parva avis - "little bird"

When Doffy stood up, uncoiling like a panther and chair screeching backwards, Rosinante knew the island was done for. It whispered from every inch of him; the spindly grin, the petrifying aura, the spurt of a giggle in which all the dark, eager, writhing things infesting his mind peeked through.

Up until now, Doffy had never killed anyone not directly involved in his affairs or had been purposely trying to get in his way. It was a line he ghosted around, one he teased and poked at, but it wasn't one he'd crossed. Maybe there was a part of his brother that had been aware, even if only a little, that he mustn't. That he shouldn't.

It wasn't speaking to him anymore.

Rosinante stood as well.

"We'll chart a course tomorrow morning," his brother was saying, "The sooner the better, and-"

"Doffy..."

"-you should get your gun replaced, Rosi. I want you-"

"No..."

"-to have fun too after all. So maybe something-"

"Stop it."

"-that makes really big holes."

Rosinante did not remember moving, but suddenly he was across the room. Suddenly he had locked onto his brother's wrists and was forcing him around. The dried blood made his skin clammy and his clothes stiff to touch. The stench was overpowering, nauseating, and the silence was beyond imagination.

Doffy's mouth had literally fallen open.

Rosinante's legs felt like they would liquefy at any second and his heart thudded so hard, he could see its pulse at the hazy corners of his vision. But he had to speak quickly, had to say something.

He pulled forward his older brother and croaked, "Don't. Please, please. Don't do it. It's been eighteen years, half the people on that island won't have anything to do with what happened. They won't know why we're there. They won't know who we are. It would be so pointless, Doffy, so empty. Please don't do it."

The blank shock on Doffy's face was starting to flake away. His features were morphing, teeth bared, rage clawing to the surface like an awakened beast. Veins had tunneled across his forehead.

"Let go," he said, and his voice could've made the sun shrivel up and die then, but Rosinante did the unthinkable and refused.

"No."

"Rosinante."

He sucked in a breath, swallowed.

"...Don't do it, Doffy."

"You little-" A ripple of Conqueror's Haki flooded the air, hot and heavy as scalding metal. The table groaned and one of the chairs crunched and snapped in half. Rosinante winced, feeling the pressure of it stomping against his chest. It hurt (it hurt it hurt it hurt), but it wasn't as bad as last time, when Dellinger had been taken. Not nearly. This was fine. He could take it. He would.

Rosinante didn't even learn until later that his body had still been recovering from that first blast of his brother's haki almost four years ago. He didn't feel a thing when his nose started bleeding and wouldn't have noticed either if Doffy hadn't made that startled, half-choked noise then, as if snapping awake from a dream.

"...Rosi?"

His head lifted. He saw the mess of his own face reflected in his brother's shades. Doffy's expression was blank again, like he couldn't coalesce what he was seeing into a proper thought, and then the surge of haki evaporated.

Rosinante's knees nearly buckled at the sudden relief of weight and he fell against his brother without meaning to. Pinpricks of color dotted his vision as he gasped, steaming blood trickling down and beading off his jawline.

His grip on Doffy's left wrist weakened and after a moment, his brother shook himself free. Rosinante fumbled in a panic for a sleeve or hem instead, but Doffy didn't attempt to yank away. A huge hand engulfed the side of his face, lifted him by the chin.

Doffy's brows were knitted tightly. It was a blend of all sorts of frustration and displeasure. A thumb smeared red across his cheek. The muscles in Doffy's neck twinged.

They stared at each other.

"...Why are you being like this?" his brother said, slowly, "Look at what...why should you care what happens to those vermin? Why should I?"

I just told you why. But he supposed he already knew the reason wouldn't be enough. Doffy wanted revenge and the kind of revenge a man like his brother would want had no expiration date. It did not stop at "getting even" and it did not stop at who deserved what.

Rosinante's mind scrambled for a new justification, one that would actually resonate.

Perhaps it was fate that directed his eyes to the porthole then. Perhaps it was the rhythm of the stars that made him see the wings flash across the glass.

The bird was tiny, a frail speck of white-gray gliding through the endless flood of sky. It swooped towards the sun and the memory ghosted across him, chilled him, sifted through the aisles of his heart.

He looked at his brother and for a moment, saw him at eight years old. Palms opened, loose feathers still fluttering down into his hand.

Rosinante spoke almost without meaning to.

"My birthday's soon."

Doffy looked at him like he'd grown an extra head, the motion of his brows flickering behind the lenses. "...So?"

"You never get me anything."

