Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Fleet Admiral kept calling him ‘son’. When was the last time he’d been called ‘son’?

Pops had always used the old nickname Ma had come up with when he was just a baby- ‘Dory’- and the rest of the crew just called him ‘boy’. It had always grated at his nerves, not that he’d let it show- lashing out only ever gained him more bruises and longer periods without food.

‘Dory’ always felt like a name that belonged to someone he hadn’t been since he was twelve and their home burned- and ‘boy’ was a title he should’ve left behind when he’d become a man at thirteen, when he’d completed the rites.

But he was alright with ‘son’.

Sengoku was a kind man, and Drake wasn’t accustomed to it. Pops had been kind once, he could remember it- but Drake had been young, then. He hadn’t yet been the only thing pops had left, hadn’t yet been a man.

There had been so little time between his completion of the rites and his consumption of the fruit, before pops had become captain and jailer instead of father and mentor.

He’d never gotten the almost-camaraderie of an adult son with his father. Was this what that was supposed to feel like?

He hadn’t discovered until weeks later that the crow man who’d freed him had been the Fleet Admiral’s own son. The man Drake remembered as a giant feathered shadow, a burst of silenced gunfire that tore his chains free, a painted grimace mouthing ‘Run’.

The same crow man had apparently also been killed that day, by the string man who’d slaughtered pops and his crew.

Drake still had no idea why the Fleet Admiral would even want to look at him, after being so closely connected to his son’s death, but the man seemed personally invested in his success, and even proud when Drake advanced.

He wasn’t a replacement son, certainly- everything Drake heard about Commander Donquixote (‘Roci’ in his mind, from Smoker’s stories) told him the other was irreplaceable- but he was a protégé, at least.

The man sought his presence frequently- sometimes to check in and make sure he was settling in alright, sometimes just to chat. It was a kindness Drake was unused to, but which he was coming to covet.

This time, Sengoku pulled a metal case from his pocket- it was beaten and worn, with the letters ‘DR’ stamped at the base.

“Do you know how to play cards, son?” Drake nodded slowly- he’d been a pirate for seven years, of course he knew how to play cards. The man hummed knowingly, shuffled the pack in his hands, asked evenly, “Do you know how to cheat at cards?”

Drake hesitated, this time- was this some sort of test? What was the right answer? If he said ‘yes’, would he be a failure as a Marine, deemed too corrupted to uphold justice? But he’d be lying to deny it, and no doubt the Fleet Admiral would see right through him. He squared his shoulders, committed himself to honesty. “Yes, sir.”

Sengoku set his chin in a solid nod, the same kind of dip his pet goat made after having made up her mind to ram something. “There’s no shame in it, son- we’re sailors like any other. And all good Marines have to be able to think like pirates- it’s how we catch them. You’re a step ahead of most.”

Drake blinked, stunned- none of the others had said his time as a reluctant pirate could be a good thing, and for the Fleet Admiral…? It was… he had to think about that.

The man dealt them both cards, Drake’s eyes automatically following his hands as they passed cards back and forth across the table. “Do you know the rules of cheating?”

“Rules, sir?” Wasn’t that the point of cheating, that there were no rules, as long as you could circumvent them sneakily enough? Was this the test?

He ventured warily, “…Don’t get caught?” The older man chuckled, “That’s certainly one of them, yes. But there are a few critical rules to keep in mind, when cheating at cards.”

His voice dipped into a sort of soft but authoritative tone, and it made Drake’s instincts perk up, listening intently. “Always keep something in reserve- this counts for both cards and resources.

“This is important to ensure you’re not taken for everything you have, and also to keep you from being blindsided by others’ tricks. If you never show all your cards, you always have an extra plan stowed away.”

There was the slightest waver in his voice at the next sentence- nothing anyone without predator senses would have caught. “I always say- ‘if you have one, you have none’. Contingencies, contingencies. The most important thing a sailor can have is an extra plan in their pocket- quick wits and a quick hand.”

Sengoku patted his breast pocket in illustration, and from it came the slightest sound of crinkling paper. He stilled a moment, only half a breath, but Drake could see the slightest gritting of teeth in his mild frown- pain, the beast told him.

The man forged on, “The next rule- don’t draw attention. Or more accurately, only draw the kind of attention that will benefit you. Whether you’re a perfect winner or a fighting gambler, no one will want to sit at your table, so you have to become whatever will get you what you need in that moment. Reading a room and adapting to its atmosphere will take you anywhere. Ready?”

They played a few rounds, and Drake dutifully paid close attention to the man’s movements, trying to read his tells, figure him out- still, his mind was caught on what Sengoku had said. It felt unfinished, something left hanging in the air.

Drake lost every hand, slowly becoming more and more frustrated with himself. He’d counted every card, the tally second-nature to him after years of these games being the only way to stay on the crew’s good side. So what was he missing? Where was he going wrong?

After one final round, where Sengoku nonchalantly laid down a perfect hand, he took pity on Drake at last, something like mirth in his voice, “The last rule is by far the most important.”

He rolled up first one sleeve then the other, revealing aces hidden in both. “You’re never the only one cheating.”

Drake froze. Something in the world, in him, shifted just a bit to the side. He thought he was starting to see the lesson here- this was about more than cards, it was strategy. It was power.

If you knew the rules of the game, knew how to play it and how to break them better than anyone else, you could control the outcome.

The games Sengoku played were the monumental kind, with millions of lives in the balance. Any wrong move could result in a death toll the likes of which Drake had never seen before.

The king of Oykot had played these sorts of games badly, and Drake’s people had been slaughtered as a consequence- collateral damage in a political power play none of them had any knowledge or part of.

If learning how to play these sorts of games- how to weigh the balance of power and keep it from tipping against him- was how he could keep that from happening again to others, he would do it.

Drake shadowed Sengoku when he wasn’t training with Smoker, following him through meetings and negotiations.

The Fleet Admiral would assign him posts of great trust as the years went on, following around Admirals and attending Warlord meetings alongside him. He seemed intent on training Drake in the functions of power.

And slowly, Drake started seeing the world as it really was, behind all the facades. He could see the mechanisms in the machinery of society, find where to press to tip the scales and how to maneuver situations into more favorable outcomes.

