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Chapter Text

Fly fly fly away! Away!  

Waving a hand by his ear as if he could make the wind leave him alone, the boy climbed higher up the trash heap nearest the town. It was one of the largest on that side of the island and had the best view to see over the fence. He shook his head to get his shaggy blond bangs out of his eyes to better watch the strange men he’d noticed.

Their ship landed late the night before near the rich village - well, the less poor one anyway - but they didn’t disembark until morning. The boy had made sure to get up early so he wouldn’t miss anything. It wasn’t nicknamed Scrapheap Island for nothing, and visitors of any sort were rare.

Must fly! Bad leave fly away , the wind howled at him.

He shushed it.

The matching white shirts had writing on the back - even if they weren’t too far away, his reading wasn’t good enough to understand the characters - and made it easy to pick them out despite the distance. The men walked in rows together through the streets, and instead of going towards the market, they went directly to the houses.

Humming curiously, the boy sat back in his spot and got comfortable. It was his favorite place to hang out after moving some pieces around to make something akin to a seat, and it was high enough that the air didn’t smell as bad as it did down in the thick of the heap.

It was quieter, too. Objects stopped having Voices once they’d settled into the junkpiles. Sometimes it was disconcerting, like sitting atop a graveyard, but often it was a nice break. Fresh garbage never had nice things to say.

Picking out a large, rusty, Voiceless gear to fiddle with, he spun it around his fingers, but a sharp scream startled him into dropping it.

His head shot up. He combed his fingers up through his bangs to get the full vision of all three blue eyes as he watched. The men in white were pulling women down the street, all of their bellies rounded and heavy, while others carried a couple of newborns, their mothers fighting to get to them only to be shoved away.

Instead of going back to the ship, the mothers-to-be were being taken in the direction of the clinic, but even as they got farther away, the wind carried their desperate cries all the way back to him.

“W-what are they doing?” he asked, rising to his feet while clenching his hands into fists to stop their shaking.

Find babies. Want one special one.

“Special? How can they tell?”

Don’t care. Take all babies. No chance no risk take all.

“They’re taking….all of them?” The boy bit his lip. “Do you know when the babies will come back?”

Don’t come back! Never no chance no risk fly fly away!

Red hair flashed through the boy’s mind, and he gasped, “The kid!” He threw himself down the trash pile in a chaotic mix of running and falling, ignoring the scratches on his legs from loose pieces of scrap metal scraping together as they shifted. He hit the ground and took off through the paths of the junkyard, his ratty shoes threatening to slip off while the torn sole of the left slapped against the ground with every step.

The poorest of the island lived in the shantytown amidst the endless garbage in shacks made of driftwood and sheet metal. There were a few of the elders sitting outside their homes smoking and drinking, and they sneered at the boy as he ran past. Self-consciously he shook his bangs back into place to hide his eyes.

Finally he stopped outside one of the shacks and grimaced. Leaning against the open doorway - none of the homes had actual doors or else they got too hot inside during the day - in his finest threadbare coveralls was Uncle.

“Th’ fuck ya doin’ here, freak?” the older man rasped, taking a long drag of his cigarette and blowing the smoke in the boy’s face.

It is very important to note that Uncle was in fact not the boy’s actual uncle. He and Auntie just happened to live nearby when the boy showed up in the dump as a baby, and she insisted they take care of him. Take care is perhaps an exaggeration, but they prevented him from dying so good enough.

“I’m here to check on the kid,” he said and tried to walk right in only for Uncle to stretch his leg out to block his way.

“They’re both asleep.”

Looking up to level a glare at the smirking man, the boy pushed at the leg only to be shoved to the ground, landing on his ass with a grunt. Gritting his teeth, he curled his fingers to grab a handful of dirt, and as he stood up, he threw it into Uncle’s face.

The boy darted inside as Uncle shouted and rubbed at his eyes, but he only made his halfway across the single roomed shack before fingers snagged his hair and forced him down. A weight settled on top of him, and his heart raced when, “You’ll pay for that, brat,” was growled in his ear.

He struggled to move only for the hand tangled in his hair to shove his face painfully into the dirt. Tears of frustration - and a small amount of fear - pooled in his eyes until he noticed a dark beer bottle tipped over and dripping on the floor nearby. He reached out and could hear its solemn Voice silently encouraging him.

Uncle released the boy’s head only to slam a hand down on his wrist.

“You ain’t tryin’ to escape your punishment, are ya?” The burning end of Uncle’s cigarette pressed against the back of the boy’s hand drawing a sharp cry as he fought to get away. “Or maybe I’ll do ya a favor and finally get rid of that thrice damned eye.”

Head painfully yanked back by his hair, the boy stared wide-eyed at the cigarette held before him in terror.

He curled his head down as much as possible, eyes instinctively squeezing shut, until he felt it. Uncle leaned closer, and the earth bellowed, Smash your head back!

And the boy did.

He heard a loud crack and a shout, and Uncle flinched back enough to give the boy enough room to lunge forward and grab the bottle. Grasping the neck right, he swung around and smashed it into the side of Uncle‘s head just as the older man was regaining his bearings.

Uncle collapsed to the side.

Sitting up, the boy shook as he white knuckled the remains of the shattered bottle, fearfully watching the body with wide eyes for any sign of movement. Everything seemed fine until he saw an eyebrow twitch and without thinking, the boy jabbed the jagged edge of the neck into Uncle’s throat.

Blood pooled beneath them as he twisted and shoved the glass deeper. Uncle’s hands weakly tried to push him away, but his face had already grown pale and it didn’t take long before he finally went limp.

Breathing heavily, the boy sat back. Streaks of blood cut across his hands, and he quickly wiped them as clean as he could on his pants. Rising on unsteady legs, he glanced over to the lumpy mattress where Auntie was dead asleep surrounded by more bottles that were quietly murmuring her woes.

Unsurprisingly, her face was bruised and the front of the nightdress she wore was crusted from throwing up on herself. The boy shook his head. She hadn’t always been so……well, not according to the other neighbors anyway.

Apparently the abuse and alcoholism started after she’d insisted on taking him in, and it continued to escalate in the following years.

Would she try to stop him? Unlikely.

Still, the boy searched Uncle‘s corpse for the small knife he always kept on him. It was a fairly small, rusted thing - more of a metal shard with a taped up handle - but it felt big in his young hands. Auntie didn’t move as he approached, and there was only a short gasp when he inexpertly slashed her throat open. Just in case.

The sudden spray of blood from the wound caught the boy off guard, and his breath hitched as it splattered across his neck and cheek. Uncomfortably warm and slick against his skin, the sensation froze him. Raising a hand to his jaw, it came back red and trembling.

Gulping down a wave of dizziness, he moved in a haze, wiping the blade clean on the hem of her dress and hanging it off his belt, pushing through each step with deliberate slowness, just as soft cries began to sound from the back corner. His head shot up, and he rapidly blinked as clarity cut through the horror.

The baby’s Voice was anxious, showing an unconscious sense of his surroundings as he fidgeted within his crib. Rushing over, the boy lifted the kid out without another second thought about the blood and ruffled a finger through the tuft of red hair on his head. The cries slowly faded as the boy held him close.

When the boy had been kicked out of their home a year prior when he was only four years old, it was because of the baby being born. There wasn’t enough space and certainly not enough food for both, so the boy had to leave and take care of himself.

But he didn’t blame the kid for that.

A lot of babies didn’t make it in the junkyard - too much disease or too little food - so most parents didn’t bother naming them until a year or two after they’re born. Even at five years old, the boy never got his real name, but the kid deserved one because he would survive.

