A/N: Kureha's working at a marine base. Don't ask me why. Doflamingo and the Executives were not imprisoned after Dressrosa.
Warning: Rape/Non-con, Disturbing content, Mature content.
Chapter 2 – Captured/Captive/Beaten
Where was Law? Smoker had managed to secure him a cell away from Vergo and Doflamingo, but maybe he was even more vulnerable by himself. The black-haired pirate hadn't been wrong in his fears. He was eye candy for a lot of the men in there, marines and prisoners alike, though removal from the shichibukai and his sidekick had seemed paramount for him. Smoker bit down on his cigars at the thought of Doflamingo and roughly ran a hand up his own neck. The man wasn't someone you wanted to cross. He knew from experience.
He viewed Law's empty cell, the door not locked. His heart dropped and he felt the prickle of anger. Did the fucker escape? Take advantage of him? He pulled the cell door shut with his jutte, metal clanging against metal, but forced himself to calm down, to think. Not with how they'd chained him up when he went to his second interrogation yesterday, and that was with Kizaru. It didn't seem he'd had the strength, but Law was sneaky. Still, he'd ask around before he put out an alert.
What had gone wrong over the last two years? Law's words, spoken so matter-of-factly, his demeanour, had got to him the day before, but pirates lied all the time and it wasn't like they lived within the confines of the law. The man was strong, but not currently. Without the seastone, there were very few that could beat him that weren't yonkos or others of the Worst Generation. He was equal with most of the latter and could hold his own against some of the shichibukai.
Not Doflamingo though. With the escape of the warlord from Dressrosa, it seemed Law was drawn back into the fold, kidnapped, taken captive, returned to a system he'd been trying to break. Law's explanation yesterday had rung true. Smoker had helped Law take Vergo down, after all, and there was no love lost between them. But they obviously hadn't taken him down far enough. What kind of deal had that marine-traitor made with the devil to still be standing?
The word on the street, or from unofficial marine sources, was that Monkey D. Luffy, the Strawhat captain, more than Law – much more – had managed to loosen Doflamingo's hold on Dressrosa. Still, Admiral Fujitora spoke of Law's skill. He wasn't to be underestimated.
Smoker had witnessed the so-called Surgeon of Death working, with the younger pirate and his crew, to halt the production of black market devil fruits by kidnapping Doflamingo's scientist from Punk Hazard, and by destroying a factory associated with their manufacture. His actions had unleashed Doflamingo's anger as Smoker recalled only too well. Brat.
They'd destroyed the production factories on Dressrosa as well, their destination after Punk Hazard. Vergo escaped the chaos of Punk Hazard, obviously. Smoker wondered if one of his subordinates hadn't helped him. After all, he and Tashigi had kept information of his betrayal secret from his men as they had admired him so much.
During interrogation, Law had told him the disgraced vice-admiral, the disgraceful pirate Vergo, had fled with Doflamingo and the other top Don Quixote executives from Dressrosa. They'd caught Law, half dead from battle, and taken him with them. He never made it onto the ship that spirited the Strawhats away. The ensuing two years were punishment for rising against the shichibukai. Maybe for fleeing from him in the first place.
For Law, his attack against Doflamingo had been personal. Oh he had plenty of reason to hate the World Government too, but that didn't lessen his bitterness toward the warlord. In addition to killing the only man who'd truly cared for him after the tragedy of Flevance – Doflamingo's own brother, Rocinante, Cora – he'd made Law's teenage years a living hell, as had his proxy, Vergo. Vergo-san.
The number of broken bones and bruises he'd received as a child and teenager for not using the correct honorific . . . and yes, he'd abused him when he was a teen too, if Doflamingo gave him permission.
Law had felt an icy anger at the high regard in which the fallen vice-admiral's men held him when he'd encountered it on Punk Hazard, even as he betrayed them. But then again, he'd been fooled by the very same geniality when he was a child, a very small thirteen.
Once Vergo's true colors were shown though, Law was the one seen as traitorous after he'd failed to escape with Cora, foiled by Vergo. A spy for the marines, Cora betrayed Doflamingo and the government for Law, and he and Law paid for it. If given permission, Vergo, Doflamingo's spy within the marines, would just rut him like some bitch once he'd started to mature, perfunctorily, brutal and humiliating. Denying him his pride, his identity, his free will.
They hounded him so much because he'd loved the man who had betrayed Doffy. Because Rocinante had stolen the devil fruit which Doflamingo coveted. It saved his life. Though for a long time, he didn't know if it had been worth it. They wanted his subservience, and well, mostly they had it. Finally got it. Back then, and over the last two years. What had those ten years of freedom been for? His attempts at vengeance? Only to end up like this.