It made him feel like he was, in fact, human- like he was good for something other than violence, beyond the fangs and claws and muscle pops had exploited to strike fear into his enemies.

Drake was more than just that- he was clever and observant, and he could use those traits to better their world. Even important people like Sengoku saw potential in him.

He had to wonder sometimes, what Sengoku really saw, when he looked at Drake. Did he see the boy his son had saved, on his last day alive? A part of Rocinante’s legacy? It was why Smoker had taken him on, to begin with.

He hadn’t yet figured out why Sengoku had done the same. Was it guilt from pops’ defection, that he’d evaded capture by the Marines for seven years? That Drake had spent so long an unwilling pirate? Was it, perhaps, the same reason as Smoker, hoarding any small remnant of his son’s legacy in his grief?

Either way, Drake was grateful- he’d gained an irreplaceable friend in Smoker and a mentor (second father?) in Sengoku.

If it meant taking on the legacy of the man who’d freed him… that wasn’t such a heavy burden at all.

Chapter Text

Garp was strange- that was something no one would deny. A man of truly terrifying power, only Sengoku and Tsuru could match him.

At the same time, he carried the title of ‘Hero’ like it was a yoke, a burden and restraint. Refused the rank of Admiral, even though there was no one more deserving, because of the restrictions it would put on his actions.

And yet it was a feat to even convince him into seriousness long enough for an important meeting- the Vice Admiral treated almost everything with a blithe nonchalance, going through days with his hand in a bag of rice crackers and his head nowhere near his responsibilities.

But when he did become serious… it was a sight to behold. Drake swore the very air tore around the man’s fist, atoms splitting under the force of his power- he could smell ozone in the other’s wake, something like electricity and burning bleach.

It was an awe-inspiring strength to strive for, and strive Drake did- he gained the nickname ‘Wrecking Ball’ among his cadet class, specifically because Garp had punched him through so many walls in training. They deemed him crazy, because he always went back for more.

But he had a goal, beyond only strength- something foolish and selfish, something Drake would never admit aloud. Vice Admiral Garp was large and strong- broad shoulders, thick arms, rough hands- and Drake desperately wanted the same.

He was rightfully a grown man. But, well… that was the problem, wasn’t it? He wasn’t ’grown’. He was nineteen, and looked as young and small as the sixteen year olds in his classes.

It was a shame that hung over him. The others his age- lieutenants and commanders already, but they’d joined up when he’d still been locked in shackles- were grown, large and muscled and developed. And Drake looked like a scruffy, scrawny teen.

Pops had been over eight feet tall, burly and large-chested. Drake would probably never reach that, himself- too stunted, left behind by his age mates.

The nurses had devised a specialized diet for him, as his shrunken stomach had shown itself to be permanent- it had just been too long, he would never again be able to eat more than a few ounces at a time. Even in his dinosaur form, the damage followed.

So he needed to eat more frequently, pack as many calories as possible into what he did eat. Pemmican, nuts, malted milk tablets, tea and broth and electrolyte drinks- better than half-raw meat, stale bread, and hard cheese, certainly.

He stuck to it strictly, ignoring the constant too-full pain in his gut and the taste of blood that never left his mouth, in the stubborn single-mindedness of purpose.

He wanted to grow, wanted his body to reflect his mind in a way it hadn’t since he was a child. And he wanted to be strong on his own merits, not just because of the beast. He knew he was an animal wearing the facade of a sentient being, but he didn’t want anyone else to know that.

Maybe… if he could become strong enough just on his own, then he wouldn’t be seen as only an extension of the beast, only the man that held its leash. He could escape from under its claws, from under his father’s shadow.

Garp shot down that idea as soon as he proposed it. The burly man just scoffed, “Ain’t no wishin’ away those fangs and claws, bairn! The beast is part of ye, an’ all ye can do is make sure yer the one holding the reins.”

He tightened his hand to a fist in a grasping motion. “If ye lock away half of yerself, ye lose all of it.”

Garp shrugged, “So yer a monster- now what? Gonna just accept it? Live all yer life hidin’, afraid of yerself? Or are ye gonna put that title to use?”

He delivered the last word alongside a heavy punch- despite Drake getting his arms up in time, he was still sent tumbling back, slamming hard into the wall and crumpling in a heap.

The words rang in his head, reverberating- was it the concussion he no doubt now had, or the way they had shaken something inside his soul?

Garp was right- the beast was him, and he was the beast. He could no more separate them than he could stop being his father’s son. He’d spent far too long trying to do both, fooling himself that he could.

Drake pushed himself off the ground, legs shaking before he got them under himself enough to stand.

The taste of blood filled his mouth, no phantom this time but very real, and he could feel his hands shake, his head start to go light. Bile rose in his throat, that sick feeling of fullness once more in his gut. Just like then, just like the night he’d become a monster, when-

He fisted a hand in the collar of his shirt, wrenched it tight enough to hurt- the pain, the makeshift restraint around his throat, forced him back to clarity.

No, he wasn’t going to let the curse have its way, not now. Drake was the strongest of the monsters that lived in him, no longer under the control of the beast. He wasn’t going to hide from himself, wasn’t going to fear what he was. He was a monster, and he could use that.

With that reassurance fueling him, he bared his teeth, sharp and reddened with his own blood, and embraced the monstrosity of himself, letting the shift take over.

It was easier than it had ever been, his body reshaping smoothly where he usually suffered through the quick, vicious breaking and reforming of his bones, and his consciousness flowed through the enormous body at his command as comfortably as his own. It was his own, now.

The shock of it- the near-freefall of bracing for pain and it not meeting him, like stumbling after missing a step on stairs- almost drove him to distraction, but he focused, not hesitating as he drove forward.

Garp grinned, all teeth, and Drake returned it. He made to meet the incoming blow but, at the last moment, feinted around the man’s fist, heavy tail sweeping the Vice Admiral aside with a quick spin.

It was Garp’s turn to slam into the wall, finally, and he looked surprised, although he’d tanked the blow much better. Drake internally panicked- he hadn’t thought he’d get that far, actually landing a hit!

