-Funny Games-

You Made Me

-Then-

Passion could supply enough energy to anything, including someone like Crocodile.

The weather was taking a dive. The sun was setting, and the cool desert air was turning cold and sharp. A once inviting breeze now stung whoever was unfortunate enough to not bring a good jacket. Crocodile's was in the car. After hours of digging he no longer required it.

"Crocodile, what are you doing down there?"

A bottle pressed against his lips, Crocodile made no effort to answer Mihawk's question. He remained situated in his hole, staring at the multitude of layers he'd dug up, at the shades of brown, turning darker until they reached his point, where things were starting to look moist and fertile.

"Dude, what is this?" a younger voice asked.

"Nothing, Shanks."

Crocodile listened and continued to nurse his drink. All around him were bottles, some still closed, but several open and emptied out, now filling his pained gut with alcohol. He thought about taking the empty ones out and lining them around the opening to the hole. He smiled at how pleasant it might appear to anyone else who decided to intrude upon his space.

"Seriously, are you having a bad day?" Mihawk asked from above.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Crocodile slurred out.

"Because I saw you buy enough booze to carry a party for several hours," Mihawk replied. "And seeing that you despise social events, I figured out you were up to something."

The alcohol made Crocodile surprised to hear this. Anybody who knew him well enough could conclude that he would return to this unfertile land, the only place in the world drier and more miserable than him. Right now, with beer taking up more space in his veins than blood or water, everything coming out of Mihawk sounded like some damn revelation.

"Go home," Crocodile said. "Go back to the rest of the world, with your stupid boyfriend."

"You're drunk," Mihawk stated.

"And I got a loaded gun on me."

He heard Mihawk moan above him. Moan, like he was some child in need of guidance, and Mihawk was stuck being the adult and forced to tell him how wrong he was. "Christ, Crocodile, what is it this time?"

"Mihawk," the boy yelled. "Man, it's getting cold."

"Just a second, Shanks."

"C'mon, Ben's going to get out of work soon. Let's get the hell out of here and grab a bite to eat."

"You should leave," Crocodile muttered. He took a sip from a still cold bottle, pulling it away once his mouth was filled. He let the liquid rest in his mouth until it started to burn. He swallowed. His stomach grew heavier. "Things are going to get messy."

"Wow, you are so full of shit," Mihawk replied. "Incredible. You're thinking about using that gun again? After things went so well the last time?"

Crocodile looked up at Mihawk, swallowing the last bit of drink down his throat. "I swear to god, Mihawk, if you don't leave right now I'll shoot you right in front of your damn friend."

Mihawk knelt down. "Sure about that? You look like you'd prefer to use it on yourself."

Crocodile scoffed. Mihawk remained squatted above him, looking less worried with each passing second.

"Should I call the cops later and report you missing, quite possibly dead?"

The lack of sarcasm had Crocodile raising his bottle, prepared to throw it up at Mihawk. "Mind your own goddamn business," he warned.

"Yo, Mihawk," a voice yelled out. "Food. Warmth. Ben." Crocodile heard something shuffle in the sand, approaching him and Mihawk. "Let's get the hell out of here before the coyotes come out…"

Crocodile stared up, catching the sight of a young boy, perhaps younger than Doflamingo, with messy red hair, barely kept in place with the aid of a straw hat. The hat stuck out against the worn, dirty clothes that adorned the boy. It was old too, but something about it stood out compared to the everyday wear.

It was like Doflamingo's sunglasses. Doflamingo always wore nice things. Even his casual dress was nice compared to Crocodile's, or anybody else. But the sunglasses stuck out. Cheap, brittle, and carrying years of scratches against the frame and lens, the sunglasses were the same as the hat. And staring at it and seeing and comprehending this comparison made Crocodile come close to tossing the bottle at the boy.

And now that boy was staring down at him.

"You should take his advice." Crocodile let a finger fall into the opening of his bottle. He pressed his index finger further down the neck, feeling the warming moisture surround his near trapped appendage. "Things will certainly become dangerous once the sun goes down."

"You plan on leaving anytime soon?" The annoying brat in the straw hat asked.

