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Chapter Text

Trafalgar Law woke to sub-zero seawater sinking needle teeth of cold into his legs.

He scrambled away instinctively up the steep beach, sending sand and pebbles flying as he fought against the incline. As soon as he was clear of the water, he Shambled up past the crest of the slope and sat there, heart pounding as he looked around.

“Where-?” Law's brow furrowed in confusion as he took in the dreary shingle beach, the sparse vegetation and the grey sky touched with pink in the end of sunset. He shivered, his short-sleeved shirt and jeans woefully inadequate against the cold.

The last place he remembered being was a temple ruin on a tropical island. There had been a storm in that way only tropical rainforests could have storms, a torrential downpour with rain coming down in heavy sheets till the world turned white. The path back to the sub had flooded til waist high, so Law had decided to wait out the rain. He had fallen asleep to the distant rumble of thunder and rain washing over the temple like sand.

Law sneezed and frowned. He needed to either get to civilisation or start a fire. Answers could wait. Hypothermia wasn't nearly as patient.

===/\===

Thankfully, Law had chanced upon a path before the light was completely gone from the sky. The path led straight to a small village. One of the buildings had a beer mug sign and cheerful yellow light streaming through the window.

The wave of heat which hit Law as he pushed open the door to the bar was welcome but almost hurt as it sank into his numbed hands and face. There was a good crowd, which hushed for a moment to look at him. Law ignored them and went straight to the counter.

“Something warm and non-alcoholic, I don't care what,” were Law's first words to the barkeep, a stocky older lady with greying brown hair and brown eyes. She raised an eyebrow, but looking at Law shivering in only a thin cotton shirt, she took pity and gave him a steaming cup of hot water before asking any questions.

Law took the water gratefully and wrapped both hands around the cup. He tried to sip the water but scalded his tongue so he lowered the cup back to the counter. The barkeep looked at him expectantly and Law remembered he ought to mind his manners if he wanted information out of her.

“Thanks,” he said. The barkeep nodded and tilted her head, considering his appearance.

“What happened to you?” she asked in North Blue Creole. Law took a moment to place the words and find his tongue. As his crew had expanded to include members from other oceans, Grand Line Pidgin had slowly become the dominant tongue aboard the Polar Tang. It had been quite a long time since he'd spoken Creole.

“Shipwreck.” Law lied to her face without so much as blinking. “Where am I?”

The lady said an unfamiliar name that Law didn't quite catch and didn't quite care enough to ask again.

“North Blue?” asked Law and she nodded.

“Ya, of course. Were you not in the North already?” she asked, confused.

“Just checking. There was a bad storm.” A tropical storm, while Law had been tucked inside the inner rooms of a temple so he could barely hear the rain. Still, a bit of truth always helped to ease the lies along. “Woke up on a beach twenty minutes from here. Nearly froze to death.”

“Luck of the devil kept you alive.”

That was so true it was almost ironic, both for this particular situation and Law's life in general. Law smiled grimly.

“A good way to put it,” replied Law. He took a seat at the high barstool next to him at the counter. “Where can I find warmer clothes?”

Law was decently handsome by North Blue standards, and it got him places. The barkeep, Bera, was part of some society of little old ladies who knitted together once a week. They were also conspiring against the local doctor because he took slave trader money. The knitting society was only too happy to provide Law with clothes, food and lodging. In exchange, Law had to provide his services at low or no cost, and help out with the bar and the local pharmacy.

As he settled into bed in his new room on the third floor of the bar, Law got the feeling things were going a bit too smoothly.

===/\===

Law discovered he had time-travelled the following morning.

It was frankly underwhelming. He had read the newspaper at breakfast. The date was in the top right hand corner of the first page. 9 May 1491.

“Is this today's date?” he asked, holding out the paper to Bera. She took the paper he offered and peered at it.

“Ya. Why?” she asked, handing it back. “Were you lost at sea for many days?”

“Apparently,” murmured Law, looking back at the paper.

1491. Law hadn't even been born yet.

Law felt decidedly neutral about that. Stranger things had happened in the Grand Line. In fact, Law was more concerned about his own lack of shock. Perhaps his time with the Strawhats had desensitised him.

He sat back and considered the implications of this.

He had no bounty here and the Ope-Ope fruit still worked. He could travel freely, perhaps even use the marines to cross the Calm Belt.

If he could somehow get back to the New World, back to that island temple, he might find a way to reverse this time travel issue. And he had best work quickly. His crew could take care of themselves, but without his instructions, there was only so long they would wait before they went looking for him and realised he was missing. They would worry, and they wouldn't even find a body.

That was important—the knowing part. Law had seen enough of the world to know that much. If he didn't make it back, his crew would never know what had happened to him. He refused to do that to them.

Law opened the paper again, intent on establishing what events had or had not happened yet. A small article caught his eye—

‘Amber Lead prices at all time high’.

—and suddenly, he couldn't breathe.

The short sentence knocked all the air out of his lungs. Everything went numb except the dizzying rush of blood in his head. If he weren't already sitting, he might have fallen.

Law lowered the paper with shaking hands.

Of course. The year was 1491.

Flevance hadn't burned yet.

Flevance, the accursed White City, was shining bright and beautiful and everything, every one , in it was alive and well and so painfully fucking ignorant but still alive.

He could—

               (dare he even think it?)

— save Flevance.

===/\===

Doflamingo had trained Law with a very precise image in mind of what he wanted in a right-hand man.

Corazón the Third could kill a city and be home in time for a mid-morning coffee. He could parley with kings and crime lords alike and have them wrapped around his little finger in minutes flat. He would die for Doflamingo, except he wouldn't because his duty was to lay the spoils of victory at the foot of Doflamingo's throne and he always delivered.

Law never did become Corazón the Third like Doflamingo had hoped, but he had been close enough. Rocky Port, Punk Hazard and Dressrosa were proof.

And, fortunately, the skill set required to kill a city and the skill set required to save one were very nearly the same.

===/\===

The fastest way to the New World from the North Blue was by marine warship, cutting straight across the monster-infested Calm Belt on the otherwise shared body of water.

Unfortunately, marines largely turned a blind eye to the hunting grounds favoured by slave traders, especially places which defied the world government. The island Law was stranded on was one such place. Law quickly discovered that marines visited maybe once a year or less.