This time, he couldn’t hold it, reverting to a human once more, his muscles twitching with sudden unfamiliarity- he swayed, panting, blood rushing through his veins at a pressure like there was far too much in a body suddenly far too small.

The Vice Admiral approached, and he froze, the instincts of a beaten child urging him to shrink and the instincts of the beast urging him to fight.

He shoved them both back, supplanting them with the training of a Marine, and prepared himself for the no-doubt devastating retaliatory blow.

But it never came- Drake was instead swept up into a crushing hug, Garp having picked him up off his feet with a booming laugh. “That’s what we were lookin’ for, bairn! There’s that beast!”

He didn’t find words until Garp had dropped him, stumbling to catch his footing, “Wh- you mean I did good?” A proud nod, “Everyone’s got some kind of monster in ‘em. It’s what we use that monster for what matters. As Marines, our job is to protect the people of the world- an’ sometimes that means loosin’ the demon.”

Drake huffed a strangled laugh, the sudden sweep of relief weakening his knees- definitely the concussion, this time. He felt lighter, more free, than he had in a very long time, like a weight had been released from around his throat.

Sengoku had made him a human again, and Garp had made him accept that he was a beast. And neither part of him was less real or valid than the other.

Chapter Text

Drake was twenty-one when he received his command- barely two years after he’d entered the Marines, but his skills and tenacity were such that he’d been promoted with alacrity. He knew he was skilled- he’d been sailing since he could walk, and had spent seven years on a pirate crew- he could handle whatever the Marines threw at him.

Still, part of it, he thought, was the inexplicable fondness the Fleet Admiral had grown for him. Although he made very sure to earn all of it, having devoted himself fully to his duty.

Along with his new rank, Drake had been given the immense responsibility of ‘looking after’ Lady Vihansa. He didn’t know what his actual job was in that respect, but it certainly involved no ‘looking after’. Lady Vihansa was more terrifying than he would ever be- only under his banner because she had stepped down from her command in her old age, but still refused to retire.

She was terrifying in a fundamental sort of way Drake thought the newer generations of Marines had forgotten how to be- Lady Vi belonged to a wilder time, and a wilder sea. He thought of her like if a stone was a person- solid and simple and blunt and easily used both for construction and violence.

She had once told him how she had first become a nurse, grumbling, “Back in my day, we didn’t have no fancy degrees. Ye watched a man saw another’s leg off, an’ if ye stayed upright an’ didn’t lose yer lunch, ye were good fer it.” Which he supposed made sense- there wasn’t time for credentials when there were patients to be treated in front of you.

She had then followed up by telling the story of how the hospital she’d worked in was bombed, and she, the only adult survivor, had bundled up the children and tossed herself out the burning window with them, before swimming to shore and fighting a squad of enemy soldiers to let the children escape.

The Marines had apparently found her after she’d crawled out of a mass grave, and were impressed by her grit and endurance. It was… quite the tale, in all honesty, and very telling about the old woman.

Lady Vi was terrifying because she had to be- a roach, she called herself, because she refused to die when all the ‘kind uns’ had been killed. There was nothing in the world that could scare her, because she’d already seen all that hell had to offer.

She as well was inexplicably fond of him, although she showed it with brutal training that would’ve put pops to shame- it was no wonder Garp had turned out the way he had, with Lady Vi as a teacher.

Drake suspected he was picked because he could handle the rough treatment and still be perfectly polite to the strict, hardened Vice Admiral.

She was an incredible boon in his green years in command- her stalwart, unflappable presence steadied him, and her decades of experience (centuries? he had no idea how old Lady Vi was, and wasn’t about to ask) made her a reliable font of wisdom, even if it usually came with a side of blows and insults. Serving with her taught him patience and humility and the best damn poker face in the fleet.

And most importantly, she taught him when to disobey orders- a lesson that would be perhaps the pivot on which his life swung, in hindsight.

He’d seen the girl in an alley- a flash of red hair and dimples, he’d thought at first… But of course it wasn’t Linny, she’d been dead nine years. Still, that ache in him made him follow.

He’d lured her out with an apple, staying a safe distance away so she didn’t flee, settling himself down on the ground and tucking his legs in, making his large frame as small as possible.

He was good with kids, always had been- that big-brother part of him had been stifled early, but never died entirely, and it was a weakness that he could never bring himself to smother.

And this particular urchin- Koala, he soon learned her name was- sent all those instincts to high alert.

“Where is your home?” Koala shook her head fervently, “‘M not going back there.” He knew that reaction. “Did they hurt you?” “Not me. My friend. They killed him.” He thumbed at his chin thoughtfully, “I can see why you’d leave, then. Will you let me bring you somewhere safe, at least?”

She fixed him with a sudden gaze, those dark blue eyes sharp. “Do you hate fishmen?” The question threw him off guard, although he didn’t show it. Was this girl…? “No, of course not. Bigotry is cruel and dishonorable. My navigator is a fishman, and he’s one of the most noble men I’ve ever met.” The girl hummed, before smiling at him. “Okay- do you have any more apples?”

The interaction went better than he’d expected, and Drake ended up carrying the child back to the ship, Koala’s small form tucked into the crook of his arm and attention solely on the second apple he’d given her.

One of the women on the street cooed at them, and he realized belatedly they must look like father and child, with the similar hair color. Honestly, he didn’t care what anyone thought about how it looked- he was not letting such a young child fend for themselves. His men would understand.

And once they returned to HQ, he’d take her to the resettlement and foster services, find a nice family to take the girl in.

He’d left the girl with Lady Vi and gone to fetch a plate from the mess for her, when a sudden sense of dread passed over him- the kind of feeling his reptilian instincts gave him when disaster was at hand. Not a larger predator, no- a force of nature.

He made for the medbay.

Lady Vihansa had a way about her, when she was angered. It was like the shield that had won her title- cold and seamless and dreadful. And she didn’t anger easily.

Anyone who knew her less well would scoff, as the old woman was always yelling, wielding her walking stick against any who displeased her with threats and curses.

But she wasn’t truly angry, then- just keeping those around her in line, ensuring they didn’t slack off or become complacent. At most, it was annoyance, although always tinged with pride. Anyone who truly felt her anger… they remembered it.

