Crooner woke up in a cold sweat
As he woke, his arms jolted from his resting position –he fell asleep at 'his' desk, arms folded so he could rest his head– and his sudden movement caused pens and pencils to roll off the desk he sat at. They clattered to the floor, the lead of some pencils snapping as the pens lost some of the ink they were usually dipped in. If the ink wasn't already dried, that is.
Crooner rubbed his forehead, glancing around wearily, before pulling his hand back and looking at it. It was slightly moistened with sweat. Rubbing under his eyes, he checked if he had cried at all. His fingers were dry. His digits shook lightly as he clenched and unclenched his hands. He was trying to tell if he was in a dream or not.
I... I must have fallen asleep while planning. How careless of me.
He wiped his hand on his pant leg and quietly scanned the room. It was just as he left it. Nothing was wrong. He was there, he was fine. Everything was fine.
It was just... He had another premonition. A recurring one, if you will. It wasn't a nice one, either. Crooner stood from his seat and rubbed the back of his neck with a downcast expression. When he had premonitions like those... it always unsettled him.
His dreams were where his premonitions usually came– and daydreaming brought a similar result. Those premonitions ranged in importance, though Crooner had grown to understand him. Most would be confused or puzzled by the dreams, trying to discern them from future events to come to just a strange event happening in the dream just because. Crooner had lived with it for almost four decades.
There were moments when he asked himself; "What did that dream mean?" But he only rarely meant it. But now, with his most recent premonitions, he didn't know. His first instinct was to deny it, and the second was to believe it. It wasn't as simple as a single coin flip. This was a matter of life and death.
Life and death.
The memory was fresh in his mind– it flashed every time he blinked. He couldn't keep his eyes open together, even though he had the habit of trying, just like a kid too scared to go back to bed after a nightmare. That's what his dream felt like, all right. Some sick and twisted nightmare that he was tormented with. Crooner loved sleep– but this made him want to stay awake forever.
Crooner blinked again– the image returned
It felt as though Crooner had a brick thrown at the back of his head. He hissed and staggered on his feet, hair flashing a dangerously stormy grey as his brows furrowed in annoyance, anger, and finally, agony.
"Fuck-- Fuck-- Go away!" He doubled over, falling to one knee as he clutched his face, pulling at his skin as they played before him like a slideshow. "Go away, you're-- You're not supposed to be like this! Stop, stop, stop!"
It didn't stop
"For the love of-- Come on, not now! Not here-- Not when I've just seen her!"
His teeth grit together, and his eyes, even though they were open, saw visages of the sights he tried to ignore and push to the back of his mind, never to be thought of again.
Blood covered strings. A broken four-eyed blade. An earthquake. Cuts littering a shadow-like body, racked with shivers and sobs. Water mixed with crimson red, broken ice, tears of joy, emotional agony, twisted faces and broken bodies.
Ice
Fire
Magma
Love
Hope
Hate
Anger
War
Alliance
Deceit
Betrayal
Blood
Death
Death
DEATH
Crooner's ears rang-- he slapped his hands over his ears as his cloudy hair billowed between his fingers. He held his breath as the ringing grew louder and louder-- It needed to stop-- Just stop and shut up already he didn't need to go through this again.
The ringing plateaued, keeping a steady but painful tone, before it abruptly stopped. Crooner waited for a few seconds before he uncovered his ears and sighed softly. It was always after the nightmares-- An intense ringing ripped through him, and he'd be left... defenseless, for a moment, as he waited for it to stop. For the blaring sound to be silenced.
He winced and covered his eyes, breathing in and out slowly. Crooner kept them closed until the mental image began to fade. Now that the ringing was gone, he could focus on getting the images out of his mind. Slowly, but surely, it gradually disappeared. Once it did, Crooner let out another sigh. It didn't relieve him at all– It didn't make him feel better– and if anything, he only felt his shoulders and back grow more tense.
I think I need to talk to someone. He checked his watch. It wasn't night– and it looked like he only slept for about an hour. Buggy's definitely still awake... Yes, I think he'll understand the most. I'll talk to him instead.
