Hearts and Kisses - Mallow_of_the_Marsh (2024)

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Chapter Text

It was nearing evening, and they’d finally gotten far enough away from the Family for Rocinante's shoulders to slowly relax down from their tension. Law grumbled where he was tucked between the seats, having worn himself out struggling. He tilted his head at Baby 5, sleeping peacefully underneath the black feather coat, “Why’d you grab her, too? She’s not involved in this!”

Rocinante sighed, blowing out a cloud of smoke, “If I could, I’d take all the kids away from him- none of you should be under his influence. But I took the chance I had.”

If all goes well, the other two will also be free once the Family gets taken down. Buffalo was probably too old to unlearn certain things, but Dellinger could be placed with a good family and be raised as a normal child. He was less than three years old, he still had a chance of not even remembering this portion of his life if he were given a better one.

But those chances relied on him completing his mission and bringing down the Family. And right now he had two children he needed to focus on. Law he had taken because of course he had- the whole goal of this journey was to both heal the boy and get him out of Doffy’s clutches. But Baby 5…

He could lie to himself and say that he’d grabbed her because she was there. But it was more than that. He saw something of himself in Baby 5- something that made him severely uncomfortable.

The way she adored Doffy, hanging on his every word, and trusted him unconditionally… it reminded him of himself, before Doffy had shot their father. His big brother had been his protector and idol, someone Rocinante looked up to with almost worshipful zeal- before he destroyed it.

She shouldn’t have to give her devotion to a man like that. She deserved better- all the kids did.

The children obviously weren’t happy with this impromptu journey. Law took every chance he got in the first days to struggle and complain and curse Rocinante, and Baby 5, although quiet and complacent, shot him confused, concerned looks when she thought he didn’t see- she couldn’t understand why they’d separated from the Family, which made him all the more firm in his decision to take her away as well.

He took to sleeping with both children tucked into his coat, so he’d know if either tried to run during the night. Neither did- Law was too sickly to get far on his own, and Baby 5 was terrified of being alone at night.

Within a week, however, both seemed to accept that this was their fate for the foreseeable future, and Baby 5 was trying to reconcile this with her loyalty to the Family (and unconsciously pissing Law off in the meantime).

She’d eagerly declared to the boy her resolve to the quest, “I don’t want you to die, either. So… I’ll help. I’m sure the Young Master will be grateful to have you healthy, and he’ll forgive us!” She smiled brightly, having successfully convinced herself. “We’ll be welcomed back happily, and Buffalo will be so jealous of our adventure!”

Rocinante just sighed, watched Law’s unimpressed expression at her self-delusion. It was a coping mechanism, same as the boy’s instinctive distrust, but no doubt the two would conflict. Sure enough, Law glared fiercely, and Baby 5 squeaked in fear and ran to tuck herself into his side. This was going to be a long trip.

Once she’d calmed, Baby 5 shifted from fear into that intense perceptiveness only children displayed. She fisted her tiny hand in the leg of his pants, staring up at him with those big eyes. “You’re not going to leave me behind, right? You’ll keep me?”

He sighed again- he never wanted to take any of the kids along on a dangerous quest. He had been secretly hoping to find some kind family to take her in- somewhere she could live a normal life, grow up a normal girl free from danger and free from Doffy- but just as she had latched onto his brother, she had now latched onto him. Needing to be wanted, to be needed, and terrified of being discarded. He knew what that felt like.

He picked up the girl, tucking her into his lap. “I won’t leave you behind, Baby.” He chose his words carefully, so as to not trigger her complex. “You're important, and I want to take care of you.” She smiled up at him, leaning into his chest trustingly, “Okay!”

He curled over the tiny child protectively, wishing he could be a shield against everything that had done this to her. He didn’t deserve this devotion, this unquestioning trust- no one did. He hoped to help her get away from this servile conditioning she’d fallen into, for her own sake.

She seemed to decide he was her safe person after that, insisting on sitting on his lap or shoulders, and holding his hand. She took to sleeping atop him, curled up like a tiny kitten on his broad chest.

Law followed not long after, huddled reluctantly to his side- he claimed it was for warmth, and Rocinante did notice the boy shivering more frequently as his body began to fail him, but that alone didn’t explain the desperation with which he grasped.

Baby 5 was unsure about this new adventure- she liked being with the Family, and was starting to miss everyone. Giolla always brushed her hair and dressed her up (“My perfect little doll!”, she’d always exclaim) and Buffalo always needed her as a companion, and she loved taking care of Dellinger- he was such a cute little toddler, and she felt so helpful when she was looking after him.

And the Young Master, although he rarely interacted with her, would pat her head and call her his ‘good girl’ and she’d always swell with pride at being useful to such a wonderful, important man.

But she had to admit she enjoyed being with Cora-san and Law, too, even though Cora-san was confusing and Law was still mean. Cora-san had actually stopped being mean, his personality becoming the exact opposite as soon as they were away- it was strange, but he was gentle and treated her well. Maybe being able to talk now made him nicer.

She’d asked about that a few days into their journey, “Why didn’t you talk all that time, when you can?” His voice was nice, deep and smooth- she liked to lean against him and feel the rumble of it in his chest. Cora-san sighed, blew out a puff of smoke, “Doffy has… bad memories associated with my voice. I didn’t want to hurt him.”

She nodded, understanding- Cora-san and the Young Master must have grown up like her, unwanted and alone. Law still looked confused, though- he’d had people who wanted him once, she remembered- and asked, “Where are you two from, anyway?” Cora-san only turned his face away, “A really bad place.”

It was alright if he didn’t want to tell them- she didn’t want to remember where she’d come from, either. And it didn’t matter, really- they were here now, all together and all part of the Family. She had lots of good people looking after her now.

Everything was okay, because they'd be going back soon, as soon as Law was better. In fact, everything was better than normal, because Cora-san was nice now. He had gotten her a new dress, even! The dress was longer than the ones she usually wore with the Family, less maid-like and more farmer’s daughter. It was light blue, and had an apron that tied at the waist for her to keep things in. It was twirly, and she loved it.

And Cora-san was the Young Master’s brother, so it was good to listen to him, to follow him while they weren’t with the Young Master. She was still following the rules, and no one could fault her for that.

Plus! Since there were only three of them here, there were plenty of chances for her to be useful- stirring cooking pots, strapping down gear at the bottom of the boat, helping gather firewood or pick plants.

When he and Baby 5 had been kidnapped, Law had expected to be chasing after Corazon, putting out fires and doing most of the heavy lifting of this journey himself, but he'd been wrong- or at least, half wrong, because he did still end up putting out a lot of fires.

But the man turned out to be extremely resourceful, and a skilled sailor as well- they’d swapped boats three times thus far, and he showed no sign of unfamiliarity with any of them.

They never went hungry, either, even when away from towns for days. Corazon was surprisingly knowledgeable about wild plants, often picking fruit off trees as they passed. It was unexpected, from someone he’d thought for so long to be nothing but a mute oaf.

They had at one point paused beneath a large tree, the ground under their feet marked with purple-black marks from fallen, squished berries. Corazon’s eyes lit in recognition and he tilted his head up into the foliage.

“Here, Baby. If I lift you up, could you pick some of those berries for me?” “Mmkay!” She stood atop his hand and he gently lifted her up into the boughs. She looked around excitedly, taking in the view, “Wow, so high! And the berries look yummy!”

“Don’t eat any, okay? They’re toxic raw- we’ve got to cook them to eat them.” She pouted but obeyed, filling her apron pocket with the berries and staining her hands purple. Once the apron could hold no more, Corazon carefully lowered her to the ground, and she upended it into a bag he held.

Baby 5 looked at her hands, then looked at Law. “Hmm.” She suddenly pressed her hands to his cheeks- he could feel the sticky berry juice there as she pulled away, snickering wickedly. He spluttered, wiping at the purple handprints with his sleeves. “What the hell!”

Corazon knelt to him, chuckling, “Here.” He wet a handkerchief and wiped at the sticky spots. Law allowed it for a moment, fallen thoughtlessly into the familiar touch, the parental sensation of it, before snapping out of the memories, shoving the other away and grabbing the hanky to finish the task himself. He wasn’t a child anymore, the world had proven that- he didn’t need to be babied.

He tossed the thing back once he was done, and determinedly ignored Baby 5 giggling as she let Corazon clean her hands of the same staining.

He picked up a fallen berry instead, analyzing it curiously- he smelled its juice, gave its surface a testing lick. He couldn’t taste anything that seemed toxic. His face wrinkled into a suspicious frown, “How do you know this stuff?” Corazon’s mouth went flat beneath the smiling makeup, and he sighed tiredly, “Hunger is a strict teacher, kid.”

He straightened up and continued walking before Law could say anything- not that he’d figured out anything to say, only that the revelation bothered him somehow. Corazon was becoming more and more of a mystery, and he didn’t like not knowing things. He crossed his arms, hitched up his small pack, and reluctantly followed the man.

Chapter 2: Two Storms

Chapter Text

They were sailing again, and Law was complaining about the tether around his waist connecting him to the mast, comparing it to a dog’s leash. Hadn’t they sailed on the Numancia Flamingo for years now without needing safety lines?

Baby 5 didn’t fault him for not knowing- he hadn’t grown up with the Family, sailing like she had. He hadn’t seen storms like the one they’d fought through when she was a toddler.

The storm they found themselves in now was just as bad, the little sailboat being tossed about like a toy on waves as high as buildings. Everything was such chaos, she didn’t even realize her feet had left the boat until she was beneath the surface.

Time stopped underwater, and she seemed to hang in stillness for a single heartbeat- then there were hands, grasping water gripping at her, tugging her down. Weights attached to her body, to her dress, everything suddenly heavier than anything had ever been. It felt like forever.

In truth, she had barely dropped below the surface when Cora-san reacted quick as a viper, shooting one long arm deep into the water and tugging the rope with a heave, scooping the child out.

She came to life and clung to him instantly, wrapping all her limbs to his chest with a gasping sob, and he tucked his coat around her comfortingly, double-wrapping the mainline rope around his free arm and using it to control the boom.

Law stared worriedly from where he braced his entire body against the rudder to keep it in place, but did not abandon his post.

Soon enough, they passed out from under the storm, and the water calmed, but Baby 5 didn’t dare move, clutching to Cora-san like a limpet. He petted her hair comfortingly, “Was that your first drowning?”

A quick nod, shivery- her eyes were impossibly wide, breath trembling and fast. She didn’t let go of him, little hands clenched in his shirt, and he just curled over her to block the wind.

Law hopped up on his other knee to check her over, pressing fingers to her pulse, brow furrowed in concern. Cora-san shook his head, “She’s just scared- seawater feels different to fruit users.”

Her voice shook almost too much to make words, but- that feeling- she had to put words to that horrid feeling, to get it out of her head. “C-Couldn’t move, felt like- like I was a block of stone!”

Law glared instinctively, “You have a fruit too, though. How were you able to grab her?” “Seawater takes your powers away and makes you weak, but you can get used to the feeling somewhat. And I wasn’t fully submerged.” He gave a light tug at the rope secured around Law’s torso, “This is why I do this.”

Baby 5 didn’t let go of Cora-san for even a moment the entire day afterward, and he carried her close to soothe her fear, his large, comforting presence keeping the weight and the grasping hands of the ocean from her.

She did a very good job, he said, because she hadn’t swallowed any seawater- that would have made things much worse. The first drowning was always the worst, he said, because you weren’t expecting it. She didn’t want to think about how many times he must’ve felt that awful weight, to be so nonchalant about it.

She still stayed very close to him whenever they sailed from then on. And Law didn’t complain about the tethers anymore.

---

When they walked through a town together, Law was usually hidden within Corazon’s coat, tucked against him- it kept him safe from the biting cold and prying eyes. Baby 5 sat atop the man’s shoulders, his little lookout.

They passed a busker on a street corner, a man in a ragged striped suit, a top hat with its lid open like a can atop his head. He was playing some kind of sliding brass instrument, and had a washboard hanging from his neck- his right hand, fingers tipped with metal thimbles, strummed it occasionally, adding a tinny background to the bold whine of the brass.

Corazon dropped a coin in his bucket, before leaning in to chat with the player. The other looked up, a fake, practiced grin on his face, but whatever Corazon said turned the smile genuine, a flushed, pleased tinge to it. The two spoke in low tones for a few minutes, before parting with a good-natured handshake and mutual pats on the back.

Law prodded Corazon in the ribs, “What’d you say to him?” He shrugged, making Baby 5 giggle as she was bounced, “Just complimented his playing. That piece is hard, takes good breath control and a lot of practice- and the washboard makes him multitask."

“You sure know a lot about music.” “I used to play in a jazz band.” Huh- something he never would’ve expected. “What instrument?” “Trumpet.” Baby 5 perked up, kicking her feet against his shoulders excitedly, “Ooh, cool! Will you play for us sometime?” He sighed fondly, “I don’t have a trumpet anymore, but if we find one, sure.”

He got a room in a cheap inn that night, and got both kids set up with food for dinner. It was a nice meal, hot and fresh, and Law was instantly suspicious. “How are you getting this money?” He knew the man hadn’t taken from the Family’s coffers, because the kidnapping was such a spur of the moment decision.

Corazon hesitated a moment, lighting his cigarette, so Law knew he was about to get the truth. Corazon always had to think before speaking if he was telling the truth, seemingly calculating whether to lie or not. “I’m really good at gambling. Just always had a knack for it.” He breathed out a cloud of smoke, then grabbed something from his pocket- a pack of cards.

“Alright, kids- you’re gonna learn how to count cards. Gambling is easy money if you’re in a tight spot, but there are some rules.” He spread out the pack across the floor, sliding the cards into an arc in front of the kids while they ate.

He pointed his index finger seriously, “One- never lay down all you have. I don’t care if you’re desperate, you’re never that desperate. Always keep enough behind that you can at least get food and a place to sleep.”

A second finger, “Two- you have to lose some, ‘cause if you keep winning, people get suspicious. They get angry. And that leads into the next rule. Three- don’t start fights. You can end them if they start, but don’t you start any.”

Baby 5 raised a hand, “Even if I could beat them?” He shook his head, “Doesn’t matter- it’s not about the fight, it’s about reputation. Word travels fast, sometimes faster than you, and if people hear you’re a fighting gambler, no one’s gonna let you at their table, and that easy money is cut off.

"And four, this is the most important one- you’re never the only one cheating. You have to account for that. Even if you think you’re the smartest in the room, it’s always safer to assume you’re not.”

He went through a quick lesson, demonstrating different methods of cheating at cards, emphasizing the importance of vigilance and keeping track of things. At points, his hands moved so fast it was difficult to keep track of them, and Law even put down his food to pay closer attention.

Counting cards actually seemed to come naturally to him, as it was mostly a memory skill- something he’d always been good at. He’d been an excellent student in school, and things like anatomy and theory- systems, things he could put together- always made sense to him in a way others didn’t.

He remembered how his parents had sat with him, explaining how this muscle connected to this bone, and this tendon allowed this part to flex properly… He shoved the painful memories away, and focused on the cards.

Eventually Corazon looked at the setting sun outside, sighed, and packed up the cards, smoothly sliding them back into their little metal case and from there, the black hole that was his coat.

"Next time, I’ll teach you how to read people. If you can read a person’s body, you don’t even need to read their face. Some people can control their expressions, but most forget about the body language. But we can go into that later- it’s a learned skill.”

A skill he apparently had in spades, which only made Law more suspicious. Everything he was learning about the man was at odds with what he thought he’d known, and now that seemed all too deliberate.

Baby 5 looked up at the man with her big, wide eyes, “Cora-san, why didn’t you eat?” He sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets, “I’m not gonna lie to you kids- I’m going to the speakeasy, and I need you both to stay here. This is a dangerous town.” Law crossed his arms over his chest, sneering. “You going out drinking on us?”

Another sigh, “I’m going to the speakeasy ‘cause that’s where the information is. There’s a few rumors I’ve heard, and I need to know more to plan further. The busker we talked to earlier gave me the pass code. I’ll teach you kids how to gather information later.”

He left then, disappearing easily into the throngs of people outside in a way a ten foot tall man wearing a feather coat really had no right to.

Corazon had been gone for hours. Baby 5 had long fallen asleep, curled at Law's side in the window seat (because he refused to go to bed and she refused to go to bed alone), but he remained awake, keeping watch with his head atop his arms on the sill.

It was quiet, the earliest hours having settled like fog over the town, and only the mutter of distant music and the hum of streetlights broke the muffled silence.

But then a large blur shadowed by a lamp came into sight- as it came closer, one became visible as two, figures with arms over each other’s shoulders, chatting carelessly and tripping over themselves.

He rolled his eyes- both were clearly drunk. The two separated at a streetsign with joking insults, and the other man stumbled off, leaving Corazon to sway, humming tunelessly, down the alley.

Then he turned the corner back to the small inn, and changed immediately- the swaying, laughing degenerate reverted within a blink to the Corazon he knew, slouched over and scowling into his cigarette. He glared, confused. That… was an act? What was going on here?

Law confronted Corazon when he walked in, arms folded. “You’re drunk.” The man just stared down at him for a moment, seeming infinitely tired, and shook his head, “Nope.” He pointed accusingly, “I can see it on your face.”

Corazon sighed, removed a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped it across his face. The pink flush disappeared immediately, smudges of it remaining where the cloth had missed.

“Wh-“ The man just shook his head, “Free tip, kid- people talk easier when they think you won’t remember what they say. Now go to bed- I learned a lot, we’ll be off early tomorrow.”

His eyes were distant, but… not in the drunk way. In the way of someone who’d done something they hated with all their being, and had to divorce themselves from it to cope. Just what had he done, for that information?

He watched Corazon closely, brows furrowed trying to figure him out, as the man gently picked up Baby 5 from the window seat and tucked her into bed, but didn’t bring himself to ask.

The other turned to him again, and he hurried to the bed to avoid being carried there himself. The feather coat was settled over both kids, warm and heavy, and from there it was impossible to stay awake, although his mind never stopped chewing over the mystery that was Corazon.

Sometime during the night he swore silence took over the room, unnatural and jarring from the white noise of the town outside, but his mind didn’t do more than note the difference before dismissing it and returning him to sleep.

The next day, bruises had bloomed on Corazon’s knuckles and jaw- he could see one on his throat as well, although it was mostly hidden by the collar of his shirt. Any evidence was quickly concealed, makeup expertly applied to cover it, and invisible by the time they left the inn.

---

That night they were back to camping, and it was an unusually pleasant night for it, warm and clear. The island was uninhabited, but Rocinante still listened to his instincts, choosing a clearing backing up to a forest, grasses tall enough to hide their camp from view. The coast where their boat was tied up was within running distance, as was a small mountain range with several convenient caves.

He’d decided that the kids were too small and would get lost in the tall grass, opting to simply carry them both. One sat on each shoulder, balancing with hands grasped into his collar or the strings of his cowl.

Baby- he’d started just calling her ‘Baby’, he couldn't call her a number, no child should be a number- patted his head with a giggle, “See, you never trip when you’re carrying either of us- maybe you just need to carry us all the time, and you’ll never be clumsy!”

He huffed, “Hah, I pay a lot more attention when I’m carrying you kids.” Law scoffed, trying to not be obvious as he admired the view from so high up, “So you don’t pay attention when you’re just carrying yourself? Stupid.”

Camp was quick to set up- he’d long taught the kids how to pack their bags to keep everything accessible and easily stored, and they were regular experts at it by now. They had a good fire going within minutes of planting their gear down.

Baby had shot a goose for dinner, and Law’s natural curiosity was clearly bothered by her abilities, questions visibly itching at the boy as they ate. Rocinante contemplated over a bite of rice and vegetables that he really should teach him to conceal his body language, as Law spoke, “So if the weapons are your body, what are the bullets? Are they also parts of you?”

Baby tilted her head, “Mm, kinda? It’s like bits of my energy, I guess. It’s really hard to shoot a lot ‘cause I get tired, and I can’t feel them once they leave me- so I don’t think they’re really parts of me.” She turned each of her fingers into tiny pistols, wiggling them thoughtfully. “I don’t really think about it a lot.”

Law scoffed, “What a waste- it’s a power that would do best with creativity. You shouldn’t just rely on shooting stuff all the time.” She pouted at him, “Well, what should I do? Guns and knives are really strong!” “You could be a bomb, right? You could explode people! Or- or a taser, to zap them! A giant hammer! A morningstar! There’s so many possibilities!”

Rocinante glanced to the side with a sigh. He appreciated that Law was encouraging creativity, but would have preferred it not be through further violence. “You could be a chef, with all your knives,” he tried. "Or a seamstress- all those needles.”

Both children rolled their eyes at him, and Baby stuck out her tongue, soundly declaring, “Lame.” He pressed a hand to his chest, mortally wounded by the insult, and had to hide the very real flinch as he jostled a cracked rib. Law frowned at him, but said nothing.

He’d noticed the boy watching him more often, felt the scrutinizing attention, and had to continually resist the urge to pull his presence in tight. He was so used to going unnoticed, to making himself unseen, but that wasn’t an option here. He couldn’t sink into that comfortable anonymity. He was trying to help these kids, to be a positive force in their lives, and that meant bearing the burden of being known.

He looked to the sky instead- ominous clouds were boiling overhead. He didn’t smell any rain yet, but he felt in the air, in his ruined ankles, the pressure change that heralded a lightning storm.

The scent of ozone filled the air, exactly how Dragon used to smell when that righteous fury filled him. He’d been afraid when he was a kid that the young man would shock him, knowing somehow what he was, but he’d never been anything but solemnly, sadly, kind when Rocinante followed him around base like a lost puppy.

He heaved himself to his feet, shaking off the memories- no time for that now. “Alright, kids- storm’s coming. We’ve gotta pack up and get to shelter.” Luckily, they’d already finished eating, and they could be on their way before the wind really picked up.

---

Law had grumbled when Corazon said a storm was coming, but obediently packed his things. He was growing tired of caves, and had hoped to stay out under the open sky tonight. He glared at it in defiance.

Then, as if in response, a giant cracking noise split the air, and he was gone. Surrounded once more by flames, by corpses and smoke and gunfire shattering the air around him. Everything was fire and death and screaming.

There was something warm, soft like flesh, and he latched onto it with a muffled whimper- the only safety was with the dead, where he’d be overlooked amongst the corpses.

The warmth surrounded him, holding him close, the press of bodies atop him. Here was safety from the flames and the cracking gunfire, here was the last touch of his people, anonymity the last help his countrymen could give him.

Then a voice rang through the pile, “I’ve got you, it’s alright. You’re not there anymore.” There was a hand petting his hair gently, a body underneath him, warm and alive. “It’s alright- focus on my heartbeat, my breathing.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, listening to the voice- the heartbeat was loud where he was tucked to the chest, a low, dull rhythm. He was rocked along with the rise and fall of the lungs, like gentle ocean waves. Despite himself, he slowly began to calm.

All at once, he snapped out of it, realized where he was. He tried to squirm out, ashamed of his breakdown, wanting so badly to be alone, but Corazon held him tight, held his frantic soul firm to his body.

He eventually went limp, unwillingly settling into the embrace- the adrenaline draining from him had robbed him of all strength. The man spoke, “Back with me, kid?”

He managed to look around- he was tucked up inside Corazon’s coat, the man sitting cross-legged under him, torso bent over him like a shield. It was pouring, hard rain silently stabbing the loose dusty soil like knives- Corazon was soaked, hair limp and dripping, but Law was safe and dry under his coat.

Corazon finally stood, wobbling a little, and began trekking across the field towards the foothills. “Where’s…” “I sent her ahead to a cave I spotted earlier- you needed the stillness for a while.”

He let himself be held, too exhausted to protest further, and looked out over the fields as they crossed- the tall grass waved like ocean currents in the harsh wind, and the purple-gray clouds were bulbous and almost-tangible in the sky above them. The rain came down in sheets, turning the world into a tight gray haze only occasionally lit by lightning strikes. It was all made eerily beautiful by the silence.

Chapter 3: Burning

Chapter Text

Law was having a bad day- the past few had been good, symptoms-wise, so of course all the debilitating pain that had been piling up needed to make itself known.

He didn’t know where they were- some camp somewhere, all the grassy plains and rock overhangs had started to run together.

Baby 5 sat by his side as he shivered, dutifully sponging away the sweat pouring from his skin. She would make a good nurse, he thought out of nowhere. Good at powering through and doing what was required, regardless of her own needs.

“You think so?” Had he said that aloud? “Yeah- you’re all feverish, you keep muttering. Cora-san’s gone to get medicine. You... really think I’d make a good nurse?”

There was something his muddled brain couldn’t parse in her voice- something fragile. He huffed, “Yeah- you’ve got a sense of duty that outstrips most doctors I’ve met.” She hummed in a pleased sort of way, and went thoughtfully silent.

He drifted for a bit in that hazy, stuffy place between awareness and sleep- there were voices after a while, low and indistinguishable. He was lifted, head lolling for a moment before it was supported- he’d been moved to Corazon’s lap, tucked against his arm.

A mug was pressed to his lips, something hot and fragrant steaming from it, “Here, ’s got yarrow in it- help you break the fever.” He drank, throat working painfully around the liquid.

Yarrow… he couldn’t think through the fuzz in his head. That was… woundwort, right? An Achillea species? It was in one of his mom’s books. Fever, bleeding… something he couldn’t recall.

“Why d’you know medicinal herbs?” Yet another clue and complication in the mystery of the man. Corazon was quiet a moment, urging him to take another sip of the tea, “...Because we were too poor for medicine when I was a kid.”

Law was offended on behalf of the medical profession in general, remembering his parents’ hospital- they had never turned away anyone, regardless of if they could pay or not. “Doctors are s’posed to help...”, he slurred tiredly, a petulant whine sneaking in at the end. They’re supposed to help, that’s the whole point, why...

Corazon heaved a beleaguered sigh, and petted his hair softly, “Kid, if there’s anything we’ve learned this past month, it’s that there’s a lot of doctors out there not worth the title. Once you’re all better, you can show ‘em up, let ‘em see what a real doctor’s supposed to be.”

Law smiled despite himself, in this moment of delirium forgetting he was dying, and imagined doing just that. He’d be the best doctor, and would help anyone who needed it, because that’s what doctors are supposed to do.

He faded sideways into sleep, still dreaming of white coats and gentle hands and healing.

---

Rocinante was starting to scare himself. He hadn’t felt this angry, this genuinely enraged… ever, maybe? He’d spent his early life afraid, certainly, afraid and terrified and hurt- but anger had been a luxury he couldn’t afford back then.

He couldn’t subsist on it, like his brother did- it wasn’t a shield and spear for him, defending and sustaining. It was an open wound, releasing the pain and rawness of him to the air.

And he’d spent enough time bleeding back then.

Anger had come later, when he was safe enough to allow it in, and even then, it had been channeled into purpose. Garp had seen the look in his eyes and immediately set him to training, ‘doing something productive with that demonic energy.’

And he had settled- he’d become a guardian, anger transformed into determination and protectiveness as he grew. He’d taken up the good mantle his brother had turned his back on, deliberately becoming Doffy’s opposite.

But the way these people- these self-proclaimed healers- treated this young boy… It was unforgivable. He was just a child, a child who had lost everything, and they proclaimed him monster and pestilence and disease! Not a one of them deserved their titles, or the trust of their patients!

The injustice of it burned him inside, burned him molten and hardened him to obsidian, the anger first explosive then cold and sharp and crystalline, tightly leashed but never less dangerous.

He felt so much like his brother, and he hated it. Hated himself possibly even more than he hated these so-called doctors.

He knew very well how propaganda worked, after all- the benefits, the consequences- but it was still frustrating how easily the people swallowed it whole. How quickly they reached for the easy answers that were spoon-fed them by authority, the scapegoat ‘other’ to blame all their problems on.

By now, he was sure his dad must have at least seen the reports of the maniac arsonist and the plague child, although he hadn’t yet contacted Rocinante for an explanation.

He wasn’t sure he deserved that trust anymore, especially given the thoughts of ‘after’ haunting his subconscious that he refused to entertain.

But there was no ‘after’ yet- there was only getting the children safe and away from the Family, and getting Law cured. The boy had lost more in his young life than most would in multiple lifetimes, and he continued to lose and lose and lose- Rocinante would not let him lose his life as well.

---

Baby 5 watched the smoke rising atop the hill, and sighed to herself. Another bad doctor, then. There sure were a lot of bad doctors, and what seemed like very few good ones. She started to pack up camp, to be ready to leave when Cora-san and Law returned.

Sure enough, they were back within half an hour- Cora-san bearing that flat, blank expression he had when he got too angry for his face to show, and Law hiding under his hat, hands shaking.

Cora-san made an effort to smile at seeing her and praised her for packing up, but he was still stiff and coiled tight when they set off.

It was kind of funny, how Cora-san and the Young Master showed their anger so differently. The Young Master was always in tight control of his anger, but he was also, if you looked closely enough, always angry.

And when he got very, very angry, he smiled very wide and became terribly scary, like he could do any horrible thing to you without his smile even twitching.

Cora-san was entirely different. He could shout and rage- she’d seen it, seen his fiery rampages at the injustice of the doctors treating Law like a monster.

But, unlike his brother, he could reach a point where mere anger wasn’t enough- where he tipped into a perfect sort of calm. He seemed to pass through anger entirely and come out the other side silent and deadly and utterly resolved. That was when he was most dangerous.

She wasn’t scared of his anger like she was the Young Master’s, though- Cora-san’s anger was a protective one, and she felt sheltered by it, confident in the knowledge that he wouldn’t tolerate any wrongs done to her or Law.

Hence… the burning hospital they were currently walking away from.

Cora-san walked slowly, but his paces were still several times theirs, and the kids always ended up trailing behind him like little ducklings. Law had been silent at first, too grumpy to converse, but he’d been loosening up recently- or perhaps just getting fed up with the quiet.

They often spent their travels playing little hand games or I-Spy, or thinking up ‘would you rather’s. He was always more willing to play after an especially bad hospital visit- maybe he needed the distraction.

She obliged, happy to help take his mind off of it. She was currently keeping her head on a swivel, searching for something to Spy- it wouldn’t be fair to play the game in their current landscape of gravel and sky, would it?

Law spoke up suddenly, “So why are you named that?” She blinked out of her autopilot walking, “Huh?” He was still facing forward, watching his steps on the rocky terrain, “We never finished talking, then. About names.”

She giggled, “‘Cause Cora-san dragged you away, hehe.” “Yeah. It isn’t fair, though- you know mine, but I don’t know yours.” Her smile faltered, and she shrugged, avoiding his eyes, “It’s nothing exciting like yours. I was just the fifth.”

He raised a sardonic brow, “So what, your older siblings are just Baby 1, Baby 2, whatever?” She tilted her head, thinking back, “I think the first one got a name, to carry on the family. But the rest of us were extras, spares in case the first didn’t work out. There wasn’t enough food to keep all of us.” A tight shrug, "I wasn’t needed.”

There was silence for a long moment. Law opened his mouth, shut it again, seemed to contemplate a moment, before finally speaking, “…If you could have a name- a real one- would you want one?”

She blinked, stared down at her hands, “I- I don’t know. Would I be the same person, if I had a different name?” He shrugged lazily, shifting his pack on his shoulders, “Would being a different person be a bad thing?”

Again, “I don’t know.”

She straightened her spine, pushed her shoulders back, arranging herself in perfect position- if she was good, held herself right, made the perfect picture of service, the worries in her gut went quiet for a while.

And the questions made her worry- she didn’t have an answer, not an easy one, anyway. Did she want a real name? Would she lose her current identity by taking one on, say goodbye to the person she was now? Would that even be a bad thing? Did she like the person she was? Would she be erased if a better version of her took her place, or would she become them?

She looked at her hands again, for a moment afraid to see them dissolving into nothing, but there they were, solid as ever. She folded the thoughts away so they didn’t bother her, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

---

It was late at night. Baby 5 had already fallen asleep, curled up under that black coat, but Law refused to go to sleep yet. He’d insisted on another card lesson- the goal of these lessons was to catch Corazon when he cheated, and to successfully cheat themselves without being caught.

So far he’d only succeeded at the latter objective, and that only because he and Baby 5 were working together against the man. And Law suspected that Corazon was going easy on them, which he hated.

Law was tired, but he was determined- he might’ve figured out one of the man’s tells this last round. He was so close- he was going to do it this time, and beat Corazon at his own game.

He scrutinized his cards closely, thinking up a strategy, before peering above them at the man- all thought of cards was forgotten instantly at what he saw.

“Your hand’s in the fire, dumbass!”

Corazon cursed, yanking the hand back and shoving it into the snow beside him. Law frowned- he should rightly be in agony, but his expression only showed irritation.

“Did that not hurt?” Did he not notice his hand burning before Law brought it to his attention? Corazon didn’t speak, just looked down at his hand, palpating the fingers gently to check blood flow.

It hit him all at once. “You don’t have sensation in your fingertips.” It wasn’t a question. “…Not really, no.” “Is that because you light yourself on fire so often?” As soon as he said it, he knew it was wrong- it wasn’t because he lit himself on fire, it was why he did.

He sat next to Corazon and took the giant hand into his own, academic curiosity taking over. The fingertips were an angry red, already fluid beginning to swell into blisters under the surface.

Nervous damage in the fingertips would result in a reduction of fine motor control, and an accompanying inability to feel pain and tell when things should hurt. It explained part of why he was so incredibly clumsy, if his hands were like this.

He poked and prodded, interrogating the man to find the extent of the damage. Corazon huffed in response, “It comes and goes- it’s worst when it’s cold, like now.”

“Were you born with this, or…” He was already tracing old scars, pale and faded, that circled the wrist. “…Nerve damage. I was a kid. Circulation got cut off to my wrists. Never came back right.”

Whatever happened, it wasn’t something Corazon wanted to remember. He always spoke in short sentences like this when he didn’t want to talk about something, like the words were difficult to get out. The giant man had gone silent, hunched slightly inward, instinctively hiding from something.

And no wonder, with the scars- the wounds must’ve been bad to look like this, all twisted and gnarled. Some kind of restraint, no doubt, and one that tore into flesh and muscle at that. On a kid, probably younger than he was now… He held back a shiver.

He treated them quickly, carefully despite the revelation that the man couldn’t feel it. “I’ll need to check on these as they heal- not being able to feel pain means you can’t tell if things go wrong."

Corazon blinked back from wherever he’d gone in his mind, eyes finally rid of that awful, blank distance, and gave him a grateful nod.

Chapter 4: Weapons

Chapter Text

They’d been caught- and it’d happened so quickly, too, dammit! Corazon had told them to stay at camp while he went into town, but Law had been too curious, too defiant- he’d wanted to know what the man was doing when he left, that brought him back every time with bruises and hard eyes and information. He’d been so intent on finding out Corazon’s secret, on unraveling the mystery that was this man.

He’d gotten them into this, by insisting on following Corazon- Baby 5 had just come with him because she didn’t want to be left alone, and now they were trapped in an alley, facing down a whole gang of bandits.

He’d lost his dagger, as well- as soon as he’d drawn it, it had been smacked from his hand. He eyed the weapon across the alley, but it was too far to leap for- one of the bandits had kicked it away. His hands clenched, trembling not from fear but weakness, and he cursed them savagely.

Baby 5 slid in front of him, “Stay behind me.” Her hands sharpened into deadly knives, angelic face a mask of stern determination.

The bandits came closer, crowing mockingly at the kids, and for a long moment it seemed they’d have to take down the band all on their own. He steeled himself for the fight.

Then… there were footsteps behind them, calm and unhurried, but he suddenly knew exactly who was there, and an unreasonably strong wave of relief coursed through him.

Everything else seemed to stop, the entire alley freezing in anticipation as the figure slowly approached.

Corazon came to stand in front of the kids, hands in his pockets and somehow seeming taller than ever. The alley was dark, lit only by moonlight and the glowing ember of Corazon’s cigarette turning his face a hellish red. He towered over the bandits, a giant shadow glaring with a predatory ferocity entirely unfamiliar to his face, and something in him loomed.

Law gaped, eyes wide, instinctively latched his hand in the fabric of the man’s pants, childlike.

He’d never seen the man so… intimidating. Beyond anger or rage, just… dangerous. An actual aura of threat hung around Corazon, someone not to be crossed. But Law wasn’t scared- the feeling drew him in, like being hidden in the comforting warmth of his coat. It was a protective sort of threat.

The bandits shivered and fled, stumbling over themselves to get away from the man, and he stared up at Corazon. Was he… actually cool? Then the man promptly tripped, sending his legs flying out from under him, and he sighed. Nevermind.

Baby 5 flew into Corazon's arms, adrenaline giving way to shock and fear, and he patted her back comfortingly. He looked over both kids, eyes flinty until he seemed to decide neither were hurt, and he sighed and got back to his feet, tucking Baby 5 into the crook of his arm.

Law picked up his abandoned dagger, stuffing it viciously into his belt- shame and anger warred within him, and he simmered silently.

There were no more words until they got back to camp.

Corazon seemed to deflate then, sighing heavily and dropping onto a log. When he spoke, he just sounded tired. “Always be prepared- even when you’re disarmed, always be armed.”

He waved off Baby 5’s immediate objection, "Yes, I know you are a weapon, Baby. But seastone is gonna be a way bigger problem than you think. You need backup plans, always- at least two. If you have one, you have none.”

He looked into the distance for a moment, eyes gone dark, before sighing again, and Law frowned- where had he gone then, and why? And why wasn’t he angry about the kids disobeying him, following him? About Law putting Baby 5 in danger?

Corazon dug around in his coat for a moment, passing Baby 5 a lighter. “Take this. And Law- here.” The man placed a folding knife into his hands- too big for him currently, but a comfortable weight. “It’s called a butterfly knife- it spins and folds closed. I never had the dexterity for it, but you’ve got quick fingers, you’ll figure it out.”

Law wanted to shoot back that he wouldn’t have the time to figure it out, the time for his hands to grow to fit this knife, but remained silent. He’d just receive a fervent declaration that he was going to live as a response, and he couldn’t handle that right now. The surety was too much sometimes.

He dropped his eyes to the new implement instead, inspecting it. It was solid metal, polished smooth from wear at the edges, but the blade was kept deadly sharp. There was writing stamped on it- two letters and… an area that was scratched out.

“Who’s BT?” That dark, distant look was back for only a moment. “An old friend of mine- she’s been dead for years, but she gave me that. And I gave her mine.” “Why’d you trade?”

Corazon smiled, something small and fragile. “So I still had something of hers, when she didn’t come back. By trading something, you both have pieces of each other. I’ve held onto this knife, long after she’s gone. And… she didn’t die alone, because she had my knife with her.

“And Baby, the friend who gave me that lighter is still alive. Maybe you’ll meet him some day.” Law looked at the lighter, large in Baby 5’s hand- it was plain silver, similarly worn. It had two letters on it as well- ‘SY’- and the same scratched out portion following it.

Law looked back at the knife, at the scratched out bit, and tucked away his suspicions to the back of his mind- he didn’t want to think about it. He was still too angry with himself to justify anger at the man who’d just saved them from Law’s own mistake.

He let the knife hang by one of its arms, swinging it aimlessly between his fingers- it was a good distraction, at least. Something to do with his restless hands. Maybe he’d have a go at trying to use it.

---

Baby 5 was with Cora-san outside of camp, setting up empty cans for targets. She’d insisted on practicing more, in the days after the bandits- she wasn’t going to let that happen again.

Cora-san had silenced all the gunfire to keep from disturbing Law, who still sometimes got shaky when he heard gunshots.

Cora-san's gun had a funny voice- it was kind of warm but also flash-hot, stalwart and protective and also slightly crazy. She told him so, and received a tilted grin in response. “My friend modified this for me. He's a bit of a kook. If you copy it, I’m sure you can see why.”

She held the weapon, small hands expertly taking it apart to investigate the mechanisms, and she could feel the knowledge of it settling inside her body, her hands already itching to become.

“It’s got- a magazine! And a powder-store! It can fire more than once at a time!” “Nice job- it’s called a repeating pistol. They’re not very common yet, but becoming more so. Doffy has one too, but… my friend altered this one from a regular flintlock.”

She promptly formed a replica from her arm, using it to continue their practice. He watched her shoot about a dozen times, filling an empty can with holes. Baby bit her lip- she’d missed several shots, balls whizzing past the can, and she knew he’d noticed.

But Cora-san only nodded in understanding. “The problem with your aim isn’t here,” he tapped the flintlock, before poking her in the forehead, “It’s here. You’re not focused.” She pouted, “I am!” She was trying her best, listening to all his instructions!

He shook his head with a small, fond smile, “Baby, you’re doing great, but no one’s ever really taught you how to properly focus, the way you need to when shooting. You were already better than Gladius. But he’s not as good as me.”

“I’ll demonstrate- watch.” He stood at angles, frame straight and arm steady in front of him. There was a hardness to his eyes, an unnatural stillness to his hand, before the gun fired silently- she heard the ‘ping’ of it hitting the can behind her, but remained focused on him.

She’d seen… she didn’t know what she’d seen, but it was powerful. She knew before she even ran to set the can back up that he’d hit directly in the center of their drawn-on bullseye. So that was focus, then.

“Did you see? Now you try.”

She squared herself to the target, and Cora-san knelt by her, instructing, “Take a deep breath. See your target. Know with absolute certainty you’re going to hit it.” “How do I do that?” “It’ll come with time- it’s something you have to trick your brain into believing. You have to be absolutely firm in your self-belief, that you won’t miss."

She thought back- that giant pirate with the flaming beard and the mean smile, how fast and big he’d been, going after her and Law. She’d shot and shot and shot and still he hadn’t gone down, pinning Law to the ground before the Young Master saved them. She thought of how she could’ve saved them both herself if she’d shot the pirate between the eyes instead.

She remembered the bandits, thought about what she would’ve had to do if Cora-san hadn’t saved them. If she could’ve beaten all of them before they got her or Law. She would’ve had to, wouldn’t she? Because there was no way she could allow them to get past her.

It had scared her so much, because she’d never really fought in defense before- they’d always been the aggressors in Family raids, and even if the people fought back, she’d been prepared to face combat. She’d never been cornered like that before, with someone to protect behind her, only her body and her weapons between the bandits and Law.

She looked at the can, and pictured the pirate’s face, pictured the bandits, and knew she had to hit it. Knew she would hit it. She steadied herself, took a deep breath and let it out slow, and fired.

A ‘ping’ rang out, and she hurried over to where the can had flown off the log. Her shot had hit in the second ring- not quite as accurate as Cora-san’s, but much better already.

She showed it to him, and he nodded in approval, “Great job- you’ve picked this up so quickly. That kind of focus is the building block for everything you’ll learn later.” He gave her a thumbs up and a wide grin, and she glowed at the praise.

There was still something sad in his eyes, though- something older than she could understand.

---

Rocinante was incredibly proud of both children- he could see them shaping up to be fearsome fighters as they grew. But all their progress drove him deeper into that spiral.

He didn’t enjoy training the kids- he wanted them to be children, to have the childhood he’d never gotten, the chance to be normal kids rather than weapons. He wanted to get Law healed and then disappear both of the kids away to some quiet village somewhere where they could live in peace.

But he knew that was foolishness. He still had to take down Doffy- his brother was his responsibility, and every life Doffy took rested on his shoulders as well.

And neither of these kids were the type to live quiet lives, he could see that already. They would find themselves in the thick of it sooner or later- Law especially, given what Rocinante knew of every D he’d ever met. They’d both already displayed that characteristic magnetism for trouble.

So all he could do was ensure they had the skills to survive, as much as he hated himself for giving weapons and espionage training to children.

It was hypocrisy, he knew very well. He’d enlisted as soon as he was legally able, and had been receiving training from his dad and Garp and others long before- he’d always known where his path would lead, and he’d been preparing for it all his life- but that didn’t mean he liked fighting.

He hated it, in fact- hated violence with every fiber of his being, and only did it in hopes of keeping innocent people from having to. Made himself the weapon to save others that fate. And he hated more than anything that he was continuing the cycle.

Both of these children had already had lives touched by so much violence- Law had lost his family, his city, his people, more to the panicked backlash to a disease than to the disease itself.

And Baby had absolutely no idea what was a normal response to violence, treating it like any other inevitability in her life the same way another person would treat laundry.

He couldn’t turn back time, couldn’t reverse the horrors these kids had seen. Couldn’t bring back the White City, or the family Baby should have had. But he could prepare the kids to survive the world they’d been given.

And he could hold them- he was good at that, holding people.

He'd held Smoker when he was first learning how to use his fruit, holding him together to ensure his friend could sleep without fading into wisps.

He'd held Cherry when she’d received news of her little brother’s death from disease, watched as she played her heart out that night ‘til her fingers were bruised against the keys, and held her again in the breakdown afterwards.

He'd held Esker as he bled out on that beach, pulling his crying friend close until he grew quiet and still.

He'd held Belle so many nights on that dock, both of them silent in that world made of darkness and stars, before she’d been called back to the East. Before he’d received news of no survivors.

He’d held his father’s corpse, headless and cold, after Doffy had left him behind.

Years later, he’d held his brother late at night, when the nightmares took them both, reverted strong and towering men into terrified and abused children, and Doffy was only willing to be vulnerable with the one other person who knew what it was like.

He’d held countless people, when they’d been too late to prevent the pirate attacks and all there was left to do was clean up the rubble, bury the dead, and comfort the living.

Rocinante did his best to protect everyone, and when he couldn’t, he could at least hold them in the aftermath. It was what he was good at, it seemed. The aftermath.

He did his best with the kids in this way, too. Baby enthusiastically accepted the contact, and Law pretended to hate it, but always slumped into him anyway.

Looking at them now, the kids still fascinated with the gifts he’d given them, unknowing of the legacy he was passing on, what it meant, he wanted nothing more than to just gather them up and protect them from the world.

Law would probably stab him again though, this time with his new knife, so he refrained, leaning back on his hands.

Baby held the lighter in a small hand, fingers barely covering its case- the other hand had transformed into little knives, and she was making them dance in the fire’s glow. She’d taken to clasping the lighter as comfort, flicking its lid open and closed just like he used to when he was anxious.

The little girl tucked herself up small, knees to her chest and arms pulled around them. She muttered, “I wish I could be something soft, sometimes. Weapons are always hard and cold.” Law put on his thinking face, fidgeting with the knife’s twin hilts, and asked, “Could you be a pillow? Pillows are used to smother all the time.”

She tilted her head, closed her eyes in concentration, and seemed like she was genuinely trying to will herself to become a pillow. Nothing happened, and she eventually blew out a disappointed sigh. “Nope.”

Rocinante hummed, “Maybe it has to be something created for the purpose of being a weapon.” He watched his cloud of smoke dissipate into the air, and thought of Maynard, who was famous for his creative- and often explosive- inventions.

“We can find someone who makes weapons and get them to make a soft one- maybe then you can turn into that?” She grinned hopefully, eyes so bright, “Yeah!”

He sighed to himself, that growing feeling of dread inside him making it known that he’d be willing to hold Vegapunk himself at gunpoint if only to have something soft Baby could turn into. He was doomed.

Chapter 5: Voices

Chapter Text

It was nearing evening, and the sun looked like nothing more than a giant egg yolk hanging just over the water. The wind had disappeared over an hour ago, and Cora-san had taken up rowing instead, but there wasn’t any land visible in any direction, and it was apparent they’d be spending the night on the waves.

Baby sat at the bottom of the little boat, between the seats, where she couldn’t see over the edges into the seemingly endless ocean. She could pretend she wasn’t surrounded by it, like this.

She tucked herself in tight, rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, and watched Law on the seat in front, flipping the butterfly knife over between his fingers- he’d been fidgeting with it almost constantly, seemingly just for something to do as he stared out at the sea.

She watched the blade flash in the sunlight, glinting at her as if winking, and sighed, “That knife has a pretty voice.” He stopped, looked at her with a raised brow, “Voice?” “Yeah- all weapons have a voice. She’s…” Baby squinted, listening closely, "confident, kind. Protective. She’ll take care of you if you use her right.”

Law looked at the knife with new eyes, thumb stroking over the engraved initials, “Huh. Is that voice from the knife itself, or the person who had it originally?” She shrugged, “Dunno. Newly made weapons don’t really have voices- it’s just the old ones, who’ve been around a while. Maybe it’s both.”

It didn’t seem like weapons were born with voices, but that they developed over time, like a personality. And how much was the weapon itself and how much was the person it belonged to?

Was it both? Weapon and wielder together, merging at the edges? Becoming each other, in a way, just as people adopted their companions’ mannerisms and speech? She’d heard people describe their weapons as an extension of themselves before, but wasn’t sure how it worked.

She was a weapon in and of herself, so she didn’t have the outsider perspective of someone who just wielded them, didn’t know what it was like to not understand herself as both. There was a relationship there- the weapon and the wielder, separate but together- that she had no way to comprehend. It had always just been her, wielding herself.

Law turned the knife over in his hands, “So does it-“ he stopped, co*cked his head, “-she... have a name?” Baby listened, then shrugged, “BT.” She’d had a longer name once, but the rest had been scratched out- secret, she said. BT really liked Cora-san, and seemed to have taken being gifted to Law as a personal mission of protection.

He was more… thoughtful, now, with the knife, as he continued flipping it. Now that he knew she was alive, in a way, had a voice of her own. Kept BT tucked close, handled her with care. The knife hummed contently in his hand.

Baby nodded to herself, leaned back against the seat behind her and watched the clouds turn their pinks and oranges as the yolk-golden sun dripped into the sea.

She always felt better, knowing that someone was kind to their weapons. Like they’d be kind to her, too. Even if someone wasn’t kind to her as a person, she could be assured that they would be kind to her as a weapon- as long as she was useful, she’d be okay.

Cora-san and his gun- MD, she’d learned its name was- talked to each other as old friends, the man in meticulous care and focus and knowledge of its every flaw and quirk, and the gun in perfect performance and that staticky, protective hum whenever his hand wrapped comfortably around its grip.

They’d clearly been partners for a long time, and the things they’d faced, they’d faced together. It was the kind of seamless relationship she wished the human and weapon parts of herself would someday find.

She tried to speak to the lighter he’d given her, but it just hummed in response, reserved and stalwart in her hand. Still, it was a reassuring sort of company in her mind.

---

Law woke with the moon high in the sky and the sea swaying gently under him. They were still in the little boat- he and Baby 5 slept at the bottom between the seats, smothered in that giant black coat that kept all chill from them.

Corazon sat upright, still rowing rhythmically even after hours of the task- sweat dripped from his brow and his sleeves were rolled up, muscles bunched and taut. His lips were moving, but no sound emerged- he’d silenced himself then, to keep from disturbing the children.

Law crawled a little closer, movement hidden by the seat between them- if he pressed his ear to the wood, he just barely emerged into the silenced bubble, and could hear the creaking of the oars and the words Corazon spoke.

It was a song, murmured low and tuneless, “-like tame-less horses, We left in burlap as numbered corpses.”

A pause, a heavy breath taken in shuddering. “And we learned fast to travel light. Our arms were heavy, but our bellies were tight.”

His eyes were sharp and glassy in a way that said the subject of the song wasn’t unfamiliar to him, distant in the same way Law felt when he heard gunshots or explosions.

His voice wasn’t a skilled one, untrained and wavering as he sang to himself under his breath, but it was pleasant to listen to, warm and deep.

Corazon faded in and out of singing as if the lyrics were half-remembered, sometimes humming entire lines he couldn’t seem to recall. Other lines were clear as a bell, recited confidently in that low, determined tone.

"Remember Charlie, remember Baker

They left their childhood on every acre

And who was wrong? And who was right?

It didn't matter in the thick of the fight-"

Law would realize later that he’d fallen back to sleep right there, tucked against the wooden seat and listening to Corazon sing gently to himself about war, and not dreamed a single thing.

---

He’d been rowing for what felt like forever, when a poke to his knee startled Rocinante out of his rhythm, and his eyes flew open. Baby was watching him, a deep frown on her face. “Why are you silencing yourself?”

The little girl looked like she was about to cry, lip wobbling and eyes bright, “You’re singing, but you don’t want us to hear.”

He could feel the awkward smile stretch across his face, and quickly cancelled his powers, “Ah, I don’t have a very good voice.” f*ck, he was so weak to those big eyes. “But if you really want to hear, I won’t silence myself."

From the seat behind Baby, Law avoided his eyes, squinting determinedly into the sun, but didn't object.

They spent the day like this, Rocinante rowing while the kids busied themselves with something and pretended not to listen to him quietly singing to himself.

It was all he could do to distract himself and keep going, his arms and back dead tired after so long at the oars. But the open ocean was dangerous for a boat as small as this, and the waves were as calm as in the Belt, and to rest here would be to put the kids in harm’s way, and he refused.

So he rowed, and he sang. He sang through ‘Down to Old Maui’, and ‘My Mother Told Me’, and ‘Moon on the Meadow’, and ‘We All Going Ashore’, and ‘I’ve Been Everywhere’, and ’The Wellerman’, scraping his brain for any tune he could halfway recall. He even got a giggling Baby to join in on a verse of ‘Fish in the Sea’.

It wasn’t right for a sailor to sing alone like this- he was so used to being surrounded by voices, all immersed in the same strenuous tasks, the rhythm lending strength and steadiness to their hands.

He imagined Belle or Smoker or, hell, even Fullbody beside him, shoulder to shoulder at his post, voices raising with his own- anything to not be doing it alone.

For a moment, he missed nothing more than the company of his band- Jackie’s drums and cymbals giving them all a foundation to build on, Ranlan’s cello the thudding heartbeat at the center, Cherry’s flying fingers over the piano keys guiding his tempo and pitch, and Royal’s soaring voice above it all, husky and raw and emotional.

He felt lost at sea, unmoored without the other instruments and voices keeping him steady. And yet he continued on.

After hours of this, Baby pouted again, crossing her arms, “All your songs are about sailing and fighting. Don’t you have anything else? Something happy?” He tilted his head ruefully, “Well, the ones about drinking aren’t really child friendly.”

Sailing, fighting, and drinking… yeah, that made up most of the songs he knew. Of course, he wasn’t going to sing the mourning litanies for the kids, or any of the more raunchy songs, either. Hells, his repertoire was limited. What else did he know?

Belle had known lots of songs, had taught him most of the ones he knew, still imprinted in his mind in her voice, clear as her namesake. He remembered their late nights together on the pier, sitting at the edge with their legs hanging over, sending their cigarette smoke out into the eternity of stars and sea that hung before them.

It was a time for low voices, for whispered secrets and memories.

She told him of her home island, its warm breezes and tangerine groves, of her family- the fighting, the booze, the too-small everything that drove her to run away and seek the seas.

He told her in turn of his parents, of Doffy, of the hunger and fear of the streets. He never said anything about where they came from, or why the townspeople hated them, but she understood anyway.

He remembered… one night, a lullaby drawn from Bellemere’s lips, soft enough he silenced the waves around them to hear. It rang in his memory even now, and a small smile graced his mouth.

“You wanted a happy song, right?” “Yeah!” “Well, I’ve thought of one- but it’s a lullaby, so it’ll have to wait 'til tonight. That okay with you?” She brightened, nodding enthusiastically, “Mm-hm!”

Rowing was more bearable, after that.

---

They made land and settled in another cave for the night- he didn’t complain only because the man looked like his arms would give out if he went any further, and Law didn’t want his injured hand to get worse.

He did complain when Corazon bundled them both up close, but he really was much warmer tucked to the man’s side, so he only grumbled a bit before settling in under the coat.

Baby 5 almost vibrated with anticipation, and poked Corazon in the chest. She insisted, “I want the happy song now.” He chuckled, petting her hair, “You want the happy song? Okay.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, and began to sing. His voice was still quiet, that low, unskilled rumble. Sometimes he lost the tune, whispering the words rather than setting them to song. He sang as if to the stars, head tilted up and eyes clear.

"As the moon sets its sails to carry you to sleep

Over the midnight sea

I will sing you a song no one sang to me

Baby 5 listened with stars in her eyes, small hands fisted in Corazon’s shirt where she lay curled atop his chest. Her eyelids were drooping as she struggled to stay awake to hear the rest of the song, but it was a losing battle, and she was soon fast asleep.

Law turned away, pulling his hat down over his eyes. He remembered his father used to sing them to sleep at night- he’d been in the choir at church, had a lovely deep baritone. The way his voice shaped the syllables of the Gloria Patri seemed to leave a comfortable hum in the air even long after he’d turned out the lights and closed the door.

The voice was nothing alike, but… the very act of being sung to sleep… It hurt, in the same way the lancing of a wound hurt. He felt sliced open and exposed, all his emotions rising inexorably.

It was all too much, tears scalding down his face even as the man holding him sang softly of love and acceptance.

Corazon’s giant hand was covering his back, rubbing slow, comforting circles, and he just curled in tighter, doing everything he could to keep his sobs quiet.

The hand patted once, and the air around him suddenly seemed muffled- he could hear the song, hear the cicadas and the waves and the wind, but his own hitched breaths were suddenly silent.

With that, the simple kindness of privacy, of being unheard, his barriers shattered, silent wails escaping his throat. Everything was spilling from him all at once, everything he’d repressed coming to the front and pouring out.

He felt raw in its wake, wrung out entirely, but somehow… a small measure of peace, as well.

He was calmer, more accepting despite himself, when he finally ran out of tears and sleep came for his exhausted form. And again, he didn’t dream of anything at all.

Chapter 6: Doing and Being

Chapter Text

Law was reading when Baby 5 came to sit next to him- she didn’t say anything, only tucked into herself silently. Her chin was in her hands, cheeks puffed out in thought. He saw out of the corner of his eye as she opened and closed her mouth a few times, seemingly struggling to put together words.

Finally, she spoke, “I know Cora-san was mean just to try and make us leave, so we didn’t stay with the Family, but... I don’t get why. Isn’t it good to have a family, better than not?” “Not if you’re as bad an influence as he clearly thinks Doflamingo is.”

She tilted her head in thought, mulling over the words with furrowed brow. “So it’s better to be alone than with people who are bad for you?” Law shrugged, “I certainly think so- I’d rather be alone any day than with some assholes trying to use me.”

Her voice was small, barely a whisper, when she spoke next, “…Do you think that’s what it is? Is… the Young Master… using us?”

He looked at her, really looked for a moment. Her hands were fisted atop her thighs, frame taut and shrunken as if someone would punish her just for speaking the words.

She didn’t want to believe what went against everything she knew, but she was too smart to miss it, and the two parts of her were fighting. The self-delusion she’d built was cracking under the weight. Good- he hated that easy submissiveness of hers.

He sighed, closed his book- he’d already read it, anyway. “I think so. Or at least, he’d only keep someone around as long as they were useful to him.” Her head shot up, “But I’m useful! I’m very useful!”

He challenged, “Will you always be, though?”

Her eyes fell back to her hands, now shaking, her lip held firmly between her teeth, “I… if I stop being useful, it’s okay if he doesn’t want me. A burden doesn’t- doesn’t deserve care. It’d be worth it, to be helping, even by… being left behind.”

They weren’t her words, he could tell- these were someone else’s ideas shoved into her brain. And even as she said them, her voice wavered. She was terrified of being thrown away, of being unwanted and discarded.

He could see the anxiety building in a groundswell within her, and decided to head it off. He didn’t like her panicking, needing to be useful- it was annoying, that’s all. It wasn’t that seeing her hurting made something in him hurt.

“What about Corazon? We know him now- do you think he’s like Doflamingo? Would he get rid of you if you stopped being useful?” She shook her head immediately, “No- no, he wouldn’t. He wants to take care of us.”

She hesitated, putting the pieces together, “So he’s… a better family for us, than the Young Master. Right?” Her shoulders had fallen, frame going loose once more with the realization.

He didn’t know about ‘us’- he was still holding back from the man, not allowing himself close- but Corazon had definitely fallen into a parental role with Baby 5 already. He assented anyway, to make her feel better.

The conversation ended then- or, he thought it did, until Baby 5 approached him again late that night at camp, curling into herself once more. She asked, voice barely loud enough to be heard, “The… Doflamingo isn’t actually a good person, is he?”

He stopped a moment, surprised she had managed to come to that realization, and sighed, “No, he isn’t.”

That wasn’t why he'd joined the Family, anyway. He went to Doflamingo because he’d seen the destruction and cruelty and wanted to be a part of that, to exact some small fraction of revenge against the world for his country and his people and his family.

He knew what he was doing was wrong and cruel, and he hadn’t cared.

But Baby 5 had just been raised with the Family since she was young, and didn’t know any better- she gave her obedience and loyalty to the Family because they took care of her, and never learned otherwise until she saw the outside of it.

Shame held strong in his gut.

---

‘No, he isn’t.’ The words hung in her mind, some awful litany on repeat, taking over her thoughts. The Young Master wasn’t a good person- Doflamingo wasn’t a good person.

It was cracking something inside of her, to think these things, these horrid, traitorous things, and whatever was underneath was raw and vulnerable and had never seen the outside before.

She was so confused. Nothing made any sense. She wanted to reject the realization, go back to the easy self-assuredness she’d known.

But… Cora-san was undoubtedly good, and if he was so scared of Doflamingo, of the kids being influenced by Doflamingo… then Doflamingo couldn’t be good. Right?

The more she thought about it, the more evidence piled up- and it was evidence in faces, in the towns they’d passed through and left in flames, the people she’d seen crying and hurt and dead. The people she’d hurt.

She hadn’t been wielding herself, as she’d thought- she’d been wielded by Doflamingo, a weapon in his hands. She’d been proud to be so, before. Now…

Doflamingo wasn’t a good man- but what did it mean, when he had been good to her? When she had followed him, hurt people at his behest?

Was she bad?

If anyone would know, it was Cora-san.

She found him going over his maps with that furrowed brow and tight frown that had been becoming more prevalent the longer they traveled. She looked up to him, little hand fisting in his shirt, “Am I bad?”

Cora-san gazed at her, at her wobbling lip and tear-streaked face and uncertainty, and didn’t even need to ask.

He just picked her up and tucked her close to his chest, curling over her, and sighed. “I’m going to give you a very grown-up answer to that, and you may not understand it all now, but you will in time. Okay?”

She burrowed into him, soaking in the comfort, and nodded against his shirt. She wished she could just stay here, and not have to deal with what it meant, that she’d been bad. But the faces wouldn’t leave her alone.

Cora-san spoke, voice rumbling underneath her ear, "There is no such thing as ‘being’ good or bad. It’s all ‘doing’. It’s not who you are, it’s what you do.

“And doing good isn’t about anyone but you- it’s not the people who raise you, or the people you follow. It’s just you and the choices you make. And you can always decide to do good, even if you used to do bad. That’s the important part, is the choice. No matter what, you can always choose to do good.”

But how would she know? She’d thought she was doing good for Doflamingo, but she was actually doing bad, and she could never take back hurting people. How was she supposed to know what was good and bad?

She didn’t think she said it aloud, but Cora-san seemed to hear it anyway. He sighed again, spoke in that same low voice, “That’s something you can only decide for yourself.

"But a good metric to start with… is if it makes people happy. Not the big people at the top- the little people, who need the most help. If it makes them happy, it’s probably pretty good. Does that make sense?”