And she was angry now- that slippery knife’s edge that would annihilate anyone on the wrong side of it.

As soon as Drake stepped into the medbay, he saw why. He stopped still, something in him going silent and cold.

Koala sat on the medical bed, facing away from him. The mark of the Sun Pirates was visible on her back, but it couldn’t completely hide the shadow of the brand that originally scarred her.

He suddenly knew exactly where this girl had come from, and what dangers she fled. His reptile instincts yearned to rip and tear, to feel flesh and bone give between his teeth, but he maintained outward calm with a fierce self-control.

He took a deep breath, reined in all the anger inside him, and honed it to a point, deadly and sharp. He let his anger transform into purpose, calm and steady and determined.

Paths of possibility stretched out before him, and he examined each with the same careful attention he would lay snare lines, before coming to a decision.

“No one can know about this. No records, nothing.” Lady Vihansa nodded at him approvingly. “She can stay with us until I find somewhere safe for her.”

The problem would be finding that somewhere safe- in this world where the Dragons’ every whim was law, who would dare disregard it and risk their entire family being wiped out for the sake of a stranger, even a child?

She couldn’t stay with them for long, certainly- not with how close they came to the Dragons. The Marines simply couldn’t protect her, as much as the idea rankled at him.

He called his closest officers for a meeting, but their options were sorely limited. “The Sun Pirates?” Shubin shook his head, “Disbanded with the death of their leader- members scattered across the seas, mostly underwater.” Something came to him, quick as a lightning flash, and Drake put his head in his hands, already regretting the idea, “There might be one place…”

Darwin, who knew Drake’s mind almost as well as his own, frowned, “Are you sure?” “She’s already refused to go back to her home. And… with that brand, there’s nowhere else we can trust to take her in, to be able to protect her.”

Wallace sighed, stroked his beard solemnly, “Unfortunately, it seems the course of her life was determined, one way or another, the moment she received the brand.” “That’s why the bastards do it." Darwin adjusted his pipe uneasily in his teeth, “So we’re sending the kid to the Revolutionaries?” “The only people we can trust to not turn her over.”

Anning tilted her head, a wry grin on her face, “And I do believe the child would turn from anywhere that doesn’t align with her purpose. Giving her a way to help, to accomplish what she feels she needs to do, will do her good.”

That was how, weeks later, Drake wound up at a known Revolutionary base in the East Blue, unarmed and alone, bar Koala clutching tightly to his hand.

A lone woman stood before him, pink hair unevenly cropped and a face he could tell normally housed a jovial grin, now staring at him unwavering. He could feel the guns aimed at him from every angle, could see the careful stillness of the woman’s hand- one twitch would be enough to signal those hidden agents to fire.

The beast inside him huffed uneasily, wanted to pull Koala into its tough scales and escape. But he was here for a reason- to see the girl safe.

He'd gotten used to the small presence at his side, reading in the window seat while he worked at his desk or chatting excitedly with Shubin about the Sun Pirates or helping Horner out in the mess. But their time together had to come to an end.

They’d already fended off one attack by pirates, and Drake had barely managed to hold back his protective rage enough to take them in alive and whole. And they were too close, too close to the Dragons. His instincts couldn’t handle having a child so close to danger.

He slowly held out an arm, displaying the cuff around his wrist. “I’m wearing seastone- I come in peace.”

There was a mutter of disgust from the bushes, “Is this what the Marines have fallen to, using children as shields?” The woman huffed, knowing eyes not leaving Drake’s own, “She’s not a shield. Right?”

He set his jaw firmly. “I’m here to ask you to take Koala in. If I thought I could keep her safe with me, I wouldn’t be here.” “But you can’t. So you turn to us.” He bowed, instincts rankling as he took his eyes from the leader and faced the ground. “Please.”

The woman sounded like she was suppressing a laugh, “Don’t do that, silly. The Revolutionary Army doesn’t turn away anyone in need of help.” Her eyes went to him again, and she emphasized, “Anyone.”

Drake nodded acknowledgement, knelt to face Koala one last time, managed a slight smile, “You wanted to help people, aye? Save the fishmen? They can help you do that. And they’ll keep you safe, better than I can.”

Koala bit her lip, dark eyes searching his, “We’re still friends, right? Even though I’m gonna fight Marines?” He nodded solidly, “Aye. We’re still friends.”

That small hand finally left his, and he turned, leaving alone.

Chapter Text

Was it a stretch for Drake to say that he’d been trained by Rocinante, a man he’d only been in the presence of for five minutes? Possibly, but he felt it true all the same.

He was no fool- despite knowing the fondness his trainers felt for him was genuine, he also knew that, bar Lady Vi, their eyes had only turned to him to begin with because of his connection with the one they’d lost. He felt the ghost of the other’s presence in every interaction, a shadow he only partially managed to fill.

Being taken in by Sengoku had immediately colored every other cadet’s perception of him, giving them an easy comparison to his could-have-been older brother. ‘Roci’ had been kind, compassionate, and soft, but also competent and clever when he shaped up. Drake was most definitely the latter two, but he had none of the former traits that had endeared Rocinante to Marineford at large. Instead, he was quiet and introspective, wary and determined and not inclined to open up to others.

Still, he’d rather carry this ghost than the other they might know him for- he already carried the taint of being the traitor’s son. Pops hadn’t been a big name- none outside the East would likely have known of him, and certainly none of these fresh cadets would have heard legends that died over a decade ago- but he’d been well known in his generation of Marines, and Drake was his spitting image. (To everyone except those who’d loved Rocinante, apparently, because pops wasn’t the person they saw in Drake.)

He had joined the Marines to prove himself, to escape pops’ shadow, but he joined SWORD to make the Marines a force for genuine good in the world, to scour away the corrupting influences that held the people down, to repay everyone who had saved him.

And he should have anticipated how much the Fleet Admiral would fight him on that decision, really- he was a walking comparison, having stepped from the shadow of one ghost directly into another, and he could understand the terror of not again, but… it was inevitable, wasn’t it?

