It was a familiar scene—blood thrown stark against a snowy-white canvas, and the scent of hopelessness and dread thick and heavy in the air. Amidst the flames and the smoke, the bullets flying over his head, endless streams poured from his face as he desperately tried to escape and hide. A pain born from somewhere deep inside of himself where he couldn't reach roared to life once more, feasting upon his very essence bit by antagonizing bit, threatening to rip and tear him to shreds.
At some point, perilously, inevitably, between wailing cries and a gulp of polluted, burning air, he blacked out.
He came back to deliriously on his feet on some nearby island, incoherently heading in a seemingly random direction. He didn't know how he got there or how long it took him to regain clarity but thinking about it only made his head hurt and his chest weigh heavy, so he chose not to think at all. He let his feet take him wherever it took him, aching and shivering, he didn't care. This, too, wasn't new—he was alone, once more.
Life without Cora-san went on.
He found himself held up in a cabin surrounded by snow for several weeks. One day after hunting, he brought back a talking bear cub. A month later, two boys followed him home. He didn't know how it had happened, but the four of them ended up working together to survive the harsh winter months until the ice started to melt and the snow ceased its decent from the ever-grey sky.
Full of mountainside and sheer cliffs, the island wasn't a very populated one—sans a few scattered villages here and there. Their cabin in the woods was secluded, small, and had exactly one window; and one day, as Law sat near it, he declared, suddenly, coherently, to the piles of snow and the trees, in the cramped cabin, over the crackling of the fireplace—"We're leaving."
Orphaned and homeless, abandoned, on the run; they set sail. Their small dingy wasn't ideal—it was cramped and uncomfortable, and when the four of them sat inside, it clearly reached its maximum weight limit; teetering and threatening to topple over when they so much as shifted their feet—but it got them through their first chain of islands with minimum trouble, so it served its purpose. After reaching the mainland, they managed to hop aboard a merchant ship on route to the next island in exchange for helping out around deck.
That was fine with Law. Anything to get further and further away from that haunted shoreline.
When they landed in port and dropped anchor several weeks later, the four of them were on their way. By then, spring had sprung in its full glory—and with it, a freshness blew in the breeze that had Penguin chasing after the faint perfume, drawing them further and further inland.
It wasn't their intention to leave the shore for as long as they did; Shachi pointed out the snow-capped mountains in the distance and theorized that even with their couple-months-out at sea, they did spend a considerable amount of time in a cabin together, up in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere. It was only natural for them to get sidetracked by a steady hike past some hills and take in the decorative scenery of the island they found themselves on.
"Maybe we can rest here for a little while," Shachi suggested. "I kind of miss the wilderness. Don't you, Captain?"
He didn't. For all he was born on land, he had steadily grown his sea-legs and felt more comfortable out on the blue. He wasn't so sure why, it wasn't like he enjoyed the sensation of teetering out on deck all that much—Law much rather preferred spending travel time below the deck, reading or studying; the blurb of a book much more interesting than the watching of waves churning over itself again, and again, and again. Even now, he felt the perennial pull of the sea at his back like a physical thing.
He remembered the cabin they left, and how the trees would bend ever so slightly under the faint trails of moonlight, creeping ever so close to the lone window he slept under; shadows long and dark, fingers reaching for him behind the glass.
From here, even on the winding hillside high above the port they docked, he heard the crease of a wave break against the bank. It called to him, further and further out to sea and...well. He wasn't so sure.
What he did know was that he didn't want to stay on this island for very long.
Bepo made a noncommittal noise at his side, "The sea is cool too, I think." He made a not-so-subtle glance at Law in the following silence, one that lingered on for a beat too long; and when no one made to say anything at all—"Sorry."
