Red tinted glasses, a wicked grin, maniacal laughter. Most people linked these things with Donquixote Doflamingo.
Having mastered his devil fruit at a young age he knew how to move his fingers, how to do gruesome and atrocious things. There was no limitation to his monstrous imagination.
It was somewhat poetic, letting people slaughter their own kin. He simply adored the act.
How the weak bodies of children, once penetrated by his strings, could turn into deadly marionettes. Small and fragile fingers wrapped tightly around knives, slicing and sawing through their daddy’s bodies. The fathers most of the time did not even struggle. They tried to shield and tried to free their oh so beloved children, but they failed. No strings were needed to hold them. Apparently, self-preservation was less powerful than the need to protect their children. Pathetic. Weak. Disgusting. It reminded him of something… he ignored it.
Strings disconnecting from the shaking bodies of the children, wrapping themselves around the mothers. They were next. He would spare no one.
Oh, how fun it was, watching loving mothers slaughter their children. Oh, how he enjoyed the sobbing and begging of his victims, when they felt the life vanish from their helpless, dying children. Struggling, little bodies not comprehending why their former caring mothers strangled them. Was it the right punishment for what they had done to daddy? Slowly, oh so slowly the life would drain from their weak bodies.
A quick tug at his strings and limbs were twisting, bones were breaking. The mothers died last. Slowly. Painful. He only changed that pattern, when he realized that he had developed one. He disliked being predictable. It was a weakness
Most people considered him a monster for his acts. But why should he care about the insignificant thoughts of commoners? Their thoughts and words did not bear any weight.
Doflamingos ability truly was terrifying. But it was not the only thing he could do with those skilled fingers. His brother knew the other side of Doflamingo. His caring side. The side he only showed the people he cherished.
It had been evening, when Doflamingo entered the quarters of Rocinante. The younger one had been gone for a while, for longer than expected.
“Roci. You are back.” A statement. “The mission took you longer than expected.” Another statement. He had expected his brother to return a few days ago.
Rocinante simply nodded before continuing to change out of his ruined clothes. The fabric was torn in several places. Dried and clotted blood was soiling the once pale pink shirt decorated with little red hearts.
Doflamingo frowned. The way Rocinante hold himself in pain made it clear, that this was not only the enemies blood.
“What happened?” He stepped closer, entering Rocinantes personal space.
Trap – Was scribbled on a little piece of paper. Rocinante had expected these questions.
Wrath raised in Doflamingo. Who dared to harm his brother?! Who dared to set up a trap against them?!! It had not been the first one against his family.
“Did you kill them?” Thick veins were throbbing on his forehead, indicating how angry he was.
Roscinante nodded, before grimacing in pain. The shirt was partly sticking to his wounds. Getting rid of the shirt would also open his wounds again. It was a painful procedure. He held his breath and ripped the fabric off. Rocinante bit his lip, but not a single sound escaped him.
“Roci. Next time you will come immediately to me when you are wounded like this. Sit down.” He ordered the younger one around, while taking one of the liquor bottles from the shelf. After fetching a clean rag, he soaked it in the alcohol before pressing it into the bleeding wound.
Doflamingo ignored the tensed posture of his brother. He might be in pain, but Doflamingo knew, that they both had suffered through far worse. He would be fine. Doflamingo would take care of him.
After cleaning the wound thoroughly, he took a close look at the wound. Long, skilled and delicate fingers slowly caressed the uneven margin of the wound. His fingernail traced the tender and sensitive, red and slightly swollen flesh. Doflamingo was lost in thought. This did not look like a bullet wound. It was not a clear cut either. More of a gash, with an uneven margin. It could have been a blunt dagger or knife, maybe an uneven shard of glass.
He sighed softly while penetrating the wound with two fingers. Rocinantes body twitched. He clenched his fists, while staring in Doflamingos face. He had long stopped asking how or why his brother could do things. Pain shot through his body, making him grimace and bite his lip in agony. No sound. Not a single sound would escape him. Doflamingo could do what he wanted. He would not let him figure him out.
When Doflamingo pulled back a splinter of glass was shimmering between his fingers. He looked at the little fragment, before wiping his fingers on the used rag.
“I did not feel anything else in the wound, it should be clean now” His voice was soothing, quite contrary to the throbbing veins showing his furious state of mind. His anger did not interfere with his efficacy.
“I will sew the wound.” He pressed his palm on the others wound, ignoring the shivering of his brother. Rocinantes face showed how anguished he was. It did not stop Doflamingo. The wound would heal better if sewn together. Slowly Doflamingos permanent strings were penetrating Rocinantes skin, crawling through the wound, piercing the flesh on the opposite side before leaving the body. The strings were pulled together, closing the wound.
“Shh, it is over now” Doflamingos voice was a soft whisper as he caressed the seam with his thumb, adoring his magnificent work for a moment. A truly versatile ability.
Rocinante slowly looked up to his brother, nodding and smiling. It was like playing with fire. Even though growing up partially with his brother, he could not always predict him. A second ago he had thought, that Doflamingo enjoyed tormenting him, that he had found out about Rocinantes true intentions and plans. A moment later he proved him wrong, showing his caring side. Taking care of the family, Doflamingo had called it that.
With a sigh the older one sat down next to his brother, leaning against him.
“Do you remember the first time I had to sew a wound of yours? You were bawling like an infant, trying to get away from me, screaming, shouting and even trying to hit me and now look at you, not a single tear.”
Rocinante remained silent. Bawling like a child? Well, he had been a child. It was a long time ago. Rocinante pushed away the thoughts, that crawled into his mind. He should not think about the past, about the two of them being innocent children.
Rocinante turned his head to his brother, smiling softly. Moments like these were rare. Just the two of them, sitting together in silence and solitude, enjoying each other’s company. These moments made Rocinante wonder if his brother was a Monster after all and not just a misunderstood being. A victim of aristocracy and mankind at the same time.
With a silent sigh Rocinante wrapped his arms around Doflamingo before letting himself fall on his bed, pulling the other one with him. They faced each other. Slowly Rocinante closed his eyes. Tiredness was overcoming him.
It had been a long time since they had shared a sleeping place, shared their limited body heat to warm each other in freezing nights. Cuddling closer and closer, thin blanket wrapped around their scrawny bodies.
It had been a long time but Rocinante still remembered. He had not always been a Monster.
“Roci, mi Corazón.” It was a soft whisper against the forehead of Rocinante. Doflamingo placed a kiss there, smiling against skin.
Moments like these made him oblivious, made him ignore the obvious.
"I will take care of you.“ He always would.
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