Chapter Text
A single thread hangs limply down
and I breathe not now, not now.
And I find you all unwoven,
trying desperately to sew.
It’s beyond his own comprehension, the churning feeling - similar to vines casing around his lungs - his guts twisting, his chest squeezing. A sort of ache, an unsettling uneasiness that both precedes and rejects the inevitable feeling of loss.
It would be no loss.
Each time one of those wretched creatures dies the world should rejoice – a step forward to a brighter future.
Yet it persists. A creeping feeling of unease, crawling up the back of his neck and clogging his throat, making it hard to breathe.
Law realises it’s something akin to dread.
It’s irrational, flat out stupid if someone were to ask him to comment his own thoughts, but luckily – or not – no one is privy to his inner turmoil.
How could anyone be, when he himself isn’t sure how exactly he ended up in this situation in the first place.
He could try to be honest with himself and admit the long streak of mistakes and issues that lead him to this exact moment, but truth be told it’s just one inexplicable rotten coincidence.
As if such things existed.
No, Law knows he cannot pin this down to mere causality, he doesn’t necessarily believe in fate, but he’s starting to accept the fact that life seems to have a sinister sense of humour and it often seemed to take great delight at his expenses.
No matter how much he wants to focus on the how rather than the actual matter, the wilting piece of paper rests in his palm, fixing him on the spot.
Doflamingo is dying.
Somewhere out there the man that both shaped and ruined his existence is close to drawing his last breath.
Law should feel glee, satisfaction even; instead, he’s close to driving himself into a full panic.
He should’ve gotten rid of his Vivre Card long ago, when he first left the family. There was no reason for him to keep it, if he had been smarter then, he wouldn’t find himself in this predicament now.
Doflamingo would’ve died and he would’ve read the news in the next day paper.
Much like he did when he escaped from prison a few weeks prior.
The news of Doflamingo’s evasion had Law’s fight-or-flight instincts on highwire at first – he had been sure the man would hunt him down like a dog. As time passed and nothing happened, although always alert, Law started to think he might not, in fact, be Doflamingo’s first target.
He had almost managed to push the former Warlord to the back of his mind when the cursed piece of paper fell from one of his diaries, burnt and ripped, withering away in front of his eyes.
Doflamingo is dying and by a cruel joke of fate he might just be the only one who knows it.
Law feels restless and yet he is rooted on the spot, his mind tearing itself apart. He should go on with his life, throw away that piece of paper like he should’ve done too long ago and pretend nothing happened.
He would wait for the news to reach him – by voice or paper it matters not – and pretend to be surprised – to be delighted.
He would be delighted.
Or the news might never reach him, might never even be disclosed. He hadn’t read nor heard anything about Doflamingo after his escape from Impel Down.
Something is amiss.
Law knows it’s unwise, if not downright asinine, but from the moment his eyes fell on that ruined piece of paper he knew he would not be able to sit idle.
The hateful feeling of strings pulling at his heart too strong to ignore.
He tells himself it’s because he has to see it with his own eyes – he has to make sure the monster is truly dead; he pays no heed to the sense of sickness he gets at the thought of not making it there in time.
It’s no use trying to evade questions, his urgency doing nothing to deter his crewmates – he can see the wariness in their eyes, can hear the worry behind their inquiries. He knows this would reach Strawhat sooner rather than later, and he will stick his nose into matters that Law would say do not concern him, but that’d be another lie. This does concern him, he fought against Doflamingo, his friends spilled blood to defeat him – all because Law dragged them into his mess.
And here he is about to throw himself headfirst back into it.
It takes more than he would’ve liked to convince Bepo to let him go alone and to reassure Penguin that he would come back to them soon – promising he would keep in contact in the meanwhile. He watches the Polar Tang set sail and turns his back to the shore to walk further into the island; he retrieves the tiny scrap of paper from his pocket and lets it guide him through a small patch of trees that opens to reveal what seems to be a fishermen village at first sight, but upon a closer look it looks more like a ghost town.
