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Chapter Text

“The children are watching!”

- Queen Otohime, One Piece ch.625

-----

Prologue

The North Blue. Approximately six years before the fall of Dressrosa.

“Permission to fire?”

Vice-Admiral Tsuru regards her crew, lined up at the ship’s cannons. The ship of the Donquixote family is skirting on the waves ahead of them, their gunfire spattering across the water just shy of the Navy ship’s hull.

“Fire,” she says tonelessly.

“STOP! WAIT!!”

The shrill voice cuts the air, and all hands pause over the canon fuses. Tsuru whirls angrily around to see Sergeant Canary, stretched out against the ship's railing, a telescope pressed to her eye.

“DON’T FIRE!” she screams. “PLEASE!”

“Sergeant Canary, what is the meaning of this?!” Tsuru demands heatedly.

“Vice-Admiral,” she stammers, her voice quivering. “There’s an, an infant on board! There’s a baby!”

“What?” Vice-Admiral Tsuru is for once, taken aback. She thrusts a wrinkled hand toward the other woman, who gives her the telescope with shaking hands.

Yes, the family had been taking in children. A hideous tactic that she was well aware of.

She raises the spyglass to her eye and peers across the waters onto the offending ship.

There was Doflamingo’s freakshow of a so-called “family.” All of them, all hauling weapons across the deck to return fire at her ship.

A strange, bizarre collection of people. The repulsive snail-like man. The grotesquely tall one. The one that hid his face behind a mask and goggles.  The man perhaps only a few years shy of her own age with his foolish headwear.

And the ringleader of this circus himself, Doflamingo. Her eyes narrow.

“On…on the main cannon, ma’am,” says Sergeant Canary softly, her voice trembling. The rest of the crew is looking on, perturbed, some of them trying to squint onto the opposing ship.

Vice-Admiral Tsuru looks past the leering vision in pink who is watching over the proceedings, to the unfortunate boy with equally unfortunate teeth who is loading the cannon.

There. On the cannon. An infant.

Clad in pink and perched on the cannon as though it were the most ideal spot in the world. A horse-faced woman with ridiculous hair bends over the child, no the baby, and picks it up in her arms. It claps its tiny hands.

There are what seem to be little growths sticking out from the baby’s pink cap, and something black and shiny protruding from the infant’s back that Tsuru cannot quite make out.

She barely registers these abnormalities. She is seething. Appalled.

A child can make choices. Poor, uninformed choices, but choices all the same.

A baby cannot make choices.   

Her wrinkled hands are tight against the spyglass, and the baby waves its hands animatedly, blissfully and blessedly ignorant of the hideous company it is keeping. She feels sick to her stomach with rage.

The have already wasted too much time. The Donquixote Family’s ship now has too far a lead on them. The baby is getting smaller and smaller as the ship breaks further away across the choppy waters.

“Vice-Admiral, I’m sorry,” begins Sergeant Canary, her voice cracking. “What, what can we do?”

Vice-Admiral Tsuru lowers the spyglass and sets it back into Sergeant Canary’s hands, her mouth in a grim line.

“We re-route,” she says. “Wait for the next information from Sengoku. He has a mole in the crew. I’m sure no harm will come to the infant.”

Rocinante would have his work cut out for him with this one, Tsuru thinks. A baby cannot choose to leave. A baby cannot survive on its own.

Tsuru was certain of one thing. 

“I will see that man burn,” she says quietly.

---

Chapter 1.

Durance Island - The North Blue.
Three months prior. Approximately six years before the fall of Dressrosa.

“Let go of me! You filthy humans! Cowards!!”

“Shut up.”

The butt of a rifle smashed against the side of the Arctic Char fishman’s head. He groaned and sunk to his knees, but did not faint, straining against the chains around his arms and legs. He was held fast by two slave traders. Already they had given him a dose of sedatives, and still he remained conscious, panting heavily. Though not fierce predators, Arctic Char were hardy, used to harsh environments.

“We brought him in boss,” said one of the traders, yanking on the end of the chain.

“Excellent,” said Disco, manager of the trafficking outpost. “I need your help with something, fish,” said Disco. “I have a species here that I cannot identify.”

“Like I’d help you!” the fishman snarled.

Disco sighed. “You fish get so worked up and aggressive over the most trivial things. I have one of your people here, or at least I think that’s what it is. I’d just like to know what I’ve got on my hands, that’s all.”

The fishman growled.

“Bring it in!” Disco called over his shoulder.

“Boss do I have to? It ---AGHHH!! It bit me! Again! The little -”

There was the sound of an infant, screaming shrilly.

 “Idiot,” muttered Disco. “I told him to use tranquilizers.”

A third slave trader walked in. He was wearing a heavy pair of gloves and holding upside down at arm’s length, a screaming baby.

The baby had a healthy amount of blonde hair, from which poked out two tiny ivory colored horns. On it's back jutted out a gleaming black dorsal fin. Its gaping mouth was wide with a scream, exposing rows of tiny, sharp teeth; some of them flecked red with blood.

The fishman gaped at the screaming infant, his eyes wide.

“What the hell is that thing?!” he demanded over the infant’s cries.

“Well we were hoping you could tell us,” said Disco, shrugging. “We’re not really sure either.”

“Is this some kind of sick joke?! Get it away from me! It’s disgusting!” the fishman yelled. “It’s an abomination!”

“What exactly is it? Is it not a fishman?”

 “What kind of sick humans would do such a thing?!” he shouted. “Is that what your world nobles force us to do with your kind?!”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” said Disco.

The fishman looked as though he might burst into tears.

 “That thing’s half…human,” choked out the fishman. “Look at it. Look at its skin. It’s body. What the hell have you monsters done…”

Disco raised his eyebrows.

“Half-human you say?” said Disco. “I’ve never seen such a thing. How interesting. Well, we didn’t breed this thing if that’s what you’re wondering. Some of my men found it, apparently you fishes just wantonly abandon your offspring.”

“I’d abandon a shameful creature like that too,” said the fishman, looking away from the screaming baby.

“Do you know what it is or not?” demanded Disco, grabbing the fishman’s pointed face and forcing him to look at him. “I see plenty of fish pass through here, I’ll ask another one if you don’t know.”

The fishman looked at the shrieking, sobbing child who was still being held as far as possible from the slave trader.

“The only fishmen species with horns like that are Fighting Fish,” said the fishman, finally. “The Fighting Fish species comes from Dressrosa.”

Disco paused. There was a lull, broken only by the baby’s cries.

“Dressrosa you say?”

“Yeah, that’s the only place you find Fighting Fishes.”

Disco stood up. “We’re done here,” he said. “Get this one ready for the buyer. I need to make a phone call. Stick that thing in something so it can’t bite.”

“Yes sir,” said the man holding the howling baby.

“IT’S BETTER OFF DEAD!” shouted the fishman as the traders dragged him away. “No fishman should have its blood mixed with humans! It’s disgusting! That child doesn’t belong anywhere! You hear me?!! IT’S BETTER OFF DEAD!”

---

The North Blue – Spider Miles.

It was a rainy Thursday morning when Doflamingo got the call.

He was sitting in his study with a bottle of Diesse wine, reading the news, when the den den mushi rang. Sighing, and expecting nothing of particular importance, he picked up the receiver.

“Yes?”

“Hey Joker. I think we got something for you.”

---

“Behheheh Doffy, this has been an excellent month,” said Trebol oozing up to him, entirely too close, the family’s ledger held tightly in his hands.

“You’re too close,” said Doflamingo, strolling down the grimy corridor of the Spider Miles warehouse, Trebol tailing him. “And good, means we’re right on schedule. Listen, we need to make a little detour to Durance. Get the ship ready.”

“Nehhh? Now? What for?”

“I got a call from one of our traders out there. It sounds promising. Go get Pica will you? And—”

He paused a moment.

“Go get Jora as well.”

---

Jora, delighted at being chosen to accompany Doflamingo’s most elite family members, trotted along behind Pica in her best fur stole and lavender striped dress.

Diamante was outside toying with a pair of runty teenagers and a scrawny twenty-something boy out behind one of the garbage heaps.  A tiny girl lay unconscious behind them. Senior Pink and Machvise were looking on and smoking.

“Uhahaha, Doffy, care to join us?” said Diamante, single-handedly fending off the three attackers, as Doflamingo sauntered up with Trebol, Pica and Jora in tow. “I’m bored out of my mind here.”

The would-be recruits had all turned upon Doflamingo’s approach. One of the teenagers promptly dropped the spiked bat she was holding and bolted over the garbage piles.

“We’re leaving,” said Doflamingo. “I got a call from Durance. There’s a good possibility of a recruit there. But we ought to leave. The nature is a little, time sensitive. I’ll explain. Vise, Senor,” he said, turning to the two. “You can hold off any runts who show up until we get back?”

“Certainly sir,” said Senor Pink, straightening his glasses.

“What’s this-innn?” said Machvise inquisitively. “You’ll be bringing us back a new family member? Why Jora-chan, aren’t you lucky, you get to go as well-innn.”

Jora flushed with pleasure, straightening her furs.

“Oi, why don’t you two just scram already, we don’t want you,” hissed Diamante at the two remaining kids. The other adolescent took off after his friend, dropping his rusty cutlass, but the child remained.

“Don’t ignore me!” he yelled. “I’ll show you I’m strong enough to join your family! Just –”

A fist collided with the boy’s temple. He dropped like a rock.

“Ah! Corazon, there you are!” said Doflamingo, smiling at his brother’s scowling figure. “We are taking a short trip to Durance. There may be… someone of interest there to our family. It may be an important decision and I would like my most trusted family members to help decide.”

Cora fished around in his coat and held up a slip of paper: NO.

Doflamingo frowned. “Corazon, this is an important trip. It may hold a key to our family’s future. And as part of my family, I value your opinion.”

“Come on, Cora!” said Diamante. “There may be kids for you to beat up!”

Corazon glowered.

The small girl who had fallen unconscious behind Diamante groaned and groggily staggered to her feet.

“Please,” she gasped. “Please just let me —”

Corazon whacked her upside the head. She keeled over; a cloud of dust rising around her tiny body.

Corazon stalked off toward the ship, taking all of about four steps before tripping and landing on his face.

“Oh dear,” said Jora.

“Maybe he could have stayed behind after all,” muttered Doflamingo. “I’m not sure I want him trying to kill the kid before we even bring it back to Spider Miles…”

---

It was a day’s trip to Durance. The rain slowed their progress but for once the seas left them at peace and no Marines turned up for a fight. Doflamingo was beginning to think Vice-Admiral Tsuru’s business with him was something personal.

“Joker, such an honor for you to grace us with your presence! Right this way, please” said Disco bowing grandly as Doflamingo strode into the dingy warehouse, followed by Diamante, Trebol, Pica, Jora and a reluctant Corazon who was nursing a bruise from falling down the gangplank.

“You’ve been turning a tidy profit for us,” said Diamante, ducking under the doorframe. “Business is going well then, I take it? No trouble with supply and demand?”

"None at all, I have excellent sources and buyers,” said Disco proudly. “Right this way.”

Human trade thrived under the government’s blind eye and the world noble’s constant demand in areas such as Sabody Archipelago, but in the four blues one had to be more discreet. Traffickers had to be more careful as opposed to the lavish stores of Sabody’s mangroves. Hence, “shipping agencies” on places like Durance kept the market going underground.

“Young Master, I’m still not sure why I’m here-zamasu,” said Jora, her dual-colored hair bouncing.

“Fufufu,” chuckled Doflamingo.  “You’ll see.”

“And who might this lovely lady be?” said Disco, bowing to Jora.

“Who are you calling an ocean goddess-zamasu?” said Jora, dramatically.

Disco had long since learned not to question any of the company that Joker kept, as Doflamingo had always had an affinity for “eccentrics.”               

The warehouse seemed to be not much more than a typical shipping facility. Large crates were stacked up against the walls, stamped with their destinations. 

Disco paused at a stack of crates and pushed up against them. They slide aside to reveal a long corridor. Disco motioned for them to follow.

“We only bring serious buyers that we can trust in here,” said Disco. “Otherwise we might just bring out a select few individuals to meet the client.”

They drew up to a heavy metal door. Disco produced a key from around his neck and unlocked it.

A cavernous room lined with cages of varying shapes and sizes gaped before them. Some empty, but most of them were filled with people who shrank away from the bars as they entered the room. The sound of rattling chains echoed around the room.

Corazon skulked around like an overgrown vulture, glowering at the surroundings.

Disco crossed the room to the furthermost corner, where a tiny, small cage was set aside, apart from the others.

The family members drew up.

The cigarette dropped from Corazon’s mouth and lit his pants on fire.

Jora gasped involuntarily.

“It’s a baby,” she whispered.

The boy couldn’t be more than a month or so old. But it was clearly hardy and large for an infant, laying asleep on its stomach. Doflamingo was not sure which was more bizarre, the tiny jet black dorsal fin jutting out of the baby’s back, or the pair of petite horns poking out from its mop of sandy blonde hair.

“Is this really….?” murmured Doflamingo.

“I have it on good authority,” said Disco. “Had a fishman in here just last night before it was sold to a private client. Said that the only fishmen species with horns like that are Fighting Fish. That’s when I called you.”

“Kings of Dressrosa’s waters,” murmured Diamante, almost in reverence. “Legend has it their strength is comparable to sea kings.”

“Neh neh,” said Trebol, swaying in entirely too close to peer at the infant. “This doesn’t look like any fishman I’ve ever seen.”

“Well that’s what I thought too,” said Disco, scratching his head. “It looks like a human baby somebody just stuck fishman parts on to. But apparently according to my source, given the prominence of the fishman traits in the child, what we are looking at here is a half-fishman, half-human.”

Doflamingo’s eyes widened behind his glasses.

“Such a thing exists?” squealed Pica, speaking up for the first time throughout the entire exchange. Pica did not talk much.

“Apparently so,” said Disco. “The fishman I had called it an abomination. Tainting fishman blood or something of the matter. Never had seen such a thing.”

 “Why the hell is he in a cage?” demanded Jora.

“It bites,” said Disco.

“It bites?”

“Yeah, it’s got some serious teeth,” said Disco, holding up a bandaged finger. “Vicious little thing, we finally just knocked it out.”

Jora made an uncomfortable little noise.

“Where the hell did you get this thing?” asked Doflamingo, bending down to peer closer to the cage. “Where are the parents?” he added suspiciously, glancing up at Disco.

“I’m not sure,” said Disco, running a hand through his long hair. “That’s the honest truth, I’ll tell you. Nobody stole the thing. The kid was picked up by my traders, abandoned near the Red Line, I’m assuming reasonably close to either Sabody or Fishman Island. Can you believe those fish people just leave babies lying around in dangerous parts of the ocean?”

Jora bent down to her knees to look into the cage.

“Hello there,” she whispered. “Aren’t you a little sweetheart-zamasu!”

The child’s eyelid’s fluttered, and Jora let out a little giggle of delight.

“I didn’t think they…you know…mixed,” continued Diamante, folding his arms and looking at the boy.

“Me neither,” continued Disco. “Parents could have been slaves, but one of them had to be a Fighting Fish Fishman or Merman or Mermaid due to how prominent it is in the kid. No clue where the parents are, or even if they’re alive. Maybe its kind rejected it. Fishman pride or whatever the hell those barbarians call it. The one I had in here couldn’t even stand to look at it.”

The baby was blinking slowly and now apparently trying to take in the presence of the adults. Its eyes seemed almost too large for its head. It yawned and sure enough, the family could see the rows of shark like teeth poking out almost comically from its mouth.

“But Diamante had tipped me off you’d be personally interested in anything hailing from Dressrosa’s region, and obviously you are my first priority over any client,” said Disco. “Besides, I can’t say there’s a huge market for half-fishmen or infants. Most nobles aren’t going to want to raise a baby just for it to be a slave, if the kid were three or four that would be one thing. And honestly I’d worry about it surviving if sold to someplace with other fishmen. Look, it’s not perfect; the little misfit. Sorry I don’t have anything a little more…whole. But, do you want it?” He looked hopefully at Doflamingo.

Doflamingo poked a finger into the cage.

“I’d watch out,” said Disco. “It’s a nasty little thing. Aggressive. The traders that brought it in were covered in bites. Just goes to show you those fishmen – ”

“Shut up,” said Doflamingo.

The baby drew away at first, and then reached out chubby hands to Doflamingo’s large finger. Latching a tiny hand around Doflamingo’s finger, it squeezed. Doflamingo cried out and whipped his hand out quickly.

 “Doffy!” cried Trebol.

“Christ, those are strong hands!” Doflamingo said, shaking his hand. The baby began to scream, a horrible howl of a scream that showed off its array of sharp teeth.

“Hush now you, you surprised me, that’s all,” said Doflamingo, inserting a different finger between the bars. “I wasn’t expecting such strength. You’re quite impressive you know.”

“To think that the best fighters in Spider Miles haven’t been able to touch any of the executives, and the first thing this baby does is nearly break Doffy’s finger,” muttered Diamante. “Not bad at all.”

The boy regarded the new finger warily, then grasping it again. Doflamingo grimaced slightly as it squeezed. The baby brought the finger to its mouth and began sucking, instinctively, as if for a mother’s milk. When Doflamingo’s finger failed to provide nourishment, it sunk its teeth into Doflamingo’s finger, and bit, sucking on the cut.

Disco looked disgusted.

“That’s a Fighting Fish for you, you idiot,” said Doflamingo as the infant continued to suck on his finger. “That’s just in their nature. He’s not aggressive, he’s hungry. ”

“But we can fix that,” added Doflamingo quietly, looking right at the baby. “Maybe it wouldn’t bite if you fed it something,” said Doflamingo. “Get this thing out of here. He doesn’t need to be in a cage.”

“So you want it?”

“Yes. He’s coming with us.”

Jora let out a girlish little squeal of delight that was cut short by Corazon shoving her out of his way to approach his brother.

He reached into his coat and pulled out the card that said: NO.

“Corazon,” sighed Doflamingo. “Regardless of your opinions on children, we are giving this child a home that he wouldn’t have otherwise. This is a rare and remarkable child that will grow into something incredible for our family. Would you rather it die or remain a slave?”

Corazon glowered.

“Trebol, Pica, Diamante, Jora, have you any objections to taking in the half-fishman?”

They all shook their heads. Jora looked like she was about to burst; her hair was practically quivering.

“Really Young Master?” cried Jora. “We’re, we’re going to save him?”

“Well Cora, it looks like you have been outvoted,” said Doflamingo, clapping him on the back.

Corazon stalked off, lighting a cigarette that promptly set his coat on fire.

“Listen, Disco,” said Doflamingo, fiddling with the lock on the cage. “We’re on track to be expanding to the Grand Line within the next year. Business is good. If things fall in to place as planned, I’ll set you up in Sabody, and you can manage the human market end from there. It will be far more beneficial than running this underground stuff in the North Blue.”

Disco’s jaw dropped. “Really Joker? You can’t be serious! Thank you! Thank you so much! You won’t be disappointed.”

Doflamingo lifted the baby out of the cage. He gurgled and then started to howl.

“Jora, now, I suppose I have a proposition for you.”

Jora stared at Doflamingo, straightening her glasses.

“We are a family of course,” he said. “And we will all give this child the care that he needs to grow up a member of the Donquixote family. But an infant needs a caretaker. An infant needs a mother. I know what it is like to grow up without a mother. I know it is a bit unexpected, but….might you consider this, a special assignment?”

Doflamingo held out the baby to her. He screamed and bared his teeth.

Jora felt as though her stomach had jumped up to her chest, her eyes wide.

“Young Master, I—”

“I daresay it will not be easy,” said Doflamingo, over the screaming baby. “But do you think you can help raise this next member of the Donquixote family?”

Jora’s voice quavered.

“You know I will do anything for you, Young Master,” she whispered. “I would be honored.”

She carefully held the infant and cradled him to her chest, his dorsal fin snugged into the crook of her arm. He howled and promptly bit her in the shoulder. Jora cringed but patted the infant all the same.

 “You won’t be on your own,” said Doflamingo. “Besides,” he added with a smile. “Trebol and Diamante know all about taking in stray kids.”

Jora looked down at the tiny, squirming baby. His screams had subsided into wails, his tiny little fingers clenching and unclenching.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked, and Jora yelped in surprise, her neck jolting. The infant had torn a fistful of her hair clean out and was trying to chew it.

“Goodness me!” said Jora. “You cannot eat my hair. There are better sources of protein. We will have to get you properly fed.”

“Fufufu, I think we have a fair bit of shopping to do,” said Doflamingo. “If we leave now we can make it back to Spider Miles by morning. There’s some fish on the ship that I’m sure will keep the little thing for now.”

Jora stared at the baby’s huge, protuberant eyes, as they made their way back down the grimy corridor. She felt as though she might burst.

Chapter Text

“Young Master, Young Master, you’re back!” cried Baby 5, scampering over the piles of garbage to greet the docking ship, Buffalo close at her heels. “Machvise said you were going to find a new family member!”

Jora was less than glowing as she rubbed her eyes and carried the infant down the gangplank. It dozed in her arms, having finally drifted off during the last half hour of the trip, after an entire night of screaming and trying to either bite or break her fingers.

Baby 5 drew up to them and gasped.

“Is that…is that a baby?” she said quietly.

Baby 5, despite the moniker she had taken upon joining the crew, had never actually seen a human infant. Her years being the only child in a harsh mountain wilderness had not led her to see any other children.

“Of course it is-dasyun!” said Buffalo, jogging up beside her. “A baby, Miss Jora? A real baby?”

“No you idiot, it’s a fake baby,” said Diamante. “It’s so you can practice when you two get married.”

"Ewwww! Gross-dasyun! Baby 5 has girl germs!” said Buffalo.

“I do not! You’re the one with cooties!”

“Hush you two!” snapped Jora, who had gotten perhaps fifteen minutes of sleep the entire trip. “Babies need quiet you know! It’s not all fun and games, they need their sleep!”

As if on cue, the baby opened its mouth and began to whimper.

“Oh, it doesn’t talk?” asked Baby 5 curiously. “Why? Is it broken?”

“Nehneh, do you think you popped out ready to talk?” said Trebol, lunging in way too close. “You’d better be good to your little brother now, or he’ll eat you all alive!”

“Jora-chan, why are your fingers all bandaged-innnn?” said Machvise, who had joined them.

“He was hungry,” said Jora wearily. She wanted a nap and had a feeling there would not be many naps in her future anytime soon.

Lao G scowled at the baby under his thick eyebrows.

“Children should be useful, Young Master,” he said, folding his arms over his muscular chest. “A baby isn’t particularly useful.” 

“I’m useful, right?” chirped Baby 5, tugging on Lao G’s hand.

Lao G smiled. “Yes my girl, you are quite useful,” he said, patting her on the head. “G! That’s the ‘G!” he said enthusiastically, and Baby 5 giggled.

Doflamingo chuckled. “I think with a little growth and training we won’t have to worry about him being useful,” he said.

Lao G prodded a gloved finger at the infant, who grabbed it and squeezed, forcefully. Lao G gasped and pulled his finger away in surprise, and the infant opened his mouth and howled, revealing the rows of needling little points.

“Hmmm?” said Doflamingo, raising his eyebrows.

“I think perhaps I have spoken too soon,” said Lao G, stroking his chin. “It seems there could very well be great potential in such a little thing. G! That’s the ‘G!’”

“No,” said Gladius. “There is nothing great about a baby. They don’t do anything.”

"Gladius!” said Jora sharply. “No one is asking you to care for him! That’s my job-zamasu,” she added with a touch of smugness.

“Good, because I’m not touching it.”

“Oh, watch out, he bites!” said Jora holding the baby out to Gladius.                            

“No! I don’t want it!” snapped Gladius. “It will make me sick!”

“Why don’t we head inside,” suggested Doflamingo. “We'll get settled, and, make a few introductions.”

A gaunt-looking boy of about twelve stirred and hauled himself to his feet, as the family passed through the small clearing Senor Pink and Machvise had been using to fight.

“What the hell?” the boy shouted. “I came here to show you I’m strong, to show you I want to join your family, and you’d take some stupid baby instead of me! I can fight!”

"Listen you,” snarled Diamante, whirling around to face the boy, towering over him. “You will not insult the members of the Donquixote Family. This ‘stupid baby’ was strong enough to nearly break one of Young Master’s fingers and draw blood. And you’re telling me you cannot even land a single hit on one of our family members? Not one? Pathetic,” he scoffed.

“I’ll show you how strong I am!” the boy yelled. He raised the crooked spear he was grasping and bolted at Jora.

Jora did not even turn. One hand still holding the baby, the other extended and froze the boy in his tracks in a cloud of luminescent color. He twisted and contorted, his body distorting into pastel pinks and blues and his spear morphing into a bizarre parody of a baby’s rattle as his body halted into place.

“You threaten my family, you die,” hissed Jora, as the boy gasped for air in his colorful prison. “Since you act like an infant, then you may stay one forever. Now look sweetheart,” said Jora, cooing to the baby. “My first artistic tribute to you!"

The baby howled.

 “We shall have to teach you to appreciate fine arts,” said Jora, squeezing him. “I’m sure there will be much more where that came from.”

---

Truth be told, the Donquixote Family was not entirely ready to care for an infant, much less a half fishman infant. They were pirates, not parents.

The shopping bill alone for the infant was staggering, particularly since the child needed a nursery on both the ship and the warehouse in Spider Miles. The baby stayed with Jora in her room on Spider Miles, but on the ship the family bunked together in hammocks; so a small storage room was turned into a makeshift nursery, with the crib nailed to the floor.

Jora couldn’t simply buy baby clothes for the infant, the baby had fins and horns to be accommodated. Creepers, rompers and shirts had had to be cut open in the back to make room for the child’s fin.

“Gladius, won’t you please help out with sewing some of the baby’s clothes,” Jora pleaded, cringing as the baby chewed her hand through the oven mitts she was wearing. Anyone who was handling the baby for an extended period of time had taken to wearing oven mitts.

“I don’t want to,” muttered Gladius, averting his eyes from the baby. “I have my own sewing to do.” Gladius was stitching studs onto a new vest.

“Gladius, help Jora sew-inn,” said Machvise, as Buffalo was trying to cut a hole in one of the baby’s rompers and cut off a whole leg.

“I already did, I sewed her finger back together,” said Gladius.

Jora’s fingers and wrists, and arms were now almost constantly bandaged; she could barely hold a paint brush. (Not that she had time to hold a paintbrush).

“Miss Jora, these are girl clothes,” said Baby 5, picking up a pink knit cap.

Jora waved a heavily bandaged hand wearily. “No, Baby 5, these are clothes. Society foolishly thinks we can place genders on inanimate things like clothing, or colors – zamasu. Clothing is fabric. Color is pigment. Gender is not even part of the equation, yet silly sightless fools have taken upon it themselves to deem it so. I shall let this precious child wear whatever they please –zamasu. Children should have the freedom to express themselves. Only when I went out they were sleeping. So I chose pink, because I thought it was what Young Master would prefer. And I –“

“But pink is a girl’s color,” said Buffalo.

Jora sighed. “Buffalo you thick-headed child. Did you take in any of what I just said-zamasu?”

"I’m sorry, is there something wrong with the color pink?”

A feathered shadow loomed over Buffalo. Sweat beaded on his face as he trembled to turn and face Doflamingo.

“N-n-nothing! I l-l-love p-pink! Y-Young  M-Master!” Buffalo was acutely aware that he had been tortured once already, and was terrified he just earned himself a second session.

“Fufufufu excellent. More pink it is.” said Doflamingo. “Carry on. Gladius, help Jora sew.”

Gladius grumbled and grabbed a pile of clothes.

---

The baby ate voraciously, nearly as much as Baby 5 and Buffalo. It didn’t seem to care much what it was eating, though it was clear the baby had preference for fish, screaming and howling whenever Diamante served whatever they had caught that day and smashing its tiny fists on the table.

A normal child banging his fists on the table was little for concern. When a half-fishman baby banged his fist on the table, it jolted the whole table and knocked over wine glasses.

“And who is this little one?” said Vergo, one chilly Saturday morning. He had been granted a few days leave from his Marine position and had come straight to Spider Miles. The baby was lying in a basket while Jora mashed up fish pieces in the kitchen.

“Well aren’t you a strange little one,” said Vergo, lifting the baby out of the basket. “Your head looks pretty sharp now! Come say hello to Uncle Vergo, won’t you?”

“Vergo do be careful with him-zamsu,” said Jora, picking fish bones out of the tidbits she was preparing. “He’s very fussy. You ought to wearing the oven mitts if you’re going to be holding him.  He tends –”

“Nonsense,” said Vergo, cradling the infant “Babies love me.”

“Vergo what’s on your face?”

“Hmm? What are you talking about?”

“What did you eat for lunch?”

“Oh I think it was a bagel with lox. I had my usual breakfast of course and – ARGHH!”

Vergo’s answer was cut short by the baby chomping his mouth onto Vergo’s chin. Vergo yelled and Jora swooped in, giving the baby a sharp smack on his bottom. The baby let go, howling and groping for the rest of the blood and salmon bagel.

“Doffy, that’s quite the recruit you’ve found,” said Vergo over an afternoon glass of wine, absentmindedly rubbing the bandage on the side of his face.

“Oh yes, he drew blood on me too,” chuckled Doflamingo. “We all agreed he was quite special. Needed a place where his 'talents' would be appreciated.”

 “Beheheh, almost everyone,” gurgled Trebol, patting Corazon on the head. Corazon took a gulp of scalding tea and immediately spit it out all over the table, coughing and choking before falling out of his seat onto the floor.

---

The baby still didn’t have a name. It was just “the baby” or “it.” (Gladius was the only person still calling the baby “it,” for which Jora was constantly scolding him.

 Senor Pink had been very enthusiastic about naming the baby and had drawn up a list which included “Sazerac,” “Negroni,” and “Mule.” He did not get many takers.

