The wound on Robin's leg ached with nagging pain the entire drive home; one that took three times as long as usual. She took multiple wrong turns and false paths to be certain no one was trailing her. The sun was dipping low in the sky when she finally pulled into her home's well-guarded garage. While the injury was minor compared to those Robin had suffered before, she still kicked off her heels as she exited the car and made her way to the secret elevator. No matter how strong you go, rolled ankles are still annoying.

Ding!

Robin didn't even get a chance to step outside the elevator before Franky was there, massive metal hands on his hip and an eyebrow cocked in her direction.

"Honey, I'm home!" she said cheerily.

Franky snorted. "Cute joke."

"Fufufu, glad you think so."

Her husband rolled his eyes before the bandage wrapped around Robin's thigh drew a concerned stare. "What happened?"

"Nothing to be concerned about," Robin said gently. Reaching out to tap a fingertip against Franky's lips, cutting off more concerned chatter. "It is just a little pain. I've dealt with worse."

"Don't I know it," Franky scoffed. Without another word, the cyborg scooped Robin up in overly large, powerful arms and carried her to the living room. Depositing her on one of their couches, her husband said, "Wait here."

Robin decided not to argue, instead laying back on the couch as she watched Franky disappear around a corner. "Where is our guest?"

"The kid?" Franky called back. "I patched him up and put him to bed in the library. He's sleeping the last time I checked."

"His injuries?"

Her husband returned carrying a small box of medical supplies, kicking an ottoman over to the side of the couch. He settled next to Robin, gently moving the injured leg onto his lap. The metal components of Frank's new and improved cybernetic hands shifted, rolling, and bending until the large red set was replaced by a smaller, more slender golden pair. While not perfect for the delicate work Franky sometimes did, this was the set he used specifically for touching and handling other people -with them even being heated so they were warm to the touch.

Using these 'Warm Hands,' Franky delicately undid the paramedic's bandages. The wound's bleeding had slowed, though a fresh trickle of blood dripped down her thigh. The skin around the injury had grown red and puffy, feeling hot and aching.

"What did you do to yourself?" her husband asked, clicking his tongue as he wet a clean cloth with some of Chopper's signature healing ointment.

"Had to make a believable story for the authorities. There was quite a bit of blood, and I needed a reasonable explanation from where it all came from," Robin replied, her voice hitching as Franky dabbed at the injury with the medicine, cleaning off both the injury and the dried blood. "The boy? What of his injuries?"

Franky hadn't replied the first time she'd asked but Robin was nothing if not persistent.

"The kid-"

"John," Robin interrupted. If what she was planning came to fruition, then they needed to start calling John by his name. "His name is John."

Another raised eyebrow. "Alright. John was passed out well and good when I found him on our floor -you'll be happy to know that I managed to get the blood out of the carpet, by the way- so he didn't fight when I pulled the bullet out of his shoulder."

"Where did you do it?" Robin asked, only now realizing that the only infirmary they had was on the Thousand Sunny. Did Franky drag the bleed-out John all the way onto their ship to tend to his wounds?

"On the kitchen island, it was the closest flat surface I could easily work on."

When Robin shot him an alarmed, slightly disgusted look, Franky shrugged his massive shoulders. "What? The blood wiped right off the marble! I bleached it down!"

In spite of herself, Robin chuckled. She readjusted herself position on the couch as Franky put the washcloth down and unscrewed the lid of a pick jar, causing the aroma of cherry blossoms to fill the air. When her husband began to lightly dab Chopper's miracle cream on her wound, Robin asked him to continue with his recount.

"Not much more to say. I pulled the bullet out, cleaned up his shoulder with this-" he nodded towards the box of medical supplies "-before bandaging it. I shot him up with a dose of painkillers and something to help him stay asleep. Then I put him in one of my old shirts and made up a little bed for him on the library couch. He'll probably be waking up soon."

With a smile, Robin leaned forward to press a warm kiss against her husband's forehead. "Thank you for looking after John. I know it must have been surprising to find him on the floor there."

"Yeah," Franky chuckled. "That is an understatement. A bleeding out teenager isn't what I was expecting to find when I was on my way to the kitchen to get some cola. What happened? I take it this was the kid who was breaking into your office?"

