Alive

Characters: Shachi, Penguin. Rating: T. Warnings: Implied torture.

It hurt to breathe, the poison burning first his mouth, then his windpipe and finally his lungs with every inhalation. While his body was beaten and tattered, weakened to the point that raising his head was an impossible chore, it was the poison that Shachi noticed, feared. Injuries could heal, even if left for several days before treatment (he may be spoilt by his captain's ability, he admitted), but poison was impatient. The poison wouldn't wait for their captain.

The pain in his heart was nothing to do with the poison. Nor was it a result of the battle and subsequent torture he was intermittently undergoing, cries unwillingly torn from his throat as fresh agony bloomed, only to be overtaken by the next burn of poison as he gasped. No, the pain came from the knowledge that Penguin wasn't moving. Shachi could only see him out the corner of his eye, but it was enough to see the sightless gaze, even as their tormentors pulled out all the stops to try and get words out of the broken pirate. The two of them had been inseparable for as long as Shachi could remember, best friends, brothers, nakama, but a pang from his heart told him their time together was over. Penguin would leave him behind, if he hadn't already. He hadn't made a sound since the pirates had converged on him, drunk with success, with the delight of breaking someone.

He didn't know why Jack's group left. He hadn't heard anyone give in, but the Calamity was gone. The poison was still very much there, reducing Shachi's airways to bloody sandpaper, but with their unexpected freedom – still tied to the wooden X but no longer in the shadow of a monster – he fought against his body to speak.

"P-eng…" he rasped. It was swallowed by the background noise of pained groans, muffled but still louder than anything Shachi could produce. Still, he tried again, desperate for something, anything, from the man beside him. "P-eng…"

Nothing. Shachi fought to turn his head, managing barely a shift but it was enough to see nothing had changed in Penguin's countenance.

"Pe…" his voice gave out on him as the tears welled, stinging as they slid down his ragged face. Don't be dead, Penguin. Please. I'm begging you. Say something. Do something! Don't leave me here!

A wave of nausea washed over him, his body attempting to reject the poison but failing miserably as stuttering gasps merely drew more into his pained lungs, his racing heart pumping the toxin around and around his body until his vision faded.

"Gods." He was dragged unwillingly back to consciousness by the breathed word, forcing his eyelids to separate to see what awaited him now. It felt as if his eyes had been sewn shut from the effort merely squinting required, but he persevered, looking through the shattered lens of his glasses, or what was left of them, at a red-haired woman whose hands were clasped to her mouth in horror. She looked familiar, but Shachi's thoughts slipped around in his mind, refusing to be organised into any sort of coherency. There was only one thing that stood out.

"P-eng…" he managed again, his voice rougher and bloodier than earlier. Soon his lungs would be totally useless, the first of his organs to shut down as death slowly reeled him in.

"Chopper! Sanji-kun!" the woman called – when had she moved? Her hands were no longer covering her mouth, but rather fiddling with the cuffs that kept him on his cross. The names triggered a recollection, slow and hazy but there. He knew these people, somehow… A blond man entered his line of sight, reaching for him, and Shachi recoiled, or tried to. In his state it was little more than a flinch.

"P-eng…" he insisted weakly. He didn't know if they were friend or foe – his hazy recognition was unclear – but he had no choice but to trust them. Penguin might already be dead, but if there was any chance to save him…

The man's hands stilled, resting lightly on his shoulders.

"Peng..?" he wondered out loud, turning his head to the woman, who had one of Shachi's cuffs open and was working on the nest.

"Hel-p P-eng…" Shachi clarified as best he could, coaxing his head into falling sideways in the direction of his nakama. "Firs-"

"Brook!" a young-sounding voice called, from somewhere in Penguin's direction. "Help me get him down!" There was movement, and the sound of breaking. Shachi had no strength to look, but prayed it was Penguin's cross. "Nami, Sanji, keep getting that one down!" The stilled hands resumed moving and Shachi let out another groan.

"P-eng…" He had to know. They had to treat Penguin first!

"Chopper's got your nakama," the man told him, taking his weight as the cuffs holding him in place opened. Shachi had no choice but to fall limp against him. "You're Shachi, right?" How the man knew his name was a mystery for another time. As he was laid on the ground, some distance from his cross, he forced his numb, unresponsive limbs to turn him over. Penguin lay beside him, some small furry thing – a mink? No, it didn't look quite right – by his side. He wasn't moving. Shachi couldn't see well enough to decipher if his chest was rising and falling.

"P-eng…" His body gave out and he slumped over, now on his front but Shachi didn't care. Crucially, he was facing Penguin, only inches from his nakama. He tried to reach out to him, fingers trembling, but his arm barely moved, all his energy drained, and he fought back a curse. So close yet so far.

Something cool and smooth wrapped around his hand and gently brought it to rest on Penguin's. Choking back a sob, Shachi felt the tension drain from his body. There was a pulse, Penguin's skin was still warm and alive. Then the hand twitched, fingers loosely wrapping around Shachi's, and he dragged his head to look at Penguin's face. A light had returned to his eyes, his mouth twisted in something that might have been a smile, in other circumstances.

"It… st-opped…" the older breathed, his voice at least as raspy and thick as Shachi's own. Shachi looked at him blankly, uncomprehending. Their torture was over, but he knew that wasn't what Penguin was talking about, so what..?

Slowly, shaking with the effort, Penguin's other hand dragged itself to his chest, slipping awkwardly through a tear in his clothes to withdraw some paper – a vivre card.

Law's vivre card. Shachi felt his heart skip a beat, comprehension crashing over him like an avalanche. It was small, too small, and one edge glowed a dull amber. Law had been dying, just as they had been, and Penguin had felt it. They watched it together, Shachi's vision blurring as his body insisted on shutting down in a last defence against the poison, as the glow faded away to nothing, leaving just a too-small vivre card.

Slowly, oh so slowly, it began to restore, flakes of ash reattaching themselves as if they had never burnt away.

Relief tore down the last mental barriers Shachi had held up against the encroaching darkness, and he once again succumbed to unconsciousness, certain of one thing.

They would be okay. All of them.

In my defence, I was asked for them to realise Law was going to be alright... okay, I have no excuse for the angst that came first, though. I'm sorry. I'll stop torturing these guys one day... probably.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari