(with CG!Inui)

Before the war, things weren't perfect, but they had a handle on them. Shouta could regress as needed with Hizashi keeping an eye on him, or they could regress together on the rarer occasions that Hizashi also felt small with Nemuri dropping in to keep an eye on both boys. After the war though, when everything has gone to hell? Both are so broken; there's no way around it. There are so many pieces to pick up, perhaps even too many for them to do alone. They have lost the people closest to them and things are different not just on a personal level, but on an institutional scale as well as society itself rebuilds. Big changes are happening all around them, and in spite of having one another it is still difficult to move forwards with the pain that is still quite raw. New wounds and old wounds alike are equally tender, and neither Shouta nor Hizashi feel like they have enough time to pour into the other like they want. Of course this doesn't stop them from trying, but it doesn't halt the grief and loss that seems ever-present in the quiet chaos of the post-war world. There is also a noticeable shift in their regression dynamic as well, with Hizashi needing more time being smaller than he did before. His age seems to drop closer to Shouta's too, another difference that presents challenges when more often than not one's regression now triggers the other's. Though Hizashi is clearly fighting slipping so small—Shouta cannot help but remember how during the...could it even be called an altercation? with Kurogiri that Hizashi had cried, how he had denied he was crying because he was supposed to be a grown man. Shouta didn't realize to the full extent that Hizashi was hurting, but that moment sits with him heavily long after it happens. So heavily, in fact, that Shouta makes a big decision about something that neither of them necessarily like but almost definitely need.

It isn't exactly couple's therapy. Not in the traditional sense, since they aren't having difficulties in their romantic relationship, at least nothing outside of what is healthy. More like...joint counseling concerning their regression and past traumas made fresh again. Doing it together will hold them accountable enough that they actually have to go, or so Shouta had claimed with a sigh. Hizashi is annoyed by such a betrayal, but Shouta assures him he's just as annoyed with himself for not being able to help more. Neither of them are big fans of the concept of getting a third party involved (unless that third party is their big sis, but she isn't around anymore and neither of them want to acknowledge that yet). So they sit impatiently and wait outside of Hound Dog's office despite not wanting to be there, bickering like the children they so often feel like and kicking each other's feet as they argue (which Shouta says is no fair, until Hizashi kicks his metal foot by mistake and winces). It is about that time that Ryou comes to get them, looking utterly unimpressed with their "game" and ushering them into his office. He doesn't exactly specialize in adults, but he cares about their mental health (and it's clear enough that these two fall within his usual domain). The initial session is something that he is prepared for being slow-going based on the short talk he had with Shouta beforehand. It turns out that it's like pulling teeth though—Shouta isn't talkative at the best of times but seems to be trying, his responses coming out awkward yet blunt, whereas Hizashi who is well-known for his loud mouth is suddenly tight-lipped and pouting as he looks pointedly out the window. To call it hesitancy would be generous, as it is closer to outright stubbornness. It's only when Shouta starts struggling with his own answers that Hizashi interjects, making it clear that in order to get him to open up he needs to feel like he is helping someone other than himself.

They work through a few sessions just discussing their regression before Ryou asks if they might allow him to interact with their smaller sides. Not that there haven't been close encounters of the baby kind in the teacher's lounge and dorms before by accident, but for what they are asking of him he needs a more prolonged interaction. Which leads to them making arrangements for aiming to have a regression day in a week's time. A week should be long enough to get used to the idea, but talking about regression is one thing and doing it is another thing entirely. Not that they haven't been middlespacing around Ryou since day one, but this is different. It's difficult . Neither of them are too keen on the idea at first, despite knowing it is something they need to do. It's scary. Letting someone else into that private little world is always nerve-wracking. So maybe they do a bit of scheming. Only one of them will regress and test the waters. It's the perfect plan! Hizashi of course voluntells Shouta that he can be the one to slip all the way first since this whole situation was his idea to begin with. The "suggestion" is punctuated by him sticking his tongue out in a childish fit of pique; Shouta only rolls his eye at the display, but agrees nonetheless. And as planned, the next time they arrive at Ryou's office Shouta is noticeably small, hiding behind Hizashi shyly even as their hands remained clasped together. Like Hizashi, he finds it all too easy—too tempting—to slip small these days. Unlike Hizashi however, his regression itself seems largely unchanged. He still hovers somewhere around two, occupying a nebulous toddlerspace that often dips into babyspace. Like a little spark of electricity, a zap of baby hits them both at the same time. They can't help but notice how nice the space is set up just for them, how Ryou made sure to dress casually in anticipation for tiny tykes that might find his hero costume too much. And Hizashi feels his resolve waver as they enter the office.

Ryou shouldn't really be surprised that they went with a split approach in spite of what they discussed, though he does wish that they had just told him ahead of time. Still, he doesn't give up hope that Hizashi will ease into it. So he is sure to remain patient, and instead encourages Shouta to show him the little backpack of stuff he brought while they give Hizashi a chance to settle in. The contents are about what he expected: a couple of pacifiers, some coloring books, a box of jumbo crayons, and the boy's favorite stuffie. It doesn't go past his notice how Hizashi reacts when something of his is pulled out; apparently Shouta had packed Pompompurin so Chococat wouldn't get lonely, but the hopeful look he gives Hizashi as he passes the stuffie to him tells of a motive beyond that. It's subtle, but there's a crack in the wall he has thrown up when he takes the toy with a tentative smile. Hizashi takes longer to slip down, having committed to staying big that day. But it's a slippery slope from I'm a grown man to I'm a big boy, especially when he's got his playmate waiting on him. The problem isn't in the slipping, it's in the intensity; Hizashi is used to landing somewhere around five on the regression scale, only now he finds himself on Shouta's level and it feels weird. Feels like he should still be big enough to keep an eye on him, not be just as tiny and in need of a watchful eye. In need of help too, as he isn't used to the little things about being littler—like the way he spills juice all down his front because suddenly he is too small for a big kid cup. His frustration that Ryou was cautioned about becomes clear rather quickly as he scrubs at his eyes and fusses over what is really a mild inconvenience. Ryou knows what it is like to get frustrated, to have outbursts—so he recognizes when Hizashi's emotions start to get too big, that these new bouts of frustration are spawned from the worry that those feelings are too much for other people, and those feelings are only piling up.

The session concludes somewhat uneventfully all things considered. Hizashi had a few minor tantrums that were accounted for and carefully de-escalated, and Shouta only tried to chew on a crayon one time until he was successfully distracted by his paci. Though he was more withdrawn than he used to be based on their self-reports (self-reports that they did for each other because they are little shits who would have downplayed or outright lied on their own), which is saying something. Ryou had picked up on the way he would look up at him when he thought he wasn’t paying attention, eye wide and innocent with something akin to want. Not to mention there was the obvious separation anxiety between the two. During the entirety of the session there wasn't once where they were more than three feet apart while they were regressed, and even after they started to come back up that closeness was maintained. Ryou certainly has his work cut out for him, given that neither of the boys have ever really gone through counseling like they should have—the pair having gone to a combined grand total of five sessions since their second year at UA. But with all the other responsibilities they all have to try to fix society after the war, it is nice getting to work with cute tots like them. If nothing else it reminds him that things can get better for them all, as long as they are given the proper support. And support they shall have! Because until they can settle on a babysitter, Ryou has put the rest of the UA staff on baby alert. Meaning that he sends out a sort of blanket email to everyone advising that if they come across any of their fellow staff members while they are regressed to move forward accordingly, or find someone else who may be better suited to help out. Names weren't given, but giving names wasn't necessary. Shouta and Hizashi are, naturally, grumpy about it being broadcasted that they need a babysitter. Perhaps Hizashi moreso, as he whines about how they all don't needta know, says it isn't their business! Only it is their business whether or not him and Shouta are safe—they are heroes too, after all, and that means protecting each other.

