When We Were Heroes
A/N: Ok, this is a massive angst trip. Sorry not sorry. Maybe don't read this on a bad day. Not really set in cannon, sort of a possible future fic idea if everyone's lives went to shit. Enjoy the pain. :)
The Thousand Sunny was quiet. Nearly silent really, despite the waves and the wind. It always was these days. I looked out over the sea from my place in the crow's nest, sitting through another night of empty watch.
Once upon a time, the silence might have been strange, now it engulfed the ship, and never seemed to leave. So much had changed.
I vaguely missed my hat's presence on my head, having chosen to leave it in my quarters tonight. Instead wind ruffled through my shaggy black hair, and whispered against the scars littered around my chest, under the open captain's coat. I truly hate quiet nights like these, they remind me too much of how we used to be. Back when we were heroes.
We used to always party and laugh. We joked and did stupid things. I bothered everyone, and Nami was excessively greedy. I remember wide grins and music, and grand stories and clanking metal. I remember adventures, and dreams.
I remember, when we used to be heroes.
It seems so long ago now, back when we saved everyone, and won every battle and had the world at our feet. Before we knew the taste of war. When Law and Kidd and Bonny were still my rivals. When Law was still sane.
Before Usopp lost his stories, and Franky lost his spark. Before Robin's smiles became rarer, then stopped. When Brook was still here, and Jimbe looked on at us is awe.
Before Sanji fell apart, and Zoro tried to piece him together again. But he was too ragged, too worn. Before Zoro's days consisted more of watching over Sanji than training, and his ambition took a step back. Before Chopper saw his first kill. Caused his first massacre, and was never quite the same.
Before Sabo came back, and somehow everything got worse.
Before Nami was taken captive, and returned with scars. Scars worse than any we had yet seen. Across her chest and down her arms were lines from scalpels now, and down her neck and shoulder had lain swaths of fire. Her stomach had an line across it, that marked her barren, and shocked her, with how much she realized that she loved kids. The lines down her face were jagged, puckered and twisted. Crossing from left temple to right jaw, through a now ruined left eye whose fog she couldn't bother to cover, and across her lips, from cheekbone to chin.
She didn't like to smile much now, it made her feel the scars.
I remember when our allies used to look at us in awe, and how Shanks used to look down on me with amusement and pride. Last I saw of him, spoke only of sadness. Now Sabo looked at me with a pain that I wish I hadn't caused, and my crew awaited orders with empty, obedient eyes.
I remember how they smiled, and openly berated me.
Back when we used to be heroes.
Years have passed now, and the world has been cruel. We have all loved and lost, and lost without love. I have grown up, no longer the child who believed that he could do anything. I am stronger now, wiser, and jaded.
I can wish hopelessly for us to return to those bright, golden days, but it will do no good. We cannot go back to such an innocent place. Not with the blood on our hands. The blood of innocents. The water of war.
I know better than to wish for these things. Even so, I miss the days, from when we were heroes.