"No," Law drew out the syllable for as long as he could, not quite knowing who he was responding to. He took in the sight—and Penguin, further down the path, cheerfully waving at them to hurry up—as a way of diverting his eyes from the two in front of him, trying to find what exactly he was supposed to say now that their full attention was on him. It was, after all, his decision whether or not they stay ashore or find a way to brace the waves yet again. He was tired—they were tired. They didn't even have a ship anymore.
He knew what he wanted to do—to upturn a rock and lay in its shadow; to stay there, and not think, and die there, slowly and suddenly, until he reached a plane of existence that would tell him where to go from there so he didn't have to think of something himself. But—that would benefit no one, wouldn't it?
He remembered the first thought he ever had, that bubbling desire that burned hotter than his singed flesh—that he wanted to destroy. And the one that followed soon after—who was there to stop him?
And it was his old captain who encouraged that line of thought until it became the string of his existence; wanting and taking, and taking what was wanted. His newfound freedom, and his captain who told him what he should do—to those who opposed him, to the land, the treasure, the world around him. To himself.
This whole captain thing was hard to get the hang of. He only ever had the one to go off of, anyway. His old captain was heartless. He wanted to become a different sort of person. He didn't know who though—he didn't think he'd ever make it this far; his mortality something he thought of so short, so feeble, he never saw himself living past the age of thirteen. And even if he did spend the last three years searching for a cure, having the lead out of his system didn't make him feel any better. He lost too much to have gained anything of any real value.
He lived three long, intense years just to have everything he cared about stripped away. Again. He never imagined what would have happened if he had found his cure. All he knew was that he would have followed his old captain, had things went according to the original plan. And now he's lost him too, hasn't he? Through his mind's eye, he saw Doflamingo for who he truly was—dangerous and cruel, something that took until Law had nothing left to offer but his precious heart in the end.
Law wanted to take, too. His destiny, his fate, his freedom, all back into the palm of his hand. He wanted to reclaim it, grasp it, hold it high in the air like a flag above his head. But he didn't know how to. He didn't know what to do without following the path that had been so clearly paved for him by the man he hated most of all.
And his heart—shattered and left to rot cold underneath the frigid lace. The original plan didn't include him at all; yet their sudden detour is what led Law to his cure. Weeks of rejection and humiliation, months of endless travel, half a year of searching, and searching, and searching, and when the fruit hit the back of Law's throat he felt something start to change. Fundamentally, the blood running through his veins pulsating with an intensity he's never felt before.
And even if his newfound power took a bit longer than he would have liked to get the hang of, Law still managed to live on because of the sacrifice his dear, beloved companion made. That kindness—he would never be able to pay it back. Gone was his heart by the hands of a demon; and a sudden fury overtook Law until he saw nothing but ash and dust, and an inferno in his wake, and...well. There's a thought.
His only hope of ever repaying Cora-san back. Revenge.
"North Blue has always been my home," Law started. He chose his words carefully, Penguin having wandered back after waiting for them for so long. Whatever Law was about to say, he wanted them all to hear it. First, he had to find the words and sort his thoughts out a little. "And—I have been sailing for several years. A little over three years, now," he clarified, for his sake.
His crew looked at him, attentive, waiting for him to continue. He swallowed. "When you three met me, I was recovering from an intensive operation—"
Penguin shifted his weight where he stood. "We know this, Cap."
"—that I had preformed on myself."
"O-oh..."
"I haven't had these abilities for very long before then," he made a show of his Devil Fruit, creating a small ROOM circling in the palm of his hand. "And I wasn't even sure what I was doing at the time. I'm still surprised that the operation was a success. I'm still surprised that I'm alive."
This feeble, small life is what Cora-san sacrificed everything for. The reason Law was still alive was because of his kindness; and it's been that way for as long as he could remember—he was nothing until he was shown kindness.
Law remembered—he wanted to destroy. To take, to dismantle—repeated on a loop until he's had his fill; until he stood at the top of whatever wreckage he wrought for once in his miserable life.