"No. Of course he isn't," Mihawk answered for Crocodile. "Shanks, give me a moment."

"Ugh, really?"

"Yes," Mihawk replied. "Look, go on ahead without me. I need to have a talk."

"Meet me at Ben's, alright?"

"Yes, yes, fine," Mihawk said.

Crocodile was already back to staring at the soil. He felt through the soil, finding his keys and picked up the bottle opener attached to it, ready to open yet another container. Somewhere common sense was warning him that killing Doflamingo was going to be a hell lot more difficult while drunk. He flicked the bottle open, not entirely sure if that was the intended goal anymore.

How was he going to pick up Doflamingo when he was too drunk to keep his head up?

"Shit," he muttered.

Didn't I decide we were just going to rot in this hole anyways?

"Hmmm." And Doflamingo was probably wondering where he was right now. What a sight to behold. How worried the little prick might be, with his backpack full of personal belongings, waiting, wondering why in the hell his precious boyfriend hadn't picked him up yet, or why nobody was answering the phone. Crocodile's legs were numb, he was starting to feel hot, and his stomach was churning and twisting into knots, but at least he wasn't pissing himself over potentially being abandoned.

The keys dropped and Crocodile nearly bit his tongue, snickering at the wonderful, hypothetical scene.

"Crocodile?" Mihawk called.

Staring at the moist soil, Crocodile brought the umpteenth bottle to his lips and began to drink.

"I'm not entirely sure what's ailing you right now," Mihawk said. Crocodile could roll his eyes at how pretentious Mihawk sounded, using that fucking word, "ailing," as though he were afflicted with some sort of sickness. "I can imagine you're under a lot of personal stress. This hole you dug, the drinks…it's making it very difficult for me to figure out what you're intending to do with yourself."

"Good."

"You mentioned having a loaded gun on you."

Crocodile nodded his head. And now his throat was burning, muscles inside of him were relaxing, unless it was related to the digestive system. Those were starting to contract and hurt.

"You make a lot of poor judgments when you're upset, and now you're drunk."

Crocodile shrugged. "Are you going to get to the point or just keep prattling on?"

"I think you should consider giving me the gun right now, before you make another poor decision," Mihawk answered.

"Like using it on you?" Crocodile remarked back. "Kuhahaha! The look on your face. Do you remember?" No remark from above. Crocodile placed the drink between his legs and grabbed the handgun. It was heavy, and in his drunken grip felt like it would fall and possibly go off at a given moment. Crocodile's breathing quickened as he stared into the dark barrel, his mind displacing further away from the present. "You see, Mihawk, I had nothing to lose then, and I have nothing to lose now. I never had anything to lose because I was never given anything to begin with, just what I had to earn on my own. This stupid gun. The fucking needles. It was all my own doing, not anybody else's. Not hers. Not yours. Not fucking Doflamingo's…"

"Crocodile, what do you intend on doing with that gun? This hole?"

"I could only gain," Crocodile continued, ignoring Mihawk's request for an answer. "For the longest time, I could only gain…I've never really known what it was like to actually lose something, other than my life. But even then, I could never lose that, not even when things were stacked against me."

"…who's there?"

Crocodile picked up his drink and took another sip. His mind was hazy and his stomach hurt. He was waiting for it to rain so he could drown in his hole, with or without Doflamingo. Mihawk was ruining the moment. Or maybe he was making it better. Maybe he was adding to the scene. Adding to the show.

"Like one big show," Crocodile muttered. "One big fucking game where I gain and survive, and then have everything swiped when I make the mistake of growing comfortable."

"Oh, good, you're here…"

"I hate those games." Crocodile reeled, curling inward to fight the growing toxicity that was beginning to soak and have its way with his body. There was no need for a jacket now, not with his skin shivering with poisonous heat.

He was supposed to get Doflamingo a while ago. He failed to do that. He was alone in a hole, and the only thought that could provide some level of solace was imagining Doflamingo in his room, brokenhearted, crying over being rejected by him. And even now, with his liver and intestines about to reject several bottles of booze, hands fighting to keep hold of a gun and yet another bottle, instead of dropping it all and grabbing hold of himself, Crocodile was distracted by that image of a sad little boy worse off than him.

