baby 5: sonum pluvia - "the sound of rain"
"Baby," they asked me, "What happened to you?"
xxx
(Vergo called.
The Marines had begun moving for the North Blue, a squadron having departed late last night with Vergo at their heels. Doflamingo whistled at the would-be roster of attendees. For one Devil Fruit, the deal racked up three captains, one vice admiral and Sengoku himself. It was actually a bit shocking.
And to think Barrels was still going to part with it for a handful of beris. Such an inconceivable fool. Doflamingo's disgust grew by the day. Offing him was going to be a downright favor.
"I'll be heading your way as well, Doffy. Are you still near the whirlpool region?"
He blinked, snatched from his thoughts. His gaze lowered to regard the snail. "A bit due east now. Why?"
"Something to show you."
For a bare and strange second, Doflamingo flinched. On the bookshelf, Rosi sat with his feet hanging off the ledge, one hand resting on a corner. He'd been wordless ever since Doflamingo had made his decision, staring at him with pale eyes. Doflamingo didn't look back.
"Oh? Not just 'cause you miss me?"
"That goes without saying, Doffy," came Vergo's prompt reply, so absurd in its gravity that Doflamingo snorted, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on the desk.
"The deal's in another week. You know I can't wait for you."
"I know. No need to wait. I'll catch up."
A rare insistence was lingering in Vergo's tone. Doflamingo's eyes strayed towards the shadowed ceiling. The left one hurt slightly and so did his head—one persistent, throbbing ache borne from a million charred synapses. Withdrawal. He hadn't drank in almost five days.
"'m not really in the mood for surprises."
The snail observed him.
"Trebol did tell me about what you decided," it said after a while, "Regarding your brother. That you believe he—"
"I don't 'believe,'" Doflamingo said, cutting him off with a flick of anger, "I know. There was a mistake."
Vergo exhaled. It was almost a sigh. "Doffy, there really is something you should know."
Doflamingo's fingers twitched, a sudden urge to reach over and end the call, before he caught the porthole out of the corner of his eye.
Rosi had moved there, legs still swinging. He held a white rose in his hand. Doflamingo's eyes widened. He almost stood, when the Den Den spoke again.
"…Doffy? Doffy, did you hear me?"
"No." He had to blink to refocus his attention. "No, say it again."
Instead of answering though, the Den Den Mushi scrutinized him for a long beat, expression deeply grim.
"…Actually, how about we talk later in the week?"
"What?"
"After you've rested a bit. You sound exhausted."
Doflamingo rolled his eyes. "You're the last thing I need nagging at me too—"
"You do need it," Vergo interrupted, "In certain ways, Doffy, you're quite shit at looking after your own interests. I don't think you realize."
The sudden austerity made Doflamingo blink a second time. He stared at the Den Den, brow lifting half a tick. The snail was already dipping its head though, before he could comment.
"Forgive me. That was out of line."
"Quite," Doflamingo said, voice curt. He let the word hang there for a hard, clipped second, before sighing in annoyance. "But fine, if you want it so badly. Call me later."
The Den Den Mushi nodded in thanks. Doflamingo hung up without waiting for him to say anything else. He brushed off the strange twist in his gut, striding out of the room at a brisk pace.
Rosi watched him leave.)
xxx
"Where are they?"
xxx
They came in with another pile of quilts, laying them down on the soft proffered cot. They moved with caution, despite the chains of sea stone snaking across the ground.
Baby Five curled tighter into the furthest corner of the cabin. Her lips were dark purple, face a bleached and tear-stained white half-curtained by fire-black hair.
She'd lost track of how many days had passed since Vale. Since she'd last seen Buffalo, still hurling death threats at the marines as they dragged him away to another ship. ("He's gonna kill you! You're all gonna get it! Baby, don't worry, okay? He'll find us, Baby, don't worry…)
More movement. Another marine walked over, crouching low to make them eye-level—a woman that had talked to her several times already. The doctor.
