Yes! In spite of everything that happened, I have returned. Here is the new chapter, fresh out of word 2013's spelling and grammar check. Sorry for the wait, everybody! If you missed the memo and want to know what happened, click the PREV button above to view the Important Authors Note. Again, very sorry about that. I absolutely hated doing that, cause it happens to me a lot. Here's a fun little scenario: "Oooh, this fanfiction is amazing! Its got ten chapters! What?! Chapter ten is an authors note? Noooooo!" Its worse when they take months to update the story, or never update it at all. But I really love this story I'm writing, so I hurried to buy a new laptop (for school mostly) and edited the new chap, which survived the incident.
WARNING: feels ahead. Lots of 'em. Prepare something cheerful for after you've finished reading. Or just read it anyway. Everyone needs a good cry once in a while.
Enjoy!
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A World of Difference
Chapter 13: Frozen and Fractured
Dragon slammed into the tatami-matted floor, shoulder first, the top of his cheek split open and gushing blood. Dirt and dust bit into his stinging, red eyes while wood chips stuck in his clothes poking and prodding him. His ears rang, and his legs were worn down as if they lay tangled up by chains and stopped by weights.
Blind and breathless, the deathly quiet barely registered. Blood wept from under his eye, pooling on the dirty floor like a pond at the foot of a waterfall. He felt Kuzan and Bogard move, turning halfway and sliding protectively in front of Dragon's father.
Father.
How easily he accepted it. A living, breathing father, now standing some ten feet away from him. Gazing at him, grumpy, as he scratched his beard carelessly.
The word shifted through his mind like a ripple on water—Father—and Dragon slid his hands through the mess, getting splinters in the dips between his fingers and under his nails. Pain prickled over his mind like a rush of heat, and he lifted his head, really seeing him for the first time.
The lights flickered. Kuzan and Bogard shouted at him—"Who are you?"—"Where did you come from?"—but he barely noticed.
The man behind them had a ring of white hair crowning natural-born, scrappy black. Dark eyes, with thick eyebrows adorning them. So much like Dragon's. Only this man was older, with wrinkles, and a gruff, unnaturally serious face. Apparently it had finally occurred to Garp that Dragon—or whomever he thought Dragon was—had been spying on him.
Then—a twitch. Garp's seriousness shifted, becoming one of… Disbelief. Then horror. Wonder. And back to seriousness. Some small part of him must have recognized the twenty-seven-year-old spy, but there wasn't enough willing disbelief and joy there to make him truly see Dragon for what he was. Remembering the Anomaly's warning, Dragon felt gratitude, and swallowed a sigh of relief.
If he didn't recognize him that made things simple.
Dragon scooped up the largest chunk of debris he could see—it felt too hard to be wood, maybe metal—and threw it. It flew in a wide arc, making Kuzan duck, before it shattered through the ceiling light. The room was enveloped in darkness. Lightning flashed. Glass rained. Dragon leapt across the room, using the table as a spring board, and kicked through the window. He hit the ground running, his boots swamped by the muddy hill, and washed clean by the flooded streets.
Rain. Ice. Kuzan controlled ice, that was his power. It made this situation even worse. Everything was soaked by rain, even Dragon in the five seconds he'd been out in the storm. The rain washed away the dirt and splinters, cleaning his eyes. His legs were free of the chains. His boots were gathering enough friction even in these puddles, so he wasn't sliding. All he had to do was keep up this speed. There was a mental layout of the village in his mind. He knew the path back to the ship, but he wouldn't go there until he lost Kuzan. He didn't want this one chatting with Sakazuki.
Garp's image fazed in and out of Dragon's thoughts, and his knees half-jerked to a stop. He fought back, pushing forward, but that little moment's hesitation cost him dearly.
The ground turned to ice beneath his feet in the blink of an eye, but not before Dragon wrenched his feet up into the air, flying backwards through the rain and coming to balance on top of a streetlamp—the kind that held an oil-burning gas-light. In seconds, the falling rain within the range of town square froze, and the buildings and air around them became encased in ice, with the fountain in the center freezing as well. The frozen snow-drops clattered to the ground in the same instant, dancing over the new ice. Dragon noted the scene with awe in spite of himself. It was like a cubic snow-globe, with all the water drained.
Ice-creeped up the pole he was balanced on, and an anxious gasp escaped him. He jumped off like a frightened cat, going to balance on the frozen water spray of the fountain. Nothing was guaranteed, but he theorized that so long as he could keep a safe distance from Kuzan himself and avoid as much direct-contact as possible with his logia powers, then he could reduce the chances of any of his limbs being frozen.
He saw them standing over the icy ground, about thirty feet away. The three of them stood side by side, with a cloud of icy breath wafting off Kuzan's body. He had his hands stuffed inside his pockets, whereas Bogard kept one hand on his sword, propping it out of his sheathe with his thumb. Garp stood slightly closer to Dragon, looking childishly angry with his fist punching his open palm.
"Alright," Kuzan began coolly, lifting his head and raising his voice. "Who are you? Why were you listening in?"
