💥regresses to the terrible twos

💥at the start of the show, he didn’t like regressing around anyone besides his parents, but as the show went on, he became more comfortable with being himself and will even be Little in public

💥 he's a very grumpy little but his CGs (especially Kirishima) find it cute 

💥 always tries to insist he's a “big boy” and he doesn't need any help (he does) 

💥 always tries to find Kiri when he's regressed because Kiri is the “fun one” and Aizawa is his responsible CG

💥 HATES nap time but needs it so bad. He will fall asleep mid-game and still insist he isn't tired 

💥 ultimate thumb sucker and Aizawa always has to carry pacis on him to stop Katsuki from sucking this thumb

💥he loves playing with Deku when they're both regressed. Deku regresses to 5-6~ years old but doesn't mind playing “Kacchan’s games” so he's Katsuki's favorite (he thinks Todoroki is boring because he regresses to baby age) 

💥 always tries to go to class when regressed, especially training, because he's so excited that he actually got to go to UA (all of 1-A finds his excitement so cute. Aizawa will give him coloring pages and let him sit in the back if he promises to be quiet.)

💥 VERY active/physical. Loves to run, play, swing, etc. He'll complain if he has to stay inside too long. (His CGs always have to follow him around because he likes to taste the world around him lol. They're always making him put stuff down and picking up dropped pacis)

💥loves being tickled but claims he hates it. He'll walk up to Aizawa or Kiri and go ‘No, don't tickle mee~’ until they start tickling him

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I love mha agere so much, so I'll probably make more of these later, but this is all for now! Bye Cry Sabies!

🌊 Giyuu is a trauma regressor. After his sister died, he regressed to like 3 or 4, but once Sabito died, he started regressing to younger ages. He can still be in his older headspace if he feels happy or too nervous to regress all the way 

🌊 Giyuu is a sleepy regressor. He sleeps best when someone is holding him, so he’s also very cuddly. More often than not, you can find a regressed Giyuu cuddled up with a stuffie and his haori in someone’s arms.

🌊 Giyuu is a padded regressor. He gets scared easily while regressed and is a heavy sleeper, so he finds it safer to have some extra protection in case he misses his body’s signals. 

🌊 Giyuu loves bath time! As the water hashira, his connection to things like lakes and hot springs seems obvious, but when regressed, he’ll come up with elaborate stories and play with toys in the bath for hours. Usually, someone has to pull him out of the bath before he falls asleep in there. 

🌊 Giyuu has a lot of caregivers. Gyomei, Ubuyashiki, Rengoku, Mitsuri, and even Sanemi (surprisingly) are all good with kids and treat him kindly whenever he’s regressed. Sanemi is sometimes teased for seeking out Giyuu when Giyuu is regressed, and he’ll never turn Giyuu down if Giyuu wants to see him.

🌊 Giyuu likes to watch others play make-believe. He’s still very quiet as a baby, but he’ll speak up just enough to tell Mitsuri and Obani to play prince and princess or make Sanemi and Rengoku fight dragons. He never wants to play himself, and he never really smiles or seems to be paying attention, but when he’s no longer regressed, he’ll very seriously tell them that he had a great time. 

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Here are some of my headcanons for Giyuu as a regressor. I hope you like them!

🪽 trauma regressor! He's always regressed involuntarily, but it got more frequent when he started living with the HPSC. He used regression to deal with his trauma, and the HPSC was the first ‘safe’ space he had to regress, even if they ended up traumatizing him more.

🪽 HPSC doesn't like him regressing (in my classification au, they view it as an annoying necessity, but in Canon MHA, they don't want him to do it at all). Hawks tried explaining he couldn't help it, but still got good at hiding his Little gear and regressing quietly so they wouldn't notice

🪽 regresses as young as 1 and as old as 8-9. He gets younger the more he trusts someone or if he's more stressed. When he was with the league, he never regressed younger than 9 until he started to grow to like them

🪽 Dabi was the first person to notice his regression. Dabi isn't a regressor but recognized the coping mechanism (in canon AU)/had a lot of experience with Shoto as a Little (in the classification AU). Shoto and Hawks have similar regression ages so Dabi feels…weird about Hawks. He can't tell if he likes him or resents him for being like Shoto, but he's always nice to him either way. Hawks can sense the confusion and tries to stay out of Dabi's way.

🪽 He loves to play with Toga and Twice! Toga is also a regressor, and when he finds out, he really begins to trust her and open up more. Twice he already trusted a lot, so he regresses younger around him. Twice was very honored and made sure to try his best not to scare Hawks when regressed.