Smoker had found him, sandwiched between Doflamingo and Vergo in their cell, his head against Vergo's chest as if they were lovers. Kind of amusing considering all three of them still had chains wrapped around their torsos, pinning their arms to their bodies, and wore prison garb like a collection of licorice allsorts. The look Law passed his way was dead. Shamefaced, but dead. Law wished he'd been unconscious. He couldn't move from this position. Not now, not last night. He was shivering.
Smoker ordered his removal, Doflamingo and Vergo both shooting the marine looks.
"Everyone's got a price, White Chase," Doflamingo snarled, jostling close so the chains connected and rubbed against Law's as he was lifted. "It doesn't take much to buy Law, whore that he is, as pretty as he is. He'd do most things for no cost, despite any protestations, wouldn't you darlin'?"
Though he could barely move his hands, trussed up in a similar manner to Law, his giant fingers stretched as much as they could, implying what they would do if he was truly free: send his strings out to incapacitate all around him.
"And anyway, he's a slave. What right does he have to make decisions?"
Slave, eh? What was Doflamingo rambling about?
Law wouldn't keep anyone's eye as he was dragged out of the cell. The way they had fruit users chained meant they couldn't walk easily. The marines could easily separate him and Doflamingo due to the seastone weakening them, despite Doflamingo's efforts. Vergo didn't react. They pulled the Heart pirate along like a limp rag. The tops of his feet scraped on the concrete on occasion. He looked more defeated than yesterday, if it were possible. Smoker could guess at the white in his hair, on his clothes, on his face even.
There were nasty grazes on his cheek and forehead, the skin drawn back, black with dirt and dried blood. And his hand was bandaged. That would be Kizaru. He had a thing for fingernails. He'd interrogated Law after Smoker had finished questioning him yesterday. There went that manicure.
"He's used to it, you know, Smoker. It's a shame to not make use of his natural skills and talents. To develop them. To maintain them."
Neither Law, outside the cell, nor Smoker, still within, responded. Would Smoker now fuck him? Law wondered, dead inside. So dead inside.
Far from it. Smoker sent both Don Quixote pirates an annoyed glance, kept his face passive for Law. He didn't want to give any power to the other two prisoners. He still had a bone to pick with Doflamingo for the beating he gave him on Punk Hazard. He had almost killed him. Vergo hadn't been gentle either. But that was for another time.
Law was in a pretty repugnant state. Maybe the two Don Quixote pirates couldn't do much of anything to their subordinate while they were bound, but they could pay others to do it while they watched.
The young doctor inwardly recoiled at Doflamingo's words, and tried to stop the memory, still painfully fresh, of being on his knees and the marines lined up one after another to mouthfuck him outside of Doflamingo and Vergo's cell. His mouth was disgusting, his throat sore. Of course they came wherever they wished.
Being chained like this, kairoseki wrapped around him like a python, he couldn't stop a thing. He'd had to listen while they laughed. Did his best to remain silent, not answer their jibes, to stop his body from trembling. He would have loved nothing more than to have blocked his ears.
He'd known no good was in store from the second he heard keys turn in the lock of his cell. A group of marines had barged in and propelled him into the corridor in the deep of the night. The terror was familiar though. So familiar it was almost banal.
Maybe these were the same marines, yanking him along now, following Smoker's orders. He had no power. None. He didn't have the energy for defiance or pride, maybe not even for fear. He was done.
His prison trousers were loose. Looser than yesterday, and Law clutched them close to his thigh with his one good hand, as much as he was able, to prevent them from slipping down. The hems skirted the back of his heels, and it was just as well the chains forced the marines to haul him along the corridor. If he'd had to walk the length of it, his own feet probably would have dragged the clothing down. Just one more humiliation he didn't want to face.
They took him to Kureha, the older doctor. Chopper would have been thrilled, but Law hardly had the presence of mind to take that in. She ordered, rather than Smoker, which made it look better for the man, the shackles off after Smoker told her about the seastone chip.
Sitting in her surgery, Law was shirtless and filthy. She'd removed the shirt too, which was pretty cut up and torn. And stained. He sat there shivering in front of the consultation desk.
It was difficult for the prisoners to drink or eat when they were chained up like that. There were any and all methods of belittlement involved in feeding them. If they fed them. The doctor placed a glass of water in Law's hands. Staring at nothing, he continued to hold it between his hands as he drank, the one with bandages curling with difficulty.
Kureha sat down to his right and Smoker remained standing. After finishing the water, and placing the glass on the desk, Law, with a small sound of pain, brought his long legs up to his chest so he was huddled into them, his back curving away from the seat, his tattooed arms and his drawn knees hiding his chest tattoo. Kureha noted he treated the bandaged hand gingerly.
Smoker took in the criss-cross marks he associated with Doflamingo's powers on his arms. Older scars. With Law's powers suppressed, they were now scars he couldn't heal. Smoker saw a hint of the new tattoo, a brand? on the hipline. Law gave one word answers when required.
