A Little Comic For One Of My Favorite Songs From The Op Soundtrack. And Also Because The Ocean Is So

Come Hell Or High Water Masterpost

The will of the D may have been a mere echo of the past, but its bearers were anything but. Standing in front of her lover's execution platform, Portgas D. Rouge vowed never to lose a single member of her family again. (She just hadn't taken into account that her family would be so large.) OR How many traumatized children can Rouge adopt?

I'm fascinated by Rouge's character and she's unironically become one of my favorite characters in One Piece while writing this, which is tragic considering we only see her for about two minutes. But if Oda won't give me content on Rouge, I'll do it myself.

Come Hell or High Water is a story that begins with Roger's execution 24 years ago and continues to the present day based on the concept that Portgas D. Rouge survives the Baterilla massacre and raises Portgas D. Ace as well as Shanks and Buggy.

Throughout the story, Rouge also adopts every child she meets in need of a parental figure (i.e. half of the One Piece characters). It's a family-centric story where everyone survives their tragic backstories with romance in the background far away and lots of fluff.

This story will cover topics regarding child development into adulthood while healing from past trauma, this includes fear of abandonment, self-esteem issues, child abuse, codependency, etc. It also deals with grief and (unhealthy) coping mechanisms especially in the first chapters following Roger's death.

(Disclaimer, I'm not an expert on any of those subjects except for the fact that I was a child once and had to grow up. The end result is mostly fine so I can consider it a success.)

I'll be referencing events from the manga as they happen like new characters and such. It won't be anything major until we caught up with the main timeline (unless specified at the beginning of each chapter), but if you'd rather not be spoiled, I understand.

If you have any more questions about this AU, feel free to ask me, I always love talking about my brainchild <3

Children Of The Sea (First Part)

So I wrote a little something for Zoro's birthday but there was a part that didn't fit what i wanted for the story. It's not really finished but i didn't want to leave it in my unfinished projects graveyard so it's yours now. Enjoy! And if you want you can always read the real story on AO3. I'll post it in a few days when I'm done.

Walking Home

When Zoro walked down the stairs of the school after his last class of the day, he didn’t expect his friends to be waiting for him at their usual picnic table in the courtyard. It was the perfect table, shaded by a large tree in the summer and far enough away to not be disturbed by the stream of students.

(Luffy had bitten a kid who sat there once, no one else had dared after that.)

Everyone usually dispersed on Monday nights, Usopp to join the art club, Nami to make out with Vivi by the river, and Sanji to help his father at the restaurant. Luffy was more of a wild card, as likely to sneak into the zoo to fight crocodiles or stay behind at school to chat with Principal Jinbei.

Zoro himself took advantage of this evening to go train at the dojo with Kuina but she had a medical appointment tonight and training wasn't nearly as fun without her.

But tonight, they were all here—waiting for him. Vivi was the first to notice him, her gold bracelets clicking against each other on her wrist, catching the sun’s rays as she gave him a big wave. Zoro’s smile widened slightly as he walked over to his friends, the sound of Luffy sipping loudly from his juice box audible from across the courtyard.

“How’s the birthday boy?” Usopp asked as Zoro set his gym bag down at his feet.

“Still the same as I was at noon,” Zoro replied amused. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We just thought we could walk  home together tonight,” Vivi smiled. “Take a detour downtown to get a waffle. My treat.”

“Sweet,” Zoro agreed.

He had nothing to do tonight and didn't particularly want to return to his empty apartment anytime soon. The loneliness didn't bother him that much, not when he spent more time at Luffy's and his brothers' or with his friends than at home, but something about his birthday made the atmosphere feel strange.

"Yeah!" Luffy cheered brightly as he jumped up from the table, his flip-flops hitting the concrete heavily. "Let's go."

Luffy grabbed Zoro’s hand and dragged him out of the school, everyone following behind them. The wind stirred up fiery-colored leaves around them, ones that crackled with a satisfying sound underfoot. Usopp and Luffy stopped to jump into each pile of leaves and Nami pulled out her phone to take pictures. She called it blackmail material but Zoro had seen her creating a photo album on her old computer.

“How was your math class?” Sanji asked, walking beside him.

“A little boring,” Zoro admitted. “I’m not sure I understood everything.”

He wouldn’t admit it under any circumstances, even under torture, but he sometimes missed Sanji’s presence in class. They weren’t in the same class anymore since Zoro had repeated his first year and the cook hadn’t. 

Even after spending the hour exchanging familiar squabbles and sarcastic (and often mean) comments about their classmates, Sanji somehow always understood the lesson and took the time to explain it to Zoro when he asked.

