One Piece fic-PoSM, Chapter 6
Title: The Psychology of a Shattered Mind
Chapter Title: Lighthouse
Rating: PG-13 / T
Characters: Usopp, Luffy, Chopper
Word Count: About 3.4k
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. Comments appreciated, here or FF.Net. 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
After the incident with the mask, he starts dreaming again. His mind had been quiet before-void in the night. Before, he slept like he ate: automatically, when the food was in front of him or he was really, really hungry.
Sometimes, in these dreams, he can fly, a red cape billowing out behind him. He's wearing a mask-no, not a mask, that mask. He flies over a small island with a big white mansion, then he flies over the sea, then over ships sailing, then over many rooftops-the Holy City. He has to go higher to get over the tall spires, and that's when his arms grow hot. The spires are relentless in their upward climb, and make him keep going further up and up until his arms feel like they're burning.
The cape catches on fire. He can't see it, or smell it, but he knows it-knows that the flames are creeping closer to his neck-and he'll be burned, but he can't do anything about it, only keep flying up, up, up-
Something grabs his ankle and pulls, and he's jerked off course. The heat licking at his back is a reminder of the imminent danger, until he looks down and sees the tips of the spires rushing up to meet him. His head's whirling with vertigo. The scream doesn't even reach his lips before pain explodes-
Hitting the floor of the sick bay wakes him. Groaning, he rubs at his temples and puts a hand to his churning stomach, already wishing for the days when he could sleep without dreaming. He's glad he turned down the offer to move "back into" the boy's cabin-not that he really considered it, since the swordsman sleeps there. Shuddering, he forces his feet out from the tangle of sheets. This particular dream wasn't as bad as some he's had. He's embarrassed, actually, to think of what might have happened if he'd been in the boy's cabin with last night's nightmare, which was far worse than this one. Thinking about the fact that he was screaming loud enough last night for people outside the sick bay to notice makes him want to curl up in a dark corner somewhere.
Franky bugged him all day to talk about the dream-it'd be good to get it off your chest, Usopp, he says-but that's the absolute last thing he wants to do. Isn't it enough to have those images disturbing his sleep? Why should he acknowledge them any further? Better to leave them locked up in darkness; pretend like they have no basis in fact. Everything's better that way. These people don't want to know-no, they only think they do-and he doesn't want to talk about it.
The man actually seemed to think he could offer comfort or advice or something. That is scoff-worthy; he wouldn't even believe half of what Usopp could tell him. It's not that Usopp thinks Franky's a wimp or anything, it's just-
He can't possibly understand. He wasn't there. He can't understand.
Usopp shakes himself again, clambering to his feet. He still feels queasy, so there's no way he'll be able to sleep for a while yet. It's not like he feels particularly up to another variation on the theme of his life as concocted by his own mind, anyway.
Opening the door to the deck, he's taken aback as something cold and white blows into his face in stinging pricks.
Blink, pause.
He shuts the door and reaches for the coat draped on Chopper's chair, putting it on without another thought. A pair of worn brown boots follow that-once an extra pair for working, they're now the least worn-out he has. Nami promised to get him a new pair at the next town, although this pair is fine enough in his mind.
Opening the door again, he doesn't even twitch this time as cold flakes assault him. It's the snow-the snow Nami asked him about with a playful grin on her face.
He swallows, not sure what he should be…expecting himself to do with the clean white layer dusting the deck, but it seems to stare back at him like the blank pages in his sketchbook. The two surfaces are similarly intimidating-one reason he hasn't drawn a single thing, only looked. Still, there is something about the quiet, sound-absorbing effect of the layer of snow that makes it seem more intimate than paper, like if he told his secrets out loud in this place the snow would keep them from being heard by all but the two of them.
Ambling along listening to the muted crunching of his own footfalls, he runs a hand over the top of the railing, brushing the snow off and down to the next deck. The melting clumps of flakes left clinging to his hand are a sharp cold. He wipes his hand on the coat, but the stiff yellow-brown material is sleek and water-resistant, leaving him with a still-damp, still-cold hand. He tries a pant leg after that, doing marginally better. Pulling his hands into the coat sleeves, he crouches before he goes down the stairs and pushes snow into a mound, seeing how high and wide he can get it at its most tightly packed.