The thought was painted clear in his mind, bringing forth contradicting feelings of comfort and dismay. It wasn't until he felt some gravel fall and hit him in the shoulder did he notice the unsettling feeling nestling in his stomach, the sour taste in his mouth, saliva coating his mouth in a thick layer to prepare itself for an upchuck.

"Crocodile?"

The sound of Doflamingo's voice caused him to snap his neck up to the sky. His body was sick and septic, and Crocodile could feel bodily reflexes working it's way into his throat, stopping him from breathing, because the muscles in his stomach were too busy contracting. His body was preoccupied with survival, always determined to endure whatever gruesome attacks he laid out against it. His eyes could barely focus on the shadowed form of Doflamingo's head, shaking and blurry, about to split into two, three, four…

"Crocodile?" A hand extended, plummeting into the hole, to Crocodile, the drinks, and the gun, and everything else that aimed against Doflamingo.

A few seconds from succumbing to the gag reflex, Crocodile blinked, feeling his redden, dry eyes fixate on the appendage, on the hand that wanted to pull him out from the hole it helped make. Doflamingo's voice was shaky, and his long fingers were losing their touch, shaking as they reached to claim him.

A second away from his digestive system giving in, his mind was slipping, losing track of how many orders to give at once, and emotions and consciousness dimming, while his insides begged for a release.

"Crocodile?" Mihawk's voice? Or perhaps it was Doflamingo's?

No, this is wrong. This is not how it was supposed to go down.

This was it. His lowest point. The worst day of his life. Worse than anything else he could have imagined. Absolutely nothing after this point mattered.

Nothing could possibly get any worse.

-Now-

His head ached.

Crocodile was on the floor. He was on his back. As far as he could tell, there was nothing binding him. Doflamingo never made it that far, or perhaps he left shortly after bringing him down. Crocodile wasn't sure, but he had to assume Doflamingo might still be around.

He twitched, testing the limits of his freedom without alerting Doflamingo that he was awake. First a finger, then two. He jerked his left arm, and discovered the hook was still attached. He felt the base roll against the hard floor. He heard the friction of the soft, pliable gold metal grazing against the rough cement.

"I hope you don't mind, but I used your phone in order to make a few, quick calls."

Crocodile inhaled a loud, frustrated sigh. He opened his eyes, turning his head in the direction of Doflamingo's voice, spotting him on the messy table, cell phone in hand. Doflamingo stared at it, rubbing his covered eyes while giving the occasional sniff.

Doflamingo shifted in place, turning to Crocodile. "Turns out things aren't looking too good, outside of this room."

Crocodile couldn't locate the gun.

"Your girlfriend told me everything," Doflamingo muttered. Crocodile shifted his eyes over at the stairs, feeling his mouth go dry. "Don't worry," he heard Doflamingo continue,"I didn't do a goddamn thing to her. She got me right where it counts, but I let her go." Crocodile went back to staring at Doflamingo, who was now flipping the phone open, casually texting out a message. "You see, at the end of the day, you're alive. And I hate to say it, but you getting a taste of her once in a while might have helped contributed to it. And while I'm not a fan of the image, I'm not about to complain. Woman's got a good head between her shoulders. She tolerated you. That alone is punishment enough, I suppose."

Crocodile remained silent, watching Doflamingo continue to text. His back ached from resting on the flat, hard concrete floor. He dared not move. He didn't see it, but Crocodile knew Doflamingo had his gun somewhere on his person.

"So Whitebeard's on his way," Doflamingo said, snapping the phone shut and placing it by his side. "And you've been out for about…thirty minutes now. Your girlfriend's gone, wanted to let you know she's going to Spiders Café, whatever that means…I don't plan on letting you get that far though."

Robin was gone? Not a surprise. Her giving away her intended location was unexpected, but Crocodile wasn't going to pretend she gave the location to Doflamingo with her anticipating his arrival. She left him for dead, and Crocodile didn't blame her one bit.

He tried to envision where the gun might be. Doflamingo was drumming his fingers on the table, a hand rubbing his filthy face of any dried blood and residue, only stopping to cover his bandaged eye, a result of the pain getting to him.