While there are a couple potential candidates to act as a caregiver for the boys, it quickly becomes apparent that Ryou is starting to fill that spot. At first, they had considered Taishiro—Shouta's pick, though complications arose around the fact that he isn't a staff member and works out of Osaka. Then they considered Toshinori—Hizashi's pick, and more than just one of convenience. It's hard not to be enamored with the man himself, and the figure of All Might was a big part of their own childhoods as well, which adds to that sense of nostalgia that Hizashi craves. Not to mention Toshinori has wound up keeping an eye on both of them before; the issue with him acting as their primary caregiver essentially boils down to time. He may not be an active hero anymore, but he's playing a major role in overseeing the reconstruction of hero society. Which leaves the boys kind of in the wind for awhile. Try as he might, Hizashi leans more regressor than caregiver these days and Shouta almost always regresses when he does—just another way that they constantly seem to orbit aspects of each other, a part of the universe saying they are inseparable. So while the staff has agreed to take turns and work on establishing some sort of rotation, in the meantime it is left to whoever happens across the tiny heroes. And somehow, nine times out of ten it's Ryou that finds them. Shouta and Hizashi can't decide how it is he knows when they are small and have simply come to accept that he must be some sort of wizard (as is their baby conspiracy discussed in whispers from behind their plushies). In truth, it's because of his senses that are enhanced by his quirk. Most often he knows because he can quite literally smell it on them in the form of baby powder. Or his keen hearing picks up on the sounds of them giggling as they trade back and forth playing with a space helmet and cowboy hat that they've "borrowed".

The first indication that he might have something of a little problem occurs during the fallout from the Bad Kids' time spent in the pirate city of Leviathan. More specifically, his encounter with Captain Whitclaw leaves Fabian shaken. Not necessarily because he nearly died (although that certainly doesn't help matters), but because the loss itself shakes him to his very core; it directly challenged the fundamentals he has built himself up around his entire life. Something major like that only naturally makes him feel off, and when the foundation shakes, something crumbles...and something smaller and more vulnerable is left in its wake. Only it takes Fabian a little while to actually figure it out—to figure himself out. Though he is far from stupid, he isn't exactly the most well-versed on particular topics given his less than traditional upbringing with a larger-than-life pirate for a father and an emotionally unavailable mother. For all of his innate charisma, he can't be expected to know the ins and outs of how feelings work (even his own). The fight and the subsequent loss only draws attention to the fact that Fabian has put a distance between the ideal image he has of himself in his mind and who he actually is in reality. It's the dissonance there that causes a lot of the confusion and aimlessness and doubt that he suddenly feels. All he can say for certain is that he feels wrong, but is unsure how to go about fixing things. He is unsure how to make himself feel right and whole again, and also doesn't know how to find his way back to himself when he doesn't even know who he is anymore.

Still, knowing something is wrong and knowing what that something is are two very different things. And in the end it is actually Cathilda who makes the connection and bridges the gap for him. Or rather helps Fabian come to understand just how small he is feeling. Helps him to understand that that feeling is some sense of being small. And how does she help him to see this? Simply by doing what she has always done for Fabian. Because she is more than just a maid, more than just his fencing instructor. As she is comforting him in the Hangvan about his loss to Whitclaw, she says something that puts a spotlight on her third role in his life and a facet of their relationship that he hadn't recognized before: that for as much as he is Bill's son, she feels he is her son as well. This sentiment turns out to be the final piece falling into place for poor Fabian. The city already had him looking at her in a different light, but suddenly all her gentleness and guidance that she extended to him while he was growing up has been recolored as well. And he finds his vision welling with tears, his chest welling with emotion—he does not feel like the man he's been insisting he is, does not feel like the teenager he actually is. As Cathilda pulls him in for a hug and he buries his face into the crook of her shoulder—the scent familiar, comforting, reminding him of a hot summer day when he was so young and had scraped his knee only to be fussed over by her—he feels all the world like a child. Fabian wants to hate the feeling; it means he's weak, doesn't it? His father wouldn't have liked that. But as Cathilda continues to soothe him (rocking him, crooning sweet songs to him, shushing him so gently), he can't bring himself to hate the feeling at all.

With the battle to figure out what he is feeling won, the next battle begins. Which is figuring out what it means to him! He knows he needs that small feeling and the love that comes with it. Fabian felt so much better after just the tiniest bit of coddling, so more should help him feel right as rain. Despite that though, the Bad Kids are on a time crunch; spring break is only so long and they have an adventure to complete. To complete that adventure, he needs to be of use again. With that need to be small temporarily satiated, Fabian distracts himself with reinventing his fighting style and re-examining why he fights. Continuing on that path of figuring out who he is and what he wants, he develops his new fighting style and taps into his love of dance and unlocks those bard skills. By the adventure's end however, that small feeling is allowed to creep back in. His tells are pretty subtle (because he might be small, but he's still a big kid), but not so subtle that they slip past the Elven Oracle. Adaine picks up on the almost nervous energy he seems to be wrapped up in and the slight changes to his speech patterns. The small "um"s and "uh"s stuttering up what he is saying where usually the words flow so smoothly tip her off that something is up, but his other mannerisms are what give him away. The way he rocks back and forth on his feet in particular strikes a chord of familiarity in her. Recognition of the self through the other. And so she makes sure to create a moment of privacy between them—not because she doesn't think the rest of the Bad Kids wouldn't be supportive, but because she wants Fabian to have the opportunity to tell them all when he is ready—and kindly suggests that maybe he should talk to Jawbone about some things once they get back. But of course things pick back up almost immediately after their return, and their summer is spent chasing the Night Yorb with these new feelings once again pushed aside.

Having been whisked away on yet another grand adventure means that Fabian essentially microdoses on regression. Small moments here and there when they can all afford them. But the end of the long night that summer was doesn't end the loneliness he feels when they return home just in time to start the next school year. Especially given that his mother and Gilear are leaving him all alone in a big house, and Cathilda is away on business. The loneliness of junior year only continues to exacerbate things. With all the stressors of junior year he finally is forced to make the time for the small side of him that he's been shoving aside ever since leaving Leviathan months prior. The next time he has a speck of downtime, he goes to visit Jawbone as per Adaine's suggestion. Jawbone is, as always, ever-patient and encouraging. He listens as Fabian stumbles through describing everything, nodding along and asking questions when necessary, but never in a judging manner. And when Fabian is done, he helps to guide him further. Telling him that what he's experiencing is regression and that it is perfectly healthy. Asking him what it is he wants when he's feeling small. This does give Fabian some pause, because he hasn't stopped to think about what it is he wants. He's been too busy just trying to sort out the feelings and hasn't thought about how to address them beyond the idea that things like hugs seemed very important. Over the next few weeks Jawbone gives him some homework to explore this side of himself and figure out what it is that little Fabian wants. And what does he want? He wants to play with the Hangman! He wants to play with his friends! No more saving the world, if only for a weekend. Maximum legends can regress too, right? So what if he decides to forgo a big high-school party in favor of playdates with the other Bad Kids at Mordred Manor? And he's still a big kid! He's a whole six it turns out (which is much bigger than Adaine and Riz, who are four and three, respectively).

Exploring these wants and having time to play with his friends naturally lead to Fabian learning more about himself and his regression. For starters, he is very much a kid that is into games that involve pretend play. No matter how old he feels, it would seem that his flair for the dramatic is a constant of his personality. Whether this means putting on little shows or exploring the spooky graveyard out back (which ultimately turns into a game of hide and seek with Zayn acting as the seeker) depends on the day. Sometimes it even means grand adventures, epic quests for their party that are more suited to children ages three through nine. Things like solving the mystery of how to get Baxter into the living room without Sandra Lynn noticing. Or racing to see which of the haunted house's many secret passages is actually the best shortcut to the kitchen. Being able to have such low-stakes "adventures" with his friends when they are usually trying to save the world is nice, to say the least; where the big bad monster that is chasing them as they run for dear life is actually just the tickle monster (Jawbone), who is going to get them for stealing the ancient treasure (sneaking cookies from the jar before dinner). It is extremely comforting to know that everything will be okay when the adventure is over and playtime comes to an end, that nothing will hurt them as the littler kids get laid down to take a nap. And maybe Fabian takes one too, not because he needs it, but only because Riz gets sad if they can't snuggle up for nap time together (some part of him, the teenager part, says it helps Riz feel safe, and honestly it helps Fabian feel safe as well).