"One day," he said. "I want to leave the North Blue." He looked out towards the sea, their elevation making the sight possible. Beautiful and blue; dangerous and daunting but tempting all the same. "Not today, or any time soon but," he looked back at his crew, small and numberless. He took them in, their boney structure and matted fur. Malnourished, physical signs of stress.
"Someday," he said, remembering the words of his old captain; legs steady as the deck underneath him rocked with the churning and crushing waves. "When we're ready, we're heading for the Grand Line."
The three of them looked amongst themselves; and for that single moment, as three pairs of eyes met and his was left unsearched for, Law's breath held fast and tight in his chest. He did not yet know—they set out to sea with him for reasons of their own, be it family or bravery, admiration, desperation—did they value their own morals above his own?
They should. Their dreams shouldn't revolve around him. He didn't want them to follow him blindly, unconditionally, direly. Not like he had done.
He brought them so far away from their island of cliffs already. If they were lucky, it would only take them about two months to get back. Sooner, on a direct sail.
He did not foresee his journey being a merry one. He hadn't known his crew for very long in the grand scheme of things, yet he did not wish for them to be charred by the flames he had yet to entail—the fire he felt nipping at his heels already, muscles coiled tight and ready for action.
They could easily get hurt. Everyone close to him always does, eventually.
"I-if you'll follow me, that is," he added, quieter than he had intended. Then, softer, "No one's stopping you from leaving."
Finally, the eyes he had been searching for shot his way with an intensity that almost made him flinch. Almost—and he didn't know whether to smile or grimace at his old captain's words—because a pirate does not flinch in the face of danger.
Except it wasn't danger that greeted him. It was smiles—good smiles. Smiles like the ones Cora-san shot him whenever he picked up something the man had dropped, or when Law asked if he needed help cooking. Smiles like his sister's—sunlight personified; warm, ecstatic, familiar.
It's been a long time since he saw smiles like that. He doesn't know if he deserves them.
Their hike up the gradual hillside lead them through grassland, dandelions, and daisies; and the further up they ventured only made it more abundantly clear that the island was more of an anchorage than anything else.
Nothing caught their interest but a few scattered sheds of ominous design and some wandering cattle that Shachi had to physically keep Penguin away from before he got kicked in the head or...something. The four of them had never actually seen cattle up close before, so no one knew exactly what kind of dangers could arise from Penguin messing with one of them—much less a whole herd.
But it was Penguin—something bad was bound to happen, if he got involved.
From shore to shore—there wasn't much to the island but the port towns; and without a proper ship to call their own, they were pretty much stuck there for the time being.
"You want off the island?" a waiter at some diner they wandered into asked. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait until the merchant ships arrive and ask if you could board one of those. They're the only ones coming on and off the island, as of late. But I'm not sure if they'll just take you..."
"Fuck," Penguin slowed the shoveling of eggs into his mouth long enough to pound the table.
"And—how long would that take?" Shachi asked.
The waiter fiddled with the serving tray in their hands as they shifted their feet. They hummed, "I'm not so sure. About another two weeks, maybe? They usually...come and go as they please."
Another "Fuck!" from Penguin followed by a harder fist to the table.
Shachi sighed and in the following silence, Bepo whispered, "Two weeks is a really long time."
"Well no shit—"
The look Law shot Penguin shut him up but didn't stop Bepo's quiet "Sorry" and the hanging of his head over the table.
Law gave Penguin another look and Shachi reached over and patted the bear's shoulder.
With undetermined time to spare, the guys grew restless—and Law's habit of watching the sea wasn't helping. Bepo eventually got him to leave the shoreline; and the crew resumed their slow trek around the island, back to exploring what little it had to offer.
"The ships won't arrive any sooner, Captain," Shachi quipped, passing him by as they carried on down another dirt path through another monotonous meadow.
"Yup!" Penguin fell into step with his friend, trotting down the path with a bounce in his step; clearly enjoying himself after having sat still for the past several days.
