Chapter Text
Luffy lost track of time long ago.
He stopped tallying the days once he ran out of room on the walls. The deep scratches only served to remind him that no one was coming for him. It was a miserable mural, a testament to his loneliness.
He assumed that it had been a few years at this point. He can tell by the changes in his body. His hair is long and unruly, almost down to the middle of his back now, though he assumes it would have been even longer if only it weren’t tangled into thick mats. He hasn’t seen his own reflection in years, but he knows that he’s taller and more muscular, though there wasn’t much else to him. He was fed just enough to survive and fight: no more, no less. His scarred skin is pulled taut over bone and rigid muscle. In his mind, he can only see himself as the baby-faced child running rampant through the jungles of his homeland.
The innocent image doesn’t quite match up with who he’s grown up to be, however. Back then, he was bright-eyed and innocent. (As innocent as a feral child raised by bandits could be, that is.) Now, Luffy is a practiced killer, though not by choice. He’s no longer a carefree little boy. He’s a prisoner, a fighter, a slave.
He can see the horizon through a small opening in his cell wall, but the vibrant blue sky doesn’t meet the sea. Wherever he is, it must be somewhere far far away from all the people he once knew. He once heard his fellow slaves refer to their captors as gods. He remembers Makino bowing her head with hands clasped, the way prayers sounded like lullabies tumbling from her lips, and he wonders if she ever prayed for him to come home. Did she know how cruel her gods actually were?
After Sabo died, Makino would gather him into her arms and run her fingers through his hair, promising him that good boys went to heaven. She described it as a beautiful place where the sky was always blue and nothing ever hurt. That’s why she prayed so much, she explained. She wanted to see all of her loved ones in heaven, hold them one more time, and spend the rest of eternity in paradise.
Luffy wishes that he could go back and tell Makino to never ever come here.
Because if these people were gods, that meant this was heaven. The sky wasn’t always blue, sometimes it was a deep crimson where the sun dipped below the horizon. Sometimes, rain poured down from the gray skies and the heavy blanket of black clouds would choke out the stars so no light would reach him. The lightning would rip through the clouds like a wild beast, followed by the furious bellow of thunder. He would cower in the far off corners of his cell and try to remember the feeling of his brothers huddled against him in their treehouse.
And, if this was heaven, Sabo wasn’t here, and he knew that Sabo was a good boy. Sure, he had stolen and fought hard to survive, but Sabo had been kind. He would stand up for his younger brother when Ace took things a little bit too far. He read stories to Luffy from picture books in a voice so soft. Sabo was a good boy, he was sure. Sabo never killed anyone. Not like Luffy.
After a long string of victories, sometimes his masters would treat him to a nice meal and a hot bath and lots of praise. Luffy craved that attention. They treated him much like the little dogs that scampered about Foosha Village. But when Luffy felt bones crunching beneath his fists, hot blood spraying his cheeks, bodies growing cold beneath him as the crowd encouraged him to keep going, he didn’t feel like a good boy.
And lastly, he knows that the heaven from Makino’s stories was a lie, because everything hurts. He always hurts. Even when he came out of a battle victorious, his wounds burned and ached. When the old wounds healed over, there were always several new ones aching in their place. On the occasions he lost, he felt the sting of their lashing and the way his flesh clung to the leather whip as it was pulled away. And worst of all was the deep aching in his belly. Only winners got to eat. He went hungry for so long in the beginning, just after his capture. In the years that he had spent here, pain had been his constant.
So if he could go back, he would tell Makino that heaven was no place for someone as kind as her. If he could fall from heaven, he would make damn sure that he would never go back, even if it meant an eternity of burning in the fiery depths of hell.
He runs his fingers over his old straw hat as he watches the sun set after a long day in the arena. It was his only possession, and in a twisted way, he was eternally grateful to his masters for allowing him to keep it. They had cut the string that once looped around his neck, allowing the hat to dangle at his back. He wasn’t allowed to have anything like rope or long cloths or any object that was remotely hard or sharp. But he was allowed to have his hat. He kept it in the corner of his cell, rubbing the aged straw between his fingers like some sort of ritual as he remembered all the good days with Shanks and his crew at Party’s Bar.