Law rushes through the main street of the small town, there is an eerie stillness in the air, like every part of the tiny island is holding its breath. There are corpses littering the street, he scans them quickly as he passes by, trying to see if anyone might still be alive, but he has not time to check. He follows the tiny piece of paper – no more than a scrap by now – to what looked like the biggest house of the town.
Leave it to Doflamingo to choose the fanciest place available to kick the bucket.
As soon as he steps a foot inside, he feels threads wrapping around his ankles and wrists, Law instinctively pulls back and to his surprise the strings snap. Instead of relief he feels his stomach churn with unease. As he looks down, he notices a trail of blood.
He hastily follows it, making his way to the only other inhabited room of the house; he draws a deep breath before opening the door.
Law isn’t sure what he was expecting, rationally he knew Doflamingo would be in bad shape – he had already seen him in bad shape – but even battered and bruised and defeated he had still held the aura of someone ready to get back up and reclaim what he had just lost.
What lies in front of him is a different story.
Doflamingo is half sitting half lying on the bed, his limbs hang awkwardly from the bedpost. It would’ve looked almost comical, if it wasn’t for the copious amount of blood that framed the picture.
How the mighty have fallen.
Law notices that under the torn jacket the former Warlord is still wearing his prison clothes.
Almost a month has passed since his escape, Law logically knows it would take more than that for Doflamingo to rebuild his network, but he had not once entertained the possibility that Doflamingo might have been doing anything aside from that. Now confronted with the scene in front of him, Law starts to suspect that all the former Warlord managed to do in the time he had been free from prison was run.
Doflamingo hadn’t come for him because he was the one being hunted down.
Doflamingo’s eyes are closed, but Law knows he’s very much aware of his presence – just as he processes that thought he realises it’s the first time he sees him without glasses.
His left eye is badly scarred – both burnt and cut – but the scar, unlike the many other wounds littering his body, looks old.
Law lets his Room fizzle around them, to assess the entity of the damage, and for a split second he feels the pressure of Conqueror’s Haki – as though it was a defence reflex – then it’s gone.
“Long time no see,” Doflamingo drawls, his breathing wheezy. Each words seems to take its toll on him and yet he continues, “not even a hello? Where are your manners, Law?” Doflamingo opens his eyes, and one is of a bright blue, while the scarred one is white and dead.
Law ignores him in favour of checking the most severe injuries. Both shoulders dislocated, several tendons damaged or torn, his left wrist was broken, and the bones of his hand looked like they were put through a grinder. Then there was the internal damage, Law can see Doflamingo had tried to patch himself up, but most sutures are torn, and several wounds look infected – it’s no surprise – his clothes and skin are matted with dried blood and dirt. He has a couple of broken ribs too and one seems to be close to puncturing his lung, which would explain why he struggles to speak. Hips and knees bruised, three bullet wounds – which missed vital organs but caused internal bleeding.
“You’re dying.” Law states, tone flat.
Doflamingo makes a sound, Law figures it was an attempt to laugh, but it comes out gurgled and it sounds painful. “Tell me something I don’t know, doctor.”
“You’re dying, dirty and alone, and in pain.”
Another painfully strained laugh. “Does that make you happy, Law?”
Does it? It certainly should.
“Did you come here to bear witness? To commit the image to your memory?” Doflamingo’s tone is light, as though they were discussing the weather. “How did you even find me?”
He doesn’t seem to care that these might be his final moments on this earth.
Law’s throat is dry, his brain a jumbled mess. He silently lifts the tiny piece of paper he’s still holding between his fingers without uttering a word. Doflamingo barks out a laugh that sends him in a fit of coughing, he wipes his mouth with the back of his good hand, but Law sees his lips are stained red.
“I am surprised you still have that, didn’t take you for the sentimental type.” Doflamingo’s mocking lacks its usual bite, a wince turns his attempt at smiling into a grimace.
It’s a pitiful sight. It’s all Law ever wanted. And yet.
Yet it brings him no joy.
“If anything, I'm glad it’s going to be you,” Doflamingo continues, his voice feebler, “it’s fitting, poetic even.”
“What are you rambling about?” Law cuts in, not in the mood for further taunting.
“You, dealing the final blow. A fitting conclusion to our story.” Doflamingo’s voice is so weak Law instinctively leans forward to hear what he’s saying.
