vade retro - "go back" or "step back," an exorcist incantation
Four more months passed.
The Donquixote Family became almost a household name in the North Blue. Earnest new crews and captains still cropped up, but they blustered more and more steadily at each other and less and less at Doffy.
These days, his brother traversed the Grand Line as if it were his own private lagoon. Nothing challenged him. Everything feared him. His presence in those waters grew akin to a shrouded deity, leering and untouchable.
Rosinante supposed Doffy had never really had any true competition in the first place.
Gifts and tributes overflowed the cargo holds—an ancient, eerie reflection of their manor in Mariejois that made Rosinante pale and queasy.
"He's getting out of control."
Sengoku's flinty stare lanced from the Den Den Mushi. He had no idea how a snail could capture the expression so accurately but it made him feel like a boy again.
"Yes, sir."
"We need to stop him before he can expand his weapons trade beyond the New World. You said he's been mapping out Reverse Mountain, right? That must mean he's heading for Paradise."
An indicative pause that Rosinante played dumb to.
"…Well, with all due respect, maps hardly imply a concrete plan's been made. He's still preoccupied with some things on Punk Hazard. I haven't got much detail yet, but there's a lab of some kind. He's made a deal with the head scientist there—"
"Yes, you've mentioned. We're still working on a name unfortunately, but…he's also the winemaker, correct?"
Sengoku's voice implied the question was essentially rhetorical. Rosinante winced, his meager attempt at changing the subject swatted down like a fly.
"Correct, sir."
"And as you've reported last time, the most recent shipment of wine was delayed and lost in transit."
"Yes."
"Meaning he's currently out of supply anyway and it's not really a prime concern at the moment."
"…Yes, sir."
Sengoku sighed, a crackle of static. "We're looking into Punk Hazard, Rosinante, I promise. You need to focus on the current issue at hand and find out if he has a plan for Paradise. This is a mission you personally volunteered for, son."
Rosinante's mouth flattened, hand tightening on the speaker piece.
"I know," he started, "I'm sorry, I didn't...he's not as different as I'd expected him to be, I-I wasn't…"
The words twisted around themselves, a snake eating its own tail. Sengoku waited though. He always waited and eventually Rosinante managed to wrestle his tongue into a semblance of his feelings.
"…I'm just...what's that wine for? He drinks so hard and he already has headaches, nightmares. His eye, it's...he was a child. He didn't deserve the things that happened to him—"
"And you did?" Sengoku's voice was gruff, though not unkind. "You lived through it too, Rosinante. You were a child as well. Don't absolve him of the choices he's made."
"Yes, but I had you." Rosinante meant it too much to be embarrassed. "I had the marines. Doffy only had—" He paused to steady himself, stemming back the anger and disdain.
"He only had what he didn't need."
Silence. Rosinante had the distinct feeling Sengoku was pitying him, and sighed.
"Can't you just ask Tsuru-san to chase him around some more? I'll give you the coordinates to our next location."
"Son, the old gal could chase him to Laugh Tale and back, and it wouldn't change a thing. He'd find a way to shake her off, like always, and then return again. She can't stop him. There might even be a day soon when no one can."
Rosinante's stomach sunk. The snail's gaze was firm and pointed.
"You ate that fruit for a reason, Rosinante. And the reason hasn't changed, whether you ended up using the fruit as planned or not. Can you repeat it for me?"
He hesitated. The old man didn't typically have much encouragement to spare on this particular endeavor of Rosinante's. It was a little hard sometimes, listening to the things he had to say.
But of course he obeyed in the end, a whisper cracked apart in the center.
"I want to save my brother."
"Then save him," Sengoku said shortly, "in the only way he can be saved."
xxx
Doflamingo almost didn't hear the knock on his door, so obliterated was he by the stabbing pain in his head.
Rolling to his feet, he stumbled across the room, wincing at a particular pinch in his right temple.
