2025.09.21
2025-09-21 11:29![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mekachu04He's not sure he even remembers what they were fighting about anymore - Lies. He remembers; He just can't admit to himself yet how unfair he was being - he just remembers them coming to blows.
It had been happening more and more often, an itch under his skin - wanting to hit. To hurt. Most days he didn't even care who anymore. He had all this rage built up inside and it seemed to be growing just as fast as he was. Like as soon as he started getting taller he started to feel more caged, so he lasted out.
It didn't matter who.
Killer was just around more than anyone else and had become the target of Kidd's restless anger. He bore it as well as any teenage boy and hit right back - brawls in the alley over nothing but going until blood was drawn
In hindsight - Kidd was lucky Killer was old enough to have survived the prepubescent mood-swings himself and never went to the kill.
Kidd had trouble showing such restraint....
And lately it was getting worse.
A lifetime of being last to eat - if he ate at all - of surviving on things too questionable to offer Kidd as nutritious - had left its mark on him. At nineteen he should of towered over Kidd. At nineteen he should be mopping the floor with him.
At nineteen - he shouldn't be backed into a corner.
Even at four years his junior, Kidd found himself gaining the upper hand. Killer couldn't brute force like Kidd could. Kidd had the brawn now - he could take a bare fist blow from his once mentor, Killer risked breaking his own bones taking him on unarmed.
Kidd's devil fruit handled the rest, the makeshift clubs or broken pipes Killer often turned to, the sharp blades he's taken to hiding at he belt....
Kidd could push them away with only thought these days.
It wasn't that Killer didn't fight like a hellion - its just Kidd knew him. Knew his underhanded tricks.
He sat on Killer's chest, right arm pinned under Kidd's leg and and Killer's own body, left in a death grip above Killer's head.
His weak arm.
It kept Kidd clear of the gnashing teeth, and his bulk too heavy for Killer to dislodge.
-
Afterwards - in the dark of the night, Kidd's words come back to haunt him in the lonely years that follow.
"You're not my mother.
"You're not even my brother.
"You're just some cocksucker I got stuck with.
"You can't order me around anymore.
"I'm not a child anymore."
He doesn't know if Killer even registered what he'd screamed down at him. When he's first acknowledged he was pinned, Killer had demanded Kidd let him up. When Kidd ignored him - pressed his weight down - Killer had started to panic. Kidd had been so proud of himself for that in the moment.
"Let me go...." His voice had been so small; Kidd hadn't registered it at the time. It haunts him now. The last thing Killer ever said to him.
The only family he had - even if he didn't want to admit it at the time - trapped under him, panicking. He had started thrashing like a mad man, driven by desperation and fear -
Killer had been terrified of him then. Kidd blending into the men who'd tormented him after a lifetime of living on the streets. Drove him into nearly freeing himself - a horrifying crack of joints as he broke his own body to try and get away.
Kidd had started to realized they'd gone too far this time, trying to hold Killer down to keep him from hurting himself.
Killer headbutted him hard enough for them both to see starts. Then he bit Kidd's arm when it came between them.
Kidd used his whole weight to slam Killer's head to the ground to get him to let go, blood flying and his forearm a mess.
When he looked back up, Killer had scrambled back. He was nearly hyperventilating, but he'd gotten free. He'd armed himself too. A busted bottle - the glass edges threatening in the dim alley's shadows. Something Kidd didn't have a way to deflect should Killer attack.
"Do it then!" he yelled.
Maybe if Killer stabbed him he wouldn't feel so guilty for the wild look in Killer's face. For the blood across his mouth. The blood starting to matte the back of his unkempt straw hair. Killer backed away as far as he could, trapped against the dead end of the alley - jagged edges between them his only defense.
"Come on!" Kidd challenged again.
He was met by shallow rapid breathing. It was like Killer was frozen, waiting for Kidd to attack again.
Fine.
Kidd took a step forward, pulling scrap to him.
Killer whimpered.
Isn't this what he wanted? To show Killer he was big enough and strong enough to pull his weight now? That he didn't need to be babied anymore...
So why did beating Killer down make the anger worse?
He won!
So why did he feel like a loser?
-
At fifteen, Eustass Kidd proved he was man enough to fight his own battles. He's beaten the strongest person he know; leaving his only friend battered and concussed and terrified in an alley with the trash.
He walked away. Started his own gang.
Killer never reached out to him again.