Though his (what he considers childish) loneliness and need for connection isn't only combatted by gentle playtimes, mind you! Sometimes it is combatted by...combat. Baby warfare of the highest degree, even. This primarily happens if Ragh is around and regressing at the older end of his range (which makes him about eight), because the two of them together get rowdy. Everyone else best get out of the way because they are puppy wrestling on the living room rug, practically as soon as Fabian walks through the door it is on sight. And they would puppy wrestle for the whole afternoon if left to their own devices—faces flushed and lots of squeals and giggling—though Lydia always knows when it is time to break them apart before things can get too out of hand and someone accidentally get their feelings hurt (or some part of their body, because again, they get very very rowdy). But the thing is Lydia is a master at this; Ragh is her baby after all, so she has a plethora of experience on how to redirect rowdy rugrats. Most effective method to date? Food. Ragh always breaks for food, and with Fabian living on nothing but take-out during junior year he also quickly becomes motivated by Lydia's stellar cooking. She sets her trap expertly too, popping her chicken parm into the oven when they start wrestling so that when it comes time for them to break apart the delicious scent of bubbling marinara sauce and mozzarella cheese comes wafting from the kitchen. It's the ultimate temptation, and a highly successful one at that. Fabian has truly come to appreciate the love that is found in home-cooked meals, and for someone who grew up having personal chefs is genuinely touched that he is lucky enough to be able to be granted such a luxury.

(with CG!Cole)

When there is a lot going on in the world, things in your personal life often feel lesser. Easier to push aside or ignore. Especially if you have some sort of personal stake in the events swallowing up the world, some part to play that's much bigger than you are—meaning it's easy to get swallowed up yourself. This sort of mindset is exactly how Hanzo operates. Focus on the big picture and shove aside the finer details if you must, but always keep them within your grasp. Be aware of everything and everyone except for yourself, because you're only a small part of the equation. That's what it's like in the loud, explosive moments at least. But at the end of the day, what's left? Splinters of what he could have done, should have done, yet did not. Personal failings and all consuming guilt. Giving and giving to atone and it never feeling like enough. Until all that's left is a very small feeling that's harder to ignore. Much harder than other things he can brush aside, despite the inherent softness that seems to come with the feeling. There's not much he can do for it besides attempt to sleep it off, but once finding that the feeling can linger even after a bit of sleep does he start to grow concerned. Hanzo is used to ignoring his own needs after ten years of self-dictated exile and punishment, has ignored things like broken bones if needed, but this? This was some sort of liability, that much he could gather. And despite being a part of the newly reformed Overwatch and being presented with a frankly disgusting amount of team building, it is still difficult to admit that he might need some sort of help.

However, his practicality wins out over his pride. After all, he can't keep doing what he needs to if this odd feeling keeps burbling up from some strange well within him. Which means he (reluctantly) finds himself setting up an appointment with Dr. Ziegler in hopes that she knows how to straighten out whatever it is that keeps happening to him. She is patient with him as he awkwardly stumbles through describing what he's been experiencing, noting down things on occasion and asking supplementary questions as if to ease his discomfort—Is there ever any dizziness? And about how long would you say these feelings persist? How often do they occur?—until she seemingly reaches a conclusion and hums in understanding as she begins making notes on his chart. Lots of notes. Hanzo tries not to let his anxiety show, though he cannot stop himself from picking at his nails as he demands to know why. Why does he keep feeling so lost? Why does it seem to lower basic skills such as his hand-eye coordination? Why does it always seem to happen when he's left to his own thoughts? Why does it feel like his world shrinks and the only way to make it feel better is to tuck himself up under his blankets? If it's something like depression he's been on medication before, he'll start taking it again if it will just make all the confusing feelings—the inescapable small feelings—stop. The more he asks the more worked up he becomes until suddenly he realizes that the small feeling is happening now and Dr. Ziegler must be able to see it because she's looking at him with a gentle expression that he can't quite place but wants to be mad at but no, actually needs it enough that it scares him...

And when the small feeling says run, he does. Bolts right for the door of the infirmary. It is far from his most graceful escape—very far from it in fact, because he doesn't get five feet down the hallway before he's running smack dab into Cole. It's about then that the annoying loss of coordination and balance really kicks in and he finds himself falling back onto his bottom with a thud. Which in turn reminds his brain to turn on that increased sensitivity he's been experiencing too as his breathing hitches and tears cloud his vision. He can hear Dr. Ziegler behind him, can hear her and Cole discussing something but it's too hard to focus on the words when he's focusing on not crying. Biting his lip and holding his breath to stop the embarrassing hiccups, scrunching his eyes tightly shut when it doesn't feel like enough. It isn't sustainable of course, but the small feeling says it is. That it'll make everything bad and scary stop if he shuts it all out. Until a different voice of reason cuts in, deep and soothing as it croons Didn't mean to spook ya, c'mon honey just breathe for me… There is a little more coaxing, and a hand is placed on his chest (on top of his own, he realizes, gingerly pulling it down and away from where he was beginning to scratch at his throat). The physical contact gets him to open his eyes again, only to find Cole crouched down next to him looking extremely concerned. Calloused thumb rubbing soothing circles on his hand, voice gentle as he instructs him to breathe. For whatever reason Hanzo feels compelled to listen, finally allowing himself the hiccups from before as Cole helps him to his feet and steers him back to the infirmary. Cole and Angela speak in hushed tones for a moment before she tells him he has to let Cole go now, and he reluctantly releases the hand he didn’t know he was still clutching.

Hanzo only belatedly realizes that he has allowed not only one, but two people to see him when he’s regressed (a term that Angela explains as soon as she determines that he is settled and not about to run off again). It is confusing, not to mention unwanted. Especially when she tells him she is temporarily suspending him from missions until he has found a way to manage it a bit better (after all, it isn’t exactly conducive to have the team’s sniper drop at, well…the drop of a hat, so to speak). Worst of all she tells him it would be best to explore his smallspace, highly recommends it even because she knows he otherwise would interpret “managing it” as “repressing it”, which is how he got here according to her—and that a big break was coming if he didn’t. She sends him on his way with instructions to go rest while she works on gathering some resources for him, but doesn’t let him leave until he picks out a sucker from the candy jar that he usually would ignore. But today is different, and the Sour Apple Dum Dum calls to him. As he steps out into the hallway once more and struggles to get the wrapper off with a small whine, the candy is gently plucked from his grasp. Cole unwraps it and passes it back over with a smile before kicking off of the wall by the door where he had apparently been waiting. He says surprisingly little as he makes sure Hanzo gets back to his room without further incident, and the company is much appreciated. And when they finally make it to his room, Cole tells him to come get him if he needs anything, that nothing is a bother. All Hanzo can muster is a quiet okay before letting the loneliness of his bedroom swallow him up.

After that first encounter, Cole seems to make it his personal mission to keep an eye on Hanzo. Even when he has to go off on some mission or another, he has taken to bringing him back small gifts. He has the forethought to be discreet, always leaving them in front of his door in a simple box, for which Hanzo is grateful. Genji keeps teasing him that he has a secret admirer after noticing one of the boxes, but he isn’t quite ready to tell his little brother that the boxes mostly comprise of stuffed toys and sweets. The repeated gesture, along with the genuineness behind it, is enough to make him reconsider Angela’s suggestion of finding a caregiver that he can trust (just one of the many suggestions in the rather lengthy packet she had sent for him explaining the ins and outs of regression). And the more he considers it, the more he likes the idea; there are many qualities about Cole that he respects despite their differences, and they've gotten close enough in their downtime that he has come to trust him. Moreover, Cole seemed okay with the whole idea. The way he had spoken to him that first time stuck with Hanzo, and lately whenever he was feeling small he found himself craving that tenderness. But he has never been one to ask for what he wants, and so he begins to implement the patented Cat MethodTM. Meaning that Cole suddenly has a pair of eyes on him at all times, with Hanzo occasionally bridging the gap and moving in closer. Simple things like making sure he gets to sit next to Cole in the lounge and sharing a lot more personal space with him than anyone else is allowed. It’s painfully obvious that he wants something to anyone that knows how Hanzo operates, and because Cole knows how he operates he picks up on it right away. If he had to wager a guess, it had something to do with that small side of his; after all, he has been leaving him little gifts to let him know that it’s okay (so it’s a pretty safe bet).