Dragon eyed him, struggling to keep his emotions steady. He would have to be the first to go, if not the only one. Dragon couldn't stay here, in Garp's line of vision, too long. Even if he didn't realize it, one of the other two might deduce the truth.
"Come on!" Kuzan ordered. "None of us are going anywhere. You need a moment to calm down anyway, seeing as you're out of breath."
Was he? Dragon blinked, realizing he was panting, and locked his teeth together. They chattered, and he shuddered in his frosted cloak.
"I see you don't like the cold." Kuzan inferred, letting his arm drop. "Should've thought about that before you interrupted our conversation."
Dragon shuddered again, more violently. Something was wrong with him—physically. His burning eyes blinked profusely, their vision blurred. His throat was inflamed, his stomach churning. Breath hissed out from behind gritted teeth, as heat pooled under his tongue.
"Enough of this." Bogard decided, drawing his sword.
"Bogard." Kuzan warned, eyes sifting from enemy to comrade.
"He's not going to answer any of our questions." Bogard continued, raising his sword. "We shouldn't trust him anyway. He heard everything we said back there. If the Gorosei find out, we'll all suffer the consequences."
At the mention of the Gorosei, Dragon bit back a vile snarl, feeling sick. This was why he'd been taken from his family, lied to, and used. No one dared fight against an overbearing world force.
"We didn't say anything clear." Kuzan assured him, trying to calm his friend. "He couldn't have heard enough to punish anyone."
"What did you hear?" Bogard took over, sounding impatient. "Who do you work for? Where did you come from?"
Dragon breathed, shaking, his fingers clenching over his stomach.
"You're shivering." Kuzan pointed out, impassive. "We're cold too you know, so if you could just answer our questions—"
Dragon suppressed a gasp, then leaned over his knees to vomit over the ice. The retching, gasping sounds resounded in his ears as his stomach lurched. When it was over, he jerked, catching himself before he could fall off the fountain.
He fell to one knee, still balanced on the frozen spray. Tasting vile and trying to blink his vision back into focus, he realized there was enough of him still in mind to notice that the ice didn't creep over him in this moment of weakness. He cast a questioning glance at Kuzan.
He was stiff, apparently finding this hardest to believe. Dragon didn't blame him. Spies were hard, fit, fierce. Something like this was out of character. And wrong. He'd been hoping to go to his grave without ever feeling this.
Their cold expressions now warped by confusion, they exchanged looks of disbelief and turned back to face Dragon. This unexpected incident had served to calm Bogard; whose sword was low now. None of them understood how it had happened.
But Dragon did. He'd suffered through the longest day of his life. Nightmares, tension, terrifying revelations. Even before he crashed through that roof, he'd been cold and sweaty. Now on top of that he was suffering vision problems, nausea, and dizziness.
He was in shock.
Shock meant fainting spells, which he couldn't afford here. He'd wake up in seastone handcuffs. He needed to get away.
His eyes snapped open, furious and resolute. There was ice creeping around his ankles (evidently Kuzan had recovered). Dragon knelt and leapt off the fountain. His feet hit the ground like a drum, the beat of which rushed through the ice. Spider-web cracks split out from beneath his boots, splitting the ice, travelling to the edge of the dome and threatening the whole foundation.
Kuzan appeared before him in a cloud of hissing mist. Dragon hadn't planned to move, but to be cut off like this was taunting. His eyes shot up, steely and gleaming, and saw Kuzan's frosted hands reach out to touch him.
No. Dragon thought, don't let him touch you. He ducked, his fingers hardened with armament haki, and crushed one hand through the rocky soil of town square. His hand found an underground pipe, and brought it to the surface in one easy pull.
Sewage burst from the open pipe, but not before Dragon kicked back. He skidded to a stop, his boots scraping up ice splinters. Kuzan wasn't even slightly fazed by the hideous sight and odors born from the unearthed pipe; his hand flew up, a long finger barely tapping the metal, and freezing it instantly.
Dragon raced around him, to Garp. The old man's legends were not plain gossip; he saw Dragon coming even before he moved. Bogard with his raised sword was at the man's side in an instant, rock-solid and prepared even though Dragon knew without a doubt that he would be easiest to pick off.
Dragon jumped, rocketing through the air. This action caused all three marines to stiffen, as it was rokushiki, and not to be known by anyone outside Cipher Pol. But that still left ten factions to sift through, all members of which were classified. Only eight factions, if you left out nine and zero, which few had even heard of.
A single moment of negligence was all the window Dragon needed. He kicked off the last burst of air and spun around, aiming a kick at Garp's head.
As expected, his foot was caught. Bogard, of course, moved to sever it.
Dragon's body spun like a top, parallel to the ground, and Garp's solid feet slid over the ice. Determined now, Dragon's foot hit a wall of air, and he used it as a springboard, spinning now in the opposite direction with twice the speed.
Garp lost his balance, slamming shoulder first into the ground with a grunt. Dragon's eyes felt like fire; he moved instinctively, now free of Garp's hold, and threw a punch right into Garp's vulnerable gut.
The resulting noise of pain was ear-wrenching, and filled Dragon with shame. But he ignored it.
