donquixote familia - "the donquixote family"
They were but two years.
xxx
Mariejois had been eternal sun and sweeping blue skies. It knew nothing of rain.
Rosinante marveled endlessly at the weight of it in his hair, the kiss of it on his face, how it seeped through his clothes and skin and between his toes. Doflamingo was of a blacker opinion—a chasm carved from skinned knees and sunken earth and desperate flights through the soggy dark.
"Oh, but it can be lovely too, darling," their mother said, "So many things are."
She picked up Rosinante, toweled him dry with the rag of her dress, held him at her hip where he could press his cheek into the beat of her heart and clench fingers around her sleeve. Doflamingo watched her lean against the dirty, window-less sill. He watched her smile out at the wet and weeping world.
"You need only give them the chance to be."
Her hand, soft and white, stretched towards the sky.
xxx
(The first spring brought the rain.
The warehouse's tin awning drummed over their heads, a million silver fingertips dancing to the same staccato beat. Rosinante blew smoke into the pallid world, a warm dry cloud amongst the downpour, so cold and clean this year. Baby Five muffled a sneeze and burrowed further under Doffy's coat, looking to sap heat from his side. Her eyes were even larger beneath the fringe of feathers, two black pearls in a cradle of darkness.
"Oh, isn't it beautiful, Young Master?" she said, "Isn't it lovely?"
Rosinante dropped the glowing stub of his cigarette, grinding it beneath his heel. Without intention, he caught Law's eye as the child sat against the wall, silent, still dripping and defiant purple lips. Rosinante sighed, squatting down.
"C'mere, kid," he said, "It's okay."
Law's scowl was chilled and flat. He hadn't stopped being annoyed at Rosinante for his pity. For not letting things lie.
It was the rain that made him cave in the end. Rosinante wrapped the frail, shivering little body in his coat, held the boy tight to his beating heart. If he felt a tiny hand curl hesitantly into his sleeve, he said nothing.
And a few feet away, his brother stretched his hand towards the sky, let the droplets patter and roll off his skin.
"Yes," he said, faintly, as if he couldn't remember the reason, "lovely.")
xxx
Doflamingo had been a precocious child. He devoured books, breezed through lessons, possessed a distinct and unstoppable practicality in problem–solving. The breadth of resources in Mariejois, the finest tutors and most expensive materials, had only fed his cleverness.
Rosinante, who had learned only half his letters and basic arithmetic before they'd settled on the coast of the North Blue, was not so fortunate.
So when their mother grew ill that summer and their father was busy caring for her, it was Doflamingo who became his brother's first teacher. He was more patient than usual then, guiding his brother's hand as they traced letters together with a lump of coal, inventing games to keep Rosinante engaged in mathematics.
"Come on, just one more set."
"But I want to go outside. Can't I do this tomorrow?"
"Right, and then tomorrow will become tomorrow, which will also become tomorrow. Do you think I want to play teacher forever, Rosi?"
And there was much rolling of the eyes and reprimanding noogies to the head that solicited more giggles than contrition. In those days, those earliest and warmest ones, Rosinante leaned back against his older brother's chest, grinned up with cheek into exasperated eyes.
"Who else are you gonna have to talk at?"
xxx
("Can you tell this kid to go outside for once?" Corazón jabbed a finger in Law's scowling direction, "It's depressing to watch."
Doflamingo's brow lifted. He trailed his gaze over the child, half-buried under a mountain of books.
"You do look a fright," he said, with a hint of judgment, "Would a little sun kill you, brat?"
Law suppressed a groan. He hunched further over his current volume. "Go away."
"Why are you asking him? He doesn't know what the sun is." Corazón gestured at the tomes. "His mind's all filled up with stuff like how to blast animals out of cannons or the history of piracy or…whatever this crystal orb thing is—"
"A log pose."
"Huh?"
