One Piece fic-PoSM, Chapter 8
Title: The Psychology of a Shattered Mind
Chapter Title: St. Elmo's Fire
Rating: PG-13 / T
Characters: Usopp and Sanji, a few others makes little appearances somehow.
Word Count: About 4.5k
Warnings: Disturbing imagery, implications of non-con/dub-con, and violence. Potential spoilers for entire series. Angsty Usopp and blatant excuse for nakama comfort. This will be intense. Possible spoilers for entire series. AU from Usopp being stuck on the Bowin Islands.
Can also be found at FF.net here. If you want to comment it will be much loved, and feel free to do so here or over at FF.Net. I've begun to feel increasingly at home here on LJ. Con Crit loved also.
Chapter links (on LJ): Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15
He stumbles into the light, feeling all the life, all the fight of fifteen minutes ago bleeding out of him-the fight that had earned him kicks to the head, kicks to the ribs and an impressive array of bruises, but nothing else to show for it, only burned skin. Not even Nami's habitual abuse could prepare him for this abuse. After, all her abuse can't hide the fact that she does care about them, even if they drive her crazy sometimes. This abuse is far different, because it's abuse that doesn't care, that sends him spinning and draws a haze over his mind. He feels like he's ghosted his way through the halls of ship back up to the deck, following behind the escorts without even knowing it. For a long time all he can think about is how this really isn't happening. It isn't, it isn't, it isn't…
The escorts are talking about him, or at least that's what he registers, distantly. They're laughing about him, something, nothing-he's not sure exactly what and he really doesn't care right now. The Celestial Dragon had dropped plenty of acerbic insults at the end of the meeting too and he didn't care about any of those, either. He'd barely heard them over his own yelling and the screaming skin of his upper left chest, anyway.
They'd already done their worst damage. Actions really did speak louder than any words.
It was burnt black at first, but they'd rubbed that away until most of it stood lighter against the rest of his skin, crinkled and splitting. It hurt lightning and fire before but now it is only a dull ache, and looking at it makes him feel sick.
Marks like this don't come off, Chopper would say. He had expounded on it once, when he found out about Zoro throwing himself into a large bunch of flames during the fight on Little Garden. "Bad burns stay forever!" Chopper had shrieked at the swordsman, "Do you have any idea how badly disfigured you could have become?"
Zoro had only shrugged helplessly, his perturbed frown giving away how cornered the doctor was making him feel. Usopp could surmise what that monster had been thinking: I wasn't on fire for that long and I didn't get burned, so no problem, right? Why Chopper harasses me about things like this, I never understand….
This apparent indifference had driven Chopper, with a great deal of energy and zeal, to expound on the different types and severities of burns and the unavoidable scarring that would accompany all the various kinds-or, if luckily the burn was not so severe, not. Needless to say the importance of the issue hadn't really made much impression on the intended target, although Zoro had promised to "avoid lighting himself on fire in the future … unnecessarily."
Usopp had listened well, however, and made an even more firm resolution not to throw himself into any fires or put his hand onto a hot surface or even play around with his Fire Stars. The swordsman might enjoy having giant swathes of puckered skin running across his chest, but Usopp was of the persuasion that a scar avoided was a pat on the back earned.
But maybe-maybe Chopper was wrong. Not because the reindeer wasn't smart or anything like that, but, maybe just 'cause he'd never really tried to fix a bad burn. Yeah, if Chopper really, really tried, he probably could fix this. He'd have a brilliant idea and go running off for one or two of his herbs, and then everything would be good as new, even if it might take two, three, maybe four weeks. Anyway, Usopp wouldn't give Chopper trouble like Zoro, he'd be there for treatment every day-no, better, every hour!-right on the dot.
There's that belief, a comforting belief like always, in the back of his mind, Chopper can fix anything, his nakama can fix anything, and he relies on that. The only problem is that the shock and numbness pushes it back, and for now, he's functioning more on something else-frustration and anger. It's making him a little afraid, in fact, whether it's one of the few reasons he hasn't melted into a pile of jibbering, terrified goo on the floor or not. He knows why he's angry, and its stirrings are giving him something else to focus on besides what's going on around him, yet he doesn't want to be angry for this reason.