"You never want anyth-"

"I change my mind this time." Rosinante squeezed the wrist still in his grasp with all the strength he had, to a degree that must have been painful though Doffy didn't so much as twitch. "Don't hurt those people. Let the past go. That's what I want."

His brother's upper lip quivered, almost curling.

"Foolish thing to ask for." It wasn't an outright rejection though and Rosinante could feel Doffy's gaze trailing across his face, following the rivulets of blood. Something like discomfort lined the furrows of Doffy's brow. Rosinante pressed upon it tenderly, dusting over the sole weak spot he knew.

"It would make me happy."

Doffy's shoulders stiffened. The razor corners of his frown slipped a beat, before returning full force. His voice singed the air.

"...think you can play me, little brother?"

"Of course not."

"Then you're being ridiculous."

"Maybe a little."

"You are," Doffy snapped, sounding discomfited for the first time in years, unsure of which way to direct his ire, "You're always...you're such a soft touch."

"I know," Rosinante said and released his brother's wrist. He took his hand instead, drawing a gentle, calming circle across the knuckles with his thumb. "But will you do this for me anyway, Doffy? Please?"

Doffy tried to pull away. When Rosinante refused to let him, he stared at their hands, then used the sprinkling of centimeters he had on him to stare at the wall over Rosinante's head. The gears were turning in his mind, but it was impossible to tell which way. Silence tossed about the room, frothing, an ocean onto its own.

"What about the fruit?" Doffy muttered eventually.

Rosinante bit his lip. It would've been better for them to avoid the island altogether, but the fact remained that it was Law's only chance. He recognized in his soul which decision was right.

"...I'll go and find it alone. Just give me the coordinates. I can leave by tomorrow."

"You?" Doffy's tone was flat, bereft of even derision. "Sail back to the North Blue from here? We're in the Grand Line."

"I'll manage."

"I somehow doubt that immensely." Doffy turned to seethe out the window. The bird was already gone.

"No, we'll go together."

"But-"

"You really fucking exhaust me, Rosi." His brother hadn't turned around. He continued not to, even as he spoke, "I already told Diamante he could have his pick of the wenches. He's probably going to bitch now."

As if that was actually the thing troubling him most, Doffy moved again to yank his right arm free. Rosinante let him go almost before he could try. With a brisk step, he blocked his brother a second time, heart in throat.

"What are you saying?" he whispered, "Doffy, what are you saying? Are you going to spare the island?"

Doffy's features were twisting up like he'd been forced to swallow something bitter. Different shades of exasperation flickered by and by, microseconds of other emotions too muddled to discern. Rosinante kept staring at him. He needed to look Doffy in the face, needed to see the answer with his own eyes. Until then, he wouldn't hope. He couldn't. That was the type of thing which could drive a man insane.

There was one final moment where Doffy seemed on the cusp of taking it all back, before his shoulders suddenly relaxed. Before every part of him relaxed just a little bit and he sighed.

He nodded, slightly.

"You had better be satisfied," he said, "This is worth more birthdays than you're ever going to have."

And that was all. Doffy turned to leave.

Rosinante let him take exactly two and a half steps, before he was on top of him.

The squawk of surprise was probably the most undignified noise his proud brother would ever make, but Rosinante didn't even care to savor it. Didn't even care that he'd knocked them both down like a stack of bricks. His smile was so wide it ached and when Doffy whipped around, face beet-red, he grabbed him into a hug for the first time in almost eighteen years.

"Thank you," he said, "Thank you, thank you, Doffy."

It was kind of amazing how instantly his heart lost all its weight, chains snapping, soaring upwards with dizzying speed. It cast aside all the horrors of the past few years, dismissed them as bad dreams. It thought again and again that if his brother could agree to let this go...even something like this then...then perhaps he could let the rest go too - the anger, the cruelty, the obsessive grudge against the world.

Maybe. It kept booming. Maybe maybe.

For a minute, Doffy did nothing, only sat there with arms hanging at his sides. But gradually, Rosinante felt him shift and the heat of a hand press to the middle of his back, the other to his shoulder blade. His brother's chin rested against the crown of his head.

"You're hopeless."

All Rosinante heard was the flutter of wings.

xxx

What do you think you're doing?

Doflamingo failed for a seventh time to dispel the voice, as Rosi dragged him down the hall towards the washrooms. Crew members barely glanced over, scooting or ducking around them with habitual ease. Lao G inquired on what they were doing as he passed, an offhand question he didn't sound particularly interested in getting answered, even though Doflamingo had been asking himself the same thing over and over again.

You have all this freedom now to do whatever you want and you're just going to...

...just going to let...

