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Law wakes up cold, in pain, and wrapped in a thin blanket. That’s a strange feeling; barring a few short periods of his life, he’s had plenty of blankets and a roof over his head even during the worst of winters, and the only times he’s fallen asleep with untreated injuries he’s never had so much as the comfort of a blanket to throw over himself, nor been allowed to lie down as he is now. And whenever he’s been forced to keep a low profile somewhere, he’s made sure his crew and allies had as much safety and comfort as possible given the circumstances.
With this observation in mind, Law gingerly sits up and opens his eyes to find himself outside in the snow, wrapped in the aforementioned blanket in a shoddily made camp, heavy snores coming from somewhere behind him. A weight settles in his throat, and it takes a few harsh swallows and head shakes to keep himself from bursting into tears. They had hoped, of course, but even Vegapunk’s genius couldn’t guarantee the exact date they’d wake up in, and part of Law had feared it would be either too late, or too early, a time when he couldn’t do anything to change things.
Once Law is fairly certain he won’t immediately become a mess, he pushes himself to his feet and turns around in place. There, curled up in a position that almost manages to make him look small in sleep, is Cora-san, buried under his feather coat, silly red cap covering half of his face, and make up beginning to smudge where snow has been melting on his face over the night. He’s asleep, breathing, alive.
Cora-san.
Law swallows again, adjusts the blanket over his shoulders, and takes a step forward.
He immediately falls face first on the snow, too short legs unable to comply with the wide step his mind commanded.
The noise, muffled as it is by the snow, is enough to wake Cora-san, whose senses are sharp from years of infiltration and months of sleeping outside, vulnerable to wandering wildlife and humans alike.
“Law?! What happened?! Are you hurt?!” Cora-san fires in rapid succession. He manages to reach Law without falling himself. Law lets himself be lifted, body suddenly unresponsive at the shock of hearing that voice again.
“I’m fine, Cora-san,” Law wheezes out, and forces himself to look up into one of the faces he’s missed most in this world.
Cora-san is wearing the most ridiculous expression of shock, looking at Law like he’s grown a second head.
“...What?” Law asks, more out of habit when he sees such an expression than any conscious choice on his part. It occurs to him, as silly as it sounds, that Cora-san’s expression of shock is similar to Mugiwara-ya’s.
“You called me Cora-san...”
Law blinks, taken aback. And then it hits him: while he’s been thinking of this man that way for close to fourteen years, it took Law almost the entirety of their time together to begin to do so. In fact, if he remembers correctly, the first time he used that form of address was the same day he learned of the existence of the Ope Ope no Mi. Law sags in relief at the realization this means he at least has some weeks left, even if his body is screaming at him with pain in the background.
Cora-san panics over Law’s sudden bonelessness, as prone to overblown reactions as Law remembers, and it doesn’t help matters when Law bursts out laughing, overwhelmed by the sheer relief of actually being here at all. It takes him maybe a full minute to compose himself, and then he’s patting Cora-san’s cheek where the man has leaned in too close to him in an attempt to get a good look at Law.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he reassures, earning himself a narrow-eyed look of suspicion. “Call Sengoku, Cora-san,” Law blurts out, unable and unwilling to come up with a subtle way to achieve his goal. They spoke about this possibility, just as they did many others, and neither of them is willing to leave Cora-san in the dark. Not that they would get away with it for long, not given how sharp Cora-san is, but Law flat out rejected the notion.
Cora-san’s shocked expression this time is somehow even more exaggerated than the last one, but the situation is too serious to point it out. Cora-san opens his mouth, no doubt to stammer out a question if memory serves, but Law doesn’t give him the chance.
“I know you’re a marine, Cora-san. It’s okay. Just call Sengoku, I need to talk to the old geezer.”
He should’ve known better than to expect expanding on his request would stop Cora-san’s panic. Law is certain he would’ve been dropped on the snow so Cora-san could scoot away from him right then had Law been any less sick than he is by this point.
“W-What—? I don’t—“
Law heaves a sigh.
“You’re Marine Commander Donquixote Rocinante, code 07146. It’s okay, I figured it out ages ago. I’m not mad at you.”
Cora-san is blinking at him, beyond words from the looks of it. That’s fair, given how much weight he put into keeping this secret from Law. Every one of those last words is carved into Law’s memory, and he has every intention of making sure they’re in no one else’s memory ever again.
“How did you—?” Cora-san tries to say again, but trails off before the sentence is fully formed.
