-Part 3-
Together,
At Last
-Now-
Crocodile valued self-preservation. Sure, he had his ups and downs, but who didn't? He stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch whatever sounds he could make out, and was fully aware that Doflamingo shared the same thoughts as he did. Neither regarded the other's life as entirely worthwhile, but understood that if they wanted to live to see the next day they would need to work together long enough to escape Whitebeard's wrath.
"And then what?" Doflamingo asked. "We take a step on American soil and we've got Kaido up our ass."
"No, you have Kaido up your ass," Crocodile corrected. He faced the walls and crossed his arms, regretting the lack of firearms. "I cross the border and I'm a free man."
"Not if I've anything to say about it." Doflamingo waved the gun at him, the muscles under his right eye twitching from the force.
Crocodile sighed, in no mood to deal with Doflamingo's attitude. Sure, just several minutes prior Doflamingo was ready to pull the trigger and end his life, but with the focus turned on dealing with a real drug lord, suddenly whatever threats the younger man attempted to pull on him felt almost meaningless.
"Are we really having this discussion right now?" he asked, staring tiredly at the handgun. If he could he would have taken it from Doflamingo. The man probably wasn't going to survive this excursion. But the gunfire outside had indicated battle between two different groups, and he doubted he'd receive any courtesy from Doflamingo's lot. "Don't complain about Kaido going after you and your men if you've yet to deal with Whitebeard going after us."
Doflamingo limped over to the stairs, grabbed the railing. "I ought to just call them down and have them rip you a new one," he muttered.
Crocodile's eyes never left the handgun. "Go ahead, I'm sure they'll treat you with the same respect they did to me a few years back," he sarcastically spat back, raising his hook up to Doflamingo's face.
Doflamingo jolted backward. "Not so loud." He pointed up the stairs, at the closed door that could open at any second. "I don't care if it's quiet now, you need to shut up!"
So far two assaults had taken place above them. The first was the longest, causing so much disruption that both men underneath it all could hear nothing but the barrage of gunfire. The voices were too muffled to make out, but Doflamingo was determined to believe that his comrades were upstairs, holding their own. Several times it felt like the door would burst open, and both men, frozen in place, would end up riddled with bullets. But the sounds of footsteps never reached the door, and eventually the noise died down. Doflamingo stared at the handgun. Crocodile wondered whether Doflamingo remembered he was going to shoot him. Instead Doflamingo asked him why he gave up on the surgeries, this time without sounding so snide. But the second wave hit, and from the sound of it it was taking place outside of the house. This once didn't last too long, but stuck underneath a basement made the wait just as torturous as the first time.
It was quiet now. Had been for a while, but Crocodile wasn't eager to open the door and check the damages. They were at a huge disadvantage. They were downstairs, and there was only one exit, and it was up a relatively thin stairway. Both knew it wouldn't require a group of men to slaughter them, just one man with a loaded gun. He wouldn't have to waste too many bullets either. One for the idiot who lead the way, and maybe a few for the poor soul who would try to fight back, or back their way into the basement, trapping and opening themselves to a far worse end.
"I should have the gun," Crocodile muttered. "My reflexes are faster," he explained, though his tone made it obvious that this wasn't the main reason behind the decision. "You've injured yourself, and while I might not be in the best shape, at least I've two eyes to aim accordingly."
"I suppose you'll want me to lead as well?" Doflamingo asked, removing himself from the stairs to face Crocodile.
It as the first time in a long while since the two stared at one another face-to-face. Doflamingo wasn't standing straight, he couldn't with the amount of injuries he obtained, and yet he surpassed Crocodile in height. He knew it was a possibility when he saw the man lying on the floor, twisted in agony, but witnessing it now brought mild insecurity, even now.
What the hell was wrong with him?