Bogard moved, kneeling behind Garp's back and slicing his sword up, through the cold air. Dragon saw a vision of his head flying, and ducked, feeling a sharp wave fly over his head. He pinched his hood, pulling it over his face, and launched himself at Bogard. Garp moved to grab Dragon's neck, but he was out of the way too quickly for it to have mattered. He thrust his hand, palm-side up, into Bogard's face, clamping it over his mouth. There was the crunch of jaw bones snapping out of place, and Bogard's eyes popped from the pain.
Then Dragon was being yanked back, hood first, away from Bogard, before he had to time to think. Great, muscular hands as big as ship wheels shoved him into the ground, half-burying him in the dirt and rubble. They wrapped themselves around his throat, crushing it from the outside with such bewildering force Dragon felt as if all the energy was being drained away.
Dragon forced his blood-red eyes open and found Garp glaring down at him, righteously angry after taking two hits and seeing the harm done to his right hand man. His eyes burned, while Dragon's gaze flickered up and down his face like a dying candle.
A broken scream built up in his blocked throat, eased up and out, dying at his teeth as a groan. His mouth opened as far as possible, with the cracking of his collar bone echoing in his head. Dragon's fingers clawed numbly at Garp's hands around his throat. Let go! He wanted to yell. They're lying to you!
Colors blended, trembling out of their borders. Light faded, giving him tunnel vision, leaving what he could see dark and flat. His chest contracted, inflating and deflating. Air! He needed air!
Anger and desperation pulled his foot back. From this angle, he couldn't put much force behind it, but he swung his foot up, digging the toe of his boot into Garp's chest. He bruised a rib.
Garp grunted, and Dragon kicked again, using the sole of his shoe. The old man got thrown off him, landing on his feet some distance away, with an arm curled over his banged up ribs.
Dragon tried to move quickly, but it was no good. His vision was doubled and spinning; his torso was full of boulders, his arms and legs were pudding. Nothing stayed where it was supposed to. His hand slid over the ice like it were soap. His heart banged around in his chest.
What was wrong with him? This wasn't like him. He was someone who never, ever gave into despair. Who never let the odds turn in favor of the enemy. Why now?
Blood forced its way up his bruised throat like gravel, splattering over the smooth ice like red paint, and sizzling like it was too warm. He folded his elbow over his mouth, hacking and retching, and in the midst of all this his mind somehow put two and two together.
Ah. He understood. It was different before, where he wanted to survive no matter what just so he could see. But now he had no motivation. Not after everything he'd uncovered. It was all a lie. From the very beginning he had nothing.
Not even a decent reason to live.
He felt the same deft, thick fingers clutch around his throat, lifting him into the air. His vision tumbled, darkening, and he sank half into unconsciousness. He forced his mind to wake, and it felt much the same as having to swim to the surface of the ocean after jumping too far down into the blue. What he found at the edge of sleep wasn't comfortable. He was shaken like a ragdoll, squeezed to the point he should've popped like a balloon.
Lies… He wanted to say. It would destroy him, like it had Dragon, but he wanted to tell Garp the truth. But, no, he couldn't. They'd kill him, or worse take someone else from him. No…
Dragon's head dropped. This was it. Only a little light left, and soon that would be gone too.
There was a great shattering, far above. He knew it was great because it had to be, for him to hear at all in this state. Ice rained down on his face, and the tiny spark of vision left to him lit up like a candle. There was a great whistling of wind falling over the ice, and Dragon felt it on the small, less numb areas of skin he still possessed.
The world jerked, and the hands around his neck loosened. The wind came again, carrying a whisper.
…Dragon…!
The hands disappeared, and his world came back to him as he hit the ice, a crumpled, barely conscious, heap of reeking blood and vile. His ears twitched under his hood as his eyes spun, and he struggled to blink them into focus. Yes, he was having trouble hearing, but it shouldn't be this quiet. The muted pounding on the door that was his connected mind had ceased entirely.
There was a strange sensation as his senses rushed back to him, like things falling into place. Too suddenly, he could hear, he could see, he could even taste the inside of his mouth (he really wished he couldn't).
He saw Garp above him, with Ruka on his shoulders, her hand grasping the knife that she'd come so close to stabbing him with. He saw the two other marines, not a stone's throw behind them, more than capable of helping (even with Bogard holding his broken jaw) but looking too shell-shocked to do so. He could see a cloaked man in the reflection of the ice, looking beaten and frazzled, like something the cat dragged in. Then he realized he was seeing himself.
"Run, Dragon!" Ruka ordered, sounding angrier than anything. Garp reached around to grab her and missed by a hair's breadth as she hopped off his back and landed in front of Dragon. There was a pinch in his back, and he looked at her, annoyed by the pain. She pulled back an empty, hypodermic needle and tucked it away inside her shirt.
He felt the path of his throat smooth open, allowing for decent breaths, though there was still pain. His vision and hearing returned fully. He deduced that it had to be whatever she'd just given him, but questions would have to wait until later.
He shot to his feet and pulled her behind him, something that wasn't very smart. He might as well have written IMPORTANT across her forehead. Consequently, the three pairs of enemy eyes zeroed in on her.