Doflamingo pointed at the cover of "Intro to Navigation" which Corazón was waving around. The younger Donquixote brought it up to his face, staring at it blankly.
"…Oh, is that what it's called?"
"Do you not know what a log pose is?"
"Uh…"
"Tell me what a log pose is."
Three minutes of interrogation later, Doflamingo abruptly sat down and told his brother to get comfortable. Three more minutes later and he was lecturing a bewildered Corazón on the necessity of understanding basic navigation, since they sailed the Grand Line so frequently and he'd been at sea for almost two years now and why do you still not know any of this, Rosi?
They didn't even notice when Law rose from the couch and departed, a book tucked under his arm.
"Giving up so soon?" Senor Pink asked, half-amused, as Law passed the window where he was smoking.
"Like I can stay with all this damn noise." Law muttered and glanced minutely over his shoulder again. Corazón had two different textbooks open in his lap now, appearing more resigned as Doflamingo flipped through the sections, talking miles per minute. "…I didn't know he could get this worked up."
"Who, Doffy?" Senor Pink snorted, "'s not as rare as you think. Always drives him crazy when Corazón misspells stuff or adds something wrong or forgets where this or that island is on the map."
Law blinked. "Why?"
There was a chuckle. Senor Pink gave him a look that Law found irritating, because he saw it too much in the Family and it usually meant someone thought him cute.
"Old habits die hard, kid. Even for Donquixotes.")
xxx
Their mother weakened, growing sicker on moldy bread. Rosinante, young as he was, made the associations quickly. Doflamingo fumed the first time he refused a hard-won crust, swearing and blood-red with anger. He was always capable of saying the cruelest things.
Rosinante only shook his head again and again, sobs caught on the hooks in his chest. He had no idea how to articulate his terror. Doflamingo's stare grew bewildered, annoyed. The silence for them was a long and desolate one.
But eventually, Doflamingo sighed. He gathered up his brother in his arms and told him not to cry. Afterwards, he made rice balls out of stolen grain, clumsy creations mimicked off his threadbare recollections of the slaves.
Sometimes, he wished he'd paid them more mind.
xxx
The Family's penchant was for finger foods, anything easy to grab and hard to snatch away. As a result most meals were bread-based, countless combinations of pizzas and sandwiches that Law pushed aside without backwards glance. He was stony and cold-eyed. He offered up no reasons.
Rosinante wasn't interested anyway. He molded rice balls for them both at midnight, beneath the hot bulb of the kitchen cabin. He taught the boy how to shape the rice into triangles, fold seaweed and leave a dimple behind for seasonings. He even crafted a few into animals and laughed at Law's distaste ("I'll call the bear…Bepo." "Don't." "Cheeky brat, what's wrong with Bepo?" "Everything.")
When they were finished, Law would wolf down his share, sticky grains making a mess of his face. It made Rosinante smile and Law scrunched his nose, grumbled and snapped, but did not mind it secretly. And for all the stove fires, broken dishes and backed-up sinks Rosinante had to his name, Law would grudgingly concede his prowess with riceballs. ("You're adorable sometimes." "Shut up, stupid clown.")
"Odd the things people have in common," Doffy said one day, mid-autumn, when they'd made too many and were dumping the extras on the Family. He held the rice ball Law had practically demanded he take, while Rosinante towered next to his chair, a quiet shadow. They observed Buffalo and Machvise cram ten into their mouths, Baby Five and Gladius daring them to do twenty.
"You know I loved it when you made these," Rosinante said and Doffy scoffed.
"Why? I didn't know what I was doing. They tasted like shit."
"Hm, yeah, they did," Rosinante shrugged at his brother's glare, "But…you tried. And you made them for me."
He spoke heavily, as if it meant something.
xxx
In winter, they met another child—a street rat with dirty, cut-up hair and a face all gaunt and yellowed.
"You know they pay you," she said, "In the house furthest down the road, with the red curtains. It's not so hard. I've done it before. They pay you. They won't mind if you're boys."