"Indeed. I found him watching the office and managed to get him to come to lunch with me."

"How'd you do that?"

"I promised to tell him about my powers."

Franky gave her an alarmed look. "What?! You told him about us? Isn't that dangerous? That is why we decided against going to any of those costumed weirdos for help when we first arrived."

Robin decided not to comment on the irony of Franky calling others 'weirdos,' and instead replied, "I don't believe we have anything to worry about. John has his own secrets, his own abilities. He claims it is magic, and I suppose I have no reason to doubt him."

"After all the craziness we saw on the Grand Line, doubting anything would be stupid," Franky agreed. "It doesn't explain why he ended up half-dead in our house though."

"We were attacked on our way back from lunch."

.

.

.

"WHAT?"

The look of fury that crossed Franky's face shouldn't have been as attractive as it was but, well, Robin was weak. The idea that someone loved her -either platonically or romantically- enough take on the entire world for her, was incredibly attractive.

She stroked the side of her husband's face. "Calm down. You know that I can take care of myself."

"Well, yeah. I'm sure you could kick the ass of just about anyone on this planet. But you're still hurt all the same. Not to mention the kid passed out in our library."

A rush of guilt came over Robin, nagging and tugging at her heart and stomach.

"That is my fault, I'm afraid. John pushed me out of the way, he took the bullet." She frowned, "He didn't know it wouldn't have hurt me. More than that, it was not a kill shot. I would have been fine had John done nothing."

Franky gave her a comforting squeeze to the shoulder. "Hey, the kid's actions were his own. I know I can't stop you but try not to blame yourself. Especially now that we've got something else to worry about. First thing's first, why do you think it wasn't a kill shot?"

"Because I caught the assailant, and he let it slip after a bit of... questioning." Robin gave a little smirk, one Franky returned, before continuing, "He mentioned that the bullet meant for me wouldn't have been fatal. And I do not believe that was because the man was a bad shot."

"A warning shot."

"A threat," Robin nodded. "By someone who wants me scared."

Franky scoffed. "It's going to take more than a bullet or two to scare you."

"Of course, it is. But now it leaves me with two questions: who and why?"

"Well, it isn't like we didn't make plenty of enemies when we brought Bludhaven under our control," Franky said, preparing to apply the final touches on Robin's leg. "I mean, we weren't exactly gentle with the gangs that didn't want to partner up. And that's not even bringing up all the costumed assholes who were always lurking around."

Ah yes, the so-called supervillains that ran around in costumes causing havoc. The most aggressive of which had been dealt with or forced to leave the city. Those that remained were allowed to do so with the understanding that they stay far away from Franky, Robin, and their company.

"Speaking of costumes, you'll never guess who got a visit from two of the world's best and brightest."

A tight look of concern crossed her husband's face. "Who was it?"

"The ones they call Batman and Superman," Robin said. "Apparently they are very interested in the attack on me."

"I don't like the sound of that," Franky grumbled, scratching at his chin. After a moment, he shrugged. "I guess that's what you get for being so popular, babe. Everyone wants a piece of you."

Robin glanced down at her now-bandaged leg and gave a dry grin. 'Pound of flesh, pound of blood.'

"Cain," she said, catching Franky off-guard. "That was the shooter's name. At least, that is what he referred to himself as."

"We've worked with less," her husband said. The look he gave her was warm and protective, yet fierce and strong all at once. "He won't get away with this. I promise."

"Franky, there was someone else there with him. I never saw them though."

The cyborg just shrugged again. "What's two people when we've taken on the entire world?"

There wasn't much that could make the Demon Child of Ohara blush like a child, but that there? That was enough to do it.

"That's right... I got fucking shot!"

Robin paused at the library door, letting out a small chuckle at John's muffled exclamation of outrage. The fact that the boy was already up and aware enough to be annoyed about his injury was promising, though it wouldn't surprise her if John's brain still hadn't caught up with the pain his body was in. The drugs that Franky had given him were likely helping in that regard.

She pushed the door open, the wood creaking loudly with the motion. "That you did. Very foolishly too, I might add."