Doflamingo narrowed his eyes, breathed through his nose. He wiped his arms and hands clean and watched red water swirl and suck down the drain.

"I'm so glad," Rosi was still babbling, as if he were half in disbelief himself, "I thought that—I didn't—"

He was fiddling with the washcloth in his hand instead of using it, picking apart the threads with slightly trembling hands and the blood on his face was driving Doflamingo crazy.

He finally walked over and took the cloth away, murmured "Don't move" and cleaned up his brother himself, scrubbed until there wasn't a drop of blood remaining. Rosi stood motionless until he was done, startled, his bangs in disarray by the end. Doflamingo didn't even think before reaching out to brush them out of his eyes.

God, it was a mistake.

The gentleness in Rosi's expression made him want to shrink away, the pure hope and expectation of it. It made Doflamingo feel sick and hollow and desolate somehow, made his mouth go dry and his skin prickle.

"What's wrong?" his brother said, and touched his own face, "Did you get it all off?"

Doflamingo returned to the sinks, tossed the soiled towel into the basin.

"Doffy?"

"Yes," he said, and pressed his palms flat upon the porcelain edges, leaned against it for a minute staring at his own reflection. His brother's shadow stood in puzzlement behind him.

Doflamingo took another breath. He told himself this was a gift. Only a gift. This was what Rosi had wanted and he had the obligation. He had the job. The duty. The role his mother had reminded him of endlessly and endlessly. Rosi was blood and family and his. He had to make him happy.

Even if he didn't feel like forgiving anyone. Or letting go of anything.

"Rosi," he said, turning around, "I…"

can't

can't

can't

"…didn't mean to."

He gestured at his brother's face, his nose and eyes. "I didn't mean to."

Rosi blinked and shrugged.

"I know. It's okay."

He smiled and Rosi had never smiled at him in that way before.

xxx

"You're going back where?"

The Den Den Mushi's mouth pursed into a steely, disapproving line. Rosinante crouched lower over the snail, trying to muffle the volume with his body.

"It's the only option, sir."

Sengoku sighed. "To save that boy, yes, but you should consider what the repercussions could be for yourself. Returning to such a place after what happened."

"I have. I'll be alright."

"You won't know that until you're standing at the gates," Sengoku said simply, "What is it even you hope to find?"

Rosinante hesitated. Doffy had told him about the ludicrous bounty the Marines had been offering for the Ope Ope no Mi - a proposition he was aware only ever happened for the deadliest or most powerful of Devil Fruits. Rosinante knew his commander would have ordered its retrieval if he'd told him the truth then, all personal feelings aside. His was a position that dealt in the balance of lives, that had to think always in terms of the greater good. Rosinante supposed it was what made him the strongest man he knew.

"There's…a plant, sir. A special herb that grows in the woods. It's said to have healing abilities."

Sengoku's stare was unblinking and Rosinante forced himself not to waver. He'd eliminated a lot of the nervous tics and twitches he'd had as a child just to take on this mission, but Sengoku was long-attuned to all of them - even the most microscopic signs of deception. The scrutiny dragged on for countless minutes, before he finally nodded.

"I see."

Rosinante nodded too, had to take care not to look down at his shoes in guilt or stiffen at Sengoku's next words.

"He should not be returning there either, you know. Especially him."

"He wouldn't let me go alone."

"It's dangerous."

"The North Blue's calmer in the summers."

"You know what I mean, Rosinante." There was a clatter on the other end, as if Sengoku had taken off his glasses to rub at his eyes. "The kind of rage Doflamingo carries, the temper and personality. Do you really think a person like him can move on? You're playing with fire here."

Rosinante's lips pressed flat.

"...He promised he wouldn't. He gave me his word."

"What could his word possibly be worth, boy?"

"Everything," Rosinante said, fingers tightening on the speaker piece, "You don't understand. He's my brother. I believe him."

His tone had lapsed, bordering on curtness, but no reprimand came. The snail bearing Sengoku's eyes regarded him quietly.

"…Son, I want you to listen to me for a moment, alright? All hats off."

Rosinante blinked. "All hats off" was their way of speaking personally, on a level removed from the mission and the Marines, not as superior and subordinate but father and son. Reluctance coiled in the pit of Rosinante's belly.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly.

But a minute or two of silence still passed by. The snail took a short breath, fizzed along the edges with static.

"I know you love him," it began, "I know that for a while, in a lot of ways, he was all you had. And I'm not trying to cause you pain, son, I'm really not, but...he cannot change. He can't."

Rosinante's lips parted, but Sengoku pressed on immediately. Firmly and steadily.