She reached for her and Baby Five flinched back, wall flat against her spine. The woman sighed, holding her palms out in peace.
"I just want to check your wrist, pet," she said, eyes straying to the heavy splint mummifying Baby's hand—the wrist snapped clean in half in her attempt to escape the cuffs. Baby Five didn't know it, but that was all the crew had been able to remember for days—her small hand hanging the wrong way like a dead leaf off a winter branch.
"Please?" the doctor said quietly, "We're trying to help you."
Baby Five peered through the fringe of her wild, matted bangs—a single, ink-dark pearl alive with hate. The doctor stiffened slightly, before squaring her shoulders, her look a little sterner.
"You know we can sit here all day if that's what you want. I've got the time." A flash of fear danced over Baby's face and the woman's voice softened. "Just let me check your wrist. Make sure it's doing alright. We'll leave you alone after that, okay?"
Baby Five stared at her for another beat, untrusting. But she held out her wrist in time and the doctor smiled.
"Thank you, pet," she said, taking hold of the arm gently. There was a silver ring on her left hand, a white-cut diamond that resembled a little the one Senor had bought for Miss Russian. Baby Five side-glanced it while the woman worked, quickly moving her eyes away when she finished and stood.
"Thank you," she said again, "We'll go now. As promised."
Baby tucked her arm against her middle, face against her knees. She listened to their footsteps exit and then their voices echo in the corridor outside.
"…break was incredibly messy. We need to take off that cuff at least and keep her from moving it best we can. The cast is only going to do so much."
"What? We can't do that, doc. Kid's rabid."
"It needs to come off. The bone is not going to set right with it on." Cloth rustled, as if someone's arms had crossed, "So she's from the Family. So what? Right now, the only thing in there is a crippled little girl. What are you afraid of?"
A sigh.
"You were only recently commissioned. All you know are the stories. But the situation's not to be mishandled. We'll regret it if we do."
"The vice admiral said you listen to my orders. Do we have to get her on the line to refresh your memory?"
A longer, stiffer pause.
"We'll see what can be done."
xxx
"What do you remember, Baby?"
xxx
(The strings glittered in his hand. Doflamingo laced them over each other again, leaning against the mast pole. His legs draped off the edge of the crow's nest, the long limbs swinging idly. The surrounding world was wreathed in clouds, filled with darkened streaks that promised a storm.
"Baby's probably excited," he mused, "Girl always did love the rain."
He didn't look at his brother, the tiny form standing there in mid-air, deathly still against the afternoon gale.
"Are you looking after them, I wonder." Doflamingo snorted. "Or maybe the actual question's are they looking after you."
He crooked his finger and the strings hardened and grew lean. They angled north, ready to shoot heavenward, before Doflamingo suddenly snapped them apart and tossed them into the breeze.
Dully, he rested his head against the mast. A hand returned to his pocket. Doflamingo's frown was faint.
"Why'd you take them, Rosi?" he said to the sea, "You knew they were mine."
The sea did not reply.)
xxx
("No." Trebol knocked the bundle of newspapers onto the floor. "None of these stretch back far enough."
"They're the oldest issues we have," Diamante snapped, while Pica bent to pick up the papers. "How fucking dated do you need it to be? Doffy was like fifteen in these—"
"Behehe, you can be suuuuch an imbecile, Diamante," Trebol said, his sweaty face gleaming as he gripped his cane, "To pinpoint a trail, you start at the beginning. I want the year Corazón disappeared."
"We were dodging marines throughout that year," Pica reminded, "News coos couldn't find us."
Trebol clenched his teeth, rubbing his chin with oily fingers. He made a mental note to contact Vergo and see how things were on his end. With all that additional access to the marine archives, the man had to be making better progress than themselves. Had to be.
Another droplet of sweat slinked down Trebol's chin at the prospect of otherwise. There would be no spot on the planet where they'd find refuge from Doffy. None, none, none. To the point that even then, the backburner of Trebol's thoughts was constructing ways to pin the weight of it on Vergo. Diamante and Pica too if need be.