Rosinante did not want to go. He was sniffling and hiccupping still, remembering their mother who was seven days buried. Doflamingo was growing weary of his tears.
The house had a gap in the curtain of the back window, wide enough for them to peek through. Huddled inside were more children their own age. Ragged and skeletal. Naked.
Rosinante stopped looking when the men arrived. He pressed his face into the back of his brother's shoulder, soaked it with tears, begged and begged to go home. Doflamingo hardly heard him. He watched the whole thing blankly, not quite understanding what he was seeing.
But he did wonder then why he should have ever been reduced to this level at all, to this place, with these vermin who committed acts so grotesque and strange.
The answer it seemed never changed never changed never changed.
xxx
Doffy drank more in the winter, was crueler, hungrier and more restless. Diamante milked this opportunity every chance he had, suggesting visits to the brothel or bringing call girls on board, declaring the absurd bullshit concept that was executive happy hours which were full of endless whoring.
Rosinante spent most of these at the sticky counters, adding another layer to the acrid cigarette stench of whatever dimly lit tavern they were frequenting. Women approached him with endless interest, fancying his sinewy limbs, his high-borne features and golden hair. Diamante snorted when he turned down the twentieth girl and asked him if he was a fag, if his cherry had yet to be popped. Rosinante didn't even look at him.
The plastic chandelier overhead rattled. Shrieks and moans sunk through the flooring as his brother worked through the entire harem that had followed him upstairs. The wind howled in competition. Rosinante stared out the dark windows, each one draped by flowing red curtains and thought of things he wished he could forget.
Then Law was there. Rosinante couldn't remember exactly how. The child must have sneaked off board and got caught by the bouncers. There was a jumbled explanation about groceries or ship parts, something Law kept rambling into Rosinante's shoulder even after he'd rushed over and scooped him up. For once, he did not complain about being held, clutching his shirt with confused and terrified eyes, and in that moment Rosinante suddenly hated this place, hated these people, hated his brother. Truly hated him for the first time in his life.
"We got separated," Law whispered, "Baby Five, she—" A crash cut him off, a chorus of screams erupting over their heads.
"What the hell—" Diamante was struggling to rise even as Rosinante tore up the stairs with Law in his arms and stopped dead at the top.
Baby Five was in the hall, her dress half off, narrow little-girl shoulders bare to the cold and a corpse at her feet. Blood pooled on the floor, sprayed in arcs across Baby Five and Doffy's shoes as he loomed over her. The women peered out of rooms like frightened mice. They'd screamed only once and had not dared to again.
And the silence could've been seconds, minutes, ages. Perhaps there was fury in it, Rosinante could not tell. He wondered if it was better that he couldn't see his brother's eyes.
"What have I told you about strangers?"
Baby Five gazed up at him, crimson dripping from her pallid cheek. Her eyes were huge and her pupils blown. She licked her wind-chapped lips.
"He said he needed me."
"Did he?" Doffy knelt down, "Well, I need you too, Baby. I need you more. Much more. Were you going to put this filth's interests before my own?"
Baby Five's chin wobbled. "No, Young Master, never. Never, never, I'm sorry."
Doffy just watched her, unsmiling. Rosinante could not fathom what he saw. He finally moved to pick Baby Five up when she began to cry, blood and torn dress and tears and all, and walked right by Rosinante for the door. Past every red-curtained window.
"We're leaving, Rosi," he muttered, Baby's arms locked around his neck.
Doffy drank so hard later that night that he actually puked. Rosinante sat on the bathroom floor and held back his brother's hair.
xxx
There were butterflies in the second spring. Pastel hues and delicate rings, flitting about among the sun-washed grass.
Homing freed them from spider webs. He told his sons that they must have pity. Rosinante found no hardship in listening. He never did stop feeling sorry, not about anything, let alone butterflies.
