AN: A 1k commission for frostbert, who asked for ASL bros and crying Luffy. Hope you enjoy!
Luffy tries to prove himself a lot; prove himself strong enough to be Ace and Sabo's brother, prove himself strong enough to survive, strong enough to do what he wants, take what he needs.
He has to prove it more to himself than anyone else, because for some reason they all think he's stronger than he is and that he's worth something and he can't seem to figure out how to tell them that he's not sure he is.
Everything that Ace and Sabo have given up for him – Sabo's managed three jobs and a scholarship since he was fourteen, Ace didn't even graduate, they've given up so much so he can have the things he wants–
Luffy just has to prove that he was worth it.
But his head doesn't co-operate, he's a machine that's been broken for years. Some days he can't even speak, like the words have swollen in his mouth, blocking him from speech. What sort of person can't even say I love you when their brothers learn to read minds, and figure out sign language so he can say things without even having to use sound?
He should be stronger than this, but he's not.
Luffy wants, with a heart that aches at the very need, to tell them. To open his mouth and speak and say that he's not okay, that he needs them, that he doesn't know what to do, that he's scared-
But his words are stopped just as easily as they always are when anything important needs to be said, and automatically his fingers bend.
Put your hands down, he thinks, almost desperately, but when he does it feels more like a surrender than keeping his palms ready to form a sign, ready to- say something, he begs himself, gets down on both knees and pleads, but his tongue is empty, even though he's not.
He's seen soda get shaken up so much that it explodes, pressure building and building and building with nowhere to go, and inside his skin he can feel the same chemical reaction. He can feel an itch in his insides, like bubbles are pushing for a way to get out, and he's waiting for the mess he will cause like he's watching an unavoidable train wreck.
He should be stronger than this, but he's not.
He is going to break, and the pieces are just going to prove that he was never worth all of their sacrifices. That he was never meant to be their brother.
That he was never meant to be worth more than an easy laugh and a smile, that Ace and Sabo shouldn't have given up what they did just for him. That his habits should never have been pandered to, that his hands should've been taped down like Garp wanted instead of allowed to touch and squeeze and twitch.
But instead of saying all that, he suffocates. He lets the words build like ammunition for a bomb, and when time comes he puts a pen to the paper and bleeds, pours out a disconnected river of words, penning the feelings he can't seem to say.
When he's done he's still breathless and can't help but stare at the messy scrawl.
His fingertips press to the edges of the paper, crinkling it, and somehow he doesn't know what's been said but he knows that it'd be easier for him to dig his hands into his chest and pull out his heart than to ever let Ace or Sabo see this letter.
With the tiniest breath he pulls it apart and then keeps pulling, ripping it into tiny shreds that flutter to the ground, and it isn't until something warm hits the back of his palm that he realises tears are falling too.
He should be able to stop, once he realises that, but his throat gets tighter and tighter and before he realises it, soundless wails leave his mouth, hollowed, empty wheezes, and he's shaking but he can't stop that either.
He needs to be strong.
He needs to be okay.
He needs to prove that he was worth this, that he was worth Sabo's stress and anxiety and Ace's tireless work, that he was worth every single screaming match in their house before Ace and Sabo managed to get enough money to move out. He needs to prove that he was worth it all, only he-
can't.
"Luffy?" Sabo's voice suddenly calls, worried, and Luffy doubles over, pressing his chest to his knees and trying to stop his breath from hitching, "Luffy, are you okay?"
No.
He can't answer, the back of his wrist pressed to his mouth, feeling snot and tears dribble across his hand, feeling his teeth press to his skin, and when he hears Sabo's sharp gasp all he can think is I failed, and that hurts so much more than Sabo's hands on his shoulders, trying to make him look forwards.
Luffy shudders under Sabo's palms, at the rippling, stupid feeling of wrong on his stupid skin, and he knows it's all in his head but it hurts anyway and he detests knowing he isn't in control, that he can't get up and make his body behave, that he can't let Sabo touch-
Something warm and soft settles lightly around his shoulders, slowly placed around his shaking body, and suddenly he can breathe, just a little. His breath rasps, and it hurts, but he can breathe, and inhales like he'd been drowning, air burning in his lungs.
"Luffy," Sabo says quietly, and though the words ring in his ears Luffy still pulls his head up and tries to grin at his brother.
"I'm f-fine, S-Sabo!" he says, but his lower lip is shaking so much the words fall like stones, and every ripple they make is part of the frown of concern on Sabo's face. "Did- did you n-need- did you ne-need h-help?"
Help, he thinks, the first time he ever thinks it, and he can feel the bubbles start to pop; he can feel himself start to break up under the pressure, no matter what he does to try and stop it.
Help, he thinks, and his grin collapses slowly, bending out of shape, lips finally-
"Help," he whispers hoarsely, and Sabo lets Luffy sink into his arms, curled up tight, pressed to the warmth of Sabo's chest.
His voice sounds as hoarse as Luffy's, but it doesn't waver when he says, "Of course."