"These will serve the coup d’état in Concordia well,” said Doflamingo, looking over the crate of ammunition and guns. “And they’ll pay a good price. I don’t think this crew will have much use for them anymore.” He kicked a fallen body aside and bent down to overlook the cargo of ammunition and weaponry. Corazon meanwhile tripped over a crate of goods.

Baby 5 and Gladius were both examining the gunnery. Baby 5 had taken a keen interest in educating herself about weaponry so that she could expand her abilities and Gladius had obliged her.

“What is this?” she said, pulling out a tiny pistol from the crate that was smaller than the palm of her hand. She looked at it incredulously, clearly unimpressed at its size.

“That’s a derringer,” said Gladius. “It’s meant for concealment and it doesn’t pack a lot of ammunition.”

Baby 5 was not particularly interested in “concealment.” “It’s boring,” she sniffed. “It’s much too small. I’d rather turn into something bigger.” She emptied the shells. “Here,” she chuckled. “Give it to the baby, it’s his size.”

She held out the empty gun to the baby, who grabbed at it with pudgy fingers and began chewing on it.

“Great, let’s arm the baby too. As if it’s not terrifying enough already,” said Gladius.

 “Don’t put that in your mouth child! You don’t know where it’s been! Germs-zamasu!” cried Jora, snatching the tiny gun away.

The baby let out a horrific scream and clawed at Jora, trying to grab it back.

“Such a little firecracker he is,” chuckled Machvise. “Already he knows what he likes-innn.”

“A little loaded gun is more like it,” said Doflamingo, scooping up the flailing child and cradling him. “Just in miniature, between those teeth and those horns.” He paused, fending off the child’s grabbing hands. “A miniature little pistol…hmmm? Let’s call you Derringer.”

“Young Master, we can’t name him after a gun,” said Jora. “That’s…impersonal. He’s not a weapon-zamasu. We’ll call him…Dellinger.”

"I like it,” squeaked Pica. “It suits him.” 

“That sounds the same,” said Buffalo. 

“I wanted Negroni,” said Senor Pink. “It’s a distinguished, gentlemanly name.”

“No, it’s a cocktail,” said Diamante.

Dellinger it was.

Chapter Text

“No, I don’t want it,” said Gladius.

“Gladius, if you don’t refer to Dellinger by his proper name, I’m going to have you tortured,” sniffed Jora.

“That makes absolutely no sense,” said Gladius.

“Refusing to call a family member by their proper name is harmful, and therefore breaks the blood edict-zamasu,” said Jora. “Now watch Dellybean. I shan't be gone long.”

It was only after Jora had strolled off that Gladius thought up a witty retort that under those rules, nicknaming the baby should therefore constitute torture as well.

“I still don’t like you,” said Gladius, glaring at the child behind his goggles while Dellinger cooed.

He strolled around the market stalls full of fruit, vegetables and meat, trying not to entertain thoughts of exploding the child, while Dellinger was reaching out with chubby fingers to grab his chin.

A nearby fishmonger sliced the head off a large exotic-looking-fish. Dellinger’s head swung around, instinctively, and his huge eyes locked onto the fish. Blood seeped out, and Gladius saw Dellinger’s already protuberant eyes get wider. He let out a little hiss, his chubby fingers reaching out to the headless fish.

“You’re disgusting,” said Gladius.

Gladius started to walk away from the fish. Dellinger began to scream, his tiny fingers reaching for the fish. Several people tittered disapprovingly, as Dellinger continued to howl.

Gladius was considering hurling Dellinger at one of the onlookers in the hope they would be gored by his horns.

“It’s not mine!” said Gladius loudly, holding the baby at arm’s length. He could feel his head swelling up and was trying to maintain his cool. “Really, it’s not mine! I’m just holding it!”

“Dear really, you don’t just let the baby dangle about like that," said a woman with a pinched face, reaching out her arms. “You have to soothe it.”

“No you don’t want it- ” Gladius began.

“Darling I have five grandchildren, let me show you how it’s done,” said the woman, taking Dellinger straight out of Gladius’s arms and slinging him over her shoulder. She raised a hand to thump him on his tiny back -

“Why does your child have a fin?” asked the woman, perturbed.

“Just give it back,” said Galdius over Dellinger’s screams, knowing perfectly well Dellinger did not want to be coddled. “You don’t want it. Don’t touch it.”

“Why does your child have a dorsal fin?” the woman repeated, nonplussed.

Gladius never got to answer that question, because Dellinger, clearly distressed at being slung over a strange woman’s shoulder, proceeded to bite.

The woman screamed and dropped Dellinger. Gladius managed to catch him.

“No Dellinger! You don’t bite unless we say it’s okay to bite!”

Dellinger was now giggling happily, having gotten a mouthful of blood. He was now clawing at the woman, clearly wanting more from the fresh cut stemming from her shoulder.

“I told you not to touch it,” said Gladius.

“Gladius, what is going on here-zamasu!” demanded Jora, reappearing, hands akimbo. “Honestly I leave you alone for one minute and you give Dellinger to strangers and let him maul people! Were you trying to get rid of him? So help me I will skin you alive and turn you into a canvas!”

“Your child BIT me!” the woman shrieked.

Jora regarded the woman’s shoulder.

“I’ve seen worse,” she said, holding up her arm to show the large gauze pad taped to her forearm. “I’m so sorry, Dellinger has a rather unusual heritage that blessed him with unusual teeth. Perhaps you’ll think twice before manhandling other people’s children.”

Jora then bought the fish and Dellinger ate the whole thing in less than an hour.

---

About four months after he arrived, Dellinger realized he could put his hands into his mouth. For most infants this was typical behavior. Except that Dellinger’s mouth was full of sharp teeth, and would result in Dellinger biting his own hands and screaming horrendously.

Then of course Dellinger wanted to put his hands back into his mouth to taste the delicious blood.

Which then resulted in Dellinger biting himself again and screaming.

It was a horrendous cycle that Jora attempted to solve by knitting little mittens for Dellinger and dipping them in vinegar.

If Dellinger wasn’t eating or screaming, he was usually chewing on something, clothes, dishes, shoes, fingers, the floorboards, Jora’s hands.

It was another long, sleepless night, as Jora attempted to rock the child to sleep, Dellinger screaming and trying to stuff his mitted hands into his mouth.

“Dellybean, I cannot let you eat your hands,” said Jora wearily, on the verge of tears trying to dislodge Dellinger’s mittens from his teeth, yet again. “It’s not good for your hands or your teeth. Please just settle.”

Dellinger yanked his hand from his mouth and shrieked. There was a small clatter as something fell to the floor.

“What on earth?” Jora murmured.

She peered about on the floor to see a sharp pearly object. Jora picked it up clumsily with the oven mitts and examined it.

Dellinger had lost a tooth.

“Good heavens, it’s not nearly time for you to loose teeth,” said Jora. “What is this?”

She peered into Dellinger’s mouth. There, amidst the rows of shark-line fangs, was a hole in his bottom teeth.

A hole in which a tiny, square tooth was crowning.

“Oh sweet Caravaggio,” Jora murmured, horrified. “Heaven help me.”

Dellinger was teething. And growing human teeth.

---

“I need toys for umm…uhh, a heavy chewer.”

“Of course,” said the pet store owner, smiling. “Right over here we have the best selection of bones, rawhide and high quality plastics. May I ask what kind of dog you have, sir?”

Doflamingo looked up blankly from the list Jora had given him; Dellinger was strapped in his snug little harness in front of him and for once, was dozing.

“What kind of dog?” he repeated incredulously. Dammit, why had he sent Jora to Rakeesh?

Teething rings and toys were shredded to pieces in Dellinger’s mouth. As if Dellinger’s desire to bite wasn’t already bad enough, now that he was teething he seemed compelled to chew absolutely anything in site. Plates, tables, chairs, his hands, Jora’s hands.

The problem was there was no consistency to the child’s teeth. A fang would pop out only to grow another fang within a few days. Human teeth would crown, but barely last a week before they too popped out.

Machvise read up on fishmen and tried to reassure Jora that Fishmen regrew teeth regularly, but what was baffling was the child’s insistence to lose his human teeth as well.

“Beheheheh! Neh neh what kind of dog? It’s a mixed breed!” gurgled Trebol, leaning in entirely too close to the terrified clerk.

Doflamingo chuckled in spite of himself. “Fufufu, it is indeed a mixed breed. It was a stray when we found it, but we’ve given it a loving home.”

“Oh how lovely!” said the clerk, ducking away from Trebol. “Rescues are the best! I’m sure we can find something accommodating. Right this way.”

“Nehneh Doffy, let’s get him a muzzle!” Trebol laughed uproariously, holding up a muzzle that probably would have fit Dellinger.

Doflamingo entertained the idea for a moment before realizing Jora would throw a fit if she got back from Rakeesh to find Dellinger in a muzzle.

Corazon tripped over a cat that was meandering about the store, simultaneously knocking over a display of dog food.

“Doffy, you know what I want when we get to Dressrosa?” said Diamante, casually stepping over Corazon. “I want a bull. Can we get a bull?”

---

The long nights got longer (as if they weren’t long enough to begin with), as Jora tried to soothe the child’s tiny red gums with whiskey and ice. Clearly Fishmen had to have tough mouths to constantly regrow such sharp teeth.

Jora found Dellinger’s mismatched teeth to have an oddly charming effect, but she couldn’t help but wish the child would pick one set of teeth or the other and hopefully remain comfortable enough to stop biting her and the furniture.

But Dellinger’s fishman heritage didn’t manifest just in his features. The child was rather enraptured with the sea, and the family could only attribute it to his fishman blood. He was prone to staring out over the water for great lengths of time with his huge, protuberant eyes, and – on occasion - jumping off the railing into the water.

The first time this had happened the family had panicked, as most of the crew were devil fruit users.

Jora, in a fit of hysterics, had shoved a rope into the newly-recruited Trafalgar Law’s hands and thrown him off the side of the ship screaming “SAVE HIM-ZAMASU!”

Dellinger was happily treading water with his sturdy little legs and giggling when Law reached him. Law cursed under his breath as he hauled the giggling child back up to the deck.

A small rope was harnessed around Dellinger’s middle from henceforth if he felt like flinging himself off the side of the ship, another family member would not have to be flung after him.

“Law just likes getting thrown around!” giggled Baby 5. “First Corazon, and now we’re throwing you off the ship!”

Law shot her one of his vicious glares, and she ran to Buffalo.
---

“Can you believe it?!”

Jora swept through the room, cradling Dellinger in her arms.

“He slept the whole night!” she said, her voice quivering somewhere between exuberant joy and hysteria. “The WHOLE night! My first night’s sleep in almost a year!”

She held Dellinger up who gurgled down at her.

“It’s true-innn,” said Machvise stroking his beard. “I didn’t hear anything. Baby 5, Law, Buffalo, you’re closest to Dellinger, did you hear him cry?

“I heard Buffalo snoring!” said Baby 5.

“I don’t snore-dasyun!”

“Do too!”

Meanwhile Corazon fell face first into his porridge, snoring.

Chapter Text

Piccadilly, An Island in the Grand Line – Approximately five years before Dressrosa’s fall.
 

Like any infant, Dellinger threw tantrums. Unlike most infants, his tantrums left the ship walls full of holes and Jora’s legs full of bite marks.

Dellinger was still much too young to participate in close combat with the crew during the instances it occurred. Sitting from his perch on the cannon was one thing, but at eighteen months he was only just getting the hang of walking, and was sure to be trampled in a fight among grown humans. (Corazon had recently drawn a particularly entertaining picture of Dellinger accidentally getting squished by Machvise that had sent Jora into hysterics).

Dellinger had been put down for an afternoon nap, and for once he actually went to sleep, much to Jora’s relief. But the peace was to be short lived.

“Your crew took our weapons! Those were for buyers in the New World!”

“This junk? You call these weapons? They wouldn’t last a day in the New World,” chuckled Machvise, taking a rifle and breaking it in half with ease before the astonished captain, tossing it at his feet disdainfully. “Who are your buyers? Dwarves?”

“I think you misunderstand,” said Doflamingo, lounging against the ship’s mast. “Piccadilly is the Donquixote Family’s port. You bring your goods in, they become our goods. We control what goes in and out. We do not compromise our territories. Either you share your resources with my family or you dock elsewhere.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Tell that to the mayor who signed our approval,” sneered Law.

“This is going nowhere,” sighed Doflamingo, narrowing his eyes. He flicked his finger and the captain staggered towards him.

“Boss!”

“What the hell?!”

“I have more important things to do that deal with you fools,” sighed Doflamingo.

 “My body it’s-it’s moving on its own—” the captain gasped, his sword lifeless in his hands. He strained and pulled against Doflamingo’s strings, trickles of blood running down his wrists.

“Like we haven’t heard that before,” muttered Senor Pink, adjusting his glasses. “Let’s get this over with.”

The fight was completely and utterly one-sided. The pirates, armed with nothing but cutlasses and pistols were completely laid to waste by the prowess of the family’s devil fruit abilities.

While Baby 5, Buffalo and Law were dumping the slain bodies overboard, Jora returned to her quarters to check on Dellinger. Corazon yawned broadly and walked into the ship’s mast.

Jora had noted that Dellinger had been sleeping through the night considerably more. She was hardly complaining.

The first thing she heard was the screaming. She paused, taken aback. No, that wasn’t a scream for attention or a scream to be changed. That was a hungry scream, but not quite the likes of which she had heard before. Cautiously, she opened the door.

The bars of the crib had been chewed clean off, the sheets a jumble, and holes and teeth marks were all over the floor. The hysterical screaming was deafening.

Dellinger had lodged his horns into the wall by his crib and had apparently gotten himself stuck.

Jora gaped at the infant, struggling to dislodge his tiny horns from the wall, screaming and howling.

“Fishcakes, whatever have you done-zamasu?” said Jora, bending over and yanking Dellinger free from the wall. She sighed. Another little cap ruined. “What is the matter? Jora is here. Jora will make it better.”

Dellinger’s chubby fingers were reaching, grasping to the doorway from whence Jora had just come, continuing to wail.

“The family is up there dear,” said Jora. “We took care of all the nasty people.  Were you frightened? Did all the noise scare my precious little fish?”

She ascended the stairs again, Dellinger cradled in her arms, still shrieking.

“What is his problem?” asked Diamante.

“I don’t know,” said Jora, bouncing him a bit, to no avail. “He was stuck in the wall when I found him, by his horns. He nearly destroyed the room, chewed everything up. I think he didn’t know what was going on.”

Dellinger was suddenly silent, his protuberant eyes bulging. He began squirming wildly in Jora’s grasp.

“Darling I can’t put you down, the deck is all messy, not for my pretty fish. It’s covered in –”

“Covered in blood?”

Doflamingo sauntered over, looking pleased.

“He could smell it, I’ll bet. All the way from downstairs. Must have driven him crazy. Come here you.”

He lifted Dellinger from Jora’s arms and sat him down on the deck. Dellinger crawled to the body of a fallen pirate whom had not yet been dumped over the side. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out a tiny hand. Doflamingo knelt beside him and guided the tiny hand with gentle fingers.

Dellinger plopped his hand smack in the bloody puddle beneath the body, and stuck his hand in his mouth, sucking with apparent relish.

The family gaped. Dellinger continued sucking on his fingers.

Doflamingo stood up.

“What the hell are you all staring at?” he demanded. “What’s normal for this kid isn’t normal for us. Deal with it. Or would you rather listen to him scream the rest of the afternoon?”            

He reached down and scooped Dellinger off the deck. Dellinger began shrieking hysterically and the crew winced.

"Thought so,” said Doffy, setting Dellinger back down.

Dellinger flopped onto his stomach and cooed.

---

“G!” said Dellinger. “G!”

“That’s it! That’s the ‘G!’”

“Lao G, Dell has to learn other letters besides ‘G.” said Jora, irritably, bending over the oven to take out her clam bake, while Dell continued to squeak “G!”

Dellinger’s vocabulary was nothing particularly remarkable. At a little over eighteen months he could say “yes,” “no," among other occasional words and articulate most of the family’s names, including “Jowa,” “Wasama,” “Five,” “Buflo,” “Gladys,” “Troll” and “G.” ('Diamante' was proving difficult.)

“Jora, your clam bake is gross,” said Diamante. “I’m not eating this shit.”

“Well then go ahead and starve–zamasu,” snapped Jora.

"Shit!” yelled Dellinger.

Jora dropped the clam bake.

The entire table stared at him.

Doflamingo slammed his hand onto the table and roared with laughter.

---

Dellinger seemed to grow at the average rate of a human. His strength however, grew with him. Objects no toddler should have been able to budge became toys. Tantrums made the whole ship quake. The other children, Buffalo, Baby 5, and Law, regarded him with a mixture of apprehension, adoration and general indifference. Baby 5 doted on the child and often asked to help Jora, and Buffalo usually got roped into things because he wanted to help Baby 5. Law didn’t care much either way.

Dellinger had finally gotten his legs under him and was as comfortable trotting around the ship as he was in the water.

Which made him all the more difficult to keep track of.

“Is he in here?” Machvise said, poking his head in Jora’s room.

“You lost him?!” demanded Jora, standing upright.

“No, I just looked away for a moment! I was reading to him and I looked away and he was gone!”

“Oh dear, we lost Dellinger,” deadpanned Gladius. “Maybe he jumped overboard to join his own kind.”

“Don’t say such things, Gladius!” cried Jora. “Dellybean! Dellybean where are you!”

“He’s free now, Jora,” said Gladius, spreading his arms. “Freedom is everything in this world, right?”

“Oh will you stop-zamasu!”

Dellinger had strolled happily onto the deck, where the older children were cleaning. He approached his usual perch of the canon, only to be distracted by the cannonballs.

“Buflo!” said Dellinger enthusiastically. “Ball!”

Buffalo barely had time to look up before Dellinger flung a cannonball straight at his head.

Buffalo landed out cold on the deck, the other children shrieking with laughter.

Dellinger looked highly disappointed. 

"Catch, Buflo,” he said emphatically.

“Dellinger, there you are!” cried Jora.

“Jora Jora! Catch!” cried Dellinger. Jora barely had time to duck at the cannon ball came whizzing by her head, clipping her hair.

“Give me that,” said Machvise, grabbing another cannonball away from Dellinger. “Looks like we’ll putting you to work sooner than you thought-inn”

From that point on Dellinger was delighted to help load cannonballs. He was approximately two years old.

 “It’s good to see him being useful,” said Lao G.

“I’m useful, right?” asked Baby 5.

“My dear, I wonder if there is anyone quite so useful as you,” said Lao G, picking her up and setting her on his shoulders.

---

“Fufufu, come now, Montague, the wine isn’t poisoned. Didn’t your family teach you good manners?”

Doflamingo took a long, carefully measured sip from his wine glass, watching out the corner of his eyes as Montague left his untouched.

“While I appreciate your fine hospitality,” Montague said with an air of disdain, regarding the jeweled rings on his hands. “I’m not sure that a partnership with the Donquixote family is in the best interests for my crew. We thank you for your, request, but we have our own territories and resources, and we are not particularly interested in an agreement.”

Trebol’s slimy hand twitched towards his concealed pistol. Doflamingo gave him a quick, subtle smile.

“Fufufufu…I’m not sure you truly understand,” chuckled Doflamingo, setting down the wine glass and inclining his head to the side. “The Donquixote Family doesn’t make requests, we make demands.”

At this Senor Pink began absentmindedly polishing a set of brass knuckles, giving Montague a fluid glance from under his fedora. A vein twitched in Montague’s temple and his hand slid to his leg.

 “My men are not accustomed to demands,” said Montague, his voice a quiet growl. “And neither am I.” His eyebrows indicated the four men flanking him, two on each side, each armed with rifles and staring down the family from behind their sunglasses. One of them took a long draw on their cigarette and exhaled, a sneer flicking across their face behind the cloud of smoke.

“Ah, but of course,” said Doflamingo spreading his hands wide. He reached for the bottle of wine to refill his own glass. “Completely understandable for racketeers of your considerable status and resources. But we all have needs to meet, so tell me…what can my dear family do to, persuade you?”

“I’m afraid –”

A shrill peal of laughter cut across conversation. Montague and his cohorts whipped around at the noise, accompanied by a pounding of running footsteps from outside the door.

There was a sudden slamming against the door and the hinges rattled; the laughter continued.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Montague, unsheathing his sword as his cohorts drew their rifles.

Doflamingo looked completed unfazed.

“Oh it’s just the fish,” said Diamante.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes we adopted a killer fish,” said Gladius, straightening his goggles and sighing.

“Oh Gladius, don’t call him that-innn,” said Machvise.

The door jolted off its hinges and fell to the ground with a crash.

Montague and his men gasped in involuntarily.

Dellinger, perhaps just shy of two years came careening into the room, shrieking with laughter.

He was completely naked and soaking wet, his horns poking out from his dripping hair and his dorsal fin shining with water. Dellinger squealed with laughter and ran for Doflamingo.

“Wasama! Wasama!” he giggled, holding out his hands.

“Fufufu….well hello there, Dellinger,” said Doflamingo, scooping up the child. “Did you come to offer your valuable insight to our meeting? Do say hello to our guests! Captain Montague, this is Dellinger.”

Cradling the dripping child, Doflamingo pointed across the table to Montague, his huge body dwarfing Dellinger’s tiny one. Dellinger buried his wet face in Doflamingo’s feathers.

“Beheheheh, come now! Don’t be shy, Dell!” chortled Trebol.

Dellinger slowly lifted his head to look at the unfamiliar person, who was regarding him with an expression somewhere between bewilderment and disdain. Clinging tightly to Doflamingo’s shirt, Dellinger opened his mouth, baring his mismatched teeth, and growled at Montague.

“Fufufufu! Your opinions have been duly noted Dellinger!” laughed Doflamingo, as Dellinger buried his face once again, giggling shrilly.

“DELLINGER! There you are, you naughty child! You do not interrupt the Young Master’s meetings!”

Jora swooped into the room clutching a towel and also dripping wet, Baby 5 tailing her.

“Fufufu, that’s quite alright, Dell was just offering his insights on the negotiations,” chuckled Doflamingo.

“NOOOOOO!” screamed Dellinger, as Doflamingo handled the flailing toddler back to Jora, who attempted to swaddle him into the towel.

“You do not run around without clothing when there are guests! It isn’t proper-zamasu!” she scolded, struggling to hold on to the squirming child. “I swear, he’s already stronger than me! I think he needs a leash or something.”

“Yes, a leash would be perfect,” deadpanned Gladius.

"Gladius! Gladius! Look, I’ve been practicing!” said Baby 5. She thrust out her arms. One morphed into a bayonet, and the other into a rifle.

There was a loud clattering noise as one of Montague’s men dropped their own rifle, his mouth hanging open. He quickly picked it up.

None of the family reacted. Gladius gave Baby 5 a thumbs up.

“We apologize for interrupting-zamasu,” said Jora, as she and Baby 5 quickly ushered the howling Dellinger out of the room.

“NOOOOOO!”

“Now then…where were we?” said Doflamingo, smiling broadly.

Montague was gaping at the doorway with an expression of incredulity and horror. His men wore similar expressions.

“You know what?” he said. “It’s fine. All of it. Whatever you want.”

---

“Boss? How’d it go?”

Montague was silent as he walked up the gangplank, followed by the men who had accompanied him.

“You told that trash bird no, right?”

Montague remained silent.

“Come on boss, you didn’t agree, did you?!”

“That guy’s a freak! They all are!”

“He takes in kids! He’s a pervert! Are we going to let some guy like that intimidate us?”

“I saw the kids,” said Montague quietly. “There was a girl. She had guns for arms. The toddler smashed down the door.”

“What?”

“It had horns. It had a fin. It had sharp teeth. And it growled at me.”

---

“Young Master, I’m so sorry!” said Jora, bowing profusely, while Buffalo and Baby 5 were trying to wrestle Dellinger into clothing. (Buffalo had a black eye and Baby 5 had a split lip). “He ran off after his bath, and good lord, he’s just so fast!”

“Fufufu, I’m hardly concerned, Jora. The boy is doing what he is supposed to be doing at such an age. He’s just doing it with five times the strength and energy. And Baby 5,” Doflamingo added. “Well done.”

“Hmmm, for what?” she asked, wiping blood off her lip and trying to stave off Dellinger’s prying teeth with the oven mitts.

“Oh, just your useful timing. You and Dell.”

“I was useful?” she said, her eyes bright.

“Yes, just being there, you were indeed,” said Doflamingo.

“Was I useful?” said Buffalo, as Dellinger promptly removed the shirt Buffalo had just stuffed him in.

“No,” said Jora.

“NOOOO CLOTHESS!” yelled Dellinger.

Doflamingo smiled.

He made sure his children sent a very clear message. Even the smallest family member was not to be trifled with.

Chapter Text

Minion Island – Approximately four years before the fall of Dressrosa.

The family would dock at Minion within the next hour. Already the temperature was cooler and the family was bundling up in their winter coats, preparing for the snowy climate awaiting them.

Except Dellinger, who had decided he didn’t like his coat anymore because it was apparently the wrong shade of orange.

“Look Dellybean, Gladius even sewed you a little pocket for your fin so it will stay warm-zamasu.”

“NOOOOOO!”

“Dellybean, this is what you picked out at the store,” said Jora exasperatedly. “You said you wanted orange. You picked orange.”

“Not THIS orange!” Dellinger screamed, who had apparently changed his mind. “OTHER ORANGE.”

Jora sighed, having learned finally to walk away from Dell’s nonsense. “Then freeze child, we don’t have time for these antics. You’ll change your mind when we get to Minion and your little fin freezes.”

She turned away, leaving Dellinger to scream about colors with his limited vocabulary and pound his tiny fists on the floor, which was actively shaking the entire room. Jora was happy they had reinforced the floorboards.

“Jora, listen,” said Diamante, drawing up behind her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Doffy says we aren’t going to take him. It’s too risky.”

“What?” said Jora. “I’ll keep him with me, in his harness. It’s not like he’ll be running amok. He’ll be fine-zamasu.”

“Doffy needs you ready to fight, and you can’t do that if you’re minding Dell. If he was a little older he’d be getting trained up and ready, but he’s only going to be a hassle, and Doffy needs this acquisition to be flawless. There’s too much on the line and too many variables. Dell doesn’t need to be one of them.”

“But what…” Jora began, tugging at her hair.

“It’s not his fault, and it’s not yours either. He’s just not ready,” said Diamante.

“But what am I supposed to do with him?” said Jora, trying to remain composed. “Can Buffalo or Baby 5 perhaps—”

“Young Master needs everyone,” said Diamante, turning away. “So get ready. He’ll be fine here.”

Jora gaped at him as he turned away.

“NO ORANGE!” screamed Dellinger, still causing the walls to shake. “I HAAAATE ORANGE!”

Jora did not think for the slightest moment that leaving a two year-old in the midst of a tantrum -a two year-old with five times the strength of an average two year-old- would be at all “fine.” Even if Dell was settled and calm, there were far too many “variables” in leaving a volatile and outrageously strong two-year old unattended.

Jora shut the door on Dellinger’s continued tantrum and leaned against the wall. She fished around in her coat pocket for a battered old packet of cigarettes. Jora only smoked when she was anxious.

 “Jora, what’s the problem?” asked Gladius, poking his head in the doorway and eyeing her smoking. “Did he chew up his new coat already?”

“Gladius, he can’t come!” Jora whispered fiercely.

“No kidding.”

“Well, well what the hell am I supposed to do with him?!” she hissed.

“I don’t know, lock him in the brig? There might even be a pair of shackles down there that would fit him now—HEY OWWW!”

Jora smacked him across the face.

“I was kidding!

Jora cracked the door back on Dellinger, who was still having a tantrum about his orange coat.

“Nehneh, why are you two lollygagging?” gurgled Trebol, oozing up with Machvise in tow, his weight strapped to his winter coat.

“You’re too close,” said Gladius, cringing.

“Trebol, what am I to do with Dellinger?” Jora pleaded.

“Beheheheh, why don’t you stick him in a fishtank!” Trebol snorted, swaying in entirely too close.

“None of you are helping!!” Jora all but shrieked, tugging on her hair. “He’s part of this family too! I can’t just leave him unattended!”

“Jora-chan, I know a trick,” said Machvise, patting her on the shoulder.  “You leave him to me-innn. I’ll be right back.”

Trebol oozed away with Gladius following, rubbing his face and glowering. Machvise returned with a small bowl and a bottle of gin.

“What is this-zamasu?” said Jora, waving her cigarette impatiently.

“He’s going to take a nap,” said Machvise. “A long nap-innn.”

Jora blinked at the bottle, suddenly understanding.

“Oh Vise,” she murmured. “I can’t!”

“I watched my mother do this all the time to my sister-innn,” said Machvise, opening the door to Jora’s bedroom. “Hell, she probably did the same thing to me. He’ll be fine-innn.”

“Gin is the Mother’s Ruin!”

“Well it’s a good thing you won’t be the one drinking it-innn.”

“I can’t watch, it’s awful-zamasu,” murmured Jora.

Machvise, patted her affectionately and ducked under the doorframe into Jora’s room.

Dellinger was sitting on the floor chewing his coat.

“Dell,” said Machvise, raising his bushy eyebrows. “Are you supposed to be eating that?"

Dellinger dislodged the coat from his teeth. “Not me,” he said. "I didn't."

Machvise chuckled and poured a reasonable measure of gin into the small bowl. He dipped his massive sausagey finger into it. “Are you hungry, Dell? Is that it? Wouldn’t you rather chew on my finger than your nice coat?”

Dellinger regarded Machvise’s finger warily.

“Jora, Jora says don’t chew,” he said. “No fingers.”

“Just this once-inn? It is a special occasion! What do you say, it will be our little secret.”