He walked over to the door, his boots thumping against the stained and varnished wood. Yet when Crooner's hand reached the doorknob, he hesitated. Would that really be okay to just share? Was it too much?
Surely, just a little premonition wasn't enough to go talk to someone to cool down, right? Right?
Crooner closed his hand, right above the doorknob.
Should I...?
His fist clenched.
I should. The last time I tried hiding something, I almost died.
Crooner opened the door without a moment to lose and ventured down the hallway. He was given a guest room– he needed to get to Buggy's. He stopped in front of the door and knocked twice. After a moment or two, he knocked again.
A grunt came from the other side
"What?"
"It's just me, Buggy." Crooner's brows creased. "I need to talk."
That wording was... odd, to say the least.
Not "we need to talk," or "I need to talk to you," and not even "I need to talk to you about this," but "I need to talk."
Buggy twisted the doorknob and jerked the door open, one of his brows raised at Crooner's attitude. Once his eyes landed on Crooner's storm grey hair, he paused.
"What's with you? You hangry or somethin'?"
That got a small snort out of Crooner. He shook his head as he held his arms behind his back. He held himself up neatly, his shoulders not as relaxed as they usually were. It was clear that Crooner was less lax as well. Something about him seemed off. It was wrong to see a man like him with such stress visible in his shoulders.
He shook his head. "No, no... That's not it."
Buggy's voice was as scratchy as usual. Nothing had changed about the clown's attitude. Once a jester, always a jester. "You thinking of ending the alliance?"
Crooner shook his head again. "No, never. Not in a million years."
"What the hell's with you then? You're all dull. It's weird!" His eyes widened before his gaze hardened. "This better not be about me not letting you sleep in my bed! I said no for a reason, you airhead!"
"Buggy. It's about (Name)."
He hardly looked moved. Buggy had no clue why she was even being brought up at the moment. "Yeah? What about the kid?"
Crooner's fists clenched at his sides. "I... I've been having these dreams. I can't see her– it's just her shadow– but... It's... It's bad."
"Spit it out, damn it!"
The man inhaled sharply– he spoke quickly. His tone was icy and stern, cold and unforgiving as he spoke. Buggy's eyes widened– this time in shock.
"(Name) is going to die."
~ . . . ~
So many ways
So many different ways...
Time and time again, Crooner watched as his own child died and died and died and died again.
An endless loop of misery was all that awaited her in the future. The visions were so fast, so quick, that it was there for a second and gone the next. But it didn't change the fact that Crooner knew– He knew that those images, that blood mixed with black shadow and a cold, lifeless feeling, would stay with him for a very, very long time.
Crooner had his head in his hands as he sat across from Buggy. He warned him. He warned him. Buggy urged him to continue– as if he was going to try and find a way to save her himself. It might've been from the good of his own heart, or the alcohol that the clown was drinking, but the action was appreciated, nonetheless.
"There are so many things I've seen, and there wasn't a single time where she had a chance of living," Crooner droned on, a thousand-yard-stare making his eyes look downright soulless. "Donflamingo used his strings, squeezing her 'till she couldn't breathe– Or worse, just used them to slice her in half. Mihawk wouldn't stop cutting until all that was left of her was pieces. Gecko Moria ripped her shadow away from her and left her to die in the sunlight. Akainu punched right through her... Aokiji obviously froze her solid. Kizaru... Kizaru just killed her with his bare hands..."
"When did you start seeing these things? Why haven't you said a damn thing?!"
He lifted his head and wearily glared. "I haven't said anything because I didn't believe it at first. Then I remembered that the same thing happened when I was with her mother."
Buggy's eyes went beady. "Huh?"
"Her mother. I predicted her death, or, well, saw it, and I didn't believe it myself until it actually happened." His voice didn't change, "It's– Look, it's complicated. The topic isn't as sensitive for me anymore, but... I, I don't know how to explain it, but I know it's almost impossible to try and stop fate from taking its course."
Rather rudely, Buggy asked, "How'd your wife die?"
Crooner sighed loudly. Strangely enough, he didn't appear to be angry. Just exasperated. Tired. Stressed. "Nobody really asks this, so don't go around telling. She died of an incurable disease. She knew about it and kept it a secret from me."
