Dressrosa's Palace – Seven years after the fall of Dressrosa.
Dellinger was curled up cross-legged on the library floor, painting his toenails blue. Gladius was knitting, bundled up in leather as always, and Diamante and Lao G were playing cards.
"Dellybean, would you like to come with me to the gallery-zamasu?" asked Jora, poking her head into the room. "I have some new pieces to put up, I could use a little help."
"Don't call me that," Dellinger whined.
Jora frowned. "You can ask in a nicer tone of voice," she said.
"Please?"
"Oh you'll always be my Dellybean. But nonetheless, would you like to come? It's a lovely day-zamasu, you needn't be cooped up."
"Not really," said Dellinger, focusing on his pinky toe.
"Dellinger, go be useful," muttered Lao G distractedly. "Children should be useful." Diamante chuckled. Dellinger rolled his eyes, moving on to his other foot.
"Dellinger sweetheart, perhaps you might wish to do that in your room, so you don't get blue nail polish all over the carpet-zamasu. Young Master is rather partial to it."
"I'm not going to get nail polish on the carpet, Jora!" said Dellinger.
"My, someone is moody today," sighed Jora. "Well, I'll get Machvise to come with me. Did you clean up your shoe cabinet like I asked?"
"I'll get to it," said Dellinger, now putting gloss on his toes. "I just wanna sit like a pretzel."
"Dellinger, your room is nothing but shoes all over the place."
"That's what the servants are for."
"Yes, but then you always complain that your shoes are out of order and that you can't find anything-zamasu. So I told the servants you were just going to do it yourself."
"Fine!" said Dellinger emphatically, standing up. "I'll go take care of my shoes."
"I don't like your tone of voice, Dellinger," said Jora. "I've made perfectly reasonable requests that you tidy your shoes and be careful about the carpet. I don't even mind that you don't want to come to the gallery. But I –"
Jora paused, her eyes suddenly growing wide behind her glasses as she looked over Dellinger's face.
"Dellinger, what…what have you done to your ears!" she gasped. "Those are my good topaz earrings, how on earth did you-?"
Dellinger turned pink and bit his lip.
"Dellinger! What did you do to your ears?!"
Dellinger swallowed.
"You kept telling me I couldn't get my ears pierced, Jora, so I just did it myself." he said.
He wanted to giggle and say how great they had turned out, except it had been about four hours and they still hadn't stopped throbbing. They were also pretty crooked and one earring sat clearly higher than the other, but Dellinger wasn't exactly sure how to fix that. He had taken Jora's topaz in the hopes they would blend into his hair…clearly they hadn't.
"I don't even know where to start, Dellinger!" Jora said, her voice rising. "You intentionally disobeyed me, you took my jewelry without permission -"
"But I do that all the time."
"—and you could have seriously hurt yourself! Did you look in the mirror? The earrings aren't even straight! Take them out this instant-zamasu! You look like you're well on your way to an infection!"
"If you would have just let me get my ears pierced, Jora -"
"Dellinger, I was, I was waiting for your birthday!" said Jora, exasperatedly. "I, I wanted to make it special."
Dellinger flushed.
"I don't have a birthday," he muttered.
"Of course you do, Dellinger," said Jora. "How...how could you say such a thing?"
Dellinger did not actually know when his birthday was, something of which he was acutely aware. But then again, neither did Buffalo, Baby 5, Sugar, Monet, Gladius, or most of the family really. They instead celebrated the day they joined the family…just as a regular birthday would celebrate a child's arrival into a family. At least that was how Trebol had put it or something.
"Fine! Then why don't you just return me to the store you bought me from?!" Dellinger snapped.
There was a collective silence.
Then the harsh grating of chair legs against the floor as Gladius stood up abruptly.
"Get outside," he snarled at Dellinger. "Now."
Dellinger turned pink and opened his mouth to protest. Gladius smacked Dellinger across the face.
"Gladius!" cried Jora.
Dellinger snarled, but Gladius grabbed him by the horns.