Dellinger had reached a horrible phase where he only wanted to be held by certain people and wailed the roof down if anyone else so much as attempted to intervene. For whatever reason and most unfortunately, those certain people only seemed to include Jora and himself.
And Dellinger was not particularly accommodating towards migraines. He'd had a bitch of a time trying to hand off the near-toddler to Gladius, just so he could go deal with the problem in peace.
Suffice to say, his mood could've been better.
"What?" he hissed, yanking the door open, "Trebol, now is not the ti—Rosi?"
His brother stood blankly in the archway. The dim corridor remade him in feathers, smoke and shadow, but they could not hide his face. How pale it was. Doflamingo's anger drifted off, replaced by puzzlement. It was becoming a weird little recurrence, Rosi at his doorway.
"…Why are you here?"
His brother fidgeted and shifted weight from foot to foot. Like some parody of a scene from when they were boys, Rosi begging him with young, wordless eyes to take the blame for a smashed vase.
Only they weren't boys anymore. And there was nothing young about Rosi's eyes.
"Can I stay with you tonight?"
He stared. His brother stared back like he was already expecting refusal.
"Why?" Doflamingo said carefully, "What's wrong?"
Rosi's shoulders slumped. "I don't know…sorry, never mind…"
He turned to leave and Doflamingo stiffened at the echo of pain he caught in his eyes.
Rosi had been looking more and more upset during the past few months in general, even though the Family was stronger than ever. Even though Doflamingo could not fathom what there was to possibly be upset about. Some whispering voice in him kept wondering if he should care that Rosi wasn't happy. That no matter what, Doflamingo just couldn't seem to make him happy.
It always rattled off plenty of reasons to give him up—distraction, liability, you have PLANS to proceed with, he left you anyway… Sometimes it sounded terribly similar to Trebol and just as pointless. Doflamingo was already perfectly aware after all, that he was better off not caring about such exhausting things.
…It's just that he's cared for a long time, hasn't he?
Truly all his life.
And at the core of things, Doflamingo was not a creature fond of change.
"It's alright," he said, "Come in."
xxx
"But keep it down. Head's killing me."
Doffy slid off his shades, setting them on the dresser. He had a habit of turning his bared face towards the shadows, but Rosinante caught a glimpse of his good eye. It was crimson with burst veins again.
His brother sat down at the side of his bed and rubbed at his temples. The skin there was practically raw. Rosinante frowned, reached out and guided his arms down.
"You'll make it worse."
The slightly larger hands in his were quivering with tremors. Rosinante's jaw screwed tight with concern. He was aware Doffy had them sometimes with the headaches. His brother tugged out of his grip, before he could try to still the shaking.
"Hmm, it'll be fine."
The mattress creaked as Doffy turned on his side, his back towards him.
"I'm gonna lie here a while. Do what you want, Rosi."
There was some incredible irony in those words that Doffy didn't have a clue about. Brick-dust eyes trailed across the lantern-lit cabin. The captain's quarters. All the ugly secrets and contracts and plans stored away in shelves and drawers.
It would've been imperative to search through whatever he could. A responsibility, as his old man would say.
But that night, Rosinante could not bring himself to bother. He sat down on the floor, spine against the bed, head an inch or two from his brother's.
"Can I smoke?" he asked and heard Doffy grunt his permission.
"Don't set my room on fire."
"Oh, shut up. I'm not that clumsy."
Doffy snickered. It sounded pained. They leaned back into the silence and let it pool around them like sand. Rosinante lit his cigarette carefully.
"…Is it withdrawal after all?" he asked after a full minute had gone by.
Doffy grunted. "No. Just Dellinger. He's going through a…rather difficult phase. My head can't take it sometimes." A chuckle. "Here I thought fish were some of the quieter pets out there."
Rosinante bristled.