While Hanzo cannot bring himself to outright ask Cole about being his cg, their next hangout has a definite slant to it. Not that Cole minds. If anything he finds it kind of endearing. Usually he is so straightforward, so to have him go about something in a roundabout sort of way piques his interest. And Cole is nothing if not patient, going at the speed that Hanzo needs—letting him take his time as he thanks him for helping him the other day, and asking if he might be willing to help him go over a few things. It is the closest he can come to asking what he actually wants to if the pink heat rising in his face is any indication; for his part Cole readily agrees, testing the waters by letting another pet name slip to see how he responds. Gently pushing as he tells him Sure thing, sugarbee. Whatever yer little heart desires. He half expects Hanzo to push back, but instead he finds that he doesn’t so much lean into it as he does melt into it. Even as he starts to slip into that softer mindset, there are noticeable changes. His body is always wound so tightly—posture rigid, jaw clenched, every part of him tense, tense, tense—so when he begins to relax? It's visible that he's feeling smaller. With that relaxation comes a tentative openness. Hanzo is more responsive as Cole steers the conversation towards things that are easier and encourage his smaller side. Asking him if he's picked out a favorite stuffie yet, and could he go get them? They're certain to provide valuable insight into their conversation, dontcha think? And what's their name? Oh, well he's absolutely delighted to make their acquaintance! The encouragement is simple, yet effective. Twenty minutes later sees Hanzo knelt in front of the coffee table, carefully lining up all of the stuffies Cole has gotten for him (ten so far!) and shyly telling him what he has named each one and why (because he has reasons!). Maybe it’s the way Cole nods along or perhaps the silly yet sincere comments he makes, but something about the whole thing makes Hanzo feel lighter. Lighter than he has felt…ever, really.

(with multiple regressors)

After the war, there were many, many things that needed to be fixed and sorted. Societal structures concerning crime, justice, and people. Once the dust settles from the second war that already near-insurmountable list of things somehow only managed to increase. And Kurogiri—Oboro?—just so happened to be one of those things that needed sorting out. All of the villains fall onto the list technically, but he's...a special case. A special case that is infinitely complicated thanks to the fact that Oboro has finally been "reawakened", leading to the two personas within him to begin to merge into something new. Not only is the change metaphysical, but it is becomes exceedingly apparent that it's a physical one as well—the omnipresent smoke surrounding his body finally begins to recede, at first only in patches but soon enough there is no denying who is under all that mist once it becomes more controllable. Which is exactly where the issue comes in in regards to his innocence, and more specifically what should be done about him. Or with any of the villains for that matter. Locking them away in Tartarus obviously didn't work (not that the place is even remotely functional anymore), and the people demand a system reform, so what does that leave? Why, a shiny new villain rehabilitation program! A program that Kurogiri qualifies for no problem, and a program that really allows him to try and figure out who he is now. Bridging the gap between Kurogiri and Oboro is both harder and easier than he expects, but finding common ground helps. One of the strongest things that seems to be a constant between the two? His ability and desire to care for others! That caregiving instinct wasn't something that AFO and the doctor could drive out of him, and instead actively used once it became apparent that it wasn't going away. So once he reaches a certain milestone in his rehabilitation program and is cleared for it, he starts acting as a cg again!

The decision isn't one without its own challenges, no matter how eager he is to regain some sense of agency over his interpersonal relationships. Primarily because that caregiving instinct is pulling him in a couple different directions. But as Tomura is still undergoing rehabilitation (and medical treatment, due to what his body went through during the war), one direction starts to pull more strongly given that it is both more readily available and encouraged by several outside sources (namely his therapists and the newly restructured Hero Commission). That direction of course being Shouta. And it isn't as if he hasn't been spending time with him; he's been by his side for all of this, even before he started remembering things. There's a lot of discussion beforehand that sees to Shouta middlespacing by the end of it, but it's decided that they both would like to try sharing that space with one another again and that it would be beneficial for both of them. In the safety and seclusion of Shouta and Hizashi's apartment, it's all too easy to slip back into habits thought long forgotten. And as Shouta clings to him, he can't help but feel he's regained another part of himself as he strokes a hand through coarse black curls. During this Hizashi acts as a mediator of sorts just to keep everybody safe and happy, but it doesn't take Oboro more than a moment to piece together that he must have stepped in to fulfill that cg role for Shouta after his "accident". Something is a little off though, something he can't quite place yet, about the way Hizashi can so easily get on Shouta's level in a way that he himself cannot. But it's sweet to watch how easily Hizashi can take his hand and lead him towards the kitchen with an excited if not somewhat conspiratorial whisper that earns him a soft giggle and a nod, and so Oboro doesn't question it too hard (nor does he mind giving them a headstart on whatever trouble they're up to).

It takes far longer than he would like, but after several months Kurogiri is finally given the opportunity to reconnect with Tomura. He has received updates on his recovery, sure, but Tomura wasn't allowed contact with anyone other than his doctors. After everything AFO has put him through mentally and physically, the poor boy is left feeling raw and wrung-out. These feelings in turn lend to Tomura spending a lot of time regressed more often than not, occupying a sleepy babyspace. And the only thing he really wants now that everything is all said and done is his papa. It's more than enough to tug at Kurogiri's heartstrings, and it's also more than enough to spurn him into asking for something out of pure self interest. Because he wants to help. Making such requests is still something he is trying to be more proactive about as part of his own ongoing recovery, and he wants more than anything to be a part of Tomura's recovery too. And once all the legal red tape is out of the way, he's approved for visiting hours! Much like how one might go visit a kitten at a shelter that they are planning to adopt once it is old enough, Kurogiri gets to visit Tomura periodically until he can be cleared to come home—because with help from Hizashi and Shouta, Kurogiri has been working on making a space that Tomura can call home. And every time he visits he makes sure to bring Tomura a small treat, taking note of anything that the boy seems to really like and cross-referencing it with the small list he used to keep when it was his purpose to mind after him, not his choice. He finds there are things he's adding to that list now that it is his choice, things that were filtered out before for being "unnecessary"—things like stuffies when he notices how Tomura tends to hug onto a throw pillow, or pacis when he sees that he still sucks on his sleeve when he's nervous. Which he seems to be doing a lot of, though understandably. His papa looks a bit different than he remembers, after all! Is more open with his emotions, too. But Kurogiri is sure to reassure him that while some things have changed, the fact that he cares deeply for him is something that has not and never will change.

To continue with the kitten analogy, once Tomura does get to come home there are some challenges. Challenges that primarily take the form of "let the kittens sniff each other through the door so they can get used to each other". Even Oboro knows it won't go perfectly smoothly, though that recovered optimism of his is hopeful. And it isn't as if Shouta hadn't had time to get used to the idea—he and Hizashi both had went with Kurogiri to visit Tomura a couple of times even!—but it's different once it's happening. They both know that Tomura wouldn't do anything to hurt them now. But suddenly he feels like maybe it's asking too much of Kurogiri, and he thinks him and Zashi have been fine on their own for a really long time now and, and... And it only takes the one occurrence of him and Tomura being regressed at the same time for any worries like that to be forgotten. Oboro doesn't play favorites and makes that abundantly clear from the start. If one gets something, then so does the other. It helps that both boys seem to fall within the same regression range as well. Their first "sniffing each other through the door" regression session consisting of getting them both comfortable on a cozy blanket pallet in front of the TV and putting on some baby sensory videos for them to doze off to, bottles of chocolate milk and vanilla milk given to the correct baby (because Oboro has his little ones' personal preferences down pat!). Hizashi even helps make sure things go well, which means the world to Oboro. He brings Tomura his stuffed bunny before settling down next to Shouta, sitting criss-cross applesauce as he hands him his Chococat and pulls him into his lap for a hug—an act that Oboro finds endearing of not a little overprotective.

Although this brings us to the fact that there is one little piece of the puzzle that Kurogiri really, really should have connected sooner. And that is that he doesn't have two babies on his hands, but three. As it turns out, Hizashi was filling a cg role for Shouta like he had thought—on occasion, that is, when Nemuri wasn't available. Other times however, he was filling the role of playmate! While Oboro is a bit hurt that Hizashi would keep that from him for as long as he did, he can understand why. Regressing wasn't something Hizashi did before, and it was something he was trying to do less of after they lost Nemuri (at his own detriment). Plus it wasn't as if he was hiding it totally! In hindsight he realizes Hizashi had been middlespacing a lot as if to test the waters. He was good at getting on Shouta's level (and later Tomura's) because he was close to it himself! Oboro can see now that he's been playing the part of his little helper more than that of his fellow cg. Though Hizashi is the master of maintaining a persona, even he can't always hide those little slips. Everything clicks into place during one such little slip when they are having playtime that he notices the blonde's fidgety fingers, the longing look he is giving to the blocks the other two are playing with, the way he chews at his bottom lip as if to distract himself from wanting more than he thinks he deserves. And Kurogiri can relate to that feeling of wanting more but needing permission. Tentatively he finds himself ruffling Hizashi's hair, afraid he might be making a mistake with the way he tenses up but pushing forward regardless. Low voice quietly telling him Go on, why don't you play too? I think they would like that. It's okay, you know. Those words being all the encouragement Hizashi truly needed to let go, to go somewhere decidedly smaller. And Oboro takes in all the subtle and not-so-subtle changes, like the way his words run together and the way he bounces in place. Falling in that toddlerspace range means he's a lot more high energy than Tomura or Shouta, but Kurogiri knows he can handle it.

