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Parenthood is not easy.
It seems like such an obvious statement, a logical conclusion anyone can come to if they just think about it for more than a second. For Shouta, however, it took actually becoming a father to understand how difficult it truly is.
Admittedly, his circumstances are a bit worse than the average person. His teenage son is the byproduct of a rigged system and years of abuse. Before Shouta and his husband adopted him, Hitoshi was trapped in an orphanage that muzzled him, starved him, and truly didn't care if he lived or died. It was by his own determination and pure spite that he made it into the top heroics school in the country and survived long enough for Shouta to find him. An impressive feat, and one neither of them takes for granted.
Children under that much duress are impossible to manage. Healing is a loud, often destructive process and it's not pretty for anyone involved. Hitoshi was always angry, resentful of everyone around him and anxious as all hell, but putting him in a safe environment where he could process things and act out without critical consequence has set ablaze sixteen years of anguish and hatred. It's hard, and some days Shouta doesn't know how he's going to deal with it, but every child deserves parents and he isn't going to let Hitoshi down just because it's difficult.
"I'm here," he repeats for the thousandth time, a monotone of exhaustion. It's been an hour since Hitoshi's tantrum began and Shouta was already running on three hours of sleep, two cups of coffee, and a dream.
He isn't even sure what caused it. One moment, Hitoshi was his usual broody self and, the next, he was shouting nonsensically about how terrible everything is. Shouta couldn't understand it if he tried—after all, there's no arguing with a toddler.
He's pretty certain Hitoshi is regressed, at least. These sudden mood shifts are usually a direct result of something triggering his headspace and him lashing out because he's overwhelmed. Going from sixteen to less than six in the blink of an eye is jarring, and his therapist says its perfectly normal for him to have a meltdown as a result.
Normal, but incredibly stress inducing. The boy maintains his teenage strength regardless of how old he is and Shouta has to shove down every instinct he has to restrain him when he's stomping his foot and slamming doors.
He's learned to ride the waves as best he can. Hitoshi's behavioral issues are always due to his fear—the fear that Shouta will abandon him, the fear that he'll lose everything he worked so hard for, the fear that his life will always be miserable and hard. There's not a lot Shouta can do to quell those fears. Reassuring Hitoshi does nothing because the boy believes everyone to have hidden motives and sharpened lies at the ready. His trust is broken and not even his mentor turned father has managed to amend that in their time together.
So, Shouta relies on the tried and true method of actions speaking louder than words.
"I'm not going anywhere," he says, knocking his head against the bathroom door.
It's the small hall bath that they've unofficially dubbed as Hitoshi's since it's closest to his room. He often runs inside to hide when he's freaking out. Hizashi thinks it's to protect himself from whatever trouble he thinks he'll get into and Shouta thinks it's to keep himself isolated in a corner so he doesn't do any more damage. It's probably a mixture of both.
He's much quieter now, explosive rage finally burning out after an hour of kicking at the door and wailing until his throat runs hoarse. It's hard to hear, both as someone who cares about him and as his father, who knows him well enough to recognize the different types of cries he makes and what they mean. Hitoshi is only ever audible when he's small and having a meltdown, unable to control his volume any more than he can regulate his emotions. If Shouta didn't know better, he'd say there was an actual four year old behind the door.
A four year old that's finally beginning to calm down and realize how big his temper tantrum really was.
"It's all right, Toshi," Shouta murmurs against the door. He's been sitting on the floor for half an hour and his back is beginning to ache. "Get it all out, kid. I'll be right here when you're done. Daddy's not going anywhere."
By now, Hitoshi is probably submerged deep enough in his headspace that talking to him like a baby won't offend him. It's all very fickle, requiring both Shouta and Hizashi to catch the cues for each level of Hitoshi's regression. His walls have to be stripped down, laying his vulnerabilities bare, and he has to be young enough to seek them out despite the lack of trust between them. One wrong move and it'll just pop the boy back up.
Luckily, he seems just as tired as Shouta is—tired of fighting, tired of feeling bad, tired of being alone in a cold bathroom.
There's a small shuffling behind the door followed by a wet, weary, "… Daddy?"
"I'm here, baby," Shouta responds in kind. He taps the door rhythmically, the pattern Hizashi always knocks with when he wants to enter Hitoshi's bedroom. It's a small reminder that they're both here for him, even when Shouta's the only one home.