"Maybe if he were a pet," he said, voice growing hard, "But he's not, Doffy. He's a child and if you're not able to—"
"Relax," Doffy said, with flickering annoyance, "We've done this song and dance enough times, don't you think? It was just a joke. You should know by now I don't see Dellinger as a pet."
No, a pet would require too much from you. Rosinante forced his shoulders to loosen. He inhaled a lungful of tobacco and nicotine. They would've languished into another silence, if Doffy hadn't spoken again. Softly and pensively.
"…Whatever your opinions of him, you should know he's going to be extraordinary."
Rosinante tilted his head, the edge of his hair grazing his brother's.
"He can out-swim the ship by miles already. His instincts are honed like a knife. He can barely talk, but he's already picking up basic strategies. And his teeth, I saw him chew through a steel beam once with only his teeth."
Doffy giggled and then suddenly shifted onto his back. His profile looked cruel and lean, doused in shadows, contorted with grinning.
"I have big hopes for him, Rosi." His arm hung over the bed's side, limp fingers trailing the floor near Rosinante's crossed legs. "Just a few more weeks and he'll be ready for Paradise."
The cigarette fell from parted lips, smoldering on the ground.
"…What do you mean?"
"Until his bite strength's fully developed. Fighting fishmen mature pretty quickly."
"But why do you need him for Paradise?"
Doffy's glance carried a hint of offense.
"Reverse Mountain of course, don't you listen at the meetings?"
Rosinante was a hundred percent certain that he listened more closely than anyone. It hadn't been mentioned. Shit. Trebol tried all the time to exclude him from the higher-level executive discussions too. Had this been one of them?
"Must've been zoning out," he said, forcing himself to sound sheepish, "Sorry, you mind filling me in again?"
"God, you little shit, I really don't know what to do with you sometimes," Doffy muttered, sighing. He sported a grin though and Rosinante had a feeling then that he didn't particularly mind repeating the details.
"There's a key entrance southwest of Twin Cape that's been blocked off by Marine ships. The plan's simply for Dellinger to swim in from below and…poke a few air holes around the hulls. Then we'll lure them to open ocean and pass on by while all those silly little bastards rush around and drown."
He cackled. A wicked, empty sound.
"Lo and behold, Paradise."
Rosinante told himself to breathe. Keep calm. Keep calm. Pray his brother could not hear the thunderous mania of his heart.
"Take out a whole naval blockade? That's some intense risk you're talking about. How do you expect a child to accomplish that?"
"Oh, he will." Doffy sounded almost proud. "He's been practicing with Pica. Jora tells me he's quite excited. I'm certain he won't disappoint me."
"What if something happens? What if he gets trapped, or hurts himself?"
"He won't," Doffy said, near dismissive, "He's a smart boy and knows what he's good for."
Rosinante turned around. For once, he was grateful for the long swathes of shadow made by the lantern light in Doffy's room. Surely, his brother would've been able to see the icy alarm in his face otherwise.
Doffy's hand trailed the ground, the nail of the index finger dragging along the floor. For a second, they were claws and Rosinante knew then what had to be done. He tried one last time anyway.
"He's a child, Doffy."
His brother merely smiled, spreading his other hand over his eyes, one blood-brimmed and the other blind—both lightless circles lifted towards the ceiling. The voice came from a cold, shuddering darkness and held no smile at all.
"No one is for long."
Not for long. Not for long. Not for long.
xxx
In the first week of September, Tsuru's ship suddenly found them again.
She did not give up pursuit this time, no matter where he led her. Through rain, sleet, cyclones and whatever other fucked up weather pattern the New World could summon, she would follow, nipping at his heels like a hound with a blood scent.
Usually her staunch determination was quite amusing, but it was now beginning to grate on Doflamingo's nerves. It was too close to the planned date and she was forcing him further and further away from Reverse Mountain.
"Full sails," he snapped to Machvise, "Break out the oars if the winds alter. We're gonna shake this ancient dame."
