#no the uncle isn't here; seiji is safe in anachronism's hands

[shih-coulda-had-it]

WHUMPTOBER | Trust Issues | wc: ~1,000

a/n: This is from the 987reverse!au, but it's pulling Torino backstory from @/thisauthorisscreaming's Anachronism fic. What can I say. Torino is not in the market for healthy parental figures.

//

Training was probably the one activity that Sorahiko genuinely looked forward to now that he and Nana were enrolled in U.A.’s famous heroics program. He liked to run, he liked using Jet in creative obstacle courses, and best of all, Sorahiko liked being able to fight back.

What he wasn’t a fan of was when All Might joined the fray.

Nana could laugh and shout about a ‘springtime of youth’ all she wanted. The rest of them suffered a huge morale crush when the Number One Hero of All Time stepped into the gym and flexed his stupid muscles. Some days, they fought him as a whole class. Other times, in groups or pairs.

On the really challenging days, All Might took them on, one-on-one. He called it a tutoring session. Sorahiko considered it hell, especially because the rest of the students had to spar in tight quarters on the other half of the gym.

After Shimura, Suzuki. From Suzuki, Torino.

Sorahiko eyed the way Suzuki, cursing, slunk back to the mats. Keeping pace beside him and cheerfully lecturing all the while, All Might chattered Suzuki’s ear off with advice. “Young Suzuki, your flexibility needs quite a bit of work! Didn’t I tell you last time that villains won’t always be neatly taken out with a long-range attack?”

A towel dropped over his head. Sorahiko let it shut out the world for a split second before he scrubbed the sweat on his neck and whipped it off, just in time to see Nana drop to a cross-legged seat next to him. 

“You ready?” she asked.

“Eh,” he said, noncommittal. The answer was obviously no. Even if Sorahiko landed a punch or a kick on All Might--well, one, All Might was nigh-invulnerable to impact damage. And two, Sorahiko’s specialty was momentum, and trying to compensate for a lack of power with momentum.

“Ah, you’ve got it.”

“I don’t know where you got all my confidence.” He grinned when Nana laughed. Then Suzuki was promptly dropped off at a mat with Fujita, and All Might swanned over to theirs. The rictus of a smile eased into a genuine beam, which was the only reasonable reaction to have when a happy Nana was in hearing and seeing range.

“Young Torino! You’re up!”

Sorahiko checked the bandages wrapped around his wrists and ankles. It was the most support he’d get for his joints outside of hero exercises; gear was strictly limited for ‘work’, and no amount of complaining persuaded All Might that bare-knuckle brawling was untenable for twenty fifteen to sixteen year olds.

“Go, Sorahiko!” Nana cheered, pumping her fist into the air. “You’ll get him this time!”

“Yeah,” he muttered. He got to his feet and stared balefully up at All Might. The same damn quiver in his stomach rattled back to life. And it got stronger and stronger the further they walked away from the class to the empty side of the gym.

They faced each other. All Might had not tried to talk to him, but instead considered him with a look that made Sorahiko’s skin crawl. 

“Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Sorahiko bit out. He imagined violently smothering the ingrained terror, and he shifted his feet, readying a boxing stance.

“You might find better progress if we talked about your strategy,” All Might said, using as much delicacy as he was capable of. “Your speed--” isn’t good enough yet. Get on the track, boy. I know you can go faster--

He said, “Call it!”, and when All Might responded with a startled, “Go!”, Sorahiko lunged forward with a right hook and used the force of his spin to follow that with a kick, and it was a flurry of blows from there.

No point in trying to set up for a ricochet run. The last time Sorahiko went with that, All Might gave chase, and the visual of (frankly) a large looming figure honing in on Sorahiko made him witless with fear. He’d given up all attempts at a fight and went flat-out retreat mode. 

Sorahiko knew there wasn’t a point in trying to shove All Might. The jackass was literally famous for being a Pillar of Society or whatever, and Sorahiko was just sixteen. But as Sorahiko’s limbs started to ache and All Might showed no signs of being affected, Sorahiko let out a breathless cry, ducked closer to All Might’s core, planted both feet on the gym tile and Jetted. 

All Might’s hand grasped at Sorahiko’s shirt. Sorahiko was bodily lifted before he could cut the Jet. He flailed like a goddamned child as All Might slid his foot backwards and nearly let Sorahiko Jet himself into a wall. As it was, Sorahiko’s attempted Jet shot him against his own shirt, and he choked out a curse word.

“Easy there!” All Might chided.

Because Sorahiko was taking lessons from Nana’s school of ‘Never Give Up!’, he scrabbled for a new footing. (He was a child again, being grabbed by the collar and prevented from escaping.) He said, stupidly, “Take me seriously, you shitty old geezer!”, and lashed out with an elbow, a fist, all five nails clawing for a grip.

With casual ease, All Might tossed him to the side. “Young Torino, you really have to talk to someone,” he scolded. “You’re lucky young Shimura thinks you have the fighting tactics of a spooked cat. She’d be quite worried if she knew you were fighting through a panic attack every time you went up against me.”

Sorahiko rolled to his feet. “I’m not,” he snapped. He flinched back when All Might readied a punch, but he tried to rally anyways. Never give up and all. “Anybody would be scared shitless if you cocked a fist at ‘em! You’re known for smashing people to pulp!”

“I haven’t even thrown a student hard enough to break a brick wall,” All Might protested. He pinwheeled an arm, popping the joint. Sorahiko loathed the evidence that he hadn’t hit All Might hard enough to induce any sound at all. 

Before All Might gestured for a restart, Sorahiko went for his neck.