Both of them knew it- Drake saw the grief that rested just below the surface in Sengoku’s eyes, as if he saw things to come, as if Drake were already a ghost. Drake even saw it himself sometimes- saw a future laid out in stone just as solid as the past, a path winding before him. He was the only Ancient Zoan in the Marines, the son of a traitor who already had experience as a pirate… it wasn’t difficult to put together how he could be useful.

And in the end, Sengoku was many things- practical to a fault, capable of silencing his heart to make the hard decisions, strong enough to bear burdens that would crush weaker men- but he was an honest man.

He’d refused to allow Drake to join SWORD until he was satisfied that his second son understood exactly the weight of it. Had taken Drake to stand before the Memorial Wall, to be dwarfed by the thousands of names cramped into the stone, to rest in the shadow of one among many.

“He was the same age you are now, when he left”, Sengoku had sighed, tracing the letters, well-worn by salt and sun and skin. ‘And I never saw him again’, went unsaid. For a long moment, he had looked at Drake like he’d seen this all before, like he was looking for the last time, and then finally conceded to let him walk this dark path.

And for a time, nothing changed- on the outside, anyway. Drake remained a loyal Marine, advancing in the ranks and upholding Justice, and he managed his double life and double duty expertly. (But what did it mean, to be undermining the very organization he served from the inside, weakening it for the sake of tearing it free?)

Then, five years after That Day, a letter landed on Sengoku’s desk while Drake was visiting, and when he read aloud the profile of the fresh bounty within, both had frozen solid. They knew very well the fruit the other bore, and what it meant that he had it.

Here, finally, was the ‘other boy’ Sengoku had mentioned, the boy he’d later confided had been the reason for Rocinante going rogue, the reason for everything that happened That Day. The boy Sengoku had been surreptitiously trying to find ever since, because his son had tried to protect the boy and he couldn’t just leave him alone out there, not after-

“I could bring him in.”, Drake offered- he knew the powers of that fruit, an advantage the other couldn’t know he held- and Sengoku had wanted to speak with the boy for so long… “No.” the older man hunched over the page, never tearing his eyes from it. “In fact… stop by the bounty office, please, and have them remove this phrase from the profile.”

The sentence he highlighted was a description of the Ope Ope no mi- the writer hadn’t known exactly the powers the other held, not like they did, but the description was enough for anyone who knew to put the pieces together. There were beings much more dangerous than Doflamingo that could have use for this young pirate, and the other boy wasn’t ready to be a target of that magnitude, not yet.

Drake understood the underlying instruction there, as well. This young pirate was to be protected, in as quiet and surreptitious a way as they could manage.

And Drake was the one of them who could do it, given the eyes that rested on Sengoku’s every move. His new position gave him the extra eyes and ears, the leeway to make these little changes, to restrict intel on this specific fruit and minimize eyes on the young pirate until he was ready to bear them.

When he was outside in the hall, alone with the draft bounty poster in his pocket, he pulled it out, carefully unfolded it and took his first good look at the other boy, from that day on Minion.

Fate and chance had intertwined their lives for so brief a time, but Drake felt the lasting echoes of it still. He would never have escaped the Birdcage if Rocinante hadn’t freed him and told him to run, but similarly, the threat of it may never have approached him at all if not for the same. Everything he lost on Minion, he lost because of Rocinante, and everything he had now, he had because of him, as well.

If he were the kind of person to contemplate could-have-beens, he could run his mind ragged around them. And yet… he lived in the world that was, firmly situated in reality, and what he saw was dozens of futures laid out before him, paths he had the responsibility of molding. This young pirate would have a role to play in the age to come, no doubt- his powers, his obvious vendetta, the legacy they both shared.

The other side of his coin, the ship that passed his in the night and left a wake that had rocked Drake’s life to a new course. The boy Rocinante had given his life to save.

He could almost feel his could-have-been older brother standing at his shoulder now, the expectation lingering in the void there. And Drake let himself shoulder just a bit more of the ghost’s burden, stepped just a bit further into that shadow.

Chapter Text

When Drake entered the appointed room, the sudden chill of it almost made him shiver, but he held it in, seating himself at the table. The room’s other occupant didn’t move for a very long time, seemingly asleep under his eye mask, but Drake knew better.

He waited patiently, and Kuzan eventually ‘woke up’ and raised from his slump in the chair, pushing the mask up nonchalantly to tangle in his curls.

The Admiral tilted his head, hummed, “I’m surprised you came. Your Da seems to think you have potential to be an Admiral, or even his replacement.”

He knew what Sengoku thought- the other brought him along to Warlord meetings for a reason, posted him close to the Admirals for a reason- but Drake knew otherwise. That was not his path. Kuzan knew it, as well.

And more importantly, “I’m not the one who called him ‘Da’. You’re thinking of someone else, Kuzan-san. I’m not that person.” The other only looked him over coolly, and nodded. “No. You’re not.”

He managed to keep his expression still, despite the growl that rumbled at the back of his mind. Ever since Sengoku had taken him in, he seemed to encounter those who compared him to Rocinante, and he always came up lacking. Drake wasn’t the kind, compassionate figure his ‘older brother’ had been, and all of them knew it.

But he would not show weakness, would not be provoked. This was a test, he knew this was a test. He would not fail.

Then the Admiral pulled out his sidearm, laying it on the table between them.

Oh, it was that kind of test. He’d seen this before- had spent seven years as a pirate, he’d seen all of it before- but never among Marines. Although, he supposed, that was rather the point here, wasn’t it?

Drake tipped his head to the gun, “How many are in there?” ‘What are my odds?’, he didn’t ask. Kuzan only shrugged lazily, leaned back in his seat with dull, uninterested eyes.

He was just going to have to trust the other, then. That’s what this was about. He needed to trust Kuzan, as the other would be giving him orders that could easily kill him- orders he had to obey without question, because he didn’t have all the information.

And he needed to be willing to weigh the worth of his own life, compared to his work. There might come a day when his continued survival is deemed too risky, given what he knows, and he had to be willing to put the mission first.

Kuzan interrupted his thoughts, speaking in that low drawl of his, “You know, there’s only a certain percentage of the population who are actually killers. The ones who can take a life and go on with their own, without it ruining them forever.