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Doflamingo growled, shaking his head and throwing his arm down to the side. The sounds upstairs were beginning to subside. There was just stomping. There was nothing. One side was running low on bullets. Or losing. It hardly mattered since Crocodile knew Whitebeard's side was at a much higher advantage. "Shit, what do we do?"
It was a fine question. Crocodile couldn't care what happened to Doflamingo, but he needed to get the hell out of the country. If Doflamingo's men were upstairs then that meant he would need Doflamingo to survive long enough for him to reach a decent escape route. Robin mentioned Spider's Café. That meant she was taking the underground route. He knew he had about an hour or two before the path up north was closed off, a result of his own protocol hammered into her. He would need a car.
But first, he needed a weapon to defend himself with.
"Give me the gun," he said.
"Fuck off," Doflamingo replied, his shoulders heaving.
"No, really," Crocodile persisted. "We both need firearms if we want to make it out alive. You have no depth perception, and you're injured."
Doflamingo sneered. "Your point?" he asked, raising the weapon back at Crocodile.
Crocodile swatted the gun away with his hook. "I can bring someone down and supply us with another weapon. You can't. Hand the gun to me and we have a chance at getting through this." He lowered his hook, replacing it with his hand. He waited for Doflamingo to offer the weapon to him, but was given another indifferent stare. "Look, if your men are up there they're going to expect to see you alive, correct?"
"Well, yes." Doflamingo shrugged at him. "But if anything, it just reaffirms that I don't need you in order to get through this."
"You're not looking at the entire picture," Crocodile said. "You have your men, but you lack a proper escape route."
He saw Doflamingo reach for his covered eye. The adrenaline was keeping him upright, but it wasn't enough to quell the pain. Doflamingo had to know it would slow him down. It didn't matter if he had friends or not, without a plan he'd succumb eventually.
"Do you know where Spider's Café is?" Crocodile asked.
"I take it by your condescending tone I should?"
Crocodile grinned at him, relieved to hear that usual, Doflamingo-ignorance. "There are two underground routes underneath the café," he began, "one leads north, close to the border. The other leads further down south. You need to avoid Kaido, correct?" Doflamingo's head snapped upright. Crocodile pretended not to notice. "You take the underground path south, and if you're smart you'll keep with it until you and your men reach South America."
Doflamingo's arms were shaking. Why were they shaking? Crocodile couldn't bring himself to dwell on it. Just thinking about his own situation made him nauseous.
He needed Doflamingo alive.
Finally, Doflamingo's shoulder sank. "And I should believe you because?"
Crocodile rubbed his heels against the cool pavement. "I need a ride," he answered.
Doflamingo gestured at the hook with the gun. "Can't drive with just the right?"
"I can manage, but seeing you let Robin get away with the car, I'll need–"
"Robin?"
Crocodile groaned. "I do not have time for this!" He grabbed the gun from Doflamingo. "Listen to me," he demanded, taking a step towards Doflamingo and closing what little space there was between them. "I do not want to work with you. I don't want to see you leave this goddamn room alive, much less have to ask for your assistance. But I'll be goddamned if I die here knowing I could have escaped." He pointed the gun at Doflamingo. "You're a dead man walking. You can say whatever the hell you want, but unless you and your men can outrun two Yonko you're going to have to accept that you need my help."
Maybe it was the pain, or maybe Doflamingo was smarter than he looked, or, better yet, the gun snatched from his hands was now pointed at him, but Doflamingo took a slight step back, his hands still and fingers extended, hesitating to announce submission. Crocodile waited to see if Doflamingo would try another sneak attack, but he remained in place, shaking and snickering.
"You better fucking take the lead," he growled.
"I intend to," Crocodile replied. He moved his finger towards the trigger before lifting it away from Doflamingo. He knew Doflamingo saw it though.
There was another round of gunfire, followed by something screeching. Tires? No, that couldn't be it. It had to be something else. Crocodile tried to focus. The sounds of the rounds being fired weren't as varied or intense. It could only mean that there were less people going at each other, and he doubted that Doflamingo's men were on the winning side.