Doflamingo wasn't sorry. He did not know how to be and hadn't ever really learned. In his mind, he'd been shown precious little reason. And he was curious to see what would happen.
So he went out at last and snatched one of the creatures from a leaf, sapphire wings and white dots, and stuck it to the largest web he could find. It writhed and squirmed, sending vibrations across the threads and the spider skittered down on hairy black legs. Doflamingo watched it sink fangs into its twitching prey, mummify the pretty thing in gauzy silk and thread, until not a hint of color remained.
And that fascination, twisted and ugly and hidden away years ago, came roaring back to life.
xxx
(Doflamingo's strings were sharp as knives, as fine and thin as hair. Law could see them sometimes, if he really squinted, glinting when struck by a particular sunray. He had a weird thing for spinning them into webs, enormous ones that stretched the length of a town wall, where he could sit at the center, legs crossed, balanced as if a giant, macabre pink spider.
Rival crews or uppity marines that ran into the strings were caught by Parasite, forced to dance to his grisly tune. He told Law that control was paramount, that he would only have it when everything squirmed in his hold and couldn't break free.
And all the while, Corazón released butterflies from spider webs. His broad hands opened, sending them into the spring sky. He told Law that he must have pity.
"You understand, don't you?" he whispered, kneeling down, and even though he looked Law in the eye, it felt like he was seeing someone else entirely.)
xxx
They were caught several times that second summer. On their most hungry days usually, when their throats were parched bone and the vision rippled in their heads.
Iron, adult hands would wrench them forward, shove them stumbling to their knees, yelling, cursing, so angry, so very angry over a scrap of meat, an apple set to putrefy. Agony speckled the surrounding ground.
Rosinante whimpered and sobbed. He pled for mercy like their father had taught them. He did not understand why these people hurt him, did not understand what he had done, did not know the meaning of cruelty or bloodlines or grudges unsatisfied.
Doflamingo did not whimper or sob or plead. He did not understand why either, but his mind, a colder and quieter place with each beating, registered the injustice. It registered, like a snake in the shade, strange meticulous details like how the metal pipes could crack bone. How wooden sticks left vivid bruises. The booted kicks, worst of all, snapped their ribs innumerable times.
When the crowd had had their fill and dispersed, Doflamingo staggered to his feet. The rage would rush back to him then and stain his vision raw-red. He had a little brother to help up though so he ignored it, dusting Rosinante off and checking his head for injuries. He warned him again to shield his head with his hands, that it was better to have broken knuckles than a skull.
But Rosinante would only cry harder, almost blind with tears, until Doflamingo gave up and carried him home on his back. Their father would cry too when he saw them. He would take Rosinante in his arms and rub his back in gentle circles. He would whisper soft, meaningless lies into his ear until at last, Rosinante calmed.
Doflamingo watched, feeling vaguely bitter, vaguely sick to death, and not knowing why.
xxx
They collided with a Whitebeard faction in the summer. To say the least, the aftermath was not pretty.
The entire Spider Miles hideout had been transformed into a makeshift clinic, as Law instructed Jora on how to bind head wounds or barked orders at Lao G and Machvise to help move tables. To the injured he spoke softly, even Buffalo who'd merely sprained an ankle but was in hysterics. He rubbed backs and soothed dying men with lies.
"Quite a little professional, isn't he?" Doflamingo said, as they watched from a distance, leaned next to each other against the wall and out of the way.
A small curve tilted his brother's lips. "Yeah, he is."
And he could not quite disguise the helpless affection in his eyes. It was not mere amusement or fondness or even the tiresome compassion Rosi felt the need to grace everything. Doflamingo reclined his head back, a bemused set to his jaw.
"I'm glad, Rosi."
His brother's eyes slid over, brow faintly arched. "About what?"
Doflamingo shrugged, gaze towards the ceiling.
"…you have what you need."