The next plan was to take a ship to another island, preferably one under the auspices of the world government and get passage with a marine ship there. If that didn't work out, there were pirates and slaver ships aplenty headed for the Grand Line via Reverse Mountain. Still, Law didn't want to give up on the marine ship too quickly. Navigators good enough to tackle the Grand Line were few and far between. Blindly tagging along with the first ship that came along was not a good plan by any measure.

Worse come to worst, Zoro-ya had sworn on three crates of sake that the Warlord Dracule Mihawk regularly sailed the Grand Line in a literal coffin with a mast. If he got desperate enough, Law might be willing to try the same.

In the meantime, Law focused on earning beri and goodwill from the townspeople. They took to him quickly enough. He didn't have to pretend to agree when they cursed the world government, slavers, and marines.

Law's patients were mostly used and discarded goods of the slave trade or too weak to be of any use when taken. He treated their physical injuries and talked them through the non-physical ones the best he could. He got cried on a lot.

Law hit his objective about a month in. This town had no official government, but if there were ever any decisions to make, everyone looked to old man Hardy. Hardy was a fisherman, and he liked to joke that he was always right because he was missing his left eye, left ear, left hand and left leg from the knee down.

Late one night, old man Hardy bought Law a beer and waved for Law to have a seat next to him instead of closing up the bar.

"This old man, he has been hearing very many good things about you, young doctor," said Hardy. "This town could do with good men like you."

Law shook his head and tried not to snort at that statement. Law, a good man? He'd done far worse things than anyone on this island had been through.

"I have people to get back to. I can't stay long term."

"That is too bad. The young girls will be heartbroken." Hardy laughed. "Well, if you need anything, you let us know.”

Perfect. Law couldn't have set it up better if he'd scripted the entire conversation. He feigned a moment of hesitation, the reluctance to impose on a blank check.

"I need a ship to the Grand Line," admitted Law, and then he watched.

Hardy's lip curled and Law carefully didn't react to that. Had he misjudged? The straight forward approach had seemed to work with the townspeople so far. Law started to draw back, mind racing as to how he could turn this around but Hardy spoke first.

"Only slavers go to the Grand Line from here. There is no ship I trust to bring you. You are too useful. Too young and handsome. They will take you as merchandise, not as a passenger."

Law made a wordless hum of acknowledgment. He doubted any slaver in the North Blue actually had the capability to capture him. Still, Law was alone and so had to be cautious.

"Maybe I'll have to set sail alone," commented Law. Dracule Mihawk's coffin-boat came to mind yet again. Law grimaced at the thought of tackling Reverse Mountain in something like that.

"Maybe. But we will see. Maybe this old man can find you a ship." 

"Let me know if you do. Thanks."

===/\===

There was a huddle in the alley behind the bar where Law took out the trash, maybe five or six townspeople crowded into a corner, shouting and kicking something that yelped pitifully.

Law tossed the trash into the open dumpster and walked over to them.

"What are you doing?" he asked, voice raised. The group turned to look at him. A small figure hidden among their feet make a choking sound. No, there were two figures, small but humanoid. One was curled up, with hands over its head. The other was face down in the dirt and unmoving.

"Those are children," remarked Law, frowning.

Immediately, whatever spell of silence his approach had cast on the group was broken. One man scoffed.

"Nah, these are Celestial Dragons. They can't be kids if they aren't human."

He gave the cowering figure a vicious kick. The child cried out in pain.

"Stop that." Law stepped forward, glaring. The man took half a step back before scowling.

"Don't be a bleeding heart, doctor. They aren't human."

"I don't care. I told you to stop."

The man looked like he had something to say to that, but the woman beside him placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Let them live," she told him. Something about the way she said it loaded the phrase with meaning and authority. It was almost as if she were reciting a proverb.

The man backed down. The woman nodded to the rest of the group and they filed past Law, out of the alley. The man stopped in front of Law, jaw clenched and a vein popping in his temple. Law wondered if the man would actually try to start a fight, but the man just leaned forward and spoke threateningly.

"One day, Celestial Dragons will take everything from you and then you'll understand."

Law said nothing, and the man left, trailing after the rest of the group. Once the group was out of earshot, Law turned to the corner where the two children were.

The still-conscious boy with hair covering his face had crawled over to the boy lying face down in the dirt. He spoke to the unconscious boy in a language that made Law do a double-take. Sacred Word—its use by anyone who was not a Celestial Dragon was forbidden on pain of death. What a surefire way for the boy to mark himself for a bleak future, either as a Celestial Dragon without protection or a death row criminal at the tender age of six. No wonder they had been mobbed.

Law approached, intent on answers. The child's attention snapped to Law. He stared up, small and plaintive.

“Please don hurt dus,” the child pleaded softly in Creole, putting his hands up to protect his face.

Law crouched to be eye-level with the child. The child shrank back.

“Are you hurt?” asked Law in Sacred Word after a long moment. His lessons in the language by Cora-san and Doflamingo were a lifetime ago, but he still remembered enough to string simple sentences together.

The child's jaw dropped and he started babbling quickly, too fast for Law to follow. Law only picked up the word “brother”.

Law held up a hand to pause the tirade of words and shook his head to show he didn't understand. The child's entire bearing fell immediately.

“Please don't hurt us,” the child said in Sacred Word, his tone dejected. Law only knew the phrase by its constituent parts. Please [action (negative)] hurt us (plural, exclusive).

“I won't,” assured Law, before turning his attention to the body on the ground.

The unconscious boy was taller than the other boy, though both were painfully thin. Both had the same dirty blonde hair, though the older one's was hacked short and uneven.

Law reached out and the conscious boy made a soft cry of alarm, grabbing Law's arm.

"Please! Don't hurt us," he begged again. Through the matted curtain of blonde hair covering his eyes, one tear rolled down his cheek, and then another. "Please!"

"I won't," repeated Law as calmly as he could. He showed his open palms to the younger boy to show he meant no harm. Slowly, Law held out a hand over the older boy's prone form, hovering an inch or two from actually touching him.

A quick scan told Law that there were no injuries which made it too dangerous to move the boy. With a look at the younger brother for permission, Law gently turned the unconscious boy face-up.

One look at the boy's face and Law froze. The world around him froze too, sound and sense of time muting to nothingness.

Law knew that face. The brow ridge and the prominent corners of the wide forehead were distinctive even in youth. Law could see the perfectly straight line of his nose, the shape the jaw would fill out to be in adulthood. Even without the sunglasses the boy wore, Law would have known this was Doflamingo.