The two of them led the way, pointing out various shapes in the clouds and counting birds in the sky. They were very clearly having a good time—the very opposite of Law, who was used to sitting, and waiting, and watching scenery from a distance. He followed behind them, fighting the urge to drag his feet and slump his shoulders—"Keep your head up," his great-grandfather used to scold him; greetings in the hallways of their wing. Empty. "Walk with dignity."
He had to find some other way to pass the time or he was going to go crazy. It's only been three days since their breakfast at the diner. Sometimes, he was glad the duo was as talkative as they were—filling in for his silent nature and adding much needed noise into his otherwise quiet day—other times, he'd wish they weren't so openly curious; wanting to run off and explore every little thing they saw.
It reminded him of another certain duo.
He didn't have to follow them, he knew. A captain doesn't have to be with his crew at every second of the day, right? But a little voice in the back of his mind fought for attention—he didn't want them going off on their own. The nagging bothered him, but he tried not to think about it too much, the ringing of gunshots lingering faint in his heart. He felt much better being with them, anyway.
Two weeks, give or take. There were only so many vacant dirt pathways left on the island.
Maybe he could practice with his Devil Fruit some more—he had recently learned that he was able to switch the places of two objects around simultaneously. With more work, he could master it. Rocks and twigs were scattered everywhere, he could make use of them. Cattle, too.
People, if he was feeling up for it. Towns and towns full of them.
"Ah," Bepo at his side came to a stop, grabbing Law's attention. He looked up—
—and sighed.
Penguin had jumped a large, wooden fence and was making a beeline towards some cattle. Shachi, on the outside of the property, was hollering at him to come back—but it was too late; Penguin was zigzagging through the herd, giving each animal he passed a good whack with the palm of his hand.
"Hey, asshole!" Shachi called. "You keep doing that, you're going to get yourself killed!" Then he looked back at his captain, looking for any reassurance that his lack of cattle-knowledge wasn't made up or exaggerated in the slightest.
Law thought about the moose and bears of the island they had previously came from; monsters that tore through ice and snow, and flesh and bone. That assessment seemed reasonable enough to him.
Bepo shuffled his feet, "Should I go after him?"
"No," Law signed once more and raised a palm. "I'll get him," and with that, his ROOM expanded; engulfing the three of them and reaching Penguin in the herd. His eyes flicked between a group of rocks a few feet in front of him and the running menace in the field. He concentrated.
"Shambles."
However, what came to him was not his crewmate. Shachi stared, Bepo hesitantly congratulated him, and the cow mooed in confusion. His old captain laughed softly in his head, sounding just as amused as he always did when Law slipped up—"Try again, Law. Work harder next time."
It frustrated him; so much so that his concentration broke and crackled at the seams as he tried a second time, the atmosphere thick and churning around them. Through clenched teeth—"Shambles."
The world around him changed. He stumbled forward; no time allowed to gain his bearings. He didn't know what happened, but he knew one thing for certain—Penguin was involved.
The thundering of hooves reached him before Penguin did, nearly knocking him over as he fled by. Someone had shouted, but the pounding was louder, deafening, threatening, and when Shachi started pushing him backwards that's when Law saw it—a bull, angry, thunderous, running straight towards them.
Bepo was already ahead of Penguin, the two of them making a beeline to the fence. As Law kicked up his feet he wondered—is that enough to stop it?
He looked back at the bull; and that was his mistake.
He tripped and tumbled down to the grass, scraping a knee in turn; and by instinct, he turned to the beast barreling towards him. But that's where his instincts left him—he froze. No thought to roll out of the way and no blade to pierce through it's heart. No bullet or—his captain. Gone. Suddenly, Law felt defenseless. Suddenly, all that training he endured for the last three years was meaningless—because he was small, and human, and in the way of a much larger, stronger opposition.
When he hit the ground, Shachi had skidded to a stop several feet ahead. "Captain!" he called, urging him to move from his spot on the ground.