Over the years, he’s forgotten quite a few things about his home island. He can’t remember all the faces of the villagers, or the layout of the streets, but he could never forget Shanks. He remembered every detail of the kind man with the brilliant red hair and the scars across his eye. He snorts softly, fingers tracing over the sliver of scar under his own eye, the one he had given himself to prove how tough he was, but really, he just wanted to replicate his idol.
A silly old cell like this could have never contained Shanks. Shanks and his crew were pirates and pirates were free.
Luffy tries his best to be strong, but sometimes, he’s weak and bitter. Sometimes he wonders if only Shanks had taken him out to sea, would the gods have stolen him away then? If Shanks hadn’t given up his arm to save him from the King of the Cove, would Luffy have ended up here in heaven anyways? He clutches the straw between his fingers a bit too tightly, jagged edges digging into his palms. Luffy couldn’t give up, not when he hadn’t given Shanks his hat back.
It’s his promise to Shanks that keeps him fighting, because they will meet again, or Luffy will die trying. Until then, Luffy could not take the easy way out by ending his own life. He wanted to be able to say that he tried, right up until the very last minute.
Though he doesn’t know exactly how many years have passed, he knows that Ace must have set sail by now. He hopes that he’s out there, living his life freely, the way they always imagined it would be. Luffy still thinks about all of those nights they sat by the sea, discussing the numerous adventures that awaited them as the stars came out of hiding above them. Luffy’s belly twists into knots. He misses him.
He cried a lot in the beginning, back before he realized that no one was coming for him, when he thought that maybe someone would take pity and free him from his chains. It’s not often that he allows himself to cry, but tonight, the tears won’t stop flowing. He wants to be out there. He made a promise to Ace, to Sabo, that they would all set sail when they turned 17. How old was he now? Had he already broken his promise? Would they forgive him if they knew? Had he disappointed his brothers?
Luffy chokes back a guttural sob, biting down on his lip, lest he draw the attention of the guards. The tears that streak his cheeks aren’t ones of sadness, but of yearning and frustration. He buries his face lol down into his knees and taps his fingers against the cold cement floor; it was a habit that he had picked up in order to calm himself down, to get him through to the next day. His fingers move to his thighs, drumming a rhythmic beat on his aching muscles. It’s something like doom-dut-da-da. He’s not sure where he learned the melody. Perhaps another slave had taught it to him once.
Wherever it came from, it was the only thing that gave him hope when the nights got too hard; when he was weak and the temptations of giving up were too loud. It swelled up inside of his chest, reminded him of the blood pumping through his veins, and he didn’t understand it, but sometimes it felt as if his heart joined in, matching the beat. Often he heard a little voice along with it, promising that freedom lay just beyond the walls of his cell and he would surely taste it again someday.
So until then, he waits.
He passed his days in the arena, growing stronger, learning new skills with each battle. He’s faster now. He hits harder. He notices every little movement of his opponent, the way their muscles twitch before throwing a punch, eyes shifting as they search out an opening. Soon, he’s observing everything, even outside of the arena. He eventually realizes that he’s not alone, not anymore. He may not have allies amongst those awful gods, but he has the birds and the rats and the dogs to keep him company.
One morning, he says hello to the tiny birds that gather outside of his tiny cell window, and they greet him like an old friend. Soon, they visit daily, bringing stories of the outside world with them. He doesn’t always understand but he likes the way they talk, the way each story sounds like a song.
He even befriends the rats, and he thinks that maybe he likes the rats the most. They bring him scraps of cheese and bread from the kitchen when times get hard. Luffy thinks they’re a lot like him, forced to hide in the shadows and fight for their livelihoods, looked down upon like scum. Sometimes, they curl up at his side and he quietly tells them stories about the world outside of this hell.
Even the family’s dog once wandered down into the dungeons, and so shocked that Luffy had greeted it so fondly, allowed himself to be pet every now and again.
Even the hot summer breeze that blew through his window or the full glow of the moon spoke to him, in their own ways. He wasn’t alone, not ever, not so long as a world still existed just beyond his tiny cell.