Law sat back on his heels, mind numb and racing at the same time.

In all his years, Law had never imagined Doflamingo so small. The thought simply never occurred to him. Doflamingo had always been larger than life, towering head and shoulders over normal people. When Law was a child, Doflamingo had been a veritable giant. Even in adulthood, Doflamingo had been able to pick Law up in one huge hand and toss him aside like a ragdoll.

This Doflamingo was too small to kill Cora-san, or rip Law's arm off with paramecia strings. This Doflamingo was too young to conquer Dressrosa and make playthings of its people. This Doflamingo was not yet Joker, he didn't have wide underground nets of informants and footsoldiers—didn't have anything except an unawakened conqueror's haki , and Law had learned to resist conqueror's haki a long time ago.

Looking at the boy with his face covered with dirt and blood and bruises, it was hard to imagine him a tyrant but Law didn't have to imagine—he knew . This seemingly small thing before him would kill and torment and take the guiding light out of Law's life because he already had.

Hatred like poison boiled up in Law's chest, gripping his arms and bringing his hands to Doflamingo's fragile neck. His hands fit easily, he could snap Doflamingo's neck with one hand, the possibility was surreal.

Maybe it was wrong to punish someone before their actions damned them but Law didn't give a fuck. One wrong was nothing compared to Doflamingo's multitude.

Law could kill him and the world would go on turning, ignorant of the horrors he saved it from. Everyone would live and—

Cora-san would be safe.

A hand entered his vision, gripped his arm with all the strength of a desperate child. The other boy was cringing as soon as Law looked at him but he didn't move from where he had crawled to place himself between Law and the unconscious Doflamingo. His brother. Doflamingo only had one brother.

One small hand came up to wipe away terrified tears, showing dark bruises and deep red irises. Law was reflected in those eyes, a dark shadow of a man, the would-be murderer of this boy's brother.

“Please don't hurt us,” six-year-old Cora-san begged.

Law left tiny Cora-san and the unconscious Doflamingo at the doorstep of a shack hidden in a landfill. He fled back to the bar to grip the sink like a lifeline and tremble before the bathroom mirror.

===/\===

The choices lined up. Simple, but painful, and never easy.

His crew or Flevance?

Flevance. Law loved his crew, as much as he could love anything in the broken wreck of his psyche, but the choice was obvious. There was no guarantee on his return through time travel and Law would never live long enough to somehow meet them in this timeline. With how much he used his powers and abused his body? He'd be lucky to see forty.

Flevance or Cora-san?

Cora-san. He had time before Flevance's disastrous fall from grace. Even if he didn't, Flevance could burn as long as Law's family got out alive. Law protected his own fiercely, but anyone else was fair game for the capricious whims of fate. He could have both, but Cora-san was here now, starving and in pain. Cora-san would have to come first.

Cora-san's safety or Cora-san's happiness?

They both went hand in hand until the matter of Doflamingo. Should Law kill Doflamingo now? But Cora-san loved his brother. He always did, right up to the end when Doflamingo shot him. If Cora-san grew to hate Law as much as Law hated Doflamingo for killing Cora-san, Law would rather die.

Cora-san's safety or Cora-san's happiness?

Law spent a sleepless night turning this question over in his mind again and again. Dawn broke over the horizon and gentle light streamed in through the window by Law's untouched bed and Law still had no answer. He couldn't answer, he didn't have any right to make that decision.

With a heart heavy with indecision, Law took his coat and quietly turned his footsteps back to the little shack in the landfill.

Chapter Text

Pain shot through his ribs, sharp, aborting the deeper inhale that came with waking up. Doflamingo woke but couldn't breathe. He clutched at his side and took breaths so shallow they were just mouthfuls of air and grimacing.

Pain was something new, the scraped knees and careless bruises of Mariejoise didn't even count as pain anymore in his memories. There were a lot of new things: hunger, thirst, filth, illness, the taste of bile, the smell of blood and wound discharge, bone-aching cold that made the body shake into wakefulness where pain and an empty, churning stomach became a desperate full-body prayer to just stop. 

Actually, a lot of new things were just different types of pain. Pain, and the threshold it took to pass out into sweet oblivion.

A movement in the corner of his eye broke Doflamingo from his thoughts. His brother settled by his side, small and topped by an unruly mop of blonde hair. Small hands hovered over him but didn't touch.

"Doffy," whispered Rosinante. He had new bruises near the soft parts of his eyes. "It's okay, we're home. We're safe."

"What happened?" asked Doflamingo and the breath he took to say that sent a spike of pain through him that made him stop breathing altogether. He gritted his teeth, and tried to hold himself together with an arm across his ribs. A drop of water hit the ground beside him with a soft 'plonk', splashing a cold droplet on his face. The shitty roof of their makeshift house was leaking. Again.

Shallow breaths. He was fine. So what if breathing was difficult? He was fine. 

Rosinante shifted uncomfortably.

"Commoners found us," answered Rosinante reluctantly. "And they kicked you and kicked you and it was horrible. Then, another commoner man talked to them, and they went away. He carried you home and left." Rosinante's hand curled in Doflamingo's sleeve. "He said he won't hurt us but he was scary. I was really, really scared, Doffy, but I didn't know what else to do."

Well, that answered how they had gotten home. Rosinante didn't have the strength to drag him all the way from the centre of town. It also meant one of the peasants from town now knew where the new house was, so they couldn't stay here much longer. 

"It's fine, Rosi." 

Rosinante breathed in relief at the affirmation and Doflamingo closed his eyes. As he willed the pain in his side under control, he began to notice pain elsewhere—his shoulder, a fresh row of broken skin along his left calf, still bleeding sluggishly. 

Life wasn't meant to be like this. These peasants, commoners, how dare they? He would pay them back tenfold. 

Doflamingo folded that thought down with grim satisfaction, tucked it in his heart to fuel the compressed rage that kept him going when there was no food or sleep or heat. He could live a long time off burning thoughts like those. They made good kindling against the bleak days and days and days of miserable survival.

In their sole, half-broken bed, Mother hacked and coughed, all her lungfuls of air pushed out of her throat, accompanied by an awful, wet rasping noise.

Rosinante's head turned to her, and then back to Doflamingo.

"Are you okay now, Doffy?" he asked.

No. But there was nothing Rosinante could do even if he stayed hovering next to Doflamingo.