Penguin had made it to the wooden fence and pivoted on his feet at the shout. Bepo, crouched at the top of the fence, bared his teeth—but before either of them could do anything, Law shoot a hand out in front of him.
A familiar flicker of color enveloped them all for a split second, and a new, unknown urge flooded through him. Before the beast closed the gap, Law whipped his arm downward; and as soon as the action concluded, a sharp gust of wind hit the bull full force, stopping it in its tracks before throwing it back.
Then, "Shit," Shachi's disbelief cleared Law's vision until he could see the bull where it stood before him—split entirely down the middle. The four of them stared in silence as they took in the sight—the bull, frozen in place, still on its hooves, in two, symmetrical halves.
Law released the breath he was unaware he was holding. He blinked. The bull blinked back.
Shachi made another noise of disbelief beside him and took a step back while Law took a closer look. Aside from being in two parts, the bull's insides were miraculously in tact. A clean cut, not a drop of blood in sight.
Suddenly, the two segregated eyes looked at each other and the bull seemed, understandably, surprised at this quick turn of events. It jumped, two equal sides of one being, and its two halves ran around the field, seemingly freaking out.
Shachi, looking green, reached out a hand to help his captain up. By the time Law was pulled to his feet, Penguin had made it to his side and gave him a once-over before returning his attention back to the animal, each side hopping around at opposite ends of the property.
Law slowly followed his gaze but was interrupted by a bundle of fur wrapping tightly around him—Bepo squeezed him and cried, "I'm so glad you're not hurt, Captain!"
Law couldn't find his voice—couldn't correct him and bring attention to his knee, slowly bleeding dark through his pants—so he patted the bear awkwardly instead. His attempt at calming him, however, caused the mink to cry harder and started rubbing his furry cheek against Law's own.
He really didn't know what to say then.
"Cap," Penguin took his eyes off the still hopping halves and turned back to Law, jutting his thumb in the bull's direction. "How'd you do that?"
Smothered by Bepo, Law answered truthfully—"I'm not sure." After a shift from the bear, Law was able to look at the hand that split his pursuer. "My Devil Fruit," was the only logical explanation. "I'm still learning," he clenched his fist and with another flash of color—
"Huh," Shachi looked skyward to where the air seemed to dissipate. "Interesting powers you got there, Captain."
Law made a noise in turn.
"Oh—look!" they followed Penguin's pointed finger to the separate halves of the bull as they ran back towards one another; jumping and smashing their open sides together. When it landed, it appeared whole again. It took one tentative step, then another, and another, and when it confirmed that it was indeed whole, it began prancing around the field.
In its excitement, it saw Law from where he stood across the property. It seemed to cower a bit, before dashing away to the furthest end of the field.
"Holy shit, Cap," Penguin laughed. "Fucking alpha."
"You do realize that he almost got trampled because of you, right?" Shachi reminded.
"...Shit."
Days on the island passed slowly. The picturesque landscape, to Law, got real old real quick when all they did was walk around the countryside. Law declared that they stay stationary for a few days—not so much as to allow the swelling in his knee to go down, but more so because he was just plain tired.
He was so tired.
Penguin wasn't allowed to speak. Law ordered that right around the time his life stopped flashing before his eyes.
Maybe he should use this specific new power more. He was the captain after all, supposedly.
The four of them hulled up in a small abandoned hut shoreside. The guys wandered about outside to do whatever it was they decided to do—but for Law, he couldn't tell night from day in the darkness of the windowless shelter he'd found. Eventually—perhaps, desperately—he emerged from the shadows when the fidgeting and grumbling in his stomach was too much to bare, and the four of them were on their way yet again.
Penguin was allowed to speak again. It was too quiet without him.
Further towards the center of the island, they wandered upon a particular pond. And it was at that particular pond that Law found himself looking at familiar-looking aspects—the lily pads floating in the water, and the frogs sitting amongst them. The wildflowers dancing in the breeze, butterflies fluttering about. Trees framed the shoreline, giving the allusion of being secluded from the outside world around it.
