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Rosinante was born without a soulmate mark. This was not a cause for alarm, as having a mark was fairly uncommon among the Celestial Dragons. While one may appear occasionally, Celestial Dragons were complete in and of themselves, without whatever traditions the lesser races upheld.
Doffy didn’t have one either, which Rosinante found reassuring. Their parents were soulmates though, and had high hopes for their children. “You might get one later,” they encouraged, endlessly optimistic. So Rosinante waited, and Doflamingo scoffed.
By the time Doflamingo turned ten, it was clear why he didn’t have a mark. He could never love anyone as much as he loved himself.
Rosinante gained his own mark when he was thirteen. In the middle of boot camp, covered in mud, he stared in shock at the sharp, precise lettering on his arm. Trafalgar D Water Law it read, bold and uncompromising. While the rest of the mark was the dull grey of an unrealized bond, the D stood out in sharp, golden color.
One of the D clan? As a child he’d woken up from nightmares about the people of D - rising from the shadows of the world with boundless hunger, they were the cruel and terrifying enemies of the gods.
Much of what he’d learned since that time had taught him better. His own family had turned into enemies of the gods easily enough, met with dripping disdain when his father asked to return. Or, less than enemies, maybe. Filth. Vermin. Maybe the Ds had just always known that it was better to be an enemy than an insect.
Whoever Trafalgar D Water Law was, Rosinante decided he was prepared to love them.
When “Law” showed up to his brother’s hideout, Rosinante had his suspicions.
He tried not to think about them too much. Managing Doffy’s paranoia was a full time job, and it’s not like he was in a place to do anything for the kid anyway. Once he finished his mission, he’d take them both back home, get Law checked out by a Marine hospital, and get the kid set to rights.
He hoped that by not paying attention to the kid, they could fly under Doffy’s radar. He shuddered to think of the sort of sadistic shit his brother would pull if he realized he had Rosinante’s soulmate under his control. The thought haunted his nights, so he channeled that into a firm policy of apathy toward the brat during the sun-filled hours.
Besides, there could be plenty of Laws in the world. Wouldn’t make anyone’s life easier, if this one was his.
Two years later, sitting by the water’s edge and trying to enjoy a smoke, Rosinante is handed the final piece of proof he needs for the mounting piles of evidence to bury him alive.
“My full name…is Trafalgar D Water Law.” His soulmate explains solemnly to the blessedly disinterested other children.
As Baby had pointed out, Law is looking worse these days - much worse. Suddenly, it’s not enough to sit by the sidelines and wait and hope Doffy will screw up in time. His skin crawls with shame as he considers his idling. He should have started trying to fix things two years ago, when he first knew. He knew, of course he knew. The timelines had always matched up.
Disgusted with himself, he hauls the kid off for a talk.
“You said Rosinante!” The kid accuses as he puts down the receiver, Sengoku’s endorsement still ringing in his ears. The water laps around the Rescue boat, and gulls circle lazily overhead.
“Yep.” He takes a drag, then exhales plumes of smoke. “That’s my name. Rosinante Donquixote.”
He watches Law’s eyes widen in shock.
And there’s the confirmation.
“Are we all caught up now?” He asks the kid drily. “On the same page about what’s going on here?”
“We’re soulmates?” Law asks, and it’s the gentlest, most hesitant thing Rosinante has ever heard out of him.
He smiles a bit. “Yeah. So we gotta get you healed up, okay?”
“But.” Law looks dismayed. “You’re SO OLD.”
Fucking brat. “I’m TWENTY SIX.” He enunciates, ”That’s not old!”
Law assures him with the endless and unfounded confidence of a teenager, that twenty-six is ancient. Practically on the verge of death.
“Well, we’ll go together then!” Rosinante snaps with a roll of his eyes. He realizes he’s said the exact wrong thing in the silence a moment later.
Law’s laugh is hollow as it rings out, crackling with self-derision. “Yeah, I guess I’m not much of a soulmate, huh? What’d you do wrong, to get stuck with me?”
Rosinante sighs, and reaches over to at least untie him. “Kid, we’re gonna get you sorted out.”
“That’s not how this works, you stupid oaf!” Law shrieks, flailing at him as soon as the ropes are loose enough. As a mercy, between his earlier struggles and the bombshell revelation, he at least seems too tired to overturn the boat.
“There’s no point in loving me, stupid. I’m gonna die.”
Rosinante narrows his eyes grimly. “No. You’re not.”