Dellinger’s already wide eyes widened, and he broke into a fit of giggles, before eagerly grabbing Machvise’s finger and latching on. Machvise’s finger was about the size of Dell’s mouth, and Machvise grimaced as Dellinger sank his teeth in and sucked with relish.

“It tastes funny,” he said, blinking slowly. His eyelids drooped.

---

“One sleeping Dellinger-innn,” said Machvise, handling the dozing toddler to Jora. “He should be out a good few hours.”

Jora tucked Dellinger into his crib, with extra blankets for the cold, and also in the hopes if he woke up he would find himself too snugly tangled in the layers. As a last note, she draped the chewed orange coat on top of him.

Kissing him on the forehead, she quietly backed out and locked the door. She then piled three shipping crates and several pieces of furniture against it on the outside.

“Be good,” she whispered, her heart pounding. “I’ll be back.”

---

“Tsuru’s battleship!? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

The open fire of cannonballs spattered across the water, rocking the ship and illuminating the dark water, as Doflamingo shouted curses.

Jora froze, her eyes wide.

“Jora, go!” yelled Machvise.

Jora dropped the great crate of treasure she was carrying and bolted up the gangplank, stumbling over the snowbanks.

She ducked as a cannonball rocked the ship, nearly throwing her from the gangplank into the waters below.

She bolted across the deck, her silhouette elongated and fleeting across against the canon fire as she ran down the stairs to the lower deck. She threw aside the chairs and shipping crates stacked against the door. The ship gave another great lurch as she shoved the last crate aside. There was the sound of pounding footsteps above, footsteps that she could only pray were her family and not boarding Marines.

Dellinger blearily raised his eyes to look at her as she flung open the door and ran to his crib. She picked him up quickly and cradled him.

“Jora,” he whimpered. “M’head hurts.”

There was the sound of more cannon fire above.

“Was wrong?”

Jora held him tight.

The evening washed over her in a blur of images. God, what wasn’t wrong? Law was lost, the Ope-Ope no mi with him, and Corazon…

His lies had nearly cost the family everything.

“Where’s Law?” murmured Dellinger. “Where C-Corzon?”

“Law isn’t here dear, but we may find him yet,” said Jora, petting him. “Corazon –”

Jora swallowed – the blood and black feathers splattered across the snow banks of her mind. They had left him there. Her thoughts were split…half of her was enraged, heartbroken even that Corazon had been working to endanger them, the other half heartbroken for Doflamingo, to watch him execute his own brother.

He had exorcised the last of his blood relations. And he had called them his true family.

“Corazon won’t be coming back,” said Jora stiffly, stroking Dellinger’s hair. “He did not care about us. About this family.”

“Why?” murmured Dellinger. “He goingta take me.”

Jora felt as though an icy hand had just gripped her chest.

“What?” she whispered.

“He goingta take me,” said Dellinger, blearily looking up at her. “Why Law? Was I bad?”

“What…he spoke to you?”

“At night. He say, say he was gointa an’take me.”

Suddenly those nights, those unnaturally quiet nights when Dell’s cries had not woken everyone up, how she had beamed that he had slept through the night, while Corazon dozed mutely on the table.

“Good god,” Jora murmured trembling.

The loss of Law, nasty, foul-tempered Law, who never particularly cared for her, still stung…but had it been Dellinger that Corazon had eloped with?

The ship gave a great lurch as it jutted across the waves, and Jora felt a wave of relief as she heard the voices of her family above her.

“He lied Dellinger,” Jora whispered fiercely, holding Dellinger to her chest. “He lied to all of us. He never cared about any of us.”

Dellinger would eventually forget Corazon. He was reduced to a vague, shadowy feathered figure that lurked in Dellinger’s nightmares, and Dellinger would wake up sobbing that he was going to be taken away from his family. 

But that night Jora made a promise.

A forbidden promise.

If there was anyone she would protect over Young Master Doflamingo, it would be Dellinger.

Chapter Text

The New World – Approximately three years before the fall of Dressrosa.

Diamante’s pants were made of a shiny pleather-like fabric, and they came in various colors.

Dell found that Diamante’s pants had the most delicious texture. Slippery and chewy.  And the little studs were crunchy.

Diamante sidled up to him.

“So Dellinger, how are you?”

“Hmm? Good.”

“Sooo…” said Diamante literally towering over him by a good eight feet. “Did you chew up my favorite red pants?”

Dellinger blinked his huge eyes. A blush crept onto his face.

“No. No I didn’t ‘Duh-mantay.’”

“Oh really?” said Diamante, scooping Dell up to look at him. “Who else on this ship likes to chew things?”

“Baby 5.”

“Baby 5? Are you quite sure?”

“Yeah. She chewed them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I saw her.”

“Really? And does Baby 5 have giant teeth?”

“Oh,” said Dellinger, as if realizing this. “It was Buffalo. He has giant teeth.”

“Why do I have the feeling that you’re lying to me, Dellinger?” said Diamante, holding Dell very close to his face.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was Trebol.”

“Disrespecting and lying to the elite family members is a punishable offense!” said Diamante, sitting down and slapping Dellinger across his lap. “I will have to torture you now! Shut up, it’s for your own good!”

Dellinger was screaming, bracing for Diamante’s giant hand which was about half the size of his body.

Then he paused. “Duhmantay, your cooking is great!”

“Hmmm?” Diamante paused, his hand in midair. “No goodness, Dellinger, I’m not such a great cook. Now Senor Pink, he really knows his way around the kitchen.”

“Nuh uh, Duhmantay, I love your cooking!”

“Psshh, Lao G certainly can whip up a thing or two as well.  Stop talking as if I’m head of the Baratie!”

“What’s that?”

“Well, if you say so, then I am a splendid cook!” cried Diamante, hoisting Dellinger into the air. “Who do you think has kept the family fed in times of hardship? Who was the one who could make a three-course meal for Doffy, our king, out of scraps when we roamed the streets? It was me! Diamante! The Hero of the Kitchen!”

Dellinger was giggling now.

“Diamante, what is this?” said Jora, strolling in.

“Uhahaha, your daughter was just singing the praises of my cooking,” said Diamante, patting Dellinger on the head and setting him on the floor. Dellinger was giggling something fierce. “That reminds me! Lao G and I are cooking tonight, we should get ready."

“And what was all that about-zamasu?” said Jora, hands akimbo, staring at Dellinger, whose expression was one of half relief and half immense satisfaction. “What’s with that look on your face-zamasu? Have you been up to mischief? And who are you calling the most beautiful woman on all the seas?”

“Kyahaha!! You, Jora!” said Dellinger, grinning. “That would be you!”      

“Stop that!” said Jora, pinching his cheek. “I’m too old for such nonsense, it will go to my head. Now then, why don’t we wash up for dinner?” She scooped up Dellinger.

“Oh,” said Dellinger. “I’m not very hungry.”

“Why ever not, Fishcakes?”

Dellinger giggled.

“I ate Duhmantay’s pants.”

---

“Annndddd I, Diamante! The hero of the kitchen, welcome special guest cook, Lao G to the kitchen this evening for an exciting new recipe!”

“Guest! G!! That’s the G!”

“Can we please just eat?” deadpanned Gladius, his head on the table.

Buffalo was not particularly listening and telling Baby 5 and Dellinger a story about working on a farm before he ran away to join the family.

“And on the farms there were all these big cow things!”

“Cow things?”

“Yeah, they were giant, hairy brown cows! With big horns-dasyun!”

Dellinger gasped in delight. “Horns?! Like me?!”

Buffalo nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, they were called buffalo –dasyun. I liked the name, so when I came here, it just stuck-dasyun!”

Dellinger giggled and clapped his hands. “So, you’re a big hairy cow!” 

“Wha – wait not that’s not what I meant-dasyun!” said Buffalo, as Baby 5 fell into giggles.

"That was a dumb story,” said Sugar, who was sitting on her sister’s lap. Monet was braiding her hair. “Kind of like you, Buffalo.”

“Hey-dasyun!”

“Sugar, be nice,” Monet sighed.

The family was in the galley, minus Doflamingo who was out conducting minor business and visiting Vergo. Lao G had a special quiche recipe he had wanted to share with Diamante. Sugar and Monet, whom Doflamingo had recently brought to the family after a trip to Tequila Wolf, were still getting used to the family’s antics.

Sugar didn’t seem to like anybody but Monet and Doflamingo.

Dell spun around in his chair and turned to Jora who was sitting on his other side.

“Jora, Jora,” he smiled. “Where did I come from?”

There was a collective silence in the galley. Dellinger looked at Jora, confused, while Jora shot frantic looks around at the other family members.

Gladius became immediately very occupied with polishing his goggles. Senor Pink was suddenly taking a very long time to light a cigarette, and Machvise was suddenly struck by a spontaneous coughing fit.

“What’s the big deal?” said Sugar. “Did you kidnap him or something?” 

Dellinger looked around at his family, confused. “Did you kidnap me?”

Diamante began to laugh.

“Uhaha! No, we didn’t do that. We bought you at a store Dellinger!”               

“Really? You bought me at a store?!” asked Dellinger, eyes wide. “Wow! Where?”

 Sugar suddenly went rigid in her sister’s lap, her mouth a thin line. Monet’s hand’s wavered slightly in her sister’s hair.      

“NO! Don’t tell him that!” shrieked Jora, flailing her arms. “Dellinger sweetheart, we um…we found you in a cabbage patch. Applesauce brought you there.” Applesauce was Dellinger’s stuffed shark.

“I don’t remember that–OW!” said Buffalo. Baby 5 elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Come on, Sugar, we’ll have some quiche later,” Monet scooping up her sister, who was clinging to her.

 “Beheheh…no, it was a fish market!” snorted Trebol, smacking the table.

 “TREBOL!” shrieked Jora.

Dellinger burst into tears at Jora raising her voice.

“Oh, Dellybean, no, I’m so sorry,” said Jora reaching for Dellinger, but another pair of arms got there first.

“Hush.”

A second silence filled the kitchen.

Even among the family, Pica rarely spoke. It simply wasn’t his nature.

Pica’s enormous hands slowly scooped Dellinger from his chair. Dellinger could still fit quite comfortably in his two calloused hands. Dellinger looked up at him, wiping his eyes.

“Where we come from is important, Dellinger,” Pica said in his shrill voice. “But what’s more important is that wherever we came from, brought us all here. Together.” 

“Would you rather be anywhere but here with us, Dellinger?”

“No!” Dellinger cried, pressing his hands to Pica’s huge face.

“Pikyaapyikkaaypikaa….then where you came from is of no matter. Not to us. Because we’re a family.”

He looked not just at Dellinger, but at Monet and Sugar, who were standing still in the doorway. Monet stared at Pica, her eyes softening. Slowly, she sat Sugar down and taking her hand, led her back to their chair.

“Now are we going to eat this damn quiche, Diamante? I’m hungry,” said Pica, setting Dellinger down next to him. “I don’t even know what the hell a quiche is.”

---

The children were playing after dinner, having finished their chores.

“Sugar, please play with us,” pleaded Baby 5. “We’re playing pirates and Marines!”

“No,” said Sugar bluntly. “I don’t like any of you.”

“Dellinger, what on earth are you doing-zamasu?” said Jora, strolling into the storage room. “Why are you in a cupboard? You will get your horns stuck.”

“I stole treasure and I got caught. So I’m in jail,” said Dellinger matter-of-factly.

“Enough!” said Jora, looming over them. “I don’t want you children playing such games!”

“Why?” asked Buffalo. 

“It makes me uncomfortable,” said Jora, scooping up Dellinger from out of the cupboard. “Come now, it’s time for bed.”

Chapter Text

Quartz Island – The New World.
Approximately two and a half years before the fall of Dressrosa.

“Hey! Hey,Dell!” said Buffalo. “I challenge you to a staring contest!”

Dell looked perturbed, staring up from the cannon balls he was arranging. “What’s that?”

“It’s where you stare at each other, and see who can go for the longest without blinking–dasyun,” said Buffalo.

“Buffalo, don’t pick on Dell,” said Baby 5, sitting on the ship’s railing and swinging her legs.

“No I wanna play!” said Dellinger, smiling his uneven smile.

“Kay, Baby 5, you have to judge-dasyun.”

Buffalo glowered into Dellinger’s very large eyes. Dell looked back, contently.

Sweat beaded up on Buffalo’s forehead. Dell just stared back. Buffalo was scrunching up his watering eyes into tiny slits, while Dell seemed completely unperturbed.

“Buffalo, knock it off,” said Diamante, sauntering by. “Seriously, when was the last time you saw a fish blink?”

Baby 5 squealed with laughter as Buffalo finally blinked his streaming eyes and gaped at Dell.

“Did I win?” asked Dellinger, still not blinking.

“Listen, the log pose will set in three hours,” announced Doflamingo.  “Pica and I will be picking up the contraband. You are free to spend the time as you please.”

“Hey Baby 5, lend me some money!” said Buffalo, waving his arms. “I want to go to a casino-dasyun!”

“Oh, of course!” said Baby 5, gushing with excitement. “I’ll come with you!” The two children skipped off the gangplank.

“Good luck getting in,” Gladius called after them, rolling his eyes behind his goggles and strolling off the gangplank, hands in his pockets and hunched over.

Jora was all a quiver. She put on her finest turquoise beads and a dress of bright pink leopard print. The dress was getting a little snug on her, but she squeezed in and topped off the ensemble with bright green boots and an attractive fur coat.

“Jora, Jora! We’re going to go have fun right?”

“Ohohohoho why of course we are-zamasu!” Jora cried, hoisting Dellinger up into the air and spinning. “And what was that? Who did I hear you call a mermaid princess?”

“Kyahahaha! That would be you, Jora!”

“Stop that! I’m too old for such things, it will go to my head! Sweet Salvador Dali, you are getting terribly heavy, child! Come on, let’s get you ready.”

Dellinger selected his most favorite pink overalls and matching pink sandals with little flowers on them. The two of them strode down the gangplank together, Jora feeling she might burst with pride at seeing her precious little charge all dolled up for the town.

“What are we gonna do, Jora?”

“I packed us a picnic-zamasu!”

The island had a lovely park. Jora had brought her sketchbook and was happily doodling abstract lavender trees while Dellinger ate fish cakes and drank lemonade. 

It was almost like…

Well, it was almost like she and Dellinger were just a normal mother and child out for a day at the park.

That, if one could ignore Dellinger’s extra…pieces. The dorsal fin. The horns. The teeth.  All of which she adored.

If she didn’t treat him as any different, he’d never know that he was. For all Dellinger knew he was an ordinary child with ordinary pieces and an ordinary life.

But Jora knew that Dellinger needed socialization with children his own age. It was fine for him to muck about with Baby 5 and Buffalo, but he needed to learn how to play, to learn from children his own age, if only for an hour or so. Be a 'normal' child.

“Go play, child,” said Jora, nudging Dellinger toward the park clearing, where several child where swinging and playing tag, their parents likewise lazily sprawled across the grass or reading on benches. “It’s healthy-zamasu. Go say hello to other children.”

Dellinger blinked up at her with huge eyes, his mouth full of fish cake.

“What do I say, Jora?”

“You say, ‘Hello my name is Dellinger. Can I play with you?' or ‘Hi I’m Dellinger, I like your dress. Or your shoes.’ Or whatever you wish to say, child. I want you to go have some fun.”

Dellinger hesitantly tottered off towards the other children, Jora keeping a close eye on him.

He hung back at the outskirts of the clearing for a minute, before finally approaching a freckled girl with braids about his height.

“Hi. I’m Dellinger,” he said haltingly. “Like, a derringer, but with an L.”

Jora choked on her lemonade.

“I like your shoes. I like purple. So does my mom Jora.” Dellinger waved his hands emphatically. (‘Jazz hands’ Jora had come to call them.)

Good heavens, where had he gotten so many words?   

To Jora’s immense relief, the freckled girl giggled.

“Oh, I’m Soya. Like soy beans, but not," said the girl, smiling. "I like your shark fin.” 

“I’m not a shark, I’m a Fighting Fish,” said Dellinger, matter-of-factly. He smiled, showing her a mouthful of still mismatched teeth.

“What’s wrong with your teeth?” the girl asked.

“Nothing’s wrong with my teeth,” Dell said.

“But some are bigger than others. And all pointy.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m a Fighting Fish,” said Dellinger, as though this should have been very obvious.

“If you’re a fish why aren’t you in water?” said the freckled girl.

“I do go in water. All the time. But not right now,” said Dellinger.

“Oh okay. Do you want to play tag?”

“Yes. I play tag with my brother and sisters sometimes. My brother also has big teeth. He has to go to the othondist.”

This time Jora did spit out her lemonade. Since when did the child have such a vocabulary?

“If we play tag can I touch your fin?”

“Sure! Kyahaha! You won’t hurt it.”

“Soya, who’s this?”

A boy probably about a year or so older than Dellinger and Soya sidled up behind Soya. He had her freckles and Jora judged him to be the girl’s brother.

“Hi Sayama, this is Dellinger! Look, he has a fin, cause he’s a fish, isn’t that cool?”

Dellinger twisted on the spot and showed the new boy his fin. The boy regarded it with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s weird,” he said. He looked at Dell. “Are you a boy or a girl?”

Jora’s head shot up. That question. That ridiculous question that society believed indicated a child’s worth. Why couldn’t children have the freedom to simply exist, regardless of gender?

Dellinger looked perturbed by the question.

“I’m Dellinger,” he said.

“Are you a boy or a girl?” the boy repeated.

“I’m just me,” said Dellinger. “I think I’m a boy today. But maybe tomorrow I won’t be. Maybe I’ll be both tomorrow. Kyaa!”

“You’re weird,” said Sayama. “If you’re a boy then why are you wearing girl clothes?”

“What are girl clothes?” said Dellinger.

“What you’re wearing!” the boy snickered, pointing at Dellinger’s pink overalls and sandals.

“These are clothes,” said Dellinger. “They’re my clothes.”

“So you’re a girl? ‘Cause you’re wearing girl clothes?”

“They’re not girl’s clothes they’re MY clothes!” Dellinger snapped, baring his teeth.

The boy lurched back, horrified.

“Argh – what the?! What’s wrong with your mouth?!”

“Sayama, you’re being mean!” said Soya.

“What’s going on here?”

Jora had rushed up to try to pacify Dell before he got worked up enough to bite, but a young man had gotten there first.

“Hey hey, is there a problem here?” he said in a mellow voice, dropping to one knee to the level of the children.

“Dad, this kid is weird!” said the boy Sayama, pointing a rigid finger at Dellinger. Dellinger had rushed behind Jora’s skirts and was clinging to her legs.

Jora gave the man a curt nod. “Good afternoon-zamasu,” she said tersely. “Dell here was playing with your daughter and having a lovely conversation, but your son decided to antagonize him.”

The man seemed taken aback, perhaps moreso by Jora’s eccentric appearance than Jora’s accusation itself.

“Well now Sayama, is this true? Were you saying things to bother this little…boy? Girl?” He looked up at Jora for guidance and got none.

“Sayama was being mean!” said Soya.

“You just want me to get in trouble!”

Jora felt Dellinger’s tiny hands cling tighter to her dress. Dellinger was still too young to really squabble with his siblings given their age gaps.

“I was just asking questions!” said Sayama. “And then this kid had these really scary teeth!”

“Dellinger’s teeth may be a little…disconcerting,” said Jora stiffly. “But just because someone looks different it doesn’t make them scary.  And you certainly should never make fun of someone just because they are perhaps a little, different.”

“Indeed,” said a young woman, striding up. “Hi there, I’m Soya and Sayama’s mother.” She gave Jora a bit of a perplexed look, and extended a hand to her. Jora shook it briefly with raised eyebrows.  

“Look, look at his teeth!!” said Sayama, pointing still at Dellinger.

“Sayama, it’s rude to point,” said his mother.

“He has a fin! Like a shark fin!”

“It’s not a shark fin, it’s a Fighting Fish fin,” said Soya.

“What’s this now?” chuckled the father.

“Yah,” said Dellinger, inching out from behind Jora’s dress. “See?” He pointed to his dorsal fin.

“Oh, what a cute little costume,” said the mother, smiling. “We used to dress Sayama up like a dinosaur.”

Jora opened her mouth to say something, but Dell spoke up instead.

“S’not a costume,” he said. “It’s real. And these are my teeth. See, they’re not scary. My whole family likes 'em, 'cept when I bite sometimes.”

He opened his mouth to flash his crooked, half-human, half-fishman smile.

The mother let out a cry of shock and the father lurched backward.

“See!” said Sayama. “I told you, Dad!”

“Is that…is that child…” the father stared at Dellinger, a look of revulsion on his face.

Dellinger covered his mouth and began to sob. Jora immediately scooped him up and cradled him.

“Dellinger is half-fishman,” said Jora, coolly. “No wonder fishmen are afraid to walk among humans, when people react in such an unnecessary manner.”

“Why do you have such a…thing?” shrieked the woman. “Surely you didn’t…have him with one of those creatures?”

“No, my family found Dellinger,” said Jora, her voice rising. “Had we not taken him in he-”

“Why would you take in such a thing?” said the man. “Fishmen are dangerous! And you would have him running around with human children? Where he could hurt them?”

A few other parents were gathering, picking up their children and looking on at the commotion. 

“Are you suggesting that my child would hurt other children, simply because he is half-fishman—”

“Half-fishman?” said a woman, her hand over her mouth and young girl clinging to her leg. “Good god, who would mate with one of those fish people? Have you ever seen one?”

 “They’re not people, they’re just another species of fish,” said her husband.

“How the hell could they even be with a human?”

“Half-fishman? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” said a mother, scooping up her son in her arms.

 “It’s a freak.”

 “Someone should have put that thing out of its misery,” a man muttered darkly to a woman cradling a newborn.

Jora drew Dellinger close to her chest, staring with rage at the onlookers. Parents, with their children, children who were learning. Learning to be afraid of fishmen. Learning to be afraid of Dellinger.

The family of four had backed away, hands spread and sheltering their two children. The girl Soya was clinging to her father’s hand and staring at Dellinger with a fear that certainly hadn’t been present minutes earlier.

Dellinger continued to sob into her chest. Jora was shaking with rage.

“I bring my child here to learn, and this is what you teach him?” she spit, her hands shaking. “This is what you would teach your children?” She placed Dell tenderly on the ground and he clung to her leg, sobbing.

“Well then,” Jora snarled, her fingers coiling. “I will impart a lesson to you as well.”

She threw her arms wide and a froth of multicolored clouds erupted from her splayed fingertips. Dell stopped crying to stare at the prismatic colors that surrounded Jora as she flung them, like an artist flinging paint at a canvas, at the crowd of spectators.

“You will learn TOLERANCE!” she shouted. “YOU WILL LEARN RESPECT!”

The children screamed and covered their faces, but they remained untouched. Jora flung color and cloud, her hands wielding invisible brushes like swords at the adult onlookers. They recoiled from her strikes and contorted into grotesque, agonized shapes of color.

“SO ACCEPTANCE OF OTHERS HAS BECOME A DYING ART?!” she shrieked, a veritable collection of avant-garde pieces growing before her. “THEN LEARN COMPASSION! LEARN EMPATHY!”

The children were sobbing, screaming, and clutching the frozen, multicolored figures of their parents.

“I call it Ignorance,” hissed Jora, seething.

She spun on her heel and scooped up Dellinger.

Dellinger was wailing again, cradled against her shoulder.

“Wh-what did I do, J-Jora?” he sobbed as they walked away, his tiny hands clinging to her. She could have cared less as she seethed, striding away from the playground with with agonized cries of children and statues of ignorant people.

“You did nothing, my sweet child-zamasu,” she said, holding him even tighter, her expression one of stony flint. “Nothing.”

“But…but w-why were they mean?”

“Because people are ignorant. People are fools. People are entitled ignorant beasts who will never know what it feels like to be different. To be special like you. They are afraid,” she said, the words grating out like rocks.

“Why do I make them afraid?”

Jora felt a horrible weight about her chest that had nothing to do with how heavy Dellinger was. How did she explain to a child of four years that fishmen were terrifying creatures that a great deal of the world feared? And him? A misfit, an outcast, a strange half-creature like him…how did he even exist?

Somehow, unbidden, a scene flashed before her in her mind. She is wearing a shabby, second-hand frock amidst  a crowd of finely dressed men and women. Before her is a great wall of framed paintings. She stands before exquisite portraits of beautiful maidens, fresh green landscapes, lush oceans and blossoming flowers.

Among them, there is a single piece of glaring bright colors. Oranges, yellows and greens splashed haphazardly across the canvas in unarticulated shapes and forms. Distorted purple figures dance in a glorious flourish across the canvas. A man in a crisp suit draws away from the painting, letting out a cry of disgust. “God, what is this degenerate art?!” he cries. “Get it out of here!”

She had just wanted the freedom to paint what she wished. And what she loved were great passionate shapes of color and noise. Why had no one seen something so different could be lovely?

"Because people fear what they do not understand,” said Jora, hoping Dell at his age would be able to understand her. “People become scared when they see something strange, without ever bothering to think that something so strange could be beautiful. Like you are.”

“Are they gonna be okay?” asked Dellinger, craning to look back at the park.

Jora stopped.

She felt no ounce of concern for the human garbage who’s oxygen supply was slowly draining away with the effects of “Dying Art.”

Jora had no issue with taking lives of those who were of no consequence to her family.

Had she, an underworld dealer with the darkest of families, really just screamed at her own victims to learn “compassion?”

But their children…

The children would be without parents. Like Dellinger was.

“Oh Dell, you’re making me question my morals, you ridiculous fish,” she said, patting his head. “You’re making me go soft.”

---

“We’re leaving. Where are those two?” Doflamingo muttered, scanning the dock.

No sooner had he said this, than Buffalo and appeared running up to the dock, gasping and panting, Baby 5 sitting on top his enormous shoulders. Buffalo was lugging two huge money bags, and Baby 5 was cradling a third.

“What on earth?” said Senor Pink, eyeing the pair suspiciously.

“We weren’t winning anything, so we robbed them!” said Baby 5 triumphantly, holding out the bag of money.

Gladius covered his face with his hand. “Not bad!” said Machvise.

“Oh, and we got this for Dell-dasyun!” said Buffalo, fishing around in his pockets.

He held out a tiny, slightly crumpled cocktail umbrella. It was bright blue with a pattern of yellow flowers and looked absurdly small in Buffalo’s huge hand.

“Buffalo, Baby 5, were you two drinking?” said Doflamingo frowning at the pair. “If you’re going to drink do it right and get a bottle of wine to split. Cocktails are a waste of money.”

“I disagree,” said Senor Pink.

“I had some too!” said Baby 5 gleefully.

“God, what casino was this?” said Gladius.

Buffalo held out the little paper umbrella to Dellinger, who was still cradled in Jora’s arms, sniffling.

Dellinger took the tiny blue umbrella, examined it a moment, and stuck awkwardly behind one of his horns. “I’m so pretty!” he said, before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

Jora smiled. “I’m so glad that Dell has the two of you,” she said. “And all of us. I shudder to think where he’d be otherwise.”

“Was there any trouble, Jora?” asked Doflamingo, raising his eyebrows.

“None whatsoever,” said Jora smiling.

“So, how’d you make out -innnn?” said Machvise, bending over to open one of the bags Buffalo had dropped.

A flood of poker chips spilled out.

The family stared at them.

“Buffalo…Baby 5,” said Doflamingo in carefully measured tones. “Did you steal any, real money?”

The children looked at each other.

“This isn’t real money?” asked Buffalo.

---

“That’s my mother!” a sobbing boy screamed, clinging to a distorted lime green and pink shape. “P-Please,” he cried, snot running down his face. “Please you have to believe me!”

“T-there was a crazy lady,” shrieked a little girl, who was holding tight to a bright blue geometric chunk that was flecked with orange splotches. “And a fish kid. And she threw rainbows and turned our parents into these things!”

The Marine was trying very hard not to laugh, as were his compatriots.

“Listen,” he said, bending down to the crying children. “I think someone’s gone and fed you kids a silly story. What this looks like is a rather, avant-garde installation of some modern art. It is, rather odd looking, yes?”

One of his compatriots hastily turned a snort of laughter into a cough behind him.

“I can see how you guys might find it a little scary if you were lost, and bumped into something, well, something a little strange like this.”

He looked at a twisted pink shape some four feet away that looked like it was spiraling into a contorted, screaming face.

“We weren’t lost!” shouted a young boy, holding a crying baby.

“It sounds like this lady was just having a laugh with you, telling you a silly story that she’d turned all your parents into art. Sometimes it can be tough to tell if a grown-up is joking with you, and that’s why we should never talk to strangers! Now, let’s get you all back home. We’ll find your parents.”

“NOOOOO!” a boy with freckles screamed as one of the Marines tried to pull him away from a maroon shape with a gaping, wide hole like a mouth.

“I heard something or other that the mayor was trying to spruce up the city, maybe this is what he had in mind,” said one of the Marines, rolling his eyes. “Tasteless eyesore if you ask me. I hate neons.”

“I don’t know what’s going on here, but for goodness sake, there’s got to be a more logical explanation to this,” said one of his compatriots. “Kidnapping, luring the kids away, heck who knows if the any parents had any illegal ties, could be piracy-related for a whole group of people to up and vanish. For goodness sake, you can’t turn people into art.”

“I know, you always have to watch what you say,” the Marine said, thumbing his cap. “Children are so impressionable.

Thicker Than Blood Illustration (OPBB) by ViscountLeopoldSlug on DeviantArt

Chapter Text

The New World – Approximately two years before the fall of Dressrosa.

“And a scoop of chocolate-dasyun, and a scoop of strawberry-dasyun, and a scoop of mint-dasyun, and -”

“Okay you’re done,” said Machvise, cutting off Buffalo. “Sugar, what do you want-innn?”

 “I don’t want ice cream, this is stupid,” said Sugar.

 “Can I have Sugar's ice cream?” said Buffalo.

"No,” said Machvise. “Dell, what do you want-innn?”