Then there was the Woman.
“Ahem.”
Luffy stiffens, head twitching in the direction of the voice. It was late, and no one was supposed to be visiting him right now. It wasn’t often that anyone passed by his cell at all, let alone in these late hours. The master’s wife stands there, a lantern in one hand, something small and shiny in the other. The Woman never visited him, but on the rare occasions that they crossed paths, she spoke kindly to him.
She beckons him closer, anxiously glancing from side-to-side to ensure they were alone.
His master was a cruel man, but the wife… she seemed mostly indifferent. When he first arrived, she could hardly bear to look at him. Then, it was just quick glances every now and again. The longer he stayed with them, the more he fought, the more she watched. Eventually, he came to understand that look in her eyes as a multitude of things: it was a cocktail of repulsion, pity, rage, and eventually, sadness.
Luffy’s chains rattle, shackles rubbing against his raw ankles as he limps closer to the bars. He’s not sure what she wants, but he’s learned quickly that obedience keeps him alive and fed. When her hand reaches through the bars towards him, however, that small shiny thing glints between her fingers and he flinches back violently. There’s a strange look in her eyes, an emotion that he hasn’t seen from her yet: something like heartbreak.
“No, no. Come back, please,” she urges, her voice tinged with desperation. She opens her palm to reveal a key. “Quickly. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Wh-what are you doing?”He’s still out of her reach, eyeing her warily like a cornered animal, fearful that speaking out of turn will earn him a beating.
“I’m going to disable your collar,” she whispers, tapping a delicate finger against her own neck to further demonstrate what she means. “I can’t get it off, but it won’t detonate. Do you understand?”
He doesn’t understand, not at all. His slave collar had been a constant weight upon his shoulders since he arrived. He didn’t understand it, originally. It wasn’t the pretty leather straps that usually adorned cats or dogs. It was a cold metal device that didn’t seem to do much of anything. The guards had explained it to him once, when they’d caught him trying desperately to tug it off. It was a bomb, actually, designed to detonate should he ever step foot outside of a certain radius.
Once, they had taken him to the perimeter of the house, perhaps to demonstrate, but more likely, just to torment him. The guards cackled like hyenas as they pushed him towards the door and the collar started beeping. It was slow at first, just a warning. Then they shoved him again and it got faster, so fast, and reality set in and he cried and begged for them to make it stop. He never heard it beep again, never even dared to look towards the doors, not so long as the collar existed.
And now, the Woman was disabling it.
“What does that mean?” Luffy asks, timid and uncertain. “That word… dentanate?”
“It means… that it won’t make that beeping sound,” the Woman explains, then she lowers her voice impossibly low. “It means if you step foot outside of this place, it can’t hurt you.”
Luffy’s eyes go wide and his body goes numb as the woman’s dainty fingers fiddle with his collar. It takes a few tries to get the key into position. She steadies herself and from the collar comes a small mechanical click. Her blue eyes light up with delight, then immediately darken, as if she was coming to terms with the weight of her actions. The silence stretches between them and after a few heartbeats she realizes that her fingers are still on his neck. She pulls back with an apologetic smile on her lips.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t help you sooner,” she murmurs with her head hung low, “Can I ask you something?”
Luffy stares back blankly, cocking his head to the side. She should have known better that it wasn’t his place to grant permission, so she continues on.
“You’re from Goa, aren’t you?”
He hasn’t heard the name of his home island spoken in years. The memories that rush back to him are conflicting: home, fear, fire, yearning. He swallows the knot in his throat and nods.
“We visited recently,” she murmurs. “I have family there, you see. I wasn’t born in Mariejois.” As she speaks, she absently twists the diamond ring upon her finger, in a way that reminds Luffy of how he once fidgeted with his shackles. “When we docked in High Town, there was a woman there, standing by the docks. She was yelling and screaming something before some other men took her away. She dropped this.”
She rummages through one of her pockets, retrieving a folded piece of paper and smoothing it out in her delicate hands. “This is you, right?”