He pointed at Crooner. "But (Name) isn't dying of natural causes like that! She's up against those bastard Shichibukai and Marines! That's what your visions say!"
"Oh, I don't think she's going to contract that disease, believe me," Crooner scoffed. His grey and cloudy hair rolled over his shoulders, descending down and dispersing into a thin mist as it almost drooped. " 'M just worried for her wellbeing. I don't get visions this strong. The stronger it is... The more likely it is to happen."
"Then why is she dying in multiple ways?"
"I don't know the answer to everything, Buggy," Crooner forced out, "I'm thinking it's because she's going to die in one of those ways." Yet the one man I expected to also kill her isn't anywhere in my visions. His mind flashed to a man's face, covered in a long stitch like scar. "It's... It's so strange."
"Why?"
"She's been so lucky, yet she's been given the most unfortunate fate."
Buggy grunted, rubbing his chin in thought. His eyes traveled around the room as he thought of something to say. "Well, do you know when she's gonna die?"
"...Not for a while, but..." Crooner's shoulders slumped. "I have a feeling that not even a year will pass before it happens."
Silence followed
Buggy's brows were furrowed in thought. Crooner's head only hung low as he locked his gaze onto the ground.
Minutes passed and the two captains just... didn't talk. They were too busy thinking. Crooner's mind was filled with worry. He had been acting fine for the past few months, but once he ran into Buggy, the visions had become more vivid– and appeared more frequent than he'd like.
He knew for a fact that she wouldn't die like her mother. The disease she died of was extremely rare, and like he said, cureless. Crooner felt like he was at a loss. Would he actually be able to see his kid one day? He didn't even know yet. He knew many things, but the lines always blurred when it came to her. His own child.
Even calling her that... He loved her and all, but he knew...
Crooner wasn't her father– He wasn't her dad. (Name)'s father was Sai, the beloved king of Crow Island. Crooner knew that he wouldn't be able to ever compare to Sai. He didn't raise (Name).
Given his life choices, he couldn't. For a child to have a life on the seas, it would be far too dangerous. Especially since the captain practically lived in the most dangerous parts of Grand Line, near the Sabaody Archipelago and Amazon Lily Island.
He was no father.
Crooner could never be (Name)'s father– let alone an actual parent. He'd always just be a pirate. It was as simple as that. Crooner wasn't much.
Granted, he held the title of a Yonko, but what's the point of a title if one's too helpless to even stop their own child's death?
"What did you see?"
Buggy's oh-so-familiar voice caught Crooner's attention. He weakly smiled, as he had done before, and parted his lips to explain. Buggy's frown deepened. A look like that didn't belong on Crooner's sorry face.
"It's... It's honestly only some flashes, but they're so vivid that it makes me worry."
"Tell me! Get to the point!"
"Alright, alright! Calm down, would you?!" Crooner lowered his voice just as quickly as he raised it. Softly, he apologized, before he continued. "Look... There's going to be a war soon."
A war that he had known about long ago– One that was going to happen regardless of if he was there or not
A war that Crooner learned of from his earliest memories
Death and destruction, a point proven, a promise, and a new dawn of piracy
Even Crooner was still in the golden age. The most romanticized era of pirates. The thrill of adventure, freedom, unfathomable riches, and so much more. One can only look so far in rose tinted glasses, yet when you're staring at the sun, you start to become blinded. Many didn't know the real struggles.
Crooner wasn't a man all about flirting and enjoying the finer things in life. He had deep struggles that sometimes never made it to the light of day. Piece by piece, the secrets tore his body apart, the sick and twisted game of life he was forced to play killed him in an infinite loop as he was stuck suffering alone with these deadly premonitions.
The one he shared now– in part, it was for his benefit. Crooner didn't know if he'd be able to handle it all by himself. To be alone was the cruelest thing in the world. To suffer with nobody by Crooner's side was worse than a death sentence. With one wrong move, the wrong person chosen, it would all be over. Burdens aren't meant to be carried alone.
