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Law stumbles along the dock, squinting through the darkness to find the Polar Tang. He didn’t drink that much so he isn’t sure why he’s having so much trouble staying on his two feet or why he’s so dizzy. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t slept for a few nights. However, he knows he can technically go longer without sleep so that shouldn’t be an issue either. A sluggish smirk spreads across his flushed face as he locates the Polar Tang and cranks open the hatch. He fumbles his way across the deck, hanging onto the railing and manages to get to the door.
It's darker inside, the rest of the crew probably asleep. He leans against the wall and takes a deep breath then closes his eyes, mapping out the submarine in his mind as he feels his way to his bedroom. Somehow, he navigates his way there without too much of a problem, only tripping over his feet a couple of times.
He collapses onto his bed and wriggles out of his hoodie, too hot to keep it on. Lethargically, he rolls over onto his stomach, groaning into his pillow. He can feel the Polar Tang swaying in the waves, the feeling intensified by his lack of sleep and the alcohol coursing through him. His eyes close and the feeling continues, pulling him from the edge of sleep each time it tempts him.
After about an hour, he still isn’t asleep, left feeling frustrated and a little nauseous. He grunts and sits up, lazily scanning the room as his eyes adjust to the darkness, moonlight slithering in through the gaps in the blinds over his circular window. His gaze snap towards the corner of the room. A figure shrouded in shadow that flickers in the moonlight.
He feels his stomach drop as he stares at the figure and before he can stop himself, he grabs his pillow, throwing it as hard as he can across the room. It passes through the figure and it remains standing there, silently. Just watching. Waiting.
Could this be a Devil Fruit user? Law considers, cautiously pushing himself to his feet.
His joints protest the movement and his muscles feel heavy. His fingers start to tingle and sweat beads on his forehead, his heart thudding in his ears as he approaches the figure. It morphs and shifts as he approaches, it’s face always just too far to recognise. He blinks and it’s gone. His head whips around the room, too fast for his intoxicated mind to keep up with and he loses his balance, stumbling over and falling against the cupboard.
Footsteps patter quietly in the hallway and Law pushes himself off his cupboard. He hesitates at the door before peering outside and glares at what seems to be a small figure lingering further down the hall. Law squints, his vision adjusting on the child. Their bony appearance clearly indicating malnourishment but what catches his attention is the ring of grenades around their neck.
Cautiously, he steps towards them, anxiety rising within him, his heart thumping in his chest. More details are revealed to him. Torn clothes, scratches and bruises. White patches splotched across their skin. The general unease Law feels around children mixes heavily with anxiety and – for some reason unknown to him – guilt. His chest starts to tighten, the child’s gaze piercing his own with an anger he had long forgotten.
Tentatively, he reaches a hand out to them but their glare refuses to waiver. Their fists scrunch up at their sides but their breathing becomes more shaky, their eyes glossing over with tears.
“Captain?”
Law whips around, the rest of the empty hallway stretching out for longer than it should. Shadows swallowing it up making it look like it never ends. It draws him in. One unstable step after the other. His eyes start to droop and the hallway twists and turns. A wave rocks the Polar Tang and he stumbles into the wall.
Using the wall as his guide, the hallway morphs and shifts, the polished floor turning dusty with uneven wooden planks. The pale beige wallpaper clings for dear life, smudges of who knows what are caked into it and some holes the size of fists welcome him. He’s guided into a room by a firm hand on his shoulder, their nails digging into his skin.
The smell hits him first - something putrid searing his nostrils – and his eyes widen as they land on a limp body. Their chest shakily rising and falling in an irregular pattern, a hessian bag over their head. The figure towering over him hands him a gun, the metal cold in his small palm, his fingers barren of tattoos.
Fear festers in his gut, clawing its way up his throat. He knows what he has to do. If he doesn’t. There will be consequences.
He fights his body to take a step forwards, pressing the nozzle against the body. It starts squirming. Frantic sounds are muffled behind a gag. He can’t make a mess. There will be consequences.
His finger presses against the trigger slowly, his tendons refusing to move. He’s fighting against himself. He’s meant to help people. How can he learn without a bit of practice? That’s what the figure behind him keeps saying as their claws bore into his splotchy flesh.
What would his father say about this? It briefly crosses his mind but now he can’t let the thought go.
He holds his breath and closes his eyes.
“Law!” A familiar voice exclaims sternly and he turns around, his father running towards him. A hand grasps his arm and pulls him backwards away from the edge of the hospital roof.
“How many times have I told you not to come up here alone?” His father scolds, crowching down to his eye level.
He stammers for an excuse, something about the view. It’s true. He really likes looking down at all the tiny people. Gazing out at the expanse of snow coloured flora and his friends playing in the park. However, before he can explain, his father wraps his arms around him.
He’s warm.
Tears cloud his vision and he tries to blink them away but he can’t. A lump forms in his throat and he hugs his father back tightly. He doesn’t let go. He can’t. He knows this won’t last long.
