It never ends.
Between each little fit sit a few minutes of silence before it starts again; a quiet, little sound that follows him around and that he cannot ignore. Like a tinnitus, only more infuriating. Every time the low-pitched fufufufu-sounds grow too loud, he hears a sharp inhale and the sound continues muffled. No need to look over his shoulder to know that he's lying somewhere in the dark, curled into a ball and failing to fall asleep, with his hands clasped over his mouth, hoping to quiet the sound. Half in a daze and mainly subconsciously. He's drifting in and out of sleep, dozing more than anything, and every now and then something on his mind triggers that quiet giggling. Whenever the cracking of the firewood is louder than the laughter, Kid is glad. One can only pretend for so many hours in a day to be annoyed rather than devastated.
The idea had been to bring as many miles between themselves and the prison mines.
Between fits of laughter, Killer had soon dragged Kid off the main roads and on through every quiet back alley and side street he knew. No matter the upheaval and uneasiness already clinging to Wano like glue, a one-armed beast of a man, and a laughing maniac with his face wrapped in bandages still drew attention somehow. Constant reminders not to start anything usually would have been reason enough for Kid to do exactly that, but the Captain is quiet. And for most of the way his gaze had been pinned to Killer's back, the cogs and wheels of his brain working overtime in his head. Thinking is hard. This time it is at least. Blame it on weeks of sleep deprivation, hunger, and pain. Blame it on the company of that idiot monkey boy who managed to dumb down whatever company he found himself in. Kid is glad he's left him behind.
Now, in the darkness of the night and with enough distance between them and the prison, the sudden quiet hits him like a sledgehammer from the left. Around them is nothing but barren land, covered in shades of grey and shadows moving in a mild breeze coming from the coast. Their route would continue south until they'd hit the coast of Udon, before turning east to enter Hakumai. A pirate seeks the sea and a ship. What better place to find both than a port? In his head, the plan makes perfect sense, and still Kid finds it unsettling. Probably because he's not sure who cooked it up; Killer? Or Kamazo?
The Captain risks a brief glimpse over his shoulder at the curled-up shadow suffering in the dark. The unruly mob of blond hair and the bandages almost gleam golden in the dim light of the fire. It's strange, he finds. To see him without the mask. To hear that each shallow exhale is no longer chaperoned by a low whistling sound coming through the holes. He remembers the weeks following the first time Killer had put the mask on. How it had annoyed the ever loving shit out of him, that whistling. Enough to occasionally rip the damned thing off Killer's face in fits of frustration, followed by screaming on both sides. He misses it now. Not only because the whistling had become a steady companion in the past few years, but also because the laughter is worse. So much worse.
If it's horrible for him, he doesn't want to imagine how bad it must be for Killer.
Lips drawn to a thin line does the Captain turn his back on his first mate again, his crimson eyes now staring down the flames as if he anticipated them to shrivel up and die under a simple look. The quiet of the night allows for questions to creep into his mind. About Killer, and about how much of him might still be left in that head of his. About whether or not letting him drown would have been mercy. Any goddamn animal would be put out of its misery if it suffered like Killer does. Any single one. Only question remaining is: who would then put Kid out his own misery?
Part of him, for a few seconds at least, wishes he hadn't figured out who Kamazo really is. That he'd been able to just run, no looking back. To leave this goddamned place behind and maybe, in a few years, after somewhat having dealt with the loss of his friend, to figure out how Killer's life inevitably had ended. Why make it easy, though? Why make things horribly comfortable for a change?
The snap of a branch has him whirl around, his eyes piercing the darkness around them. Somewhere to his left, coming from the direction of Ebisu Town. Kid squints at the mix of blacks and greys. Coaxing his brain into looking through the blotched darkness is a lot harder than he had thought. Blame it on his own tiredness. And perhaps on his lungs that still burn with every exhale of air.
Eventually he can discern a shadow from the others. Slender and tall, moving slowly and quietly through the night, towards their camp. It staggers every now and then, straightens up again, and moves on. Steady, steady. Headed straight for the fire, no mistake. Kid's hand automatically goes to the dagger that is no longer there. Neither is the pistol. Nor any other kind of metal. Naturally there is no metal in the arse end of nowhere outskirts of Udon. Foolish of him to think otherwise. Gritting his teeth, he prepares to snuff whatever creature's existence in a wave of haki, however strong he can still manage, when a low, eerily familiar voice cuts through the silence.
"Relax, Captain."
He knows that voice. Not so much the tone itself, but the underlying sound of mockery that sits in every syllable. Only this time it sounds a little pressed. As if the clown speaking struggled to keep himself composed somehow. And by the time the figure slinks away from the shadows and steps into the light of the fire, Kid has figured out who it is.
"Fancy meeting you here."
"Yeah," Trafalgar Law offers a hint of a smirk, leaning heavily on his katana. "Come here often?"
"Hell, no."
A few seconds pass in absolute silence; two captains seizing each other up with no small amount of mistrust openly displayed between them. There is no denying that both are in rough shape. A blackened and crusted blotch has formed somewhere on Law's sleeve, and the doctor looks like he hasn't slept in days. Not that deep circles under his eyes are a new look necessarily, but grey-ish as he is, it seems sickly this time. Kid's coat is still damp, the pale skin even whiter than usual, and where heaps of metal and iron had set for the past two years, nothing but a bandaged stump is left. Law eyes it curiously for a moment, before his gaze wanders to Killer occasionally still snickering in his sleep.
"Looking good, Eustass-ya."
Kid snorts.
"Better than you," he says. "What do you want?"
The smirk on Law's lips grows a little wider but loses its edge in the process. Instead, very obviously and very suddenly, Law looks tired. Almost as if he were the one who had almost drowned after spending weeks hauling rocks in a prison camp.
"Just a spot by the fire. Frankly, you don't look like you've got anything else to offer anyways."
Part of Kid wants to be offended. The exhausted, tired part of him however relents quite easily to the statement; it's true, why pretend otherwise. There is nothing else left to offer, least of all any fucks he could possibly give. About this place, about Kaido. About Law sitting down or not. And he does, leaning heavily on his katana in the process. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, resting for however long he can afford it with Kid's curious look on his person. One night, maybe, until all hell would break loose again come morning.
"I'm glad I found you," Law says eventually, breaking the silence before an impatient Kid can.
"Found me? What, like you've been looking for me—"
"I have."
Kid stares at the doctor, openly startled whether he likes it or not. Not the answer he's expected. And certainly not an answer that makes him feel comfortable in any way or form.
"Why?"
Law chuckles and Killer, still sleeping behind them, chaperones the sound with his own little fufufufu.
"I said relax. I'm not here to hurt you."
"Try."
"I said I won't. Quit being such a defensive pain in the ass."
"Feel free to go looking for another camp if you like."
"I don't."
Kid's muscles twitch in a subconscious desire to childishly cross his arms before his chest, only to then remember that he can't anymore. Phantom limbs. He hadn't thought that kind of stuff was real until it happened to him.
"What do you want?"
Law rests his elbows on his knees then, palms towards the flame, fingers spread in a feeble attempt to warm himself up after walking through the cold of the night for hours. The glow of the fire draws a pretty contrast between his skin and the black tattoos. He looks at Kid, one corner of his lips drawn up to a smirk, and through the fatigue shimmers just a touch of mischief that has the Captain shift uneasily on his spot.
"I need you to help me defeat Kaido."