It's why he chose Buggy. Because he was one of the most reliable people in his life, brushing past the whole everything that Buggy was.
Underneath all of those titles, Crooner was just... somebody. Just a "somebody". With no title, like Yonko, he could very well disappear into history. Only a passing thought to some.
He watched Gold Roger's execution– Hell, the memory haunted him in his sleep sometimes, and he recalled that day that his vision was blurred with tears. Even in the dream, his reality was warped, as he watched his old Captain die again and again and again and again.
Gol D. Roger was a role model in Crooner's life. He was a man to look up to. Gol D. Roger was one of the few men that deserved to be seen in such a light. A savior to some, a monster to others– it mattered not, because before Roger, the true meaning of a pirate was not fulfilled.
There was next to none before him who showed the true aspects of a pirate– the hearty traits that made them so feared and renowned.
Gol D. Roger was incredible
That man was power, strength– He deserved the title of Pirate King when he was alive, and the wealth, fame, and power that came to him was nothing but earned. And he was a father himself.
Crooner knew the child of his captain, and after Roger's death, he had met him a few times, too. In the jungle where Garp, that bastard, kept his latest Marine recruits. Hook 'em while they're young– that must've been Garp's motto. One of those "cadets" was...
Ace.
Portgas D. Ace was the child's name. He was a little shit, from what Crooner remembered. Bratty– But his anger was justified.
People hated Ace because he was Roger's son
Just like people hated (Name) for being his kid
Another shake of the head pushed those thoughts away. Crooner caught wind about the kid even meeting Shanks not too long back. Contrary to popular belief, Crooner had ties everywhere.
Almost anything that regarded his late captain and his path, he knew. The past and the future was his, and life, fate, and destiny didn't care if he was prepared for it or not. The news that Roger had a child was no shock
Crooner had figured that out before Roger was executed. Word gets around in the Marines, as they notoriously suck at hiding secrets. His own first mate, Aito Morimoto, used to be a part of CP-9, a group of elite government assassins.
Yet Aito worked for him. Suck on that, World Government. If a hottie dropped by, it was over for anyone who worked as a highly trained assassin employed by the government. Aito wanted to bring the Marines down– the people who took his childhood away. That was just an example. Crooner knew things he shouldn't have.
With the small pieces he was given, he put together what he could. His intelligence was either brushed aside or acknowledged by others. Crooner still knew too much.
Portgas D. Ace was going to die
As was one of the Yonko, Whitebeard
Their deaths were set in stone, there was no saving them. Not in any other world, or any other universe, if that even existed. If Crooner saw an event set in the future, he couldn't change it. No matter what happened-- It happened. There was nothing that anyone could do about it.
He saw it, long ago, the night of Roger's execution, in a horrid nightmare that left him sobbing into the dead of night as his own power, which he was once praised for, tore him apart until it left nothing behind. There were days he didn't cry, no, he flew around in an angered rage to look for a vice. Crooner had only grown so good at cleaning by learning to dispose of the things he destroyed.
Crooner was a whirlwind of complicated emotions. Perhaps the clouds displayed who he was. Not every white cloud was normal. It could allude to a storm, a few flashes giving a warning, before the inevitable came with the force of a hurricane. Gold Roger, unintentionally or intentionally, had been the start and end of it all.
Even the short time he had known the man, Crooner knew that becoming a pirate was the only thing he ever desired after that. He never anticipated that he himself would become a father. He wasn't going to deny it, he was nowhere near ready for that level of responsibility.
But that doesn't mean that he didn't try, believe him when he says that he truly did try his best to just be...
Him
Crooner was doing his best. If (Name) wanted an apology someday, then he would give it to her a million times over. He would give her the world if he could. He didn't know what he even wanted to be to her. Deep down, again, he knew that (Name) calling him her "father" was only a formality. Just a title with no meaning.
The emotion when he saw her, her presence, like rain, was fleeting and short. It worried him. If she was like the rain, then she might vanish just as quick as it appears. So fleeting that there was never a chance to appreciate its presence, leaving one stuck reminiscing as the other storms passed by.