"We need to get moving," he said, pointing the hook upwards to the door. He didn't give Doflamingo any time to react, and made his way up the stairs.
"What's the plan?"
Crocodile listened to the staggered steps behind him, the creaks that Doflamingo left with every step. "Don't get killed," he answered. "If you can, get to the nearest car."
"And then?"
"Assuming the police aren't invested in another bloodbath…" He finished going up the final few steps before stowing the gun into his pants. He grabbed the doorknob. "We drive. Not fast though. The moment we hit traffic we need to disappear."
Doflamingo tapped his shoulder. "Not fast?"
"Unless the police are involved," Crocodile said. "This isn't the movies. If we drive fast we'll attract attention, so unless the police are already after us we need to make sure to blend in."
"Had that experience of getting…" Crocodile winced when he heard Doflamingo cough. It was hoarse and wet and accompanied with a hand wiping against cloth. Blood? "…Chased by the police?"
"I've had enough." Crocodile turned the knob. What was the plan again? He could swing the door open and reach for the gun before getting noticed. He would swing the door, grab the gun, and shoot at whatever moved. He could continue being cautious. He would open the door nice and slow and not make too much noise, and maybe nobody would notice. It was getting awful quiet. Maybe being quicker was the better option.
He swung the door open. He kept his hand on the knob, by accident. He reflexes were off. Doflamingo was staring at him, and there was just too much at stake. Whatever the reason, he didn't let go of the knob, and he stumbled forward. The door swung only about halfway before colliding into something, saving Crocodile from further embarrassment and allowing him a chance to recover.
"Holy shit," Doflamingo muttered.
Crocodile saw that there was a body stopping the door from going any further. He quietly observed its odd position, counted the visible bullet holes across the chest region and concluded that an automatic was somewhere on the property. "Yours?" he asked Doflamingo.
"No," Doflamingo answered. That meant the automatic was on his side, for now. "I don't see a gun on him."
"Odds are one of your men took it," Crocodile remarked. Maybe. Hopefully. Crocodile's hand hovered over his weapon just in case Doflamingo got any ideas. Things had been turned over, moved around, furniture ruined. The walls were filed with holes. He caught sight of a few blood splatters on the wall, telling a gruesome story, but without a nearby body it was better to assume that the men were still alive and out of the house. Not just Doflamingo's, but Whitebeards. "We need to get out of here."
"Uh-huh…" Doflamingo hobbled over and leaned against the wall. He looked down a hall, then over into the living room. "I don't see anyone."
"Doesn't matter," Crocodile said.
What were the odds that any of Doflamingo's men had survived the onslaught? Crocodile didn't want to think about. He was screwed without a ride. Why did Doflamingo let Robin off? Why didn't he let her take her own damn car? Why did they share a ride?
"What the fuck!" Doflamingo suddenly jumped off of the wall and ran into the living room. He was a bloody mess, but somehow he maneuvered around the tossed furniture and knelt down. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Crocodile saw him reach down and touch something. Someone? Crocodile was reluctant to find out. There were several broken windows, and just because it was quiet now didn't mean that Whitebeard was out of the way.
"Doflamingo," he muttered. He took a few steps out of the hallway, opening his view and catching the grisly sight of two long legs spread out, pants sticky and soaked in coagulated blood. He stopped. There was no need to take another step. "Doflamingo," he said again. His voice was less hushed than before. "Doflamingo, you need to get back over here."
Gunfire went off. It seemed far off. Too far. Crocodile went into the hallway and into one of the rooms. He jumped over a body, only to kneel in front of the window. He carefully lifted one of the curtains and checked the side of the house. Nothing. He moved the curtains more in order to catch a glimpse of the backyard. The view was less than adequate, but he detected no movements. It was quiet. The house was quiet.