“I can help you,” Sanji offered, lighting a cigarette now that they were far away from the school.

“That’s suspicious, what do you want?” Zoro retorted, his brow furrowed.

“I’m just trying to help you, asshole. Do you really want to spend five years in high school?” Sanji replied with practiced ease.

“Sanji! Don't be mean to Zoro on his birthday,” Nami interjected.

"Yes, my sweetness," Sanji replied as Zoro's smug smile grew.

A smile that faded when Nami added. “Wait until tomorrow before reminding him of his academic failure.”

“I don't know why I'm friends with you!” Zoro shouted at the witch.

“You love us!” Usopp and Nami replied in unison, exchanging an amused look.

“Unfortunately,” Zoro mumbled, kicking a chestnut that ended up in the gutter.

Zoro shoved his hands in his pockets and continued straight ahead. At the last moment, Nami's arm intertwined with his, pulling him in a different direction.

"We turned," Nami pointed out in false exasperation, without letting go of his arm. "You really aren't paying attention to where you're going. We should put you on a leash."

"Look, I caught a pigeon!" Luffy shouted as he ran towards Usopp, Sanji and Vivi with a pigeon in his hands.

The poor animal flapped its wings in desperation, trying to fly away and escape, but Zoro knew it was useless. When Luffy had you, he didn’t let go. The commotion attracted the attention of passersby, and Nami hid her head in Zoro's shoulder.

"Luffy too," Nami groaned. "It's impossible to go out with you."

"You should consider putting your girlfriend on a leash too," Zoro pointed out, smirking. "But I bet she'd like that."

Cheeks flushing, Nami slapped Zoro on the shoulder. That didn't change the fact that Zoro was right, while Sanji was hiding behind Usopp, Vivi was petting the pigeon and talking to it in a low voice.

"I'm sure she's already adopting it," Zoro mocked. "I can see it from here, she's going to call it Carue and it’ll sleep with you every night."

"Luffy!" Nami called out in horror, realizing the truth in Zoro's words. "Let the pigeon go, these critters are full of diseases."

Luffy and Vivi turned to Nami, batting their eyelashes in a pleading manner. "Please, can we keep him? Please, please, please?"

"No," Nami replied firmly. "Luffy, what will your grandfather say if he comes home and there's a pigeon in your apartment?"

It was a low blow, but it was necessary. Ace and Sabo certainly weren't going to stop Luffy from bringing yet another stray animal to their apartment (yes, Zoro was included in those strays). It had taken Nami weeks to convince Luffy to bring the dugong back to the marine biologists.

(So ​​far, no one knew how a dugong ended up so far from its natural habitat, but the local aquarium had paid for Luffy's plane ticket to bring his friend back to Australia.)

"Nami is no fun," Luffy pouted with his head down after releasing the pigeon. “Boo!”

"Boo!" Vivi added, sticking her tongue out.

"Don't forget to wash your hands before you eat," Nami ignored them as she walked past them.

DAY 3: Did You Get Me Some Pie?

Dean is going to die, Sam doesn't know what to think about it.

I think this story is one of my favorites, it was just so interesting to write. It was also a bit complicated, I wanted Sam to have an asshole vibe at the beginning but I'm not sure I succeeded. I also know nothing about the American justice system and capital punishment, I tried to do some research but it wasn't very conclusive. A bit of context for this story, it takes place in the Lebanonverse (I think that's the name) where John disappears in 2003 to go to the future. As a result, Sam becomes Kale!Sam and Dean is, we don't really know, a criminal, a hunter? Trigger Warnings : - Discussion of Capital Punishment - Major Character Death - Heavy Angst (That Shit Is Sad As Fuck) - That's It? Fandom : Supernatural (TV 2005) Character(s) : Sam Winchester Relationship(s) : Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Words Count : 3,624 No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

And this is hard to hear – performing at your best requires all of your mental energy. Every last drop. You see, it’s just not compatible with something like, uh… hobbies or, uh – or even having a family.

Sam slammed the car door behind him hard, drops of water falling from his hair onto the leather seat. He gripped the steering wheel in his hands, exhaling loudly. The rain fell heavily outside, hitting the roof of his car in a steady melody. It reminded him of nights on the road in the Impala, Dean humming in harmony with the rain, lulling him to sleep.

Back then, he felt like nothing and no one could touch him as long as he was with his family. Now, Sam knew it was his family that brought danger. It had been over fifteen years since Sam had last spoken to Dean, since he had refused to go with him to search for John. They didn’t even share the same last name anymore.