🪽 Hawks gets overstimulated easily when regressed. His feathers are so sensitive he can't keep them all on, but he views them as a safety shield so he's unwilling to be separated from them. Usually, he'll drop them when Little and sleep/lie on top of them so they aren't too far away. Twice teased that he was like a real bird nesting.

🪽Hawks will eat almost anything normally (he was taught not to be stingy), but he likes fried chicken the best. It's one of his few safe foods and it reminds him of dino nuggets, which almost always trigger him to regress. Dino nuggets, especially with Mac and cheese and apple juice, are the ultimate comfort meal for him.

🪽🪽🪽

I love Hawks, but I never actually got far enough into mha to see him in the anime. If I finish the show, I definitely want to write something about him being regressed with the League hehe

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In my AU, I like to think Bakugou regresses to about 2 years old. As such, he doesn't have total control over his bladder yet. Todoroki, who's a baby regressor, doesn't have great control either, so at some point, Aizawa (their CG) decided it would be easier to set a concrete bathroom schedule rather than wrangle Bakugou into diapers every day or deal with his accidents. Bakugou hates it - he always insists he doesn't need to be helped to the potty, and he can control himself just fine, especially in his non-regressed headspace. Still, after a mortifying accident in heroics where he regressed and Kirishima had to take him to UA's nursery, he's begrudgingly accepted that when Aizawa shows up at the door to 1-A with a pair of keys to the family bathrooms, it's potty time. Still, accepting that Aizawa has set a schedule doesn't mean that potty time pick-up always goes smoothly. 

One day, after Ectoplasms's class, Deku and Bakugou are in an argument. Bakugou swears Ectoplasm graded him wrongly on the last test, but Deku swears that Bakugou just misunderstood the question. Bakugou always rankles at being told he's wrong, especially by Deku, so when Aizawa appears at the door to the class, jangling a pair of keys, Bakugou freezes. Somehow, it feels like if he leaves now, holding Aizawa's hand to go to the potty, he'll be admitting defeat. Like leaving implies Deku is right because he's bigger than Bakugou is, or that Bakugou is too Little to read the test questions correctly. 

“Bakugou?” Todoroki asks. He's already out of his seat and standing by Aizawa. Bakugou seethes at the fact that Todoroki is never upset by being pulled out of class for potty time. Bakugou isn't a baby like Todoroki, he doesn't need to go potty, and he didn't misread the test. 

“Oh, is it potty time Kacchan?” Deku asks. “We can talk about this later, then.” He starts pulling his test from the desk where they are comparing their work; Bakugou slams his hand down on it. 

“No,” he grits out. “I'm fine. Explain again why you think I'm wrong.” 

Deku frowns at him. “Kacchan, Aizawa-san is waiting for you.”

“He can go without me,” he says. 

Aizawa sighs. “Bakugou, you know I'm not leaving without you.” 

“I went already!” Bakugou snaps. 

“When?”

“An hour ago,” Bakugou says, lying thoughtlessly. Honestly, he doesn't know when the last time he went was. His body just…doesn't send the signal that he needs to pee until just before he has to go or when he's already wet. It leads to a lot of dashes to the bathroom at random times, and the embarrassment is so strong he tries to block it out. He does know that he went today, though, and he doesn't want to go potty now.

 “Uh, you were with me an hour ago, Bakubro,” Kirishima says gently. 

Bakugou's ears flush red. Stupid Kirishima- he should have kept his mouth shut. Now Bakugou looks like a baby who can't tell time either, which doesn't help in his argument against Deku. 

“It must have been earlier then,” he huffs. 

“If it was earlier, you should still go potty, Kacchan,” Deku says. 

“I don wanna!” He whines, and then, “don't want to,” he corrects hurriedly; Aizawa narrows his eyes anyway. 

“Maybe we'll take a trip to the nursery after our potty break, Katsuki.”

“No!” He says. He doesn't realize he's stomped his foot until he sees the poorly concealed fondness in Deku's eyes. Deku thinks he's ‘just the cutest’ when he's regressed, always giving him that soppy-eyed stare. He needs to cut it out - Bakugou is not regressing and he does not need to pee. 

“‘M not Katsuki, ‘m Bakugou” he grumbles. “Not Little right now.”

“It's okay to be Little, Kacchan,” Deku says. He scoots his paper out from under Bakugou's hand and starts walking towards the door. “Come on - I'll come with you and Aizawa-san if it will make you feel better.” 

