fractus - "broken"

(The suit was stunning on Doffy.

Vergo's mouth curled at the corners as he drank in the sight of his king. He'd gotten the piece in the Forty-Fifth Yarukiman Grove—an obscenely expensive set, made of finely woven burgundy wool and exquisite rayon lining. The inseams, cuffs and shoulders had been tailored precisely to Doffy's size and the whole attire wrapped around his form with exceeding flattery.

Trebol and Diamante crowed on about how well it looked on him, while Pica nodded in solemn agreement. Vergo admired the accentuated leanness it brought to Doffy's height, his narrow waist and sinewy cords of muscles. Captivating still, despite the haggard paleness of his face.

"It really becomes you," he said and nodded at the lounge table, where a plush pair of gloves had been folded—auburn leather and fur-lined, "The days have been getting colder. I had the tailor throw in a free pair of gloves."

The fellow had needed a bit of menacing too, which he recounted to Doffy in full, hoping to provide him some amusement. Lavish presents always pleased his king, doubly so when they were less actual presents but extracted collateral. A residual mindset from his Mariejois days, Vergo figured.

Yet Doffy didn't seem to be finding humor in it. Barely even looked like he'd been listening. He picked at his fingers, gaze fidgeting continuously towards the porthole and the fading silhouette of Rubeck outside.

"Enough already," he said, "Get to your point."

Diamante and Pica stilled. It was subtle enough not to be noticed. Trebol remained unperturbed. He was even almost smiling, the anticipation practically oozing from him and dripping wetly onto the floorboards.

Detestable. Vergo's brow ticked. He had been ready for this moment a long, long time himself, but could at least practice a measure of self-control until everything was over. Doffy would probably be upset for months, moreso than now or even eighteen years ago. Adjusting to the freedom of being unshackled, so to speak.

It'd be no picnic. There was really nothing for Trebol to be so excited about at all in Vergo's opinion and he made it known with a black, frigid glance at him, before picking up the gloves.

"You should sit down for this, Doffy," he said, reaching out to put them over Doffy's welted hands himself.

The nails were utterly ragged and blood-beaded, some of them split open at the tips. Vergo covered them up gingerly as his anger rose.

He was finished with Rosinante digging up Doffy's every old tick and habit and poison, some of which Vergo had spent nearly fourteen years burying. All the hallucinations, refusing to eat, bleeding all over the place like a wounded bird—this was not his king.

Doffy yanked his hands away, making Vergo blink.

"I've no fucking desire to sit down," he said, not bothering to shuck the gloves back off as he eyed the four of them, "I'm tired. My head's killing me. What do you want."

His voice got sharp and violent at the end. Brief apprehension flashed across Diamante and Pica's faces, and Vergo's frown deepened. Maybe they should wait again, after he made sure Doffy had slept—

Ugly laughter spilled forth into the silence. "All things gotta hurt before they get better," Trebol said, slithering forward, "And you're about to get a whooole lot better."

His arm shifted and out of the filthy recesses of his sleeve, he produced a dead-black folder. Diamante and Pica followed it with their eyes as if hypnotized, while Vergo twitched with annoyance. His bag was probably covered in Trebol's disgusting residue now.

"Ne, Doffy," said Trebol, lowly, "You know we're your family. You can tell us the truth."

He held the folder out. "Why Corazón ran away all those years ago...it did matter to you, didn't it? It's always mattered. Since the very beginning."

Narrow black typeface reflected in the gleaming tint of Doffy's shades. Trebol's lips curled to touch his eyes.

"And you're still afraid it was because he was finished with you."

Marine Code 01746.)

xxx

The symptoms of Amber Lead had varied between people in Flevance. Weight loss. Weight gain. Seizures. A writhing heat that gripped the body to the marrow and cooked it alive. He'd seen that one in Lammy. Its fangs sunken into her even at the end, in the narrow cage of that linen closet he'd thought would protect her.

And it had found Law next, consuming his blood and muscles with fever, swallowing his consciousness into the nebulous underworld of its belly, where all the times and days had blended together into morass.

His father's blood seeped onto patient files as Flevance fell and the worn leather of his mother's favorite shoes peeled apart in the fires. He was hiding among corpses, suffocating in smog, before being picked out of the dark by hard, callused palms.

Two silhouettes peered at him, all marvelous and tall and gold.

"Poor kid," one said, sadly, as they watched him shudder. The other tilted his head. "Suppose you'll come with us."

They crouched down. Big, warm hands fell against his skin, resting along the sides of his temples. They lifted his head carefully, and Law squinted into these towering shadows, these idiots with their matching smiles that never touched their eyes and who'd forever changed the course of Law's life.