(It wouldn’t have been great publicity for a renowned lawyer like him to have such an obvious connection to a wanted criminal.)

Sam tugged at his turtleneck uncomfortably, pushing all nostalgic thoughts from his mind. Leaving Dean and John behind had been the right decision. Every wanted poster plastered with the face of the man Sam had once called his brother reminded him of that. He could never have accomplished what he had done today, his family would have slowed him down, prevented him from succeeding.

Sam meant every word he said during his conventions, performance, the pleasure of a job well done, nothing was more important. Everything else was secondary. And Jess had once agreed with him.

That didn't mean it was easy . But all the sacrifices Sam had made to get to where he was in his life had been worth it. He had the life he had always wanted as a child, the recognition of his peers, the pursuit of knowledge, the stability of a job.

Sam had no regrets about the choices he had made.

Sam ran his hand through his damp hair, brushing it away from his face, and turned on the engine. The radio automatically started, and Sam froze as he heard the last words of the news bulletin.

“The death penalty has been handed down for serial killer Dean Winchester, known for the mass murder of a dozen FBI agents in Monument, Colorado–”

Sam didn't hear the radio host finish their sentence, the blood pounding in his ears drowning out their words. He couldn't have said Dean . Sam would have known if he had been arrested, the whole country would have known. Dean had terrorized the United States for years. And it shouldn't have affected Sam, because he didn't know this Dean Winchester. He wasn't the same person who took care of him and protected him from monsters in the dark.

Really, he had no reason to change his perfectly established routine for a stranger, a criminal .

Dean and Sam Winchester didn’t know each other anymore.

Sam turned off the radio, the silence more brutal than he could have imagined. Sam was used to silence when the day ended, even welcoming it. It was synonymous with efficiency, tranquility, and security. He turned the radio back on, selecting a classical music program.

Starting the windshield wipers, Sam headed for his apartment.

Arriving home, Sam did something he hadn’t done since his divorce from Jess a few years ago. He pulled out a bottle of wine that a client had given him and poured himself a large glass. If anyone asked, he’d blame Dean. He sat on his couch, ignoring the urgent files waiting for him on his desk. If he was entitled to a night off, it was tonight.

Even after years, Dean was disrupting the life he had created for himself. Sam had fought so hard to get away from his family, but he felt like he could never completely escape them. But he had been right to do so. Where would he be if he had followed Dean? Probably in a nearby cell, also waiting to be executed.

In the distance, he could picture Dean behind bars—the one from the wanted posters, not the one from his childhood—his face blurred like an ancient memory, covered in scars, with a sharp smile and a glint of madness  in his eyes. Sam never could imagine himself being by his side. Whether they were face to face or thousands of miles away, those bars always separated them.

And now, they were going to be separated forever. Because Dean was going to die .

Logically, from the perspective of the frightened child who wanted to escape the monsters and his family and the monsters that were his family, this should have been a good thing. 

Sam wasn’t so sure.

Could he let Dean die? Could he let Dean live ?

Dean was a killer.

Years ago, Sam could have assuredly said that what Dean, John, and he were doing was a good thing. Now, he no longer saw the brother he had loved in the hardened features of the man on television. And a part of him thought it was possible that Dean had lost his way so much that he had actually committed the crimes he was accused of.

Blood was blood, and Dean had never known when to stop while there was still time.

Sam got up, unable to stand still when his mind couldn’t seem to stop meandering, and stood in front of the clear window. Below, darkness stretched over the city, hiding monsters and those who hunted them. Droplets of rain trickled down the glass, distorting the red and white lights of the city traffic.

Under the moonlight, the wine swirling in his glass looked like blood. Sam had been a killer too. And Dean had once been the one to wash the blood off his hands with all the devotion of a brother. Sam finished his glass in one go, red staining his lips and teeth.

Ignoring the late hour, he called his assistant. “Cancel my appointments on Monday and Tuesday, I have a… family emergency.”

XXX

Getting a last-minute visit shouldn’t have been this easy, but it had been for him . His name was synonymous with power, not the kind John would have wanted, but powerful nonetheless. Sam was capable of changing things, of making the world a better place.

A car with tinted windows came to pick him up and escort him to the prison, and after a pat-down that Sam submitted to without issue, he was issued a visitor’s pass. He left his black umbrella in the hallway and tightened his tie.

(It had been Jess—not John or Dean—who had taught him how to tie his tie. They were still just friends at the time; she had found him in the bathroom at the university, panicking before a meeting with his advisor. Gently, she had taken his hands and tied the knot for him, patiently explaining each step.)

