Chapter Text
Law, curled under a pile of corpses, wishes he were dead.
He should be dead. Should've burned with Lami or been shot with his parents-- or with the sisters and the other children. Or maybe he should've just succumbed to the Amber Lead.
He has three years. Three years, and everyone he's ever known is dead and killed and he's hiding under their corpses instead of just dying like he should've.
He should be dead. He wishes he were.
They're shipping the bodies out of the city to be disposed of. Law doesn't know what that means, but it's his only chance out. Hopefully they won't just take them out to sea and burn them. Or dump them straight into the water.
He should be dead, but he's not. And he's come far enough that he's not willing to let himself die yet. If they want him dead, they're going to have to kill him.
Movement, above. Law freezes. Closes his eyes. Tries to go stiffly limp. He's had plenty of practical experience now, as to how corpses are supposed to move. First of all, they're not supposed to move.
He chokes down hysterical laughter.
As the movement gets closer, Law realizes what's happening. Someone is inspecting the corpses. Checking for survivors. Horror is ice in his stomach.
He grabbed a knife, a few hours ago. It's rusty and dull and not good for much, but Law had had the vague thought that he needed to be armed. Turns out he was right. He's not going to be able to play corpse for long. Not if whoever's coming has any sense in their head; as soon as they touch him, they'll feel that he's warm, and the jig'll be up.
Fine. This is the end of the line. But he's not going down without a fight. He holds as still as possible, even trying not to breathe. Hides the knife under his arm. And waits.
The body on top of him moves, and Law forces himself not to gag with revulsion. It's picked up and off him, and he can feel someone crouch over him. Their hand grazes his shoulder.
Law whips around, brandishing his knife, and lunges. He gets the briefest impression of a Marine uniform, fuelling his rage, before he feels his knife bite deep. The Marine curses, foul and furious, and backhands Law hard enough that he can taste blood. The knife is wrenched from his hand and Law curls up, waiting for the killing blow.
It doesn't come.
After a few long moments, Law makes himself look up.
The Marine is stupid tall. Even crouched, he looms over Law. His uniform isn't white anymore, but grey with filth and ash. Smears of red decorate the cuffs. His eyes are hidden behind red glasses, but his brow is furrowed deeply into a scowl.
Law didn't even manage to stab him properly. The knife went clear through the Marine's hand, leaving a bleeding hole through his palm. The Marine just looks at it, seemingly stunned.
"What are you waiting for?" Law snaps, finally.
Those red lenses turn on him.
"Just do it!" he says. "Kill me!"
The Marine looks at him for long moments. Then he picks Law up by the scruff of the neck and stands.
-----
Doflamingo finds himself immensely grateful to Vegapunk for the invention of the facsimile den-den. He doesn't need to call Tsuru or Sengoku or, god forbid, go back to Marineford. He can simply send a formal letter of resignation, with a short note appended:
Rocinante dead. Damn you all to hell.
With his crew narrowed down to only those willing to turn pirate alongside him, resignation sent, injured hand bandaged, and ship turned firmly away from the cooling ashes of Flevance, Doflamingo can focus on more personal concerns.
(Not the void carved into his chest. Not that. He cannot bring himself to touch the gaping chasm cut through him, burning out his very heart. If he lets himself hold that grief, it will swallow him.)
He crosses the room, lifts the chair away from where it had be set to brace the doors of the closet shut, and opens them.
"By bringing you aboard," he says to the boy inside, "I've signed all our death warrants. So tell me how long I have left until your plague kills me, too."
He'd known he was going to die of Amber Lead disease from the moment he set out to look for Rocinante among the dead. It seems fitting. Appropriate, even. With whatever time he has left, he intends to destroy as much of the Marines as possible. They assigned him and Rocinante here; they will be held responsible for Rocinante's death.
Picking up the boy had been a whim. Nothing more.
(It's what Rocinante would have--)
But then the boy, tears on his cheeks, says, "It's not a plague! It's a poison!"
Doflamingo freezes. "Explain."
"Why should I?" the boy shouts back. "It's because of you that they're all dead! My parents-- my sister--"
"My brother," Doflamingo replies, and it sends a fresh wave of agony clawing up his throat. "Dead, and dead trying to help you lot. And now you say we were sent under false pretenses, which means my brother died for a lie, so explain."
The boy looks at him, and then begins to tell a horrifying story.
Not a plague, but a poison. A coverup for profit. An escaped royal family, and lies from the Government to damn a whole country to death. And Marines sent in to kill them all and conceal the lies.
Sour, hateful rot begins to set in around the hole in his chest, where his heart used to be. Halfway through the boy's story, Doflamingo cracks open a bottle of wine, drinking straight from the broken neck. He nicks his lip and doesn't even feel it.
But under the grief and hate and betrayal, a familiar feeling begins to glow. Anticipation. None of the satisfaction and joy of hunting down a criminal (with his brother by his side, Rocinante, why--) but a hunt has been presented nonetheless. Wrong has been done. Justice must be served.
Doflamingo grins joylessly.
"What the fuck is there to be happy about?" the kid says.
He looks at the boy. Rescued from a pile of corpses on a whim (because Rocinante died trying to save lives) but now, it's clear this was fate. They are meant to be the favoured sons of the heavens, and they've been failed at every turn. But still, destiny bends to serve him.
"My brother," he says, "ran into a burning building to search for survivors and died when the building collapsed." (Rocinante's light vanishing from Doflamingo's Observation, his crew pulling him back when Doflamingo would have thrown himself into the fire to find him--)
"I was simply going to make the Marines pay for failing him," Doflamingo forces himself to continue, "but you say that there is truly someone to hold responsible." His smile widens. "That means there is revenge to be had."
The boy looks at him wide-eyed. "It's the whole World Government," he says. "How can you get revenge on them?"
Doflamingo laughs. "Make them suffer," he says. "Make them pay. Hound them to the ends of the earth and back." He pauses, and takes off his glasses to meet the boy's eyes. "Ensure that the last child of Flevance survives to tell everyone what happened."
The boy shakes his head. "I only have three years left."
"There are plenty of Devil Fruits out there with miraculous properties," Doflamingo says dismissively. "We'll find one to keep you alive. And I do need you alive. You will be the heart of my revenge." He offers a hand to the boy. "Do we have a deal?"
The last child of Flevance looks at his hand, and then up at him. Determination glows in his eyes, and he takes Doflamingo's hand. "Our revenge," he insists. "My name is Trafalgar Law."
"And I am Donquixote Doflamingo." His smile is still not happy, but it is very real. "A pleasure to meet you."