He doesn't want to be angry at his friends, his comrades, his nakama, simply because he's in trouble and they haven't shown up to help. Has he really been holding out hope that they will come, and he'll be rescued, and he won't actually have to suffer anything much? Is he somehow daydreaming, despite his own logic that tells him not to expect it, that they'll bust in at whatever time he thinks is absolute critical moment?
Does he really believe, deep down, that they'll come?
Of course.
He does.
Otherwise there's no explaining the whirling disappointment, mixed with almost painful hope, that's feeding into a growing undercurrent of anger.
He squashes a whimper, telling himself to man up and bear this. They'll be here, eventually. They all will. They'll find out what's happened and then they'll come, busting down walls, pounding enemies into the ground, all that good stuff he'd expect. Just a little longer-if he can just endure this a little bit longer-that's all he has to do.
The escorts stop and he looks up. Even if the hall isn't as wide or tall, the furnishings are still lavish-he's standing on that stupid, way-too-shiny marble again. One of the escorts looks back at him, giving him an up-and-down glance. "Final destination for the rest of your miserable life," the man says, and then grins crookedly. "Have fun."
Usopp swallows, caught between annoyed and cowed.
The other escort, instead of wasting his time with unappreciated taunts, knocks on the door. In the silence, Usopp feels his stomach flip. Then a latch clicks and the door cracks open. Another pause for the person inside to see who they are and the door opens wider.
"M'lady," the escorts bow a little.
It seems like a long time ago now-so very, very long ago, and he misses Vivi with another inner twinge-but the headscarf the woman behind the door has on reminds him a little of ones he saw in Alabasta. She has an edge of it drawn up with one hand, covering the lower half of her face, and her darkly lashed eyes peek out over, wide and unblinking. "This is Saint Iddis' new slave?"
"Yes," answers the more abusive of the two escorts.
It's a girl-or is it woman? Has to be a woman, he decides after a moment, there's no explaining the presence of a chest to rival Nami's otherwise. Sanji'd be going all love-love crazy right now…
Ah-probably shouldn't be staring there-
The woman giggles, rather girlishly at that, offering him a distraction back to safer territory. There's amusement dancing in those eyes and a smile in her tone, and one of her eyebrow lifts as their gazes meet. "Well, doesn't he seem to be a silly thing? An obvious choice for Saint Iddis. Thank you for bringing him back here so quickly."
"You're welcome, m'lady," says the other escort, and the two step back, but still linger. Their gazes sweep over his back, wanting-wanting what?-and goose bumps prickle on the nape of his neck.
The woman focuses on the escorts for a brief moment before returning her attention to him. "Come inside now," she says, still all smiles in her voice and still holding the scarf across the bottom of it.
He decides not to look back at the escorts as he steps through the doorway. The woman closes the door quickly, but smoothly. Standing and facing it for a moment, she waits, fingertips of the hand that held up the edge of the headscarf splayed against the door. All is silent and still, and then she turns over the lock and sighs.
He's tempted to ask what that was all about, but then decides better of opening his mouth until there's an open invitation. Watching and waiting-those are his safest options.
She turns to him, and, glancing him over, hums thoughtfully. "Shall we look at that burn of yours, Mister Warrior?" A smirk. More amusement. A certain … lingering on the 'Mister Warrior' part. Usopp is not sure what to make of that, but he's starting to get a little paranoid that she knows something about him. Like being a pirate. Or something. "Proper care," she goes on, oblivious to his mental worries, "Will minimize the scarring."
Minimize scarring. Minimizing scarring sounds good. The less there is, the easier for Chopper to fix.
With one last glance she turns and goes further down the hallway, and Usopp follows. There's a door at the end of it, but she leads him into a side room. The floor is still marble, but the furnishings here are simple, and there are no decorations on the walls. Catching his gaze, the woman motions to a stool sitting against the far wall, in front of a cot.
As he is busy deciding whether or not this is a trick that will somehow result in more punishment if he sits, she moves to a sea chest and opens it. A brief rummage and she draws out a jar and bandages. Turning back to him, she tilts her head and lifts an eyebrow.
It's just like before. It's that amusement, again.
"You're a quick adapter. But if I were you, I'd be more worried about the consequences of not obeying a command the first time."
But in that tone, it's not a threat, right? Just-just a warning.