He creeps down the stairs, shoving the layer on each step to the right edge with a foot along the way. The deck looks like it hasn't been walked on since the snow began. That means he's alone out here.
He's fine with that. The crew is overwhelming sometimes. Their energetic activity ricochets away any calm he manages to gather, like the sound of gunfire off the walls of a small room. A cold wind whips past. He rubs a warm hand over the end of his nose. This weather reminds him of some other time of snow and fear…an aching sort of fear and helplessness…the memory lingers, hazy on the edge of his mind. He's a little curious but is more afraid, so he pushes the memory away. It doesn't seem like an especially pleasant memory, so it may not be something he wants to remember. Besides that, trying to force those things might be dangerous, if the incident with the mask is any indication.
Everyone has been acting doubly worried since then, and since he doesn't like feeling eyes on him half the day, he'd rather not have a repeat of that kind of incident, even if it means not remembering. Surely most memories aren't that important, anyway…aren't worth fighting for…like this one…
He thrusts his hands into a place where the snow has drifted a little deeper, the sting of cold driving back feeling. Working with no goal in mind, no thought, only the soft white under his hands and his warm puffs of breath in the air, he steers away from the dangerous wanderings of his mind. By time he's clustered the snow from several areas of the deck into odd shapes stuck to the floor, he's starting to feel a strange, expanding warmth settle in his chest. It's like being satiated by a meal-only it rests higher up, where his lungs and heart are. It's funny and he struggles find a word for it. It's like…
Like something, for once, has aligned, has found a center. Like he might belong here…like he's fulfilled.
Nami was right in expecting him to look forward to the snow. Despite the cold rapidly stiffening his fingers, he is contemplating making something bigger and has turned to estimating how far the snow currently on the deck will allow him to go. A door opening somewhere behind him registers only several moments after he hears it and he startles, squeezing a ball of snow in his hand so hard that icy tendrils ooze out from between his fingers.
He had actually been letting his guard down.
Dangerous. So dangerous to do that. He can't turn around. What if it's the skeleton, bones freakishly white against a snow-blasted deck? Or worse, the swordsman, grinning with sword drawn, ready to slice down, to stain the snow with-
Lightly comes a tap, tap.
He relaxes a little as he hears unmistakable sound of hooves against the deck. Chopper. It's only Chopper. He turns and looks at the reindeer. He is in Brain Point and is slowly making his way out down the same stairs Usopp had come by, glancing about every which way. The snow falling onto his hat is turning the pink to a splotchy, fluffy white. Chopper looks at him and hesitates, his eyes wide and round and his ears twitching before he smiles.
"It's great to feel the snow again," says Chopper, but there's not a lot of emotion in it, and Usopp has the feeling the reindeer is simply filling in the silence.
"Ye…yeah," he replies. He should say something else here, something clever or inventive, but nothing comes to mind. He has some vague thoughts of ice giants, but his tongue feels swollen. Mostly he wants to go back to his building. As long as he doesn't get distracted again, it's fine to do something a little enjoyable for once, right? Right?
Right. That's right. It's fine. It's safe here.
Chopper comes closer, still hesitating. Usopp glances around, but sees nothing to warrant the hesitation, unless…no. There's no one else on deck. It must be him that Chopper is cautious of. Somehow, the way this conversation is going seems turned around and inside out. Chopper shouldn't be afraid of him…but then again, maybe it's warranted, after what he did to Luffy-he swallows hard. Don't think about it. Just don't.
"What are you doing? Making snowballs?" Chopper says, now within arm's reach.
In response to the question, he shrugs, giving the only answer he has. "I…dunno." The snow is melting its way through his fingers and tapping onto the deck. He wants to stretch out his hand and brush the snow off the top of Chopper's hat, but doesn't, thinking the urge inappropriate. Just…don't be threatening.
"Oh."
Disappointment. Chopper…wanted him to be doing that?
He could imagine setting up an ambush, lying on the deck-and Chopper with him, waiting with a small arsenal of snowballs at their side, ready to pelt anyone coming from the doorway. Then nervousness washes over him at the idea of targeting anyone. At once, like predator sensing weakened prey, memories of that place push at the edges of his mind, hissing to be given audience, and he grasps for something else, anything else.