But they didn't move.
Dragon blinked, his gaze flickering from one marine to the next. Their faces… They were still too stunned. Like they'd seen rotting zombies crawl out of their graves. No. Like they'd seen a fit and healthy, flesh and blood person climb out of a decades old grave.
He flinched, recalling the echoed whisper from before, and the crystal-clear shouted repetition. There was a lit spark of realization in his head, and he stiffened.
Ruka hadn't used his battle name, Shiroryuu. She was too used to calling him by his real name, his birth name, which the three marines now knew. The enemy marines, with his veteran father among them, were all staring at Dragon as if seeing him with new eyes.
"DRAGON?!" Garp called out, relieved and morose and horrified.
Dragon felt weights tumble through his body, locking it into place. They knew.
No.
"Impossible…!" Kuzan breathed.
"No way…" Bogard whispered.
Dragon heard them, but his gaze was locked with Garp's. The old man's expression showed anguish, like carving his heart out with a spoon would have been less painful than seeing Dragon. Here. Now. Alive.
That lit a fire under Dragon, melting the weights. He turned, looping an arm around Ruka's waist and shooting off, a bullet echoing in the wind. He kicked through the icy barrier, barely believing the depth of their shock as he disappeared into the storm.
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Ruka stayed curled over his shoulder and watched him run at top speed for miles. He maneuvered through the network of deserted, rainy streets and overshadowed back alleys as though he knew them like the back of his hand.
She shouted at him to stop, to tell her what was wrong, or to turn the other way. He never replied or responded in any way. The rain fell and thunder boomed, but this barely registered. Her gaze was firmly focused on Dragon, who had that animalistic look in his eyes again; the kind one developed after being shoved in a cage and beaten with sticks.
"Dragon, stop! Stop!"
He couldn't hear her. Why was he freaking out so bad?
Between his hugging arms and the rain, Ruka couldn't breathe. She would've kicked and squirmed for freedom if he weren't beaten up so bad. The drug she'd injected him with only accelerated the healing process by a tenth of the average time needed. Given his vitality and already quick healing, he'd be fine. But she still didn't want to risk kicking his wounds.
If only he would look at her. Actually look at her. Then she could calm him. Or at least confirm what his frantic heartbeats, which dominated her own, were telling her. They grew more erratic with each second. His blood pressure must have spiked to dangerous heights. She had to stop him now before he seriously hurt himself.
She saw a vision of him collapsing, and sleeping without ever waking. It spurred her on, frightened her, forced her mouth open—
"DRAGON, STOP!" She ordered. Her voice rang over the village like a tambourine. The rain trembled. A wave of fresh, cold air passed out from the center of her body. She noticed a stray cat, standing under the shelter of an awning, pass out on a front porch.
Dragon fell to his knees heavily, abruptly, in the middle of a trash-filled alley way. His shoulder fell against the brick wall, and started sliding down, about to drown in the flood.
Ruka sat on her knees, catching him, and working her arms up his back to steady him. He stayed hunched over her small frame, his breathing ragged, and her hands fisted in his cloak. She half-screamed when the weight of him almost forced her on her back, and jumped when a bolt of lightning touched a metal lamp post across the street.
With strength she didn't know she possessed, she managed to lean his soaked, overbearing form against the dripping brick wall, hugging him tightly to hold him there. The rainfall increased tenfold, and she grit her teeth to keep the scream of aggravation in. What the hell were they supposed to do now? Sit here, out in the open, waiting to die of cold or be caught by those bastard marines?
There was a vile taste in her mouth at the thought of them. She didn't know them, but they had to be tough if just the three of them could beat down Dragon like that. What the hell was that about anyway? He beat her, but lost to them? What a load of—
She groaned, sinking back on her knees, then forcing the pair of them back up with a groan. Why was he so heavy? Even when they were trudging up a muddy hill in a blinding rainstorm he wasn't this heavy. Why was he so tense? The muscles in his back were too hard and contracted, like they'd swollen or something.
She ground her teeth, moved her feet under her, slipping twice and bashing one knee open the second time. She ignored the pain and kept struggling until Dragon was fully turned and leaning against the wall. Her fingers slipped under his hood, holding his face. His eyes were lost in shadow, and his skin was ice cold and stiff. The pulse in his neck could be felt through his cheeks.
Ruka moved closer, mounting concern shoving agitation aside. What was wrong with him? If she didn't know better, she'd say he was spooked. His temperature was dangerously low. A river of cold sweat was mixed with the rain on his clammy skin.
Lightning touched down, again too close for comfort. Ruka threw herself over Dragon, burying his head in her chest and glaring at the sky. Hugging his head, she cast a death glare down the way from whence they came. She could feel his heart racing but his breathing was weak.
What had they done to him? That huge marine fellow nearly choked the life out of him. What if something was broken?
Ruka held him close, bowing her head as electric rage pooled in her eyes.
"Don't worry." She began an oath. "Be it the world or the heavens I won't surrender you to anyone."
Dragon went limp in her arms. Ruka noticed it at once, her hair standing on end and goosebumps traveling up her arms. She leaned him back, still cradling his face in her arms.