The giant man nodded, rushing to the main deck to bellow commands. Footsteps splattered over the drenched platform and Tsuru's ship heaved towards them in the gathering fog. It was turning broadside, the sleek mouths of cannons pushing into view.
"Oh, fuck!" Diamante yelled, scrabbling for him, "Doffy, she's about to-!"
"I know."
He flicked his wrist, strings coming loose in his hand. It took exactly five strands and two leaps to grapple to the crow's nest, where he quickly spun together a web to stand on.
Cries of shock rang out below and among those was Gladius's frantic shout for him not to move, not to worry, I'm coming to get you down, Young Master! Doflamingo really needed to have a talk with that boy.
Longer, coarser threads erupted from his palms, spiraling out towards sea as the cannons in the distance ignited.
"Heh, brace yourselves," he muttered to approximately no one and stretched them taut.
He had to grind a Haki-infused elbow against the mast when the web caught the two cannonballs, nearly splintering through the wood in the process. The sheer momentum made the entire ship tilt forward, dropping at least a dozen screaming men into the ocean.
Doflamingo threw out his arm and sent both projectiles hurtling towards the horizon.
He did this at least six more times, catching and deflecting cannon fire with his strings before Tsuru finally seemed to grow tired of the endeavor.
Savage glee twisted his grin as he watched the cannons retract. Catch me if you can.
A wave of cheers greeted him when he glided down from the mast, no small number of awe-filled glances and gaping either. Doflamingo's smirk widened. He took a moment to soak in the praise.
"They're backing off, Young Master!" Senor Pink called from the stern, "I think she's giving up!"
Trebol clapped his hands, slithering back up from where he'd taken refuge below deck. Diamante and Pica started demanding for everyone to bow down to the Young Master's prowess.
And Doflamingo's smile began to fade. Suddenly relenting when she'd been chasing him for days was unlike her. He was inclined to the fanciful notion that she'd been intimidated by the display, but knew better. Tsuru wasn't afraid of him. She never would be.
"Fish out whoever's fallen overboard," he ordered, "And then back to speed."
Another roar of 'ayes' and 'right away, Young Master's' followed.
He was just slicking blonde hair out of his face, when Rosi sprinted past him—soaked to the bone too, maybe even more so. Doflamingo had lost track of his brother during the chaos, but now watched as he crashed towards the railing. A group of men were struggling to drag something on board and Rosinante batted them aside, yanking up the rope with laughable ease.
Doflamingo would've lost interest right around there if Jora hadn't then spilled onto the deck. She hacked up water—colorful hair and dress sopping against her skin. Bright blood trickled from a cut along her thigh.
"Young Master!" she shrieked, staggering, trying to hurry towards him. She tripped and would've smashed her nose in if Rosi hadn't steadied her. Doflamingo's scowl deepened and he stormed over, kneeling down.
"You were supposed to be below deck."
"I-I…I c-couldn't…" Jora swallowed and it wasn't seawater all over her face on closer inspection, but tears and snot. She grabbed his arms, having never been so forward before. He didn't like this at all.
"Calm down, Jora," he said, "What happened?"
Jora took several gulping breaths that neither calmed her nor halted her stuttering.
"…h-he got the back compartment o-open somehow…tried to s-stop him but…just too f-fast…and t-there was a net…they…th-they…"
A deathly, suffocating silence descended upon the ship. Jora's nails were digging into his wrists and Doflamingo didn't even feel it. There was a hum starting in his ears that was muffled and dull. He heard himself speak softly into it.
"Where's Dellinger?"
Jora's skin was so white it was bordering translucent. Smeared mascara dripped down her chin. Doflamingo had the very abrupt and vacant thought that he was going to kill her right there if she didn't answer him within the next second.
Then she raised a hand and pointed towards Tsuru's ship, slipping further and further into the distance.
"P-Please forgive me."
Doflamingo was running.
The hum grew loud and rippling, drowning out every sound.