Baby sniffed again, nodded, “Uh-huh.” It did, at least mostly. She needed to look for the impact of her actions on other people, whether she was helping the people who needed the most help. She could do that.

She pulled herself in tight against him and settled in, exhausted after so much crying and thinking, and Cora-san held her close and petted her hair as she slipped off to sleep.

---

“If you get this lesson down, I’ll show you kids how to pick locks. There’s a nice summer house outside town- owners won’t be back ‘til next season. We can have baths, and real beds for the night. We just have to not alert anyone in town that we’re not the real owners.

“Remember what I told you. Act normal- act like any other person, like nothing is wrong and you’re going about your daily routine.” Law deadpanned, “Nothing about you looks normal.”

He shook his head- this one was the most important lesson, the one that gets you everywhere. If you could be invisible in a crowd, you could be anyone. “It’s not about how you look- it’s all in the act. If you act like you belong, no one will question you.”

He knew for a fact that more… conspicuous figures than he went entirely unnoticed in towns, because they had perfected the art of nonchalance.

Law huffed, “Fine. But I’m not going to smile.” “Alright.” ‘Moody teenager’ was as normal as anything else, and would go unnoticed- and ‘beleaguered guardian’ was less an act for Rocinante now, and more his constant state of being.

Luckily, they met with no trouble this time- the kids played their parts perfectly, and Rocinante was an old hand at this kind of work.

The summer house was away from the town- rich, unpersonable owners who didn’t like rabble were the favorite target of any thief- so he let the kids practice with his lock picks as many times as they wanted, until each had successfully opened the door.

Law insisted on doing it twice, to ensure the first time wasn’t a fluke, and Baby managed to turn her fingers into lock picks and do it that way (at which point Rocinante wondered at what exactly her powers classified as a weapon…).

They spent the day stealing food and necessities from the summer house, doing laundry, and enjoying a much needed rest before setting off again.

Rocinante looked down at the washboard, its familiar roughness grating against his knuckles, and huffed a laugh. Baby looked over from the stool where she was clipping up the laundry to dry on the line, and he grinned, “Just… reminded me of something. Want to hear a story?”

Her eyes lit up immediately, “Yes!” “Well, when I was young- younger than both of you- I had a… someone who looked after me. He was a decade older. I followed him around all the time. And trouble followed both of us.”

He’d never been sure how much of it was his own clumsiness and horrid luck, Dragon’s fiery personality and need to right wrongs wherever he saw them, or the simple nature of the D to attract trouble, but it followed them all the same.

He couldn’t count how many times his dad or Kuzan had had to pull the two of them out of some jam, the lazy then-captain complaining about having to 'babysit the babysitter'.

And if Garp somehow got involved… it was always so much worse, like the two Ds in one place exponentially magnified the problem.

After Dragon… left, things had quieted down greatly. Which pulled for his theory of the D being the problem, and would be a blessing, if it hadn’t also meant Dragon was gone. None of them had been the same, after that.

But he still had his memories of the young man who had been quasi- babysitter, quasi- elder brother.

He told one of his favorites, while omitting identifying details, of course- the time Dragon had been sneaking around after a Captain he suspected of taking bribes, his ever-present shadow at his heels.

Rocinante, hiding under a nearby desk, had gotten a recording of the captain admitting to his crimes, but all hell had broken loose when the man attacked Dragon, sparking a fight in the office quarters.

Everything had gone off, then- the typical fiery chaos that followed at their heels like a loyal pet.

The corrupt captain was caught in the end, but… Tsuru’s office was half destroyed, along with the officer’s lounge. And somewhere in the chaos, Bleat had somehow gotten into the melee as well and had been found eating some very important reports the vice admiral been writing. When Tsuru had caught them…

“She, well… I guess you could say she hung us out to dry.” Law looked up from scrubbing dirt out of his hat, a sly smirk on his face, “She beat the sh*t out of you both.” He barked a laugh, “That, too.”

It was a good memory, despite how mortifying it had been at the time. And even after most of those people had gone from his life, he still at least had the memories, and they made him smile all through the arduous task of washing.

The house was huge, but at the end of the day, all three had found themselves congregating in the library, with its plush chairs and shelves and shelves of books. It was quiet and cozy and safe.

Law had fallen asleep in one of the armchairs, a book about medicinal plants open over his lap and his usual scowl lost to sleep, replaced by a rare peaceful expression. Rocinante gently tucked a blanket and a silent bubble over the boy, to keep from disturbing him.

Then he had settled in another chair, with the homeowner’s decanter and his own thoughts. They’d barely escaped the marines at the last island- not that he was going to tell the kids that.

He wasn’t too worried, given. Tsuru held the North, and he could at least trust that, if he were taken in, she’d ensure the kids were cared for. She wouldn’t ever go easy on him- that wasn’t the kind of person she was- but she was upright and truly just. And she could handle Doffy in a fight.

Still, would anyone else fight as hard as he was to find a cure for Law? He wasn’t willing to put the boy’s life in anyone else’s hands.

Baby soon pulled him out of his reverie, small hand fisted in the leg of his pants, her book of fairytales finished behind her. She reached her arms up high to him, “Dance with me!” He managed a smile down to her, and obliged.

He started to hum, thinking back to one of the pieces his band had played in the dance hall- mid-tempo, a good rhythm, something not too fast or too slow. That had been Royal’s specialty, the ones where she could really showcase her spectacular range.

Baby stood atop his feet, little Mary Janes balanced on his own shoes. He was bent almost double to hold onto her small hands, taking careful little steps to lift her. She giggled, enjoying the mockery of a dance.

The little girl seemed more free since they’d talked, a burden lifted from her small shoulders- she’d made a decision within herself, and he couldn’t express how proud he was of her, the emotion bursting in his chest.

Was this what being a parent was like? He was sure he wouldn’t win any awards, dragging the kids around the North like this on a desperate quest, but he couldn’t deny the soul-wrenching devotion he felt, the firm knowledge deep within him that he would do anything for these children.

He was truly grateful to his parents- although their naivety had led their family to disaster, their intentions were good. They had been kind and compassionate, and had always tried to teach him and Doffy to be the same.

If he could just keep these kids safe and away from Doffy, teach them to be kind, that would mean everything. If he could just help these kids- his kids- where he’d failed his brother…

Every day he mourned what had been- the older brother who had protected him and given him the best scraps, who he’d been before he turned into the cruel, sad*stic man he was today. What could have been, if he hadn't become so twisted.

Rocinante tried to hate his brother sometimes, for the sake of his mission- it would hurt so much less if Doffy was just a random mob boss- but most of his hatred, in reality, was reserved for the executives.

They fed all the worst parts of Doffy, offered him the power and worship he wanted, encouraged him to violence and greed and all the awful things that tipped him further into the darkness.

Maybe if they hadn’t been there, Rocinante could have brought his brother back. Maybe if he had stayed, when Doffy had killed father… If he had gone with him and not clung to the corpse…

But there was no point in thinking about that now. He had to take his brother down, to save the kids, to save the towns he devastated, to save Dressrosa, to save Doffy from himself.

He just… didn’t know if he hated his brother enough to be able to kill him. And worse, he didn’t know if he loved him enough to do it, either.

He tucked the thoughts away, focusing on the moment, and twirled Baby around, making the little girl shriek with joy. Right now, he was here with both of his kids, and he should enjoy this while he could.

Chapter 7: Names

Chapter Text

They were camped in a forest tonight, the fire their refuge against the chill, and Baby 5 was sat on Corazon's knee. He brushed out her long hair carefully, giant hands holding the brush like a toy and gently drawing it through.

He was always so careful with her- truly the opposite of the person he’d been with the Family, which only emphasized how little they really knew about the man.

Baby 5 spoke up, pulling Law out of his thoughts, “What are you humming?” Corazon stopped, “I was humming?” “Yeah.” She repeated the tune, humming it back to him, and his eyes widened, going distant for a moment. “Oh. I haven’t thought of that in a while. That song… is something my mother used to sing while she brushed my hair.”

Law perked up- neither Corazon nor his brother had ever mentioned their parents before. “How’s it go?” “Well, if there are words, I’ve long forgotten them, but…”

He went back to brushing, and a halting hum could soon be heard. It was a simple tune, lifting and solemn, but it felt… nostalgic, for some reason. Not like Law had heard it before, but like it evoked something in him, some long lost feeling or memory. It felt like being embraced, held close and safe.

He leaned against Corazon’s side, tucking his face into the feathered coat. If the man said anything, he’d claim he was just cold, but… Law knew by now that he wouldn’t. And as long as it went unacknowledged, he could allow himself to accept the comfort.

As long as he could pretend he wasn’t slipping up, almost calling the man ‘Cora-san’ every time. As long as he could pretend at distance, at not betraying his family.

The sudden bitterness at the thought made him pull away into himself, jeer at Corazon, “How are you good with hair, when you’re bad at everything else?” The man pouted, “I am not bad at everything-“

Law opened his mouth to start listing, but Corazon quickly headed him off with an answer. “Hair is… like rope, in a way. I’m really good at knots. It was a comfort thing as a kid- I carried around a length of rope and would practice knots when I was nervous.”

It felt like truth, and he blinked, surprised at having gotten an answer with no hesitation or deflection. And sure enough, he did recall Corazon being particularly skillful with knotwork while sailing. “Just don’t… tie her hair into any knots.”

Corazon plaited Baby 5’s hair into a simple braid down her back, brows furrowed in concentration as he worked. He finished with the bow, somehow managing to tie his finger in the middle of the knot, and discreetly slipped it out, pretending as if nothing happened. Apparently ribbon wasn’t like rope?

The man glanced at Law, and he made it clear that he'd noticed the mishap, an unimpressed expression across his face, but Baby 5 was still humming contently, legs swinging. It wasn’t a very pretty bow, nothing like the perfect ones Giolla tied, but it would do.

He huffed to himself, holding in the amused smirk. Slowly, he allowed himself to lean back against Corazon, the warmth too relaxing to pass up on a cold night. That song was stuck in his head now, and he quietly hummed it to himself, committing it to memory.

He woke the next morning curled beneath the giant black coat- he must’ve fallen asleep by the fire, been put to bed. He couldn’t bring himself to muster the old annoyance at that, at being tucked in like a child- it was too comfortable here.

Baby 5 was crouched by the fire pit, stoking the embers to life for breakfast with a little help from her flamethrower-hand, and she looked up as he stirred, her eyes going wide, and snickered.

“What? Why are you staring?” He was inwardly disappointed that his glare no longer worked on her, as she just kept giggling behind her hand. “You have- on your face-“ “What is it?” “A big Cora-san kiss print!”

His hand slapped to his forehead- sure enough, he could feel the telltale waxy texture of lipstick there. He wiped at it furiously, smearing the pigment across his skin, “Bleh!”

Baby 5 hopped up, skipping over to the man, and pointed at Law, “I want one, too!” Corazon looked up from his maps, gave her a vaguely startled sort of look that then melted into a sappy fondness, and obliged, pressing his painted lips to her face.

With the kiss print displayed proudly in the center of her forehead, Baby 5 returned to his side, grinning triumphantly as she started water boiling. Law stuck his tongue out, immediately embarrassed by the childish action, “Why would you want that? ’S gross.”

She giggled gleefully, “It’s a sign of love- he cares about us.”

How could she derive something like that from a silly little lipstick mark? Law would readily admit he didn’t understand her sometimes.

But that wasn’t the last he was made to pay attention to those kiss prints, and what they meant.

It came to his notice again only a day later, in their camp on the next island. Corazon was refreshing his paint after they’d escaped a bad rain, wiping the streaks- almost like tear stains- from his face.

Baby 5 perked up when he’d pulled the little cases from his coat, “Can you show me how to do that?” “Hm? Oh, makeup? Sure, come on up, kiddo.” She clambered up onto his lap, watching diligently as he carefully painted his lips. The strokes were even and swooping, his hands steady and skilled from long routine.

Law had found himself watching Corazon’s hands, ever since he learned about the nerve damage. The brush was accordingly held, not between the tips of the fingers, but between the second knuckles, and swept with movements of the entire hand.

He finished with a flourish and a quiet ‘ta-da!’, and Baby 5 perked up, wiggling eagerly on his knee, “Now me!” “You want some, too?” She nodded fervently, “Yeah- it’s pretty.” He smiled, a tiny, genuine thing under the big fake one. “Alright, hold still.”

Law was reminded, suddenly and painfully, of watching his mother do her makeup in the vanity, of his sister begging to partake in the daily ritual and ‘look pretty like mommy’.

He pulled his hat down and turned away with a scowl, heart aching.

He didn’t look up when Corazon finished, commenting how pretty Baby 5 looked, or when she exclaimed joyfully at her reflection in the small mirror-glass, only pulled it lower over his eyes. He grumbled spitefully, “Why do you wear that, even? You just look like a clown.”

Corazon glanced at him in the mirror, blue pencil sketching underneath his eye, “I enjoy it- it’s calming.”

He didn’t miss a beat in answering, which meant it was a lie. It seemed such a small, unnecessary thing to lie about, and Law hated it, hated that the man lied to them, hated that it was so easy for him to lie.

He knew he was being snappier, crueler than usual- the poison was making him weak, and the weakness was making him angry- but he hated the lies, wanted to strip away all the masks.

It took several mornings of waking up early, trying to catch Corazon before he’d gotten ready for the day, before he finally discovered the real reason he wore makeup.

The man was up with the sun, as usual, and his compact and lipstick were laid out on the ground, his small mirror-glass in hand. Corazon frowned into the reflective surface distractedly, face entirely bare for the first time since Law had met him.

He looked startlingly like Doflamingo- a wider jaw and less robust brow ridge, but he and his brother very clearly shared a face. Law understood, then, and the anger started to ebb from him.

He didn’t move, laying carefully still and watching Corazon apply his mask for the day. It was like a sort of barrier built between the man and the world- fading bruises were covered up, the tight frown at his mouth made invisible by the giant fake smile painted over it.

Law recognized his place as one of few people to see Corazon without that mask, to be behind that barrier, if only for a moment, and felt somewhat privileged by it.

---

Baby was confused. Law was angry with her, but she was only trying to help! All she’d done was ask if he needed help while they were gathering firewood! She’d experimented with her powers, made her hand into a noose to string her bundles of sticks together, but she’d noticed Law was having trouble with his, and only wanted to help.

His eyebrow had begun twitching, but she didn’t understand what was making him angry, and quickly searched around for something she could do to ease his temper. She’d started a game of I-Spy then, with the colorful leaves in the forest, and it had been calm for a while.

But Law was still carrying that tension hours later, and she didn’t know what to do, so she just sat next to him.

He glared, “Stop following me. What do you want?” She tilted her head in confusion, “What do I… want?” He crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly scowling, “Yes- think for yourself for once, what you want to do. Don’t just attach yourself to someone because you think they need you- do things because you want to.”

Baby got the feeling this wasn’t just about her asking if he wanted help. She wrung her hands nervously, “But… I want to help people.” He shot back, “Do you? Or do you just want to be needed?” She froze, caught, and Law growled in frustration and walked off.

Part of her wanted to slip again into that easy, comfortable usefulness, to follow Law, work to gain his approval and be needed. But part of her was caught on what he’d said.

What she wanted to do… what was something she wanted, just for herself? Not something anyone else needed, but just for her? She thought all the way ’til evening, when their little party was once more gathered around the fire, and only came up with one thing.

“Cora-san, do you know any pretty names?” He stopped a moment, head tipping to the side, “There are lots of pretty names. Are you thinking of something specific?” She shrugged, “Soft.” Law was looking at her, something she couldn’t interpret in his face.

Cora-san bit his lip, seeming to decide on something. “My mother… her name was Rosalia. My father called her Rosie. My name is similar to hers. She was very soft, kind. She taught me to garden.”

Baby tilted her head, mirroring him, “Similar?” A huffed laugh, “Corazon isn’t actually my name, you know. It’s Rocinante.” Law joined them in looking at the world sideways, frowning at the accent that had shaped the man’s mouth when he said the word- it was entirely unfamiliar to her, as well. Baby gave an understanding hum, “Oh, that does sound like Rosie.”

“What’s it mean?” “It’s… a character, from a very old story. One I don’t even remember enough of to tell you- but if you ever visit Dressrosa, I’m sure someone would be happy to share.”

Dressrosa- she thought she’d heard Doflamingo talking about it once. “Is it pretty there?” “I’ve never been, but I heard it is- I heard there’s always music and dancing there.”

Law questioned, “Do you know the language?” “Some of it.” She bounced where she sat, “Ooh, teach us, teach us!”

Cora-san obliged, teaching the kids a few words and phrases of the language spoken by his ancestral people. It was a smooth language, with lots of soft sounds that flowed into each other.

As she wrapped her tongue around foreign syllables, stretching her palate into sounds it had never formed before, she thought… it would be nice to have somewhere to be from. To really be from. A place, a central point, something to tie herself back to.

---

The thought of names made Rocinante introspective and melancholy. He’d had many names, been so many people in his relatively short life. Sometimes, he didn’t know who he was amidst the multitude of masks he wore.

Former Saint Donquixote Rocinante, whose family stepped down from their seat in the heavens and was cast into hell for it. Who still had that demon living inside him, silent and cold and sharp and just as bloody as his brother, if only in different ways.

Roci, the little brother who worshipped his older brother, who had hidden at that brother’s side for years, betrayal in his heart. Whose wrists were sliced and rubbed to the bone with rope, but who always kept a length of it on hand, the roughness of it in his palms reminding him, grounding him, easing him with the rote comfort of knot practice.

Roci (again, but such a different Roci this time), the marine cadet with few but excellent friends, who had left those very friends behind for the sake of this mission. Who had promised- he had promised Smoker he'd come back ('Or I'll come drag you out myself, Roci!').

Rocinante, the dutiful and loyal son, who had asked his father to do the unthinkable and order him into a lion’s den. Who had caused the man who had saved him so much pain, and would continue to do so.

Commander Donquixote, the capable undercover marine officer, who was currently contemplating defecting for the sake of two children. Who had traded the fate of who knew how many towns for these two children.

Corazon, the feared Heart Seat executive of the Donquixote Family, who was tearing it down from within. Who beat children to scare them away from his brother and deliberately played up his uselessness in Family raids just so he wouldn't have to take part in the slaughter.

All of them were facets of him, but none were the whole- he’d never thought to discover just who he was outside of them. There had never been any path but this for him.

But he knew exactly who he was when he looked at those kids- he was whatever they needed him to be. He’d be the protector, the soft guiding figure Baby needed, the silent comfort and averted eyes and solid determination Law pretended to not need. The only self that wasn’t made of contradictions.

Right now, the only name that mattered to him was Cora-san.

Chapter 8: Will

Chapter Text

Law’s condition was worsening, and his bad days were getting more frequent. Rocinante hated to see the kid in pain, wished there was anything he could do- he’d take all the pain himself if he could.

Maybe… there was one thing he could try.

He tucked the kid close, “…Let me know if this works, alright?” He’d done this once before, without even knowing he’d done it. Esker had been bleeding out on some beach on some forgotten island- a gut wound, and nothing Rocinante did could stop the blood flowing from between his fingers, hot and slippery.

His friend had been crying, grasping at him desperately, his breaths short and wet. Esker, the one who’d always been optimistic, always smiling when Rocinante couldn't force one himself, now pleading with his friend for something he couldn’t do, begging him to keep the reaper away.

He’d done something, then- something that made Esker stop screaming, let him smile that wide smile one more time before fading away. He’d thought it only shock at the time, and put it away at the back of his mind. Until now.

Rocinante pressed a hand to the kid's chest, so small and thin under his palm, and reached for the hum that rested comfortably under his skin. He could feel the pain, feel the jagged rupture of it in the boy’s presence, and let his calm pool in the nerves, focusing on quieting it. Not silencing fully- that would only mean numbness, and he remembered what Law had said about needing to know if things went wrong.

The boy frowned, brows drawing together in confusion, “It doesn’t hurt as much…”

He sighed in relief- it did work, then. He could at least do this much, as useless as he was. He managed a smile for the kid, wobbly and weak, and held him long after he’d fallen asleep.

Then he tucked the children in, and he drank, and he pored over his maps and notes, and he thought, and he cried.

Was he just being cruel, dragging the kids around, forcing Law to relive his trauma in countless futile attempts to get him treated? Hearing an endless string of doctors and nurses proclaim him to be a monster and evil and every horrid thing had been taking a toll on the boy, he could see it.

Would it be kinder to just… give him a good life, for what he had left? Find somewhere quiet, give him a safe and painless few months? He hated himself for putting the boy through so much, and he hated himself for even thinking of giving up.

He wanted, more than anything, for Law to live, for both these kids to grow up and be okay. He’d do anything.

Sometimes, Rocinante wished he believed in a higher power. Celestial Dragons didn’t have a religion, because they were the religion. And after that… well, he didn’t feel particularly forgiving to any god. But he saw how it comforted some of his fellows, and he wished he could believe.

He didn’t believe in a deity, and he only sometimes believed in people, but if he believed in anything, it was will. He believed a better dawn would come, and so he would build its foundations himself, prepare the way for its rise.

He shored himself up, tipping his face to the moon and letting the sea breeze dry his tears. He believed Law would live, and so the boy would- Rocinante would bend the heavens with his own hands if he had to, to ensure it.

---

Hearing Cora-san cry over him that night broke something in him, the shell he’d built around his heart finally crumbling, despite his own protestations.

Maybe… admitting he’d found a tiny spark of happiness would be okay. He wanted this, he wanted to live, he wanted to stay with Cora-san and Baby 5.

It made guilt roar up inside him all over again, like it had every time he allowed them close. His family was dead. They were dead, he couldn’t just- just replace them like this. It would be disrespectful to them, like he was forgetting. He was forgetting, in some ways.

Already, he couldn’t remember what his father’s hands felt like- Cora-san’s giant hands came to mind instead, the way he carried and held the kids replacing any sense-memory of his parents’ embrace.

The details of his family were fuzzing around the edges, like a worn photograph- what was Lami's favorite ice cream? How had mother worn her hair? What color was that tie father always wore? They would be so disappointed in him, angry for forgetting. He didn’t even have a shrine or grave or rosary for them.

He hesitated, lip wobbling for a moment between his teeth as he thought. No, they wouldn’t be angry. He knew that. They would want him to be happy, to grow up and live and find family where he could.

He couldn’t do all of those things, still couldn’t bring himself to hope to live, but he wouldn’t waste time with the others, not anymore. He had so little of it left- he should enjoy this while he had the chance.

He wasn’t replacing his family- just… adding to it. His parents would’ve loved Cora-san, and- and Lami would be just about Baby 5’s age now. He could admit he loved them, if only to himself.

---

Baby knew something had changed, even before the call came. Law had gotten up first that morning, and made breakfast. And he wasn’t even scowling! She carefully didn’t mention it, in case he’d just forgotten to put it on this morning.

It clicked when he woke up their guardian- sleeping late for the first time since they’d started this journey, surprisingly- and called him ‘Cora-san’.

It was such a little thing, but all of them knew what it meant, Cora-san especially, by his shocked gape that flipped into open elation. Law flushed, insisted he not make a big deal out of it, but Cora-san was beaming now, the irrepressible smile on his mouth almost as wide as the one painted on his face.

Then they got the call, and his smile disappeared.

Hearing Doflamingo’s voice again… it only emphasized the change that had come over her since they’d left the Family.

Once, that voice had made her happy, so proud to be of service to him- now, it made her shudder. He felt slimy and cruel, even over the denden- the snail’s face had stretched into a creepy smile as she watched it in horror.

Cora-san’s face as well had changed, sliding into that flat gaze she knew by now meant he was very carefully keeping himself in check- she didn’t like that mask, because it usually meant he was scared.

She’d held her breath until the call ended, afraid that somehow Doflamingo would know she was there, could catch her up in his strings even across the ocean.

But the news he brought was good- a devil fruit that could help Law get better! Finally, a real cure! She let the breath out in a relieved sigh, and listened in awe as Cora-san described the fruit and its powers, lifting Law high in excitement.

She jumped up and down in happiness, dancing around the two until Cora-san picked her up as well, holding both kids close to himself and doing a giddy spin before he fell over onto his backside. She squealed with laughter at the drop, and she could see even Law couldn’t restrain a grin.

See, she’d known it all along! Law was going to be okay, and everything was going to be alright!

---

It was right after the call about the deal for the fruit that Law took a turn for the worse, a fever holding him tight in its grip.

It was no coincidence, to his mind, that his symptoms had suddenly progressed just as soon as he allowed himself to hope. It was part of why he’d been holding back so long- fate had a habit of scorning him like this. Just when he admitted to himself that he wanted to live was when he was closest to dying.

Hope was painful, so painful, but he refused to go back on his decision now. A cure was in sight, and he’d grasped onto hope with all the will a dying boy could muster. His heartbeat seemed to be a litany of Cora-san’s desperate murmur, ‘Just hold on, please hold on, gotta hold on…’

Both his companions worried after him ceaselessly, Baby 5 with bitten lip and furrowed brow and Cora-san with that tight jaw and hard eyes. He no longer had the desire or the energy to pretend to reject the care, and simply drank it in as if starving, curling instinctively into whatever warmth and comfort was offered.

One of them was always with him- if it wasn’t Cora-san tucking him close, it was Baby 5 lifting his head to her lap and holding his hand.

Right now, it was Cora-san- he’d been bundled into the man’s coat, surrounded by the dense warmth of the feathers. He huddled gratefully into him, the man’s quieting touch sapping at the pain.

Cora-san was sitting cross-legged, folded over him, and Law just stared out from the coat. He’d never paid attention to Cora-san’s legs before, but even moving his head took too much energy, and so he was just staring, eyes not entirely focused.

But something looked off about them- the angle, the way the bones were oriented under the skin. There were lumps where there shouldn’t be. He frowned. The observation came out absently, “Your ankles are… wrong.”

Cora-san froze, breath hitching a moment, imperceptible if he weren’t tucked against the man’s chest. “…Yeah. They are.” “Why?” “Broken too many times as a kid. No treatment. They don’t work right anymore.” He’d fallen into that clipped voice again.

“That’s why you trip all the time.” All he got in response was a noncommittal hum.

His hands, his ankles… All of Cora-san's clumsiness was simply that he’d been shattered to pieces by whatever happened to him as a kid, and never been put back together right. It was a lot less funny now.

He patted Cora-san’s chest comfortingly, snuggling close in a sort of exhausted delirium, “When I’ve got the fruit and I’m all better… I’ll, I’ll fix your legs. I’ll put you back together right. So you won’t be all clumsy anymore.”

The smile on his face then was lopsided, like he was trying not to cry. “I appreciate it, kid. Fixing yourself comes first, though.”

He leaned down, curling over Law, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He could feel the print there, waxy against his skin, but it didn’t bother him anymore, just made him feel warm.

He’d never say it aloud, but Cora-san was comfortable, all big and gentle around him. Even when Law was grown- and he could let himself imagine it now, being grown!- the man would still be twice his size, still able to hold him like this. He hummed in contentment, tucked into Cora-san’s chest, and fell asleep.

Chapter 9: Family

Chapter Text

Law woke with his head against Baby 5’s shoulder- they were sailing again, Minion Island growing ever closer. The kids were settled between the seats of the small boat, the feather coat swaddling them both against the frigid air as Cora-san kept the course.

Baby 5's expression was uncharacteristically severe- not anxious, but determined. Suddenly, she shook her head fervently, and tears welled up in her eyes- he nudged her, concerned.

She blinked, now realizing he was awake, and put a cold hand to his forehead. It was hot, he knew, but it was always this way now- he’d live in a state of fever until they either got the fruit or his body gave out. But that wasn’t why she was about to cry. He nudged again, pointedly.

She shrugged, gazing out to sea. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and finally spoke softly, “Maybe… it wouldn’t be so bad, to be a different person. If… if the people who love me know that new person, then it would be alright.” He blinked, remembering suddenly what she was talking about, and glanced at her, “Have you chosen a name, then?”

She shook her head quickly, “Not yet- once you’re safe, then I’ll pick one. We can be new people together.” She took his hand, grasping it tightly, and he didn’t have it in him to pull away, holding on as much as his weakness would allow.

“I remember, you said… I should be with people because it’s what I want, not just because they need me.” He looked away- he didn’t regret it, it had to be said, but maybe he could’ve been a bit less harsh. He knew she hadn’t developed that coping mechanism for no reason, after all- it was a defense against abandonment, just like his sharp edges and distrust.

She nudged him back, leaning her head against his. “I am… with you because I want to be. I like being needed, but I’m here because I want to be with you and Cora-san. We’re like a family. Not the Family, but… family.”

He bit his lip, took a deep breath, tried to ignore the fractured, vulnerable feeling in his heart and the itch in his eyes. “Okay.”

Maybe they could be new people together- all three of them, free and safe. A family. He began to daydream, mind retreating from the biting cold and the aching pain in his body. He huddled over the little spark in his mind, cradling it close and blowing soft breaths to keep it lit.

An island somewhere- a small one, somewhere temperate (definitely not cold). A little village, with a little house. Two kids and their dad, happy together.

He and Baby 5 could go to school, he’d become a doctor- she could be his nurse, if she wanted, and Cora-san wouldn’t have to lie and put up masks anymore. He could just be their Cora-san, the parent both of them needed, with his two kids in their little house in the little village on the little island, far away from the Family.

It was foolish, he knew- foolish to hope like this. Fate seemed to enjoy tearing everything he loved from him. But he’d been through so much, and was in so much pain- he thought he deserved this daydream, if only for the distraction.

---

He had been faced with the harsh reality of the world very early, and had always had a painfully clear view, although it didn’t stop him from being optimistic in spite of it. He was determined to build the better world he sought, brick by brick with his own bleeding hands if he had to.

In light of that, he had made a vow to himself- both children would make it out, would be free, no matter what he had to do.

He sailed towards Minion Island, knowing in his heart what would happen there. He had long known exactly how he would die- ever since his brother had killed their father with Rocinante still in his arms, he had known Doffy would be the one to kill him as well.

And his brother’s plan to have Rocinante eat the fruit… it only confirmed it. Trading his own brother for eternal life… he doubted any decision had ever been easier for Doffy.

There had been a war within him, earlier, when he was planning. Little Roci cried for his brother, ‘I can’t hurt him, I can’t- he’s my brother!’ Commander Donquixote thundered, ‘But what he's planning-! I have to save Dressrosa!’ Cadet Roci agreed, ‘And there’s all the towns he’s burned, the people he’s hurting. He's my responsibility.’ Rocinante the son murmured to himself, ‘Da is going to be devastated if I don’t come back.’ He was breaking so many promises, to so many people.

And then Cora-san very calmly and very firmly said only two words- ‘My kids’. And there was silence from all of them. All the various people that made up Rocinante were in agreement.

Rocinante had resolved to meet his fate- but his children would be saved, he would ensure it.

---

It was the night before the infiltration. Cora-san had fallen asleep sitting up, holding them both tight, a bubble of silence protecting them from being heard by the nearby pirate base.

They were both tucked together inside the coat, one perched atop each leg. Law was swaddled in his cloak, a vain attempt to keep as much of his fading body heat inside as possible. Baby sat across from him, pulled close into herself against Cora-san’s chest. She could feel his steady heartbeat, even if she couldn’t hear it, and it was comforting.

Baby was quickly approaching another decision within herself- just like when she had realized Doflamingo wasn’t good and she couldn’t follow him anymore. It hurt, every time a birth of some new part of herself she’d never known before, but it felt like growth.

She had done a lot of thinking, and Law was right- she did have something she wanted, just for herself. She wanted a family- not the Family, but this one. This little family, her and Law and Cora-san.

And she wanted one other thing, as well. Everything else, she could figure out later. Once Law was okay.

For now, she could tell that neither kid was likely to get to sleep soon. Law’s eyes were lamps in the darkness, reflecting the light of the moon as he huddled into Cora-san’s chest. They looked at each other, sharing a silent commiseration. Nothing they did made any sound, so they didn't try speaking.

Baby thought for a moment, then started signing, the language they’d been taught back when Cora-san was pretending to be mute. She went slowly, watched Law struggle to focus, to bring his mind to translate. ‘Once upon a time…’

It was a fairytale- just a simple story, but he paid attention as she told it through her hands, gladly taking the distraction.

A prince and princess who ran away from a kingdom under the rule of a cruel king. A mysterious man who took them in and taught them magic, a little cottage in the woods where they all lived together. Grand adventures and fantastic powers and mystical creatures.

She made little knives out of her fingers and mimicked a miniature sword fight as she described a battle between the trio and bandits, and Law huffed a silent laugh.

In the end, the prince and princess and the magic man defeated the cruel king, casting him out of the kingdom, and all lived in peace together.

Law managed a small smile once she’d finished, and signed ‘Good story’. She beamed back at him, suddenly hopeful. Maybe… maybe their fairytale could come true.

Chapter 10: New People

Chapter Text

It was time. Cora-san had gotten them set up in one of the abandoned buildings- far enough from the pirate base to be hidden, but close enough to the cliff for a quick getaway.

He picked up the kids in a big bear hug, settling them down carefully, and gave them both serious nods, “Okay, kids- stay together, stay safe. I’ll be right back.” He left then, disappearing into the snow.

Baby 5 stood watch while Cora-san was gone, both arms transformed into flintlocks- Law just focused on staying conscious, swaddled in blankets.

He held on, just like his heartbeat told him to in Cora-san’s voice- he held on, resolved in his goal. He focused on their little house, their little village- they were so close, so close to being done with it all. Cora-san was going to steal the fruit, Law was going to heal himself, and they were all three going to go off somewhere free and safe.

Baby 5 and he would get to be normal kids- school, friends, a home and a parent to come back to. Birthdays, graduations, family dinners and summer picnics and time- all the things that had previously been torn from him, the things that she had never known. He barely remembered how to be a normal kid, but he’d teach her. She deserved it, too.

And he was going to be a doctor, and save so many lives, and he’d never even think of piracy again, and he’d leave all the hatred behind forever, if he could just have this. If fate would just let him have this little family, after everything he’d been through.

He hadn’t prayed since his home burned, but he prayed now.

Baby 5 suddenly gasped, and he stiffened, following her gaze. There was smoke rising from the base, flames silently licking at the sky. Worry started to churn in his gut, but he took a deep breath, forcibly calmed himself- as long as it was still silent, it was okay.

He closed his eyes for what felt like only a moment, and Cora-san was back, bruises and a wide smile on his face, something in his hand- strange, purple, heart shaped… The fruit!

As soon as he ate it, he felt something change inside him, an indescribable shift like something was sliding into place, and then he was different. It was like a hum under his skin, a vague itch, an alien urge to do something.

Then Cora-san collapsed in the snow, blood pooling under him. He was hurt- badly hurt, by the rattle in his chest that indicated a punctured lung- but he’d survive, strong as he was. He had to survive.

Law grasped for the power inside his skin, but it eluded him, that strange hum refusing to bend to his pleading. He started to panic, inside- what good was this power if he couldn’t use it, if he couldn’t even remove bullets?

Cora-san gritted his teeth, pulled some gauze from his coat and plugged the wounds- Law took a roll of bandage and secured the gauze in place, determinedly tugging it taut. It would do for now, until they could get somewhere safe, where Law could treat them properly.

Cora-san looked up suddenly, gaze distant as if seeing something miles away. His eyes narrowed, some strange determination taking his expression, and Law felt something invisible wrap around him- a different kind of silence, almost like an embrace.

He instructed Baby 5, “Go ahead to the boat, get it ready- we’ll have to make a quick exit.” She hesitated, “But- you’re hurt-“ “I’ll be fine, Baby. Go on.”

She still looked unsure, biting her lip with worry. He brushed her hair out of her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and gave her a wide smile. “I love you. You’ll be alright.”

She pursed her lips, trying valiantly not to cry, and nodded firmly, turning and running for the cliff where they’d left the boat.

He took another deep, rattling breath, this time addressing Law, “Before we go- there’s a message that needs to be passed to the Marines. This will save an island called Dressrosa. I’m sorry to ask this of you, but- there’s so many lives at stake.”

Law didn’t think any further than obeying- he’d pass on the message, and- and then they could leave, they could get off this horrid island! Just pass the message, and they’d all get away together!

Maybe- maybe he could even find someone who would help! He didn’t care if it was a Marine, as long as they helped Cora-san!

---

Rocinante felt it the moment his brother stepped foot on Minion Island- Doffy had always had that sort of conqueror’s presence, the kind that couldn’t be hidden. It was how Rocinante had managed to develop his own nigh-invisible one, easily concealed in the shadow of his brother.

He used it now, bundling his presence together around both kids and hushing it- he couldn’t hold it across long distances, but his brother would be more likely to overlook the kids, at least.

Rocinante gritted his teeth, baring them in defiance. His life was forfeit the second Doffy had made land- but his kids would be safe, they would make it out. He bent all his will towards that end.

He thought fast- could Baby carry Law, get him to the boat while Rocinante acted as a distraction? No, they wouldn’t willingly leave him behind- they were both too smart, they’d know what he was planning. He’d have to think of something else.

Maybe… he had to separate them, just for a few minutes- they’d find each other, and by the time they did, there would be nothing else to do but run.

He hadn’t planned for Vergo, unfortunately. Or the birdcage- his brother was truly monstrous. Saving Dressrosa was a lost cause now, he feared.

But his plan remained the same, albeit with Law much closer to danger than he liked- he could feel Baby, frantic and terrified but most importantly, outside the cage.

Rocinante was knife-sharp in his determination- none of these setbacks would stop him from seeing his boy safe as well. Steam puffed from his nostrils like smoke, blood dripping from his mouth, and he’d never felt so much like a real demon than in that moment, protective and hellish.

He took a deep breath, Law silenced and hidden in the chest behind him, and tucked his presence around the boy to keep Doffy from sensing him, exposing himself instead. He brought forth the part he'd always tried to keep hidden, channeled that righteous fury the way Garp had trained him- sharp and cold and utterly controlled- and called out to Doffy, a silent roar of challenge.

It was time to face his brother, demon to demon.

Rocinante had spent quite a long time pretending to be a mute, clumsy oaf, but when it came down to it, he was just as skilled at manipulation as his brother. Less willing to use it, more soft and empathetic, but capable all the same.

And he knew Doffy wouldn’t leave this island until he’d won something. Rocinante just had to give him a win that wasn’t the fruit or the kids.

Little did Doffy know, his younger brother would outsmart him- Rocinante did not face him with the goal of surviving, was not defeated by his brother’s bullets.

No, Rocinante was fighting an entirely different battle, and Doflamingo played directly into his hands by taking his life, overlooking entirely in his distracted anger the two absences at his brother’s side, the treasures the other was hiding.

The goal Doflamingo had come to the island for was forgotten in light of Rocinante’s betrayal, just as the younger had intended.

His kids were safe- that was all that mattered, Rocinante mused as he lay bleeding out in the snow. His death was a triumph, because it meant that his kids would survive, free from Doffy’s clutches. He smiled. It all worked out, here at the end.

---

Law cried, grief-stricken and gasping and utterly silent. It all went wrong.

Vergo, Doflamingo… Law would look back on it all later and think, ‘my fault, it’s my fault’. He would analyze every moment in his head, looking for where it could have gone differently- but here, in this moment, the future had narrowed down to one horrible path.

Forward, without Cora-san.

And forward he walked, as Cora-san had bid him, weeping and clinging desperately to the silence while it lasted, pressed onwards by that invisible embrace. Every moment he was still silent was another moment Cora-san was-

Suddenly, screams pierced the air. His own screams, no longer only raw in his throat but now in his ears as well. Cora-san’s silence was gone, that unseen pressure along with it.

He knew in his heart exactly what it meant, and the loss tore open a void inside him, the little spark he’d been protecting blown out in an instant by the howling, biting winds of grief. Something inside him seemed to freeze solid.

His voice soon fractured and broke, hiccuping into quiet, gasping sobs, every audible breath suddenly a pain too terrible to grasp.

There were quick footsteps crunching in the snow, and Baby 5 skidded to a stop in front of him. “There you are- I was so scared, that cage came down behind me and it was so sharp, and I couldn’t cut through it, and- and-“

She trailed off, blades wavering back into arms, “W-Where’s Cora-san?” He whimpered, voice too raw to scream anymore, but the grief too close to keep quiet.

Baby 5 repeated, “Where’s Cora-san? Law?”

He couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t meet her eyes, and nearly broke down again when he did. Her lip was wobbling, caught between her teeth, eyes pleading, round and brimming with tears. The kiss print was still on her forehead, bold in the center.

She shook her head suddenly, disbelieving whatever she saw on his face, and made to run past him, back towards… back to Cora-san.

He didn’t want to see the body, to remember him that way, their goofy, lovable guardian suddenly cold and lifeless- and he didn’t want her to see it either. Cora-san wanted them to remember him smiling, and so they would.

He took a deep breath and her hand, began leading her back the way she’d come. “He… he wanted us to get away, to be free. We need to do that.” He could hear her strangle a whine at the back of her throat, gulping down the noise, and she grasped his hand back. “Okay."

---

They had long finished crying, tear tracks freezing on little faces- a numbness had settled over the pair as they sailed to Swallow island. There was a cave there, near the shore- they’d scoped it out days ago while waiting for the Barrels Pirates to arrive.

Baby turned her arm into a speargun and shot, anchoring the projectile between boulders on shore and dragging the little boat up onto the gravelly beach. They were both fruit users now, so they had to be extra careful with the ocean.

She shouldered their packs- Cora-san hadn’t left much behind, always carrying most of his belongings in the many pockets of his coat, but there was still food and water.

Law was trembling as he clambered down, body shivering uncontrollably- they had to get somewhere warm and safe quickly.

She wished fervently for Cora-san’s warm embrace, the complete comfort and safety of being tucked close to him under that heavy feather coat- but shook herself out of it quickly. Wishing would do no good. It was just her and Law now.

She took his hand, grasping it tightly. She smiled, wide and wobbly and wet with tears, and the grin must’ve looked like Cora-san's- it felt like his- because Law froze for a moment. “I want to be called Rosie.”

He stared at her, shocked, before a weak smile managed to cross his face. “Okay, Rosie.”

The decision hurt, that growing, stretching pain again. She didn’t want to be a person Cora-san didn’t know, would never get the chance to know.

But he had given his life to give them the opportunity to be new people, for Law to live and her to escape the Family, and she owed it to him to take that chance.

Besides, she really didn’t want to be Baby 5 anymore. Had just been Baby for a while anyway, since Cora-san never used the number- he didn’t seem to like calling her by a number.

Rosie was a nice, soft name- Cora-san's mother had sounded nice, a woman who hummed and gardened and brushed her boy’s hair gently. It was the kind of person she wanted to be- could be, now.

They were halfway to the cave when Law passed out, eyes rolling back and knees giving out- Rosie hefted him to her back and continued trudging up the hill.

They would make it, they both would- they would be new people together, and live on.

Chapter 11: Freedom

Chapter Text

Law didn’t remember getting to the cave, but he woke to a small fire at its mouth, fish roasting around it. B- Rosie was sitting nearby, staring outside- her eyes were puffy and red, vessels burst in the sclera and face flushed and swollen from crying. But she was calm and silent, sitting tucked into herself tightly.

He was slow to sit up, body aching from Vergo’s beating and weak from the poison, and Rosie came to his side, put the waterskin to his lips and a fish skewer in his hand.

She bit her lip, eyes dropped to the ground, “What- what happened?” His eyes ached again, but he was too numb for tears. “I took the message to the marines, but… it was a spy. He beat us badly. Doflamingo put up that cage. Cora-san… put me in a chest, made me quiet. Doflamingo came. He shot him, five times. I ran.”

He understood now, the clipped, report-like sentences Cora-san had reverted to when talking about hard subjects. It was all he could do to get the words out, but she deserved to know. He knew how her mind worked, how it would create scenarios, each worse than the last, because he was the same. Knowing was bad, but not knowing was worse.

There were things he didn’t tell her, though. He didn’t tell her that Doflamingo- the man she had looked up to, nearly worshipped for so long- had not once even asked after her, as if she had never existed to him.

He also didn’t tell her the worst part- that was too much. Because Cora-san knew- he had known before he ever stepped foot on Minion Island that he was going to die there. And he did it anyway, all to save Law.

He hardened his grief to resolve, leaning on it for strength. He wasn’t going to let Cora-san’s sacrifice be for nothing- he’d been given a new chance to live, and he was going to grasp it with both hands.

He felt for the power within him, that shift that had happened when he ate the fruit. It was there, like a hum under his skin- some kind of itch at his fingertips. He reached for it, pulled it to the surface.

Something flickered in his hand, a flash of blue. He tried again, steadying it between both palms and growing it. It looked like Cora-san’s, the same sort of bubble, only shades lighter.

He took a moment to be thankful that it was so similar- both because it was a connection, just the smallest thing he could keep of their lost guardian, and because Cora-san had explained how it worked.

He experimented with the powers for a while, to test them and ensure they could do what he needed. Then he got to work, slowly pulling the deposits to the surface, concentrating them there, and scraping them away.

Rosie was the perfect nurse as he operated on himself, sponging his face and handing him exactly what he needed before he could even ask for it. She watched the bucket by his side fill with the vile white substance with a measure of curious, yet detached, horror, but her hands were steady and her eyes sharp.

He was panting by the time he’d extracted the underlying deposits from his right leg, having started there to avoid doing irreparable damage if he messed up. He already felt lighter in a way, the timer of his lifespan further from running out.

But there was still so far to go, and his vision was crowding with black spots. He made to start on the other leg, but Rosie shook her head, “That’s enough for now- you need to rest.”

He made to retort- he finally knew what he was doing, and he was so close to being cured forever, exhaustion be damned- but Rosie fixed him with a tight look. “Don’t leave me alone.”

He froze at that, all fight in him dying, and sighed. “Wake me in four hours, then you can sleep, and then we’ll resume.” She nodded in assent, leaving her place at his side to sit by the mouth of the cave, sharp eyes trained for movement.

Law laid down, exhausted and cried out and numb, but less full of poison than before. He bundled up, pressing his back against the cave wall, and closed his eyes. Before sleep could claim him, however, he murmured, “I won’t- I promise.”

---

While Law slept, Rosie stood guard, and she thought.

A storm raged outside the cave, some terrible god of the sky roaring down his anguish and grief like she wished she could. She stared out into the sheets of rain, the wind rattling the trees like ghosts barely visible through the downpour.

In the wake of the storm, everything was quiet- almost silent after the bone-shaking roars of thunder- and she cried once more, muffling herself to keep from breaking it.

She was Rosie, and today was her birthday. The day she’d become a new person. She didn’t know the date of her actual birth, so when she’d come to the Family, Giolla had decided that day would be her birthday (‘The day our sweet little Baby 5 was born!’).

She didn’t want that anymore- she wasn’t from the Family anymore. Baby 5 had been. But Rosie was from Cora-san.

She had been right, in a way, when she had feared being subsumed by the new person she’d become, replaced entirely. Rosie didn’t feel at all like the person Baby 5 had been, as if they were two separate entities.

And she felt more whole for it. Rosie was a full person, where Baby 5 had been a facsimile of one. Cora-san had done that, had helped make her a real person.

A thought struck her, sudden as a clap of thunder. Had Cora-san… died alone? He’d given them his lighter and knife, the pieces of his friends- so SY and BT hadn’t been with him. She thought- was there anything she and Law had given him?

He had the drawing she’d made of them- just a silly little thing, Cora-san in the middle holding hands with the kids on either side of him, all smiling- she’d seen him tuck it safely in the breast pocket of his shirt. At least he’d had that.

Oh! MD had been with him, as well. His trusty flintlock, his partner. He hadn’t died alone then, not really. It was… not exactly comforting, but… a settling thought, one that let her lungs expand again to take in air and keep breathing.

She had MD as well, in a way- one of the weapons her body knew as its own, could manifest in herself. She did so now, clutching the replica to her chest in a vain attempt to be close to their lost guardian.

When Law woke, she was still in her position at the cave mouth, huddled into herself. She spoke quietly, “I used to hate silence, ‘cause it meant I was alone. But now… it’s like he’s here, still.”

She couldn’t look up, eyes fixed on her hands where they hooked around her knees, didn’t move even as quiet footsteps sounded and Law settled at her side, pulling his cloak around both of them. It wasn’t Cora-san’s coat, but it was still comforting.

She was crying now, silent tears falling from her eyes. “He didn’t know the name I picked.” Law looked down, bit his lip, and leaned his head against hers, “I think he did. We only discussed that one name, and the look on your face was pretty determined. He was… good at knowing these things.”

She nodded, muffling a sob, and turned to press her face into Law’s shoulder- Cora-san probably did know she was going to be Rosie. He was a spy, he knew things. She had to think he knew.

There was silence for a while, then Rosie spoke again, voice steady this time. “There was... another boy, older than you. He tried to drag me away, said it was dangerous- but I stayed.” Law hummed in acknowledgement, “Doflamingo got a transmission while we were in there, said a boy had been taken in by the marines. They thought it was me.”

She nodded- so the other boy had made it to safety, then. “Guess we should thank that boy for helping us escape, huh?” He huffed in response, “We should hope he doesn’t turn us in, instead.”

For some reason, she didn’t think he would. He was scared, but he’d also tried to protect her as well. His eyes had been kind.

---

They continued work, clearing Law's body of the poison bit by bit in silence, until the quiet was suddenly broken by the thin clatter of metal, and Law cursed, “sh*t, my- my last scalpel broke.”

His eyes flicked up to her uncertainly, “You’ll… have to make a trip into the village, steal from a doctor’s office-“

Rosie stuck a hand out, transforming her index finger into a long, thin blade. “Use me.” He hesitated a moment, meeting her eyes- she nodded firmly, and he took her hand in his own, manipulating the blade as he would a scalpel to continue his work.

This was… trust. Him trusting her to be still and pliable, to be a tool in his hand, and her trusting him to use her, to wield her and not make her a weapon. Her hand was in his chest cavity, her blades capable and still in his trained hand.

There was silence for a long while as they worked together, and for only as long as it lasted, they could pretend there was a third presence there with them.

It was several long hours before he finally flopped back- it was done. He was cured. He ached all over, was exhausted beyond belief, but a scan showed no heavy metals still in his system.

Tears started to burn at the edges of his eyes, and he struggled to keep from crying aloud as his chest began to heave with quiet sobs. Everything was draining from him then- the mixed rage-betrayal-pain of the past three years fell away, leaving only grief-hope-relief-loss in their wake.

Rosie looked down at him, expression a perfect mirror of raw, overwhelmed relief and tears falling freely from her eyes as she clasped his hand tightly, “You’re okay now- you’re free. We’re both… free.”

The words rang in him, sinking into his heart like a balm. It was the heaviest weight taken off his shoulders, and for a moment he felt he was floating without it.

'Are you watching, Cora-san?’, he thought. ‘I’m cured, just like you said. I’m going to live. We’re free.’

Chapter 12: Blood

Chapter Text

They slept the night in the cave- huddled together, cold without the warmth that usually cradled them- and set out the next day. He still felt raw and weak, but he was regaining strength steadily.

Their little boat had been lost in the enormous storm earlier, so there was nowhere to go but into town. But he was hesitant. The Family had left, but he couldn’t be sure they weren’t searching for the kids- he’d heard what Doflamingo said. The man had plans for him. They had to hide, to go… somewhere.

Cora-san hadn’t told them where, hadn’t given them any plans for afterward (because he knew there wouldn’t be an afterward for him). And he’d been so careful in omitting the identities of the people in his stories that they didn’t know who they could turn to.

Would the man who had looked after Cora-san help them? Or SY? Or the man he’d been calling- ‘Rice Cakes’-who’d given him the information on the deal? They didn’t even know who these people were.

But… Cora-san had said they would be making enemies out of everyone by stealing the fruit- they couldn’t trust anyone now. They were truly on their own. The only way to stay safe was to stay hidden, under the radar and out of sight.

Rosie hummed, an idea brightening her eyes, “They’d be looking for two kids, right? Not one little boy.” She took his hand, and within a moment was gone, a dagger lying in his palm instead. It spoke, “It’s like Cora-san told us- hiding in plain sight.”

Law tried his best to loosen up, to act normal. ‘If you act like you belong, no one will question you’, he remembered, repeating it like a mantra in his head. He walked into the town, clutching Rosie’s hilt for comfort under his cloak.

He was painfully aware of the white spots on his face- they would begin to fade now that the underlying deposits were gone, but it would take a while, and in the meantime, he was a signpost of his fallen country.

Would these people recognize it, or had they finally gone far enough into the barren wilds of the North that the average villager knew nothing of the terror of the disease?

A woman locked eyes with him across the street and changed direction to approach, and he panicked, fleeing into an alley and following it all the way to a junkyard on the outskirts. He wasn’t willing to risk discovery- not now that he finally had a will to live.

But he soon found they weren’t the only ones in the junkyard- a rustling noise alerted him to another being, a shadow with glowing eyes that approached from the darkness under the piles of scrap wood. Rosie seemed to thrum in his hand, ready to protect, but then the being emerged into the light, and-

…A polar bear? He’d seen them in books, but never in real life! And so far from the pole, too- why was this one so close to a human town?

The dagger in his hand twitched, and then Rosie was there next to him. She bounced on the balls of her feet, hands fisted in glee, “He’s so fluffy!!!” He could see the stars in her eyes, and sighed. Rosie was so weak to anything soft and fluffy.

The bear shrieked as she seemingly appeared from nowhere, recoiling back and falling over a plank of wood. Law winced, the sound aggravating his seemingly-permanent headache, “Can you be quiet?” The bear clapped its paws over its mouth, “Sorry, sorry.”

Law stopped. “Wait, why can you talk?” The bear stood, dusted off its… were those overalls? Was the polar bear wearing overalls? “I’m a mink.”

His eyes narrowed- he didn’t know what that was. Rosie did, apparently, because she gasped, smacking his arm excitedly. “They were in one of the stories I read! Animal-people with magic lightning powers! They come from an island that moves all around the sea because it’s not really an island, it’s actually a giant elephant!”

He glared in suspicion- there was no way that was actually real… But the bear nodded, no sign of falsehood in his expression. Law blatantly refused to say anything, only sighing heavily and suspending for the moment his immediate disbelief. It wasn’t the priority at the moment.

“If you’re from… a giant elephant, then how are you here?” The bear shivered, held itself. “I… I washed up here, during that awful storm. I- I was looking for my big brother, but- I got on the wrong ship, and then I got lost!”

Something in the bear’s little black eyes was pleading, afraid and lonely, and Rosie bit her lip, sympathetic- he sighed again, preemptively this time. No doubt they'd be keeping the bear.

Rosie took his paw in her hand, “You can come with us.” She nudged Law, “Right?” “...Fine.”

Why not make them even more conspicuous? A boy with the white patches of Amber Lead, a girl who turned into weapons, and a talking polar bear. All perfectly synonymous with ‘hidden’ and ‘under the radar’.

They did manage to remain mostly unnoticed for the next few days, stealing food and maps in an attempt to make a plan. The bear- his name was Bepo, they learned- was good with maps, but he didn’t know the North like they did.

Not that it mattered much, because they had almost nothing to go on. None of the newspapers discussed what happened on Minion- of course, the Marines would’ve covered it up. They- or the Family- could be hovering nearby, just waiting for the kids to show themselves.

He wished fervently that he knew what Cora-san had been doing all those times he came back with information, even if only to have some font of knowledge, some reliable way to come up with anything useful. He hated not knowing, being so helplessly unprepared for what lay beyond.

Apparently, fate had plans for them anyway, because the kids happened to be trekking to the stream to fish when the peace of the snow-iced forest was shattered by screaming.

Law knew that kind of scream- high and pained and desperate, like someone being torn apart- and he immediately flashed back to the city, to the pleas of the people trapped in burning buildings, his countrymen cut down in the streets as they fled.

He was struck still, but Rosie grabbed his hand and then they were running, towards the screaming. He shut away the part of his brain that urged him to flee- the soldiers were coming, he had to hide- and focused on he could help, there weren’t any flames or soldiers here, he had to help.

The noise faded out- they ran faster, knowing exactly what that was likely to mean, and soon came upon the source.

It was a scene of horror, pristine white snow marred with bright arterial blood, and gunshots rang in his mind- bang bang bang bang bang- before he tore himself from the memory, forcing his mind into the present.

Two boys- teenagers, limbs lanky and disproportionate- had been horribly mauled by something, torn, mangled bodies steaming in the snow.

He acted fast, racing to the side of one of the teens- this one still had a pulse. The other he could hear breathing, a horrid, wet, gasping noise. They were losing blood fast, already in shock, but if he operated now, he could save them.

Suddenly, Bepo sniffed the air and raised a shaking paw, slowly backing away from the edge of the forest, “Uh- I- I think I found what attacked them!”

A giant shadow emerged from the trees, casting darkness across them. It was an enormous boar, its fur short and bristley over wiry muscles and a humped spine, its tusks blunt and terrible and smeared with blood- the same blood that stained the snow.

He remained at the boys’ side, a fierce protectiveness suddenly kicking in over what were now his patients, and he paid attention only to staunching the bleeding, even as the beast loomed over them all.

He knew Rosie could take care of it.

---

Rosie stepped quietly between the boar and the others, the snow falling around them seeming to hush the landscape- even the grunts of the animal and the harsh, wet rattles of the injured boys’ breath seemed distant now.

Her eyes met the boar's- its unmoving gaze was flat, no intelligence there but no cruelty, either- only the ferocious, wild need to be the one that walked away from the fight. It knew it was no longer the most dangerous being here.

The beast huffed out a grunt, stomping its front hoof once in warning, then charged, head low to gore her. Rosie stood her ground, setting herself firm and breathing deeply.

She raised her right arm, transforming it into MD’s likeness, and let that stillness take over her frame, Cora-san’s voice humming instructions in her memory. She knew she would hit her target- there was no other option.

She fired once directly between the boar’s eyes, and it dropped like a stone, skidding and collapsing in the snow, never to rise again. A cold wind blew past, and she could almost feel a large hand pat her shoulder approvingly.

Then the world settled back in, frigid air shocking her out of that focus, and she turned to Bepo quickly, pointing at the boys, “Can you carry them?” He startled, jumping into action, “I- yes!” “I saw chimney smoke not long ago- there must be a house nearby!”

He picked up the boys, Law between them still doing what he could, and they ran.

---

It was a short race to the house Rosie had marked, and from there, he couldn’t focus on anything but the life rapidly bleeding from the teenagers, and how he could wrest those fraying souls back into their bodies.

He didn’t have any blades- he turned to Rosie, beckoning her over. “I need an incision here- two inches deep.” “Right!”

She became everything he needed while he worked- scalpel, needle, forceps, clamp. The blue bubble of his power surrounded them at alternate moments, whenever he deemed its use necessary for the operation. The drain of it tugged at his energy, made him sway with exhaustion, but he continued on.

He wasn’t sure how long it had taken- it could have been only hours, but it felt like forever- but eventually both teens were stable and put back together. He’d done all he could- the rest was up to the patients. He passed out.

Law woke cushioned by something incredibly soft, a fluffy substance clutched in his hands, and floated for a while, half-conscious in the comfort of it. There was only one thing he knew that soft and plush- Cora-san must’ve covered them with it again during the night, tucked them in.

But it didn’t smell like Cora-san- that acrid but comforting salt and gunpowder and cigarette smoke and whatever feathers smelled like-, but of blood and fish-oil and animal musk instead.

The memory hit him with the force of a blow, freezing him over once more. Right. Cora-san was dead. This was… the polar bear, right. Bepo. His throat was already closing in grief, but he forced it back viciously. He had things to do.

He managed to crack his eyes open, but quickly squinted them shut again, the white of the bear’s fur under him far too bright. A headache needled viciously at the backs of his eyes, and he decided that maybe he should do some research on the brain soon. Being able to cure his own migraines would be an excellent tool.

But for now, awareness called- he had two patients, and he needed to check on them.

He didn’t get far before Rosie’s voice rang out, “Don’t let him move.” Two big, fluffy arms obediently wrapped around him, securing him to the softness.

Rosie called over, “They’re both safe, I’m changing bandages now. The red one had a slight fever during the night, but it’s since gone down, and both have stable heart rates. Tissue looks to be taking, no signs of infection.” He nodded to himself, taking in the information passively.

Then there was a hand on his forehead, gauging his temperature. He didn’t feel feverish, just exhausted and weak. She seemed to agree, because the straw of a juice box was placed to his lips.

He managed a few sips while she petted the hair out of his face. “You really overextended yourself, so you need to stay down for now. I’ll look after the patients.” He gave an affirmative hum, before slipping back into sleep.

The next time he woke, it was to a much more cooperative body and the sound of low conversation. Rosie was talking to one of the boys- ‘the red one’, she’d called him, apparently after his ginger hair. He couldn’t hear what they said, but the boy was nodding along.

He sat up slowly- Bepo was still cushioning him, but appeared fast asleep this time, and he cautiously clambered down to avoid waking him and joined Rosie with the patients. She was standing atop a chair, hanging a blood bag on what appeared to be a coat rack, and he absently fixed a kink in the tube.

“Where’d the blood bags come from?” “Wolf.” “Who-“ “The guy whose house we took over. He reacted very calmly for someone who came home to find children performing surgery on his kitchen table.” “…Huh.” He must’ve been too absorbed in the operation to notice someone coming in.

The clink of ceramic drew his attention, and there was an old man sitting at the very same kitchen table that now had blood stains on it, drinking tea and looking utterly nonplussed. He assumed that must be Wolf.

Law checked the boys' progress himself- good, everything was holding together. Pulses strong, pupils reacting normally, sutures tight and seams showing no sign of rejection. They’d survived the night, so their chances of making it were high.

The red one was even conscious, although hazy and only half-coherent- he’d at least been intact, although his guts had spilled from him in places. His hand grasped Law's weakly, “Thanks- we’d be goners if it weren’t for you and your sister.”

Sister, huh? He supposed they did look similar- both had dark hair, and his skin, although normally much darker, was currently pale from the illness, barely a shade off of hers.

He couldn’t say he hadn’t thought it before, but had mainly avoided the topic in his mind- he had a sister, and she was dead. He loved Rosie, but she couldn’t replace his sister.

But… he already had a father and mother, and yet still thought of Cora-san as a parent. Maybe…he could have two sisters.

He was drawn out of his thoughts when the old man- Wolf- clapped his hands suddenly, standing. The red one flinched, his hand tightening against Law’s own. “Alright- now that no one’s ‘bout to keel over- baths, all of yeh. Th’ ones what can stand, anyway.”

Right- it was at that moment he noticed that all of them were filthy and covered in gore. Rosie had done her best, sponged the blood from the boys’ visible skin to keep away infection, but what little clothing they had left was torn and stained.

He and Rosie were still in the same clothing they’d worn on Minion, and Bepo- the poor bear was covered in blood, fur matted and crusted from having carried the injured boys. Getting clean… just hadn’t been a priority.

But now that no one was in danger, he suddenly felt disgusting, and gladly took the offer. Luckily, Rosie had grabbed both their packs, so they had extra clothes to change into afterwards, before Wolf shoved bowls of soup into their hands.

