Traveling as they were, the scale of celebration was limited for any occasion.
If they happened upon a local holiday or event it was by chance, and the pirate’s stay was often cut short by persecution. Yet as the leaves begin to warm in hue, Rocinante knew that the date was steadily approaching for an important date for his charge. It was an embittering day, a sour note and ticking clock in Law’s mind, a scale for how long he’d outlived his Family and Country: a ticking clock counting down how much longer he had left before he too joined them in the earth.
The years that the survivor of genocide lived among the Donquixote Family had taught all of them this. In them, Corazon had decidedly done nothing to celebrate Law’s birthday, nor that of the other children. That is to say, he did not bully them.
Now, as the search for a cure dragged on, Rocinante had all but dropped the cold persona of Corazon. There was no reason for it, when he had no intention of allowing Law to return to his brother. That is how he came to be the only person who could celebrate the occasion with Law. He debates how to do so; to make a big boisterous deal of it, dragging the boy around to do activities that may be exceptionally fun? No, no, that would be too much. Knowing how sensitive a day this is, it was more appropriate to start off slow, almost casual.
So rather than draw direct attention to the time of year, Cora-san did everything he could to distract Law from it. Splurging at a restaurant, teaching him how to make a grenade, how to throw it- and how to duck and cover when you make a fumble. Crisp air, the scent of burning wood and leaves, and crack of falling nuts hail in the harvest for the town they’re in, and while not the day of festivities, there was already an abundance of seasonal foods in the market. With Law purchasing dry goods not far away, Cora-san scanned the stalls for something to treat the boy with, and realizes dumbly that he doesn’t know what type of sweets Law likes. He doesn’t know if Law even likes sweet things!
Blundering over himself, Cora-san buys his produce. As the farmer counts out change, the blond chews his cigarette and grasps for ideas, praying for something to hit him. Time was running up before he’d have to meet up with Law, and like hell was he going to come back empty handed!
A wad of bills and coins falls into his palm, and without thought he puts it in his shirt pocket.
In the end Cora-san does not find something he knows Law would like, but he does find a seasonal treat that he himself enjoyed, and hoped the boy would as well. So although he’s disappointed in his lack of a dedicated gift, his face is bright and spirits high for the chance to share one of his own favorites. Law describes Cora’s behavior as suspicious. Laughing it off, the blond digs through his yield and triumphantly shoves a sweetpotato at the boy’s face.
Only Cora-san could get so excited over a root vegetable.
Much to the Donquixote’s pleasure, the day had no major hiccups. Their identities were not revealed, nor did they cause a riot, and nor earn unwanted attention. He got to spoil Law a bit more than was typical, cook a warm meal, and show him the technique for roasting potatoes in the coals of a fire. With the sun setting and the dinner some time passed, Rocinante then demonstrates to Law how to safely retrieve the hot treats.
Cora-san’s strange love affair with fire was, by this point, more than common knowledge for Law, but it’s no less a surprise when, as the blonde fishes the pair of potatoes out with a stick, his well loved sweater combusts, the explosive powder used earlier in the day dusting the fibers and flashing with flame.
Several seconds of screams, panic, and disorder later, Cora was peeling the drenched and burned clothes off his skin, chagrined and separating his buttonup from the singed wool. In the motions, the change from earlier falls out of his pocket. Setting aside the salvaged sweetpotatoes, the glimmering coins reflecting the fire manage to glean Law’s attention again. He collects them from the dirt while Cora redresses, confident that the idiot wasn’t paying attention while he scans each for certain qualities.
Life fills his lungs in a strong breath.
He found one.
Cora-san doesn’t know what it is that causes Law’s pleasant shift in mood. (”you really like it when I get hurt don’t you?” “Idiot, maybe if you did it less I wouldn’t get a laugh from it.”). However he is glad to know that Law is at this moment happy, that he is enjoying the day of his birth, and that there was nothing bittersweet about that.
Sitting down, warmed by the cracking fire, they slowly eat the steaming potatoes, semi-sweet, golden and creamy. The skies are clear, the air clean, insects soft in their singing.
“Happy Birthday, Law. ”
Mouth hidden behind his treat, the boy can’t help a smile.