“The rest have to be trained into it, into being able to kill. The warrior mentality, the human-shaped drill targets, strong unit cohesion and ‘us and them’ thinking…”

The Admiral’s mouth bent into a slight scowl. “It’s not just training a Marine’s abilities, but their willingness to kill.”

The other’s eyes were cold as his element, calculating. “You’re a hunter, Drake. And I think you’re part of that percentage already.”

It went unsaid that Kuzan himself was also of that number. And he was right, for the most part.

Although Drake did believe that his first kill had ruined him forever, but that was because he’d broken the most fundamental taboo- he’d eaten his own kind, separated himself from humanity forever when the beast had taken over, when he’d woken afterwards vomiting up human bone fragments.

His horror at the act of killing had little to do with the victim- a rival pirate pops had set him loose on- and more to do with that curse than even the beast that lived within his skin.

The taste of blood was forever in his mouth, no matter what he’d done to wash it away, and Drake couldn’t rightly say he hadn’t gotten used to it. When something lives in you long enough, you have to either accept it or perish. And Drake knew he was more useful alive.

This cause was bigger than both of them, but himself and Kuzan… their roles were outsized, within it. As soon as Drake became aware of SWORD, made clear his intent to join, he’d known his ultimate purpose.

Even setting aside his skill set, his powers made him very attractive for a certain Yonkou’s collection. There was no one else who could infiltrate Kaido’s crew like he could. And he would have to be a pirate to do that.

Thus, his path was set in stone- had been since he was thirteen and become a man and a beast and a monster all at once. All that was left to be decided was if he could handle it.

If he could bear the weight of his father’s crimes and commit himself to the exact same path, could openly break every promise he’d ever made and renounce his vows to the world, in order to protect it in secret.

He would lose everything, by taking this opportunity. His friends, what little family he’d collected, his rank and reputation.

Smoker would stop at nothing to keep his own promise, no doubt- to end Drake rather than let him become like his father. He’d have to fight the man who had become like a brother to him, have to take all the accusations and rage, have to beat him.

But all of this… for the chance to create a better dawn for those that came after, to protect the weak in a way that really mattered. It wasn’t really a choice.

Drake weighed the gun in his hand, felt its cold metal, the way it fit in his palm like a portent- the initials on its hilt were familiar, but he made no sign of recognizing them.

He had felt almost separate from his actions, distant but resolved, until this moment, and it all snapped into visceral clarity, every muscle suddenly his own again.

Drake didn’t allow himself to hesitate- he raised the gun to his temple fluidly, unflinchingly, eyes fixed on Kuzan’s own, and pulled the trigger.

There was a splash of water against his skin, both frigid and scalding at the same moment- he held himself determinedly still, stoically letting it drip down his cheek onto his collar. Ice bullets, then.

The gun was laid on the table between them, Drake returning to his stillness, waiting. Kuzan smirked triumphantly. “Good. Let’s get started.”

Chapter Text

Drake couldn’t figure Kizaru out. The man was lazy, slow to speak, slow to react- the opposite, in many ways, of the element he embodied.

Perhaps he was this way because of his element, if the rest of the world looked slow to his perception?

Regardless, Drake was wary. Kizaru hadn’t made Admiral through strength alone, and his dullard persona may be as much a facade as Kuzan’s nonchalance.

And Drake had to assume such, for the sake of not underestimating the Admiral- his dual-position meant he had secrets to keep, although he’d become an old hand at it by now.

Being SWORD meant incompletion- operating without all the information, unknowing who to trust outside of his direct cell. It was deliberate this way, to avoid discovery- even if one agent slipped up, the conspiracy would not fall entirely.

The higher he climbed in the internal ranks of the organization, the more he knew and yet the less complete he felt as the world became more complex and muddled around him.

In a way, it was fitting to once more serve under an Admiral whose own sense of Justice was so unclear, now that his had become the same.

He had been under Kizaru’s command for his first two years at sea, but had never been close enough to the Admiral himself to bear the full brunt of his… personality.

Now, as the Rear Admiral under him, assigned especially for the purpose of this mission (assigned by Sengoku to keep an eye on the Pacifista Project, more truthfully), he was in charge of wrangling the Admiral.

And what a task it was. Kizaru had strange habits- he was completely incompetent with any sort of technology, but gladly sat through Vegapunk’s tests to mimic his light concentration powers, asking questions he couldn’t possibly comprehend the answers to only to nod along to the old man’s excited ramblings.

He also liked to suddenly appear next to people, utilizing his powers to avoid having to walk places, and Drake had long suppressed anything in him that was still capable of being startled.

He’d grown accustomed to finding the Admiral in the same room as him between one blink and the next, and at this point, his only reaction was to slide over the second cup of tea he’d made.

Kizaru hummed, the sound drawn out for a long moment, as if he’d simply forgotten to stop making it. “Am I that predictable?” “It’s four, sir. You always ask for tea at four.” The Admiral was completely unpredictable in some ways, but a reliable creature of habit in others.

“Well… I suppose. But you’re my Rear Admiral, not my babysitter.” Drake very pointedly did not say that he was, in fact, the Admiral’s babysitter, and only slid the cup closer.

Kizaru took up the tea, but only managed a single sip before his denden rang. Drake stood, made to leave the room so the Admiral could take his call in privacy, but Kizaru held up a hand lazily, halting him.

He picked up the receiver, voice going, if possible, even more lazily casual. “Hey, Saka.” The gruff voice on the other end didn’t bother with a greeting, “When are they releasing you from that damn mission? We can’t afford to have an Admiral stuck on such a project for months on end.” “When it’s Vegapunk, we can.”

Drake could almost imagine the other Admiral’s sneer of distaste, “That old coot is wasting time with a single brat while pirates are raiding towns all over the seas. He’d be better served focusing on the Project- you’d almost think he’s stalling on us.”

Kizaru tsk’ed, “Saka, the brat’s how we got the Project in the first place. Be patient- won’t be much longer. I’ll be back before you know it.”

The call ended, and Drake remained standing silently until acknowledged- Kizaru hummed, “My, what a scary look.” He blinked out of his intense focus, “Ah- I don’t mean- I was-“ “Paying very close attention, I know. Those predator instincts come in handy, I’ll bet. Thoughts?”