Slowly, so slowly, the lock to the door clicks and opens by a crack. One wide, glossy eye peeks through and sees Shouta, curled up between the two walls of the hallway. His back is flush against one side and his knees are loosely bent so his toes press against the bottom trim of the other side. Not a great position for a thirty-one year old man to be in for an extended period of time, but perfect for coaxing a scared kid out.
Shouta lifts his open arms and tilts his head questioningly.
Hitoshi hangs on to the doorknob for dear life, hiding as much of his face and body behind the door as he can without letting Shouta out of sight.
"Daddy?" he calls again, trembling. His face is blotchy with tears and he has a miserable little look on his face, familiar enough by now that Shouta knows exactly what he's feeling.
The comedown of a tantrum isn't just heavy with exhaustion, it's filled with all the realizations of what just happened and how he lost control. He isn't thinking clearly, exactly, but he's regulated enough to think logically and recognize every rule he broke, every misstep he took, and how much of a tired, bratty child he'd been acting like.
Once again, Shouta raises his open arms.
"C'mon, sweetheart," he says and the door pulls open.
Hitoshi eyes Shouta's positioning, nonthreatening and perfect for cuddling, and cautiously steps over him. Unceremoniously, he drops to sit in Shouta's lap, making the man bite back a groan as the heavy weight of his, currently bulking, teenage son hits his stomach. It's a bit like those pictures showing a puppy on their owner's shoulder in one while the next is them fully grown and way too big in the exact same spot. Adorably inconvenient.
"Okay, okay." Shouta tries to readjust them so Hitoshi's weight isn't digging his bones into the floor. "Toshi—ow, stop. Hold on."
Hitoshi isn't listening. As soon as he accepted the hug, the floodgates opened and he returned to his soft sobbing. He rubs his face against Shouta's charcoal sweatshirt and whimpers.
"I'm—I'm sorry, Daddy!" he cries, holding on as tightly as he can. "Sorry, 'm sorry!"
Shouta sighs and accepts his fate of comforting his boy while the aches are already beginning to settle in.
It would be easy to brush him off. An hour of screaming is enough to wear anyone down and Shouta could just leave it at that. He could send Hitoshi to his room, he could lecture him on how disrespectful he'd been, and he could take a well deserved nap.
But he doesn't—wouldn't even if he wanted to. It doesn't help anyone, and Hitoshi is looking at him with pitiful doe-eyes that are creeping with shame and guilt. It's a never ending cycle with his moods: he lashes out and immediately feels horrible when he's worked through all his big feelings. If he had kitten ears, they'd be flat against his head.
And this is why Shouta is never angry with him. No matter how much he yells, swears, or tries to pick a fight, all Shouta can see is the baby nestled beneath that prickly exterior. It might be sappy, sure, but he can't be mad at a child for having a trauma induced meltdown and he can't stop himself from coddling his son when he's so small and sad. Hitoshi punishes himself more than enough. He doesn't need his most trusted adults to kick him while he's down.
"I know, I know," Shouta croons, petting Hitoshi's wild hair like he would the fur of their cat. He can't move them as much as he'd like to in this position, but he rocks them side to side. "I forgive you. I'm not mad."
Hitoshi clings to him desperately, like giving even the slightest bit of slack will have Shouta throwing him off. He keeps muttering his apologies, weeping into the crook of his father's neck.
Over and over, they're locked in this cycle. Shouta sits to the side while Hitoshi glares at him, hissing about how he ruined everything. Shouta sits outside the door while Hitoshi screams and kicks, suffering by himself. Shouta sits with Hitoshi sobbing in his arms and reminds him to breathe, making sure they both keep their sanity. Shouta sits and doesn't move while Hitoshi's guilt swallows him whole with shuddering cries, pleading apologies, and a poignant fear that, this time, Shouta will be sick of it and leave.
It's difficult, the hardest thing Shouta has done since becoming a hero, but he deals with it.
He keeps going because six months ago, the meltdowns were an hour longer than they are now. Hitoshi would get physical and throw things, and his headspace was so unstable, they couldn't even rely on his regression to help him cope. His current episodes, comparatively, are a walk in the park.
And what about the next six months? What will things look like? How much easier will they be? Not for Shouta—because he can handle hardship—but for Hitoshi? His son, a child who deserves to have an easier life than he's gotten. Will he start smiling regularly? Will his regression be something he can take joy in? Will he finally, finally realize that he's not alone anymore?
Maybe it'll take another six, twelve, eighteen months of more bad days than good, but Shouta knows things are improving. Piece by piece, he'll hold his son together until healing doesn't hurt as much. Until then, he's okay with sitting here and struggling alongside him.