If Crooner could not be a father, then he would be something. What Roger was to him, Crooner would be that to (Name). As long as she was alive that is. He didn't give up hope, but his visions were exact. What happens will happen. He can try as he might, but Crooner cannot delay the inevitable for that long. Who was he to stop (Name) from pursuing her dreams?
He'd be caging up the very songbird that he brought into the world
Why would he clip her wings– The ones that haven't even grown in?
And his words, oh, his short but sweet words to her. Saying that (Name) would grow up to be such a wonderful singer, and such an incredible young woman, it killed him over and over again. How could he lie in such a way?
How could he say that to her with the knowledge that her time would be cut short?
Crooner was a cruel man, a very cruel man
Not because he was a pirate, but because he kept secrets to keep others safe. In (Name)'s case, it was to keep her blissfully unaware. Who was he to deny his own flesh and blood the truth?
The only future he could not see was his own. It made him wonder. From his crude actions, what did (Name) see in him? Did they die together? During that war?
Crooner shook his head lightly. No– No, he shouldn't worry, he shouldn't worry. He won't die, though there was that one time that he may have gotten a bit too cocky when visiting Sabaody, and good god, he didn't know if he wanted to ever return to Dressrosa again. Because the last time he was there, Crooner, He--
... The last time he was there, Crooner...
He...
"Oh..." Crooner's eyes widened, before they stung. The one reason I ran away in the first place. The whole reason I'm here today... The reason why everyone hates me...
Oh, and that's when Crooner realized why.
That is when he understood.
It was why the tears slowly formed in his eyes as he looked up at Buggy, his act all but gone by now. How funny that Crooner was the real clown, even though he had an actual one sitting right across from him.
Buggy's alarmed and surprised expression made him laugh, but he only choked on his breath and doubled over, clutching his throat. He coughed as he heaved and leaned forward even further, a strangled cry leaving him.
"It's my fault. It's all my fault. Oh my god, oh my god, it's all my fault."
"What are you talking about?!"
Buggy rose from his seat as Crooner fell to his knees. A rise and a fall. His chest heaved in and out as the realization struck him like a bullet. The Yonko's very facade began to crack, it was only a matter of time, maybe a few months, minutes, or even moments before he shattered like glass.
The clown harshly pat Crooner's back, borderline slapping him, to try and console him, which Buggy was absolutely horrid at. Thank god for the thick walls. Without them, he'd be getting an earful from Alvida and his crew. "Calm the fuck down! You're being too loud– why are you crying?! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"I'm a horrible person, Buggy!"
Crooner grabbed Buggy's shoulders as soon as the clown stepped in front of him. The force at which he used sent them both to the ground, Crooner caging Buggy in as he let his raw and visceral emotions claw their way out of him with frightening violence. Buggy could only watch as the beauty before him slowly unfurled into the most broken artwork he had ever seen before.
Tears, absent during his slumber, but now present in these waking moments, were trickling gently down his face. His eyes held such a tiredness that it had been a miracle Crooner even had the motivation to go and confide in someone after he awoke. He was done- He was done.
His hair trembled with the same rumblings of a thunderstorm, or a shower of rain yet to come. His own tears served as the rain as Buggy felt warm droplets fall on his cheeks as Crooner came completely undone.
"I-I don't know how I've been holding myself together. Buggy– Buggy, I'm falling apart at the seams!" His nails dug into the wooden floor as he sobbed, face growing hot with so many emotions, Crooner didn't even understand how he felt. "I've failed! Dear god, I've failed as a decent fucking human being!"
Buggy was speechless.
His blue hair billowed out on the floor from beneath his head as he stared up at the Yonko, an emperor of the seas, one of the strongest men he had ever come to know, was crying like his heart had been torn out so many times over. He didn't know what to say, so he listened. Crooner was in such a frenzied state that he'd come up with a plan after to help save his kid.
He just needed Crooner to calm the fuck down.
"It's me, it's me, it's always been me. I was the one who thought becoming widely feared would be a good idea. I was the one who thought it would be fun. I painted so many targets on myself that I thought I could just deflect them –fuck– they've all been painted on (Name)! I'm the one who killed her! It was me! The one who is leading her to her own death is me!"