It's a cheap trick - Deku knows that Bakugou finds it deeply unfair that Deku, who's also Little, is big enough when regressed to not need bathroom breaks or naps in the nursery. When Deku comes with them, however, Aizawa still makes him sing the potty song even when Deku blushes and doesn't want to (“So everything is fair”, Aizawa says), and Bakugou is always happy to see it. Still, though…

“…the test,” Bakugou mumbles petulantly.

“We can talk about it later, Kacchan. Come on.” 

If you would just make one mistake (what a relief that would be)

-

There's a thing called "maladaptive daydreaming" where you spend your whole life thinking about what it would be like to have a better life. There's another thing called an "unhealthy coping mechanism" which is when you do something bad to try and stop other bad things from happening, like smoking to stop the shakes. His therapist calls him one and Sam calls him the other, but whatever- Bucky likes to be a cat. Sue him.

Bucky doesn't know if he's always wanted to be a cat, but now that Steve's out of the picture and can't give him those big doe eyes when he curls up on the couch or pushes his head against Sam's leg for pets, he does it a lot more often. Sam will sometimes give him a weird look and mutter under his breath, but cats don't care about what their owner says unless it's about food, so he lets it go. And even if he did care, he wouldn't let it bother him, because Sam is a very good owner. He shaves Bucky's face and gives him breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and even buys Bucky a heat lamp so he can stretch out on the carpet in the winter months when the sun sets at five. Bucky thinks he likes Sam more than Steve, a little bit, but Sam gets mad whenever Bucky says that so he doesn't. Instead, he'll push his head against Sam's thigh because he can't curl his big body into his lap like a real cat would. That could be part of why it's maladaptive; that could be why it's not a good way to cope. Bucky shuts the thought down and lets his mind go quiet as Sam runs his fingers through Bucky's hair and pulls gently until the tangles are out. Bucky hardly ever has tangles these days because Sam is so good at doing his hair. Still, Sam makes a noise in the back of his throat.

"I'm thinking we should cut your hair a little. That okay?" Bucky just purrs.

Sometimes Sam wants him to be human. Bucky hates it, because when he's human he has to think Bad Thoughts about Bad People and then feel everything that comes with Bad Thoughts and Bad People, but Sam is his owner and he knows what's important. Bucky has to be human when he goes to the therapist, or when they talk about changes in the routine, or when Sam has his friends over. Sam tells him that all of his friends are Bucky's friends but Bucky doesn't believe that. If Sam's friends were Bucky's friends they would let him be a cat, right? But Bucky has to pack up his dishes, his nice brush, and the big nest of blankets Sam lets him have on the living room floor and move it all into Bucky's bedroom so they can shut the door on it. He tries not to panic when Sam takes the collar off and puts it away but it almost feels like a rejection, like taking the mask off after a mission without getting as much as a 'good boy' from his handlers. Sam always tells him he's been a good boy when he's a cat, even when all he did was brush his teeth without asking or put his hair up. Sam doesn't tell him that now, just looks at him all serious with his intense eyes and tells Bucky that he needs to be human. Bucky nods; he can't trust himself to speak.

Natasha arrives first. Ever since SHIELD went kaput Natasha has been doing a lot of "freelance spy work", which mostly means doing things illegally but being sneaky enough to not get caught. Bucky used to do freelance spy work for a while, back when he didn't know who he was but had gotten away from HYDRA. It was a bad time. He doesn't like to think about it; he likes to lick his paws and hide under the big chairs Sam bought just for him to crawl under instead, but he's human right now.

After Natasha - his mind still calls her Natalia, still remembers that room - Wanda comes. Wanda disturbs him more than Natasha because she joined HYDRA on purpose. Bucky didn't want to and for Natalia, it was an accident, but Wanda wanted it. She is good now, or so Sam tells him, but he still raises his hackles when he sees her. Sam taps his hand lightly to cut off the hissing noise beginning to emanate from his mouth.