"I said now," snapped Gladius, hauling Dellinger out the door onto the patio.
"Hey let go, you're being a jerk!"
"This is all your fault!" Jora was saying indignantly to Diamante, as Dell was dragged outside. "If you hadn't told him that all the time when he was little!"
"Let go, Gladius!" snarled Dellinger, his pupils dilating. "Mind your own business!"
"My family is my business," growled Gladius, pushing Dellinger up against the wall. "Listen to me. Do you have any idea how fortunate you are, to have Jora, to have all of us?"
"I-"
"You are being an entitled little shit. That tends to run in this family. Listen, do you want to know what happens to kids like you? Kids you buy? You ought to know what this family runs besides weapons and countries."
Dellinger was quiet, but his pupils were still dilating.
"You wanna know where you would have ended up? A little freak like you? You sure wouldn't be wearing high heels and earrings that's for sure. Do shackles sound like a nice accessory to you? A nice heavy pair for your wrists, and then another for your legs. And how about a pretty collar to match? You like the idea of scrubbing the floor for a world noble? Or working all day with no food and being whipped? Or maybe carrying a fat old man all day on your back? Or maybe instead they'd chain you up and show you off inside a fish tank, being the little half-breed that you are. They do that with mermaids, you know? Your people fetch a fine price as slaves."
Dellinger's pupils had receded, his eyes a very different kind of wide now. He was shaking.
"Starting to make sense, is it? Why don't you think about this the next time you're pissed at Sugar or Trebol," said Gladius. "But then again," he continued, almost nonchalantly, "Who would have wanted a little half-breed like you? You're not a proper human, how disgusting, those fishmen are violent and carry all sort of disease. And those fishmen, they have their pride. Who would taint their fine blood with that of a human? It's appalling to think that they would mix. No, nobody would want you. And besides, who wants to take the time to raise a baby, just to put it to work? Might as well just put it out of its misery."
Dellinger's eyes spilled over, snot running from his nose.
"You want to know who did take the time to raise a baby?" Gladius jerked a thumb behind him. "Jora did, that's who. We all took care of you, Dell, but I sure wasn't staying up every night getting you to stop screaming and having my fingers nearly chewed off, or having food thrown all over me trying to feed your gross mouth full of giant teeth."
Gladius sighed, his hands tense on Dellinger's trembling shoulders.
"I'll tell you the truth, Dell. I honestly didn't like you as a baby. Here we are trying to run a business, and you were just this thing that sat around pooping and screaming and biting all of us. I honestly couldn't have cared less if you had fallen off the cannon and broke your head open. Finally you got old enough to be interesting, and I was really glad you didn't fall off the cannon and break your head open. But you know who did care? Jora. So the next time you feel like mouthing off, why don't you remind yourself to look at the scars she's already got from dealing with your mouth."
Dellinger swallowed, his eyes a very different kind of red.
"W-why, Gladius?" he said finally, hiccupping. "Why me? Why did you all want me?"
"Because you were special," said Gladius. He relaxed his grip. "There's nothing else out there like you, Dell. Young Master knew you needed a place, because without us….you might not have had one."
"Now go man up and tell Jora you're sorry and do whatever the hell she wants," he said. "And don't you ever demand we 'return you' again. Besides," he added. "You've gone and messed up your ears. Can't return damaged goods. Looks like you're stuck with us."
Dellinger managed a watery giggle.
"Between you and Baby 5, I can't handle with your drama," sighed Gladius. "I've already had to threaten to shoot her, don't make me put a bullet in your shoulder too. Now get out of here, you little nasty."
"I'm sorry."
Jora sighed through her nose, and Dellinger whined as she scrubbed his earlobes with cotton swabs soaked in brandy.
"I've never had to bandage earlobes-zamasu," she muttered, wrapping a tiny gauze pad around his earlobe and tying it in a bow, securing it with a bit of tape. "What did you use, might I ask-zamasu?"
"I took one of Gladius's sewing needles."
"Did you at least sterilize it?"
"I…rinsed it in the sink."