It’s a photograph, or rather, it’s a copy of one. The paper itself is new, but the photo is blurry and discolored. He gets the sensation that he’s looking at a ghost. There are three boys in the photo, and sandwiched between the older two, was the person he once was. The tiny sliver of scar beneath his eye and the ragged straw hat hanging from his neck are dead giveaways. His eyes feel hot and wet as he lets himself be transported back into his brothers’ arms. He doesn’t answer, but the Woman understands.
“I thought so,” she murmurs. She passes the paper through the bars, allowing him to run his fingers over each little wrinkle and fold. “I don’t know who that woman was but I could tell that she loves you. Even after five years, she never gave up on you.”
His heart hurts so much worse than any wound. He never thought that he would miss Dadan so much.
“Listen closely,” the Woman whispers urgently. Luffy flinches as her hands close around his. “They’re going to let you die tomorrow. I don’t know why. My husband doesn’t trust me with such things. But…” She shakes her head vigorously, pursing her lips. “I can’t release you, but at least this way, you’ll have a chance.”
His hands feel so much colder as she lifts hers away, rising back to her feet with the lantern by her side. He allows her to take back the photo, folding it back into a tiny square that she slips into her breast pocket. He wishes he could keep it, but he already has his old straw hat.
“I hope you can forgive me someday,” she exhales slowly. Her heels click softly against the cement as she turns her back to him and leaves.
“I already forgive you,” he calls out after her. He doesn’t really understand, and he can’t say that he likes her, but she was helping him, after all.
The Woman pauses at the end of the hall. Her shoulders shudder and a strange sniffling sound drifts down the hallway before she disappears around the bend, taking the lamplight with her.
Sleep doesn’t visit him that night; not a wink.
The birds had all flown back to their nests. The rats were somewhere in the kitchen, gathering scraps under the cover of the night. He always hated being alone. It never got easier, even with years of solitary confinement. When he was alone, there was nothing to distract him from his own thoughts, and tonight, he had so many.
The Woman had given him so much to think about, like how it had been five years since he had been taken. (How old did that make him? Was it May yet? Was he 17 already?) He now knew that Dadan still missed him, that she was looking for him. (Or maybe she knew where he was all along? Who told her? Had they seen him get taken all those years ago?)
But what weighed heaviest on his mind was the last thing the Woman told him: that he was going to die.
He’d fantasized his escape many times, but even as naive as Luffy was, he knew they were nothing but pipe dreams. Sometimes he dreamed that Ace would come and take him away from this place, save him like he always did. He’d already come to terms with it early on: that no one was coming to save him. He could only save himself.
He doesn’t know how they’re planning to kill him. There could be any number of ways, quick or slow. All he knows is that at least the collar cannot kill him, if the Woman is to be trusted. He thinks he trusts her. Her eyes were too sad to be telling a lie.
Luffy doesn’t particularly like thinking. He doesn’t like plans. He prefers to just dive right in, live life in the moment. It wasn’t as if he had much choice in how his life went in the cells anyways. Suffice to say, even as morning drew closer, even as he turned his situation over on his mind again and again, nothing came to him. Nothing except for a terrible headache. It was no use.
All he could do was live in the moment, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself to him. Dawn light broke, and he drummed his little melody on his thighs as the hours passed, quietly humming a song that he once knew until the guards finally came to fetch him. They lead him to the arena. His bare feet carry him just as they have hundreds of times before.
The atmosphere doesn’t feel any different than his previous fights. The spectators, perhaps more than usual, chat casually amongst each other as they settle into their seats. There’s a friendly buzz in the air as old friends greet each other and the old men argue amongst themselves, placing bets on their fighters. Eventually, a hush falls over them as they watch the slaves pour into the arena. It’s a colosseum-type battle today, he realizes. Dozens of slaves are pit against each other, fighting until only one remains.
The bated breaths give way to fanfare as the match begins. An announcer rattles off updates as the slaves viciously tear into each and the crowd roars. It all sounds like radio static to Luffy. He drowns them out, focusing only on his opponents as they rush in towards him. The more seasoned fighters know to avoid him for as long as possible, but he doesn’t recognize any of these slaves. They foolishly charge towards him, only to be knocked down with ease by a perfectly timed punch.
