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One moment Kid is beside him on the deck of the Punk Victoria, the next he’s disappeared beneath the waves. Routine as clockwork, Killer dives in after him. It’s always the same old song and dance - Kid is more careless than he should be, and falling into the ocean is practically an occupational hazard for them. Killer has fished him out more times than he can count.
He slices cleanly through the waves, and reaches for the sinking form of his captain. He wraps an arm around Kid and turns to kick upwards when a heavy numbness spreads through his limbs. The weight of the water around him becomes crushing, and the breath is forced from his lungs. Despite his growing panic, he cannot struggle, cannot move at all.
Killer watches with fading vision as Kid slips from his grasp. Under his mask, his lips stretch into a wide grin, and a soundless laugh escapes him.
Ah, right, he thinks to himself, as they both sink like stones.
That fucking fruit. How funny.
***
It’s hilarious. It’s so fucking funny that he hacks out laughs between water and bile right there on the deck where Wire deposited him. He claws at the wood, mind blank, and laughs through the burn in his chest and shit, he can’t breathe, but that’s funny too, so he just keeps on fucking laughing and laughing and laughing until there is nothing left of him at all.
A hand closes around his wrist, and he jerks free instinctively. The shock of being touched is enough to jolt him back into some vague awareness of himself – to remind him that he exists, has a body. Dimly, he registers that he’s shaking. He takes a couple of heaving breaths, and his surroundings slowly swim into view.
Kid is kneeling in front of him. His brow is furrowed even more than usual, and his mouth is moving, but Killer cannot make out what he is saying. He’s dripping wet. They both are. Killer’s face is cold, and when he reaches up a hand to it he feels bare skin.
He hunches into himself, covering his mouth with his hand. Rasping giggles are still forcing their way out of his throat, and he makes a fruitless effort to curb it. He desperately looks around for his mask - he doesn’t like his face being seen at the best of times, and now —
Before he spirals into full panic, Kid wordlessly thrusts his mask into view. Killer hastily grabs it, and when his fingers fumble with the clasps, Kid quickly undoes them for him. He slides the mask on and secures it with a soothing click. Finally, he feels like he can breathe.
Killer sits there, shuddering. His jaw is tightly clenched to prevent the giggles that are still bubbling up from escaping, and he carefully schools his thoughts. He focuses on the feel of the wood of the deck beneath him, the chill of the breeze through his damp clothes, the soft pressure of his mask against face. Kid patiently sits there with him. At some point he must have shooed the rest of the crew away, because when Killer finally feels like he’s regained control, it’s just the two of them.
“You back with me?” Kid asks.
“Yeah,” Killer says.
***
The first time Killer had to save Kid’s sorry ass from drowning, Kid hadn’t even eaten his devil fruit yet.
That day, the heat had been unbearable - cloying and suffocating, the type to sap all energy. They knew better than to go scrounging around the scrapyard on days like these, when the reflection of the sun is blinding and the piles of metal are heated enough to distort the air.
Usually, they would find a patch of shade to pass out in, but instead Kid was pulling a reluctant Killer along behind him through the alleys. Back then, Kid’s head had barely reached Killer’s shoulders, and they’d both been scrawny and malnourished. Despite this, Kid’s grip was surprisingly strong as he dragged Killer to wherever the hell they were going.
Kid said that their destination was a surprise, and Killer grumpily replied that it better be a damn good one. To this, Kid clammed up, but Killer could tell he was dying to say more. He seemed determined to keep his secret, so Killer relented with a sigh and followed silently.
He grew increasingly worried as they tread further and further from their usual haunts, but he held his tongue. Kid looked like he knew where he was going, so Killer decided to trust him for just this once.
They’d emerged from the tight alleyways a while ago, and were heading towards the outskirts of the town. Soon, the piles of trash and debris dwindled away and they were picking their way through dry shrubbery and pointed rocks, Kid up ahead as Killer lagged behind, sweating furiously under the heat. They eventually reached a rocky outcrop, which Kid clambered over with reckless abandon.
“Come on!” he had called down impatiently, red hair haloed by the sunlight. “We’re almost there!”