"Go," Doflamingo told his brother. Rosinante nodded and got up, leaving Doflamingo with his pain and anger and nothing for it but to try to sleep. In the background, he heard Rosinante climb up on the bed. It creaked.

"Water, Mother."

Drinking. More coughing. The soft clink of the cup on the side-table.

"Thank you. Let's sleep, alright, my darlings? Tomorrow will be a new day."

"Yes, Mother," said Rosinante. 

Doflamingo mustered up the effort to speak as well.

"Yes, Mother," he said from the floor.

He stared up at the shitty, rotting plywood roof and took shallow breaths, shallow breaths, and closed his eyes. Mother coughed and comforted Rosinante softly when he cried and eventually, Father came home, a bucket of fresh water in hand. The whole shack groaned and shuddered in the wind as he opened the door and the cold rushed in.

Doflamingo wasn't sure if he slept, but the night was very, very long.

===/\===

In the drifting haze of pain and half-sleep, there came a knock on the door. It rattled the flimsy wood and Doflamingo could see someone's shoes through the gap. The light streaming in was broken by two long pillars of darkness.

Inside, there was a sudden movement as Father got up and shook Mother awake. Doflamingo's eyes widened as he realised he wasn't dreaming.

A knock on the door again, very loud and very real.  A stab of pain went through Doflamingo's side as he tensed.

They found us. The thought brought with it a spike of animalistic fear, nearly paralysing. Then, on the next shallow breath, reason returned and Doflamingo realised he'd just been cowed into helplessness by some commoner. Outraged, he sat up immediately, nearly choking as pain lanced through his side.

Father's large, warm hand was on his back, grounding through the pain, and helping him to his feet. Dolfamingo couldn't breathe and he clung to Father, trying not to pass out from the dizziness of suddenly standing up, and the pain in his ribs.

"Doflamingo, son," Father whispered, low and urgent, bodily holding him up. "I need you to help your mother and Rosinante out the window. All of you need to run to the place I showed you last time, as fast as you can. Can you do that? Please?"

"Hurts," was all Doflamingo could say against the pain of every breath. Father's face looked as pained as Doflamingo felt, the brows scrunching together and the gleam of tears in his eyes.

"I know you're hurting, and I'm so sorry I have to ask this of you, but the family needs you. Can you do it?"

Behind Father, Doflamingo could see Mother opening the window by the bed, Rosinante in her arms. Rosinante's arms around her neck were so small.

"I can," promised Doflamingo. Father kissed him on the forehead.

"Good boy. Thank you." He helped Doflamingo up on the bed, where Mother had already stepped through the window. Father kissed Rosinante on the forehead too and passed him through the window to Mother. She just managed to carry him and set his feet on the ground, trembling weakly. Doflamingo jumped through and grit his teeth as the impact of landing jarred him. He stumbled into Mother, and instantly her hands were on the back of his shoulders and head, steadying him against her.

"I'll be with you as soon as I can, love," Father whispered.

"Stay safe, love, and come back to us," Mother replied.

"I—"

Knock-knock-knock.

The person knocked again, more impatient this time, sharp and insistent, as if to say "I know you're in there." Doflamingo wanted to snarl at them. Why did they even bother? Who was it, anyway? The villagers never knocked.

"Go, quickly," urged Father, pulling back to close the window as far as it would go, leaving that gap which they had never managed to fix. "Stay safe. I love you."

"I love you," replied Mother, and she took Doflamingo's hand in her left and Rosinante's in her right.

"Coming!" Father directed at the door in North Blue Creole. Most of the family slaves used to speak it, back when the family still had slaves. Doflamingo had learned it so he could give orders directly instead of asking Father every time.

Doflamingo couldn't help but crane his head round to look through the fogged-up panes of the window even as they started walking away. Father and Mother had said to go quickly, but really, they were going quite slow, partly because of Mother's weakness and partly because Rosinante's clumsiness would alert the stranger for sure if they walked any faster. 

In the house, through the window, Doflamingo could see Father open the door. Father's body blocked most of the view but he could still see the shadow of a tall man.

"Hello?" asked Father, still in Creole. 

"Keep walking, my darlings," whispered Mother, taking his hand, but some magnetic fascination kept Doflamingo standing there, watching the sliver of dark in the doorway through the window, the stranger blocking the light.

"Donquixote," said the stranger. Said and not asked, in a measured, neutral tone. He sounded utterly uninterested, but somehow also threatening. There was a pause, and the sense that the stranger was looking in past Father.

"My darlings, don't stop, please, we have to go," urged Mother, pulling gently.

"Where is Rosinante?" asked the stranger sharply.

Mother froze. Doflamingo looked at Rosinante, who had also stopped to stare. Whatever force had compelled Doflamingo to stay and watch had seemed to have done the same to him.

Rosinante looked up at Mother.

"How does he know my name?" asked Rosinante, accidentally a touch too loud.

For a second, nobody moved. Nobody even breathed. Then—

A wordless shout of alarm from Father. Doflamingo looked up through the window and the shape in the doorway was gone.

"Run!" shouted Father.

Mother ran, and pulled their hands hard. Doflamingo stumbled with surprise and Mother managed to bodily hold him up with a strength at odds with the sickness that left her too tired to lift a glass of water on most days. She ran, pulling Doflamingo and Rosinante along, and they went maybe five, maybe ten steps—right into the stranger as he rounded the corner of the house.

He was tall and a swirl of dark cloaks. Black hair, dark skin. Deep-set, dark-ringed eyes, shadowed by the brim of his hat but catching too much light, shining like an animal's.

"Run!" shouted Mother, a shout for her, barely above talking volume and cracked with sickness. She pushed Doflamingo and Rosinante forward and threw herself at the stranger, desperate.

"Mother?" asked Rosinante, stopping in his tracks, unsure and scared. Doflamingo took his hand and started running, strangely numb to the pain in his chest, numb everywhere his skin was exposed to the cold, the only sensation he could feel was his blood racing.

"Please, they are children," Mother begged in Creole as they ran. "Please, let them go."

Doflamingo turned to see the strange man's hands on Mother's shoulders. Dark hands with black ink like some sort of criminal. Something dropped inside him, a snap. His anger burned hot, hot, hot—and suddenly—cold.

He skidded to a stop, picked up a hefty rock from amongst the trash and lobbed it straight at the man's head.