"...Bugger. I really can't escape you, can I?"

From his place on their oversized couch, John blinked at her with sleep-hazed, owlish blue eyes. The teenager's blond hair was messy, and he looked, quite frankly, ridiculous in one of Franky's large shirts. It was in a good way though. He looked quite endearing really. Robin had to fight the urge to reach out with a sprouted limb and ruffle John's hair.

"Fufufu, if you're thinking of running, you should know I have eyes everywhere," Robin teased.

Deciding to leave the lights off for now, Robin was careful not to move too quickly as she approached the couch. She didn't want to startle John. He'd undoubtedly be sensitive and skittish after everything that had happened. Even with how careful she was being, the teenager noticeably inched away when she sat down on the coffee table next to him. An action that caused him to wince in pain when it put pressure on his injured side.

"Careful," she warned gently. "You're still injured. The bullet tore through your shoulder bone and muscle. We got it out, but the damage still lingers. Avoid aggravating it."

"You don't say!"

Despite her warning, John prodded at his injured shoulder. All it took was one rough poke too many for the teenager to wince, clearly regretting the decision.

"If the pain is already back, you'll probably need more painkillers soon. Franky says he gave you the last dose two hours a-"

"No!" John shouted, cutting Robin off. When she gave him a confused look, the teenager looked away.

"No painkillers. No drugs. Not taking that chance."

"...Alright, I'll respect that. It is your body, after all. You can control what you put into it," Robin said. "Besides the pain, how are you feeling?"

The look John gave her said it all.

"I'm serious," she pressed, fighting the urge to grin. "I need to be aware of your symptoms so we can more effectively treat you."

"I'm fine," John growled. "I can take care of myself, always have. Thanks for patching me up and letting me have a bit of a kip, but it's time that I got on my way. So just give me my trousers, and I'll go."

'Quite a bit of bravado you have there, young man. Oh, the folly of youth. Youth and fear,' Robin thought sadly. Not so long ago, she'd have likely said something similar in such a situation. She leaded back, deciding to humor the boy for now. After all, it was the only way to make John realize he needed help. "Your clothes are in the wash, I'm afraid. However, you can find some spare clothes in the hallway closet. You're welcome to them. After you're dressed, I can show you to the door."

.

.

.

"...Thanks," John grumbled once he realized that Robin was content to sit where she was and let him get the clothes himself. She was going to make him do this himself.

He pushed the blankets off and tried to roll the edge of the (comparatively) massive couch, grunting, swearing, and clearly in pain the entire way. Robin merely watched as he struggled, feeling a combination of bemusement and sympathy at John's absolute refusal to accept help. John swung his skinny legs to the ground and went to stand up...

...only to fall forward immediately as John's knees buckled out from under him. "Dammit!"

Sprouting a pair of extra arms, Robin grabbed the falling teenager. Arranging him back on the couch, she tucked a plush blue blanket around John and said, "I suppose I can add 'faintness' to your list of symptoms?"

John turned away, red-faced. "Was there actually any clothes in the closet?"

"There are some of my fancier dresses and nice coats in that closet, yes. I doubt you'd be interested in walking out of here in a ballgown."

"Eh, if David Bowie can rock a dress than why can't I?"

Robin chuckled. "Alright then. Come on now, John. Your symptoms, let's hear them."

The boy grumbled but sighed and reluctantly did as he was told. Robin nodded along, already forming a plan of treatment in her head.

"You're definitely experiencing the side effects of blood loss," she said, reaching out and pressing the back of her hand against John's forehead. His skin was pale and cool to the touch, yet covered in a layer of clammy sweat. "Franky said he considered giving you a transfusion but didn't know your blood type, so we didn't want to risk it."

"You and me both, luv," John replied, eyes hazing as he settled back into the small mountain of pillows.

"Thankfully, recovering from blood loss itself is not particularly difficult. Aside from plenty of rest and relaxation, it is mostly a matter of replenishing the liquids and iron that you've lost."

John licked his lips. "I'd kill for a glass of water."

"Water is important, but juice would be better in the short term. I think we have some wheat grass juice in the fridge."