"Hey Nat, Wanda," Sam greets carelessly, "glad you could make it." Bucky is still tense, even with Sam's hand on his shoulder now. Bucky remembers hearing about these plans the last time he was human, and Sam had been insistent on inviting-

"Hey, Buck." Bucky wants to throw up. Steve is there, with his big doe eyes, his savior complex, and his tin container of apple pie. Steve always brings food to events even though he can't cook and it's never asked for. Sam makes better pie and Bucky knows that, knows because Sam gave him a little as a treat once with a bowl of milk like he really was a cat having something it shouldn't. Bucky had felt euphoric for days even if he never told Sam. Bucky told his therapist instead and he lets his therapist know every time that they can tell Sam anything, and even if his therapist says they won't he hopes they're lying. But Steve is here even though he tells his therapist and Sam that he makes him uncomfortable, standing there with a sealed pie tin from some artisan bakery and leaning in to hug Bucky. Bucky hunches his shoulders up by his ears, so far that it smushes Sam's hand into his face and he tries not to cry because this is the closest thing he'll get to a pet all day. Steve hugs him for what feels like forever before Sam distracts him and asks Steve to help set the table. Bucky feels relief before he realizes that both Natasha and Wanda are staring at him with their big eyes like they can see through him. He needs to get out of here. Sam is gone and he can't crawl under the big chairs Sam bought for him and he can't feel his collar on his neck and he feels like he's free falling, like he's spinning out of control.

"Are you alright, Yasha?" Natalia asks. She looks at him like she can see the word "maladaptive" written on his forehead. Like she somehow knows he's "unhealthy". Bucky nods tightly and takes little sucking breaths through his nose because he can't purr right now to try and calm down. He inches away from the redheads and scoots closer towards Sam. Sam is better even if he is with Steve.

"Buck," Steve greets kindly, "I was just telling Sam about that Red Sox game you took me to right before I got pneumonia." Steve looks at him expectantly and Bucky feels sick again. Bucky knows the game he's talking about and remembers the midday heat and the sudden storm that somehow didn't stop the game. He remembers little Stevie, wet as paper in a puddle but refusing to go home and getting sick as a dog the next day. He remembers how he coughed like he was drowning on dry land and how Bucky lost his job at the pizzeria because he stayed home to take care of him. It's the expectation on Steve's face, though - it's frightening. Just because Bucky can remember doesn't mean that it was him, not any more than his human is him. Bucky is a cat now, and whatever he is or whatever he pretends to be is dead. He's a zombie when Sam needs him to be and a corpse when Steve wants his old pal. He's not good enough. He'll never be good enough.

"I tried to get you to leave, punk," is what leaves his mouth instead. The words feel like dialing a rotary number based on muscle memory and not knowledge; the phrasing and accent are old tombs Bucky doesn't recall dusting off. And yet they're still there, pristine and pretty when he needs them, but held behind this invisible barrier of 'not his'. Steve breaks into the sunniest smile Bucky's ever seen and Sam runs his fingers over Bucky's knuckles as he sets down the forks. It's not a good job but it's the best he's going to get.

Bucky feels like he's out of his body for the entire conversation with Steve, like the ghost of James Buchanan Barnes possessed him and is having a grand old time speaking to his old friend Steven G. Rogers. Even Sam and Natasha look impressed, though Wanda's eyes bore into him with a unique blankness. They all take a seat at the table and Sam serves them all some fresh greens with a black dressing. Bucky leans down to lick at it like he always does with strange foods but jerks back up at a strange ringing. When Bucky eyes Sam he sees that he's hit his fork against his glass.

"Mmm, salad," Sam says. Everyone at the table laughs; is it funny? It must be, even if it was just a reminder to Bucky that he needs to use his fork. Bucky picks it up in his flesh hand even if it's his non-dominant one, afraid he might scratch the metal with his other one. Bad cats don't get treats and Bucky wants to be a good cat, even if the only reward is a bad imitation of Sam's pie.

The dressing is balsamic vinegar and lays in thin black strands all over Bucky's baby spinach like squid ink pasta. The flavor is strangely sweet and tastes nothing like squid ink pasta, but Bucky still tries very hard not to remember the first time he had it. His therapist said that when he's facing a bad or scary memory he should try and ground himself. He focuses on the sweet taste of the balsamic vinegar and feels the snap of arugula under his teeth while listening to Sam's idle chatter. It is not squid ink pasta. He can be a good cat for Sam.

The next course is pasta. Bucky can't make himself eat it, not even if that makes him the worst cat in the world, so he begs Sam quietly for some day-old soup and a piece of garlic bread instead. Sam gives it to him without comment and directs the group's inquisitive stares away from Bucky's bland and milky soup. Bucky nibbles at his garlic bread in tiny bites and pretends his fangs are sinking into it. It helps. Steve, however, will not be dissuaded.

"No pasta, Buck?" He asks. Bucky shakes his head.

"No."