“I’ve got you, Kid” he whispered, lightly bouncing the baby in his arms. It’s what he’d always called him, so it felt less confusing to just make it his official name. Kid babbled nonsense, but the boy could hear in his Voice that he was happy to see him. Confirming that he was okay was an incredible relief, and the boy gently smiled down at the baby.

Knowing Uncle and Auntie’s parenting techniques as he did, he’d often sneak by to help - usually when they were gone or asleep - so Kid knew him and took comfort in his presence.

Keeping him pressed close to his chest so he wouldn’t see his parents’ bodies, the boy carefully stepped around Uncle and carried Kid right outside. They were able to run all the way to the boy’s tiny metal lean-to without incident, and he released a sigh of relief. Even if it wasn’t the most caring of shantytowns, a blood covered child holding a baby tended to draw questions.

A bucket half-full of rainwater let him wash most of Auntie’s blood off his face after laying Kid down on top of his single, thin blanket. There wasn’t anything he needed - or even had - to gather, but as he gathered up the baby, blanket and all, he started to fuss. His Voice was hungry, and the boy frowned.

Feeling guilty, he soaked a corner of the blanket in the rainwater and held it up to the baby’s mouth who grumbled unhappily.

“I know it’s not what you want,” the boy said, “but it’s all we’ve got right now.” The tightness in his chest released when Kid started sucking on the wet fabric. It gave the boy a moment to think and decide what to do next. He had to hide the baby before any of those men showed up in the garbage dump.

There were parts of the island he’d never been to, so maybe he could find somewhere out there to hide until the danger left. The wind would be happy to tell him when the men were gone, but—

The boy looked at the baby. Looking after him in the wild wouldn’t be easy. As he watched the baby suckle what meager drops of water he could, the worry grew with the realization that he had no idea what to do to keep them both safe.

A sharp rap to the overhang of his lean-to startled a yelp out of the boy, and he quickly grabbed the knife, balancing Kid in one arm and clutching him tightly. Unsteady footsteps came around until he saw familiar bony legs, and he grinned.

“Old Lady Eustass!” He crawled out to stand by her. Old Lady Eustass was the oldest person in the village, probably the whole world judging by how decrepit she looked. Little more than wrinkly skin and knobby bones with gray hair so wispy it looked like spider webs. Her patchwork dress fell to her knees with a ratty sack hanging off her arm, and she leaned heavily on a makeshift cane.

The boy believed she was an evil witch who’d already died once and used black magic to come back from the dead because she wasn’t done cursing people.

She boxed his ears when he’d told her that.

“I heard you’d been runnin’ around with a babe,” she said. Her voice was rough and airy, sounding as if she was breathing her words instead of actually speaking them.

Narrowing his eyes, the boy growled, "What of it?"

"Figured you'd go after the little one once you realized." She peered at the children with a knowing look, scoffing at the boy's surprise. "Think you were the only one to notice them?"

"Well—" he started, but Old Lady Eustass lightly rapped the side of his leg with her cane.

"Children always think they're the smart ones," she chided. "I might not hear as well as you do, but we'd already heard what those soldiers are up to."

The boy ducked his head. The old hag was one of the only people aware that he heard things other people couldn't, actually, she was the only one now that Auntie and Uncle were dead, but they never believed him anyway.

She turned her head to the sky and hummed. "Word all around the South Blue is that they're lookin' for a babe," from the corner of her eye, she looked at the baby in his arms, "and they ain't bein' too picky ‘bout how many they go through."

“They can’t have him!” he snapped, baring his teeth while her gapped smile grinned back at him.

“Oh no?” she cackled, hunching over as her shoulders shook, "And how do you plan to stop them?"

He brandished the knife in front of him, white-knuckling the handle until the edges dug into his palm, and repeated in a hiss, “They can’t have him.”

Old Lady Eustass flicked his forehead and pointed a long, blackened nail at him. “Stupid child! You plan to cut through every Marine you see?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” he demanded. His throat felt raw and lent a roughness to his words, and there was a burning behind his eyes from a sense of helplessness. He squeezed Kid tighter, faintly wishing that was enough to protect him, and only loosened his hold when Kid loudly complained.

"If I were you, I'd try the docks on the east side of the island."

The boy started and gaped at the old woman who wore a mischievous smile. She removed the old bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Wha—”

“Just might make it if you run.”

Confusion stilled the boy’s feet as he stared blankly at her.

As he did nothing, her lips turned down, and she pulled back her cane, swinging it at him and snapping, “I said run, brat!” While carrying his load, the boy barely avoided getting his head whapped, but it got his body moving again.

Running past her, he called back, “Thanks, old hag!” before turning all his attention to putting one foot in front of the other. There was no way of knowing what awaited them at the docks - and apparently no time to ask questions - but he’d take the chance given.

No doubt it was a risk, but—

—he trusted Old Lady Eustass. She had always been nice to him.

Even after getting outside the village, the coastline was dotted with scrap that the boy did his best to avoid as he ran. He kept both arms wrapped around Kid, but one hand still kept the knife ready.

The docks were farther than expected, but by the time they reached them, there was still a boat tied off while two others were already floating offshore. He couldn’t see anyone around until he reached the dock. As soon as the boy reached the gangplank, a bearded man stormed out from below deck wielding a harpoon.

His angry expression faltered when he saw nothing but a young boy carrying a baby. He lowered the weapon, but the boy flinched back at the movement and pointed his knife forward. Shaggy hair shifted and the man could see three eyes glaring at him.

“The hell are you?” the man gruffed, forehead wrinkling.

The boy adjusted his grip, looked at his blade then back up at the man. “I’m a killer,” he warned.

Not bothering to hide his snort of derision, the man nonetheless stood aside and gestured them onboard. 

“Alright, get your brother up here, little killer. You can go down with the rest of them.” He led the boy over to the hatch.

Killer hesitated, taking a moment to nuzzle Kid’s hair and remind himself to trust Old Lady Eustass, before steeling himself and taking them into the underbelly of the ship. Instead of cargo, the space was full of women in various stages of pregnancy or holding their babies protectively.

There was an empty spot along one of the walls, and he stepped around several pairs of legs to claim it. The rock of the ship was strange and felt stronger once he was sitting below. He sat cross legged and was finally able to let Kid down, cradling him against his stomach and letting his arms rest. 

Kid babbled and grabbed at his shirt. The babe started to fuss but wasn’t calmed down by Killer rubbing circles on his back.ship

“He’s hungry,” the woman next to him said. Her belly was swollen and looked a lot like Auntie’s did right before she gave birth.

“I know that,” Killer told her, and he did know. Could hear it in Kid’s Voice, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“Give him here.” She held out her arms to take Kid, and when Killer eyed her warily, she smiled softly with an understanding look on her face. “I can feed him.”

Making sure she saw the knife he carried first, Killer allowed her to rest Kid in the top swell of her stomach. She unlaced the top of her blouse, and when Kid latched onto her breast, Killer let out a breath of relief he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

Content to let Kid gurgle happily as he fed, the woman holding on to him carefully, Killer took off the dark sack Old Lady Eustass gave him and looked inside.

It was the weirdest fruit he’d ever seen, like a rusty orange melon with intricate black swirls covering the skin, and it kept whispering Jiki Jiki to him. Holding it up to his nose, it didn’t smell weird.

He glanced at Kid thoughtfully and put the fruit back in the bag. It was his responsibility to make sure Kid got to eat first.

He’d keep Kid safe. That was a promise.

Chapter Text

The streets were crowded, creating plenty of targets and plenty of cover for Killer and the baby tied to his chest. After getting away from their home island, they managed to island hop around the South Blue before finding passage into the Grand Line.

None of those Marines would be able to find them.

Killer shook out his hands before moving. He maneuvered through the people, grabbing whatever cash he could and hiding the paper bills underneath Kid’s back in his sing. Most of the adults would think he was just running around while any of the smart ones wouldn’t be able to find him once he vanished in the throng.