A fitting conclusion.
He wouldn't even have to do anything; he could just stand there and wait for Doflamingo’s heart to stop. It wouldn't even take long.
For some reason the thought makes him sick - to the point he can taste bile at the back of his throat.
Doflamingo's head droops, chin resting on his chest, his breathing growing fainter.
Law springs into action.
His hands are covered in blood, he realises this a second too late as he wipes the sweat from his forehead, now there’s blood on his face too. His blood.
Law looks at Doflamingo’s chest, rising and falling evenly, then he lowers his gaze and looks at the heart beating steadily in his palm.
He could crush it.
Surely that would nullify the hours of strenuous work that it took him to save his life, but perhaps it would be for the best.
It would surely be for the best.
Law sighs, then shoves the heart into his pocket. He needs to find food, and new clothes for Doflamingo – which will be no easy feat since he can’t exactly leave the island with Doflamingo in that state.
Except he absolutely could, a little voice in his head reminds him.
He had no obligations whatsoever towards the man, he already did way more than what that wretched creature deserved.
Law sighs – again – then picks up his bag and makes his way out of the room, leaving the door ajar just in case.
In case of what he asks himself, but the answer is obvious – if Doflamingo were to call him, if he needed help when he wakes up. If he wakes up. Law shakes his head, he will wake up, Law is sure of it – and not because he’s particularly arrogant about his medical skills – but simply because cockroaches don’t die that easily.
Celestial Dragons don't die that easily.
It downs on Law that he might just be the only human doctor to have treated a Dragon. He had seemed pretty human to Law, although he must admit he’s not sure a human body would've survived that much damage.
Law also had a chance to observe him closely; one could be fooled into thinking Doflamingo relied on his strings during fights by the lack of visible scars, but Law knows better, although visibly too thin now, it’s clear his body was a thing shaped by battles.
And upon a closer look Law had noticed the scars too. He saw the internal damage dealt by his own blow from when they fought in Dressrosa – the blow that should've killed him – Doflamingo had managed to patch himself up back then, but it was sloppy work, and some tissue still looks damaged to this day. Then there was the one on his eye, Law allowed himself to inspect that one closely: it's an ugly thing, the skin just under the eye looks like it was burned off, there's a deep cut running through the eyelid, which is split at the edge; the eye underneath is cut too and the pupil is discoloured, surrounded by a beige hue – as though the iris was once brown.
Like Cora’s.
Then there’s the one on his side, almost under his armpit, it’s old but the scar tissue looks irritated – as though it was recently scratched.
Law was curious, but he had already overstepped his boundaries, and although Doflamingo would never know – nor he deserves any kind of reserve whatsoever – it felt unprofessional to poke around where his intervention wasn’t needed.
He sighs – deeply and for the umpteenth time that day – and sets to scouting the rest of the villa.
It doesn't look like anyone has ever truly lived in there, the rooms are all barren except for essential furniture, which leads Law to think it must've been a sort of base – a strategic point for whatever dealings Doflamingo once had in this area. The only pieces of furniture that seem to serve a purpose are the bookshelves: Law has spotted four of them so far and they were all filled with rows of books of all sorts. There is another bedroom, smaller than the one where Law left Doflamingo, but there is a bed, a closet and a desk – Law doesn't need more than that. He rummages through the closet, and to his relief he finds some old clothes that judging by the size must’ve belonged to Doflamingo; he lets out a sigh – one of relief this time: one less thing to worry about. He then checks the bathrooms and he’s relieved to find there’s at least running water, but not much else; the kitchen looks like it has never been used, yet it seems fully equipped. He checks the cabinets, hoping to find anything edible, but he comes up empty handed. Letting out a frustrated huff he heads back into the living area and considers his options: he could check the other houses in the village, but judging by their state it’s unlikely for him to find anything to eat there; he could venture into the forest, where he might find some fruit and even some small animal if he's lucky – or he could fall into an ambush.
He’s confident enough in his fighting skills and power, but, although unlikely given the number of corpses strewn around the otherwise deserted village, he doesn’t fancy an encounter with whoever reduced Doflamingo in that state. Law has grown stronger, but he’s not arrogant enough to bet he’d come out on top were he to fight Doflamingo alone today.