Jora scooped up Dellinger to let him see all the flavors while he sucked his fingers.

“Can…may I have pistasss-io?” he said quietly.

“Close enough,” said Jora.

“Would you like sprinkles too?” asked the stewardess.

Dellinger’s already huge eyes widened.

“If I could have sprinkles, I would be in my glory!” said Dellinger, shaking his hands emphatically.

“Glorious child, that would be glorious,” sighed Jora. “Again, close enough.”

“My, what nice manners for such a young lady,” said the ice cream stewardess.  Jora beamed and sat Dellinger down to go return to her cup of tea.

Dellinger smiled. “Yah, if we aren’t good in my family we get tortured.”

Jora spit out her tea.

---

“Dellinger, where did your fin go?”

Buffalo stared at Dellinger curiously. The now nearly four year-old half-fishman was admiring the ocean from his usual perch on the canon, however his dorsal fin was no longer prominently sticking out of his back.

“It’s there,” said Dellinger.

“No it’s not,” said Buffalo. “Pfftt….you lost your fin! Did it fall off?”

“My fin is there!” said Dellinger. “It hasn’t gone anywhere.”

“Well I don’t see it,” chuckled Buffalo.

“You’re not looking right!” said Dellinger, lifting up a cannonball easily with one hand.

Indeed not only had Dellinger’s fin suddenly vanished, but it was worth noting that while his smile was still mismatched, he seemed to be sporting human teeth with greater consistency. Only two fangs sat in his mouth currently.

“Fishcakes, come here, let Jora have a look at you,” Jora called from across the deck.

Dellinger slid down off the cannon and trotted over to Jora.

“Turn around,” she said. Dellinger did as he was told.

Jora pursed her lips curiously. The hole she had sewn in Dellinger’s shirt was there, but there was no protruding fin.

She carefully lifted up Dellinger’s shirt to see a long black line straight down his spine, the skin just barely indented there. She carefully ran a finger down it.

“Does that hurt dear?”

“No. It’s my fin.”

Jora regarded the line curiously.

“Hmmm…” she mused.

                                ---

“Baby 5!”

“Hmmmm?”

“Baby 5, there’s a monster in here!”

“Go back to sleep, Dellinger.”

“Buffalo! Buffalo!”

“Dasyun…”

---

“Young Master?”

Doflamingo awoke to a pair of very large protuberant eyes staring up at him in the dark. He rubbed his head and peered down from his hammock.

“What the hell do you want, Dellinger? Go back to sleep.”

"There’s a monster in my room!”

Doflamingo groaned.

“Go bother Jora.”

“But you’re scarier than her.”

At the age of three Dellinger had moved out of his tiny makeshift nursery on the ship to sleep with Buffalo and Baby 5. Sugar slept with her sister Monet.

Doflamingo groaned again.

“Dellinger, you’re ten times scarier than anything that could be in your room. If there is a monster in your room, I fully expect you to be able to take care of it yourself. If you do not, I will be very disappointed. Use your teeth, if you still have them.”

“I have teeth,” said Dellinger.

“Of course, and you still have a fin too,” said Doflamingo, rolling his eyes.  “Go back to bed.”

Doflamingo rolled back over in his hammock, wondering why Dellinger’s fishman traits were receding, among thinking about other things that were receding: like his hairline.

He awoke again to a scream from the children’s quarters.

“What the hell is going on in here?” he demanded, throwing the door open.

Baby 5 was standing there in her nightdress, clearly horrified, a hand clamped over her mouth.  Buffalo was backed up against the wall and didn’t seem particularly keen to move.

Dellinger was crouched in the middle of the floor, clutching his stomach and crying. His fin, much larger now, protruded from his back, and his gaping mouth showed a full, complete set of pointed teeth. 

On the floor before him was an extremely large, headless, mutilated rat. The kind that occasionally roamed the lower levels of the ship.

Little white rocks were littered around the rat’s body. Doflamingo squinted and realized they were Dellinger’s human teeth.

“You told me to get rid of it!” said Dellinger, cradling his stomach. “So I…I bit it, really hard, and then I tried to eat it. Caused it smelled good. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Dellinger made a little noise and vomited all over the floor and the headless rat.

Jora came tottering into the room, her hair in curlers.

“Sweet Botticelli child! What is this?”

“I’m sorry, Jora,” Dellinger gurgled, before vomiting again. “I killed it and then I ate it…please don’t be mad. I think it had germs…”

Doflamingo gaped at the absurdity of the scene before him, and then smiled with satisfaction.

 “Well done, Dellinger,” said Doflamingo. “I am very proud of you. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Dellinger vomited up the rest of the rat pieces and went to bed. He was rewarded with raw fish and steak for breakfast. He began training with Diamante the next day.

Chapter Text

The New World - One month before the fall of Dressrosa.

It was about a month or so before the family was to take Dressrosa, but plans were already well underway. The family had been training the children even harder, making their own preparations, and studying maps of the island. Monet had been playing her part perfectly, supplying the family with steady intelligence.

 It was a perfectly normal morning, Jora and Dellinger doing the dishes together before morning training was to commence.

“Jora, can Applesauce come with me to Dressrosa?”

 “Hmmm? Oh yes, of course dear. I’ll pack her in your backpack with a snack.”

“Are we going to see Fighting Fish?” gushed Dellinger.

“Ohohohoho! All the Fighting Fish you could ever dream of-zamasu!”

Dellinger raised his head. Something smelled . . . interesting. He turned as he heard footsteps coming down the galley stairs. Baby 5 all but tiptoed in, head bowed and rubbing her arms.

“Um….Jora?” she whispered.

“Hmm? What, child? Speak up-zamasu!” said Jora, turning away from the sink and drying her hands.

“Jora, I need to talk to you,” said Baby 5, her voice barely a whisper.

“What, dear?”

“Alone.”

Baby 5 glanced furtively at Dellinger, who was perturbed as to what could upset his sister so much, and likewise wondering what smelled so good.

Jora knew something was amiss. “That’s quite fine, dear. We’ll go to my room. Run along, Dell.”

“Aww, but Jora!” whined Dellinger.

“Oh hush,” said Jora, as she led Baby 5 out of the galley. “Go show up early for Gladius, he’ll be pleased-zamasu.”

Dellinger pouted and went to go find Gladius.

He and Gladius had been practicing with a large dummy that Dellinger was supposed to use to practice charging and impaling. The problem was that the dummy was the size of a grown person, and Dellinger was barely three feet tall.

“You’re early,” said Gladius dryly, as he finished stitching a new patch over one of Dellinger’s previous horn marks. “Alright, where do you aim?”

“The chest,” said Dellinger, looking over his shoulder to see if Baby 5 was anywhere in sight.

“And where do you bite?” said Gladius.

“The throat,” said Dellinger, bored. “But I can’t jump that high.”

“And that’s why we practice,” said Gladius, positioning the dummy. "And wear tall shoes."

To compensate for Dellinger's lack of height, Jora had bought him a pair of purple shoes with wedges. Dellinger adored them and insisted on wearing them all the time.

“Isn’t it better to just go for the stomach?” asked Dell, twirling on the spot. “I mean, I can reach the stomach. If I hit the other spots they'll just fall over right away. It’s over really fast. It’s boring.”

“That’s what we’re going for here,” said Gladius, rolling his eyes. “Over really fast. We get in. We get Dressrosa. No messing around.”

“When I remodel the Coliseum there will be plenty of time for fun and games, Dell,” chortled Diamante, swaggering over to observe. “But for now we want to be efficient.”

“What’s ‘ficient’?”

“Fast.”

“Oh, I’m really fast,” said Dell, smirking and pleased to show off for Diamante. He brought his feet together and launched himself at the dummy, aiming for the chest. He came short and ended up goring the dummy’s thigh.

“Pathetic,” said Gladius, as Dellinger dislodged his horns. “Again.”

Dell continued to practice for the next half hour, but was perturbed when neither Jora nor Baby 5 had reappeared on deck to join the rest of the crew.

“Gladius!” he whined. “I have to pee!”

Gladius groaned and waved him off dismissively, muttering about having to train children.

Dellinger trotted down the stairs to Jora’s room, just in time to see Jora opening the door for Baby 5, who looked flushed, but slightly less distressed.

“It’s a pity Monet is in Dressrosa, I’m sure she would have been more than happy to chat with you,” Jora was saying, smiling and holding Baby 5’s hands. “And, tonight at dinner there will be a glass of wine at your place at the table.”

Baby 5’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Ohohoho yes indeed! You are a woman now-zamasu! Now run along, and if Pica gives you a hard time for being late, tell him he has to talk me-zamasu.”

“Thank you Jora!” said Baby 5, hugging her.  She turned and walked past Dellinger…and it wasn’t until then that Dellinger noticed…

“Wow, Baby 5! You smell amazing!” he said. “Like, you smell…wow! You—”

“Dellinger,” said Jora, warningly, her eyes flashing behind their spectacles. “Leave it.”

Baby 5 made a repulsed little noise. “You’re so gross and nosy, Dell!” she snapped, and hurried back up the stairs.

Dellinger stared after Baby 5. “What…,” he began, confused.

“Oh, it’s not your fault, child,” Jora chortled, scooping Dellinger up. “Women, fishmen, we all have things that are natural to us that we can’t control. I would just give Baby 5 a bit of space for the next few days.”

“But I just wanted to tell her she smells good,” said Dellinger.

Jora was trying not to laugh.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing Dellybean, nothing.”

“Can I have wine with dinner?”

“Art-solutely not!”

---

The New World – The night of the fall of Dressrosa.

“Hello Dressrosa! I am a Fighting Fish!”

Dellinger was dancing and twirling across the ship railing.

“Dellinger, get down. You need to take a nap.”

“Kyahaha! Swimming through the Green Bit! I – wahhh!”

Dellinger twirled dramatically and toppled off the ship railing and landed with the splash in the water below.

“Oh sweet Pollock, child,” Jora muttered, as Dellinger hoisted himself back up onto the ship by the rope ladder and shook himself off.

“Kyahaha! Hello Dressrosa! I am –”

“Alright, enough-zamasu,” said Jora, scooping up Dellinger. “It’s nap time.”

“But Jora!”

“We have a very busy night tonight! Young Master is counting on all of us to help him reclaim Dressrosa! You must rest and stop tiring yourself out. You won’t be very helpful if you are asleep!”

“I won’t be asleep,” said Dellinger, folding his arms and pouting.

“You will be staying up well past your bedtime. Therefore you should get some sleep now so you’re not tired when it’s time for us to go meet Monet.”

“I won’t be tired.”

“Jora, stop arguing with him,” said Diamante. “Dell, do you remember what we did with you back on Minion Island?”

Dellinger shook his head.

“Machvise gave you gin, and then you fell asleep. And we left you in Jora’s room with furniture piled against the door. Is that what you want?”

Sugar walked by and snorted loudly. Dell stuck his tongue out at her.

 “I certainly won’t have you two quarreling tonight either!” said Jora, pinching Dellinger’s ear.

“That’s right, I have a special job from Young Master himself!” said Sugar smirking at Dellinger.

“I do too!” snapped Dellinger.

“Right, looking stupid,” sneered Sugar.

“Alright, it’s nap time for both of you,” said Jora, grabbing Sugar by the back of her coat.

“I don’t need a nap!” shrieked Sugar, as Dellinger giggled. “I’m twelve! I hate you! You’re fat! I hate your ugly art! Go die!”

---

“Wake up, Dell!” Jora whispered. “It’s time!”

Dellinger blinked his huge eyes up at Jora and sat bolt upright.

“It’s time? We’re gonna go?!”

Jora smiled. “Monet just signaled us-zamasu,” she said, holding up the den den mushi. “Young Master, Diamante, Trebol and Pica have already headed out. We’ll follow them momentarily and head for the palace where Monet will be waiting for us.”

“I’m so excited, Jora!” Dellinger gushed. “You said I could bring Applesauce, right?” He held out his stuffed shark.

“Of course,” said Jora. “Stick her right in your backpack, and we’ll be on our way!”

---

Dellinger could almost smell the blood in Dressrosa’s streets even all the way out in Karta, just barely a town over. The huge flames licked the sky, casting long shadows as the family made their way to the King’s Plateau. It made him feel light, tingly, and thirsty. The anticipation made him quiver as he jogged to keep up with the huge strides of his family members. 

The ship was docked at Karta, while Doflamingo and Trebol, Pica and Diamante were taking care of business with the King in Sebio.

“What a terrible king, to do such a thing to his citizens,” said Lao G, chuckling and shaking his head. “G! There’s the G!”

Machvise smirked. “What a terrible king who would let his people live this way in such poverty-innn,” he said. “Dressrosa will prosper now that Young Master has reclaimed it.”

“Such people had no business taking the country from Young Master’s family in the first place,” said Jora, who was smoking. “Dressrosa has and always will be rightfully his.”

Dellinger kept quiet. He was listening.

He felt special, it to be so young and yet able to do something so important for the people he cared about. He was only six, and he could make a difference for Young Master, and everyone in his family. The magnitude of the situation was not lost on his youthful mind. He beamed. Dressrosa meant a lot to the Young Master, and it was going to be special place for the whole family.

He hadn’t seen a Fighting Fish yet and that was disappointing, but he wasn’t about to open his mouth and say so.

A rush of cold pricked his arms with goosebumps.

The guards at the lift leading up to the great King’s Plateau were collapsed and buried in piles of snow, their lips tinged purple with frostbite.

Dellinger watched Buffalo fly up to the top of the plateau with Baby 5 while the rest of them clambered into the lift. Sugar looked as though she might have wanted to say something nasty about being squished, but didn’t. Dellinger held fast to Jora’s leg.

As the lift rattled up and the doors opened, Buffalo touched down to the ground and Baby 5 slid smoothly off. The palace grounds were vast, dark and chilled with snow.

“Places everyone-zamasu!” cried Jora, her cigarette glowing in the dark night.

Dellinger was almost too excited to speak as he skipped along just steps ahead of Jora.

The vast palace grounds stretched up to the great wooden door of the palace, where a fresh blanket of snow covered the steps and entryway, the guards similarly frozen.

There stood Monet, who had bared the grand palace doors open to them, snow whipping about her dress. She clutched a young woman with black hair fast by the arms. Sugar actually smiled, and Monet beamed to see her sister leading the procession.

Baby 5 transformed her arm into a massive bazooka and fired into the entryway, the tower exploding in flames behind them as the family advanced.

“Pirates have invaded the East Tower!”

Baby 5 covered their rear with gunfire, to protect them from any guards who might try to overtake them from behind.

“I like the look of this place,” said Senor Pink nonchalantly. “Not bad.”

“A palace fitting for the Young Master,” agreed Machvise, flexing broadly.

“Stop right there!”

“You’re Doflamingo’s people aren’t you?”

The palace guards had swarmed, blocking their path further, their spears and swords raised.

“Unhand Lady Viola!”

“Looks like this place needs some cleaning,” said Lao G, cracking his knuckles.

“We’re in a bit of a hurry,” chortled Jora, her fingertips gleaming with color.

Dellinger pressed his hands to his mouth, trembling with excitement.

Machvise launched himself into the air, crushing several soldiers under his bronze weight. Several swollen globes rose against the stony palace floor and burst, sending soldiers flying.

“What is this? A child?” demanded a soldier, his hand faltering on his sword. “You can’t be one of Doflamingo’s men.”

Dell giggled.

He opened his mouth.

He didn’t miss.

---

“See for yourself! The Age of Dressrosa under the house of Riku is over!” Doflamingo laughed, raising his sword to the fallen king’s head. Dellinger looked on among the assembled family.

There was a horrible squelching noise, and Dellinger turned to see Kyros, the gladiator who had been shackled to the floor, slice his leg free of the shackles.

Even Doflamingo for once looked shocked.

“This man, he sliced off his own leg?”

But Sugar was swift, far swifter than the gladiator’s sword. Only he was not a gladiator anymore, only a one-legged tin solider that toppled to the ground.

Dellinger looked at the severed leg.

“That toy just ran off with King Riku!”

It was just…laying there in a puddle of blood. All alone.

“I didn’t establish a contract with it!”

“There’s no need to worry, Diamante will take care of things.”

He didn’t remember who it belonged to. But nobody seemed to be looking for it.

It smelled really good.

Dell took a few tentative steps closer to the leg.

“DELL!"  cried Jora, her spectacles flashing. "What on earth are you doing-zamasu?!"

"Sorry," said Dellinger, dislodging his teeth from the kneecap.  

---

“Jora, where are you off to?” said Doflamingo, raising a bottle of wine. “Dressrosa is ours, it is time to celebrate!”

“Yes of course,” said Jora. “But first,” she smiled. “I think it’s past someone’s bedtime.”

Dellinger was cradled in her arms, his bloody feet dangling limply, and his mouth of newly grown teeth agape as he snored on her shoulder. Applesauce the shark was clutched tightly in his hand.

Chapter Text

One month after the fall of Dressrosa

The time had sped by since the Riku family had fallen, and the Donquixote family had established themselves as the saviors of Dressrosa.

The palace was theirs, and the family quickly set about establishing themselves not just as the ruling family, but also at home.

Portraits of the Riku family were removed, replaced by large, attractive pieces of art that Jora had selected. An enormous family portrait, commissioned by Doflamingo himself, hung in the grand hall.

Any servants still loyal to the Riku family were handed over to Sugar. Diamante and Gladius began overseeing potential recruits for the Donquixote army, who would serve as enforcers over Dressrosa in place of the family. Already Doflamingo had most graciously accepted a fair number of soldiers from King Riku’s army into his, as they had only been following the orders of a mad king. Doflamingo made a show of his forgiveness.

Senor Pink and Pica were overseeing necessary repairs to the palace with the aid of the former soldiers.

Dellinger’s human teeth were slowly growing back in, and he was sporting his crooked, uneven smile.

For the first time, the children had their own rooms. Machvise and Jora went into the city with Baby 5, Sugar, Monet and Dellinger to buy supplies for redecorating. Sugar found it boring and Baby 5 got distracted by a strange man trying to sell her a magazine subscription. Dellinger however, was delighted and picked out purple curtains for his room.

“Diamante! Diamante, look!” cried Dellinger upon their return, skipping up the huge stone steps. “Curtains!”

“Uhahahaha, oh for me? You shouldn’t have. But you know purple isn’t my color.”

“Noooooo!” said Dellinger. “They’re my curtains!”

 “Of course they are,” said Diamante, hoisting up Dellinger and putting him on his massive shoulders. “Now check out what else this place has for you!”

“Dellinger, come meet me in the study after-innn!” called Machvise.

Diamante carried him through the gardens. Dell could see the great sunflower fields and all of Dressrosa looking down from the King’s Plateau.

He could see Green Bit and felt a surge of excitement.

“Are you going to take me to the Green Bit?”

“We'll see Dell,” said Diamante. “I think you’re under the impression that Fighting Fish are like pets or something. There’s a caged bridge over the Green Bit for a reason.”

“So people won’t eat the fish?”

“No, so the fish don’t eat the people.”

Dellinger didn't really think it was that bad if the Fighting Fish wanted to eat the people. He kind of understood how they felt. He remembered when Jora got mad because he wanted to eat that random leg. He just didn't want the Fighting Fish to eat Jora or his family. But they could eat anybody else.

Diamante carried him to a huge back patio and overlooking veranda, where stretched out in front of them was a large swimming pool.

Dellinger regarded it curiously from Diamante’s shoulders.

“What is it?”

“It’s a swimming pool!” said Diamante.

Dellinger looked at it skeptically.

“Why is the water in a box?” he asked. Having known nothing but the ocean, Dellinger found the odd rectangle of boxed water…limited.

“Uhahahaha, to go swimming in!”

“But you can’t swim, Diamante. Nobody can. Except Lao G.”

“Lao G and…?”

Dellinger blinked.

“Oh! And me, I swim!”

“Of course you swim, don’t be dull.”

Dellinger looked at the box of water, and hoped he would be able to swim in the ocean instead.

---

Machvise later took Dellinger to the study to go through the massive bookcases and find any books that might be suitable for Dellinger, who was learning to read. Dellinger had picked a sunflower and was wearing it in his hair behind his horns.

“How about this one?” asked Dellinger, sitting on Machvise’s massive shoulders and pulling down a large volume.

“The Divine Comedy,” said Machvise, reading the tile aloud. “Sounds like a laugh, why not-innnn!”

“Wow!” said Dellinger, cracking open the volume. “There’s pictures of fire all over the place, just like Dressrosa was!”

“Perfect, we’ll have Jora read it tonight-innn,” said Machvise. “She loves books with great art.”

“This one! This one!”

“Oedipus Rex,” said Machvise.

“Oh, an excellent choice,” chuckled Doflamingo, who was beckoning in a large throne held by several servants, the headboard fashioned into a diamond. “A personal favorite of mine. But it might give Dell some ideas, fufufufufu. Perhaps when he’s older.”

“Aww….”

“Heh, we’ll stick to the comedy then-innnn,” said Machvise.

There was a quiet knock on the door.

“Come in,” said Doflamingo idly, straightening the chair.

Violet, the newly initiated family member, slowly, cautiously, stepped into the study. She was wearing a pale lavender dress with flounced tiers, the typical sort of dress that Dellinger had become used to seeing Dressrosaen women wearing.

“Ah, Violet,” said Doflamingo, a cloying smile on his lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure of one of the Riku family in my study?”

Violet’s mouth was a straight line. Dellinger was looking at her dress, and the dark purple shoes she was wearing that matched.

“Young Master,” she said haltingly. “I – I would like to ask your permission to continue my flamenco lessons.”

Doflamingo smiled.

“Fufufufu, I see no reason why you should not,” he said. “I of course value Dressrosa’s arts and culture, and I see no reason why my family members should not be well-versed in it.

Violet’s shoulders relaxed. A reticent but relieved smile graced her face.

“Thank you,” she murmured, inclining her head. “I—”

“So long as one of my executives go with you.”

The smile faltered from Violet’s face.

Dellinger gasped and flailed arms, nearly falling off Machvise’s head.     

“Young Master, Young Master can I go with Violet?” he cried. “I want to take flamingo lessons! Kya!”

He wiggled his fingers.

“Heheheh, are you going to be the next Victoria Cindry, Dellinger-innn?” chuckled Machvise, lifting Dellinger off his head.

“Yes!” cried Dellinger. “I don’t know who that is!”

 Machvise set him on the floor and he did several kicks and shook his hands vigorously.

“Umm…I think you are thinking of tap dancing,” said Violet bravely. “Perhaps flamenco wouldn’t be of much interest to your um…your child here, Young Master.”

“Fufufufu! I think Dellinger joining you is a splendid idea,” said Doflamingo. “Dellinger, why don’t you and Jora tag along with Miss Violet. Young children should value the arts, don’t you agree, Miss Violet?”

Dellinger looked at Violet cautiously. He was still a little uncertain as to how he felt about her, but the thought of flamingo dancing sounded fantastic.

He smiled at her with his uneven smile and giggled.

Violet did not smile back.

“Yes, Young Master,” she said in a clipped voice. “A splendid idea.”

---

“Violet! Hi, Violet! Look!”

Dellinger spun grandly onto the veranda, where Jora had told him to wait with Violet.

Violet was sitting on a bench in a red and black dress. She stared at him.

“What are you wearing?” she deadpanned.

 Dellinger was taken aback. “It’s my flamingo skirt,” he said. “For dance class.”

 Dellinger was wearing a long tiered skirt into Dressrosaen style, of minty green fabric with a swirled pattern and dark emerald flounces. He was wearing bright green Mary Janes to match.

"Kya! Jora made it for me so I’d be ready for flamingo dancing!” said Dellinger, twirling and shaking his “jazz hands.”

“Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“That thing with your hands. It’s weird.”

“Not it’s not,” said Dellinger. “It’s called jazz hands.”

“Well we’re not taking jazz lessons, we’re taking flamenco lessons,” said Violet in a stiff voice. “And green isn’t a flamenco color.”

 “Neither is red and black,” said Dellinger, pointing at her skirt. “I’ve never seen red and black flamingos. Just pink ones.”

Violet groaned and buried her face in her hands.

“You’re not fun,” said Dellinger, scowling at her.              

“Dellinger, are you a boy or a girl?” said Violet, finally looking up.

Dellinger looked at her.

“Jora says that’s a stupid question. I can be whatever I want,” said Dellinger, matter-of-factly. “She encourages ‘freedom’ and ‘self-espession.’”

“But are you a boy or a girl?”

“I can be whatever I want,” repeated Dellinger.

“Yes but…like, you know, when you were born,” said Violet, seeming a little disconcerted. “You know, we’re born a certain way, with certain things… that tells us if we’re a boy or a girl.”

“Ohhhh!” said Dellinger brightly. “Things we’re born with! I know what you mean!”

 Dellinger stood up and titled his back toward Violet. Giggling, he extended his dorsal fin.

She gasped aloud.

“What is that?”

“That’s my fin! I was born with it!”

“Why were you born with...? No, never mind. Just, never mind.”

“I don’t know about when I was born. Diamante says I came from a store.”

“What?”

“Child! Look who I’ve brought along!”

Dellinger and Violet turned to see Jora, with Gladius and Machvise in tow.

 “Ohohohoho! Don’t you just look splendid, child!” said Jora, fixing a fresh sunflower into Dellinger’s hair behind one of his horns.

 “Gladius, look at my skirt! I can do twirls!” said Dellinger, spinning enthusiastically. “Are you going to learn flamingo dancing too?

"Jora insisted I come along in case you need a partner,” said Gladius, rolling his eyes behind his goggles.

“Why are you here, Machvise?”

"Oh, Machvise is going to be my partner,” said Jora, squeezing his meaty arm while Machvise grinned.

Violet opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it. Dellinger watched her eyes rove slowly over Gladius’s long coat and skirt, her brow furrowed.

 “You two will look simply stunning together!” said Jora, fixing a matching emerald green rosette in Gladius’ top hat.

“Gladius!” cooed Dellinger. “Can I paint your nails when I get back?”

“We’ll see,” said Gladius. “You painted them a few days ago.”

“I remember,” said Dellinger dramatically. “Metallic black.”

Violet made a strange face, opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

“Come now, lead the way, Miss Violet,” said Jora grandly. “We mustn’t be late.”

Violet decided then and there, not to ask questions about anybody’s gender, gender expectations, gender roles, or gendered anything in the so-called “family.” 

Chapter Text

One year after the fall of Dressrosa.

“I want some ice cream, chocolate would be good, ice cream that tastes just like it should!-dasyun!” Buffalo sang, Baby 5 giggling on his shoulders. “Not broccoli, turkey, or a lima bean! It’s got to taste like ice cream!”

“Buffalo, you can’t sing. Shut up,” said Sugar, sauntering into the kitchen, looking for sweets.

There was a fresh tray of cookies on the counter.

Smirking, she picked one up.

She stopped, staring at it.

“This smells like fish,” she deadpanned. “Why the hell does this cookie smell like fish?”

“Oh those are mine! I made them with Diamante!” said Dellinger, skipping into the kitchen. “Do you want one?”

“Why?” said Sugar. “Why would anybody eat a cookie fish?” She dropped the cookie on the floor. “You’re disgusting.”

---

“Hey, Dell. Get over here.”

Doflamingo as usual was entertaining a large number of Dressrosaen women by the pool. Dellinger liked when Young Master brought girls over, because then he could look at their shoes. (The men he brought over never wore interesting shoes.)

Dellinger turned from examining the sandals strewn about the pool area to see Gladius and Machvise. Machvise had recently gone back to the North Blue to visit his sister, and Gladius had tagged along. Gladius had a box with him.

“Here, we brought you something, check it out-innn,” said Machvise, hoisting Dell onto his shoulders. Gladius proffered the box to Dellinger, who opened it curiously.                              

Dellinger gasped.

“Shoes!” he cooed, his eyes wide.

They were a pair of teal canvas high-tops.

“These are all the rage in the North Blue right now,” said Gladius, as Dellinger picked up a shoe and hugged it. “We couldn’t not grab you a pair. But don’t tell Sugar or she’ll throw a fit.”

---

“GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY ROOM YOU LITTLE BASTARD!”

Dellinger bolted, careening down the staircase.

“I’M GONNA TURN YOU INTO A TOY AND THEN NO ONE WILL REMEMBER YOU, AND THEY’LL BE HAPPY THEY CAN’T REMEMBER YOUR UGLY FACE! Sugar screeched.

Dellinger burst into Jora’s room, nearly knocking over her pottery wheel.

“Child, how did you get in here so fast?” Jora started, looking up from her game of backgammon with Machvise. “What is this? Are you up to mischief-zamasu?”

“Noooo….” said Dellinger, twisting awkwardly on the spot.

“IF YOU COME NEAR MY ROOM AGAIN YOU’LL BE JOINING DRESSROSA’S SLAVES, FISH!”

Jora sighed. “Why can’t you two just get along?”

Monet and Sugar had gone out shopping. Dellinger had asked Sugar if he could see her new dress. Sugar had replied with her usual colorful vocabulary ending with her typical “Go die.”

So Dellinger had snuck into her room once Sugar and Monet had gone back out.

The dress was really very pretty. It was a light blue that matched her hair. It would have looked really marvelous with his new teal shoes. He would have told her it was pretty. He just wanted to see it.

He hadn’t counted on Sugar coming back so quickly to get her coat.

 “Go apologize to Sugar,” said Jora. “I don’t care who started it. Be the bigger person and finish it.”

“But Jora…”

“Hush now,” said Jora, turning back to her game with Machvise. “Now hurry along. We’ll go check in on the gallery later. You can meet me at the sunflower fields. And who are you calling a siren of the ocean?”

---

“Sugar, I’m sorry I went in your room. I just wanted to see your new dress,” mumbled Dellinger, not feeling particularly sorry at all. He reluctantly handed her a sunflower.

Sugar took the sunflower and shredded it. She threw it back to Dell on the floor.

“I hate you,” she said. “Go die.”