They worked several streets over the course of the day. It was hot and tiring and Killer was wiping sweat off his forehead, but he had to steal as much as he could manage. Milk was really expensive, and now that Kid had started to eat solid food, that was even more he had to afford.

He dug his fingers into his aching belly. If he was lucky, he’d have enough berries leftover to get himself dinner. Otherwise, he’d have to rifle through trash again. He was tired of moldy bread and rotting fruit, but Kid needed fresh food more.

One more lift should be enough, but it still needed to be a good one so Killer picked through the crowd until his eyes landed on a tall woman dressed in black. Slicked back black hair curled around her ears, and a vicious scar cutting her face made her look tough.

But more importantly, she looked rich.

Adjusting the sling and brushing a finger against Kid’s pudgy cheek for luck, Killer rushed after his target. It didn’t seem like she was paying any attention at all, but his hand barely left her pocket before his wrist was caught in a solid grip that lifted him off the ground.

“And what do we have here?” she - wait, Killer paused in his struggling to make sense of the Voice he heard...oh, - he asked, staring down at the pickpocket. There was a brief moment of surprise when his eery yellow gaze - not that Killer figured he had any room to talk when it came to strange eyes - fell on the baby.

It was just enough to loosen his grip a fraction, allowing Killer to rip his arm free and drop back to the street. The instant his feet touched earth, he ran.

Weaving in and out of people, one arm wrapped around Kid to keep him steady while the other held tight to the man’s pilfered wallet. He’d have to lie low before shopping for Kid, but as he flicked the folded leather open, he couldn’t stop his grin or an excited shout. There was more than enough for both of them to eat their fill!

Killer hid it in the sling with the rest just as Kid started to scrunch up his face and lick his lips, a sure sign he was getting hungry and would start wailing if he didn’t get fed soon. Against his better judgment, Killer slipped into a shop to buy something. He didn’t like sticking around with his victims nearby, but he couldn’t let Kid start fussing.

Quickly paying for some fruit and bread, he ducked into an alley where he could sit down, hidden behind some trash cans with Kid in his lap. He used his nails to break apart small pieces of a strawberry to feed Kid while popping whole ones into his mouth, moaning at the sweet taste. It was far better than its rotted counterpart he’d sucked down days earlier.

The bread was still warm, and it helped take the edge off the pangs of hunger and bought them some time to wait before Killer could safely be seen and buy more food and milk. Since the weather was so nice, too, Killer bet he could find them another roof to sleep on for the night. He tried to find them a new place every night to keep anyone from finding them.

Dusk was setting by the time they’d stopped by the shops again only to find that they’d already closed for the night. Crying out, Killer beat at the door, demanding they open it despite the darkness inside suggesting no one was listening.

He grabbed at his hair, anxiously worrying about what to do, when a shadow fell over them. Looking over his shoulder, Killer balked when he saw the rich man from earlier.

The one he’d very much robbed.

“You alright, kid?”

There was a gentleness to his tone and sincerity in his Voice. It shook Killer off kilter enough that all he could think to do was nod down and say, “He’s Kid.” The statement clearly confused the man who lifted a brow.

“And what does that make you?”

After a short hesitation, “Killer.”

The man crouched down, resting his forearms on his thighs. “I’m Crocodile, nice to meet you.” His golden eyes raked over the children. “You look pretty rough. How’d you like a real meal and a bath?”

Immediately Killer narrowed his eyes and stepped back. His hand palmed the knife he carried with him.

Crocodile raised his hands in a gesture of goodwill. “No tricks. I’m not going to hurt you. I only want to help.”

“You swear?”

When Crocodile promised, Killer listened closely to the sounds beneath his words, but what he heard was pure honesty and good intent. Shifting nervously, he looked down and saw bright red eyes staring back. He gently poked Kid’s pudgy cheek and agreed to follow the man.

Crocodile took them to a hotel several blocks away that was nice enough that the person working the front desk gave the two street children a dirty look. Shooting a disapproving glare, Crocodile didn’t slow his stride as he barked for food to be brought up. When they reached the room, he held the door for them and gestured to the bathroom which Killer quickly slipped inside, locking it for that extra feel of security.

Starting the water tap, Killer stripped them both down, keeping his knife in grabbing distance, and tested the water before stopping it. Water had always been a luxury, and while he didn’t care if it was cold, he couldn’t risk Kid getting sick.

As soon as the baby touched the water, his eyes shut, and Killer felt him fall asleep. Whatever it was, a little bit of water and Kid would go straight to sleep; it was pretty cute, if Killer was being honest. He carefully washed the accumulated dirt off of the sleeping child then wrapped him in a fluffy towel and laid him and his soft nest on the floor.

Confident that Kid would stay asleep for a little longer, Killer scrubbed himself clean, listening to Kid coo quietly in his sleep, and pulled back on his dirty clothes. When he went to pick up his knife, Killer paused.

It wasn’t where he left it.

It had moved across the floor closer to Kid, and Killer quickly grabbed it, unsure if he’d done something careless. Putting it away, he picked up Kid and, after a deep breath, unlocked the door.

In the time they bathed, food had arrived, and Crocodile was setting everything out on the room’s table. He looked their way when he heard the door open, but his expression was impossible to read.

“Do you need any help?” he asked, looking meaningfully at Kid. Though not vocally responding, Killer hugged the towel-cocooned baby closer and crawled into one of the chairs. Other people weren’t allowed to touch Kid.

Crocodile thankfully didn’t push and was more than happy to sit back as Killer stuffed himself until his stomach ached. It was the first time in weeks he’d been full, and he ate as if he were afraid the food would vanish if it wasn’t eaten fast enough. He patiently woke up Kid to help him eat the softer foods that Crocodile had thought to have available until they both had full bellies.

Despite how hard he worked, Killer knew that there were nights where Kid had had to go to sleep hungry, too, and it was worth trusting the stranger if Kid’s contented smile was the result.

While Crocodile cleaned up a few of the dishes, Killer carried Kid over to the large bed and set him on the sheets so he could crawl up next to him. Pressing a hand down onto the mattress, Killer furrowed his brow. It didn’t feel anything like the thin blanket he slept on back home or the hard ground he’d made due with since running away. The soft surface molded around his hand, and as he cuddled Kid close and dropped his head onto the pillow, his bottom lip quivered.

It was the softest thing he’d ever touched. Sleep quickly overtook him, and it was the first time Killer felt clean and comfortable doing so.

When light streaming in through the window woke him up, Killer noticed that the covers had been pulled over him and Kid. He snuggled deeper into the bed, never wanting to leave the soft cloud, until the smell of breakfast food drew him out.

In place of all the dishes from dinner, there were now waffles and biscuits and milk, and the spread made Killer’s eyes shine in anticipation. Crocodile was dozing in a chair and didn’t react when the boy moved to the table to eat, leaving Kid on the bed to continue sleeping.

Killer had only taken his first bite when the man suddenly asked, “Where are the two of you from?”

Startled, he jumped and gaped at Crocodile whose golden gaze stared back.

After a moment and a thoughtful hum, Killer answered that they were from the South Blue, and he could hear the surprise in Crocodile’s Voice even if he only audibly said, “That’s pretty far.”

“Uh huh,” Killer agreed with a shrug.

“So why did you leave?”

Killer nodded his head at Kid and said through a mouth of food, “They were gonna hurt him.”

“Who?” Crocodile asked.

“The men in white.”

There was a visible darkening of the man’s expression. “Why?”

The boy swallowed his food and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Cause they’re dumb.”