It has been left over from an experimental breakfast that neither Robin nor Franky had ended up enjoying. It was only years spent with Sanji that prevented her from dumping the remaining juice down the drain that very day.

"Yuck, it'll stick with the blood loss," John said, face scrunching up. He looked so disgusted that Robin had to laugh.

"Is orange or cranberry juice more acceptable then?"

"Anything sounds better than drinking grass!"

"Okay," Robin said. "You also will need something to eat. For the next couple of days, I'll be putting on a diet of fruits and vegetables that are high in vitamin C, along with fruits like red meat, poultry, fish, beans, tofu, and some dark-green, leafy vegetables."

"What good will those do?"

"They're rich in iron and B vitamins, it'll help you rebuild your strength."

"Huh, I wouldn't have expected that you were a doctor in addition to a businesswoman. Quite the overachiever, aren't you?"

"Well, I'm actually an archeologist and historian. But, yes, I've worn many hats in my life. My medical skills are a result from both spending many years having to care for myself and living with my world's greatest doctor." Robin smiled, thinking of a certain green-haired swordsman. "My friends and I got injured quite often throughout our adventures. I'm afraid our poor doctor became an expert at treating blood loss because of it."

John just nodded slightly. "Can I have some orange juice? And something to eat? It doesn't need to be anything special, it'll take some toast or a bowl of cereal or something. I'm just hungry."

"Of course." Robin stood up and said teasingly, "Don't go trying to escape now."

"Where would I go?" the teenager chuckled. An action that caused John to wince as he jostled his shoulder.

'Poor boy. He's trying to be strong, he doesn't want to admit weakness. I know what that is like,' Robin ducked her head, frowning as she made her way to the kitchen.

"How's it going, babe?" Franky asked. "Is the k- John up?"

"Yes, he is awake. Awake, in pain, and somewhat disoriented. But he is aware enough to be hungry, so I'm going to make him a sandwich." Robin said, pulling out a pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice and some leftover roast beef.

"Chopper always said that an appetite was always a good sign," Frank said. "I was about to start dinner anyway. I'm thinking of grilling up those ribs you bought a couple of days ago."

"Mmmm, that does sound delicious." She nodded toward the cupboard, "Can you hand me a cup? And the bread?"

The two worked in silence for a while. Franky set to work on the ribs, letting the excess fat boil away in a large pot of salty water as he whipped up a quick marinade. Robin, on the other hand, busied herself by preparing a sliced roast beef sandwich with plenty of lettuce and tomatoes. She added a tall glass of orange juice and some chopped up broccoli with dip as a snack, placing it all on a serving tray.

"I don't expect John to be able to finish all of this," Robin admitted. "But it'll make me feel better to know that he at least has something in his stomach before he passes out again."

"Speaking of that, should I go get another dose of painkillers?" Frank asked. "Since it's from our world, it's pretty strong stuff. It might be easier on the kid's body if we mix it in with his food."

Robin shook her head. "No, John has asked to not be given anymore pain killers. We should respect that."

Franky's eyebrows shot up. "Really? Is that smart? His shoulder is pretty messed up. I doubt he's feeling the full experience of it now, but soon it'll be hitting him in full force. He'll be wanting something then."

"Perhaps," Robin agreed. "And I definitely agree that he'll keep needing antibiotics to prevent infection. Yet it isn't our place to force drugs that he doesn't want onto John. If he asks later, we can administer them. For now though, we trust his word."

"If you say so," Her husband shrugged, taking a swing of his cola. Then, after a moment, added, "Have you learned anything else about him?"

"Only what I already knew. John is guarded, withdrawn, and does not want to let anyone close. He's actually already tried to leave once."

"Hmmm. He's staying though, right?"

"For tonight, at least. Past that... I can only hope," Robin sighed.

Back in the library, Robin found John thankfully still on the couch, having fallen into a light doze. Not wanting to wake him, she nearly turned to leave when her elbow bumped against the door. The thump! it made was enough to shake John awake, the teenager nearly jumping out of his skin at the sudden sound.

"Wha-? Who's-?" he mumbled, squinting at her once more.