“I’ll explain, I swear. But I need to talk to Sengoku first. It’s very important.”
Whether it’s a testament to his confusion or his affection for Law, Cora-san nods. He sets Law down with great care, and rummages in his coat for the den den mushi dozing in one of its warm pockets.
The call connects, but there is a long pause from the moment the receiver on the other side is picked up until they hear anything.
“Crackers.” Sengoku’s voice wavers in a way Law has rarely heard, and that’s enough to loosen the knot of concern in his chest at the possibility that only he has come back.
“Cookies,” Law and Cora-san reply at the same time, and Law is treated to another surprised look.
“I see you’ve made it too, brat,” Sengoku says, earning an amused smirk from Law and another very confused look from Cora-san.
“Yeah. What’s the date?”
Law listens to the date while watching Cora-san mouth out his question. Law figures things make less and less sense with each word they say, and he’s extremely grateful Cora-san is letting him have this conversation before demanding answers.
It looks like they have a little over a month before that hellish day on Minion Island that will never happen now.
“Do the Barrels Pirates have the fruit yet?”
“Yes. As far as I can tell, they’ve had it for a few months.” And the idiots likely only bothered to identify it and look for the best buyer.
Law takes a look around. He isn’t very sure where, exactly, they are right now, but he has a pretty good idea of the best place to meet. It may have been a few years since he sailed the North Blue, but he remembers well the maps he used to pour over with Bepo to decide on their course during those early years of piracy.
“How long would it take you to reach Lvneel?” As one of the closest islands to the Red Line on the opposite side of the Reverse Mountain, Lvneel is as close to Marineford as one can get on North Blue. And Law remembers they were on that exact island when Doflamingo’s call drew their attention to the Ope Ope no Mi in what now is one week in the future, which means they can’t be too far from there right now.
“Two days,” Sengoku says, and Law has no doubt he’s going to be pulling every single string he has access to if that’s what it takes to make it happen.
“See you then.”
“Wait!” Sengoku exclaims before Law can set the receiver down. Law halts. “You were about to hang up,” comes the accusation, and Law doesn’t bother to deny it. His poor den den mushi manners became common knowledge amongst marines during his tenure as one of the Shichibukai. “Rocinante. You’ve been quiet.”
“I… I don’t know what to say,” Cora-san replies with a helpless shrug.
Sengoku sighs loud enough for the receiver to pick on it.
“I guess explaining things is up to Law for now. I can’t offer you much from here, just… What he says is true. It sounds completely insane, but it’s the truth.”
“All right,” Cora-san acknowledges, looking no less confused now than he has from the moment they started this call.
“I’ll see you both in two days. Be careful,” Sengoku says before hanging up.
There is a long, drawn out silence before Cora-san turns to look fully at Law. He seems to be at a loss for words, and Law doesn’t make him struggle to find some. Looking down at his scuffed shoes, Law begins to talk.
He leaves nothing out.
Rocinante has wrapped himself around Law and cocooned them both in his coat and the lone blanket they have. Law has exhausted himself back to sleep from talking, his body growing ever weaker much to his clear frustration.
In a selfish corner of his mind, Rocinante is grateful. He’s grateful for the reprieve to Law’s onslaught of horrifying tales; grateful for the fact Law let him pick him up and hasn’t complained once about being held in what Rocinante admits was a too tight hug at some points of the story; grateful for the chance to attempt to process everything.
“Doflamingo blackmailed his way into becoming a Shichibukai and later king of Dressrosa.”
“I became a pirate.”
“You died, Cora-san. You lied to me, and then you died.”
“The People of D. are much more than a boogeyman for the Tenryuubito.”
“I decided to take down Doflamingo.”
“I know you were born a Tenryuubito. Don’t look at me like that, it’s fine, I’m not holding anything others did against you.”
“We defeated Kaido and Big Mom. Got a three billion berry bounty on my head for that.”
“I first met Sengoku at Dressrosa. I’m not sure if he came to meet me or to make sure Doflamingo was imprisoned. Probably both, knowing the old geezer.”
It’s madness. Law’s story, from the first to the last word, is utter and absolute madness. Rocinante might even be able to force himself into believing Law has lost his mind, were it not for the bizarre conversation he witnessed earlier. Law and Sengoku, two people Rocinante knows for a fact have never met before, know each other.
That knowledge changes everything.