(Jess and he were no longer friends.)

Fiddling with the two rings on his left hand—both for people he had loved, both now obsolete—Sam followed a guard through the unknown but familiar hallways. This wasn’t the first time Sam had gone to a prison to visit a prisoner. It was the first time he went for a personal reason.

It was the first time he went without the intention of getting the person he was visiting released.

The guard glanced at him every now and then, his face hesitant as if he wanted to question Sam. Sam’s commanding gaze made him turn back each time. Sam encouraged curious and eager minds, but not tonight . Not on this subject.

(This part of his life – the darkest part – was his. (Dean’s. John’s.) And if he wanted to forget it, to consign it to the furthest part of his mind and never think about it again… that was his right.)

(There was still time to turn back.)

They stopped in front of an armoured door, accessible only with one of the keycards the guard held in his hand. Behind the door was an airlock and yet another door, one that Sam could open freely this time.

Behind it was Dean.

(There was still time to turn around.)

"At your request, your conversation will not be recorded," the guard recited. "However, given the prisoner's security level, we ask that you respect the security instructions you have been given. Do you need them repeated to you?"

(There was still time to turn around.)

"That won't be necessary," Sam replied.

"Very well," the guard said, unlocking the door. "You have one hour, knock if you want to get out before the time limit."

(There was still time to turn around.)

"Thank you," Sam said politely, crossing the threshold of the door.

The door slammed shut behind him. It was a step, maybe two, to the next door. Sam forced his body forward, his hand hesitating over the handle.

(There was still time to turn around.)

"It's a little late for a lawyer, don't you think?" Dean scoffed as Sam opened the door, not even looking at who was entering the room.

(There was still time to turn around.)

"Sammy?"

Dean’s green eyes locked on him, a whirlwind of emotion—overwhelming and vivid—that Sam didn’t dare comprehend. But above all, hope . Dean laughed hysterically at the sight of Sam, as mad as the media portrayed him, but Sam couldn’t ignore the relief in his voice.

(It was time.)

Sam closed the door behind him.

“Don’t call me Sammy.”

The defense mechanism was automatic—forgotten but never gone, like the silt of a pond rising to the surface after someone threw a rock in it—and only made Dean laugh harder.

“Oh man,” Dean sighed, happy tears welling in his eyes. “I didn’t expect this.”

Dean had wrinkles now, and scars too. Sam knew that, he had seen them in pictures, but he never thought that time could have an effect on Dean.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr. Campbell ?" Dean asked when Sam remained silent. "For someone trying to run away from his family, you're pretty bad at it. I didn't take you for a sentimentalist."

As he always did, Dean struck first. He had never known how to leave Sam alone. Always reaching out to him, dragging him along, forcing him to move on.

"Death row inmates get one last meal," Sam replied, putting a white plastic bag on the table.

But Sam had never let himself be pushed around, had always hit back, blow for blow - just like Dean had taught him - and his favorite pastime had always been wiping the arrogant smile off Dean's face. 

Dean's face darkened at that, the shadows on his face harsh under the industrial light of the prison. Sam wondered if he'd made a mistake. This wasn't the Dean he knew, his big brother, this was a stranger who shared the same blood as him.

(Dean was a killer.)

“So what? You’re here to get me out of here?” Dean’s tone was sharp, like he’d never stopped fighting, like he didn’t know how. “Because I’m afraid it’s impossible, even for you, Sammy.”

“No,” Sam sighed, pulling the chair in front of Dean, the metal scraping against the floor with a shrill thud. “No. I just wanted to… It’s been a long time.”

Sam was a brilliant lawyer and orator. He wielded words the way he once wielded blades, coldly, precisely, never missing his mark. People feared and respected him.

In front of Dean, he was a scared little boy.

(Leaving had been the right choice.)

"Sixteen years," Dean retorted with just a hint of reproach in his voice. "I see you've done well. Lawyer, that suits you well."

"And what about you?" Sam asked, not knowing how to behave around his estranged brother.

"Still in the family business," Dean grinned roughly. " Someone needed to take care of it after Dad disappeared."

"You didn't find him?" Sam asked surprised.

If anyone could find John, it was Dean.

A second later, it hit him. John was probably dead. Sam waited for his heart to clench at the news, for a weight to lift from his shoulders, for a tear to roll down his cheek. Nothing happened.

John was dead. Sam wasn’t sad, or relieved, or angry.

“ Oh .”

“Yes, oh!” Dean bit out, the anger unmistakable in his voice this time.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, his words sounding more like a question.