"Dragon?" She asked, pleading with him to wake up. "Dragon?!" She leaned closer, looking up at him from below. "Dragon, wake up! Don't sleep! You can't sleep here!"
He didn't stir. Ruka pressed her ear over his heart. It had weakened dramatically.
"No…!" She gasped, lifting her head up and pressing her forehead against his. Maybe if she yelled in his face, he'd wake up just to frown at her. "Don't die!"
She flinched, realizing she could hear the rain but no longer feel it hitting her skin. Confused, she half turned, leaving one hand laid over Dragon's cold skin, and looked far above her into the eyes of a small giant.
Or so it seemed. Whoever he was, he was impossibly huge and broad shouldered, clad in a long dark cloak. He was kneeling, leaned over the pair of them, capable of completely shielding them from the rainfall. He sort of looked like the grim reaper.
Ruka jumped at the thought, whirling and half-rising to press her back to Dragon, shielding him. But the Reaper merely reached out, one of his huge fingers brushing her wrist in a gesture of reassurance.
"Don't worry." He promised, his steady voice pushing all concerns from her mind with a gentle shove. "I'm a friend."
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For Garp, everything passed in a blur.
Kuzan and Bogard conversed from either side of him for a minute, but he heard not one word of what was said. His gaze was permanently glued to the hole in Kuzan's ice. It was the exit which his son had used to run away from him.
Garp didn't fight the low, hysterical laugh that escaped him. The edges of his mouth turned up in an unsteady smile, while above his eyes shook. His mind was divided, one half spinning while the other stayed blank and empty. It made him feel lopsided.
Impossible. It wasn't possible.
Yes, yes it was. He was so happy. Hestia would be so happy. For the first time in a long time, he could remember how she looked when she smiled.
Kuzan and Bogard started leading him back to the inn. They had one hand each on him, his arm and shoulder, gently guiding him back inside. Apparently they weren't going to chase after him after all. He fumbled with words, or rather a lack thereof, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly. He was a marine. It was a huge part of his entirety. A suspicious looking character had just fled after being caught eavesdropping on a private conversation between himself and two close friends. They should pursue. But on the other hand (that was his son. Probably. Looked around the same age, had the same name, even sort of looked like him. Dragon was alive!) that man had used rokushiki. Which belonged to cipher pol. If he belonged to them, then whatever he was up to was classified. Wait, why did he care about that, now of all times? (Because it meant he could leave him be. He'd almost strangled him to death. What sorry excuse for a father was he? If he was even his father, which he wasn't. Probably.)
Garp blinked, finding himself standing emptily in the corner of the inn's lobby. Bogard was having a discussion with the manager as maids with dusty brooms, trash bags, and wood chips in their hair and clothes rushed by. Kuzan sat in a chair at Garp's side, looking too lost in deep thought to answer any questions, or give any advice.
He didn't believe it, though. That much was obvious about Kuzan. Did Garp believe it? (No. Absolutely not. Maybe? No, no it couldn't be.)
He squeezed his eyes shut. Dragon and Hestia were dead! They had to be! He'd heard all about what had happened, from a very reliable source. Tsuru and Sengoku had insisted on being the ones to break the news to him, much to the dismay of Kong and the rest.
He could remember that time so clearly. Hestia was cryptic, cynical, and willful. No one believed him when he said he was marrying her. After a few short years of serving the marines, he'd only had brief encounters with her, but he knew she'd taken a liking to him. They worked in different regions, with different ranks, and could only stay in touch through transponder snails and letters. Years of being apart, with Garp chasing pirates and Hestia tracking down traitors. When finally, there was enough time for them to enjoy some time together, they found that they could make each other laugh. One day, Hestia gave him a hug, and told him he was the only one to ever make her smile. Ever.
They were so rarely seen together. Garp rarely talked about her, because she'd emphasized her hatred towards any sort of gossip. Thanks to that, very few even knew he had a wife. Tsuru and Sengoku met her, and the higher ups were aware. As to why, well that was because of Dragon.
Hestia didn't take to having a person growing inside her very well. Her body wasn't fully compatible with it, and her mind was falling to bits. Garp knew something was wrong when the tears began. Hestia was an amazingly calm woman, with little to no emotional outbursts. But it didn't stop with tears. There were fits, panic attacks, an astounding amount of fainting spells (which was really saying something for a pregnant woman). Twice, she almost fell into coma. When he asked her what was wrong, or what should be done, she'd just burst into hysterics, which quickly turned to tears. It was a very stressful time, so both of them took time off work.
The birth was a messy one. It very nearly killed both Hestia and Dragon. Several doctors and Tsuru tried to explain it to him, but he still had trouble getting what was happening. The best that he could understand it was that the unborn Dragon's way out was blocked, and the only chance either of them had was to cut him out of her. It was such an emergency that they didn't even have time to administer morphine, so Hestia was conscious through the whole thing. It left her physically weak to the point that she could barely run, she also had trouble breathing but it was something she claimed was just stress. She was hospitalized in a specific country in the East Blue, supervised constantly, and her days working for the World Government were over.
