11. “Don’t leave me alone.” Drake + law, maybe + cora..
An opposing theory. Donquixote Rosinante, dead. Trafalgar Law, fractured. Diez Drake, broken.
Dressrosa was always going to burn.
Drake had spotted the marines, but hadn’t approached, too nervous, too scared despite it being what he’d wanted his whole life. He stood back, hidden, out of the way.
Coward, he thought. Nothing but a coward.
He wandered the island, unsure of where to go or what to do.
“Cora-san!” a small voice cried. “Don’t leave me, Cora-san! Don’t leave me alone again!”
Drake followed the cries, stumbled upon a small child – so, so small, white patched and struggling to breathe – shaking a tall blond that was covered in blood and was riddled in bullet holes.
Oh.
That was – that was the blond who’d blown up his father.
He wasn’t going to get to thank him.
Drake went through motions, scooping up the kid and ignoring the weak thrashing and fighting. He didn’t think, didn’t go down the spiral of madness; he just ran. Ran through the snow and the wind and the cold until he found a little boat that could get them off the island. That could get them away. The force with which he dropped the kid into the boat shocked the kid into taking a wheezy breath and set off a series of hacking coughs.
Next island, Drake thought. The next island over. They could get help there. They just. Had to make it there. Drake could sail, a bit. He could sail well enough to get them to the next island over. It wasn’t far.
They had to make it.
They had to.
