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#luffy is going to do so well shanks will just fall into obscurity
akagamiko · 3 years
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all i want for post-story shanks is to suffer from tony hawk syndrome
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midnightluck · 7 years
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a cuddly wing fic? mas if you want or something else
ahaha this is late and neither cuddly nor mas, I’m so sorry; I’ll write you another
He draws in a deep breath and holds it. Holds it, because ‘hold’ is his watchword.
He holds his tears in and his insecurities at bay. He holds his dreams close and his goals closer. He holds the weight of of a stranger’s expectations on his back, under the ever-present itch, and the warmth of a friend in his heart. He holds and he holds and he holds.
And most important, Coby holds to his ideals, because that’s the gift a boy with a grin bigger than his face gave him.
Marine training is tough. It’s endless and thankless and just overall very less. Certainly less fun than he’d hoped, but it’s not as bad as he feared. He’s in pretty good shape, after all, and young enough to adapt, and if there’s one good thing two years under Alvida gave him it’s a high pain tolerance.
And it’s necessary. This is the first step to his dream, and when he’s tired, when his arms are limp and his knees scream and his back itches and aches like a rash, he holds tight to his desire to help people, and he goes round for one more lap, does one more rep, gets through one more chapter.
It’s the most beat up and exhausted he’s ever been in his entire life, and he falls asleep each day smiling.
And then he gets picked up by Vice-Admiral Monkey D Garp, him and Helmeppo. To this day Coby isn’t sure if it’s by his own merit, by some obscure reason of Garp’s, or if it was just that they both met Luffy. 
He’s still growing, putting on height, weight and muscle, and he thinks nothing of the aches and pains in his joints. It’s a growth spurt; it happens. He’s more focused on the catch and pull of his shoulder blades and the ache of his spine, but not worried, because he knows what that is, too. His momma made sure he knew.
She used to call him a little angel, and she wasn’t far wrong. She’d pull him close and tell him the stories of their family, of their heritage and their power.
She called him an angel, and he never doubted it because she was one, too.
He grows taller. He grows stronger. He grows up.
There’s a weight on his back that’s heavier than dreams and a voice in his ears that’s loud with demands, and his eyes are full of a broad back that’s he racing to catch up with.
He grows up; he could hardly do otherwise.
You’ll find it, she told him, and wrapped him in softness. It’s in our blood, you see.
He used to reach out to touch, and she’d remind him to be gentle but let him and there were always pinfeathers in his hair those days. They stay inside when you’re lost, she’d tell him, stroking down his spine, and he’d long for the ache she promised would come. They’re fueled by your purpose. You’ll find them when you find yourself.
He’s strong now, but it doesn’t make him feel better, not really. He watches Helmeppo, who lords that strength over others, and he knows being strong isn’t his purpose. So he goes over and grabs Helmeppo and drags him off to train some more, because if his purpose isn’t strength, he can at least be strong enough to find it.
There was a song she used to sing, about uplifting winds and little birds and he begs once more to be taken flying.
Her kiss on his forehead burns like hope, but he knows it’s regret. You can only fly under your own power, she tells him. But when you find it, you’ll never come down.
He’s not an Admiral, but he’s already a Master Chief Petty Officer, and he stands tall now behind his mentor. He walks through the world with his chin up and his back heavy with power, and he knows he’s close. It’s his dream, it’s his purpose, and he’s full to bursting with it. Today’s the day, he knows, because today he meets Luffy again.
And he does and it isn’t, because he tells Luffy about how far he’s come and how far he’s going, and his back aches and nothing happens. Luffy is happy for him and says he knew Coy could do it, and nothing happens.
Coby proved that his dreams were coming true to the person who kickstarted them, and nothing happens.
Don’t worry, she’d said. All things in due time.
Well, this was the time and nothing happened, and for the first time in a long time, the ache behind his lungs feels like a burden instead of a promise.
He gets up and goes on and smiles, because he can’t do less. He owes the people his protection, and he never skimps. Justice is fair, justice is merciful, and he tries his best to be both.
Time passes and he’s promoted. He’s doing good. He’s being good and doing good and bringing good to the world around him. He’s helping the people who deserve it and chasing the ones who don’t.
He gets a reputation at some point. People know his name and point at him in the halls and the streets, even if a lot of it is because of Garp’s shadow.
He’s okay with that, because obviously he doesn’t know justice well enough yet to stand on his own.
So he follows Garp, right into a war he wasn’t expecting. He follows Garp, who allows himself to fall. An ogre stomps a defensive line, and Marines die.
The Marines shoot back, and pirates die.
It becomes a free-for-all. People die.
And Coby looks around at this, cold inside, because this–this is the Marines he hates. This is what he stands against, this useless slaughter for a cause that doesn’t even matter. The child does not always inherit the parent’s sins; he and his bare back can attest to that personally.
But Whitebeard steps forward and people die, and the Admirals descend and people die, and it’s pointless, why can’t they see that?
But no one sees, and people die, and so so does Luffy’s brother.
And then they keep going.
“No,” says Coby, and no one hears him.
“No,” says Coby, and steps forward. His eyes are so full of tragedy that he can’t see faces or uniforms anymore, because he doesn’t know what his own justice is but it isn’t this.
“No,” says Coby, and the war stops.
And finally, finally, the tension in his back explodes.
There’s feathers in the air, white with spots of red, and they fall slow and gentle. Everyone’s looking at him, looking up at him, and there’s a terrible disconnect between his anger and reality. “Stop,” Coby says, and his voice rings out in the quiet. “This isn’t just.”
There’s tears in his eyes and he’s shaking, but finally someone else is stepping forward to help. Shanks backs him up and the fighting comes to an end.
There’s so many dead, and who knew you could define something by it’s lack?
“C’mon down now, kid,” someone calls up to him, and he looks down at Garp. The man came here wearing white, and his jacket is still clean. “C’mon,” he repeats, gesturing impatiently. “We’ve got work to do.”
Yes, they do. There’s messes to clean up and bodies to bury and justice to find. His thoughts catch on that last one, and he looks down at Garp.
And then his eyes roll up and his glorious new wings go limp. He falls, trailing bloody feathers and Garp catches him easily.
He looks down at the unconscious kid in his arms, who took a stand today to stop a war, who’s bound and determined to be the truest Marine in generations. “You did good today, kid,” he says, and lifts the kid up enough that the wings don’t drag the floor. “Let’s get you home.”
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