"You were raised by the same parents. You suffered the same anguish. Think about how differently the two of you turned out. Think about the things he's done, all his atrocities and terrors, and the person he's become. He can make his excuses, blame society, Mariejois, the world, but the fact stands that everything up to now has been his own choice."

He paused then, as if expecting Rosinante to retort. When he only sat there blankly, Sengoku continued.

"Do you remember what you use to say about your brother, Rosinante? As a boy?"

Yes.

"No," Rosinante said, "And whatever it was, I was wrong."

"Were you?" Sengoku's voice softened. "You said he was missing something. That there was a hole inside him right at the center. I think you knew very well who he was, son. Even then. I think you know still."

"Sir, I-"

"You can't save him, Rosinante. I'm sorry it took me this long to say, but you can't. Someone like him…you can't put together someone like him. There aren't any pieces left to find."

"Sir—"

"I know you want to think there was a reason. The executives, that island. I know you want to think something broke him apart inside. But nothing could have, Rosinante. Nothing did, because he was already—"

"With all due respect," Rosinante said. Loudly. The plainest of insubordination. His voice held.

"With all due respect, sir, you don't know what happened on that island. What happened to him...what happened to us. You don't know and you can't know. So please, just..."

The end of the line was abrupt, the last lump of unidentifiable words dying on his tongue. He'd had no further goal in mind than to stop Sengoku from speaking. Because he'd felt the shape of his words, felt them and couldn't bear them, and shoved them away.

Maybe just a few months ago, he wouldn't have. Maybe even a week ago, he would've finally fallen off that cusp and agreed.

But that was then and this was now and hope was a terrible thing.

"He's my brother," Rosinante whispered, "He's what I have. He's the one I got. Don't ask me to bury him. Please."

The Den Den Mushi only stared at him, like it had never seen a sadder thing in its life. Sengoku said nothing more.

xxx

They told Law later that evening.

The boy's enthusiasm was lukewarm at best, but whatever it lacked, his brother made up for tenfold. He'd plucked the child right out of the chair he'd been reading in and spun him around in circles, knocking all sorts of shit over in the process while Law yelled at him to calm down.

Doflamingo watched, leaned up against the jamb. He noticed sporadic little things, like how thin the boy had gotten, how yellowish pale, and the white blotches on his uncovered skin which had multiplied by dozens within the span of a few months. The look Law gave him when he explained about the Ope Ope no Mi was wholeheartedly surprised, a slip in composure he couldn't quite regain.

He'd been expecting to die.

Doflamingo wanted to leave. He wanted a drink and his head had begun to hurt and he took the opportunity, when Rosi asked Law if he wanted go sit out on deck, to try and slink away.

Something dragged on the end of his coat.

Law's golden eyes stared up at him, inscrutable. Doffy's brow rose. He glanced at his brother, who shrugged.

"...What?"

"I'll walk," the boy said, not especially addressing either of them and then Doflamingo found himself being towed into the hall for the second time that day.

xxx

In the end, he wound up on deck too, resting against the guardrail beside Rosi while Law sat between them, tiny feet hanging motionless over spuming waves.

"Tell me what else is out there," he said, "On the Grand Line."

Brat didn't even say 'please.'

"What are you looking at me for?" Doflamingo snapped, when his brother also blinked at him expectantly, "You've been to the same places. How about you tell him?"

"No way," Rosi and Law said, in perfect sync, without even looking at each other.

"This kid asks too many questions."

"Which you never give me any answers to."

"It's a story, Law. Why can't you just sit tight and listen?"

"What's the point of a story if you can't ask questions?" Law said, and crossed his arms. He regarded Doflamingo frostily, rather hatefully for the compliment that came out of his mouth a second later.

"You tell them better."

Rosi's jaw nearly hit the deck. Doflamingo guffawed before he could help himself. It was no secret to anyone which of them was Law's favorite, so maybe Doflamingo did feel a tad smug then.

Maybe not even a tad.

He smirked and folded his arms over the railing. "Since when did you learn how to butter people up?"

Law rolled his eyes, cheeks dusted pink (the surprises just kept coming) while Rosi slumped down further, half-hanging off the bars, and grumbled about the insensitivity of children.

The moon layered the ship in silvers and blues. The wind collected salt in their hair and there were birds calling, darting along the sails and lines-small, white-gray creatures that reminded him a bit of Law or Baby Five. It was not such a bad night, weaving tales about the sea, watching Rosi laugh at whatever sardonic comments the kid would make. It should've been enough. Truly.

xxx

But it wasn't, was it?