"So there's your predicament, made worse by the fact that Whitebeard's definitely on his way to this place," Doflamingo said, leaning back. His movements were sluggish, definitely weakened, but not nearly as bad as Crocodile last witnessed. And thirty minutes wasn't enough time to recuperate. "Miss All-Sunday made it sound like this would be one of his targets. And you slept past curfew."

It might be reasonable to assume Robin provided Doflamingo food and water. Not even Robin. If Crocodile was out for as long as Doflamingo claimed, then him leaving the room to gather necessities wouldn't have been too difficult to do, even in his state.

"And then we have my little problem, which isn't so little anymore, but yeah…" Doflamingo sighed. He looked disappointed. My friends lost contact with a close associate of mine. Looks like I might be in some major trouble. Going to make things difficult, once I leave this place."

What on earth was he talking about? Earlier Doflamingo mentioned something about Kaido. Doflamingo made it sound like it wasn't too much of a problem, but the way he sat on the table, looking like a child that was recently told he couldn't go out to play, was an inappropriate way to express concern, assuming he just learned things with Kaido had gone awry.

"That's what's been keeping them so long." Doflamingo pointed at the phone. "I got my executives coming down though. Everyone else is scattering, looking for a place to lay low until things blow done. Diamante insists that Kaido won't waste his time, but…I'm not too sure about that?" A grin flashed across Doflamingo's beaten up face. "Cause Whitebeard's taking the time to destroy everything you worked hard to accomplish, and Kaido's in the same elite rank. And he's got Vergo somewhere, hopefully alive, but damn if I actually know. But he's got Vergo, and I can't help but think he's looking at me the same way Whitebeard's looking at you."

An annoyance. That's what Crocodile figured. The old man probably viewed him like some sort of bug: a little freakish cockroach that wouldn't die or learn a goddamn lesson. And now Whitebeard and Kaido were getting tired of the pests bothering them, and were finally going out to unleash a mass extermination.

"We're threats. We're young, we both have the potential to reach their level, and they wanna stop us now before that ever happens." Doflamingo chuckled, rubbing his covered eye and making a soft whimper once he did. His smile disappeared. "But the boys are coming down, and they're on their way, about to save me from his huge disaster we've created, and…" Doflamingo reached around his back, and when he brought it around Crocodile saw the gun, shaking in his hands. "I sort of wonder," Doflamingo said, "will taking you with me make it any more complicated?"

Crocodile was taken aback. Doflamingo was contemplating killing him now?

"Don't give me that look," Doflamingo growled. "Hoe do you think this makes me feel? I spent years of my life, regretting, wondering if you were alive, if I was blame for this."

Crocodile shifted, resting on his side. The gun was shaking. Doflamingo couldn't use it on him. It was all a show.

"Mihawk mentions you're alive, and I reminisce over just how strong you are." Doflamingo switched the safety off the gun. "Because all I remember are the memories of you surviving. And I think I'll do what I have to in order to get you. I'll make a name for myself on the black market. I'll sell drugs, and I'll sell souls all across the globe, until my name reaches you, calling you out from whatever shadows you've hidden yourself in."

Now the gun was rising up. Doflamingo's hand was still shaking though. Crocodile could tell it was, and it didn't matter if Doflamingo pointed it at him. It was still all a show.

"But instead, here you are." Doflamingo sounded like he was struggling. Crocodile couldn't detect the fear. He couldn't hear sadness. "At first it seemed you hadn't changed a bit, that you were still accomplishing things, but…"

Anger. That was what was causing the hand to shake. Doflamingo was seething with rage.

Crocodile retracted his legs. He was about to do the same with his arm, but forbade himself from appearing too defensive.

"It doesn't look like I have to worry much about breaking you," Doflamingo said. "Because you're already broken." He shrugged. "Or maybe you were broken for a long time, and I'm just starting to see that, finally. Because you're falling for the same tricks. The same damn things are tripping you out."

Crocodile wondered if he could get away with shifting some weight to his legs and jump Doflamingo. Unlikely. There was enough distance between them for the young man to pull the trigger, effectively ruining any chance of attack.

