Summary: They call him a god, but his blood is not gold nor blue. It runs red, and wounds give him pain. So what was he, if not human? (But then again, demons bleed as well, don't they?)
Warnings: SI/OC-Insert, Reincarnation, Déjà vu, Memory Loss, Yaoi/Slash, Yuri, Het, Celestial Dragons, Marines, Pirates, Canon-Typical Violence, Slavery, Mentions of Torture, Mentions of Rape, Branding, Drugs, Future Slash/Het, Canon Divergence, Not Everybody Lives/Somebody Dies, AU, Canon Divergence, etc.
Disclaimer: Is Ace alive? Did Rogue get a backstory? Is Blackbeard dead? No? That's your answer.
—
.
They said when he was born, he did not cry nor utter a sigh. His twin had made all the noise, screeching at the top of her lungs.
At first, the doctors were frightened. What if he had died? Surely, his parents would give them death.
But no, he was alive, unseeing eyes taking in what he could glean from his surroundings. He cooed, made a noise finally, and they all breathed out a relieved sigh.
His mother had taken one look at them, twins carrying both side's visage, and lovingly announced, "Wingates Amedeo for the boy, and Wingates Sapphira for the girl."
At this, the two newborns were given names to call them by, but all the doctors did was prostrate themselves on the ground and answered, "Such wonderful names fitting for their Holiness, Saint Arabella. We vermins are honored to have seen the birth of gods."
Malevolent sapphire-pink eyes gleamed, and Arabella chuckled lowly as she held her children near her breasts to feed them.
"As you should," she intoned, not bothering to give them nary a glance. "Leave; your presence fouls the air."
"By your leave, Your Ladyship," murmured the head doctor, and they scampered away, thankful for an excuse to leave the suffocating atmosphere.
Not minding their abrupt departure, Arabella crooned a lullaby to the now suckling babes, and announced to no one with finality in her voice,
"They will serve you, and worship the very land you walk on, my sweetlings." She caressed a tanned cheek, and smiled at the way Sapphira's nose scrunched in confusion. "For you two are gods, and no harm shall befall you, so long as you wear our family name with pride."
Wingates. The Family told to have been blessed by angels, giving them invisible wings to reach new heights and intellect far beyond what mortal men can comprehend. To soar above everyone, even their kin, and take flight in the heavens.
Unbeknowst to this, little Amedeo tried once more to open his eyes, and wondered in a fleeting thought his young mind could not hold,
"Where am I?" And then he slept.
—
.
At three, Amedeo was sure he should be dead.
He had no evidence, nor memories to back up his claim. But there's a numbness in his bones, apathy replacing what joy or sorrow children like him should feel. He feels old, and unbearably tired. As if he had no want to live, nor wanted to move an inch from where he sat on his bed.
But Fate, or rather, his sister had other plans.
"Come on, 'Deo!" She exclaimed, bouncing from her extravagant canopy bed on the other side of their shared bedroom. Mother had said they would sleep in the same room until they were ten, and Amedeo looked forward to having space of his very own. He didn't quite fancy his dark purple drapes and gold trimmings. Far too… grandoise for his tastes. "Papa said he was going to bring us on a trip! Hurry, hurry!" She tugged his arm for good measure, and all he did was make a vague hum.
As opposed to his satin nightwear, Sapphira was dressed in frills and pink ribbons, with lace gloves and a matching bonnet settled atop wavy black locks. Her ebony, short-heeled shoes made light thunk thunk thunk sounds as she ran around their room, flitting from one corner to another, half in excitement and half in an attempt to find suitable clothes for her brother to wear.
"Amedeoooo!" Whined she, her lips turning into a pout. Amedeo felt nothing but mild curiosity. Was she going to cry? Throw a tantrum? He'd be very unfortunate if she did; her vocal chords were rather large for someone her size. "Please? For me?"
"And why should I?" He asked, humoring her just this once. At this, she perked up. It was rare for her younger twin (by four minutes and twenty-three point seven seconds!) to speak, let alone address anybody directly. He usually communicated with grunts, different intonations without words, and the rare 'hn' sound.
"Because it's our birthday!"
Indeed, while Amedeo was dismissive of frivolities and nearly everything his rich life had to offer, he made an exception on their birthday: one wish he would grant. Only one, and nothing more.
Sighing, and deeply regretting his agreement to get Sapphira off his back, he waved her off with a, "Alright, alright. I'll change, now leave."
Squealing in happiness, the girl of now four years glomped her less than wanting sibling and ran off, eager to share the good news to their Mother.
Resisting the urge to rub his temples in an attempt to stave away an incoming headache, Amedeo made way to his closet and took out his outdoor robes with distaste.