Nasty business. This was all such nasty business.
They really should've killed Corazón when they'd had the chance. He would always regard that as his worst miscalculation in life.
"What do you think you'll find anyway?" Diamante was muttering, "Like there's gonna be a front page spread somewhere just announcing he's a navy rat or whatever. And that's still a batshit theory by the way."
Trebol ignored him. He didn't need Diamante to verbalize what he already knew to be true. A secondhand construction of events was weak. It wasn't likely to suffice, given Doffy knew how poorly they got along with Corazón already.
What would've been ten times more helpful was corroboration. Living and breathing testimony.
Something that Doffy couldn't turn his back on. Something that he would believe.)
xxx
"Tell us, girl. Quickly."
xxx
(The weather changed with astonishing speed—the clear, bright blue of the first week's sky staining into mottled gray, the ocean churning out cyclones and icy winds, chopping and slicing and wailing.
"Bad omen," Lao G said, gaze upon the darkened porthole as he set the teapot down, "You can feel it in the bones. Right here at the joints."
"It's just the Grand Line, Lao," Gladius said, slurping pasta, "Weather's never made sense here."
"And you're always feeling something in your joints anyway," Machvise mumbled, greasy hand reached for another turkey leg. The mess table they gathered around was a giant, colorful spread of foods, ranging in variety from buttered gourmet lobster to succulent lychee to PB&J without the crust.
They had worked the cooks like mules for days, serving up every type of meal imaginable in their quest to entice their Young Master into eating. Yet for all these efforts, they'd only convinced him to pick at a bowl of pilaf about twice, before he'd grown sick of it and wandered off again. Usually to the crow's nest where he could sit for hours, like he was actually waiting for Rubeck to inch closer and closer over the horizon.
It was probably the fourth night in a row they'd been forced to eat half their own weight just to avoid the extra waste.
"I thought for sure he would want the lobster this time," Jora said, sighing, folding and re-folding the napkin in her lap, before frowning. "They must have prepared it wrong again." She moved to stand with a huff, before Pink stretched out a hand and stopped her.
"Just leave 'em be. He isn't picky and you already know that. Food's not the problem here."
A stillness ensued.
"Well, 'least he's not angry anymore," Gladius spoke into it first, always eager to point that out, and Lao G grunted in agreement.
"Wasn't like him at all. I've been with the Family ten years, you know. Never seen him that way before." He glanced at Jora and Pink for confirmation, receiving an uneasy nod and dull shrug respectively. Machvise dropped the cleaned turkey bone into his bowl, a hand on his stuffed belly.
"Do we have to keep talking about it?" he said, "It'll be over soon, right? Once Corazón and the kids get back."
The door slammed open before anyone could respond. Diamante trudged in with a muffled swear, Pica following behind, both their arms piled high with papers and maps.
"What the fuck," the former said, staring at them, "this is where you've all been for the past three hours?"
"You should be here too, helping us clear out this mess," Lao G said, without a blink, "Or at least getting the Young Master to eat something."
Diamante snorted, heading to one of the shelves and pulling a book. "If Doffy doesn't want to eat, then he's not gonna eat. You can't get him to do anything. Take it from us." Near the entrance, Pica nodded, expression flat. Jora's shoulders made a visible slump, but she didn't comment. None of them did.
Diamante shoved the book into the mountain of items he was carrying.
"In fact," he said, striding past the table again, "I'd stop botherin' him altogether, before he starts to get pissed. Fuse is like a fucking millimeter these days."
"Whose fault is that, I wonder."
The floor groaned as Diamante halted at the threshold, the first half of a step. The room was dead-still. He looked over his shoulder.
"…come again?"
Pink wiped his mouth with a napkin and dropped it onto his plate. He ignored the four pairs of shocked eyes from the table, each beaming silent warnings at him, and stood.