Crocodile moved his fingers away from the curtains. At some point the battle had moved further into the neighborhood. Doflamingo's men managed to break into the house, but could not handle the numbers, weapons, or sheer force that they were up against. At least one was dead, and now the rest were in a car, manipulating traffic and ruining his chances of escape.
Crocodile slipped down. He stared at the large, bloodied up body spread across the floor. Half of his face was missing. Crocodile counted the seconds, waiting to see how long it would take before another round was fired. He made it to ten before he heard Doflamingo's hands hit the floor. Crocodile crawled over to the body, moving in tandem with the frantic smacks. Had Whitebeard done away with all of Doflamingo's men? Would they return, or were they satisfied with the damage they had caused?
It was quiet. Too quiet. Was the battle over?
He fished through the larger man's person, picking through his pockets of spare change and bullets, but no keys. Crocodile left the room. He found Doflamingo still hovering over what remained of his comrade.
"Doflamingo." There he was, shaking, near rocking, looking pathetic and although Crocodile couldn't see his face, he knew by the way Doflamingo touched the corpse that he was finally regretting ever having come down here.
"He didn't have the keys," Doflamingo commented. He looked up at Crocodile, and it took a second for him to realize the man wasn't wearing his shades. The visible eye was cold and emotionless, dark and impossible to read. It defied the will of the body and told Crocodile nothing. It made him rethink everything.
"We need to leave."
Doflamingo gave one final glance at the sprawled body lying next to him. "I don't know where Trebol and Pica are," he said back, his eye finally giving way to worry.
Crocodile shrugged at him. "You can try calling them if you want," he suggested. "It looks like this place is empty for now. We have maybe five minutes to get the hell out of here before the police break down the doors."
"Do you think they cut the lines?" Doflamingo asked. His voice was hoarse again.
"Did you forget you stole my phone?" he answered before walking past the distraught man. "I'm going to see if there are any weapons nearby."
Doflamingo said nothing. Crocodile began making his way into the kitchen, avoiding shards of glass and paying attention to the few splatters of blood marking the walls and floors. He heard Doflamingo behind him, fiddling with the phone and falling back against the sofa. He sounded slow. He sounded weak. In any other situation Crocodile would have laughed about it. He would have openly mocked Doflamingo for falling apart. But he didn't. Doflamingo was worried, but he was worried too. And Crocodile was sore and his back ached and he knew the police would arrive soon, if not them then Whitebeard, and he had no solid means of escape. He couldn't reach Robin or Daz, and right now the only means of support he did have was a man he could not kill, no matter how much he wanted to.
Crocodile spotted a body curled in the corner of the kitchen, his hand on one of the many holes covering him. His shirt was drenched in dark red blood, and there was a small pool underneath him. But he had a gun. He took a step and landed on something broken that shattered underneath his weight. He though he heard something under all the cracking, like a sigh or something not quite right, but there was a loud noise in the living room, and Doflamingo moving shit around, and swearing and he sounding like he might cry at any moment, and it distracted him.
Crocodile was caught off guard, and when he realized he had been right about the sound, that it was a sigh, a moan from a dying man who's consciousness was teetering, it was too late for him to step back or move out of the way. He saw the gun raised up at him, and Crocodile naturally brought his up, but by that point the trigger went off, the man jerked back into the cabinets, and Crocodile stumbled back. He felt hot, searing lightening hit him in the stomach, spreading and burning his insides, tearing him apart. Crocodile shot back and blew the man's face away, and once he felt the blood hit his face he dropped his gun and he fell down to the floor.
"Fuck!" Crocodile brought a hand to the wound. He was bleeding out of his lower abdomen. Not his stomach, but the lower abdomen…how many organs were hit? Not the stomach, otherwise he'd feel like hell right now, but something was hit. He could use his legs, so the spine was safe. He felt so much worse. Was it a kidney? Intestines? Were his digestive juices pouring into him?
"Crocodile?"