The medical was necessary. Law knew that as a doctor, but what could they really do? No matter how much they swabbed him, took DNA specimens, established that yes, his anus was fucking ripped and torn to pieces, they wouldn't go after the marines. It'd be a miracle if he hadn't contracted something.
And regarding the marines there was nothing they had done that was worse than Vergo and Doflamingo, but it didn't mean that he didn't still hate every bone-rattling moment of it. In those chains he couldn't move whatsoever, couldn't support himself.
He could kneel though, having to use their fucking legs and body to avoid falling flat on his fucking face. When they'd tired of his mouth they'd pushed him to the floor. He had no way of bracing himself. His hands and arms were tucked to his sides under the chains.
They could lift his lower body though and they did, but his upper body, his face slid and scraped across the concrete floor as they fucking ripped him apart, so one prick placed a boot on his head to stop the motion. Maybe it was an improvement. He had just wanted to die, wanted to die now. His neck killed him.
They laughed, and grunted, cursed and spat at him. Of course they did. Their hands and mouths all over him. Their bodies. Oh the glee he knew Vergo and Doflamingo were getting out of this, even if they couldn't really see properly.
Well, Vergo was less-constrained. Probably sat up and gave the pink-feathered bastard a blow by blow account, helped Doffy to sit even. He could hear their voices. When had he ever done anything anywhere near similar to anyone?
The marines used nothing, too, or their own fucking cum scraped off his body to prepare him. As his body tore open, his blood worked as lubricant. It didn't ease the pain, though Doflamingo and Vergo had put him to such regular use that he had methods, even at times of stress, to try and relax to avoid further damage.
Everyone has a price, right? To do what? It didn't seem that anyone needed too much convincing that he was worth less than the shit on the bottom of their shoes. That he deserved to be treated as such.
Still, he was grateful that Kureha, the doctor, let him shower, and gave him clean clothes once she'd finished her examination, and now he was in the small infirmary that adjoined her office.
She'd seen to where Kizaru had burned off his nails too, re-bandaged his hand. She disinfected and dressed the grazes on his face. Of course if he had his ability, didn't have the seastone cuff in, or hadn't been shackled, he could have healed himself. All of his injuries were permanent of late, for the last two years, like that damn brand.
Kureha and Smoker had consulted together, and put some of Tashigi's men on the door. The woman, Tashigi, Smoker's protégé hated him, because he was a pirate, and he had cut her in half that one time, but she was loyal to Smoker. Kureha pulled in Tsuru. A vice-admiral who had some sway with the admirals, but a little more integrity than the majority of the current crop. She'd been on Doflamingo's case for a long time, and the older doctor didn't want Kizaru near Law.
Basically Law had no loyalty to Doflamingo, so torturing him was only for Kizaru's own enjoyment and, as a doctor, Kureha hated to see a body wrecked like that. Especially a doctor's body. Kizaru ultimately outranked them, but their efforts kept Law safe from Doflamingo and the admiral for a short time at least. Though Law had no real faith in that.
They cuffed him to the bed, but it wasn't seastone. He guessed if he got that chip out of his ear somehow – he wouldn't be beyond gouging it out – he could fix himself once his abilities regenerated, then maybe he'd be a force to be reckoned with.
The whole compound was seastone, but there were enough fruit users amongst the marines that there must have been a few safe spots here and there. It weakened him so much, that he didn't know if he'd have the energy, or if he would regain his own powers fast enough. The seastone had been in his bloodstream for two years now.
They'd currently chained both hands to either side of the bed, he'd done his business before sleeping, but what about water, circulation? He was uncomfortable on his back with his injuries. On his side would have been preferable. Lying on his stomach and chained would have scared the fuck out of him, but would have been less painful.
He'd have argued in favour of one long chain – either leg or foot. He'd learnt many years ago that his opinion didn't count for much in the face of authority. If it had been Doflamingo, the chain would be around his freaking neck, but he guessed even that allowed too much freedom of movement. They really didn't know how broken he was. However, it was better than the previous night's arrangement for sure.
He still felt vulnerable, lying on the bed, restrained as he was, even if it was on his back, but that was nothing new. That was the design. Even so, he'd been tired and trusted that Smoker could keep those fuckers away – at least he wanted to believe it – that is, until he woke up now, deep into the night.
Someone was in the room. He stilled himself. Didn't open his eyes yet in case they were looking at him directly, until he could figure out, friend or foe? There wasn't a whole lot he could do anyway, but if they didn't know he was awake, maybe they'd leave, or however they were going to assault him would be a silent, opportunistic affair that he'd pretend to sleep through, absent of the punches, slaps, insults and jeers that would accompany it if they knew he was awake. Absent of his forced compliance. Though it would be forced. And he would comply even though the chances of his body being able to take it were slim.
"Law."