Six months and three weeks later, Rosinante understands that he was correct. Law is not going to die.
He is.
He stares up at the cloudy grey sky above, snow soaking into his clothing and freezing his hands. Just a bit longer, he thinks. Hold on, for him, just a bit longer.
Law is free now, and Doffy still has no idea of the last (perfectly executed) trick Rosinante has played. Has no idea what he’s allowed to slip through his fingers, and it pulls Rosinante’s face into a smile. He would laugh and keep laughing, if he still had the energy.
He holds on as long as he can, buoyed by the hope for a future he’ll never see, before surrendering to the darkness with peace in his heart. At least he finally understands why he was born into this world. It would have been nice…
His mother’s emaciated body, racked with pain as she gives a wet cough. His father holding him, the click of Doffy’s gun behind him.
It would have been nice to have more time together. But no one in this world is guaranteed a happy ending.
He wakes to agony. And movement. Blinking away the dark edges of his vision, he fights his way back to consciousness. It takes him a moment to recognize the pale cloaked figure who is…
Dragging him through the snow by his foot?
He watches the kid leverage his entire body weight to shift them forward, inches at a time. If his hands slip from Rosinante’s jean cuff, he’s going headfirst into the snow.
“Law?” he croaks.
Law looks back. “Ugh. Good. You’re up. I tried to get rid of the bullets, but at this rate we’re both going to come down with hypothermia instead.” He gestures to the shadow of a building - one of the outbuildings from the mansion the Barrels pirates had been in. “Can you walk? You’re stupid heavy.”
With effort, and some assistance from the brat, he stands, and stumbles forward the last few feet into the shelter. Law helps him slide down against a wall. “Stay here.” The thirteen year old commands imperiously. “I’m going to make us a fire. Unless you’d like to light something useful on fire, for once?”
Mutely, Rosinante offers his lighter. Law takes it and heads back out into the drifts.
Once they have a cozy situation set up in the - milkhouse? He thinks it may have been a milkhouse, from the decaying equipment along the walls - Law settles in next to him, and fixes him with a serious gaze.
This is alarming for many reasons. “Law?” He asks with trepidation.
“I’m going to try something and see if it will help with my White Lead.” The boy informs him gravely. “I think I figured out how to do it while I was operating on you, but…I might pass out. That’s what happened before anyway, so just…don’t freak out, okay?”
“Law!” he protests, scandalized, “You were supposed to cure yourself first, not…worry about me!”
Law’s eyes grow wide, and his mouth scrunches up. Rosinante has a brief moment to comprehend that this was not the right thing to say.
“CORA, YOU STUPID ASSHOLE!” Standing, Law kicks him full on in the ankle, hard. It’s enough to jostle the rest of his injuries and his vision goes black for a teeth-clenching moment. When it clears, Law is in the other corner of the small room, rage emanating from his tiny form in almost visible waves.
“But why would you heal me?” Rosinante presses, bewildered and against his better judgment. This isn’t what they got the fruit for!
To his utter dismay, when the kid spins back to face him, there’s tears dripping down his cheeks. “What kind of shitty soulmate do you think I am!? You idiot!” Law hisses, then sits back down, staring at the wall in front of him, and leaving Rosinante with only his back. “You shut up and stay the fuck over there. Don’t move!”
Rosinante waits until the kid passes out. It does look like the white patches have receded a bit, but that could just be his hopeful imagination. He drags his broken body across the room, and pulls the kid onto his lap, tucking him into the feathered coat. He settles in against the wall to keep watch.
The stone is rough and digs into his back in uneven chunks. His body is a mass of unending pain, bandaged in what appears to be strips torn from the least essential parts of their own clothing. Tomorrow, he’ll drag them down to the beach, attempt to find somewhere nearby to lay low. Maybe, if the Marine ships are nearby and it seems safe, attempt to get some help. It’s an uncertain welcome, without the information he’d lost to Vergo’s contempt.
It’s fine. The fact that they have a future at all is a miracle. There are choices to be made, and the path they walk is far from easy. But Rosinante can feel the small chest rising and falling where the boy is tucked against his own.
They’re both still breathing, two hearts still beating. He tilts his head back, and silently lets his own tears fall.
Law stirs at the warm drops falling onto his face. “Cora?” He mumbles blearily.
Rosinante lulls him back, gently stroking his thumb along his cheek. “It’s okay.” He promises. “You did real good. You got us out. From here on out, we’re gonna be okay.”