Shadows were moving above him. It was Doflamingo waving at him, trying to catch his attention. Crocodile lifted his hand up and stared at the growing red spot on his shirt. It was spreading, and his hand was covered in blood. He could see the creases of his hand lined with fresh vibrant red. Remarkable. He stared at the wound. Nothing was spurting out, and nothing looked distended.
"Crocodile? Shit, what happened?"
The blood spread over his shirt, getting into the patterns, redefining them with a deep dark red that just splashed its way across the cloth. How much time was he wasting sitting and staring at it? The police could be on their way. He needed to move, fight the pain, the icy-hot that clawed at his insides and made it so hard to breath. What if Whitebeard and his men decided to take another look? He could not die here.
"Crocodile."
He looked away from the wound and up at Doflamingo. He was gawking at his wound as though it were his own. He was hurt, offended, and he looked like he would start some kind of tantrum. Was it because some stranger had blown a hole into him first? Was Doflamingo upset that he would now be burdened with another man's injuries?
"I found a gun," Crocodile heaved. He lifted his arm a few inches, intent on pointing to the gun that was slipping out of t limp hand. It felt so heavy, and soon there was a loud clang from the base of the hook hitting the floor.
"You're bleeding," Doflamingo said.
Crocodile ignored him. "We need to get out of here." He tried lifting his left arm again, and this time made it up a few more inches before the weight of the hook got to him. Stupid thing. Why the fuck did it have to be so damn big? "Check if he has any keys on him."
Doflamingo flinched when the hook smacked against the flooring. Why? It was his fault he was like this. But he went over to the body and went through the man's pockets, and seeing Doflamingo listen to him for once helped ease the pain. "Nobody answered," Doflamingo said. "I don't know where anyone is."
Crocodile held in a breath as he forced himself back up, grabbing the counter for support. "You can't think about that right now," he said. touched his forehead. He felt cool and wet.
He heard something jingle. He opened his eyes. He wasn't sure when he had closed them, but he saw Doflamingo standing in front of him, holding the gun in one hand, keys in the other. "What are we going to do now?" he asked, and this time Crocodile really had to think about it.
"Spider Café is about an hour's drive, less if we book it once we're out of town." He wasn't sure if he was hearing sirens in the distance, or if he was losing blood and maybe his mind. It was getting harder to concentrate. "Please tell me that thing has an alarm?"
How on earth will we make it?
He looks just about ready to pass out again. And what about you? You've got your good hand trying to cover up a bullet wound. Spider Café is in the middle of nowhere, and it's getting hotter, it's hot, but it's cold, and he won't stop looking at you.
"Do you need some help?"
"No," Crocodile remarked quickly. He removed himself from the counter and headed to the backyard. The cars would be out front, but he headed to the backyard. Doflamingo didn't stop him, but Crocodile was thankful he didn't have to see the look on his face when he stumbled over broken glass and remains, taking the longer and more arduous way.
Finding the car wasn't difficult. There were only two parked on the lawn, another car in the middle of the street. Doflamingo looked around, possibly for something recognizable. Crocodile told him to hurry up. There just wasn't enough time for him to worry about his missing friends.
Doflamingo hit the alarm. It was a sports car. Crocodile was just thankful there weren't any bullets to make it stand out any more than it already did.
"People are staring," Doflamingo murmured through his covered mouth. It did very little in hiding the damage he'd been dealt. Their clothes were drenched in sweat, dirt and blood. Crocodile was sporting a giant hook and a gun, and Doflamingo was one eye short and covered in gashes and bruises.
"They won't say anything," he muttered.
"Wont they?" Doflamingo asked. He walked to the passenger's side before tossing the keys over the car to Crocodile. Between the two of them, Crocodile felt he was least likely to pass out on the wheel.
"You don't fuck around with the Yonko," Crocodile stated. He leaned against the car for a moment before jamming the key in the lock. He always wanted to jump right into a fancy car like this one. No roof and fine leather furnishing? This was the kind of car you had fun with. Right now Crocodile could barely keep up a dignified appearance without wincing from the intense pain that was spreading across his lower back.
