Chapter Text
What the hell was he doing?
Smoker knew he had always been a bit of a delinquent in the eyes of the Marines. Impertinent, they called him, obstinate. He knew he was hardly the ideal marine, but he was strong enough, smart enough, that most were willing to overlook his... rougher edges.
And despite his often poor attitude towards his superiors, Smoker had always taken great pride in being a Marine.
So why for the love of all that was good in the world was he even considering this?
"Well?" Spoke Dr. Vegapunk, voice like cracked leather. The doctor had not been spared from the ravages of the world. "What business do you have with me?" He asked bitterly from the shattered remnants of what had once been a flourishing laboratory.
Smoker was well aware that he made for a sorry sight. An empty sleeve was pinned to his shoulder. Ash and soot stained his shredded clothes. He could feel the blood crusted in his hair. It never seemed to wash out.
The philosophy of 'Absolute Justice' had gained more and more followers as Smoker climbed the ranks of the marines. By the time he had become a Vice Admiral, it would not have surprised him if most marines supported that mindset, especially in the upper ranks.
It wasn’t that he couldn't understand why. Pirates and other dangerous people threatened the safety of the world with their actions, and often didn't care who was caught in the crossfire of their quest for power. People like that needed to be dealt with swiftly and without hesitation. What they needed was a ruthless pursuit that only ended with the capture or otherwise removal of the criminal in question.
But there had to be limits.
There had to be limits to how far you were willing to go. Smoker drew that line at dead civilians.
Not all marines did.
They were all too willing to let innocents become collateral damage. Whole civilian settlements wiped out in the hopes of eliminating a single enemy. That was how he had found himself in this position, after all.
He forced himself to keep his eyes open, to not turn away from that accusing glare. He took a deep breath and made his request. "I need everything you've got on time travel." Smoker demanded. His teeth ground on the end of his cigar. He grimaced at the taste.
"Ah," Vegapunk said. He didn't sound surprised. "I was wondering when someone would come by asking about such things." He stepped aside and ushered Smoker into the heart of the salvaged room.
The Sovereign War was the official name for the conflict. The Last War of the Pirate Era if you were feeling dramatic. But to Smoker, it would always be The Great Marine Civil War.
Smoker wished he could blame everything on Straw-Hat. How simple it would have been. But the pirate was just the symptom of a deeper rot Smoker had been ignorant to.
When did it start? Was it when Vice Admiral Koby refused to shoot down Straw-Hat, and instead took up arms next to him to fight Teach? Did it start when Smoker himself refused to relay orders to send a Buster Call, thwarting plans to blame the carnage on Straw-Hat? Could it be that this was the inevitable conclusion of the Whitebeard War?
Or perhaps it all started over twenty years ago on a small island in East Blue, when Monkey D. Garp hid the son of Gol D. Roger from the marines in the hopes of sparing a single child whose only crime was being born with the wrong father.
Vegapunk led him to a table covered in scrap metal and wires. "You know I've had no way to test any of this technology. It's purely theoretical.” The doctor pulled a worn notebook out from under the clutter and began flipping through the pages. He shook his head as his eyes scanned pages and pages of notes. He huffed and snapped the book closed. “It won’t get you what you want. All my investigations into the matter indicate that retrotemporal navigation will merely create new paths, not erase old ones. That’s why I gave it up.”
"I don't care. I'll take it."
"I'm trying to tell you that it won't change anything," Vegapunk told him harshly. "Your subordinates will still be dead."
Smoker slammed his fist onto the table, his mind white with rage.
There had been, of course, innumerable casualties. It was inevitable, when so many powerful people had a stake in the outcome.
What started off as a grudge match between the Blackbeard Pirates and the Straw-Hat Pirates over the title of Pirate King quickly evolved into something on a much grander scale.
First, the Revolutionaries got involved. They always were whenever the outcome could affect the world on a global scale, and if the rumors about the Chief of Staff being Fire Fist's brother were true- well suffice to say no one had been surprised when the Revolutionaries made their appearance.