Crocodile huffed a sad laugh. Anyone worth their salt had heard about the Marines raiding various islands in the South Blue. There was no official record on why, but supposedly it was to find some fabled child that more than likely didn’t even exist.

Smoothing back his hair, Crocodile asked, “You’re here by yourself?”

Instead of responding, Killer looked down at his plate and shrugged.

“Wasn’t there anybody to help you?” he pushed.

Killer was silent for a moment and didn’t raise his head when he muttered, “Nobody liked me.”

“Why not?” The answer coming from a little kid had Crocodile frowning.

Killer shrugged again, feigning ignorance, and didn’t answer. They both sat there at a standstill until eventually Killer put his fork down. After fidgeting for a moment, he slowly pushed back his bangs and blinked all three eyes at Crocodile. “Cause o’ this.”

The shock in Crocodile’s Voice was almost deafening, but with some struggle, he remained outwardly calm and managed to get out, “People can be pretty mean when you’re different.”

Letting his bangs fall back down, only now letting his third eye stay visible, and idly kicking the table leg, Killer pouted and mumbled a dejected, “Yeah.”

“You know,” Crocodile started, scratching his cheek and trying to connect, “some people don’t like me for being different.”

Sniffling, Killer said, “Really?”

Crocodile hummed. ‘Really. They don’t like or even believe when I tell them I’m a man.”

Killer tilted his head and peered at the man in confusion. “But I already knew that.”

Once again surprise colored his Voice, and Crocodile could only get out, “You did?”

“Yeah. I could tell from your Voice.”

“My…voice?” Crocodile stammered.

“Not your talking voice. Your real Voice,” Killer talked slowly as if he thought Crocodile was being an idiot.

“I see.” He absolutely did not see. “And what did it say?”

It took a moment for Killer to figure out how to explain. “Doesn’t really use words. It’s just kinda like…I hear it and know what it means. Everything’s got one. It was the wind that told me Kid was in trouble.”

There was nothing to say except, “That’s incredible.”

Watching the man carefully, Killer warily asked, “You don’t think I’m a freak?”

Crocodile smiled kindly. “I think you’re very special, Killer.” Truth rang in his Voice, and Killer couldn’t help the small, relieved smile tugging at his lips.

The moment was broken, however, when Kid giggled and a fork flew off the table in a flurry of violet sparks and onto the floor. Heads whipping to the side fast enough to give them whiplash, Killer’s eyes bugged while Crocodile was more contemplative.

“It seems you’re both very special,” he amended, leaning over to pick up the fork and look it over. He raised a brow at Killer. “Kids eating a devil fruit isn’t unheard of, but I’ve never heard of a baby with one before.”

Having rushed over to check Kid over, Killer looked back at Crocodile in confusion. “What’s a devil fruit?”

Crocodile did his best to explain the variety of magic fruit, all of which sounded insane to Killer until Crocodile turned his entire arm into sand to prove their existence. Based on his descriptions, Killer thought back to the strange fruit Old Lady Eustass had given him and the word it kept repeating

“Jiki jiki,” he mumbled to himself only to realize that Crocodile still heard him.

“Magnetism, hm? Well that explains this,” he said, holding up the fork and sounding far more amused than Killer thought was necessary.

“What do I do?”

“Nothing you can do. Once eaten, there’s no getting rid of the power of a devil fruit.”

“But I—” Killer fell silent. He picked Kid up and smiled when a tiny hand grabbed his finger. Ever since he rescued him, Killer hadn’t let himself think of “what ifs”. There was no room for doubt, but…

Tears misted Killer’s eyes as he confessed, “I don’t know what to do.” He was barely keeping Kid fed, much less himself, and they wouldn’t be safe on the streets forever. Turning towards Crocodile, Killer started, “Wou—” only to be interrupted.

“I’ll be shipping off in a few days.”

“Oh.”

Silence settled for only a few seconds that felt like hours to the worried boy who was shrinking into himself.

“Come with me.” The invitation was completely earnest and left Killer speechless. Realizing the kid was gaping at him, Crocodile barreled on. “You’d both be safe, and I’d be able to teach you how to defend yourselves and Kid about having a devil fruit.”

The sound of his Voice was so honest and - though Killer had no idea why - caring. Killer made eye contact with Kid and tried to silently ask what he wanted. Babies’ Voices were very simple compared to adults, and all he heard from Kid was happiness, a pure happiness not tainted by the hunger or chills from their time living in alleyways.

Well that settled it.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

The past two years had been unimaginable. Everything changed once Killer allowed Crocodile to take him and Kid in, starting with being introduced to the man’s ship when it was time to set sail. For the first couple of weeks, the kids stayed in the captain’s room while Crocodile slept with his crew until a new room could be prepared for them.

During one of those early nights, Killer remembered lying awake through the night as a storm raged outside, and he reveled in listening to the sound of rain pattering against the walls. Meanwhile Kid slept uninterrupted, snuggled against Killer’s side under his arm, completely unaware that it was their first time being warm and dry in the rain.

Not a day passed by where they had to go hungry. In fact he and Kid were both eating their fill every meal of the day, and none of it was even rotted. The crew had been strained when they were told there would be kids joining, really young ones at that, but they learned to accept it once Crocodile made it clear that Killer and Kid weren’t going anywhere.

Crocodile gave Killer a blue and white striped bandana to tie around his forehead to hide his third eye more easily and made good on his promise to teach self-defense, too, which ended up being a little tricky. It wasn’t that Killer was a difficult student, in fact he was eager and soaked up the techniques, but more that the older child steadfastly refused to let anyone else take over responsibility for Kid but also refused to let Kid out of his sight.

It was considered a landmark event when Crocodile was allowed to hold Kid for the first time.

Everything was perfect.

And then they met Dragon.

While docked on an island, the strange man had appeared and distracted a crowd of Marines which allowed Crocodile and his crew to escape. Over the years, they continued to run into him every few months, and there was always a strange…something shared between him and Crocodile.

Dragon and his small crew never visited for long, but Killer was annoyed by the odd sound of rousing trumpets that accompanied them. They weren’t any type of pirate crew; the only time he heard a group of people with a collective Voice like that were the Marines. It was the sound of a powerfully shared purpose.

It made their leader’s focus on Crocodile all the more suspicious. Because Killer couldn’t hear anything but inspiring trumpets, he had no idea what Dragon’s intentions were.

Then after Dragon had appeared just in time to save them after a fight with a few Marine vessels that left their ship damaged - Killer and Kid forced to stay locked in their room by Crocodile for safety. Instead of chatting with Crocodile and leaving like normal, Dragon wanted to take them to a hidden island where he and his companions lived.

Killer had never heard a building with so many secrets. Walls were notorious gossips, eager to share with anyone willing to listen, but the hideout was so quiet, hardly saying anything.

It was unnerving, and he didn’t trust it.

Despite that, everyone there treated them very politely, even if they sometimes got a little pushy about their opinions on a kid like him taking full responsibility for a toddler. He almost stabbed one of them for getting too close and trying to pick Kid up.

Instead of being there just until the ship was repaired, weeks passed by. They weren’t bad, exactly. Full meals, beds to sleep on, but in all that time, the walls never spoke. Nothing did.

Also Crocodile spent a lot of time with Dragon.

After spending years in close quarters together, Killer didn’t like being apart so much, especially in a silent place so full of strangers even if Crocodile did make sure to see them at least once a day. At least he did at first. He still kept up with Killer’s training and helped him and Kid both with their reading, but as time went on, they were soon only seeing each other at meals. 

Most of Killer’s spare time was taken up by looking after Kid, who had taken to his first long-term landlocked adventure with all the eagerness a three year old could manage. Running around on his tiny legs, Kid always managed to find his way to the absolute worst places to be.

Places like the armory.