"Haven't seen much of you three lately. Trebol planning something?"
Diamante barked out a laugh, eyes thin as slits. "What is this," he spat, turning fully, rangy shadow creeping over the floor, "You questioning us, Pink?"
Senor Pink shrugged, his hands in his pockets. The yellow pacifier swayed on its string.
"We're pretty glad the Young Master's gotten better," he said, "I just wonder sometimes if you feel the same."
With one step, Diamante had him in the air.
Jora yelped, and Gladius, Machvise and Lao G stumbled to their feet at the same time, knocking all their chairs over with three resounding 'bangs.' Pica stood stock-still at the doorway.
Diamante dragged Pink forward, hissing, "You really do think you're hot shit now, don't you?"
"Diamante," Lao G muttered, surprised, and Machvise and Gladius rocked forward and back again, as if halted by some invisible line.
Senor Pink dangled in the air without expression, legs still. "He's my captain," was his short reply, "That's all."
Anger warped Diamante's face. "Your captain," he repeated, "Doffy's supposed to be so much fucking more than just your captain—"
"Stop it."
Jora's hand gripped the back of her chair as she stood. "Stop it, Diamante," she said, face white, visibly forcing the quake from her voice, "Let 'im go, or I'll get the Young Master and none of us want that."
Diamante's mouth curled into a sneer. He released Pink hastily though, and Machvise reached out to half-break the several feet he fell back to the ground. Diamante straightened, surveying them all with a pinch of disgust. "Think you know what's up from down," he said, "But believe me, you don't."
Then he stomped out, snatching the pile of documents off the ground where he'd dropped them, leaving the space in a prickling tension.
"What the hell's wrong with you, Pink?" Gladius mumbled after a while, incredulous, but Senor Pink ignored him.
"Pica," he said, at the hulking form still by the doorway, "What's going on?"
The remaining executive stared at them, his dour look unreadable. The moment dragged on for so long that they almost thought he was going to answer.
But then Pica turned silently and plodded back out.)
xxx
It got very dark, very quickly in winter. Baby Five sat under the porthole, watching the smear of a moon dip and re-surface beneath the thunder clouds.
Mama had left her in winter too—that same half-circle in the sky. Baby remembered it really well for some reason, even though she could not remember Mama's face beyond a nest of barbed wire hair and a pair of giant, swirling eyes. Or the coarseness of her hand like an unpaved road, or the image of her fingers stringy from starvation.
She had never touched Baby until that day in the mountains, and maybe that's what made it so pronounced still. Mama's hard and frost-bitten knuckles, how they stamped a rack of bruises down Baby's temple. Left the faintest line of a scar where she fell and a rock opened up her cheek.
The Young Master stared when she'd pointed it out once, with the hope that maybe he'd find her impressive. Tough. More worthwhile somehow. Baby wasn't sure why she had thought that.
And he didn't look impressed. Didn't even smile.
The Young Master gestured her over. He set her down in his lap and held her face still—one hand beneath her chin, the other pressed against her temple. He studied the three-inch gash, and since he was very warm and always smelled so nice, Baby had to try hard not to lean into the touch.
"Your mother did this?" the Young Master asked eventually, as if the thought was a little crazy to him, "Why?"
Baby Five hesitated. She didn't know how to talk about Mama. This wasn't the reaction from him that she'd been hoping for. But the Young Master looked expectant for an explanation. He was waiting and so Baby told him the only reason Mama had ever really given her.
"Because I'm useless and she didn't need me."
A flicker went by in his expression. Baby could not tell what it meant. He tucked her hair behind her ear though, fingertips grazing the ends of her ribbon.
There was nothing sorry in his face, but Baby felt compelled to add anyway, "It doesn't hurt anymore." And it was almost true too. The scar was old and even the worst things imaginable hurt less when they were old.
The Young Master didn't reply. They were quiet a while.
Then he released her and looked her in the eye.