Surely Sapphira knew that she won't be going out in a dress. Mother and Father had told them, time and time again, that they were to wear this ridiculous garb complete with gloves, high boots and strange helmet. To 'protect them from the dirtiness of the outside world', whatever that meant.
And indeed, not long after Amedeo finally managed to strap on his footwear and waddle in his heavy robes, Sapphira came trudging back with a dejected look on her face as she regarded her dress mournfully.
Done with their clothes, the two went to the living room (which resembled a chapel's dome, if Amedeo was to be honest) and was greeted by their parents wearing similar clothes, which made Sapphira's mood all the more down.
"Don't be like that, my flower," cajoled their Father, lavender eyes twinkling with mirth. His light platinum hair looked white in the light, cropped neatly inside his bubble-helmet. Mother stood at his side, dark hair done in an elaborate bun with braids and an intricate comb, giggling softly behind a gloved hand. "It's the only way to keep you free from the filth those lowly beings always carry."
Sapphira huffed, arms crossed and looking away. Amedeo said nothing and looked somewhere in the middle distance, and Father's smile turned strained.
"Are you looking forward to the trip, my light?" Amedeo stared blankly at his Father, hair a pure snow and eyes more amethyst than lavender in the darkness. A more stoic, yet none the less uncanny image of his sire. At his silence, Father cleared his throat and gestured them to follow him, while Mother smirked at their son's dismissal.
They were led to a carriage, more of a palaquin if people ("They're worms, dearest Amedeo. Worms.") were to carry it instead of horses, and they all clambered on it. They were sitting in front of their lookalikes, Sapphire opposite to Mother and Amedeo across Father. All four were stunning peop—nay, gods with bronze skin and gems for eyes.
The journey towards their cruise was a short one, with Father whipping their carriers if they ever so faltered in their steps (something inside Amedeo screamed—), and they all boarded the ship with rows of servants bowing on the deck.
"Set a course for Sabaody," said Father, making himself comfortable on a chair of slaves. They were covered in white cloth, but underneath it were rags and chains with dirtied skin and grime. Amedeo moved his gaze to the sea, and let it stay there for the duration of their trip.
Sapphira tried to interest him in a game of throwing drinks and platters of food on the servants, but gave up and settled on amusing herself with throwing projectiles on her own as Mother advised her to better her aim and posture while she drank her wine.
Amedeo was silent, and standing a few ways away from him was an elderly maid he had remembered seeing ever since he could differentiate shapes and colors.
"Woman," he started, and she inclined her head in acknowledgement. "What is Sabaody?"
She bowed, and replied, "It is an archipelago filled with wonders and places for your shopping, My Lord. It is famous for their island bubbles and other vehicles pertaining to it, but it will pop once leaving the archipelago's atmosphere. It is also where your Blessed parents purchase their goods."
'Goods', they say, thought Amedeo, mouth tugging downwards in a faint frown before he smoothened his face into neutrality.
Sabaody was indeed a land of bubbles and various other stores, but all the people threw themselves on the ground at the sight of them, and Amedeo felt the familiar curl of dread in his stomach come alive.
"Look," called Sapphira, tugging his hand as they walked for once. Mother was sitting atop a fishman, scales a peculiar shade of green and chains rattling with each movement he made, while Father accompanied them on their other side, making them in the middle. "Father seems to be bringing us to an auction house. Do you think he'll let me buy a fishman, too?"
I hope not, Amedeo inwardly said. Outside, he shrugged, and left the conversation to die.
But Father did bring them to an auction house, filled to the brim with buyers of different social classes and statuses. Amedeo closed his eyes, counted backwards to ten, and followed his family towards the VIP seats their 'host' was gracious enough to prepare for them beforehand.
It became worse when the 'show' started, the 'host' displaying humans and fishmen as if it were a simple sales pitch. Pirates, civillians, even the rare Marine (and something niggled the back of his mind at that, but what—?) were shown for sale. Bids were done, money was collected, and lives were given as easily as selling candy for a pretty penny.
The final act was closed with a mermaid, someone which Sapphira immediately wanted for her own.
Father raised his number, and the mermaid was theirs.
(Amedeo later on felt tears wet his cheeks, alone on deck with no one but the old lady to witness it.
"Why do I cry?" He asked to himself, and to the air in the sky.
Sadly, in sotto voice, the maid whispered as if afraid to break the silence, "Because you feel that it is wrong.")
—
.
At five, Amedeo learns the woman's name to be Melissa, and that she was their wet nurse while their Mother went off to do whatever she does in her free time.
She's aged, nearing sixty with her fifty-seven years, with grey hair in a low ponytail and wrinkled hands sewing clothes still. Learning this, Amedeo takes care to treat her with respect, and tells Sapphira to do the same.
"Why should I?" Asked Sapphira, looking genuinely puzzled. She was in the middle of giving food for her mermaid, a blonde beauty with a red tail and sunken, dull blue eyes. She had named her Ruby, and Amedeo relented as it was a better name than he expected her to give.