-
And if one morning, he hadn't found HER discarded in the Heapes, they might have never spoken again. Two years was a long time after all.
It had been happening more and more often, an itch under his skin - wanting to hit. To hurt. Most days he didn't even care who anymore. He had all this rage built up inside and it seemed to be growing just as fast as he was. Like as soon as he started getting taller he started to feel more caged, so he lasted out.
It didn't matter who.
Killer was just around more than anyone else and had become the target of Kidd's restless anger. He bore it as well as any teenage boy and hit right back - brawls in the alley over nothing but going until blood was drawn
In hindsight - Kidd was lucky Killer was old enough to have survived the prepubescent mood-swings himself and never went to the kill.
Kidd had trouble showing such restraint....
And lately it was getting worse.
A lifetime of being last to eat - if he ate at all - of surviving on things too questionable to offer Kidd as nutritious - had left its mark on him. At nineteen he should of towered over Kidd. At nineteen he should be mopping the floor with him.
At nineteen - he shouldn't be backed into a corner.
Even at four years his junior, Kidd found himself gaining the upper hand. Killer couldn't brute force like Kidd could. Kidd had the brawn now - he could take a bare fist blow from his once mentor, Killer risked breaking his own bones taking him on unarmed.
Kidd's devil fruit handled the rest, the makeshift clubs or broken pipes Killer often turned to, the sharp blades he's taken to hiding at he belt....
Kidd could push them away with only thought these days.
It wasn't that Killer didn't fight like a hellion - its just Kidd knew him. Knew his underhanded tricks.
He sat on Killer's chest, right arm pinned under Kidd's leg and and Killer's own body, left in a death grip above Killer's head.
His weak arm.
It kept Kidd clear of the gnashing teeth, and his bulk too heavy for Killer to dislodge.
-
Afterwards - in the dark of the night, Kidd's words come back to haunt him in the lonely years that follow.
"You're not my mother.
"You're not even my brother.
"You're just some cocksucker I got stuck with.
"You can't order me around anymore.
"I'm not a child anymore."
He doesn't know if Killer even registered what he'd screamed down at him. When he's first acknowledged he was pinned, Killer had demanded Kidd let him up. When Kidd ignored him - pressed his weight down - Killer had started to panic. Kidd had been so proud of himself for that in the moment.
"Let me go...." His voice had been so small; Kidd hadn't registered it at the time. It haunts him now. The last thing Killer ever said to him.
The only family he had - even if he didn't want to admit it at the time - trapped under him, panicking. He had started thrashing like a mad man, driven by desperation and fear -
Killer had been terrified of him then. Kidd blending into the men who'd tormented him after a lifetime of living on the streets. Drove him into nearly freeing himself - a horrifying crack of joints as he broke his own body to try and get away.
Kidd had started to realized they'd gone too far this time, trying to hold Killer down to keep him from hurting himself.
Killer headbutted him hard enough for them both to see starts. Then he bit Kidd's arm when it came between them.
Kidd used his whole weight to slam Killer's head to the ground to get him to let go, blood flying and his forearm a mess.
When he looked back up, Killer had scrambled back. He was nearly hyperventilating, but he'd gotten free. He'd armed himself too. A busted bottle - the glass edges threatening in the dim alley's shadows. Something Kidd didn't have a way to deflect should Killer attack.
"Do it then!" he yelled.
Maybe if Killer stabbed him he wouldn't feel so guilty for the wild look in Killer's face. For the blood across his mouth. The blood starting to matte the back of his unkempt straw hair. Killer backed away as far as he could, trapped against the dead end of the alley - jagged edges between them his only defense.
"Come on!" Kidd challenged again.
He was met by shallow rapid breathing. It was like Killer was frozen, waiting for Kidd to attack again.
Fine.
Kidd took a step forward, pulling scrap to him.
Killer whimpered.
Isn't this what he wanted? To show Killer he was big enough and strong enough to pull his weight now? That he didn't need to be babied anymore...
So why did beating Killer down make the anger worse?
He won!
So why did he feel like a loser?
-
At fifteen, Eustass Kidd proved he was man enough to fight his own battles. He's beaten the strongest person he know; leaving his only friend battered and concussed and terrified in an alley with the trash.
He walked away. Started his own gang.
Killer never reached out to him again.
-
And if one morning, he hadn't found HER discarded in the Heapes, they might have never spoken again. Two years was a long time after all.