And she's waiting patiently now, a jar of something that looks creamy held in her elegant grasp, but who knows how much longer that will last? He's not taking any chances anyway, not now, so he comes over and sits down, keeping his eyes on the floor. He can hear her unscrewing the lid, and she circles around the burned side of his chest. She keeps a certain distance as she does so, only moving in close enough to reach out and apply what's in the jar.
That's right, that's fine, he thinks, still looking down. He lets out a breath, realizing he'd been holding it. Keep quiet, don't draw attention. Play humble servant and wait. That's all I have to do.
Wait.
Sanji has a sinking feeling but he can't pinpoint its exact source at the moment; he has to think about it. It could very well be the whole situation, he supposes, which is a rather bad one. It could also be the weather, the annoyance of the cold and all this crappy snow. It's making it impossible to see the cannonballs until the very last second before too late, and even he, Zoro, and Luffy are a bit pressed to keep up. Keeping his footing is a problem also, given the amount of snow on the deck and the rate at which it continues to fall. He bites down on his cigarette harder as he sways to keep his balance on the Sunny's railing, still on the alert, and thinks some more.
It's all a pain, but no, none of that is the problem, he realizes. Not really, because this sinking feeling is closer to that horrified sinking feeling he'd had when that creep Absalom had gotten his hands on Nami. The very fact that one of his ladies was in danger had made his stomach turn.
Their enemy-no, enemies-have already hit the ship several times. He doesn't know where Robin was during any one of those blows, but fears the worst in the back of his mind. He'd be yelling at the rest of the crew for more information, or be going to search her out himself right now, if it weren't for the fact that-
He swivels to block a cutlass whistling through the air toward his legs, and then slams his heel down on the attacker's head.
-they've been boarded. Of all things…
How that happened, he doesn't know either, except that it was about as sudden as the cannon fire. There're enough empty lifeboat-sized vessels in the water surrounding their ship to form a miniature armada, and enough former passengers on their deck to match. What's worse, their only objective seems to be ganging up on and, he assumes, killing or maiming every Straw Hat pirate they can find.
And this snow-he's already lost his footing on the snow-filled deck twice, but it doesn't seem to bother their boarders one bit. They're wearing some kind of mean-looking spiked boot, and the more the snow on the deck gets tamped down, the more confident their steps are.
They came prepared for these conditions, he can tell that much.
He's worried. What if Robin's in serious danger? He hasn't seen her since before the attack started. Even those who are fighting on the other end of the ship, he's heard or seen in some way, even if he can't always.
"Starboard, Franky, hard to starboard!"
At least he doesn't have to worry about Nami so much, he supposes, small comfort that it is. She is busy close by on the forecastle, looking to the sky and standing perfectly still one moment, and then the next snapping into action, moving to another side of the deck for more calculations or shouting out commands in a gorgeously bossy way. That look of irritation is quite cute too, although he wishes he could stop what's frustrating her-
"I got it, girlie!"
"Don't call me that!"
But he hasn't seen Robin.
Or Usopp, for that matter, but he would expect that the guy'd be hiding under an empty crate somewhere below deck-which is fine, Sanji won't begrudge him that after all he's been through the last few months. He hopes that wherever the sniper is he's staying safe and not panicking too much … wouldn't want the guy to get himself hurt.…
But-Robin. Robin is not Usopp, and Sanji wouldn't expect the raven-haired lovely to be hiding anywhere. Not when she's a winner every single-
He shakes himself mentally. Concentrate, Sanji, concentrate! Where is she? Where could she possibly be and why is she there instead of here?
All at once he goes from worried to frustrated. The precise location of nearly half the people on this crew is unknown to him. Besides Usopp and Robin, those on the other side of the ship might as well be invisible. Mixed in with the enemy, their forms all too readily vanish into the falling snow, which is heavy enough to draw a haze over the aft, at least from here. Those he can see are well enough occupied, and those he can't probably are as well.
Zoro's being kept busy with some guy down on the lawn deck. The invader swordsman is holding out decently long enough, admittedly, wielding those two scimitars. Chopper has his hooves full defending himself, although he seems to get the best traction of them all, given the conditions. Nami, likewise, has enough of a challenge defending herself whenever people make it to the top forecastle deck, although she also has the added complication of trying to read the weather, decide where their enemies might be, and instruct Franky on which course to take at the same time.
She and Franky are also engaged in a debate on the need, the lack of need, and the danger of employing a Coup de Burst.