There was a glint in the man's eye as he pushed Mother away roughly and stepped back, the rock hitting the side of the shed. The loud thud alarmed Father, who had just rounded the corner.

There was a flash of blue, and suddenly, the tall stranger rose like a nightmare from behind Rosinante, his eerie pale-gold eyes glaring at Doflamingo as his arms emerged from the layers of cloaks to wrap around Rosinante. He straightened and the movement tore Rosinante's hand away.

"Ah!" A short surprised noise from Rosinante.

Doflamingo started to reach out, but the man jerked away. The blinding sunlight fell full on Doflamingo's face and in a couple of long strides, the man was already up the top of the hill, Rosinante in his arms. He stared down, a dark silhouette, with his eyes gleaming, meeting Doflamingo's gaze directly. In his arms, comprehension began to dawn on Rosinante's face as the initial shock passed, quickly morphing to terror. He reached out for Doflamingo. "Doffy! Help—"

Time seemed to stop. There was Rosinante, small hand outstretched, red eyes wide with terror behind his messy blonde bangs. There was Doflamingo, body frustratingly slow, not moving, in half-forgotten pain and short of breath. There was the strange man, with his white hat and many cloaks and gold eyes and earrings staring at Doflamingo like a king passing judgment.

Doflamingo snarled and the man raised his arm, mirroring Rosinante's. The sunlight illuminated the black markings on the back of his hand and each finger.

"Room," spoke the man, tone dark and soft and almost lost in the wind. He flipped his hand round and curled his fingers in. "Shambles."

A flash of blue— 

—and they were gone, with only an empty can clinking as it fell down the hill to smack Doflamingo in the shin.

Chapter Text

Law had just wanted to talk. 

"MOTHER! FATHER!" 

He had honestly gone with every intention of knocking on the Donquixote's door and politely introducing himself. He would ingratiate the family to him by doing some good deed or the other— they were living in a landfill, they must have some need he could help them with. He would get close enough to observe young Cora-san and guard the boy from any danger, especially the danger of his brother. 

"DOFFY! HELP!" 

So much for that. 

A kick landed squarely on his hip and Law winced and shrugged to place the child higher on his shoulder. Those kicks were landing uncomfortably close to crotch-level.

"Settle down, Cora-ya," muttered Law, wincing as the boy screamed in his ear yet again, possibly a little louder. The incessant screaming was about to burst his eardrums and he already felt the start of a headache coming on. 

Cora-ya was lucky his older self had saved Law's life, or his voice box would have been removed and stuffed into Law's pocket at the first wail. The temptation was still very, very strong. Unfortunately, that would probably distress the child even further, and then little Cora-ya would never trust him. Ugh. 

If Law's Cora-san could see him now, the man would get a good laugh. Law had spent a lot of time being sceptical and unimpressed as a child, but he was rapidly gaining a sincere appreciation for Silence. It really was the ideal power for kidnapping. 

Not that Law was actually kidnapping—

"FATHER!" 

Oh, damn it all. 

Law half-dropped Cora-ya off his shoulder, perhaps a little too quickly, so the boy abruptly found his little feet on the ground. He gave a surprised squeak and was shocked into quiet, a much-needed reprieve from the screaming. Good. Law crouched so they were eye to eye, keeping a firm grip on Cora-ya's wrist. 

"Stop," said Law firmly in Sacred Word, keeping his voice as low and calm as possible. "I won't hurt you. Stop."

He put a finger over his own pressed together lips and then over Cora-ya's.

"Quiet, alright?" Law spoke in Creole, banking heavily on Cora-ya's comprehension being better than his speech. Law's vocabulary for Sacred Word was at its limit anyway. "Once we're in town, I have to hide you. If you keep yelling, we'll get caught."

Little Cora-ya raised his chin stubbornly and sniffled but he didn't start screaming again. Good? Probably good. Better than screaming, at any rate. 

"The villagers don't like you," continued Law, speaking slowly. "So I want to move quickly and quietly. Do you understand? Yes? I won't hurt you."

A heartening, small blink of comprehension at Law's switch back to Sacred Word. 

"I won't hurt you," he promised again, with the only reassurance he knew Cora-ya would understand for certain. Cora-ya stared, ruby-red eyes darkened to an unremarkable brown in the shade of his matted hair, and then he shivered. 

It suddenly struck Law that Cora-ya was in one thin layer of rags, in the middle of a North Blue autumn. And, for some inexplicable reason, he only had one shoe.

Without hesitation, Law shed his topmost cloak, folded it into two and wrapped it around Cora-ya so he was wrapped up like a sausage bun, with only his head and feet visible. He squirmed and one small hand appeared on the inside of the cloak, just below his chin to hold the layers together. 

"You should feel warmer soon," Law explained, helping to adjust the cloak with a tug here or there. His jolly roger grinned up at him, tilted slightly to the side on Cora-ya's chest, hand-stitched in bright yellow against the black cloth. Law felt the loss of the cloak already, a layer of warmth gone and the cold pulling the warmth from the layer below. "Give it time for your body heat to be trapped inside. I don't know what to do about your other shoe, though." 

And then, not knowing what possessed him, he added, "I'll bring you back. Just. Let's get you cleaned and fed and do a check up. Give me time to think. Yes?"

Cora-ya didn't answer, he just stared with wide eyes behind his fringe and pulled Law's cloak further round himself. The smile of Law's jolly roger stretched slightly. 

Law picked Cora-ya up again and this time the boy didn't struggle. 

===/\===

The shortening dawn of fall had given way to strong morning sunlight as Law entered town, Cora-ya on his shoulder draped in all but one of Law's cloaks. The sun and the exertion of carrying the child was keeping Law warm enough. He set a brisk pace, long legs covering the distance with a neat click-click of his shoes on cobblestone road. 

This town was one that started business late and ended business even later, most people woke mid-afternoon and drank until the mid-autumn sky started lightening at seven. People were just starting to wake up, and the few 'early' workers stared as he went past, pointedly not making eye contact with any of them. 

"What've you got there, Doc?" the baker called as Law walked quickly by. "Need a hand?" 

Law just waved her off, a brief hand motion. Cora-ya slipped slightly and Law had to pause to shift his hold to be more secure. 

"Looks like a body," the postman joked, from where he was buying his breakfast. 

"Shit Doctor, you got a kid there?" The baker's nose wrinkled in disgust and the postman's eyebrows shot up. He took a not-so discreet look at the bundle of blankets on Law's shoulder. Law put a hand over Cora-ya's back and walked faster. 