"When are you gonna stop fighting?" he whispered, "I want to go home."

They looked at him a very long time. Thumbs smeared the tarry soot off his face.

"You have to live, brat."

As if that was an answer that made sense. Or was any sort of answer at all.

xxx

The kid was insensate. Rosinante strained to hear every rasping breath as he battled the boat through the opposing tide. His small rib cage felt like a brittle nest of twigs against his chest, his head loose and his white-stained skin hot. A clotted trail of blood and bruising was vivid on his cheek and temple from where he'd been struck. He'd thrown up bile and his limbs spasmed and twitched occasionally, but he didn't wake.

The smell of encroaching death was lingering.

"Hold on, Law," Rosinante ground out and readjusted his grip on the oar handles. His palms had left slicks of blood on the wood, making them sticky and hard to move. The color was dark and resembled gore. He'd bashed the Barrels pirate hard enough to rupture something, it seemed.

Rosinante exhaled, and finally swiped his hands in the ocean to wash them off best he could, ignoring the numbing ache that flared through his body.

He shouldn't have beaten the man to that degree—time and energy wasted for an extra pinch of savagery. Wasn't merciful. Or logical.

Though he wasn't even sure at the moment if he actually gave a damn.

Rosinante could hardly remember what he'd been thinking—so godlessly angry at the sight of that tiny form lying all bloody and broken in the grass. As though something had tried to climb into his skin and take his body for a ride. A blistering, inescapable fury.

Rosinante bit his lip and continued rowing. A cold bite was emerging in the air. The white of Minion's eternal winter peering through the eve.

How many men did Barrels have in his crew again? Seventy, eighty, he couldn't remember.

The southern coastline came into view and Rosinante scanned it for a more secluded area to pull ashore. The beach was a long expansive rind though, sloped with ice and frosted sand dunes. No cover at all.

He was about to rotate the oars and risk moving further along the island, when he caught sight of the cliff-head. It was narrow and jutted, a bluff sequestered from the rest of the shore and made of obsidian rock. Rosinante considered it, shifting Law gently to the crook of his left arm.

Then he pulled the boat over.

With his free hand, he picked up the bundle of rope that'd been packed into the dinghy, making sure the grappling hook was secured to the end.

In a hard swing, Rosinante tossed the rope towards the cliff-face, tugging down to catch the hook tight. Wind dragged through, breathlessly cold.

A random trickle of blood dripped from his nose. Rosinante blinked, wiping it on the back of his sleeve.

xxx

Law was moving. Or being moved anyway.

The curve of his lids twitched as he struggled and failed to open his eyes. His body felt like it was searing in a pan of hot oil, immobilizing pain shooting through him at each bump or jarring.

There was an arm wrapped around his body though, solid and heavy and warm. The weight hurt a little, but also made Law feel safe.

He smelled sweat and tobacco. Sea-soaked rocks. There was a grunt and curse, as something rough like a shoe sole skidded over gravel. Pebbly sounds tumbled a long way before plopping into water.

He was swirling under again. The sounds and smells pulling away.

Then he was on Spider Miles two and a half years ago, eye pressed up against the crack of the meeting room door.

Cora-san slammed out of the washroom, face paint washed off—wobbling and weaving and fumbling at the wall for balance. Doflamingo surfaced behind him, beyond unamused.

New Year's, Law remembered faintly, when Cora-san had returned from the port of Kapel. As was the manner of his luck, he'd tried to have a few past stitches removed and gotten injected with the latest batch of back-alley cocktails instead.

"You're hopeless."

Cora-san groaned, wiping at his slightly dribbling mouth. "Yeah, yeah, I know." He collapsed onto the sofa face-down, limbs strewn off the ends, feathers sliding off one shoulder. Doflamingo regarded him without expression. He was completely silent, but Cora-san's head turned eventually, one red eye glimmering from beneath his mop of hair.

"It's gonna work its way out, Doffy. Was an accident."

Doflamingo crossed his arms, brow pinched. "That you're aware of," he whispered and stalked for the exit.

He stopped a second later when Cora-san's hand flew out and snatched a corner of his coat. Went rigid as a plank, like he had stepped onto live wires.

Cora-san struggled onto his side. "Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Whatever you're thinking."

Doflamingo retracted the quarter of a step, offering the glimpse of a profile. "We all learn best by example."

"I'm not looking for payback."

A faintly disgusted sigh. Doflamingo turned around fully, his lip curled. "You're honestly just like him, Rosi," he said, "Got a fool's eyes."

A crease ran between Cora-san's brows. It took him a moment to reply.

"…leave it alone. Alright? It's what I want."

