PAIRING: Checker Face & Skull
TAGS: Pre-Canon, Canon Divergence, POV Third Person Limited
Light Angst, Grief/Mourning, Temporary Character Death
Accidental Baby Acquisition of sort, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Immortality, Arco Curse, Checker Face | Kawahira-centric, Hopeful Ending
Last of his Kind Checker Face | Kawahira, Immortal Skull
WARNING: Not Beta Read
Inspired by this writing prompt: Your immortality isn't the result of any curse, or blessing, for that matter. No, it's just that you pissed off the God of Death so much he can't stand the sight of you.
A life dies among the billions Kawahira feels at all time, and a few minutes later another one is born. To be thoroughly precise, countless lives die while countless others are born in these few minutes, and it's nothing noteworthy enough for Kawahira to freeze over his bowl of ramen, just about to have his first taste of the hot noodles, all his senses on alert.
Kawahira freezes over his bowl of ramen, just about to have his first taste of the hot noodles, all his senses on alert, because the last life who's been born in the last few minutes is the same one who died the same few minutes before, in the same world.
Which of course, can't be right under any circumstances, and yet Kawahira still has to go check what it's all about, even if it means he'll come back to cold ramen.
He stands, sighing, and with a thought Kawahira becomes Checker Face. He then opens himself a portal straight to that peculiar life he knows can only be a temporary thing, more likely a glitch from the Tri-ni-sette. It sometimes happens, in fact happens often enough humans have taken to call them luck, or coincidences, or miracles. It's partly for these type of situations his kind have looked after the Tri-ni-sette since as far as they've been born, and though he can overlook most of those glitches, this one won't do.
Kawahira steps out of his portal inside a bank, evidently fresh out of a robbery gone wrong. Bodies lie in their own blood on the floor, the survivors hunched over them or cowering in their corner in various states of disarray, a noisy crowd outside the bank.
Kawahira sends to sleep the whole street, just to be thorough, temporarily cutting off the street from the rest of the world. The woman at his feet falls asleep too, falling on her side, her hands falling from the boy she was fussing over.
"Mum!" The boy kneels next to her, tries to shake her awake.
He looks around him for help, fear and worry creasing his face more and more as he realizes everyone else has fallen asleep too. He looks over to Kawahira, startles at seeing him there, and immediately jumps to his feet to put himself between his mother and him.
Wide bloody circles darken his shirt all over his chest.
For all intent and purposes, and Kawahira would know, he felt it, the boy has just come back from the dead.
The boy flinches when he reaches for him, but still stands his ground. Kawahira ever so slightly touches his forehead with the tip of two of his fingers, and lets what amount to a drop in the ocean of his flames thoroughly course through the boy's body.
He finds dormant Cloud flames, unbelievably pure, potent, and full of potential for a boy his age, but dormant. He finds nothing strange in the boy's constitution, finds his deadly injuries have healed, and his body and the energies within are back the way it is for all other humans. He finds nothing else.
Kawahira does a double check, because surely there is something, how could it not?
He finds nothing else.
Kawahira lets his hand fall back at his side, but then crosses them both behind his back, looking down at the boy.
For all intent and purposes, the boy has just come back from the dead.
Which of course, cannot be right under any circumstances, not when not even his kind has ever been known to be immortal.
Oh, they certainly live long, too long, can brush off what would have killed humans long ago, but only because those were never meant to be deadly to them to begin with. The things that are deadly to them do kill them to never stand again, he would know. And they only get to kill them once.
It can't be a glitch of the Tri-ni-sette either, not something like this that defies the first and most inevitable law of nature, not when the very purpose of the Tri-ni-sette is to see that life indiscriminately follows its natural course to its end and then from the beginning again.
Yet the boy stands in front of him, breathing, alive, even when he was dead minutes earlier.
Under his mask, Kawahira smiles. To borrow the humans' words, he has no idea what in the ever loving fuck is going on.