Garp returned to work at Sengoku's urgency. The hot shot big wigs were giving him and Kong a dangerous amount of grief over Garp's extended absence; he had no choice but to leave. Dragon was premature, and kept on medication. As the son of the Navy's Hero, he was a big concern for the doctors there. They hovered over him, ready to whip out anything and everything to keep that kid alive. Sengoku spoke of better doctors in the Grand Line, on an Island called Drum. But Tsuru warned Garp not to move either member of his family; they weren't yet strong enough for that.
Once Dragon was healthy enough, and Hestia stable enough, she was allowed to visit him. Twice Garp came home to be with them, an action that annoyed the superiors, but it was worth it to see the pair of them together, healthy, happy, and alive. For just a moment, everything was just perfect. He could see the road ahead: taking them home to Goa, letting them stay in Fuusha with that mayor he'd befriended. Dragon growing up, joining the new recruits of the marines. Hestia letting the time pass her by, always reading or drawing like she enjoyed.
But then all of that was erased. The island where their hospital resided was burnt to a crisp. It was the single greatest disaster in the history of peace that was built and maintained by the World Government. And it was the ones at the very top who decided to cover the whole thing up, make it disappear. There was a CP0 agent with the power to erase and rewrite memories. He was the one who made everyone forget their loved ones, who wiped out any mental trace of that island. Anyone with loved ones there suddenly forgot their loss; their homes were raided and pictures of the deceased were stolen and burned. Maps were redrawn and distributed.
At the time of the tragedy, Garp was away. Working. Investigating a lead on the legendary sky island, which ended up being a wild goose chase (the lead was mere gossip). He was called back to HQ by Sengoku, who with Tsuru's help broke the news to him as gently as he could. It was a waste of time: there was no easy way of saying that they had died. Together. Burned alive in a stupid hospital. The bodies were too badly burned; not even their teeth were intact. But the same number of patients and staff were accounted for. The same was true for the civilian population. They were recorded as numbers on paper, not names. There were no graves for any of them. It would've been proof that the world had lost something, however small it may have seemed.
Numbers on paper. Not names. No real identification of bodies. Yet everyone was accounted for. But technically, their bodies were never truly identified.
Sengoku wouldn't have lied to him. But maybe he didn't know. Or maybe he did, and was forbidden to say.
Bogard approached them, and both Kuzan and Bogard loosened up a fraction.
"He says our room won't be repaired until morning." Bogard said, answering a less important question. "But he says there's a council room that just opened up. The maids are preparing it now. They're carrying in futons."
There's no way I'll get even a wink of sleep.
"Just opened up?" Kuzan prompted, acutely suspicious.
"Yes, apparently it was given to a stranger, whose suddenly and inexplicably disappeared with one of their transponder snails." Bogard answered, thick eyebrows overshadowing his eyes.
Kuzan tensed, fingers curling in front of his face. "Him."
Bogard nodded firmly. "It must be."
Garp didn't say anything. None of this told him what he needed to know.
Who are you? What were you doing here? What are you up to?
What will I have to do?
It couldn't be him. It just couldn't be.
But just one flash of that man's image through his mind was enough to tell him he was wrong.
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Caught in that strange state between consciousness and sleep, Dragon could only process minor thoughts. "It smells bad in here" and "Too loud" were easy enough but everything else was too complex.
It felt like he was floating, face up, in the middle of the ocean with his body submerged. Eyes shut tight and splashed with cold sweat and rain, he could hear thunder crash overhead and gale winds echo in his ears. The usual crisp, clean scent of rain was lost in the reeking stench of pipe tobacco and animal droppings, though he caught whiffs of something less strong and more pleasant: a light combination of hearth and sea spray.
"They're too loud" crossed his mind again, and his body twitched in frustration. It was like someone tuned the radio so there was less static. Background chatter between familiar voices seeped through a cold veil, flooding his mind.
"Is he going to be okay?"
The voice was urgent, close, and thick with worry. They were leaning over him, there mouth close to his ear. They leaned closer, and something creaked. The hearth and sea spray concoction got stronger, and Dragon took a deep breath.
Ruka. His fingers twitched.
"How do you feel?"
It was him again. That Anomaly, whom he'd met at the inn. He passed right over Ruka's question to ask one of his own. His tone was light, direct, but his intentions were clear. For some reason, this made Dragon trust him more. This was the one who'd revealed almost everything. The one who directed Ruka to that room, whose ceiling he'd wrecked. The accompanying mental images made him lurch in his sleep, and he felt the rub of the moth-eaten blanket on his neck.
"Dragon?" Ruka called, pressing her forehead against his. He didn't know why; he wasn't feverish.
With a low moan, Dragon's head lolled back, sinking into the flimsy pillow while ragged breaths escaped through his nose
"What's wrong with him?" Ruka asked, gripping Dragon's wrist through the blanket. "Is he sick?"
"Physically," Anomaly began, sounding bored and unfazed, "He should be fine. There's heavy bruising around his neck and flesh wounds on his hands and arms. He'll recover from those injuries. But the ones inflicted on his heart and mind will persist. Tend to those, if you can."
Dragon stirred. What did he mean by that?