Jora smacked him upside the head.
"This is how you get green ears! Or your earlobes will swell up and turn black and fall off, and then you'll have nothing to pierce hmmm? Did you think of that?"
In spite of himself, Dellinger managed a tiny giggle.
"Well you're going to have sore ears for a while, that's for sure-zamasu. But once they've healed up I will consider taking you to get them done properly, if you can cut back on this attitude. Is that clear?"
Dellinger nodded.
"Good. Now go tidy up your mess of shoes and we'll go to the gallery. Don't lollygag, I expect you to help me."
Dellinger skulked out, trying to flatten his hair over his earlobes.
"Was I ever that bad?" Gladius muttered, leaning against the doorway outside.
"Who are you calling a ravishing beauty?"
"I said no such thing, Jora."
"Heavens you weren't bad, Gladius," said Jora. "You were just terribly moody and skulked around all over the place. You didn't much like anybody and kept waiting for Dell to befall some tragic accident."
"Yeah well, I'm glad he didn't," said Gladius. "Nasty little creature. Besides, now we have Sugar. She doesn't like anybody either."
Clank. Slurp.
He had a vague, vague memory, barely a glimmer, of the first time he'd ever asked such a question.
Clank. Slurp.
Everyone had gone rather tense. Monet had tried to hurry Sugar out of the room.
Clank. Slurp.
Dellinger looked up. The only thing that clanked and slurped was Trebol, who was oozing down the hallway toward him.
Dellinger stopped and for the first time truly looked at and thought about the broken chains that Trebol wore on his feet. They had always been there. Dellinger had never questioned them, until now.
He felt a nasty, icy feeling in his stomach at the thought of chains around his own ankles. Would that be his life without his family?
"Trebol?"
His voice came out smaller than he thought it would. Trebol turned to look at him.
"Nehneh Dellinger, what is it?" said Trebol, leaning in too close to Dellinger like he always did. "Something's the matter, ehhhh? You're not smiling, you're always smiling Dellinger, beheheheh! Did someone break your heart, beheheh? Did that little brat Sugar swear at you? What's wrong? What happened to your ears? Or is this another one of Jora's fashions?"
"Trebol," said Dellinger, the words choking in his throat. "Can, can I ask you something? Something, um-?"
"Nehhhhh? Did Gladius not tell you about the birds and the bees yet? Get Senor Pink to tell you!"
"No," said Dellinger, letting out a brief giggle. "It's…it's…about you, Trebol."
"Nehhhh? About me? What is this?" he swayed in close to Dellinger, squinting at him from behind his glasses.
"Trebol?" Dellinger half-whispered, fearful his voice would die in his throat. "Why…why do you wear, those?"
He pointed down to the broken pair of shackles on Trebol's feet.
Trebol raised his eyebrows, looking at him, almost as if appraising him. Dellinger had the sudden urge to simply run. How could he have been so foolish as to just blurt out such a question?
Trebol slowly took off his glasses, his beady eyes regarding Dellinger.
"Sit," he said, pointing with his staff to one of the benches in the garden.
Dellinger sat. Trebol oozed next to him.
Trebol let out a wet, mucousy sigh and stared out across the garden.
"I'm sure you're well aware, not every kid like you is quite as lucky as you are, Dellinger," said Trebol, in his deep, wet voice. "You were lucky enough to be special. We pulled you out. Me? I wasn't so lucky. No family to speak of, and well, I wasn't some half-fishman blessed with incredible strength. A half-starved kid on the street was an easy mark for slave traders."
"How, how old were you?" choked out Dellinger.
"Seven."
Dellinger swallowed.
"Kids are easy slaves. They don't complain if you hit them hard enough, they ain't gonna rebel if you scare them enough. Most ain't smart enough to realize there's better out there, 'cause they've never known any different. But me, I wasn't going to spend my life getting beaten for some World Noble's ass."
Dellinger looked at him. He knew the Young Master hated the World Nobles, hated having to go to Mariejoa for the World Government's councils.