He let out a loud cry as he clutched his fists together on either side of Buggy's head. His body was shivering with chills running up and down his spine. His forehead– god, he was sweating so much.
Crooner's beautiful, captivating eyes were wide, and his irises and pupils shook, dilated as he scanned Buggy's features frantically. As if searching for something to keep him grounded. And he did find something. He did have someone.
That someone was Buggy
"I'm killing everyone around me– I'm like a disease! An infection– A plague! My own crew is in danger– I'm even putting yours at risk–"
He was someone who listened
"Buggy– How have you never said anything?! I'm hurting you! I'm hurting everyone!"
He was someone who still stuck with him, even if Crooner was an insufferable, annoying, cocky, confident pirate who was more trouble than he was worth
"I killed her. It's my fault she's going to die." His lip twitched. "And I can't even do anything about it. Every enemy I've made will now target her, just to get back at me. It started with me and it will end with me. If I had only–"
"SHUT THE HELL UP!"
Buggy was someone who cared
Crooner paused, mouth agape. His tears still fell freely, but his broken voice had been silenced in an instant. A storm had instantly been quelled.
"It's all me" this, "my fault" that– Fucking shut up!"
His scratchy, heavy, mix between deep and high-pitched voice, so strange yet so unmistakable, cut through Crooner's thoughts. That voice that Crooner had grown to love whenever he heard it, whether it was filled with anger and pointed at him, or just used casually in a day-to-day conversation. Buggy was comforting, in his own weird ways.
"You're really annoying, you know that? All this crying and whining– You're like a kid yourself! Why've you given up after one death?! Have some hope, you goddamn gloomy pervert! Be flashy like me!"
His gloves weren't as soft as Crooner thought, as Buggy furiously wiped his tear-stained face and also started to shove it away. His screams for the Casanova to get the hell off of him were just as welcoming as Crooner remembered.
"Stop getting your tears on me! It's gross! And let me go!"
Buggy was weird. He was strange in every sense of the word, boisterous, confident when he definitely shouldn't be, and was regularly treated as a doormat by other pirates that were stronger than him. But he never gave up. He never relented. He, too, knew Crooner, and Gol D Roger, and the expectations that he and Crooner had both set themselves up for. Buggy understood Crooner.
He understood
Buggy understood
Crooner stared down at Buggy, who still remained beneath him, trapped under his arms. His voice, suave and deep, came out soft and gentle. He couldn't believe himself right now. Crooner was putting Buggy in this position– when he never had to be in it in the first place– yet he still accepted it.
"Buggy... Oh, Buggy, how could I do this to you...?"
Buggy's face was as red as his nose by this point. Maybe from embarrassment, maybe from anger. "I SAID GET OFF!"
Just like that, they were back to normal
Calm and at peace
"Hey..."
"What?!" Buggy looked up at him, head still against the hardwood floor, glare faltering as he was met with the warmest smile he had ever seen. His voice lowered, well, not that much, but it definitely faltered, as he spoke again. "Wh..What is it?!"
Oh, how Buggy's hair reminded Crooner of the ever-changing tides. Such is the way of life, which will pass him by if he doesn't move on. The present never stays forever, a few seconds will pass, and it will become the past. Blink once, a year will pass, and a distant memory is the only thing one is left with. To move on, he must learn. Crooner cannot learn if he never moves on.
And so, that small spark of hope was re-ignited before it blossomed into a blazing wildfire
To give up without trying was a cardinal sin to Crooner. If there was a chance that (Name) can live, then he should take it, no questions asked. Life is a game. It favors some and detests others. Nobody said anything about playing by the rules.
Crooner had ties. He knew how to cheat at the game of life. He had done it so many times before– why did it just now start to break him down?
He wasn't done. No... Crooner was just getting started.
Would Buggy humor him, just once more?
Buggy shrunk back as he felt his face grow hot. All of this staring had him feeling some sort of way. "Why're ya starin' at me like that...?"
"Sweetheart..."
Crooner cupped Buggy's stubble covered cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb against his skin.
"Have you always been this beautiful?"