She slammed the door.

“WELL I HATE YOU TOO!” shouted Dellinger, pounding on the door. The wood cracked under his fist. “I hope, I hope you fall off the bridge to the Green Bit, and the Fighting Fish eat you, and they’ll call me for a party! And YOU’LL TASTE DELICIOUS!”

Dellinger kicked the door furiously, more out of frustration than intent to do any real damage. The door splintered under his foot and flew off its hinges.

“DELLINGER’S TRYING TO KILL ME!” Sugar screamed.

Dellinger ran from Sugar’s room for the second time that day.

“It’s high time we put that child’s strength to more productive work than squabbling with Sugar,” muttered Diamante, looking up at the ceiling at the sound of Dellinger’s footsteps.

--

“Where are you, Dellinger-zamasu? You can’t hide from me!”

Dellinger giggled, crouching amidst the sunflowers on Flower Hill.

"Ohohohoho! I know you’re around here somewhere,” said Jora, looking around in mock bewilderment. “Just where could you be?”

Dellinger burst out from behind Jora and tackled her.

“Kyahahahaa! I got you!”

Jora shrieked and toppled over. Dellinger was now able to knock her over with ease, despite her considerable girth. Dell was already astonishingly quick, and under Diamante’s training seemed to be growing even faster. Jora would be in her study painting, and she would barely hear the door open before Dell was there at her side, grinning and tugging on her arm.

“You cannot do such things, child! I’m too old-zamasu!”

“Kyahahaha!”

---

“Yes, this will do nicely-zamasu.”

Jora selected a slab of pink marble from the samples before her. “I want this for the columns, it will contrast the darker rose in the hallway nicely.”

“Yes m’am,” the architect bowed. “We’ll have it installed next week.”

Jora had selected a spot in the heart of Dressrosa to establish a gallery. The gallery was not simply a place for her sculptures and paintings, the building itself was a veritable masterpiece of Jora’s design, with great spiraling pillars, swooping asymmetrical doorways and purposely mis-matched wallpaper.

Dellinger smiled and Jora practically glowed as they left the unfinished gallery.

“Ohohoho, we ordered the tiling and picked out the marble,” said Jora, consulting her list as Dell jogged to keep up with her. “I think next week we’ll pick out some curtains. What colors do you think, Dellinger?”

“I don’t know,” Dellinger said. “Orange.”

“Dellinger, you hate orange.”

“I do not! Just, some oranges.”

Citizens bowed to them as they strolled down the streets, Dellinger holding tightly to Jora’s hand.

"Jora, Jora! Look at those shoes!”

Dellinger ran to a shop and stared dreamily into the shop window at a pair of purple rhinestone studded high heels.

“What is it with you and shoes my dear?” chortled Jora. “Now Fishcakes, be a dear and take my things back to the palace. I’m going to go get my nails done.”

Dellinger hesitated, twisting his foot against the cobblestones.

“Um, Jora?”

“Hmm? What, child? Speak up-zamasu!”

“Can I come with you?”

Jora beamed.

“Of course-zamasu!”

Chapter Text

Dressrosa – The Corrida Coliseum. Three years after the fall of Dressrosa.

“Dellybean, get your fingers out of your mouth. Germs-zamasu!”

Dellinger was sucking his fingers, as Jora fussed with his blouse. It was a ruffled seagreen top with long sleeves.

Dellinger clicked his blue heels. They were tiny one-inch wedges but he felt absolutely fabulous.

“An incredible child of the noble Fighting Fish lineage! The kings of Dressrosa’s waters, a rare and incredible species!”

“Now don’t be nervous, if something happens one of us will step in,” said Jora.

“I’ll be fine.”                                                              

Dellinger was back in the private waiting area of the Coliseum with most of the family assembled.

“A child with the strength of five men; capable of holding his own amongst the strongest of the Donquixote Family!”   

“I’m not a child,” whined Dellinger. “Why are they saying that?”

"Executive of the Donquixote Family and Fighting Fish and human hybrid, appearing for the first time ever in the Dressrosa Corrida Coliseum, DELLINGER!” roared out Gatz’s voice.

“Dell, move it,” said Diamante, ducking into the waiting area.

“Are they gonna like me?” asked Dell, wide-eyed.

"If you kill people, yes,” said Diamante, shoving him out into the arena. “Move it.”

"Oh look at him-zamasu!” gushed Jora, wiping her eyes. “Showing this whole country that a half –fishman is just as special and wonderful and capable as anyone! He could be an ambassador for fishman rights! He could –”

“Jora, he’s going out there to kill people, and people are gonna watch,” Diamante deadpanned. “The Coliseum is entertainment. It’s bread and circuses. If anything, Dellinger is upholding a fine tradition of Dressrosa.”

“Fufufufu, and we all know Dell just loves to be the center of attention,” murmured Doflamingo.

“Beheheh! I wonder where he gets that from?” gurgled Trebol.

Dellinger trotted out into the arena, to a great roar of applause.

Dellinger blinked at the crowds with his huge eyes. There were an awful lot of people and they were all making an awful lot of noise.

Dell listened.

Why were they applauding? He hadn’t done anything yet.

It was polite applause. Applause acknowledging him as a member of the Donquixote Family.

But not impressed applause.

Dell was old enough to realize he probably looked a little bit, well, little to be in the Coliseum ring. Machvise, Senor Pink and Lao G were of a far more well, a lot taller than him when they performed executions.

Baby 5 had tried to fight the Coliseum, but her “inclinations” were proving to become rather crippling. She had riddled a gladiator before her with bullets and was about to put a final one through his head before he had broken down and pleaded for his life from her.

“But he needs me!” she had cried, as Diamante dragged him back to the dungeons. “He needs me!”

“Oh sweet Picasso, he’s not doing anything!” murmured Jora, lighting a cigarette. “Dellybean, whatever is the matter?”

"Give him time,” muttered Doflamingo.

“It’s the people! All those people! He’s nine, Young Master! Any child would be afraid before such a crowd!”

The gladiator, a hulking brute of a man with a myriad of scars across his chest, stared at Dell incredulously, his face a mask of sheer incredulity and disgust.

“What the hell is this?” he shouted. “You want me to fight some flippin’ kid? What the hell is this humiliating bullshit? I ain’t gonna kill no kid!”

It dawned on Dellinger that these people were here to watch him.

“I ain’t fighting no kid!”

This was more than an execution, it was a performance.

Rather than feeling intimidated, he felt thrilled.

“There’s gotta be a mistake!”

Dellinger looked at his opponent, and giggled.

How thrilling. A performance! Just like…just like Victoria Cindry!

Only Victoria Cindry never did such exciting things.

“The hell is --?”

Dellinger brought his feet together, and promptly launched himself at the gladiator, his horns piercing the man’s chest of scars.

He flung his head free as the man collapsed groaning, and thrust his heels into the man’s neck with a cracking noise. The gladiator fell, and did not move.

There was a silence, a lull.

Dell paused. Had he done it too fast? Did they not like him?

 Then suddenly…

There was a great roar, a burst, an explosion of noise and feet and hands, all at once.

Dellinger broke into a huge grin.

That was applause.

Dellinger beamed and giggled; the crowd was on their feet roaring, stamping. Dell shook his hands vigorously, and blew kisses, giggling shrilly.

“Good lord, the little show-off,” muttered Gladius, covering his eyes.

The waters of the moat gurgled and sloshed amidst the roar of the applause. A vast, huge Fighting Fish had raised its head above the waters to smell the blood of the fallen gladiator.

Dellinger let out a squeal of delight and ran to the giant fish.

“Oh good lord,” muttered Diamante. “DELL! DELL, GET AWAY FROM THE FISH!”

“DELLINGER!” Jora shrieked. “GET OVER HERE!”

Dellinger knelt before the huge boss class fish, reached out a tiny hand with green painted fingernails, and patted it.

The crowd roared.

“You see that!” shouted Gatz.  “The strength of the great Fighting Fish bloodline! Never once has an opponent so young graced our arena with such prowess! Dellinger, of the Donquixote Family!”

“Leave the fish alone,” said Diamante, striding across the arena.

“Diamante, look! It likes me! Kyahahaha!”

“It’s not a petting zoo,” muttered Diamante. “Get over here you thing.”

Diamante picked Dellinger up and raised him above his head. Dellinger beamed and waved to the applauding audience.

“I have a feeling we will be seeing a lot more of Dellinger at the Corrida Coliseum!” Gatz roared into the microphone, as Diamante walked out with Dellinger on his shoulders.

 “Dressrosa applauds such a fine young…umm, person for gracing the Coliseum today with such a spectacular show! Now up next, the man so hardboiled---”

“Why do they always call me that?” muttered Senor Pink.

 “Bye fish!” yelled Dellinger.

“Well, that was hardly a challenge for Dell, he didn’t even extend his dorsal fin,” said Jora to Doflamingo. “I kept waiting for him to realize there was an audience. I think that’s actually what he wanted the whole time.”

Chapter Text

Apatetia - non-World Government territory.
 Five years after the fall of Dressrosa.

“So long as we keep sending healthy bodies to Tequila Wolf they won’t be able to ignore us any longer.”

“If he wants some of those bodies in the Sabody market he’s going to have to share the profit.”

“Maybe some of those poor unwanted souls in Sabody could be giving Tequila Wolf a hand, you know? Mariejoia wants finery and trophies, but not everyone’s an exotic dancer.”

“Tequila Wolf can take the ones who aren’t worthy for the World Noble’s trophy shelves. They need them young and fit.”

Bocke took a long drag on his cigarette and ran a hand through his greasy hair. “The Joker will have to do business with us sooner or later if he wants t’keep a foothold trafficking in the North Blue.”

“I hear he’s a pervert,” said Tsuco, picking dirt out from under his fingernails with a knife. “Takes in bleedin’ kids. Keeps ‘em.”

“Well yeah, keeps the best fer himself don’tcha know?” said Bocke dryly.

“And they say we’re scum,” replied his brother.

“Hey, I don’t judge a buyer so long we get paid. You think half the kids at Tequila Wolf are there just ‘cause they’re young ‘n healthy?”

“Speaking of getting paid,” said Tsuco, kicking a pebble out of his way as he and his brother continued down the bustling cobblestone broad walk of the harbor district. “Slim pickings today, eh?”

“Maybe some of the boys will pick up a few souls down at the North Port,” said Bocke, glancing around at the crowds.

“Heh, last time Jin hauled in some old man, tried to claim he was mink or something,” said Tsuco, rolling his eyes.

“Well, he was hairy.”

“I ain’t ever seen a mink. They don’t turn up on market.”

“I knew a half mink in the East Blue. Claimed he could talk to animals. He –”

A quick jab to the ribs from Tsuco cut Bocke off. His brother nodded some thirty degrees to his left and extended a single finger to gesture in that direction.

A young boy…wait, was it a boy? Likely about ten or so years old, was skipping down the cobblestone street amongst the throngs of people.

The child was wearing pink shoes with wedges, purple striped leggings, and a loose green shirt. His…her?...fingernails were painted bright blue. On their head they wore a white cap with what looked like little horn decorations sewn into it. Fluffy blonde hair poked out from underneath.

Its eyes were huge.

The child continued skipping down the street, completely unabashed and seemingly oblivious, trotting in and out between the throngs of people. Not once did it glance back as if to look for an adult, and there was no parental figure in sight.

“What the hell is that?” whispered Bocke. “It is a boy or a girl?” He did a quick three-sixty scan of the surroundings. “Where are the parents, you reckon?”

“Dunno,” said Tsuco, his eyes locked on the strange child, making sure not to lose it in the throngs of people. “Who the hell lets their kid out dressed like that?”

“We’d be doing the kid a favor,” said Bocke. “Getting the kid away from someone who lets it out in public dressed like that. How old, you reckon?”

“Old enough,” said Tsuco. “Parents' own fault. Let’s see where it goes.”

The child continued its merry trotting down the sidewalk, passersby occasionally stopping to stare at its odd attire, but no adult approached as any sort of parental authority or guardian.

The child spun on its tiny pink heels and flounced down a side street. There were considerably fewer people milling about.

“What, you wanna corner it or coerce it?” muttered Tsuco.

Bocke snorted. “Well hello small child, we are the fashion police. Please allow us to escort you elsewhere where you can change into something more fashionable. We will be issuing your parents a fine.”

The child continued its oblivious jaunt and rounded another corner.

They were well past the main harbor district now. The dark alleyway was all but empty, save for the sleeping body of a homeless man, and a drunkard leaning on the crumbling alley wall for support. They paid the child no mind, its ridiculously bright clothes a bizarre contrast against the muddied, dark alley.

“I swear, parents these days.”

They hung back. With almost no one else present, they did not want their quarry to realize they were there just yet. Further still, the child continued down the alley, not turning off into any of the side streets that would have diverted back to the more populated harbor district. It occasionally paused to stop and examine a cobblestone or a spot on the decaying walls.

“It must be touched,” hissed Tsuco. “Has to be, for it to dress like that and then just wander around. Parents probably wanted to lose it.”

“You don’t need brains to haul rocks all day,” replied Bocke. “I think there’s an old shipping house up here. Maybe we can corner it in there. Avoid commotion.”

No sooner had he said this than the child halted, gazing up at a large, run-down old building. The warehouse used to house shipments prior to departure, but a larger and better one had been built closer to the district, leaving this particular building decayed and abandoned.

The child gazed at the rotting door with its huge eyes and pushed it open.

“It’s doing our job for us,” chuckled Bocke. “Get the rope ready. And the ether, just in case.”

They drew up together to the door and slowly pushed it open. It let out a long creaking groan and a cloud of dust rose at their feet as they stepped inside.

They blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting to the darkness and the dusty, moldy air.

“Hello?” called out Tsuco in an uncharacteristically jovial voice. “Is anyone in here? Anyone who might be lost?”

“Kyaa!! You found me!”

Tsuco and Bocke spun around to see the child, standing right behind them.

Its eyes seemed almost over-bright in the dark.

“Oh thank goodness!” said Bocke, kneeling down to the child’s level and speaking in a patronizing tone. “We saw you wandered in here and we were so worried! Are you lost little…umm…girl? Boy?”

 “This is no place for a nice young lady like you,” said Bocke, smiling. “I think it’s safe to say you’re a little lost. Why don’t you come with my brother and I? We’ll help you find your parents.”

“I’m not lost,” the small child beamed. “And you’re lying.”

The child raised its hands to their mouth and giggled, shrilly, the noise echoing eerily off the walls. 

“Oh, a perceptive brat are you?” said Tsuco, unwinding the rope coiled at his waist. “Well, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You come with my brother and me, or you come with my brother and me. Take your pick, you little freak.” 

The child giggled again. “Kya!! Oh no! You’re so scary!”

Tsuco lunged for the child. No sooner had he done so, it vanished.

“I’m over hereeee!” came a singsong voice from behind them.

The brothers spun around only to catch a glimpse of the child before it darted away again with astonishing speed.

“Too slow!” it giggled, darting under Bocke’s legs and cropping up suddenly next to Tsuco. “You losers are too slow to catch me! Kyahaha! So borrrringgg!”

The child twirled and waved its hands tauntingly, its high pitched giggle bouncing off the musty walls.

“Boring? I’ll show you boring, you little shit,” snarled Bocke, pulling out a tranquilizer gun.

The child spun on the spot and lept into the air, dodging the dart with ease.

“What the–?” Bocke sputtered.

That was all he got out, before a purple stockinged leg shot out and clotheslined him across the neck. Bocke was launched clear across the warehouse, the kick sending him slamming into the far concrete wall.

“What – what the hell?! What kind of kid -?” Tsuco gaped, first at his brother, then at the child, who was giggling and clicking its wedged shoes. 

There was a shining black fin protruding from the child’s back. A dorsal fin.

“BOCKE, GET UP!” Tsuco yelled. “It’s a fishman! A FISHMAN KID! GET UP!”

Bocke was not moving.

The child giggled, pressing its hands to its mouth. “Maybe you’re not as stupid as you look!” it teased. “I thought your brain was as slow as you are!”

“Damn,” hissed Tsuco. He coiled the length of rope into a lasso. “You’re going to pay for this you little—” He pulled out a gun with the other hand.

“Ohhh no! I’m so scared!” cried the child, its hands poorly stifling giggles. “You’ll have to catch me first though!”

The fishman child was gone again, with inhuman speed, before Bocke had fired at the place he had been standing.

“You big scary grown-ups can’t even keep up with a little kid like me?”  chided the cloying, irritating voice. Bocke shot in the direction of the voice, but the bullets simply glanced off the floor, inciting more giggles.

“Can’t catch meeee!” the child sang, darting manically around Tsuco’s legs.

Tsuco, acting on instinct, jutted his own leg out.

There was a yelp as the child tripped over his outstretched leg and crashed to the floor. They tried to scramble to their feet but Tsuco flung the rope about the child and pulled, pinning their arms.

The child jerked and tried to bolt, but Tsuco held the rope fast and yanked. The child toppled, its knees banging the floor with a cry. The wide eyes froze, trembling at the end of the rope and staring up at Tsuco, who was panting heavily.

“You are going to pay, you little brat,” Tsuco snarled. “You could have been sold someplace nice, but oh no. You had to make this hard on yourself. Oi! Bocke! Can you get up! I’ve got it! A fishman kid! We’re gonna make bank on this little shit!”

The fishman child stared at him from the end of the rope, shaking, its huge eyes boring up into Tsuco’s.

“Please don’t hurt me,” it whimpered, shaking. “I-I’ll come with you. I’m sorry. I was just having fun. I’m s-sorry.”

“You done screwing around?” Tsuco hissed.

“Y-yes! I-I’ll be good.”

Tsuco yanked the rope, dragging the child across the floor. It yelped.

“Stop! Please, that hurts! I-I’ll come!”

The child struggled to its feet, arms still pinned.

“L-look, see? Here I come. Kya!”

The child brought their feet together and launched themselves, rigid as a dart, at Tsuco.

 Tsuco let out a scream as the child’s head collided with his stomach…a head that was pronged with two very real, very sharp horns that had just penetrated his abdomen.

He howled, blood spurting from his mouth as he collapsed. The child dislodged its horns from Tsuco’s stomach and shook off the rope.

“Oh, I missed,” it said. It reached a finger up to the tip of one of its very real horns, rubbed a finger in the blood, brought it to its mouth, and sucked.

The large eyes then turned their attention to Bocke, who was groaning and trying to get onto his feet with an all but completely shattered collarbone.

“Oh, you’re still alive!” the child giggled. “What fun! Do you want to chase me again? Or I could chase you! Kyahaha!”

Bocke stared in horror at the child. “Tsuco, forget the kid, let’s just get out of here!” he shouted. With a great effort he hauled himself to his feet and made a dash for the door.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

A young teenage girl with dark hair in a maid’s dress appeared in the doorway. She held a pair of rifles to his chest.

Rifles that were growing from her shoulders.

Rifles that were her arms.

The child stomped its foot.

“Baby 5! Young Master and Jora said I could do this all by myself!” it said irritably.

“You can’t let a target get away, Dell,” said the girl, her twin rifles locked on Bocke’s chest. “You gotta finish the job.”

“I was going to! Just watch!”

The child squeezed its eyes shut.

“Girl, get out of the way!” snarled Bocke, drawing a gun of his own.

A bullet to the leg sent him reeling and crumpled next to his partner, who was coughing and clutching his punctured stomach.

“Let the kid finish,” the girl said, casually blowing smoke from the barrel of her hand. She turned to the child, whose face was screwed up in concentration. “You got this, Dell?”

The child’s mouth gaped. It gave a little hacking noise and tiny teeth suddenly popped out of its gums, falling to the floor. In their place were long, pointed teeth.

“What the –” gasped Bocke.

“Finish them off, Dell!” yelled the girl, still keeping both barrels trained on the cowering slave traders.

Dellinger grinned and opened his eyes. His irises had dilated to twice their normal size.

They were red.

He giggled.

---

“Baby 5, I could have done it myself!” said Dellinger, pouting slightly as he licked blood off his shoulder. His tongue craned up to his cheek to lick up the blood there.

“Dell, Young Master didn’t send me out on solo hits until I was twelve,” said Baby 5, holding Dellinger’s hand as she led him back up the alley way and into the main district, careful to avoid the main streets. She practically had to drag him out of the building to keep him from licking the bodies clean. “I still have to cover Buffalo’s ass all the time. And you took out two targets. You should be very proud.”

“I wish could take off my horns so I could lick them, and then put them back on,” said Dellinger.

“You’re so weird, Dell.”

Doflamingo was sitting with Trebol, Diamante, and Jora up at the north pier, waiting for the pair. Jora was smoking and looking anxious.

“I brought your daughter back,” announced Baby 5.

“Oh, thank goodness-zamasu!” cried Jora, scooping Dellinger up. “Child, you look like you rolled in a tomato patch! You’ve scraped your knees, are you alright? Oh goodness, there’s a bruise on your elbow.”

“Stoopppp!” whined Dellinger, as Jora fussed over him. “I’m fine, look!” he beamed his toothy smile. “I grew my teeth! And the people were super delicious!”

“Yes, he was going to lick the floor clean if I didn’t stop him,” said Baby 5.

“Germs, child! What have I told you about germs-zamasu?”

“Fufufufu, you worry too much about our little pistol, Jora. Come here, you.” Doflamingo took Dellinger from Jora and tossed him high in the air. Dellinger giggled with delight.

“Can we go buy shoes now?”

Chapter Text

Dressrosa’s Palace  – Seven years after the fall of Dressrosa.
 

Dellinger was curled up cross-legged on the library floor, painting his toenails blue. Gladius was knitting, bundled up in leather as always, and Diamante and Lao G were playing cards.

“Dellybean, would you like to come with me to the gallery-zamasu?” asked Jora, poking her head into the room. “I have some new pieces to put up, I could use a little help.”

“Don’t call me that,” Dellinger whined.

Jora frowned. “You can ask in a nicer tone of voice,” she said.

“Please?”

“Oh you’ll always be my Dellybean. But nonetheless, would you like to come? It’s a lovely day-zamasu, you needn’t be cooped up.”

“Not really,” said Dellinger, focusing on his pinky toe.

“Dellinger, go be useful,” muttered Lao G distractedly. “Children should be useful.” Diamante chuckled. Dellinger rolled his eyes, moving on to his other foot.

“Dellinger sweetheart, perhaps you might wish to do that in your room, so you don’t get blue nail polish all over the carpet-zamasu. Young Master is rather partial to it.”

“I’m not going to get nail polish on the carpet, Jora!” said Dellinger.

“My, someone is moody today,” sighed Jora. “Well, I’ll get Machvise to come with me. Did you clean up your shoe cabinet like I asked?”

“I’ll get to it,” said Dellinger, now putting gloss on his toes. “I just wanna sit like a pretzel.”

“Dellinger, your room is nothing but shoes all over the place.”

“That’s what the servants are for.”

“Yes, but then you always complain that your shoes are out of order and that you can’t find anything-zamasu. So I told the servants you were just going to do it yourself.”

“Fine!” said Dellinger emphatically, standing up. “I’ll go take care of my shoes.”

“I don’t like your tone of voice, Dellinger,” said Jora. “I’ve made perfectly reasonable requests that you tidy your shoes and be careful about the carpet. I don’t even mind that you don’t want to come to the gallery. But I –”

Jora paused, her eyes suddenly growing wide behind her glasses as she looked over Dellinger’s face.

“Dellinger, what…what have you done to your ears!” she gasped. “Those are my good topaz earrings, how on earth did you-?”

Dellinger turned pink and bit his lip.

“Dellinger! What did you do to your ears?!”

Dellinger swallowed.

“You kept telling me I couldn’t get my ears pierced, Jora, so I just did it myself.” he said.

He wanted to giggle and say how great they had turned out, except it had been about four hours and they still hadn’t stopped throbbing. They were also pretty crooked and one earring sat clearly higher than the other, but Dellinger wasn’t exactly sure how to fix that. He had taken Jora’s topaz in the hopes they would blend into his hair…clearly they hadn’t.

“I don’t even know where to start, Dellinger!” Jora said, her voice rising. “You intentionally disobeyed me, you took my jewelry without permission --”

“But I do that all the time.”

“—and you could have seriously hurt yourself! Did you look in the mirror? The earrings aren’t even straight!  Take them out this instant-zamasu! You look like you’re well on your way to an infection!”

“If you would have just let me get my ears pierced, Jora -”

“Dellinger, I was, I was waiting for your birthday!” said Jora, exasperatedly. “I, I wanted to make it special.”

Dellinger flushed.

"I don't have a birthday," he muttered.

"Of course you do, Dellinger," said Jora. "How...how could you say such a thing?" 

Dellinger did not actually know when his birthday was, something of which he was acutely aware. But then again, neither did Buffalo, Baby 5, Sugar, Monet, Gladius, or most of the family really. They instead celebrated the day they joined the family…just as a regular birthday would celebrate a child’s arrival into a family. At least that was how Trebol had put it or something.

“Fine! Then why don’t you just return me to the store you bought me from?!” Dellinger snapped.

There was a collective silence.

Then the harsh grating of chair legs against the floor as Gladius stood up abruptly.

“Get outside,” he snarled at Dellinger. “Now.”

Dellinger turned pink and opened his mouth to protest. Gladius smacked Dellinger across the face.

“Gladius!” cried Jora.

Dellinger snarled, but Gladius grabbed him by the horns.

“I said now,” snapped Gladius, hauling Dellinger out the door onto the patio.

“Hey let go, you’re being a jerk!”

“This is all your fault!” Jora was saying indignantly to Diamante, as Dell was dragged outside. “If you hadn’t told him that all the time when he was little!”

“Let go, Gladius!” snarled Dellinger, his pupils dilating. “Mind your own business!”

“My family is my business,” growled Gladius, pushing Dellinger up against the wall.  “Listen to me. Do you have any idea how fortunate you are, to have Jora, to have all of us?”

“I-”

“You are being an entitled little shit. That tends to run in this family. Listen, do you want to know what happens to kids like you? Kids you buy? You ought to know what this family runs besides weapons and countries.”

Dellinger was quiet, but his pupils were still dilating.

“You wanna know where you would have ended up? A little freak like you? You sure wouldn’t be wearing high heels and earrings that’s for sure. Do shackles sound like a nice accessory to you? A nice heavy pair for your wrists, and then another for your legs. And how about a pretty collar to match? You like the idea of scrubbing the floor for a world noble? Or working all day with no food and being whipped? Or maybe carrying a fat old man all day on your back? Or maybe instead they’d chain you up and show you off inside a fish tank, being the little half-breed that you are. They do that with mermaids, you know? Your people fetch a fine price as slaves.”

Dellinger’s pupils had receded, his eyes a very different kind of wide now. He was shaking.

“Starting to make sense, is it? Why don’t you think about this the next time you’re pissed at Sugar or Trebol,” said Gladius. “But then again,” he continued, almost nonchalantly, “Who would have wanted a little half-breed like you? You’re not a proper human, how disgusting, those fishmen are violent and carry all sort of disease. And those fishmen, they have their pride. Who would taint their fine blood with that of a human? It’s appalling to think that they would mix. No, nobody would want you. And besides, who wants to take the time to raise a baby, just to put it to work? Might as well just put it out of its misery.”

Dellinger’s eyes spilled over, snot running from his nose.

“You want to know who did take the time to raise a baby?” Gladius jerked a thumb behind him. “Jora did, that’s who. We all took care of you, Dell, but I sure wasn’t staying up every night getting you to stop screaming having my fingers nearly chewed off, or having food thrown all over me trying to feed your gross mouth full of giant teeth.”

Gladius sighed, his hands tense on Dellinger's trembling shoulders.

“I’ll tell you the truth, Dell. I honestly didn’t like you as a baby. Here we are trying to run a business, and you were just this thing that sat around pooping and screaming and biting all of us. I honestly couldn’t have cared less if you had fallen off the cannon and broke your head open. Finally you got old enough to be interesting, and I was really glad you didn’t fall off the cannon and break your head open. But you know who did care? Jora. So the next time you feel like mouthing off, why don’t you remind yourself to look at the scars she’s already got from dealing with your mouth.”

Dellinger swallowed, his eyes a very different kind of red.

“W-why, Gladius?” he said finally, hiccupping. “Why me? Why did you all want me?”

“Because you were special,” said Gladius. He relaxed his grip. “There’s nothing else out there like you, Dell. Young Master knew you needed a place, because without us….you might not have had one.”

“Now go man up and tell Jora you’re sorry and do whatever the hell she wants,” he said. “And don’t you ever demand we ‘return you’ again. Besides,” he added. “You’ve gone and messed up your ears. Can’t return damaged goods. Looks like you’re stuck with us.”

Dellinger managed a watery giggle.

“Between you and Baby 5, I can’t handle with your drama,” sighed Gladius. “I’ve already had to threaten to shoot her, don’t make me put a bullet in your shoulder too. Now get out of here, you little nasty.”

---

“I’m sorry.”

Jora sighed through her nose, and Dellinger whined as she scrubbed his earlobes with cotton swabs soaked in brandy.

“I’ve never had to bandage earlobes-zamasu,” she muttered, wrapping a tiny gauze pad around his earlobe and tying it in a bow, securing it with a bit of tape. “What did you use, might I ask-zamasu?”

“I took one of Gladius’s sewing needles.”

“Did you at least sterilize it?”

“I…rinsed it in the sink.”

Jora smacked him upside the head.

“This is how you get green ears! Or your earlobes will swell up and turn black and fall off, and then you’ll have nothing to pierce hmmm? Did you think of that?”

In spite of himself, Dellinger managed a tiny giggle.

“Well you’re going to have sore ears for a while, that’s for sure-zamasu. But once they’ve healed up I will consider taking you to get them done properly, if you can cut back on this attitude. Is that clear?”

Dellinger nodded.

“Good. Now go tidy up your mess of shoes and we’ll go to the gallery. Don’t lollygag, I expect you to help me.”