"Who are you?" the boy asks eventually, unsure, but still wary, accusatory. "What did you do to my mum? Is she okay?"
Kawahira almost laughs. Who is he? "Boy, who are you?"
The boy's name is Skull, which isn't actually his name, but he'll either be called only that or die throwing the most annoying temper tantrum of your life, or so he says and has proven it one time too many. He's been born to a man and woman average in every way, human in every way, and most importantly here in all its ordinariness. So are his grandparents, and the parents of his grandparents, and all of his ancestors from the last century.
The boy's six years old, and nothing in his six years of life is any different from any other six years old boy, nothing he's been born with, or that's been done to him, or he's lived through that could have changed his constitution so drastically.
The boy is a Cloud, and it's the angle Kawahira wills it to make light of the situation, perhaps a bit obsessively and against all logic, but it's the only thing that he could make himself believe make sense. Indeed, Cloud flames users, the particularly talented ones, not only are extremely resilient beyond what humans can imagine, but have regenerative abilities veering into the inhumane Sun users pale against. Except not even the ones who reached the greatest heights of mastery of their flames could come back from meeting death too closely, not even the ones he cursed with a pacifier around their neck. Still, it'd be an easy reach to do, and he'd have somewhere to go from there, but in any case the boy's flames are dormant, having no effect yet on him except for keeping the balance of his physical and spiritual being.
So Kawahira looks into the Tri-ni-sette, makes sure the three set are where they should be and being taken care of the way they should be. He looks particularly closely into the pacifiers, makes sure the current Arcobaleno are doing their job properly and haven't found a way to rebel against their fate, as useless as it'll always end up being. He even makes sure the Tri-ni-sette isn't playing favorites, the way the Sky pacifier only lets itself be carried by those with Sepira's bloodline, even if it means no one hates it more than them.
He looks into the Vindice, thoroughly looks into Bermuda's mind to see if that hate of his has come up with yet another thing that should be beyond humans' reach like his Night flames, and erases the fact he was ever there in the next instant.
He looks for remnants of his kind in the human bloodlines that have or could have come in contact with the boy, looking into their ancestors as far back as one century too. Of course he has no hopes about this lead, but perhaps Sepira wasn't the last of their kind to die except for him, and the ones who chose to mingle with the humans like her didn't see fit to let the rest of them know. It's the lead that would certainly make the more sense, because even if he didn't find any sign of his kind in the boy's ancestry, let alone the boy himself, perhaps some half-earthling has seen fit to pass down to him an immortal gene none of them should have for whatever reason, the way Sepira has passed down her seer ability to her offspring.
So Kawahira looks into that, because perhaps some of his kind couldn't bear the reminder of the tragedy that struck them to even keep in touch with the rest of the survivors, and chose to stay hidden even as Kawahira moved heaven and earth for any sign of them he might have missed after Sepira's death. Just perhaps, a half-earthling more earthling than human has been born without him somehow taking notice of it, enough earthling to turn a human immortal, even if Kawahira has always kept an eye over all the human bloodlines with the blood of his kind in them, waiting for it to weaken even further each generation until at last the new one will only be human, or for his kind's blood to disappear from the face of the earth with the last ever generation of that human bloodline, but perhaps, perhaps...
He finds nothing.
The boy is immortal, and Kawahira has still no idea why that is, and most importantly how it has come to be.
"What is death like?" he asks casually as they share a bowl of ramen.
Luckily the boy likes ramen, and it's easy to whisk him away to his shop for various amount of times that stop passing for the rest of the world until he leaves. It's more convenient to interrogate him in his shop, to have him close so he can study him.
The boy looks up from his bowl, then back down at it again. He takes a moment, maybe to think about the question, maybe not having understood the question at all and wondering what the strange man is talking to him about.
"Painful," he says eventually, a hint of unease on his face. "Quiet. Cold."