He and Rosie ate ravenously, themselves now uncaring of the bloodstained kitchen table he knew for a fact he had placed organs on not long ago. It must have been over a day since they’d found the boys, based on how his stomach clenched for the taste of food.

The old man sat with his tea in one hand, the other holding a hair dryer, blowing hot air onto a newly clean Bepo, who was perched on the rug with an expression like a chastened puppy.

The bear was slowly transforming under the heat, from a ragged drowned thing to a white puffball, almost entirely round with his fur fluffed out so much.

Wolf was… strange, even for their warped definition of the term. He spoke mostly to himself, and his hands were forever busy with strange devices and tools.

His house was full of contraptions that wound around entire rooms- levers led to rolling marbles led to swinging things led to miniature ships moving led to… the tea being poured.

It was impressively precise, but frustrating in its unnecessary complexity, and Law’s efficiency mindset immediately rankled at it. The constant noise made him twitch as well, instincts on high alert.

Now it was Rosie’s turn to pass out, having remained with the patients the entire time, so Law looked after them while Wolf collected all the stained garments to wash. Law very nearly hissed at the man when he tried to take his hat to do the same, so they compromised, with Wolf taking a toothbrush to it instead, gently cleaning the blood away.

He sat between the patients, absently monitoring them at alternate moments and also keeping a suspicious eye on the old man. Hours passed with little change, the only disturbance being the aggravating tumble and whistle of Wolf’s inventions as he drank cup after cup of tea.

Rosie woke that evening, bleary-eyed and swaying, and stumbled over to drop down at his side. Her hair was a mess, tangled and knotted, and he searched her bag for the brush, setting himself to taming it. She never felt put-together until her hair was brushed and tied with the bow, he knew. She only hummed tiredly, leaned against his side, and was asleep again in moments.

And he couldn’t just get up and move, after that. After finishing Rosie’s bow, he pulled out BT, fiddling absently with the knife between his hands.

He soon felt eyes on him, and glanced up to see the other one awake this time- his black hair had a curious texture and was matted close to his head. The boy followed the swinging of the blade with his strange, pale eyes, and muttered drunkenly, “Cool, you’ve got a balisong!” “What?” “That knife- ‘s our name for it.”

Law blinked, then asked, suddenly intent, “Do you know how to use one?” He deliberately kept from mentioning BT as a living being, unsure yet of whether to be open about that. A shrug, then a flinch, “I can do a few tricks, yeah.” “Teach me.”

Law glanced at the boy again, his newly reattached arm bound to his chest, and added, “…Once your arm is healed, I mean.”

He sighed to himself- once they were healed, he’d probably never see the boys again, actually. They looked like street urchins, would probably flee the moment they could stand. “Nevermind."

There was a poke at his arm, and the red one's dark eyes caught his from under his ragged hair, more soberly than Law would’ve thought him capable of at the moment. “Hey, no. We’re sticking with you, kid. We take life debts seriously, here.”

The other boy nodded fervently, giving him a weak thumbs up, and hesitated before speaking, "Not like we have much anywhere else to go, anyway.”

Rosie was awake now, too, eyes half-open against his shoulder, but she hadn’t moved. He glanced at her, then back to the boys, “We… don’t have anywhere to go, either.” Not like Cora-san had left them with a plan, or next steps to take without him. “We’re in hiding, haven’t figured out what to do yet.” The red one gave a solid nod, “Then we can figure it out together.”

Rosie wasn’t satisfied, though. She sat up, suppressing a yawn, crossed her arms over her chest, and frowned- he’d noticed that she was growing more questioning of people and their motives, and he considered it a good thing.

“If you’re going to swear a life debt to someone, shouldn’t you know who they are first? He just said we’re in hiding- we could be dangerous criminals.” Law supposed that, technically, they were, but said nothing.

The black-haired teen tried to shrug, thought better of it, and dipped the uninjured shoulder instead. His voice was quiet, barely more than a murmur when he spoke, “We know who you are. You’re the kind of people who’d go outta your way to save two half-dead street rats. That’s good people.”

The red one was louder, and grinned widely, "But since it matters, I’m Shachi and he’s Penguin. We’re brothers. Nice to meet ya!”

Law crossed his arms, absently mimicking Rosie, and looked at the two suspiciously, “You don’t look related.” “Huh?” “You said you’re brothers, but you don’t share a resemblance.”

The boys glanced at each other, shrugged. The quiet one- Penguin- spoke up, “We made a blood pact. That makes us brothers.” Law tilted his head in thought, then nodded, satisfied by the logic.

Rosie and he glanced at each other, sharing a silent look, before she shrugged in acceptance. Their little group was five, now.

They stayed with the old man another two weeks, until the boys were out of the woods, if not fully recovered- Wolf was nice enough, but all the kids had the instincts of street urchins, and retained the same itchy wariness around most adults. And the constant noise of his contraptions pricked at Law’s migraines like needles.

With the addition of the two boys at least came a place for the five kids to stay- an old hunter’s shack out in the woods, decrepit but sturdy. It was as good a place as any- away from prying eyes, a place to recover and figure out their next steps.

Still a far cry from the little house in a little village he’d imagined, and the thought stabbed at him whenever he remembered it.

Why hadn’t he stopped being such a brat earlier? Why hadn’t he accepted Cora-san until it was too late? He’d spent months of their journey holding himself at arm’s length, not allowing himself to accept or seek out the man’s affection, and now he’d never get the chance again.

He’d known he was on limited time, but he’d thought it was him whose time was running out, hadn’t thought there could be a chance of him being the one left behind to feel like this.

Rosie at least could say that she hadn’t wasted time, hadn’t deliberately denied opportunities to share moments with Cora-san. It had only been those last three weeks when Law had really allowed himself to accept the man, the one he now considered a second father.

He resolved himself- he wasn’t going to waste any more time with the one person he had left. He was going to hold onto what was left of his little family.

He found the boys repairing a torn fishing net, and sat down with them. “Teach me how to do that blood pact.”

As evidenced by the name, the pact did involve blood- cutting each other and mixing the blood between them. Law didn’t like the thought of opening a wound on his palm- he was a doctor, his hands were the most important things he had besides his brain- but the point of the cuts was that the blood would mingle between them, and so doing it anywhere else would just be awkward. He couldn’t picture touching shoulders with Rosie to have the same kind of emotional profundity. The heel of the palm, nearest the pinky finger, was the best option, then.

Rosie made a blade of her finger, very similar to the scalpel he’d healed himself with, and he used BT, for the symbolism of it.

She gave him her hand, holding it out to be cut, and he slowly drew BT across the skin, blood beading bright red in its wake. He thought a moment, then bit the blade in a little deeper to show he meant it- this was supposed to scar. A little bit of pain for a lifelong bond.

She took his hand and did the same- the first time any of her blades had actually drawn his blood, he realized.

They clasped hands, and he felt the sting of the wound, the hot pulse of blood between them. He imagined it was doing something, something real and tangible to seal the pact. “That makes us siblings, alright? I’m your brother now, and you’re my sister.”

She nodded firmly, holding his hand tightly. “And Cora-san is our dad.” He bit his lip hard to keep it from quivering, “Yeah.”

Their little family was three people, even if only two of them were still alive.

Chapter 13: Quiet

Chapter Text

The five of them lived as sort-of feral children on the outskirts of the town. The shack out in the woods was their home base, but they knew they were welcome with Wolf whenever they needed something.

The old man was strange and unpersonable, but kind enough, and he didn’t ask questions. The kids could do odd jobs for him in exchange for food or a bit of money whenever needed.

After a few weeks, they’d lived on the fringes long enough that the townsfolk accepted them as the local street urchins, no longer giving them more than a passing glance in the market. Some were more sympathetic than others, the old ladies offering them produce if they’d help them carry things or hang up the washing.

The boys took on odd jobs, and Bepo found that the bookseller in town, Mister Snowshoe, was willing to teach him how to read and make maps in exchange for helping out.

Meanwhile, Law and Rosie went to the little clinic in town to offer their services. The doctor was a frail old woman everyone called Granny Ermine, and her assistant, her young grandson, Marten, whose hands shook incessantly and whose hair was so white it nearly glowed.

They gladly accepted the help, and Granny asked no questions about where they had learned their skills. And if, whenever the Marines came by, she denied their existence entirely, no one said anything about it.

The old doctor paid them, as well- not much, as this was a poor town, but enough that they could buy food to supplement the fish and rabbits the group hunted.

It was a quiet existence they eked out, most days spent measuring and mixing medicines and running prescriptions to the townspeople.

Only when they were away from the town did the kids dare to use their powers- if there was one thing that would draw Doflamingo’s attention instantly, it would be reports of the fruit and its abilities. Law didn’t know what exactly Doflamingo wanted the fruit for, but he was sure he didn’t want to find out.

Still, Law needed to learn his powers, to figure out how they actually worked, rather than just discovering things on the fly. He refused to be caught unaware again, unable to save someone when he had the ability without the knowledge.

The two boys eagerly offered themselves to the task, “We can practice with you!” He was dubious, “You don’t have devil fruits.” But neither was dissuaded, still annoyingly persistent and cheerful, “But you can test your powers on us!”

He grimaced- that made him seem like some mad scientist. But he supposed he had tested his powers on them already- and on himself first, if he thought about it. And he could fix anything he did to them, probably. And they had volunteered…

So Shachi and Penguin became his willing test subjects, helping him learn how to use and refine various aspects of his powers. It started small, testing out the Scan and Room- before long, he learned he could switch objects within the Room, trading their places. That soon became a go-to, particularly when he wanted to mess with the boys.

Like when Shachi was walking by, showing off an apple Old Man Elk had given him for helping with harvest, juggling it to himself with a bright whistle. Law stole the fruit mid-toss, leaving him holding a pebble. The other pouted at him, and got a smirk in return. Then his expression went contemplative, head tilting in thought.

“So you can switch things, right? Does it have to be something you can see?” “What do you mean?” “Like, if I have something in my pocket, but you can’t see it or know what it is, can you still switch it into yours?” Law shrugged, “Let’s find out.”

He concentrated, and eventually realized he felt something- had… an awareness, of the world within his Room. He could feel everything inside it, to an extent. It was fuzzy, like looking through the frosted windows his parents’ hospital- outlines, vague shapes of things. He focused on one- a small, round shape- and then the pebble in his hand was gone, an acorn in its place.

Shachi felt in his pocket, and pulled out the corresponding pebble. He whooped in glee, stars in his eyes, “So cool! Bro, you could be the best pickpocket in the world!”

They tested further, and it turned out that he didn’t have to know what the object was, only its location and a vague size estimate.

Soon it was easy, swapping things back and forth- he started keeping pockets full of pebbles, just to be able to bring things back and forth.

But he wanted to try something more- maybe swapping big things, like people. That would be useful- like teleportation, almost! Like in the comics!

Shachi and Penguin were excited to test it out- he had them stand side by side, was going to try and switch them, see if that worked. It was harder, took more energy, because they were so much bigger than an acorn.

Something… slipped, he felt it this time, but the boys hadn’t moved. He only sighed and prepared to try again, before noticing they were stock still.

He wasn’t sure what he’d done, but it didn’t explain why they were gaping at each other in utter shock. Until Penguin shrieked, “Holy scallops, you switched us!” He tilted his head in confusion, “Switched you?” Did they mean- “Like, I’m Shachi, and he’s Penguin, but we’re in each other’s bodies! How cool is that!”

Penguin whooped, tossing his hands up, and now Law could see it- that was a purely Shachi thing to do. The boys high-fived each other exuberantly, hooked arms and started to dance around. They weren’t the least bit disturbed by having been pushed out of their own bodies, apparently.

What a strange power! Did that mean the consciousness had a tangible seat in the body? …Had he just proven the existence of a soul?

Needless to say, that aspect of his powers became a favorite to test. It also, surprisingly enough, proved a real blessing on occasion.

He still had bad days, even though he was officially cured- simply drawing the poison out didn’t get rid of the shooting nerve pains and muscle aches that sometimes plagued him. The pain was slowly fading as his condition improved, but there was nothing to do but wait, unfortunately.

Today had been a bad day, and sleep was impossible, even tucked up in a pile with the other kids. He curled into himself, somehow sure that if he made himself as small as possible, maybe the hurt couldn’t find him.

He missed Cora-san’s ability to quiet it, missed being held by the large man’s gentle hands against his steady heartbeat. Tears started pricking at his eyes, entirely unrelated to the ache this time.

Then there was a hand on his shoulder, rubbing comfortingly. Penguin looked at him, eyes sad under his hat. “Switch with me, for tonight. I’ll take it for a while.” Bepo perked up, ears twitching excitedly, “Yeah, we can take turns holding onto the pain!” He blinked, “You’d do that?” He got matching grins from all of them, “Yeah, ‘course!”

Shachi held out a hand, “Wait. Maybe he needs to teach us how to switch back, first?” “Oh. Right.” That took a bit longer, but he thought it helped in the long run- explaining how the powers worked made him focus more on the intricacies of it, helped him understand them better himself. And the scientific fascination kept him distracted from the pain, as well.

But eventually, he felt secure enough in the others’ ability to reverse it, and desperate enough to sleep, to try being someone else.

It was weird, being Penguin- actual teenager proportions, instead of stunted child. Everything was too long- limbs gangly and thin. His eyesight was also strange- the dimness of the little shack at night looked like daytime, but Shachi’s hair was a washed out gray shade instead of its normal red.

But he wasn’t in pain- no more than the average aches of growth spurts, anyway. Sleep was easy that night, even as he was someone else.

They all had a turn being each other, at some point. Except Rosie, who wasn’t interested in being anyone else, now that she was herself. She did have the inexplicable ability to always tell, without fail, who was in what body just at a glance. When asked how she did it, she only shrugged, “I just know.”

Law made note of the differences in anatomy between them all- Bepo was strange, being a bear, but he’d expected that. But being in the boys’ bodies made it very clear just how… interesting they were, medically speaking. Shachi’s teeth were just a bit too sharp, and Penguin’s hair just a bit too downy, and both of them had those strange eyes and swam just a bit too skillfully for normal humans.

Shachi’s sight and hearing were both strange, as well- he seemed to hear things… faster, almost? He wasn’t sure if that was how to describe it, but sound seemed to process more quickly in his head. And he didn’t see colors at all, almost- everything was shades of gray.

When Law asked about it, both shrugged and claimed no knowledge of anything weird in their ancestry- which didn’t mean all that much, as they’d been orphaned young, in a tsunami that swept the village, and didn’t remember much of their respective parents. Still, it was something to think about.

Their experimenting continued, and Law's ease with his powers grew with his skills. Still, he almost passed out the first time he took one of his friends to pieces, accidentally sending Penguin's head into a snowbank.

He’d taken himself apart before, sure, as part of curing himself, but he didn’t realize he could just… take bits off like that, and have them still work! It had been a terrifying moment when he thought he’d killed Penguin.

Until the head started shouting from the snowbank, a mixture of disbelief, excitement, and reassurances once he spotted the terror in Law's face. The teen's body had stumbled over and wrapped him in a clumsy hug, and he’d almost taken another body part off in shock, before rushing to reacquaint Penguin with his body.

That was a power that would need lots more experimenting before he was comfortable with it, for sure.

That didn’t mean he liked them, however. Both boys were utter fools, and too perceptive for their own good. Shachi, especially, noticed far too much- so when Law thought he heard his name while reading and swiveled over to pay attention, the other caught on immediately, “I wasn’t talking to you, I said ‘traveller’.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, “Wait, wait. Do you just… hear any multi-syllable word starting with T and assume someone’s calling you?” Law glared immediately, which he apparently only took as confirmation.

It was only sort of true- Marten had taken to calling him ‘Dr. Trafalgar’, the title a sign of respect for his greater skill, and sometimes when he wasn’t paying attention, he’d perk up at hearing something that sounded like it and tune in.

The two idiots went out of their way, after that, to call him everything that would sound just close enough to get him to pay attention. He was Dr. Triangular, Dr. Tetrodotoxin, and- on one memorable occasion that lost both of them their heads for a full day- Dr. Turkeybaster. So, no, he was not fond of the boys. Not at all.

---

Bepo and Rosie, as the two youngest, gravitated towards each other and soon became fast friends. They were the most successful hunters of their little group, with Bepo’s predatory nature and Rosie’s proficiency with weapons, and soon all of them became very accustomed to the taste of fish and rabbit.

Shachi had revealed an interest in leather working, and tanned the hides they returned with to sell in town, and Penguin wasn’t a bad cook, though he didn’t have much of a sense of taste, apparently, and oversalted everything.

Rosie found a sort of calm in hunting, in the snowy hush of the forest- the human and weapon halves of herself met an accord in those times, the discord in her head going quiet as all the parts of her came together, pointed at one goal.

Bepo said that was called ‘instincts’, but Rosie wasn’t sure- unless it was normal to have multiple sets of instincts that were at cross-purposes most times. Maybe it was because she was wielding herself, comforted by having her hand around her own hilt.

Whatever it was, she was falling into a more comfortable relationship with herself and her weapons, was becoming more willing to explore what she could do with them. Law’s words all those months ago about her powers doing best with creativity stuck with her, and she wanted to live up to that potential.

She’d been testing with her blades, trying out new types and sizes- she didn’t try guns while Law was in earshot, now that Cora-san wasn’t here to silence their practice, but blades were fine. Right now, she was practicing with throwing knives- not accuracy, but seeing how many she could make before getting tired.

Bepo was napping in the snow, the boys having set up a checkers board on his belly, playing with quiet determination. Of course, the board moving as it did added an extra rule, that you had to be good enough at balancing your pieces so they didn’t fall, or your move didn’t count. The quiet was only broken by the occasional ’thunk’ of Rosie’s blades hitting the target before dissolving away.

Law had been reading, when all of a sudden, he stood and walked over to the edge of the ice sheet they were sat on, looking out over the water. He stripped off his coat, looking back at the boys with a smirk, “You’ll come get me, right?” Penguin nodded instinctively, “Yeah. Wait, from whe-“

But he’d already dropped into the water. Both teens leapt into action, Penguin following Law and Shachi holding Rosie back from doing the same.

It felt like an eternity he was under, though she was sure it was only moments. Penguin burst out of the water with a splash, beaching himself on the land with Law cushioned atop him.

Her brother was gasping for breath, eyes wide and body trembling- there was a sort of shock in his face.

Rosie felt her face redden with rage, hands fisted by her sides- buzzsaws loud and deadly spun in her knuckles, “What the hell were you thinking?!”

A fierce grin spread across Law’s face, and he barked a hysterical laugh, “I didn’t want to be taken off guard if it happened during combat! Now I know what it feels like!”

She wanted to check him over, but first had to calm down enough that she wouldn’t worry about turning into anything sharp. Instead, she directed Penguin to do it, walking him through checking for water in the lungs and determining the core body temperature. Law was fine, although soaked and rattled and an awful, horrible dunce.

Rosie tapped her foot, “Did you learn anything from your little experiment?” He ran a hand through his wet hair, contemplative, “I sank.” She scowled, still monumentally pissed at him, “I saw. And you saw me sink, too- Cora-san told you what happens to fruit users in the water. Why is that a surprise?”

“I used to love swimming- we’d go to the river every summer. I didn’t realize I’d sink so fast- I didn’t float at all. Human bodies are supposed to float- they’re not supposed to sink like that.”

She scoffed, “Human bodies aren’t supposed to do what we do, either.” She turned her fingers into knives and tapped them on her forearms, where she’d crossed them over her chest.

Rosie had never swam before. She’d eaten her fruit as a toddler, having found it while foraging in the forest where she’d been left. She’d never felt the embrace of ocean water except that horrid day in the storm. She never knew any joy in it, only the crushing weight above her and the watery hands below her as she was dragged down.

Are they supposed to float? Do normal people not feel hated by the ocean? Another thing she’d never get to experience.

She took a sad*stic sort of pleasure in depositing her brother on top of Bepo and instructing the bear to not let him up until he was warm and dry. Law could grumble as much as he wanted about being trapped, but he’d fall asleep there within an hour, she knew. It served him right for scaring her like that.

---

Law found Rosie later reading a book, humming quietly to herself. It wasn’t that part that was strange- he, Rosie, and Bepo all read frequently enough-, but the book looked like some fairytale tome.

He knew they didn’t have money enough for books, there was no library in town, and that definitely wasn’t one of Wolf’s or Granny Ermine’s. It also didn’t look like anything Mister Snowshoe would have in his collection, as it wasn’t over a hundred years old. “Where’d you get the book?” “Marten leant it to me.”

The boy- only a year older than Law- didn’t seem like the fairytale type. In the clinic, he was all studious intensity and obsessive cleanliness- but maybe he was more outside the work.

“So what’s it about?” She grinned at him, “A girl who beats up a fairy queen and learns to be a witch!” He huffed, “Sounds like you’d get along.” She nodded in satisfaction, “I think so, too.”

Rosie went back to reading, this time in silence. She’d grown a habit, he noticed- if she was alone, she’d hum to herself, that same song Cora-san had hummed. But only if she was alone. When Law was there, she was quiet, and they were together in the silence, with that invisible third presence.

Rosie was also teaching herself to knit, forming needles out of her index fingers and hooking the yarn around them. It was sloppy and amateurish, but she was improving by the row- although it was still at the point where, when she said she was making Law a scarf for his birthday, he took it as a threat.

He hadn’t thought about it ’til she’d mentioned it, but his birthday was coming up, wasn’t it? His first ever birthday without poison in his veins, without a timer running out on him.

What… what now? He'd never been able to plan this far ahead, never thought he’d live to see fourteen, and now… the future stretched out ahead of him, clouded and uncertain but there.

All the kids were steadily improving in their various skills, but… to what purpose? They weren’t going to stay in this little town all their lives, of course, but the specter of Doflamingo and the Marines haunted everywhere outside, and he was reluctant to do anything that might get them noticed. They weren’t ready- they weren’t anywhere near ready.

Rosie ended up making him a blanket for his birthday- black, of course. It was heavy and dense, with a plush furry texture. It wasn’t Cora-san’s coat, but it was close enough that being huddled under it sent him right to sleep.

The two boys had collaborated to make him an emergency medical kit, something he could keep on his hip just in case. Shachi’s leather work had been improving steadily, and he’d made the kit itself, a cleverly constructed leather pouch that could hook to his belt and had several convenient pockets and a brass snap.

And Penguin had surreptitiously stolen the contents for it from Granny Ermine, who Law suspected knew perfectly well, but was allowing the minor theft because it meant she didn’t have to treat the boys when they injured themselves in their misadventures.

(He would've assumed Marten had something to do with it, but the older boy had pressed a bar of chocolate into his hands days afterwards, stammering an apology for not having known Law's birthday- which he'd never told the other in the first place. He didn't usually like sweets, but the chocolate was very dark and not too sweet. It was good.)

Bepo had found him a book of rare and interesting ailments across the Blues, which he spent days poring over and whose margins were soon packed with notes and citations.

He was most fascinated by the chapter on tuberculosis- its relationship with iron and how the metal affected where in the body the disease struck. It made him curious about his own prior affliction, and he’d started recording all he knew of the poison, so at least one record of it would survive free of misinformation and propaganda. He was deep in the project for days, only occasionally emerging to rest among his friends.

Rosie was sat at the old wooden cable spool they used for a table in the shack, Shachi stood behind her with a brush, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. Rosie liked having her hair brushed, but she didn’t like doing it herself- Shachi had nimble fingers, and was good with hair, and so he was usually her chosen victim.

He was also eyeing the paper over her shoulder, squinting over his hands busy braiding Rosie’s thick locks- it was yesterday’s news, stolen from Wolf’s kitchen table after he was done with it (the old man only ever wanted the crossword, anyway).

Penguin sighed where he was sprawled on the floor and finally picked it up cautiously- Rosie had painted his nails, and he was being careful to not ruin her work before they dried- and read it aloud.

It was Doflamingo. He showed up in the newspapers often enough- the Family was the most powerful pirate crew in the North now. Law wanted nothing more than to avoid ever seeing the man’s face again, forever hearing his voice in his ears, muffled by wood and followed by gunshots.

But he couldn’t afford to miss the news. He needed to know if Doflamingo was planning anything, circling too close to their hideout.

This article discussed another town destroyed (thankfully far away from Swallow)- nothing surprising. He knew all too well how Doflamingo worked, and didn’t like to think about the destruction wrought in his wake, or the role Law and Rosie had once played in it.

The last line of the article, with the Marines eventually chasing him off and helping the town rebuild, was also old news.

Shachi mused, “Old Lady Tsuru has been chasing him like a fury ever since you two got here- I don’t think she’s let him rest on his laurels in months.” Law hummed, warming his hands on his mug, ”Good- means he’s too busy to look for us."

He had to wonder, though- Tsuru had never been this intent on taking down Doflamingo, before. Not until after Minion. What had changed, for her, to make the hunt that much more important?

Rosie bit her lip, glanced at him uncertainly, “Do you think we should contact the Marines? Tell them about Vergo?” He shook his head immediately. “We can’t trust them- he’s got one spy, he might have more.”

It was too big a risk. It wouldn’t be worth potentially exposing themselves, either to the Family or the Marines- not when all they had was a name, and no proof.

Chapter 14: Purpose

Chapter Text

Before he knew it, almost a year had passed since they’d fled Minion and landed on Swallow. It was close to Rosie’s self-proclaimed birthday, and the day they lost Cora-san. She was his sister now- he had to get her something.

But what? She’d made him that blanket when his birthday had passed months back, the one he slept under every night. She liked weapons, she liked sweets, she liked clean things, she liked anything soft and fluffy…

His eyes caught on something, halfway down the pile of rubbish he’d walked past. A mess of stuffing and rags, what used to be a plush black sheep. The poor thing was pathetic- dirty and ragged and coming apart at the seams. But it could be fixed. It was perfect for Rosie.

He enlisted Wolf to help him, and enacted the plan while she was stringing laundry on the old man’s line. “Nurse Rosie, I’ve got a patient for you.” Her head whirled in shock, and she dropped the sheet, “A patient?” “Yes, come quickly!”

He’d meticulously set the scene, covering the kitchen table with a white sheet and placing the stuffed toy atop it supine, a shoelace attached to its wrist as a makeshift IV line.

She blinked, startled, and stopped short, “Oh!” He watched her face carefully, hoping he did a good job, hoping he picked right.

The shock eventually faded into fondness, a wobbling lip and glassy eyes. She tossed herself at him, wrapping around him in a hug, and he sighed in relief as she shouted, “Thank you!”

He patted her back once, then smirked, “So are we going to save Mister, uh-“ He realized he hadn’t come up with a name for the ‘patient’, and frantically searched his mind, “Woolley. Mister Woolley. Are you ready to operate?” She nodded firmly, “Yes, doctor!”

Together, they carefully fixed up the stuffed sheep- suturing its torn limbs back together, adding new stuffing (‘organ transplants’), and giving it a new button eye.

It was in pretty good shape once they were done, and after Wolf offered to wash the thing (‘physical therapy’), he had to say it looked almost new. And Rosie had a constant companion in Mister Woolley, carrying the little black sheep everywhere.

The boys had found her a pair of earmuffs and matching fur muffler- no doubt stolen from the house of one of the richer townspeople. “For your hands”, Shachi had said. “So you can have knife hands ready to go, but still hidden.”

He mimicked her blades, chopping at the air excitedly. She slipped the muffler over her arms, tucking both hands into it, and giggled, “Ooh, it’s so soft, and fluffy!”

Bepo once again went for a book, his training with Mister Snowshoe apparently paying off- an encyclopedia of historical weapons, which she spent weeks studying and experimenting with, turning herself into various and sundry terrifying sharp and exploding things.

In this, again, they had to enlist Wolf, after a blast bigger than expected almost destroyed their shack. The old man worked with Rosie, after that, when she was experimenting- his experience with mechanics and tools was a great help.

In the days after, Law got a feeling, like something important was happening- it made him itch, made his hands restless. He couldn’t trace the feeling, didn’t know what it was for, but it bothered him.

He fidgeted with BT to calm his nerves, rolling her this way and that over his knuckles, making the blade flip open and closed in its shining spin. It was one of the tricks Penguin had taught him, and his favorite.

Then there was a rush of footsteps crunching through the snow, and Shachi’s voice sounded from outside the shack, “Cap’n, big news!” He burst in, Penguin not far behind, and slapped a newspaper down on the table. Doflamingo’s cruel grin was front and center, first page news. “Bastard left the North- headed for the Grand Line!”

Law's shoulders slumped unconsciously, the weight of constant vigilance lifted. Doflamingo was no longer within reach, able to easily come for him.

But as soon as the relief soared through him, it crashed, the paranoia holding him firmly. He couldn’t hope- hope always brought despair. Gunshots rang through his head once again- bang bang bang bang bang- and his hands started shaking, breath coming faster.

He couldn’t- he couldn’t be here right now. He raced from the shack, seeking solitude in the snowy forest beyond, ignoring the startled calls behind him.

He didn’t stop running until he was deep in the forest, where he huddled under the boughs of a cedar and pulled into himself, tucking his knees to his chest and his head into his folded arms, and finally just unraveled.

He should never have allowed himself to daydream, because now it haunted him. Everything he did, he had this other life following him around- an alternate timeline in that little house in the little village on the little island, and the what-if’s never left him alone.

He’d never get to have Cora-san walk him and Rosie to school, never get to laugh at him fumbling trying to bake, never get to have birthday parties and graduations and all the things he’d tentatively allowed himself to hope for, at the end.

And even worse was the realization of just how little he actually knew of Cora-san. They’d only known each other- really known each other- for six months. There was an entire quarter century before that- relationships, likes and dislikes… he’d mentioned being a trumpet player, and they would never hear him play.

He’d never know what had happened to break the man so badly so early, never know the truth of all those stories he’d told about the people he knew- the stories he’d obviously been omitting details from to hide that they happened on a Marine base.

And all these initials he’d left them- BT, MD, SY… who were these people? They’d probably never know. It felt like losing him all over again.

He was alone there for a while with his thoughts, before there were footsteps and a figure emerged into the shelter of the branches.

It was Rosie who came after him, of course- only she would really understand why he hadn’t reacted positively to the news. She sat beside him quietly, pressing to his side. The soft weight of her head dropped atop his shoulder.

He whispered, “I can’t- I can’t let myself hope. Last time I did, Cora-san died. And now I’m living with the what-if’s. And they won’t leave me alone.”

What if he’d been well enough to stay alone and Rosie had gone with Cora-san to get the fruit? What if Cora-san had decided the message could wait until they were safely away? What if Law hadn’t brought back the one Marine among the lot that was a secret spy for Doflamingo? None of them mattered, because they hadn’t happened.

He’d wanted- he’d wanted so badly he’d prayed for it- that normal life in a little house in a little village on a little island. But fate hadn’t let him have that- Doflamingo hadn’t let him have that. He would’ve been good, he would’ve abandoned all the hatred and dedicated himself to saving lives.

But in this world, the real world… yes, Cora-san had cleansed him of the all-consuming hatred, the radiating pain that sought only to recapitulate itself on any living thing.

But he still had to cling on to some of it, for safety. He could hate this one person. Because Doflamingo was at fault, was the reason for it all going wrong. And he and Rosie wouldn’t be truly safe until Doflamingo was taken down. And it was that burden that rested on his too-small shoulders.

He wasn’t allowed to take comfort in the man leaving for the Grand Line, because all it meant was that he would grow more powerful- a higher mountain the kids would eventually have to conquer.

But that one tie, that one line of hatred, drew back to all the rest, never fully gone as long as that tie was there, and only served to remind him of the person he couldn’t be anymore. The person he could’ve been, who’d died with Cora-san.

All he could manage was a whisper, “I can’t… I can’t do it again.”

Rosie said nothing, but only started to hum- it took a moment for him to realize what it was, but he couldn’t hold back the whimper when he did. It was the lullaby Cora-san had sung for them, the one about love and everything possible.

The same sort of pain rose in him again, that feeling like being cut open, his insides exposed to the chilled air. He couldn’t raise his head then, curling in tightly over himself, wracked by quiet sobs. There was no one here to silence him this time, and even the sound of his own cries was painful.

But, as with then, it hurt less in the wake of the pain, like the awful feelings were draining from him, and he rested his cheek on Rosie’s head.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, “He’s going to come after me eventually. You didn’t hear what he said- he wants something from the fruit, some kind of power I have now. He’s not going to give up. I need to get strong, to take him down. For our sake, and for Cora-san’s.”

She sighed, biting her lip. “He wouldn’t want us to obsess ourselves with revenge. But I agree you won’t be safe ‘til the Family is gone. I’ll help.”

And of course the others wouldn’t be left out of this- they insisted on helping, as well. And so five young teenagers turned their focus to defeating the most powerful pirate of their sea.

Bepo had been teaching all of them the mink martial arts, more out of simple fascination than anything else, but their training began in earnest now- they had a purpose, an enormous mountain to climb.

---

Rosie loved Mister Woolley. He was soft- she always enjoyed petting him, fingers running through his plush fur. It reminded her of Cora-san’s coat.

She cradled the sheep like a baby sometimes, when she was walking through the forest- it gave her hands something to do other than be knives, reminded her that she could do things other than hurt, be something other than sharp.

But sometimes… it brought back too many memories.

...She hoped Dellinger was okay. He would be four years old now- had anyone told him where they’d gone, why they’d gone? He was old enough to understand, old enough to remember, certainly. Old enough to miss her.

He’d been such a friendly baby, always wanting to be held, to be close to her. She’d carried him everywhere once upon a time, when she was still Baby 5 and he was just a little thing Giolla had come back with one day.

And even as he’d grown, she’d been the one to take care of him, feeding him and wiping his nose and helping with his little toddler clothes. She hoped Giolla was looking after him.

But even if she was taking the best care of him… little Dellinger was still with the Family, still being raised to admire Doflamingo, to fight for him and believe in him and follow him in his cruelty. Would he grow up to hate her and Law, to remember Cora-san as a traitor?

They would have to confront the Family someday- far down the line, but it would have to happen nonetheless. It was a certainty, ever since Doflamingo had killed Cora-san and marked Law with that fate.

Could she fight Giolla or Buffalo, if it came down to it, to protect Law? Could she fight Dellinger, the little baby she had almost raised?

She would have to. The Family had been Baby 5’s family- Rosie’s family was Law and Cora-san. And she would protect what was left of it.

---

“I want a sword.” The words seemed to say themselves, while they were walking the forest, but he realized they were true as they hit the chilled air.

Law remembered their training with the Family, remembered what had felt good in his hands- guns had always made him flinch, the echoes of the shots bringing the fire and fences and screaming to his mind again. Gladius had been unsympathetic.

And now that his nightmares were full of bloody snow and treasure chests and wires and even more gunshots… it probably wasn’t the weapon for him. Swords were a safer option.

“I don’t know what would be right, though- haven’t had a chance to test them.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully, grumbling, “It’s not like this tiny town has a weapons shop, either.”

Rosie looked at him like he was an idiot, and he narrowed his eyes in a glare. “What?” She just scoffed, and immediately transformed into a broadsword. He caught her, fumbling the heavy sword, and huffed. “Right.”

He took a few testing swings, and didn’t like the way the heft of it took him off balance. The reach was nice, however. The sword spoke, “So?” He grunted, “A lighter blade- something faster.”

The sword in his hands morphed into a katana- the strikes came easier, quicker, but he sacrificed reach, found himself lunging a bit too far.

“Anything a bit longer?” The blade lengthened, and instantly he knew it was perfect, the weight and balance in his hand, the ease of slipping the blade through the air and the quick pivot of its thin blade.

He tried a few more difficult maneuvers, running through an advanced kata and feeling how the length and heft of the blade moved with him like an extension of himself. He smirked, “Found it.”

The blade transformed back into his sister, now held in his arms with an excited grin. “So we need to find you a nodachi, then.”

It was Penguin who found the sword- the boys and Bepo had banded together to look for one after Rosie had told them what he’d decided on, and they took turns sneaking onto passing merchant ships to search their holds. The boys did, really, as Bepo wasn’t very good at sneaking.

But it was a surprise when all three came crawling out of the sea hooting and hollering in triumph, Penguin waving around a very long wrapped parcel.

The blade had been very ceremoniously laid on their wire-spool table, both boys grinning all the way to their ears, and all of them sat admiring it. It was a beautiful blade, to be sure.

Rosie glanced warily at it, “It’s cursed- I can feel it.” He raised a brow, “What, is it being creepy to you?” “Not like that, silly! Just… it has a weird voice. Hungry.”

“So what’s its name?” “Kikoku.” “Well, then.” He spoke directly to the sword, “Kikoku, I’d like to be your partner- I’ll work hard to be worthy of you.”

He took it in hand, feeling how the balance of it completed his arm- it was far too long now, but as he grew, he knew it would be perfect. And he would grow, now- that wasn’t something he could only dream about anymore.

Rosie snorted, glee hidden behind her hand, “It’s taller than you are!” He would grow! Eventually.

No sooner had they gone outside than she turned both her arms into katana blades, coming at him fiercely. He blocked the blow, but it jarred his arms painfully- he gritted his teeth, pushing her back and returning a strike of his own.

She was, frustratingly enough, taller than him. It wouldn’t be for long, he knew- the ache in his knees and his increased appetite told him he’d finally be getting a long-awaited growth spurt, now his body had the resources to accommodate it- but it was still enough for the boys to tease him over. He’d be taller than them someday, he was sure, if his family history held. He could lord it over them then.

But more importantly, it was enough to give her an height advantage in the spar- he was off balance, constantly on the back foot, and she trounced him pretty easily. But that was the point of this, to get him used to wielding the sword. She stepped back, settling into a ready position, “Again.”

They went until his arms were too tired to hold the blade up, Rosie’s last slash stopping inches short of his unprotected throat.

The siblings stood, staring at each other for a long moment, before collapsing in a heap in the snow. Both were breathing heavily, Law more than Rosie- his lung capacity was still diminished, although improving.

She knocked her head against his shoulder, and huffed, “It likes you.” He grinned toothily and patted the sword’s sheath- he certainly hoped so.

BT still rested up his sleeve, in the hidden forearm sheath Shachi had made for him, and he brought her out into the sun. For lack of any better ideas, he set the two blades next to each other- he figured they could… ‘talk’, or however blades got to know each other.

Rosie watched, a slight grin curling her mouth, but said nothing, so he probably wasn’t wrong.

If he was going to be carrying both from now on, they needed to get along. They all had a lot of work to do, together.

Chapter 15: Changes

Chapter Text

Law was sixteen when they left Swallow to roam the North seas. They’d defeated the pirate crew that attacked the town- Wolf’s wayward son, and wasn’t that a thing- and worried afterwards about drawing too much attention, both from the Marines and… other sources.

It was safer to leave, in the end.

In that could-have-been world, he would be graduating his schooling and taking on an apprenticeship at a hospital. He refused to let himself imagine any more than that.

Marten had been the last to see them off, running to the docks just as they were going to shove off- he’d pressed a bag of extra medical supplies into Law's hands and a shy peck to his cheek before stammering ‘b-be safe’ and retreating again. The boys had teased him for that for days.

Luckily, he’d never told them about the others- he and Marten had been each other’s first kiss (and second, and third…). There was no real affection behind it- only teenage curiosity and the lack of other options- but the experimenting needed to be done nonetheless.

And he was never going to tell the boys, if the teasing was this bad already- there would be nowhere to escape it on such a small boat.

They weren’t exactly pirates, not yet. No flag, no colors. They were just a group of teenagers living together on the sea, because they had nowhere else.

The North had an odd dearth of pirates, compared to the other Blues. There was Doflamingo, of course, and a few other small-timers, but most of the North’s lawlessness was in corruption and organized crime rather than raids and pillaging.

He’d asked Wolf once why there were so few pirates, taking advantage of the old man’s tendency to chatter while working, and he had just laughed and said, “Most are too damn scared to try it, even after so long. The North had a Shield, once.”

The man had refused to elaborate after that, but a smug grin formed at the corner of his mouth, some nostalgic tinge to it.

“I was an adventurer in my younger years, myself”, he admitted, still elbow-deep in some sort of engine. “A pirate?” “Perhaps you’d call us that- I didn’t consider us pirates. Oh yes, we sailed the seas, hunting not for treasure, but for knowledge! The greatest treasure! I was naive then, didn’t realize it was also the most forbidden one.”

The old man’s mood then flipped within moments, from giddy and lighthearted to grim, and his hands faltered inside the machine, turning a gear idly. He sighed, “Everyone I once sailed with is now dead, and their home with them. Mark my words- more people have died over knowledge and secrets than any amount of money.”

Law had only hummed in response at the time. His people had been killed over money, sure- the profit from the lead and its products- but he supposed they had also been killed to protect the government’s secret, that they’d known about the poison and done nothing.

The more he paid attention to the world, the more Wolf’s assertion seemed to be true- money was just another form of power, but knowledge was capable of being wielded by even the weak and poor, which made it a much more dangerous one. Which was why the government restricted it so much.

He thought he was starting to understand more of what Cora-san had said about information gathering, once he put together the vast importance of knowledge. He wished the man had taught them more.

He wished… he cut himself off- there were too many things he wished, none of them possible.

But at least the lack of pirates meant they were relatively unbothered on the open sea- even with such a tiny ship and crew.

The Snow Dove had been gifted to them by the town- a small fishing trawler, only barely space enough for the five of them to pile up in the cabin to sleep, but it was home.

It was a crowded sort of calm, the kind where you never really have space to be alone but you’re okay with it anyway because the company is good.

Their little boat was bobbing gently on the waves, Shachi and Penguin swaying into each other as they fished off the side, their occasional gripes and teases floating on the air.

Law watched absently, lounging against the rail, his sword tucked against his shoulder and head resting on its sheath. The cold wind off the sea tousled his hair, a sensation he was unused to- but Rosie had his hat at the moment, repairing the damage Bracca’s attack had done.

She remained furthest in, sitting in the doorway to the cabin- she was still wary of the ocean, and didn’t much like getting too close to the water. His sister was humming quietly to herself- that same nameless, wordless tune that haunted them both- while she sewed, her index finger a needle carefully sealing the tear in the hat.

Bepo sat next to him with his legs over the side, arms folded on the railing- his little button eyes stared out over the calm sea. His voice was quiet when he spoke, musing, “Do you think… your dad would’ve liked us, too?”

Rosie hummed, “Yeah, he would’ve.” Law nodded, cheek resting on Kikoku’s cold steel guard- he had no doubt about it. Cora-san had been weak for kids, especially ones who needed help.

Bepo smiled, something wistful. “I never had a dad- it was just me and my brother, before he left. So… even though he’s gone, can- can Cora-san be my dad, too?” The boys perked up, heads swiveling over from their fishing lines, and Shachi asked hopefully, “And ours?”

He blinked, overwhelmed, and glanced to Rosie- she bit her lip, eyes watery, and nodded. “If- if you want, yeah- I think he’d love that.”

When he thought about it, Cora-san absolutely would’ve adopted the other three as well, had he met them, so they might as well be siblings.

His mind wanted to ponder what it would have been like, Cora-san and the five of them all together, and he quickly shook off the thought. Not again.

Their little family was six now, and five of them were alive.

---

Rosie did a lot of looking up. She didn’t like looking down into the water- it was so deep, and it felt like if she stared at it too long, she could see giant shadows underneath. Or worse, feel the water looking back at her, its hands stretching out to grab, to drag her down.

So she looked up instead, at the clouds during the day and the stars at night.

Bepo would tell her stories about the stars, what the star-patterns meant where he was from, and she would recall the few constellations Cora-san had told them about while teaching them how to tell directions, and they’d compare.

He pointed out once The Great Bear, which his people believed to be the first bear from which all others descended- Rosie thought it looked more like Mister Woolley, instead.

Sometimes, they’d make up whole new ones- brand new constellations with stories to go along with them, stories of magic and adventure and fantastical islands with long gone heroes who lived in the stars.

Penguin and Shachi joined them sometimes- they weren’t good storytellers individually, but they would pass the story back and forth between each other and in that way, craft something entertaining and clever.

It was rarest when Law would come out with them, usually content with his books and lantern until someone dragged him into the pile. He got cold easily and didn’t tend to stay out at night, but on occasion, he’d join the others on the deck, wrapped up in the blanket Rosie had made him, and lay out in the darkness with them, under the stars.

He knew the least about stars of the group, having been raised in a city, where they weren’t as visible for all the lights. Still, he'd listen attentively to their stories, making infrequent additions of his own.

All five of them would lay there together, sometimes talking, sometimes quiet, just existing in the moment.

These were the times Rosie liked the best, when they were all together under the stars. The world felt somehow both infinite, like they could go anywhere and do anything, and also small enough to fit in the snow globe Giolla had given her once, just the five of them and the Snow Dove and nothing else.

She didn’t have to dwell on who she had been, what she had done. She didn’t have to worry yet about where they were going now, what they had to accomplish, who she was or wanted to be.

She could just exist in this little space outside of time with the people she loved, underneath the blanket of all the stories they told together.

---

It was shortly after they’d left when the news came- just a small paragraph hidden in the back, a declaration of Dressrosa’s new king.

Law froze, pieces coming together in his mind- this must’ve been what Cora-san’s message was about. He’d never read it, only knew what Cora-san had said, that it could save a place called Dressrosa. Rosie bit her lip, "Could we have stopped him? Stopped this?”

He didn’t have an answer for her. Should they have tried harder to contact the Marines, warn them about Vergo? Even if they had, would the Marines have had enough information to stop Doflamingo’s plans?

Had he sacrificed an entire country worth of people for his and Rosie’s safety?

He practiced with his powers more frequently now, more openly. It was only the five of them here- there was nothing to hide. He needed to train more, besides- if Doflamingo had already taken over an entire country…

He’d often pull up small Rooms, cradling the little bubble in his hands, ostensibly to test his focus and stamina, but mostly just for the sake of it. They really did remind him of Cora-san’s silent bubbles, and he still felt a pang of grief whenever he surrounded himself with one and could still hear everything.

But his powers were much more complex than Cora-san’s Calm had been- much stranger. He had to be careful with them, wary whenever he tried something new, because there were bounds to what he could do that he wasn’t even close to reaching.

He remembered very well what Wolf had told him about his powers, and heeded the old man’s warning.

It had been after an experiment had gone wrong- the explosion could be heard all the way from their shack, and the boys had all rushed over to find Rosie and Marten digging through the debris of the workshop.

Marten was scuffed and shaking, and Rosie was fresh-looking in that way he knew meant she had just reformed. He would learn later that she’d turned into a giant cleaver and shielded Marten from the blast behind herself.

Bepo found Wolf, scenting him out under the collapsed roof beams- the old man was in a bad way, but thankfully alive.

Then there was yet another rushed operation on Wolf’s still-bloodstained kitchen table, only this time the patient was the man himself, and Law had both Rosie and Marten by his side.

Wolf had been conscious the whole time, watching through dull, half-lidded eyes as he was put back together, the blue light of Law’s Room reflecting as some strange ring in his irises.

It was the first time anyone but their little group had seen his powers, but there was nothing to be done for it- and Wolf and Marten were the ones he would’ve picked, anyway.

Marten, to his credit, only hesitated a moment at the sight, before shaking his head and getting to work- his nerves always disappeared when it came to patients.

Somehow, the old man knew exactly what fruit he had, and even knew more about its powers than Law himself. He’d clutched tightly to his hand, after waking up the next day, and spoke to him in hushed tones about what the fruit could do in the wrong hands. The true capabilities of Law’s powers.

Wolf had been more serious than he’d ever seen the old man, expression grave and eyes hard in a familiar way, “Listen to me, boy. Don’t you ever tell anyone about that power. The only people what want it are those what absolutely shouldn’t have it.”

He had an answer to one thing, at least- that was why Doflamingo had wanted the fruit, why he wanted Law alive. The man was the very definition of someone who shouldn’t have it, and now Law's mission in life had to be keeping it from him.

It was… laughable, almost. Law had the power to rebuke death- he, from whom death had taken so much. He’d known the fruit was considered a ‘miracle fruit’, but to be this powerful? His life was a cosmic joke.

And what was worse… if he’d only known how to use his powers at the time, he’d had the ability to save Cora-san. He had the power, just not the knowledge. And that made all the difference. Another what-if to haunt him. He resolved then, that he would never be lacking the knowledge to save others again.

But this power ultimately changed nothing- he couldn’t turn back time, couldn’t save those already gone. It didn’t matter how many lives he saved, death would always rule his life.

It was his first tattoo, spelled out across his knuckles so he could always see it- a reminder. The ink seemed to flow after that first one, his body gradually being painted with memories- his resolutions and promises marked there more permanently than any contract.

It was almost funny- his skin had once been covered in white patches of sickness, and now it was wrapped in black whorls and swirls instead, a patchwork of his own choosing and design.

He wasn’t the only one who was changing, as well. One day, after they’d stopped in a town, Rosie came back different- her lips painted a deep maroon.

When he saw her, he was torn suddenly between two places in time, two separate people standing before him at once before it resolved into only Rosie. His lungs ached, and he realized he’d stopped breathing. The color painting her lips… he was staring.

She was uncertain now, bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing the color off bit by bit. “It’s the same color, right? I’m not just… it’s the same?” He managed a nod, and choked out, “It is.” She nodded solidly, “Good. Now I get to do this.”

Rosie took his face in her hands, bringing him close and pressing her lips to his forehead. He could feel the stain, the press of its waxy texture on his skin- so familiar and yet so new. She pulled back and looked at him, something between grief and pride and contentment on her face.

Her eyes grew glassy with tears, blinked away furiously. Her smile wobbled, but remained wide. “I can leave signs of my love on everyone now, just like he did.”

He didn’t dare wipe it off, and perhaps stared at the mark several minutes too long in the mirror that night. The lipstick stained his pillow, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

The kisses seemed to become Rosie’s trademark, from then on. He could always tell who’d won her favor by the kiss print on their face.

Penguin always got hilariously flustered, but never ashamed, and Shachi even wore the marks with pride. Bepo, of course, almost always had at least one blurry kiss print staining his white fur, and forever seemed slightly bewildered by it.

Time passed, as was its wont, and they all continued to grow and change. Suddenly Law was seventeen, and Shachi was teaching him how to shave. He’d been late to grow hair, just as he’d been late to growing in general.

This was supposed to be a father-son thing, wasn’t it? He had two fathers, and neither one had survived long enough to teach him.

Shachi didn’t actually need to shave, himself- neither he nor Penguin grew any body hair- but he’d apparently watched Wolf often enough to get the gist.

So Law was learning secondhand. Hence how bad he was at it- he was a master of the scalpel, but apparently something about shaving made competence too much to ask.

He was very close to just asking Rosie for help- if there was anyone among them who was better with blades, it was her.

For some reason, just this small act felt momentous, like a coming of age of sorts. A rite of passage he’d never thought to see.

He could look at himself in that tiny mirror in the cabin and see just how far he’d come from that stunted, sickly little boy who’d been waiting for death, intent only on doing as much harm as he could on his way out.

His skin had returned to its healthy tan, the pain had gone from his body (bar the occasional migraine- he had a long way to go before he figured out the brain), and he was finally, finally taller than his sword. The boys had insisted on celebrating the last one, stealing a bottle of rum specially for the occasion.

Still, most of the changes he’d gone through were internal- not only the physical poison had been expunged, but the mental as well. Cora-san had saved, not only his life, but his heart and soul as well, and he would never be able to repay that.

Part of him knew the man would never expect repayment- he’d been too kind for that, no doubt he’d only want the kids to be safe and happy.

But as long as Doflamingo was out there, not only free but continuing to thrive in his stolen kingdom, alive and successful and getting everything he wanted, while Cora-san was dead… Law just couldn’t leave it alone.

He didn’t even notice someone had approached before his hat was pulled down over his eyes, and he was broken from his ruminations. “The hell?” Penguin sat down on the barrel they’d been using as a lookout post, balancing his heels on the hoops- it must be late, if he was on watch now. “You haven’t slept in a full twenty hours. Go sleep now or I’m siccing Rosie on you.”

He dropped his head to the deck with a groan. He knew Penguin was being merciful by giving him the warning, when Rosie would simply drag him away to the pile or else kidnap his books to get him into the cabin.

But he’d been so deep in thought, head whirling with ideas. The ingredients for a plan had started to come together in his head. A plan to defeat Doflamingo. But to accomplish it… they’d have to be pirates again.

And that was a step he didn’t know if he was ready for.

Chapter 16: A New Path

Chapter Text

Law was almost eighteen, and he was planning to kill a man. In that could-have-been world, he’d be a junior doctor by now, close to his licensing exam and probably only jokingly plotting to kill the proctors. But that wasn’t here.

Here, he was putting into play step one of his plan- laying out the papers he’d been studying, maps and documents, all littered with his cramped, illegible notes. He told his sister, “I’ve got an idea.”

Rosie leaned in curiously, pulling the map towards her and studying it, and he explained, “The local Marines are making an experimental ship- it travels exclusively underwater. It’d be perfect for staying out of his reach.”

She looked over the plans, reading the details of the ship for a long moment, before looking back at him, eyes asking more than he was telling, “We’re going to steal it?” He nodded in confirmation.

She glanced at him sidelong, chewing absently at her nail, “Are you going to steal someone who knows how to use it, too?” “The boys have offered to join the mechanics, to learn the anatomy of it and steal the blueprints, and then we’ll take it from right under their guard.”

Rosie looked at him searchingly- her black eyes caught his gray and held, and she spoke aloud what they’d been avoiding saying up until now. “So… pirates.”

He grimaced at the word, their shared baggage weighing it down until it took up all the air in the room. He sighed, “It’s the best option- the only way I can build up enough strength and notoriety to challenge him.”

She bit her lip worriedly, “You’re sure you’re ready to get a bounty? It’ll put you on his radar again.” He set his jaw solidly, “I don’t plan on facing him yet. We’ll stay below notice in the North until I’m ready. He’s a king now- he won’t come searching for me. He still thinks I’m going to come to him.”

He hadn’t missed that the Heart Seat was being kept vacant- for him, no doubt, in some twisted fantasy of Doflamingo’s. Thinking Law would somehow come running back, would ever approach him with anything other than disgust and hatred, after what he did. Deluded man. But his assumptions could be used against him.

The plan went into play- they docked on the outskirts of the town by the Marine base, a simple group of orphans looking to ply their skills to earn a living.

The boys- who were both grown adults now, at twenty and twenty-one, but still the name stuck- returned to the Snow Dove in the evenings, full of stories from their work.

The Marines there weren’t so bad, apparently- focused more on relief efforts from the recent flooding disasters than anything else, and pirates were not even on their radar.

They were easy bosses, distracted bosses, and the mechanics in their employ did their jobs competently and mostly unsupervised. All the better, when it would result in a well-built ship.

Both took easily to the work- Shachi enjoyed working with his hands, and was skilled with most trades once taught, and Penguin was very detail-oriented and good with keeping things in order.

They’d also taken quite easily to their uniforms, wearing them even once they’d returned for the day- Penguin mused, “You know, these mechanic coveralls are actually pretty comfy.” Shachi agreed readily, grinning, “Practical, too- lots of pockets!” He shoved his hands deep in said pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Law got the feeling the coveralls would be sticking around, but there was no way in hell they'd get him into a set.

The others made themselves busy the way they usually did- fishing, reading, chores around the boat. Rosie would go into town- only Rosie, as the least conspicuous of them- to sell their catch or some leathers they kept for bartering with, and come back with necessities.

But quiet moments abounded, with their two loudest siblings gone most of the day. Now, it was just the two of them in the cabin, with the boys at their ‘job’ and Bepo on watch, and the quiet seemed to expand around them comfortingly.

Rosie’s smile was watery as she let down her hair, finger-combing through the waves. “Would you… brush my hair?” She had loved it when Cora-san brushed her hair, gentle and thorough, leaving it silky smooth, and still insisted on someone doing it. He suspected she just liked the contact, the company, the closeness. Still, he sighed fondly and acquiesced, motioning for her to sit in front of him.

She fidgeted absently with her fingers, drawing a garrote from her palms and playing cat’s cradle with it while he brushed. Both sank into the tranquility of the moment, the quiet contentment.

After a while, he noticed she was humming- that same lifting tune Cora-san had hummed. She ran through the short melody a few times, then quietly asked, “Do you think it has words?” He sighed, finishing the bow at the end of her braid, “I don’t think we’ll ever know.”

Rosie ran a hand over the braid, fingers tracing its even bumps- she swiveled to face him, legs crossed on the cushion, and took a deep breath. “I’m leaving.”

He froze, and she hurried to continue, “Not right now. After we’ve gotten you your sub. And I’ll come back- but there are things I have to do, things I have to discover about myself. And… I need to be alone for them."

A mirthless chuckle, “Plus, I don’t think I can handle living underwater, really. I’m still too…” A wordless shudder. She was still terribly afraid of the ocean.

He nodded haltingly, and inwardly started dreading it. It would be the first time they’d been apart for any real length of time since Cora-san had kidnapped them both that day, and changed their lives forever. But… if that was what she wanted…

The weeks passed, and the sub was completed, its final checks and tests passed. Their deadline was set, the day before it would be set a commission and named.

Their heist went well- the Marines had grown complacent, their focus elsewhere. Penguin had snuck Rosie into the base in his pocket, a simple switchblade hidden amongst the other tools, and once he’d ‘forgotten’ her at his station during lunch, she was able to clear the area for Law to switch himself and Bepo across the hangar and directly into the sub.

It was easy, after that. They managed to escape with their prize and dive before the Marines could catch up to them- along with a single mechanic who had absolutely refused to let her precious sub escape without her. So he supposed they had, however inadvertently, stolen someone who knew how to use it.

The mechanic, a crass young woman named Ikkaku who’d made reluctant friends with the boys during their tenure, had agreed to stick around at least long enough to teach them the particulars of their new craft, claiming with an air of long-suffering far beyond her years, “Longer I wait, the more hazard pay I get.”

There was the obligatory party to celebrate their success, to say goodbye to the Snow Dove, and to christen their new home- the Polar Tang. It was one last night of carefree enjoyment, before everything changed.

Law was eighteen, and once more a pirate. Today was the day they would raise their jolly roger, the day he would start building notoriety, put their plan in motion. It was also the day Rosie left them to pursue her own path.

The newly dubbed Heart Pirates were seeing her off at the dock of a quiet island- except for their newest member, who was in the depths of the sub, babying the engine and grumbling about dumbass wannabe pirates.

Rosie was all packed, ready to leave. She had extra clothes, and the notebook Bepo made for her, and all the tools the boys had crafted and scrounged up- she’d claimed lock picks to be unnecessary, given she could turn her hands into them just fine, but had conceded at Shachi’s serious declaration of, “When you’re in seastone cuffs is exactly when you need a real set.”

He had definitely taken to Cora-san’s policy of ‘if you have one, you have none’, and had contingencies upon contingencies prepared- it was why Law considered him his ‘planning partner’.

Of course, Mister Woolley was safely packed away in Rosie’s bag, the waterproof cloak Shachi had made for her folded neatly across the top in easy reach.

Her eyes widened suddenly, “Wait, wait- we need to trade something. So we have pieces of each other while we’re apart.” She fumbled in her pack for something worthy of giving to him, but nothing seemed to catch her eye, and she pouted.

He thought a moment, before a slow smile spread across his face, “I can do that a bit more literally than Cora-san said. How about…” She caught his meaning, blinking in surprise, “Oh! Okay!”

It took only a few minutes, and then they stood before each other, each bearing the other’s right eye. Their eyes were nearly the same color anyway, so there wasn’t much of a visible difference, but he could tell there was a bit of her in him now, and a bit of him in her. It was comforting, in a way.

Rosie covered her left eye, looking at him with his right, “Can you see what I’m seeing?” “Not literally- but that’s not the point. The point is that we’re facing everything together, even when we’re apart.” She grinned warmly at him, the gray of his eye seeming to sparkle in her face, “Yeah- we are."

The peanut gallery chattered off to the side, Shachi muttering fondly, “Just the right amount of weird and morbid and endearing for those two, huh?” Penguin sighed, “We have such strange little siblings.”

Bepo just pouted, “I’m pretty normal, though.” Shachi shook his head sagely, and patted his head, “You are not. But you try, which is more than I can say for them." Rosie stuck her tongue out at him, having heard the remark.

Finally, it was time for them to separate.

Rosie hugged him tightly, the warmth of her seeming pressed into his skin even after she let go. She brushed imaginary dust off his shoulders, “You have a crew to take care of you, to make sure you don’t stay up for days and turn into a tanuki. Even a good nurse at your side.” “Not as good as you.” Penguin stuck his tongue out at him- he did his best, but he didn’t have the same instinct for it as Rosie did.

She tapped her fingers on his sword’s sheath, eyes going stern, “You take care of him, alright? Keep him safe.” Of course, there was no response he could hear, but her expression turned satisfied anyway, so Kikoku must have accepted the order. He huffed, amused as always by his sister’s ability to talk to swords.

Then it was the boys’ turn, and each picked her up in massive bear hugs, except Bepo, who burst into tears and pulled her so tightly into himself she nearly disappeared in his fur. He was eventually coaxed into letting go of her, but by that point, his face was covered in red kiss marks.

Penguin nodded intently, face reddening around the kiss mark on his cheek, “We’ll keep your spot for you, lil sis.” “It’s your spot.” Shachi just grinned, sharp teeth glinting, “Pfft, we all know who’s really the first mate.” She winked and patted his own marked cheek playfully, “Then you two better do a good job in my stead.” The pair had decided to be co-seconds, first mate split into two positions.

Eventually, there was nothing left to be said, the group only stalling the inevitable. It was really time, now.

A large part of Law wanted to tell her to stay, to remain by his side where she was safe. He feared if his sister left, he’d never see her again- fate liked to take and take from him.

But he kept silent, refusing to be the one who pulled her back into those bad habits, into that mindset. Rosie was making her own choices, doing what she wanted rather than what others needed- it was all he’d ever wanted for her.

She hugged him again, and he murmured into her hair, “Don’t let anyone use you.” Her voice was firm, resolute, when she answered, “I won’t- I promise.”

She left one last kiss on his forehead, and smiled that wide, red smile at him. “Let’s both become strong- and I’ll see you in a while.”

Rosie left, then, disappearing into the crowds at the pier.

---

Rosie hated being alone- it had always been one of her worst nightmares. But she needed it, this time. She needed to know. Who was she, on her own? No one to help, no one to lean on, no one to need her. She could do whatever she wanted.

But what was that? What did she, really and truly, want for herself and her life?

She liked being a nurse- but only for Law. She didn’t trust any of the hospitals across the North- many the same that had once refused her brother care.

Maybe she could become a seamstress, like Cora-san had suggested. She was certainly good enough at sewing- had repaired all their clothes so many times.

She spent a few weeks simply wandering from island to island, taking odd jobs to get transport and feeling out how she liked certain things.

She still liked cleaning- organization made something in her mind settle, like the satisfaction of a smoothly tucked sheet. She didn’t like cooking (she was a disaster at it, really- anything more complicated than boiling or roasting was out of her skill set), but gutting and cleaning fish was fine.