"You ain't as high n' mighty as you pretend to be!" she shouted after him and Law stopped and turned in the street, glaring. The postman looked at Law, looked at the baker who was glaring back, her chin lifted and her cheeks blazing red, and decided that he really needed to be on his way. He touched his hat to both of them and all but took off running. 

"Don't be disgusting," said Law, annoyed, but he couldn't let an insult like that fly in a town like this, harried by slavers as it was. "I just picked something up from the junkyard." 

It … wasn't a lie. Law wasn't great with outright lies, especially on the fly. But twisted truths? He could get by with those. Sometimes. 

"Sure," she sniffed. Law scoffed.

"It's none of your business anyway," he concluded, and carried on his way. 

Thankfully, the one or two other people he saw on the way didn't ask any questions, still going about in a sleepy haze, and at most calling a "good morn'", which Law returned. 

He entered the bar as quietly as he could with a child in his arms, propping Cora-ya awkwardly between his body and the wall as he fumbled for his keys. As soon as they were indoors and out of sight, Law set Cora-ya on the ground with a sigh of relief. The boy was a little light for his age, but carrying a weight all the way from the junkyard and through the town made any load heavy. 

Cora-ya lifted the layers of cloaks covering him and looked up at Law, eyes wide. Anticipating a question from the boy, Law shook his head and put a finger to his own lips. Bera slept downstairs behind the bar, in a quaint little living space. It wouldn't do for her to hear a child's voice and wander out to see Cora-ya. 

"Follow me," murmured Law, motioning for Cora-ya to walk. Law led the way towards the stairs leading up to the attic that was now Law's room. He motioned for Cora-ya to sit on the still untouched bed as he locked the door and checked out the window. Nothing unusual, good. 

Law crouched down in front of the bed. 

How should he go about this? He really wanted to do a better check on Cora-ya, but the sullen look and the stubborn hunch of his shoulders made it clear that while the boy was cooperating, he wasn't happy about it. 

Law bit back a sigh. If he expressed any frustration, it might be taken wrongly. All he could do was explain and hope Cora-ya understood.

"I have a devil fruit power," explained Law, holding up a hand palm facing upwards, offered to Cora-ya for inspection. He called the blue sphere of Room into being, and the light from it washed the soft curves of Cora-ya's face.

He really looked different as a child, Law thought to himself as the boy blinked at the blue light. Cora-san's cheekbones and jaw had been very prominent in adulthood, like his brother's. But in a face still round with baby fat, and with blonde hair coming down in soft pre-puberty waves to hide the distinctive red eyes, there was hardly any resemblance to the full-grown man Law had known. Only the stubbornness in the defensive chin-down tilt of his head was the same, the defiant slight frown that accompanied his thoughts. 

Time passed in silence, and Law was content to wait though Cora-ya shifted nervously, peering to the window or door from under his hair. Seconds turned to minutes, and as nothing bad happened, Cora-ya's suspicion melded into cautious curiosity. 

He raised a hand to touch the sphere, then hesitated and looked at Law. Law nodded and he poked a finger into the boundaries of the tiny Room.

"I can do anything I want inside the blue light," continued Law, as if the silence hadn't existed. "And I can check someone's whole body to see if anything's wrong with them, or making them sick. I'd like to do that for you." 

Cora-ya stared, clearly not comprehending, then he flinched in surprise as the Room expanded, engulfing his whole body. 

It was the fastest, most thorough Scan of Law's life, and by the end of it, he was seething furious. Cora-ya was a mess of cuts and scrapes, of bruises and illness and  ill-healed breaks and sprains. Malnutrition was already affecting his bones and muscles. 

Law bit down on his anger and set to work. He sealed the abrasions and mended the bruises, wiped away the beginnings of infection. He corrected a misaligned rib, stitched together torn tendons. There was nothing he could do for malnutrition except feed the boy. He could give Cora-ya his own portion of food, maybe put in some hours with the fishermen to earn a little more. 

Meanwhile, a man's face came to mind, the one who had leaned in close and threatened Law, the jumbled memory of the mob that had been attacking Cora-ya in the alleyway a scarce ten feet from where Law slept. 

Discomforted, he took one of Cora-ya's hands in his own and repaired the peeling skin with a thought, with the miracle power he was as familiar with as his own hands. They watched as Cora-ya's hands turned smooth again, without the painful peeling of the delicate skin near his nails. 

Cora-ya looked up at him in wonder, the suspicion gone with his myriad of injuries, and suddenly Law was struck with emotion. Grief that he couldn't have prevented these hurts, rage that they had happened at all, and fierce protectiveness that hollowed out his chest and felt so much like fear. 

"I'm going to make things better," Law promised. The words felt small on his tongue, wholly inadequate for the emotions crashing over his head and near drowning him. 

I'll right the wrongs done to you. I'll protect you. I'll never let you go hungry again.

You have me now. 

I'm going to make things better.

He didn't hug Cora-ya, but kneeling next to the bed with Cora-ya's small hand in his own, he looked into the boy's eyes and willed him to understand.

===/\===

They stayed like that, for how long Law wasn't certain. It was all he could do to breathe, the task he'd just accepted terrifying in its scope. 

Suddenly, the world held dangers that Law usually disregarded for himself. This island, ravaged by slavers, poverty, and harsh elements, was no place for a child. While he had no issues skipping a meal or two, or handling himself in a fight, he couldn't say the same of Cora-ya. 

In his life, he'd always been the aggressor, almost never the defender. They'd acquired the Tang early, and since then, she'd been a perfect mobile fortress to retreat to, to flee in. Nothing could pursue her except the sea kings, and for them the vibrations of military grade crystal in her hull made her an unappealing target. On land, his crew could take care of themselves. Law never accepted anyone who couldn't, though some had asked.

Cora-ya was what? Six? He was so small .

This stress is going to kill me , Law realised. I haven't even started yet. I have no idea how to start. What do I even do? 

Just then, Cora-ya's stomach gave a loud grumble. He jerked his hand out of Law's grip and both little hands went to cover his stomach. He looked so embarrassed that Law almost smiled. 

"Hungry?" asked Law. Cora-ya blushed and ducked his head. 

One thing at a time, then, as always. Law could do that. 

"Right," said Law, getting to his feet. "Stay here, I'll get you something to eat. Don't move. And stay quiet. Stop . Yes ?" 