So he has realized he died that day. Is it noteworthy, is it something Kawahira should take as a hint to understanding what is going on?
The boy is six years old. Is it common for human children that age to already have a grasp on the concept of death? It seems too young for him, but truth is he doesn't know, wouldn't know.
"How did you find your way back to life again?"
The boy shrugs. The boy shrugs. How blissful the ignorant are indeed. "I just woke up again."
The boy died, and apparently it felt like falling asleep, however painful, quiet, and cold it might have been. So of course he just woke up again to escape the painful, quiet, and cold place. Of course.
"I see," Kawahira says, not seeing anything clearer than before, feeling the biggest of headache pulsing at his temples. He does appreciate the honest answers, that the boy is willing to give him any answers at all.
Perhaps Kawahira should look into parallel worlds, should take counseling from himself. No, the problems of each world are better left in their respective world, it's a rule they've made for a reason. Kawahira would just be inviting himself more headaches and possibly the end of all the worlds.
Still, the boy died, and it felt like falling asleep. Is death like falling asleep? The painful part should only be because of the way he died, his kind certainly didn't seem in pain the last time he saw them, not knowing it was the last time he was seeing them. As for the quiet and cold, it wouldn't be so bad even if it's always like this.
What a comforting thought it is, regardless of its veracity. Pity his kind didn't think of waking up again.
Kawahira waits until the boy is ten. Ten is a good number, isn't it? Still young, a short life, but not so short he hasn't had the time to make some good memories and enjoy it, and just short enough he has yet to learn the painful side of life. It'd be mercy, really, if it goes the way it's supposed to, but he knows the humans will weep, will call it a tragedy, the boy was only ten years old, so young, so cruel. No matter.
Kawahira steps out of his portal inside his room, and immediately the boy stirs. Kawahira doesn't know the type of presence he's tuned into he came to recognize as him, because he makes sure not to have any presence at all so not to overwhelm the humans, but finely tuned to him he's become indeed. He blinks open sleepy eyes, fleeting them over to him.
"Uncle Kawahira?" The boy perks up through his sleepiness and confusion. He looks over at the windows, and upon realizing it's still early morning, doesn't bother moving from under the comfort of his blanket. "Morning."
"Good morning," Kawahira says, walking forwards.
He doesn't know when the boy has started calling him uncle, let alone when he got his real name out of him. Perhaps somewhere between his oh so funny jokes about how lame Checker Face is as a nickname, totally not as cool as Skull, also his whole outfit is super lame too, why would he even dress like that, it's so ugly, and if he'd let the boy choose an outfit for him he'd look super cool just like him too, and would he look at that, the boy put an outfit together from different magazines just for him.
Kawahira sits at the edge of his bed, the boy's curious eyes never straying away from him. He clenches his jaw, looking away despite himself before forcing himself to keep his eyes on him, and with a thought Kawahira gets rid of his mask.
Kawahira knows even less when the boy got him to show him the real face of his current form. Perhaps somewhere between realizing the boy connects the sight of him to the day he died, and on days when that day is at the forefront of his mind, he can't look at him, keeping his eyes on his bowl of ramen, his body tense, and his attempt at casual normalcy leaving a lot to be desired.
"It's too early, Uncle," the boy says, relaxed once more, grinning gratefully. "I can't come to the shop with you."
"It's fine, I don't need you to come anywhere with me. I'll just put you back to sleep now, alright? You won't feel anything."
The boy frowns, pausing the absent bouncing of his legs under the blanket, but like the first time, he doesn't move as he reaches for him with his fingers.
The boy is ten, and in these four years has stayed clear of any life-threatening experience. Good for him, but Kawahira has to know if that day was only a fluke, if it was some unbelievable glitch the Tri-ni-sette let pass itself. And though many things in this world could kill him, none could as thoroughly as Kawahira, as painlessly as him.