She didn’t really like sailing, didn’t like relying on ships to get where she needed- didn’t like the ocean under her feet, only one wrong move from disaster.

She didn’t know quite what she wanted to be, but she definitely knew what she didn’t want to be. A weapon. She would not be a tool in the hands of a cruel king.

And everywhere she went, she looked to the little people, saw what made them happy, used that to guide her in her actions.

She did want to help, she still believed, but it wasn’t for the sake of being needed anymore. It was for her own sake, her own idea of what she wanted her life, and the world, to be, and the actions she could take to influence that.

Now she just needed to figure out how she could help best.

Chapter 17: An Old Face

Chapter Text

Almost a month into her solitary travels, Rosie stopped in a tavern to rest, to listen to local gossip and decide her next move. She sidled up to the bar beside a man, tall and broad-shouldered, paying him no more mind than necessary.

But then the man glanced at her, blinked in surprise, and spoke, “You’re that girl, from the island. From Minion.” She squinted up at him, eyes catching on the X-shaped scar on his chin.

A face flew into her memory- a teenage boy trapped outside the birdcage with her, trying to drag her to safety while she tried to slice her way back in. She’d gone at the wire like a rabid animal, screeched at him that she was staying, and he’d muttered a quick ‘be safe’ and run off.

She gasped, half remembered offense and half shock, “You!” One hand turned into a blade on instinct, but the man didn’t move. “I don’t want to fight- I’d like to talk.” He motioned smoothly to the bartender, calling for drinks for the both of them, and took the stool at her side.

There was silence for a moment, in which Rosie’s heart and mind raced, trying to get ahead of the situation. The man started, “How is Doctor Trafalgar?”

Her eyes narrowed, the little Cora-san voice in the back of her head reminding her to not give away any reaction to the name- she didn’t know how he knew it, what his intentions were.

He only sighed, “My pops’ crew had the fruit, remember. Of course I’m going to connect the dots when its new bearer shows up on the scene. He was the other boy there, I know. The one you were trying to get back to.”

She remained quiet- it made sense. Law had only started making small waves in the North, but if this man knew what to look for, he could put it together. And he’d called Law ‘doctor’, as well- perhaps more interested in his medical exploits than his piratical ones.

“You two siblings?” She glanced at him searchingly another moment, before nodding, “...Yeah. he’s my brother.” His shoulders slumped, “I figured. I’m… glad I’m not the only one who made it out of there, I suppose. Makes it real.”

She could do with it being a little less real, honestly- her nightmares were still full of wires she couldn’t cut through, the people she loved suffering on the other side.

“You’re not with him?” Rosie fidgeted with her drink, drawing aimlessly in the condensation on the glass, “I needed to find my own way.” An understanding hum. “You’re looking for a purpose.” She frowned, irritated that she’d been so easily read, and he shrugged apologetically, “So was I.”

She huffed, “Where’d you find it?” The man tilted his head nonchalantly, “Same place most of the problems in this world lie.” He tipped his mug in a mocking toast to the corner of the bar- no, she realized as she interpreted his meaning, to the shadows where the light didn’t reach in the corner. Her eyes narrowed- a purpose in the shadows… She knew what that sounded like.

She weighed her response carefully- she didn’t want to let on her suspicions, but she did want to know more. “How’s that working out for you?” The man glanced at her, something measuring in his eyes. “It’s fulfilling work.” Not ‘good’ work, not ‘hard’ work- ‘fulfilling’. Interesting.

She traded vague for vague, somehow feeling like she was slipping into a new tongue, speaking two separate conversations at once with this man. And he was an expert in this new language, guiding her easily through its unspoken rules and complexities, always one step ahead.

He managed to convey with a well-placed quip about knots only that he was an experienced sailor and a man who solved problems. If she hadn’t been paying close enough attention, she would’ve thought he’d answered her question entirely, but he’d said absolutely nothing about what he really did.

Every trap she tried to catch him in, every slip-up she tried to force, he strolled through easily, and seemed nothing more than casual the whole time.

He looked her over once more, assessing. “I could help you find what you’re looking for, if you want. Or just need somewhere to stay for a while, I mean.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Why?”

He shrugged, “Someone once gave me a purpose when I needed one- I’m passing it on.”

She looked back at this stranger. There was very little in him of the boy she’d encountered outside the birdcage on Minion- this man was large, burly and muscled where the boy had been scrawny, confident and steady where the boy was scared and trembling. But… his eyes were still kind.

She turned to her drink, silently biting her lip in thought, and made her decision.

Rosie wasn’t quite sure why she’d taken the man up on his offer- maybe she was tired of wandering, of not having anyone to talk to, anywhere to come back to. Maybe she was looking for something familiar in this stranger who was tied to her by only moments on that island so long ago. Maybe she was just curious, about how easily she’d picked up his language of subtlety.

He was here for a meeting, apparently- she could sit in, and if she found the contents to her liking, they could discuss further.

She followed him into the tavern’s back room- three men were already there, lounging around the table with tankards and chatting lightheartedly.

A man with a bristley mustache and low-lidded eyes nodded at her, head lolling lazily on his neck, “Who’s this?” The man she’d followed nodded solidly, taking a seat, “She’s with me.” Another grinned, “Pickin’ up strays again, Drake?”

Drake- she realized suddenly that she hadn’t even known his name. But neither did he know hers. No, something in her mind remarked sardonically- he just knows who you are, instead. He didn’t need her name to know that.

She sat in the corner, unacknowledged as the others spoke, plans and maps and gossip changing hands with practiced speed. It was very like the skills she’d learned from Cora-san, only with higher stakes- these men talked ships and countries like he’d talked cards.

Had Cora-san worked on this level, too? Formulating and re-formulating plans to minimize losses? Just simplifying his skills into little lessons and games to teach the kids?

It didn’t feel like a game, though- these men were strategizing, but with the aim of preserving lives. Plans were discarded if it was deemed they resulted in too many lives lost, or involved harm to civilians, tweaked and altered to account for as many contingencies as possible.

She caught names, too- Jonathan, Maynard, Jackrum. They couldn’t be so disregarding as to assume her nonthreatening- not when what they were discussing was so sensitive- so it must be that Drake vouching for her had convinced them. They trusted him a great deal, then.

At one point, Doflamingo was mentioned- something about ‘intercepted another batch’- and she had to fight to keep still, to keep from outwardly reacting and demanding to know more.

Eventually, the meeting ended, the maps all rolled up and returned to cases, notebooks put away and farewells exchanged.

Drake grasped arms companionably with the last one to leave, and nodded, “Enjoy your new assignment, Jonathan.” The other grinned and tipped a lazy salute, “Oh, I will.”

Then they were alone. Drake sat back in his seat, glanced at her. “Learn anything interesting?” “You’re a Marine.” He tipped a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Sort of. We’re both inside and outside the Marines. Working from the underneath, you could say.” “The shadows”, she confirmed. It made sense, now. “So you are a spy.” Another vague shrug. “In a way.”

“Who are you working against? If you’re so secret that even the Marines can’t know.” “Big picture? A restructuring of the Marines entirely. But that’s long term. Right now? Starting smaller, like with what you saw here.” Leaving it open for her to reveal what she’d noticed.

She finally got to the part that had been itching at her for the better part of an hour, restraining her voice to keep calm, “The other man mentioned Doflamingo.” Drake nodded, “We’re working to take him down.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, “And you know already that’s what I want, too. To protect my brother.” There was no point in denying it- he’d seen her on Minion that day, he had to know she and her brother were targets.

He made a motion that was half nod, half head-tilt. “I remember enough to know that Doflamingo wanted that fruit, and the powers it holds- I can’t imagine that’s changed. He’s not a man who lets go of things easily.”

Rosie bit her lip in thought. If she took this opportunity, she could assist in Doflamingo’s downfall- it was the goal she’d already been working towards. That this had fallen into her lap now… she was suspicious. “So what do you gain by teaching me?”

Drake laid his hands out before him, “Even if you decide this isn’t something you want, I benefit by giving you these skills. Because you want to take him down, too. Enemy of my enemy, and all that.”

Fair- but where was his angle, the personal investment? “Is this revenge? He killed your dad too, I remember.” Drake shook his head calmly, “No. He’s a lynchpin of the underworld- one of the biggest arms dealers on the Line, and a major connection to at least one of the Yonkou. Disrupting his operations would allow us to ferret out the warmongers hiding behind him, and destroy the supply chain fueling wars across all four Blues.”

It was the truth, she could feel it- he really felt no anger towards Doflamingo for his father’s death. Had Barrels really been that bad? She’d never met the man- only seen his face in old bounty posters.

She could understand revenge- that was predictable, easy to account for in people’s behavior. It was this impersonal practicality that unnerved her.

But she found herself… at the very least, wanting to see where this went, what all this man could teach her. If she and Law were going to take down Doflamingo, she needed to become strong. And not only physically.

Drake was a Marine- ‘sort of’, anyway-, and she was… not quite a pirate, more something like a traveling vagrant. But he could teach her to be more.

This way… she could take care of her brother from a distance, learn the Family’s movements and keep them away from him. She could help from the shadows. She could be a spy, just like Cora-san was.

---

It was Ikkaku’s connections that got them a spot at a clandestine shipyard to winch up the Tang and make the ship fully their own.

Despite her complaints about their immaturity and recklessness, she did seem to be warming up to the crew, and it wasn’t much of a surprise when, after a few weeks, she had stopped bringing up her precious hazard pay entirely.

She passed Law as he was unpacking, filing away important documents- he was the only one he trusted with such things. The others he’d left squabbling over paint choices outside.

“How’s it going out there?” A lopsided shrug, “Not my choice of color, but if y’all're going for visibility, then ain't nothin' better.” He blinked at the papers, frowned, and glanced up, “Visibility?”

She co*cked her hip, resting her wrench over her shoulder, “Yeah, you didn’t see it? It’s hard not to see.” The laughter in her voice made him vaguely concerned, so he went to check up on his brothers, stepping out into the sunlight.

“How’s the painting go-” The question died in his mouth as he caught sight of the exterior, and he just stood staring for a long moment.

The boys looked up from their work- Shachi was on a ladder, coveralls tied around his waist, Bepo holding up a pan of paint, and Penguin going behind them with a brush to fill in the places the broad strokes had missed.

Shachi shrugged, roller still in hand, and it dripped paint down onto Penguin’s hat, which neither seemed to notice. “Well, I wanted to go with some nice countershading- y’know, dark on the top, light on the bottom, so she wouldn’t be visible to the outside, but I was outvoted.”

He stuck his tongue out at Bepo, who returned the gesture, "So we went with a neutral color, kinda like a seal’s coat.”

Law blinked, looked at the sub, then back to the boys, then back again to the sub. ‘A neutral color’…? Exactly whose definition of ‘neutral’ were they-

It was then he remembered, the realization hitting him like a brick, that every one of them, bar himself, was some form of color blind. And he had left them in charge of painting their new home.

Thus, what the boys had thought was perhaps a neutral gray… was actually an eye-searing shade of bright yellow.

For some reason, this was absolutely hilarious to him. He felt the laughter bubbling up from deep in his gut like fizz, and could no more hold it back than he could stop the sun from rising.

He thunked down atop the nearest crate before his legs could give out from under him and doubled over, cackling like a madman.

Shachi grinned giddily, mouth wide around sharp teeth, and shared a look with the other two, who were also now beaming. No doubt they had no idea what had set him off, but he knew they had a running competition between themselves to make him laugh (it was supposed to be a secret, but none of them were very good at keeping those), and were probably trying to figure out who to allocate points to.

Next to him, Ikkaku smiled, eyes vaguely shocked under her hat, “Wow, you do know how to laugh!” He couldn’t even stop giggling long enough to respond, much less try to appear dignified, and just kept laughing.

Chapter 18: Growth

Chapter Text

The Liberal Hind was a Marine ship, and all the crew aboard Marines, but not a one questioned Rosie’s sudden presence among them, instead accepting her with a respectful friendliness she was unaccustomed to.

When she asked Drake, he only shrugged and said, “My men know what I do, who I am.”

Presumably, they were used to their officer bringing strangers aboard- not even for the usual purposes, but simply to feed and house for a time.

Rosie had to wonder at what the other Marine had mentioned about Drake ‘picking up strays’- she wasn’t the first he’d taken in, then.

She’d been lent a small room, complete with hammock, storage chest, and writing desk. It was bigger than the cabin in the Snow Dove had been, and all for her. It felt too big.

She searched around, familiarizing herself with the space. There was a pair of goggles in the desk drawer- well made, rounded rectangular lenses with leather housings and a sturdy strap. Had Drake left these here for her? She tried them on- a perfect fit.

She turned her hand into a cleaver and gazed at her own reflection in its surface- something seemed to change about her, with the addition of the goggles. She looked… capable, ready for a fight. She pushed them back onto her head, and there was the sweet teenager again, pretty but unremarkable.

Curiously enough, Drake spoke more before he trusted her, but she noticed it was all surface level, conversational, faux-open. When it came to important matters, Drake was a man of few words- he liked to let his actions speak for him.

If they hit upon a subject he was genuinely interested in, however, he would speak at length, proving himself to be a very academic man, well-read and scholarly beneath the burly exterior.

He’d displayed an intense love for both astronomy and botany, and knew the anatomy of his dinosaur form to a depth that very few zoans did.

There was a telescope on board the ship- a small, ancient-looking thing Drake treasured- and whenever he spoke about the stars, she was back on the Snow Dove for just a bit, her siblings around her in their little snow globe world.

And that wasn’t the only thing that brought back memories. In a strange sort of coincidence, the spy lessons started with cards, just as they had with Cora-san so long ago.

Drake said it was how he himself had learned to strategize- analyzing the field of battle, planning ahead, juggling priorities, measuring risk and reward. It was so familiar, but they’d never gotten this far as kids.

Rosie apparently had a natural talent for reading people- which made sense, looking back- and if cultivated, she could hone that skill into something truly useful. Cards were good for training it.

She looked at the card in her hand, traced the hearts on its surface- one, two, three, four, five-, lost for a moment in the illustration of it. These were a medic’s set of cards, with anatomical illustrations accompanying the typical cartoon hearts.

The metal case they’d come from had ‘MA’ stamped on it- this must be something Drake had traded with another Marine, a piece of someone else he carried. She’d never thought to look for what initials had been on Cora-san’s set.

“Can I keep this one?” Drake looked at her a moment, but nodded, blessedly without asking. She tucked the card into her sleeve, already knowing the purpose she intended it for.

She was the five of hearts. She’d been the fifth born. One of five children in the Family, and similarly, one of five of the Swallow Island Siblings. Five times Doflamingo had shot Cora-san. The number seemed to rule her life.

And the hearts… it was a nod to her allegiance, to her brother and his crew, but also to her origins as Rosie. Rosie was from Cora-san. Law would understand.

She did her best to apply the skills she was learning, stretch out this awareness into everyday life. Drake was a challenge- he was a mystery, in so many different ways.

She had one data point, in that day on Minion Island- the boy running from the birdcage, bandaged and bruised but still trying to drag her to safety. She suspected it was still more than most had- and yet she was so far from understanding him.

It wasn’t for lack of trying, at least. Drake was the hardest person to read she’d met- he was truly skilled as a spy, able to maintain a stoic mask throughout anything.

But there was one tell she caught- Drake carried his truths in his shoulders. He could school his expression to whatever emotion or lack thereof he needed to portray, but his shoulders carried whatever he hid. He held a burden there, heavy and constant, but never made any sign of its weight upon him.

Still, Rosie made her notes where she could- she considered it part of her spy training, to try and prod answers out of Drake.

“You never eat very much at meals.” She’d noticed his portions were always smaller than those of the rest of the crew- strange, for such a large man. Drake nodded, “Slower metabolism.” He gave her a slight, tilted grin, “I am a reptile, you know.”

She blinked. He… he talked like Cora-san when he was lying, like everything was calculated- if she hadn’t learned his ways, she’d never have known. She mentally thanked Cora-san for teaching her.

But… why was Drake lying about his eating habits? She left it alone for the moment- it wasn’t her business. But she would be paying closer attention to him, just to make sure he was healthy.

And another strange thing… “You’re… older than I thought.” The teenage boy she’d met on Minion… she’d thought he couldn’t be any more than fifteen, surely. But, counting back from his current age, he must’ve been nineteen.

Drake tried to smile, but it didn’t get very far. “I was small for my age back then.” It was more than that, she knew, but it wouldn’t do to pry too deeply. She fed her curiosity in other ways, instead.

The relationship between Drake and his weapons was very… fascinating. She’d spoken to both Hell Creek and Flaming Cliffs, and had never met a pair less interested in bloodshed in her life. Even Law’s Kikoku had the hunger, the righteous fury.

Both rapier and axe expressed an interest only in protection, in defense, and they and their wielder longed for the day they would not need to be used. They performed their duty admirably, stalwartly in the grim determination of hope, but took no joy in their purpose, in the violence they committed. Their presences were as sandstone, deep and layered and steady. As was their wielder’s.

Drake was not a person who held anger- or, not personal anger, at least. He held plenty of righteous injustice, for the corruption in the World Government and the Marines. But he didn’t… allow himself, she thought it was, to be angry at things that happened to himself.

She could see it in how he treated his own circ*mstances, with a plain, un-sentimental acceptance. He could talk about things that happened to him, even personal traumas, as easily as reciting from a history book.

It was something that fascinated her, and she often tested its bounds to see if she could find the line. He would answer most of her questions, she’d found- he did his best to be open and honest, and his intense self-awareness was frankly scary.

“How long have you been a dinosaur?” “Most of my life- pops found the fruit when I was thirteen, had me eat it.” “He didn’t want it?” Drake’s fruit was a powerful one- most would want that power for themselves.

A steady shake of the head, “Too scared of losing the ability to swim. He was a sailor since he could walk, couldn’t bear the thought of the sea hating him.”

Rosie was silent for a moment. She could have asked about the crew- she knew Barrels had strong men surrounding him, who could have made better use of the power than a half-grown teenager- but she found she didn’t need to. For him to deliberately feed it to his son…

“He made you his weapon.” Drake didn’t say anything, expression unchanging, but also didn’t deny it. They were the same, Drake and her. Both made into weapons, tools of violence and power, used by cruel men who were supposed to love them.

And he was a good weapon, despite it being the last thing he wanted- another way they were the same. They were both good at violence, however reluctantly.

He demonstrated, hopping up onto one of the mast-lines and walking its length leisurely, even as the rope beneath his feet wobbled and dipped precariously. His tail sprouted, long and heavy, and his balance shifted to accommodate it, but never wavered.

“All your balance needs to be in the center of yourself, in your hips. But your weight follows your movements, spreading out to where you’re applying force. Just keep your balance centered, even when your weight isn’t. It’s just as much a mental feat as a physical one.”

Rosie made an attempt, starting with a deck railing instead, and made it only a few steps before she leaned too far one way and had to hop down to avoid falling. Drake nodded in approval, “It takes practice, but you’ll get it.”

His second, Darwin, huffed a strangled laugh- the first she’d heard from the usually stoic man, “Get him to show you the bull trick sometime!” Drake actually flushed, then, and he declared firmly, “I will not be showing anyone the bull trick.”

Rosie promptly made it her first self-imposed mission as a spy, to figure out what exactly ‘the bull trick’ was.

Drake introduced her, as well, to the scariest person she’d ever met. Lady Vi- called so not because of any landed title, but simply because everyone was so terrified of her they insisted on it.

Lady Vi was a Marine- had trained Vice Admiral Garp, Drake said, although Rosie didn’t know who that was or why he had been so impressed by it. She had never retired, and, when asked how such an apparently terrifying woman had come to be on his crew, Drake said only that ‘she came with the ship’.

Lady Vi seemed to think Drake was both the worst fool to ever live and the brightest possibility the Marines had for their future, and she treated him like a grandson.

…If ‘grandson’ meant she tossed him into walls for training and yelled at him constantly, but Rosie had never had grandparents, what did she know?

Officially, Lady Vi was the ship’s doctor- unofficially, she was whatever the hell she wanted and no one had the balls to tell her otherwise.

Even though the lady was old as dirt- Rosie figured she was almost a hundred- and only three feet tall, hunched over her cane as she was, she carried a sense of power on her shoulders like a cloak. Rosie adored her.

Lady Vi appreciated the extra help in the medbay, although she was the harshest taskmaster Rosie had ever worked with- still, the labor paid off, and Rosie could feel her skills growing.

Maybe she’d be able to keep up with Law, this way- be a nurse worthy of operating at his side.

Soon enough, Rosie was coming and going at will, traveling alone to scope things out or investigate something Drake asked for intel on.

She’d have to thank Bepo- that weapons book he'd gotten her included information on an advanced homing rocket MADS had once invented, which allowed her an entirely new form of transportation.

She could simply turn herself into a rocket and blast off, tracking across the sky and turning back into herself just in time for Drake to catch her.

Technically, he didn’t need to catch her- except for that first time, when she’d miscalculated the timing and almost broken through the deck if not for Drake’s quick reaction- but it stuck. It gave his crew a panic every time, as well, which was part of the fun.

Sometimes, she had to stay away, as well- Drake and his men were Marines, for all they weren’t only Marines, and having a stowaway would raise suspicion when they met with other crews, so she spent time traveling on her own, honing her skills that way.

It was much more bearable now, being alone- she no longer felt abandoned and lonely, as she once had. She held in her heart the knowledge that she’d always have somewhere to go back to- both her brother’s crew and Drake’s would always welcome her- and it kept her company.

She visited many islands across the four Blues, saw scenery she’d never known outside of fairy tales- forests with trees as tall as giants, mountains of blue stone capped with black snow, lakes with pink waters bright as bubblegum.

The island she’d stopped at this time was cold- cold like Swallow, cold like Minion. Snow covered the ground up to her knees, so she’d turned her lower body into tank treads to better traverse it.

After a long while crossing snowy hills and fields, she came upon a pond, frozen over entirely- the surface was frosted like a window, the water below distorted, the palest blue. It was a beautiful scene, quiet and cold and peaceful.

She was about to turn away when the sun gleaming off the surface caught her eye, and with it, an idea sparked in her mind. It was a foolish one, really, but the thought wouldn’t leave her alone.

Rosie sat in silence for a while, thinking. Memories crossed her mind- Cora-san tripping while carrying her, skidding down the hill with her tucked safely to his chest; Shachi and Penguin belly-sliding on frozen ponds back on Swallow, slipping across the ice with whoops of glee; the way Drake fought- all his spins and perfect balance.

All these things came together in her head, and she contemplated the ice. Maybe she could put her own twist on it.

The ice was thick, more than enough to hold a single person, but she could feel the water beneath it, feel it staring at her. She remembered the hands, the weight- the sensation of being dragged helplessly down.

Once more, she heard Cora-san’s instructions in the back of her head- deep breath, focus, know you’ll succeed.

The cold, biting air cleared her of any doubts, and her eyes snapped open, one black, one gray. It was time to conquer her fear of the ocean.

Blades sprung effortlessly from her feet, and she leapt out onto the ice. She wasted no time with cautious fumbling- the best way to keep steady was taking advantage of speed and centering her balance, spreading out her weight, like Drake had said.

Her first try took her straight across the ice, a beautiful moment of glory- she was gliding smoothly, wind carrying her hair behind her- before she crashed straight into the snowbank on the other side with a shriek.

It took several more crashes before she figured out how to turn, taking clumsy laps around the pond. But she kept practicing over the next week, and soon it was effortless, dancing on the ice as easily as walking- it felt more natural even, smooth and thoughtless in a way putting one foot in front of the other never had.

It gave a beauty to water that she’d never experienced with the ocean- even if she was still terrified of open water, she could find a way to love it, like this.

Rosie skated as often as she could, after that- seeking out frozen islands to partake in the hobby. She did her best thinking on the ice, wrapped up in her cloak and muffler, body spinning as much as her mind.

Sometimes, she’d close her left eye, leaving only Law’s right one open when she needed to channel his analytical mind- she knew it was only wishful thinking, but it still helped. It felt like he was here with her.

She did this as well when there was something she particularly wished he could see- her successful transformation into something she’d never been before, her single-handed defeat of a whole troop of bandits threatening a town, the sky in a lovely sunset.

She missed being able to talk with her brother, or even just sit in comfortable silence with him. Nothing was stopping her from visiting- nothing but the knowledge that he’d have questions she couldn’t answer.

He probably wouldn’t be happy with her chosen line of work- too close to the Marines, too dangerous without support beside her. She didn’t know how to explain, didn’t know if she could explain. And so she hesitated, still.

She returned to Drake in the middle of a battle- his men were racing around guiding civilians away from the houses that burned around them, Drake and the most capable of his crew fending off pirates. They had it well in hand, it appeared, but Rosie joined the fray anyway.

She saw as Drake engaged what must have been the pirate captain- a large man with a cruel grin, who wielded a vicious spiked chain. His aim wrapped the weapon around Drake’s forearm, but the pirate underestimated his strength. Drake held it fast and pulled his arm back, dragging the other into range of his axe, and the fight was over. Cleanup began, and Rosie went to help Lady Vi with triage.

She found Drake in an alley, after the civilians had all been rescued from the collapsed houses and the fires put out- his men were handling the rest, the injured all treated.

He sat alone on a crate, bandaging his injured arm- no doubt he would refuse to be treated until everything else had been seen to. His expression was placid- not stiff as if hiding pain, but calm as if not at all bothered by it. Interesting.

She put a hand atop his, and he stilled. “Here, let me.” Drake was silent as she finished wrapping the bandages, and she very deliberately did not linger on the scars around his wrists.

Shackles, her mind supplied- old scars, badly healed because the wounds looked to have been opened many times before they could properly seal. Had he had those when they’d met, on Minion? She couldn’t recall, the moment too chaotic.

She didn’t say anything, just watched the blood drip from the crate, the constellation it made in the dust. It was simpler than addressing the thoughts in her head.

She would admit to inheriting some of her brother’s hatred for Marines- how could she not, when he’d told her of how they’d failed his country, his people?

But seeing the world from this perspective- not as a Marine, but certainly more closely aligned with this particular Marine than the pirates who’d attacked an innocent village- it made things more complicated.

She could feel her own sense of right and wrong starting to take shape, a real moral code taking root in her mind. Their world wasn’t as simple as good and bad, or Marines and pirates. The ‘sides’ dissolved into meaningless binaries, with almost the whole world outside their boundaries.

Most people were simply trying their best, working with what they knew to make it in this harsh world. The rub rested mainly with what they knew, and what they didn’t- information, and what they did with it.

It was like Drake had said- knowledge was the most important tool. It was his favorite refrain, and his favorite tool- she’d seen already, how he used it to help people, to direct supplies and ease tempers, prevent pirate attacks and rebuild in the aftermath.

But not all who used it did so for good- the people in their world who controlled knowledge and its dissemination controlled the populace.

And Rosie herself was still holding knowledge secret- knowledge that could help, she knew. And she couldn’t say rightly why- was it because of her avoidance of the Family? The memory of Law’s fear, the idea of drawing their attention to him?

Baby 5 had liked Vergo- he taught her to be polite, to be obedient, and once she knew the rules and followed them perfectly, he’d never hit her again.

But Rosie was afraid of him, terribly so. Afraid not only of the man himself, but also what his presence meant- the looming danger of Doflamingo, and what he could do if he found them.

They’d lived under the radar, outside of the larger world, for long enough that diving back into it in this way, involving herself again, was terrifying.

But… Law wasn’t hiding anymore, not really. He was out there starting to make a name for himself. Rosie was… she wasn’t hiding in the shadows- the shadows were a very useful place to be, and allowed her to work without being noticed. But she wasn’t taking the same risks her brother was, out in the open.

For a long moment, the only sound was the blood dripping from the crate, the world outside the alley seeming far away. She bit her lip uncertainly, fingers tangled together as nooses. It wasn’t a tic she had a handle on yet, and she allowed herself to indulge in it now.

Rosie finally forced her tongue to loosen, in one decisive breath returning to the battle against the Family, “…There’s a spy in the Marines, for Doflamingo.” Drake looked back at her, carefully not stilling in replacing his leather bracer, but she could feel his eyes.

He looked like he was glaring sometimes, but only because he paid careful attention to everything he did- that severe gaze wasn’t wrath, but rather an unfettered concentration. Whenever that look turned to her, she knew she had his full attention.

That alertness was given to her now, and she knew what she had to say would be taken seriously, would be acted upon. The words dropped from her lips like stones, “His name is Vergo.” Drake nodded solidly, “Thank you.”

---

Law didn’t hear from his sister for months, although he kept an eye out for any mention of her. The denden he had for Rosie, painted with her lipstick and clothed in a tiny heart-patterned sweater she’d knitted herself, remained asleep in his desk drawer.

It had been so long, and he’d started to worry- had she been captured? Taken in by the Marines, or worse, the Family?

Then one day, a wanted poster caught his eye in the news. There was very little feature- a cloaked figure, face invisible under the hood, with only a lock of black hair and a blade emerging from the fabric.

But the name ‘Five of Hearts’ that captioned the photo told him all he needed to know. This was Rosie’s way of letting them know she was alright- had taken up a more stealthy line of work, apparently, by the list of crimes. He wondered for whom, and to what end.

The boys insisted on partying that night, in celebration of Rosie’s first bounty, and he obliged them with a fond sigh. He’d received his own first bounty only recently, and knew that she must’ve seen it- likely had playfully mocked him for the fierce smirk he’d thrown the camera.

But he had to admit, the knowledge of her safety eased him greatly, as well. It was good to know she was out there, apparently doing something she liked.

His own crew had grown in the past months- a full seven people now, with the additions of Clione and Hakugan. The ship was still meant to be crewed by many more, but they were capable on their own.

The boys and Ikkaku had all kept their mechanics coveralls, and now Bepo was jealous, wanting his own set to fit in with the others. It was lucky, then, that Hakugan knew how to sew, and graciously altered a stolen one for the mink.

The suit was then dyed a bright orange, after no one could spot him in the snow on the next island- the non-color blind were now a majority of the crew, thankfully, so the color helped.

It kind of became a thing after that, although Law couldn’t care less, personally. If there was any uniform at all, it was this- every crew member got a pebble to carry on their person always, so Law could teleport them to each other in case of danger.

But it hadn't taken long before he realized… it was the same kind of fire he’d felt from Cora-san, the willingness to burn down anything that threatened his people. Not possessive, but protective- a small difference on the face of it, but an important one.

He’d inherited the same kind of demon his dad had once hidden within him, and he would wield it the same way- for the protection of his people.

The new members had settled in quickly enough to their ragtag bunch of misfits, and were regaled by the boys with stories about Rosie that wildly exaggerated and conflicted to the point of making her some sort of cryptid. Rosie would, no doubt, find it hilarious.

Her presence hung around the ship in dozens of little details. She was still taking care of him through her absence, in a way. Whenever he spent too long reading late at night, her eye started to ache- just slightly, a distracting throb. He considered it her nagging at him to go to sleep, and learned to obey the warning.

Consequently, he slept a lot better- something the boys were eternally grateful for, and something he hated to admit did him a world of good.

He was still growing, likely in the last of his developmental stages (he’d taken apart his knees to check the fusion of the growth plates, out of frustration), and was getting anxious to be finally settled in his own body. The constant ache of joints and spikes of hormones was wearing on his nerves, and the extra sleep helped.

But even this was a bearer of grief for him- every time he misjudged his gait or stumbled on too-long legs, he remembered Cora-san doing the same, couldn’t help comparing past and present.

But his coordination issues would be temporary, alleviating once he’d finished growing- Cora-san’s had been the result of injury and poor healing, a pain the man carried all his life.

Law had once promised to put him back together right, so he could walk without pain and uncertainty. He’d never gotten the chance. And now his mind found something to grieve in everything, it seemed.

It was another month before he was startled out of monotonous research by the purring of a denden- another moment before he realized it was the one in his desk, and rushed to pull it out and answer. “Rosie?”

There was no voice on the other end, but after a moment, a familiar tapping came over the line, his mind automatically translating it- ‘Hey, big brother. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?’ 


Chapter 19: Patience

Chapter Text

As Rosie grew in skill, she spent less time on the Liberal Hind and more out in the world, gathering information and assisting where she could. She was a full-fledged spy now, she considered almost giddily- running missions to gather intel and uncover secrets.

Drake’s crew had come up with a simple way to communicate to each other that Rosie had arrived, without any announcements- the raising of a red flag alongside the others, signaling that the ship was carrying munitions.

Rosie nearly fell over in laughter, when Cope and Marsh explained it to her. There was no way to define why it was funny, but she laughed harder than she thought she’d ever laughed before- an undignified laugh, snorting and wheezing and utterly genuine.

It was the first time someone had used her nature as a weapon purely for entertainment, for a joke.

Drake, being Drake, noticed it immediately, a frown creasing his brow. “Why are we flying the red flag? We didn’t take on any dangerous cargo at port- I would know.” “But we are carrying a load of munitions, sir.”

Cope pointed at Rosie, a poor attempt at an innocent expression on his mustached face. She tried and immediately failed the same, falling into cackling laughter once more, so strong she doubled over and clutched at her gut.

Marsh grinned widely, jabbing Cope in the gut with his elbow and managing much better composure, “Rosie thinks it’s funny, sir.” Drake put a hand over his eyes and sighed, but a fond, exasperated smile tinged his lips.

“Well, we should at least have a munitions expert on board to justify it, then. Any suggestions?” A hand went up, “Engineer Walcott, sir- he’d be sympathetic to the cause, I know it.” Drake nodded affirmatively, “Arrange a meeting, if you would. He’s an excellent sapper, I know.”

And so the red flag flew on the Liberal Hind much more frequently than other Marine ships.

One day, Rosie returned to the ship in a panic, flinging herself into Drake’s office with desperate quickness. “Help, my lighter stopped working!” His brows drew together in confusion at her visible distress, but he didn’t understand- this was one of the only things she had left of Cora-san, and the only material thing.

He put away his ever-present notebook, and held out a hand- she placed her lighter in it, eyes pleading. Drake raised a brow, “This is military-issue.” She nodded hopefully- that’s why she’d gone to him. He was military, so he would be familiar with that standard lighter.

He only glanced at her for a moment before turning his attention back to the object, and pulled from his belt a small metal kit- it was stocked with cotton and wicks and miniature tools, well-organized.

The initials on it read ‘AD’- she’d started looking for the initials now, on Marine gear, noticing how it seemed all Marines were carrying pieces of their fellows with them.

These initials, she presumed, belonged to his second, Athos Darwin- they were close friends, in that way where they had no need to speak, and often didn’t. The two mostly sat silently together, when they were alone. Darwin was the only one besides Lady Vi on the ship who had known Drake as a cadet.

Drake stopped, frowning at the lighter’s face, before determinedly shaking his head and dismissing whatever thought had caught him. She watched intently as he carefully took the lighter apart, slipping it from its base and removing the cotton, but he was careful with it, as he was with everything.

He hummed lightly, and she peered closer- that was his ‘I understand now’ hum. He must’ve found the problem- sure enough, he tugged the spring loose, a kink in its coil sticking in the tube.

He replaced the spring and gave it a fresh wick, cotton, and flint, before expertly putting the lighter back together and passing it back without a word. She took it gratefully, pressing a kiss to his temple before she was off once more.

He didn’t ask why she carried a lighter, when she was fully capable of becoming her own, and she was desperately thankful to him for that small kindness.

And the next time she visited, she found a matching kit sitting in her hammock, this one with ‘R’ and a rose hand-engraved on its surface.

The work continued, her skills increasing and, along with them, the impact she made on the world, however invisible from the outside.

It wasn’t like she’d thought they could take Doflamingo down overnight- the Marines had tried before, Cora-san had tried before, and that had all gone disastrously.

She shook her head, hair flying as she paced, wearing a familiar path in the wood of Drake’s small office, “Why is it so difficult, though? Why can’t the Marines just revoke his Warlord status? He’s committing crimes, and everyone knows it.”

Drake didn’t look up, quill scratching in his notebook, “The Marines don’t decide who is offered a position. That order comes from above.” “But even so, we have evidence now that he’s working for a Yonkou- that puts him in direct opposition to the Government, right? Shouldn’t they want to stop him?”

Drake was silent a long moment- it didn’t mean he didn’t have an answer, she knew now, he was just trying to find the best way to explain it.

Finally, he spoke, “Have you noticed… how the Yonkou don’t have bounties?” She nodded hesitantly- she’d always assumed it was something similar to the Warlords, how their bounties were frozen. What did this have to do with Doflamingo?

“It’s because of just how powerful they are- they may be separate entities outside the reach of the government, but they’re also stabilizing forces in their own right- they rule over their own territories, in a way no other pirate can manage.”

Not only islands, but entire regions of the sea, she’d seen. Doflamingo ruled an island- Big Mom ruled dozens. The Yonkou were on an entirely different level.

"Putting a bounty on them would inspire others to go after that bounty- and the power vacuum in the wake of a Yonkou’s defeat is not something the government can afford, because of the instability it would cause.”

Rosie could understand that- putting an enormous bounty on such a person would encourage others to go after them, even despite the risk.

There were plenty of pirates either arrogant or desperate enough to try, and the chance of one succeeding and displacing the Yonkou, not only bringing in an unknown power element but also increasing the threshold to surpass… A cycle no sane government would want to start.

“It’s a trade-off, you understand- the government lets these actors control their own regions, and they keep the… relative peace, I suppose. Redhair and Newgate are fairly agreeable- they keep to themselves, don’t attack others unless provoked, and the lands they control are usually peaceful.”

He waited for her to nod her understanding, then continued, “But Kaido and Big Mom are an entirely different story- they’re active aggressors, imperial forces that expand into other territories. Their actions change the field quickly, and they are much more… volatile agents. The government is particularly careful with them.”

The picture he was illustrating made the balances of the world much more complex than she’d known- keeping them from tipping into chaos required a delicate touch, and careful juggling of dozens of variables.

Drake had given her the answer to her question as well, without outright stating it. She thought she understood now, the position Doflamingo had worked himself into. The government couldn’t go after him without starting conflict with his benefactor, Kaido- and that was something they weren’t willing to do.

“So you’re… not going after the Yonkou, then? Or not now, at least- because they’re too powerful, and you can’t risk that power vacuum?” Drake nodded, fingers stroking thoughtfully over his chin scar, “We are likely to run afoul of them eventually- the institution of the Yonkou isn’t compatible with a more equitable, less corrupt world.

“Still, the Yonkou- even Kaido and Big Mom- are not an immediate target, because they are holding a tense sort of peace both between each other and the government- mutually assured destruction, effectively, is holding them back from directly attacking.”

A sigh, “There are still... pieces to be put in place before we can do anything about them.” His eyes went dark for a moment, mouth tightening.

This really was much bigger than she’d thought. Her endgame had always been Doflamingo, and even he seemed like an insurmountable obstacle, but this… This fight went so much deeper than she’d known.

Doflamingo simply held too many cards for the World Government to let go of him that easily. He had made himself indispensable- too much of a threat to leave to his devices, too much of a boon to discard. And his worth to Kaido made him nigh untouchable.

It made sense, why SWORD was focusing on removing from play those pieces he held- the only way to safely take him out would be to eliminate the connections that made him useful.

The thought caught at her, and she glanced up, “What about Vergo?” Surely he, at least, counted as one of those pieces they could take down. Drake shook his head, going back to writing in his notebook, “The higher ups have decided it’s more useful to keep him in place. They’ve started feeding him bad intel, to corrode Doflamingo’s operations.”

Her instincts growled, wanting justice, wanting Vergo to suffer, but the spy part of her- the part she was carefully cultivating under Drake’s tutelage- tentatively approved.

All of this was so much bigger than Doflamingo- he’d built a web of warmongers and arms dealers around himself, and the Marines wanted the whole network taken down. Otherwise, someone else could simply take up the reigns.

It felt cowardly, for the Marines to let him stay in power, let the people of Dressrosa continue to suffer, but she also knew it wasn’t them who made the decisions of who was made Warlord.

And as long as he held that position, the Marines had to work with him. At least this way, they could see just how far his connections went and dismantle them from underneath him.

She rubbed at her temples with a frustrated groan- the more she understood, the more things stopped being easy to understand. Drake only shrugged apologetically, clearly knowing the feeling, “The world is complex. There are very few things that truly have simple answers- always question anyone who insists on them, because their answers typically end with oversimplification and blame.”

Rosie understood, intellectually, but she hated that the world was like this- hated that it had to be like this. Having to weigh lives, weigh short-term gain against long-term, allow suffering to continue in order to ensure its eventual defeat… It was a moral injury that never stopped stinging.

She didn’t know how Drake dealt with it, having to be the one who made the decisions. But he wasn’t like those officers who viewed people as pawns, at least, moving flesh and blood and bone like pieces on a game board. He had that hard practicality to him- the detachment that let him make difficult decisions, based on what would save the most lives.

But importantly, he moved himself as a pawn first and foremost. Every decision he made was carefully calculated, and his own person was the first piece he moved into danger in any situation. She had to respect that.

And she took her satisfaction where she could, in the victories they won. They were gradually taking apart Doflamingo’s underworld empire, one piece at a time.

She got to see the material good being done- the people freed, the smuggling and slave trafficking rings taken down. It wasn’t enough- it wasn’t the collapse of Doflamingo’s empire- but it was good. The work she’d done- the information she’d gathered and Drake’s skill in using it- was freeing whole islands, had stopped at least one war.

No, it wasn’t the ultimate goal, but it mattered. These small victories built up into large ones, and the little people were happy.

And her brother’s crew continued to grow in skill and notoriety, as well. Rosie collected his bounty posters obsessively- the only pictures she had of her brother, the only way to track what he looked like as they both grew. She wasn’t a fan of the facial hair, at all. But his sarcastic smirk always made her shake her head fondly.

She got his crew symbol tattooed on her upper arm, that smile that meant so much to both of them. This way, they’d match when they met again in person. And she could feel like part of the crew, although still so far away.

It was good to be communicating with him again, even restricted as their contact was. They never spoke over the denden- with him a pirate and her a spy and both very wanted, it was too dangerous- but conversed in that tapping language Cora-san had taught them. She didn’t tell him what she did, and he didn’t ask, thankfully.

She’d gotten him a gift recently, sent it to the sub- a plant Drake had found on a desert island, and collected a few specimens of out of curiosity. It was prickly, just like her brother, and Rosie thought it was adorable.

So she was extra excited to talk to him this time, bouncing in her seat, Mister Woolley clutched close, while the snail purred its dial tone. She didn’t even bother with a greeting once Law picked up, only tapping, ‘Get it yet?’

The response was slow, ‘Yes. What is it?’ She heard the crinkling of paper on the other end- he must be opening it as they talked. ‘Cactus. Thought you’d like.’ The crinkling stopped- he had it open. ‘Why a plant?’ ‘Easier than a cat?’ She had contemplated it, but decided against the idea- her brother was too much like a cat himself, and she worried for Bepo’s already poor self esteem if the cat didn’t like him.

A low sigh- the closest she ever got to hearing his voice these days- and he tapped, ‘I live under the ocean. Desert plants don’t like it here.’ ‘Don’t you have a plant lover on your crew? He can help.’

She could almost feel the puzzlement in his next response, ‘How do you know that? I picked him up last week.’ Rosie grinned to herself, and smugly answered, ‘I have my sources.’

There was a pause, and she pictured him dragging his hands down his face in exasperation, before tapping began again, ‘What have you named it?’

She silently fist-pumped in victory- that was as good as him saying he loved it. ‘Needles.’ ‘Seriously?’ Her grin spread into something mischievous, and she knew he could picture it, even without seeing her. ‘You’re a doctor, and he’s a cactus. You have something in common.’ Another pause, another sigh- this one fond. ‘Fine.’

He couldn’t send anything in return, as he didn’t know where she was- and he wasn’t really a gift-giving person, anyway- but she’d be content with this brief contact, for now. She could send him things, and pretend to show him her world with his eye, and then when they could meet up again, she’d get to tell him all about it for real. She’d be patient.

---

Law was dreaming- he must be. He was a kid again, everything big around him. And he stood in front of a door- a little cottage, smoke curling lazily from its chimney and rose bushes framing its front.

Home, he somehow knew. Just like he somehow knew the vegetable and herb garden out back, and the kitchen table with three chairs, and his and Rosie’s rooms next to each other. Just like he somehow knew who would be waiting for him inside.

He rushed in, eyes scanning over the interior of the little house- it was suddenly familiar, even as he took in the cozy ambiance for the first time- rustic wood, lit by sunlight streaming in from the windows, the smell of warmth and something lightly floral.

And then his eyes caught on the man sitting on the plush couch. Cora-san wasn’t wearing any makeup, any masks. It was only the second time he’d seen him without paint, but he looked so different now- the first time, he’d been frowning, preoccupied with his thoughts, and bruised, but now… he looked happy, calm. And less like Doflamingo than he ever had.

Law hung his school bag on the back of his chair- he knew it was his chair, somehow, and that was where his bag always went. “Where‘s Rosie?” “With friends.”

Hearing Cora-san’s voice again after so long… it had begun to fade in his mind, leaving him unable to recall the timbre of it, how he shaped sounds, but those two words brought it all back.

He could remember now, the deep warmth of it, the way the man had always slid perfectly from language to language, sounding like a native to both High and Low Northern, as well as Grand.

The hum in his mind, the songs Cora-san had sung them so long ago, suddenly sounded clearer than ever, and Law was intent on holding onto the revelation when he woke.

Even if it was only a dream, he wasn’t going to waste time. He clambered into Cora-san’s lap, determinedly tucking himself to his chest- he’d wanted this too much to feel shame, missed the man too desperately to feel any embarrassment. Cora-san just chuckled and held him in tight, petting his hair.

The man was just as big, just as warm and gentle and comforting, as Law remembered, and it made his eyes feel hot and itchy.

He laid his head on the man’s chest, enjoying the large fingers carding through his hair, and found a steady heartbeat under his ear. Something in his gut hurt, knowing it wasn’t real, knowing that heart had been silent for seven years.

He bit his lip, asked, “When did you decide we were… we’re your kids?” Cora-san tipped his head back to lay on the edge of the sofa, and hummed. “Well, I was in denial for quite a bit. But looking back… with Rosie, it was… the day we left. I realized she was too much like me, and if I left her with Doffy, I couldn’t forgive myself.”

So from the very beginning, he’d known Rosie was his, then. Law wondered how much longer it had taken for him. “And you… about five minutes after you stabbed me.” He blinked, looked up at the man, “Wait, really?” That far back? Even before Rosie? “Yep. My friends used to make fun of me, said I was always soft for the sh*ttiest brats.” He ruffled Law's hair fondly.

That itchy feeling grew stronger, and he shoved his face into Cora-san’s shirt to hide any tears that might’ve escaped, breathing in the scent of him, gunpowder and salt and soil.

He didn’t smell like cigarette smoke anymore- the knowledge floated into his head that the kids had badgered Cora-san into quitting once they’d settled in the village.

They sat together quietly for some time, Law curled into him like he’d ached to do for so long, just memorizing the feeling of being warm and held.

He’d almost fallen asleep there when his hair was ruffled once more, and Cora-san spoke. “Hey, kid- it’s time to wake up. You’ve gotta finish it- don’t let them get you so soon, you’ve got a whole lot of life to live.” Tears burned at his eyes, and he clutched tightly to his dad’s shirt- he didn’t want to go, he wanted to stay with Cora-san, in their home.

But the realization hit him, flashes of what had happened only moments ago coming to him. This wasn’t just some dream- it was the afterlife. And he wasn’t meant to be here yet.

He’d been in a fight- the others were at the market, and he’d been ambushed, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. The bounty hunter had gotten a lucky hit.

“You and Rosie take care of each other, okay?” Cora-san pressed a kiss to his forehead, smile wide and wobbly. “We’ll see each other again. Hopefully not for a very long time, but someday. And in the meantime,” he pressed a giant hand to Law's chest, “I’m right here, always. I love you.”

He looked up at Cora-san, at that smile- just as wide, even without the paint- and tried to commit it to memory, even as he felt himself tugged away.

This time, he managed it- managed to say, “I love you, too”, before he was suddenly waking up in the snow, in so much pain. He barely kept himself from crying out, gritting his teeth to keep from alerting the bounty hunter, back turned only feet away.

He could feel Kikoku snarling from where it had been kicked away- the hunter no doubt thought him unarmed. A foolish assumption. He still had BT, holstered up his sleeve as she always was.

In a flash, he shrugged her into his hand, flipped the blade open, and shoved it through the man’s temple. The other’s cruel smile died as suddenly as he did, body thudding like a log to the ground.

He slumped back into the snow, breathing heavily- his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He managed a smirk, gazing up at the gray sky, “Heh- if you have one, you have none. Thanks for the save, Cora-san, BT.”

The knife glinted in the snow next to him, winking brilliantly, and he swore he could feel that old, familiar sensation of wax on his forehead.

He eventually gathered himself enough to stand, having to lean on Kikoku, and shambled back to the sub. It was… nice, to know that he’d eventually get that little house he’d dreamed of, with Cora-san and Rosie. Even if only in the afterlife. He’d be patient.

And it meant everything, that he had finally gotten to say it back.

Chapter 20: First Steps

Chapter Text

A package had arrived at the Polar Tang as soon as they surfaced, the News Coo that carried it taking a rest on the railing- it squawked something belligerently, which Law assumed to be beratement for daring to live underwater. He ignored it.

Penguin and Shachi stood over the package, debating about its origin and contents. “Think it’s another gift from Rosie?” “Who else sends us things?” Shachi was right- other than the news, pirate crews with no traceable address tended to not get much mail.

Which was why it had been such a surprise when that first package came, its brown paper marked only with a maroon heart. Law had scanned it and found nothing immediately harmful, and his suspicions had only been confirmed when Rosie called not long after to ask about its arrival.

Needles-ya now sat on his desk, in a small pot decorated with hearts.

He knew what to expect now, when the next brown-paper parcel arrived, its maroon heart decorated this time with a kiss print. The boys had insisted on being there for the opening of this one, as Rosie had included sweets for them in the last one.

Which, unfortunately, meant he couldn’t hide the contents of the package- no doubt she’d done that on purpose, for this exact reason.

His eyebrow twitched, when he pulled out the shirt. His face had gone entirely flat, the only way he could keep himself from expressing anything foolish. Of course this only made the boys anticipate it more, Shachi’s face going preemptively gleeful, “What? What is it?”

He sighed deeply, resigning himself to what was to come, before turning the shirt around for them to see. It was a pastel yellow, featuring a cutesy design of an owl and the words ‘Owl steal your heart’ in a curlicue font.

Shachi snorted, managing to hold in laughter for only a moment before fracturing, falling to the floor in raucous, hyena-like howls. Penguin sat ramrod still, eyes wide and expression perfectly flat- then he slipped as well, a teakettle whistle emitting from him as he slid from his seat to land on all fours on the floor, banging his fist against the metal in helpless trembles of cackling giddiness.

Bepo just pressed his paws to his cheeks, eyes gone starry, “Oh, it’s so cute!” Law scowled, “Not the vibe I’m going for.”

Shachi was sprawled out on the floor, gasping as tears of mirth poured down his face, and pulled into himself, clutching his gut as the laughter became so forceful it started to hurt. He wheezed, “Oh, fearsome pirate! You’re so cute!” Law promptly gave him a real reason for his gut to hurt.

The shirt did make occasional appearances, though, when he’d emerge from his quarters, still in pajamas- scrub pants and an oversized t-shirt and a grumpy scowl- and wordlessly demand coffee.

The only excuse he gave was that it wasn’t worth getting rid of free clothes, but he knew the others could tell otherwise. It was, perfectly coincidentally, his favorite pajama shirt.

It was this shirt that hung loose on his shoulders as he took his first sips and finally woke up enough to be considered a sentient being.

As if waiting for this moment, a pebble was slapped down on the table in front of him, and he met Clione’s glare with a slow blink. The cook growled, “If I find another f*cking pebble in the dishwasher, I’m going to make you eat it! This is the second time you’ve broken the damn thing!”

The other turned away, stalking back to the kitchen- the pebble sat accusingly next to his coffee mug, and he lazily switched it into his pocket.

He sighed, stretching out languidly- his back popped in two places, and he made a content little noise, before slumping back in his seat.

As a perpetual insomniac, he’d naturally become a caffeine addict. It wasn’t his fault he had a favorite mug, or that said mug was always in the dishwasher because of how often he drank coffee, or that he was too lazy to get up and grab it himself most mornings- okay, that last one was actually his fault.

It was a matter of contention with the crew, who kept finding random pebbles in inconvenient places where he’d switched things. They’d started a jar to drop them in as they found them, and he occasionally emptied the jar into his pockets just to have some on hand.

Penguin had started joking that they needed to swap names, as only one of them was constantly hoarding pebbles. He’d teleported the other overboard for the comment last time, when they’d been at the surface, but his co-second had just floated leisurely in the water and grinned up at him, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be grumpy for long.

Law was twenty two, and had been captain of his own pirate crew for four years. They’d remained in the North until now, slowly building up strength and numbers- his companions numbered thirteen, a good and loyal crew.

But he never forgot his mission, his purpose- the reminders were everywhere, in the marks on his skin and his Jolly Roger.

Sometimes he forgot to mourn Cora-san the person in favor of Cora-san the concept, the missed chance at a normal life. He still pondered on that could-have-been world that was lost to him, far more frequently than was healthy.

Ever since his strange ‘visit’ to the man, his dreams were now full of pleasant domestic scenarios- family dinner, market day, small-town festivals, even something as simple as chores at home. Things he’d never gotten, with the path his life had taken since Minion.

He preferred these dreams to the normal burning city and treasure chest nightmares, although they were just as painful once he woke and felt the hollow in his chest ache anew.

He stared into his coffee, pondering the last time he and Rosie spoke. It had been a mostly normal conversation- both talking around the parts of their lives that would worry the other, Rosie saying little to nothing about her daily life, other than that she did a lot of traveling.

She told a lot of stories of the places she’d seen, the scenery and the weather- it reminded him of their little signed stories, when they were kids, with the way she fell into flowery, almost fairytale language with her descriptions. He always listened attentively, the tapping bringing florid images of islands and forests to life in his mind.

He’d in turn informed his sister about Needles-ya blooming, to which she’d responded, ‘Aww, he likes you.’

But then, after a moment of hesitation, Rosie had tapped something seriously, entirely out of the blue, ‘His position as Warlord prevents the Marines from doing anything against him. If we want to take him down, he has to lose that position first.’

He wanted to ask, wanted to know where she was getting the information from, but he knew she wouldn’t answer. Whatever she was doing, he wasn’t supposed to know- and sometimes he wished he could see what she saw through her eye, just to make sure she was safe.

But she was still helping him, in the ways she could. This information was something he could work with- a first step to finally achieving his goal. He had to remove Doflamingo as a Warlord.

How, exactly, was he going to do that? He could think of only two ways- either make Doflamingo useless for the government’s purposes, or too much of a liability to be worth the trouble. For that… he’d have to go to the root of Doflamingo’s influence- the underworld.

It was time to head for the Grand Line.

---

Time continued to pass, and Rosie steadily became more capable and self-assured. The bounty on her persona ‘Five of Hearts’ continued to grow, although she noted with pride that most of her infiltrations had gone unnoticed entirely, and Drake had given her a set of white and black dendens to communicate clandestinely over long distances.

She named them ‘Dove’ and ‘Crow’, and gave herself the codename ‘Besos’. Drake was ‘Fanger’, which he explained was an old-fashioned term for a trapper- it fit, describing both his specialty and his nature as a fanged beast.

Drake also led her further into the complex world of spycraft, and she was learning the more complex realities of the world behind the curtain. Being in the Family had given her the ability to sniff out where things weren’t quite right- the instinctual radar for criminality that all criminals possessed- but these skills let her understand and do something about it.

She and Drake had developed an easy companionship, and were a deadly competent team.

Not only was she better at reading him now, he also didn’t wear his stoic mask as much anymore around her- it was nice. He was still not an expressive man, by any means- his emotionality was only slight, in the tension of his face and the slightest of twitches, clearly trained into showing as little as possible, even subconsciously- but it was enough.

However, there were two secrets Drake still kept, and he kept them openly- his notebook, which Rosie had never gotten so much as a peek into, despite it being always on his person and seemingly always open for him to scribble something in- and one specific meeting.

It was the same meeting every time, she had figured out that much, but there was no pattern she could work out as to timing or location. Every once in a while, he would simply disappear, returning a day or two later as if nothing had happened.

Try as she might, she’d never been able to figure out where Drake went during these times, never managed to follow him to his secret meeting. He usually encouraged her to spy on some of his meetings, as a way to get more experience and to understand how negotiations worked- but for some reason, this one had been hidden.

Until today. Today, Drake asked her to accompany him.

He had just been released from a temporary mission at a new World Government lab- Rosie had stayed away, because an Admiral had been there as well, and she very much wanted to stay out of their crosshairs- and Drake had been somewhere between thoughtful and grim ever since. This must have to do with whatever happened there.

The meeting must be close by, because Drake was in civilian clothes and they only took the small sailboat. Rosie hadn’t been on a craft like this in a while, and it was almost nostalgic for her. The pair were quiet most of the journey, neither needing to communicate aloud, and Drake seemed to know exactly where he was going.

She’d started smoking only a few months back- a way to deal with the stress that was less visible than her other nervous tics, and an excuse to hold Cora-san’s lighter more often.

She’d found the same brand he’d once smoked- a cheap kind from the North, common as dirt- and the scent of its smoke always eased her, made her feel safe. She found she slept better, now the cloak she bundled up in smelled like that familiar smoke.

“Who are we meeting with?”, she asked, half not expecting Drake to answer at all. So she was surprised when he responded calmly, “A contact from The Revolutionary Army.”

She stopped, watching the smoke from her cigarette rise over the ocean, before glancing to him, “Why are the Marines working with the Revolutionaries?” Drake hummed, the twitch at the corner of his lips just a bit smug, “The Marines aren’t. SWORD is.”

Drake stayed silent a long moment, waiting patiently while she thought it through, and it came to her suddenly. “Your goals do align, actually. Not on the face of it- but underneath. Both groups want the World Government’s monopoly on power ended- you might disagree on where the power goes, but the main idea of ending the corruption at the top is the same.”

He nodded, proud that she’d come to the conclusion herself. “Excellent deduction. There are many places where our goals diverge, and it will likely lead the two groups to separate paths at some point in the future, but right now, neither has the strength to combat the influence of the Gorosei and the World Nobles on their own. Alliance is beneficial to us both.”

She hummed in understanding, “It’s an ‘enemy of my enemy’ arrangement, then?” Drake shrugged- not quite right, then. “In a way. Both groups are idealists, but hardened idealists- we recognize how power and policy work, and the sacrifices that must be made for progress.

“The Revolutionaries accept that a world with no centralized power at all is not going to materialize overnight, and SWORD… we exist exactly because we recognize the Marines are not what we should be.”

Rosie thought it through- it made sense, from the angle of power dynamics. But she saw one major risk in that alliance. “So what happens when your end goals do diverge? Does the power struggle begin anew?” “That’s why we build relationships between the two groups now, so that down the line, diplomatic resolutions can be sought.”

Rosie chuckled, a grin creeping onto her face, “So basically, we’re making friends?” Drake’s answering smile then had no humor in it, “When speaking of foreign policy, the allocation of power… there are no friends, only interests. My goal is to ensure our continued alliance by keeping our interests in line with each other.”

He shrugged, a slight upward tug at the edge of his lips- genuine, this time. “But yes, there are those among the Revolutionaries I would consider personal friends. It makes negotiations easier.”

It could hardly be called land- barely a sand bar, covered with a few large boulders and aquatic plants that made it clear they had only until high tide before it was gone once more.

But there was a figure waiting for them, perched atop one of the boulders. A young woman, approximately Rosie’s own age. She had light brown hair that shone red in the sun, and a burgundy cap atop her head, where brass goggles were perched.

She glanced at Drake, then at Rosie- her expression never changed, unreadable dark blue eyes revealing nothing, but slid back to Drake, looking for something.

He nodded indulgently, and suddenly, the distant facade shattered in favor of a giddy grin- the young woman tossed herself at Drake, wrapping her arms around him in an ecstatic hug. Drake caught her easily, hefting her in his arms, and she shrieked with joy.

The pieces clicked in Rosie’s head, "She’s one of your strays." The young woman stuck her tongue out at Rosie playfully, "Actually, I’m the first stray!"

Drake set her down, and she shook Rosie’s hand enthusiastically, “Koala- nice to meet you!” Rosie hesitated, the sudden tone shift still throwing her off balance, but shook it off and introduced herself as well.

Koala’s eyes lit up, “Oh, my old goggles! I knew I forgot those somewhere!” Rosie gasped, hand flying to the goggles resting in her hair, “These are yours? I found them in the desk, and assumed they’d been left for me. Do you want-“ The other woman shook her head, grinning widely, “No, no- consider them a gift, from one stray to another. We can be goggle buddies, anyway.” Rosie blinked- goggle buddies…

Drake returned to the little sailboat for the bag he’d brought, and Koala winked at her conspiratorially, “So how’d he pick you up?” A shrug, “Chance encounter in a bar- we’d met briefly years ago, he recognized me.”

She raised a brow, not directly asking the same question, but Koala reciprocated, “I ran away from home, after they killed someone I cared about. Drake found me in the streets, brought me aboard. He found me a place with the Revolution.” The other gave her a bright grin, and she returned it, cautiously optimistic- she hadn’t expected such… exuberance from the Revolutionary Army, she had to admit.

Then Drake was back, laying out a tarp across the sand and spreading the maps and documents he’d brought across it, and it was time for business.

Rosie mostly sat back and watched- it was always fascinating to watch Drake at his makeshift strategy tables, how he could lay out scenarios and predictions of behavior. How this kingdom would react if that kingdom took this action, what it would take for negotiations to break down, how long any combatant could last before running out of allied support or manpower to fight.

He had an innate instinct for patterns- had described it before as necessary for hunting and trapping, to be able to follow observations to their extrapolated endpoints, know what the prey would do next.

And Koala matched him, seeming to understand the depth of it just as well- the two traded information, fingers flying over the maps and pointing out front lines and safe passages and no man’s land of various battles Rosie hadn’t even known were happening.

Much of what the two said was still encoded- Rosie couldn’t be sure if it was too secret for her to know yet, or if these two covert specialists simply were more comfortable speaking in code.

She looked away, still listening for anything she could understand amidst the jumble of military jargon and seemingly random words, but focused her attention on details of the other woman.

Koala was lean, like herself, but had a firm strength in her limbs, and was light on her feet. Likely an accomplished fighter, although Rosie didn’t see any weapons- a martial artist, then? A runaway, picked up off the streets, who found her purpose with the Revolutionaries. She was interesting, and Rosie felt a sort of quiet kinship with her.

It wasn’t more than an hour before it seemed the work was done, and Drake rolled up his maps once more, meticulously folding the tarp. Koala reached up to wrap her arms around Drake’s neck in another hug, “Thanks for letting me know- that makes a lot more sense. I’m sure Dragon suspected something like this, but I’ll tell him anyway. And… be safe. We’re prepared for what’s coming, so there’ll be no surprise on our end.”