"Now are you going to answer me?" The stranger ordered, politely.
Ruka hesitated, and Dragon's eyes opened a crack. She was uneasy. This gave him a hard shove towards consciousness, a whisper of comfort caught in his throat.
"I'm fine!" She answered, stubborn. "They didn't do anything to me! But…"
"But?" Stranger prompted.
Ruka clutched at the blanket covering Dragon, squeezing her eyes shut.
"I… Said his name." She admitted, as if confessing to a great crime. "I didn't think about it… I just thought he'd listen if I called out to him, directly. But then I remembered Granny's warning. 'It will begin with his spoken name.' I don't get why, but everyone just froze. Those marine guys, I mean. They looked horrified, like I'd thrown blood in their faces."
She blinked her eyes open, and cast a wary, pleading look in the southernmost direction.
"He'll be okay right?" She begged, folding her hands over Dragon's heart. He felt a twinge of pain in his chest as it beat so hard it should've burst.
"What happened after you escaped?" The stranger asked, interrogating her.
"We were just running." Ruka answered, her fingers curling over the blanket. "I yelled at him to stop, and he… just sort of fell. Then he passed out."
Dragon inhaled raggedly, and Ruka jumped. Of course. Haki. She'd used haki on him, unintentionally. How strange. Dragon had a particularly strong spirit. Not just anyone could bring him to his knees. Somehow, Ruka's abilities didn't surprise him. She would be the one whose strength of will would overwhelm his own. She'd been doing that already. Some credit for her success might have been given to the last few hours being more stressful than anything else Dragon had experienced in his entire life. But even so…
"Hey, can you hear me?" Ruka shouted, her worry reaching its peak. "Please wake up! Dragon!"
His name, spoken in her voice, had an almost gravitational pull. Before he knew it, he was sitting bolt upright in bed, chest heaving, fists full of bed sheets. Lightning crackled in the sky, illuminating the shadowy room. It was cluttered, with yellow walls. The bed was clean enough, but he was eager to be out of it. Two tall candles flickered on a bedside table.
The first thing he saw was the stranger, seated in a chair at the foot of the bed. His hood was still up; his gargantuan form took up most of the small room.
Ruka's arms were thrown around him, her face pressed into his neck. When did that happen?
He blinked profusely, his mind racing. He fought his way through a swamp of memories to gain control of at least one arm, which came up to rest over Ruka's back, his fingers cupping the back of her head.
"Where am I?" He asked, groggy but demanding, most of his mind preoccupied by the weight of Ruka in his arms.
"What do you remember?" Anomaly asked, his eyes lost in the shadow of his hood.
Dragon's arm unconsciously hugged Ruka closer, his head dipping down. Her form was rigid, her skin felt cold to the touch.
"Everything." Dragon replied, his father's face flashing before his eyes with the next crackle of lightning. He'd looked as horrified to see him as Dragon was to find him.
Anomaly took a breath, and began. "After you escaped, you passed out in the rain. I found the two of you caught in the storm, and Ruka asked me to bring the both of you back here. It's a small shack located on the edge of the woods. It belongs to an elderly psychic Ruka befriended earlier today."
Dragon nodded dully, understanding. Granny, hmm? The poor woman must be exasperated.
"How do you feel, Dragon?" Anomaly asked, cautious. Dragon met his eyes, and knew in that moment he'd told Ruka nothing of what he'd revealed in that private council room mere hours earlier.
He felt a fresh wave of anguish crash down on him, swelling in his stomach. His mind flickered on and off like a light switch. His arm clenched over Ruka's thin, muscled form, and he decided to focus on that. On her. At least for now. If nothing else, it would quell her fears.
He locked eyes with Anomaly and lied fluently:
"I feel fine."
The men, both mutually silent, acknowledged the thickness of that lie. But the woman in Dragon's arms remained blissfully unaware. Her ear was pressed over his heart, and she sighed in contentment to find the rhythm had slowed to an average, healthy pace.
This was the sole blessing in the tumultuous thoughts that plagued Dragon's mind. He barely heard Anomaly's explanation of how the owner of the house had loaned Dragon and Ruka some old clothes lying around the house, with Dragon's clothes coming from the woman's deceased husband's belongings. He spotted their old clothes strung up from the ceiling to dry. He paid no mind when the old psychic finally made her appearance, and she and Ruka broke into a comical banter about guest attitudes.
Only two things mattered. One, his arms were full for once. Two, he knew what he had to do next. Necessary, but awful. It made him wish the old man had succeeded in strangling him.
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Sakazuki trudged up the wet board ramp, hands shoved deep into his pockets, curled into tight fists and sweating through the fabric. In spite of the fact that the rain ceased little over and hour ago, and that Yudai's crew had managed to finish loading their cargo (dozens of crates of mossy wood chips) before the storm began, Sakazuki still wasn't happy. Of course, he was never happy.
But what stuck out in his mind was the most troublesome labyrinth of conflicting arguments. They centered on Dragon, how the man had successfully lost Sakazuki, and how the latter's attempts to track down the former had failed miserably. He'd had to take shelter in one of the merchant shops until the storm calmed down. By then it was morning, and he knew he had to return to the ship, so he wouldn't delay their disembarking any more than he already had.