Kawahira touches his forehead with the tip of two of his fingers. "Close your eyes." The boy does, and Kawahira releases some of his flames inside his body, just above the deadly amount for a human boy of ten years old, so to leave no place for uncertainty.
The boy's body goes slack, dead. Kawahira removes his hand, and waits, watching him. The boy wakes up again.
And Kawahira's heart breaks, unexpectedly so.
The boy is immortal, through and through. What a tragedy.
"Uncle?" The boy sounds tentative, meek. "Did I wake up too soon?"
Kawahira cups his face, his hand almost as big as his head. So young a boy indeed. He finds he could almost weep for him. "One day," he tells him, "you'll wish you hadn't woken up at all. And sooner than later, I'm afraid."
His kind's long lifespan inevitably ends up being a curse at times, and again and again, but they were raised to learn to face it since they were born, had the support of those older than them and their elders when it was time for them to face such desperate times.
But a human like him, who could ever support him in any way that'd make a difference? Who could ever give him if only even understanding?
A human immortal. Kawahira couldn't imagine greater doom.
Kawahira keeps in touch with the boy, and he doesn't keep himself so safe anymore. He finds himself a fancy for stunts, all kind of stunts, even the most dangerous ones, especially the most dangerous ones. He's teaching himself the ropes, so of course he ends up in accidents, dying then coming back to life again.
Kawahira doesn't have any doubt left concerning his immortality, but it's valuable information that let him understand his immortality. So valuable in fact, Kawahira makes use of the Tri-ni-sette to keep these accidents happen often enough, to keep them varied over a broad spectrum of deadly things to humans. After all, it might be less that the boy is immortal, and more that it just so happens that only a few things in this world can kill him. Nothing is set in stone yet, but of course if he is immortal, nothing will ever be.
Kawahira thinks nothing of the fact he spares the boy the gruesome, painful deaths no boy should go through, even if it distorts his information gathering, even if the answer he's searching for could be in the things he doesn't allow to happen to him. He thinks nothing of the fact he finds himself more and more at the side of the boy when he comes back from the dead, helps him go back to his home, helps him to his shop when he doesn't want to go home, helps him clean himself and change clothes, stays by his side until he's gathered his bearing again. He thinks nothing either of the weight in his chest as he waits by his side for him to come back from the dead, unable to be certain he'll come back from the dead this time too.
Why would he? There's nothing for him to think about. The boy is an anomaly in the grand scheme of things Kawahira looks after so they won't be any anomaly, at least not of that scale. Kawahira needs him in a decent state of well-being until he's figured out how the anomaly came to be, so to make sure it hasn't nor will set a disastrous chain of reaction that might lead to the end of all the worlds, so to make sure it won't spread to anyone else nor will it happen ever again. So he can fix it before it does either of these things.
It's his duty to look over the Tri-ni-sette, to make sure it works the way it should, and make it so it does once more should anything go wrong. And he's given more of himself to his duty than he knew he had to lose, has let his duty take more from him than he knew he wouldn't be able to heal from, for him to stop being anything but dutiful to a ruin.
Skull is fourteen when he stands in front of a grave that's really personal to him, that really means loss for him. His grandfather passed on in his sleep, and Skull has still to shed a tear for him, even when his face says it all about how he feels about his death.
Kawahira doesn't know when's started to call him by his favored name. He's certainly still a boy at only fourteen of age, would still be a boy to him even if he was one hundred years old, even if he was one thousand years old. Perhaps it was somewhere between him bursting into his shop, donned in what he decided would be his stage appearance he'll build his image around. Evidently no one reacted the way he hoped them to despite the huge, expectant grin on his face, and it was the easiest thing for Kawahira to let compliments tumble from his lips over his purple hair, purple makeup, purple tattoo under his eye, the various piercings and earrings on his face and his ears, and his black and purple leather jumpsuit. He found he even meant them, Skull being able to tell too as he beamed under the praise, and Kawahira found he couldn't have not meant his compliments when Skull was so obviously happy of his stage appearance.