Dellinger skulked out, trying to flatten his hair over his earlobes.

“Was I ever that bad?” Gladius muttered, leaning against the doorway outside.

“Who are you calling a ravishing beauty?”

“I said no such thing, Jora.”

“Heavens you weren’t bad, Gladius,” said Jora. “You were just terribly moody and skulked around all over the place. You didn’t much like anybody and kept waiting for Dell to befall some tragic accident.”

“Yeah well, I’m glad he didn’t,” said Gladius. “Nasty little creature. Besides, now we have Sugar. She doesn’t like anybody either.”

---

Clank. Slurp.

He had a vague, vague memory, barely a glimmer, of the first time he’d ever asked such a question.

Clank. Slurp.

Everyone had gone rather tense. Monet had tried to hurry Sugar out of the room.

Clank. Slurp.

Dellinger looked up. The only thing that clanked and slurped was Trebol, who was oozing down the hallway toward him.

Dellinger stopped and for the first time truly looked at and thought about the broken chains that Trebol wore on his feet. They had always been there. Dellinger had never questioned them, until now.

He felt a nasty, icy feeling in his stomach at the thought of chains around his own ankles. Would that be his life without his family?

“Trebol?”

His voice came out smaller than he thought it would. Trebol turned to look at him.

“Nehneh Dellinger, what is it?” said Trebol, leaning in too close to Dellinger like he always did. “Something’s the matter, ehhhh? You’re not smiling, you’re always smiling Dellinger, beheheheh! Did someone break your heart, beheheh? Did that little brat Sugar swear at you? What’s wrong? What happened to your ears? Or is this another one of Jora’s fashions?”

“Trebol,” said Dellinger, the words choking in his throat. “Can, can I ask you something? Something, um---?”

“Nehhhhh? Did Gladius not tell you about the birds and the bees yet? Get Senor Pink to tell you!”

“No,” said Dellinger, letting out a brief giggle. “It’s…it’s…about you, Trebol.”

“Nehhhh? About me? What is this?” he swayed in close to Dellinger, squinting at him from behind his glasses.

“Trebol?” Dellinger half-whispered, fearful his voice would die in his throat. “Why…why do you wear, those?”

He pointed down to the broken pair of shackles on Trebol’s feet.

Trebol raised his eyebrows, looking at him, almost as if appraising him. Dellinger had the sudden urge to simply run. How could he have been so foolish as to just blurt out such a question?

Trebol slowly took off his glasses, his beady eyes regarding Dellinger.

“Sit,” he said, pointing with his staff to one of the benches in the garden.

Dellinger sat. Trebol oozed next to him.

Trebol let out a wet, mucousy sigh and stared out across the garden.

“I’m sure you’re well aware, not every kid like you is quite as lucky as you are, Dellinger,” said Trebol, in his deep, wet voice. “You were lucky enough to be special. We pulled you out. Me? I wasn’t so lucky. No family to speak of, and well, I wasn’t some half-fishman blessed with incredible strength. A half-starved kid on the street was an easy mark for slave traders.”

“How, how old were you?” choked out Dellinger.

“Seven.”

Dellinger swallowed.

“Kids are easy slaves. They don’t complain if you hit them hard enough, they ain’t gonna rebel if you scare them enough. Most ain’t smart enough to realize there’s better out there, ‘cause they’ve never known any different. But me, I wasn’t going to spend my life getting beaten for some World Noble’s ass.”

Dellinger looked at him. He knew the Young Master hated the World Nobles, hated having to go to Mariejoia for the World Government’s councils.

“I changed hands a lot. Got sold and resold a lot because I caused too much trouble. One day, musta been about eleven or twelve, I was getting sold at an auction house. I was shackled with the rest of the slaves and the auctioneer had two devil fruits set aside backstage, that were also to be auctioned off. They were right there; didn't even put 'em out of reach. I ate one. No one else had the guts to; it had been long beaten out of anyone else.”

Dellinger stared at him, his hands pressed to his mouth.

“Beheheh…you didn’t know this about creepy old Trebol, nehhh?” Trebol gurgled, chuckling at Dellinger’s face. “Well of course, then auctioneer tried to beat me, but suddenly the blows just weren’t so hard, they were all squishy. I couldn’t control my powers, but my collar wasn’t seastone, so I slipped free and ran. I stole the other devil fruit.

“What did you do with it?”

“Gave it to the next strongest person I met. Diamante.” 

Dellinger gaped at him, incredulous.

“Beheheheh, do you think this family just took in every child that we stumbled upon? Baby 5, Buffalo, even Sugar? Nah Dell, you are a rare and special thing, a half-fishman, a half-fishman native to this country no less.”

Dellinger felt a quiet swell of pride. The Fighting Fish were beautiful, incredible creatures of strength and prowess. To know he carried their blood in his veins made him proud of his…pieces. His horns. His fin. His teeth.

“We knew your strength needed to be protected; that you were capable of greater and better things. You have always had a place in this family, your heritage and strength are a testament to that,” Trebol continued. “Do you think an ordinary human infant would have been of value to the Young Master? That we would have taken the time to raise and care for some common human baby?” He gestured with his staff.

“Do you see the common links, Dell, in this family? It’s strength. We are not ordinary people. It’s our strength that sets us apart from the rest of the filth, the trash that inhabits this world, full of silly ideas about morals and humanity. Bah! No, our strength sets us apart…Doffy showed us a dream where only the truly strong survived. If the rest of the trash in this world cannot find the strength break their chains…then all the stronger that makes us, doesn’t it?”

Trebol oozed to his feet, his great slimy coat rippling in sticky waves down his body. He leaned in close to Dellinger and for once Dellinger didn’t mind.

“Strength is one’s greatest asset, don’t forget that, Dellinger,” said Trebol. “The strong are the ones who break chains. The strong are the ones who survive. What ordinary human could do what you do, Dellinger?”

“You have always had a place in this family,” said Trebol. “Don’t ever question it, or your strength.”

---

“Left, just a touch…now turn it so it’s just a little closer to the light. Ah! That’s it-zamasu! It’s arts-quisite!”

Jora swayed and waved her arms ecstatically, as she usually did when installing or creating art.

Dellinger moved away from the large green shape mounted on a giant slab of marble, which he had carried all the way from the Dressrosa palace.

“Ohohohohoho! I call it Synchronicity,” she said, beaming. 

“Kya! It is quite lovely,” said Dellinger, who was starting to feel a little bit back to his old self.

“Who are you calling the loveliest girl of the century-zamasu?”

“Kyaa! You are, Jora! And your sculpture!”

“Stop that! it will go to my head!”

They strolled out of the gallery, Dellinger holding Jora’s bags and art supplies, which she occasionally brought if she wanted to paint while at the gallery.

“I’m going to get my nails done,” said Jora conversationally. “You can run along back if you want. And I expect you to help me clean my studio this evening, I’ve told the servants not to mind it. Don’t worry –” she added, seeing the look on Dellinger’s face. “Baby 5 said she’d lend a hand too. Now off with you, my old hands need a bit of affection. I think I will paint them yellow.”

Dellinger paused, rocking on his heels against the cobblestones. He looked at Jora’s hands, her old hands, and the tiny little white lines all over her knuckles and fingers.

“Jora?”

“What, child? Speak up-zamasu!”

“Can…can I come too?”

Jora beamed.

“Of course, Dellybean.”

Chapter Text

Dressrsosa – present day.
Two and a half years before the fall of the Donquixote Family.

“But I don’t want you to go.”

“I have a very special job from Young Master, and I daren’t refuse. You should be happy for me.”

“But I’m not! I want you to stay here in Dressrosa!”

Dellinger pauses at the sound of raised voices, as he makes his way back to his room. There is a light shining beneath Sugar and Monet’s room.

“Young Master can send anyone!”

“But he picked me, it’s a great honor. Please try to understand.”

The farewell dinner for Monet had been splendid; the palace and the family had outdone themselves. Diamante had made a quiche. Baby 5 had fired off streamers from her arms. Even Violet had seemed – perhaps it had been a trick of the light in her clairvoyant eyes – sad to hear the news.

Dellinger pauses, listening.

“Sugar, you’re a woman now. Devil fruit or not, we all know this. I’ll always be your big sister, but you are Dressrosa’s keeper. Young Master needs you. And you’ve got a whole family here that loves you too.”

“They’re not my REAL family!”

Dellinger feels sick, horrified.

His sentiments are seemingly echoed on the other side of the door.

“The Young Master would be ashamed to hear you say such things, after all he’s done for us,” says Monet’s voice angrily.

There is the sound of footstep and the door creaks, and Dellinger runs before he can be caught eavesdropping, his heart pounding.

In nearly eight years, he has never heard Sugar speak in such a way.

---

“Sugar?”

Dellinger, throwing caution to the wind, knocks and opens Sugar’s door.

Sugar is perched upright on her bed, reading. Her eyes are very red and puffy, her expression rigid.

“Go away,” she snaps, not looking at him. “Why are you always so annoying? Go break your neck or something.”

Dellinger truly realizes for the first time just how much eight years has changed him between Sugar. While Sugar sits, preserved in immortal youth, he stands nearly three heads taller than her, if not more. For years they were the same height.

“Sugar, I’m sorry about Monet is leaving,” he mumbles quietly. “And I’m sorry you don’t like any of us the same.”

He holds out a bouquet of sunflowers.

“I don’t know what it’s like to have someone who’s related by blood,” he says, looking at the floor. “I guess that makes it different. I guess I can’t know. ”

Though he would never admit it, Sugar scares him much more than Trebol or Young Master ever could. Daringly, knowing that it may very well be the last anyone remembers of him, Dellinger sits on the bed next to Sugar.

Sugar stares from him to the flowers, seemingly mystified. Her hands shake as she picks up a flower.  Her lip trembles, and she suddenly bursts into tears, throwing her arms around Dellinger.

Dellinger freezes, certain his limbs are about to melt into tin, or freeze into wood. Certain that this moment he is vanishing from the minds of the people he loves, just because he wanted to be nice to Sugar.

Sugar is sobbing into his chest, her arms around him. Dellinger blinks, realizing he is completely intact.

Sugar has never touched him, unless to smack him or grab his horns as she did when he was a child. She never touches anyone, except Monet and Young Master.

He had never dared to call Sugar his big sister, for fear her wrath or somehow violating the sacred blood bond between her and Monet.

Finally Sugar sniffs and mops her eyes. A rare, tiny smile pricks the corner of her mouth.

“I still hate you,” she sniffs finally, picking an errant leaf from a flower stem. “I hope you break your ankles on those heels someday.”

Dellinger grins and puts his arm around her.

“Kyahaha! Not before I throw you in the Coliseum moat with the Fighting Fish!”

Chapter Text

Dressrosa – present day.
The Corrida Coliseum. Ten months before the fall of the Donquixote Family

“Hey Dell, get over here. There’s someone I want you to meet,” Diamante calls from across the preparation hall.

“Let me change first, Diamante!” Dellinger yells back.

“Get over here, Dellinger.”

“No! I’m covered in blood! I’m going to lick it off and when I look nice again I’ll go meet whoever.”

“GET OVER HERE. DON’T BE A BRAT.”

Dellinger grumbles and walks over, acutely aware that his bloodstained legs will be making a first impression on whoever he’s supposed to be meeting…instead of a nice dress or top.

Diamante is standing with a husky blonde, twenty-something, who is wearing an ugly vest and has a face full of scars. The stranger is quite tall, standing even close to Diamante’s considerable height.

Dellinger has taken out taller.

“This is Bellamy,” says Diamante. “He’s going to be hanging around Dressrosa and occasionally helping out Young Master. You’ll be seeing him around the Coliseum every now and then.”

Diamante’s tone suggests that “helping” has less to do with Bellamy actually helping and more to do with the family “humoring.”

Dellinger watches as Bellamy’s eyes rove over his bloody legs and heels; his expression is one of perplexity and considerable discomfort. He quickly corrects his face and looks at Dellinger.

Suddenly Dellinger is quite pleased his legs are still covered in blood.

“Hey,” says Bellamy, extending a hand with a grin of false confidence, that Dell reads easily. 

Dell looks from Bellamy’s hand to Bellamy, unimpressed.

If there’s one thing Dellinger can smell besides fresh blood, it's fear.

And Bellamy reeks of it.

Bellamy also smells like a dog that just rolled in something.

“You smell disgusting,” Dellinger says. He turns smartly on his heels and flounces away.

Behind him Diamante roars with laughter.

---

“That’s right, ladies and gentleman, we have a full show for you today at the Corrida Coliseum!” Gatz’s voice booms out over the roaring crowd. Dellinger is giggling something fierce, shining his shoes back in the family’s private waiting area. Senior Pink is watching the screens with his arms crossed, while Machvise and Lao G are stretching.

“The esteemed fighters of the Donquixote Family are all lined up and ready to give us some incredible shows! And a special surprise guest, just arrived in Dressrosa –”

“Everyone remember to do your best to bully Bellamy today!” giggles Dellinger.

Chapter Text

Dressrosa – Present Day.
Eight months before the fall of the Donquixote Family.

Dellinger can hear the screaming from all the way down the hallway.

He sighs and doesn’t even pause as he approaches Doflamingo’s study and pushes the heavy oak door open.

Baby 5 is tied up on the floor, screaming.

“HOW COULD YOU!” she sobs hysterically. “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO MEEEEE??! I’M A WIDOW YET AGAIN!!! I HATE YOU!!! I HATE YOU JOOOOKERRR!!”

Dellinger regards her upside down on the floor.

“This again, Baby 5?” he says, perturbed.

“SHUT UP!” she screams, her face streaked with mascara tracks. “YOU WOULDN’T UNDERSTAND!”

Dellinger had watched his sister’s obsession with pleasing others develop into something a little more disturbing recently, and he could only guess this meant yet another fiancé of hers had been killed.

“Ah Dellinger, good of you to join us,” says Doflamingo, ignoring Baby 5 sobbing and struggling on the floor.

Dellinger beams and clicks his heels smartly. They are a green pair with silver piping.

“Trebol and Sugar are going to a need little extra help at the executive tower tomorrow,” says Doflamingo. “I have some recent partners bringing in new goods, and I want an extra set of eyes I can trust.”

“Awwwww, but Young Master,” whines Dellinger, raising a hand to his mouth. “Diamante said I would have a Coliseum match tomorrow!” He spins on the spot, flexing his legs.

“And there will be plenty of time for it, this shan’t take all day. I don’t expect it to take longer than the morning. And don’t whine,” Doflamingo adds sharply. “It’s unbecoming at your age.”

Dellinger cannot help but stifle an awkward giggle as he looks down at Baby 5, eight years his senior, who is sniveling all over the floor.

“HE WAS THE ONE!” she wails. “I’LL NEVER MEET ANOTHER LIKE HIM, EVER!! EVER!!”

---

After dinner Baby 5 finally calmed down, retreating to her room with a two tubs of raspberry chocolate ice cream.

Dellinger creeps quietly up to her door and knocks.

“GO AWAY!” Baby 5 screams through the door.

“Please Baby 5, it’s Dell,” Dellinger says. “I’ll paint your nails.”

There is an audible sniffle, and Dell cracks the door and peeks his head in.

Buffalo is sitting on Baby 5’s bed, his huge body dwarfing her. She is curled up on his massive lap, and he pats her sympathetically. Piles of tissues litter the bed, and one empty ice cream tub is on the floor. Baby 5 is about halfway through the second, the spoon mindlessly rotating from her mouth to the tub.

A picture draped with black ribbons sits on her bed stand next to a burning candle. A man about forty years older than her with a hideous overbite and a unibrow squints out from the photograph. Dell cringes. This is clearly fiancé number seven. Fiancés one through six sit on her dresser, each with their own ribbons and candle. (Only candle number four has gone out.)

Baby 5 looks at him blearily, her eyes swollen and blotchy, mascara all down her face and lipstick smeared.

“Oh Baby 5,” says Dell. It is not the first time he’s seen her like this. Hardly the second time either. Or the third.

He crosses to her dresser and opens her cosmetic drawer, taking out her favorite lavender polish.

Baby 5 sniffles loudly. “Oh Dell,” she says. “He was the one! He really was the one!”

She breaks down into fresh sobs, burying her face in Buffalo’s chest, who continues to pat her.

“We were going to get married…and, and Buffalo was going to be the best man!”

“I refuse to be the best man for an idiot taking advantage of you-dasyun,” says Buffalo, rolling his eyes.

“He was kinda ugly,” says Dellinger, sitting down next to her on the bed. “Like the last one.” Buffalo laughs.

“Stop it, you two!! It’s what’s inside that counts!” sobs Baby 5. “And inside, inside…he needed me!”

“If you say so,” says Dellinger, taking off her shoes and setting them neatly down on the floor. He traces a finger sadly over the red lines on her ankles left by Doflamingo’s strings. “I don’t think Young Master wants to see you miserable like this.” He shakes the bottle of nail polish.

Dell likes painting nails. Mostly his own, but his sister’s too. And Jora’s. And Gladius’s. Sugar and Violet don’t let him, and Monet isn’t around anymore. 

Buffalo once tried to paint Baby 5’s nails, insisting that it was his job to take care of her post-breakups/fiancé deaths. His giant hands had ended up nearly painting her entire foot lavender.

“He’s determined to ruin my happiness!” says Baby 5, sitting up and hugging her pillow. She watches Dell paint her toes, her eyes red and unfocused. “He’s determined to get in the way of my finding true love!”

Dellinger raises an eyebrow. “True love?”

“Oh Dell!” says Baby 5 dramatically, raising a hand to her head. “You wouldn’t understand! True love, once you’ve felt it, is the most glorious emotion on earth! To have someone need you with every fiber of their being…what more could a girl want?”

Dell is not entirely sure how he understands someone feeling true love for the squinty eyed man with the unibrow and overbite, who won’t stop leering at him from Baby 5’s nightstand.

“You’re just a child!” Baby 5 continues. “Someday you’ll know love’s sweet sting and –”

“Kya!! Well maybe Doflamingo won’t have to kill my fiancés because I have better taste!” giggles Dellinger. “I’ve got a sister who’s showing me how not to pick out men!”

Baby 5 swings her pillow at him. It catches him on the horns and promptly rips.  A shower of feathers bursts over the three of them.

Dellinger crows with laughter, Buffalo guffaws loudly, and a small grin breaks over Baby 5’s face, and she giggles too.

“What are you idiots doing?”

Sugar walks in, wearing yellow footie pajamas patterned with teddy bears.

“Kyaa! Sugar, let me paint your nails!” trills Dellinger.

“No,” says Sugar. “Go die.”

She hops up on the bed amidst the tissues and feathers and immediately commandeers the half-finished tub of ice cream.

“You over it yet?” she says to Baby 5, through a mouthful of ice cream. “You seriously gotta stop this. You’re pissing off Young Master.”

“If he wouldn’t be so determined to ruin my life, I wouldn’t have to!” sniffs Baby 5. “If he would just let me settle down happily ever after, with my one true love…”

Sugar snorts.

“Don’t listen to her, Dellinger,” she says. 

“Oh Sugar,” snickers Buffalo. “That sounds like the voice of heartbreak! Did Young Master kill one of your fiancés too-dasyun?”

“No,” says Sugar. “I just hate everyone.” 

---

“Hey, careful with those!” a crew member shouts at a toy staggering under the weight of a long wooden box. “Those pieces are for the Donquixote Family!”

“Young Master killed another one of Baby 5’s fiancés,” says Dellinger, leaning against a large stack of crates. Dellinger, Trebol and Sugar are in the executive tower watching a squadron of toys carrying large shipping boxes and crates from the recently docked ship, while a few of the lingering crew members bark orders.

A boy with long reddish hair trots down the gangplank of a docked ship, clutching a crate. Dellinger watches him curiously before he hurries off.

“Beheheheh,” chuckles Trebol, snot swinging from his nose. “She’d marry me if I asked her to, maybe I should…”

“You’re gross,” says Sugar.

“Yeah, you are,” adds Dell.

“Nehhhhhh? Just because Doffy sends you down here, Dellinger, doesn’t mean you get to piss me off!” says Trebol, swaying in close to Dellinger, who cringes away. “I put up with enough attitude from one brat already!”

Sugar flips off a grape covered middle finger.

 “This is boring,” says Dellinger, pouting. “Do you think Baby 5 is going to be okay? She’s done this like, what, seven times now? I don’t get what’s so special about getting married.”

“You wouldn’t understand, Dellinger,” says Sugar, popping the grape into her mouth. “You’re too immature.”

“Am not!” snaps Dellinger, stomping his foot. “I’m a star of the Coliseum! I have dozens of admirers! I bet I could get married any time I wanted!”

 Sugar and Trebol look at him, and then burst out laughing.

 Dellinger looks at them, taken aback.

“Dell, you’re an idiot. Getting married doesn’t work like that,” says Sugar, fishing in her basket for another grape.

“Beeheeeheh! I pity the boy who puts his family jewels near your mouth, Dellinger!” laughs Trebol uproariously. Snot streams out of his nose and lands in a puddle.

 "Hey! My shoes!” snaps Dellinger, jumping to avoid the nauseating glob.

“You know I hate everyone,” says Sugar to Trebol. “But I hate you especially.”

---

“And the winner is…DELLLINNNGGEERRRR!!”

Gatz’s voice roars over the crowds of Dressrosa’s Coliseum. Dellinger twirls and kicks over the body of the slain gladiator to the crowd’s delight.

Dellinger loves the Coliseum. Nothing could be more thrilling than doing what he loves and gaining the attention and adoration of an entire country for it.

He does a more few high kicks and jazz hands to the crowd before kneeling at the edge of the Coliseum moat.

The school of little Fighting Fish flock to him, raising their heads above the water, and he pats affectionately them on their horns. He then stands, blows kisses and jazz hands to the crowd a final time before skipping out of the arena to more applause.

 “Annnndddd next up!” Gatz’s voice roars out to the screaming crowds. “The man soooooo hardboiled, eggs are going on strike! That’s right…it’s Sennnorrrr Piiinnnnnnk!!!”

Shrill female voices scream louder amidst the crowd.

“Nice job, kid,” says Senor, clapping Dellinger on the back as they pass.

Bellamy is loitering about watching the screens anxiously, waiting for his turn.

“Bellamy! Bellamy, hi!” says Dellinger, grinning.

A mixture of apprehension and frustration passes Bellamy's face.

"What…what do you want, Dellinger?" he says.

"I have something important to tell you! It's a secret!"

"I think you're messing with me, Dellinger."

"Nuh-uh," says Dellinger, raising a hand to his mouth, his face serious. "It's a family secret. It's really important!"

"Really?" Bellamy looks eager.

Dellinger stands on tiptoe to reach Bellamy’s ear.

“Nobody likes you!”

Dellinger giggles shrilly, skipping off, Bellamy stuttering and gaping.

The arena attendants give him a respectful berth as he enters the family’s private quarters. Dellinger stands before a mirror, regarding the patterns the blood of the fallen gladiator has made all over his legs. He runs a finger down his thigh, and brings the finger to his mouth. He closes his eyes and smiles.

---

After washing up, Dellinger emerges from the Coliseum to find his usual crowd of admirers. (He and Gladius have come up with a special cleaning polish to get blood off of shoes.)

Dellinger has been performing exhibition fights and executions at the Coliseum since he was nine. He adores the attention almost as much as the fight.

Dressrosa’s citizens likewise adore his family members who do the same; Senor Pink, Machvise, and even Lao G who still insists on getting in the ring at his age. However, citizens of Dressrosa have had the unique privilege of essentially watching Dellinger grow up in the Coliseum ring. Little old ladies pinch his cheeks and tell him how much he’s grown, that they can remember when he was just a child who used to giggle and splash his heels in the moat with the fighting fish. And having grown up with Jora, Dell never begrudges them.

He’s always surprised by how many little old ladies like violence.

What he does mind are the flocks of teenage girls who seemed to have cropped up recently, who are scaring off his sweet little old ladies.

“Dellinger!!”

“Dellinger-chan!”

“Dellinger, sign my shoes!”

“No, I’m not ruining a perfectly nice set of summer wedges,” says Dellinger, lurching away from the shoe that’s being thrust in his face.

“Please!”

“Dellinger, I’m going to buy shoes just like yours!” says a young girl dreamily.

“Please don’t,” says Dellinger. “Besides…kya!!  You couldn’t afford these!”

About the only thing Dellinger finds interesting about the girls is their shoes. And watching how badly they walk in heels.

“Ohhhh Dellinger, you’re such a tsundere!”

Dellinger cringes, and half considers baring his teeth in an attempt to scare them, but then he would have to wait weeks for his human ones to grow back in, and he doesn’t particularly like to do it unless he has legitimate reason to bite someone.

Annoying girls are not legitimate reason to bite. Jora raised him to be nice to ladies.

Jora raised him to be a nice lady.

(Unless, of course, it’s Bellamy.)

However, a boy about Dellinger’s age, perhaps a year or so older, is standing back slightly from the crowd of women, regarding him though seemingly trying to appear inconspicuous.

He has reddish-mahogany hair that is longer than Dellinger’s and curls at his shoulders. His blue eyes are a surprising contrast to his hair. His clothes aren’t much to look at, a simple vest and slacks, but his discreet gaze has Dellinger’s attention. Dellinger blinks and realizes it’s the same long-haired boy from down at the docks early.

Dell edges himself through the crowd of girls to the youth, who seems taken aback by Dellinger’s approach.

“Hey, I’m Dell,” says Dell grinning, flashing jazz hands. “What’s up?”

“I’m Fink,” says the boy, smiling. “You’re, uh, you’re a hell of a fighter.”

“It’s in my blood,” says Dellinger coyly, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “So do you ask after all the Coliseum fighters? Or just the cute ones?”

Fink grins. “I ain’t ever seen anything like that. I mean, I heard Dressrosa had great Coliseum fights, but I didn’t know they had legends.”

Dellinger has an odd fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach. He can feel color rising in his face and he giggles, raising a hand to his mouth.

“Kya! Well, aren’t you a flatterer,” Dell coos. “You’re not from around here?”

“Nah, my crew just docked this morning. We’ve wanted to offer our services to the Donquixote Family,” Fink says. “We have a lot of connections in the underworld and access to some unique goods; we just brought in some wine steel. We hope your family will consider a partnership with us.” He inclines his head slightly.

“Pffft, there’s no need for that formality,” says Dellinger, waving a hand airily. “You want to grab something to eat? A good fight leaves me famished. The best seafood in Dressrosa, right around the corner.”

“Really? I mean–”

“Kya! Don’t worry about it! Come on!”

Dell grabs his hand and pulls him down the street.

The small remaining crowd of girls are watching in envy, but one of them cries shrilly, “Ohhhh! Boy love! So cute!”

Fink flips his middle finger at the girl.

Dell is taken aback by the rudeness, but he smiles. He wants the older boy with pretty hair and eyes to like him. What’s not to like?

---

“Ohohohohohoho, is this the boy-zamasu?!

Dellinger watches as Fink blinks rapidly up at the towering presence of flamboyance that was Jora.

It was two weeks and several lunch dates later, and Fink was armed with a bouquet of yellow roses to meet the Donquixote Family

“What a sweet thing you are-zamasu,” she says, pinching his cheek. “And such lovely hair! Dell never liked growing his much.”

“Joraaaa…” Dellinger says, rolling his eyes. “My hair is fine.”

Finks seems to have gotten over the initial shock, and he bends and takes Jora’s hand with a kiss.

“A pleasure to meet you, madam,” he murmurs. “You must be responsible for Dellinger’s exquisite taste in clothing.”

“Why, who are you calling Boa Hancock?!” Jora cries, waving her arms dramatically, and Dellinger giggles. He’s wanted to bring Fink to meet his family for some time now, and finally Doflamingo had consented.

“I don’t need strangers snooping around my family,” Doflamingo had said. “His crew has some reasonable importing resources, but this is my family, not my business connections.

 “But you always bring girls over!” Dellinger had said, stamping his heel. “And boys!”

 Doflamingo had dropped the book he was reading and Pica, Trebol and Diamante had all burst into laughter, Trebol leaving slimy puddles all over the floor.                

---

“These ones are from Alabasta.”

Dellinger produces a pair of elaborately jeweled sandals from the closet.

“Young Master went there to visit a friend a few years ago, he brought them back for me.  And these are from a boutique in Sabody Archipelago.” Dellinger produces a pair of bright pink heels with long straps. “Young Master said I shouldn’t come, it wouldn’t be safe of something, so he brought me back shoes.”

"Somebody really likes shoes,” says Fink, grinning.

“Hey Dell, is this your new bestie? Is he a special someone-dasyun?”

Buffalo ducks under the door frame, Baby 5 sitting on his huge shoulders. 

“Don’t get too attached,” says Baby 5, narrowing her eyes. “We like to kill off significant others around here.”

She morphs her hands very slowly into pistols and eyes Fink. Fink stares at them, his eyebrows working furiously, and nudges himself a little bit closer to Dellinger. Dell happily snakes his arms around him.

“Oh come on, Baby 5. Don’t scare off Dell’s friend,” says Buffalo. “Why can’t you be more suspicious of your significant others-dasyun?”

“I’m watching you,” says Baby 5, gesturing with her pistol hands.

Buffalo sighs. “Just tell her you need her, she’ll love you.”

He ushers Baby 5 away, who is still eyeing Fink and refusing to change her hands back.

Fink finally seems to collect himself.

“What’s a ‘dasyun’?” he finally asks incredulously.

"That’s just Buffalo’s way of talking,” says Dellinger, waving his hands.

“So, what do they do?” asks Fink. “Buffalo and, what, Baby 5? Is that really her name?”

Dellinger shrugs. “Young Master sends them out to do things for the family.”

“What sorts of things?”

“Well you work underground,” says Dell, strolling to his closet. “You know the sorts of things that need to get taken care of. You saw her arms,” he shrugs, arranging Fink’s yellow roses in a vase on his dresser next to his jewelry box.