Rosi stared, baffled, but he didn't elaborate. The child made Rosi happy. In his most introspective moments, Doflamingo thought the boy had provided his brother with whatever he always seemed to be searching for in Doflamingo himself.
Some success on Law's part…or maybe a failure on his own. It was confusing. He didn't much enjoy thinking about it.
xxx
They saw the leaves of the last autumn from where they dangled on the wall. Leaves as red as copper, as rope burns and blood and flames.
xxx
Law was twelve years old, three days after they'd thrown him a silly birthday party, when the first white spots appeared. It would only get worse from there and spread quickly. Law stood before Doflamingo's chair, expression schooled into a cold one. He had only two things to say.
"Guess my luck's pretty shitty," and, "Don't tell Cora-san."
Doflamingo smirked. "Cora-san, eh?"
Blush dusted Law's cheeks. "…Don't tell him I call him that either. Just don't tell him anything."
"Those patches aren't selectively visible, Law."
"I mean I want to tell him myself. In my own way."
Doflamingo regarded him. "One year remains. Nothing's buried or finished yet."
The boy shrugged, eyes flat. One year to obtain miraculous healing abilities from a possibly non-existent Devil Fruit. Law could calculate the odds. He wasn't naïve.
"It's fine either way," Doflamingo's brow rose and something of it made Law slip up and give him the smallest of smiles, "I had a good time."
Then he left and Doflamingo stared at the door as it clicked shut after him, folding his hands and frowning lightly. He couldn't deny the turn of events had been disappointing, perhaps even a little aggravating.
"Neee, what's the matter, Doffy?"
A puddle oozed down from the ceiling of his cabin, congealing back into the shape of a man. Doflamingo propped his chin on his bridged fingers, not bothering to look at Trebol.
"About the boy. Maybe it's time to be more active in the search for a cure."
"Behe, oh yeah? You've grown fond of him then?"
Doflamingo took a moment to answer. He supposed he had developed a bit of a soft spot. The child made Rosi happy. He was so ruthlessly clever, with such an acerbic little tongue. To think of the wealth in potential which would perish and slip through his hands made Doflamingo's skin itch. (And the child made Rosi happy…)
"It would be a waste," he said quietly.
Trebol was silent for a time. He dripped on the flooring. "Well, we follow wherever you lead, Doffy, as always," he said eventually, sliding forward, "But what about the Mariejois ships?"
"We've been raiding them for months without results," Doflamingo shrugged, "It can afford to wait."
"That's too bad. There's another fleet passing through the North Blue this winter. I have a goood feeling."
Doflamingo twitched as mucus dribbled onto the arm of his chair. He glanced over, glasses glinting beneath the lights.
"Why?"
"According to intel, one of the ships is twice the size of the others. The sails have gold embroidered into them and a carved dragon for a figurehead." Trebol smiled, sniffing up another strand of snot, "Three guesses what kind of passenger it's carrying."
Doflamingo turned around. "You'd better have gotten your facts straight, Trebol."
"Behehe, you can always trust me, Doffy," Trebol said, and leaned in, "It would be a shame to let them pass by. There'll be plenty of time to search for Law's cure later, right? And after what they did, laughing at you, casting you out, leaving you in this filthy world to suffer. You chopped off your father's head, you watched your mother die, the things you did to have them take you and your brother back and still you were refused. How can you let that stand?"
Red hazed across Doflamingo's eyes. Hunger curled softly in his belly. For a moment, he was desperate and furious and ten again, lips parted, peeling back from his cold, white teeth. And that instant of hesitation or sentiment or whatever nameless thing it had been, crumbled at Trebol's feet.
xxx
"Leave my brother alone," Rosinante would say that autumn, tremulous, encountering Trebol alone in the ash-ridden night. "Stop following us around."
"We would make him great."
"He already is great," Rosinante said, pale and fists bunched, "H-He's already the best and all of you should keep away."
"Behehe, you think you can win?"