Three babies spells trouble for poor, poor Oboro however. Not that they always regress at the same time (though it turns out it's rare that Hizashi and Shouta don't regress at the same time), but when they do? Trouble. So much trouble. It's the Hizashi factor. Because Tomura and Shouta? Sleepy babies 85% of the time, no troublemaking there. It's when Hizashi gets thrown into the mix that great incidents of baby mischief occur. Shouta is always eager to follow his lead, and it's only too easy to get Tomura swept up in their infectious chaos. Really, it's hard for Oboro not to get caught up too...until he remembers that he's the adult here and that they probably really shouldn't be cramming Hizashi full of crayons. Kurogiri can only watch in a horror-filled fascination for several seconds while Hizashi devours the crayons paper wrapper and all as he gives his review of the flavor (much to the amusement of the other two) before his brain catches back up to him, but the short timespan is enough for several more crayons to disappear. Razzle Dazzle Rose and Screamin' Green being the latest two additions to Hizashi's stomach, the former apparently being "way more nummy". Tomura is already handing him another to try (Robin Egg Blue, this time) and Shouta is shoving the box of 120 (more like 100) crayons under his shirt by the time Kurogiri is crouched beside them with a handkerchief and the gentle instruction to spit it out, please. All that earns him is a stubborn little boy shaking his head no, his attempts to convince him only causing him to chew faster and swallow the colorful wax anyways. He is (rightfully) appalled when he then proceeds to stick his tongue out and scramble away with a laugh. It takes little convincing to get Shouta to give him the box so he can count just how many crayons are missing, as the four fingers Tomura held up at his question seem unlikely. Given that he counts a remaining 89 crayons, the resulting belly ache is no surprise, nor is the rainbow barf that colors the living room floor. The day ends with a trip to Recovery Girl's office that no one is particularly proud of, but mistakes are only human (and no longer a punishable offense for poor Kurogiri).

(with cg!Spinner)

Starting from as far back as he can remember, there have been few constants in Tomura's life that he could take comfort in. Small scraps of peace and normalcy as he navigates a life filled with All For One's little tests to raise up a worthy successor to fulfill his destiny of destroying hero society; it's a lot to live up to for anyone, but especially for a child with a background so chock-full of trauma that he's blocked it all out. Which is where those few, precious constants come into play in the forms of his regression and his guardian. Things always felt so easy when Kurogiri took care of him, like he didn't have to hide himself away since the nomu didn't seem to mind if he actually acted his age (or far younger) like AFO and the doctor did—being small, simply being, felt like what he thought home should feel like, like he could breathe. But then the game got more difficult as they hit the second act and all these new bosses got introduced, resulting in Tomura having to rely on his regression (and by extension, Kurogiri) more and more in whatever downtime he had. And he never thought to try and hide it from the rest of the League, as he has no frame of reference for if it's considered "unusual" or not and neither does his guardian. Though they seem to understand, with some even having some prior experience with regression themselves (whether that being as a regressor or cg not mattering much to Tomura, especially when he's occupying that soft babyspace). Yes, despite the increased difficulty he's been facing everything is going all fine and dandy...until Kurogiri gets captured and suddenly one of Tomura's constants, his home, is gone.

The League sort of...fumbles, the baby for quite some time after Kurogiri gets captured. It isn't fully their faults, of course—Tomura didn't exactly make it easy for those of them that did try, and stubbornly refused anybody that wasn't his papa. If he couldn't have his papa then what was the point? Tomura starts to think that maybe he should stop being so small (the voice in his head telling him this sounding so much like AFO it makes him shiver) and decides that until he can get his papa back he won't be small anymore. But somebody really should have stepped in a lot sooner—tried harder, rather—because it turns out that depriving himself of a healthy coping mechanism isn't great for his health, both physically and mentally! It quite literally takes him wearing himself down to the bone before Spinner finally steps in, thinking he must be the only one that genuinely cares about the poor guy. So he stops asking about it like Magne and Compress had done, and instead starts acting on it like Kurogiri had done. It's when he decides to take action that he realizes that maybe the rest of the League had cared, but just went about it the wrong way. Because Tomura doesn't shove him away when he just as stubbornly enters that cg role and does things like making sure he eats, or that he has the well-loved stuffie that he's been ignoring tucked in with him before they all settle in for the night. Small things at first, but things that help to cement in tiny Tomura's mind that Shuichi is safe in the same way that his papa was and that maybe he can open up and trust him fully with this vulnerable part of himself. Maybe.

Maybe, eventually, turns into definitely as Tomura begins to burn himself out fighting against Gigantomachia. Another one of Garaki's pointless tests that he's pretty sure is meant to break him, and one that might actually be close to doing so at the rate things are going. And while they are all taking shifts with Gigantomachia, Shuichi has been sure to try and stay closer than the others have, for Tomura's sake. The brief snatches of rest he can get are often spent leaning on Shuichi's shoulder as he dozes, too tired and worn out to even attempt to suck on the fingers that twitch towards his mouth. Too tired and worn out to fuss about the soft bites of food being spooned to his lips, beyond an initial, small smack that's more concerning than it is convincing. But Tomura still denies needing the extra help despite clearly benefiting from it, is still determined that he isn't going to regress anymore because the League can't afford for him to, not at such a crucial moment in their clamboring to the top of society from the dredges—so they more or less all let him pretend that he isn't getting these little snatches of small time with Shuichi, instead carefully (or sarcastically, in Dabi's case) referring to it as them just "hanging out". Because that's much more cool and grown-up for somebody in Tomura's position as a leader. Everybody knows that when he starts tugging on Shuichi's hand with a quiet whine that it is hang out time (quite past it, even, given that Tomura actually requested it). However all of these brief moments are only a temporary bandage, barely holding him together—but it does manage to hold him together, at least until the end of the League's fight with the MLA.

It isn't until after the League and the MLA merge to form the PLF that Tomura truly begins to admit to himself that Shuichi is his cg and that they aren't just hanging out more. With all of their creature comforts suddenly paid for and then some (thanks to one of Re-Destro's many colorful credit cards), this new dynamic of theirs actually has the time and resources to properly develop. Well, some time. At least until he has to go into the Tomura IncubatorTM so that the "good doctor" can give him some buffs for the next boss fight, but even though it's limited there is still enough time to make him comfortable; in fact almost all of the time before his special little procedure is spent with him either regressed or middlespacing given that he put it off for so long. He's playing that game of catch-up and Shuichi suddenly finds himself with his hands full. Because while Tomura seems like an easy enough baby to handle, that's only true if you know the cheat codes to his baby time like Kurogiri did. He relies more heavily on a schedule than any of them realized, though this becomes very apparent when the baby gets dizzy and collapses because he forgot to eat without anyone mother-henning him. And who could blame him? He was too busy playing Pokémon Snap on his brand new Switch! Getting a good picture of Sableye was way more important than breakfast...or lunch...and might have been more important than dinner too, if his body hadn't betrayed him (and as he sees it, told on him). It's that little incident that makes Shuichi sit down to figure out a daily schedule for the first time in his life, only to realize that none of the League has maintained a routine ever and he has no idea where to start—though luckily he isn't left to flounder about it for long, given that Koku takes pity on him and offers the schedule Geten is kept on as an example.