Ever since Crocodile found out about the devil fruit Kid ate as a baby, he did his best to teach him control, but there was only so much that could be done with someone who wasn’t old enough to even realize what they were doing.

To be honest, it wasn’t exactly his magnetism that was the problem—

“Gilluh! Gilluh! Loo’!”

Killer swept Kid into his arms as soon as he caught up to him to prevent him from running away again and pushed open the door that was surely locked before the super powered toddler got to it and blanched. 

Barrels and chests of guns and swords and all sorts of weapons he didn’t recognize cluttered the large room, and they all began to tremble and clang as Kid happily reached out towards them, hands grabbing at the air in a shower of purple sparks.

—it was that he had an innate ability to find the most dangerous metal objects around and mistake them for toys.

Killer slammed the door shut and ran just as a sword pierced through the center of the door right where he’d been standing. He grabbed Kid’s hands in one of his so that he’d stop using his devil fruit powers and had to rub his cheek against the top of his head in apology when Kid looked at him in wide-eyed betrayal. 

“Let’s go find some food, okay?” he asked, not expecting any real answer beyond the excited giggling he got.

When they arrived at the cafeteria, Killer nervously tugged on his bandana to ensure it was in place. There had been no hiding Kid’s powers, but he didn’t want anyone to find out about his own differences, too.

His eyes scanned the room, and he sighed in relief when he spotted Crocodile already sitting at one of the tables. He shifted Kid to brace him better so he wouldn’t jostle too bad as they ran over and claimed the seat next to Crocodile. Using Kid as a placeholder, Killer got the both of them food and climbed up into the chair with him.

There was a faint sound that had Killer trying to clean out his ear with his pinkie. It was terribly distracting as he ate, but no one else seemed to notice it. He wasn’t sure how to best describe it; it was a faint, wordless hum, and the closest he could compare it to was the sound of light. It sounded warm and bright.

Unlike most Voices, this one had no meaning to it but to express a presence.

Killer tilted his head to figure out where it was coming from. He looked around, closing his main eyes while keeping his third open - even hidden behind the bandana, doing so had always helped him focus on Voices.

He slowly moved, following after the hum as it grew steadily louder, until his cheek touched soft fabric. Killer opened his eyes and realized his ear was pressed against Crocodile’s stomach, and it was his dark vest that he’d felt.

Blinking, Killer listened closely and gasped softly. The new Voice was originating from inside! Not one to be left out, Kid forced his way over and tried to listen to Crocodile’s stomach as well. When he heard nothing but silence, he scowled at Killer, realizing it was one of the Voices that only he could hear.

Killer really didn’t know why it made Kid mad. He could hear Voices, and Kid could magnetize metal. Seemed an even enough trade.

They both looked up at Crocodile who was staring down in barely contained horror, the gray pallor of his cheeks turning pink.

That’s when the boys found out that Crocodile was pregnant.

It made them all the more determined to spend time with him, going so far as to stalk after him. As annoying as he had first found the meaningless Voice, it had slowly become a steady part of Killer’s life. He loved listening to it after realizing that it was a baby.

Which was good, because as the months wore on and Crocodile’s belly grew rounder, the Voice became louder. What was strange, though, was that as the months went by, the Voice changed. Instead of a steady hum, every so often it would hit a beat like the single hit of a drum. At first it only happened once or twice a day, then instead of a single beat, it would be two right after the other.

However, Killer never told Crocodile about it. For all he knew, it was perfectly normal - he hadn’t really been around enough unborn babies to compare - even though something in his gut said it wasn’t, but he also didn’t want to bring it up because…well he didn’t think Crocodile seemed very happy to be pregnant.

It started with Kid thinking someone had laid an egg inside of Crocodile. Being told the father was Dragon did nothing to correct this opinion. Even as Crocodile snorted and mussed up Kid’s hair, his grin was tense, and Killer could hear the tremors of distress in the man’s Voice.

Crocodile had switched to looser clothes, unable to comfortably fit in the suits he’d had, and was often covering the swell of his abdomen with his large coat regardless of how warm it was. His Voice was a constant hodgepodge of insecurity and happiness and fear and love that it sometimes made Killer dizzy to listen to.

During their time in the base, Killer had managed to figure out who the higher ranking members of Dragon’s group were, and he also noticed that ever since Crocodile became pregnant, one of them was always nearby. They sounded protective, but something was off about it. Something extra.

It wouldn’t be until the day the walls spoke that Killer would find out why.

A resonating drumbeat forced Killer awake with a gasp. The drums were all consuming, echoing in his mind and vibrating through his bones. His heart pounded in a desperate attempt to match the heavy rhythm, but as his breath quicked, he looked over and saw Kid still dead asleep.

Head ringing, Killer tumbled out of bed, shoved his bandana on his head, and stumbled out into the hallway. It was impossible to tell which direction the Voice was coming from, but he recognized the odd sound and started towards Crocodile’s room.

The closer he got, the harder it was to keep moving. He kept a hand on the wall to stay upward, the other clutching his head pounding in time with the endless drums, until he finally collapsed to the floor. Eyes clenched shut and fingers tangling in his hair as he curled into a ball, Killer could hear Crocodile’s pain and the drums getting louder and louder, the tempo quickly taking the form of doom dut da da doom dut da da in a vicious crescendo until—

—all at once it stopped.

Suddenly Killer sucked in air now that he could breathe again. A few moments gave him enough strength to stand back up, and he hurried to find Crocodile. The sudden loss of a Voice was unusual. Even in death, someone’s Voice wouldn’t cut off suddenly; it would softly fade away into a whisper then into nothing as their final breath was expelled.

With how loud the drums had been, Killer was shocked how many hallways he had to wander before hearing the telltale signs of a baby’s cry. As loud as Kid had been when he was a baby, the wailing sound eased Killer’s mind as he realized the Crocodile must have had his baby.

A few people were standing around outside the door, but all of them turned to look when they heard his bare feet pattering down the hall. One of them, a tall woman with short purple hair and a red jacket, stared him down with a frown.

“You should be in bed,” she said flatly. Killer was certain her name was Betty, and he silently stared back at her. She’d never been the friendliest person in the base.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he replied, unable to describe the deafening drum beats that had woken him up without explaining everything he wasn’t supposed to talk about.

He knew Betty was going to tell him to leave, but before she could, a big headed man with a curly purple afro, terrifyingly long eyelashes, and wearing a reddish leotard that bared a majority of his torso as well as a tattoo and fishnet stockings came through the door. Killer had not seen him before and felt a little relieved about that.

His Voice vibrated between male and female and was incredibly loud. There was something unsettling about the way it pounded so full of devotion that it hid everything else.

Killer had never heard so many secretive Voices in one place, but the one thing they all currently shared was inordinate excitement.

Not that Killer wasn’t excited for Crocodile, of course, but there was an extra layer to theirs. Something about more than just a baby.

“Vell who is this?” the newcomer asked. Instead of answering, Killer focused on the sounds of Crocodile whispering he could hear now that the door was opened and took his chance to dart underneath the man’s legs and into the room.

Crocodile was propped up on a pile of pillows, a baby in his arms and Dragon sitting on the edge of the bed. They were in their own little world, and for the first time Killer had the sharp recollection of what happened the last time someone had a baby.

Namely, he got kicked out of his house and sent to live under a lean-to alone in a garbage dump.

Suddenly he hedged, shifting back and forth on his feet nervously until Crocodile noticed him. He smiled, and Killer let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding when he was gestured closer.

“Hey, Killer,” Crocodile said, voice tired and raspy. He tilted the baby so Killer could see the rounded, red cheeks and tuft of dark hair on his head. “This is Luffy.”