His breathing starts to hitch and he muffles his sobs in the fabric of his father’s jacket. Cautiously, he lifts his head, looking up at a head that doesn’t really have a face. Cycles of eyes and noses and mouths mismatching in a vaguely familiar mosaic. He looks worried but he’s still smiling. There’s a warmth to him that Law can’t let go of.
Then his father’s smile extends. His teeth sharpen and a shadow engulfs his features. His fingers grow talons that sink into him, his grip growing unnaturally tight. Law starts to thrash around, the talons only digging deeper through flesh and muscle.
He rips himself free, running as fast as he can. Through hospital corridors as gunfire rains down behind him. Fires ravage the town around him and cackle in his ears. The smell of burning flesh pungent and making him feel sick to his stomach. He closes his eyes but he can still see his surroundings. The charred corpses. The fires. The debris.
They’re catching up. Boots against rubble. He sprints around a corner into a dilapidated house. Barrelling through the door, a corpse lays before him. A gun on the floor. A man in a red suit hands him a scalpel and a book.
“You wanted to learn anatomy.” He shrugs, “Consider this a learning opportunity.” A toothy grin spreads too wide across the figure’s face and he leaves the room.
The scalpel trembles in Law’s little hand. He approaches the body tentatively, scared that it might jump back to life and fight back. However, logically he knows it won’t. He just shot it. It’s dead. He killed them.
He killed them.
This is what he wants, right? He wants revenge. To wreck havoc. To cause pain and suffering just like that which was done to him. Right?
A nauseous pressure rises in his chest the longer he stares at the corpse. He can’t take his eyes off of it. The feeling rises up his throat and he swallows thickly. He can’t look away. He can’t. He’s frozen. Is it fear? Disgust? He can’t really tell. It shouldn’t be happening. This is what he wants.
Law blinks a few times, his vision still swaying slightly. He’s in the operating room of the Polar Tang, a scalpel pressing against his arm. This isn’t a good idea. He’s meant to take a blood sample and check the alcohol content. Maybe it’s higher than he previously thought if this is how he decided to sample it.
He can’t understand why his hands are shaking so much or why the nauseous feeling remains. His chest tightens and he carefully puts down the scalpel, staring at the tattoos on the back of his fingers. Something still isn’t right. He feels as if he’s looking through his eyes rather than with them. Maybe this is some sort of fucked up dream. Right? That’d make more sense.
Sweat beads on his forehead and he leans against the counter, the labels on all the various medicines blending together. His chest heaves and he almost throws up on the table but manages to swallow the feeling. Maybe he should try go back to bed. Yeah, that’s a good idea.
Law takes a few steps and the entire room tilts sideways as his legs give way and he smacks into the floor. He groans and grabs his head, trying to soothe the throbbing ache. The spinning is worse now. Slowly, he tries to sit up, an overbearing heat washing over his body. His stomach lurches and he covers his mouth.
“Captain?”
Not again.
“Captain?”
Closer this time.
The sterile light from the lamp on the counter stretches Law’s shadow across the floor. It starts to shift and sway, morphing into a thick black substance. Hands claw their way out from it, crawling with fingertips towards him. The slimy substance takes hold of his wrist and his unfocussed eyes widen. It wraps around his arm, warping the letters on his fingers and the patterns of his tattoos up his arm; pulling him, dragging him into the floor.
Saltwater stings his eyes, bubbles leaving his mouth as he tries to scream at his crew to flee. He chokes on the salty ocean water that burns his throat and lungs, his body refusing to move. A blur of white fur moves towards him, dragging him towards the surface. He tries to fight against Bepo but the sea has sapped his strength. He coughs up salt water, barely having the strength to roll onto his side as he aspirates. His crew. He needs to go back to his crew!
A wave hits him, knocking him off of Bepo’s damp fur, pulling him deeper. This time he doesn’t fight. His view of the demolished Polar Tang through blood stained water flickers and fades. A solid hand reaches out to him, light flickering through the red tainted salt water and for some reason he reaches out, grabbing it.
“Captain.”
Law’s gaze settles on Penguin as he pulls him to his feet.
“You ok?”
Law just stares at him. He reaches out tentatively with his other hand, resting it on Penguin’s shoulder. He squeezes the fabric of Penguin’s uniform, checking that he’s really there. He can feel the heat radiating from under Penguin’s uniform. His hand moves to check Penguin’s pulse and he feels the man stiffen up.
“What… What are you doing?” Penguin asks, uncertainty and confusion lacing his words.
Law doesn’t answer. His eyes narrow, an unease simmering in his gut.
“How do I know you’re-” Law stops himself, lucid enough to know that what he’s about to ask will sound ridiculous.
“Are you ok, Captain?” Penguin repeats, his words spaced out like he’s unsure if he should be saying them, as if Law might lash out on him if he chooses the wrong words.
Penguin inhales deeply and holds it, Law remaining unresponsive. He exhales, his expression softening.
“Law?”