Kawahira appears at his side once everyone but him has left. He waits a moment to see if Skull will say something, but he doesn't.
"This is what immortality is," Kawahira says, like it still needs to be said. But perhaps it does need to be said, perhaps there's things humans and earthlings alike need to hear from someone else who can bear to say the words for them to really sink in. "This is what death means for those of us it will always leave behind."
Is Skull thinking of his grandmother, of his parents? Of the day he'll stand over their graves too, knowing it won't just be that they left before him, but that they were always going to leave before him? Is he thinking of everyone he's come to care about, and how he will stand over each of their graves too? Is he thinking of all the people he'll come to care about, lovers, perhaps even children, and if he should let himself love them to begin with? If it will be worth standing over their graves, be worth knowing every moment of him loving them and them being alive he will have to mourn them one day?
Kawahira thought along those lines while standing over Sepira's grave, left with nothing else to lose, and resolved he'll never let himself have anything to lose ever again, resolved it's better to never care at all, instead of caring, knowing you're inevitably the one who'll lose.
"Why am I like this?" Skull asks, his voice emotionless, empty.
"I don't know," Kawahira says. "It's very likely I'll never know either. And even if I do, it's likely as well I won't be able to fix it. I'm sorry I don't know why you're like this, I'm sorry I can't fix it," he hears himself say after a beat, and immediately finds himself distasteful.
Sorry. What a useless word so very loved, so very efficient in easing the guilt away. But what does it ever do, really, when does it ever make a difference?
Kawahira heard it a lot from his kind the last time he saw them, not knowing it was the last time he was seeing them, and it didn't make his grieving any easier, didn't appease his terror of more of them following in their wake, of him being left behind. He heard it from Sepira on her deathbed too, as if it could make anything better when at last, she was about to truly left him all alone in the world.
Ah, loneliness. The heaviest word, merciless. Not the deadliest one, but oh, is it ever. Some days Kawahira can't remember the boy he's been once, the man who was still whole he's been once, so much so he doubts he's ever existed.
Sorry. It's a word for after everything is said and done, and nothing could ever be made better ever again. It's the word he hates the most, and that's why he's never apologized to any generation of Arcobaleno he cursed.
Kawahira stands by Skull's side, and he doesn't know why he's there. He knows he has no right to be there, and doesn't know why he showed up anyway. He's a despicable being, whether he's been born or made, it doesn't matter, he doesn't even remember, but it's a fact he's known for so very long now.
Still, to stand next to Skull in his time of need, to imply he'll be his support should he want to, as if he doesn't know he'll doom him all over again sooner than later, as if he hasn't known it long before he became Active, hasn't known it since the very moment he became aware of his flames on that day, is a new low for him he almost feels ashamed of.
And still, he remains by his side, leads him out of the graveyard when he doesn't want to stay there anymore, leads him to his shop when he doesn't want to go home, prepares him a hot bowl of ramen, and sits across from him so they can share one together.
Skull breakdowns at last, pained and broken tears pouring down his cheeks into his noodles unbidden, mourning his grandfather, mourning himself.
And still, Kawahira remains by his side, holds him in his arms, holding him together as he shatters.
Skull is seventeen when his father dies. He hasn't left his room for a week except for the funeral, has refused to see anyone otherwise, and Kawahira tells himself he'll take the opportunity to disappear from his life, and perhaps even erase from his mind they've ever met before he does.
He appears in his room the seventh day. It's early afternoon, and the windows are open, light pouring in, the air inside smelling fresh. The work of his mother, he knows.
Skull lies in his bed, hidden under his blanket, his back to the door. He turns on his other side upon his arrival, peaking his head from under his blanket. It seems he hasn't cried today at the very least, but his eyes are still red and red-rimmed.
Skull catches his eye, and relief softens the pain and grief on his face. His voice is rough and frail. "You'll stay too, won't you, Uncle? You'll always be there too."