Drake just nodded, holding the young woman tight for a moment before they said their goodbyes. Koala shook her hand vigorously once more, declaring it “nice to meet another stray!”, with a playful tap to her goggles.

Both parties went their separate ways, the young woman disappearing behind the boulder to whatever form of transportation she’d left there, and Drake and Rosie began sailing back where they’d come.

A lot of the questions she’d had were answered now, however indirectly, but there was still one thing that bothered her. “So why did you bring me along, this time? I know you’ve met with her before- your secret meetings. Why now?”

He didn’t look back at her, eyes fixed on the sea. “Because I’m going to pass on the responsibility for this particular meeting to you, before too long. We’re about to enter a new stage of my mission, and there are certain things I won’t be able to do anymore.”

She didn’t ask about the mysterious ‘new stage’- Drake was always reticent when it came to orders from higher up, and he hadn’t failed in telling her what she needed to know yet.

“And you want me to take over the meetings with the Revolutionaries? That’s… big.” Drake dipped his head, “You’re more than capable. And you’ve already gotten along well with Koala- unless something desperate happens, I usually only meet with her, and she liaises with their generals.”

Rosie poked him, a playful grin tugging at her lips, “You’ll have to teach me that code, then.” The slightest of smirks crossed his face, “I will, don’t worry.”

It wasn’t another week before Drake asked her aside to his office, and closed the door. That was how Rosie knew it was serious- Drake only closed the door when it was something classified, usually preferring to leave it open to be available and hear happenings on deck.

She raised a brow in silent question, and he only sighed, slumped a little in his seat.

“I’m being sent undercover soon. We’re waiting for the opportune time, but I feel it approaching. A few different variables we’ve been tracking are on the move, and I need to be in place to take advantage of the changing tide.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion- there was something she couldn’t define in his voice. Something like… dread? Or resignation? “Undercover how?”

Drake gave a smirk, utterly devoid of any mirth and almost fractured at the edge, and the words he spoke next made her heart sink low into her gut.

“I’m going to be a pirate again, Rosie.”

Chapter 21: Facade

Chapter Text

Rosie was six years into her strange partnership with Drake when it finally came time for the part she’d started privately dreading- he was publicly defecting from the Marines.

The Strawhat crew had inadvertently given him the perfect excuse, with the attack on the Tower of Justice at Enies Lobby and the subsequent exposure of massive corruption in the world government.

The Marines were in uproar over what exactly justice meant and how it was to be upheld, and Drake took the opportunity he’d been given to make his point.

He and his ship stole away in the night, all hands aboard but two, left bound and knocked out to play the part of innocent victims- their role to spread the story of Drake’s fearsome deeds and to act as men on the inside, informing the others of goings on.

Drake had instructed them specifically to claim that he was the pirate, his crew only following him out of fear or misguided loyalty. It was a safety measure, to ensure his men even the slightest leniency if caught, and they only reluctantly went along with the ruse.

His men were loyal- to their captain and to their cause- and none liked that he was taking the brunt of the risk on his own shoulders. But there was no arguing that he was the most capable of carrying it, although Rosie could see the weight added to what he already bore.

They’d been planning this for a while, structuring a story and meetings with known pirates to make his defection believable in hindsight, but knowing something logically didn’t always help with dealing with it emotionally.

Even after over a decade of loyal service, most of the Marines looked at Drake and still only saw his father, and Rosie could see how much that hurt him. But he did his duty, as he always did.

Very little of the Liberal Hind changed, with its conversion from a Marine ship to a ‘pirate’ one. Many of the Marine symbols were painted over- not stripped, simply covered up- and the sail was painted with the chosen sigil of the crew, a new flag raising on its mast. Even the crew continued as they had, albeit with a looser grip on uniform code. But most else was the same.

Drake was the one that changed the most. He was especially quiet in the days after- he would probably call it ‘melancholy’ or something else that was four syllables, but she knew he was depressed that his friends and colleagues- people he trusted and genuinely liked- were so quick to believe the worst of him.

It was starting to concern her, so she made a point to seek him out- even just to be company, if he didn’t want to talk. But she couldn’t find him in his usual places, and eventually wound up at the location he was least likely to be found in- his own quarters.

The door was open, but she stopped short of entering, a strange noise alerting her senses, and instead took a quick peek around the doorframe.

Drake lay flat in his bed, staring at the ceiling- his shirt was gone, his chest gradually darkening with a tattoo. His second was sat by his side, a silent companion with steady hands, the tap-tap-tap of the bone tattoo comb filling the quiet in the room.

Drake’s face showed nothing, and neither did his body- muscles relaxed even under the pain of the needles and the gunpowder being ground into the wounds.

He observed the progress and huffed, something hollow in the sound, “Fitting, isn’t it? I’m finally embracing pops’ legacy.” Darwin said nothing, and Drake settled his head back against the pillow and finished, “…After so long running from it.”

Rosie sensed this was something meant for their eyes only- she withdrew, and left the two alone.

When he emerged, it was with the full ‘Red Flag Drake, feared pirate and Marine traitor’ guise firmly in place.

He’d been spending time in the workshop- the room was usually meant for crafting and repairing ship elements and furniture, but it held Drake’s tanning tools as well.

Now she could see the results of that time alone- the leather he wore was all his own handiwork, from hunting the animal all the way to dying and stitching. No doubt something to make the new persona feel like his own creation, rather than a simple facade.

He put on a rakish smirk- it would’ve fooled most, but it didn’t fool Rosie- not anymore. “What do you think? Do I look like a pirate?” She bit her lip, separating herself from the part of her that knew Drake, and looked at him as a stranger.

He did, from that perspective- a tall, imposing man wearing leather and a scowl, with a rapier and axe at his hip. The new tattoo across his broad chest went a long way towards illustrating a vicious persona.

She followed the flat, solid lines of it across his torso with her eyes. “What is that?” “My family name.” “I thought that was ‘Diez’.” A nod, “This is how it’s traditionally written.”

He was deliberately drawing connections with his traitor father, with his former pirate crew, in order to sell the charade. She couldn’t be the only one, right then, who once more heard the dying screams of the Barrels Pirates in her mind.

Not as much changed about daily life on the Liberal Hind as Rosie would have thought, being pirates. There were no orders coming in (no public ones, anyway), so the typical denden mutter and communication with other ships and crews was halted, but otherwise, Drake and his men continued with their duties.

Only now, their duties came without Marine support or aid, so they were on their own when fighting off pirates and raiders from towns.

The news, of course, reported these rescues as turf wars between rival pirates, and Drake’s bounty- already monstrous, as a high-ranked Marine gone rogue- grew steadily.

But she didn’t realize just how much of an impact his supposed betrayal had, until she saw it first-hand.

Drake was meeting with a contact, Rosie at the bar in front as lookout. She sat down at the bar, noticing belatedly that its counter was covered in bounty posters under glass, as some sort of decor. The one directly at her seat was Doflamingo’s pre-Warlord bounty, and she scowled at it and moved further down the counter.

Not long after, a man approached the bar, taking up the seat she had vacated, before doing the exact same thing she had, except with a fiercer glare towards the poster.

She watched the man out of the corner of her eye as he moved to the seat one away from her, lifting a finger for a tankard. White hair, face set in harsh lines, teeth gritted around a pair of cigars. He carried something heavy and painful in his furrowed brow, and looked liable to snap.

She scooted closer, curious, “You really hate him, huh.” He grunted, not looking at her, “He killed my friend.” Her mismatched eyes scanned over him, his frame tight and eyes hard- someone he really cared for. She commiserated, “He killed my dad, as well.”

A one-shouldered shrug, “You understand, then.” “I do- but my dad didn’t want me to hold hatred in my heart. He wanted us to be free, my brother and I.” It was something she aspired to, to keep the impotent fury from taking over- a reminder.

The man put out the bitten end of one of his cigars on the counter glass over Doflamingo’s face, before taking out a fresh one and lighting it off the ember of its twin. He muttered, “Very kind of him.”

It was then that Drake emerged from the back room, and the man stilled beside her. He reached a hand back into his coat, otherwise frozen. Not for a weapon, as she’d first thought- his hand grazed a flask at his hip, instead.

She didn’t see the initials, but caught sight of the numbers stamped there, and it hit her suddenly- the man was a Marine.

Drake didn’t look at her, didn’t draw attention to her, and she silently slipped from the stool- the Marine didn’t seem to notice, wide eyes locked on Drake.

Her partner gave nothing away, face secured in that awful stoic mask. It was only because she’d known this well-trained spy for so long that she was able to recognize the tells in him. His chin lowered, his shoulders rolling then setting firmly, and his frame deliberately loosened in an attempt at nonchalance.

These two knew each other, she realized- it was personal.

Drake smiled apologetically, "Can we take this outside? I don’t want to destroy the bar.”

The man glowered, but jerked his head towards the door. Rosie knocked back the last of her drink and followed surreptitiously- the Marine didn’t suspect Drake had company. She’d only intervene if she needed to.

The Marine drew a jitte, gritting his teeth around his twin cigars, and glared directly at the tattoo on Drake’s chest. “I’m taking you in.” Drake set himself firmly, face still locked into that impassive mask, “I can’t let you do that. Sorry.”

Then the Marine struck, Drake meeting the blow with his axe and returning one of his own. Both seemed to anticipate the others’ moves, never a moment of hesitation between strike and parry.

Rosie was concerned, as she watched from the side. Drake wasn’t… fighting him? He was holding back to a large degree, remaining on defense instead of striking- but she knew he could defeat this man easily.

She saw the tick at the edge of his mouth, the tightness there- oh. They’d been friends. He didn’t want to fight this Marine at all. It was hurting Drake to fight him. She would end it, then.

She transformed into a grenade, rolling herself quickly between them, and seemed to suddenly appear before the Marine. “Hi! I’m Rosie, and I can’t let you take my partner. I like having him around.”

Before he could react, she pressed a hand to his chest and blew him away with a quick, controlled explosion. He’d be fine- she’d calculated it to avoid harm- but it would buy them time to get away.

Drake, to his credit, rolled with the change in plans as he did with everything, only glancing back regretfully once before picking Rosie up and sprinting away on long, muscular theropod legs. She perched herself on his arm, leaning over his shoulder to guard their retreat, but the Marine didn’t appear to chase after them.

Rosie knocked the side of her head once, sticking her tongue out in self-admonishment. “Sorry- I didn’t realize he was a Marine. Some lookout I am.” Drake shook his head, “My oversight- I knew he was searching for me, I should’ve briefed you.”

“So, who is that?” “You don’t know Smoker?” “No. Should I?” He tilted his head, glanced at her sideways for a moment, before looking away. “He’s a good man, and a fierce Marine. Don’t fight him, if you can avoid it.”

It was a sign of the trust Drake had in her that he let her hear the unspoken, then. She sighed, “But he doesn’t know.” A sharp shake of the head, “No- he can’t.” Another sacrifice her partner had made, then- his closest friends hated him for his supposed betrayal.

How was it possible that, despite the sheer insanity of it, everything he’d ever heard about the Grand Line was still an understatement? The place made no logical sense, and the Grand Line’s weather was no less insane below the waves.

He’d never seen so many Sea Kings, at such monstrous size, in his life- and he had to be honest to himself, that first time seeing an enormous eye peering in the porthole had made him freeze solid, if only for a moment.

They’d visited a plethora of strange places- mountains tall enough to reach into the clouds, volcanoes that spewed neon blue lava, islands that seemed to have been turned upside down entirely.

He’d promised they would all travel the world together once Law was healed. A lie, he knew- Cora-san had known the whole time that getting the kids free of Doflamingo would cost his life- but that didn’t stop the idea from haunting him.

What would it have been like, seeing these places together? He couldn’t help but note the ones he felt Cora-san would have enjoyed- the man had always pointed out unusual natural phenomena during their travels, fascinated by fields and forests.

But these fantastic sights weren’t what he was looking for- he spent his time hunting down anything he could learn about the underworld, trying to get closer to understanding Doflamingo’s operations.

It was grueling work, and what little he learned only solidified his understanding of the man as a monster.

Law wasn’t sure if it was the doctor in him, or the hum in his skin that was the fruit’s power, but a shudder had run down his spine when he thought of even the concept of artificial devil fruits. There was something… wrong about it, fundamentally so.

The few reports he’d seen had mentioned… side effects. Incomplete transformations, permanent ones, ones that weren’t quite right. The idea was chilling.

And that wasn’t all he’d found- whispers of slave trafficking, arms smuggling, dealing in drugs and spices. Unfortunately, most of what he got was only whispers- dead end after dead end faced him.

He’d been digging, scraping at the surface to try and get beneath the facade, to access the underworld and the knowledge that lay there. But there was so little out there, and each tiny bit of information took a great deal of hunting.

At every point, it seemed the information he needed was just beyond his grasp, and it frustrated him to no end. He didn’t have the connections, the leverage to be able to find what he needed, to reach the depths of Doflamingo’s operations. He needed to go bigger.

He thought about asking Rosie, but stopped himself- she’d likely clam up if she thought he knew more than she wanted about what she did, and he didn’t want to get her involved in whatever dangerous work he was delving into.

She’d probably know what he was trying, anyway- would probably try to dissuade him. No, it was better to leave her out of it.

He turned over in bed, sighed- the sound was loud in the quiet room, the rumble of the sub’s systems a white noise he’d long gotten used to.

Once more, he wished fervently that they’d gotten more lessons from Cora-san. His information gathering skills would be indispensable right now.

He thought back to those nights, waiting up for the man to come back from wherever he’d gone, catching glimpses of fresh bruises and scrapes and haunted eyes.

He still had no idea what the man had been doing those nights, but, being an adult now and knowing intimately the evils of the world, every possibility that came to mind bothered him. He’d never know the truth of it, he’d long accepted.

Cora-san had lied to them so often- who he was, what his goals were- and it was sometimes difficult to reconcile, knowing he cared so much for a man he had never really known, not in truth.

But if he knew Cora-san told the truth about anything at all, it was that he had loved them. And he’d made Law feel safe and loved, when nothing else had.

A full decade later, and Law was still chasing that feeling of safety, of belonging- part of him feared he wouldn’t feel it again until he went back to that cottage to stay.

Even as he lay under layers of blankets, the one Rosie had made him soft and worn against his skin, in his own room in the sub he called home, his trusted crew all near enough to hear through the walls… he still felt cold.

His musing was interrupted when the door slid open, a figure stood in the dimly lit frame- his eyes took a moment to adjust before he recognized Penguin, similarly clad in sleep clothes. His fellow insomniac.

The other came in, closing the door behind him, and yawned, “Knew y’d be awake.” Law didn’t respond, staring owlishly- exhausted enough to be rendered pretty much useless, but still incapable of drifting off.

Penguin answered himself, “Yeah, figured.”, and wasted no time in clambering into Law’s bed. The other scooted under the blankets and reached for him, pulling his lean frame into himself.

Law managed to claw himself out of his thoughts at the contact- he huffed, jokingly quipped, “Isn’t it a bit improper, climbing into your captain’s bed?”

Penguin just mumbled into his shoulder, one hand groping for the covers to pull over their heads, “‘S three in the mornin’. Not my captain right now- jus’ my lil brother.”

For some reason, that eased something in him, an anxious knot in his gut suddenly seeming to go slack. He didn’t have to be captain all the time- here and now, he could just be a brother. He relaxed into the embrace, tucking his chin over his brother’s head- the soft, downy hair pillowed his cheek, and he hummed contently.

Penguin was unnaturally warm- always had been- and Law had always run cold, a side-effect of his stunted development as a child, so he just curled close, soaking up the warmth in the little blanket cocoon that hid them.

Finally, he felt sleep tugging at him, thoughts starting to vacate his mind in favor of the comfort of being warm and held.

He definitely belonged here- at least, for now.

Chapter 22: Not Alone

Chapter Text

Rosie raced across the sky as quickly as she could, rocket exhaust creating a trail behind her. Darwin had called her to the Liberal Hind, claiming it to be an emergency- the man sounded grave, although he rarely sounded any other way.

Was Drake injured, or captured? It was a real concern, ever since they’d lost the support of the Marines.

But the emergency turned out to be the tiniest dinosaur Rosie had ever seen, curled up small in Drake’s lap- a little red puffball, no larger than a rodent.

The crew had just stopped on an island called Little Garden, which was populated by dinosaurs and also, apparently, two warring giants. Drake had transformed- the natural thing to do while traversing an island of dinosaurs when one was also a dinosaur- and accidentally come across a nest at the exact moment an egg hatched.

The little hatchling had looked at him and immediately decided he was its parent, and when the mother had come back, she apparently decided the same and turned away both Drake and hatchling. And of course he couldn’t just leave the little thing to fend for itself.

So now there was a dinosaur aboard the Liberal Hind- a real one.

Rosie pressed her hands to her cheeks, stars in her eyes, and exclaimed gleefully, “You’re a daddy!”

Drake looked down at the little reptile that had curled up against him, holding the hatchling carefully between his large hands. He looked as if he were afraid to move, afraid he’d hurt the tiny thing. “I can’t keep a child on a pirate ship.”

She heard the unsaid, ‘I won’t be my father, I won’t do to her what he did to me.’ She bit her lip uncertainly, sat down across from him on the deck. “I don’t think you have a choice but to keep her here. You said the mother refused her. How many other dinosaurs do you know?”

Drake’s expression never changed, but she saw his shoulders round despondently as he mentally crossed off avenues of possibility- he had no living family, he had no friends he could trust with the hatchling, and others of her kind were out of the equation, as the mother had made clear.

The only chance the hatchling had at a good life was with him. “She’s not a normal child- she’s a dinosaur. She needs you to teach her.”

Drake’s eyes never left the little raptor, and he carefully lifted a finger to stroke the downy feathers lining the body, a heartbreaking gentleness in his hesitation. The hatchling made a ‘meep’ sound and leaned into his hand, nuzzling her tiny head against him, and the look in his eyes then almost made Rosie weep. He was going to be a great dad.

The tiny dinosaur ended up gaining the name Sweetheart, entirely by accident- the crew had tried to think of something, all the men trying out names, and that one had stuck, the little raptor seeming to claim it immediately.

Sweetheart loved several things- meat, her big bouncy ball, and scritches- but she loved her daddy most of all. The hatchling could be found almost always attached to Drake somehow- either sitting on his shoulder or in his lap, or following behind him as he made rounds of the ship.

The crew quickly adopted her as their mascot, and Rosie found it adorable how such grizzled, hardened military men melted at the little dinosaur’s cheeps. It was an unorthodox arrangement- one man and his Marine/pirate crew raising a dinosaur- but when had her life ever been anything different?

Rosie had designated herself honorary auntie, because Sweetheart needed a female figure in her life that wasn’t Lady Vi.

Dinosaurs grew quickly, and the next time Rosie visited weeks later, she was shocked by how large the raptor had become. “Oh goodness, little girl, you’re getting so big!” Sweetheart was the size of an average dog now- in Rosie’s estimation, approximately the length of a long-range musket from snout to tail.

The little dinosaur chirped giddily, racing in a little circle around her daddy’s legs before bounding over to Rosie for chin scritches.

Despite Sweetheart being a reptile, incapable of speech (although Drake seemed to understand her fine- it must be a dinosaur thing) and with a lifestyle very different from a human, Rosie saw her as any other little girl, bright and curious and full of wonder. But she was missing something all little girls should have.

Rosie took the ribbon from her hair, and wrapped it carefully around Sweetheart’s neck, tying a perfect bow at the front. “There we are, sweet girl- you’re so pretty!” The dinosaur chirped happily, preening at her new accessory.

It fit her, Rosie thought. She’d outgrown it, herself- the person she was becoming was not the same little girl who had once adored that ribbon. It had been her pride and joy for years, first a sign of her status as a child of the Family, and then a reminder of how she’d changed since.

She’d long stopped thinking back to Giolla’s ‘dress up’ and flawless bows, mind instead going to quiet nights around the fire, sitting on Cora-san’s knee as he gently brushed her hair and hummed, to Law’s careful hands braiding her hair, both of them comfortable in the silence.

Over the years, the ribbon had migrated from the top of her head in typical little girl style to the end of her braid, a more practical, understated fashion.

And yet… she felt only pride at letting go of it now, her hair falling freely around her shoulders.

She was growing out of some old self- she felt it fall away like a cicada’s exoskeleton, and unconsciously rolled her shoulders, as if physically released from it. And she was passing something down as well, starting her own sort of legacy.

Drake huffed fondly off to the side, and the tight lines of his brow loosened somewhat. They’d had another encounter with Smoker recently, and Drake was always quiet and solemn afterwards, so it was good to see him ease down from that state.

She understood why Smoker fixated on Drake, whenever they ran into each other- she was just a pain in his ass, but Drake was a traitor. The two had been close friends before Drake’s apparent defection, and it was a personal betrayal to the Marine.

But Rosie couldn’t understand why the other wasn’t allowed to be let in on the secret. If they’d been such good friends, surely he’d know the kind of person Drake was? That he’d never abandon his duty?

Part of the reason she’d introduced herself- given her real name to someone currently her enemy- was because she needed the hope that this wouldn’t be forever, that someday they would both get to come out of the shadows.

---

Law couldn’t keep his purposes from his brothers for long- not in this, at least. They knew him too well. They had been adamant that he was not allowed to do this alone, and dove into the work of information gathering alongside him.

Penguin, being incredibly detail-oriented, was good at the deep dives, extracting the little bits of information most would overlook, and Shachi made connections even he hadn’t thought to find between disparate parties, his sharpness inclined particularly to understanding how the mind worked.

Bepo wasn’t as skilled with the research, but he was good at managing- making sure no one stayed too long in that relentless sort of headspace they’d all get into when hunting down leads, bringing them back to the real world.

The load was lightened as it was shared, but it was never removed entirely, and he felt its weight, even alone at his desk with research.

There was a knock at the open door, and Shachi leaned against the frame. His arm was wrapped in a towel that was quickly turning red. “Hey, uh- it’s not as bad as it looks.”

Law set aside the reading, and teleported the other next to him- Shachi was very used to this by now, and didn’t even blink at the disorientation. He took the other’s arm and unwound the bloody towel, examined the slash wound. Sure enough, it was shallow and superficial, despite how much it bled- wouldn’t even need stitches. “Pen already looked it over, just sent me to you to patch it. He’s cleaning up.”

He snapped his fingers, his kit appearing atop his desk, and went to work. “What were you two even doing?” Shachi shrugged, “Training, ‘course.” He then launched into a yarn that included blow-by-blow of a great battle between men, and also sound effects, for some reason.

Law could hear the spaces where Penguin would be interjecting, if he were present- neither of them were very good storytellers on their own, but put them together and they were more than competent.

He suspected the real culprit behind the injury was a misstep in footwork, resulting in a blade going where it wasn’t intended, and smirked to himself.

“You two have been training a lot recently. Expecting another giant octopus to come after us?” Shachi shook his head, a wry grin showing off his teeth, “Three- Bepo’s training with us, too. I got shocked twice yesterday- on accident, ‘course. And don’t act like that didn’t freak you out, too- the thing was huge!” He rolled his eyes, didn’t rise to the accusation. “You were in the padded room, right?”

They’d learned very early on that any training with Electro- or Law’s Bepo-inspired derivation, Countershock- had to be done in an insulated room, after they’d accidentally caused a power surge that took out the lights on one heart-stopping occasion, and Ikkaku had almost staged a one-woman mutiny out of sheer apoplectic rage.

It was Shachi’s turn to roll his eyes, “Yes, Captain Bubble Wrap.” Law eyed the scalpel sitting on his desk, mused for a moment whether he wanted to take the other’s head off for the joke, but decided the resultant squawking would be more than he cared to deal with at the moment.

He stilled as a hand came to rest on his cheek, his brother’s face gone serious. Shachi’s hands were rough, callouses thick from sword and tools, but the touch was gentle, thumb smoothing the furrow from his brow before sweeping across the deep bags under his left eye. “You’re still not sleeping.”

Law leaned into the hand for a moment and sighed, glancing away. Shachi correctly observed, “The dreams again?” He didn’t say anything, letting the silence be his answer.

He’d been having nightmares again. Not scenes that had actually happened, no- they seemed to be premonitions, instead. Every way their plans could fail, every way Doflamingo could best them, slaughter them.

His siblings, his crew, died in front of him night after night, even when he would wake up to find them next to him. And he would, more often than not- his brothers had seemingly set up a rotation, so he was never alone at night. He suspected the only reason they hadn’t all moved into his room was to keep a sense of normalcy with the rest of the crew.

His brother didn’t prod- he knew better than that- but only sighed, regaled him with another story of misadventures in the training room, let Law patch him up and distract himself from his thoughts for a while.

He sighed tiredly once Shachi had left, no doubt to plot scheduling with Penguin to get him to bed earlier. He’d probably find Bepo in his room tonight, ready to scoop him up and be a giant fluffy pillow. Bepo had been hugging him with greater frequency, big bear hugs that lifted Law off his feet, as if he could keep the nightmares away with only his own fur.

They were trying their best, and were all a great comfort, but only one thing could make the nightmares go away for good, and it wasn’t something his brothers could give him.

He appreciated their dedication- hadn’t missed them pushing themselves to train and improve. They had all gotten stronger, but he, of course, was head and shoulders above the rest- his powers gave him a massive advantage, the likes of which they couldn’t hope to match.

His brothers were strong- certainly much more so than normal pirates- but he couldn’t deny they were in different leagues.

And Doflamingo was in a separate one of his own, even further removed. Law wasn’t going to fool himself that he was ready to face the bastard, nor that his brothers would ever be.

But he kept his internal thoughts to himself, and only resolved to get stronger.

The Red Line loomed large in their path- the halfway point of the Grand Line, the beginning of the steepest part of the climb. He had to be ready for it.

Chapter 23: Crossroads

Chapter Text

Rosie hated seastone- this was the first time she’d ever been held in its grasp, but she already knew she hated it.

She didn’t understand how Drake seemed unaffected by it- sure, he’d demonstrated he was unable to use his powers, but he never so much as flinched when it touched him, able to fight just as well on his own.

She’d asked him to teach her, once- all he’d said in return was, “That isn’t something I’m willing to do to anyone, much less a friend.” He’d been so serious about it that she’d dropped the topic immediately.

Still, the ability to withstand its drain would be very useful right now. She was barely able to stand, unable to keep her balance- the seastone cut off a fundamental part of herself, leaving her hollow in a horrible sort of way.

The only silver lining to seastone was that it was nothing like the ocean- she could breathe, she could move, nothing was dragging her down but her own sudden weakness.

But the substance didn’t just take away her powers, it made her feel ill. Even her thoughts were slow, like trying to think through mud. How had she gotten here?

Right- mission gone wrong. Intel was bad. She’d gotten a distress call out, though, before the slavers caught her. Drake would be on his way, no doubt- if he wasn’t already here, given she’d been out for what must have been a few hours.

The slave pens wouldn’t normally be a challenge for her- the slavers relied on their placement in the center of the base to deter any escape attempts- but these cuffs changed the game.

She took a second to mourn Shachi’s lockpicks, which hadn’t survived the trip, and deliberately did not imagine his disappointment at her not having a backup set. Once she made it out of this, she’d get two, she mentally promised him.

The world seemed to explode, then. It was only her experience that let her recognize what was happening- not one massive explosion, but a multitude of smaller ones, placed all around the perimeter of the slavers’ base. Rosie grinned to herself. That was Walcott’s work, no doubt- the sapper was excellent at coordinated, precise explosions.

Drake wasn’t a fan of announcing himself so loudly- he preferred getting in and out with none the wiser- but he also knew the benefits of controlled chaos, which would give him the upper hand and keep their true goal (and Rosie’s identity) secret.

The door suddenly went slack, and there wasn’t even a moment of hesitation before the people surged forwards through it, Rosie along with them. Escaped slaves were running every which way, a chaotic school of fish blocking her view of almost everything.

There were faces she recognized among them- some of Drake’s men, leading the freed slaves out of the new warzone. But that wasn’t what she was looking for.

The sound of clashing steel and fearful shouts told her where Drake was- attracting the combatants to himself to allow his men to work unnoticed. Rosie made for him.

Then something- something she couldn’t define- compelled her gaze upwards. There, on the roof! One of the slavers had gotten atop it, out of the crush of the running crowd, was pulling a gun.

She scowled, teeth missing a cigarette butt to grind between them. If she were only free, taking him out would be simple, but-!

There was a child, small wrists weighed down by chains, who’d huddled into a crack in the wall and covered their ears to escape the bedlam. The child was directly in the crosshairs of the slaver’s gun.

Rosie ran, legs feeling heavy and clumsy- still, she forced them into movement. There wasn’t any time, there wasn’t-!

No conscious thought passed through her head when she threw herself in front of the child, no calculation or reminder that she couldn’t shift, just a need to get between that child and the bullet.

Time slowed down, when the gunfire reached her ears. It was funny, almost- she spent a fair amount of her time as a gun, and yet she’d never been shot herself.

She understood, suddenly, why it was so deadly. The pain was all-consuming, but more than that, the void it felt to have opened up inside her- it felt as if her side had been flayed open, body cavity wide to the world, and fire radiated in shockwaves through the rest of her body.

She only vaguely registered Drake suddenly by her side, crushing the seastone cuff in his bare hand, the familiar power suddenly fighting for space in her veins with the white-hot flames.

She stumbled, collapsed into her partner, felt herself shrink. In a moment, she was a switchblade, small and safe- Drake tucked her into his pocket, exhausted but at least not bleeding in this state. The last thing she heard before falling unconscious was a mighty, bloodcurdling roar.

Rosie opened her eyes. The sky was blue, and she was little, a child again. Before her, there was a small cottage on a hill- if she looked to the side, there were others in the distance, a small village nestled in the valley between a mountain ridge. But her eyes were drawn back to the cottage, and her feet started walking as if pulled to it.

It was quaint, simple, a little wooden house nestled up to the edge of the forest. Home- she’d never felt such a tie to a place before, but this was where she belonged.

A familiar silhouette was in the front, apparently gardening. She raced to it, the figure turning as she approached and catching her when she flung herself into his arms. “Cora-san!”

He lifted her up and twirled her around, before tucking her close to his chest. “Hey, Rosie!” She stared at him in shock, beamed, “You do know my name!” He winked playfully, “Of course I do. Spies know these things.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head under his chin.

Something in her, something she hadn’t even realized was knotted tight, loosened suddenly. Law had been right, all those years ago- of course Cora-san would know the new person she’d become.

“Where are we?” ‘Home’, her mind said again, ‘This is home.’ His smile turned just a bit sad, “I think you know where we are, Rosie. But you’re not here to stay yet.” She nodded hesitantly- she’d had a feeling. The gunshot still rang in her ears, although it felt far away now, unable to touch the peace of this place.

Still, this was a chance she couldn’t pass up.

She wanted- needed- Cora-san to know that she had taken his lessons to heart. She clutched a little hand in his shirt, speaking seriously, “I’m doing good now- what I do, it helps the little people.” Cora-san smiled, “I know. You’ve grown so much, you’re doing so good.”

Her eyes itched, lip starting to wobble, and she tucked closer into him, not wanting to cry through her little time with him. Cora-san held her a little tighter, face pressed into her hair, and murmured, “I’m so proud of you, Rosie- so proud. I love you.”

The tears slipped from her eyes silently, accompanied by no gasps or sobs- only a content sigh and a reciprocated, “Love you, too, daddy.” She closed her eyes, engraving the moment into her memory.

Slowly the warm embrace around her faded, and she was left in a shapeless void.

She floated for a while, before a voice cut into the haze, “Knife girl! Ye fool, ah’m a doctor, no’ a smith! Ye must be flesh fer me t’fix ye!”

Her mind was sluggish to respond- Lady Vi? Something in her came to attention instantly, waiting for the old medic’s instruction, before the words caught up to her.

Was she… flesh? Not right now, certainly- her body was cold steel, hard and sharp. But she was usually flesh, yes- she was a person, now she could recall. Her body remembered its shape, and she gasped. Flesh could feel pain.

The fire of it drove her once more into the blackness, but this time there was a large hand holding hers comfortingly.

The next time she woke, Drake was there. His fingers were stained with charcoal- so he’d been sketching, not taking notes. He’d been doing less and less sketching lately, too focused on the ever-expanding pool of information and connections he had to consider.

Rosie stirred in the bed, and he stood, holding a straw to her parched lips. She sighed, the water soothing her throat, and spoke, “What happened to the…” Drake shook his head tightly. “I dealt with them. No need to concern yourself."

He looked tired- not physically, but in the way of someone who had done something they hated. Rosie didn’t need to ask anything more.

She remained there for a few weeks, under the strict eye of Lady Vi while she recovered. It was slower going than she wanted, her vagrant instincts urging her to be on the move, eyes and ears always open, but this was how recovery worked without miracles, she supposed.

And there was no way she was going to worry Law by going to visit him injured. He’d never let her out of his sight again.

It didn’t take long before Rosie was going insane. She was fully aware she wasn’t being a very good patient, and would have hated to be her own nurse at that point, but she was very quickly running out of patience.

She was basically recovered at this point- fully mobile, able to transform and even fight if necessary, but Drake was waiting to be absolutely sure before he cleared her to return to her work.

She had spent hours pouting, curled up in the chair in his office while he did paperwork, but he never cracked under the force of her self-pity. Sweetheart had come to join her, though, and she’d painted the raptor’s claws while the little girl napped against her.

Soon enough, Sweetheart tired of her lap, and clambered into Drake’s instead, padding around and settling in with her head perched on her tail like a cat.

He scritched her neck feathers absently, still focused on his notes- still, something in his frame softened. Sweetheart did that to him, made the stiff stoicism flee from his expression, the tension from his muscles.

Shubin had come by soon after that, arms full of maps and notes scrawled in his messy hand. The amphibious fishman had been wary of the little raptor at first, as she seemed to regard him with the gaze of a predator, but had collected himself quickly.

It was funny, for a moment, to see him- a grown adult, battle hardened and solemn- stilled at the sight of a reptile small enough to sit in his boot, but instincts were a hard thing to ignore.

Drake and Shubin talked for a while, going over routes and timelines, ultimately coming to a decision- a sense of anticipation was birthed then, a feeling of ‘something’s coming’.

Once Shubin left, Drake glanced at her over his reading glasses, hand still writing. “Interestingly enough, many powerful elements are simultaneously approaching Sabaody- including your brother. We’re likely to be there at the same time. I’ll try and talk to him then- maybe we could ally ourselves.”

That was a coded ‘you can’t come because you’re still recovering and this is a wretched hive of scum and villainy, but I’ll throw you a bone’, and she accepted the offer begrudgingly.

Rosie grinned to herself- she wished she could be there when Drake met Law. Drake was a mystery and a half on a good day, and her brother always liked mysteries.

---

Sabaody was a peculiar place- it had an energy to it, a strangeness. The inhabitants were friendly enough, but eyes were everywhere, and no one walked the streets without looking over their shoulder.

A wariness hung here, one he supposed necessary when so close to the realms of the Dragons and the Marines both. Law felt the eyes on him as he walked through the groves- no doubt his identity was well-known by now.

Nothing to do for it- he was a feared pirate, time to play the part for those who had only ever seen his bounty poster. First impressions went quite a ways, and he hadn’t gotten to this point by looking friendly. He put on his best sarcastic, aloof facade and relied on it to make his mark for him.

His brothers followed his lead, affecting a serious assuredness unfamiliar to their usual jovial natures. He felt somewhat like a mob boss with his bodyguards, although the effect was lessened by Bepo, who was, by nature, incapable of looking intimidating.

He technically didn’t need to be here- not for the coating, anyway, as the Tang obviously didn’t need it. He was here for two reasons- curiosity for the other Supernovas, to see what kind of powers would be coming up soon, be ahead of the tide.

And he was here for the slave auction, for the information he could learn about Doflamingo’s operations.

Just entering the building, he could feel the misery and suffering that coated its walls, like a choking miasma. The bastard’s symbol was painted boldly there, looking out over the audience- knowing him, it was a taunt, open bragging that the World Government knew perfectly well what he was doing and condoned it.

Law had worn his favorite yellow hoodie for this- Ikkaku had given it to him years ago, part of the joke between them two about the sub’s paint job- specifically because he knew how uncomfortable the experience would be, and he needed the safe barrier of its familiar warmth.

As he sat, he played up the lazy persona to hide his discomfort, lounging on the bench and closing his right eye- he didn’t really want Rosie to see this.

He observed as the auction proceeded, making mental note of the kingdoms whose nobles and rulers were in attendance, the well-connected dynasties whose scion filled the seats. Doflamingo’s clients and backers.

Suddenly, a shouting became audible from outside, growing louder, and the door was broken in, wood flying everywhere. His brothers tensed beside him, Shachi’s hand settling on Scrimshaw’s hilt, but it only took a moment to identify the cause of the chaos.

Strawhat Luffy was shouting with a man in a biker jacket amidst the rubble, atop the dazed body of a flying fish. From what he’d heard of Strawhat, this was a normal entrance for him.

The young man spotted the mermaid- his friend, apparently, by the loud greeting- and ran directly for the fishbowl, paying no attention to the guards, or to the man who tried to hold him back. A fool, but an interesting one.

Then the hall erupted into screams, and he tore his eyes from Strawhat’s mad dash for the stage to see the other man- an octopus fishman, he could see now- standing frozen in the aisle, all six arms exposed and expression fallen into that resigned sort of fear all oppressed groups knew well. He could almost see the thought, ‘So it’s my turn, then’ settle into the fishman’s frame.

The fools around him began to jibber in fear, screaming at the fishman in revulsion, and the target of their shouts whirled helplessly- nowhere to hide from the cries of ‘monster’ and ‘disgusting’. Familiar shouts rose in his mind, and he forcibly shoved them back.

A gunshot rang out, another. His hands instinctively tightened on his arms, even as his expression didn’t change. The fishman fell seemingly in slow motion, teeth clenched, eyes wide in shock.

As always, he saw another figure falling- a vision he’d never seen, only heard from inside the chest. His mind had fabricated so many scenarios- imagined in turns shock and pain and defiance on Cora-san’s face, imagined him falling with that same wide smile he’d given Law still fixed there.

That last glimpse of Cora-san through the cracked lid of the treasure chest- spread-eagled in the snow, the black coat hiding any evidence of the blood haloing his body- never stopped haunting him.

Law blinked back to the present, the World Noble who had shot the fishman now dancing and cheering haughtily next to his victim’s body, the scent of blood and scorched flesh starting to fill the air.

A woman rows in front of him murmured to her neighbor her thanks for the fishman’s defeat, proclaiming, “What if he’d come close and given us a disease or something?” Law remained carefully still.

The mermaid in the fishbowl beat her chained fists against its glass, her screams silenced by the water. He couldn’t look at her for too long, something in his chest starting to ache, and his eyes drifted back to the bleeding fishman.

Maybe he could… no, bringing attention to himself now would risk his brothers- unacceptable. He just watched the blood pool grow, deliberately keeping his breathing steady and deep. If they were smart, the fishman’s friends would hurry to get him outside, and he could intervene then, but- not here.

Over his shoulder, Bepo squinted his eyes shut and breathed through his mouth, trying to escape the scent of blood, and Shachi, whose sense of smell was the strongest next to his, grasped his paw tightly in comfort.

Law felt… something, then. His observation haki wasn’t very strong yet, but something in the air shifted, like a change in pressure. The source seemed to be… that Strawhat fellow. He’d looked nondescript at first glance- ratty clothes and hat, woven sandals of all things, wide, unintelligent eyes.

He hadn’t seen what could possibly warrant the other’s bounty, other than the string of Warlords fallen in his wake- in any other situation, that would be enough to draw Law's interest, enough to dig deeper, but he was too focused on his goal to allow any distractions now.

But, as he watched, Strawhat began to climb the stairs, the Noble firmly in his sight and something unstoppable in his eyes. The fishman clearly sensed it, too- he clutched at Strawhat, suckered arms grasping in worn hems desperately, still trying to hold him back.

Law could hear the ragged breaths indicating a punctured lung, but a pained, quivering voice pleaded nonetheless for Strawhat to disregard him, to not retaliate. Taking the blame, apologizing for being a fool and a burden. Law gritted his teeth behind tightly pursed lips, and put great effort into remaining outwardly nonchalant.

Strawhat looked down at the fishman, those flat eyes gone unreadable- he stilled in the other’s grasp for a moment, knelt beside him. Law felt almost like he should be looking away, the scene not for him to observe- there was too much familiar here, too much he didn’t want to compare.

It was broken when the Noble began shouting again, raised his golden gun to finish off the fishman. Strawhat turned in an instant, that dangerous focus once more on his target, and stood, the fishman sobbing weakly behind him.

Strawhat began to move once more- his sandals left prints in the fishman’s blood on the stairs as he walked slowly, inexorably up towards the Celestial Dragon. There was something in his frame, in his eyes, that spoke of singleminded focus. Was he…?

Two shots were fired, both dodged effortlessly, Strawhat’s gaze not moving.
The other reared back with a snarl, and delivered a savage punch that sent the Noble through several stone seats, a cloud of dust rising where the bastard had stood.

Law almost felt the shift then, the way the world went from Before to After in only a moment. There was a long space of dumbfounded quiet, no one able to speak while the dust settled.

The sound of cracking knuckles broke the spell, then that something in the air was gone- Strawhat blinked, glanced at his crew gathered by the seats. “Sorry guys, I just got us in trouble.” None seemed as surprised as they should have been, nor angered by their captain’s recklessness, but only set to their respective tasks.

Law couldn’t find it in himself to be pissed either, even though Strawhat had just called an Admiral down on them all. It was stupid as hell, but… he couldn’t say he didn’t respect the idiot for doing what they all wanted to do.

The Strawhat crew took the guards apart with ease, more of them infiltrating on Flying Fish- one fell directly atop the eldest World Noble, although, by his reaction, this attack didn’t seem deliberate.

But the Marines had them all surrounded, and had the entire time- they weren’t getting out of here without a fight. And there was no way in hell he was letting Kid’s slight stand, either, although he justified his snap decision with taking the opportunity to observe the other high bounties in action.

Fighting alongside Strawhat was an experience, as well. The other’s powers, despite being trivial on the surface, were well-utilized as both offense and defense- maybe Law had written him off too quickly.

Kid as well seemed to have things in hand, so he decided to have fun with it, showing off flashier moves and playing with the Marines, taking them apart and recombining them like toys.

The more attention was on him right now, the easier it would be for him later. He found himself feeling a sort of excitement, the slightest hint of childish glee- it had been a while since he was this interested in a fight.

If he was going to break the old world… maybe he needed to keep an eye on this one who seemed so adept at that already. He might come in handy.

Chapter 24: Leap of Faith

Chapter Text

Law was glad to have gotten out of Sabaody when they did- the Pacifista was quite enough to deal with, without also facing an Admiral. He and his crew had steadfastly fixed their eyes on escape, ignoring determinedly the chaos raging behind them.

Now they were once more far beneath the surface, safely away from Sabaody. He savored the peace in the wake of the storm- it was almost funny, as Cora-san’s voice floated through his head again, ‘D will always cause another storm’- and turned his attention to his newest crewmate.

Jean-Bart was large enough that he had to sit on the floor for Law to look over him. He was a good patient- calm and pliant, and he didn’t flinch when Law forgot himself and moved too quickly, although he was trying his best to be a steady presence, mindful of the hell the other had been living.

The man’s hand was enormous in his own- scarred and calloused from hard labor, nails ragged and bruised.

And his wrists… he’d seen wounds like this before, the flesh puckered and knotted, unable to heal with the constant friction of the shackles reopening them. He’d have to clear away the dead skin so they could heal correctly this time.

He could feel the other’s eyes also on the wounds, some mix of shame and pain and rage simmering in him, and spoke, “So you were a pirate captain.” No response for a few moments, the words hanging heavy in the air, then a huff of brittle laughter, “For a few months, maybe. I was a farmer first.”

He hummed, gently debriding the wound, “What changed?” “Famine. Harvest was poor, had been worsening every year- the soil was exhausted, but if we didn’t make tribute… The people starved, because it was that or be homeless and starving.

“I and some other villagers… took to pillaging the ships, stealing food to supply our people. The king called in the Marines. We were captured, and the rest you know.” He shrugged tightly, eyes distant.

Law said nothing but only continued with his work, dabbing away the welling blood before affixing gauze to the cleaned wound. Jean-Bart watched quietly, and it was a long moment before his rough voice hit the air once more.

“…I had a wife, a daughter. Both starved. I gave them all I could, but- my girl was so small, and my wife had always been sickly. They succumbed.” He spoke almost woodenly, the same kind of detachment Cora-san had used when talking about things that pained him. This was an old hurt, scarred deep.

He tried to picture the man with a family, but his current state- face locked in a seemingly-permanent scowl and hair reminiscent of a wild man- didn’t fit. That was what the Dragons did to those under their thumb- ground any trace of personhood from them, turned them into things to be used and discarded.

But Jean-Bart hadn’t always been like this, and he didn’t have to be, anymore.

He finished with the last of the bandages, smoothing the edge down absently, and glanced up seriously to meet the man’s eyes, “You are free now. If you want to leave, I won’t keep you here.”

Another moment of quiet, and Law let the man hold it- it must have been so long since he’d had control over anything at all in his life. He wouldn’t demand anything of him now.

Eventually, Jean-Bart spoke evenly, “I appreciate it. But I have nowhere else, now- and if not for you, I would still be a slave. That is not a debt I intend to let stand.” The large man nodded deferentially, raised a hand to tug at one of his curls, “Captain.”

And just like that, that old protective instinct hummed inside him.

---

Drake came away from Sabaody in a mixed mood- grim and contemplative, but also intrigued. “This generation… is fascinating, to say the least. But none are yet strong enough for what’s to come.”

He’d spent longer than he should’ve on Sabaody, she knew- to observe the other Supernova and speak to a few contacts, then, once the Pacifista arrived, to collect intel on their specs.

The bruises that bloomed on his body in the aftermath told of his unnecessary insertion into the fight, just to test himself against the Pacifista for accurate data. They were much stronger than he’d predicted, further along than they’d planned for, and it was concerning.

His officers had been grave when he reported such- they all knew what this meant, that the World Government was pulling out this kind of power openly.

Darwin gave Drake a questioning glance afterwards, to which he only shook his head solemnly. Not successful with all of his goals on Sabaody, then.

Unfortunately, Drake hadn’t gotten to really meet her brother- who had apparently greeted him with a very edgy, very rude quip- but his attention was caught by another crew, anyway. The strawhatted crazy who’d punched out a World Noble and brought an Admiral down on them all. Yes, the same crazy who’d attacked the Tower of Justice only months earlier.

Rosie understood why he’d done it- she hated them, too, and a vindictive part of herself was righteously glad at it- but she also recognized the value of remaining unnoticed, and knew she could do so much more to undermine the Nobles from the shadows. A single punch would be less effective in the end.

Still, she could tell that the simple fact that someone had stood up to them, regardless of the consequences, had reluctantly won the idiot Drake’s respect.

Someone who didn’t have to care about what would happen as a result, but only saw a wrong and decided right there and then to correct it. It was the kind of person everyone in their line of work wished they could afford to be.

The spell didn’t last long, unfortunately- with the arrival of the Pacifista and the Admiral, the Supernovas had all scattered to the winds, most rushing into the New World, and the Strawhats were apparently destroyed, not a single one left on the island.

“I’m interested in seeing where their exploits lead”, Drake had mused afterwards. She raised a brow, “I thought his crew was blown away by Kuma?” He only nodded firmly, “They’ll be back- I know it.”

They were back much earlier than Rosie anticipated- or, their captain was, literally falling from the sky along with a whole ship full of prisoners from Impel Down onto the battlefield that Marineford had become.

Drake was predator-still, eyes intent on his black denden, named Muninn, as it relayed the happenings from the war. Rosie listened from the railing, watching plumes of smoke and arcs of light rise from the base not far from their location.

And then Law was spotted, his sub surfacing just beyond Aokiji’s ice, and Rosie’s breath caught in her throat.

She glanced at Drake, panicked, and he nodded firmly. “Go to him.” She wasted no time in jumping from the deck, transforming into a missile and flying straight for Marineford.

She arrived just in time to face the battleship blocking their retreat, detonating their cannonballs before they could reach the sub. She made it to the deck as Law caught the thrown straw hat, and both hurried inside.

They didn’t get to greet each other with more than serious nods before getting caught up in the combined chaos of diving and saving Strawhat’s life. Doctor and nurse working together for the most important operation they’d undertaken since that very first one.

It was afterwards, when the operation was done, that both slid down against the wall in the OR. Strawhat was stable- for a given definition of ‘stable’ that included what he’d been through, but neither worried about his survival- and so was his freshly-ex-Warlord guardian.

For the moment, there was no hurry for anything else. They’d get up in a minute, change and eat and likely pass out, but right now… just a few moments of stillness in each other’s company.

Her nerves itched for a smoke, but… not here in the sub. She was trying so hard to not think about the fact that she was underwater right now.

And she didn’t feel like getting nagged about it, anyway- Law wouldn’t be happy that she’d picked up smoking, regardless of her reasons.

She turned to her brother instead, an exhausted grin hanging from her lips. He met her with a curious raised brow, “Why are you here?” She shrugged- telling him about Drake now would probably not be wise, given his apparent first impression of her partner. “I was in the area. Why are you here?” He smirked, the pressure mark from his surgical mask red-pale on his tan skin, “I was in the area.”

He nodded his head to the table that Strawhat had just occupied, “He’s too interesting to let die yet. Makes a good distraction for the Marines.” She huffed- that he did. The crazy had who knew how many garrisons up in arms over him. Drake had been right about him- he was one to watch, certainly.

She sighed, leaning against Law’s shoulder, and his head dropped atop hers tiredly. There was quiet for another long while, broken only by the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

Finally, he murmured, “Your bow’s gone.” She smiled, “I gave it to another little girl who deserved to feel pretty.”

Finally, they gathered the energy to face the crew, and Rosie was greeted with enthusiastic hugs and tears from the boys, all of them marveling at how the others had grown. Bepo refused to let her down for a good ten minutes, which suited her just fine, as exhausted as she was.

It was light outside- still daytime, or daytime again? She had no idea how long the operation had taken. Either way, the light hurt her eyes when they surfaced, although her nerves calmed greatly at the sight of open sky.

Rosie stayed out of sight while Law and his crew spoke with the Kuja Empress- better to not have to explain things to more parties than necessary. But she took the time, huddled in the hallway just in earshot of the deck, to try and plan ahead. The battle had thrown any of their previous timelines out the window entirely.

She mused half to herself, “I really can’t stay long, but- I shouldn’t miss this opportunity, I guess.” The Kuja… surely this was a contact even Drake didn’t have access to.

The others appeared in the doorway, affairs with the Warlord apparently settled. Bepo pouted, “You’re leaving again so soon?” She shrugged apologetically, “Yeah, sorry- all of this… everything… is going to keep me very busy for a while. But a few days couldn’t hurt.” She had no doubt Drake was fielding a dozen different denden calls already, or she’d call him herself to check in.

Law shook his head, “We’re off soon ourselves, anyway. The Empress has only given us leave in her territory long enough to ensure Strawhat’s safety. I don’t intend to overstay our welcome.”

Such a short time to spend with her siblings- but she’d savor it, after so long apart.

---

They’d gotten settled in the bay of Amazon Lily, anchored for the night under the watchful guard of the Kuja.

Law had stopped talking an hour ago, exhaustion driving him to a sort of pliant muteness after being awake for nearly three days straight. So he didn’t object when Penguin took him by the shoulders, steering him to his room- Shachi followed them, arms full of spare blankets. He dropped the blankets with a huff, dusting his hands off triumphantly. “Alright, sleepover time!”

Rosie was already there, having borrowed his quarters to wash off and stolen a set of his pajamas. Her smile of greeting dissolved into a yawn, and he felt an answering one ache at his jaw.

He could hear Penguin and Shachi whispering to each other, “Someone’s got the bridge, right?” “I offered to take it, but Ikkaku chased me off with a wrench, said if any of us came out of this room before sunrise, she’d mutiny for real this time.”

Law huffed- of course she, of all of the crew, would know what seeing Rosie again meant to them.

His bed wasn’t large enough for the five of them- wouldn’t have been so even if they were still small- so they moved it and built a sort of makeshift nest with blankets and pillows, and all collapsed together atop it in a tangle of limbs.

Sleeping together felt so nostalgic, like they were young again, all cuddled up in their little den of blankets on the Snow Dove. Shachi still snored fit to wake the dead, and Bepo still muttered in his sleep, and Rosie still slept like a rock, undisturbed even as she was nearly smothered in the mink’s fur.

But for all the similarities, it was apparent how the time had passed- they were all grown now, all of them scars and muscles and callouses, and not a hint of baby fat left.

Still, after the others had fallen asleep, he laid awake in the pile of his siblings- for once, not wracked with nightmares, but only calmly enjoying the warmth and comfort of having them all close.

Seeing Rosie again settled something in him- he’d known she was safe, through their conversations, but it hadn’t been the same as actually seeing her.

She’d grown up well, not quite as tall as him (he was internally quite proud of that) and with a lean strength to her. There were new callouses on the pads of her fingers- he could feel them against his skin, where her hand wrapped around his wrist- and the goggles that had shielded her eyes were well-worn and looked as if they'd seen combat.

Still nothing that could tell him what she did, or why she was so intent on keeping him from knowing. He couldn’t blame her- he was keeping his own secrets, after all.

But his reasons for saving Strawhat weren’t one of them. He couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he had taken the risk, put himself and his crew in the line of fire to rescue Strawhat.

Was it because of his name, that ‘D’ initial they shared? Was it the way he’d fascinated Law at Sabaody, the straightforward disregard of authority in favor of doing what was right? He couldn’t tell.

Something in him- something deeper, stronger than his doctor’s instincts- had screwed up in utter wrongness at the idea of the other dying now, said ‘not yet, it’s not his time’. So he'd done what he did best, and stole another soul from the jaws of death.

Even now, the teenager lay, still unconscious, in the medbay, watched over by Alulquoy and Jinbe, who hadn’t left Strawhat’s side since he’d woken himself.

He imagined he could still hear the heart monitor, its steady rhythm still rattling around his head after so many hours. The phantom sound helped ease him down, helped calm that demon in him, knowing his patient was safe.

He sighed, took a lock of Rosie’s hair between his fingers- still smooth and soft, as always. It would be a rat’s nest in the morning, he knew, but he’d fix that, the two of them sitting silently while he brushed her hair.

For now, he pressed back into the warmth of Penguin behind him, his brother’s face smushed into his shoulder, and kept one hand anchored gently in Rosie’s hair, just for the reminder that she was there as he drifted off.

Chapter 25: Planting Seeds

Chapter Text

Rosie didn’t stay long, after Rayleigh arrived- she’d gotten the contact she needed with the Kuja, and the old craftsman gave her some coded intel to pass on to Drake.

Law and the boys left about when she had, continuing on their journey, although the boys all sent her off with teary goodbyes. She wasn’t worried- something told her she’d see them again soon enough.

When Rosie returned to the Liberal Hind, now safely far away from the wreckage of Marineford, she checked the medbay first, as was her habit. Just in case. To her surprise, the beds weren’t all empty, and she blinked in shock at the sight of two strangers there.

“Ah! It’s the baby Marine!” It was all she could think to say- the pink one whose cries had stopped the battle. “And-“ She didn’t recognize the other one- blond and trembling, but steadfastly meeting her gaze.

Drake stepped to her side quietly, and she whirled to face him, “Why are they here?” He nodded at each in turn, “Coby and Helmeppo. We wanted Coby away from Marineford for a while, just in case. His friend refused to leave him.”

“Are they…” Drake read her unspoken question, “Yes and no. They’ll go back to their unit- no one but their officer knows where they are. But both know now.”

Rosie worried at her thumb, looking over the two- the pink boy looked so small in the medical bed, eyes sunken and face still flushed from exhaustion, and the blond one didn’t look like he’d slept once since the battle, standing guard over his sleeping friend. “They’re just babies- will they be alright?”

Drake tilted his head, “They’re older than both of us were when we entered this world. And being trained by Garp.” “Ah.” These two had better chances of making it through than most Marines, then- Garp could be surprisingly mama bear about his ‘wee bairns’.

Drake’s denden purred its tone, and he excused himself to take the call. Rosie approached the medical bed- Lady Vi had no doubt already treated both, but she could at least reassure herself by checking.

The blond one- Helmeppo- stiffened as she came close, suspicious. “Who are you?” She put a gentle hand atop Coby’s brow- a little fevered, but not bad. “I’m Rosie. I work with Drake.”

Helmeppo chuckled a little helplessly, clearly holding onto composure by his fingernails, “I guess we do too, now.” “You guess?” “Coby said yes, and… I go where he goes.” It was said with a solid nod, and Rosie grinned inwardly- so he wasn’t sure of himself, but he was at least sure of his loyalty to his friend.

The next time she saw the babies, the pink one- Coby- was awake, and he and Helmeppo were talking in quiet tones, shoulders huddled together.

Coby threw up a salute the moment he spotted Drake, Helmeppo whipping around in his seat and following suit. Both recited, “Captain Drake!”

Drake seemed uncomfortable with the deference- all these kids had known of him previously was his status as a traitor, and the sudden switch was offputting even to Rosie. He hesitated, before shaking his head solidly, “…Don’t get into the habit of calling me that. At ease.”

He sat by the medical bed, solemnly taking in the two young Marines, before addressing Coby. “The reason they sent you to me is because you have incredibly strong observation haki. I can show you how to control it. We don’t have long- you’re both going back to your unit in a week, when your ‘medical leave’ ends- but I can give you some preliminary training.”

Coby’s black eyes went wide, “Observation- that’s… the voices?” “Aye.” The teen’s hands fisted in the sheets, eyes glassy and lip held tight in his teeth. “I just… I felt all those people hurting, felt them dying-!” Helmeppo sought out his hand, and Coby grasped it almost desperately.

Drake only nodded, “The stress likely triggered your haki to awaken all at once, and because you have no control over it, the stimuli all flooded through. I’m going to teach you to put up shields.” “Is that what you’re doing now? Shielding me?”

Drake blinked- he was surprised the other had noticed, apparently- but nodded again. “It’ll be a while before you can shield others, as it’s more advanced, but aye.” Coby smiled, wobbly but sincere- his cheeks were still full, childlike, and his face almost painfully earnest. “Thanks- it feels much better than it did before. Quieter.”

Drake stopped a moment- his expression was unreadable, but if she knew Drake at all, he was suppressing the sudden urge to adopt both baby Marines- before shaking his head. “Let’s just get you trained to do it yourself.”

It was unlike any training Rosie had ever seen before- for one, it started while Coby was still bedbound, with meditation.

Once he could stand reliably, Drake added in blindfolds, earmuffs, mittens, ways of cutting off each sense one at a time, until he'd be left with only that undefinable, instinctual one deep inside.

And yet, some aspects were all too similar. Rosie watched off to the side as Coby sat in meditation, brows furrowed in a frown, “Those are the exercises you’ve been having me do.” Drake nodded, arms crossed over his chest, “You have talent with observation, as well.”

She knew better than to let anger flare at not being told something, but Drake heard the unspoken question anyway, and answered. “I’ve found that these skills are best trained naturally, rather than directly. The brain takes to it better if you don’t perceive it as separate from your own self.”

Drake sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose- for him to show his tiredness this openly, he must be truly exhausted. “He’s a… special case, as his haki is naturally oversensitive, and awakened in such a violent manner- he needs to learn how to control it quickly, or it will overwhelm him.”

She glanced to the side, but Drake’s expression was flat- speaking from experience, then. He watched Coby with intent eyes, mouth tucked into its familiar severe frown, but she could almost feel him worry about the kid.

Coby and Helmeppo were the next generation of Marines, and the burden on their shoulders was already a heavy one- all they could do was ensure the babies could bear it.

This wasn’t anything Rosie knew about- she’d be getting Drake to fill her in about how exactly observation worked later. She suspected he was right, though- she had noticed that ‘feeling’ inside her, the inexplicable knowledge of things and people, becoming more sensitive over time.

But that would come later- she could at least work with Helmeppo on his swordsmanship, in the meantime.

It hadn’t escaped her notice that the young Marine wielded dual khukuri- a good multi-purpose weapon, a sort of military utility knife. She’d seen them used for everything from clearing brush to harvesting grain and skinning game animals, although they were also popular in combat because of their use with chopping and slashing motions, and the shape made them effective at stopping enemy blades. She could see by the hilt he carried the traditional chakmak and karda in the scabbard, as well.

The Marine wielded both blades against tough enemies, but if Rosie had to guess, the first one he loosed was the exercise one- also used for the more mundane tasks and sparring. The other was the more serious ceremonial one, only drawn when necessary for battle, as it was traditionally only meant for bloodshed.

He was skilled with them- not a master of the blade by any stretch, but he could be, with enough training. He had good instincts, decent strength, and a particular skill for finding and taking advantage of openings in an opponent’s guard.

Drake later had the two Marines spar on deck, blindfolded to ensure they relied on their other senses. It was slow and clumsy, as expected of two young sailors fighting blindly, but it wasn’t long before they were taking more confident swings, following the other by sound and air displacement.

But then Coby accidentally whacked Helmeppo across the head with the bokken, and from there it devolved into roughhousing, the two grappling playfully on the deck.

Drake nudged his second, something just to the side of playful on his face. “Do you remember being that young?” Darwin crossed his arms over his chest, grunted into his beard, “No.” Still, there was the slightest hint of exasperated mirth in his voice.

A yelp sounded as Sweetheart joined the tussle, landing directly atop Helmeppo with a high-pitched, miniature roar, and Drake sighed and waded into the mass of limbs to extract his daughter. Even though she wore claw caps on deck to keep from hurting anyone with her pointy bits, she was still an excitable little thing, and could easily get too rough.

While he was there, he seemingly couldn’t resist giving tips and correcting forms- she’d heard he was an expert grappler, but had never had cause to see the skill demonstrated.

Wallace bumped shoulders with Darwin, and Rosie caught the other huffing something fond that sounded like, “-running a damn daycare.“ Darwin responded lowly, “And you know if Drake manages to find her, there’ll be another.”

So Drake was looking for someone- a child, likely? Rosie tucked that away to think on later.

Something drew her from her hammock out to the deck that night- an itch, maybe for a smoke, maybe for something else. But she wasn’t the only one there- Coby was sat by the railing, chin rested thoughtfully on his folded arms.

She scuffed her foot to keep from startling him as she approached, but he jumped a bit anyway, wide eyes bright in the moonlight. “Ah- evening, Miss Rosie.” She hummed a response and settled atop a barrel, legs crossed under her, tucked the fur she’d huddled into close to ward off the chill, before lighting up.

The teen questioned hesitantly, “How is Captain Drake still shielding me? Shouldn’t he be asleep now? I can still...” She shrugged. “He can probably do it in his sleep.” Truthfully, she had no idea, but it seemed most plausible that Drake was somehow managing to work himself to death even while sleeping.