With that small bit of help from their new allies, things get surprisingly domestic and calm for awhile. Which is a rather foreign feeling, albeit not a necessarily bad one. Really, Tomura could almost forget about what's coming down the line for him and what he must do. It's all too easy to get attached to Shuichi and the lazy days they spend together. When there's no PLF business to attend to and life in the villa is almost like that of a terrible sitcom—because what is the merge between the League and the MLA if not some sort of off-brand, villainesque Brady Bunch? Tomura can forget all about being AFO's successor for a little while as he curls up on the biggest bean bag he's ever seen in his soft new baby blue pajamas. It's technically his naptime, but sometimes (a lot of the time really) it's moreso a general resting time. Shuichi says he doesn't have to fall asleep if he doesn't want to, although he does set up the room for a Let's Play for the baby that lends to naptime. The lights are dimmed, the television's volume turned down low, and a bottle of chocolate milk sits waiting for him to get settled and curled to Shuichi's side. Tomura doesn't think much about how he's switched the types of games he plays for him either—previously playing more online competitive games like Apex or Overwatch because while big Tomura might enjoy those games, they are overstimulating for baby Tomura. But with that oh-so-handy-dandy credit card they keep borrowing, the boys have access to the Xbox Game Pass. This sees to Shuichi trying out a handful of games that are more baby friendly, with games like Garden Story, Monster Santuary, and Minecraft quickly becoming some new favorites. All Tomura knows is that he likes the simpler colors and softer music, the less jarring framerate, and overall gentler vibe as he sleepily watches the gameplay and babbles about the pixels on the screen.

It takes a long time before Tomura refers to Shuichi with any sort of cg title or nickname, which is fine. So what if he has other names he calls the rest of them? It isn't like baby Tomura talks all that much anyways, and when he does it's more babytalk than actual words. Plus the kid just lost his papa not that long ago, so of course it's going to take him longer to settle on what he calls his new primary cg. Besides, Shuichi doesn't mind how he tugs on his hand to get his attention and even has started to respond to Tomura's noises more instinctively, knowing the subtle differences between classics such as "pay me attention" or "help help help". So it is quite the surprise when Tomura does eventually settle on what it is his baby brain has decided to run with. And it takes Shuichi far too long to realize what's happening as he doesn't expect to be given any sort of special name by that point—he has come to accept that he can't truly replace Kurogiri, after all, and that whether or not Tomura has a name for him doesn't change how much he cares about him. Although what he really doesn't expect is that the baby's tendency to exaggerate certain syllables when he does talk to result in him being redubbed 'Speener'. At first he thinks Tomura is just whining out his code name while middlespacing but no, it becomes abundantly clear that this is what the baby has finally decided to go with when he demands Dortitos, Speener, now now now! with the grumpiest pout after finding out Shuichi has been holding out on the cool ranch deliciousness while he's been stuck with yucky yucky carrot sticks. The debased version of his villain name sounds silly when babytalked in such a way and he thinks it should annoy him (especially when Twice and Toga pick up on it), but for some reason it makes him happy of all things whenever he hears Tomura say it. There's an unfamiliar warmth in his chest when Tomura calls for him now that wasn't there before when it was just the little noises. Unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

(with cg!Eskel)

When it comes to witchers and whether or not they experience regression, there is no discriminatory factor based on the School of their training, because it is the commonalities that they share that make regression quite common. These commonalities by and large are some form of trauma—the trauma of being taken from home at a young age, the trauma endured while undergoing the Trial of the Grasses, the trauma of being ostracized from most of society to slay monsters (which, again, slaying monsters isn't exactly a pleasant experience, but rather a matter of survival of the fittest). Whether it be any one of these events or a long life of built up stressors, that burden eventually becomes too much to bear and something has to give. Even for someone that the outside world has labeled a 'mutated freak' at best and 'inhuman' at worst. But witchers are secretive as a means of self-preservation, and while their lifestyle might breed trauma responses like regression they aren't going to key everyone else in on this little fact. Most deal with it alone, though back when there were more of them it wouldn't be uncommon to see glimpses of one helping care for another. That's the only reason Geralt has any sort of inkling about what starts happening to him not long after the Blaviken incident. He hadn't wanted to get involved either way, had tried to dissuade Renfri from her plans but she had been stubborn and he got caught up in a mess like always... Killing was no stranger to him, but he hadn't wanted to kill Renfri. And something about it was the last stone on the scale, creating an imbalance within him that was now tipping down heavily into 'small'.

It's little things at first, things that are easy enough to repress if he catches them—like the urge to chew on the leather ties on his gauntlets, or the urge to play with Roach when they're stopped at a stream. Witchers, perhaps as a result of the mutations combined with their survival instincts, are quite good at denying their regression until they are settled someplace safe for what they expect to be an extended period of time. For Geralt, that place is naturally Kaer Morhen. So when winter finally rolls around and he returns home the dam starts to crack after months of repressing everything small. But the old castle is big, and he thinks he can keep hiding most of any sort of tell just by keeping to himself. Until they convene for supper, that is. Then it becomes a lot harder to hide how clumsily he's gripping his spoon, or stifle the slight whine when he spills some of his rabbit stew down the front of his doublet. Vesemir huffs and mutters something about him being fussy, and Lambert snickers, but Eskel? Eskel looks concerned, having picked up on the fact that this isn't just some off day for Geralt but something else. And that's all it takes, really—Eskel has always been protective of Geralt, the two having been in the same group to go through the Grasses together and being close enough that many people thought they were related by blood. While he figures Vesemir has decided to assess the situation from a distance, Eskel believes he will fare better if he takes a more direct approach. Which is why he decides to rope Geralt into a game of gwent up in his room after dinner. It doesn't take much convincing either, as Geralt is happy for an excuse to head up early and not have a round of drinks with the others. After all, it's far easier to hide what's happening if he's just with one other person, right?

Wrong. He was very, very wrong. He gets proven wrong fairly quickly, too. They barely have their cards out when Geralt finds himself slipping quite a bit, though Eskel is nothing if not patient. He doesn't laugh when he makes mistakes concerning the basic rules of their card game, only gently reminds him of how to play. Nor does he laugh when Geralt starts to find the game too difficult, the cards too hard to read. No, instead he simply guides him to bed once he starts rubbing sleepily at his eyes, saying they can share like old times when Geralt hints that the journey through the halls of Kaer Morhen seems scarier tonight. The suggestion is all too easy to accept with his head starting to feel so fuzzy, and without thinking he burrows himself into Eskel's chest and sighs when he's pulled closer. It's achingly familiar, though they hadn't taken such comforts in each other in decades. Such things had become too childish for them both at some point. But all of those years fall away as Geralt lets himself relax and melt into the reassuring hold his brother has on him. For a moment he had feared that it wouldn't be as comforting as he remembered, but if anything it was better than it had been. There was nothing to fear come morning—none of the trials could hurt them now, none of the harsher older witchers either that Vesemir couldn't always steer them away from. No monsters for them to hunt nor man to hunt them. Knowing that this time was different was soothing in a way he couldn't have anticipated. Not to mention the fact that his senses were much more heightened than before, his ears far more attuned to the steady thrum of Eskel's heartbeat lulling him to sleep.

They don't really have to talk about it come morning—even if Geralt had not woken up regressed, there would still be a silent understanding between them of what had happened. The change in Geralt was plain to see, and with regression being common among witchers, well... Eskel doesn't mind that his little brother is considerably littler now and instead just gets them both ready for the day. It's not that big of a deal considering the kinds of things they regularly go through; if anything this is a nice break for everyone involved. So what if Geralt regresses? All that means is instead of helping Eskel tend to the horses that morning he wound up toddling around the courtyard behind Lil' Bleater, pointing out things with an excited albeit soft noise of delight (apparently, Lil' Bleater attempting to eat a rock was the pinnacle of entertainment for the little wolf). And he would have probably been content to continue to chase after the goat all morning had they not gotten called in for breakfast. Geralt is reluctant to leave the goat, and even more reluctant to see the other two witchers if the way he attempts to hide behind Eskel is any indication. What if they aren't as okay with him being...with Eskel taking care of him? But Vesemir doesn't seem surprised at all, only asking Geralt who he wants to help him with his breakfast so he doesn't make a mess like he had at dinner. Even Lambert seems alright with it, the extent of his teasing beginning and ending at the fact that he can now boast about not being the youngest out of the wolves—at least while Geralt is regressed.