Law’s eyes widen, a familiar smile spreading across Penguin’s face as another man flickers before him. He looks up at the man, memorising that kind smile and the smudged blue makeup under his right eye. He freezes up, unable to move.
“I need you to tell me that you’re ok.” Penguin’s voice leave’s Corazon’s mouth and Law can’t bring himself to commit to the idea that it isn’t real. A shiver runs down his spine as the winter winds blow through the Polar Tang, icy cold snow radiating its bone gnawing chill through his clothes.
A cold hand presses against his forehead and he leans into it, his eyes resting half lidded and glazing over, “You’re burning up.” Corazon takes him by the arm, his grasp gentle and supportive, carefully pulling him towards the snowy expanse. He sits him down on a log and walks off, rummaging through the snow, returning with a glass of water.
It doesn’t make sense. It has to make sense.
Law wills himself to cling to this nonsense. It has to be true. He can’t let go.
Tears well up in Law’s eyes and Corazon freezes up, staring at him with wide eyes. He slowly turns around towards the empty snowy scapes and calls out for Bepo. How would he know Bepo? It doesn’t make sense. It can’t be real. It needs to be real.
A glass of water is placed in his palm. Where did Corazon get that from? Law just stares at it, the floorboards of the Polar Tang visible through it, shifting with the water’s gentle sway. Law raises the glass to his mouth, his eyes roaming over Corazon one last time as he mumbles a shaky apology under his breath. He hesitates, then takes a sip.
He can feel himself sway in place, a pressure forming behind his eyes as he tries to stay upright on the swivel chair that Penguin holds in place.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Penguin offers, still clearly very lost.
Law puts his head in his hands, his shoulders starting to shake. He tries to take a deep breath but the air feels too thick. A hand rests on his shoulder and squeezes him gently. He can’t tell if it’s real. Maybe none of this is. His breathing picks up, his body heating up further. His heart pounds in his ears. Sweat rolls down his temples, his hair damp. His dazed gaze focuses on the floor, blurred by tears and a hand shoots out from the floorboards, gripping his ankle. It pulls him underwater and he writhes around.
“Shit.”
Is all he manages to make out, the sound muffled by the water logging his ears.
Stable hands grab his shoulders and he jolts harshly.
“Easy. It’s just me. Bepo’s here too.”
Heavy footsteps echo down the hallway and grow closer. A blurred furry form standing in the doorway.
Law’s head lulls forwards, too heavy to keep upright. He tries to say something but his tongue feels too heavy in his mouth. His body feels too heavy to keep upright. The world weighs down on him, sapping his strength like the Sea herself. A metallic taste collects in his mouth and the light above him fractures into colours that stab into his skull. The symptoms start to pile up in his mind as he tries to catch up with them. His fever can’t be that high, could it?
He tries to open his mouth to warn Penguin and Bepo. Tell them to clear a surface. His jaw locks. He needs to tell them to turn him on his side. That they need to time it. Something.
“Captain?”
A shock runs through Law’s body as his joints start to pull and lock up. His entire body starts to convulse harshly and then everything goes black.
…
“Is he conscious?”
A voice echoes through Law’s head as his vision trickles back in. He isn’t exactly sure where he is or why he’s laying on the floor. There are people– well, a person and a polar bear – crouching over him and something soft under his head. He blinks slowly, his mind desperately trying to catch up.
“Law? Can you hear me?”
He tries to respond but he can’t get his words out. An incoherent murmur leaving him instead. That’s right. Law. That’s his name. That’s a good start. The man sits down next to him and rests a hand on his forehead, his lips stretching into a thin line.
Penguin. That’s Penguin. And the polar bear is Bepo.
“I don’t… feel so good.” Law manages to force out, his voice weak and airy.
Penguin chokes out a shaky chuckle – it’s hoarse and more of an involuntary spasm – and he rests his hand on Law’s damp hair, “Yeah, no shit.” He keeps his hand there, worried that Law might start convulsing again.
Bepo crouches down beside Law as Penguin slowly helps him sit up. There’s a disconcerting look in their eyes that catalyses a sinking feeling in Law’s chest that he’s familiar with yet can’t name. Bepo nuzzles against Law’s chest, listening to his heart that thuds in his chest as he tries to take deep breaths. His hand embeds into Bepo’s soft fur, trying to push him away. He tries to say that he’s fine but his words come out slurred and unintelligible.
Penguin starts talking but Law only manages to hold onto every third word. Something about fluids and a seizure as they help him to his feet. The room tilts again, steady arms and hands keeping him on his feet. Law can’t help himself from leaning into the sturdy hold, his eyes drooping shut.
All he wants to do is lie down. Sleep. He tries to verbalise this and fails once again. Barely managing to put one foot in front of the other, Bepo and Penguin drag him to the infirmary connected to the operating room. They ease him onto the infirmary bed and Law lets himself sink into the sheets. He fights to keep his eyes open, tracking Penguin and Bepo as they grab various instruments from around the room. However, his will to fight finally leaves him and his eyes shut, sleep sweeping him up almost instantly.