The uneventful midday atmosphere drew Law in even more and brought him near the pond's bank.
He's never been here before—this pond, this island—yet he couldn't stop the nostalgia from flooding through him, flowing through his veins, into his chest, seeping into the palms of his hands and leaving an unpleasant sensation.
For some reason, he felt as if he should have been holding a book.
A pale butterfly flew by and when it passed near Law's face, he was transported back to an even more familiar courtyard, facing a much tinier pond.
He saw his sister wading in the water, dancing amongst the hopping frogs on the shore. Law had half the heart to call out to her, scold her for dirtying her pretty dress, but he couldn't do it. Didn't have it in him to deny her this freedom, to yank her out of where she so clearly belonged; happy and carefree with the tadpoles swimming alongside her, laughing like she understood the birdsong in the air.
And of course she did, from the moment she came into this world, that was all he remembered—Lami, understanding the very nature of nature itself. Like she was one with it, flowers in her hair, white as snow and just as blinding when the sunlight hit its petals, causing him to raise his arm to shield his eyes as he took in the sight.
When he lowered it, that's when she spotted him. Her toothy smile crossed her face, and she reached out to him, persuading him to put down his book and join her in the water. Law took one step towards the bank, a frog leaping from a stone out of his path, making a small splash as it swam towards his sister. He lost sight of it in the water's murky depths.
He hesitated. For a moment, he couldn't figure out why; this sudden feeling of dread washing over him. His book was gone, surely put down on a nearby bench behind him—but he didn't recall ever doing that. He turned, but found no bench, and no book, and when he glanced back at his sister, she was nowhere to be seen. He started, wondering where she had taken off to.
He was supposed to be watching her. What would his mother think when she finds he had lost her? He had one job, the most important thing—
Slowly, the chirping of the birds grew muffled, like there was cotton in his ears, and Law clutched at his chest, feeling every beat of his heart as his mind fogged over, and the pounding behind his eyeballs became near unbearable; sweat gathering at the small of his back.
He couldn't breathe. The water looked nice. He couldn't breathe. Pond soaked through his socks.
"Captain?"
The hand on his shoulder startled him, causing him to jump and swing himself around, catching sight of Shachi, who seemed just as surprised at his reaction, taking a step back and raising his hands in a surrendering manner.
"Whoa," he said. "You okay?"
"I don't know," Law answered, almost immediately; and the admission made Bepo wander over and Penguin turn his head to see Law run a hand down his face and swallow audibly. "...I thought I saw something," he said because it looked like they were concerned.
He didn't know how to handle that.
"What did you see?" Shachi asked just before Penguin called—"Was it a bird? I think I saw some big ones wading in the water."
"It wasn't a bird," Law shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut because that was a bad idea. It looked more like a fairy, he almost said but didn't because that sounded foolish. "We're heading back."
And with that, he turned on his heels and followed up the path they came down. Their quiet whispers didn't quite reach his ears as the three followed close behind—but he picked up the pace when the breeze carried over Bepo's muttered, "He saw something. Did it scare him?"
Law didn't have time for the frivolous ghosts of his past lives—he had a mission in mind. He couldn't let himself get distracted by imaginable beings that are unattainable to the physical realm he lived in—that was something his mother was much more interested in than he ever was. Her fanatical tales entertained his sister just fine, but they always made Law roll his eyes instead.
Stories about sea-serpents and sacrosanct gods were only tolerable up until you start throwing mermaids and dwarves into the mix. He always did prefer his experiments and novels over his mother's narratives, anyway.
Although, thinking back on it now, with the vile taste of fruit still lingering on his tongue, he had to wonder—maybe there was more truth to her stories then he gave her credit for.
He grit his teeth as he took off down the path. They managed to sneak aboard a ship a few days later. Eventually.
Life without Cora-san went on.