A/N: Another angsty Whitebeards drabble. I own nothing but the words. Enjoy~.
Three times, he had counted. Three times he had ran off in the middle of the night, never intending to return.
The first was when he was six, and had grown weary of his life in his home village. The inhabitants weren't exactly the most kind to a young devil fruit user, and those who were, kept trying to take him in order to fulfill research. He was one of the rarest of them all, a mythical zoan, and in terms, that brought too much attention to the small village. People from around the world would sail there in order to get a small glimpse of the blue baby bird, and well, the attention hadn't been taken kindly by the other inhabitants.
In fact, he was hated by almost everyone but his family. He recalled one young boy telling him to run away; that no one wanted a freak there. And him being the impressionable six year old he was…had done just that. He had taken what little possessions he had, left a scratchy note, grabbed his mother's music box(it soothed him while he slept), and left.
The second was after the death of Thatch. While he wouldn't let it show, he had fallen into a state of depression, and would often find himself thinking staying with the crew was unbearable. True, they were his family, but Thatch was his best friend—the one man in his life that no one would be able to replace. They had been friends for so long, the thought of him not waking up and seeing that smile of his was becoming more and more difficult.
It was a stormy night, when no one was awake that he decided he'd do it. He would run and take a break from the crew, and get revenge on Blackbeard. It wasn't until a firm hand had grasped onto his leg mid-flight had he realized what he was doing was cowardly. He was running from his problems, and the few people that could help him through this time. As Whitebeard pulled the phoenix into a caring hug he decided to never do this again.
But yet here he stood, the same thoughts floating through his head that had the previous two times. He had managed to lose three of the most important people in his life, and had he been a lesser man, would have died along with him. But the thoughts of his crew, and how they would need a leader through these times had occurred. He cared about his family more than anything, and would never abandoned them, especially when they would need him the most.
Yet as the waves hit against the docks, he felt like leaving. He had done nothing but stay in his cabin, ridden with the sadness that was losing his father and brothers. He often wondered if the pressure of leading the Whitebeards was too much, and if he could handle it. Those were the first of many doubts he had about his leadership skills.
His grip tightened into fists, a tattered white cloth, and a red bead clutching tightly to his palm. But this made him think, what would happen to the crew? Would they disappear just as his happy personality had? Would they disband.
It was almost unbearable to think about. All that hard work, all those years…they would turn to nothing, and it would all be his fault. He pressed his lips firmly together. "No…"He had made his decision.
He would stay, and try his best to keep the family together. For Ace, Thatch and Pops.