As it turns out though, Geralt stays regressed a whole lot longer than he thought he would. Nearly the entirety of winter he stays small, with the occasional period of middlespacing. Perhaps it's the way his body compensates for having to put it off for so long, but Vesemir assures them all that this is completely normal for witchers. This not only eases any worries (and yes, even Lambert was concerned), but the extended time he spends small gives them all plenty of time to get to know little Geralt. After about a week they feel confident enough to say that Geralt seems to hover somewhere in the toddler years, probably at around four if they had to pick an exact age. They also start to learn a lot more about his preferences—this is not to say that they did not know any of them beforehand, but that Geralt is what some might call a picky kid. He needs his things a certain way, or he gets very upset! Things like having a schedule are important to how he functions, and while big Geralt can usually brush aside any deviations from what is expected of his day with annoyance, little Geralt struggles to deal with any major deviations. Accommodations are made accordingly however! Eskel sits down with Vesemir and Lambert so that the three of them can come up with a schedule that not only keeps Geralt happy, but also one that keeps them happy as as well. Mornings he spends with Eskel, tending to the animals. Afternoons are spent with Vesemir, helping sort Kaer Morhen's bestiaries before taking a nap (along with the older witcher, who also needs a midday nap). Evenings he spends with Lambert, toddling after him as he takes stock of their supplies and preparing things for the following day. But Geralt always goes with Eskel when it's bedtime. He just can't sleep through the night without his big brother there to keep away all the bad dreams and scary monsters!

The normality that his regression brings is perhaps the most unexpected thing about the whole affair. The winters at Kaer Morhen were already something softer than what the rest of their lives often entailed, but Geralt finds that his regression makes the season spent there almost...domestic. Without the usual pressures bearing down on them all, with his regression stripping away the need to tiptoe around certain sentiments, they can exist almost like a normal family if only for a time. And it's nice, to pretend. Pretend that this was what life was always like, that he had had a childhood not filled with training and mutations. Most people might say that childhood is the spring of their lives, but for Geralt it couldn't be any more different. Winter is filled with short days and long nights, which bring the soothing crackle of the wood in the fireplace. The smell of burning pine coiling around him, the ever-present heat it gives off permeating the space and seeping into his body and with it bringing peace along with its warmth. It felt much like his regression did—safe and familiar, soothing in a way that it had been for all of those who seek the "fire's" comfort. But the fire brings other creature comforts too. The long nights aren't lonely, quite the opposite; nights are spent keeping the fire company, filled with story and song, filling stews, the reassurance of curling into his brother's side, and the soothing touch of his father's hand as he smooths back his hair. The fire and his regression were one in the same, keeping the coldness of the world at bay. And Geralt could stay like that forever if only he did not have spring on the horizon.

(with cg!Iroh)

Needless to say, the trauma Zuko suffered at his father's own hands practically demanded he developed a coping mechanism, and a soft one at that. He was already a gentle boy, and to be hurt in such a violent manner and at such a tender age affected him deeply. So it isn't too surprising that the coping mechanism that spawned from the ether of his subconscious mind was regression. At first it's only at night that this smaller side of him comes out—when his memory of the Agni Kai plays out as the nightmare it was and shakes him to his core, leaving him feeling a little more than vulnerable, crying with damp sheets. But at the realization that his nephew is waking up small and scared, Iroh sees an opportunity for healing. Zuko never had the idyllic, perfect childhood that one would expect a prince to have had, his life having been filled with suffering from the very beginning. And so Iroh works with him during the day, coaxing him down until he can spend some time being little where he isn't so afraid and can simply be. With his uncle's gentle guidance, it doesn't take any time at all before regression becomes an incorporated part of Zuko's routine.

It turns out that Zuko is a toddlerspace regressor through and through. Most days he falls at about three years old give or take, maybe a little older depending on the day, but he's never so big as to surpass six. Though it does take some trial and error to figure out his age range, but Iroh is nothing if not patient. In part this is due to Zuko's own stubbornness, not wanting to seem any weaker than he knows he already must given the circumstances surrounding his banishment. So he attempts to act bigger than he really feels, in that way little kids do when they want to impress someone. However Iroh is fully equipped with the tricks of the trade, and once had a little boy who acted very much the same. So he knows one of the best ways to tempt little ones into acting their age is the perfect distraction—this distraction from the need to appear "grown up" usually coming in the form of a coveted toy. And while Iroh knows that Zuko had a beloved turtle duck his mother had sewn especially for him, he isn't able to find such a toy at any of the Earth Kingdom ports they stop in at. What he does find however is a plush raccoon crow that tiny Zuko quickly becomes attached to, seeing as how it was a gift from his dear uncle.

For the longest time, Zuko believed regression was something that everyone experienced. Iroh essentially told him as much one of the first times he dropped, though for Zuko his confusion and overall state of tiny had probably blurred some of the details—in actuality Iroh had told him plenty of people regress and that he shouldn't be ashamed about this new part of himself. As such, Zuko's whole crew knew about his regression before all was said and done. At first they didn't say anything out of respect for Iroh, but once he explained the reason behind some of his boy's little outbursts the crew grew to be just as protective over their little prince. They would dote on him in their own ways, whether that be the cooks picking out small sweets when they restocked to slip him with his dinners, or the helmsman teaching him some traditional sailing songs. Though sometimes the simplest form of the crew doting on him was how they would all make sure he eventually found his way to Iroh, should he show signs that he was beginning to slip. Carefully guiding him from one end of the ship to the other with Zuko being none-the-wiser as to how he wound up in his uncle's quarters, handing off an "important message" he was supposed to give him (the important message being a small slip of paper explaining that someone could use a story and a nap).

During that peaceful lull they had while living in Ba Sing Se, Zuko was truly allowed to flourish in his regression. So many of the pressures he had been experiencing before were gone as they played at having a simple life running the tea shop, and he was really able to just settle in and be small for several days at a time whenever he needed; it's also during this time that there is a notable shift in Zuko where he seems less like a visitor in his own regression and instead is an active participant as he allows it to wash over him. It wasn't uncommon for him to toddle after his uncle as they would navigate city, taking his hand as it was offered when they went through busier districts so as not to get lost. And Iroh, who is always one for chatting and getting to know people wherever he goes, never corrected anyone when they assumed Zuko was his son. Partly because it was easier not to, partly because it added to their cover story, but mostly? Mostly because he feels as if Zuko is his son, so it only comes naturally for him to smile at their comment about how sweet his boy is, tossing a fond look his way. And if anything the feeling is mutual, as there is more than one occasion where "uncle" gets replaced with "papa" without Zuko even noticing the slip-up—and if he gets an extra tight hug afterwards, well, he isn't about to fuss over the additional affection.

After Zuko figures out for himself that he made a terrible mistake and decides to try to find his way again, he sets out to do what he believes is right. He practiced his little speech that he planned on giving to the Avatar and co. on Pumpkin (his raccoon crow plush, one of the few things he actually took with him) many times, but found it harder than expected when the time came. Though everything works out and they begrudgingly accept him, he learns a lot of things the hard way as he goes about earning their trust. One of the things he learns though? This is when he learns not everyone regresses. He has been shoving aside his regression, determined as he was to leave that part of him in Ba Sing Se, but much like when it first began it comes out when he falls asleep. Sure, Katara may have noticed the plush and they might have all found it a bit odd that the guy that's been hunting them for months sleeps with a stuffed toy. But it's Sokka that recognizes the muffled cries for what they are—he's a big brother, he knows the cries of an upset little one. It just surprises him (and everyone else, really) that that little one is Zuko. With a bit of coaxing they get him to calm down enough to ask what's going on, not quite making the connection at first that his bad dream about "papa being really mad at him" is about Iroh and not Ozai. It's actually Toph that makes the connection while the rest of them argue over whether or not the firelord would allow himself to be called papa (the Gaang, as always, focusing in on the true crux of the issue). They're all a little more gentle with him after that, realizing that he's just as damaged as the rest of them.

His reunion with Iroh has him feeling sick as he hesitates outside the tent, knowing how his uncle must feel about him after what he did; no amount of preparation (with Pumpkin or any of the Gaang) could really quell his jelly legs and nervous tummy. But with how easily, how quickly Iroh pulls him in for a hug—as if he thinks the boy might vanish—it's hard for even Zuko to believe his uncle is mad with him. This is the first time that he can remember not being met with scorn or mistrust as he gave a sincere apology, and it's almost too much. Zuko knows that they all have an important battle coming up, that he's going to be needed to fight his sister, but for a moment he can't help but feel so small and safe again in Iroh's paternal embrace. Everything that was wrong is suddenly right, and he feels as if balance has finally started to return to his life though all is far from being over. Zuko cannot help but middlespace as he shyly albeit excitedly introduces Iroh to his new friends. And Iroh couldn't be prouder as he allows Zuko to stumble through introductions as it appears his regression encroaches more and more upon him—not only did Zuko find his way as he had hoped he would, but he finally began to open up to others again! It's a big step for him, and one of many yet to come in the right direction.