Long before he left mother’s womb, Doffy is the Sun and Center of his parent’s world. Never is he without a soothing voice or heartbeat to listen to, arms and laps to hold and coddle. Nothing is denied him, and everything he didn’t even know he needed, didn’t know he wanted, is provided. There is always a new toy, always a new outfit. Early on, Doffy understands that he deserves to have everything, and that his parents are included in that. His parents understand and agree with that.
For 1 years 8 months and 22 days, Doffy is the only star in his parent’s universe.
Then, on the 23rd day, Doffy suddenly finds that his universe has shifted, and his parents gravitating towards a new sun. He finds himself denied by them, told to wait with his toys and the nurses and slaves, while mother gasps and pants and is taken away with Father. Doffy does not stop tantrum, not until he passes out.
The next day, amid a fresh tantrum, a relative arrives to bring him to his parents. He is about to bawl, to cry and cling and drum his fists on father’s legs for leaving him- but father has already lifted him up, grinning and bright and tears in his eyes. Talking softly into his ear as he brings him to Mother’s side, to look down upon something Doffy had only ever seen other World Nobles hold.
Small like a doll, but not nearly as cute. Reddish and pink, bundled in the gentlest blanket, and occupying his place in mother’s arms.
Stunned, Doffy’s mouth gaps, for once speechless.
Mother beams at him, looking different in a way he didn’t understand. Softly she speaks,
“Look, Doffy… Like we promised, you’re a big brother now.”
She turns the doll towards him, and the doll’s face moves, scrunching and squinting against the light.
Fear grips him, and Doflamingo shouts.
“No!” Suddenly squirming, he rolls off the bed and runs behind the rocking chair, leering out from behind it at all the adults present. The new parents are disappointed but also amused, chuckling softly as they’re reassured by other family that their firstborns’ reaction was nothing to worry over. With the attention drifting away from himself and the squirming doll, Doffy was able to watch and observe and approach at his own pace, creeping back towards mother and infant as the minutes tick by.
“Doffy,” Mother soothes, pulling him into her now empty lap, the bundle cradled and gushed over by Father and others. “I know this is strange to you, but this is something to celebrate. For all the love you have from Papa and I, you will have even more now. He is small and delicate now, but with your help he’ll grow up to be strong, and will love you just as much as we do. “
A neutral frown glued to his face, his brow creases strong under wispy bangs. Thinking.
Once more the swaddled redthing is brought to him, Father approaching slowly this time. With Doffy in her left arm, the babe is settled into her right.
“His name is Rocinante. Be a good brother to him, Doflamingo.”
Rocinante blinks and squints at him again, seemingly as confused as Doffy… and Doflamingo whines, burrowing his face in mother’s chest, pressing his ear against her gentle heartbeat.
Two women ponder on their ward Monkey D. Luffy, and the angels he sees.
For the first year of caring for him, the hired wetnurse didn’t think twice about her charge smiling and laughing at angels.
It was a well known belief that babies can see angels, that within that first year of life an infant spends much of its time gazing upwards for that very reason. When they turn their head and smile, its not towards an empty space but to a benevolent spirit. As they enter their second year children grow out of the habit, coming to prefer the company of the humans that physically hold and care for it. That by age three children could barely see any angels, and it was rare to catch glimpse of one past five.
So no, she wasn’t too concerned when at age two, Monkey D. Luffy continued to greet and interact with them just as much or more than real, living people. It was a little odd, yes, but nothing of harm. Her own son was right on track with his social development. Luffy was happy, and while he seemed to enjoy playing with angels just as much as with her son, she had faith he would grow up to be mostly normal. Thus she returned to Goa Kingdom with her babe in tow, free of worry.
Luffy’s second caretaker, a woman with two working sons, was a little more disturbed by his ‘angelic interactions’. A realist, she was quick to redirect him to some activity or another whenever she caught the toddler babbling to the air or playing with nothing. He truly baffled her, and while it was innocent, she didn’t want the boy to have issues. Who knew what sort of trouble it could lead to? So when he turned three and was sneaking off whatever chance he got to play on his own, to ‘play with his friends’, she or one of her sons would follow hoping that for once, Luffy meant one of the townsfolk.
When the boy would squat down by a rock, tree or other benign location and begin chatting, they would catch and scold him. Drag him back into town and surround him with real people, real friends. They would try to keep him busy with toys and games, crafts and chores…
Monkey D. Luffy just would not be deterred. His Grandfather was of little help on his visits, laughing off her concerns and dragging the tyke off into the woods to camp out as soon as he could walk. She supposed that whatever they did there may have been cause for Luffy’s oddness, or at least amplified it. The whole family was a little odd, when she thought of it, but she’d been hoping that with enough dedication she’d be able to turn out one normal Monkey D boy.