Killer squinted up at him. He belatedly came to the realization that he’d probably follow this stupid idiot to the ends of the earth, if he asked. Maybe that thought should have concerned him. As it was, he simply accepted it and moved on, climbing up to join him.
By the time he reached the top, Kid had already skidded down the other side. Killer caught a glimpse of him disappearing around another large rock, and slid down after him with a curse. He rounded the corner, a complaint on his lips, but it died away as he took in the sight in front of him.
“Well?” Kid said smugly. “Worth it, right?”
The jagged rocks extended into the sea, curving out on either side and forming a sheltered pool. Gentle waves lapped at the shore, tumbling small stones and shells over each other. The water was shockingly clear – it was unmarred by the oil, litter, and foam that normally characterized their harbors. In other words, it looked like the perfect place to cool down.
“It’s okay.” Killer stated blandly, trying to disguise his awe. Kid didn’t need an even bigger ego, no matter how nice this place was. “Never knew this shithole island was hiding a place like this.”
Kid puffed up with pride anyways. He grinned and said, “Found it the other day. Never seen anyone else here - think I’m the only one who knows about it.”
He looked at Killer out of the corner of his eye. “And now you know about it, too. You’re welcome.”
Killer scoffed, and lunged to ruffle Kid’s hair. Kid dodged with a squawk, and sprinted towards the water, laughing. Killer couldn’t help but let out some quiet laughter of his own, watching Kid’s childish wonder as he splashed around. He hadn’t ever seen him so carefree before - the normal furrow between his brow smoothed out and his movements wide and careless.
Kid turned suddenly and flung a handful of water at Killer, startling him out of his thoughts. The look that must have been on his face sent Kid into hysterics, and Killer charged at him, intent on revenge.
They made their way further into the water, splashing and jabbing at each other. Kid pushed Killer roughly, and Killer shoved him back in retaliation. Kid stumbled backwards, laughing wildly.
It happened almost in slow motion. Kid took another step back, and for a split second, his eyes widened imperceptibly. He fell backwards into the waves, flailing wildly, and Killer (stupid, stupid, he could kick himself) watched on in amusement at Kid’s theatrics. Kid went under, and Killer waited for him to resurface.
He didn’t.
Finally, Killer realized that something was wrong. Without a second thought, he plunged in after Kid, forcing his eyes open despite the sting of salt. The seabed in front of him dropped away abruptly into much deeper water. He could make out Kid a couple of feet down, still thrashing uselessly.
He swam towards Kid and grabbed one of his flailing arms, pulling him towards the surface. Kid, in a panic, latched onto him, fingers clawing bloody stripes down his forearm. Killer wouldn’t notice the scratches until much later – his mind was blank aside from making sure that his hold on Kid was secure.
They resurfaced, coughing and sputtering. Killer dragged the two of them towards the shore and through the shallows. They collapsed on the beach, Killer heaving with exertion and Kid still clinging to him tightly. After collecting his breath, Killer whirled on Kid, his heart still hammering in his chest.
“Dumbass!” he yelled, grabbing Kid’s ear. “Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim?”
Kid glared up defiantly, mouth opening to retort, but something in Killer’s face caused him to falter. Instead, he jerked his head away and curled up into a tight ball, avoiding Killer’s gaze. After a long moment of silence, Kid finally spoke, mumbling something under his breath.
“What? Speak up.” Killer said. Kid huffed, still stoutly looking away.
“M’sorry,” Kid muttered, scowling. Killer whipped around to look at him, shocked. “ Oi , what’s that look for!?”
“You never apologize.” Killer said. Kid immediately turned bright red.
“Do too!” he argued, but deflated when Killer leveled him with an unimpressed look. “ Fine, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, okay? I promise.”
“Liar.” Killer said, flicking Kid’s forehead. He moved to sit next to him, sighing. “And what are you even promising, anyways? That you won’t ever go in water? That you’ll stop doing reckless shit? Give me a break.”
Kid scowled uncertainly, but kept quiet. Killer leaned back on his arms, considering. Kid had just apologized to him twice in short succession. That had never happened before — Kid was brash and headstrong and way too full of himself, which usually meant that he never really felt sorry about anything he did in the first place.
Almost drowning must have really scared him, Killer mused. He was finding it hard to hold on to his earlier anger, with Kid acting so uncharacteristically remorseful. He stood up abruptly, making a snap decision.