"It's you, Baby, who didn't need her. Never had. Never will. She's nothing but the past and that means, as far as you ought to be concerned, that she's as good as dead too. Don't waste another second of your life thinking about such trash again."
Baby Five tried to smile a little. It was hard though and her gaze lowered to the ground. The Young Master tipped her chin back up.
"It's her loss," he said, "This is your home now. This is your family. I need you. Understand?"
Baby Five's chin wobbled. She bit her lip to quell it, nodding weakly. The Young Master grinned. There was something in it that hadn't been there before. That made Baby a little warmer inside.
"My brave girl."
Baby hugged him. She couldn't help it, even though she knew he didn't really like to be touched in that way. It would only be for a second. Just a second and then she'd let go and apologize.
But before it had passed fully, the Young Master drew her in. He leaned back in his chair, a large hand resting on her crown.
"It's alright, Baby," he said and that was all.
On Skiff Two, sloshing along in the New World swell, Baby Five breathed out a quiet, stuttering sob. She pulled up her legs, wrapping the good hand about her knees, and wiped without strength at her face.
xxx
I remember the color of the sky. That startling, vivid red. A bird-abandoned sky. A wide and empty one.
I remember Cora-san on that beach, watching us get padlocked and trussed in chains.
He had been a marine.
Cora-san, who'd made us rice balls and picked glass out of my hand and told me goodbye on a deserted shoreline.
With his eyes as endless as the sea.
The saddest things that I ever would see.
xxx
(The horizon was darkening overhead. The helmsman of Skiff Two watched patches of lightning spark intermittently through the cloud cover. He steadied the wheel. They were close to Paradise at last. Another day at most, once they passed the whirlpool region, though the prospect itself had been causing dread among the crew for days.
The helmsman winced again as he pictured the battering forces the skiff would be subjected to. After wrangling with a sea king and all the other storms they'd weathered through, he didn't possess the strongest confidence the vessel would hold tight.
It was better that he'd found another way.
The helmsman checked the log pose again, running eyes down the map as well. There was a second route it seemed, if he directed the ship east into calmer waters, which would allow them to avoid the bulk of the whirlpool region.
He moved the wheel hurriedly, with some relief.
Skiff Two groaned and the prow headed east.)
xxx
And I remember that night with the rain, with the Family crowding all around me. Trebol-san was so close, I could hear his mucous dripping.
xxx
(Doflamingo heard it before he saw it. The ocean's pulse quickening, the vibrations of new movement giving rise to a ringlet of waves. He straightened with a measure of curiosity.
Shadows swam over his shades. His head cocked as the opposing ship came wandering out of the dark.
Navy-white sails.
Three gouges down its starboard side.)
xxx
(There was a ship.
The men swore, panic already beginning to churn, one of them scrabbling for a spyglass.
The thing was a great deal bigger than Skiff Two, all ghostly sails and dark, black wood—the shape of it almost akin to some giant beast. He scrutinized every inch he could make out for a pirate flag, or any evidence of a Jolly Roger. The academy had always stressed that the Big Names never failed to brandish one.
But none was found and many of their shoulders relaxed ever slightly. The doctor suggested that it was only a merchant ship, or maybe a vessel that'd been commandeered by thieves. The marines took some comfort in the theory. They'd be more than a match if that were the case.
"Keep going," the helmsman was told, "We'll try and pass them by.")
xxx
At the porthole, Baby Five gazed upon the world outside, at the hulking vessel on the waves some distance away. Her eyes were dark and wide.
In a stumble, she raced to the cabin door, numb fingers pulling at the handle to no avail. The slab was too heavy, more immovable than stone.
Baby gave up quickly, her gaze darting around the cell, before landing on the unused cot.
xxx
("Young Master, we spotted marines! Young Master, I'm coming!"
With one hand, Doflamingo plucked Gladius up by his spiked collar, pulling him back before he could go barreling straight into the sea. The Family piled on deck at his heels.
