Chapter Text
The doctor asked Banchina who she wanted Usopp to stay with when she was gone. He should never have done it in front of Usopp.
Usopp screamed and shouted that he wouldn't go anywhere, because his Mama wouldn’t die, she couldn’t. If the doctor couldn’t help his mama, then Usopp would help her himself. He told Doctor Mimin he could take care of his mama, even if he had to sail across the world to find a kindly little dwarf princess to do some healing magic. Usopp would find a way.
And watching determination settle in her son's face, Banchina felt horror gouge a pit in her stomach.
She wept and Usopp saw her. He came to dry her tears, struggling against his own, telling her not to worry because Dad was coming, telling her story after story, doing everything he could to make it better. But he couldn't.
She wept. (She crumbled. She failed.)
Usopp could do a great many things for a seven-year-old. He could shoot acorns off trees with his slingshot. He could catch his own fish for dinner. He could make smoke bombs and fireworks like his mama. He could find spiders in the woods and hide them to scare Mr. Tenpan. He could climb the tallest tree on the island in less than two minutes and run around the whole island in less than twenty. He could make-up hundreds of wonderfully imaginative stories. But by himself, Usopp was not enough to save his Mama.
Banchina could do a great many things, too. She made blankets and toys and pesticides and medicine for her lungs. She'd worked as many hours as she could keep her eyes open and played as many games as she could promise Usopp. She had done everything in her power to earn the snail that could hold her family together, even with the ocean between them.
But, by herself, without depending on anyone else, Banchina was never enough to carry her family.
***
Banchina's tears ran their course, and Usopp fell asleep, still clinging to her.
She didn't wake him. She just held him and whispered kisses into his hair. She told him how much she loved him. She pleaded with him to be brave like his father and not foolish like his mother.
When Usopp woke up, she’d tell him again. She’d tell him to damn their pride because strength had nothing to do with being ‘good enough’ and had everything to do with choosing to be part of a village or family. She’d tell him not to be afraid of relying on others, or afraid of letting them rely on him—she’d been a coward for thinking otherwise. She’d tell him that he should be the first to say ‘I’m sorry,’ and never miss a chance to say ‘I love you.’ She’d say it herself; ‘I’m sorry for being stubborn’ and ‘I love you, Usopp.’ She’d make sure he understood the difference between living with pride and living a life to be proud of.
She was proud of him—Usopp was the joy of her life. She knew he’d grow up to be a great man—whoever he chose to be, he’d be just right. Their lives weren’t easy, but Usopp was worth all of it and infinitely more, and as soon as he was awake to hear it, she’d tell him.
But the night was long. Banchina fell asleep, too.
And when Usopp woke, Banchina did not.