"I can't tell you that, and promise you it won't end up being a lie."
"But you will stay as long as it's up to you, won't you?"
Kawahira can't help but smile. Skull has always known how to cut to the chase. "I can tell you that, but I also can tell you you'll come to resent it one day."
Skull looks away, dismissive. He sounds bitter. "I'll never resent anything more than this." His voice falters then, breaks down on a choked back sob. "Will never be more hurt than by this."
Heavy is living indeed, especially for the likes of them. Kawahira couldn't argue with that.
He steps forwards until he can run his hand through his hair, and lets his hand at the back of his head. "I've already lived a thousand years and more. I'll make sure to live a thousand years more at the very least." Skull catches his eye again, and his own well up with tears. Some drip down his cheeks as he blinks, and Kawahira brushes them away. "Boy, you're so close to be the greatest stuntman that has ever lived. What a shame would it be if you let your body rot in here?"
Skull laughs through his tears. He sits up against his headboard, sniffling, then dries his eyes the best he can. "Yeah, okay. Thank you, Uncle."
"Thank you for the meal," Skull says, his bowl empty, while Kawahira is only halfway through his ramen. He hurries to hop down from the stool, grabbing his jacket on the one next to it.
"Leaving already?"
"I'm world-famous, Uncle. And I didn't make it so far by not having the busiest of schedule."
"Do spare me a minute more still."
Skull pauses, then slowly finishes putting on his jacket, curious eyes on him.
Kawahira hands him the map of the meeting place.
Skull holds it in both his hands, leaning on the counter-top. "Is that a map? To where?"
"I'm currently gathering the World's Strongest," Kawahira says, the way he's already said it a hundred times and more. "The Chosen Seven." He doesn't hesitate, doesn't falter, doesn't let anything slip. It's easy, even, to go through the motion of this. It's duty, why shouldn't it be?
It doesn't matter that it's Skull he's talking to, doesn't matter he knows Skull the way he's never known any of the other Arcobaleno before. Duty doesn't discriminate, can't afford to.
"You think I'm one of the strongest in the world?" Skull asks, surprised, but already glowing under the praise. "Among only seven?"
"Don't you think so yourself?"
Skull laughs, rising to his full height, his hands on his hips. "Hell yes, I do. Obviously, I'm one of the strongest."
He beams, looking so proud, just like every other Arcobaleno before him. What will he look like once Kawahira will have taken everything from him in exchange for that hard-earned title? What will he say to him then?
Kawahira remembers the face of every single Arcobaleno in the immediate aftermath of the Fated Day, remembers every word spat at him, half wrath, half despair. That's why he doesn't stay to witness the aftermath of the Curse anymore.
Kawahira remembers every single one of their names, and Skull's name—
Ah. He'll know soon enough.
"Yes, you are."
Skull looks like a cold shower was just poured down on him. He stills, any sign of happiness wiped away from his face, from his very being. He's closed off, guarded, wary. He's sad too as he searches answers on his face, waits for reassurances, or perhaps only explanations.
Did he recognize the tone of his voice? No, of course he did, how could he not have? That was Kawahira's mistake.
"Will you go?" he asks.
Skull looks down at the map, absentmindedly fidgeting with it. A slow smile pulls at his lips, and then he grins at him. "Yeah, Uncle, will sure do! I am one of the strongest, am I not?"
So young, so good. So kind, even to the likes of him, but then again, he'll regret it once he'll learn how despicable the likes of him are.
Kawahira knows he's long gone far past the point of salvation, of forgiveness, but if he wasn't, this would have doomed him for eternity.
He says nothing.
Duty can't afford to discriminate.
Skull arrives last at the meeting. He's not welcomed warmly, and he shrinks under their gazes, his usual shameless confidence nowhere to be seen.
He takes his seat in silence, not meeting any of their eyes, but then finds his voice again. "Hi—"
The Sun scoffs, harsh, disdainful. "Hi?"