"I'm not entirely convinced you know what you want," Doflamingo snapped, as if he had no plans on abiding, though Law recalled that he did relent in the end. They'd sail on past Kapel, as they would a number of towns and ports in those years, and leave it untouched.

Whether it's out of actual comprehension of this or simple exhaustion, Cora-san released Doflamingo's coat, his long hand flopping over the cushion, the nails dragging the ground. He shifted on his back, so he could glower at his brother properly.

"And maybe you're a little too convinced that you do, ever thought of that?"

There was a kernel of heat in it and a tense minute passed between them. Then Cora-san abruptly turned away, dragging a hand down his face and groaning once more.

"Ugh, Doffy, I don't…" He shook his head. "Never mind, just go. You've shit to do, right? As your executives are always saying. Don't let me keep you."

Doflamingo didn't move even an inch, glaring still. It didn't seem as if he knew why they were suddenly hurtling towards a fight either, but Law could tell he had more words in mind to say, more character traits to rant about. And despite himself, Cora-san seemed to be bracing for it, hand over his eyes and white-jawed.

He looked very tired and slightly nauseous, bearing semblance to a battered and stringless puppet.

Doflamingo's expression cooled into discomfort the longer he stared. And it drained away from there, step by step, until only a mist of confusion was left behind. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His shoulders were stiff as boards.

"Fine," he said and walked off.

Cora-san didn't respond, hand still concealing his eyes. It was barely visible, how his frame drooped into the sofa.

Must've been why he jumped so hard when the chair slid over a few seconds later.

"Doffy?" He half-turned his head, bangs falling into his vision. "What're you doing?"

Doflamingo folded down into the seat. "What does it look like."

They stared at each other. Cora-san blinked once.

"Like you're about to watch me trip balls for a few hours."

"Hm." Doflamingo leaned forward, elbows on thighs. "If I left you here alone, where the runts could find you, and you ended up...braining one of them or whatever, I'd be hearing you wail about it for months."

Cora-san's mouth twitched a little. "Lock the door then."

Doflamingo looked at him as if that'd been the stupidest suggestion ever made. He brushed the hair out of Cora-san's eyes. "Don't order me around."

The room crimped and pleated at the corners. Law closed his eyes, dizzy. He fell.

xxx

Minion, like its two neighbors, had been abandoned by man.

Maybe more recently than Rubeck or Swallow, since the buildings had a more refined shape to them, lime mortar pounded into ashen walls of stone—a quarry town buried in white. Some of the ceilings of the huts had caved inwards and Rosinante was forced to kick open a number of doors, before he encountered one with a room and fireplace still intact.

Law sagged as Rosinante laid him down on the floor, wrapped up tight in the olive afghan. He cocooned him further in a long, furry cloak found draped over a twisted bed frame.

The kid had exhibited more signs of life since they'd stepped onto the island, a soft moan of pain when Rosinante had accidentally jostled him climbing over the cliff's edge, a trail of slurred words tumbling beneath his fevered and clouded breath.

Still unconscious though. Still shaking.

Rosinante hurried about the musty room, snapping apart chair legs and an old table to feed into the hearth. Almost set his own coat on fire too as he flicked his lighter impatiently.

It took a few tries before the timber caught and warm, bronze-yellow light glided down the walls. Rosinante sighed in relief as it washed down his front.

He debated tossing some additional chunks of furniture in to feed the fire further, before deciding he'd have to let it run a shorter course. Barrels had thankfully moved his camp, but they'd spot the chimney smoke if he left things burning long.

Even from here the mansion was visible—positioned a few miles apart and above the town, settled at the crest of a giant snow-buried incline. Rosinante strode to the window, peering upon the distant structure with a mild wince.

Being on Minion wasn't ideal at all, but he figured the original plan could still work. There was enough cover to avoid getting spotted if he climbed the long way and took a route through the trees surrounding the compound's rear.

Rosinante spent a couple minutes determining exactly which direction he should enter from, wishing for a map when he was reduced to eyeballing distances from a piss-poor vantage point. Once he was about as satisfied as he could get, Rosinante closed the rickety shutters to block out the frost-bitten breeze.

Then he walked back over to sit a moment and hold the boy.

Orange flamelets made dancing shadows of his small, slack face. His hat was crooked again. Rosinante fixed it gently and Law wheezed in his sleep, turning to bury his nose in Rosinante's stomach.

"Cora-san…" he whispered and breathed in deeply.

Rosinante almost snorted. "It's okay, Law," he said, patting the boy's head, "Won't hurt for much longer. I'm gonna get the Ope Ope for you."