Cora-ya folded his legs up on the mattress to sit cross-legged, so Law supposed he understood. Still, it was important enough to bear repeating. 

"Stay quiet," Law said, putting his index finger over his lips.

Cora-ya mimicked Law's hand action and pressed his finger to his own lips too. 

Law nodded again and gently closed the door. 

===/\===

As he came downstairs, he could hear the shuffling of feet and the puffing of the coffee machine. The bar owner Bera was bustling about behind the bar counter and she didn't seem to notice Law's footsteps on the stairs at all. 

"Morning," greeted Law as he came down the last of the stairs. 

"Morn'," grunted Bera, eyes barely open. She set the pot of coffee down on the table much more roughly than usual. "You are up early."

"Couldn't sleep," replied Law, which was true enough. "You're early too." 

"I have business on—" she yawned. "—the next island. A couple of places there are interested in buyin' the house brews. I was certain I mentioned it to you, but it must have been to someone else."

"Ah, yeah. Congratulations," replied Law, surprised. He hadn't been aware that there was much trade between islands. He hadn't known any were close enough. Bera snorted.

"No congratulations yet, Doctor. It is still possible for the deals to fall through, ya?" she mixed some milk and sugar into her coffee, the spoon clinking loudly. 

"How far is it?" asked Law, joining her at the bar and taking a clean mug from the top of the stack by the sink. He put it right side up and she poured for him in a tall, expert stream. The coffee frothed very slightly as little brown bubbles in his mug, and she set the pot down. 

"Half a day, but I will have to travel on the island itself as well," she replied. "Joe from the vegetable stall is going with me. He delivers over there regularly. You'd think they have their own produce, but apparently his is better. Or somethin' like that." 

"Or something like that," repeated Law. He did the mental maths, guessing at the time to get to the dock and load up the boats. "The night fishermen will bring you there?" 

Bera nodded. 

"Ya, I will be there for a week. It is not good to be pressured when you're talking business. The fishermen will pick me up again." 

"I see." A week with the building to himself, the timing couldn't be more perfect. "So, are we closed for the week or should I open without you?" 

Bera laughed hard. 

"Close for the week?" she repeated. "And where will all these old men go to make a nuisance of themselves? No, no, no, we provide a vital service! We open as usual. You can also give the young girls something to look at."

She laughed at her own joke, raising her coffee mug to salute Law. He obligingly lifted his own cup to clink it gently against hers. 

"Close on the Monday, you'll need the rest. Keep everything clean, lock up properly, kick out people who make too much trouble, and charge Dr. Lang at least double if he dares to show his face while I'm away. He's not welcome and he knows it," she instructed, and downed her coffee in one shot. Law took a much more paced sip. "And don't worry, you've been here long enough to know what you're doing, you should be fine. And wash my cup for me, I'm late to meet Joe," she added, putting her now empty mug in the sink. She took a handful of water from the sink and washed her mouth. 

"Sure," replied Law, unmoving from the bar counter as she flitted here and there, checking the various bottles and barrels on her way out. "Good luck. Don't get attacked." 

Bera cackled as she pushed some bottles back into a neat row. 

"Naw, slavers don't want an old woman like me. You should watch out for yourself, Doctor, you're the prettiest lad left on this island. Don't want to come back and find you've been taken." 

It was an old jibe by now, one which most of the patrons had also unfortunately taken to. The types of people who could run a bar in this place, and the types of people who frequented it were the types who had black humour or drank enough that they could laugh at anything anyway. In places like these, it was either laugh or weep, most times. 

"I think I'll be fine. I have all your knives," replied Law. "And I don't think storms care about youth or beauty." 

"Storms, this time of year?" Bera shook her head. "We're weeks too early for those. But thanks. Ah, and make sure you put back all the knives when you're done threatening people with them."

"Of course. I'll see you in a week then." 

"Ya, see you," she said as she headed out the door. 

The bell jingled and Law was left alone at the bar. He finished his coffee without really tasting it— he was too wired for that— and he crossed the room to lock the door, seeing Bera climb into the oxen cart besides Joe. Joe was wearing a red shirt today, and his battered straw hat and wiry little build threw Law for a second, but then the two of them waved and they were off.

What luck. Bera was out for the week, and he wasn't expected at the makeshift clinic today. 

Law heated up some milk in a clean mug and eyed the bread on the counter with distrust before he tossed some leftover rice into a pot with water. 

Law's Cora-san had shared his dislike of bread, and Law was willing to bet that Cora-ya was probably the same. Law knew he'd take plain rice porridge over bread any day. In any case, it'd be gentler on the stomach for someone who hadn't eaten in a while. 

He brought the food and drink up to Cora-ya, who wolfed everything down much faster than Law preferred, and he watched it with a slight frown on his face. 

The boy ate like he was starved, which of course, he was. 

"Hey," Law said, tapping Cora-ya on the arm busy shovelling food in his mouth. (And himself. And the bedsheets. Law had forgotten how messy an eater Cora-san had been.) "Slow down. You'll make yourself sick." 

Cora-ya slowed down a little, but his pace was still on the enthusiastic side. Was it too little? Law would have to get him more food later. He wasn't quite sure what a normal portion of food for a child was. 

Well, he had time. He watched Cora-ya finish the bowl of porridge and start gulping down the milk. Food in town was scarce but not that scarce, and he had goodwill enough to ask for food first and work for it later. People would probably give it to him for free, he certainly had plenty of irritating encounters where women circled his wrist with their fingers and clucked at him disapprovingly before offering to cook him dinner. 

Cora-ya finished the glass of milk with a big gasp for air, before setting it down. The boy was a mess, with a milk moustache and a generous splash of milk and rice on his shirt. 

"Done?" asked Law, gesturing with a hand to ask if he could take the bowl and cup back. Cora-ya nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable, no doubt from eating too fast after a long period of eating very little. 

Law set the bowl and cup aside, before passing Cora-ya a handkerchief. 

"Wipe your face and shirt," Law said. Cora-ya wiped his milk moustache across his cheek and smeared the rice even further into his shirt, making Law grimace. 

"On second thought," muttered Law, opening the drawer by his bed. He passed Cora-ya a towel and his smallest shirt. It would still fall to knee-length on the boy, but it'd be good enough while Law washed Cora-ya's clothes. 

"Go bathe," instructed Law. Cora-ya hesitated and Law had a moment of complete dread. 