At least the child was mostly happy.
When Luffy decides at age four to ‘move out’, it is to her startled relief that Garp thinks it’s a novel idea. They set Luffy up in Garp’s old house out on the edge of town, and arrange that she or other townsfolk would periodically check up on the boy, bringing food with them. She doesn’t think it’ll last more than a day, but it was a day she could definitely use for some R&R. One day turns to two, then four, and before she knows it a full week has gone by. Monkey D. Luffy is smiling wider than ever, venturing into town on his own and ‘running errands’, playing games and talking to others as if he had always done so.
She’s baffled and somewhat peeved. He seemed almost normal now. Performing duties no child should, necessary for self-care, but he is acting like a normal human being. In the end she accepts that Luffy seemed better off now than while under her care.
So maybe Luffy never grew out of imaginary friends, the likes of which changed daily. Maybe he would smile or laugh or argue with someone not there. He could have turned out far worse. He’d be okay, and it didn’t hurt anyone.
She moves away with her boys later that year, and was gone before Luffy’s fifth birthday.
Rocinante hears when the trigger is pulled, the crack of gunpowder splintering all perception of time. Years pass between that terrible noise and the violent jolt of Father against him. A drizzle of blood baptizes his crown as his loving parent slumps and gurgles above. Rocinante cannot understand it, cannot comprehend as he looks up, grip tight on Father’s shirt, trying desperately to support the unbearable weight.
Don’t fall. You’re suppose to hold me up.
He sees his face-
No.
That’s not a face.
Not anymore. Not with what is left.
That’s not Chichiue. That’s not Chichiue.
The body falls, the youngest son’s fragile grip broken as he struggles to breathe. His throat burns, lungs scalding and eyes ready to burst. There is a terrible screeching in his ears, a ringing sound that throbs and threatens to split his skull. It synchronizes with the pain in his heart, and it takes far too long for Rocinante to realize that he is the one screaming uncontrollably. When he does, he doesn’t care. He continues to wail, eyes turned to heaven and unwilling to look back upon what the Earth (this Hell) had to show him.
It’s too loud.
He grips his head, his brother’s movement dragging him unwillingly back to reality. Vision blurred, Rocinante babbles and gasps, incoherent and uncertain what he should feel, what he should do. He’s terrified
Brother is close. Closing in. To him. To the body. To what’s left of their father.
Why. Why. Why?
He tries to utter the single word but fails, falling into a fresh wail.
Rocinante’s nails dig into the earth, prying blunt, cracked nails to the point of bleeding, but he can’t feel it. Fear strangles him, cementing his knees into the dry ground as Doflamingo takes on the grisly task of making good on his promise.
He tries to scream louder, if only to drown out the sound of the act, and all thought fades as he becomes inconsolable.
The sky has melted into a smear of grey and blue when his tears give out.. A dry riverbed has replaced the boy’s esophagus, a ball of drying mud forming in his throat, muffling the stuttering sounds of a dying voice. He does not have enough energy to cry any longer, a stiff film of salt and mucus encasing his face. His fingers twitch, slowly lifting from his sides to grip and twist and dig at his shirt. To claw at the unbearable tightness in his chest as it heaves to replenish starving lungs.
Laying in the dirt, he is nearly catatonic as he rests. His brother’s movements go unseen, any words unheard. If he were touched, it would barely register. The only thing he can truly manage to do at that point is to breathe. Just breathe.
So breathe he does.
When he finally comes to, the white haze lifting from his mind, reality greets him in its’ cold, apathetic manner.
Chichiue is dead.
Only feet away, Carrion birds peck at the stump of Father’s neck.
The bile burns his throat while he vomits.
Startled by the violent retching, the scavengers scatter into the air. Some take to the sky, while others boldly land on the shack the broken Family had been living in. They leer and scrutinize him, cawing and evaluating the thin child as a possible threat. How much risk there was between him and the fragrant corpse? Eyeing the birds with a newfound weariness, Rocinante pants and focuses on the vision before him. The sight, the smell, the sounds, the taste of sour acid on his mouth.
All are solid proof that he could not deny.
Chichiue is Dead.