Coby nodded half-heartedly, huffed a self-deprecating laugh Rosie interpreted as ‘look how far I still have to go’.

They were quiet for a long moment, before he spoke again- whispered, as if speaking to the stars, “You know, Captain Drake said everyone experiences observation haki differently. Not- not like the actual phenomenon, but… people. The presences. He said he experiences them as… scents, or instinctual impressions. Makes sense, since… dinosaur.

“I get… voices, obviously. At Marineford… I heard things people weren’t saying. What they were feeling, if that makes sense. Everyone was so scared.”

She gave the kid a quick once-over, saw his shoulders rising to his ears, the way his hands trembled as they clutched the railing, and redirected to draw him out of the memory. “How could you tell Drake was shielding you?”

The teen shrugged, eyes fixed out on the stars, but his frame had loosened, at least. “A hunch. I noticed… most people, they have that voice. But zoans… there’s two voices- the human one, and… the other. I could hear both.”

She hummed, watching the smoke from her cigarette disappear into the blue-black sky. “And what were they saying?” Here Coby flushed, scratching at his cheek and avoiding her gaze, “Ah- uhm… something about ‘reckless hatchlings’ and ‘protection’…”

She huffed a quick laugh, ruffled his hair. “Well, Coby- welcome to being one of Drake’s strays.” She couldn’t see the kid flush in the dimness, but knew all at once he’d lit up like a torch. He was the type to fluster easily.

The quiet that fell then was expectant, anticipatory, and it held for a long moment. Coby looked to her nervously, visibly worked up the courage to say something. “Ah- you… have two voices, as well.” She stilled, smile frozen on her face, and only hummed. Coby glanced side-long at her, fidgeting with his fingers, “…You’re not a zoan.” “No.”

Just a human who was also a weapon, and couldn’t seem to get the two halves to line up right. She sighed again, tipped her face up to the stars, and there were no more words.

---

It was good fortune that Jean-Bart had been a farmer, and was happy to take on the hydroponic project Law had been contemplating- an expansion from Uni’s houseplants, which had given him the idea in the first place.

It would make restocking easier, help their ship be more self-sufficient, and hopefully bring the larger man some peace.

Indeed, the other had begun drawing up plans almost immediately, talking aloud to himself as he made notes, “Greens would be easy, with enough light- herbs, beans.”

The project took all the crew’s specialties to set up, from the engineers taking care of the lights and water circulation to Clione putting his head together with Jean-Bart to decide what to plant, how to put the small space to use most efficiently.

But with all of them working together, it came to fruition quickly enough, and they soon had a small hydroponic garden onboard, a little haven of greenery amidst the metal.

Clione was ecstatic at having fresh herbs and greens to work with, and Law was slightly embarrassed to realize just how heavy their diet had been until it was supplemented with the harvest.

And he could tell the garden helped Jean-Bart as well. To see him caring for the plants- enormous hands gentle on the delicate plants, the softness in his firm brow and sharp eyes- made something ache low in his gut. Law refused to admit his weakness for gentle giants.

He could tell the other was surprised by his captain’s willingness- and indeed, eagerness- to assist in the little garden. But Law couldn’t help thinking back to that little garden at the cottage- the one he somehow knew was there but hadn’t seen- and tending to these little plants helped him feel connected to it, in a way.

Seeing Rosie again… he hadn’t mentioned his ‘visit’ to their dad, partially because he refused to let her know how close he had come to death while she was gone, and partially because he knew she’d see right through him, see just how badly that little shameful part of him yearned to return to that little cottage.

It was better if he didn’t tell her. The pile of things he wasn’t telling Rosie grew steadily, and it was a shame he hid at the back of his mind and did his best to ignore. But he persisted- he’d put things in motion long ago, and there was no turning back now.

The garden helped him think, as well, thoughts falling into order while his hands were busy. His plan was proceeding well, but this was where things started to ramp up.

He was a Supernova now- he had the notice of the World Government, the track record to show he was a fearsome opponent. He just needed a bit more leverage to get what he wanted, to maneuver himself into the position he needed.

This was where the next stage of his plan went into play, where the seeds of his ultimate goal were planted.

Sabaody had been a turning point, for him- a moment of revelations, for several different reasons. He’d seen the coming of the new age, then- the painful birth of a new generation of pirates.

But the old world wasn’t going to die easily, and the veterans of the old age still held a firm grip on power.

He'd seen so many examples of that power exercised, only recently. He hadn’t been expecting to see the Dark King himself emerge from the slave cages, seemingly nonchalant as he took down the forces of the auction house without lifting a finger. The man’s haki was monstrously powerful.

And then Marineford… the levels of power on display during the battle, on all sides… There was a reason he hadn’t waded into that madness, as even escaping those forces had almost been impossible.

It only solidified for him the kinds of forces he needed to prepare for in the New World. The kind of level Doflamingo was on. He had a long way to go.

He would have to tread carefully, going forward. Training wasn’t enough- he needed to apply himself cautiously, gauging every step before he took it.

He needed to treat this like a game of cards, like Cora-san had taught them. The rules he’d laid out for them translated to espionage just as well as cards, which he supposed was probably half the point.

Never bet everything you have- never be reliant on winning, and never give up your means and methods. Make a show of losing some to keep suspicion off yourself- take advantage of being underestimated, use it as strength.

Never start any fights (he amended that one in his head simply to ‘never start any fights you can’t win’). Never assume yourself to be the smartest in the room- never underestimate your opponent, and always account for others’ schemes.

He was ready to take the next step.

Chapter 26: New World

Chapter Text

Once the baby Marines had left, Drake sent her back to Sabaody, to ‘check on a hunch’. All she had to do was find the Strawhat’s ship, and see who was looking after it.

So far, she had several names- Shakky and Rayleigh, which she’d known already, but also the Duval gang and that octopus man Strawhat had defended at the auction house. There were many people, apparently, awaiting the Strawhats’ return.

But one… after all the others had been injured or left, one had stayed.

A Pacifista- no, not a Pacifista. The first one- Bartholomew Kuma himself. She stopped, corrected herself- was he, himself? She’d heard what happened at Marineford- knew the Warlord Kuma had been fully transformed into a weapon of the World Government.

Was the man still there, within the machine? Part of her hoped not, that he wasn’t watching from behind those flat optic-glass eyes, with no control over his body.

And what was he doing here, sitting before the Strawhats’ ship, uncaring of the sword sticking out of his shoulder? Was he waiting for the crew to return, to finish the job?

The Pacifista wasn’t patrolling, nor did he seem active - he simply sat, still in a way no breathing being could manage, directly in front of the Strawhat’s ship. She’d only seen him move once, to frighten off a gang of scrappers that came too close. Was he… protecting the ship, for some reason?

Rosie took a deep breath, took a truly foolish risk. She stepped into the open, in full view of the guardian. She walked slowly, steadily, and halted paces away, to no reaction. Still, she felt eyes on her, more like the cold indifference of a laser sight than a sentient gaze.

She slowly raised a hand, pointing towards the weapon jammed into Kuma’s shoulder. “That doesn’t look very comfortable- can I remove it?” The Pacifista- Kuma, she would continue to call him by his name until proven otherwise- didn’t move, so she risked stepping closer, hands up in a show of peace.

Still nothing, and she hesitantly reached for the cutlass, sliding it free in one fluid movement. The cyborg made no sign of pain, or any awareness at all.

She peered at the ‘wound’, frowning at the sparking wires and gears inside, bit her lip in thought. “I’m a nurse, not a mechanic, but I can at least put this shoulder back together. Is that okay?”

Again, no sign of movement- but no rejection, either. She hopped up, standing atop the cyborg’s knee, and carefully sliced the jagged edges of the metal away. She turned her finger into a blowtorch and sealed the severed pipe, before doing the same with the frayed wires and soldering the pieces of the panel into place above them.

She knew the haphazard repair wasn’t likely to last long, with how many attackers the cyborg had already been fending off, but it was worth it even for just a moment, to hold off the inevitable.

Rosie patted Kuma’s knee, wondered to herself whether to say farewell as if to a living being, or bow with hands folded as if to a memorial. After a moment, she decided on the former- it wasn’t for her to decide when a person stopped being alive, even if they weren’t conscious any longer.

She left Kuma to his post, and returned to hers.

Drake didn’t look surprised when she reported the information- although, he never looked surprised. He only hummed and wrote something in his notebook, frown severe.

His crew was later heading into the New World than the other Supernova crews, because the fall of Marineford and the rise of the new era kept SWORD and all its agents incredibly busy for the next few weeks, hurriedly patching up gaps in the power structure to keep unsavory characters from rising to the top.

The chaos the battle had created made the perfect opportunity for criminals, but it was also perfect for the ones fighting them to make moves of their own without the waves being noticed. It was something they’d all become experts at- hiding in the wake of more conspicuous figures and the chaos they brought.

“You’re still heading to Fishman Island, right? To ‘meet with contacts’?” Drake raised an unimpressed brow at her impression of him, but nodded. “Aye.” “I’m coming with- the little girl in my heart would hate me if I missed the opportunity to see a mermaid in real life.”

Drake huffed a laugh, and responded, “Do what you will.” Oh, she would. Rosie was going to see a mermaid, her fear of the ocean be damned.

When they made their descent, she was very careful to place herself somewhere she couldn’t see anything outside- namely, the mess storeroom, where Horner had graciously given her a mug of hot tea and some cookies.

Sweetheart had stayed with her, and Rosie held her tight, determinedly focusing on the now-wolf-sized raptor, and not on the inky blackness she knew surrounded them on all sides outside their little storeroom. She’d tucked her face into Sweetheart’s downy feathers, humming quietly to herself that old wordless song.

They were only interrupted once, when Wallace came to drape a fur over her shoulders- the bottom of the ocean was a pervasive sort of cold, and all the crew bundled up against it.

It was when Drake came to fetch them that Rosie finally relaxed- he wouldn’t have left the deck unless all was safe. The light that followed him into the storeroom wasn’t the yellow-orange of lanterns, or the white-gold of sunlight- it had an almost teal tint, but it was shockingly bright for the bottom of the sea.

Drake’s slight grin was anticipatory as he nodded his head towards the outside, “You’ll want to see this.”

Rosie was frozen as soon as she stepped on deck, struck still by the view surrounding her.

Fishman Island was beautiful, in an incredibly alien sort of way- the greenery she was used to on the surface was replaced with colorful formations of coral and reefs, and instead of birds flying through the air, fish and other sea creatures swam every which way without any regards to gravity.

The island seemed to be in a bubble, with its own air and gravity, but above that, she could see the ocean, see the myriad of life passing through above her head.

There was sunlight, although she knew they were leagues below the surface- its rays were comforting and familiar, but there was no accompanying warmth. The whole of it was incredibly surreal, and for a moment she felt almost weightless, a strange sense of vertigo taking her, as if she could float.

The ocean was truly a separate world of its own.

She heard Wallace murmur to Darwin, “‘Lil Mari would love to see this.” An unfamiliar name, spoken with fondness- another stray, she surmised.

Drake left the ship soon after, Shubin at his side and both eyeing the environment with a wary familiarity. “We’ll be gone a day or so, meeting with contacts.”

He stopped at Rosie’s sudden grin, realizing he’d used the exact words she’d earlier mocked him for, and steadfastly ignored her victorious smirk, “…With Whitebeard gone, the island has lost its protector. A decision has to be made on whose territory it will be now. As well, I have a lead on the origin of the drugs that have been wreaking havoc in the island’s underworld.”

He’d gotten better about keeping her informed on what would be discussed, even if some of his contacts’ identities were still confidential. “Be cautious,” he ended with. “This place is more dangerous than you think.”

Rosie set off to explore on her own, curious as to the the nature of this place and intent on fulfilling her wish to meet mermaids.

Here, too, there was so much familiar and yet different- shops and buildings and crowds just like she’d known, but the people filling them came in a wide variety of colors and shapes, some with extra limbs and fins and tails. It was fantastic, the diversity of the people, but she tried to keep from looking too unfamiliar with it all.

Still, the eyes rankled- she had grown unused to standing out in a crowd, as accustomed as she was to the shadows. There weren’t very many humans here- tourism possibly interrupted by the instability in the wake of Whitebeard’s death?

Rosie weighed her options, and deemed it prudent to fit in- with the acquisition of a bubbly coral and a long skirt, she could turn her legs to broad knives and mimic fins. And suddenly she garnered no more glances than any other mermaid out shopping.

But that cold light of the far away sun still shone down, forever at the back of her mind, reminding her she didn’t belong here.

She spotted Drake at the Mermaid Inlet at one point, chatting with a few of the residents. He himself was partially transformed- sharp teeth and claws, scales tracing along visible skin- and could pass as a fishman, with his hair styled differently and tattoos covered.

But they had their own tasks, while here- or, Drake had his tasks, and Rosie had her curiosity to sate. As any good spy knew, the best place to go in a new town for information was the local watering hole- in this case, the Mermaid Cafe.

A cute young mermaid named Camie served her hot tea, and she let herself watch all the beautiful maids go by and listen to the gossip floating around her.

Just as Drake had said, there was danger beneath the beautiful surface of the island. A table nearby her talked in hushed tones about the recent attacks in the lower levels of the island, and another discussed how their husbands, who worked in the seas outside, had encountered more and more shipwrecks recently.

There was something building here, she could feel it- what, she wasn’t yet sure.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a large mermaid, pale with sleek black hair and a shark tail, joined her at her table. The visible blue eye narrowed at her, pupil slitted. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Rosie only smiled, “Being where I’m not supposed to be is my job.”

She put on an exaggerated pout to break the tension, “Disguise not good enough?” The shark mermaid settled a bit, leaned back in the seat, and put her pipe to her lips, “Not bad for a human, but I know every maid on the island. Not to mention, I’ve seen you before, Rosie.”

Rosie hummed in confusion, quite sure she’d never met any mermaids before coming here, and the other woman blew out iridescent bubbles from her pipe. “Madam Shyarly- I’m a fortune teller.” “Ooh, so you’ve seen me in a vision, then? Doing anything cool?”

The madam smirked, flashing sharp teeth, “You could say that. I cannot tell you more, unfortunately.” Rosie nodded her understanding. “You’ve already talked with Drake, haven’t you?”

Shyarly’s eye widened in shock, and it was Rosie’s turn to smirk, “You seem like the type to be in his network.” “Indeed. We held council with the King earlier.” “So who’s the island going with?” “Big Mom. We have little choice- her emissaries are already on their way.”

Rosie hummed- she’d figured either her or Shanks, but Redhair wasn’t known for collecting territories. “Things will change with a new Yonkou in charge.” An almost leisurely shrug, “Not as much as many fear. She will not hold our island for long, and I do not believe her ire will be directed at us when it escapes her grasp.”

Fascinating, how sure Shyarly was when she spoke, like the future she posited was simply fated to pass. It predicted an interesting road ahead for the island, with it changing hands so frequently, and Rosie tucked the thoughts away- she’d watch for signs of Shyarly's visions coming true going forward.

Rosie continued her explorations after leaving the cafe and Madam Shyarly, and eventually found herself in a beautiful undersea forest. It was so serene here, plush moss underfoot and corals and sea grasses rising up over her head.

And in the middle, what was unmistakably a sepulcher, carved painstakingly of a dark, smooth stone.

Rosie brushed gentle fingers over the memorial, noting places where the stone had been worn polished by touch, indents made where feet had walked, where knees had knelt. Whoever lay here, they were very loved.

She felt Drake approaching- his business must have concluded, if he was searching for her. He stopped at her side, spoke lowly. “This is the grave of the late Queen.” There was a somber note in his voice that caught her ear, and she glanced to him, “Did you meet her?” “Once- she was killed eight years ago.” “What happened?”

He didn’t answer her question, but only sighed, “You can see it, too, I know. The nature of this place.” It wasn’t a question- the consequences of the skills she’d gained included the terrible knowledge of circ*mstances beyond her control.

The dots connected in her head. A hatred seethed beneath the surface of the island, a low, constant simmer. A tension rising both within the island and without, and the Queen had been a victim of it.

Drake sighed, “What’s happening here… is still in its building stages. It hasn’t yet reached a boiling point. And unfortunately, I don’t think anything can change until it does.”

As much as she hated it, she knew he was right. The people who needed to pay attention wouldn’t do so until it became absolutely impossible to ignore- until the problem was laid at their own doorstep.

“Hatred is a hereditary curse- but a voluntary one. It’s taught, passed on. And the only cure for it is exposure. Queen Otohime saw that, but there are those whose sense of self depends on not seeing it.”

Drake was a person who saw the world incredibly clearly, without the luxury of blinders or tinted glasses, but the tiredness in his voice spoke of his long experience dealing with the consequences of others’ deliberate ignorance.

“It’s up to the next generation to see the horrors this hatred has wrought, and put a stop to it. The people have to want to end the cycle of hatred. But to do that… it’ll take either time, or a boilover.”

---

Phase two of Law’s plan was becoming a Warlord- it would allow him the influence he needed, the wedge to drive apart the shadows and fill in the gaps in his knowledge of Doflamingo’s activities. The access to open the door for phase three.

The timing for him was lucky, as well- the Marines had just had a taste of the dangerous new pirates up and coming, Blackbeard very much prominent among them, and needed all the allies they could get.

Two of their Warlords had just defected during the battle, one was secretly in love with the enemy, one had gone missing entirely, and another was an unthinking automaton. There were plenty of open spots, just waiting to be filled.

He was in prime position for it- he just needed a little push, something to advertise him for a position.

And he had a plan for exactly how to make his application.

Shachi hadn’t liked the idea, deeming it too big a risk- ‘poking the beehive’, he said.

But Law thought it was perfect. Sure, he could spend a month or two collecting hearts individually, but all at once? It was thematic, it was big- exactly the kind of spectacle that would catch headlines and get him the attention he needed.

As soon as he’d found where the escapees from Impel Down had congregated, he knew that had to be his target. The Marines should be thankful, really- wasn’t he doing their job for them?

Obviously, he wasn’t going to show up at the pirate haven simply asking for trouble- he took the time to orchestrate an incident. The pirates of Hachinosu, the new escapees, the Marines, the civilians who somehow eked out a life on the island… If he put together enough volatile elements and stood back from the inevitable explosion, he could thrive in the shadow of the chaos.

Thus, a well-placed anonymous tip to the nearest Marine branch about dangerous, illicit plans the pirates of Hachinosu may or may not have been forming- it wasn’t like he was even lying, right? This was Hachinosu, after all- everything they did there was dangerous and illicit.

He didn’t account for Blackbeard.

The man was an enigma- how he could wield two devil fruits at once was completely unexplainable, and it made him a massive threat.

Law had planned to stay far away from the other, at least until he could gain actionable intel. But Blackbeard had taken full advantage of the power vacuum in Whitebeard’s wake, rising to prominence with fearsome quickness.

Luckily, Blackbeard wasn’t there to fight him, at least- no, he just wanted to take advantage of the chaos Law was creating to gain a foothold over Hachinosu. Law was happy to let the other have the island- he had no interest in it, only the escapees who’d taken refuge here.

Still, he kept alert as he traversed the island, keeping track of the other’s oily, smoke-like presence as he completed his mission. His crew had strategically blocked off parts of the town, of the pirates’ hideout, to funnel the escapees towards him, and from there, it was easy pickings.

He fell into a sort of battle rhythm, sharp focus drowning out the distant screams and sounds of combat in favor of the next target.

Law was only mildly thrown off when the newest prisoner he’d set sights on went down before he could get to him. A young Marine, eyes wide and breath coming quickly, stood above the fallen prisoner, hand still balled into a fist.

Law grinned, switched the prisoner’s heart into his hand, “Thanks.” He’d leave the civilians to the Marines- they seemed to have it well in hand. He turned away, but a shout brought his attention back, “H-Hey!”

The young Marine was staring at him now, something inscrutable in his expression. His companion, wielding dual blades and holding off other fugitives, shouted behind him, “Coby, we can’t fight him- we need to focus on the civilians!” The other stared a moment longer, before tearing himself back to his duties, “R-Right!”

Law returned to his quest, putting the Marine’s look of confused recognition out of his mind. The kid inadvertently ended up being a great help to him, taking down escaped prisoners by the dozen, and Law had no problem cleaning up after the Marines and adding their defeats to his tally.

In the end, it took both Law and Blackbeard to take down Wang Zhi- the man had held the island for decades for a reason, and his firepower had reduced almost the entire city to rubble- but it was finished.

Law had claimed exactly one hundred hearts, the crowning jewel of the collection that of the king of Pirate Island, who’d held an iron grip over the arms trade for decades.

All in all- a rousing success. Now to turn in his unofficial ‘gift’ to the Marines.

Chapter 27: Anticipation

Chapter Text

Something was coming, Rosie could feel it. The air felt thick, something momentous hanging in it, and she almost felt the need to hold her breath. There wasn’t anything visibly different about Drake- the same weight and tension rested on his shoulders, only perhaps a bit heavier today.

But he had stopped his writing, set his reading glasses to the side, and was simply staring out the window of the small office, hands folded and utterly unmoving.

That anticipatory feeling brought her attention from her book, and she stood, stretched, just to break the painted stillness of it all.

It seemed to do the trick, and finally, Drake spoke, the silence cracking around his low voice. “I’m leaving. Soon. My mission is entering a new phase, and I have to separate from the crew. Where I’m going… will be too dangerous for my men to follow.”

Rosie frowned a moment- the crew were all New World veterans, most had been sailing longer than she’d been alive, what could be too dangerous for even them?

Then she recalled suddenly, years ago, when she and Drake had discussed the Yonkou. The darkness in his eyes when he’d mentioned what was holding them back from combatting the Yonkou was the same darkness she saw there now. What he’d said, then.

Horror dawned in her, heavy in her stomach. “You’re the piece that needs to be put in place. They’re sending you to Kaido.”

It made sense- Kaido was Lord of the Beasts, his closest lieutenants were all Ancient Zoans. Of course the spy of the same type would be the perfect fit for the position. Drake was the only one capable of doing it.

Her knees grew weak, the past rushing back all at once. It was shock alone that kept her upright. Drake was infiltrating the crew of a monstrously strong pirate, to take it down from the inside. Cora-san had done the same, and died for it. Was she going to lose another person she loved, in exactly the same way?

He didn’t bother confirming, letting the silence do it for him. Eventually, he sighed, “Only a few of my crew are coming with me. You can’t- I’ll need your eyes and ears on the outside. I’m passing on my position as head of the Unit, but I’m still in the chain of command, and will remain in contact best I can.”

“And Sweetheart?” His eyes flicked down to the desk, hands tightening to fists, “Is staying with the crew I leave here. I will not be bringing my daughter anywhere near Kaido.”

This was where the disparate parts of him had come to a head- Drake the dutiful Marine, and Drake the accidental but loving father. He would do his duty, but he would rather die than endanger his daughter. It was so familiar.

Rosie finally dropped herself heavily back into the chair, legs feeling wooden beneath her. Drake pulled out the bottle of whiskey from its hiding spot under his desk, and poured two glasses, sliding one over to her. He took the other one, leaning back in his seat and deflating somewhat.

She had never seen Drake look so tired. “I can’t promise to survive”, he sighed. “This is Kaido. And the mission- the freedom of those he subjugates- will always come before my life.”

She tried for an optimistic chuckle, but it landed somewhere between anxious and hysterical instead. “What happened to ‘hardened idealism’?”

Drake attempted an answering smile- it also didn’t quite get there. “I wish I could afford idealism- all I can manage most days is grim hope. The world I exist in… I have to deal with it as it is, not as I wish it to be. And that means playing the worst sort of games, weighing lives and sacrificing some to save others.

“Because I need to think in terms of harm reduction, and what is going to save the most lives in the long run. I know what I am- I know I’m not a good or moral person. But what I do can help build a better dawn, for the future.”

Rosie tilted her glass of whiskey back and forth between her hands, watching its amber waves roll against the glass. “You know, my dad told me there’s no such thing as being bad or good- it’s all in what you do. And no matter how much bad you’ve done, you can always choose to do good.”

Drake nodded shortly, “A wise man. But my actions are no cleaner when separated from their intent.”

He glanced down at his hands, brow furrowed- she had to wonder how much blood he saw there. They were the same, she recalled. And because they were the same, she knew what he was thinking.

She bit her lip, glanced out the window at the ocean beyond, and spoke quietly, “I don’t know when I first killed someone- not that I don’t remember it, but… I didn’t pay enough attention to care. I was a weapon, I was proud to serve Joker- he pointed me at a target, and I shot. And as long as they stopped shooting back, I didn’t think any further on it.”

She looked up- that intense gaze was on her, Drake’s full attention- and shrugged, not meeting it head-on, took a swallow of the alcohol and let it burn back the knot in her throat.

“But it’s… unlikely I went that whole time without killing anyone, right? I think I’d feel better if I knew- if I had a name, or a face. A counter, maybe, to tick up how many lives I’ve ended, so I know when I’ve saved enough to break even.”

Something told her Drake remembered with exacting clarity his first kill. He was silent a long moment, swirling the liquid in his glass as if it held the answers he sought.

When he spoke again, his voice was barely a low rumble, the slightest hint of an unfamiliar accent collecting at its edges. “I was thirteen- had just received my powers and was not at all in control of them. A fight with another crew got desperate- pops released me on them.

“I don’t remember all of what happened- not when the beast was in control- but I woke up surrounded by… pieces. Bathed in blood, stomach aching like I’d overeaten. Haven’t gotten the taste of blood out of my mouth ever since.” He gazed into his glass, eyes unseeing, and knocked the rest of it back quickly.

They didn’t speak for a long time- they didn’t need to- and a comfortable but solemn silence hung over the office. Rosie took a moment to slump into the window frame and bask in the sunlight streaming through, letting the gentle rocking of the ship ease her.

But Drake could never stop working for long, and eventually she saw him collect himself, square his shoulders in that way that meant he was gathering up the parts of him that were Captain, fitting his mental armor once more.

She did the same, tucking away the pieces she’d bared and folding over them, smooth as a fitted sheet. The world was waiting, and things would continue to happen whether either or both of them died.

Still, there might not be another chance to say this. She finished her drink, stood, bowed. “Thank you, for teaching me. I’m glad to have gotten to where I am today.” She knew he heard the unsaid, ‘I don’t know where I’d be if we hadn’t met at that tavern six years ago, but I know I like here better.’

He dipped his head to her in acknowledgement, “Thank you for learning. I’m proud of how you’ve grown.” Similarly, she heard the unsaid, “It’s good to know this won’t die with me. I trust you to continue on if I fail.’

He stood, faced the door as if walking through it would lead him directly to Kaido, and Rosie fell in at his side for what might be the last time. She spoke solidly, “I’ll make sure to visit Sweetheart often.”

Drake nodded gratefully, something in his shoulders loosening, “Thank you- she likes you." For a moment, he almost seemed regretful, his eyes dark and inscrutable. He sighed again, straightened himself, and the moment was past.

---

Law was officially a Warlord. The offer had come only barely after his ‘gift’ hit the news. He’d made the Marines wait a week, just to be petty, before accepting, but secretly, he was the cat who’d got the cream, almost unable to hide his satisfaction.

He was one step closer to his ultimate goal. The pieces were all falling into place. He had the lead he needed on SAD production, the next step laid out clearly before him.

But he couldn’t move too quickly, or risk making his plans obvious.

Still, he wasn’t going to waste his time- the new position afforded him luxuries he fully intended to take advantage of, such as access to certain Marine records and files.

The Head Archivist- one Commodore Royal, a squat, dark-skinned woman with a voice like a lounge singer and a beehive updo- had led him to the Archives and walked him through its various categories, before he asked to be left to his work.

None of the Marines he passed glared openly at him- they were too well-trained for that- but he felt the distrust, the wariness.

He’d expected to feel smug in this victory over them, the fact that he was here in their home base and there was nothing they could do about it. But it just felt hollow.

Law spent hours amongst the shelves, going through paperwork and records, but, no matter how he searched, his prize eluded him.

Eventually, he sighed, closed the last heavy tome. Nothing, again. As far as the general Marine files were concerned, there had never been a Marine by the name of Donquixote Rocinante.

He should’ve expected such- Cora-san had been an undercover operative, after all. He wouldn’t have lasted four years in the Family had his files been so easily accessible. Not with Vergo in the Marines.

But the grief came anyway, an ache deep in his heart as he realized… he had no idea where else to look. The last hope he held for finding Cora-san- a marker, a memorial, something- died. A hope he hadn’t realized he still relied upon until it was gone.

It was obvious, in hindsight- Doflamingo was a Warlord as well. Anyone who’d cared for Cora-san wouldn’t want his bastard of a brother finding his resting place. They all knew how possessive Doflamingo was over people he considered his.

So it was a good thing, that Cora-san was being kept safe, wherever he was… Law only wished he was able to openly declare their relation, to be known for what he was.

He walked past these Marines, not knowing which of them had known his dad and held fond memories they could share, which of them would be comforted to know of his legacy.

But Law was a pirate, only reluctantly allowed access to this place- not even the original Marineford, where he could at least have the knowledge that Cora-san had walked the same halls once. Unable to speak up and simply ask where his dad was, because he didn’t know how far Doflamingo’s tendrils reached.

He carried a codename on his back, a smile on his chest- thinly veiled memorials of his own- and wanted nothing more than to tear away the veil. He had never stopped hating the masks, the secrecy, and yearned to rip them all away for good.

Another thing that couldn’t happen, with Doflamingo in the picture.

But the Marine records weren’t a total loss- he had learned valuable information, filling in holes in his own knowledge of Doflamingo’s operations. The Marines had extensive catalogues on the other, even dating past his rise to Warlord status.

And in those records- or rather, in what those records didn’t say- was a wealth of information.

He wasn’t the only one plotting against Doflamingo- an obvious conclusion, really. The man had enemies, had competitors who sought to take over his position and divest him of his underworld network.

But the cases he was seeing… this wasn’t a competitor, simply stealing islands from under Doflamingo’s watch. This was… something entirely different. The rings he’d followed the collapse of, the arms dealers and slave traders- they were disappearing, and failing to pop up elsewhere. The islands stolen seemed to truly be freed of the underworld influence.

Could it be the Revolutionaries? He couldn’t think of anyone else who held the resources to steal Joker’s power from beneath him like this, and the willingness to let the islands go free after. Another mystery opened up for him to ponder.

At the very least, it was good to know he had help- even unknown help. The time was coming when he would finally be able to face the demon that had haunted him for so long- he could feel it approaching, and the anticipation itched under his skin.

Doflamingo thought himself so safe, up on his high throne, like some sort of god. He wouldn’t be safe up there for long.

Law was a D, after all- that made him an enemy of god, right? Might as well live up to it.

Chapter 28: Separation

Chapter Text

It was so very strange, seeing the Liberal Hind without Drake on it. The ship was fully operational, all hands going about duties as usual, but a few glaring absences were clearly felt- Darwin and Wallace had insisted on going along with their Captain, neither the kind to let him take on the burden alone, and Gould had taken up command in their absence.

Rosie herself had long passed actually needing instruction to go about her work- she knew when and where she was needed to investigate and follow up on leads- still, it had always been comforting, having Drake and his big-picture perspective to fall back on.

But there was nothing to be done for it- she would deal with the world as it presented itself, not as she wanted it to be.

Shubin caught her eye, and she followed his concerned glance to the dinosaur pacing the deck. “Hey, little girl.” Sweetheart whined pitifully, and Rosie sighed, petting her snout, “I know, sweetie. I miss him, too. He’ll be back before too long.”

Rosie swore she could see the raptor pouting as she sat down on the deck with a huff, head tucked over the railing. Sweetheart didn’t seem to understand Drake really being gone, and continually watched the sea where he’d left, looking for him to come back.

He’d taken Sweetheart hunting one last time before leaving, the two dinosaurs disappearing into the forest of the island where they were docked. The raptor had been capable of surviving on her own for a while now, predatory instincts well-honed, but Drake had insisted on cultivating her skills.

Ever since he had taken her in, they had made sure to stop on islands frequently so the two could spend time together. Drake said it was important for her to grow up with nature, and he would often transform and take his daughter on little trips around the wilderness, teaching her how to hunt and track.

These were the only times Rosie ever saw him fully transformed, as his dinosaur form was too large for the ship to accommodate safely. And it was a shame, because she liked his dinosaur form.

He seemed to indulge his parental instincts more, letting Sweetheart climb over him like a jungle gym and curl up under his chin to sleep, and Rosie always thought it was hilarious to pretend to understand his whuffs and rumbles, making up entire conversations of things Drake would never actually say.

He and his daughter had spent that last night on the beach, as well- the giant dinosaur curled up on the ground, smaller raptor tucked up close next to him.

Dove purred a greeting at her, and Rosie tore her eyes away from the forlorn Sweetheart and answered, listening quietly to the string of numbers the filtered voice on the other end gave her. Her mind ran it through the different encryptions Drake had taught her, ending up with a set of coordinates.

It was time for her to meet with the Revolutionaries- her first time doing so on her own, without Drake.

It was good to see Koala again- the two had struck up a close friendship since that first meeting-, although the circ*mstances could certainly be better. Koala as well was tense, just like Rosie felt- the missing presence was clearly at fault.

“He told you, right?” Koala nodded solemnly, crossing her arms over her chest, “We’ve known for a long time. I don’t like it, but we all have our parts to play. If he succeeds, a lot of people will be saved.” Neither of them said anything about the other option, and Rosie changed the subject.

“I saw what went down with the two admirals. Is Frigid…” ‘Is he with us?’, she didn’t say. Koala shook her head, “I don’t know- Fanger didn’t tell me. I don’t think he’d say, even if we asked. I think… the former admiral has a plan. What that plan is… we’ll see, I suppose.”

From there, they got down to business, tracing out progress made, lines drawn, leads followed and those that still needed hunting down.

Koala bit her lip nervously, gloved hand tucked under her chin, “There’s… something going on, in Dressrosa. Our records… there’s discrepancies that weren’t there before. Discrepancies I can’t explain- as if we’re sending agents there, but when I check, none of those agents mentioned actually exist. Our information is being manipulated, somehow. I’m not sure what’s happening, but… keep an eye out.”

Rosie frowned in thought- that was concerning. The main reason Doflamingo was so dangerous, Drake had once told her, was because he was right, about many things. He knew how the world worked, knew how power worked, and he used that knowledge to his own ends.

If he had managed, somehow, to get falsified information into the Revolutionaries’ hands… it was possible he’d uncovered their sources.

She’d have to be more careful going forward. Means and methods were the only things a spy couldn’t survive having revealed.

Luckily, she’d been working on the observation techniques Drake had taught her, and several of them would be perfect for this kind of use. She asked Koala to be a test subject for one, to be sure she could face an opponent with haki while using it.

She could still recall the explanations Drake had given Coby, the demonstrations that had been so helpful for understanding- ran over it again in her head just to prepare herself.

She’d watched the lesson intently, the three sat cross-legged on the deck as Drake walked the baby Marines through the principles of observation haki.

Coby was progressing impressively, and Drake wanted him to at least attempt the more advanced techniques, to have a basis to build on them later.

The lesson on shielding others had gone… interestingly, when Coby had wrapped his arms tightly around Helmeppo, making the other squawk. “Ack! C-Coby!”

The pink-haired boy just scrunched his eyes tightly shut, clutching onto his friend, “It- It’s easier this way!” He focused for a long moment, Helmeppo deflating into resigned acceptance in his grasp, before cracking an eye open, “Is he invisible now?”

Drake hummed, something amused in the sound, “It’s not quite invisibility. More… being easy to overlook. Look at me.” Coby turned towards him, still not letting go of Helmeppo, and his brow furrowed, “I- I can’t! It’s like my eyes… refuse to see you!” “Exactly. If you weren’t aware of my presence, you wouldn’t notice me at all. That’s the goal here.

“Now, tell me what you feel when I shield you.” Coby tilted his head in thought, “It… it’s warm, quiet. Like I’ve been covered with a blanket.” “Very good. That’s the principle of the technique- learning to cover another with your own presence. That’s why you need to learn to shield yourself first- once you’ve mastered that, shielding others is simple.”

Rosie took a deep breath, centered herself. Focused on being ‘easy to overlook’- something she was very good at externally, but now had to internalize.

When Drake had done it… she had seen how he almost melted from sight and mind, simply becoming part of the landscape. She’d had to focus all her attention on even remembering he was there.

She did her best to mimic that now, wrapping up her presence in a sheath of ‘don’t pay attention to me, nothing to see here’.

She sank into it, this quieted feeling almost like she’d become separate from the world, drifted into a space just to the side of it where no one could see or interact with her.

Rosie still had a long way to go until she could shield others, but Koala’s gaze passing over where she sat without stopping and subsequent ecstatic grin told her she had successfully mastered the first step- disguising her own presence.

She would have to keep training this, now- she had to get more serious about improvement. The stakes were higher now, and she needed to be prepared.

---

There was a man playing trumpet on the street corner. Law wasn’t sure if it was the lot of all street musicians to look like they slept in the dumpsters they played near, but this one was no different, with a ratty pinstripe suit and fingerless wool gloves that couldn’t disguise the fact that he was missing three of the fingers that should occupy them. This place was bitterly cold, and this man had obviously come off worse for it over the years.

His trumpet whined out a melancholy, bluesy tune, fitting the somber, gray-washed tone of the town. Law stopped and leaned against the building to listen for a while, before approaching.

He flicked a coin into the man’s tin cup. “I’m looking to talk to someone about an island.” The musician bit down on the coin, and nodded fervently, “Ye’ll be wantin’ Ol’ Peggy, sir- she knows all th’ lands ‘round this sea. She usually posts up at the bar.” He tossed another coin as thanks, and was off.

If the rumors he’d heard were true… he had his next destination.

The information he learned whirled through his head long after he’d returned to the Tang, a distraction that followed him through the rest of his day. Punk Hazard, and its dangerous resident, the scientist Caesar Clown… all his research had culminated in this, the target that lay before him.

He retreated to the one place that always settled his thoughts- the OR. Its neat, orderly environ always helped him calm down, drop the chaos of his mind into its various boxes and categories.

But he wasn’t alone in there- Penguin was a quiet presence in the corner, restocking the disposables in the crash cart. The OR wasn’t scheduled for cleaning and maintenance today, so Penguin was obviously here to try and catch him, knowing exactly where he’d go- sometimes Law despaired at how predictable he was.

His brother didn’t turn around when he spoke, hands still busy, “‘Sup, bro. Learn anything interesting?” “…Not really.” Nothing he was willing to share, certainly. “Another dead end, then?” He just hummed noncommittally in response.

Penguin apparently misinterpreted the answer as frustration, because he glanced up and shrugged with faux levity. “Well, not like he’s going anywhere. Benefits of him being a king, right? No rush.”

A nervous laugh, trying to be reassuring, “I know we’re not strong enough to fight Doflamingo yet, but- we don’t have to be, right? That’s the point of all this, to go around him. Make him Kaido’s target.”

That was the plan he’d told his brothers- the primary plan. Not, unfortunately, the plan he suspected he’d have to fall back on- he’d never told them about that one. And, based on what he’d learned today… he wasn’t planning to.

He must’ve missed his brother speaking, because Penguin frowned at him, his strange pale eyes barely visible under the brim of his hat. “Do you need a dissection dummy? I can do that, if you want.”

That made Law blink out of his thoughts, turning to face him with brows furrowed in confusion. Penguin despised it when Law took him apart, always got a bit queasy when he saw himself opened like a gutted seal. “You hate that, though.”

Something like a determined grimace passed across the other’s face. “I hate seeing you all… like this, so much more. And if dissection dummy will help get it off your mind for a bit, I’m happy to do it.” He shook his head, sighing, and deflated onto the operating table. “I don’t need… Just, sit with me.”

Penguin sank down next to him, tucking an arm around his shoulders, “‘M not gonna pry the thoughts from your head- I know you too well to try. But you know you can rely on us, right? For anything.”

He nodded wordlessly, hand winding around Penguin’s wrist to press against the steady pulse there. He relied on his brothers for so much, which was exactly why he couldn’t involve them in this.

There was a hand in his hair, stroking through the strands comfortingly. He melted into the contact, leaning his head on his brother’s shoulder and letting his frame loosen, still focusing on that blessedly solid beat.

He was face-to-face now with the results of his second operation- that hectic eternity that had been him and Rosie putting together two dying street rats. He hadn’t known, then, just how it would change everything, but without a doubt, his life would be darker if they hadn’t succeeded that day.

All that remained to show that the arm had once been completely torn off was a slight divot in the skin near the joint, the vaguest difference in coloration that was only visible in bright light. Shachi, similarly, had only a faint reminder left where he'd been disemboweled.

It was good work, for having been done by a recently-dying, strung out thirteen year old with barely any grasp on his powers.

Still, he caught himself blinking away flashes of blood on snow, still bodies and harsh, wet breathing.

It always seemed to surprise him, how… fragile people were. How easily they died. It wasn’t really a surprise- death was the only constant in his life, it had raised him as much as his parents or Cora-san had- and yet… Every time, he still had difficulty believing it, like his mind just fundamentally refused to grasp the concept.

It always brought him sudden, visceral awareness of what they all were- just meat and bones that had thoughts. The vulnerability of it all, how easily any of them could be rent apart.

He’d dreamed again last night. One of the good ones, this time- another simple domestic scene. His could-have-been world that was itself rent apart. A small village with cobblestone roads, the sun rising over the mountains to the East. Rosie beside him, their dad a few paces behind carrying both of their backpacks.

He wouldn’t say it, all of fifteen and ‘definitely not a kid anymore, Cora-san’, but he enjoyed their guardian walking them to school. It was quiet in the mornings, peaceful in the half-light of dawn, and the little family walked together in comfortable silence.

He could still recall the bracing pinch of the morning breeze on his cheeks, the cobbles under his feet and the brush of Rosie’s skirt against his leg as they walked side by side, the sound of footsteps from behind him.

He clung to these simple, impossible dreams, now that the alternative was those very possible nightmares of death and destruction.

They hadn’t gone away, instead getting worse- still focused on failure and its consequences- and they were starting to consume him.

Shachi had begged him into utilizing one of their old tricks- switching with the others- so his body at least could get some sleep, even if he was still awake.

But it was only a bandage over the weeping wound, a way to keep him stumbling along, and the nightmares still came whenever it was him asleep.

They only seemed to ease somewhat once he’d come to a decision within himself- he wasn’t going to risk his siblings.

Rosie wouldn’t be hard to keep from this- she had her own tasks, and, as frequently as they communicated, there was a great deal they didn’t mention.

The boys would be harder to fool, given how concerned they already were, but, at the end of the day, they trusted him wholeheartedly.

A trust he knew now he was unworthy of, given his explicit intentions to deceive them. But it was for the best, to keep them safe.

Law knew what he had to do. He was going to do this, and he had to do it alone.

Chapter 29: Interlude: Fanger

Chapter Text

Getting to Wano had been the easy part. Drake had done extensive research on Kaido, and knew exactly how to present himself in a way that would catch the Yonkou’s eye. A show of strength, of boldness and audacity. Not Drake’s usual style, but that was his job, wasn’t it? To make anything his style.

He’d certainly prepared for anything- prepared to do anything, to prove himself and his loyalty. It was imperative that he make his way into the Yonkou’s inner circle- the only way he could learn enough to save lives.

Kaido’s forces were straight forward, however- this Yonkou valued power and strength more than anything else, and it didn’t take long for Drake to be offered a position in the upper echelons of his crew. Exactly where he needed to be.

Darwin and Wallace had both settled invisibly into the ranks, where they could move without much notice. His hands, working diligently out of sight while he drew the attention.

He didn’t enjoy the presence of the other Tobiroppo- Page One and Ulti were both still stinging at his defeat of the former which had earned him the position, Sasaki and Black Maria were irritating, and Who’s Who’s Voice itched at him, a sense of familiarity he hadn’t yet been able to place.

But it seemed that none of them really enjoyed each other’s presences, either- quite the dysfunctional group. Which was lucky for Drake, as it made his job much easier- it was simple to get the others to let slip things they shouldn’t, in their complaints. This was how he first learned about Onigashima’s secret prisoner.

Kaido had only his closest lieutenants assigned to guard his son. Drake thought it partially to remind them of their place as subordinates, partially to inculcate a sense of loyalty to Kaido’s successor. He had no qualms with the task, taking the opportunity to learn more of the castle and its depths.

He’d heard plenty about Kaido’s son from the other Tobiroppo- a fool, a dreamer, a reckless idealist who knew nothing of the world and wouldn’t survive a day outside Wano.

Drake had been called all these things himself when he had refused to submit to corruption in the Marines- he would draw his own conclusions.

Early for his appointed shift, he made his way to the dungeon where Kaido’s son was kept- the young man huddled at the back, knees drawn to his chest and head settled despondently on his arms, limbs all held in heavy shackles that weighed him down. But his attention shifted at Drake’s approach, blue-green eyeshine flashing in the darkness.

Page One huffed and gladly took the replacement, regardless of his shift technically not being finished. Drake didn’t bother responding to his glare- he still knew the feel of the younger’s throat between his teeth, and he knew the knowledge was mutual. Page One may be larger in his dinosaur form, but he was millions of years too young to combat Drake’s experience.

Kaido’s son waited until he was long gone, before speaking up. “You’re the new one.” Drake nodded solidly, bowing in deference. “Diez Drake, Lord Oden.” He could feel the confusion emanating from the other, before he spoke, “Aren’t you one of the Tobiroppo?” Obviously not used to his chosen name being used, then.

“I don’t see why being your father’s subordinate precludes me from offering you basic respect. I will call you by whatever title you ask me to.” “…Oden, then. Thank you.” Drake bowed again and took his post outside the cell, settling his frame into a familiar watchful stillness.

It wasn’t long before Oden spoke again, “Who’s Who said you were a Marine.” Drake hummed to himself, making a mental note- he had suspicions as to the other’s identity, and that was another tally in the category. “…I was.”

“So you’ve travelled lots, right? Been all over the world?” “Aye.” “Tell me about it. I want to travel, someday.” Drake sighed, “I’m not very good at stories. I’ve been told I turn everything into a report.”

He could feel the other’s disappointment, then. The shackles clanked around their frame, and the chill of the dungeon made itself known once more to Drake. His wrists ached sympathetically. He turned his head, sighed once more, “…But I can show you.”

He settled on the floor outside the cell, wiped the dust from the stone, and pulled out a charcoal stick. He’d been making his own since arriving in Wano- they weren’t as high quality as those he traded for, but they sufficed, coal black lines striking smoothly across the stone.

The light was low, the interior of the cell pitch black to human eyes, but it was no trouble for Drake, who could see perfectly well in the dark- the iridescence he’d spotted in the other’s eyes told him Oden was the same.

He started sketching on the floor- upside down, to his own view, to make it easier for the prisoner to see. First, a view of the open ocean- something this young man had likely never seen, with the walls of Wano on every side.

He remembered his first time on the ocean- back when pops was still a Marine and ma was still alive. It had looked like forever, to a child so small- made him feel as if he could keep going, across the horizon and into the unknown lands beyond, and never reach the end.

Pops had promised he’d get to see all of it, one day, and the tattoos on Drake’s arms and back displayed how he’d kept that promise to himself- all four Blues left their mark on him, and the Line- both halves- was a stalwart companion along his spine, its gaping serpent jaws at his nape.

The chains clanked again, Oden scooting closer to watch the scene unfolding on the floor. “Whoa, it almost looks like it’s moving!”

Drake only hummed- it was a technique his people had used in their cave paintings, taking the shifting of flame-light into account and drawing multiple shapes atop each other, to mimic movement with the dancing of the light.

The herds of horned beasts on the walls had seemed to move with the flickering of the bonfire, tails flicking and heads moving to and fro. It had looked like magic, to him.

“Can I try?” He held out the charcoal wordlessly, and the younger quickly snatched it, as if worried he’d revoke the permission. Perhaps others had.

Oden held the stick carefully, before hesitantly copying him, dragging it across the floor in a solid, straight line. Drake could see his eyes light, and the younger began to draw in earnest, swirling shapes and figures covering the floor of his cell.

Hours passed like this, the prisoner absorbed with his new enrichment- the only sound was the heavy, familiar clank of chains. But it was nearing time to be relieved, and Drake swept his handkerchief along the floor, erasing the charcoal marks from the stone before him. Oden faltered in his own drawing, eyes going panicked to the charcoal stick in his hand, and Drake stood.

“Keep it. Might keep you from losing your mind in here.” If confronted, he could always justify it by saying that keeping the prisoner occupied would lessen their desperation for escape.

He sighed to himself. This was not what he was here for- showing any part of his real self to Kaido’s son endangered his mission, endangered the thousands of lives he was here to save.

But those damn instincts were acting up again- he’d never been able to help himself, when it came to circ*mstances like this. Strays- the most palpable of his weaknesses.

The child of a pirate, chained and starved and beaten down. He couldn’t turn away and abandon this person who was so much like he had been. He couldn’t free Oden- not yet- but he would give him what comfort he could. He would give this young man what no one had given him.

He brought watercolor, the next time. It was easy to make watercolor from charcoal, simply by crushing the vineblack into a powder and making it a dry paste with whatever binder was at hand. Drake kept his in a bivalve half, as had been traditional of ochre paints in his band.

A little variation, something a bit more permanent, and, for plausible deniability, something Oden could have technically made himself, with the lampblack that hit the floor just outside his cell.

He showed the younger how to make a brush with a lock of his own hair, and the young Oden was off- using the dank puddles that gathered in the corners to paint his cell with swirls and calligraphy. A gleeful, nearly manic grin crossed the younger’s face, and Drake sat back and watched the art flow.

He had never had talent for imagination, himself- was only good at putting onto paper what he saw, what he knew. It was a good skill for someone in his trade, being able to portray reality in a way words couldn’t match.

But when it came to imagining possibilities… his hands always faltered on the paper. It was why all his sketches of Linnea stopped with her still a babe- he had never known his sister any other way, and couldn’t bring himself to entertain more than momentarily what she might’ve grown into.

Oden, however, seemed to be taken away from here by the act, transported out of his cell for a time by the visions in his head, into the scenery of mountains and rivers and ocean. Drake was glad he, at least, could escape in that manner.

It was only when every inch of the cell was covered in trees and waves and flowing symbols that Oden slowed, sat in the midst of his work, and seemed to come back to himself.

The young man’s hands went to his wrists, to the cuffs there- fingers tightened white, tendon straining, and his shoulders trembled, the chains that coated them clacking.

His voice carried off the stone, although Drake couldn’t be sure if Oden was speaking to him or to himself, “Even if I could get these shackles off… I couldn’t leave. Not while my father rules here.” He sighed, head thunking back against the wall, “…And I’m waiting for someone, as well.”

Drake hummed- all of them were waiting for someone, weren’t they? The whole world seemed to be holding its breath. The person he was waiting for… he couldn’t allow himself to set his hopes too high, in case he was wrong. Still, he needed the hope to hold onto- he let it simmer lowly within him, let it drive him in his own work.

He was summoned to Kaido’s quarters the following day. Drake wasn’t afraid- he couldn’t afford to be. There was apprehension, of course- Kaido was fickle, and Drake had no illusions that he could defeat the other alone- but he was confident in his ability to stay ahead of any suspicions his false lord may have.

Kaido was drunk- Drake didn’t think he’d ever seen the Yonkou in a different state. Part of it had to be Kaido’s assurance of his own strength, that he allowed himself vulnerability in the eyes of his subordinates. Like baring one’s throat, still with the surety that none had the fangs to pierce it.

Part of it, Drake believed, was that he simply couldn’t control it. Too consumed by the addiction.

But he didn’t want to drink alone, apparently, and Drake held the flagon that had been shoved towards him, tilting it every so often to waft the scent of wood and spice into the air.

It was high quality rice wine, and Kaido guzzled it down without any sense of the taste, seemingly drinking only for the purpose of remaining permanently inebriated.

Drake sipped at his own, savoring the taste- the artisans who had put work into this wine should be respected, even if he knew for almost certain they were themselves drinking only poison. The captivity that all in this country lived under, prisoners in bodies just as contaminated as their lands had become.

His mind went back to Kaido’s own son, shackled and imprisoned in the dungeon below.

He couldn’t imagine caging Sweetheart like that, and even the thought made the beast inside him growl. The problem was, he understood perfectly exactly the kind of father that would keep his child in chains.

“You’ve met my son by now.” “I have.” “Your thoughts?” Did Kaido expect him to say what the others had? To agree that his son was a delusional fool, deserving of his cage? Drake traced a few different paths of possibility in his mind, as carefully as setting snare lines, and chose one.

“I’ll speak plainly. You’re not keeping your son in there because you want him imprisoned forever. You want him at your side. You keep him there because you want him to learn a lesson. He’s not going to learn it like that.”

Yellow eyes- Kaido’s eyes seemed permanently transformed, the beast in him always part of the man- looked to him almost lazily. “And why would you know anything about such?” There was almost a threat there- a ‘don’t interfere in matters you don’t understand’- but Drake only swirled his rice wine and met his gaze.

“Because I was the same, in my youth. My father kept me in seastone shackles for seven years. It wasn’t from malice, but to protect me from the beast, but I was caged all the same. I can tell you, I learned nothing of what he wished me to.”

The Lord of the Beasts said nothing for a long moment, only hummed in acknowledgement. Then he spoke, sounding more sober than Drake had yet heard him, “…Do you remember him fondly?”

He hesitated, took in the hunch of the Yonkou’s shoulders, and decided on truth. “The man who raised me, taught me to hunt and sail and craft? Yes. The man who kept me shackled and starved, and used me as a weapon against his enemies? No.”

He mourned his father, but, when he looked back, he felt no sadness at his death. The person pops had been- the person Drake had loved- had been dead for years by that point, had died with ma and Linnea.

There was almost a bit of melancholy in Kaido’s frame, then- a man who knew he was failing as a father, who didn’t know how to do anything other than drink and fight to drown out the pain inside, didn’t know how to deal with rebellion except with overwhelming force. What kind of father had failed Kaido, as well, such that he had no example to relate to?

Well. Drake wasn’t here to be his therapist- he was here to say and do whatever it took to save the lives of those Kaido’s empire oppressed. But if it helped him into the Yonkou’s confidence, he’d do anything.

The giant man seemed to find an idea at the bottom of his wine, and he guzzled it down with a booming laugh, mood shifting suddenly. “I’ll let you be my son’s teacher, then- you who are like him. See what lessons you can get him to learn, worororo!”

Drake didn’t show his surprise- perhaps Kaido cared a bit more about what his son thought of him than he’d expected. He only nodded resolutely, accepting the responsibility.

The next time Drake visited the prisoner, the young man was waiting for him, pacing in his cell- a fount of energy now that his movement wasn’t restricted, although the cuffs around his wrists remained.

No sooner was Drake in sight than he whirled around and spoke. “The chains are gone.” Oden looked at him with quizzical eyes, head tilted. The question was obvious- ‘did you do that?’ He nodded tightly, “So they are, Lord Oden. Let us take advantage of that fact.”

The young man had monstrous haki, and talent in all three types at that- an incredibly rare feat, but this was the son of ‘the strongest beast’. But his strength was raw, untrained. Drake sought to change that.

It wasn’t quick going- for all the young man had skill, his haki was weakened by his mental state. He wasn’t settled in himself, in his identity, and it disrupted his will.

Drake knew intimately the struggle of identity the young man faced- it was one he grappled with all his life.

Dory, Diez Drake, Rear Admiral Drake, X Drake… He shared a body with far too many of himself, and that didn’t even count the other being within him. He wished sometimes to smash them all together, combine all of his selves into one, just to stop having to keep track of all of them.

His life had ended and begun again twice, on two separate burning islands. He was a son to two different men. He was the last of his people, the last of his family, carrying a language and faith and legacy all his own.

He was a Marine, he was a pirate, he was a traitor and spy and spymaster. He was a father, a mentor, a Captain. He was a monster and a beast and now a Beast, as well.

But, before and above all the rest, he was a hunter. For all else his father was, Barrels had been an expert hunter, and he had taught his son all he knew.

And Sengoku-san had honed those skills further, whetting a hunter of beasts into a hunter of men, of information. There was nothing Drake was better at hunting down than the truth.

In order to remove the block on the young man’s psyche, he would have to get to the truth of his identity.

Thus, the blunt question. “Why Oden?”

The young man took a long time to answer, but Drake could hear that awed determination when he did, “…I was there, at his execution- he was nothing like I’d ever seen before. I decided to take up his mantle, his will.” “But why have you claimed his name and legacy? I admire many people- I wish to become none of them.”

He heard the whisper of fabric on stone that indicated a shrug, “I dunno… Oden is who I want to be. Oden is strong, noble, loved… free. Yamato is… the son of Kaido, sitting in a cage.”

There was a desperate sort of yearning, one that turned cold and despondent at the mention of the identity he sought to escape. But Drake could tell, beneath that… the slightest hint of uncertainty, of hope.

He followed it. “And what is Yamato without the cage?” The younger’s voice was barely a whisper, “…I don’t know yet.” “Don’t give up on him until you have that answer, then.”

The young man made a noise, something half-contemplative, half-strangled, and Drake steadfastly ignored the sudden scent of salt on the dank air.

Chapter 30: Alliance

Chapter Text

Law turned twenty-six on Punk Hazard, alone.

It was funny, looking at it this way, that he was the same age now as their dad was when he died. Would he be prepared to take care of children, at this age- much less children as f*cked up as he and Rosie were? The answer was a resounding ‘no’.

In that could-have-been life, perhaps he’d be head of a department by now, training the new graduates. Would he have moved out and gotten his own place, or stayed with his family where he was comfortable? Probably the latter, he decided- he liked solitude, not loneliness.

And loneliness was what he felt here- separated from his crew and anyone he could trust. The uncertainty and fear that had hidden in his brothers’ eyes when he made them sail away without him still haunted him. He’d hated to do it, but hated the possibility of them being caught up in his plan even more.

The nightmares were gone with them, replaced with a hollow, aching dreamlessness that left him feeling empty and no more rested when he woke.

His ‘vacation home’, wasn’t that the joke he told himself? Truly, quite the restful vacation he was having. Sneaking around the facility, trying to learn more about SAD and its manufacture without Caesar or his shifty secretary noticing anything.

The scientist obviously didn’t trust him, and he kept a tight grip on all information regarding his work, so learning anything at all was mostly a matter of eavesdropping on Caesar’s henchmen.

And then some random Samurai was running around attacking Caesar’s guards, shouting about rescuing his son? He’d taken the man to pieces, and shut the head up in one of the cells- maybe he’d be able to find the man’s son and shunt the two of them off the island quietly later, but he wasn’t going to risk the loudmouth sabotaging his mission now.

It was all resulting in quite the headache, and he was just contemplating trying to take a nap when his denden purred its tone. Of course his brothers wouldn’t forget what day it was.

He answered, and heard three sets of fingers tap out, ‘Happy birthday!’ He huffed a laugh- at least they weren’t singing at him this time.

Then one continued- Shachi, he could tell. ’Wish we could give you your gifts, lil bro. Sis sent you one, too. We’re keeping it safe for you- I’m sure you’ll love it. When are you coming back?’ He hesitated, tapped back, ‘Not yet- I’m close to finding what I need. Won’t be long.’

He felt awful, lying to them. He was breaking so many promises, to so many people. He’d sworn he wasn’t going to be foolish, wasn’t going to throw away his life for revenge like this.

But he refused to risk his crew, risk his siblings, for this. He was ready to sacrifice his own life, but not theirs.

Maybe… it wouldn’t be so bad. His siblings would be safe, once Doflamingo was gone, and he’d finally be with Cora-san. They could wait together, in their little house in the little village on the little island.

It didn’t escape his notice that he was doing the exact same thing their dad had- dedicating himself to a purpose he knew would cost his life, in order to save others.

His brothers were disappointed by the continued delay, he knew, and he could sense the unease in the silence on the other end, before the response eventually came through. ‘Alright- you know what you’re doing. Be safe, right? We’re keeping the ship ready- whenever you call, we can be right there.’

A tap from Penguin, ‘And make it soon, alright? Curly’s threatening to mutiny again, ‘cause the cats won’t leave her hair alone.’

Another huffed laugh broke from him- of course Ikkaku would be going insane stuck in one place. He had no doubt the cat minks were driving her further off the edge, as well, if the boys’ reference to them playing with her hair was any indication.

He made another false promise to finish up his work here quickly, and they ended the call. After that, he’d expected to pass the rest of the day alone, hopefully in peace.

He wasn’t expecting Rosie to show up on Punk Hazard. She had grown a bit since he’d last seen her, figure settled into a lithe grace. She was almost as tall as him, although several inches of that came from the stiletto heels she wore, tall with a vicious point.

She’d adopted a mostly maroon color scheme, a dress the color of red wine and a pillbox hat to match, and black thigh-high boots. A gray fur stole wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her warm.

His sister smiled at him, his eye looking out from her face, and for the first time in a while, Law felt an answering smile tug reluctantly at his lips.

Then his eyes narrowed, “You’re smoking.” Didn’t she know how unhealthy that was? Although, he couldn’t help the pang in his own heart at the familiar scent, the realization of exactly which brand it was. Of course she would go for the same one.

Her brow quirked, and she brushed past him into the room, “And you’re on a suicide mission. We’re both self-destructive, in a way. And he wouldn’t want that for either of us.” He scowled- they’d had this conversation, she knew he had to do this.

She cut him off before he could argue, “I never said I was against it- just pissed you’re doing it alone. Where is your crew?” “Safe, elsewhere.” She smacked his chest with her muffler, teeth turning to a clashing beartrap in anger, “That’s not the point of a crew! The boys aren’t going to let you out of their sight ever again, and you know it! I expected you to be more mature!”

“I’m immature? I know you still sleep with a stuffed animal!” “You gave me Mister Woolley- of course I’m gonna keep him!”

He opened his mouth, not even sure what he was going to say in response, but was interrupted by- a doorbell? This place had a doorbell? And who could possibly have ventured onto this hellhole of an island to ring it, in the first place?

He made his way out into the hallway, Rosie in the shadows behind him, and was met by one of Caesar’s goons. Marines at the door, apparently- and he was the ‘least suspicious’ occupant of the island available to answer. What that meant for the others there… he sighed, long suffering, and went to ward off the Marines.

His verbal sparring with Smoker didn’t get very far, as, for the second time that day, the argument was cut off, this time by the doors slamming open and a horde of children racing out, led by… Was that the Strawhats? Carrying the disembodied head of the samurai he’d sliced up earlier? What the hell?

What were they doing here? Where had they even come from? They hadn’t been seen in two years! Where did they get the children, and who decided to entrust the Strawhats, of all people, with children?

He growled, shook his head. No matter- he knew how to deal with this. Their arrival might even be fortuitous.

He would later have to admit he sort of panicked when the Strawhats made their- as usual, chaotic and bewildering- entrance, simply throwing up as many roadblocks to as many parties as possible to give himself a chance to get ahead of things.

Switching them around should slow the troublemakers down a bit, and it would also mean they’d have to seek him out at some point, if he didn’t find them first.