Iddis would have thought it fun.
His former master rises in his mind unwanted and so suddenly that he is ill-prepared to deal with the thought. It is a wonder he hasn't thought him before now, really, but with everything that has happened since he last saw him-
Jolted, he turns away from Chopper before the reindeer can see the horrible expression he can feel pulling at his face. He squeezes until there is nothing left in his hand, bitterness raging strong enough to become a foul taste in his mouth.
If he ever sees the bastard again, it will be too soon.
That child, that mere child held your existence in his hands, and he-he-
"Usopp?" The uncertainty in Chopper's voice has mixed with what sounds like fear. That fear-that worried fear-drags him back from darker thoughts, and he sucks in a breath, shuddering. He realizes a hand is clenched over his heart, and he forces himself to pull it away, to ignore the thought of the pinched skin hidden beneath his coat.
I'll never see him again. It is enough.
You've forgotten many things. It should be nothing to forget one more.
He can't do this. He can't talk like this. He needs time to recover his shattered equilibrium. "Chopper, I…" if he excuses himself with a don't feel well, he'll only end up back inside again, trapped with his thoughts. He needs to be out here, to feel the cold and the sharpness in the air, to have the grey clouds and the dampening power of the snow quiet his mind. "I want to build this by myself," he says finally, and hopes it doesn't seem like as much of a rejection as it does to his own ears.
Sorry. I need to be alone.
"Oh," Chopper says, and then pauses again. "…Okay." Another pause, then Chopper's hooves clop back across the deck, the door to the boy's cabin opening and closing with little more than a soft click.
Chopper shuts the door behind him. After the refreshing cold of outside it's hot to be inside. He has to wipe his eyes with the back of his arm because they are tearing up from the dimness of the room. After a beat, his eyes are still tearing, so he sniffs and wipes them again.
It's not Usopp out there. Not really. It looks and smells like Usopp but it isn't. What if he's always like this? What if he never really comes back? It's something Chopper doesn't want to think about it, but he feels it in a stinging sort of way.
A soft sound catches his attention and he twitches his ear to catch it, recognizing the rasping tap of Luffy's straw sandals. He clears his eyes a third time and takes off his hat to brush the snow off, trying to give himself something to do.
He feels better in front of the door, as if he's guarding Usopp by doing so-not that there's anything bad in here. It's a feeling that he knows is illogical, but it's one he can't help.
Luffy comes out of the gloom, frowning. His hands are clenched and his shoulders are tense but he doesn't seem angry, at least, not in the usual way. He stops a few feet in front of Chopper and Chopper worries the hat between his hooves uncertainly.
"Chopper," Luffy says. "Is Usopp out there?"
"Yes," Chopper says. "But…I think he wants to be alone." Luffy puffs out a breath and folds his arms, glancing at the door as if he can see right through it.
"It really makes me want to beat someone up," Luffy says. Chopper pulls his hat down on his head and looks down at the floor between his hooves. He feels the same way, sort of, but beating someone up or even killing them won't bring Usopp back to being Usopp, just as Chopper's doctoring skills are at a loss to do so. He feels so useless.
"I miss him," Chopper says, feeling traitorous for even speaking like that. Old-Usopp can't come back. Chopper should be setting his affection on the Usopp here with them instead of pining to have one that doesn't exist.
It's another thing he can't help.
"He'll remember," Luffy says. "Usopp will remember." He clenches his hand into a fist so hard, that if Luffy wasn't rubber, Chopper would be sure his knuckles would break. "And if anyone tries to hurt him again, we'll hurt them."
"Yeah!" Chopper says, feeling anger and conviction bubbling up in him in spite of himself. He wants to stamp the floor. He wants to lower his head and charge. It's something he can do. A blast of cold air whips across his senses and makes him feel big and strong and ready to take on the world. Then he realizes the cold is because the door is open. Luffy is tossing and catching snowball repeatedly, grinning. Visible through the gap between Luffy's wide-set legs, Usopp's back is a clear target.
"Lu-Luffy, w-wait a second!" Chopper squeaks.