“Alright, let’s go.” Killer said. Yeah, he may have almost drowned like ten minutes ago, but there’s no time like the present and the sooner the better and all that crap.
Kid blinked up at him, clueless. “Go where?”
“You,” Killer said, walking back towards the water, “Are going to learn how not to drown. C’mon.”
He taught Kid how to swim that day. Hah! Now look at them.
***
He could laugh (does laugh) at the injustice of it, the fact that he has kept himself hidden for so long and now the parts of himself he hates the most are now at the forefront, exposed for everyone to see. It’s funny how he spent so long being the collected, level-headed one when now he falls apart so easily. That fruit has dismantled him completely, broken him down into disparate parts, and reassembled him all wrong. He feels misaligned – half the gears that make him work are jammed, screeching and grating against each other uselessly, while the rest are spinning endlessly into nothing.
Somehow, the fact that he can no longer swim feels like the final straw. It is one thing to acknowledge that fact in isolation, but it is another entirely to be confronted with it so directly.
Now, if Kid is drowning, he cannot save him. It’s a habit that has been so deeply ingrained into him over all the years and years of their partnership, to watch each other’s backs, to catch him if he falls. Now, if he tries to do as he always has, he’s just another liability.
Realistically, it shouldn’t be a big deal. They have enough people on their crew without devil fruits who can swim just fine. He trusts all of them implicitly; he knows that he can put his life in their hands, and has done so countless times before. That there is one less who can swim on their crew of over thirty - it’s almost inconsequential. It should be nothing.
It feels like the end of the world.
***
…And yet, life goes on.
The next time Kid goes overboard during a brief skirmish with the marines, he holds himself back from jumping after him, despite how his body screams at him to move. He diverts his focus to taking care of the remainder of the marines. He slices through them with whirring blades, and briefly gets lost in the violence and bloodshed. By the time he comes to, surrounded by bodies, Kid has already been hauled back onto the deck.
The second he locks eyes with Kid, he feels some of the tightness in his chest dissipate. Kid immediately makes his way towards him, stepping carelessly over the corpses that litter the floor. He stops in front of him and they take a moment to scrutinize each other. Kid looks bedraggled, his hair lying flat on his head and his coat dripping water onto the deck. Despite that, he’s standing straight, and he already seems to be shaking off the sluggishness that comes with being dunked in the sea. In other words, Kid is completely fine, so Killer should stop freaking out already.
He’s not sure what Kid sees when he looks at him. The mask usually renders him unreadable to most of the crew, but Kid’s known him long enough to read his body language. Even so, he hopes his captain can’t see how shaken he is.
Thankfully, Kid doesn’t bring up whatever he’s noticed. He reaches out and briefly clasps Killer’s shoulder, firm and grounding, then moves to stand at his side. Killer relaxes at the familiar feeling of Kid beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder.
Kid surveys the carnage around them. He grimaces and says, “So much fucking blood. Were you aiming for the arteries or something?”
“Fuck off.” Killer replies. Leave it to Kid to immediately be an asshole. At least he never changes. “As if this is even half as bad as any of your messes.”
“He ain’t wrong,” Heat calls out from the other side of the deck. Kid gapes at him, offended, and a couple of snickers break out among the crew. “An’ we’ve been due for a deep clean anyways.” The laughter abruptly ceases.
At this, Kid breaks out into a sinister grin. “Alright!” he bellows, “You heard him! Time for a deep clean!”
This is met by a sea of unenthusiastic faces and a couple of protests. After some loud back-and-forth, Kid gets them under order. The crew disperses to fetch cleaning supplies, murmuring complaints among themselves and cursing Heat’s name.
Killer watches the proceedings from the sidelines. He’d usually be helping Kid corral the crew, but he’s still a bit jittery. He doesn’t like that he lost control during the fight, and likes even less that he can’t recall whether he’d been laughing or not.
For what it’s worth, he’s grateful that Kid and the crew aren’t walking on eggshells around him. He thinks he’d lose it completely if Kid started treating him like he was something delicate and breakable.
( There is a nagging voice in the back of his head that says he is already broken, and it is foolish to pretend otherwise. He is made up of shattered, jagged pieces that only vaguely resemble the shape of a man.