"You… are able to bathe yourself, right?" asked Law. He struggled to think of the words in Sacred Word. "Water… you?" 

Cora-ya stared at him blankly. The feeling of dread intensified. 

Law mimed washing his own hair, then an arm, feeling distinctly silly and glad no one was around to see him except the boy. Shachi and Penguin would never let him live it down. Ikkaku would be supportive in the worst way, cooing about how it was 'cute'. 

Law shuddered at the thought. 

Fortunately, Cora-ya seemed to understand enough. He mussed his own hair with both hands, imitating Law. Law nodded, relieved, and Cora-ya offered him a brief, brilliant grin. 

Law showed Cora-ya to the bathroom. He pointed out the shampoo and soap, and made sure the shower spray was warm, not hot, then left the boy alone. 

Law had intended to launder Cora-ya's clothes while the boy showered, but just as he closed the door to give the boy privacy, he realised that he had no way of communicating for Cora-ya to pass him the dirty clothes before the boy started showering. He'd just have to wait.

Sighing, Law slumped to sit just outside the bathroom door, the adrenaline that had kept him going 'til now suddenly exhausted. 

He needed a plan to move forward. He couldn't just keep hold of Cora-ya no matter how tempting the prospect was. He'd already promised to bring the boy back to his family, and besides, he doubted that Cora-ya's cooperativity would continue if the boy realised Law was taking him off the island alone. The lack of communication also made things rather difficult. 

Dealing with Cora-ya meant dealing with all the Donquixotes. Law briefly turned his mind back to the small family he had encountered. 

A man who was no doubt Cora-ya's father. He had been an older-middle-aged man, though with the blonde and the big moustache it was hard to discern really how old he was. Flighty. Law had no doubt that the father was the one who had prompted the family to run. Willing to sacrifice himself for the family or just confident he was fleet-footed enough to escape? Perhaps both. 

A woman with sad eyes, who had been holding the hands of both boys and guiding them to escape when Law had dashed out and round the little shack. She had thrown herself at Law to let the boys have a chance to run, but she had been frail and trembling in the brief moment that Law had suddenly found her in his space. She had tried to hold onto Law, to prevent him from pursuing the boys, and there had been a gentle steel behind her expression that felt like Cora-san so much so that Law had pushed her out of the way of the incoming projectile. 

And… Doflamingo. Law frowned deeply. The high-pitched, childish shout and the ungainly, weak movement of his small body was so at odds with the version of the man Law knew. He didn't seem anything like Doflamingo at all, but some little things were there. The way he frowned, the way his brow crinkled. 

It was just… Doflamingo had been a curse over him for so long. Law had been starting to get better. He started to have days where he wasn't spiked with fear and rage and disgust at the thought of the man. He'd started to have days where he didn't think of Doflamingo at all. And yet, all his progress moving on seemed to fall apart in Doflamingo's presence, even if this Doflamingo couldn't possibly be a threat to Law as he was now.

He took a breath and let his head fall back to thud against the bathroom door, muffled by the softness of his hat. Behind the door, he could hear the water run, splashing, little feet against the floor. 

He sighed again. He couldn't take Cora-ya from his family. Not for any extended period of time. The Donquixotes were a package deal. Law couldn't imagine either parent agreeing to leaving Doflamingo behind, or letting Law take Cora-ya away alone. The thought of Cora-ya's screaming was also deterrent enough to stop Law from just carting off the boy. The possibility of Cora-ya hating him was… he just couldn't. It wasn't an option he was willing to entertain. 

So… what to do with the Donquixotes? Law didn't feel like dragging them to the Grand Line, they would only be a burden. Bring them to Spider Miles, perhaps? Spider Miles was the only place Law was very familiar with in the North Blue. Other than Flevance, of course. 

… Bring the Donquixotes to Flevance? Law snorted and dismissed the thought. If he actually made his way back to Flevance, dealing with his own family was going to take all of Law's attention.

Law sighed. This was all probably getting ahead of himself. There were more immediate problems to be concerned about. First, he needed the Donquixotes to listen to him. Second, he needed a way off the island. There was no point deciding where to go if those two objectives hadn't been achieved. 

The water stopped. 

Law got wearily to his feet and waited. 

Cora-ya opened the door, wearing Law's shirt. As Law had guessed, it was about knee length on the child, and the sleeves engulfed his hands completely. There was still soap in his dripping wet blonde hair. He looked up at Law expectantly, as if to say, "what now?"

"Hold on," said Law. He took a handful of water and made a pass over the soapy bits of the boy's hair. Cora-ya yelped but then stayed still as he realised what Law was doing. Law then realised the water he'd used was cold. 

"Sorry," he muttered. "The sink doesn't have heat. Once more." 

He made another pass with a handful of water and that seemed to get the last of the soap out. 

"Where's the—" Law saw the towel in a crumpled heap on the floor, along with the twisted mound of Cora-ya's old clothes. He sighed. Again. With Cora-ya around, he could see sighing was going to become a bad habit of his. 

"Come here," he said, going back to his room and pulling a fresh shirt from his belongings. He dropped it over Cora-ya's head and crouched to start rubbing the water out of the boy's hair. 

"If you don't dry your hair, you might catch a cold," explained Law absently. He stopped and placed Cora-ya's hands on top of the shirt. "Here, just like that." 

Cora-ya hesitated before copying the motion to towel dry his hair. His hands slipped off his head clumsily, but it was clear he got the idea. It was… almost endearing.

Law stood, uncomfortable with the thought, and Cora-ya looked up at him, red eyes questioning. 

"Just dry your hair and go sleep," said Law. He pointed at the bed and put both hands together and mimed using them as a pillow. He closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again, looked at Cora-ya. "Sleep, okay?"

Cora-ya said nothing, but he did climb up on the bed, the shirt still on his head. 

Law nodded and left the room, gently closing the door. 

The moment the door was closed, he dropped his face to his hands. 

What was he doing? He was bad with children, why did Cora-ya have to be a child . Worse, a child he had to play charades with in order to get the simplest of points across. 

No, focus. He had this under control. He was going to launder Cora-ya's clothes, bring him back to the junkyard, win over the Donquixotes, and convince them to get off this island to somewhere safer and this time, not to be so stupid as to let people know that they were Celestial Dragons. 

He nodded, more to reassure himself than actually being convinced by his own internal pep-talk, and made his way to the bathroom to pick up Cora-ya's clothes.