"Aww, why not? You love pasta?"

"Bucky loved pasta." He mutters vindictively. Even in his anger, he's not loud. He wants to hiss and scratch but he's still too fragile, too human.

"Come again?" Steve asks, the edges of his smile beginning to melt off his face like cherry popsicles off their little wooden sticks.

"Said I wasn't hungry," he repeats louder. "What, you hit a hundred and your ears broke?" Steve starts up a peel of raucous laughter. Wanda is not amused.

"It's not very good manners to eat before a dinner party," she says snidely. Bucky shrugs and pulls his hair out of its bun; he had put his bun up today so he doesn't feel bad about taking it down. Instead, he mostly feels relieved about being able to hide his face.

"What can I say? Sam finished dinner early and it was too good to resist." This is a lie, but he pairs it with his old smile and that twinkle in his eyes and watches Steve settle into "protect Bucky" mode. He has successfully turned the enemy against each other. He feels nauseous.

"Alright, knock it off you two." Even in his scolding Sam is amicable. Then, "Steve, come and help me cut this pie." Bucky excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

Bucky uses his metal hand to tie his hair up because his flesh one is shaking too badly. Bucky had tied his hair up this morning and Sam had been proud of him. He had been doing a good job of being human, but now he's started three problems and Sam has had to fix all of them. The least he can do is try to be a good cat and keep up with his grooming. The bun isn't as neat or as high up as it was before, betraying his anxiety and lack of coordination, but neither humans nor cats are very good at doing their hair. Sam says he keeps his short because he doesn't like the hassle. Sam wants to cut his because of the same reason. A messy bun will be okay. When he sits back down at the table there's a slice of pie and a scoop of vanilla ice cream in his spot. The ice cream is melted on the edges like whoever scooped it used a hot implement and the pie is still warm. Bucky wants to be a cat and give the pie-filling little kitten licks.

"I've always hated pie crust," he says as Steve comments "You always hated pie crust." They look at each other and share a laugh while Bucky's heart beats like a jackrabbit. What does he do now? Eat around the crust? Suck out the filling? Bucky eats the soggy, store-bought crust and the eggy ice cream Sam owns that he claims goes good with brownies. Bucky doesn't know because cats can't eat chocolate. Chocolate isn't a treat like pie; for him, it's deadly. Bucky shakes through the rest of the dinner and sweats through the movie and makes himself not cry while he hugs Steve and then finally, finally, they're all gone. Sam pats his face and goes to take a shower.

Most nights, Bucky sleeps in his blanket nest, but today he curls his body over Sam's feet. He wants to be the small, cuddly kind of cat that sleeps on its owner's feet today, the kind of cat that deserves to. Sam winces.

"You're too heavy for that man." Bucky doesn't mean to start crying but he does, long, plaintive mewls that are only broken by coughs or tears. Sam tutts at him gently and pats the space on the bed next to his torso.

"Aw, did you have a tough day Kitty? Why don't you come up here and I'll give you some pats." Bucky crawls upwards with his large, sinuous body, more like a jungle cat than a domestic breed, but Sam pets him all the same. "Like this, I can pet you all night," Sam says. "Isn't that better than laying on my feet?" Bucky is a cat, and he may not know much, but he knows the closer he is to Sam, the better.

Sam has a job. Bucky thinks that if Sam was different Bucky might not like the job very much, but Sam always leaves right after Bucky gets in sunning position and comes back after his second nap of the day. Sam always leaves food that can be eaten hot or cold too, so if Bucky doesn't feel like using the microwave it will be okay. Today Sam left him a turkey and Swiss sandwich with some apple juice. Bucky rips up the sandwich with his claws and licks at the apple juice until he isn't thirsty, then he washes his hands and lays down in the sun. There are a lot of different ways to stretch, Bucky has discovered, and none of them remind him of HYDRA. Nothing here reminds him of HYDRA anymore unless he's human, not even the bumps that the upstairs people make sometimes while Sam is gone. Before Sam, Bucky couldn't sleep at all because of the bumps. He was so afraid, all the time, and he couldn't sleep or eat or take care of himself. And then Sam started taking care of him, and Bucky eventually slept enough and ate enough that he started taking care of himself. Sam always calls him a good boy for eating all of his food and then washing his hands. Bucky used to not wash them, but then his hands would be sticky and he would cry without understanding why. Now it's better. Things are easier with Sam, and the way it's going, it may be easy without him too. Sam opens the door right as Bucky wakes up and Bucky watches with slit eyes as Sam sheds the stress of the day. The way Bucky was used to stress Sam, but now Bucky sees the way lines of tension fall away as Sam idly rubs his foot on Bucky's stomach. Bucky pantomimes biting him as playing cats often do and Sam laughs.