Dean sighed heavily, running his hand over his face, the immeasurable weight of the years seeming to fall on his shoulders mercilessly. For the first time since he had entered the room, Sam looked at Dean.

Dean had hunted alone for a long time, without someone to cover his back, and it showed. His face was covered in scars, some still fresh, red-purple and blistered. A cut peeked out of his t-shirt along his windpipe, bloody and raw, and bruises dotted his arms under the tattoos and burns.

He looked tired. He looked ready to fight.

"What are you doing here, Sammy?" Dean asked. "Have you come to absolve me of my crimes? Have you come to beg for forgiveness?"

"I… I don't know," Sam confessed. "I just wanted to see you one last time."

“It's a little late for this, don't you think?” Dean laughed cruelly. “But it's not like you had sixteen years to do it.”

“Dean, please–”

Some truths were universal: Sam Campbell always won in court. There were creatures from your worst nightmares lurking in the shadows. Dean Winchester would do anything for his little brother.

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean agreed. His tone was kind but rough, as if without Sam by his side he’d forgotten how to be. “One last time for the road. I hope you got me some pie!”

Sam’s eyes flashed almost gold with mirth, coming to life for the first time in years. “See for yourself,” he suggested mischievously, pushing the plastic bag toward Dean.

Dean laughed again, with joy for the first time, and oh how he’d missed that sound. If Sam could live in one moment forever, this would be it, Sam decided. His big brother excitedly ripping open the plastic to reveal a supermarket pie, his smile aligning with his facial features in harmony, as it always should have.

“This is awesome ,” Dean said. “I haven’t had pie in months.”

Dean grabbed one of the plastic forks, the chains of his handcuffs clicking loudly against the table, and took a comically gargantuan bite.

“As delicious as always,” Dean said through his mouth full. “Would you like some?”

“No thanks, it’s—” Sam cut himself off, ‘ it’s too much sugar’, so what? “You know what, why not?”

Sam grabbed the second plastic fork and cut off a more reasonable portion before bringing it to his mouth. It was sweet , disgustingly sweet. Sam could feel the cavities attacking his teeth. He took a second bite. 

It tasted like his childhood. Sam ignored the sting of tears in the corners of his eyes.

“I’m not brushing my teeth and I’m going to die tasting pie,” Dean exclaimed with conviction.

“What?”

Sam’s hand froze in mid-air. Dean’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I thought you knew. It’s today,” Dean said gently, like he used to talk to Sam when they were kids. Dean cleared his throat, forcing all emotion out of his voice. “Today is the day Dean Winchester dies. For real this time.”

Sam put his fork down on the table, a knot tightening painfully around his throat. He felt like he was going to throw up his heart. Sam knew Dean was going to die. But not now .

(He thought he still had time.)

“It’s too soon,” Sam said, unable to keep the whining tone from his voice.

“I’ve been incarcerated here for almost a year,” Dean said. “It was a long time coming. There’s not a person here who doesn’t want me dead.”

( Me ! Sam wanted to scream. I don’t want you to die. But his words stuck in his chest along with his bleeding heart.)

“Escape then!” Sam exclaimed, slapping the table with the flat of his hand. “You’re a hunter, we’re trained to get out of situations like this.”

“You think I didn’t try?” Dean retorted. “They won’t let me escape this time. I’ve had about ten tracers injected under my skin since I set foot here. But I guess that’s what you get when you blow up a police station.”

Sam’s blood froze painfully in his veins. For someone who had desperately clung to the certainty that Dean was a killer, he had forgotten it pathetically quickly.

(The eyes Dean looked at him with—bright green and more alive than Sam’s could ever be—were nothing like the man on the television. Sam didn’t know which ones were real.)

“But you didn’t do it, did you?” Sam asked.

“If even you doubt me,” Dean laughed bitterly, “how do you expect me to tell the people outside that it was Lilith, the first demon who was trying to free Lucifer?”

“What?”

Sam was repeating himself tonight. The situation was slipping out of his hands at breakneck speed, the rope burning his fingers as he tried to cling to it with no results.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” Dean replied sadly. “But I don’t want to talk about that. Tell me about your new life, about Jess.”

Sam forced a smile as he watched Dean wiggle his eyebrows suggestively.

“We got divorced a few years ago,” Sam replied, swallowing painfully.

(His vision was still blurry through the tears.)

“Oh, shit, I didn’t know. Sorry Sammy,” Dean apologized.

“That’s… You couldn’t have known,” Sam stumbled over his words in frustration, hiding his face in his hand. How could Dean apologize for something as ridiculous as his divorce? Dean was going to die .“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

(He thought they still had time.)