There was no reply. Rosinante eased the child back onto the floor and doused the fire with a scoop of snow. The Nagi Nagi activated, enveloping him in a blue seal of silence. His nose started bleeding again too, what the hell? Weather must've been drier than it felt.

Rosinante swiped it clean, before threading his arms into the feathery tunnels of his coat.

The snow gave effortlessly beneath his feet once he stepped outside—that powdery sort Doffy had often chased him around in when they were children—his grin bright and pleased, as Rosinante's cheeks went ruddy with laughing.

A lot slipperier than it looks, his brother had said then too, hauling him up again after he'd gone pratfalling a third time, dusting his hair, clapping the flakes out of his shirt and pants. The sun had bathed the curve of his face.

Careful, Rosi.

Rosinante took a breath. He started running.

xxx

Law opened his eyes. Soft, spilling sunset had washed over the room in scarlets and creams.

A book was open in Doflamingo's hand now. He glanced at the clock.

"Weren't you still on painkillers at Kapel?" There was a low moan. "No wonder the brat was so mad at you. Almost thought he was overreacting."

"Brat's mad at the whole wide world," Cora-san mumbled, "Keeps saying he's gonna die. Reminds me every day, like it doesn't matter. Like it's nothing."

Doflamingo grunted, flipping another page in his book, though it didn't appear like he was reading a word. "So he doesn't want to hold his breath. Hope's cruel anyway. Just let him be."

"How can you say that?" Cora-san whispered, "'s only a kid. It isn't right."

"Lots of things aren't right," Doflamingo muttered and checked the clock a second time. His fingers flexed over the book cover. The ancient radiator gurgled and popped.

Cora-san stared at the tiles hazily, expression almost thoughtful. His words petered and clumped together.

"Makes me sad you still feel that way."

Doflamingo looked up, silent. Cora-san continued, "If you gave it a chance, if you tried to…just let go of what you had, maybe you'd be a little happier. Like they said."

"Oh? And how's that working for you, hm? Are you so much happier now?"

"Who cares about me."

Doflamingo lowered his book, surprised. Cora-san's eyes were wandering the windows though. The ones in the meeting room were masked in narrow metal bars, a thin rag looped around the end which Baby had used to polish them until they shined.

"What—"

"I'd like it a lot if you could make peace with what happened."

A frown darkened Doflamingo's face.

"I have made peace, Rosi," he said and shut his book with a hard snap, "They're not ever going to take us back. We won't belong there again."

His hand swept the woolly air, swatting the thought aside like a gnat. "But that's fine. Let's see in the end just who will regret what. Did I ever tell you they laughed at me? First time I returned to those gates. Thought I was so absurd and funny. Do you suppose they'll still be laughing the next time they see me there too?"

He snickered, a wicked rasp of a sound that would always stay lazily coiled at the back of Law's mind. Cora-san breathed out. His eyes shut and opened again, the corneas shot through with tangled blood veins.

"It's not going to make you feel better. Revenge."

"Hm, don't knock it till you try it."

"He loved us, Doffy. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Doflamingo shrugged coolly, though his grin fell by a ways, the sharp edges sandpapered down.

"You don't get back what you chose to give up."

Cora-san sighed once more. The drug had bleached his pallor and made it vague and gray. His throat bobbed as he swallowed and distress wrung Law's insides. He tried to walk in, but his legs wouldn't budge. They hadn't two and a half years ago, and they wouldn't now either.

Law was swept away.

xxx

(Dangerous things wore red.

This was a strikingly vivid bit of adage for Diez Barrels, who recalled it best in the old fables and fishermen tales of his youth in the Marines. Even moreso now in the realm of lawless men and beasts.

Red was the flaring gills of a man-eating carp and the coral-shell hair of a siren in her cove. It was a snapshot crack of musket fire, the Devil's carriage galloping through the fog.

And it was the Ope Ope.

Barrels grinned as he lifted the chest lid and took out the fruit to admire again. It shined with such intensity that his eyes watered beholding it. Not even years buried in a moldy cave upon the most pathetic scab of an island he'd ever seen had diminished its glow. He'd almost thought it was an actual heart, still pumping and jumping, when the boys had hauled it aboard.

"They're really gonna cough up five billion, huh, Captain?" Big Chacko said around a mouthful of oil and gristle. The folds of his neck wobbled as he washed it down with rum. "Won't haveta be pirates anymore after that kinda payload."

"All over a Devil Fruit too," someone else added, "You made right idiots outta 'em."

There was a chortling chorus of agreement and Barrels leaned back in his chair, reveling in it. Now this was the type of respect the navy should've been affording him.

So what if he played a little rough in the field and hit the bottle too hard—that was chump change compared to the humiliating series of reprimands and demerits they'd done to his career. The looming threat of a dishonorable discharge that came piling over the horizon, all the while inferior little fucks advanced over him.