Skull flinches, hunches over himself more.
"Are you sure you should be here?" the Mist asks, skepticism dripping from their voice.
"This is enough."
Everyone but Skull jumps to their feet, readies themselves for a fight, holding onto their weapon for those who have one. They keep their flames under control, not a wisp of them slipping in the air, but no doubt ready to be used at a moment notice.
The World's Strongest indeed. Kawahira appears as harmless as any average Inactive civilian, even as he's sneaked up on them out of nowhere, and it's all they need to know to treat him as the threat he is.
"You?" the Sun asks.
"You," the Sky echoes, with more weight to it.
Skull gaps at him, and needs a couple of attempts to find his words again. "What are you doing here?" he asks, standing up, and if he notices the sharp shift of attention to him, he doesn't show it. He walks to him, and keeps his voice as low as possible. "Oh my God, are you serious?" he says, quickly glancing back and forth between him and the others above his shoulder. "Come on, don't embarrass me in front of them. I've got this, okay?"
Oh, is this what this is, what he's doing? What is this? What is Kawahira doing there?
Yes, Skull's got this, he knows. He knew he'd have to gain their respect, and it wouldn't be an easy matter, but even if Skull folds too easily, he never fails to stand up for himself again.
There's no need for Kawahira to be there. He shouldn't be there, is endangering the whole word by being there.
Skull tugs at his sleeve. "Uncle, come on. Aren't you messing up things for you too by being here?"
Skull looks worried. Skull looks worried. For him, and his plans he decided to go along with even as he knows better.
So good, so kind. So young, and already doomed.
Kawahira will not doom him again.
Kawahira smiles, his shoulders sagging as if a weight has just fallen from them. And what a weight it was, the weight of the world. No more.
Yes, this is enough.
"Go back home, Skull." Kawahira looks past his dumbfounded look at the others. "All of you too."
"What is going on?" the Lightning asks, curiosity in his voice. "Explain."
"Allow me to reschedule this meeting. I have much to think about before we try to come up with other options together."
Hope so strong bursts from the Sky, she leans on the table to not fall entirely. If hope has ever had a face it would be Sepira's, and she looks so much more like her in that moment, it hurts to look at her the way it did to look at them even decades after Sepira's death. "Don't you dare lie to me." She tries to look harsh, to sound unforgiving, but she has tears in her eyes, and if pleading has ever had a face, if begging has ever had one, it would be hers. "Do not make me hope for nothing."
"I'm not promising you anything, least of all hope. This will very likely end up in tragedy still, but I wish to try all the same."
When was the last time he tried to go against what needs to be done to keep the world alive, to save seven people who means nothing compared to billions others? He remembers when, and why he resolved he'd never try again, remembers how ending up back to square one upon failure made everything so much worse, how he's never succeeded into saving even one of them.
Not even the Vindice, especially not the Vindice, who've been saved by Bermuda anyway, who saved himself first, if that's what you can call salvation. Bermuda and him both know he's only shackled himself to another eternity of doom.
The Sky looks over to Skull, then back at him, and doesn't ask what she already knows, only nodding.
Skull tugs at his sleeve again. "Uncle? Is everything alright?"
"Yes," Kawahira says, cupping his face. "And I'll try everything I can to keep it that way, so there's nothing for you to worry about."
One person for the whole world. A long lifespan like his is truly only a cycle going round and round again. This one though, this one might very well end up with the world truly burning asunder. So be it.
Because Skull is the only one he will not let himself sacrifice, his kind may forgive him.
But even if they never do.
A/N: I feel like the title is from somewhere, but I couldn't find who to credit it to. If someone can help me with that it'd be greatly appreciated!
Also somehow I feel like I have a lot to stay about this one-shot, but at the same time I have nothing I can put into words lol, so. Too bad I guess.
I hope you enjoyed the story. Any and all review are appreciated.
Thank you for reading!
- Hope