"He doesn't need you."
Trebol shook his head, grinning very widely.
"It is you, boy, that he does not need."
xxx
Crewmates and Family members shied out of his path as Doflamingo stalked down the Numancia's corridor. They did not know the meaning of that veined leer, but realized through some deep, shivering instinct within that they were better off for it. Jora hushed an excited Baby Five, stopping her from approaching when he walked right by. She shot a startled look at Lao G and Senor Pink, who could only shrug.
Rosinante put out his cigarette. He reached for his brother in alarm.
"Doffy?"
Trebol snatched his wrist, guffawing at Rosinante's surprised and then disgusted eyes. Doflamingo disappeared around the corner, having not seen him or heard him. Or anything.
xxx
"I'll come back for you, Rosi. I will, I promise. Wait for me, okay?"
xxx
Winter crawled into Rosinante's lungs, wrung them dry of air. It was bitterly cold on the sea, the gales slapping across waves and sails and cheeks, striking repeatedly like the hard, bony palm of a hand. Fractals reamed the portholes and collected at the perimeter of the opulent quarterdeck. Icicles hung from thick, bristling ropes, melting onto polished wood.
The frost reached for all things. It was never picky, brushing its pale blue fingers across village and town, human and beast.
Even the ships of Celestial Dragons.
Rosinante thought about this on and off, more and then less, detachedly and obsessively. It was better than focusing on anything else. Like how blood was so much more vivid in snow, a brilliant shade somehow, and that it was everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
Banisters and rigging, the floor and the figurehead and the empty glass helmet, broken on its side.
Law cursed as he bumped it slightly while shuffling past, made it rock like a cracked eggshell.
The Family was looting the bowels of the ship with fervor, bustling out piles of sparkling treasure. There was no love lost for them over the slaughter of a World Noble's regime. They navigated around the strewn innards when they could and studiously averted their gaze from their red-washed young master, who was dapper and glowing and gold in their minds always.
"I know what it is, Rosi," Doffy said, gripping his shoulders, "I know. Finally, finally."
"What do you know?" Rosinante asked weakly, "Why are we here?" His brother was grinning at him like he'd just conquered the sun, poised as if he was decked out in his Sunday finest rather than steaming celestial gore, and his face looked monstrous again even though it hadn't looked monstrous in a long time and Rosinante didn't understand didn't understand.
"You remember the holy treasure of Mariejois, don't you? How it was to be divulged to us when we came of age?" Doffy snickered. "Well, I thought it a shame we lost our chance to learn the secret. I thought perhaps we should have them tell us anyway. They're always milling about the seas, circulating their gold. Only a matter of time before one of them accompanied a Mariejois fleet. It's only fair, you know. This is our birthright, Rosi. It's what we're owed."
His nails were clawing into Rosinante's skin, leaving bright welts.
"Saint Selma or Shima or whatever his name is, was very cooperative. One of the most cooperative men I've yet seen. You cannot outdo a world noble when it comes to such cooperation, Rosi. They know the stakes. I slit his top guard from throat to groin and didn't get a peep, but one fingernail from the man himself and he's squealing like a stuck pig. That's all it's worth to him, can you believe it? The whole shining city for his fat fucking pinkie."
He burst out laughing, as if the memory just delighted him, and Rosinante was eight years old again, all of his soul shrinking from that sound.
Doffy didn't see him. Doffy wasn't seeing anything. He went on about how they couldn't kill the Celestial Dragon, about how he was going to be their messenger back to Mariejois and how big changes were coming. They wouldn't have to fret soon about things like the Navy or accessing Paradise. The past two years would age into dust and memory.
"Everything ends in the end," Doffy said, softening ever slightly, "doesn't it, little brother?"
The words echoed in Rosinante's head long after he was left alone. When Doffy had strode back into the captain's cabin and the screaming began anew.
Everything ends.
xxx
Everything ends.