Somehow, through hell, insanity, and perhaps a forgotten unfinished project of the forbidden past, Law and Sengoku know each other and have reached a middle point from what should have been irreconcilable stances. That is the most important fact here, and the one Rocinante will cling to until he can make sense of everything else. For weeks now, Rocinante has feared he’d have to cut ties with Sengoku to be able to vanish with Law, but now the two people dearest to him not only know each other, they are working together.
That is an easier pill to swallow than the fact the sad, angry, and almost broken thirteen year old boy he’s taken into his heart is now a bitter, determined, almost broken twenty six year old man in a dying child’s body fully set on overhauling the world itself, and somehow Rocinante’s second father stands by him in this goal.
Fortunately, Donquixote Rocinante has never been one to take on easy causes.
The past two days have been a test on Law’s patience.
They’ve been nerve-wracking as far as conversations go, with long silences and bitter revelations interspersed amongst them. During these silences, Law has begun to compile a list of his more light-hearted adventures which he hopes to share with Cora-san once the man is done brooding over Law’s grim revelations so far. But that’s fine, it’s as he expected from the moment the possibility of returning to this time period came to mind; the conversations he’s glad to have and the silence he concedes is necessary for Cora-san to be able to process all the information Law has dumped on him.
The problem is Law’s tiny, sick body.
He can’t really walk while on the small boat they’re currently sailing on, but on the way to it Law lost his balance more than once because he attempted to move as he would as a grown adult. The issues aren’t so bad while mostly sitting down, but Law finds himself miscalculating the distance his arm can stretch or reaching for a sword that isn’t there. It’s annoying, and he’s doing his best to correct his movements and reacquaint himself with this ridiculously small body without disturbing Cora-san.
That changes as they approach Lvneel, when his awareness catches on a familiar presence that stands out in the cacophony of life inhabiting the island.
“Sengoku is already here.”
Cora-san visibly snaps out of his thoughts and turns to look at him.
“How… Haki?” he guesses.
Law nods.
“Yeah. Seems that’s the only thing not messed up with my body right now.”
“Huh. Guess you must have pretty strong haki if you fought,” Cora-san grimaces, “Kaido and Big Mom.”
Law chooses not to comment on Cora-san’s obvious discomfort with the notion, given how much in Law’s story is likely giving the man fits at the moment, and instead says something he’s thought about on and off since he learned of the existence of haki.
“I always thought you must’ve had haki, but you don’t.” It’s been a strange realization. Cora-san’s fighting prowess stands out as an oddity with his general clumsiness and tendency towards accidents, and for a time haki seemed like the missing key to explain how someone so prone to slipping and setting himself on fire could be so good in combat. Now Law is here, and it’s painfully obvious to his trained perception that Cora-san’s haki skills are still dormant.
“I never got around to that training. When I realized how dangerous Doffy was growing, I pressed for this mission,” Cora-san replies, and there’s a sheepish undercurrent to his voice.
Law gives him his most unimpressed look.
“You’d better get to it as soon as possible then.”
Cora-san snorts.
“You’ve grown bossy.”
Law has no choice but to show him the finger.
When Rocinante and Law finally find an isolated beach in which to hide their boat, Sengoku is there waiting for them. Rocinante doesn’t let himself stop until he’s dragged the boat to a covered cave deep down in the coast line, hopefully far and high enough that no waves will reach it even during high tide. Rocinante turns his back on the boat and finds both Law and Sengoku standing a short ways away. Law is frowning down at his feet, from what little shows under the hat, and Rocinante would bet this is another round of berating his body for not behaving as it is expected to do. As for Sengoku… Well, Sengoku isn’t the most tense Rocinante has ever seen him, but given Rocinante has known Sengoku since the days Gol D. Roger still roamed the seas, that isn’t as meaningful as the realization could have been.
Sengoku looks about as tense as he did when the Buster Call on Ohara was ordered, a kind of tension Rocinante has never seen directed at himself. Hesitant, weighed down by Law’s revelations and the realization that under different circumstances his last interaction with Sengoku would’ve been deceit and betrayal, Rocinante takes a step forward, then another.
He stops two paces away from Sengoku, lost for words on how to start this conversation. He’s been so absorbed by every horrible fact Law revealed he somehow forgot to consider how he’d address the man who raised him and once had to bury him due to Rocinante’s own actions.
They stand there, staring at each other, until a huff from below distracts them. Rocinante glances down to watch Law carefully walk around Sengoku, then very purposely kick him on the back of the right calf. In his current state, there’s no way Law could hurt Sengoku, haki or no haki, but the action is enough to break Sengoku out of his frozen state.