🌩🌩🌩trigger warnings: self-harm (biting, hitting, scratching), food deprivation, dubiously consensual body modification (clipping talons, filing down teeth, etc.), disordered eating

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Sometimes, Hawks wonders how old he should be. He was 22, physically, and less than a year old when he regressed. He wonders if he was supposed to regress to 5 or 6, before. Trauma can halt regression, if it's severe enough, and when regression starts back up, the victim always comes back with a younger headspace. The first time Hawks regressed - the first time he felt safe enough too - he was eight, and he had just signed his life away to the HPSC. His younger years were horrible, unspeakably so, and the three years he spent with the commission before contracting himself to them were an awful limbo, just waiting and waiting and waiting for them to decide if he was good enough. Maybe if the commission hadn't pushed him so hard, he would have regressed 5 or 6. Maybe if he had lived a kinder life, he wouldn’t have been Little at all. But none of that was true, and all he remembers is signing the paper, going to sleep, and waking up a week later to the commission in chaos. 

There had never been a Little hero. Ever. The risks were too great, too obvious to even consider it. Hawks braced to be expelled from the home he had just gotten, and relaxed, slowly, as he realized the commission was considering it anyway. They had wasted too many resources on him to let him go now, probably. Or too many people had seen him. Whatever the case was, the HPSC decided to keep him. They could deal with his Little problem, they told him, as long as he kept regression to one day a month. 

It was crazy. The normal regression ratio was based on a 10-day scale for a reason - any Little who hadn't regressed at all in ten days was sick. Anything past ten wasn't voluntary, it was a cry for help. Anything past twenty was grounds for hospitalization unless there was a concrete reason for the regression to have stopped. Hawks' current situation wasn't traumatizing enough to curb his regression rate to once a month. Still, they asked him if he could suppress it. He should have said no. Anyone sane would have said no. But he was eight, and he didn't know anything about regression besides the fact it was standing between himself and a home, and he was hanging on to this shred of security with all his might, so he agreed. And then he failed. And failed. 

The HPSC doctor said he had a pretty low regression rate, considering his circumstances and history. The average regression age was 5 and the average rate was 40%. His age was 3-6 months and his rate was 65%. The only way to stop his regression would be to replicate the trauma that caused it to stop in the first place, but too much of that could exacerbate the problem. His doctor recommended discontinuing his training and assigning him to a trauma-adept family, likely consisting of pro-heroes. The HPSC started denying him food. 

As it turns out, food is a pretty strong motivator. The promise of food can make someone stop almost anything. If Hawks only got fed when he didn't regress, then he wouldn't regress. If that meant raking his talons over his arms to stop himself from slipping, so be it. If that meant using his sharp canines, once they'd clipped his talons down to the nub, so be it. And if that meant hitting himself when they filed down his teeth, he'd do it. He'd ache constantly, as long as the ache wasn't in his stomach. 

Even so, he only managed to get it down to twice a month. The HPSC took it.

So Hawks got older and stronger, and somehow, never any wiser. He turned eighteen and burst onto the scene with his own agency. By twenty-two, he had clawed his way up to being the number two hero in Japan and could have been the most popular if not for All Might. Life was pretty good now, all things considered. He had his own apartment, stylishly furnished by the commission. He got his own support gear, including an electro-shock bracelet that could do the hitting for him when he was out in public. (He had never quite shaken the habit in private, though. It was almost like a compulsion. If it was any day that wasn't the first or the last of the month, he'd hit himself in the forehead almost uncontrollably until he was too dizzy to even think about regressing.) He even got offered three meals a day, though he could never stomach more than two, and never less than 6 hours apart. It was good. Better than he could have hoped for, really. So when the commission asked him to go undercover, he thought he should be thankful that he was even offered the chance to say yes. 

Infiltrating the League of Villains was laughably easy given his personal history. A simple blood test revealed he was a Little, and if he fudged the results so his age range said 6-7, same as Toga, they didn't need to know. He obviously couldn’t tell the truth about his age; beyond the fact that he was a spy and it could be used against him, even villains had limits. They might be willing to let a Little into their ranks, but Toga could clean for herself, cook for herself when regressed. No one in the right mind would let someone as Little as Hawks onto the front lines. 

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