"And you made such a big deal about leaving Arizona and finishing whatever you needed in order to feel man enough, and I've come all this way discover you haven't done a damn thing." Doflamingo stared down at him, giving Crocodile that infuriating look of pity. "You've given up." The young man might as well have spat the words out; that's how disgusted he sounded.

"You're disappointed by this," Crocodile muttered. He could try inching his way closer. "You were so excited by the prospects of ruining me, and now you're pissed that I'm not some demigod of a man, ready to submit your insane discourses." He could try moving closer, just enough to give himself a slight advantage for an attack. "Pathetic. You're still the same stupid boy who's obsessed over the only person who gave him some attention."

Doflamingo snickered. "Excuse me?" He lowered the gun. He wasn't going to shoot. "You're putting this one me?"

Crocodile dragged his arm forward. The gold hook lightly scraped against the floor. He'd get another one, once this was over. "Oh, as if I'd give you the honor of being the only source of my misery."

He could grab Doflamingo by the leg, and then use the hook to gouge him. Would Doflamingo shoot? It might be better to just try and jump him. Doflamingo might have recovered some strength, but Crocodile knew he was at a huge advantage. Doflamingo was one eye short, with labored breath and a heaving, shaking body.

"I'm shocked you're even upset by this," Crocodile laughed. His head ached, but he didn't care. This conversation was ridiculous. After all these years, Doflamingo was the same, stupid boy who couldn't get over him. "You made a big deal about keeping me stuck in this room."

"I did," Doflamingo replied.

"And now you're upset you succeeded?"

Doflamingo rested his head against his hand, the gun now pointed upwards. "It's strange," he confessed. "I saw the look you made right before you passed out, and I remembered how you passed out all those times before."

"More reminiscing?" Crocodile's voice was drenched in sarcasm. "Is that all you're capable of?"

Doflamingo ignored the remark. "All those times I watched you, and each time you woke up, and each time I was so close to losing you. And I spent years thinking I might have lost you again, and I looked forward to catching you, and watching you wake up again." Doflamingo moved closer to the edge of the table, letting his shaky legs kick up as he continued to stare out and cast up distorted memories. "…It's always the same. You and I. We've never changed, not once, not since I met you."

Did Doflamingo realize he was opening himself for an attack? Was the blond really that confident in his capabilities, despite so close to death's door?

Crocodile's eyes rested on his hook. He was tired, but he could still beat Doflamingo.

"I always wanted to surpass you," Doflamingo said. "But neither of us have changed, and you're still the same lonely little eight year old who lied about his name, because he was too scared to let me in on his secret the moment I met him. And me..."

As much of a distraction this conversation was, Crocodile found it tiring to listen to. "You're the stupid, spoiled brat who's far worse off."

"I'm a product of your influence," Doflamingo corrected.

Crocodile sneered. "Am I to take it I'm the reason you're such a piece of shit?"

"Oh, I'm saying we're a product us patting each other on the back," Doflamingo answered. "I grew up under the impression you were better than me, and you made a point to always meet those standards. And little surprises that came up only left me wanting to surpass you more and more. You gave the finger to nature and biology, I wanted to do the same, but take it another step."

So this was how Doflamingo viewed his gender? Crocodile wasn't the least bit surprised, and yet he felt a tinge of nausea build in his abdomen. He wanted to wring Doflamingo by the neck and remind him this wasn't some little challenge to overcome.

"I thought breaking you down would mean the next step, but really," Doflamingo paused, and it didn't necessarily matter whether it was purposeful or not, but it left Crocodile privately reeling. It was when Doflamingo made eye contact with him, staring past Crocodile, looking beyond him, no longer expressing the same obsessive stare he grew to hate, did the man finally finish: "surpassing a child was never the goal."

Crocodile thought he could handle whatever schlock Doflamingo continued to allow past his lips. He laughed his way through torture, managed to keep Crocodile on a tightening leash with just the use of words, surely whatever nonsense came from Doflamingo now wouldn't nearly as bad as half of the crap he'd endured since making the mistake of befriending him.

"Fuck you."