Why not embrace it? Give in to the violence, bask in it, revel in it. Live for the thrill of the hunt, the sensation of splitting flesh, the warm wetness of blood in juxtaposition to the chill of the frigid air. Laugh yourself to sleep, because it is easier to pass out from exhaustion than it is to stop to think for even a second.
Claw at the wooden floors, watch blood flake from under your fingernails. Do what you’re told. Kill who you’re ordered to. Make it messy, make a spectacle, keep it quiet, let nobody know you were there. Sit, stay, roll over. Obey like a dog.
Do not think about who you are and why you are doing what you are. Do not think of the fear in their eyes before you end it. Do not think of the last time you saw him. Do not think of bright red hair and red-painted lips and the warmth of a hand in your own. Do not. Do not. DO NOT -
Fuck, Kid, please be alive, please let those bastards be keeping their promise, please pleasepleaseplease—)
But of course, Kid is standing right in front of him, barking out orders. Killer’s on the Punk Victoria , surrounded by the bustle of his crewmates, not in the dark, dusty alleys of the Flower Capital or Ringo’s cold, snow-covered hills. His Punishers are a comforting weight on his arms, and his face is covered by a mask instead of flimsy bandages.
He is no longer Kamazo the Manslayer, but he is still covered in blood. He was no stranger to bloodshed before, but now he cannot stand heavy metallic tang and the tackiness on his skin as it dries. He turns to head inside. He needs a shower.
***
Later, when the sun has set and the rest of the crew are snoring away, Killer emerges onto the small landing on the mouth of the Sea King skull that makes up the Victoria Punk ’s bow. He is unsurprised to see Kid already out here, standing close enough to the edge to be peppered by the spray.
Silently, he steps up to his side. Kid doesn’t acknowledge him, but Killer knows that he knows he’s there. It’s just one of those things; Kid watches the horizon, and Killer watches Kid. The light from the moon just barely illuminates Kid’s strong profile, the furrow permanently etched into his brow. Killer suddenly has the absurd urge to poke at it, prod until it’s smoothed away.
He doesn’t, but he’s still filled with a strange, melancholic energy. It seems like Kid’s in a similar mood, because when he finally talks, it’s to reminisce.
“Do you remember when you taught me how to swim?”
“Of course.”
How could he possibly forget? They’d been so carefree. So young. The years they were trapped on that godforsaken trash heap of an island aren’t something he usually likes thinking about, but that memory stands out as one of the few shining moments of his shitty childhood. Now they’re free, and neither of them can even float.
“Stop that,” Kid says. “You’re thinking too loud.”
“You don’t think at all.” Killer retorts automatically. Kid huffs. He’s probably rolling his eyes as well. What a child.
“Whatever! That’s not– that’s off topic.” Kid says. “Just let me get to what I wanted to say.”
Before Killer can reply, Kid steamrolls on. “I tried to make a promise to you that day. Because I couldn’t stand it. How you looked at me.”
“How I…?”
“You looked at me like… Like I was precious to you. Like you’d die if something happened to me. I never wanted to make you worry about me like that again.”
Oh. Well, that’s– Well. It’s true. Killer does not want to imagine a life without Kid in it; it’s inconceivable. As long as Eustass Kid is alive, Killer will be by his side. And when you get down to it, it’s pretty simple – if it were between his life or Kid’s, he’d choose Kid’s every time. At this point, it’s almost instinct. Muscle memory.
“Killer, listen to me. You’re precious to me like that too, alright? I can’t lose you.” There’s desperation in Kid’s voice now.
And Killer understands. Kid’s known him just as long as he’s known Kid. Of course Kid can see how much Killer hates what’s been done to him, what he was forced to become. Of course it pains Kid, just as Killer was pained when Kid lost his arm. And yet, despite all that…
“I can’t make any promises.” Killer says. “I’d do it all again. I’m sorry.” In the dark, he can’t see Kid’s expression, but he does hear the quiet hitch in his breath. It’s a long time before Kid replies.
“I know.” Kid says, eventually. He sounds defeated.
***
This, too, is muscle memory: Kid reaches out for him, and Killer grabs onto him and doesn’t let go.