Mine he's MINE how DARE she TAKE WHAT IS MINE
Senor Pink had already vanished from the bolted down spyglass. It squealed as Doflamingo wrenched it towards him, almost torn out of the floor.
He angled it towards Tsuru's ship just in time for him to see Dellinger get hauled on board. The boy was gnashing his teeth through the netting, glowing eyes flooded with tears. The tip of one of his tiny horns was already wet with blood from having gored someone. Tsuru's crew members were trying to soothe him, but he kept screaming and wouldn't let them near him and he didn't like to be held by anyone but—
"Doffy, you have to get him back!" Trebol wailed, "We can't reach Paradise without Dell!"
Doflamingo didn't even look his way. His gaze followed only Dellinger. The movements of his small, soundless mouth.
Lip-reading had been a crucial skill to learn when they'd been on the run all those years ago. It was hard not to be when their lives balanced on the insidious rumors of townsmen.
Doflamingo had taught himself when he was nine. He'd never forgotten it again.
xxx
(No, no!)
Mine
(Soppit!)
(Leggo!)
(Waka thama!)
He's
(WAKA THAMA)
MINE
xxx
Rosinante tore across the ship before Doffy could climb onto the railing. He barreled past, or maybe over, Senor Pink and Gladius and whoever the hell else, before throwing all his body weight into tackling his brother.
They hit the deck hard, landing in a jumble of limbs and Rosinante had to bite back a gasp of pain as Doffy's elbow jammed into his stomach. His brother was snarling like a wild animal, veins protruding every which way across his face. He didn't look like he was even seeing what was in front of him, let alone Rosinante.
"I'LL KILL THEM!" he raged, "ALL OF THEM! EVERY LAST FUCKING ONE OF THEM!"
The sound tore a hole through the sky, sent a wave of prickling gooseflesh across Rosinante's arms. Terror in the crowd around them swelled like a rising tide.
Doffy yanked himself free and was on his feet again. Rosinante made the mistake of blindly grabbing for him and was socked in the jaw so hard stars erupted in his vision and his knees buckled.
Fucking hell. Blood gushed and puddled in his mouth. Dripped from his nose. Rosinante scrambled up again, vision winking in and out. Doffy was stalking back towards the rail.
He lunged, clumsily snatching a shoulder and wrist. His brother's roar echoed through his skull and a brutal wave of Conqueror's Haki flattened the ship a second later. Rosinante cringed at the sound of bodies collapsing on the deck. He'd been on the receiving end of Doffy's haki once before but god, it certainly hadn't felt like this. Like a freight train slamming into his face. Mind wavering, Rosinante blinked and clung to consciousness as the ocean spun around him.
Tsuru's ship wasn't far enough away yet. He had to stall for time until she was clear. Until he was certain Doffy wouldn't be able to rope the child back into this life.
"Doffy!" he yelled, shaking his brother slightly, "Doffy, listen to me! She's heading back towards the whirlpool channels! The ship's taken too much damage already, we'll capsize trying to follow!"
"Y-You butt out of this Corazón!" Trebol shouted and Rosinante groaned, having hoped the man would've gotten knocked out with the rest of the crew. He did look a wreck though, skin puce-colored, nose running even more heavily than usual. Ready to fall flat on his face in another handful of minutes.
"Forget about us, Doffy! Go get Dell back!"
"Are you trying to send him to the bottom of the sea?!" Rosinante snapped. It was three-fourths for the sake of distraction and one-fourth true concern. Doffy was completely crazed. He couldn't let him leave the ship like that.
"Go now!" Trebol insisted and his brother turned to the open waters, only one audible word on his sneering lips.
"Dellinger…"
Rosinante was digging grooves into his brother's flesh. The soaked floor and the flickering, concussion-ripe edges of his vision made it almost impossible to keep his feet. "Doffy, stop," he said anyway, clearer this time, through clenched teeth and thrumming heart.
He was not eight anymore. Not powerless or helpless anymore. He could handle his brother.