Luffy tries his best not to kill any of them. He knocks them out when he can, prays that they stay down, but sometimes he’s left with no choice. Sometimes he punches just a bit too hard and the bodies go cold around him. Today, all of the fighters went down a little too easily. Luffy hardly breaks a sweat as he knocks down brutes twice his size.
Only one opponent remains.
Something feels wrong.
Luffy, previously distracted by the onslaught of fighters descending upon him, suddenly realizes that one man had stood silently on the sidelines for the entire fight. He’s huge, probably only recently caught, if his pleasantly plump belly was anything to go by. Even the most well-fed fighter hadn’t a sliver of fat on his body. The man seems to ooze confidence as he takes a step forward, then another, then he’s charging and Luffy lunges forward to meet him, except-
Except, Luffy is no longer running, he’s falling. Someone, one of the fighters he had already downed, is gripping his ankle and yanking him hard to the ground. His face meets the hard cement, grit and gravel digging into his palms as he scrambles to get up, but the fat man is already upon him, knees straddling him on either side, his thick fingers pinning him to the ground by his neck.
He understands now. His entire purpose as a slave was to entertain. Fighting was his job, and he did it well. Too well. The other fighters stood no chance against him. The betting got stale. This was never a fight. It was his finale.
The crowd reaches a fever pitch, screeching as their previously record-holding champion stares down the tip of a blade. The steel glints in the harsh fluorescent lights, hovering just over his heart. All it would take was one swift motion, in and out. With horror, he watches as the plump man raises the knife to his neck instead, dragging the tip over his throat, bumping the collar. He hears the voices from the crowd more clearly now.
Slit his throat! Tear his belly. The heart!
He’s lost before, but this is different.
They were betting on how he would die.
Right now, in their eyes, his death was a certainty.
“No, no, please” he croaks, struggling against the grip on his throat. It’s humiliating to beg for his life. The fingers only tighten. “No.”
The gods cackle and cheer as he squirms for his life. He’s heard their fanfare many times before, but during those times, it was his fist poised for the kill. Had this been what so many of his opponents felt in their final moments? Shame and rage and despair bubble up violently in his chest until hot tears spill from his eyes. He doesn’t want to die. He can’t die here.
He has promises to keep.
Ace’s freckled face with a half-moon smile on his lips. The two of them, hugging their knees and watching the sun set over the ocean. Luffy’s arms waving wildly as he details the adventures they’ll have. Salty sea air whipping the soft grass all around them as they laugh and carry on into the night.
There’s people waiting for him.
Shanks. Beckmann. Lucky Roux. Yasopp. All of the Red Haired Pirates. He watches their ship disappear over the horizon for the last time, clutching the ragged straw hat and pulling it over his tear-streaked face. It’s far too big for him. The breeze almost carries it away and he clutches onto it for dear life. He still has to grow into it. Only then can he see the man who sacrificed his arm to give him his dream.
There’s people he wants to see.
Makino pouring him juice in Party’s Bar, putting it on his treasure tab. (He still has to pay her back.) Old Man Woop Slap reprimanding him as he drags him back home after starting trouble by the docks. The kind street vendor sneaking him bags of fresh fruit after watching him scrounge rotten apples from the trash. Dadan pretending not to smile while she watched him play with beetles from the window of their hut.
There are people worried about him.
Gramps carrying him home on his back, muttering apologies for getting carried away again. He hates training with Gramps. He wants to be strong but more so, he wants to play and run and explore. After a while, Gramps begins to murmur to himself about why he acts the way he does. Something about love and fear and not being able to protect him forever.
Now that Luffy is older, he thinks that he understands.
“It’s not time for you to die.”
The little voice in his head doesn’t quite feel like his own anymore.
“Tell them. Tell them how you want to live.”
He gathers up enough strength to wrench the hand away from his throat, tossing the dagger to the ground with a heavy clang.
A guttural scream rips up from the depths of his belly.
His throat burns with the effort and the world around him goes still.