Sixteen years of hard work and sacrifice were crumbling like a precariously erected house of cards in less than an hour in his brother’s presence. How weak he was, the powerful lawyer.

“Sammy,” Dean said, reaching his chained hand across the table to rest on Sam’s. “Everything’s going to be okay. It should be easy for you, you don’t even love me anymore.”

Dean’s joke—if it was one—fell flat in the dead silence of the room. Sam’s eyes filled with tears, silently streaming down his cheeks, burning like acid rain.

“I’m sorry I wasted so much time,” Sam whispered, biting back a sob. “I should have come with you.”

Dean stood, spreading his arms as wide as his chains would allow.

“Come here.”

Sam rushed to his brother, clinging to him like a lifeline in the raging ocean, a thousand-year-old, unbreakable rock. Dean closed his arms around him and Sam thought – selfishly perhaps – that Dean needed that embrace too.

“I’m proud of you, Sammy. For going and fulfilling your dreams. You have the life you always wanted, the one you fought for,” Dean whispered, a secret between him and Sam, the last one. “Don’t forget that.”

“I can’t do this alone,” Sam said, shaking his head negatively.

“Yes you can,” Dean replied, smiling sadly.

“Well, I don’t want to,” Sam refused.

Why was he realizing all this now? When it was too late to make a difference. If only he had done something sooner. If only he had left with Dean 16 years ago.

If only—

(He thought they still had time.)

Before Sam was ready to let Dean go, someone knocked on the door twice in quick succession. The knell tolled.

“Time’s up.”

Dean let go of Sam first, pushing him toward the door, the freedom and life that had been stolen from him—

It was Dean who had driven Sam to the bus stop when he left for Stanford. The ride had been in tense silence, neither of them knowing that they wouldn’t see each other again for a long time, for their entire lives. (Sam wondered if it would have made any difference.) But Dean had come.

– with his big brother watching him leave once again, Sam walked away, as scared as when he was eighteen.

“Sammy!”

Sam turned around (this time). He knew it was the last time.

“Can you come?” Dean asked. It was the first time he asked Sam something. Sam wished he had never asked. “I don't want to die alone.”

The tears on Sam's cheeks hadn't had time to dry before the guard closed the door, leaving Dean alone in the room, leaving Sam alone in the one next door.

XXX

Sam Winchester watched his brother die. He looked him straight in the eyes—bright green and full of life for the last time—never failing.

This was something the world would never know. Something that would haunt Sam until he died. Dean Winchester died with tears in his eyes, sugar on his cheek, and three words on his lips, spoken to his little brother through the window.

"I love you."

When Sam walked out of the jail, a few hours and a lifetime later, it had stopped raining. The sun was peeking through the clouds, a rainbow bridging the road as he started the Impala. A ghost settled into the passenger seat and the radio started.

Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole. Sam could make an exception this time.

Carry on, my wayward son

There'll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry no more

They make me physically ill, why is it so sad? They haven't seen each other for sixteen years. Sixteen years! And when Sam finally realizes that he needs and loves his brother, it's too late. And if Dean hadn't told him it was today, Sam would have left without knowing that it was the last time he spoke to his brother. Like the two times before! They had so many chances and they didn't take any of them. And Dean. He watched his little brother leave him twice (three times if you count the time after John disappeared) because he knew that ultimately it was the best decision for Sam. Argh. I break my own heart.

I Will Carry You On My Shoulders To The End Of The Road — PART III: DREAMS

"Beckman?" Luffy asked weakly, his voice stuck in his throat.

"I'm here, kid," Beckman replied, relief relaxing his entire body. "I'm here."

Luffy clutched at Beckman’s shirt, his shaking hand clenched into a fist around the fabric and refusing to let go. Tears pricked Luffy’s eyes and his lips trembled. “I didn’t cry, I promise.”

“I saw that,” Beckman smiled, closing his arm around Luffy, enveloping him in an embrace. “But you can cry if you want to, especially if it hurts.”

“Good,” Luffy said shakily, tears streaming down his cheeks freely, “because it really hurts.”

“I know, you were very brave. How about we go back to Makino now?” Beckman asked, gently running his hand over Luffy’s back. “She’s very worried about you.”

Luffy nodded wordlessly and Beckman helped him onto his back, his head immediately coming to rest on his shoulder. Beckman set off, his stride long and steady, as Luffy wrapped his hands around his neck to keep from falling. The breeze blew gently, turning the large blades of the windmills along the path to the village.