Drake’s mind raced- he’d been told to remain for a reason, and now the Admiral was asking him for his perspective- the man was looking for something, he knew it. What, Drake couldn’t tell. What could he say without revealing too much?

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Kizaru gave a lazy wave. “The Marines owe Doctor Vegapunk far too much to be doubting his loyalty. His worth to the World Government is immeasurable.”

‘His worth to the world’, Drake would rather say- but he was playing the part of a Good Marine, and had to say the right things.

Kizaru’s eyes were invisible behind his shades, and his expression was unreadable, but he nodded decisively. “Agreed- his worth was never in question.”

And then he was gone once more, cup of tea gone cold on the table. Drake couldn’t help feeling like he’d been too slow, somehow.

Chapter Text

Of all the Marines who’d taught him, Vice Admiral Tsuru felt the most like his own people, like the ones he’d lost all those years ago. She fit into his life like a new band member, with the easy way his mind slipped into calling her ’Elder’. He’d never say it aloud- the others wouldn’t understand, the context was different- but he could think it.

The elders had been venerated, among their band- the ones who held their peoples’ culture to their hearts, who kept those who had passed alive in their memory, who knew the names behind each handprint painted on the wall of the cave.

He’d lost his band long ago, with the burning of his home, and then lost the last of it with pops and the rest of the crew on Minion. But Tsuru felt like ma had, that easy self-assurance and rock-steady determination of someone who’s seen almost everything.

She had been the one to rescue him, that day on Minion. The crow man- Rocinante, he knew now, his almost-older-brother- had shot his shackles free, told him to run, but it was Vice Admiral Tsuru who had ordered the cuffs removed, had taken him far from the burnt base and the sea of corpses where his old life had ended.

She had been the one to free him from that overwhelming feeling in his brain, as well- the senses beyond knowledge that had needled at him for years. ‘The Knowing’, his ma had called it- she’d had it, as well, this strange, sourceless instinct, like things just dropped into her brain.

It was called Observation Haki, he finally learned, and his had gone wrong somehow, when it was unleashed so suddenly.

Was that what that was, why the beast had fought him so fiercely for so long? His observation haki had awakened fully formed when the second soul was forced into his own, and the two overwhelming forces created a perfect storm- there was no way a teenage Drake could have handled it all together.

It was comforting, at least, to know it hadn’t been his weakness alone that left him under the beast’s claw for so long.

He’d spent weeks blindfolded, learning to hone this extra sense under Tsuru’s instruction, and the beast became almost docile in his mind, calmed by the unfamiliar peace that came with no longer having everything speaking into his head.

From there, the Great Tactician set to teaching him war. War wasn’t only a science- you couldn’t plug in numbers and predict an outcome based only on resources and endurance.

It was an art, as well, requiring a discerning eye and a mind that could think several dozen steps ahead and take into account variables like weather and sheer dumb luck. And Vice Admiral Tsuru was quite the artist.

She had a very specific philosophy on Justice, rooted in ensuring the most good for the most people. Drake had to think her powers gave her insight on the soul that most people never saw.

She’d told him once, “The only end is death- remember that. Even the worst scum can be cleaned up, if they try hard enough. But you can’t do the hard work for them, and that possibility can never be put above the real harm they’ve done. Your priority is always the innocent and helpless, and sometimes that means cutting short a possibility in favor of the reality in front of you.”

Drake learned well that power meant choices- something the weak often didn’t get the luxury of- but those choices were a burden, as well. Drake could weigh another’s life in his hand, mold his own justice and enact it upon the world, but for what that meant to him. He didn’t feel worthy of bearing the weight of judgment, as filthy as his own soul was.

Still, he saw Tsuru change others- cause them to better themselves where even they had given up on such- and, shamefully, thought that perhaps he could be better as well, learning from her.

There had been times he’d come close to begging her to cleanse him, as well. He was tainted, blood-stained and corrupt- seven years a pirate, a beast and murderer and cannibal who had long left humanity behind entirely with his monstrosity. But he couldn’t allow himself to fail someone he respected so much.

Even in the lowest moments, like this- he was covered in dust and blood, knuckles scraped to the bone and throbbing along with his heartbeat. Hiding from the rest of the unit, now that the work was done.

The scene was imprinted on his mind- the scent of death in the air, the man hunched next to the rubble, covered in dust enough to look like stone himself, the little hand clutched in his, pale and gray.

The man had turned to him, expression utterly broken. “I won’t let go- I promised her I wouldn’t let go.” Drake had settled a hand on the man’s shoulder, “I won’t make you.”

He set his shoulder against the giant chunk of rubble and lifted it carefully, heard the man gasp and rush to pull his daughter’s corpse from underneath- younger than Koala, so small- before setting it down once more. The man cradled the dead girl to his chest, sobbing. “Thank you, sir- at least I can bury her, now.”, and Drake felt so, so helpless. “I’m sorry.”

The unit had gone through the rest of the town, grasping to an increasingly ragged hope whenever he caught a scent, but all he found was corpses, people who had succumbed in their rocky tombs.

He hadn’t been able to think anything but ‘I’m sorry’ in the sleepless hours since. Too late, he was always too late, never enough- no matter what he did, how hard he worked, he always seemed to fail the innocent.

Someone settled beside him quietly, pressed cotton and a roll of gauze in his hands. He started treating his hands almost absently, hardly in his body at all- the sting of it gradually brought him back down, the sharp fire of antiseptic reminding him harshly of his body’s borders.

Vice Admiral Tsuru fingered the gun at her hip- Drake had never seen her use it, but it was always pristine nonetheless. He understood why now, as she removed it from its holster, laid out a towel on the crate before her and took it apart with a practiced ease.

She didn’t even look at the weapon, eyes distant and hands running through maintenance and polishing by feel alone. He caught a glimpse of initials- ‘GS’- on the grip, but said nothing.

Finally, she broke the silence. “We were sixteen, fresh cadets all. The Marines were less strict then, less stringent about keeping the younger ones from combat. The seas were calmer- this was before Roger, before every bastard and his brother took to sea.”