If the higher-ups had recognized his potential for what it'd been, then they wouldn't be short a good five billion beris now, would they? And to trade the fortune of several lifetimes just to save a couple more sops from croaking a few years earlier than their due was downright pointless. Sengoku was either far naiver than he thought or going utterly senile.

Barrels huffed, mood starting to sour again. He set the Ope Ope back into its chest before he could accidentally crush it and placed the chest at the foot of his throne.

"Dory!" he roared and the boy's shaggy head rose from behind a stack of crates, "Get us more drink."

A mute nod. The footsteps were uneven as the brat stumbled off, a limp in his gait. Couldn't even handle a measly kick. Barrels still wondered at times if the boy was even his.

"Patrol group make it back yet?" he asked and the newest recruit turned in his seat, a Den Den Mushi in hand. Rag of greasy hair. The ferrety attention of a small rodent. Isaac's cousin, though Barrels couldn't recall the name.

"First one is still making a round through the woods. Haven't heard from Isaac or the others that went to Rubeck."

"Hmph. Buncha idiots probably got themselves lost."

Isaac's cousin chewed on a nail.

"It's a straight path though, Captain. Only eight-hundred meters." His eyes zipped to the window where Rubeck swirled on the horizon, resting where sky met sea. "…Could the marines have arrived early too? Isaac had been worrying about it. That fucking worm, Sid would run at the first sign."

Barrels snorted. "The marines get held up by bad skies, clear skies and their own damn paperwork. Won't be here till the day."

Another wave of laughs. Isaac's cousin looked around nervously—sand on the raw hide of Barrels' nerves.

"Quit fretting like some dame," he snapped, "This is a goddamn party."

The man wrung his hands. "Captain...what about the Donquixotes?"

A vicious hush slammed down. Big Chacko swallowed his next bite with a cringe. Barrels' lip curled immediately. "What about 'em?"

"He wanted the fruit too, didn't he? D...Doflamingo, that is." Isaac's cousin tripped over the name, like it was a black curse that was due its reverence. "Suppose he's figured out where we're at."

"How could he?" Barrels's arms crossed over his beefy chest. "You sayin' I can't outsmart some flouncy-lookin' blonde boy in a fucking pink coat?"

"No, Captain, I—"

"You mark my words on this," Barrels growled, a fat Y-shaped vein pulsating in and out of view upon his forehead, "Doflamingo really ain't shit. Everyone's so scared of 'im in these parts. Kingdoms, port towns, up and down the New World. All of you quakin' in your boots, when he's done nothing for years but go soft."

The looks he got scuttled towards uncertainty. Disbelief. Barrels sneered. It was true.

In the past few years, he'd picked up profitable trades that Doflamingo had suddenly given up. Locked into his fist even an entire hodgepodge of towns the bastard had released out of nowhere. There was a whole smattering of unclaimed morsels starting to crop up in North Blue and every crew within range was still pussy-footing around, anxious about stepping on his toes.

Well, Barrels was not afraid of fucking Doflamingo Donquixote. It agitated him something fierce that his crew had lingering thoughts to the contrary.

"Didn't he destroy that island though?" someone mumbled, "It was all over the news. That old one where the Ope Ope was buried. Fires raged for almost a week. Dead got piled into a mountain."

"He missed us by two days? Christ..."

"I once drank with a couple guys who escaped Rakesh. Some of 'em still get the shakes. That shit they said, about what he does to traitors..." Isaac's cousin shuddered. "Monster."

"Monster," the rest of the crew agreed.

Barrels slammed his palm onto the table hard enough to leave cracks. He jabbed a thumb at his chest, snarling at the flurry of startled looks which came his way.

"Monster?" he spat, "I'd crossed all four blues and Paradise, before he was even a spark in his bitch-mother's eye. Battled giants and storms and sea kings. The blood of a hundred men was already drying on my hands. And when I first sailed the borders into Wano Country, Doflamingo was still tottering down a beachside on an infant's legs!"

He slammed his hand down again, spittle flying as he thundered to his feet.

"SO IF ANYONE'S A MONSTER IN THESE FUCKING WAVES, IT'S ME!"

The table crunched and collapsed. Dory, who had just been returning with four giant bottles of rum, yelped and jumped on reflex to cover his head. If he hadn't dropped those bottles, the glass shattering into a dripping rainbow array beneath the gas lamps, over the floor and chairs and Barrels' waist, then maybe he wouldn't have done what he did next.

It was what he'd tell himself at least, an hour or so after he'd calmed down. The brat had asked for it. What else could he be expecting?)

xxx

("You little bitch!"