In the distance, the sun disappeared behind the ocean horizon in a green flash, the moon already rising to take its place. For a moment, only the sound of Beckman's footsteps and Luffy's occasional sniffles broke the natural stillness of the night, a comfortable silence stretching between them. Luffy was not a silent child by any means but to those who knew how to listen, his silence spoke as much as his words.

Luffy leaned against Beckman, exhaustion seeping heavily into his bones and Beckman let him. The rock the waves came to rest on.

“Shanks is stupid,” Luffy finally said, his voice muffled by Beckman’s shirt.

Beckman chuckled, the vibrations of his laughter making Luffy laugh as well, albeit faintly. Well, it was a start. 

“Nothing new here. But you know he cares a lot about you, right?”

Beckman felt Luffy nod, and even without seeing him, he could imagine Luffy puffing his cheeks in protest.

“It’s a lot of work being the captain,” Beckman continued. “So if you can, you should forgive Shanks for being stupid sometimes.”

“Why doesn’t he want me to come with you guys?” Luffy protested in a whiny voice. “I know I can’t swim, but I’ve been learning how to fight.”

Beckman hesitated for a moment, weighing his words in his head. Luffy, through his kid’s eyes, only saw the childish stubbornness that Shanks projected. And he was right in a way, but Beckman was the one who had found Shanks after Loguetown. He knew his captain.

But Beckman had been Shanks' protector for almost a decade, and that included his secrets. It was up to Shanks to decide what he shared with whom he wanted.

"Captain has his reasons," Beckman said instead. "And maybe he'll explain them to you one day, but for now, try to tell yourself that he wants the best for you."

"It's not easy when he spends his time making fun of me," Luffy retorted petulantly, before repeating. "Shanks is stupid."

"You'll just have to show him what he's missing by becoming a better captain than him when you grow up," Beckman replied amused.

They finally reached the first houses on the edge of the village and Beckman saw Makino in the distance, sitting on the steps of the bar, waiting for them to return. Shanks was with her, his arm around her shoulders, and looked up as he felt them coming.

"I'm going to!" Luffy declared loudly, straightening up and almost falling. "I'm going to become the Pirate King!"

"That's the spirit," Beckman complimented him.

buying him time

I just finished Supernatural, I have no idea what to do with my life now. Help!

What do you mean I have to study instead of writing silly little stories ?

Okay, so I really thought about it (and couldn't help but add a tiny little bit of angst) and I like the idea of Athena calling Odysseus Little Warrior when he was young and she was feeling extra affectionate towards him (not that she realized that just yet).

But now she doesn't dare call him that anymore because she doesn't want him to think he's just a warrior and a tool to her, especially after My Goodbye.

Ody kinda misses it though because it reminds him of his happier times with her when he was young.

With Athena calling Telemachus little wolf these days, what nickname might she settle on for Odysseus? (assuming she does end up using one ofc)

I think I'll update the post with the suggestions so we'll have a masterlist hehe, every suggestion wins, no matter if I vibe with it.

DAY 8: Nightmares Don't Sleep

Zoro can't sleep, ghosts come to keep him company.

And here it is, it had to happen, first time (but not last time) that I'm late. I lasted a week so I'm happy. My mid-terms are starting so writing will take a back seat for me but I'm still going to try to finish Whumptober, even if it's not on time. I'll probably spend a few days to focus on stories that interest me more but I'll complete all the prompts. But for now, it's Zoro's time to suffer. This story will be in several parts (because I, too, need sleep and have yet to discover a way to write more than 10,000 words in two hours after class) and I promise, promise, promise there's comfort and fluff at the end. Not everyone will be so lucky this month. Fandom: One Piece Character(s) : Roronoa Zoro Relationship(s) : Mugiwara Kaizoku | Strawhat Pirates & Roronoa Zoro Trigger Warnings: - Multiple Electrocutions - Non-Consensual Body Modification (The Navy installs a chip in Zoro's neck while he's unconscious.) - Blood and Injuries No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

HOUR 1

Zoro opened his eyes, the fog in his mind clearing as a brief but sharp pain spread through his ribs. Instinctively, his hand went to his haramaki but was met with air instead of steel.

Zoro sat up abruptly, the room spinning around him mercilessly. His mouth was pasty and he could no longer feel his tongue but the metallic taste of blood was not one he could forget. The screech of chains on the stone floor as he moved hurt his ears but he couldn't have covered them if he wanted to.

Zoro tested the chains that restrained him to the wall, the awkward position of his arms preventing him from going too far without dislocating his shoulder. His head felt heavy and he struggled to keep it straight, his eyes begging him to close for just a moment.