"I changed hands a lot. Got sold and resold a lot because I caused too much trouble. One day, musta been about eleven or twelve, I was getting sold at an auction house. I was shackled with the rest of the slaves and the auctioneer had two devil fruits set aside backstage, that were also to be auctioned off. They were right there; didn't even put 'em out of reach. I ate one. No one else had the guts to; it had long been beaten out of anyone else."
Dellinger stared at him, his hands pressed to his mouth.
"Beheheh…you didn't know this about creepy old Trebol, nehhh?" Trebol gurgled, chuckling at Dellinger's face. "Well of course, then auctioneer tried to beat me, but suddenly the blows just weren't so hard, they were all squishy. I couldn't control my powers, but my collar wasn't seastone, so I slipped free and ran. I stole the other devil fruit.
"What did you do with it?"
"Gave it to the next strongest person I met. Diamante."
Dellinger gaped at him, incredulous.
"Beheheheh, do you think this family just took in every child that we stumbled upon? Baby 5, Buffalo, even Sugar? Nah Dell, you are a rare and special thing, a half-fishman, a half-fishman native to this country no less."
Dellinger felt a quiet swell of pride. The Fighting Fish were beautiful, incredible creatures of strength and prowess. To know he carried their blood in his veins made him proud of his…pieces. His horns. His fin. His teeth.
"We knew your strength needed to be protected; that you were capable of greater and better things. You have always had a place in this family, your heritage and strength are a testament to that," Trebol continued. "Do you think an ordinary human infant would have been of value to the Young Master? That we would have taken the time to raise and care for some common human baby?" He gestured with his staff.
"Do you see the common links, Dell, in this family? It's strength. We are not ordinary people. It's our strength that sets us apart from the rest of the filth, the trash that inhabits this world, full of silly ideas about morals and humanity. Bah! No, our strength sets us apart…Doffy showed us a dream where only the truly strong survived. If the rest of the trash in this world cannot find the strength break their chains…then all the stronger that makes us, doesn't it?"
Trebol oozed to his feet, his great slimy coat rippling in sticky waves down his body. He leaned in close to Dellinger and for once Dellinger didn't mind.
"Strength is one's greatest asset, don't forget that, Dellinger," said Trebol. "The strong are the ones who break chains. The strong are the ones who survive. What ordinary human could do what you do, Dellinger?"
"You have always had a place in this family," said Trebol. "Don't ever question it, or your strength."
"Left, just a touch…now turn it so it's just a little closer to the light. Ah! That's it-zamasu! It's arts-quisite!"
Jora swayed and waved her arms ecstatically, as she usually did when installing or creating art.
Dellinger moved away from the large green shape mounted on a giant slab of marble, which he had carried all the way from the Dressrosa palace.
"Ohohohohoho! I call it Synchronicity," she said, beaming.
"Kya! It is quite lovely," said Dellinger, who was starting to feel a little bit back to his old self.
"Who are you calling the loveliest girl of the century-zamasu?"
"Kyaa! You are, Jora! And your sculpture!"
"Stop that! It will go to my head!"
They strolled out of the gallery, Dellinger holding Jora's bags and art supplies, which she occasionally brought if she wanted to paint while at the gallery.
"I'm going to get my nails done," said Jora conversationally. "You can run along back if you want. And I expect you to help me clean my studio this evening, I've told the servants not to mind it. Don't worry –" she added, seeing the look on Dellinger's face. "Baby 5 said she'd lend a hand too. Now off with you, my old hands need a bit of affection. I think I will paint them yellow."
Dellinger paused, rocking on his heels against the cobblestones. He looked at Jora's hands, her old hands, and the tiny little white lines all over her knuckles and fingers.
"Jora?"
"What, child? Speak up-zamasu!"
"Can…can I come too?"
Jora beamed.
"Of course, Dellybean."
A/N: Shout outs to the One Piece Podcast for the line "I'll get to it. I just want to sit like a pretzel." I wanted to pay homage to their fantastic interpretation of Dellinger.