"Oi, Usopp!" Luffy calls, and as Usopp turns, Luffy follows on with a sing-song "Caa-atch!"
Luffy pegs the snowball. It smacks a still turning Usopp upside the head with a horrifying, wet thunk, toppling the sniper backward into the pile of snow he was gathering.
Usopp is completely still for three excruciating seconds, in which Chopper fears a number of scenarios: concussion, unconsciousness, some sort of emotional meltdown…until Usopp lifts an arm and wipes at his face, raising the hand to look at the water and melting snow clinging to his fingers, that is. Then he sits back up with startling speed, giving Luffy a glare that doesn't seem to be able to decide between angry and scandalized. Blinking rapidly, he wipes at his face again, returns his glare to Luffy and snaps, "You-you-what did you do that for?"
Luffy throws back his head and laughs that wild, howling laughter that comes to him only at his most gleeful. "Your-face-" he lifts a finger and points, struggling for words between the laughs, and then breaths between the words. "It's-it's-so funny!"
Chopper shifts a hind-leg back warily, sensing an impending explosion of something.
Usopp's expression flashes into one of the purest wide-eyed confusion before changing to bemused comprehension, until, at last, it darkens to annoyance. Grumbling words incoherent even to Chopper's sharp ears, he grabs up the largest clump of snow close to his hand, stumbling to his feet.
Breath catches in Chopper's throat, wonder rising at how familiar this kind of scene is. It's how a lot of the best playtimes started before-with Luffy playing a prank, or doing something stupid-and Usopp or whoever responding in kind. Irritation always devolved into loud carousing, that was just how it was with Luffy.
It was so…normal.
When Usopp pulls back to throw his snowball but hesitates, his expression of annoyance faltering, Chopper is afraid. There's a sudden hesitation in Usopp's eyes that nearly destroys the illusion of normalcy outright.
Luffy isn't laughing now, and Chopper sees one of his captain's fists tighten. "C'mon, Usopp," Luffy mutters, so quietly that even Chopper barely catches it.
Please just come back to us, just a little, please…
Stepping forward, Luffy cups a hand around one ear and calls, sounding overly cheerful, "What's that? You want snow down your shirt?" Luffy's smirk widens, and he adds, "Okay, no problem!" Bending, he scoops more snow from the deck and advances on Usopp, chuckling. "Ready?"
Usopp drops the snowball and waves his arms fearfully, backing up. "No-I didn't say-"
Luffy throws another snowball, a loose one that smacks against Usopp's waving arms and splatters more snow into his face.
"Do you mind?" Usopp shrieks.
"Not reall-gah! Cold! Cold!"
Chopper thinks he might have blinked, because Usopp now has Luffy in a headlock and is shoving an armful of snow down the back of other boy's shirt. Luffy is shrieking, but laughing at the same time, and he doesn't seem to be making much of an effort to get away.
"How do you like that, huh?" Usopp shouts, releasing Luffy-but not before he has ground a last handful of snow in Luffy's face.
Luffy staggers, now halfway between laughing and choking. He swallows the snow in his mouth, glancing back at Chopper with a wide, knowing grin, his nose red and breaths puffing out white.
Usopp already has another snowball formed, and he holds it out like he's pointing a finger. "This is as far as your abuse goes-" Usopp begins in that assertive tone Chopper's heard many times, usually during the best parts of Usopp's stories. As Usopp speaks, Luffy squats, gathers loose snow, and flings it up. The sniper splutters, breaking off his spiel, and pegs his snowball at Luffy with an incensed growl. "What is wrong with you!"
Dodging, Luffy turns and runs, laughing as if he has a very evil plan that's on the verge of success.
On second thought… Chopper muses, that plan may have already succeeded…
"Get back here, you coward!" Usopp yells, darting after Luffy.
Soon there are snowballs flying back and forth all over the deck. Chopper watches the irritation in Usopp's expression fades into a small smile as the snowball fight progresses. It's barely there, but there nonetheless, and that's something. The wind stings at Chopper's eyes as he smiles himself, looking for a sufficiently large mound to make his own snowballs from.
Continued in Chapter 7: Apparent Wind