Work Text:
"You know, those things will kill you one day." Nami said, her eyes wavering in worry from her usual strong facade. While I found it comforting, I let out a soft chuckle, hoping she wasn't offended by it. Turning to face her, I smiled. "I think that's the point." It wasn't that I hated my life; in fact, it was far from it.
There were so many things I had found myself intrigued with over the years: cooking, women, and even potentially finding a family in between it all. Of course, with very little I had, I had to appreciate my life. I was more privileged than others forced into labour or stuck with a family that wanted them dead.
Yet I wasn't close to being satisfied, having always thought of myself as this person who could just appreciate the finer things in life; I had friends that cared for me, a father whose best interest for me was to ensure I became a good man. What was there not to be pleased about?
The more I thought about what really made me feel hollow inside and the need to eradicate myself from the world, the sadder I became. I thought I could leave my past behind me, trying to run as far away as possible, but I knew. I knew at some point it would catch up to me. I just didn't expect it to be so soon.
"I am your father."
Where were those heavenly words when I was younger? When I cried over my mother's death? When my brothers would beat me and you watched? Haven't you done enough, father? Doesn't that put a bitter taste in your mouth? I could have died out at sea. I could have become someone's puppet, and you wouldn't have cared. So why were you throwing this title around as if I gave it to you? What right did you have to call yourself a father? The most you did was program the others to be your own little toys for your army.
Some nights I find myself feeling sorry for them, when I'm wrapped in a thin blanket receiving what little heat from the thing as the cold bit into my skin with its sharp teeth, ready to rip me apart. I knew they must have been tucked in, warm and sleeping peacefully, yet they wouldn't ever appreciate it. You had taken away the very thing that would make them human. You destroyed them and made them into soldiers; it's no wonder they don't call you father behind closed doors.
How much more programming will they go through before you're satisfied? How much more of their humanity will you ravish from them? Don't call yourself a father when you've done nothing but harm your own. Don't call yourself a man when you use your power to harm.
Don't look at me with those eyes. I know you hate my guts. Is it because I'm not like the others? You were so used to having four children, surely I shouldn't make it odd. Haven't you done enough now, father? Or is my bitter truth too much to swallow?
Your eyes no longer hard and looking down at me with hate, how ironic that your weakest son had come to save your excuse of an existence. Your eyes shedding those forsaken tears you stole from my siblings, what right did you have to cry?
"Sanji"
Don't say my name; you've done enough damage to my emotions. You've tortured my mind for countless nights as a child, made me doubt myself in my teens. You said I shouldn't mention you as my father, so why should you mention me as your son? Had we not cut off ties? Had you not disowned me? Haven't you done enough to me, father? Why must you continuously plague my mind and eat me away? Why must your blood run through my veins?
"Why did you save us?"
Because someone told me I must always help the weak. Father, Vinsmoke Judge, for this moment of weakness you showed me today, for your plans to finally get rid of me, I hope you've tasted the disgustingly sweet taste of my kindness. You have plagued my mind from my childhood until my adulthood; I hope I am haunting you until you die.
As your third son, fourth child, and the odd one out, Vinsmoke Sanji, as we move forward, don't ever mention that I am your son, for you will bring shame to my name as I have done to you in the past.