Ah, his angel is so talented!
"Eat filet of sole, pug-face," Sanji growls, kicking another would-be assailant flying off the other side of the ship while the man's in the middle of a battle cry and some sort of fancy kung-fu move.
He barely has time to savor the icy-sounding splash, since he has to whirl and deflect yet another cannon ball that looks like it's heading for the foremast. He knows this ship is made of Adam Wood, unlike the Merry, and it should be strong enough to take any number of hard blows from cannon balls this size. The only things really that vulnerable are glass windows, but he's not about to risk it. Besides, if by some sort of crappy miracle they took the foremast out, the ship would be half-dead on the water.
There! Zoro's finally, finally, taken his opponent out, and is ready to deal with lesser fighters. That, and protect the ship.
Check, please. Sanji lifts a hand in parting as he hurries past Zoro, back towards the galley, but intent on library beyond. I'm coming, Robin!
"Bow's all yours, Mosshead!" he calls, and doesn't wait for the response.
In the back of his mind, Usopp thinks it's wrong. He thinks it's wrong to be turning and running like this, but it's the first time no one has kept him from doing so when things looked bad in he-doesn't-remember-how-long.
He remembers thinking many times that this is it, this is the worst, I'm done for, but it never really was, and he laughed inwardly at himself later for thinking so. He never really noticed how each time the laughter got a little bit more hysterical. It wasn't a particularly important point.
His master-the master, he wants to think, and if he were a little bolder, that man, but can't, not just yet-his master locked you up with someone out for blood and three times bigger than you and then watched what happened for fun. Sometimes, though, sometime it was someone just your size, who looked just as scared as you felt, and they put guns in your hands and then-
Then-
No. No, stop this. They're lies. Lies. Your brain's making it up, haha funny, right? As long as you don't believe, it can't control you, not here. Not going to collapse with panic here. Can't afford to-
Can't-can't-
The ship shudders and he trips, sliding across wood, curling up with his arms over his head. For a long moment he simply shakes in his own grip, gasping for breath, half expecting a blow, pain, something-but nothing comes. He's alone with the creaking of the wooden ship and the intermittent, distant pounding above.
Can't-can't-can'tcan't-
Something steely and steady plows into the tumult. Usopp. What are you doing?
He opens clenched eyes, startled by the odd voice-without-a-presence. Familiar, internal, and yet-
It's you.
And again, there seems to be something scratching, tugging at the edge of his memory, something he really should know.
It's Sogeking. Sogeking-of course, the mask, he knows all that now-
It takes a force of will to bring his arms away, to release his wily, protective grip. It takes another to sit up, and he presses himself against one of the hallway's walls. He's still shaking; he can't stop that, so he grips his knees instead, needing to anchor himself down any way he can. Mentally, he grabs onto the idea that Sogeking will know what to do.
You need to take down that bird.
That bird?
Actually, there may be more than one, I don't know, I didn't take the time to look like I should have-
-Bird?
You saw this, think back.
Then it's almost like that greatest of all snipers has taken him by the hand, drawing him to a short while ago, with the snow and the cold and everything-and now even the rate the snow is falling and wind against his cheeks is noted, and there is a moment to consider its direction, its probable speed. Everything is oddly refocused in sharp detail, his eyes sweeping the deck, not so much out of innate fear as out of well-honed instincts and locking onto any hint of oddness, until the question of immediate threat? has been satisfied.
Oh. The pieces snap together all at once, a pattern of disjointed scenes and memories that his consciousness had somehow glossed over falling together without warning under Sogeking's hands, leaving him weakened and even more off-kilter.
Yes. That's it.
But for once, it feels like something is entirely clear in his head, no gaping holes of memory, no haze of fear. Before, on deck, that seagull-
… mostly white … blue stripe …
Exactly.
It was a blue stripe that didn't look quite right, but it was far away and the snow was heavy. He hadn't even thought it possible, so it was no wonder he'd hardly taken notice of it, hardly been alarmed. It was too easy to pass it off as a trick of the mind.
That stripe had looked like it had eyes.
Now that he considers it-visual Den Den Mushi, and maybe some kind of tracking device? That may be why-
The ship shudders again, and he ducks down, throwing his arms over his head. Fortunately there's no rush of sea water or anything catastrophic like that, so after a moment he makes himself let go again.