(with cg!La Brava)

A lot of Danjuro's motivation for his goals can be attributed to a deep-seated desire to be wanted and loved. To find a way to earn those things, because for him they never seemed to come naturally. As a child he decided he wanted to be a hero because he saw the way his parents' eyes lit up when looking at them, how they praised them (things they never did for him the older he got because he always, always managed to mess things up somehow). And when that path didn't pan out no matter how persistent he was, no matter how much he wanted to help, well...there were other ways to make his mark and fill that void inside of him. Heroes need villains, right? He would be filling an important role and bringing attention to a lot of issues in society! People would surely come around. So it isn't really much of a surprise that his regression presents itself due to the same underlying issues and insecurities. Right when he's trying his hardest to get his life turned around to where he wants to be, a tiny mistake sends him over the edge. It should be nothing—by all accounts is nothing—but making tea is a simple task that he's supposed to be good at and now he's gone and burned his fingers and, and... And he's sticking his fingers in his mouth to soothe the owwie away like he's done a million times before for things like burns or cuts, but this time is different because something just...clicks. The childish habit feels like it's leaking into the rest of his brain, enveloping his entire body in a comforting warmth as he realizes that if he was younger, then it would be okay, wouldn't it? To make mistakes? Back then his mistakes could be overlooked because he was small and still learning. Maybe...maybe he can pretend for a little while. Even if it feels less like pretending than he thinks it should. What Danjuro does know is that it feels good. It feels easy.

After his first slip, Danjuro tries to recapture that feeling any way he can think of, all while trying to put together his Gentle Criminal persona. Even after he came back to himself that first time, things had continued to feel lighter for a little while. Though he finds that he's experiencing everything from involuntary regression to voluntary regression the more effort he puts in to triggering it. Moreover, it isn't as consistent or predictable as he would like for it to be. He thinks surely another injury or another mistake would make him slip since that was what caused it the first time, but that turns out to be a toss up. Even purposefully doing activities geared more towards children—a stroke of genius that he is certain will lure out the little boy in his psyche—is another hit and miss. Trying to sort out what works best for him (and what to avoid) inevitably leads to him both age dreaming and age regressing—there's a few subtle differences as far as he can tell, at least in his particular case. It's a wishy-washy line for him, but he figures out that the main difference between the two is his age. Or at least that's what conclusion he comes to, based on the fact that if he's age dreaming he can still do plenty of big kid things for himself (even if he does them poorly). So he estimates his dreaming age to be somewhere around six or seven, while his regressing age is closer to three or four. Once he eventually manages to sort out more reliable ways to age regress however, he still can't help but age dream from time to time as well. Because if doing both helps him, then why not do both?

He has regressed in public before and will do it again, whether he wants to or not. Specifically, he is highly prone to regressing in the second-hand store he frequents. There's nothing new about going to these sorts of shops, as his funds have never been exactly stable after being kicked out striking out on his own, but rather there's something new about him. It doesn't matter how big he is feeling that day either, or when he last regressed. Because without fail, by the time he goes to pass the children's section his chest starts feeling tight and his head starts feeling like it's full of stuffing. It's impossible to stop himself from making a detour and browsing the toys. Danjuro is practically running on some sort of wobbly autopilot as he reaches out for one of the teddy bears staring up at him from the shelves, all plush fur and button eyes and practically begging for a hug. A voice in the back of his mind telling him that this poor little fellow has been tossed out and abandoned, forgotten. He can't just leave them here! And so Danjuro finds himself scraping together what change he has left (maybe even putting something back he needs more) to try and bring home as many teddies as he possibly can at the end of each week. It's his personal teddy rescue mission, and the beginning of his teddy bear collection; other stuffies are of course more than welcome to come home with him, but the classic teddy is his favorite. The fact that his shopping cart is comprised of mostly his newfound friends shouldn't tip anyone off, he thinks—although the way he takes longer to count out his yen might, counting out on his fingers yet still needing the help of the elderly woman that runs the place to help him reach the correct amount with a knowing twinkle in her eye.

Now, it may come to absolutely no one's surprise but this thing is a tea party fiend. If he's having a small day, there's about a ninety percent chance that there will be a tea party at some point amongst his many make-em-ups. Danjuro gets very into his pretend play and treats it quite seriously, with tea parties being no exception to this rule. All of his teddies have a specific seating arrangement that is liable to change depending on the current teddy bear drama (Snuggles is still not speaking to Daisy at the moment and they have to sit with several bears between them, a bearrier if you will, or there will be problems by the time Danjuro is offering all the bears another cup). There is also a set menu for these little parties too, which is subject to change depending on whether or not he's dreaming or regressing. If he's age dreaming, then he's making little sandwiches cut into triangles accompanied by a floral green tea blend. However if he's age regressing, then he has to go a little simpler. Simpler of course referring to opening a box of lemon cookies that he carefully sets onto the little saucers served with whichever bottle of juice is easiest for him to get open. Both menus are equally good and tasty if you ask him, and he's certainly had no complaints from the bears...but sometimes Danjuro wishes he had someone else to help with all the grown-up parts about setting up and to share his snacks with. Tea parties are all about "the more the merrier" after all, and it would be nice to have someone besides his bears to talk to (as they most often derail the childish worries he is trying to express with their teddy bear drama that is honestly getting a little too complicated for him to keep up with).

Eventually he is no longer alone, of course! But that doesn't mean he immediately tells his new house guest about the smaller parts of himself. Manami is absolutely wonderful and already helping him out more than he could even begin to describe; Danjuro doesn't want to scare her away by being too much, not when she's the first person that seems to understand him. They click surprisingly well, almost as if they've always known each other. So it really should come as no surprise that when she does inevitably catch him on one of his small days that she isn't bothered by it. Danjuro thought it would be best to just ignore all of that once Manami quite literally showed up on his doorstep, and instead focus on further developing his life as Gentle Criminal. But repressing that healthy coping mechanism that he's come to rely on so much is far from a long term solution. Especially when he keeps slipping in little ways. Little ways that Manami, ever observant, picks up on. And not only does she pick up on these small slip-ups, but she always seems to respond in a way that makes it so incredibly hard for him not to slip further. Forever acting as compliments to one another, it's only natural that his regression would be matched by her caregiving. Her heart is so big and she only wants to help! So what if he needs more help than other people? It isn't a big deal. The small gestures that she doesn't even think about—like reaching out to dab his face with a napkin after lunch when he's gotten a little messy, or covering him up when he falls asleep at his desk—leave him in a tizzy. So when he finally can't keep it bottled up any longer, it isn't hard to just...let her find out. They're comfortable enough with one another by that point that Manami doesn't even give a second thought to him shyly asking if she could help him with the tea, only asking him about the fuzzy friend he's got hugged to his chest.

Over time, he starts feeling a bit more bold about things with the bravado from his Gentle persona bleeding into his little mindset. This bravado primarily manifesting as energy and curiosity. Much like an overgrown puppy that's gotten off of its leash, a high energy baby spells trouble. Danjuro simply must do something or he'll die of boredom, and what he decides he must do is bounce. If he cannot find a bouncy castle then by God will he create one—while technically he could use Elasticity on the walls and floors of his entire room, he might get in trouble with his landlord (which a voice in the back of his head that sounds an awful lot like Manami tells him is a no-no). Although it turns out he can make his bed extra bouncy if he uses his quirk on it, and then really all he has to do is make a few other little jumping pads for himself out of some (again, quirk-altered) sofa cushions that he has carefully dragged from the living room and repositioned in his bedroom. It works out pretty well too, allowing him to bounce around his room to his heart's delight. Until he falls off and bumps his head, that is. Really, it was to be expected given that his coordination while he is feeling so small is lacking to put it nicely. Luckily the bump isn't too serious, but it does bring tears to his eyes as he hiccups because it's quite scary to fall! Just as Danjuro is starting to feel like the world truly hates him he hears the lock on his front door open with a click, which lets him know Manami is home and he suddenly remembers that he isn't supposed to use his quirk if he's little. Which in turn leads him to scrambling to hide the sofa cushions that won't go back to normal for a few hours yet, which results in him slipping and falling again only this time falling flat on his face. Manami is less worried about him breaking a rule and instead focuses her energy on fussing over him and making sure he didn't break his nose.