone asked. He realized that his crying had stopped and he was breathing slowly. His body felt tired and he wanted to go to sleep.
“Yeah,” he said, finally opening his eyes. It was hard because his eyes had gone crusty from the tears and he had to wipe them with his hoodie sleeve. The lamplight lit up the room just enough that he could see but it wasn’t harsh on his eyes. He realized that he was clinging to Shōta’s chest and that his shirt was damp with snot and tears. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he pulled away.
“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Shōta said. He ruffled Hitoshi’s hair a bit before he stood up and walked to the dresser to pull out a clean shirt.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Hizashi asked. He was kneeling beside Hitoshi with a hand placed gently on his shoulder.
Hitoshi nodded slightly and waited for Shōta to come back and take his spot on the floor with them again. “It was just,” Hizashi took a deep breath around the lump in his throat. He tried again, “I saw myself when I was little.” Hizashi and Shōta nodded in understanding. “My first foster mother would beat me. A lot.” He didn’t miss the way Hizashi and Shōta looked at each other. “She was the only adult that did. Every other home was abusive but not physically but I still think about her. I can’t stop thinking about how scared I was and how much everything hurt. I felt like I did something wrong.”
Hizashi shook his head, “You didn’t do anything to deserve that, Hitoshi. You know that.”
Hitoshi nodded, he felt tears in his eyes once again. “I know that now but it’s still hard to convince myself - especially my younger self.”
Shōta looked pained as he collected Hitoshi in his arms once again and embraced him. Hitoshi knew that Shōta had also suffered child abuse which was part of the reason he had been so keen on bringing Hitoshi in. It was still difficult though because a lot of Hitoshi’s upbringing were triggers for his own past.
Hitoshi joined their hug then and Hizashi felt extremely grateful for his parents. He knew they would take care of him, no matter what.
“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” Hitoshi asked, feeling a little brave.
“Sure you can,” Shōta said. Hizashi nodded.
“Even though I’m 15?”
“Kid, you can sleep in our bed when you're 70 for all we care.”
They all laughed at that. Hitoshi loved his parents and he knew that as long as he was with them, he was safe.