The Barrels Pirates watched with vaguely detached pity as their captain yanked his son out by the hair. The boy yipped and whined like a newborn whelp, all his limbs petrified. He stared at them with white, flashing eyes and because they disliked it when he did that, they looked away. Dory would go quiet once Diez reached the courtyard anyway. Always did.

Big Chacko reached beneath his seat as the door slammed shut. He groped aside his rifle, his giant belt of shells and pulled out the three extra rum bottles he'd been hoarding.

For the next hour, the Barrels Pirates poured, gorged and gabbled incessantly, the thick noise used to drown out the vicious cursing from outside and the 'thwacks' of knuckles printing into flesh.

And so they were quite unprepared when the warehouse burst into that scarlet ravage of colors, staining the casements of the window bays.

All light smothered out, blackness devouring the room.

In the drink-addled frenzy, some of the Barrels Pirates swore they caught something long and lean dash through the muddle towards Diez's seat. A glowing pair of eyes that matched the shade of cinnabar and rust.

Big Chacko, who was closest, swung at it in a panic. The darkness tangled him up and he went crashing into the throne, sending it down in smithereens. The chest that'd been resting at the base rocketed skyward from the momentum and popped open.

They would never see the ruby Ope Ope go flying out though, snatched as it was mid-flight.

Some of the Barrels Pirates would feel next the blast of wintry air when the pane smashed open. They would see the small squat object flinging past the drapes which would be the end of Big Chacko and ten others.

But for all of them, whether they would survive that grenade or otherwise, it was the silence that would overshadow it all.

That vacuum constricting and distended. A void that'd consumed all the noises of the mansion so that every scene reeled out like black-and-white tape.

Nothing right about it, they would say, Nothing right.)

xxx

The heat of the compound behind him blazed the back of his legs, a jarring sensation against the astounding cold. Grease smoke and wreckage filled his nostrils and skull, but Rosinante didn't stop, Ope Ope pressed close to his breast.

The fruit was heavier than it looked. Bigger than he anticipated. Really did resemble a heart.

An overwhelming and irrational giddiness spread in Rosinante as he ran, the fruit clutched in his frozen fingers. He couldn't feel his face, but knew that it was split into a grin. The pulse of his blood was lodged somewhere beneath his collarbone and he felt the coarse winter jet through his lungs, oxygenating his veins.

He had it. The Ope Ope no Mi—the beginning and end of…of everything.

His cheeky brat was going to be okay.

I did it, Law.

I did it.

Small comforts that he got to have such a nice thought, before making it to the brim of that incline.

It was not the ground, waxy smooth from compacted snow, that would send his heel slip-sliding from underneath him, or the newly frozen sleet mounds that would hook up his feet. Rosinante had been watching his steps, being overly cautious. He remembered oddly, that the snow was far slipperier than it seemed.

It wasn't for lack of footing that he fell. In fact, he didn't know what it was in the end at all.

Just that he was pounding down the white trail as fast as he could, when his vision suddenly swarmed with black sparkles. His head went cold and light.

"Wha—" he gasped, just before his knees buckled like matchsticks and he went sprawling over his next step. He caught his brother again, just before the world spun into a cycle of pain and pigments, eight and exasperated in his mind's eye.

I told you to be careful, Rosi.

Then down he tumbled from the hill.

xxx

The room was darker. A shadowy ocean eddying with whirlpools of the moon. Cora-san's body was a lump on the sofa.

"When'd you start drinking so hard?"

"I don't." Doflamingo shifted. "You're just dramatic, all of you."

"'nd that wine. What is that crap? I know you smell it too. Can't be partakin' for the taste…"

His words were slurring. Cora-san's glazed eyes roamed the room almost boredly, like he held zero expectations for an answer. For a moment, Doflamingo didn't look as if he'd have provided one likewise.

But then his chin lifted off his knuckles, features veiled in the night's gloom.

"I saw you, Rosi."

Cora-san's eyes were quizzically wide. "Saw me? Where?"

Doflamingo didn't respond. They watched each other, before he released a rough sigh.

"Everywhere. It was fucking terrible. I thought you were dead."

"Dead?" Cora-san struggled to lift his hand and gave a test poke of his own cheek, leaving a red mark behind. "'m not dead, Doffy." He angled his face, as if he thought his brother couldn't see the mark.

Doflamingo just crossed his arms and sucked on his teeth, all presumed nonchalance even as his hands were so tight against his biceps that the skin drew white and bone showed through.

"Well, I suppose I didn't actually think you were. I told myself that a lot. I said it out loud. But I don't believe I ever managed to make that sale."