Killer approached the bed and brushed a finger against Luffy’s pudgy arm, smiling when his cries softened. “He sounds like Kid did.” Except for that strange rhythm doom dut da da , not as loud but just as present, in the background of his Voice.

In fact he was so consumed by the oddity, that it took him a moment to realize something even stranger. Or rather something normal which is what made it strange.

The walls were talking.

It was shocking enough that he jerked until he forced himself to stay calm since Dragon was still in the room. Their Voices were snapping out quickly without any breaks, very excited about whatever bit of gossip broke their endless silence.

Fate is sealed; it’s coming true!

He furrowed his brows in confusion. A fate coming true?

The desert’s sun!

So cute and squishy!

Such a crybaby. He’s supposed to be a creature of joy!

He’s the leader’s son, remember?

“-ler? Killer!”

Killer jerked his gaze away from the wall he’d been listening to back towards Crocodile who was watching him carefully. Dragon appeared thoughtful. “Um, sorry,” he said.

“You seem tired,” Crocodile commented as if ignorant of his own dark bags beneath his eyes. “Head back to bed. Luffy will still be here in the morning.” He smiled softly, and Killer couldn’t help but frown. However he also couldn’t hold back a yawn as exhaustion replaced his adrenaline to weigh down his body.

“Okay.” He promised to bring Kid by the next day and rubbed a finger against Luffy’s chubby cheek before leaving, his eyes uncomfortably meeting Dragon’s as he went. Killer ignored everyone outside the door as he walked past them but could feel their eyes on him until he eventually turned a corner and ran the rest of the way.

When morning came, Killer was wrapped around Kid, and it took him a moment to remember climbing into the younger’s bed after returning to their room. His body still felt heavy from getting so little sleep, so he decided for a lazy morning and waited until Kid woke up. Crocodile probably wouldn’t be awake either, if he remembered right from when Kid was first born.

Kid began to shift and turn in his arms until he was staring curiously at him. Killer took the quiet moment to tell him about the baby, but Kid’s eyes narrowed. As soon as they were up and dressed, Killer returned to Crocodile’s room with Kid in toe.

Betty was still standing outside, feeling more like a guard than a friend, but she let them in with only a few moments of tense consideration. He didn’t say anything, but Killer was growing more uncomfortable around them. It was starting to feel like they didn’t want him near Crocodile.

There was no one inside except for Crocodile who was sleeping and Luffy in a crib that hadn’t been there before. Killer held a finger to his lips telling Kid to be quiet as they silently crept to the other side of the room to peer inside.

Luffy was thankfully asleep - his breaths sounding like little giggles - and swaddled into a tight burrito. Listening closely, Killer could still hear the strange tempo in Luffy’s Voice, but he smiled. Luffy was a pretty cute baby.

“He looks stupid,” Kid grumbled. Killer choked and stared at Kid, unsure why he was glaring down as if Luffy had personally offended him.

“You weren’t much different when you were born,” Killer told him with a huffed laugh.

Kid side eyed him angrily. “No way. I was never that ugly.”

“Did you come here just to insult my baby?”

They both jolted when Crocodile smirked at them. While Kid dashed over to crawl onto the bed just to get into an argument about how dumb he thought Luffy looked - with Crocodile rolling his eyes in amused exasperation - Killer placed a hand against the wall.

The walls had fallen frustratingly silent again.

“What fate were you talking about last night?” he whispered.

Silence answered.

“I heard you. I know you can talk. What’s coming true?” His voice grew harder and when the walls continued to be quiet, he slammed his fist against the hard surface and snapped, “Tell me!”

He knew Crocodile and Kid were both staring at him in confusion.

“Sounds exciting. You must want to talk about it,” he tried. Walls loved to talk, especially after finding out he could hear, so maybe he could cajole them into it. “I really want to listen.”

Not supposed to , came the first wary Voice. It was a start. He’d never run into a Voice that refused to speak, and he didn’t know how but was certain it had something to do with Dragon. Suddenly Killer thought about the way they all were so protective over Crocodile during the pregnancy, and an idea struck.

“Crocodile and Luffy are my family,” Killer told the walls. “If you tell me, then I’ll be able to help them more.”

The desert’s child must be safe. Progress.

“Safe from what?”

Everything!

“Why?”

Destiny. He is fated for greatness.

The walls were finally talking and with one more prompt, Killer knew they wouldn’t stop. “Tell me all about it.”

And they did.

Suddenly all the secrets they’d been keeping spilled, their desire to gossip to a willing ear too pleasing to pass up. Crocodile had tried to question him, but Killer held a hand up to keep him quiet. The other two knew that Killer would sometimes stop to listen to the Voices, but they also knew that everything had been unusually quiet.

Whatever relief Killer felt at hearing the walls speak faded away the more they said.

His eyes widened, and he clenched his hands into trembling fists. He slowly turned and met Crocodile’s concerned gaze. Sparing a look at the door where he knew Betty was waiting, he turned back to Crocodile and shook his head.

“Kid,” he rasped, coughing to clear the scratch in his throat. “Kid. We should let Croc rest.”

“Killer?” Kid tilted his head.

“We’ll come back later today,” Killer promised Crocodile. He grabbed Kid’s hand and pulled him along, running past Betty. He couldn’t stop thinking about what the walls had told him.

A prophecy.

They were only there because of some stupid prophecy?!

As soon as they got back to their room, Killer pulled out some paper and tried to write down everything he needed to tell Crocodile. He had to get the words just right, because there wouldn’t be a second chance.

He laid the sheets out on his bed and used his arm to shield everything he wrote, scared that somehow someone would see.

How had the walls said it?

The Sun will rise from the desert's smile
and conquer the dragon with its mighty paw.
Laughter will echo to the beat of a drum
when he heralds the rising of a shining dawn.

The walls always knew everything. According to them, Dragon had found someone with a fortune telling fruit that had given him that prophecy which was supposed to be important for the revolution he was planning.

Killer didn’t know what the smile of a desert was, but apparently when Dragon met Crocodile and learned of his Sand-Sand Fruit, he made the connection. That was why he had a baby with him, and why he and his… revolutionaries were always watching Crocodile.

They wanted to use Luffy!

He wiped away furious tears as he scribbled across the page. Crocodile would keep Luffy safe; he knew he would!

When everything was laid out, Killer folded up the page and hid it deep in his pocket. It was important to be prepared and to act normal, not that the revolutionaries bothered with him and Kid much anyway.

The base was so quiet yet somehow still buzzing with the news, even some of the walls breaking their vow of silence to whisper amongst themselves, but even as he listened, Killer didn’t hear anything he didn’t already know.

It wasn’t until after dinner that he felt safe enough to take Kid back to see Crocodile, but he was dismayed to see that Dragon was in the room again. Staying innocent, Killer greeted them both before moving to Croc’s bedside to see Luffy. He was awake and sounded content to stare at each of them.

At least until Kid climbed his way up and decided to poke Luffy’s cheek, unfortunately setting the baby off into tears.

“Kid!” Crocodile snapped, hastily rocking Luffy to calm him down and growing ever more frustrated when nothing worked.

Without thinking, Killer asked to hold him, promising he knew a way to help, and when Crocodile gave into his desperation and was willing to let Killer try, Killer noticed Dragon tense. Witholding a snort and knowing he wasn’t going to hurt Luffy, Killer cradled him to his chest just like he used to do with Kid and listened.

He paid attention to the gentle tones woven in around the beating drum and softly hummed to match their rhythm. It always calmed Kid down. Killer figured it was the sound of their own Voice, so it’s comforting and familiar even if they don’t realize it, and after a minute or two, Luffy’s cries quieted.

Passing him back to Crocodile and realizing Dragon’s attention was on them, Killer put his hands in his pockets and fiddled with the note. Clutching it tightly, he kept it folded against his palm before laying his hand on Crocodile’s bare forearm.