"It's just me." Robin held up the trey. "Me and your dinner."

"Oh yeah... Forgot about that." John rubbed his eyes and forced himself to sit up, wincing as he did so. "Thanks."

The gratitude was a small thing, yet it was still enough to make Robin smile. "My pleasure. Here, eat."

John gulped down half of the glass of orange juice in one go, letting out a sigh of relief. Picking up the sandwich, he turned it over in his hands. "Looks good. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you can cook too."

"I won't claim to be any sort of master chef, but I know my way around the kitchen," Robin said, returning to her perch on the coffee table. Balancing a cheek on her hand, she was content to just watch John nibble at the sandwich.

After a few moments, the teenager cocked an eyebrow in her direction. "Do you want to take a picture or something? It'll last longer."

"I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

"You." John blushed and looked away at her words, letting Robin continue. "I'm thinking about where you might have come from, about your powers and family."

John did his best to shrug, doing his best not to show anymore pain on his face. "Nothin' much to say. I'm from Liverpool, my mother died when I was born and my father is such a right arsehole that I did a runner a while back."

"After the fire at Casanova Club?" Robin asked. "That was around two years ago, correct?"

This was a test, of course. Robin had memorized every article she could find written about the tragedy. While she had no proof the 'John Constantine' mentioned in those articles was the same one lying before her, the teenager's reaction was more than enough to confirm her suspicion.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he growled. "Look, you did me a solid by helping me here, but that doesn't give you the right to go nosing around in my life!"

"Alright," Robin said calmly, deciding not to call him out on such a clear lie. "My apologies. May I ask you one more question though?"

"...What?" John asked, voice tense and suspicious.

"Why'd you do it?"

"Huh?"

"The bullet. Why'd you tried to shield me? You were under no obligation to do so, and I am more than capable of looking after myself."

John was quiet for so long that Robin wondered if he'd simply decided not to answer. Until...

"I didn't plan on anything, just acted in the moment. Don't overthink it. It didn't mean anything."

"Ah, well I still thank you for it," she replied. "It was kind of you."

At her words, John turned himself away from her every further. Tucking his thin body into the back of the couch. "I'm tired."

Ah, there it was: the brush off. John's wounds were becoming red and wet and exposed to the surface, and it spooked him. He was locking down for the night, not wanting to talk anymore.

"That is understandable, you've been through much today, and sleep is vital to the healing process." Robin gathered the dirty dishes up, stacking them up on the serving tray. "Goodnight."

She had almost made it to the door when John spoke up again.

"Wait?"

Robin turned. "Yes."

John's back still was to her, the teenager was pulled tight in on himself. But he was still talking, still hadn't completely shut down. "Those adventures you went on with your friends... Can you tell me about them?"

The question sent a flutter of joy in Robin's heart. Curiosity was a powerful thing, and, if used right, it could draw people together like moths to a flame. John was a closed off soul yet she'd notice how the teenager seemed more willing to share bits about himself if Robin did so first. Tit for tat, and all that. This was an invitation, one to share more about herself. And, perhaps, it would lead to learning more about the mystery that was the teenager in front of her.

"I'd be happy to," she said, returning to her perch. "Would you like to hear about anything specific?"

The pile of blankets shuffled about slightly. "Nah, I just need something to help me sleep."

"Then shall I tell you about the time we all sailed into an island in the clouds?"

John snorted. "Sure, sounds like fun."

Robin leaned back, smiling as she remembered her first real adventure as a Straw Hat Pirate. "Well, it all started when a massive ship fell from the sky and nearly crushed us all to death. After that, we..."

"The kid asleep?" Franky asked.

"Yes, he drifted off sometime around Usopp seeing Merry's klabautermann," Robin said, pouring herself a glass of wine.

"Skypiea? Why were you telling him about that?"

"He asked to hear about the adventures I went on with my friends, I thought Skypiea would be a good starting point for, well, all of it."

Franky chuckled. "Little did you -we- know how connected it would all be in the end."

"How foolish we were," Robin nodded in agreement. Then she gave her husband a teasing grin. "You know, if John is going to end up staying with us then you'll need to get better at calling him by his name."