"So I’m guessing that’s a devil fruit ability? And what about Buffalo?”

“Oh come on, Fink,” says Dellinger. “I want to hear about you!”

“Eh, there’s not much to tell,” says Fink. “What can I say? I’m curious about people I like.”

 He winks, and Dellinger flushes with pleasure.

“Uh, what’s that?” asks Fink.

“What?”

“That.” Fink points rather emphatically to a long pink garment in Dell’s wardrobe.

“Oh, that’s just an old sundress,” says Dellinger.  “It was Monet’s. She gave it to me. But I’ve outgrown it. Now this, this is much more my style!”

Dellinger produces a white dress with lime green trim and spots.

“Kyahaha! I sure couldn’t wear this to the Coliseum! But I suppose I could for a night on the town,” he raises his eyebrows coyly.

Fink blinks slowly.

“Are you…not a boy?” Fink asks.

Dellinger giggles.

“Such a silly question, Fink!” he trills.

“I don’t get it,” Fink says, his brow furrowed.

“I’m whatever I want,” Dellinger says, grinning. “Boy, girl, neither, both, such things don’t matter! Those are just names and words.”

Fink opens his mouth and closes it slowly. Dellinger plucks one of the roses free from the vase and arranges it in Fink's hair.

“I’m free to be what I want,” says Dellinger, tracing a finger flirtatiously across Fink’s collarbone. “I’m just me.”

---

“This is Jora’s gallery,” says Dellinger, beaming as he leads Fink through the pink marbles hallways.

Fink regards a lime green and pink spiraling sculpture flecked with orange spikes. He opens and closes his mouth a few times.

“I have never seen anything like this,” he says finally. “Such creative ingenuity! Jora is a master! Tell me, what does she do with all this art?”

“Oh, she puts it up here in the gallery and sells it sometimes. She’s always working,” says Dellinger.

"Does that help your family in any way? I mean, surely you make enough with all the business you do.”

“Oh no, she just does it for art,” says Dellinger. “She used to sell a lot of forgeries back when we were in the North Blue. But now she’s ‘retired.’” He giggles. “There’s a forged Vermeer that Marine Headquarters bought! They never knew!”

“How interesting,” says Fink quietly. “Your family has many talents. So, what else have you all dabbled in?”

"Oh, well Gladius likes to sew,” says Dellinger. “He’s always thrifting and making new clothes.”

“No I mean business,” says Fink, with a touch of emphasis.

“Oh, but that’s boring talk,” says Dellinger.

"Well then, just tell me about your family,” says Fink. “Like Gladius. What’s his deal? Why does he wear that mask?”

“Oh, Gladius gets sick really easily. He has like, an immune problem or some such,” says Dellinger, gnawing on a piece of cheese from one of the gallery platters. “And he doesn’t hear very well either.” Dell gestures to either side of his ears, indicating the devices Gladius wore with his mask over his ears.

“Huh,” says Fink. “What about those goggles?”

"Oh those? Just cause they look cool,” Dell grins. “Why so curious? Hmmm, do you have a secret crush on Gladius now? Should I be jealous?”

“Nah, I like my boys...errr, I mean, my partners, cute and pretty, not dark and broody,” says Fink, fingering one of Dell’s horns.

Dell rarely lets anyone touch his horns. He flushes pink. Boldly, he reaches out and toys with a lock of Fink’s long hair.

“I like my boys cute too,” he giggles.              

---

The gladiator takes a swing at Dellinger’s legs. Dell leaps out of the way, but he is clipped in the ankles. Stumbling, he topples backwards into the Coliseum moat with a splash.

There is an audible gasp and shrieks from the crowd.

“Dellinger has fallen into the treacherous moat full of Fighting Fish!” screams Gatz. “The undefeated Donquixote Family executive has never failed before, this is impossible! Unprecedented! This can’t be!!”

“Hah! Take that, ya horny brat!” shouts the gladiator as the crowd screams and boos. “That’s right, you’ll all remember me as the one who took out the Donquixote –”

There is a great roar of water and an enormous wave rises and breaks over the side of the area. A Fighting Fish bursts forth – with none other than Dellinger standing on its head, arms spread wide and dorsal fin extended.

The crowd explodes. Dellinger launches himself, rigid, bullet-like, from the great fish’s head straight into the body of the astonished gladiator.

His horns pierce straight through the gladiator’s chest plate with twice the speed of his usual attack. The gladiator drops to his knees, as Dellinger flings his head free and spins in midair, one leg extended.

"Danto High Heel!”

---

“-and if you weren’t, well, you know…you…falling in the moat could have been the end of you! The Coliseum is an established national event for exhibitions and executions. It is to give people the bloodshed and entertainment they want. It is not about you making a spectacle of yourself and playing ‘fish whisperer!’”

“Quit lecturing me, Diamante!” says Dellinger, toweling off his hair around his horns. “Is the guy dead? Did I break his neck?”

“Yes, he—”

“Then what’s your problem?” he says, giggling and tossing Diamante his towel. He skips away before Diamante can continue to lecture him, happily entertaining the idea that Diamante is perhaps jealous of his prowess in the ring.

“Kya! It’s meee….the fish whisperer!” coos Dellinger, grabbing Fink around the middle. It’s been nearly a week since Dell has seen him.

“Oh hey, it’s you,” says Fink, smiling. “What’s this? Fish whisperer?”

“Did you see me charm that Fighting Fish right out of the water?”

“Huh? Oh, I didn’t, err… I couldn’t come,” says Fink dislodging himself for Dellinger’s arms.

“What?” says Dellinger, taken aback. He had told Fink about the fight and asked him to come.

“Yeah, sorry. Stuff with my crew,” says Fink, running a hand through his long hair. “We’re helping out your family you know. Important stuff.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” says Dellinger, trying not to sound disappointed. “I…I looked really cool. I rode one of the Fighting Fish.” Dellinger realizes that such an act sounds absolutely ridiculous coming out of his mouth as opposed to actually witnessing it.

“Oh, wow, that is cool,” says Fink, looking only vaguely interested. “So we gonna grab some lunch or what? All that stuff with my crew left me hungry!”

“Oh, sure,” says Dellinger, pleased that Fink at least wants to be with him even if he couldn’t come to the match. “What were you up to?”

“Oh stuff. Moving some supplies and things,” says Fink distractedly. “Shall we go?”

They stroll off down the cobblestones. Dellinger wants to grab him again, but doesn’t.

“Hang on,” Dellinger says, “Young Master told me your crew didn’t have any new shipments coming in until next week.”

“Oh,” says Fink, turning a shade of pink that vanishes almost as quickly as it appears. “Yeah, that’s true. But we had to move some stuff. It was going to a different location so we had to move it to a different ship.”

“But that’s what the toys are there for,” says Dellinger. “And the soldiers, they –”

“Well they can’t do everything!” cuts in Fink quickly. He grabs Dellinger’s hand. “So what’s this about you riding a Fighting Fish? Do you have a secret connection with those weird fish? Tell me all about your match over lunch, it will be like I was really there.”

Dellinger doesn’t really like that Fink calls the Fighting Fish “weird.”

But he gets an airy little feeling in his stomach when Fink grabs his hand and squeezes. He feels his cheeks flush.

But somehow it seems a whole lot less thrilling and a whole lot more far-fetched to try and simply talk about jumping off a Fighting Fish into a gladiator…it just sounds like a lot of hot air.

“Never mind,” says Dell. “You would have had to have been there. Let’s just eat.”

---

“Fink!”

Dellinger pokes his head in the main hallway, having just returned from flamenco lessons. Fink had last week said he would drop by in the afternoon, only he doesn’t seem to be around. 

“Your friend?” asks Machvise, over a newspaper. “I sent him to your room-inn.”

Dellinger skips down the hall to his room; happy he chose to wear his Alabastian sandals today. They look so lovely with his pink tiered flamenco skirt. Fink will be charmed. 

Only Fink is not in his room when he opens the door.

Perturbed, Dellinger ambles down the halls.

“Fink?” he calls.

He climbs the stairs to the second floor, nonplussed.

“Fink, are you hiding?” he calls. “Kyahaha! Are you teasing me?”

He cranes his head down the second floor corridor, and stops.

The door is open to the Hall of Suits.

The smile vanishes from Dellinger’s face. Something isn’t right.

He carefully takes off his sandals and walks slowly down the hallway.

The lock on the door has been broken.

Fink stands before the grand table of four chairs, the family ledger open on the table. He is scribbling fiercely into a notepad.

Dellinger’s stomach drops.

“Fink, what are you doing in here?” he asks.

Fink spins around and pales. He swiftly closes the family ledger. The notepad suddenly vanishes.

“Nothing, I was just checking out your library,” Fink says, smiling coyly. The flicker of concern has passed his face, replaced by his usual flirtatious expression.

“This isn’t the library,” says Dellinger.

“Well I got a little mixed up on my way to your room, this is a big place you know?” says Fink. “Bare feet? My, aren’t we scandalous, Dell.”

“Why were you looking at the Young Master’s things?”

“I wasn’t, I thought it was something else,” says Fink, shrugging. He saunters up to Dellinger, softening his eyes. He traces a hand over one of Dellinger’s horns. “Seeing as I got so lost, why don’t you take me back to your room?”

Dellinger narrows his eyes, heat pricking them. His legs tense. 

“I’m not stupid, Fink,” he growls.

There is a passing of something over Fink’s face. A change, a ripple of something, and suddenly those flirty eyes harden into something very different.

“Really? You’re not stupid? When you’re in a family hiding this much dirt and think you can get away with it?”

“What the hell is going on?” shouts Dellinger, grabbing Fink by the shoulders. His eyes are burning.

He expects Fink to cringe, to recoil or cry out. But he doesn’t.

“Did you honestly think this was about you, Dell?” Fink laughs. “That I was really interested in a nasty freak like you? I needed an in to your family, if you can call this sideshow of yours a family. I’m a Marine, Dellinger. The government doesn’t trust the Donquixote Family, they never have! My crewmates and I have been gathering enough information to bring you all in! That’s why we’re here, not to import weapons!”

Dellinger blinks, his hands faltering on Fink’s shoulders. This is impossible. He feels like he’s been slapped in the face.

But yet it is neither the reveal nor the threat that stings him, somehow.

“I’m not a freak,” he hisses, his eyes dilating. “You take back what you said about my family. You take it back right now.”

“But you’re not a family!” laughs Fink. “You’re just a bunch of misfits! Besides, your little family games will be over soon enough. Illegal experimentation?” he boldly picks up the ledger and rifles through it. “Enslaving half of this country? I sure thought there was something cagey about those toys. ”

Dellinger wants to strike, wants to rip Fink’s throat to pieces, but he’s frozen.

“How do you –?”

“A certain toy put my men in touch with a few of the Tontatta, the ones you haven’t enslaved in the SMILE factory. Or did you honestly think we believed they were just ‘fairies?’ And that toys just got ‘human diseases?”

“They are enemies of Dressrosa,” Dellinger says. “People who would disturb the peace and prosperity of this country! People who would disturb my family!”

 “Hah! You’re one to talk about disturbing the peace! The World Government’s been suspicious of you lot since you lot all ‘saved’ Dressrosa years back. Why do you think they sent us?”

Fink laughs. “You thought I really wanted to be part of your silly little pretend family? With that trash bird Doflamingo? He’s insane! You really thought I liked you and your stupid shoes? Well, it sure made me look good to be seen walking around Dressrosa with one of the executives draped over my arm.”

Amidst the accusations, the exposure, the fear that the life and livelihood of those he loves are suddenly in danger because of him…it is not that which infuriates him and makes the blood pound in his eyes.

“We are a family,” Dellinger grates out, his jaw cracking. “I won’t stand here and listen to you say things like that. You will not speak about them that way.”

“But they’re not your family, you little freak!” Fink taunts, boldly flipping through the family ledger. “Look, see? They bought you; you might as well be a common slave. Maybe some noble will be kind enough to buy you out of prison and put you to work. Jora would be too old though. Wonder how long she’ll last in Impel Down without her mama’s boy to protect her.”     

The restraint on his bloodlust snaps. With a snarl of rage Dellinger seizes Fink and throws him across the desk. He crashes into the Heart seat, toppling it over.

Finks runs from the room.

But Fink is no match for Dellinger’s speed. He is upon him immediately, and grabs Fink by the neck, throwing him against the wall.

Dellinger has him cornered, heat in his eyes almost blinding. Blood is trickling down the side of Fink’s face; the smell only spurs his rage.

“You want to kill me, Dell?” Fink jeers. The flirtatious grin is suddenly back on his face. “You really thought I liked you? So sad, the poor little half-breed freak who thought he was in love? Well, don't worry, I'm sure you'll have plenty of takers in Impel Down that won't mind that you're a –”

He screams as Dellinger drives his foot into his solar plexus, several ribs shattering like brittle. Fink hacks up blood, wheezing and choking.

“It’s too late, Dellinger,” he gasps. “Go ahead, kill me. My crew already has enough to bring the World Government. They’ll be here any minute to arrest all of you!”

“Fufufu, I somehow doubt that.”

Dellinger turns to see Doflamingo, towering over them. He gasps; the whole of the family behind him. Jora is smoking. Gladius’s head is pulsating. Baby 5 sits on top of Buffalo; her hands not pistols, but full rifles. To his surprise even Sugar is there, flanked by Trebol and Diamante.

Sweat beads up Fink’s brow.

“My crew already knows enough!” he coughs. “They’re on their way to arrest you all, and we’ll be informing the World Government of your dealings!”

“Young Master,” Dellinger stammers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I—”

Doflamingo puts a hand on Dellinger’s shoulder.

“Fufufu…do you really think you are the first Marines the World Government has sent after my family?” says Doflamingo. “I’ll admit you played an interesting game, we’ve never had anyone try to flirt their way into the family before. And the wine steel was a nice touch, but only the World Government would have access to so much. Don’t flatter yourself, we knew soon enough.”

Doflamingo flicks his fingers, and Fink’s hands are wrenched up over his head with a cry of pain.

“Even if you kill me, kill my whole crew, the World Government will come looking for us!” shouts Fink, struggling. “Our sacrifice will be enough to burn your family’s wretched dealings to the ground!”

“No they won’t,” says Sugar, idly spearing a grape with her finger. “Do you wonder why the World Government has never sent anyone to go looking for all the Marines who have gone missing in Dressrosa?”

“What Marines?” says Fink, looking startled. “No one has gone missing in Dressrosa.”

Sugar laughs. “Exactly.” She bites a grape viciously. “So many World Government spies, Marines, pirates, all thinking that through their combined efforts they can somehow gain victory over our family. We simply cannot remember them all. They just pile up.”

“Like trash,” says Doflamingo.

“Fools like you, thinking they’ll be victorious through self-sacrifice,” sneers Diamante.

“But at least they are useful,” croaks Lao G. “Whoever they are.”

“Shall I turn him into a toy?” asks Sugar, looking to Doflamingo.

“A good idea,” says Senor Pink, cracking his knuckles. “But I think this may be a lesson Dellinger will need to remember.”

“Well, it is rather nice you all wanted to work for us,” says Sugar. “I think we ought to honor that. Come on, Trebol. I think there’s a crew at the harbor in need of new employment without their boss.”

She struts out, Trebol slurping in tow behind her.

“Now Dellinger, we don’t usually make Baby 5 kill her lovers,” says Doflamingo. “But since you love executions so much, I would hate to deny you the pleasure of taking out this trash.”

Dellinger feels Jora’s hand on his shoulder. He knows the family is watching.

Fink is held fast by Doflamingo strings. Doflamingo jerks him upward and he cries out. Spread-eagled in mid-air; ideal striking range.

But for all the bloodlust and instinct of his body, he shakes not with rage, but with hurt.

His knees buckle, and he turns to Jora. She takes him in her wide arms, drawing him close. He sobs, shaking.

“I’m so s-sorry,” he cries. “I c-can’t…I’m sorry.”

“Jora, take him,” says Gladius, touching Dell on the shoulder. “We’ll finish this.”

“Hush, child,” Jora whispers, patting his hair. “Your family will take care of this.”

As Jora ushers him away, Fink calls a final parting shot.

“YOU’RE NOT A FAMILY! YOU’RE CRIMINALS! YOU’RE ALL JUST A BUNCH OF FREAKS!”

The calm is deathly quiet, broken only by the hacking wheezes of Fink. The animosity of the gathered family is thick, heavy in the air.

Doflamingo twists his fingers, and Fink lurches toward them. Doflamingo does not smile.

“You’ve made a very grave mistake.”

---

Freak.

The word echoes in Dellinger’s mind. It drudges up something old, forgotten. He is tiny, he is small. There were raised voices, other children, and Jora had been enraged.

Years later, it was spit at him by a slave trader.  

Dellinger stares at his reflection in the mirror.

Further still, Gladius had growled it into his face when he had been rude to Jora.

As a child, he had never comprehended the word. It had no meaning, other than something bad. 

But now, he looks at his horns. He feels his fin, snug in his spinal cavity, his fangs beneath his gums poised to break free the minute he stretches his mouth.

Humans do not have such things.

But he isn’t exactly a human.

Humans do not have such things.

Fishmen have such things.

But he isn’t exactly a fishman.

Does that make him a freak?

He looks at his pink turtleneck, his long flounced skirt, and his Alabastian sandals.

Is it the way he dresses? They’re just clothes.

“Dellybean, are you alright?”

Jora nudges the door open. Baby 5 and Buffalo and Gladius are behind her.

“Jora,” Dellinger murmurs, his hands shaking. “Am I… am I really…a freak?”

“Oh child,” says Jora, embracing Dellinger into her vast body. “Child, you’re--,”

“Sure.”

Gladius’s voice cuts across Jora’s cooing.

“Gladius! Don’t be insensitive! Dellinger –”

“Nah Dell, listen,” says Gladius. “Sure you are. And so what? So what? We could cove the whole New World and I doubt we’d find another half-fishman, much less one who wears high heels and has an affinity for jazz hands. Sure, you’re a freak. Guess what? So is this whole damn family. Freaks. Misfits. That's what we are. I’m half deaf and might as well be allergic to air. Baby 5 over here can’t say ‘no.’ And don’t get me started on Jora.”

“You’re not the only one with weird teeth-dasyun!” laughs Buffalo.

“Why do you think we’re here?” says Gladius. “How do you think we found each other? Have you ever seen anyone else like us? Anywhere? Here in Dressrosa? Back in Spider Miles, the whole New World, do you think there’s anyone out there like you? Like us? Would you rather be boring and plain and ordinary like everyone else, instead of something strange and special that doesn’t exist anywhere else?”

Dellinger is quiet.

“Thank god for the freaks. Thank god for the misfits. Thank god for the outcasts and the eccentrics,” says Gladius. “The world would be so boring, so mundane without us. We don’t fit in…we’re not supposed to. Except with each other. That’s the point. That’s why you’re here. That’s why we love you. Do you get it?”

Dellinger sniffs.

“But…but I thought Fink really liked me!” he wails into Jora’s arms.

Gladius sighs. “Growing pains.  We’ll review when you’re over your drama.”

---

“Eh, the kid was right, we’re a bunch a freaks,” says Diamante. “Always have been.”

“We never claimed otherwise. Doesn’t bother me,” says Gladius, stitching shiny bronze studs onto his new cravat.

“Eccentricity is a glorious manifestation of self-expression,” says Jora over her sherry. “Eccentrics know they are strange and revel in it. Thank god that we have each other so that we may be free in all our oddities-zamasu.”

“Nah, Pink was normal-innnn,” says Machvhise, reclining on the couch. “He was completely normal.”

“Yeah, we rubbed off on him,” says Diamante. “Sorry, Pink.”

Senor Pink shakes his head. “Nah, it wasn’t you guys. It just happened. One day life is perfect, the next day…well, you never know. One day I’m a normal guy, the next day I’m well…I’m this.”

“We don’t want you any other way-innn!”

“Yeah, we like you parboiled!”

“Uahahaha! No, its hardboiled!”

“I hate that!” snaps Senior Pink, chomping on his pacifier. “Have you seen this body? There is nothing hardboiled about me. Those tramps and Gatz, I tell ya.” 

"Nah, it's because you're so manly and gritty, even in a pink bonnet" laughs Diamante. "Well, I'm going to go touch up the bacon on my face."

“What? So it really is bacon?” asks Lao G.

“No!” says Diamante indignantly. “It’s supposed to be war paint! The colors of the bullfight and the glorious sunflower fields of Dressrosa! But then everyone said it looked like bacon. I mean hell, I like bacon. Could be worse. Reminds me, I’m hungry.”

Diamante saunters down to the kitchen.

“I was going to make lobster for dinner tonight, and it’s all gone!” he yells up. “All week, I’ve been waiting for lobster bisque, but someone had to go and eat all the lobsters!”

---

Dellinger is curled on his bed, sobbing and clinging to Applesauce the shark. Fish bones and broken pieces of lobster shell are all over his bed.

Baby 5 is painting Dell’s toes bright blue, as Dell gnaws on a raw fish.

“Here Dellinger, I got you something,” says Sugar, smiling all too broadly.

She hands him a bottle of red wine.

“Oh Sugar,” says Baby 5, uneasily. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

Dellinger looks at the bottle blearily.

“Go on,” Sugar says, smiling.

Dellinger pulls out the cork with ease, and tilts the bottle to his mouth. He gulps enormously, tears more meat from the lobster, drinks again, and sobs.

Sugar sits on one of Dell’s plush chairs in her pajamas, eating grapes and regarding the scene. She smiles.

“I hate everyone,” she says.

Chapter Text

Dressrosa – Present Day. Six months before the fall of the Donquixote Family.

Dellinger clutches his heels in one hand, the other hand stifling a giggle. Barefoot, he creeps past the rooms of his sleeping family members - his heels cause far too much noise in the long, echoing palace hallways.

Dell always takes great care that he is not followed. Jora, dear Jora, is not exactly as young as she used to be. She and Lao G had lately been taking bets on who was going to kick the bucket first. Dell is worried that if she knew he was sneaking out at night, it could very well trigger her untimely death.

It is quite a distance from the palace through the entire island of Dressrosa, but not for a half-fishman noted for his speed. The sunflower fields rush past him in a blur of muted yellow-gold in the night. Houses smear into nothing as he races through the streets of the Karta region. At this time of night the streets are empty due to the curfew, save for the occasional lone guard. They are no match for Dell’s speed however, and he is gone before they can even register he was there. Soon he is out of Karta, and racing through Primula.

Almost there…just a bit further…

Finally, he arrives.

Not even out of breath, Dellinger slows to a halt in front of the bridge to the Green Bit.

The citizens of Dressrosa said that nobody had ever crossed the bridge and lived. Dellinger giggles. He gives the signs of “Danger!” and “Keep Out!”  not a second glance as he giggles again and strides onto the bridge, high heels clicking.

He walks to the middle of the bridge and stops.

Slowly, methodically, he sits down on the bridge. He takes off his heels and places them tenderly off to one side, then unzips his turtleneck and covers his shoes so they’re protected should they get wet. He fumbles with the back of his hat and carefully slides it off over his horns. It takes a moment, and Dell is impatient. He would rather simply rip it off, but then dear Jora would demand to know how he ruined another hat.

He sits in nothing but his shorts, looking out over the sea. A great splash of silver white swirls over the indigo water; the moon reflected in the light blue night sky. His stomach is fluttering, his body quivering. He wants to run, dance, anything to relieve him of this anticipation.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, savoring the smell of the night and the salty air. 

It is a beautiful, still night; silent, save for the gentle sloshing of the water beneath him.

But not for long.

The calm is broken by the rushing of water.

He sees them.

Dellinger stands, his heart pounding. The cool night air gently wafts over his body. He is alight and tingling with a fierce sensation somewhere between adrenaline and serenity. Dell closes his eyes. He feels weightless, transported. The Dressrosa sky glows and the water rushes and churns beneath him. It is a moment for him and no one else.

No one else, except them.

An ordinary human would be attacked, killed instantly.

But Dellinger is not an ordinary human.

He braces his legs, and dives into the school of Fighting Fish.

His dorsal fin ruptures from his back as he breaks the surface of the water, plunging down into the depths of swirling dark finned bodies. The sea engulfs him, his body suspended as the waves crash over him. His eyes dilate and he can feel the heat in them rise as they adjust to the water, bringing the sea around him into sharper focus. The salty water would burn a human’s eyes, but not strong, fishman’s eyes; eyes built for this. He stares back at the dozens of eyes, just like his. 

One fish charges him. Dell evades with ease, flipping backwards over the fish in a graceful arc. The fish rounds on him for another charge, and Dell lands a kick to its jaw, sending it reeling back. He darts in, grabbing the fish by its horns, and swings it around to strike another oncoming fish.

He spins and weaves with all the prowess and elegance of a mermaid between the huge, dark scaly fish. Another goes in for an attack, lowering its head for a charge, and Dell smirks. He flattens his arms, preparing for his own charge, and the two collide with each other with such a force that it knocks several members of the school away. Dellinger locks his two horns around one of the Fighting Fish’s great ones, and they drive against each other, two bulls locked in a show of force.

They are not attacking each other. They are sparring.

It is not a deathmatch. Rather, an elaborate dance between two partners.

It is a partnership Dellinger has cultivated over his years in Dressrosa. One forged on intense curiosity, admiration, a large degree of teenage foolishness, and a desire that Dellinger didn’t quite have the words for.

Identity. Sameness.

There is nothing quite like him on land. Not that he doesn’t love the land, love his family, love the sunflower fields of Dressrosa or the Colosseum. But Jora, dear Jora, does not have a dorsal fin and long pale horns. Neither does Young Master, Baby 5, Gladius, or Sugar, and nor do any of them have huge eyes that rim with red in moments of passion, bloodlust, instinct. Granted, Dellinger is praised for his inhuman qualities, he has been raised to know his fishman heritage is something rare to be cherished.

But here, in the clear rushing waters of the Green Bit, there are things like him. Beautiful, dark scaly creatures with grinning mouths, horns and fins and bright eyes, even teeth, just like his. Humanness is ordinary, dull. Everyone is a human. But these fish…they are the part of him that makes him strong. Special.

On land he is fast. In water, he is untouchable.

On land he is fierce. In water, he is wild.

On land he is strong. In water, he is unstoppable.

They continue their elaborate choreography of charges, somersaults, and kicks. A Fighting Fish hurls itself at Dell, and he leaps over top of it; hands braced against its horns. Adrenaline rushing through his body, he propels himself to the fish’s back and kicks down hard. The burst of water sends the fish flailing downward, stunned. Dellinger breaks the surface and dives through the water right back down into the joyous frenzy.

On the shoreline lie the many ships that the Fighting Fish of the Green Bit have claimed. Dell has no interest in the sunken, broken chunks of wood. Sure, there could be treasure, but dear Jora, Young Master and the family ensure that he has all the pretty things he could ever want. Dell has no desire for jewels and trinkets; Dell comes to swim, not to hunt for items he could just as easily obtain on land. The only thing that would be of interest to him in the wreckage would be shoes, and Dell conceded that likely all he would find would be clunky waterlogged old man boots – not worth prying from a skeleton.

But he does take note of a few broken gems here and there. Jora has a birthday soon.

His chest is tight, he knows he will have to breathe soon. So envious of he is of the Fighting Fish, never needing to cease their swimming for something as trivial, as human, as oxygen. He brings his legs together and with a burst propels himself upward. He shatters the water’s surface, the strength of his legs launching his body into the air. He sees a Fighting fish jump upwards beside him, but not nearly as high as him.

He imagines briefly, he must look beautiful. Dorsal fin extended, horns and hair free, silhouetted against Dressrosa’s moon, the splash of water droplets sparkling around his body, and long legs arching through the sky as he takes a gulp of air and descends back down into the water.

A small stream of bubbles escape his nose as he giggles underwater, imagining thrilling tales told of him for years to come. He imagines, that hundreds of years from now, the citizens of Dressrosa will tell stories of a strange and beautiful creature that could swim with the Fighting Fishes. Not truly a fishman, something rarer and stranger, something that the Fighting Fish accepted as their own. Yes, of course there would be tales of Dellinger, the fierce and deadly fighter of the Colosseum, as there would be tales of the Donquixote family’s esteemed reign for generations to come. But on the bridge to the Green Bit, there would be stories of a mysterious horned creature with a long beautiful fin and the large red eyes of a Fighting Fish, who could pass among them as their family.

A legend.

He rushes through the fray of teeth, horn, scale and dorsal. The water surges over his body as he dives under the black rippling masses of scales to lock horns with a great boss class fish, its scales a shimmering black-red. It shakes him off with ease, and Dell is sent somersaulting backwards over the great fish’s back, and he has to dive sharply to avoid being thrown into the wreckage of a ship. Dell looks back at the great fish, twice the size of its fellows, and it shoots him a look with its massive eyes that Dellinger takes to mean “Not yet, kid.”  

Sometimes, he thinks the Fighting Fish say things to him. But he cannot be sure. They don’t have words he knows or understand, but they do speak. But not in a way Dell knows how. He wonders if it is because of his human half, that he cannot understand them.

But he does speak to them; in their shared language of fighting. It is not a friendship born of violence or aggression, but of camaraderie, rivalry and nature.

Violence is when Young Master tells him that someone is troubling the family, and needs to be taken care of, or when he steps into the ring of the Colosseum to thunderous applause, ready to put on a show. Dellinger loves that all the same, how could he not love the thrill of bloodlust and adrenaline when his horns pierce a foe? But such bouts are one-sided. There is a job to be done, an opponent to be felled. It’s the dominance, the victory that Dell finds thrilling. But there is no bond, no connection between him and a fallen enemy, merely fun and games.

But this, this dance, this combat, is all about connection.  It is a sense of identity. It’s simply what Fighting Fish do. They fight. And the fish welcome him because he fights; he can hold his own among them. It is a mutual language they respect.