“Have you been okay?” he asked, hoping he sounded relaxed when Crocodile looked at him with barely hidden curiosity. Unable to say it, Killer lightly tapped his finger and wanted to sigh in relief when he felt the barest shifting of sand beneath his hand as the note disappeared inside of Crocodile.

And that was that.

As soon as Crocodile read that note, he’d know the truth of why they were there and what those revolutionaries planned to do with Luffy.

Killer didn’t know what else to do after delivering the information, so he and Kid kept to their usual day-to-day activities. While Kid had no idea what was going on, Killer grew more anxious by the day, waiting either for Crocodile to talk to them or for the revolutionaries to figure him out and lock him up.

Every day they’d visit Crocodile who acted like nothing important was going on, making Killer wonder if he’d even read the message, and the worry gripped him until the following year. They’d been there for so long that Killer had eventually been put into classes for anything from combat and tactics to basic subjects like math and advanced reading.

It was obvious that their intention was for Killer to join their cause, but he did like the duel blades they taught him to wield. Kid’s only classes were the basics, except he was given a tutor to help train his devil fruit. Killer sat in on those sessions and had to admit they were helpful.

At the very least, now Killer could confirm that Kid causes magnetic chaos on purpose and not just because he’s young and can’t control himself.

They were still living in the same room together, which turned out to be useful the day Crocodile came to find them. It was the middle of the night, and Killer woke up to a hand clapped over his mouth by a large man standing over him.

His struggles were cut off by the sound of Crocodile’s Voice, and he froze, recognizing the similarities between Crocodile and the intruder.

He cautiously moved the hand away from his mouth and whispered, “Crocodile?”

“Wake up Kid.” His voice had deepened to match his new body. “We’re getting out of here.”

Chapter Text

Their boat was small and wouldn’t have fit many more than the four living on it, even though three of them were children, but remaining under the radar was vital. There was no telling where an ally of the Revolutionaries could turn up, so they didn’t stop on any island longer than absolutely necessary.

They’d escaped into the East Blue. Killer knew that Crocodile had a plan, but he wasn’t sharing it. All he’d say is that they were headed for an island that he felt confident Dragon wouldn’t look for them on.

While Crocodile took most of the responsibility for sailing, Killer often cared for the new baby. Luffy was an emotional child that seemed to only ever laugh or cry, but he did love the feel of the salty spray.

And it loved him back; the ocean and the wind both adored the baby, often cooing at him. Killer didn’t know how to explain it, but for whatever reason, their Voices always seemed to soothe him during one of his tantrums.

If only Kid felt the same. The redhead couldn’t stand Luffy, spending most of his time glaring at the baby or trying to demand Killer’s attention. Killer is pretty sure he once overheard Kid planning to toss Luffy into the sea but doubted it was anything to seriously worry about.

Though he did keep an extra close eye on the baby for a few days after that.

It was the middle of a Spring day when Crocodile said they were approaching the island. From a distance, it looked utterly normal. Nothing like the dangerous islands in the Grand Line that scared many a weak willed sailor away which caused more than a little confusion.

Killer grabbed onto a taut rope beside Crocodile to hold himself steady and finally asked the burning question, “What makes this place so safe for us?”

“A Marine Vice-Admiral lives here,” he said, giving Killer the side-eye when the boy hissed angrily. “Relax, he should never be around. Too busy and tends to spend most of his time in the Grand Line.”

“Who is it?” Kille asked unhappily.

“Garp the Fist.” Crocodile gave Killer a devious grin. “Dragon’s father.”

Although Killer had long since learned to trust Crocodile’s plans, he couldn’t help feeling like giving birth may have driven him insane, because that was the only explanation for how going to Dragon’s home island to hide from Dragon could seem like even remotely a good idea.

That feeling intensified when they moored the boat, and Killer got a look at the village. The tiny village that he bet if he shouted, he could be heard from the opposite side. There’d be no hiding from anyone who showed up, but there was no arguing with the satisfied look on Crocodile’s face.

And Killer knows that, because he vehemently tried arguing with it.

He tied on his bandana, having had no reason for it on the boat, and held Kid’s hand while Crocodile held Luffy as they marched up the hill from the dock. The best place to get information on any island is a bar, so they walked into a building with the sign “Party’s Bar” atop the swinging batwing doors.

The kids sat down at an empty table - the place was surprisingly busy considering it was the middle of the day - while Crocodile approached the bar counter. Killer pulled out a few metal marbles they’d gotten from the Revolutionaries to properly train his control over his devil fruit now that he was older and set them on the table for Kid.

He was going to use his power anyway, and giving him the tools to practice with at least kept him from sending cutlery flying around. There were specific exercises that he was supposed to do, such as moving them in a steady circle on the table before lifting them into the air, and after that came variations like moving them independently, like in separate circles or opposing directions.

“That’s pretty amazing.” Windchimes on a gentle day threaded beneath the sweet voice as a cup was placed on the table. Killer took his eyes off the floating marbles - if he didn’t watch carefully, there was no telling what Kid would do - and froze when large dark green eyes stared back. The girl setting the glass down was a couple years older than him and had hair the same color as her eyes pulled back underneath a checkered kerchief.

The moment she smiled at him, Killer felt his face heat up.

“Hi,” he said lamely, but she simply giggled.

“Hi,” she repeated back at him. “My name’s Makino.”

“I’m Killer.” He couldn’t find any more words, and they stood in silence until Makino cleared her throat and darted her eyes towards the other boy and back while suppressing a laugh. “And that’s Kid.”

The boy didn’t even look up at the sound of his name, but she still tilted her head and offered a cheery, “It’s nice to meet you!” to the both of them. “Are you passing through?”

Killer looked behind her towards Crocodile who was in deep discussion with the barkeep. “Nah. I think we’re planning to stick around.”

Giggling happily, Makino held the serving tray to her chest. “Then I guess I’ll be seeing you around.” She turned her head to follow his gaze. “Is that your dad?”

“No!” he quickly denied, jerking away in befuddlement that anyone would even make that assumption.

Her large green eyes stared at him bemused but said nothing of his strong reaction. “Alright, well—” Makino paused as they heard three rhythmic knocks on the bar counter, and her color flushed. “Oh! I need to get back to work. Bye!” and she darted off behind the bar where Killer could still see the top of her head poking out.

When Crocodile concluded his business and returned to the table to find a red-face Killer and a snickering Kid, he raised a brow but decided he’d rather not ask. He told them he had a lead on a house, and they could go check it out after eating.

It was small enough that Kid and Killer would be sharing a room, but compared to the rest of the village, it was one of the larger buildings and already came with some old furniture, including a couch that Kid immediately leaped onto.

Not that Killer could blame him, given how long they’d been cramped together on an uncomfortably thin mattress on a boat, so he let the younger boy indulge while he and Croc went to put away their meager belongings.

Life became a little more humble than it had been while living with the revolutionaries, but the family found it far preferable.

The stilted silence of the secret base was no more; Foosha Village sang with Voices and made Killer wonder how he ever managed without the walls' idle gossip or the ocean’s motherly care. He often went down to the coast to walk in the shallows and listen to her, though it was something he generally did alone.

It wasn’t that Crocodile and Kid weren’t welcome to, but the ocean had nothing but cruel feelings about them and shouted about nothing else if they joined Killer on his walks. When he had first mentioned it to Crocodile, it was he who said it was surely due to their devil fruits and that Killer was free to go to the beach alone as long as he was careful.

Sometimes he took Luffy with him once he was a little older, and as he’d hold the toddler low to dip his toes in the waves, Killer could swear that when the ocean spoke, Luffy reacted. Even though it was mostly wishful thinking - even with Crocodile’s reassurances, it never fully settled well with Killer that he heard things no one else did - but then other times he’d remember the strange prophecy the walls had told him about Luffy.