Stepping onto the ship, he found it basically deserted, save for the captain who was waiting for Sakazuki in the center of the deck, his arms folded behind his back and his expression chiding. Sakazuki fought back a protest that would've sounded too childish for him to live with. Still, Yudai was ranked under him. He had no right to look at him that way.
"Where have you been?" Yudai asked after Sakazuki started to approach him.
He didn't care enough to answer, and proceeded to the next subject at hand:
"Has he returned?" He asked, impatience sharpening his tone.
Yudai sighed through his nose, looking up at his superior with a look of appraisal. It was clear to both men his acting could not have been worse. Even if he said nothing, his thoughts were clearly centered almost obsessively on his childhood friend. He didn't care. Yudai shouldn't either. They both knew why he felt the need to keep a close eye on him.
"Yes." Yudai answered lightly, stepping closer cautiously. "He made his appearance about ten minutes before the rain stopped. Went straight to Hayashi's room."
Sakazuki raised an eyebrow. "Before the rain stopped?"
"Just before, when it was lighter." Yudai explained.
Sakazuki nodded dismissively. "And?"
Yudai nodded pointedly. "He wants to speak with you. He's been waiting outside, in the rain, for a while now."
Sakazuki frowned, eyes narrowing. He twisted, then frowned back at Yudai, a question in his eyes.
"He says it's about our course." Yudai clarified, his tone stiff. "Claims the path he wishes to take is… Classified."
Sakazuki nodded, muttered a quiet thanks, and marched off. He reached the outer walls of the captains quarters, rounding the bend, passed up the vice-captain's quarters, to reach the open area between the galley and the lodgings. The main deck.
Shiro—… Dragon was leaning his back against the ship's brim, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression solemn as he leaned his head back to frown at the crackling, charcoal colored sky. Again, the area was empty. Even Dragon's so-called companion was nowhere in sight.
"I heard you wanted to speak to me?" Sakazuki prompted, approaching Dragon and crossing his arms over his chest.
Dragon's head tilted so he stared dully at Sakazuki.
"Hello, old friend." He greeted, dead-eyed and empty-voiced.
Sakazuki suppressed a twitch, and scoffed.
"Why the nostalgia now?" He asked, gruffly. "Where's your little companion?"
"Resting." Dragon looked forward, his arms dropping to his sides. "Storms tire her out."
Sakazuki chuckled, taunting. "Pitiful. Is she a house cat?"
Dragon laughed through his nose, sliding his hands into his pockets and taking a wide step away from the edge.
"It's crucial I reach home as soon as possible." He stated, serious and unmoving. "As soon as we've entered the Grand Line, I want you to direct Yudai down the Eastern Accelerated Current. You do remember it, correct?"
Sakazuki stiffened. That particular current was another phenomenon of the Grand Line, one that was not so easily explained. It stretched in a thin, long arch just inside the sea, sandwiched between the calm belt and the outermost chain of islands. It was a well-kept secret, one shared between a small handful of people. The reason for this was because the E.A.C. was an astoundingly quick route. If you entered it, the speed of the current would carry you from the start of the Grand Line to the Red Line in thirty-six hours. A thirty-six-hour trip, compared to a month's long journey, was both miraculous and convenient. The pirates would have a field day if they ever discovered it. Sakazuki was aware of it only because it was the same route he used to ride with his father on their bi-annual pilgrimages to the Holy Land.
"The Gorosei will have your head for this." He stated grimly.
Dragon rolled his shoulders. "Not necessarily. I'll probably get chewed out. That's fine, I've been lectured before. Numerous times really."
"What is going on?" Sakazuki pressured, whirling. "Why don't you simply call one of their ships down here to fetch you? Better that than risk this entire crew—"
Dragon turned on his heel, marching up to Sakazuki, his expression astoundingly dark and murderous, which was saying something. He stopped only when the toes of their shoes were mere centimeters apart, getting in Sakazuki's face. He leaned back, away from the fury of the most dangerous man in the world, feeling a quiver of fear. He hated to acknowledge it, but he'd never once seen Dragon like this. Ever. He couldn't predict what this person, who resembled a wild animal in the best scenario, would do.
"I. Do. Not. Care." He emphasized each word, spitting it with venom. "What happens to this crew is none of my concern. So long as they deliver me to Sabaody first they can all—drop—dead."
Narrowed, ravenous eyes that thirsted for blood. Sakauki's fingers twitched. He did know this look. He'd been on the receiving end of it before. Just before they parted ways, never to stand in unity again.
Sakazuki's blood ran cold. Not good.
"What's happened to you?" He asked in an urged whisper. Anger burned in his throat. Something was very wrong here. What was he planning?
Dragon smirked, apparently finding Sakazuki's question purely hilarious. He turned, marching into his borrowed room and slamming the door behind him.
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Please review! They are the lifeblood of fanfictions, or at least the fuel. I want to know you're thoughts.
So yeah, Dragon's pissed. As for what he's planning, you'll find out next chapter when they arrive at Sabaody.