“There was an island- you won’t find it on any maps, because it’s been wiped.” She huffed, something mirthless and tired, “Funny how many islands that applies to now, isn’t it?” A shake of the head, “Our patrol ship was called to it- a distress signal from the town, help with fending off attacks by bandits. Only it wasn’t bandits.”

Drake tilted his head, looking up at her, managed the first word he’d spoken in hours, “Pirates?” “No. The citizens themselves- they’d been infected with a disease, something that drove them to attack each other, turned even children and kindly old ladies into raging beasts. And their bite could infect others with the same.

“By the time we got there, the town was all but overrun, and our class of fresh cadets, most still learning how to march correctly, stepped into hell. The things we saw, the things we had to do…”

She was silent for a long moment, the only sound the precise click of metal components and the haunting whirl of the sea breeze through shattered windows.

“Three of us survived, of the entire island. We had to kill our fellows, the people we were meant to protect. Because they would’ve killed us, instead- and someone had to make it, to warn HQ.

“The girl who bunked with me… she was fourteen, had lied about her age to enlist. I knew, but she had dead parents and kid siblings to feed, so I kept quiet. She held my gun to her head, after she’d been bitten, and begged me to kill her, because she didn’t want to turn into one of them.”

Tsuru stopped there, but Drake didn’t need it said- he would have done the same. He heard the ‘If I’d spoken up, she’d be alive’, heard why she wasn’t carrying her own gun anymore. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Her eyes caught his, sharp. “And this earthquake wasn’t yours. We can’t control the world, and if we kill ourselves trying, we do no one any good. Focus on what you can do. And I know you’re smart enough to know… what you can do.”

There was no question between them what she meant. She put her gun back together as easily as breathing, holstered it with a decisive ‘snap’.

“I’ve been a Marine for sixty years. You run out of things to trade, eventually. Tangible things, anyway. But what I’m giving you is a mantle, a burden you don’t ever get to shake off. Not really. But you’re better for carrying it.”

Again, she didn’t finish speaking, and again, Drake didn’t need her to. He knew already, what she was speaking of.

There would always be a Shield of the North. It was Tsuru now, and before her, it had been Lady Vi. And they had chosen Drake to succeed them. It was why he had been assigned Lady Vi’s ship, why the elderly Vice Admiral accompanied him even now.

He was a son of the East, but the North had taken him and shaped him, it had seen him to adulthood and formed the man he became in a way his home sea hadn’t gotten the chance to.

It had been his parent, when pops hadn’t been able to do the job- its harsh, biting winds and dark, choppy seas a strict teacher that made him strong.

He had travelled all four Blues, both halves of the Line, and bore the marks of all of them, had earned the sailor’s ink that painted his body. But he always found his way back to the North.

Even with this mission, with the endpoint he could see on its horizon in an island enclosed by walls… he knew he would find his way back to the North, eventually. If only as ashes on the sea breeze, he would return.

That last night, before he’d left on his mission, Tsuru had come to see him back to his ship. They’d walked in companionable silence to the docks- there was nothing to be said. He knew all she had to tell him, and she knew all he could say in response.

He watched her figure shrink on the dock as he sailed away, and prayed to the gods he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore. Please, don’t let this be the last time he sees Elder Tsuru.

Chapter Text

Smoker had truly been a godsend, once Drake had joined the Marines. The first one to claim him, to take him under his wing and help him adjust to his new life as a Marine.

Smoker had helped him finally take the reins of his own body, master the beast that had spent so long ruling over him. And, even more importantly, Smoker had promised… he’d promised to keep Drake in check, if he turned out like pops.

Drake never saw it as a threat- it was a reassurance, just as Smoker had intended it to be. Drake couldn’t trust himself- not after pops. He’d been kind too, been a good, upright man, before he changed, before grief had made him a different person.

Drake couldn’t ensure he wouldn’t snap in exactly the same way- but Smoker could ensure he didn’t get the opportunity to do the kind of damage pops had.

Drake knew better than anyone, the kind of howling, snapping beast he was underneath the facade of a human, and this was the restraint he needed, the collar around his throat that would hold back the ripping teeth. It was a kindness.

But it didn’t feel like one now, after he’d publicly betrayed the Marines and begun his covert mission. He’d known this would happen, had accepted that Smoker would come after him. He’d known how much it would hurt, before ever accepting his new position.

That didn’t stop the pain from being nigh-unbearable, seeing Smoker turn a cold glare on him, the kind of glare he reserved for pirates and scum. “Out of everyone… I never thought it would be you.”

He closed his eyes- out of everyone… he had thought Smoker would understand. He had hoped against hope… Please, Smoker- you know who I am.

But Smoker only slid into a stance Drake knew better than his own name, hand tightening around his jitte (his free hand still twitched, Drake noticed- reaching instinctively for the second jitte, which Drake had accidentally broken in a spar nine years back, underestimating his bite strength. Smoker had laughed so hard he nearly cried when Drake had panicked and frantically apologized.) and he growled, “I made a promise to my cadet. And I intend to keep it.”

Drake felt like nothing more than that cadet, then- still small and weak and wary and clutching to every ounce of kindness in its unfamiliar warmth.

He almost broke, in that moment- almost fell to his knees and confessed everything. Anything to not have to face that disappointment, that disgust and betrayal and hatred from his brother, the man he respected more than any other.

But he couldn’t allow himself to. He had a duty to perform, and he would do nothing less. Could do nothing less. He had been trained better than that.

Drake locked himself away, then- tucked the part of him that was Smoker’s cadet into the recesses of his mind. Every memory of spars and drinks and songs, of hair ruffled and proud smirks and fierce protectiveness, was pressed into a chest, to be treasured in solitude, perhaps never to be opened again.

He took a deep breath, settled himself firmly into the persona of Red Flag Drake, newly reborn pirate and Marine traitor. He couldn’t let Smoker keep that promise- not yet.

Once this was all over, once his worth was spent, if he was still alive at the end of it… He would seek out Smoker, confess everything, and put his fate in his brother’s hands, to do with as he saw fit.

But that wasn’t right now. Right now, he had a part to play, and his own promise to keep.