Fresh waves of grief surge in his tight neck, but there are no more tears he can shed, no more voice to wail. Repulsed and endeared to the corpse before him, Rocinante rubs his eyes and instinctively searches for Doflamingo. He needs the shelter of another beating heart, desires and craves some explanation for the horror that his adored brother had committed. Surely this was all some mistake. There must be something he was missing. This could not be right. None of it made sense.
Aniue? Chichiue is-
Doffy isn’t there.
Aniue-?
Stumbling to his feet like a newborn foal, Rocinante turns and searches, but his brother is nowhere to be found. Head light., whipping left and right, the child’s lip tremors.
Where...?
Panic settles as he climbs to the top of a hill of rubbish, seeking any sign or clue to where his only living family, his only remaining shred of home, could be.
It’s no use. There was no telling how long it had been, how long Rocinante had been lost to the world. More troubling than the time that had passed, the younger brother didn’t know what to make of his sudden lack of companionship. All his life, there had been someone to hold his hand, someone to guide him, to protect him, to reassure him. Someone to wait on him, to tell him what to do and how to behave. Even during these two miserable years, it had been the same. Always he had been with Brother or Father.
What was he suppose to do now?
“I will use your head... to return to the holy-land!”
Had Doffy really... left to go back there... without him?
Had he really killed their father? Had he done all this so he could go back on his own?
Abandoned and spiraling into a hollowing despair, his feet move of their own accord, sending him to wander the merciless land of humanity aimless and alone.
Rocinante incidently took part in a morning yoga class. He had spent the night in a park and was on his way when he tripped and landed on a mat. His flexibility and lack of grace earned him compliments and encouragement, and next thing he knew he was stretching and holding poses with the group.
Sabo should have run away again as soon as he had the chance. Sure, he and his brothers could never return to Goa's streets or Gray Terminal again, but at least they'd be together in the mountains. Depending on how determined his father's lackeys were, the natural dangers of the tropical forest would be enough to shield them from all but the most suicidal. They'd be safer there.
Safe. Free. Together.
Luffy wouldn't a prisoner of the Royal Family, and Ace...
Ace. He didn't even know if his brash, jaded, passionate brother was still alive.
"I- I don't know! He just talked about the rubber kid- I don't know about anyone else!"
Stelly's terrified blubbering returns to him, the interrogation having drawn little more than what the groomed noble had bragged to him. It had been too tempting for his father- no, he need to stop calling him that. It was too tempting for Outlook to sweep in and snatch the only valuable thing among Gray Terminal before it was burned to the ground. For some reason, that was his goofy, loud, sensitive baby brother. Something had happened to make Luffy a valuable pawn for the nobles, valuable enough that the Royal Family was willing and eager to secure him in their castle walls.
Now Sabo, who had failed to escape before the city gates were sealed, was locked once more in the Outlooks' cellar. The welts and bruises forming on his skin were a welcome distraction from the agony of his heart, from the tears that would no longer come. Trapped in his cage, he had time to compose himself. Time to collect and think about what (if anything) he could do now.
There was no way he could stay here anymore. Not any longer than was necessary to save Luffy. Ace... If Ace was still alive, then there would be no keeping him from breaching Goa's walls one day in search of them both. If that was the case, Sabo would have to be strong for them both, would need to find out as much as he could about the castle's layout and plan their grand escape.
...even if Ace couldn't come, Sabo would need to plan that. He had to. He had to save Luffy- had to let him know he hadn't been forgotten or abandoned. Even more so if Ace was... gone.
Don't mourn him you idiot. You don't know what happened- for all you know he could be outside your window now, wondering why you're not there ready to break out.
The thought is sobering, and with it his dry sobs fully subside. Yes, he needed to suck it up, needed to stop blubbering and start being proactive.
But to do that...
"F-Father-? I- I'm sorry. I'm ready to come out now."
The words make his stomach roll, but he swallows back the bile and his pride. For now, he had a role to play. It was the only way he could get back to his room, could move about freely and study his maps of Goa and the seas of East Blue- because once they had escaped, there was no doubt in his mind that to the sea their freedom laid. There would be no peace here, not in Gray Terminal, not in the mountains, not in Foosha... Not after shaming the Royal Family so close to the Tennryubito visit.
Footsteps thud down the stairs above him, Outlook making his approach. Steeling himself once more, the outcast noble prepares himself for humiliation and more repulsive lies.