His gaze upon Cora-san flickered like wildfire. As if he wanted to seize him by the collar—two bunches of magenta hearts. He didn't though and sat there breathing sharply instead.

"You're mine, Rosi," he said, apropos of nothing.

Cora-san squinted at him. He cupped a hand over his mouth, all secretive.

"Doffy," he said, "I can't feel my legs."

Doflamingo was quiet.

xxx

He landed in a pile of snow. Almost directly on his face. And right into a group of Barrels Pirates scouting the perimeter of the town, ugh.

A mass of shouting and swearing lifted over his head as Rosinante tried to rise to his stinging knees, snow plopping off his shoulders and arms riddled with disturbing quakes. The Ope Ope was still gripped in his right hand and he took care to loosen his hold, worried about mangling it.

"What the?! Who is this guy? Where—"

"Just got word there was an invader at the compound! Half a wing fucking exploded!"

"The hell?! I didn't hear—aren't we downhill?"

Guns knocked and clattered. The needle-point of their muzzles leveled upon him. It was a pendulum of jackets and sideburns and mittens and bad teeth, swinging side to side. They were going to shoot him.

"Is that the Ope Ope?"

"You fuckin' thief!"

"Kill 'im! Kill 'im!"

Rosinante's left hand rose, fingers crooking. Blue threads peeled out of the night.

xxx

Law opened his eyes, unsure when he'd shut them.

Doflamingo was walking back into the room, door shutting behind him. He'd dropped all pretenses of reading, mouth a straight and grim line as he studied his brother.

"You look horrible."

Cora-san shrugged. He replied with a slurred explication as to why he thought his brand of cigarettes was superior to Senor's, and a theory among the Family that Trebol was feeding his Venus fly-traps toxic waste. Doflamingo ignored him.

"Pink and Lao caught another back-alley rat selling the same shit you got shot up with earlier," he said, "It works like sodium pentothal. Truth serum."

"Hmmmmm, well that's dandy."

There was more silence. Muscles in Doflamingo's jaw relaxed and twinged again.

"You make me tired, Rosi."

Cora-san laughed so hard he almost jerked off the couch.

"I make you tired?"

He tried to struggle upright suddenly and failed.

"You think you're a goddamn breeze to be around? Ever? Think I came back because you're so—so energizing?"

He laughed again and the lash of it made Law's eyes widen, his hand touching the door frame. Up until then, he had never heard Cora-san snap at his brother in a manner beyond sarcasm or annoyance. Maybe if he was in his right mind, he wouldn't have, but the chemicals had loosened his tongue, broke the dam inside that made things spill out like the meat of a ruined fruit.

Doflamingo looked unsurprised. He sat down in the chair, palms settling on his knees.

"Then why did you?"

Cora-san's eyes rolled to him. Doflamingo's nails pressed against the fabric of his trousers. His voice was unwaveringly blank.

"Why did you come back?"

xxx

He stood in a ring of bodies, strings slung broken and shiny from his fingertips.

Rosinante staggered through the trampled snow, black feathers shedding. The Ope Ope was fleshy and unblemished in the nest of his hand. He sucked in a breath and the sound of his inflated lungs fell into the cosmos, before vanishing, enfolded into the silence.

His vision returned. Whatever momentary ailment that'd assaulted him had meandered on and Minion was clear and cutting and moonless once again.

Rosinante trudged on towards the quarry town, blood plipping off his chin.

xxx

"Why?" Cora-san sighed, head lolling away. "What do you mean why? For you obviously."

Doflamingo stared. Cora-san blinked at a water-stained ceiling. Not angry anymore. The fire was gone, sponged out in the bite between seconds. There was a breath, deep and wistful and long.

"You," he said, "are my brother. And I had to come back."

xxx

Marine Code 01746 lay fanned out upon the mutilated desktop.

Doflamingo stared at the documents, the reports, Dellinger, Buffalo, Baby. The words were waggling like little black beetles, jittering, glittering, stumpy appendages all misshapen. They weren't vanishing. Weren't blinking out of existence. Weren'tweren'tweren't…

"No, no…" He shook his head, stuttering out a laugh. "No, no, no, this is wrong. This is wrong."

Diamante said something nervously. Vergo surged into his vision, reaching forward.

"Doffy," he said, "are you—"

Doflamingo smacked him aside so hard that he flew backwards into Pica. Diamante flinched as if he'd been the one struck instead. Books crashed off the shelves. The sound was all strange, pebbles falling into a river far away.

He jabbed a finger at the papers. "Which one of you did this?" He laughed again. "So elaborate."

They were staring. Vergo straightened up and the skin was strained around his glasses, like he wanted to try touching him again, but didn't dare. Silence hung in the cabin, fuzzy and condensing. Doflamingo's teeth appeared in a ravel of frosted, skeletal light.