"We would have been dead if not for her care," argued Amedeo, and Sapphira looked thoughtful, before agreeing to treat Melissa better.
Her idea of 'better' turned out to be allowing her to see Ruby and giving her authority to take care of the mermaid.
"If you're skilled enough to raise a god," she reasoned, all childish logic and wholly unrepentant. "Then a mermaid would be of no challenge, yes?"
"Of course, My Lady," she had agreed. "This lowly one thanks for your unnecessary and high praise, and will do her best to meet your expectations."
"As you will," Sapphira beamed, and looked at Amedeo for approval.
Baffled, but in a good way, Amedeo nodded and was unsure what to make of Sapphira's proud grin.
—
.
When they turn six, Amedeo was hit with a terrible cold, and Sapphira was understandably very upset.
"We were going to go on vacation around the Blues," stressed Sapphira, sitting on the foot of his bed as she played with the covers. She took note of the multitude of pillows cushioning him, and said, "Why must you get sick on our birthday?"
Amedeo suspected it was because he fell in Ruby's aquarium when he attempted to give her a shell he found in Father's study (he wouldn't notice, what with how many trinkets were there in display gathering dust), but he wasn't about to tell her that. Ruby's blue eyes were slowly regaining their shine, resembling a cornflower in color, and he didn't want his and Melissa's effort to go to waste.
"Bring me a gift then," he croaked, throat rough and dry. She gave him a glass of water, and waited for him to speak up. "To make me happy."
"Nothing I do makes you happy," she groused, surly and sulking. She was bizzarely attached to him, despite Amedeo not doing anything to win her affection. It was all so very strange.
"Not true," he protested weakly. "When you said sorry to Melissa, I smiled, didn't I?" And he did, even ruffled her head in a moment of rare affection. Sapphira had been beside herself with glee then, tailing after him like a particularly lost puppy.
"But I don't want to leave you alone…"
Mustering up the energy to smile, Amedeo titled his head. "I won't be alone. I have Melissa and Ruby, right?"
Sapphira still looked uncertain. "Still…"
"How about this," Amedeo suggested, drawing Sapphira's attention away from stewing in her thoughts. "When I get better, let's have a trip of our very own in the ocean." Her eyes sparkled, and a grin finally made itself known on her face.
"Really!?"
"Well, we'll have to ask Father, but yes—"
He's cut off when Sapphira pounced on him, tucking her chin on his shoulder and snuggling at the crook of his neck. Amedeo bit down the urge to laugh and maybe hack out a lung, and wrapped his arms around her waist.
"Yes, yes, yes, yes! A trip with only 'Deo?" She pulled back, enough so that they can meet eye-to-eye, and her grin widened. Looking at her now, one wouldn't expect her to be a World Noble that wouldn't bat an eye to human trafficking. "This is the best birthday gift ever! Thank you, 'Deo!"
Appeased, she went out to the trip all smiles and impatient, wanting to look for the perfect gift to give to her twin.
(She found it in the form of a lone, burnt body shallowly breathing amidst the destruction and fire, and Sapphira wasted no time in voicing her wants.
"That," she proclaimed, tone brokering no room for objections. "I want that. 'Deo would like that."
Aghast and flabbergasted, their parents agreed since it was her wish, and called for someone who could save the near-corpse's life)
Days later saw Amedeo watching a small chest rising up and down, eyes going upwards to see a young girl connected to numerous machines and skin covered in faint white splotches and burns.
Glancing at the side where Sapphira was waiting for his comment, Amedeo inquired in a lost manner, "What?"
"You said we were the Devil," she admitted, shoulders slumping and chin jutted out defiantly. "Well, the Devil wouldn't even think of helping a dying child, right? But since I did, then that means I'm not!"
Amedeo was briefly flummoxed, until he recalled a conversation they had on one December afternoon.
"I am not a god," he had said to his twin, both the young age of four, whose sapphire-pink eyes blinked owlishly at him. "Nor are you god as well." She'd pursed her lips and asked, "Well, what are we then? They do our every whim and shower us with riches. What are we then, if not gods?" At this, he'd shook his head, and answered in a hollow voice, "They fear us, not worship us, for we are the Devil."
"Oh," he breathed out. She remembered, he thought. And not only that, she wanted to change.
"Well done," he praised, and she brightened considerably. Amedeo ruffled her head like before, and closed his eyes as pale lashes kissed his cheeks. "You did a good deed."
"Am I not the Devil anymore?" She asked, innocent and looking for comfort.
He opened his eyes, amethyst shining with something akin to hope. "We'll see, Sapphira. We'll see."
Unknowing of what transpired, the child from Flevance slept on, finger twitching erratically and only once.