For some reason Crocodile couldn't prevent the words from exiting his mouth. Doflamingo's statement, deprived of gender, identity, and replaced with pronunciations stressed to exhibit disgust and disappointment, made it hard for Crocodile to not repeat himself. He managed to stop himself from yelling, the muscles in his throat contracting the last second to produce more of a stuttered growl.

"See, there you go again!" Doflamingo waved his hand at Crocodile. "You're getting emotional over a few words. I call you anything less than what you want to be, and you freak the fuck out. You're still the same boy I followed into the desert. You want to be worshipped, but you certainly can't expect me to take you back home and pamper you if you're going to continue being this difficult."

"You piece of…" Crocodile sat upright, his left arm already raised, ready to hit the ground with a smack. The weight of his hook stopped him.

"Same for me," Doflamingo added, "I can't expect to continue to grow if I always have this perfect image of you staining my mind." He pointed the gun at Crocodile. "When there was a risk that you might be dead, I was strong. I got shit done, and yeah…I did it for you, but I became a name."

Doflamingo sniffed again, and this time Crocodile caught something glistening in the corner of the man's eye.

No. This was too much. It was embarrassing. Crocodile refused to have Doflamingo break into a fit right before shooting him.

This day cannot possibly get any worse. "Fuck you," Crocodile repeated. He hoisted himself up, ignoring the rush of blood, followed by a pattern of warmth and lightheaded dizziness. He stumbled his way up, heaving more than Doflamingo ever did during his violent sessions, and glared at the man sitting at the end of the table.

Now he was staring down at Doflamingo. It wasn't much, not when he knew there was nothing stopping him from being shot right in the heart, but it made so much of a difference to see a tired, bloodied, watery-eyed Doflamingo underneath him. Doflamingo could have the gun; Crocodile would go out with some dignity.

"A scared little boy?" Crocodile huffed. He lifted his hook at Doflamingo, catching Doflamingo's finger pressed firmly on the trigger. "Well, I think our current positions really prove who's who here, don't you think, Doffy?"

Oh, he was scared. Crocodile sure as hell didn't want to die yet. And not by Doflamingo's hand. Whitebeard was on his way, no? Why couldn't it have been him instead, instead of this idiot sitting before him?

Doflamingo feigned a chuckled. "Well…" Crocodile stared at the barrel aimed at him. "As much as I enjoyed all the fun we experienced together," he heard Doflamingo mutter, "I'm not sure I really want to continue this cycle. I mean, look where it's gotten us so far?"

Crocodile couldn't see everything, not with his hook still pointed at Doflamingo, but he knew Doflamingo's arm wasn't shaking anymore. The hand was holding the gun, firm, without so much as a minor twitch of the muscle. Crocodile wasn't shaking. He was sweating, and his breathing was out of control, but he was able to stand and face Doflamingo's bullshit with a straight face.

"Considering how difficult it is to kill you, well, at least for you it is…"

Why in the hell didn't he at least look up some of those medical treatments?

He should've gone out more, maybe considered taking a break once in a while from all this business.

Even though Robin was against it, buying a miniature caiman would've been so cool.

Calling Mihawk more and gaining some Intel on Doflamingo would've been a good idea.

A lot of this could've been prevented if he just took a different route altogether.

Was this really just some endless cycle—

There wasn't any time to finish the thought as a loud series of gunshots were heard from upstairs.

Both men stopped; Doflamingo grabbing hold of himself, Crocodile lurching forward, neither prepared to hear the rush of bullets hitting something hard right above them. Crocodile came close to vomiting when it was over. He remained standing, his eyes never leaving the barrel, but his mind turned to the door. Something was moving around the living room, making enough noise for him to listen through layers of concrete. There was another gunshot, the pauses in between signifying to Crocodile that it was a different brand of weapon. More then just a few people were running around the ground level. He couldn't see Doflamingo, nor did he want to, but there seemed to be a silent agreement between him and the young man over what might be occurring right above them.

Crocodile lowered the hook, his arm now numb with weight and stiffened muscles. "Your men?"

Doflamingo broke his sorry look away from Crocodile, giving a nod before letting out a nervous chuckle. "And Whitebeard's," he finished.