(A/N): Just another small, 20 minute drabble to keep my readers interested. Let me know what you think!

Death, amongst other things, was fickle.

How many times had he touched death? Caressed it grudgingly? How many times had he stepped over the edge of the cliff, only to find a useful boulder sticking out for him to grab a hold of before he plummeted into abyss?

Besides, Hell would have spat him back out anyway. Who wanted a semi-emancipated swordsman with enough baggage to fill the Grand Line?

The sad reality was, he'd died several times already.

And it was all because of his shitty crew. His unbelievably strong, faithful, shitty crew.

He was no hero. Heroes had morals. A code of conduct to live by. What were his morals? Get out and stay alive? That wasn't a moral. That was Plan A for him. Looking out for number one. But then again, so long as the means justifies the end…

He could laugh. The means never justified the end. They all had a reason to go into battle, selfish or otherwise. People were saved because he was feeling generous. He had a surprisingly huge amount of honor, sure, but he had little empathy.

It just showed how stupid he was. Risking his life for the Straw Hats. But this crew was all he had. His only source of air in all his suffocation. If he was given an ultimatum - his life or his crew…well, damn it he'd pick his crew. Or even his swords for his crew…actually, that one was a thinker. At the end of the day, though, it would be the naïve captain, the annoying love cook, the greedy (albeit clever) navigator, the long-nosed liar, the wannabe human reindeer, the enigmatic book lover, the cyborg who seriously needed some pants, and (even their newest member) the irky all-bones-and-no-brains skeleton.

He gave his dreams to these people. Handed them his soul on an old, rusting silver platter. He invested in them, and he was expecting interest.

Death was not a part of the plan - not for a long time to come. It was not a tax for all his debt built up. God knows he owed that Mikan gold digger an arm and a leg already.

Come to think of it, death was too easy of an answer, and he hated how it was constantly shoved in his face as his first solution. That seemed to be the trend for his entire crew as well. Death came to them just a little to willing.

It was down right fucked up.

…And he was willing to return the favor and fuck it up with them.

He'd subconsciously made a deal with whatever was waiting for him at the other end. Give him a few more decades of attempted redemptions, life-savings, and blind soul-searching, and he'd walk into the darkness with open arms and retired, sheathed swords.

A darkness he only knew too well.