Next thing he knows, Rocinante finds himself engulfed in a very familiar bear hug. Sengoku clings to him, shoulders shaking, and soon there is wetness spreading on Rocinante’s shoulder. Rocinante wraps his arms around Sengoku’s back and slouches over slightly so they’re at a more even height.
They stay like that for a long time, Sengoku and Rocinante hugging like they haven’t since Rocinante stopped bothering his second father with his nightmares while Law watches them with a self-satisfied air from where he plopped down on the ground after kicking Sengoku.
They eventually settle around a campfire.
Sengoku has brought provisions, which means for once they don’t have to hunt, scavenge, or steal to eat. There is plenty of senbei, of course, but also meat, vegetables, and a larger variety of fruits than what can be found in North Blue this late in the year. It’s refreshing after the last few days of fish and a can of pickled cucumber, and Law lets Cora-san fuss over him and push a too large plate with a bit of everything into his hands. He isn’t any hungrier now than he has been since waking up in the past, but Law is too much of a doctor to neglect himself when his body needs every drop of energy he can provide, so he eats slowly but methodically through what’s on his plate, careful not to make himself sick.
There is silence at first, in which both Cora-san and Sengoku make passable attempts at pretending to focus on their food, but it’s clear to Law neither know where to start a conversation. Sooner or later, they’ll need to have a private heart to heart, both about what would have happened and what is happening, but Law suspects neither of them feel comfortable leaving him alone for that in the middle of the North Blue winter while his body is a ticking time bomb. The part of him that isn’t annoyed by the coddling appreciates the feeling.
“So, the Ope Ope no Mi. We have a plan?” Law asks after a mouthful of what tastes suspiciously like spiced sea king.
“I’ve brought a small ship with me. It will be faster than that boat of yours, so we should make it to Minion a week ahead of the first marine ship.”
Cora-san frowns and gives Sengoku a concerned look.
“Did you cross the Calm Belt in that?” Cora-san’s tone hold a note of scolding, and Law feels vindicated to know not even being a marine admiral —Sengoku isn’t the Fleet Admiral, and won’t be for some time yet— is enough to get him to stop worrying.
“No. Garp gave me a lift. I borrowed the ship once we were in North Blue.”
Cora-san blinks and gives Sengoku another look, this one more puzzled than concerned.
“Did you tell him why you wanted to come here?” he asks, which is a fair question. Law has met Garp, the guy’s about as likely to respect a plan as Mugiwara-ya.
Sengoku huffs out a short laugh.
“Why do you think he agreed to give me a ride? Fortunately, he understood his destructive fighting style would be more annoying than anything else and agreed to stay out of things.”
Now it’s Law’s turn to give Sengoku a puzzled look.
“Wait, Garp responds to reason?”
Sengoku outright laughs this time.
“That came with age. When we were young, he was as impossible as his grandson.”
At this, Cora-san sprays his drink all over the campsite. Law barely manages to roll out of the way, his senses sharp enough to warn him but his body sluggish to react, and Sengoku evades his own share of cola much more easily. The fire isn’t so lucky, and is reduced to a sad little ember.
“Garp-san has a grandson?!” Cora-san demands in shock.
“Oh, right, you’ve been away for some time,” Sengoku mutters. He walks over to Law and helps right him up, something Law allows because his bones didn’t appreciate that tumble on the snow. “Luffy’s a little kid now, six if I remember correctly. That brat’s going to become a nightmare for the World Government.” He pulls off his coat and drapes it over Law’s shoulders to help ward off the cold. It may be a flashy marine coat, but it’s big and warm and Law has never been one to reject the tools he can access. He wraps it tighter around his body.
“Do you know this Luffy?” Cora-san asks, and it takes a Law a moment to realize the question is directed at him. He’s confused for the two seconds it takes his brain to remember he never used Mugiwara-ya’s given name in his story.
“Yeah. Monkey D. Luffy. That’s Mugiwara-ya.”
Cora-san’s reaction to the news Monkey D. Garp’s grandson is the man who’ll punch his way through the elites of the pirate world to become King of the Pirates is as priceless as Law expected. He even manages to set his coat on fire and snuff out the tiny ember left in the fire pit in the process.
Sengoku jumps to help save the coat, while Law limits himself to offering the men one of his amused smirks. Once Cora-san is no longer burning and the doused fire pit has been cleaned and a new fire lit, they finally move on to plan their assault on Minion Island.