He turned to Rosie with a judgmental glance, noting that she didn’t look surprised at all, “You could’ve said something about them.” She shrugged, “The more chaos, the easier my job is.”

Smoker stopped, looking thunderous as he noticed Law’s companion for the first time. He glared at Rosie, “You!” He glared at Law, “You!” He glared between them, “You two-!” They spoke at the same time, “He’s my brother.” “She’s my sister.”

The Marine let out a growl, looking like he wanted to throw something in frustration, “Of course two of the biggest pains in my ass are siblings! Why not! Are you both somehow related to Strawhat, too?”

Rosie huffed in distaste, but Law stayed silent- that secret initial both of them shared indicated that they did have some distant relation, somehow. His question, rather, was how Rosie knew the Vice Admiral.

Smoker grumbled to himself, “Goddamn too old for this sh*t- this is what I get-" Rosie only sighed, and nudged Law's shoulder, “I’ll go keep an eye on them- this should be interesting.”

With a playful wink, she was gone, and Law turned back to Smoker- he couldn’t just let the Marines leave now, not after that.

He probably didn’t have to go as far as he did, but… with the day he was having, he thought he deserved to have a bit of fun with this fight.

---

Rosie hadn’t enjoyed having to track her brother down, after the boys said he wasn’t with the crew, but she’d found him in time, luckily. Of course, any birthday wishes she had for him evaporated when she realized what he’d left his crew alone for- a lonely mission on a dismal rock of an island, surrounded by enemies.

It wasn’t difficult to decipher why her brother was here- he was targeting the SAD production, trying to take the Smile market out from under Doflamingo.

It was an angle Drake hadn’t invested much energy in, because SWORD deemed it lower priority than the more direct markets, and his position with Kaido would also allow for more direct investigation and meddling with the trade, as well.

She’d already seen the results of his work, with various established markets deeming the fruits too risky to bother with, and Koala reporting the Revolutionaries had seized shipments to study.

But Law apparently was trying to take it down from the source. Why he thought it was a good idea to attempt alone, without even their brothers for support… she hadn’t figured that out yet.

Rosie trailed the Strawhats for a while, before deciding she would be better served eavesdropping on whatever theories the Marines had devised- with the number of people in the Strawhats’ party and the sheer amount of chaos that followed them, they wouldn’t be difficult to track down later.

Given the havoc Law had sown in the G5’s ranks- absent their ship and all communication devices, and with both of their strongest fighters bent out of shape- it wasn’t hard to catch the Vice Admiral’s eye and lead him around a corner.

Smoker glared at her, jitte grasped in one too-small hand. He didn’t even bother addressing that she must’ve heard everything they knew about Caesar- a temporary, unspoken truce. Instead, “Where’s your partner?”

The expression was severe, Tashigi’s delicate brow furrowed and teeth tight around the cigars, but Rosie couldn’t help but catch what sounded like a hint of worry in the voice. Drake had disappeared, after all- seemingly dropped off the face of the planet when he left for Wano almost two years ago.

She shrugged nonchalantly, suspicions confirmed, “Obviously not here.” He growled at the non-answer, but she waved him off, “I talked to him yesterday, he’s alive. Worrywart.”

She’d been hoping for a sputter of denial, or a flush, but the Marine was, disappointingly, too well trained for that, even in his subordinate’s more easily flustered body. He only nodded solidly and turned away, accepting the thinly veiled reassurance.

And Rosie wasn’t going to miss her chance- when he turned back around, she was gone.

She had been right about the Strawhats being easy to find, although the two giant yeti assassins and their accompanying explosions helped, as well. As did the monstrous antlered beast roaring its displeasure at everything that moved.

Such large opponents… it was simple, to go unseen. And the yetis’ giant frames made easy targets. The mindless beast took down one, and Rosie went for the other, taking his legs out from under him with neat slices to the hamstring tendons and stealing his prize from his grasp as he fell.

She landed lightly, laid the cyborg down carefully in the snow. Strawhat blinked, eyes widening in recognition, “Oh, Knife Lady- you’re here, too!” Rosie hummed- she had left before the other had really gotten his bearings, back on Amazon Lily, and had to wonder how much he remembered. “Good to see you again, Strawhat. I’m Rosie.”

Behind them, Scotch’s giant body fell into pieces, and she turned to grin at her brother- he must’ve followed the explosions, just like she had.

She stood to the side while Law made his proposition, silently observing all parties. Strawhat was certainly an interesting one, to be sure. The look on his face as he’d only asked, “Which emperor?”, was one she’d remember. And Law’s response… she’d had to hide the instinctual grin. Interesting…

What followed, when they returned to the temporary base the Strawhats had settled the children in, was nothing short of the most delicious entertainment for Rosie, as she watched Law’s precious plan get immediately turned on its head by these entities of pure chaos.

They were exactly like Drake had said, and she was going to enjoy this alliance so much. The navigator, especially, had tugged at her heartstrings with her solid conviction to save the children- the determination in her eyes was achingly familiar.

Her brother was quickly… ‘outmaneuvered’ was the wrong word, more like ‘bulldozed’, by their blunt stubbornness- the simple, genuine goodness throwing off a mind so used to accounting for schemes and selfishness

Rosie tried in vain to hold back her gleeful grin while watching the telltale wide-eyed stiffness of bewilderment grow in Law’s own expression, and he glared when he caught her. She smirked at him, nudged his shoulder, “They’re fun.” Law only sighed in response, giving in.

---

This was a mistake, wasn’t it? He’d known, as soon as those gleeful stars lit in his sister’s eyes, that he would get no help from her on this. ’Fun’ was certainly not the word he’d use to describe a pirate alliance, nor the current situation they found themselves in.

Still, the sniper’s words hung in his head- he’d already seen how easily the Strawhats became too much to handle, having unwittingly been immediately roped into their wild gambit to save the children.

He was probably going to regret this alliance, but it was done- he’d just deal with the fallout as it came.

He’d left Rosie teamed up with Chopper, a switchblade clutched between the small doctor’s hooves- the two of them together could, no doubt, research the poison more quickly and get the children taken care of.

But that meant Law was alone with Monet, when the hole in his chest where his heart had been began to contract, and his knees hit the ground, the pain overwhelming. He crumpled, gasping breaths fogging chilled air and the taste of blood choking him.

Not for the first time, he wished Rosie could see through his eye- at least that way, he could warn her… that Vergo had arrived.

The bastard still treated him like a child. And worse… he made Law feel like one, helpless at the man’s feet once more.

He was barely keeping himself in the present moment, skin cascading in gooseflesh at a chill that wasn’t real, body aching with a beating that was thirteen years healed. His hands clutched at the cold steel of the floor, knuckles going white with exertion to hold himself up, the letters marking them swimming before his eyes.

Monet knelt by his side- her wing stroked his hair in a mockery of gentleness, “Poor, poor big brother Law.” Her grin was cold and intent, eyes filled with an icy glee. He sneered at Monet, “I have a sister… and it sure as hell isn’t you.”

The last thing he saw before Vergo knocked him out was the harpy's face settled in a slight frown.

Chapter 31: Nightmare

Chapter Text

Law awoke in a cage, and not as its only occupant- Caesar had apparently caught everyone off guard with his attack. He moved slightly, just to test his injuries weren’t severe. Good- the false seastone cuffs he’d acquired worked. Now to play the part until an opportunity arrived.

He glanced to the wall- a sword rested there that wasn’t there before, but no one else seemed to have noticed. He shook his head minutely, hoping she understood. Then Vergo entered the room, and his attention was caught.

He should have realized the Family would have grown since he and Rosie had left- and there was no way Doflamingo would have left Caesar unsupervised, when his work was so vital to his operations.

He was a fool for having overlooked Monet- an agent of the Family, under his nose the entire time! Doflamingo had known of his presence here, likely the moment he arrived months ago. He would have to tread carefully, going forward.

Still, he couldn’t hold back the barb against Caesar, earning another bout of angina for his ill-advised sarcasm. Rosie would probably shout at him later, for taunting the people who literally held his heart.

He collapsed back against the wall of the cage, panting. It took a long moment before he managed to crack an eye open- the sword was gone from the wall. Good.

Caesar’s test was a parade of horrors, the screams of terror and pain echoing in his ears- he tried to shut it out, closing his eyes to the nightmare and clinging onto the present moment, refusing to let the memories of fire and fences and screaming take him now. What he wouldn’t give for silence in that moment…

He managed to hold onto his composure, although it nearly fractured when Strawhat next to him futilely called out for his friends to run. It was a blessing when the cage was moved outside, if only because the screaming was replaced by G5’s confused shouts from below them.

Once they were out of Caesar’s sight, his anxiety lessened greatly- this, he knew how to deal with. Their escape from the cage went easily enough, with his powers, and all parties outside were soon sheltered in the facility.

He heard Strawhat shout, “All together? Great! Let’s raise some hell!”, and groaned to himself. Please, no- that was the opposite of what he needed right now. Rather, he needed them to raise some controlled hell, in line with the plan, although he was beginning to think that was beyond their capabilities.

The Strawhat’s navigator turned to him, a deadly fire in her eyes now that she was finally back in her own body. “If you do that to me again, I will strangle you with my bare hands.” It was not an idle threat, he could feel, and he simply nodded in understanding.

By this point, Vergo and Caesar must’ve learned that they’d escaped- the beeping of the gate closing only confirmed his suspicions. He had to get to his destination quickly.

Then the wall was blown, and he caught a glimpse of the purple-ash of the poison clouds. The Strawhat’s sniper gulped, “Oh, that’s bad- the concentration of the gas is really high.” He scented the air cautiously- the scent had indeed changed, from rotten eggs to something sickeningly sweet.

The navigator stepped forward, pulling a baton from her coat. She turned to him, “Does your Scan work on structures as well?” He grunted an affirmation, and she pointed down the hall. “What’s underneath there?” He scanned it quickly, reporting back, “A storage room- unoccupied.” “Perfect.”

“Usopp- give me a hole in the floor at the end of the hall!” The sniper obeyed without question, shooting a flameless projectile, “Aye!” She spun the baton, creating gusts of winds before her, and instructed, “Everyone behind me! The winds will blow the gas away! It’ll buy us some time, at least- get everyone through that gate!”

He separated from the rest of the crowd, then, to attend to his ultimate goal.

He hadn’t expected to spend today trapped in a facility surrounded by poison gas, but here they were. It felt like everything in him was itching, hyperaware of the poison slowly enclosing his location.

Electrical impulses gathered in his fingertips, and he released them by pressing fingers together, small ‘zap’ noises hitting the air- a nervous tic he couldn’t help at the moment.

He was glad for the long sleeves and high collar, something in him afraid that if he looked at his skin, he’d see spots once more, crawling across his body and consuming him.

But he steadfastly ignored the fear building in him, intent on his task- he’d made it to the room where the SAD tanks were held, finally. As long as he destroyed these and Strawhat defeated Caesar, today would be a success.

He managed a tight smirk, somewhat hysterical in its restless energy- after all, this was something he’d been waiting on for a very long time.

Suddenly, that hole in his chest contracted once more, almost in warning, and his hand tightened around Kikoku.

He wasn’t alone.

---

Vergo wasn’t supposed to be here. He’d just been in Dressrosa, his trail had reported- was expected to remain there for another week. Rosie shook her head, throwing off the panicked thought- it didn’t matter, he was here now.

Vergo still terrified her, even after all these years. Something about him turned her back into that child, cowering and desperate to not anger anyone, and she rebelled against the instinctual fear.

She was stronger than that, now- better than that. She wasn’t the same person Baby 5 had been, and Vergo had no control over her anymore.

Rosie had been undermining him with her work for years now, degrading his worth as an informant and spy. Taking down his work faster than he could build it, for the sake of destroying Doflamingo’s operations once and for all.

Unfortunately, that did nothing to hurt Vergo’s physical power- she remembered all too well the terror of his hands, his bamboo rod.

But there was nothing she wouldn’t do to save her brother- even face her worst nightmares.

Law wasn’t supposed to be here, either- and she hadn’t quite figured out yet why he was. She knew her brother well enough to decipher the gist of his plan from what few details he’d given- he intended to use Caesar as a bargaining chip against Doflamingo, to destroy his Smile operations and, thus, turn Kaido against him.

But there was something missing- surely, he knew it couldn’t be that simple, right? Doflamingo hadn’t gotten to this point by not having contingencies, and Kaido was fickle, couldn’t be relied upon to act in a predictable way- certainly not enough to base a whole plan upon.

She didn’t have the whole picture here. But she’d have to just trust him for now, that he knew what he was doing. So when he motioned for her to pull back, to not interfere, she obeyed.

Rosie snuck from the room and put a hand on the reindeer’s shoulder, tugging him back from the doorway. “Don’t worry- my brother’s got a plan.” She nodded firmly, “And I think I know what it is. Let’s go take care of the kids.”

They had only just reached the Biscuits Room when Rosie stopped in her tracks, a jolt of… something leading her to brace herself against the wall. An awful sense of dread built in her, some gnawing pain in her chest. She could feel cold sweat at her temples, a sudden lightheadedness threatening. Something was very wrong.

She turned to the reindeer, “Can you handle the kids? I need to help my brother!” Chopper nodded firmly, “Y-Yeah! I can smell my friends coming, it won’t be long!”

Rosie barely waited for the affirmative before she was racing away, following Law’s presence across the facility. She couldn’t explain it, but she needed to get to him right away.

Every second was excruciating, something in her screeching not enough, too late. She heard him scream, the sound echoing off the metal walls, and gave up running entirely, jetting herself forward as fast as she could.

Goosebumps cascaded across her skin as another scream bit through the air, those old nightmares of being caught helpless outside the cage flashing to the forefront once more. Nothing she could become had been enough to allow her back in, back to her family trapped inside. She couldn’t do anything to protect them, then, and their dad had died as a result.

She couldn’t let the same thing happen here- not again. Please, let her get there in time!

---

The man hadn’t even reacted to his shock, beyond a total stilling of muscles- his hands were still solid around Law’s throat, unrelenting as he gave Joker’s message.

The part of him that was once more thirteen and watching Vergo beat Cora-san was shrieking inside his head, a siren that was drowning out his frantic attempts to plan out a next step.

Vergo’s head snapped backwards suddenly, just in time to avoid being hit by the missile that flew past him- it impacted the SAD tank instead, the explosion blinding.

Law blinked the shadow of it from his eyes, and suddenly Rosie was there, giant mallet arm inches from crushing the nightmare’s skull.

He was finally released as the larger man dodged, expression showing nothing while he straightened, nonchalantly dusting off his coat. Law, on the other hand, slumped to the ground against the rail, catching his breath.

He put a hand to his throat, scanning for damage beneath- nothing permanent, no breakage in the cartilage or bone. He’d just have to deal with bruising and hoarseness later. The bigger problem was that Vergo still held his heart. If the bastard kept squeezing it, he really was going to die.

Rosie stationed herself in front of him protectively. It was then he realized the points of her heels were actually blades- her own blades, lengthened and shortened at will- because she stomped her foot in frustration and punctured the metal floor, hissing back, “I didn’t expect you to be that much of an idiot, to actually hand it over to him!”

He scowled weakly, “I didn’t hand it to him, I handed it to Caesar.” She fixed him with a glare, “And that’s better?”

Vergo shook his head, tsk’ing in shame, “You used to be such a good, obedient little girl, Baby 5.” Rosie just looked at him with ice cold eyes, teeth clenched around her cigarette, “I’m not that person anymore, Vergo.”

He only sighed, “Seems I’ll have to teach you respect once again.” He lunged, swinging his fearsome bamboo stick, “Children like you should call me Vergo-san!”

She stood her ground, caught the rod with her hand turned into a sword-breaker, and swung her other arm around into a giant war hammer to send Vergo skidding back. “And my name is Rosie!”

They were off, then- clangs and clashes ringing off the metal of the room in a deadly echo. She met his strikes competently, body transforming- a scythe, a cleaver, dual blades- to hold off the haki-clad bamboo rod. But Vergo was an unrelenting force, his sheer strength overwhelming, and Law feared how this could end.

He tried and failed to force himself to his feet, legs still jelly under him, and struggled instead for a Room- Kikoku had been knocked over the rail to the floor below. Vergo stopped that attempt in its tracks with a savage squeeze of his captive heart, and Law collapsed once more, cursing himself.

Then there was another person in the room, as suddenly as if he’d appeared from nowhere- Smoker, forming from the air behind Vergo with an expression of utter hatred and his jitte raised for a swing.

Vergo deflected easily, riling up the Vice Admiral with his disregard, but Rosie took advantage of the distraction, battering him off balance with heavy blows.

Vergo continued to look nonplussed. But Smoker and Rosie had teamed up, now- somehow, they seemed to know how the other fought, and worked around each other to keep Vergo back. Rosie took the brunt of Vergo’s attention with savage swings of deadly blades, Smoker seemingly everywhere at once to aim for their opponent’s blind spots.

They were taking damage- Smoker most of all- but neither slowed down, the Marine dogged in his defense of his men and Rosie in her defense of Law.

Finally, he saw the true aim of the pair’s team-up, as Smoker’s jitte was broken and the logia’s arm manifested next to him, his heart resting in the palm.

Law’s smirk was a bit too feral, a bit too wobbly to give the cool, collected effect he’d aimed for, when he finally settled his heart back where it belonged. Adrenaline surged through him, wired and frantic and raw- he’d crash later, and hard, but this could carry him for now.

He wasn’t afraid anymore, even as Vergo discarded his coat and got deadly serious, the nightmare from their childhood in full relief.

Rosie nodded solidly, retreating from Vergo’s range and dragging Smoker’s crumpled form with her- the tables had turned now.

She leapt into the air, flipping once and transforming into a near-perfect replica of his nodachi. Law caught her easily, a sort of confidence sweeping through him at the perfect balance, the thrumming heat of their combined passion.

The both of them could take down Vergo, together. It would be poetic.

Rosie fought in her own way, as no real sword could- lengthening and shortening the blade to throw Vergo off balance, her own haki coating the surface and making her a deadly weapon. He flowed with her, adapting to the changes in balance with the ease of long practice, and steadily pushing Vergo back.

They made the final strike as one, slicing Vergo, the SAD tanks, and the mountaintop in half all at once, and finally defeating one of the two men who had ensured Cora-san’s death.

It was done, then. No going back- everything he’d put in motion over the last thirteen years… would be running full speed ahead from here on out.

He saw Rosie’s brow furrow at the mention of Doflamingo’s past- something that caught at both of them-, and she muttered to herself, “Need to ask Fanger…” Then she shook her head, went to help Smoker off the floor and check him over.

Vergo continued with his omens, and Law only huffed in disgust, making to slice him once more. Then the head coughed up blood and went slack in death- he turned, saw Rosie removing her bladed heel from a bloodied puncture directly over Vergo’s heart.

She only looked at him, gaze severe, “You want to decorate with his body like some weird serial killer, fine. But I’m not taking chances. We’ve both survived worse.” He nodded, accepting- he didn’t recognize this hardness to her, but saw the wisdom in ensuring this piece was finally removed from the board.

There was an enormous crashing sound from nearby- all three glanced up, and murmured, “Strawhat”. Rosie snorted a laugh amidst the exasperation of her two companions, “He really is fun.”

Then the sniper’s voice came over the intercom- he’d taken over the facility controls, apparently- and began directing everyone quickly to the exit.

Strawhat was there when they arrived- he shouted, waving his arms, “Oh, hey! Torao, Knife Lady- I mean, Roci! Over here!” Smoker went white as snow, head whipping over in the direction of the shout, and Rosie just blinked. Law grumbled, “Your name is two syllables- how is he possibly getting it wrong?”

He turned to the Strawhat’s navigator, “The gas will be waiting for us- you’ll need to use your wind to blow it away.” The sniper grinned, “Oh, we can do you one better than that! The gas is hydrogen sulfide, right? I can neutralize it!”

He began digging in his bag, tugging out a jar, “I raided Caesar’s lab a bit, figured we’d need this caustic soda. Nami- carry this powder out on your wind, it’ll take care of the gas!”

And finally, the cart burst into open air, and they were free of the poisonous landscape of Punk Hazard.

---

It was later, when the people had all been freed from their gaseous prisons and the children had been treated (Law had absolutely scared Chopper on purpose, and Rosie was unimpressed) and a feast was underway (Law’s turn to be unimpressed), that the two finally found time to settle out of the way, across from Smoker’s perch.

Rosie lit a cigarette, starting to decompress from the intense day, but the spy in her noted that Smoker had suddenly gone very, very still where he sat nearby. The marine’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, fixed on her hand.

He growled, “That’s my lighter. Why do you have that?” Rosie’s eyes widened- she looked to Smoker, then back to the lighter, then back to Smoker, before speaking quietly, “Our dad gave it to me.”

Could it be…? The friend Cora-san had talked about? The ‘SY’ whose identity she’d wondered after for so long?

Smoker seemed to have come to the same conclusion she had, and spoke, “So when you said Doflamingo killed your dad…” She managed a wooden nod, “Our Cora-san.”

He huffed a mirthless laugh and pulled something from the sleeve-cuff of his coat- an identical silver lighter, just as old and banged up. This one had the letters ‘DR’ stamped on it, followed by a string of numbers- a Marine code. That’s what was scratched off hers, then- no doubt Smoker’s own Marine code.

Smoker stroked the face of the lighter with a thumb, eyes distant, and lit another cigar. “I was talking about the same person, only I knew him as Roci.” “You knew him?” A nod. “We were friends- he was my CO before he… left. Took a bratty street kid under his wing, shaped him up into someone better.” Rosie smiled wide, “That makes three of us, then.”

He looked at her grin, and growled, “Of course you two are his brats, seas dammit. I should’ve figured."

It warmed something deep within Rosie, that he could see Cora-san in her. She glanced to her brother- he was listening intently, although trying to look nonchalant. His ears had flushed slightly at the words, as well.

A gleeful mischief lit her face, “So does that make you our Uncle Smokey?” Smoker pointed the cigar at her gravely, “If you call me that again, I don’t care about any truce, I’m arresting you.”

The cigar went back into his mouth, where he chomped on its end viciously, “Not gonna let Garp of all people have the satisfaction of mocking me over pirate relatives.”

He sighed heavily, shook his head as if exhausted, and looked at both of them seriously. “...He’d be so proud of you kids. Even though you’re a massive pain in my ass.” Rosie bit her lip to keep it from wobbling, nodding in thanks, and Law beside her had pulled his hat down over his eyes, teeth gritted.

Smoker stood, dusting himself off, and muttered to himself, “All my friends die and I inherit their problems- last f*cking one of us left and I have to deal with all their sh*t too-“ He walked off, grumbling something that sounded like, “Belle’s brat, now Roci’s brats…”

Rosie leaned into Law, tucking her shoulder against his in a small gesture of comfort, and he leaned back into the touch. Cora-san would be proud of them… It was something they had both needed to hear.

Chapter 32: Connections

Chapter Text

Part of him knew that introducing Rosie to the Strawhats was a recipe for disaster. But there was nothing to be done for it, and she’d met several of them already, so he resigned himself to the chaos increasing exponentially.

Strawhat’s jaw dropped unsettlingly far in shock at the introduction, “Whoa, I didn't know you have a sister!” Rosie struck a dramatic pose, “That’s because I’m a spy!” The sniper blinked in surprise, “Wow, she just… announced it.” The little doctor exclaimed excitedly, “That’s so cool!”, and started mimicking stereotypical ‘spy’ moves, which made Rosie laugh brightly.

But their work wasn’t done yet, and soon enough, his denden alerted him that Doflamingo had found the raft, interrupting the burgeoning conversation.

Rosie sat, quiet and tense and watching closely during the call. At hearing the man’s voice again, she grasped onto Law’s hand, holding it tightly. He grasped back, both giving and taking comfort from the touch.

He hadn’t truly focused on the man’s voice while they fought Vergo- too caught up in rage and fear and simple survival instinct to do more than force out sarcastic quips in response to Doflamingo’s taunts. But now… it all came flooding back, that voice and the trauma it embodied.

Joker’s voice felt like poison, like oil, slick and entrapping. Law gripped a hand around Kikoku, the feel of the plush guard driving away memories of the cold, hard wood of the treasure chest, the conversation he’d overheard outside it. His mind still replayed it, the phrase ‘Then I’ll just have to raise him to die for me’ repeated like an omen. It still made him shudder, even now.

He could hear Buffalo in the background, apologizing profusely for his failure to complete his mission, and staunchly ignored the voice, hanging up as soon as his demands had been made, to escape from the voices, from the rage he could feel building in Doflamingo, even over the line.

Rosie squeezed his hand in comfort, barely managing a weak smile, and he did his best to answer it, letting his shoulders ease down from their stiffness. Now, they just needed to wait.

Law had taken care of Buffalo on his own earlier, after the cyborg and then the navigator/ sniper duo had defeated him. Rosie had always been closer with the older boy, when they were kids- he didn’t want her to have to deal with this, with the vitriol Buffalo had spewed about him being a traitor.

Part of it was also the fact that, if the other made Rosie cry, he might not survive to be Law’s message to Joker, and then where would his plan be?

Still, he would admit to his patience snapping when Buffalo had tried to appeal to his ‘little brother’, growling, “I have two older brothers- you’re not one of them. The Family is not, and has never been, my family.”

The other had only set his jaw grimly, stoic despite his shivering, “Then you’re our enemy.” “The Family made itself my enemy thirteen years ago.”

Buffalo was silent for a moment, except for the clacking of his teeth. Law summoned a Room and wicked away the freezing water- it wouldn’t do to have the other succumb to hypothermia before Joker found him, that was all.

Finally, Buffalo spoke, voice low, “He’ll kill you, you know that.” Was that… regret, in the warning? He couldn’t read Buffalo anymore, he realized- but the words hadn’t been a threat, at least. The other just looked… tired. Law covered up the unease with a slightly feral smirk, and raised his blade, “No. He won’t.”

Still, he took no pleasure in removing Buffalo’s head- despite them now being enemies, the other had never been cruel to him back then, and he could even remember the older boy protecting him, all those years ago. If things had been different… he could have had another older brother.

But that wasn’t here, and he quickly dismissed the thought. He couldn’t afford to hesitate, to dwell on the could-have-beens now, so close to his plan coming to fruition.

It was easy to put the whole matter from his mind, once the raft had been shoved off and was out of sight. Rosie not even mentioning the existence of their former friend had helped, as well.

He wasn’t sure if she avoided seeing Buffalo because of their history, or simply to keep her presence here quiet, or if one was a justification for the other, but he wasn’t going to ask. This pain was a relatively small one, amidst all the other scars on their souls- let it scab over in peace.

It was nighttime, once everything was sorted, and the Strawhats’ cook had graciously pointed them towards an empty room, with a mishmash of furniture and hooks on the ceiling for hammocks. There was space in the crew quarters, but, “You don’t want to stay with us, trust me- Luffy is incapable of staying in his own hammock all night.”

They both saw the wisdom in leaving that alone, and gratefully took the offered quarters.

They hadn’t hardly set down their respective belongings when Law turned to his sister expectantly, “Alright- checkup.” She crossed her arms stubbornly, scowling, “You first, dummy. How close did you come to cardiac arrest today?”

He sighed and dropped back onto the couch, lazily popping his heart from his chest and holding it out. She took it carefully, fingers light as she looked over the muscle to ensure its wellbeing. The internal organs had no nerves and nothing could be felt unless real damage was inflicted, but he appreciated the delicate touch anyway, especially after the beating it had taken earlier.

She settled it back in place once done, and they switched. Luckily, she didn’t seem to have gained many lasting injuries while away, skin only marked in places with faint scarring.

She pouted, “The tattoo guy thought I was some weirdo fangirl, can you believe it?" Law raised a brow teasingly, “You mean you’re not my biggest fan?” “Nah, I think that’s Bepo, actually.” At her playful wink, he let his lips twitch into a grin, “Fair enough.”

He still made sure to sigh exaggeratedly while inspecting her lungs, displeased with the smoking habit she’d adopted. She only stuck her tongue out at him in response, head on his shoulder as she watched him work.

Soon enough, he was reassured with his sister’s health, and Rosie clapped her hands together, “Oh, I forgot- here. Happy birthday!” There was something in her extended hand- a small brick of dark chocolate, his favorite kind from Swallow. He swapped it with a piece of her favorite hard candy he’d kept in his pocket (just in case).

He’d never been a fan of sweets, but this chocolate was dark enough to be barely sweet at all, as he’d discovered when Marten had first given him some, and he savored it.

They sat together quietly with their respective treats, and, as always, a third presence was in the silence with them.

Then she huffed at him, arms crossed in disappointment, “I made you a real present, but I sent it to the sub, so you’ll just have to wait ’til you’re back where you’re supposed to be to learn what it is, dummy!”

He leaned back, rubbed at his temples- he hadn’t accounted for Rosie at all, and would have to reformulate everything to keep her away from his plans.

His sister glared, “Do the boys know where you are?” “Yes.” Technically not a lie. Of course, she saw right through it immediately, glare sharpening further, “Do they know what you’re doing?” He glanced away, not answering, and she growled knowingly, taking up a new cigarette with a frustrated grind of teeth. “I’m going to let them yell at you about this.”

Alright, time to change the subject before she realized what that guilty look on his eyes meant- it seemed she really didn’t want to be mad at him.

He forced a smirk, a bit of humor in his voice, “I saw your poster. Very stealthy and cool.” Rosie mirrored him, a satisfied feline grin melting away the furrow in her brow, “I try.”

The end of a flamethrower whirled into being on her index finger, which spouted a small flame. She blew it out dramatically, before digging out the lighter from her pocket- this, she used to light the cigarette hanging from her lips. She still refused to use anything but that lighter, of course.

And now they knew who it belonged to, even- something he’d never thought he’d learn, after Cora-san died. ‘SY’ was Smoker- he never would’ve suspected, but it somehow fit, in retrospect.

‘Roci’s brats’, he’d said, and Law would never admit to the curl of warmth in him at the acknowledgement- did he appreciate them as carrying on Cora-san’s legacy, or view them as the reason for his friend’s death?

So much that he knew he’d never get to ask. Although, he had no doubt Rosie would follow up on this- so she, at least, could find out.

There was quiet for a moment- Rosie laid her head back on the wall, blowing a cloud of smoke above her head and watching it bloom. “Destroying the gears, huh?” Ah- his little dramatic speech in the SAD room. He’d gotten a bit carried away, then, high on adrenaline and victory.

She glanced at him knowingly, “You’re right- it has been oddly quiet these last two years, on the side of the established powers, at least. Something big was born with the new age, and they’re preparing to fight it. But you’re riding the wave, at the crest of the new era. You’ve hitched your hopes to a very interesting ally.”

He only huffed, crossed his arms- interesting, indeed. There was a reason he’d chosen Strawhat. The other’s tendency for ripping status quo to shreds in his wake made him very useful for Law’s purposes. But he’d see soon enough if this alliance was worth the trouble it had already become.

Rosie sighed, spoke again, voice low and thoughtful, “He was right, in that we don’t know Doflamingo’s past. Cora-san was very deliberate in never saying anything about it.” So it was bothering her, as well- what Vergo had said, in his last moments. How not knowing Doflamingo’s past would be their downfall.

His mind went back to those injuries Cora-san had suffered- his ankles, his wrists. Those awful wounds that had never healed right… they’d happened when he was a kid, Law knew, but there was no way to identify the circ*mstances.

There was precious little Cora-san had ever said about his past with Doflamingo- that they came from ‘a really bad place’, that they’d known poverty and hunger, that Doflamingo had bad memories associated with his voice. Had all of those been truthful, or a cover for not wanting to talk about it at all? Again, no way to know.

And the not knowing rankled at him, as it always had- their dad’s expertise with secrecy might be coming back to bite them in a big way, and there was no way to prepare for what was coming. But there was no stopping it now.

---

Rosie was too restless to sleep, after the day she’d had. Exhaustion dragged her down, but her mind was still whirling too fast for sleep to catch up. Her brother’s plans, Caesar, Vergo, the looming shadow of Doflamingo over it all…

Drake hadn’t returned her message yet- she’d sent him an update on the happenings at Punk Hazard and her next steps, but also a request for any information he had on Doflamingo’s background.

Likely, he was simply busy, or compiling what she’d asked for, and she’d receive a reply by the morning. But that little impatient instinct in her still itched.

She was a spy- any visible gap in her knowledge was intolerable, and filling those gaps was her job. What could there be, in Doflamingo’s past, that would drive their efforts to ruin? Vergo had seemed so sure of it.

It was another worry atop the others that plagued her as she stepped out onto the deck of an unfamiliar ship.

Even this made her nerves flare up- she didn’t trust ships she didn’t know, and the Thousand Sunny had a different feel, a different rock, from the Liberal Hind. She didn’t know her way around, didn’t have that surety of being met with a friendly face no matter what door she opened.

Rosie leaned against the rail, letting the press of wood soothe her, and hummed to herself, trying to distract from the feel of the ocean below her feet.

She wasn’t alone there for long, however. She could sense the woman on deck before she heard her approach, but made no acknowledgement. The other’s footsteps were silent- thieves and spies shared many skill sets, after all- but Nami scuffed her heel on the wood, a deliberate noise to keep from startling her.

The other woman spoke into the quiet, “How do you know that song?” Rosie managed a slight grin, “It’s a lullaby our dad sang to us when I was a kid.” The navigator leaned against the railing, staring out into the sea. "It’s an Eastern lullaby, you know- my mom sang it to my sister and I.”

Rosie hummed, “Our dad was a Marine- maybe that’s where he learned it.” “So was my mom.” Her posture shifted, then, softening slightly at Nami’s response.

She looked to the navigator with new eyes, recalling suddenly the longing sort of ache that had held the other’s frame when speaking with the Marine Captain earlier that day. Such a complex relationship, when one was an outlaw with Marine parents.

“You get it, then.” That same half-fragile smile turned to her, then. “I do.”

Rosie sighed, overcome for a moment with nostalgia, feeling a large, gentle hand in the wind against her hair, and pulled out her cigarettes. The navigator inched closer, “Can I bum one?”

She wordlessly held out the pack, pushing one up for the other woman to take. She transformed her index finger into a lighter, and Nami placed the cigarette between her teeth and leaned in, the fa*g lighting red in the cup of her palms against the sea breeze. She tilted her hip to the rail, chin rested wistfully on her hand.

Rosie sidled up next to her, “I didn’t think you smoked.” A half-smile, distant and sad, “Only when I’m feeling homesick.” She hummed in understanding, and the two smoked in silence for a time.

---

Despite the length and hardships of the day- had it really only been this one day? It sure as hell didn’t feel like it- sleep still escaped him. But Law wasn’t the only one awake at such a late hour.

The sniper and small doctor were ‘on guard’, sharing a very tense watch as they seemingly feared Joker would descend from the skies to attack. As well, Rosie and the navigator were conversing quietly at the rail, and he decided not to disturb them.

Unfortunately, the next place he chose was also occupied- the Samurai sitting cross-legged by the mast. He hadn’t noticed the large man until too late, but the other only tilted his head in respect, “Sorcerer.” Grudges apparently forgotten now that they were allies.

He hummed in response, eyes drawn to the figure Kin’emon held. The small child was cradled in his father’s arms, held close to the large man’s frame. His eyes were still puffy in sleep, and the boy’s despairing cries over his father’s petrified body floated through Law’s ears once more. He forcibly steered himself away from the memory, before it brought up his own.

The large man was gentle, as if holding something infinitely precious, and the way he hunched slightly over the child, a shield against the elements, was so familiar it ached.

He almost missed the other speaking, “Your technique is truly fearsome. How have you accomplished cutting flesh without rending? I, who can cut even flame, have never heard of such a thing.”

He gladly took the distraction, and smirked, “I’m the only one who can do it. I’ll demonstrate if you let me take you apart again- I’m sure you inhaled some of that poison.” Kin’emon simply stared at him a moment, assessing, before nodding in assent. “Very well, sorcerer.”

It was a simple thing to pop the man’s lungs from his chest- the most difficult part was avoiding both the sleeping child and the bandages where Kin’emon had been almost eaten by sharks (did he feel guilty about chopping the man to pieces and being the reason for him almost dying? Only a bit.)

Kin’emon watched in fascination as the chalky toxin was scraped from the interior of his lungs. “And yet I feel no pain- truly curious.” “Everything’s still connected, in a way. Take a deep breath.”

The samurai did as instructed, and the lungs inflated in time with it. “You’re still breathing, but my powers allow me to separate the components without disconnecting them.” “Fascinating. Like a strange puzzle of bones and flesh. As was my own face, as recently as this afternoon.” He said nothing, not about to apologize for that.

Kin’emon hummed, “Strange magics, you foreigners wield. Fearsome ones.” His eyes turned to the shadowed figure of Caesar, chained to the mast, “This fiend, however… Cruel villain he is, using poisons. The weapon of a dishonorable cur.” Law huffed, “We can agree on that.”

Both fell into silence then, something faraway in the samurai’s eyes as he looked out over the sea. Law settled easily into the work- Kin’emon had smoke scarring in his lungs, along with the poison, and the inflammation must have been painful, so he eased it, as well.

By the time he returned the other’s lungs to his body, the calm had wiped away any adrenaline remaining in him, and he felt sleep finally tugging at his mind.

As he walked away, he could hear the samurai speaking quietly to the sleeping child in his arms, “The world is different now, Momonosuke, but it is a hopeful one. We will return home, and we will make it right, I swear to you.”

Chapter 33: Planning

Chapter Text

Her brother was still fast asleep when she left the room that morning- Law wasn’t usually a deep sleeper, but he had crashed hard after the events of yesterday, and she thought he deserved to sleep as long as he liked.

She followed the sound of conversation to the mess, where most of the Strawhats were gathered for breakfast, and was greeted by stares. “…Rosie, are you alright?” “Mm, yeah. Why?” Nami blinked, before looking away, “Uh, your… your hair is…” Oh, right. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, replying, “Law’s still asleep, he can’t brush my hair yet.”

“Does he usually do it?” Another yawn, wide enough to squeeze tears from her eyes, and she nodded, “When we’re together.” There was a sniffle, and Franky wiped away a single tear, “Such a good big brother. Iceberg used to brush my hair, as kids.”

Usopp looked up from scraping the last of his eggs from the plate, speaking with his mouth still full, “Do you want me to do it?” Rosie hesitated, and Nami winked at her, “He’s really good with hair- he cuts everyone’s, and I get him to braid mine sometimes.”

She put a finger to her lip, tilting her head, “Can you do a fishtail?” He laughed, “Can I do a fishtail? It’s my specialty!”

The sniper left, returning quickly with a handful of objects, and Rosie sat cross-legged in front of his chair, chewing on a pastry the cook had handed her.

Usopp began working on her hair, brush running smoothly through the ends and gradually working up the length. She fell into that quiet, comfortable place in herself, content with the touch and the peaceful presences surrounding her.

After a moment, Nami joined her on the floor, bringing her bowl of yogurt and settling her head against Robin’s leg. “I’m a little sister, too. My big sis used to brush my hair all the time- complained it was a rat’s nest. I whined so much, ‘cause I just wanted to play outside, but now I miss it.”

From there it became a discussion of siblings- most pirates, she had found, were younger siblings, and the pattern held here. Only Zoro, Robin, and Usopp of those that spoke were only children.

And Zoro didn’t really count, Usopp said, because, “He basically came back having adopted an older sister.” “She’s still scared of you.” Usopp barked a startled laugh, “What, really?” The swordsman huffed around a bite of rice, lips quirking, “Mmh. Only one of us that scares her.”

They eventually decided that Zoro was, in fact, a middle sibling, as, besides the crew, he had two younger brothers back in the East. The swordsman grunted in begrudging acceptance of the title, but began to object when his parentage was discussed, as the rest of the crew seemed adamant that Mihawk was his father.

Nami grinned devilishly, rolling her eyes, “He’s pretty much your dad, admit it.” “He is not-“ The sniper patted his back in jest, “It’s okay, that just means both of us have to defeat our dads and steal their titles.”

Rosie just decided to accept the premise- the swordsman’s embarrassment lent credence to the idea. She peeked over her shoulder at the sniper, his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration as he finished plaiting, “Your dad is powerful, too?” “Not as big a name as Mihawk.”

A disbelieving huff came from the cook, “That’s a damn lie, everyone knows Chaser Yasopp.” Rosie hummed- the name sounded familiar, but only vaguely. Something Drake had mentioned at some point, surely.

After a while, Law entered the mess, still looking rumpled but having at least made an effort to arrange himself. His eyes sought out Rosie immediately, and she lifted her pastry to him in greeting.

The paper had yet to arrive, and she could see the restless anticipation in him, like a cat stalking back and forth. The day had reached mid-morning by now- no doubt other people in other parts of the world had already woken up to news they had yet to know.

It itched at her, as well, though she was better at hiding it- for all she’d learned about the politics of power and leverage, Doflamingo was unpredictable.

And Drake still hadn’t gotten back to her with that information- she was starting to worry that something was wrong.

The paper finally came just before lunchtime, and all of them gathered around it on the deck to see the fruits of their labor. Rosie wasn’t sure whether she was surprised or not, to see Doflamingo’s resignation on the front page- she’d have to make some calls later, see how the news was impacting the conflicts they’d been tracking.

She glanced surreptitiously to the side- had Law been expecting this to work? Her brother's grin was a tight rictus- something victorious but untrusting. “Of course- he had no other choice, if he wants to avoid Kaido’s wrath.”

Law made the call once more, to set up the exchange for Caesar. It never got any easier, hearing Doflamingo’s voice- it always made her feel young again, and so small.

Although, Strawhat promptly stealing the receiver and shouting at Joker did lighten her mood significantly, as well as Law’s disgruntled scowl as he tried to wrestle it back from the rubber man.

The call couldn’t be over soon enough, and Law revealed the secondary part of his plan- the SMILE factory. Rosie’s eyes flicked to his hands, the letters there standing stark against taut knuckles- she knew even before he said it that he was missing a major piece of information.

The factory’s location was likely hidden for a reason. Still, she was confident in her skills, and tipped her head in offer. “I can find it.” He nodded gratefully, leaving that portion to her.

Further planning would have to be done later, as lunch was announced and the Strawhats promptly discarded any thought of what was to come in favor of food. They really were endlessly amusing, and Rosie was never going to stop teasing her brother over the moment when he caught himself falling into the Strawhats’ pattern and made the most hilarious shocked face.

Still, the outline was settled- they would reach Dressrosa tomorrow, to exchange Caesar and destroy the factory. She’d messaged Koala earlier and exchanged plans- there would be a team of Revolutionaries in the city, following leads on their possible intel leak. So there would be extra assistance, at least, if things went wrong.

Her last meeting with Koala ran through her head again- what the other had said about Dressrosa, manipulated information and agents that didn’t exist… A bad feeling coursed down her spine. Doflamingo was called ‘Joker’ for a reason, and she’d learned very well not to underestimate him.

Despite her apprehension, Rosie reluctantly decided to go along with Law’s machinations. She wasn’t fool enough to think this would end here- Law wasn’t simply going to give Caesar back, of course, and even destroying the factory wouldn’t be enough on its own- but she hadn’t yet discovered what exactly he had planned, now that Doflamingo was no longer a Warlord.

Turning the Marines against him, possibly? Driving him from his throne in Dressrosa? Exposing his illegal operations? She could be of assistance with that, although she doubted it would have the effect he desired- if SWORD could have taken the man down simply by bringing his evil to light, they would have done so years ago.

But as long as this was his plan for now- only destroying Doflamingo’s operations and not direct confrontation- she had time to figure out what was really going through her brother’s head.

---

After all the hubbub was resolved, Law had intended to retreat to their borrowed room, to think and rest, but Rosie grabbed onto his hand tightly. She never wanted to be alone when she was scared, and it seemed she was intent on surrounding herself with as much company as possible to distract from it.

So he let her tug him along, quiet beside her as she bounced from Strawhat to Strawhat, making friends.

Rosie got along, as he’d expected, frighteningly well with the Strawhats. They seemed impressed by her ‘cool’ weapons ability more than anything else- not that he thought their captain was capable of ogling anything he couldn’t eat, but if any of the others had treated his sister poorly, he would’ve had to break off their alliance (and their hands), master plan or no.

He had expected her to strike up friendships with the navigator and doctor, and she had done so easily. However, she spent a surprising amount of time with Sniper-ya, discussing trajectories and counterbalancing with the almost-giddy excitement of scientists.

The two got on like they’d known each other for years, and he was amused to no end by their discussion of the philosophical limits of what could be considered a weapon, an unholy glee on both faces.

Sniper-ya seemed to be taking the position that anything could be a weapon if one tried hard enough, and Law was inclined to believe him, given his vast arsenal of improvisation.

Rosie also sought out the first mate while he slept on the deck, having what appeared to be a spirited conversation with his swords. The man himself cracked his eye open to watch for a moment, then sighed and returned to sleep, impressively uninterested in the girl who could talk to swords.

She nudged him awake, frowning strictly down at him, “She wants you to talk to her more often. You’ve gotten quieter, and she misses your voice.” The swordsman’s eye went wide momentarily, flicking down to the white sword at his hip, and he nodded resolutely.

It was then that the Samurai descended, enraged and shouting about ‘dishonorable thieves’. Law could only sigh at the predictable chaos, although it didn’t last long before Rosie interrupted the fight, “He’s telling the truth, Mr. Samurai! The sword told me he won it fairly.”

Kin’emon stopped still, and his eyes turned to her, “The kunoichi speaks to blades, eh? A curious power, if true. But I must ask you to prove this.” He presented a small dagger from his robe, “What is the name of my own blade?”

Rosie glanced at it, biting her lip, and something awed settled on her face. “She calls herself Otsuru, and… she loves you.” Kin’emon nodded solidly, sheathing his blade with care inside his tunic.

“She shares a name with my beloved wife. It has been long since we were separated, and I know not if she lives yet, but as long as I have this blade, she is with me.”

BT seemed to itch in her holster on his forearm, and he ran a hand along her guard- it was a familiar sentiment.

The samurai turned to Zoro, bowed low. “I apologize for my rashness, Zoro-dono! I was too quick to defend the treasure of my nation, but if it has chosen you as its wielder, I will respect its choice!”

For the rest of the afternoon, the swordsman and samurai were occupied together in meditation, Kin’emon having assented to teach the other his flame-rending technique.

Law’s interest was piqued when the crew’s musician propped his tall frame on a stool nearby, guitar in hand. Rosie noticed as well, and settled them both on the deck before the skeleton’s perch.

“Mr. Bones! How old are you?” The skeleton tilted his head, “That depends, yohoho! How long have I existed, or how old was I when I died?” Rosie bit at her thumb, and shrugged, “Both, I guess?” “I was thirty-eight when I died, over fifty years ago. And now I have recently begun my ninth decade of existence- so I am quite old!”

Both siblings leaned forward, suddenly caught up in the medical mystery of this skeleton- even Law couldn’t help the questions. “How do your bones remain strong, when there’s no blood or marrow feeding them?” “Do your bones remodel, when they break?” “How do you heal?”

Bone-ya scratched at a crack in his skull, “Well, I am unsure quite how it all works, but my soul seems to be what holds my body together. As for healing, when I find myself with broken bones, I simply drink some milk and the cracks are repaired! Voila!”

Both tilted their heads, nearly in sync, and Rosie murmured, “That makes… no sense at all.” The musician shrugged, tuning his guitar, “Does a walking, talking skeleton make any more sense? I try not to think about it too much. Although I don’t have a brain! Yohoho!”

Rosie waved the thoughts away like a cloud of smoke, “You’re right- thinking about that makes my head hurt.” She stood and made her way across the deck to sit by Chopper instead, although this time Law slipped his hand from hers and remained behind.

The skeleton sat almost unnaturally still for a moment, before his skull turned to look at Law, yet quiet and staring, sat cross-legged on the ground like a child before the teacher. “Ask. I know you want to.” He hesitated a moment, before speaking, “...What was it like? Dying, I mean. Death.”

The skeleton plucked at strings seemingly aimlessly, silent for a long moment. Law pondered in the space- how did the other move without tendons, speak without vocal cords or lungs, eat without a stomach? Of all the devil fruits he’d seen, this one confounded him most greatly.

Eventually, Brook spoke, “Dying was extremely painful- I drowned in my own lungs, could feel the numbness steal over my limbs as I slowly faded, choking on blood.”

Law’s medical training made sure he was able to clearly picture the exact kind of slow agony the other had suffered, and his hands fisted tightly around each other, thumb tracing the letters on his knuckles.

He made to apologize for bringing up such a topic, but the skeleton spoke again, voice distant. "But death… death was peaceful. Quiet. Comforting. Death is…”

A brush of the strings, a high, ascending chord. “Have you ever fallen asleep at a party, as a young child?”

Law tilted his head in thought- so long ago he could barely remember, but yes- he could only just recall the last reunion before the end.

It was a haze of silk tablecloths and sunlight through sheer curtains and shiny leaded utensils, the distant chatter of voices he couldn’t now place and the overfull feeling of having stuffed himself on special party dishes.

Brook cradled his instrument close, played a simple tune- it sounded like a lullaby, familiar and aching in the way all lullabies seemed to.

“You’ve grown tired, perhaps nodded off on the couch, and a loved one picks you up and carries you away to bed. You’re warm, held close to someone you love in that fuzzy space between sleep and waking, and you can just barely hear the laughter in the other room, the conversation fading as you drift calmly back to sleep in their arms.”

The lullaby ended with a long, haunting chord that seemed to hang in the air, and the musician lowered his instrument to his lap. “That is death. It comes for us all- it will come for me twice, in fact! Do not fear it, but neither seek it out. All in due time, young one.”

He could imagine it easily- all those nights of falling asleep cradled safe and warm in Cora-san’s arms came to mind. It sounded… nice.

Those empty, eyeless sockets stared at him- it seemed like the skeleton was smiling, but the gaze made him uncomfortable, unsure where to look to meet the other’s ‘eyes’.

And it felt like the skeleton could see through his facade, see all his plans and resignations laid out bare. Law turned away rather than face him, dipped his head gratefully, “Thank you, Bone-ya. That was enlightening.”

Chapter 34: One Last Time

Chapter Text

Law woke feeling surprisingly rested on his last day alive. Perhaps it was because he’d made his peace with it- his path was clear before him, no more time for backing out. There was no nervousness, only a calm resolution.

He’d apparently surprised Rosie with his waking, as his sister froze in place at the other side of the room, posture screaming ‘caught in the act’. Rosie was very clearly hiding something. She might be a spy (and he’d accepted that he’d never learn the details of that), but she could never lie to him.

All it took was an expectant expression and a raised brow, and she sighed in defeat. The look on her face was half-pout, half cringe. “You’re going to be mad, but please don’t.”

He only kept quiet, waiting, and Rosie pulled from behind her a small transparent tank, approximately the size of a lunchbox. Inside it swam a small creature, with a familiar coloration and dopey grin.

Everything in him recoiled at the sight, and he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, stern to cover up the way his hands wanted to shake. “Rosie, that thing is the embodiment of poison. It’s a manufactured chemical weapon, not a pet.”

She clutched the tank to herself, “But he doesn’t have to be! Smiley doesn’t have to be a weapon.” His mouth closed over any retort, and he took a deep breath, calming himself down.

This was personal to them both- he was repelled by the thing because it was, fundamentally, made of deadly poison, and he’d had quite enough of that, and she was drawn to it because she saw herself in something created to be a weapon against its will, and wanted to save it from that fate.

He could understand that, at least. He didn’t like it, no. He didn’t like that the thing was alive, that its poison still had the possibility of spreading. He didn’t like that its very existence made his skin itch, made his body remember the old aches of metal in his veins. But he was… going to try, for Rosie’s sake.

She took his silence as permission to continue, and tapped the tank, “See? Usopp and Franky even made a little home for him- it’s resistant to the corrosion. He can be safe and happy in there, without hurting anyone. And once I get- get back to work, I’ll get him a bigger tank.”

He couldn’t fail to notice how she talked around what she did and where she stayed, but let it slide.

The beast- ‘Smiley’, he remembered its name was- was much smaller this time around, only the length of his hand from tip to tail. Its body appeared made of gelatin- the same vivid fuchsia shade of its larger form, and translucent.

The little creature swam around in vaguely pink-tinted water, looking content enough. He watched it cough out a vibrant pink cloud, which dissipated into the water. It was, he had to admit to himself, kind of cute. But still horribly toxic.

He shook his head, dismissing the whole subject. “Whatever- your pet, your problem.” Rosie grinned at him like he’d given her a pony, and he looked away, suddenly feeling guilty. He didn’t deserve that expression- not with what he was planning.

…At least she’d be elsewhere, when the time came, with the ‘Factory Destruction’ team. And with the discussion during lunch, she knew to find the boys on Zou, and they could all be together… without him.

Dammit, he was not going to allow himself to second-guess his plan now, not so close to completion. He forced away the thoughts, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other and preparing for this one last day.

The siblings fell into old rituals together, as the Sunny neared Dressrosa. Rosie sat down on the deck in front of him, and he sighed wordlessly and set to taming her wild hair.

In turn, she took Kikoku in hand, fingers tracing the crosses on its scabbard- he had to wonder what they were talking about together. Perhaps she’d keep it, once he was gone, as a memento- her first weapon that wasn’t herself.

But his eyes over her head were locked on Dressrosa looming in the distance- the island full of music and dancing, Cora-san had once said. Under Doflamingo’s rule, an island of deception and hidden despair lay beneath its veneer.

He sighed, trying to calm the sense of dread in his gut- it would be alright. It would all end here, and then he’d be home.

His siblings might hate him for it, but they’d be alive and safe to do so. And he could make the case for a few extra bedrooms in the cottage, to eventually welcome them all home, too.

He’d made his peace with it- with the last time he’d see his brothers being their concerned apprehension when he made them drop him off at Punk Hazard. He couldn’t change that now, no matter how much he regretted it. But he didn’t want that same ending with Rosie.

One last time… this one last time, he could brush his sister’s hair and sit in comfortable silence with her. He wanted to savor it.

---

Rosie didn’t want to leave Law alone- she knew, deep inside, that he must be planning something utterly stupid, and Kikoku had said as much- but she couldn’t stay.

First, she had to find that factory, for any of this to succeed. She’d have to leave the task of destroying it to the others, because the Revolutionaries were arriving, and she had to be in place in the underground to assist- if their work went well, Law’s part would be that much less dangerous.

As much as she wanted to stay by his side, separating would actually keep him safer. He needed to draw attention, and she worked better from the shadows.

But as the Strawhats’ typical ruckus began to chorus through the ship, Rosie grinned to herself. She could trust this strange bunch to take care of her brother.

Breakfast was a chaotic affair, as was everything the crew seemed to partake in, but Rosie managed to settle into her pre-mission calm despite it, senses honing in on her goal and the steps she had to take to achieve it.

This was a state she’d perfected after so long, the stillness in the eye of the storm- she couldn’t allow the chaos surrounding her to fracture her focused mindset.

From the corner of her eye, she watched as the cook talked with the samurai- the two had spent much of their time together the last few days, and seemed to share a sort of camaraderie. “-You’re sure you’re fine, joining us here? Dressrosa is bound to be a dumpster fire- everything that involves us is.”

Kin’emon scowled, hands tight around his tea cup, “Have care how you speak- my companion is trapped in that fire, and I would never abandon him there.” He set his cup down solidly, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists atop his thighs, brow furrowing fiercely. “I have no fear of fire, nor boil- not anymore.”

There was a distance in his eyes that spoke to him not being in the present moment, then. Rosie could see the same concerned curiosity she felt reflected in the cook’s expression, but she carefully filed it away for later. That could be dealt with once they’d finished this.

Finally, it was time. The siblings separated at the beach, to their own purposes. Rosie checked over her brother one last time, ensuring he had everything he needed- Kikoku and BT both hummed reassurances at her, which she reluctantly accepted.

One last thing- she raised a judging brow at him, at the distinctive hat and the hoodie that very conspicuously said ‘Corazon’ on the back. “You have a disguise, right?” He nodded, as if it were obvious, “Of course.” She hummed, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and was gone.

Rosie chose to separate from the rest of the team and start in the underground- a factory capable of creating SMILEs could be disguised from the surface like any other building, but its power and waste needs couldn’t be hidden when viewed from underneath.

No doubt she’d have the best luck locating it by finding its power supplies down here, and then could transmit coordinates to the Factory Team aboveground.

She traversed the sewers cautiously, in disguise as a miniature tank (close enough to look like a toy if discovered, she decided) and in search for the telltale signs of mass production. And as she went, she mused on the nature of this country.

Dressrosa was a land of contradictions, of two faces- light and dark- that couldn’t be more different. The daytime city, where all seemed peaceful and lovely, where humans and toys mingled and laughed… and the hidden suffering that festered in the shadows. Working with Drake, she had long grown a sense for this kind of thing- for when something terrible was being covered up.

She hadn’t quite put together the tragedy of Dressrosa yet, but her instincts told her something was very wrong with the toys. Likely, they were the slave labor Drake had been certain Joker used, to be able to keep the production schedule he did.

The people of the kingdom, as well, seemed… off, in a way she couldn’t yet define. Like something was missing inside them.

But whatever the toxic concoction Joker had brewed here, Rosie could feel the helpless rage that simmered beneath the surface, just like what had hidden within Fishman Island.

And just like there… something was brewing, in the darkness of this country. Something was close to snapping, and here they were, testing its give.

---

The trip through Dressrosa was tense- he had never been in this strange land before, and was at every moment viscerally aware that he was trespassing in Joker’s home turf. The nightmare could be looming around any corner, searching for him, and his grip remained tight on his sword, hackles raised.

But Doflamingo wasn’t the only one haunting Law, now. Around him, he caught snatches of conversation, some in that language Cora-san had taught them bits of so long ago- it was strange, hearing it again now, although he understood that he was the stranger, here.

Every so often came a voice that sounded so similar he couldn’t help but seek it out, only to find a stranger’s face, or even that of a toy in the crowd.

He was getting ahead of himself, he knew, and strictly brought his thoughts back to the present. Soon, he reassured himself.

For the first and only time, he had wiped away the kiss print Rosie had left him, unwilling to expose his sister to the enemies he encountered. But the place it had momentarily rested still felt warm, and he held onto the impression to remain calm as the Caesar Trade Team made their way closer to the chosen location.

The scene on Green Bit was strange, however.

He’d been hoping to lure the Marines to Green Bit, with his little slip to Smoker- once Doflamingo had lost his Warlord position, the Marines would be justified in turning their efforts against the king of Dressrosa, as he knew they’d long wished to.

Law was under no illusions that the Marines would be on his side, but their involvement would at least muddy the waters enough for him to work through the chaos, would hopefully pile onto the trouble he’d caused for Doflamingo.

But something was off, here. He’d expected a Marine battleship, yes, but not so openly. There was no distinctive symbol on the sail- it wasn’t Tsuru who’d been sent to deal with Doflamingo, then. Curious.

The ship embedded in the giant stalks (and how the hell did that happen?) seemed to be empty, as well. Its crew must be in the forest, somewhere- he sent the sniper and archaeologist to scope out the area, as his hidden backup. The two long-range fighters would be able to assist, if something went wrong with the exchange.

The next twelve minutes passed much too slowly, even Caesar beside him still and silent in fear. Every nerve in his body seemed to come alive and vibrate in anticipation, and it was all he could do to keep still, his heart overwhelmingly loud in his head.

If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was another heartbeat- one deeper and slower, that had been silent now for thirteen years. Soon enough, he’d get to hear it again, he was sure.

But he had to finish this, first.

Chapter 35: Chains

Chapter Text

Law had lost consciousness soon after being shot- as always, the sound brought him back thirteen years, before the impact even registered.

He’d never actually been shot himself before, and the fire of it was like nothing he’d ever experienced, overwhelming his brain instantly. Everything after that moment had been stilted, filtered through the pain and blood loss.

He’d felt large hands on his arms- Cora-san? No, the samurai-, had felt the hot kiss of blood sprayed across his cheek as the attempt to rescue him was thwarted, and then nothing.

He woke chained to the chair. This damn chair- the Heart Seat, reserved for him. Cora-san had sat here, once- and Vergo before and after him. And Doflamingo thought this was where he belonged, at his side.

It was a sick thought, that he ever could have wanted this, could have dreamed to wreak havoc on the world at Joker’s right hand. He hadn’t become that person- Cora-san had saved him, had cleansed that evil from him- but it would have been so easy to fall into that mold.

He refused to picture it, although he still couldn’t help the flashes his mind punished him with. A cruel grin, all too familiar but on the wrong face, holding people captive and manipulating them like puppets, just like Joker did- he could do that with his powers, he knew all too well, he knew exactly what atrocities he was capable of- but he refused. He refused to be that person, to be what Joker wanted from him.

He had time to think here, at least, although the seastone sapped at his strength. His wounds had been bandaged, but the bullets not removed- Doflamingo wanted him alive, but weakened, and he wanted his reminder to stick, wanted Law to feel the situation mirrored to that day on Minion.

Even the wounds… he couldn’t know exactly where Doflamingo had shot Cora-san, when he’d turned his gun on his own brother, but Law suspected the arrangement on his own torso bore, at the very least, a similarity.

Doflamingo wanted him to feel helpless and young, just like back then. But Law wouldn’t let this end the same way. He wasn’t alone, as Cora-san had been at the end.

Rosie was free, and she still had her goal with the factory and the underground. And the Strawhats… good luck trying to predict them. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he told Doflamingo he’d brought Strawhat along simply because of the chaos he was sure to cause- ‘D’ would always cause another storm, it was as inevitable as time and death.

Someone would come for him, and once he was free, he knew what he had to do.

More urgently… How had Doflamingo exerted power over the World Government itself? Enough to have CP0 at his beck and call? Enough to make a Marine Admiral back down?

The Admiral himself was a complete wild card, as well- an entirely new piece on the board, intentions and powers unclear. He was certainly formidable, the way he had called down the f*cking sky on them. And the fact that he had considered it only a ‘test’…

No, that wasn’t the important part- the important part was what Doflamingo had revealed about the Donquixote family, and the history of Dressrosa. His own history.

How was it possible, that Doflamingo had been a Celestial Dragon, and yet no longer? Law had never heard of a Noble losing their status- with the depravity they already exhibited, what monstrosity could possibly be enough to warrant revocation? And how could he still command the powers of one, if he had lost it?

Vergo had been right, dammit- Law didn’t know Joker’s past, and it had been his downfall. His carefully constructed plan had been unraveled entirely by this single overlooked detail.

It was a sign of how he still underestimated Doflamingo, even with all his contingencies- the man had turned thirteen years of effort on its head with a single play, and made it look easy.

All Law’s planning, all his efforts… had amounted to little more than a temporary ruffling of the bastard’s feathers.

If he didn’t have to save what little energy he had, he would be cursing himself blue over his shortsightedness.

But he wasn’t alone here- there was another man chained to a pillar. The former king of Dressrosa, Doflamingo had called him. Riku had been known as a kind man, before his sudden break into madness ten years ago, although Law had long figured out exactly the truth behind that.

He recalled viscerally the screams of the Barrels Pirates, audible outside the safe barrier of Cora-san’s coat. A practice-run for Dressrosa, in many ways.