That was when the Marines decided to step in. At first, High Command had hoped the Straw-Hats and Blackbeard would finish each other off, but with the Revolutionaries acting as reinforcements for Straw-Hat, they could not afford to wait any longer. It was top priority to make sure there would not be another Pirate King. Even the Fleet Admiral himself made an appearance- to end it all before it could get started, to show the world that true power did and always had belonged to the Marines.
Not that it happened that way. Not when Straw-Hat's greatest talent lay in the allies he could make. Not when said allies wanted to make sure he became Pirate King.
So the Gorosei decided to end it.
The sound of flesh hitting wood reverberated throughout the lab. If Smoker's outburst had startled Vegapunk, he didn't show it.
As the last of the echoes faded, so did Smoker's energy. He sagged against the table, arm trembling, and let his grief and desperation show.
"I don't care." He said again, quieter this time. "I have to try."
"No."
The Gorosei had hoped to not only defeat Straw-Hat and Blackbeard, but to turn the world against pirates forever. But a goal like that could only be accomplished if the unspeakable happened.
Why they decided to pin the blame on Straw-Hat was beyond Smoker. Anyone who had ever met the pirate and his crew would never believe them capable of slaughtering two islands full of civilians, just to get to the last member of Blackbeard's crew as the official story said they did.
Smoker wasn't even sure if any of the Straw-Hats were still alive by that point in the war.
Smoker's head snapped up to meet Dr. Vegapunk's eyes in shock. "What the hell do you mean 'no.'?" He snarled, fury overtaking him. His hand clenched into a fist as he stared down the doctor.
“What would be the point?” Vegapunk met his gaze steadily. "Why should I help you run away from your guilt? From your grief? The world must face their losses and move on. What right do you have to be the exception?" The condemnation clear in Vegapunk's voice was the greatest display of emotion the doctor had shown since Smoker arrived.
When Smoker heard what the Gorosei wanted, what they had planned, he was appalled. But he knew that if he refused the order then he would simply be replaced, and no one would be the wiser to stop them.
He found himself with no choice but to turn against the very organization he once swore his life to.
Smoker had fully expected his mutiny to be his and his alone. He hadn't expected Tashigi, or Koby, or so many others to follow him and turn against their superiors. And so the marines split, the followers of Moral Justice against the followers of Absolute Justice.
War was too clean of a word to describe it. Bloodbath was better.
It still hadn't been enough to stop anything.
"Dammit, it's not about me!" Smoker howled, finally losing control of his temper. "It's about them!” He threw his arm out towards the door, behind which lay the vestiges of a ruined home. “All of those people that died that I couldn't do a damn thing to save. There's nothing I can do for them now, and there's nothing I can do for the ones left. Do you even know what the outside world's like now, or are you too busy hiding out in your lab to care? Because there’s no one left! Anyone who could do anything to bring justice to what's left of this world is either missing, dead, or too weak to do anything but die if they try!" Smoker’s chest heaved at the strength of his vitriol.
Vegapunk did not react to Smoker's rant, gazing at him with the dead eyes of a broken spirit. He was further unfazed when the ex-marine got into his personal space, pressing a finger up against the doctor’s chest threateningly.
"So if you think I'm not going to chase any sliver of hope for these people I can, then you are sorely mistaken." Smoker told Vegapunk lowly. "Maybe you're right." Smoker relented, stepping back from Vegapunk. "Maybe there's nothing I can do for the people here, not anymore. But if there's a chance that some version of them could persist in another world, then I owe it to everyone I failed to make sure they don't suffer the same fate, to make sure every loss here wasn't in vain, that something better could rise from all this bloodshed."
Vegapunk regarded Smoker with a look Smoker couldn't quite figure out. Pride? Resignation? Grief? "If that's the case," the old doctor finally said, "if you truly are determined, then perhaps I may be able to help you after all. Right this way."