"Who was it? Who made up this fucking pile of lies?"

No one was speaking. Doflamingo's pupils shrunk. The floorboards shook with haki and a frightened noise finally spurted from Diamante, his eyes pale. "Doffy, it was all—!"

"You know it's real."

Trebol leaned against his cane.

"He's a marine, Doffy. A traitor. A rat. Look at this, he called you a monster." His damp fingers splayed the documents apart, dragging down a ream of footnotes. They left tracks of slime. The vile squeal of them abraded his skull.

The ground began to dissolve again.

Doflamingo floundered. "No..."

xxx

"Doffy," Cora-san whispered, "I was always gonna come back for you. No matter how far you went. No matter where you were trying to go."

He grinned and it was so incredibly loopy, so unbearably honest.

"Always, you know?" he said, "Always."

xxx

("He…came back for me," his poor master said, "I thought…I thought…"

Trebol nodded in sympathy. His palm moved again, sifting through the folder for his favorite little tidbit.

"Oh yes, Doffy, he came back for you alright."

A piece of notebook paper was tugged free. Trebol held it up tenderly. Summarized it for his king.)

xxx

"Says here…that you're sick, Doffy. That you're broken. He was gonna lock you up in Impel Down and forget about you. See these lists? The drugs, the bedlams, the shrinks. You know he wants them to pump you so full of drugs that you can't remember your own name. Let them poke their needles in your brain. He thinks you're mad. Thinks you're crazy."

Trebol flapped the paper.

"But you know you're not crazy. You're like us and we're not crazy, are we? Insolent of him. Traitorous. Mutinous."

He slapped the note back onto the table. The patterns on his robe were gloppy aqua whorls, slowly opening mouths.

"Doffy," he said, louder, startling the other executives, "I would follow you to the ends of the realms! I would butcher and pillage and destroy this entire wretched planet at your bidding! You are meant to be...so much more than this. Destined for greatness..."

The ghost flowed over a bookcase, hair limp at the ears.

"...and maybe you don't quite see what I mean yet, but you will be great."

Its small hands were empty, flat against the wood.

"Just let go of your Corazon. Let him go, Doffy. Let go."

Rosi lifted his head and met his eyes. Doflamingo turned around, chest heaving, head buzzing and tight.

xxx

("It's not true, right?"

Vergo stiffened. Trebol's nearly fanatic smile slipped slightly, while Diamante and Pica blinked. They were all still a moment, before their gazes followed Doffy's to the empty bookcase.

Doffy took a step towards it.

"You were forced by a rival crew. You were threatened and blackmailed. You came back because…" A vein pulsed in his throat. "You're not a marine, Rosi. You're not."

"Doffy?" Pica mumbled, expression almost slack with shock. Diamante's color had drained out of his face. "What…the fuck?"

Vergo whirled around for his bag and yanked it open. His jaw went taut a second later when he realized Caesar's wine bottles weren't there. He must've been so engrossed with packing all the documents up that he'd forgotten them on his boat.

"Answer me," Doffy raved, "answer me, answer me.")

xxx

But Rosi wouldn't. Only looked at him. All overflowing with words before and now fucking mute when it counted.

Vergo said something in an urgent tone. It was completely unintelligible to Doflamingo.

The ghost drifted from its perch on the shelf and walked quietly to the door. It touched the threshold and stared out into the hall, the back of its head towards him. A moment passed, before it vanished for the staircase.

Doflamingo didn't just watch it go this time. He charged out of the room without pause, veins wreathing down his temples. An icy weight rattled repeatedly against his torso.

The gun was digging into his skin. It knocked without mercy upon his bones.

xxx

He opened the hut door and peered into the dark. Law was where he'd left him, a small sleeping bundle hidden amongst cloak and blanket.

Rosinante stepped in, sinking to the floor and crouching over the child. His nose was still bleeding, spreading thickly down his throat and onto the floor. He'd given up trying to staunch the flow and just took care to keep from getting any on the boy.

"Law," he said, fingertips gentle on a fever-scorched cheek, "Wake up."

xxx

Doflamingo never did speak or move in the end.

He was only visible at that point by the fringe of his hair, the wavering outline of his coat hanging over the chair's wing.

Yet somehow, Law still caught it—that small tilt at the corners of his mouth.

How relieved that smile had been.

How human.

Someday, Law would remember it again, out in the waking world—when he was getting peeled off another liquor-stickied table and was not remotely a child anymore. When there would be no more feathers or gold or big, warm hands for him to hold.

"Law," a voice whispered, "Wake up."