This country was another way he’d failed, really- perhaps if he had found any other person than Vergo that day, if he had gone to the Marines with what he knew, little as it was, Dressrosa could’ve been saved. This country wouldn’t have had to endure ten years of Doflamingo’s rule.

But that didn’t happen, another could-have-been world that wasn’t. And so here he sat in reality, chained to a dreaded fate and facing the king of a country he’d brought to ruin with his silence.

Fallen King Riku sat stoic within his chains, his cragged, lined face showing nothing of the pain and fear that must sit within his heart.

Ten years an outcast from the country he once ruled, tucked away in its underbelly to watch it suffer helplessly, maligned by his people who thought him a monster.

Law had always had a special hatred for the truth being buried, and it burned within him to tear down all the facades and veneers that made up Dressrosa.

“…Someone tried to save your country, thirteen years ago. It’s my fault he failed.”

As soon as the words escaped him, he regretted them- surely it was a twist of the knife for the king, to know how close his country had been to escaping its fate. Still, he deserved to know that someone had tried to save them, that they hadn’t been willingly abandoned to this.

Riku only watched him, unblinking, unjudging. “And who are you?”

He glanced up at the heart-shaped cushion of the chair looming over his head, its plush red velvet somehow menacing, and sighed wearily.

Who was he, to Doflamingo? To the Family? “The prodigal son, being dragged back into the fold.”

It was enough. Riku hummed in acknowledgment, shook his head slowly, gravely. “No child could be at fault for this. Let the adults carry what blame belongs to them.”

Dark eyes held his own determinedly, something in their depths Law wasn’t sure he had lived long enough to understand.

Law broke eye contact first, fixing his eyes on the window across- he couldn’t bring himself to believe the words, but he wouldn’t fight the old man on it.

After all, the same misplaced guilt weighed just as heavy on the former king’s shoulders.

---

Rosie had found the factory- no mistaking it. The sheer quantity of gas lines, the water and waste pipes… it couldn’t be anything else. She quickly shot off a message to the others, working quickly to attach the materials Usopp had given her- a plastic explosive of his own design, that would explode when ignited- to the pipes.

The trigger was her own work- years of training had improved her control over weapons she manifested, and she could now keep them in existence as long as she had the stamina and awareness to do so.

All she would need to do was spark it off remotely, and the mechanisms inside the factory would be disabled. But she had to wait for the others up-top to begin their offensive, to give them the advantage of surprise.

In the meantime, she had to make for the underground port. Rosie took a single step, then stopped, second-guessing herself. Why exactly was she headed there? Right- there was someone she was supposed to meet.

…But none of the Revolutionaries were down here. Koala and her companion were in the Colosseum- Rosie had just spoken to her ‘goggle buddy’- but there was someone… else. Someone she couldn’t recall, which wasn’t like her at all. Rosie didn’t simply forget about people- she was too used to going overlooked herself. Something was wrong.

As well, Koala had told her the list of contenders in the Colosseum had been shrinking, seemingly without reason. And the defeated… there were no defeated. There were only the four left standing- that was all there had ever been.

Which was exactly the problem. How had it gone from a competition crowded with names from all nations, to her only being able to recall the names of four combatants? It was almost like… they’d been deliberately erased.

Even as her gut sank in horror, a sly grin grew on Rosie’s face. She might have just figured out what was happening to the Revolutionary agents. And with that realization, there was suddenly a path to victory. The work she’d been doing had helped to isolate Joker from his contacts and allies, but this… this could cut all the tethers at once.

Doflamingo was getting complacent, putting all his eggs in one basket like this. You never know when someone might come along to tip it.

The underground port was a crowded one, toys marching around obediently, carrying crates and tools, and overseers keeping watch over them in their regimented chaos.

Now that she knew what- who- the toys really were, Rosie couldn’t help but wonder at the sheer number of them. Revolutionary agents, Doflamingo’s own political dissenters and ‘problematic’ citizens… not nearly enough to make up the toys in their hundreds. Likely, these were agents from other kingdoms as well, possibly even the World Government and the Marines- anyone Doflamingo found inconvenient was made to disappear.

And here they resided, forgotten by everyone who loved them and chained to his every demand- clockwork men and puppets, rag dolls and stuffed animals. She couldn’t imagine a worse fate.

Nonetheless, a small, horrid little part of her envied the toys who had become soft and pretty things- that ugly, childish feeling she’d never quite gotten rid of rising like bile in her throat.

Her weapon powers had never prioritized aesthetics, always utilitarian, making her hard and cold and sharp. It was useful here, of course- with a few tweaks to a tank design, she could fit in as a slightly-cartoonish model, although the disguise relied on the guards’ assumptions that anything not visibly human was a toy.

Still, something she didn’t want to admit to simmered deep in her gut. She tucked away the feeling, focusing on her work- her insecurities were the least of her priorities right now.

It was easy, once transformed, to evade the eyes around her, carrying crates to and fro to avoid being stopped while she investigated. Some of the ships in port belonged to pirates, others to kingdoms disguising their vessels as pirates- still others, through symbols and names she had long recognized as covers, were representatives of the World Government itself.

It was no surprise that the Government knew of Joker’s operations, but why would it need to partake in them? With the Marines at hand, the Government should have all the weapons it needed… unless the Marines weren’t meant to know about these particular weapons. Something to look into later.

As well, Rosie slipped unseen into crates, simply another weapon among the piles of guns and rockets. By becoming them, she gained an intimate understanding of the weapons and their properties- the easiest way to divine their origin, she’d found.

In several crates, there were surprises. She recognized the metal immediately- Wapometal, the newest formulation on the market. A shape-memory alloy- durable, flame-resistant… more expensive than most countries were willing to pay. For this to be included in shipments to various kingdoms that were widely known as impoverished… Perhaps there was more going on here- she’d have to pay a visit to Black Drum in the future.

Just then, her denden purred, and she hurriedly rolled into a hidden alcove before tugging it out- hopefully Drake with the information she’d asked for. Indeed, as soon as she answered, his familiar filtered cipher came over the line- only two layers of encryption this time, he must know she’s in a hurry.

Her mind translated the message automatically, and her eyes shot wide, a sudden sense of dread taking hold in her gut as firmly as metal wire. If what Drake told her was true… the plan was a failure from the start. Vergo had been right. She had to-!

Then there was an enormous crashing sound from up ahead, and there was no more time to think.

---

Strawhat came for him in the end, bringing chaos as he always did. Some of this chaos, however, Law wasn’t sure was even the other’s fault, as an uproar of mixed anguish, glee, and rage erupted around the city, as if a giant beast with hundreds of voices had been awoken and freed.

The various emergency hails sounding in the room let him know this was the sound of Doflamingo’s slave workforce being freed, the citizens of the country suddenly realizing their deception- Law would have to thank whoever had managed that, just for the satisfaction he took from watching the veins in the bastard’s face bulge in rage.

But just as quickly as something almost like hope planted in his gut, it crashed at the familiar stillness in Doflamingo’s expression. No, he wouldn’t- his own country-?!

The pale, frozen terror in Riku’s face told Law he very much would. Law wasn’t the only one reliving an old nightmare- the entire country was about to descend into one.

Then they were falling- Strawhat caught them all safely, but the soft landing didn’t stop Law from losing his breath to panic. He knew even before opening his eyes, what he’d see, but the horrifically familiar sight chilled his blood still.

He’d heard what Doflamingo said, before Pica expelled them all from the palace- “The massacre that’s about to happen won’t be nearly as minor…”.

In one fell swoop, Joker’s deeds had been exposed, and rather than let any word of what he’d done reach the outside world, Doflamingo had just pressed the self-destruct button on his entire island, and every soul within. He didn’t intend to leave anyone in the country alive.

Law’s eyes fixed unerringly on the monstrous glory of the birdcage winding into being above him- the wires shone mockingly between them and the bright blue sky, iridescence falsely beautiful in their deadly strength and edge. Then the screaming started below them in the streets, just as it had thirteen years ago.

There was no escape now.

Chapter 36: The Family

Chapter Text

Law eventually managed to force himself into calm, dragging his breathing under control and his heart rate to a manageable tempo. Then the sky lit up, a projected screen appearing visible to the entire island. Doflamingo’s voice was gleeful, his grinning mask tightly affixed, as he dictated to the people of Dressrosa their fate, their choices.

Bounties- Doflamingo had put prices on all their heads, all those who opposed him. Contrary to his expectations, the highest bounty was… Sniper-ya?

Roronoa looked to his captain, concern painted across his brow, “The hell did Usopp do to piss him off that bad?” That’s what he was wondering, as well. A wide grin grew across Strawhat’s face, “Shishishi, dunno! But I’m already excited to hear his story later!”

Law could only frown. This was an added complication- Doflamingo had managed to turn the situation against them even further, leveraging the peoples’ desperation to have the entire city target them.

Already, he could feel the citizens’ hearts shifting, seeing capturing the ‘bounties’ as an easier task than defeating the tyrant. He couldn’t blame them, only trying to survive against insurmountable odds in their city suddenly turned into a killing game.

Although, he already knew it was a lie- Doflamingo knew very well how many people could keep a secret, and would never let his people live now that they knew the truth.

Thankfully, Law noted, Rosie hadn’t been one of the bounties- so she was still safe, good. This also meant they still had an unknown player on the board that could move in secret- a sorely needed advantage.

King Riku next to him seemed to be frozen in silent panic, no doubt his experiences a decade ago holding him fast, and Viola laid a hand comfortingly on his arm, trying to gently bring the older man back. Law thought, almost hysterically, that the present wasn’t honestly much better, the desperate screaming of the people in the streets below them fraying his own grasp on the moment.

Zoro-ya’s report helped, letting him grasp onto new information to distract himself. Luckily, the Strawhats on board the Sunny had enough sense to leave, taking Caesar with them and removing the possibility of total victory from Doflamingo’s grasp. If there was any silver lining to this situation, it was that.

His eyes flicked inexorably back to the cage above them, unable to keep his gaze from it. Who was he kidding? There was no silver lining- this was just like thirteen-sixteen years ago! The screaming growing beneath them, the scent of ash on the wind, flashes of fire and fences and blood and guns and snow, Minion and Flevance melding into one in his mind.

And that wasn’t even taking into account the shadow of Kaido looming over them! They couldn’t do this, there was no way-

Strawhat was indignant at the very suggestion, and Law’s breath stopped for a moment, snapped from his spiral into panic at the other’s response.

Strawhat was right- how could they stop now? Even if the birdcage wasn’t trapping everyone inside, could he really justify leaving the people of Dressrosa to their fate? After Riku had extended forgiveness for his failure?

It didn’t matter if they could do it- they had to. Any thoughts of Kaido and long-term effects would have to wait until after they’d survived today.

Unfortunately, he was too trapped in his thoughts to react quickly enough when Strawhat picked him and Roronoa up under his arms and tossed all three of them off the cliff. The moment he got these cuffs off, he was going to kill this idiot, he swore.

It was both incredibly aggravating and demeaning, being tossed over Strawhat’s shoulder like a sack of grain, unable to see anything happening after his hood had fallen over his head.

All the help he could offer was warning Strawhat about the Officers they encountered, although all had changed greatly in the years between. Machvise had gotten older and fatter, Dellinger grown to a slender teen, and Señor Pink… he really wasn’t sure what was going on with Señor Pink, honestly.

Pica’s rage at his voice being mocked was the same as always, however- blinding and irrational- and actually gave them the momentary respite of being tossed away from the fight. Right into a man Strawhat called ‘Cabbage’, who had an equally irrational hatred of him.

Law had to give the other one thing, at least- he would never admit how much comfort he took from simply having his hat back. It had been with him longer than anything or anyone else, and he always felt bare without it.

Given how Cabbage said Sniper-ya, or ‘God Usopp’ as he’d called him (which… what?), had saved his life, Law had to assume he was the one who had undone the toy curse- that would indeed explain the other’s otherwise-disproportionately high bounty. Of course Doflamingo would be most enraged at the man who had single-handedly destroyed his slave empire.

They continued through the broken and deformed city, meeting up with a variety of strange personalities along the way. At least a dozen different colosseum combatants declared their intent to take Doflamingo’s head, in repayment to either Strawhat or his sniper, all while Strawhat angrily declared he would do it, almost fending off his ragtag collection of very insistent allies.

Part of Law wanted to laugh hysterically, at the sheer insanity of it all.

And then it somehow got even more ridiculous- he was strapped to the back of a bull, at the head of a crowd of former colosseum fighters, all bickering over who would take down Joker.

Law could do nothing but lay there and wonder where he’d gone wrong. His life was a joke, and Rosie was never going to let him live this down, even if he survived it. He was, once again, immeasurably glad she wasn’t here to see this.

In a moment of hysteria and ‘what the hell else can I do’, he decided Strawhat should probably know the real reason they were here. So he steeled himself, and he spoke.

---

Rosie had been too late to put her realization about the toys to effect, but it still lessened her own confusion, when everything seemed to touch off all at once- someone else had gotten the job done, good.

Still, she wasn’t entirely sure what was going on- she’d emerged underneath the Colosseum, in the midst of the chaos erupting there. But one glimpse of the sky- of the cage holding fast above them- had changed her priorities immediately.

The birdcage was a nightmare returned to strike at her heart- no, not again! Something inside her was instantly small again, a helpless child locked outside, screaming and crying for her family to be okay.

But she forcibly steadied her breathing, grasping desperately for her training to remain calm. She was inside the cage now, and that meant she wasn’t helpless- not this time.

Dressrosa had gone to hell much faster than Rosie had originally assumed- although, that was partially because the country had already been hell behind the scenes, and all they’d done was rip off the facade.

She took stock of what she knew- the toys were freed, the memories of their identities returned. The competition in the Colosseum had either completed or been abandoned with this revelation, and Joker had decided to raze his country to the ground rather than let knowledge of his crimes escape.

A futile effort, Rosie knew- all the organizations that had lost agents to his slave army over the years now remembered their lost people, and no doubt would put together where they had been all this time- but even the most collected of masterminds will resort to irrational cruelty when truly desperate.

And one last thing- the explosives she’d placed had shifted with Pica’s terraforming, no longer any help with destroying the factory. But she could still feel her detonators embedded in them, and where they had ended up… might be useful for later.

Right now, she knew she had to get to her brother- that same strange tightness in her, that sense that had warned her on Punk Hazard, was blaring now, urging her on to his side. The birdcage… She would not let this end the same way as last time, separated from her family and helpless to save them!

But the way forward was blocked by a ghost, a large frame obscuring the hall beyond.

Buffalo had been at Punk Hazard, but Rosie had avoided seeing him, too raw and exhausted from facing one nightmare to bear seeing another. She’d indulged her weakness then, and now wished she hadn’t- it would have been less painful, to be able to prepare to see him like this.

Buffalo had grown quite a bit- he was as big as a brick wall, his puffy coat hiding the musculature underneath. His face, so familiar, once so beloved, was fixed in a firm grimace- Joker’s symbol worn proudly there. He greeted her with a nod, something resigned but determined in his eyes, “Baby 5.”

Rosie’s hands fisted at her sides, teeth biting down savagely on her cigarette. Still, she managed to keep her voice calm and even when she spoke, “That’s not my name.”

He didn’t even blink. “I knew you’d come back, some day. I trusted you to come back. I didn’t realize it would be like this.” There was a strange hollowness to his tone.

Rosie extended a hand to him, “Come with me, Buffalo! We can be family again- a real family this time!” Please, couldn’t this end without a fight?

She knew Cora-san had wanted to take all the children away, and she wished fervently now that he had managed it. She’d loved Buffalo, once. He’d been a big brother, helpful and protective, always making her laugh and keeping her company.

But she could see now what she couldn’t see then- the shroud of Doflamingo’s influence, what it had done to Buffalo, to his sense of justice and morality. It made her shudder to think what might’ve become of her, kept beneath that same shroud. She was never more glad Cora-san had decided to kidnap her as well than in that moment.

Buffalo only scowled, “How could you- the Young Master took us in, gave us a home when everyone else rejected us! And you would ask me to betray him?” He shook his head solidly, eyes sharp, “No. You made your choice- but I’m loyal to the Family.”

He wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand- not like this. Buffalo had always been unfailingly loyal. Maybe he’d be easier to talk to once she beat him. She set herself and her resolve firmly.

Buffalo fell into a combat position, as well, mouth twisting into a grimace. His hands whirled on their wrists, the blades held within them spinning, before his hair began to do the same.

His wind was a deadly force, turning the hallway to a wind tunnel, and Rosie had to stab blade-heels into the ground to remain standing. Then something sliced her cheek- there were needles in the wind, a hailstorm of projectiles tossed about by Buffalo’s gale!

She became a tank, then- his blades couldn’t puncture her metal shell like they could skin. She blasted the hallway above his head, dropping tons of masonry atop him, but his strong frame hefted the weight aside.

Still, the propeller had stopped, and that was all she needed, shooting forward without hesitation. Her giant sickle arm met its target, drawing a deep gash in Buffalo’s cheek, but he caught her blade, torso spinning once and tossing her back the way she’d come.

Rosie skidded to a stop, heels circular saws digging into the ground, but Buffalo didn’t try and blow her away again. He only stood, a monolith blocking her path, eyes shadowed and blood streaming from his face.

She froze a moment, anchoring herself more firmly and shifting her arm to a cleaver in defense- was he preparing some special attack? But he didn’t move- it seems he didn’t want this fight, either.

Her mouth opened, against her better judgement, something about to spill from her lips, raw and vulnerable and ugly- then the ground shook beneath her feet.

The walls were starting to crumble around them, the screaming from outside filtering in, and Rosie snapped back to the world at large. Right- the entire country had become a war zone outside, trapped in the birdcage. This was what Doflamingo had done, what Buffalo was helping with.

She couldn’t afford to waste time reasoning with him- every second cost more lives, and kept her from her brother’s side. It was time to finish this.

Rosie made a grasping motion, pulling her arms across her chest tightly, “Iron Maiden!” With the sound of a guillotine falling, blades thrust out from every surface in the hallway, turning it into an unforgiving, deadly pincushion from all angles.

She didn’t allow herself the luxury of looking away as her blades pierced her opponent- this was a wound she had to face head-on.

Buffalo choked blood, shadowed face now visible- those were tears in his eyes, she finally saw- before it drooped, his body sagging with weakness. Blood dripped from his cheek like the tears didn’t, and a sad grin crept shakily across his face.

He almost looked relieved at being beaten, and the sudden realization hit her, why he had stopped- he couldn’t make himself hurt her. And how that felt like a knife in her own gut, that she couldn’t say the same for herself.

Her once-big-brother swayed, crumpled, wheezed in a distant, oddly contemplative tone, “I never… figured it out. Why were we left behind? I could’ve-… could’ve been good. If Cora-san was so kind… why didn’t he take all of us?”

Rosie’s breath hitched in a sob, and she squinted her eyes shut. She wanted to say he would’ve come back for the other children- that his plan had been to get them two safe and settled somewhere and then return to complete his mission and take down the Family entire… But the truth was that she didn’t know- she couldn’t know.

The fight was over then, Buffalo falling senseless and defeated. Rosie felt no sense of triumph, only a hollow sort of pain. The blades that the hall had become retracted, but the ones in her didn’t- she couldn’t muster the part of herself that wasn’t a weapon, right now. Not without breaking down entirely.

Still, she shifted his giant form to a more comfortable position, taking a silent moment to bandage his wounds. It felt like mourning, like burying someone, although Buffalo was still alive.

And then a voice rang out, quiet and hesitating, from behind her. “…Baby 5?”

She stopped- hearing that name still hurt, but- this time, it didn’t sound like someone trying to make her the person they remembered. It sounded like someone seeing a ghost.

She almost didn’t turn, unsure if she was strong enough to face Dellinger, but eventually managed it. No longer the little toddler she’d cared for, but a teenager- he was still shorter than her, but his legs were long, his figure developing into a pre-adult sort of lean musculature.

He’d clearly been part of the battle- his teeth were sharp, blood staining them, his horns exposed and skin scuffed and glistening with sweat. But his eyes were so, so young, fixed on her alone.

Was she going to have to fight him, too?

It was so long ago she had resolved herself to the idea, weighed the people Baby 5 had loved against the people Rosie loved and made a decision. But it didn’t hurt any less, facing it now.

But Buffalo hadn’t wanted to fight her, either- not really. She wouldn’t make the same mistake with Dellinger.

She lowered her weapons, finally turning back into just herself. Whatever happened, she wanted to face Dellinger as herself.

But the boy- he was just a boy- made no move to attack, as if he were locked in place, staring at her. He seemed to crumple in slow motion- first his face collapsed into a sort of devastation, then his knees wobbled and gave out, and he dropped to the ground in a sobbing heap.

“You left! You left me! I remember- you were the one who carried me and tied my shoelaces and wiped my snotty nose, and- and then one day you were just gone, and- no one ever told me why!”

Rosie fell next to him, pulled him into a hug- strange, how he still felt, in so many ways, like the baby she’d held once. He was so small against her, limbs still thin and disproportionate from puberty. His horns dug at her shoulder, his sobs muffled around sharp teeth, and pointed nails clutched tightly around her back.

She petted his hair soothingly, “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my choice to leave, but it was my choice to stay away. I should’ve come and stolen you away, brought you with us.”

She didn’t think she could’ve- Doflamingo was incredibly possessive of those he considered ‘his’, and she was no match for him- but… she could’ve tried, she could’ve done something.

But she had another chance, now, and she wouldn’t leave Dellinger behind this time. “I missed you, so much.”

Chapter 37: Chaos

Chapter Text

Law was cursing himself again, his lack of foresight having pushed this situation far outside of his ability to plan. That well… that could’ve been it, right there. Doflamingo had both him and Strawhat utterly helpless, trapped in a well of all things- he could’ve ended it right then, had he not wanted Law alive.

He hated to admit that the two hangers-on who had followed them onto the bull had actually been useful- first by defending his helpless form during the fighting, then by saving them both from Doflamingo’s string clone.

Joker’s words stuck with him. True, this would all be easier if he were like Doflamingo, if he could allow himself to shut off all empathy and focus only on what he wanted.

But he had long forbidden himself from that sort of path. Cora-san hadn’t given up his life for Law to throw away everything he’d taught him. He’d been saved, and he wasn’t going back to who he had once been- just like Cora-san had said, he had nothing to gain from this incarnation of destruction!

Even if he had grown soft… it was better than the selfish cruelty that allowed Doflamingo to use everyone around him as no more than pawns. He’d rather be soft any day than fall into that kind of mindset!

After the well, at least Strawhat finally lost his patience with this method of travel, and simply burst through to the step above, sending stone flying with a frustrated punch and slingshotting them both.

From so high up, the ground spun in his gaze. The city below them had been reduced to rubble, mostly from Pica’s deformation of the ground toppling buildings. People scrambled like ants, from the flames, from the crumbling remnants of their home, from their countrymen whose bodies were held up in strings and puppeted against them.

Just like that day, thirteen years ago- he could hear the distant screams of the Barrels Pirates in his mind again, mixing with the pleas from below them, all the citizens of this country crying out together in desperation. Despair. Hopelessness. Rage.

Cabbage found them, the other fighters having caught up during their ‘detour’. There was a new ride, this time- a smaller, less comfortable one- and a new hanger-on as well, in the gladiator who had decapitated Doflamingo’s string clone. Kyros was a severe-looking man, with hard eyes and one leg missing halfway down the thigh.

Law had enough space and energy to at least ponder the wound- it was clean, somehow seeming both fresh and years old at once, as there was no blood, but the flesh was exposed and raw. The effects of the body being held effectively in stasis for years were strange ones. Were Law’s hands free, he would insist on treating it- but that would have to wait.

The colosseum fighters opened a path for them through the chaos, working together finally. But their progress was stopped once more in a field of giant nutcrackers.

These toys were different from the others, in an unnerving way. Larger, yes, but also… uncoordinated, almost drunken, as if… A sick feeling fell into his gut. As if each one contained multiple minds all forced together, incapable of moving like a person.

Seeing these awful toy abominations- these people?- and what the gladiator Kyros had been turned into, he was forced to confront the idea of the Hobby-Hobby fruit as possibly the most horrifying one he’d ever seen.

The ability to transform someone into a helpless toy and enslave them to your will, as well as removing them from the memories of all around them… He couldn’t think of an ability more suited for evil purposes.

These monstrosities were strong, as well- tanking whatever damage inflicted upon them and standing again each time. No wonder, if they had the endurance of multiple people.

The giant toy looming over them suddenly exploded, smoke guttering from its mouth as it fell backwards. He knew exactly who had come for them, even before Rosie stepped out of the haze. But she wasn’t alone- following behind her was… Dellinger?

Rosie tutted at him- she wetted a handkerchief, wiped the dried blood from his face. He contemplated telling her it wasn’t all his own blood, but wisely decided that saying such wouldn’t have the desired effect. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she’d been crying, but now were hard, focused.

His own eyes went to the boy at his sister’s side, who finally came into full view through the smoky atmosphere.

Dellinger put a hand in front of his face in shock, clawed fingers splayed wide. “Big brother Law? Oh wow, I barely remember you! You’re not as scowly as you used to be.” He raised a brow at Rosie, who just grinned at him- stealing away members of the Family, apparently.

He hadn’t ever thought too much about what happened to the other kids left with the Family, but Dellinger’s eyes were also red and puffy, and his smile wobbled, and his hand grasped Rosie’s tightly.

Dellinger was only sixteen- still a child, although his own younger self would have detested being called such, but he could see the vast differences in maturity, looking back.

The other had never known anything at all outside the Family, having been raised by them from an infant. Any positive influences had been gone from his life by age three, as well.

Was that… guilt he felt, at having escaped the Family where Dellinger hadn’t? He couldn’t turn back time, couldn’t have asked for Cora-san to drag a toddler along on their dangerous journey, but his unconscious mind made him consider that could-have-been world anyway.

Could he have had another little brother? …Could he still?

“You understand what we’re doing, right? We’re taking down Doflamingo.” Law tried to look confident and authoritative, still very aware his hands were cuffed behind his back.

Luckily, Dellinger didn’t seem to notice, only wiping his wet eyes. “Yeah. I… can’t do this anymore. It wasn’t ever the same after you three left. The Young Master was… he never stopped being angry, after- that quiet, tense sort of angry that made everyone else anxious. He was never mean to me, but- still.”

His face, still soft with baby fat, crumpled, tears shining unshed. “I just- I just wanted a family, and- along the way, we stopped being that. I’ve been fooling myself for a long time into thinking I could make it happen again, but- I can’t.” The teen took a deep, shaky breath, bolstered himself and drew his shoulders back in determination. “I’ll help.”

Rosie smiled proudly, then turned to Law, crossing her arms. “You’re lucky I have contacts. We’ll be having words later.” The arch of her brow made the words into somehow both a reprimand and a threat. He only nodded, resigned- if they all made it through this, he would deserve it.

The reunion was cut short by the giant toys around them juddering, starting to regain their feet.

Rosie grinned fiercely, and became a grenade launcher, firing expertly- the giant toys toppled, billowing smoke from their mouths.

Dellinger followed her lead, knocking them down with powerful kicks and taking chunks out of them with his teeth. It didn’t stop them entirely, but it slowed them enough for the others to regroup.

His sister glanced back at him, a hard grin held tight on her mouth, “We’ll clear the path for you. Go on ahead- I’ll meet you there!”

With the others behind holding off the giant toys and the transparent stairs made by that strange, crying rooster man pointing them straight on, Strawhat finished his race to the top, where Rebecca was waiting with the key.

At last! He felt the strength rush back to his body, the familiar hum of his powers finally back where they belonged under his skin, at his fingertips. He felt as if he were vibrating inside, all the anticipation turned to pure adrenaline in his veins as he glared up at the palace.

It was ironic, wasn’t it- he was the only one not fighting for sheer survival at this point. The only one who could easily escape the island, with his powers. And he had to stay, because everything here came down to him. A confrontation thirteen years in the making- it started with him, and it had to end with him.

---

Of all the Family she’d seen today, Gladius had changed least, to Rosie’s memory. He had always been a more distant figure- although not much older than Buffalo, he’d viewed himself as too mature to take part in the children’s games, their pranks and adventures.

But she remembered his kindness- quiet and simple, an attentive ear when she talked and a stoic shoulder to cry on. When she’d tried to bake and burned the cookies, he’d eaten them without complaint, even complimenting her skills, and would wear the string bracelets she’d made him until they frayed to nothing.

She remembered his anger, as well- explosive and unpredictable, protective above all else. There had been times he’d blown up entire enemy camps because one of them had scratched her.

But she was no longer under the scope of that protection. Gladius was intensely loyal to Doflamingo, and if there was one thing he hated most, it was betrayal. There would be no mercy for them- not from him.

His hands fisted tightly enough she could almost hear the leather creak, his all-consuming rage combusting the very air around him in red-white sparks of tension. He screamed, “Traitors, all of you!”

Dellinger took a step back- he glanced to Rosie, sharp teeth biting through his lip to keep it from wobbling, “I- I don’t want to fight him.” She patted his cheek comfortingly, “I won’t make you. Go take over for the lady with lots of hands, so she can help the others. Stay with one of the Strawhats, and we’ll find each other once this is all over.”

The teen nodded reluctantly, leaving her side, and Rosie steeled herself. She was not going to make Dellinger into a weapon, not like Doflamingo had done to her. This was something she had to do herself.

She wasted no time against Gladius, deadly blades puncturing his pressurized limbs before they could blow. Explosion met explosion, doubling each other, carving pits and gouges into the ground until no one outside dared approach, but it was a war of attrition, neither one gaining the upper hand. Rosie’s own powers weren’t a particularly good counter to Gladius’, fighting fire with fire.

But… she glanced over her shoulder towards the others- Barrier-Boy back there could reign in his blasts.

The giant toys dissolved suddenly, each one falling apart into multiple people- footsoldiers of the Family. They must be getting desperate, then.

That freed up Barrier-Boy to assist her (which he was falling over himself to do once she told him she needed to help the Strawhats). With her restraining Gladius’ rage-filled eruptions, the other finished it with a solid, Barrier-strengthened punch.

Still, Rosie had one more thing she had to do, before joining her brother at the palace. She had to find someone.

She cursed to herself, biting down hard on her cigarette, “Ugh, this is chaos!” And not even the good kind of chaos, that made it easy to move around in! Dagama the tactician had done his best at sorting out this motley crew of fighters into a unified front, but this was unsalvageable, as far as order went.

The Pica statue was too large for her to explore its surface alone, and there wasn’t time for that in any case! She flew over, scanning the ground for- there!

“Roronoa! I’ve got something that’ll force Pica out of hiding!” The swordsman nodded, his frustration at the Officer’s constant stalling evident. “Do it! I’m getting sick of this prick hiding!”

Rosie turned her arms into scythes, something like a metal mantis, and with a harsh thrust, buried them deep in the stone. She reached for her detonators, sensing them out within the stone body, and triggered them.

The world exploded beneath them- Usopp had not been exaggerating about the power of his bombs, dear seas- and the stone stopped moving, Pica melting out of it not far away, visibly wounded by the blast.

She grabbed up the swordsman by the back of his coat, rocketing forward, “I’m going to bring you right to him- can’t get lost that way!” He made an incomprehensible mutter under his breath, but hung ready in her grip, and she dropped the swordsman directly atop Pica’s head, the impact of his strong slash nearly a bomb in its own right.

That was all the help she could lend him now- the final battle had begun, up atop the palace, and she needed to be at her brother’s side.

Chapter 38: Strings

Chapter Text

It was finally time.

Law and Strawhat left the Sunflower Field behind, Rebecca and her father Kyros fighting side by side against Diamante.

In the courtyard of the palace, all was stillness, seeming to echo after all the chaos behind them. With little more than a twitch, the bullets that had hung in his flesh for hours now sat in his palm, shiny and brassed with his blood.

Lead. Of course Doflamingo would deliberately use lead bullets. Five of them, as well- the same as back then. Law would put money on it even being the same gun he’d killed Cora-san with. Doflamingo seemed the type to hang onto it, for ‘sentimental reasons’.

He patched himself up as well as he could manage in the few spare moments they had- he had to be ready for this fight, thirteen years in the making.

While he worked, he did his best to impress upon the other the importance of keeping his cool. If they were going to win this… Strawhat couldn’t go all straightforward ballistic like he was known to. They needed to retain control, and not let Joker wrest it from them.

One more distraction faced them, in the form of a little girl that approached the pair, but it was quickly resolved. He didn’t see what flew past them, but the little girl shrieked and passed out. No matter- Doflamingo was their priority here.

The final steps up to the palace were deserted. It was oddly silent, even the chaos outside seemingly muffled by the altitude and the dense stone. He took a measure of comfort in the quiet, letting it slow his speeding heart, and grasped for one last deep breath, before the clack of his shoes on the steps broke the silence.

Strawhat stood by his side, and both of them ascended together.

Doflamingo was lounging casually in his throne atop the roof, as if the air around them weren’t full of screams, as if the scent of blood and smoke didn’t waft up to them from the falling city.

The bastard seemed completely nonchalant at their appearance, and Law set himself firmly- it was Doflamingo’s turn to underestimate him, this time.

There was an easy sort of humor in Joker’s voice when he spoke, “I guess I might as well ask… just in case… Why are you here?” Strawhat immediately shot back, “To kick your ass!” Law just scowled, “Same.”

As if there could be any other reason? If Doflamingo still had any thoughts of Law crawling back to his side… he’d have to very firmly disabuse the bastard of them, right here and now.

The other just chuckled, head resting on a fist, “What a disappointment. Law, is that any way to talk to your beloved uncle?” Strawhat glanced at him, but said nothing, and he gritted his teeth to keep from sneering. Calm, he had to hold onto calm.

It was then Strawhat noticed the crumpled figure fallen at Joker’s feet- a bloodied, pulped mess of a man, bleeding dangerously. Law’s doctor instincts urged him forwards- someone in danger, he could help- but he hung back warily, knowing the false king far too well.

This was who Doflamingo was, who he’d always been. He saw others as insects, as tools to be used and thrown away. This poor bastard was yet another example of someone who’d misplaced their trust in him.

Joker’s grin stretched wide across his cheeks, almost a mockery of the one that had painted Cora-san’s face, and it was gleefully cruel. “I’m so furious, all I can do is laugh! Do you know how angry it makes me, hearing those fools rambling about their new ‘god’? They don’t know what a god is. I’ll show them. There’s only one god in this land.”

Strawhat’s eyes narrowed, and Law could feel that protective hellishness rise in the rubber man at the threat to his crewmate. It was well-warranted, given he could imagine what Doflamingo would do if he got his hands on the sniper, but he couldn’t allow their plan to fall apart now because Strawhat got pissed off.

Doflamingo was excellent at this- at stealing others’ momentum and knocking everything off course. Law had already been overcome by that once today- he wasn’t going to let it happen again.

Then the fallen man leapt forward, at the same moment another string clone engaged Law. Strawhat tried to reason with the other, holding off blows, but Law wasn’t convinced the man could even see through the tears and blood in his eyes, much less move his own body enough to fight. “He’s being controlled, Strawhat! You’ll have to knock him out!”

This was part of why he hadn’t wanted any of his siblings involved- it was exactly Doflamingo’s style to puppet people like that, pit friends against each other!

Strawhat’s cool didn’t last as long as he’d hoped, in the face of the provocation- clearly, he’d expected too much of the other, being able to hold back. But he went along with it, unwilling to miss any chance to damage Joker.

It was almost a sort of high, taking Joker by surprise like this. For just one moment, he’d stolen the throne from Doflamingo, watched the other spit blood from the ground. It felt ecstatically good, sitting here, but then it suddenly felt disgusting for the same reason, and he abandoned it.

He growled at his ally, “You’re the worst!” The rubber man only grinned, infuriatingly enough, and shot back, “You’re in the same generation!” Again, he was going to kill this idiot.

Unfortunately, the momentum was taken from them once more, Doflamingo recovering quickly. That move wouldn’t work again, he knew- he’d have to come up with a new plan on the spot. He hadn’t counted on Trebol being here for support, either, and didn’t react quickly enough to prevent himself being caught in the other’s slime.

Wires stabbed through him, a white-hot pain almost cold in its intensity. He choked where he stood, pinned like an insect, and crumpled when they withdrew.

He cursed himself- they’d given up their trump card at the beginning of the game, and with it, almost every advantage they’d held. And soon, both allies were on the ground at Joker’s feet.

As Doflamingo monologued, horror grew heavy inside Law. He was wrong. It wasn’t monstrosity that had tossed the Donquixote family from their perch in the heavens- it was the opposite.

Doflamingo’s parents had claimed their birthright as humans, sacrificing godhood for a normal life, and it was this that made them so low in Doflamingo’s eyes. It sat like sickness in his gut, as much as it made sense.

And in an attempt to regain his seat in the heavens, Doflamingo had killed his own father, carried his head back to Mariejois. No wonder Cora-san had been so certain, when he’d lied to Law that day, had been able to predict how Doflamingo would react to his betrayal- he knew his brother had no qualms with killing family.

With rejection on all sides, Doflamingo had vowed to destroy everything he could get his hands on- It all sounded so horribly familiar. Just like that traumatized, hate-ridden child Law had once been. It answered why Cora-san had been so desperate to take him away from the Family, if he had been so similar.

Only Doflamingo had never been dragged from that mindset, never grown up out of it. He had the irrational, single-minded hatred of a wronged child, and the intelligence and skills of a vengeful man to back it up.

Once again, Law saw before him a mirror-image, what he could’ve been if Cora-san hadn’t saved him, and he was forever grateful that hadn’t come to pass.

The rage came off of the man before him in waves, like heat radiating from molten metal. “Can you even imagine what humans would do… to a fallen Celestial Dragon?” Doflamingo growled, flames reflected in the darkened shades of his glasses, his feather mantle almost seeming alight in the ash-laden breeze. “Centuries of hatred, they carved into us.”

Flashes of scars passed by Law's eyes- the gnarled, ugly things on Cora-san’s wrists, the twisted mess of his ankles. He could imagine, suddenly, how a population so wronged by the Nobles would react to a family of them helpless in their grasp.

Soon, Law’s only ally was gone, knocked down to the floor below along with that puppeted man and Doflamingo’s string clone. He could hear combat continuing below them, so Strawhat wasn’t defeated, but that meant he was alone here, against both Doflamingo and Trebol.

Still, none of what Doflamingo had said answered how he was still capable of wielding the powers of the Nobles- CP0, the Admiral… If he’d been rejected, he should be nothing more than the rest of them here below. The bastard laughed, spoke about a secret treasure in Mariejois- a treasure he could only utilize properly with the result of Law’s ultimate power- immortality.

Doflamingo still wanted him to die for his sake, was still deluded into thinking there was anything he could do that would make Law give it to him.

For just a flash, Law was back in that treasure chest, overhearing Doflamingo hiss, “I’ll have to raise him to die for me.” He forcibly shoved the memories back, bracing himself.

He had overcome his fate, when Cora-san saved him. He would do so once again. He would finally fulfill Cora-san’s mission, his hopes, and only then, would he truly be free.

Although, he might have to start putting more stock in fate- all this time, and Doflamingo had been one of that class the D’s were said to oppose by very nature. Enemies of the gods indeed. If there was anything he could say that would put his opponent off-kilter…

As he knew it would, the reveal of his own secret bloodline enraged Doflamingo, the strength behind his blow seeming to double. Law struggled to parry it, but forged on- if he kept prodding, maybe he could shake Joker’s control, force him into mistakes. Until he managed that… he’d just have to bear the brunt of the bastard’s growing ferocity.

He kept it up, letting thirteen years of rage and resolution fuel him. He got one good shot in to injure Doflamingo, a mirror to his own bullet wound in a small dose of payback. “That was only the catalyst… Cora-san was too kind-hearted to pull the trigger that day, so I’ve come to do it for him!”

A vein visibly pulsed in Doflamingo’s temple, and the next slice of wires almost knocked Law off his feet entirely. Even tossing the palace tower at Doflamingo didn’t faze him, the other’s expression dark and firm, and Law’s hand was caught in an unbreakable grip. He gritted his teeth- he might’ve pushed too far.

Doflamingo raised them both up high over the palace, balanced effortlessly on a wire- Law dangled from his hold. The false king jeered, “Take a good look around you, Law- all this devastation happened because of you, because you failed today. Because you let your own need for revenge outweigh your sense. If you’d let your plan play out, Kaido would’ve wasted me easily. But you decided you wanted to take me out yourself, and now everyone’s going to die for your selfishness, for your hubris.

“And that day, too- your failure thirteen years ago is why all the countless tragedies of this country occurred!”

A strange sort of calm settled over him, even as he hung helpless in Doflamingo’s grasp. Regardless of what Law himself believed about his culpability in where they were today, he knew Doflamingo didn’t truly believe a single thing he’d said- he would say anything, true or untrue, if it advanced his own goals. Nothing Law had or hadn’t done would’ve kept Doflamingo from Dressrosa, he knew that now.

He honed in on the single word that surprised him, “So even you consider them to be tragedies?”

It only proved what he already knew- Doflamingo knew exactly what he was doing to others, the harm he was causing, and it was the entire point. Law was starting to doubt, even, if Doflamingo had taken Dressrosa because he felt it his birthright, or simply because he wanted to inflict as much suffering as possible.

He understood the bastard now, in a way he hated he could- Doflamingo was him, if he had only continued on the dark course he’d fallen into. He had no real goal beyond destroying everything he could get his hands on, and the sentiment was as foreign now as it had once been familiar.

Law’s other hand was captured, and he braced himself- the grip was too tight to escape, Doflamingo’s strength too much to fight against like this. He would just have to endure whatever the bastard planned.

Then a whistling noise sounded, and Doflamingo released him just in time to avoid being cut in half by a wickedly sharp blade- it turned into Rosie, and she caught Law, carrying him safely to the ground.

He brushed fingers absently along his arm, intimately aware of how close he had come to losing it just then. And the fight entirely- he wasn’t egoistic enough to think he could win against Doflamingo one-handed.

Joker put his hands in his pockets nonchalantly, leering at Rosie, “And the little sister to the rescue. How cute.” He tilted his head, scuffing his heels on the broken stone as if having a chat about the weather, “I heard about your nice new name. Rosie. Just like my mother.”

A laugh, “Rosie~” The way he said her name, drawing it out like that… Law wanted to cut his tongue out.

“Can’t you see how much I need you?” His voice was oily, his smile a wicked rictus. A spike of fear shot cold and sharp through Law, though one glance at his sister told him he shouldn’t have worried.

Rosie stood stone still next to him- her shoulders hitched up by her ears, hands fisting tightly enough that her nails bit through skin, and she just sneered at him. “I am not your weapon anymore.”

Doflamingo shrugged lazily, smile never slipping, “Well, it was worth a try.” Law wanted nothing more than to finally, finally pierce that insufferable grin.

He hated this man, and he hated particularly how much he looked like Cora-san. Like some horrid, twisted version of their dad- the same height and build, the same shade of golden hair, but this wide smile across his face was very real, and it was cruel and malicious. The figure that towered over them was not comforting or protective- it was a threat, a dominating presence.

Couldn’t Doflamingo see that he had caused this? If he had just let them go that day, let Cora-san and the kids leave in peace, this wouldn’t be happening.

They would have their little house in their little village, and Law would have dedicated himself to medicine, caring nothing at all of piracy and leaving all hatred behind. He knew he at least was selfish enough to have let Doflamingo continue his conquest, as long as his little family was untouched.

But Doflamingo had taken Cora-san from them, had taken that chance from them, and in doing so, ensured a lifelong crusade against him. That had been his mistake, and he would pay for it now.

---

Every fiber in Rosie’s body was still, firm and cold and sharp, in that moment the consummate weapon- but only her own weapon, no one else’s.

She had known this was a probability when she’d come to Dressrosa, but she had half-convinced herself Doflamingo wouldn’t even bother. But he had- he had tried to manipulate her back into that old programming, reduce her back into the abused child eager to please.

It almost surprised her. And she was surprised at her own reaction to it, as well. She felt no fear, no hatred- only disgust.

It almost made her laugh, at the futility of his half-hearted overture- less a true attempt and more a gleeful prod at sore places, wanting to see her flinch. She would not allow him the pleasure of it.

She knew, now, that she had never meant anything to Doflamingo at all. That she had only ever been a tool, a weapon. He wouldn’t have had her think so, of course, would have let her believe she was special to be allowed to serve him.

And once upon a time, a lifetime ago, she would have basked in it, striven to make herself useful to him in whatever way she could, still trapped in that old pathological need to be needed.

But Rosie had been saved by her dad and brother, had grown beyond that dependence with their help. And she had spent far too long in the shadows of the world to be ignorant of how Doflamingo really thought.

He didn’t see any of them as people- no enemy was more than an insect to be squashed, no ally more than a tool to be wielded by his will. Toys, all of them, to be controlled and played with as he willed, consequence free.

He might fool the others in his Family that he cared for them- he might even fool himself, on occasion. But Rosie didn’t believe it.

Her gaze shifted, catching the executive trying to slip behind them in the oozing slabs Law had reduced him to. Rosie didn’t hesitate, hand transforming into a dart gun - she shot Trebol multiple times, eyes hard. The other only cackled, unharmed by the projectiles that sank into his goopy flesh, before frowning suddenly.

The slime was hardening before their eyes, becoming thick and inflexible. Trebol tried to move and failed, twitching jerkily- he seemed like an overset gel, surface rippling but inelastic. “What? Th-This is impossible!”

Rosie grinned ferociously, "I’ve got a friend who’s a chemist- he had just the thing for you!” Usopp had inspired her to branch out- with his help, Rosie was trying out a few weapons that were a bit more… chemical in nature.

Accordingly, the injection of concentrated sodium borate caused Trebol’s slimey consistency to set quickly, crusting over and breaking.

She advanced on the executive menacingly, arms becoming carving knives- perhaps she’d slice him into tiny gelatinous cubes, deliver him to the Marines locked in an airtight freezer?

The disgusting bastard tried to flee from her, but she didn’t relent, not giving him even a moment to recover. She had killed Vergo- had stabbed him in the heart without hesitation- and would have no more mercy for Trebol.

He’d always been a creep, but even beneath that, the rest of him was no more noble. He was devious, a masterclass manipulator in the same vein as Doflamingo- part of the reason Joker had become the way he had, even.

She’d handled Doflamingo’s gun only once, back when she was his willing weapon, but she remembered clearly the things that gun had told her- blood and dirt and screaming, a canvas bag dripping and heavy, white marble floors streaked and sticky. “I can give you the power to enact vengeance…”, the words that hung in the weapon’s spirit, imprinted in its very being.

She had not seen the horror in it then, too accustomed to violence in her childish ignorance.

But Rosie knew exactly who had given Doflamingo the means to take his revenge, who had handed him the gun and the fruit that would allow him to weaponize his anger. Who had provided him that encouragement he needed to dive headfirst into an endless chasm of hatred and vengeance, an inescapable, self-perpetuating spiral of cruelty.

Trebol and the other executives had deliberately fanned the flames of Doflamingo’s madness and rage, because it made him, and by proxy themselves, powerful.

She knew Cora-san had wished he could save his brother, wished Doflamingo hadn’t become like this- she’d seen it in his melancholy, the way he’d watched her and Law bicker with a sort of quiet, exhausted yearning, the way he’d had to harden his will to even speak poorly of his brother.

Even to the end, Cora-san had loved the person his brother had once been. And although it was Doflamingo who twisted himself into something different, it was the executives who ensured there was no going back.

And it was for the sake of that dead dream that Rosie cut Trebol down.

In the end, he was only a pathetic old man, stripped of all his layers and laid bare skin and underclothes to the sky- years of protective mucus and rubbery slime had been shorn away, and the man beneath was nothing but a pitiful fool who had hitched himself to the coattails of the powerful like a parasite.

He wobbled a moment, joints knobby and weak, and collapsed defeated in a heap of spindly limbs not even strong enough to hold his own weight.

Rosie blew a lock of hair out of her face, frowning at the mess Trebol had become, and turned back to her brother. It was time to finish this.

Chapter 39: Demons

Chapter Text

Law could hear the sounds of battle behind him as Rosie fought Trebol, but Doflamingo didn’t leave him idle, striking with rage-fueled power, each one jarring his arms and testing his endurance. He couldn’t hold on much longer, faltering under the strength and ferocity of the blows.

Then Rosie was suddenly beside him, arms blades locked next to his, and together they pushed Doflamingo back.

He still looked unfazed, the bastard- nothing more than a bit of blood crusted on his jaw from Strawhat’s blow earlier. It drew out his grin on one side, made it look lopsided and crazed- some awful mockery of Cora-san’s smiling paint.

It was only the three of them on the rooftop now, the palace raised high above the country, hidden in a strange hush above the screaming bedlam below. Even Strawhat’s fight only feet below them seemed somehow quiet and distant.

Doflamingo shook his head, seeming disappointed, almost- the bastard actually tutted at them, and Law sneered. He was still treating them like nothing more than naughty children.

“You brats might have your little imaginary family, might think your precious Cora-san would’ve stayed and raised you… but you don’t know my brother like I do. He wouldn’t have stayed for long, played house with you kids. Want to know why?”

His grin stretched out so wide and cruel and gleeful. “Because the world couldn’t have us as gods, so it made us into demons. And Roci knew, deep down, he was the same kind of monster as me. My poor little brother would’ve been too afraid of corrupting you kids, making you just like us.”

Law grinned to himself- he’d already seen through Doflamingo’s machinations. Cora-san would have stayed- has stayed, this whole time, in their little house in the little village, waiting for them to join him.

The siblings both spoke at once, “You’re wrong.” Law glanced over, saw his same steady knowledge in Rosie’s eyes- when had she had cause to visit Cora-san in the afterlife?

That evil smile only grew wider, unaware of what they knew, “Am I? My little brother was very good at lying, covering up his true nature. But if you never saw the demon in him… you never knew him at all.”

He had seen the demon in Cora-san- the irrepressible anger the man had struggled to control. He remembered being shielded behind it, hidden in its wake. He’d inherited it, used it to protect his own people.

But the difference was that, where Cora-san’s anger had been protective, fueled by compassion and justice, Doflamingo’s was sad*stic and selfish, centered only on control and domination.

It was Doflamingo who didn’t understand his own brother- couldn’t understand anything without the lens of self-enrichment.

The smile disappeared, something grim and flat in its place. The first time he’d really seen Doflamingo without any trace of that rictus grin, and it was terrifying.

“He won, that day. And I didn’t even realize it. He got everything he wanted- he successfully distracted me from you two kids so you could get away, and that was all he cared about. My stupid little brother giving up everything for a pair of brats.”

Doflamingo cackled, something in him seeming to loom enormous and dark against the bright blue sky. Law felt suddenly small in the shadow of him, felt like nothing more than that terrified thirteen year old, hidden away inside a chest and listening to Cora-san die for him.

“I hope he’s watching now, so he can see me render all his sacrifices moot when you die.”

Law shivered at the sudden chill that drew into his lungs. The walls of the chest felt like they were closing in on him, hard wood crushing around him, his own chest drawing inwards around his frozen heart.

The void that had torn open inside him that day howled, and he momentarily collapsed into the memories- not this- not again- I can’t-!

Then something cold and sharp crept into his blood, a firm resolve, achingly familiar in its absolution, replacing the fear in him. It wasn’t a determination, but a surety. He would not allow this.

The scenery around him seemed to flicker beneath the birdcage- a stark gray sky instead of taunting blue, snow falling instead of ash and cinders- and he held off the shiver from a nonexistent chill. He felt so much larger than he was, in that moment.

Doflamingo’s grin then was darkly satisfied, somehow both perfectly calm and entirely unhinged. “I knew that demon of his wouldn’t have died so easily. Hello again, little brother.”

Strangely, he didn’t sound mocking, then. Instead, he sounded… almost proud?

Law had always known there was a sort of madness to Doflamingo- some internal logic to the man that was out of step with reality. It was part of why he was so terrifying- that utter disregard of others, that twisted determination to shape the world to his image.

And now the bastard was seeing ghosts- fitting, that he now faced the legacies of that very ghost, come back to end him.

This strange energy fueled him, pushed back the pain and the fear and the near-hysterical voice in the back of his head that sounded like nothing at all.

Law would not let Doflamingo force his will onto their reality, would not let him shape this world any longer- he struck, Rosie leaping to the opposite side in a pincer to split Doflamingo’s attention.

For a moment, it seemed to work- their teamwork was seamless, each knowing exactly what the other would do without having to communicate, and they were advancing on Doflamingo, forcing his guard to its limit.

Then came a sound he’d hoped to never hear- a shriek of mixed pain and terror, high and unrestrained. His breath caught in his throat, as surely as if a hand had closed around it.

For a moment, he heard nothing- the entire roof silenced in his shock, mind whited out of all thought. Then it all roared back into sudden clarity, every drop of Rosie's blood hitting the stone as loud as an explosion. No.

His worst nightmare had come true. His sister dangled, limp, from iridescent wires hooked into her skin, every joint pinned- her hair hung loose over her face, brow and mouth visible creased with pain, body trembling. "Rosie!"

Doflamingo laughed, sneered at her, “What, is this familiar to you? What was that you said? ‘Not my weapon’? Brat. Everyone is mine- they’re useful to me, or they die.”

His finger twitched, and one of Rosie’s hands, still a vicious blade, went shakily to her throat- the deadly edge of it drew a line of blood from her pale skin, vibrant and shocking.

Rosie gritted her teeth, clearly fighting through incredible pain- a single hiccuped sob escaped her, but nothing else.

Law’s hand clenched painfully around Kikoku’s hilt, the blade visibly shaking in his grip as he fought against himself. He was close to begging, the words already forming in his mouth- anything to stop Doflamingo from hurting, killing Rosie- but the glare she shot him, fiery and determined and holding onto herself by ragged fingernails, made him swallow them back.

If he gave Doflamingo what he wanted… he wasn’t foolish enough to believe the bastard would let either of them survive. They would die regardless- so they would die fighting him to the end. If this was how it went... So be it.

Doflamingo looked down at both of them, that vein in his temple pulsing. “And you two… I’m tired of giving you chances. I’ll have better luck with the next fools I give your powers to.”

Then Rosie was flung forward, limbs stretched in that awful marionette-mimicry of combat. He raised the flat of his blade in defense- he couldn’t hurt her, he knew he couldn’t.

But this attack didn’t go how Doflamingo planned- her arms reverted to flesh with another restrained noise of agony, the strike missing him by several inches.

Their eyes met, and Rosie forced a wobbly grin. It was the smallest of reliefs- Doflamingo could control her limbs, but he couldn’t force her to transform, and unarmed like this, her use as a puppet was limited.

The bastard only shrugged, nonplussed. “Well, you’re out of the way, at least.” He drew his hand back, yanking her to the side, and smirked, “You can watch, just as helpless as last time.”

And he turned on Law.

Law could hear his sister straining against the wires that captured her- grunts of exertion, gasps of pain, increasingly panicked as she tried futilely to escape, as he fought alone against their shared nightmare.

The thudding pulse of his own heart in his head almost drowned her out entirely, that demon within him flaring up in equal parts dread and protective rage and primal fear. If he could just- just have a hand free for a moment, he could-

But Doflamingo allowed him no such leeway, pressing forward inexorably in his advance. He gritted his teeth, cast his gaze wide for any spark of inspiration, anything to grant him just a moment of reprieve.

He received none, and was quickly overwhelmed. With one final, brutal hit, his sword was knocked away, his legs kicked from under him. Law hit the ground hard, breath evacuating his lungs, and Doflamingo loomed over him, pinning him in place beneath his heel.

His vision was filled, suddenly, with the glint of an all-too familiar gun, Doflamingo’s cruel smile wide behind it. Those gunshots from so long ago echoed in his ears, as much a premonition as a flashback.

He acted fast, dragged the exhausted remnants of his powers into service, quickly switched himself with one of the corpses nearby. Not quickly enough to escape the bullet. His chest seemed to bloom in fire, and everything went dark.

---

Rosie felt her brother die. She felt his presence go out, life leaving the form before her with the suddenness of a candle blowing out, and something inside her fractured like the glass of a mirror.

She was multiples, then. She was the helpless child outside the birdcage, screaming and crying and beating uselessly at its wires until her arms went numb, blood flinging from her flesh and wounds disappearing each time her arms reformed.

She was the fresh spy who’d knelt quietly at Drake’s side and spoke Vergo’s name, almost fearfully, as if he would somehow appear. She was the veteran who’d faced him alone, fierce and hellish in defense of her brother, who’d slid a blade into his heart with no remorse.

She was herself a demon, frigid and bright and all-consuming and familiar.

The wires drilled into her body suddenly meant nothing, the strength of them feeble compared to the rage that filled her, the way something inside her soul swelled and became enormous, bubbling far beyond the borders of her body.

She would not be bound to him, not be enslaved to his will, not be wielded by him. Not ever again.

Rosie forced herself to change, blades erupting from under her skin and dragging the wires from her.

It hurt like nothing ever had before, those wicked hooks suddenly torn from her flesh and muscle and bone, blood pouring from her every limb and every inch of her ablaze with pain- but she was free. She was free of his control, and he would never use her again.

The rictus grin that wouldn’t leave her mouth was a fierce baring of teeth, bloody and harsh and determined, pants heaving through her trembling shoulders.

She leapt for Doflamingo with a banshee howl, and his string defense was not enough to hold her back this time. The strike left a mark, shattering the darkened right pane of his glasses and drawing a thick line of blood spilling down his cheek like tears.

Beneath the lens, an eye was visible- Doflamingo looked at her unobstructed for the very first time. His eyes were the same shade as Cora-san’s, she noted absently- that familiar rusty red, without any of the kindness, widened in shock.

She didn’t remain in range long enough for him to retaliate, but stole the limp body away from Doflamingo, spiriting Law to the far end of the roof, and… looked down into the face of a stranger.

Rosie had to fight to keep herself from reacting, mind catching up immediately, pretending now at this frozen madness of grief- her brother was alive, and he had a plan. She had a plan of her own, in the meantime.

Her eyes went once more to the stranger- blue eyes wide in death, filming over already. He’d been dead before Law switched with him, then.

She didn’t know this man, didn’t know who he had served or what side of the battle he’d fought on- whether he had been involved at all, even, or just caught up in everything. That was war, wasn’t it? Mostly innocents, with only a guilty few at the top, usually well outside the line of fire.

The guilty party here stood in front of her, yet unbroken and still smiling, shoulders slackened in triumph.

But he hadn’t won the victory he’d thought- not really. The corpse in her arms told her that much.

The tears came anyway, some sort of dam broken inside her, and she let them fall- her cheeks streaked with red, the salt washing the blood in rivulets across her skin. Her chest heaved with breath after breath, gasping for air to fill her straining lungs, hitched between tight, aching ribs that seemed to stab at her heart with every move.

If asked, she wouldn’t be able to articulate why she was crying- all of it, she’d say. Just… all of it.

Doflamingo sighed, something resigned but almost patient. “Such a familiar sight. You cry just like Roci did, you know. For years… I heard it, even after he died.”

He pressed a finger to the hot barrel of the gun, watching disinterestedly as it reddened and began to blister- that one visible eye didn’t so much as twitch at the pain, flat and dark.

The bastard swayed, a mad little giggle carried on the wind, “Now he’s forgiven. I don’t hate father, and I don’t hate Roci. I could never hate my family- not really. And Roci’s kids! My cute little niece and nephew… Ah, we could’ve been the perfect family.”

A sort of disappointed sigh filled the air, “But everyone betrays me, in the end. Father, Roci, now Law… they paid their debts with their lives, and now they’re forgiven. I’ll forgive you too, once you’ve repented. It’s too bad- no one’s ever broken out of my strings before. You could’ve been so good for me.”

Rosie forced her breathing back under control, sobs fading to quivering hiccups to steady silence. She tucked herself over the corpse in her brother’s clothing- she couldn’t let Doflamingo see it wasn’t him.

Even this slightest movement drew black spots into her vision- she’d lost too much blood, her strength long spent in that last act of freeing herself, and it took all she had to remain upright.

There was no heartbeat to take comfort in, in the body that laid atop her knees, but her fingers curled taut in the torn fabric of a familiar coat, the blood-matted fur of a hat she’d sewn back together so many times.

Doflamingo approached, his shadow covering her, blocking out the light. The gun hung almost lazily in his hand, his aim as casual as Cora-san’s had been firm and serious- he’d always taught her the gravity of aiming at another person, weighing their life against your own, and those scales had been a constant companion in her mind ever since.

She didn’t think Doflamingo had ever truly felt the weight of another’s life against his, had ever viewed it as a serious comparison.

Rosie made no move as the barrel came to rest against her forehead, the kiss of it warm on her skin, just like the prints Cora-san had left in the same place, once upon a time.

The gun tilted her head up to face Doflamingo- her eyes were hard as steel, meeting his exposed one unflinchingly, and his grin twitched, strained. “Your curse ends here, Roci. Now, you will finally stop haunting me.”

He pulled the trigger, and the gun exploded in his hand, shrapnel flying in every direction. Rosie’s hearing was dulled by the point-blank blast, a ringing in her ears like a flat-line urgent and wailing, but she saw the bastard’s mouth tear open in a scream of pain, his hand a mangled mess of blood and bone.

Rosie only grinned, something feral and more like his own smile than she’d ever admit to- it had been simple to jam his gun, when she’d gotten close to retrieve the body. And she knew exactly what happened when the barrel of a gun was obstructed.

Doflamingo recoiled from her, held his ruined hand to his chest, blood staining his white shirt and soaking it to his skin- he panted, teeth gritted to cracking. Rosie couldn’t see the extent of the damage, but one thing was sure- he would be puppeting no one with that hand ever again.

And that gun- the gun he’d used to kill his own father, to kill Cora-san, to try and kill her and Law… was no more, never again to be wielded in the hands of a demon.

The floor beneath them seemed to erupt, then- bricks flying, a dark, gaping cavern opening up between Rosie and Doflamingo. The roar that came from below was something animal and ferocious.

Doflamingo cackled madly, ruined arm still cradled to his chest, rocked almost as if an infant were held there, and murmured, “I hear a wild beast howling.”

Then Strawhat was there, in the settling of the dust, emerging like an avenging angel, covered in ash and blood. His eyes were hard, some severity to them unfamiliar to his round, friendly face. It was striking.

He glanced to her, and Rosie saw what he was, understood suddenly why Drake had paid such close attention to this unassuming rubber man, why her brother had decided to take a chance on him.

She wasn’t sure how much of it was the blood loss, the desperate, strung-out hysteria of hope, but a giggle bubbled up in her chest, high and child-like. Oh, she thought. Oh.

He was the sun, blazing almost too bright to look at, erasing the shadows that held Dressrosa tight in their grasp. He was the only thing that could burn away the miasma of lies and secrets from this country, that could defeat the demon that had haunted Rosie and Law for so long.

His eyes went to the corpse in her arms, widening in disbelief, and she couldn’t help another nearly mad giggle- Law would have to find some way to let Strawhat know the truth, because Rosie was all out of plans.