He shakes his head, it’s useless to sit still thinking about the what ifs, he needs to find food, and it'd be wise to do so before dark.
Law leaves the house taking only Kikoku with him, before turning to walk towards the forest he stops to get a better look at the mangled bodies lying on the paved path that runs through the small village. It’s clearly the work of Doflamingo’s deadly strings, but it’s way more brutal than anything Law has ever seen: Doflamingo has always been methodical, even when he made things messy, you could tell it was intentional – from the tiniest cut to the severed limbs everything was perfectly placed to create grotesque instalments. There was nothing calculated about this carnage, it looked like these men drove a wounded animal into a corner and weren't able to subdue it once it lashed out. They don’t look like marines, and they don’t seem to bear any symbol Law could recognize; mercenaries then. Which leaves him with the matter of finding out who might've sent them, but on the brighter side at least it’s unlikely anyone will come looking for them.
With a flick of his wrist, he amasses the corpses in a corner and as he finally turns his back to the small town, he makes a mental note to bring back something to both kindle a fire and cover up the stench of burning flesh.
The forest turns out to be smaller than what he expected, it takes him about two hours to cross it; once the vegetation starts to thin out, he spots a village perched at the edge of a cliff on the northern shore of the island. It’s small and the houses looks ruddier than the ones in the little town where he found Doflamingo, but they also look newer, as though they were built quite recently. It matters little, he just hopes he will find food and perhaps some spirits – God knows he needs a drink after the day he had.
Law approaches the gates of the village carefully and once he crosses them the people stop to look at him, they seem wary, but not yet hostile – he feels their eyes on him, and he’s not quite sure what they are trying to gauge.
“No!” Law whips around in the direction of the shout and he instinctively reaches for Kikoku’s hilt, but he halts his movement once he sees it’s only a child who’s pulled himself free form his mother’s grasp to approach him. “Are you an ally of Doflamingo?” The kid asks and Law is taken aback by such a direct and specific question.
“That tattoo on your chest, sir – isn't that his Jolly Roger?” The kid insists, once Law doesn’t provide him with an answer fast enough.
“I-” Law doesn’t particularly like the reminder of how similar his and Doflamingo’s symbols are, how much the man managed to influence the different aspects of his life – but that’s a thought for another time, now the pressing matter is understanding where he stands. Given Doflamingo’s record it would be safe to assume these folks hated him as much as the people of Dressrosa, but the lack of hostility in the kid’s demeanour makes him rethinks his options.
“I’m not his ally, but I’m here on his behalf at the moment.” It’s a gamble, and Law holds his breath for a moment, then the kid visibly relaxes – gone is the hesitance as he grabs Law’s hand and waves in the direction of his mother, “it’s fine, he’s with Doflamingo!”
Chatter erupts as a handful of people gathers around him to greet him, the kid’s mother apologises for her son’s brashness and Law assures her he took no offence.
The little circle that has formed around him opens to let an old woman pass through – the village chief Law assumes.
“You work for Doflamingo?” She asks, curt but not unkind.
Law considers his next words carefully, “no, I don’t. May I ask what kind of affiliation this village has with him?”
“Who wants to know?” She answers with another question and it dawns on Law that she – and her people – have more reasons to be wary of him than he of them. He’s a pirate and he’s armed while these folks look like anything but warriors.
“Someone who is trying to help him.” He eventually concedes through clenched teeth, as he himself has yet to make peace with that truth.
She looks at him for a moment, “come, walk with me.” She says before turning her back to him and walking towards what Law assumes to be the centre of the village.
Law hastily follows her, they walk past some shops and reach a sort of square where there’s a tiny but lively market, past that Law sees a tavern and more houses, only once they put some distance between them and the livelier side of town she begins to speak.
“If you came from the forest, you must’ve passed the town just by the edge of it.” She says and Law simply nods. “We don’t venture there anymore, but we used to live there. A little over ten years ago that town looked just like this village, up until the day yet another pirate ship landed on the shore and one Donquixote Doflamingo announced our small island now belonged to him.” Law scoffs and he has to refrain from rolling his eyes.