That may be why their hits seem so on target in this weather.
His heart bangs harder and faster against his ribcage. He knows what he has to do now, and his feet-or maybe it's Sogeking, and that's why he can't stop-rush ahead of his mind's protests. But if his feet, if something doesn't rush ahead like this he'll be curled up in a dark corner somewhere, begging it all to go away.
Until they're destroyed, no going back.
He's the sniper. So taking down a bird like that-it's his job. If he doesn't, and whatever happens could have been stopped if he only had…
He can't stand to think of loosing these people, people that call him friend, comrade. And Luffy-if this boat were for some reason to go down in the middle of the frozen ocean like this, the energetic captain would be a dead weight in the water. The cute doctor too, and a few others….
Not to mention the freezing temperature of the water here, so that even those that could swim would be in trouble, like Sanji and Nami and-
Himself!
This is something I have to do for myself as well.
He grunts, prying at the lid on a long box stored far in the back left of the room, already wearing the mask and the cape. Even in all this, there is something missing, and its absence tingles where there should have been a weight across his shoulder.
A bag. He used to have a bag, with lots of things inside, things that were good for creating, but more importantly now, for fighting. He can see them in his mind-a collection of shells, and artillery, even the Kabuto.
He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. He doesn't know where any of it is anymore. Had the slavers kept it? Iddis? One of the other masters? Some of it he could make again if he wanted, some of it-
Later. Worry about that later. He gets the watertight lid off, stepping back as it clatters to the floor. A long moment passes and he is still standing in front the box, looking down into it and doing nothing. Have to have a weapon. There are weapons, inside box. Pick weapon. Take it.
He is not even sure how he knew without even looking that this box is full of … full of … of dangerous things.
It should be simple, but looking down at the rifles lying packed inside, sleek and polished and cold, he is somehow stiff. Frozen. Barely even able to breathe. Using a weapon like that, he just might-
The ship shudders again, and he startles, falling into a protective crouch. While he huddles there trying to convince himself that the ship is not going down despite the punishment it seems to be taking, the footfalls of at least two people thud into the doorway behind him. He's tense enough to snap his own bones, and gritting his teeth, he risks a glance back.
He nearly collapses with relief when realizes that in crouching down, he's been hidden from the immediate sight of whoever's standing in the doorway.
"While all that fodder above keeps these guys busy, we've got the easy job," laughs a man's voice.
His blood rushes faster, feeling like liquid fire in his veins. He's weak all over and ready for the greatest effort, all at the same time.
They're here to kill me, kill me, kill me-
At this rate they'll notice him, simply because of how loudly his heart is pounding.
No. Get a grip. Don't let that happen. Kill them first. Just have to kill them first.
"They've gotta be keeping some good stuff down here somewhere. Try over on that side."
The footsteps move to the far side of the room, where the cracking protests of wooden crates being forced open commences. Fighting to quiet ragged breaths into silent ones, he crawls forward on hands and knees.
Kill them first. Kill them first.
Tears leak out from behind the mask and drip hot onto his hands as he lifts them, reaching for the closest rifle. Prickling not unlike that of static electricity races over the skin of his fingers and up his arms when he makes contact with the cold metal of the barrel.
"Whoa, how many of these boxes store food? This ship is as good as gold!"
He loads bullets, shaking so badly he almost spills the whole box of them all over the floor. The pair is still opening crates when he has everything ready. He creeps around to a spot where they're in his sights with their backs to him.
"Look at all this rice!"
She is pale and skinny in the dark, soft eyes sharpened by panic. He tries not to think about Kaya as he edges the weapon in his hands a little closer to target. He's counting on making this as quiet and clean as possible. He doesn't want repeats of last time…
Breathe, in, out, find the rhythm. The hands only have to be steady for a brief moment to kill.
Kill them first. Kill them before they kill you.
First he targets the man that's lifted a handful of rice into the air and is letting it trickle back into the crate.
In. Out. In. He pulls back the safety. As quiet and clean as possible.
Out.
The other's smile freezes when his companion's blood splatters him. He begins to turn, shouting a curse and looking for the source of the shot.
In.
It's too late. The first target is still falling, but the warrior has already locked onto his second mark.
Kill them before they kill you.
Out.
Continued in Chapter 9: Triangle