He’s not sure what he did or how he did it, but he commands the world to stop and it obeys him. The cruel gods fall to their knees around him, eyes rolling into the back of their heads, all white and unseeing… all except her. The Woman trembles as she just barely clutches onto the sidelines to steady herself. Her blue eyes are wide and glassy as she stares all around her, trying to make sense of what she’s just witnessed, but then they lock eyes again.
Luffy stares back at her, breathless, knees wobbling as he tries to stand. The Woman’s mouth hangs open wide in shock before she purses her lips and she… she smiles. Luffy watches as she mouths one single word.
“Go,” she commands.
He decides that it will be the last order he ever obeys.
He has no idea where he’s going. For the past five years of his life, all he has known is the confines of his cell and the arena. He knows these like the back of his hand. The arena is a deep pit dug into the ground, smooth walls leading up to the rows of seating above. While fighting, his sea stone shackles were temporarily removed, allowing him to stretch and fight with relative ease. His devil fruit powers should have easily allowed him to grab onto the railings above, launching himself into the audience. He had tried only once when he first arrived. The guards shot him down immediately.
Sea stone also came in the form of bullets, the medic explained mockingly as he dug little blue shards out from his ravaged flesh. To further add insult to injury, they withheld meals for a week to make the punishment stick. He never tried again. The guards were always watching, fingers hovering right over the triggers.
But now, they lay motionless on the floor, their guns abandoned at their sides, eyes rolled back.
Now, his sea stone shackles were gone and there was nothing preventing him from flinging himself towards the exits, stepping over the unconscious bodies of his captors.
Now, his slave collar did not beep menacingly when he finally found his way out of the prison to stand in the sun once more.
He’s seen the sun from his window, of course, but without the shade of his cell, its light takes his breath away. It takes him a few minutes to adjust, burying his face in the crook of his arm when it becomes too much. He doesn’t have the luxury of basking in the warm glow of the afternoon sun, however, before the civilians walking the streets begin shrieking for the guards, pointing and wailing as if he were a wild animal. He sucks in a sharp breath and squints, rapidly blinking in light as he tries to make heads or tails of where he was in the city, where he should go.
“This way! This way!”
The birds call to him.
He recognizes the little sparrows that often gathered outside his cell window. The birds cry above him, coasting on the breeze overhead, and he follows without thinking. The guards are pouring out of the buildings in droves, like furious little ants swarming out of a disturbed nest. When he begins to veer off track, the little birds swoop down and gently guide him back through the city until all that he can see before him is a massive ivory wall, stretching far up into the heavens. They circle him, tugging at his unruly hair, urging him up the wall and towards the Sun.
Behind him, he hears the baying of unfamiliar hounds, guards barking commands as their heavy boots trample over the cobbled streets. He stretches his arm as far as he can, but he can hardly see the top. The sun’s harsh white light is blinding. His fingers grip bare stone, scrambling for a purchase among the cracks as he pulls himself upwards, clawing his way over to perch atop the wall.
There were guards here as well. Not as many, but they catch on quickly, shouting at each other from their posts. His heart is pounding so quickly in his chest, like a desperate little canary trying desperately to escape. He can’t see anything in front of him.
The earth just gives way suddenly, dropping off into a vast blanket of white.
“Jump!”
A small voice snaps him out of his trance.
“Just a little further!”
He can’t tell who’s speaking to him anymore. Is it the birds? Is it himself? Is it the funny little voice in his chest?
It urges him forward, into the abyss, past the clouds and into the unknown. Gunshots ring out behind him and a bullet grazes his cheek, far too close for comfort. Another follows immediately after, this time ripping through his side, sending hot blood pouring down his filthy rags. He doesn’t have time to be afraid.
He decides that there can be no hell worse than this so-called heaven.
So he closes his eyes and dives down into the sea of clouds, letting the wind whip around him. The birds tuck their wings close to their chests as they slice through the air, never straying far from his side. He doesn’t think about the fact that he can’t swim, that there could be nothing but rock awaiting him past the sea of clouds. He just breathes and lets his mind go blank.
He falls from grace and trusts the universe to catch him.