"We fucked with the Yonko," Doflamingo replied. He coughed into his hand and pulled it away, making a slight face when he saw the light splatter he left behind.
"Yeah, well," Crocodile swung the door open before hissing out a sharp exhale. "Get in the damn car."
There were several members of the neighborhood peering through the windows, a few braver souls looking through cracked doors, fewer standing on the porch or lawn. They weren't saying anything, just staring and observing the oddity currently taking place. Crocodile looked down at the giant red stain on his shirt, then at Doflamingo's wretched form. After the first incident with Whitebeard he made sure to leave no trace of his existence. He wanted power, and he made plans to eventually subvert the bastard, but he also wanted remain in good terms with everyone around him. He didn't care about people, what they thought about him, but if he could undermine the world while still having everyone believe he was a good samaritan, then all the more to him.
He had failed. He was a goddamn failure of a man. He could never show his face in this country again without running the risk of being taken into custody, and he knew what sorts of fucked up things they did to their prisoners. He couldn't imagine what they'd do to someone like him. It didn't matter that Whitebeard failed to kill him. He was dead. Nothing mattered anymore because the police would arrive and find his fingerprints all over everything. They'd mark it all as evidence, but they'd steal it. Assuming Robin didn't get her greedy hands all over his accounts, they'd take his money. They'd take everything he worked so hard for.
"Crocodile," Doflamingo said. "We need to get going."
The sirens were real this time. Crocodile undid the latch holding his hook in place. He handed the prosthetic to Doflamingo before turning on the engine and grabbing the clutch. His stump was pale and sweaty, but it wasn't from the heat. He felt like shit, and the vibrations produced by the powerful engine didn't help.
His hand squeezed the clutch. Crocodile stared at the road, just several feet away. His legs were trembling and he wondered if the bullet was still bouncing through his internal organs. He shifted gears and winced.
"You're bleeding," Doflamingo pointed. He took the gold hook and placed it behind his chair before lowering and moving closer to Crocodile. He saw a large hand hover over the wound. "When you move you bleed out," Doflamingo commented. "It needs to get covered."
He didn't want Doflamingo touching him. He had no choice.
This was all his fault!
Fucking hell. Crocodile didn't want to die of a bullet wound caused by a dying man. Why did Doflamingo have to get so fucking emotional? Why didn't Doflamingo just shoot him right there in the basement? Why didn't he listen to Robin? Why didn't he just shoot Doflamingo the second he saw him? Why didn't he run away when he had the chance?
He had no choice. His teeth gritted when he felt pressure push against the bullet wound. Crocodile let go of the clutch and grabbed the wheel. His stump slid over it, his feet curled and his jaw started to ache. He fought to keep his eyes open and not hit Doflamingo in the face, but didn't stop himself from sneering at him.
"Yeah, yeah," Doflamingo muttered. "Just drive already."
He made it sound so simple. The pressure and warmth was there, covering him and stopping too much blood from seeping out, but it was so much more complicated than that. Crocodile removed his foot from the break pedal and pressed on the gas, and this time it was Doflamingo arching his head back, trying to control just how much of his whimpering would escape.
Hearing Doflamingo did nothing for him. Seeing Doflamingo regret and mourn his friend did not make him feel better. Seeing Doflamingo now, bandaged and bruised and in desperate need of a medical care, left him very worried. But nothing compared to the worst of it. There was one final thought that lingered in the back of his mind, crawling its way forward since he left the room, and was now taking center attention as he drove off the lawn and into the road, feeling Doflamingo hold on to him and keep him from slipping into unconsciousness.
Right. Doflamingo had been right.
They left the room together, and if Crocodile didn't want them to die together, then he knew the only way out of this mess was for them to continue working together for as long as they could, until they reached Spider Café.