"Meh, 'kid' is good enough for now." Franky said. He nodded at the table, set and prepared with serving trays full of delicious looking food. "C'mon now, let's eat. Oh, and I put the word out to all the contacts we've made. By morning, we should know all we need to know about this 'Cain."

Robin smirked. "You sound excited about that."

"Of course I am, I've got a lot to say to the guy who was gunning for my girl."

"You flirt."

For all they both laughed at the idea, Robin had no doubt Franky was serious. The cyborg had always been protective for those he loved. This included his original adoptive family of Tom, Kororo, and Iceberg, little Chimney & Gonbe, the old Franky Family, and ,of course, their crew. As one of the older members, Franky had always felt a fatherly responsibility for the younger ones. With them, Franky was a careful balance of endeared indulgence, and making sure Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper didn't run off and get themselves killed. And that isn't even talking about the various friends and allies they had made throughout their travels!

That caring, protective instinct -the instinct of a True Man as Franky liked to assert- was part of what had attracted Robin to him in the first place. A man who truly cared for others and was strong enough to protect them while also having a kind soul? Yes, please!

"There is something else I want to look into -the fire at the Casanova Club." When Franky gave her a confused look, Robin continued, "I've mentioned it before, it popped up a few times while I was first researching John."

"And that still didn't satisfy you?"

Robin shook her head. "All the news articles reported basically the same thing: that a fire got out of hand and burned down the club, killing over a hundred people through a combination of the fire itself, people being trampled by the terrified crowds, and the smoke inhalation. Because the establishment has such a poor reputation, no one bothered looking into things too deeply. Sometimes accidents happen after all. And yet..."

"You don't believe that?"

"No, I believe that is how most people died. But... one of the reports I read said that a child's body was recovered from the scene. Why would a child -two, if we count John- be at such a place?"

"I don't know. They had terrible parents?"

"Sadly possible yet I doubt that is the case," Robin said. "I'd like to look into the incident more deeply. My gut tells me there is more to the story, something John is involved in."

Franky shrugged his massive metal shoulders. "It's not like you need my permission. If you think it's important then go digging for answers, babe."

"That's why I love you, Franky. You're so supportive of me."

"Well, I'd be an idiot if I didn't side with a clear winner."

By the time John woke up again, it was about three in the morning and his shoulder was on fire.

"Fuck!" he hissed, grabbing his shoulder. An action he immediately regretted as the slightest contact sent a fresh wave of fiery pain down his arm. "Bloody hell! Fuck!"

For a moment, John wished he'd accepted the painkillers he'd been offered. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the teenage magic user shoved it away. 'No, I'm not letting anyone get control of me again. Not after Nick.'

Breathing through the pain and doing his best to not to barf up that roast beef sandwich, John forced himself up and onto his feet. The dark room spun around so intensely that John was forced to grab ahold of the arm of the couch to stay upright.

"Not to self, never get fucking shot again!" John gathered up all the concentration and strength he had into casting a healing spell on his shoulder. This type of magic was never his strong suit -Nick said his soul was too dirty, that John was too selfish for it- and it did little but soothe his pain, the healing process incomplete. Still, it would have to be enough.

"Alright, Johnny, time to get out of here."

As nice as Robin and her unseen husband had been, John knew what came of relying on others for anything.

Looking around, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The fire that had been light for him had now burnt down to just glowing embers. Still, that light was enough for him to see a small pile of clothes on the corner of the coffee table, all folded and neat.

'She wasn't lying,' he realized, picking up his freshly laundered coat. Now free from blood stains -both old and new- and holes patched up, the damn thing even smelled nice! John rubbed the soft, worn fabric against his cheek briefly before pulling on his clothes, careful of his injured shoulder. 'Robin and her beau shouldn't mind me raiding the kitchen before I go. Importance of hospitality and all that, and I need my strength.'

Despite this, as he stumbled through the quiet, dim halls, John couldn't help but think that he was going to miss this place.

A bit of a slower chapter, more connective tissue than anything else, but it sets up a lot of important elements for later on. So I hope you enjoy this one. And, as a warning, I will be taking a break from this and a couple of other stories for next month to catch up on some other projects.