“As you might imagine we were not thrilled by the prospect, but we were also not stupid enough to think we could oppose him. For as long as I have memory pirates have come to our island and done as they pleased, some were not too bad, others did unspeakable things.” She looked at him pointedly, as though by merely being one he shared the blame of those who sacked this place. He doesn’t like it; he’s about to tell her just that, but she resumes her story before he could speak.
“I thought Doflamingo was just another of those pirates, and hoped he would be of the former kind rather than the latter. He was neither: he turned the village into a small town, made our houses nicer and our people richer, he built himself a house – more of a villa actually. A fancy thing that looked entirely out of place.” She shakes her head and Law mentally agrees with her, that house is an eyesore – the indoor isn’t too bad though. He’s so caught up in thoughts that he doesn’t realise she’s started talking again. “-He didn’t come here often, and I never truly understood what his dealings here were, but he assured me that so long as we didn’t speak nor ask, our town would be under his protection. I was sceptical at first, obviously, but as months turned into years and no more pirates showed up to wreak havoc, distrust and resentment inevitably turned into gratitude.”
Law has a hard time associating Doflamingo with the concept of gratitude unless there was deception involved. She seems to see where his train of thoughts was heading and stops him before he can voice his doubts.
“When Doflamingo was taken down, I read of what he did to the people of Dressrosa, but despicable as that was, I have my people to think of – after his fall the marines came, whatever they were looking for they didn’t find it, but they still chased us from our homes, arrested anyone who dared oppose them as though they were pirates.” The distaste is clear in her voice now, “I thought it would be safer to move away from the shore, and now here we are.”
“So, you know Doflamingo is a monster, but you would still want him to regain his power even knowing what he did in Dressrosa?” Law asks, before he can stop himself.
She chuckles humourlessly, “heroes and monsters, ever wondered how the world can be so full of both?”
Law tilts his head, waiting for her to continue.
“If we are to believe children's tales, heroes always win and justice always prevails in the end, on the other hand, if we look at the world as it is, we might be led to think monsters come out victorious most of the time and as of Lady Justice – that she has made herself scarce in the four blues. But the truth is that every hero is a monster in someone else’s story: Doflamingo was our protector – a hero come to save us from the violence of pirates, while on Dressrosa he incarnated that very same violence. The ones who defeated him were hailed as heroes by the Dressrosan folks, yet to us they might as well have been executioners.” She pauses for a moment before looking at him straight in the eyes, “Answer my question: if you consider him a monster, why do you bear his symbol on your chest, boy?”
“It’s not his symbol, it’s mine.” Law’s answer is curt and he almost wants to apologise, almost.
“It’s terribly similar then,” she continues, “you must be close to him…”
Law almost laughs out loud, “well, I guess that’d be one way to put it.” He concedes, because it is true – he hates it, but he can’t deny it.
She gives him a small smile, and Law tries very hard not to feel patronised – not to be petty just because she struck a nerve. “Whatever you may need just ask, everyone will be eager to help.” She says finally, patting him on the shoulder and gesturing towards the market they just passed before walking away without another word.
Law looks at her, unsure how to feel about the conversation he just had – aside from weirded out, that is.
Never had he entertained the possibility that someone might be grateful to Doflamingo for something he did, but it must be solely because these people were unaware of how Doflamingo must’ve been using them.
He gives one last look at the retreating figure of the village chief before walking back towards the town market, he has more pressing matters to think of, like getting food for starters.
Law re-emerges from the small forest several hours after dark, carrying bags of food and other basic necessities the house lacked. He had a hard time convincing the town people he didn’t need a place to sleep – that he was just stopping by, but they gifted him several bottles of liquors as a farewell, so he can’t really complain. He realises just how exhausted he is only when he reaches the threshold. He leaves everything on the table by the entrance, he would stock the kitchen in the morning; right now, he’s both physically and mentally drained and he desperately needs to sleep. He drags himself upstairs and when he walks past Doflamingo’s room he pushes the door open to make sure he hasn’t moved; when he finally reaches his room, he practically throws himself face down on the bed and falls asleep almost immediately.