"They're passing?" Lao G said, squinting at the vessel as it did an arc around them, "Oh, right, we're not on the flagship."
"Look at their boat," Machvise murmured, steering clear of the railing-less edge, "It's all small and busted up. It's probably not worth it, Young Master." He twiddled his thumbs. "…am I right?"
Doflamingo set Gladius back down, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. He nodded, if only to give Machvise that momentary high, but in truth, he was slightly suspicious. What was a ship like that doing here? It couldn't be on circuit—they were nowhere close to the islands—and no naval vessels simply meandered across the New World without a point.
He thought for a moment that it might be worthwhile to probe, before then losing interest abruptly. This wasn't what he fucking needed. It wouldn't have what he wanted either.
"Let 'em go," Doflamingo said, and turned away.)
xxx
The uncoiled mattress spring fit through the lock. Baby Five's heart pounded in her ears as she hooked the key-ring off the nail it hung on, dropping it onto the quilt she had stuffed beneath the crack.
She barely breathed as she retracted the sheet back to her side of the door and picked up the keys.
Don't leave me, her thoughts spilled over, a white spreading stain, Wait, please…
xxx
(The child appeared on deck like a mirage, absent one moment and racing towards the rail in the next.
"Fuck! The kid!" There was a scrabbling of hands shooting towards her. The girl slipped past them all, a keen, liquid grace. She had a foot on the rail, before one of the men managed to intercept her. The child screamed like an animal, kicking violently and biting down on the hand that trapped her. It was hard enough that something cracked and the man shouted in pain, slamming her against the railing.
"Stop!" the doctor ran to them, grabbing the man's shoulder, "You're hurting her! Stop!"
"Hurry," voices muttered at the helmsman, "Hurry up, go, something's not right…")
xxx
(In the end, Doflamingo wasn't sure what it was—the din of sudden thunder, a sharpness of rain, that coincidental shift from the corner of his eye.
But he stopped long before Gladius could shout that there were people on the opposing ship's deck, grappling against each other. And he turned around long before he understood why.
Then, from those few hundred meters away, a bolt of lightning struck down and illuminated the surrounding waves.
And there he saw her among the shadowy throngs, the flash of that small pale face in the dark. Looking at him, eyes wide.
Doflamingo saw nothing else for quite some time.)
xxx
"Tell the truth, Baby," Trebol-san would say.
xxx
The Young Master burst from the sky. Enormous. As unreal as a dream. He smashed open the clouds, the deck, the very storm in his descent.
His coat trailed behind him like mile-long wings and the entire boat rocked—hinges at a wail beneath the force of the landing.
Wood splintered. Metal sliced apart at the joints, a tuning fork's whine.
He looked unfathomably angry.
It began to rain.
xxx
"Where are Law and Buffalo?" Trebol-san asked, "Where is Corazón? Tell your Young Master where he is, girl."
xxx
(Three minutes and twenty-four seconds.
The doctor shuddered, gripping the handle of the gun, wet and slippery from rain and spray and the corpse's hand she'd ripped it out of. The crew had been slaughtered, most of the bodies torn to ribbons. A forty-manned crew. Demolished.
Three minutes and twenty-four seconds.
The Heavenly Demon stood at the quarterdeck, dropping the helmsman out of the air where he'd been suspended. Blood gurgled out of his slit throat, pouring onto the wood. He stepped over him and turned to her next. The doctor raised the gun, her skin grayer than the surrounding storm clouds.
No person, paper or tale had ever captured for her the size of Doflamingo Donquixote. Ten feet at least. Those glasses, a thicker and more congealed red than blood. That hair, spun fine as gold.
Rain trickled down his cold, spattered face.
"Give her to me," was all he said.
The child shifted at his voice. Her cuffed hand rose to yank at the doctor's wrist, where it held her trapped in a headlock. The doctor bit her lip. She cocked the gun and the child froze—pale, tear-stained face peering at her for the briefest of seconds.