Still, Zoro found the strength—or the spite—to look down on the asshole marine who had just kicked him. It took a lot of skill to maintain such an arrogant attitude while being forced onto his knees, but Zoro was very good at what he did.

"Too afraid to hit me when I'm not tied up and unarmed?" Zoro smirked.

"Laugh while you still can," the marine ignored him — Bob, he looked like a Bob with his stupid mustache — and continued his villain monologue. "The unit in charge of escorting you to Impel will arrive in three days and I doubt you'll have time to laugh there."

Zoro didn't have time to come up with a sarcastic response (whatever drugs they'd injected him with to subdue him, cowards , were still in his system, so excuse him for being a little slow) as Bob leaned over to whisper in Zoro's ear.

"I'm sure you can ask your captain when he joins you in your cell."

The electric shock that ran through his body, leaving him spasming and drooling, was well worth Bob's cry of pain and horror as Zoro spat his torn ear onto the ground, red covering his teeth as he grinned victoriously. Bob slapped his hand where his ear had been seconds before, a thick trickle of blood running down his arm.

"You're a fool to think I won’t be gone by then. Pray your ear gets infected and you die before I get free,” Zoro threatened, his fingers still twitching uncontrollably.

Zoro had trained relentlessly for two years to become stronger, to never fail his captain again. It wasn't someone like Bob who was going to get in his way. He was just going to take a little nap and wait for the world to stop spinning before heading off to find his crew. They had probably gotten lost without him.

Zoro closed his tired eyes and the headache that was splitting his skull dulled for a moment. He just needed to sleep .

A second electric current went through him and Zoro could feel every single blood vessel bursting in shock. He convulsed violently, the rusty steel of his handcuffs digging into his skin, drawing blood. It took him longer to recover, resting his body weight against his chains, straining his shoulders almost to their limits, while he caught his breath.

(Zoro was used to the crackle of electricity in the air and the sound of thunder. But it lacked the smell of earth after rain and tangerines, the clink of gold bracelets and coins.)

When he raised his head (he only bowed his head to one man), Bob was grinning viciously. The blood on his jaw could have made him look menacing, but it only made him look like a child playing in the paint.

"I didn't think the chip would activate so soon," Bob sneered. "But let me introduce you to the new marvel of the Navy's science department. Whenever you're about to fall asleep, the chip in your neck will send an electric current through your body to keep you awake.”

Zoro twisted his neck, realizing that the dull bite in his neck wasn’t from the needle they’d used to drug him, but from a small silver metal chip.

Bob placed a finger against his cheek, pretending to think.

“A human being can go what… seventy-two hours without sleep? Pray that the Impel Down unit arrives before your hallucinations start talking to you. Or don’t. It’s your choice where you die.”

Zoro tugged fiercely at his chains and Bob looked frightened for a moment as pieces of the wall crumbled. But the wall and the chains stayed in place. Bob sighed in relief (bad idea, never show a predator that you’re afraid) and even allowed himself a small, strangled laugh.

“Enjoy your stay here, Roronoa. It’ll be your last.”

Zoro spat on Bob's freshly polished boots. "Run while you still can. You'll regret not killing me when you had the chance."

Face contorted with anger, Bob kicked him in the chin, his teeth clashing violently. He grabbed Zoro by the hair, forcing him to look up at a small remote control.

"I forgot, but luckily you seem very eager to get electrocuted, the chip can also be controlled remotely. If I were you, I'd start thinking about my attitude," Bob whispered, out of Zoro's range. He had learned his lesson at least. "You can start by apologizing."

"I'm sorry," Zoro began slowly, "that your mother abandoned you at birth. But I understand her, I wouldn't have stayed either."

The reaction was immediate, and damn if it didn't hurt a little—his vision went white and he practically choked on his tongue—but Zoro laughed as Bob walked out of the cell, still shaking with spasms.

Worth it.

For now, Zoro isn't suffering too much (from his point of view) and is more of a general nuisance than anything else but that will change as the sleepless hours progress. And speaking of which, go to sleep or take a nap, it'll do you good!

Snippet Saturday !!

This is just an excuse to show you this new paragraph in my WIP that I'm so proud of. And if all goes well, you'll be able to see the full fic tomorrow ;)

"Three swords pierced his heart as he clung to Marco like a rock in the middle of the raging ocean, the grief he had been running from for nearly two years pouring over him like oil on a fire. He cried and cried, the cracks in his facade widening with each sob, pieces of him falling to the ground like a broken vase. He would have shattered if it weren’t for Marco’s arms around him to keep him whole — to keep him afloat."