Maybe

Maybe he wasn't always like this.

Maybe there was an organization, a bunch of scientists from old days he can hardly remember, that wanted to create the closest thing they could dream up to a god.

Maybe they succeeded. Maybe they were so proud that they made him. Maybe they spoke highly of him, looked at him with awe. Maybe he liked that look. Maybe he promised himself he'd be worth looking at like that.

Maybe he was, for a time. Maybe he kept that ancient civilization safe for years; eons, even. Maybe he was loved. Maybe people would always go up to him and pet him, tell him how he was a good turtle and how he was their hero. And maybe he was happy.

Maybe it all ended one day. Maybe he was frozen by something that had snuck up on him in his sleep because it knew he would have killed it had he been awake. But maybe all the what-ifs didn't matter. Because maybe he had been brought down regardless. And maybe he would hold over his own head everything that happened to that civilization while he was powerless to stop it.

Maybe he spent millennia trapped. Maybe he stopped thinking for a while. Maybe the last thought he had before drifting off was a hope that the civilization wouldn't hold it against him.

Maybe he woke up suddenly, all the ice gone. Maybe he didn't know where he was. Maybe he was scared and alone and starving. Maybe he began looking for food everywhere. Maybe he saw some people; the same species as his old civilization, albeit with more primitive technology. Maybe he went to say hi, as weak and impaired by hunger as he was. Maybe the people started shooting at him, trying to hurt him.

Maybe he was confused. Maybe he was wondering what he had done. Maybe he was scared and upset. Maybe he almost didn't notice when he accidentally knocked over a lighthouse with a child in it. Maybe he didn't want a child's death on his claws. Maybe he moved to save the kid, to catch him before he fell. Maybe after he did, he looked over the kid, checked him for injuries.

Maybe the kid looked at him with something he could only describe as gratefulness. Maybe he was especially gentle with him. Maybe he nuzzled the kid before he left. Maybe he hoped that kid would be safe.

Maybe he saw that same kid risk his life to approach him, to tell him it was okay, to calm him down. Maybe he felt like absolute crap for the damage he'd done. Maybe he knew they'd set a trap for him. Maybe he went anyway. Maybe he felt he deserved the exile.

Maybe he could sense something going on not long after. Maybe another monster, one he remembered from back home, had appeared. Maybe he recalled how vicious and malevolent that monster was. Maybe he wanted to save people from it. Maybe he succeeded, and maybe there were a few children who looked at him with awe.

Maybe he looked for that look in every kid he met afterwards. Maybe he found it. Maybe the kids trusted him. Maybe they would sing for him. Maybe they treated him like he was a benevolent deity. Maybe they saw a friend when they looked at him.

Maybe he liked that. Maybe he promised himself he'd be worth it. And maybe the kids' smiles made everything worth it.

Maybe. Just maybe. If it was true, maybe he deserved to be looked at differently because of it.