But Dellinger is acutely aware, that at any point during this exchange, this balance, this understanding, could tip. An ankle or an arm grazed against the rotting mast of a ship, or against a pair of sharp horns. The tiniest drop of blood, and the natural instinct for blood that Dellinger himself knew all too well might overtake camaraderie. Perhaps the Fighting Fish could suddenly decide that this foreign thing, this creature among them, is not a comrade after all, but an enemy.

Because he knows he is still different, to these fish. They respect him, they count him among them because he speaks their language and has pieces of them…their horns, their fins, but he is undeniably different.

The same way he is different from humans.  He has pieces of them, their hands, their legs, their bodies, but he is different.

Floating, suspended, he stares up at Dressrosa’s moon from under the water. He loves the Donquixote family dearly. His differentness might not have a place anywhere else in the world, had it not been for them.

But as he dives and careens through and among the creatures to which he owes half of his being, he wants to believe that in the waters of the Green Bit, his differentness has a place there as well.

Thicker Than Blood Illustration (OPBB) by ViscountLeopoldSlug on DeviantArt

Chapter Text

Dressrosa - Present day. Two months before the fall of the Donquixote Family

---

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.

- “A Warning” (abridged) by Jenny Joseph

Jora looks in the mirror, despondent.

No, the dress does not make her look fat.

She is fat.

This is nothing new.

Machvise and the elite executives had given her an exquisite purple dress for her birthday, one of fine silk imported from the North Blue, cut into flounces at the bottom in the height of Dressrosa’s fashion and obsession with flamenco. The dress had been cut to her figure ideally.

And that was the problem.

Most of her figure had been long gone before they even came to Dressrosa, though she can remember having some vague semblance of a neck and waistline ten years ago upon taking the country. It was a red dress she had worn; Machvise had said she looked splendid, despite the widening of her hips and face.

She could have sworn she had seen Violet sneer as she had opened the parcel.

Of course, she considers, the luxury of Dressrosa’s life had not helped. Machvise, Lao G and Senor had fared equally poorly in a country of decadence, where afternoons were spent lounging by the poolside eating rich foods and drinking wine.

“The change” had not been kind to her. And as the only aging woman in the family, with whom could she commiserate? Meanwhile Monet and Baby 5 blossomed into more splendid young women as each day passed, and Violet is openly repulsed by her. Sugar would never be ravaged by hot flashes or sagging skin. She realizes she is left in the dust.

Machvise gives her the occasional kiss on the cheek, they enjoy their afternoon games of backgammon, he even watches her paint. But he is long past caring for such desires beyond sentimentality of their younger days. She wishes someone would touch her and make her feel lovely again.

There is a knock on her door.

“Joooorrraaa!” Dellinger’s singsong voice chimes from the other side.

“Not now child-zamasu,” says Jora, taking off the dress and throwing it into a drawer. She throws on a robe over her sagging figure.

“But Joraaaa…” Dellinger says. “It’s your birthday. I have your present!”

“Oh well very well, come in if you must, child,” says Jora, hastily mopping her eyes behind her glasses.

Dell ambles in, his red pumps clicking, holding a small parcel behind his back. He regards the mess of clothing scattered about. Dell is wearing an attractive purple button-up and a skort. A pair of large gold hoops sparkle in his ears.

In spite of herself, Jora smiles. Dell’s sense of style always makes her smile. But Dellinger isn’t smiling, which is unusual for him.

“Jora, are you alright?”  he ventures quietly.

“What? Of course I am, dear-zamasu. I see you’re putting my earrings to good use, I appreciate you learning to ask before you borrow my things.”

The attempt at humor does not fool Dellinger. 

“You don’t seem very happy for someone whose birthday it is,” says Dellinger.

“No dear, being my age just isn’t such fun, you know-zamasu.”

“Do you feel bad about your birthday?!” says Dellinger, his large eyes widening. “Did somebody say something bad to you?! Who was it? Was it Trebol? He’s always teasing you!! Was it someone else? I’ll bite them!”

“No Fishcakes, nobody needs to be bitten, don’t be childish” says Jora, holding up a hand. She sighs. “It’s just, when you’re my age, birthdays aren’t quite as much fun as they used to be,” says Jora, a bitterness in her voice that she wishes wasn’t there. She is so envious of Dell in his blessed teenage ignorance, who still thinks birthdays are wonderful.

God, what she wouldn’t give to be sweet sixteen again.

Dell bites his lip, looking saddened. “Would this make your birthday more fun, Jora?” he says shyly.  He holds out a small parcel to her.

The parcel is small, and wrapped in purple with a large bow. Dellinger’s wrapping is exquisite she notes with pleasure, compared to Buffalo’s clumsily wrapped socks.

Dellinger is watching her, his hands clasped together she slowly unwraps the small box.

Jora lifts the lid of the small velvet case.

Her eyes widen behind her spectacles and she involuntarily lets out a small gasp.

Inside is a bracelet of pearl and amethyst. The amethyst is imperfect and so are the pearls. Not a single pearl is perfectly round, instead they are all mottled with lumps, bumps, odd shapes.

The amethysts are also irregular shapes, some mere fragments and others large chunks. It is free from rigid confines and perfect shapes. But is it the imperfections that make the bracelet so much more beautiful.

No, they are not imperfections. They are character. They are Art. Had she not carved out a definition for herself, of what was Art? Thrown away the rules of silly still lives and minute details to capture the essence of something, of strangeness and the unseen? How she had craved the freedom that came with the abstract, the strange, even the ugly? Suddenly the bracelet is even more beautiful, in its refusal to follow the rules.

 “Child, where did find get such a thing?” asks Jora, nearly speechless.

“I got it made, just for you!”

“But the stones, child-zamasu? One doesn’t just come by these things!”

Dellinger giggles. He’s always giggling about something.

“Do you like it?” he murmurs.

Jora stares at the beautiful, perfectly strange bracelet.

“Child, there is no finer gift I could have asked for,” she says, tearing up. “It is so perfectly unique and beautiful. Just like you.”

“Kya! Nothing but the best for the most beautiful lady I know!” Dellinger giggles. “More stunning than Boa Hancock, more elegant than the mermaid princess!”

Jora’s eyes water even more behind her glasses. “Oh come now child, you don’t mean that-zamasu.”

Dellinger giggles, pressing his hands to his mouth. “Kya! Jora you are the most fabulous, beautiful person I know,” says Dellinger. “No amount of birthdays will ever change that!”

Jora throws her arms around and Dellinger breaks into dramatic sobs. Dell pats her awkwardly.

“Happy Birthday?” he says, uncertainly.

Jora sobs loudly. Finally, she composes herself and lets go of Dellinger.

“Oh child, I’ve mussed your handsome shirt-zamasu,” she says, sniffling and trying to straighten Dell’s shirt.

Dellinger giggles. He’s always giggling.

“Come on,” he says, putting an arm around Jora’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here. I booked us mani pedis at the spa!”

Chapter Text

Dressrosa – Present Day.
  The great Statue of Pica - Level 2

“Are you nervous, Dellinger?”

Dellinger looks at Machvise, incredulous.

“Kyahaha! Why would I be nervous, Vise? I love executions!”     

“Because there is more at stake here than a few lives in the Coliseum ring. Our country, our home, our family is being threatened. I don’t want to see you playing games. Take this seriously.”

“Be useful,” says Lao G, wobbling slightly on the uneven rocks, and Baby 5 looks on at the incoming fighters through her binoculars.

Gladius rolls his eyes. “Asking Dell to take something seriously is like telling Baby 5 to say no.”

“It’s true,” sighs Baby 5, and Dellinger giggles, hands pressed to his mouth.

“But you have no reason to be nervous,” says Gladius, putting his hand on Dellinger’s shoulder. “We are a family. And nothing can trouble us when we fight together.”

---

The blood tastes fresh, invigorating in his mouth, as he kicks the fallen Ideo from the great statue of Pica.

No one has touched him, not once...not the executioner Suleiman, not the martial artist Blue Gilly, not the great war tactician Dagama, not even the boxing champion Ideo.  All of them dropped before his speed and his horns. He rides the bloodlust, swelling with pride for his lineage, a lineage that has never failed him. And it feels glorious, unstoppable, thrilling.

The blood tastes all the sweeter, knowing the executions are for his family.       

He bounds up the plateau to Gladius. His gums tingle with his freshly grown teeth. The wind whips through his hair, loose about his horns. It is like swimming in the air.

“Gladius?” he cries, his heels touching down with ease upon the stones. “Gladius?”

“Dellinger!!” Gladius shouts. “Get back! There’s a nasty one up here!”

Dellinger stares, and then laughs.

“Kyahaha! Gladius, how unlike you! Nothing can trouble us when we fight together!”

There is a blur of white, and then nothing. The pain across his shoulder is blinding.

He hears Gladius scream for him as he falls to the ground.

---

The Dressrosa Palace

“How dare you treat a family executive so shamefully!” Jora shrieks, spit flying from her mouth. “Go get it!” she screams, pointing a rigid finger down the hallway. “Bring it to me right now!”

The guards scatter, running for the timeout room in a panic.

 Jora collects herself, shaking. 

She stares down at the slashed body of Dellinger.

She drops to her knees. Dellinger’s mouth is agape with freshly grown teeth, a trickle of blood down his jaw. She gently smooths his hair and brushes dirt from his face with trembling hands.

Jora loved Dell’s teeth. They had bitten her countless times, but they would forever remind her of the tiny, gnawing infant who had yet to grow human teeth.

She mustn’t show them. She mustn’t let anyone know.  Let it all be for Young Master, for the SMILE factory, for the preservation of Dressrosa. That’s what they’ll see.         

 She recalls the forbidden promise she made, years ago.

Trembling, she slowly lifts Dellinger’s head, and cradles his body against hers.

“I will fix this,” she whispers fiercely, her tears lost in Dellinger’s matted hair. “I will fix this.”

Chapter Text

The Yonta Maria – Three days after the fall of the Donquixote Family

Baby 5 is drinking the third glass of mead that has been pressed into her hands by her fiancé Sai. She is smiling and beaming and cheering at all the toasts and excitement, just like everyone else.

Finally! She is free to get married with no nasty strings attached, no nasty strings of Doflamingo’s to get in her way or hold her back. What a wedding it shall be! Buffalo will help her –

She stops. She realizes she doesn’t have a best man anymore.

Or bridesmaids.

Or someone to give her away.

Or anyone.

She knows none of Sai’s friends or crew. Whom will she invite? With whom will she celebrate with? She is struck by a sudden lonesome feeling, wracking her brain for people she must know who can come to the wedding.

“Here’s to that one fight where Cabbage –”

“CAVENDISH!”

“-where Cabbageish went crazy and helped Robin senpai!”

“Hurray!”           

“It’s CAVENDISH you idiot!”

Baby 5 automatically lifts her glass and cheers, trying to remember who is Robin-senpai and who is Cabbage. She doesn’t know anyone, and Sai is happily chatting with his crew, to whom she has barely been introduced. The toasts are making less and less sense the more everyone has to drink.

Perhaps her dress won’t be white, but green to match Sai’s handsome cloak. Wouldn’t that be a lark to wear such a dress! Maybe Jora and Dellinger would help her–

She stops. Who will go with her to pick out her dress? Certainly not Sai, for it would be in poor taste for him to see the bride before the wedding.

Is she merely supposed to walk into a bridal shop all alone? Pick her dress alone, with no one to fuss over her and tell her what looks good and what looks bad? No one to throw rehearsal parties or get her nails done with?

Her elaborate fantasies of marriage had always involved…everyone.

She is struck with an image of the inside of a church.

“And here’s to when everyone was like ‘Hey, can you stop bouncing?”

She is standing on the altar. Half the church is full of the Happou Navy, all smiling and beaming at her.

“And Luffy was like –”

“Nope! I can’t!”

The other half of the church is completely empty.

"HURRAAAYY!” The partygoers explode with laughter and cheers.

Baby 5 cheers automatically and takes another drink.

She is feeling almost panicked…does she really know no one else to invite to her wedding? Perhaps some citizens of Dressrosa would wish to come. Or perhaps she can ask the Happou Navy to spread themselves out across the whole of the church instead of staying on one side.

There is no Jora to pick out a dress with her. No Dellinger to pamper her and do her nails and hair. No Diamante to cook her a feast. No Buffalo to beam and smile next to her. No Young Master to walk her down the aisle.

She wanders amongst people she doesn’t know who are making incredible amounts of noise.

Trafalgar Law is sitting against the side of the ship, his head down and a glass next to him.

Law! Of course, she could ask him to come to the wedding! Now that this nonsense of Dressrosa is over, surely he will be happy to talk to her again. She doesn’t even mind that he left her head on a raft after leaving Punk Hazard anymore. She’s getting married, and a grown woman puts silly squabbles of the past behind her. Perhaps they can be like the childhood friends they were.

Except Buffalo was there when they were children. And the rest of the family.

“Law!” she says, smiling. “Are you enjoying the party?”

Law says nothing.

“Have you met Sai? We’re getting married! It’s going to be such fun!”

Law gives her a venomous, deathly glare. She starts and lurches to grab onto Buffalo…who isn’t there.

Instead she topples backwards and falls onto the deck.

“You’re…you’re just awful, Law!” she snaps, bursting into tears. “I just wanted to be friends again, Law! And you…you…”

She sobs. There is a deadened feeling in her chest as if the tears had been waiting to come for some time now; she simply hadn’t realized they were there.

Law looks at her, takes a drink from his mug, and still says nothing.

“Never mind,” she says wiping her eyes, standing up and dusting herself off. “I have…I have things to do. I am going to be very busy with this wedding to plan, and you’ll be sorry when you’re not invited! Because I have lots of people to invite to my wedding! I just…need to find them!”

She turns to walk away, the deadened weight in her chest feeling as though it’s just gained another five pounds.

“Bianca.”

She freezes.

She hasn’t heard that name since she was ten years old and whispered it fiercely, secretively into Law’s ear.

Buffalo had been there too.

“Bianca,” says Law again, still not looking at her. “How well do you remember Corazon?”

Baby 5 pauses, and then tentatively sits down next to Law.

“Oh, I mean, who wouldn’t remember him?” she says eventually, lighting a cigarette. “He’d leave eggs on my head that wouldn’t go away for days. I always thought he hated you most, especially after what…you stabbed him? And then you two just, vanished.” She takes a long drag on her cigarette. “I mean, I think it hit us all hard. What kind of man betrays his own brother?”

Law’s jaw tightens.

“I don’t think you’re in much place to talk about betrayal,” he says.

“I don’t get it,” says Baby 5, genuinely not understanding his meaning. “What’s this about Corazon? That was so long ago.”

Law is quiet a moment. “I loved that man,” he grates out. “That man saved my life. He gave me freedom. He loved me. And this is how I repay him? I can’t even kill his fiend of a brother and avenge him?” 

Law slams his mug onto the deck.

“Yeah, he wanted me to live. Live and be free. Heh, some way I’ve lived.” He stares off blankly.

“I don’t understand, Law,” Baby 5 murmurs.

“I don’t even know if he would have even wanted his own brother dead,” Law rambles. “I just ran off with what I thought he would have wanted. And even after all this, that bastard is still alive. Nothing’s changed. I didn’t care about Dressrosa. It was Doffy I wanted. Look how that turned out. I took that life that Cora gave me, and it was useless.”

The silence hangs thick and heavy between them. The roar of the celebration across the ship seems dulled, muted. 

“If he wanted you to be free,” says Baby 5 quietly. “Why would you live your life feeling that you had to kill someone to repay him? That sounds like a debt, not freedom.”

“And you’d know all about debt I guess,” says Law in a joke that might have been humorous under different circumstances.

Baby 5 is silent a moment.

“Can you live with what you decided? How your choice turned out?” she asks.

“Can you?” snaps Law.

“What do you mean?”

“Use your stupid brain for once. The Donquixote ‘family’ is going to rot in prison, and you decided some stranger was worth more than the people who cared about you your whole miserable life. You wanted to be needed? Well who needs you more? Some stranger? Or the people that picked you up out of the dirt and took care of you? The ones who stuck by you no matter how many times you messed up? The man who’s leg you clung to when pirates nearly killed us as kids? The man who taught you how to use your arms and legs?”

Law lets out a deep, rattling sigh. “Look, I don’t like any of you lot, but it’s not my issue, it’s yours. And from what I see, you oughtta be in a pair of seastone cuffs along with them. What you’ve done isn’t fair. But it’s got nothing to do with me. If you can live with what you decided, and how your choices turned out, then be my guest.”

Law stands and drains his mug.

“Enjoy the wedding, Bianca,” he deadpans. “I’m sure the ‘family’ will be sad they shall miss the occasion.”

He walks away, leaving Baby 5 staring after him.

“Hey! If it isn’t my beautiful fiancée!” says Sai, appearing suddenly and throwing a meaty arm around her, the other hand clutching a plate. “Say, Baby 5, have you tried the Fighting Fish steak? It’s amazing!”

She looks at the giant sliced body of the fish and feels sick.

“What have I done?” she whispers.

She turns and vomits over the side of the ship.

Chapter Text

The New World – A Marine Battleship. Three days after the fall of the Donquixote Family

“The Reverie is approaching,” says Tsuru, casually, reading aloud from the newspaper. “Riku Dold has formally announced his intention to attend, as well as Lady Viola. And Strawhat and Law have not been found yet.”

“Fufufufu, I didn’t expect them to be,” Doflamingo chuckles from his position chained and spread-eagled across the floor of the ship’s brig. “Just think, you could have them behind bars now, if you had only –”

“I have heard your “ifs” quite enough, Doflamingo,” says Tsuru, folding up the newspaper. “We are a few days from Impel Down. Once you’re there you can wax “if only” to your cell all you please.”

“And my family? How are they holding up in your lovely hospitality?”

“Your compatriots are being escorted with you. It is such a waste to see the young lives you have exploited suffer the same fate as you.” 

Doflamingo raises his eyebrows. “A waste you say, Tsuru?” he says in carefully measured tones. “You say the lives of my family are a waste? Misfits that would have ended up dead or enslaved? I gave them food, clothes, shelter. I gave them a place. Yet you claim their lives are a waste, Tsuru?”

Tsuru remains fixed behind her newspaper, her expression set.

“I gave them life. The sea will always be full of lost souls, craving acceptance, needing a place to belong in the world. I gave them that place, and the freedom to live. That’s better than the world would have done.”

A smile, that sickening smile, worms its way back onto Doflamingo’s face. Tsuru knows he is staring her down, even from the floor, even from behind those glasses she had retrieved for him, to maintain the last shred of his dignity.

“Fufufu,” he chuckles again. “So tell me then, Tsuru, since you care so much about my dear family. Is a family that you would deem a waste, better than no family at all? Would you rather see a child die, Tsuru, than see it walk a path other than a path of what you call justice? Is a supposedly “bad life” full of “bad people” better than no life at all?”

Tsuru regards him stonily, refusing to be baited.

“Fufufuu, you Marines and your black and white rules,” chuckles Doflamingo. “Something to chew on, my dear Tsuru.”

---

“YOU’RE LYING! SHE WOULDN’T JUST LEAVE US!! SHE’S MY BEST FRIEND, YOU DIDN’T KNOW HER! STOP LYING! SHE NEEDS US!!”

Buffalo slams his huge body against the bars of the cell, causing the whole floor to shake. Lieutenant Canary sighs and turns away from the cell. Her notes indicated that a woman, codenamed “Baby 5,” had deserted the family mid-battle and escaped with one of the Straw Hat’s allies.

“Buffalo” (nothing in her report had yielded a positive identification or name) had insisted that she was lying, and was refusing to speak to her about any of the family’s activities.

The rest of the so-called “family” was no better.

Buffalo screams at her as she walks away. “WE’RE HER FAMILY, SHE WOULDN’T JUST LEAVE US DAMN IT!”

The ship only held four of the family members. Fujitora had split the family over the four escort ships, rather than keeping all the eggs in one basket.

And then there was the boy.

The boy that sent chills down her spine. She had felt her heart nearly drop to the floor when Tsuru had handed her a file and said “That’s the one. You’ll remember him.”

He had sobbed hysterically through the first night. And day.

While the other executives lay in their cells, despondent and drained of energy, seastone had no such tranquilizing effect on the half-fishman Dellinger. He had sobbed and screamed for Jora, the older woman who had been arrested among the other family members.

After slamming his horns into his cell wall multiple times, he had finally tried to bite through his seastone cuffs, which escalated into him nearly biting off his own hands.

“Look kid, you can’t eat your hands,” said Lieutenant Swan, holding Dellinger in a headlock while Sargent Oriole tried to wrestle his bloody hands behind his back. “Didn’t your folks teach you anything?”

“LET ME GO! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” Dellinger screamed, his kicks held fast by the shackles around his ankles. “JORA!”

“Look kid, just settle down we–AHHHH!”

Dellinger had twisted his head enough to take a bite out of her arm.

It had taken three officers to stop him, before they managed sedate him and chain his bleeding hands out of reach of his mouth.

Even tranquilized, he had to be held down by another two officers to be given stitches, as Fujitora had given orders not to let the prisoners die in transport. The ship’s doctor was also bitten in the leg.

“I am not taking that thing into Impel Down,” said Lieutenant Swan darkly, regarding the stitches in her arm. “Not without a muzzle.”

“Oh, I know the chief jailer there, she’s a riot. She’ll have one for him,” giggled Sargent Oriole. 

Finally he had quieted. He just sat there and cried.

He had stared at her, huddled and shaking against the corner of the cell, his eyes red and bloodshot, shadowed in a stare that was half-fearful, half-accusatory. 

“Where’s Jora?” he had finally said to her, his voice trembling. “I w-want to see J-Jora. Why c-can’t I s-see her? I have to make sure s-she’s okay. And Gladius. And Sugar. But…but Jora, please…”

He refused to eat. The meager scraps the prisoners had been given were hardly enough to sustain a human being, but the child still refused them.

“You need to eat,” Lieutenant Canary had said in what she hoped was a professionally calm voice. “I’ll let you use your hands, but you have to promise you’re not going bite yourself again.”

“If you come in here I’ll kill you.”

The shadowed red eyes stared back at her. 

Lieutenant Canary did not doubt that the child would do anything it could to kill her if she stepped into the cell.

---

“Where is Dellinger?” the man with the shaved hair demands, his body wracked by scorch marks. “Is he alive?”

Lieutenant Canary says nothing. She has been given orders to keep the family members isolated, and not to speak to them unless under process of interrogation.

The man leans back against the cell wall and lets loose a ragged, pained breath.

“This is all my fault, if he’s dead,” he says, his voice cracking. He raises shackled hands to his face. “J-Jora will never forgive me. Damn it, I tried to keep him safe. Damn it, why didn’t you listen, Dell?”

He breaks down into sobs.

---

“Where is he?! Is he alive?!”

The woman with the ridiculous colored hair lunges at her from behind the bars of her cell as Lieutenant Canary passes.

“Please you have to tell me,” she begs. “He was alive! I know it! Please I need to see him!”

Lieutenant Canary ignores her.

"PLEASE!" the woman sobs, her chained hands gripping the bars so hard her knuckles are white. "HE'S JUST A CHILD! YOU CAN'T SEND HIM TO IMPEL DOWN! PLEASE HE...he...ahh…"

She gasps and releases the bars, the seastone overwhelming her. She collapses against the wall of her cell, sobbing.

Lieutenant Canary can remember seeing this woman, fondling the tiny infant on the cannon. The infant who is now sixteen, terrified, and headed to the worst prison on the seas. She feels a mixture of pity and revulsion; that this woman could actually claim to care for the child’s well-being.

“This…this is all my fault,” the woman sobs. “I c-couldn’t save him. What have I done?”

“You’ve sent that child to prison, perhaps for life,” says Lieutenant Canary. “Deluding children into your little belief system of a family so you could use them to run your business. That’s what you’ve done.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” the woman behind bars snaps, not looking at her.

“No, I wouldn’t understand what it’s like to exploit children and turn them into criminals,” says Lieutenant Canary darkly.

---

Lieutenant Canary steels herself. Admiral Sengoku is retired; he cannot dismiss her. And she wants answers.

She strides up to him, clutching the slim brown folder.

“Ah Canary,” he says through a mouthful of rice cracker. “How’s the questioning? Got anything good? Everyone still alive?”

“I thought you had a mole with this, crew,” Lieutenant Canary says through gritted teeth, catching herself before she almost said ‘family.’ “I thought he was supposed to keep children away from that monster. I thought he was supposed to keep things like this from happening.”

She throws Dellinger’s file onto the table.

Sengoku’s eyes barely flit to the file. A shadow passes over his face, and he puts his cracker down on the table.

“You know nothing about that man,” Sengoku says quietly. “You’d do well to remember there are certain things you are not privy to, Lieutenant.”

“Am I not permitted to query about the captives in my charge?” says Lieutenant Canary. “Particularly if there was something or someone that might have prevented them from living a life of piracy?”

“Countless children were spared such a fate in that viper’s den thanks to him. He could not save them all. He had to make choices.”

“But an infant? He couldn’t even save a baby from being exploited by these people?”

“Well, wouldn’t it be ideal if Commander Rocinante was here to answer that,” says Sengoku, his voice like gravel.

Lieutenant Canary swallows slightly, and bows her head.

“And besides,” Sengoku thumbs through the file and tosses it back to her. “That kid doesn’t look so exploited to me.  Looks like he enjoyed himself the whole damn time. Now stop playing advocate and do your job.”

Lieutenant Canary pushes the image out of her head of the tiny infant on a cannon, and the hysterical frightened child of sixteen.

“They won’t talk to you, will they?” says Admiral Tsuru, jolting Lieutenant Canary out of her reverie.

“You startled me, Vice-Admiral,” says Lieutenant Canary, quickly throwing her a salute. “No, they don’t talk.”

“I did not expect them to,” says Admiral Tsuru, thumbing through her own set of files.

“They’re just…they’re so fixated on this fantasy of being a family. It’s sick how he’s brainwashed them!” says Lieutenant Canary, exasperatedly. “That boy, you remember? He cries. That’s all he does. Asks to see that woman over and over. It’s awful, how Doflamingo’s indoctrinated them. They actually believe this.”

Tsuru pauses in her skimming of files.

“Indeed,” she says quietly. “They actually believe this. Do you think they’re wrong?"

Lieutenant Canary starts.  “They exploited a country, they exploited children. Who could call that a family?”

Admiral Tsuru closes the file and looks up, staring straight ahead.

“Tell me, Lieutenant Canary,” she says in her quiet reedy voice. “Is a bad family, a family that grooms you into something terrible, yet meets your needs and loves you in a world where you were unwanted…better than no family at all? Is the embrace of someone who would embraced a life of corruption better than never knowing what an embrace felt like?”

Lieutenant Canary stares at Admiral Tsuru, who seems to be posing the question not just to Lieutenant Canary, but to herself as well.

“Are these people…this boy perhaps, are they merely victims of the Donquixote family? Can you be a victim of the very people that loved you?”

“Admiral, I…”

Admiral Tsuru slowly turns her head to Lieutenant Canary, a stiff smile on her face. She places a hand on her shoulder.

“There isn’t an answer.”

---

Dressrosa – The Green Bit. One month after the fall of the Donquixote Family

“Leo! Leo, carry me!”

“Why do you need a piggyback now, Princess?”

“My feet are tired!”

“You’re so selfish! And heavy!” Leo huffs, hoisting Mansherry onto his back.  She giggles, nuzzling her pointed nose into his hair.

Night has fallen on the Green Bit. The moon’s reflection on the water is splattered, distorted by the great horns and fins in their nightly battle.

Cotton and Wicca are sitting on the edge of the shoreline, watching the Fighting Fish in their elaborate dance of sparring and combat.

“Look Leo,” says Wicca. “They’re looking. Don’t you see?”

Indeed, amidst the swirling waters, several of the fish pause in their dance, looking up at the dilapidated old bridge.

“Hmm? What are they looking for?” asks Mansherry.

“Oh that’s right!” says Wicca. “Mansherry, you haven’t seen, you’ve never seen –”

“It was amazing!” chimes in Cotton. “Just marvelous! Never has there been anything like it here in the Green Bit!”

“What is this?” Mansherry asks . “Tell me!”

“For the past few years,” says Leo, smiling up at her. “There was this, creature, this strange thing, that would come and swim with the Fighting Fish from time to time. It would come at nightfall and dive from the bridge to fight with them. Somehow they let it live.”

“What?” gasps Mansherry. “Impossible! Nothing could ever swim with the Fighting Fishes! Surely not!”

“That’s what we thought!” laughs Cotton.

“What on earth was it?” asks Mansherry. “Tell me! You must!”

“We never knew,” says Cub, striding up to join them on the island’s edge. “It was like a human, with long legs and hair. Only it had a great shining dorsal fin and horns. And huge gleaming red eyes of the Fighting Fishes.”

“Then a fishman?” asks Mansherry.

“Yes, but what mere fishman could swim amongst such dangerous creatures unscathed?” says Leo, looking out over the water. “There had to be something unusual about it, something special, for the Fighting Fish to accept it as their own. As one of their kind.”

“But what happened?” demanded Mansherry. “Where is it?”

“We don’t know,” says Cub shrugging. “We haven’t caught sight of them for over a month.”

“The Fighting Fish have noticed. They look up to the bridge at night,” Leo adds.

“They must have known it was something special. Something that belonged with them,” says Wicca.  “Like a family.” She smiles, leaning back to look up at the night sky. “What a marvelous world we live in!  That such strange creatures exist and have a place!”

“It’s a mystery,” says Cotton. “We might never really know who or what they were, or where they came from. Save for the family that they left behind.” She gestures across the water to the Fighting Fishes. “A whole story, that we’ll never know.”

“Maybe we’re not supposed to,” says Cub. 

Mansherry gazes out over the churning waters of great black fins and pointed horns.

“Whoever they were, I hope they come back someday,” she says quietly.