So maybe he’d be different, too.

When not soaking in the surf with Luffy, Killer’s days were spent wrangling Kid, who had never lived in a peaceful village before and found it overwhelmingly boring, and visiting Party’s Bar. Kid laughed at him whenever he announced he was going to the pub, but any embarrassment was forgotten the moment her dark green eyes sparkled in his direction.

In reality, Killer actually did have a reason for going to Party’s. For all that Crocodile wanted them to settle and experience a relatively normal childhood - devil fruits and third eyes notwithstanding - Killer couldn’t help himself. Every moment of his life had been spent struggling to care for himself, then for Kid, then pulling his weight on the pirate ship, then studying and training with the Revolutionaries.

He didn’t know how to do nothing for an extended time and thought he could at least help out at the bar for extra change to take some of the responsibility off of Crocodile and whatever job he disappears off to do sometimes in order to feed three children.

That he gets to spend time around Makino is just a bonus.

Honestly, learning to cook in the back has been more fun than Killer expected and became his favorite part of the day, and everything ran smoothly for a couple of years. Luffy was always with either Crocodile or Killer, and Kid preferred staying at home to practice with his devil fruit.

At least that’s what Killer assumed he was doing and was willing to accept blame for actually believing that. All things considered, he absolutely should’ve known better. For all that he’d taken a liking to their new peaceful life, he knew Kid missed the more adventurous days.

He just didn’t know Kid would go off to find his own adventure.

He also didn’t know there was a massive junkyard on the other side of the island full of dangerous vagrants and highly magnetic trash.

Or that that was where Kid would somehow make his very first friends.

Kid couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t adventuring. His earliest memories were causing trouble with Killer on a ship that was captained by Crocodile, but when they spent all that time in that base with Crocodile’s boyfriend, his time was still spent practicing with his power over magnetism, so it wasn’t that bad.

It was a surprise when they suddenly decided to leave, and while he didn’t really understand why, he knew that something had bothered Killer about the place, which was reason enough that Kid never argued about it.

What he was prepared to argue over was the new addition to their group. The annoying baby couldn’t even do anything, just babbled and laughed at nothing like an idiot. All Kid’s life, it had just been him, Killer, and Crocodile, and so there was no reason why they had to bring some baby along.

Even worse was that they settled down in a tiny little village of windmills, and Kid spent all his days bored out of his mind. He wasn’t allowed to take care of Luffy - not that he had any desire to do so anyway - and the few other kids in the village never wanted to do anything fun. They didn’t spar, they couldn’t do anything cool like control metal or turn into sand, and if Kid was too rough playing ball, then they cried at any little hurt.

Killer wasn’t around either for the first time Kid could remember. He preferred spending his time at that bar with the girl he keeps staring at and then his free time was often walking down by the shore.

With stupid baby Luffy.

The only left for Kid that he actually enjoyed was playing with his power that came from a magic fruit he didn’t remember eating, but he wasn’t supposed to do anything bigger than the exercises with the metal training balls without supervision. Except with Killer and Crocodile both always gone working, he never had supervision.

Then after his sixth birthday, Kid decided he was old enough to finally explore Dawn Island. As soon as he said goodbye to his family as they left for their own tasks, he grabbed one of the knives he knew Croc kept in his room and ran off into the forest.

Hours of staring at trees didn’t scratch the itch, but as he was considering turning around and returning to the village, there was a break in the trees. Kid stood at the edge of a small hill, and down below it was a seemingly endless garbage dump. It was laid out between a harbor with a much larger dock than Windmill Village and giant stone walls.

“Woah,” Kid breathed, quickly sliding down the hill to crawl amongst the trash. His entire body tingled, sensing the magnetic fields of all the metal surrounding him - more than he’d ever felt at once before. As he picked through random piles in idle curiosity, most of it was nothing of value. The deeper he went, the more he began to see others picking through for hidden treasures to pawn.

Every person he saw was filthy in ragged clothes, looking weak and half-starved, but that weakness quickly abated the moment someone made the mistake of proclaiming a lucky find. At that point, the scavengers converged, beating each other into submission for the change at making a few beri. Kid didn’t blink at the violence, having seen a lot growing up on a pirate ship and continued on his own business.

The most interesting things he found were devices, usually in varying states of disrepair, whether they were half-crushed, had loose or fraying wires, or missing sections all together. He yanked a broken down robot out from where it was lodged between a tire and what used to be the back of a fancy reading chair. The robot had clearly been a toy that no one bothered to take care of, but Kid liked it.

Enough that he made the mistake of vocalizing his excitement.

Within moments, someone grabbed the back of his shirt and hoisted him into the air to see what he’d found.

“What’s this you’ve got here, brat,” the man said, grinning greedily with a mouth that Kid was pretty sure was missing more teeth than it had. The toy was ripped from his grasp, and as he flailed in the air, he was unceremoniously tossed away. He bit his tongue when he crash landed in an uncomfortably solid mass of refuse.

“Give that back, asshole!” Kid choked out, wincing at the new pain in his back as he clambered back to his feet. 

The man scoffed. “It’s not much, but I can probably get a few beri from this. Better luck next time.” With a harsh laugh, he turned to go back to wherever he normally dug, but before he got far, Kid grabbed the first thing he could reach and threw it as the man’s head.

Fists clenched, Crocodile’s stolen knife tight in his right hand, Kid glared at the thief and snarled, “It’s mine.” The man squared his shoulders and stormed back only to draw up short as sparks danced along Kid’s body. All the pieces of random scrap surrounding them shifted, lifting into the air to surround Kid like deadly shrapnel. “Give it back.”

Clearly weighing the risks against the worth of the broken toy with narrowed eyes, eventually the man tossed the little robot vaguely in Kid’s direction. He raised his hands and sneered as he once again took his leave.

Having never used his power on so much at once, Kid was unprepared and unsure how to handle the multiple, expansive magnetic fields he had generated, and it didn’t help that he still felt so much anger towards the bastard walking away.

The scrap bobbed and circled in the air around him, and part of him knew that all it would take was letting go of his power. If he did that, all the dangerous metals would drop harmlessly to the ground.

But after so long stuck with basic exercises, Kid was ready to try something new, and nothing was ever gained by quitting.

Golden eyes zeroed in on the current target of his rage. Raising a hand to help guide his thoughts, the shrapnel was unleashed, using a compound of different poles to be launched through the air. His aim may not have been perfect, but Kid watched in morbid fascination as the man was thrown to the ground, blood streaming from cuts now ravaging his back.

Ignoring the pained screams, Kid stooped to grab his new robot toy and let his gaze roam over the far stretches of garbage. A manic grin stretched across his face, and with a sweep of his hand and shower of purple sparks, finally cured his boredom.

When the sun started approaching the horizon, he knew he had to head home - at a run or else he had no chance of finding his way back before dark - and gathered up the random baubles he found in a tattered blanket he took from one of the other scavengers. He climbed up the hill and barely passed the treeline before someone called out to him.

“How’d you do all that?” The voice came from above; Kid jumped back and brandished his knife upward. A boy about his age was sitting on a tree branch, his blue coat and dark tophat sticking out clearly against the green background.

“Why don’t you come down here and find out,” Kid egged only for the other boy to grin, showing off several gaps where adult teeth haven’t grown in yet.

“You’re crazy,” the boy laughed. “You got a name?”

“Kid.” Despite clearly wanting to make a joking comment about his name, the boy refrained. He rose to his feet on the branch and dusted off his shorts before bracing his fists on his hips to stare down at Kid.

“I’m Sabo, nice to meet ya!”