What was the point of him otherwise?
xxx
"Let them go."
The ocean exploded with fire.
Doflamingo froze, a sharp gasp catching in his throat. The incessant humming in his head shattered like a glass wall and his vision came back into focus. All the fury threatening to boil his brain alive cooled, clearing out like a banished devil.
The ocean was on fire.
Wraiths rose out of the depths, cupping flames in their spindly hands, lifting them up like torches. Orange and yellow, flecked hues of blue and blood. Inimical voices littered in shadow and waves. The screaming, swearing and sobbing. Crowbars against wood, against meat and hair and columned spines.
A ten-year old boy hung from the mast of Tsuru's ship, blindfolded, an arrow stuck through the crevice of his eye.
Doflamingo's hand rose mindlessly to his own, caging around his scar. Nails scratched down his skin. He felt cold all over, like skittering fingers were prying open every sealed corner of his mind.
"Doffy?"
Something caught his hand and wrested it away from his face.
"It doesn't have to be this way," a voice said softly, "You let him go, alright?"
Let him go. Please.
xxx
A week and a half swept by.
The Donquixote Family's encounter and escape from Vice Admiral Tsuru faded into the passage of time. The nameless members of the crew held hazy memories at best, non-existent ones at worst. For a while, the entire ship tottered along delicately, as if all suffering from the same hideous hangover.
Only officers were called to have an audience with their Young Master and given any real instruction. Jora cried. She had sung Dellinger to sleep, fed him when he woke, been the first face he'd seen in the morning and the last he'd seen at night. She'd been everything to him and in even more ways, he'd been everything to her. Some part of Jora wanted to beg the Young Master to reconsider, wanted to fall on her knees and ask him to bring her child back for her.
But she was anything and everything, save a fool.
As for the executives, Diamante and Pica felt a shifting in the air, a near palpable realignment that jarred their already problematic status quo. The four suites of a deck were equal only in name. Their Young Master was a king and a king had his favorites.
Corazón the First scaled his grave, mirthless way up to Marine Commander and then Captain. He had Caesar work for seventy-two hours straight, making three crates full of medicinal wine when he heard the news.
The veins in Doflamingo's cheeks did not settle for days—he was seething, but also oddly cold inside, and he loathed to comprehend or deal with any of it. Corazón the Second spent most of that week burning through cigarette packs and hiding away extra bottles of wine. Trebol spent it hating him more and more and more.
And no one ever spoke of Dellinger again.
xxx
"Nene, Doffy, let's dock at the next port."
"Spider Miles? Why?"
"Gotta surprise for you. You'll like it veeery much."
"…Oh? How so?"
"Let's just say I picked up a couple pet projects for you. You've been bored recently, yes?"
"Hm…am I so transparent?"
"Behehe, never, Doffy, never. I just know you. I know you very, very well. What do you say?"
"You're up to something, Trebol, and you're too fucking close again. But…heh, fine. Why not."
xxx
"Oh and look here, our last executive."
Rosinante stiffened at the nasally, congested voice. Trebol's hulking form squelched up the ramp towards him and he had to school his expression as the man came into view. Two children followed at his side, peeking out behind his coat.
"Kids," Trebol said, "Allow me to introduce Corazón. The most esteemed and illustrious member of us all. Second only to our captain."
He stared Rosinante directly in the eye, smiling. He waved a hand over the girl first and then the larger boy.
"Corazón, this is Baby Five and Buffalo."
"Are we gonna get more food soon?" the boy said, rubbing his belly with cheery indifference, while the girl beamed, eyes febrile and hungry-bright.
"Good day, my liege, I'm ready to be useful!"
The newspaper crinkled in Rosinante's hand.
"What is this?" he asked, with as much slow measure as he could handle. It only seemed to delight Trebol more.
"Behe, recruitment season," he said, and placed two giant, slimy hands over the children's heads.
"Welcome to the Family, kiddies."