The doctor averted her gaze.
"Let us go," she rasped, "No one will come after you, I swear."
The Heavenly Demon did not respond. She could almost feel the heat of his gaze, pinned to the gun like a beast would the bars of its cage. Waves pushed against the sides of the skiff, chilled brine streaming around their feet as rain pelted down in symphony. The doctor swallowed.
"I-If you care about this girl, if it matters to you at all what…what becomes of her, then you'll let us go. Please. She doesn't belong with you. Don't make me do this. Please."
A vein twitched in his face. He looked at the child a long, indecipherable moment.
Then he said, "Baby…did you hear that? She wants me to leave. To forget all this and let you go. I'm supposed to watch her take you away from me even though she's already dead from any conceivable standpoint and you're still mine—"
The doctor shook her head, blood leaching out of her face. "No, that's not—"
"Baby, what are we going to do?"
"P-Please, I'm engaged, please, I jus—"
The words choked in her throat. The girl turned, glancing up at her with black, rain-soaked eyes. The doctor's arm dropped away.)
xxx
I remember looking at the Young Master, who lifted the slipping towel back up around my shoulders.
"Go ahead, Baby," he whispered, "It's okay."
But it wasn't okay. I could see it in his expression, paler than snow, lips a near colorless line. He didn't want me to tell him. He didn't want to know why.
He was afraid. My Young Master who wasn't afraid of anything.
xxx
The marine woman hit the floor with a dull thud, blood already pooling.
Baby Five pulled the misshapen blade out of her chest, morphing it back into her stained and uncuffed hand. Shredded bits of the cast's plaster floated down around her feet. Baby Five inhaled, a shuddery gasp of pain as she tucked her shattered wrist to her side. She stepped over the body on quaking legs, hiccuping and dress torn, working arm outstretched.
The Young Master was there in two strides. His palm rested on the back of her head as he lifted her. They were both blood-spackled and soaked in rain. Lightning sizzled the air. The unmanned skiff creaked like it was about to give way.
And yet for the strangest and briefest of beats, the Young Master didn't move—just stood there, wordless, fingers half-threaded in her hair. Baby didn't know what he was doing. She didn't care either, taking the opportunity to press as close as she could. They were still and she'd wonder later if she imagined it then-the Young Master's hand tightening around her.
Strings glided out of his sleeves eventually though and the wind swooshed in her ears as he carried her into the night.
Baby Five buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of home.
xxx
He asked it of me. Not with his words. Not even consciously.
But at eleven years old, that's what I heard. There in the deepest part of my soul.
The Young Master didn't want me to tell him. He didn't want to know.
xxx
(Hours later, Doflamingo pulled the towel back up around Baby Five's shoulders. The girl was shivering wet still, hair plastered and sluiced against her face. She had his sleeve, white-fisted in her good hand, and didn't seem like she'd let go of it for anything.
"…tell your Young Master where he is, girl."
Trebol was sweating, his mucus dripping on the floor. Baby Five looked at him and then away.
There was an odd sound stuck in Doflamingo's ears. An echoing, stampeding thud.
He nodded blankly.
"Go ahead, Baby. It's okay.")
xxx
And perhaps that truly is the reason it happened in the end. Because he asked me to.
Because it was the sole way my subconscious knew how to obey-not a fiber able to refuse.
My Young Master, who gave me a home…
xxx
(The girl's mouth opened, a trembling breath escaped. She moved her lips.
And there was nothing.
Baby Five froze. Doflamingo's eyes went wide.
"Baby?" he said, leaning in, and the Family stirred behind him, murmuring with alarm, "Baby, say something.")
xxx
…who was terrible, beautiful, miserable, empty…
xxx
(The child touched her throat, color vanishing out of her face. Her lips parted again, moving. Not a sound. No trace of a voice.
Nothing but the rain.)
xxx
…and loved his brother more than he ever could say.
xxx
Nothing but the rain.