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shallowoak · 5 days

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Little Words in the Small Hours

>> Or read on AO3 here! <<

Summary: Finding himself as Law’s guardian and father figure, Rosinante ponders the nature of parenthood through his own experiences. With thanks to @lunarforrest for proofreading! ❤️

Word Count: 6.9k Rating: Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante, Trafalgar D. Water Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Sengoku The Buddha, Donquixote Pirates (One Piece), others mentioned - Character

Additional Tags: Rosi-centric, rating is for themes and explicit language, descriptions of physical abuse, descriptions of childhood trauma, Canon-Typical Misery, Canon-Typical Violence, Pre-Canon, One Shot, Character Study, Introspection, spoilers for dressrosa, both Rosinante and Law are autistic, it was just going that way, Autistic Trafalgar D. Water Law, negative views on the military, though this is OP so I don't suppose you were willing to accept authority anyway, but just in case, headcanons galore, what can you do when your fav is taken away 5 mins after being introduced, yes I'm fine thanks for asking, yet another excuse to write a blonde man having a crisis, use of Den Dens as assistance animals, we love worldbuilding, Medical Inaccuracies, (X Drake drowning in the pool) this ain't about him

Through the gap in his cabin curtains, Rosinante watched as snow fell. Aboard passenger ship “The Mixer”, the gentle sway of their overnight crossing should’ve rocked them to sleep hours ago.

Swaddled together under his feathery coat, Law’s breathing was barely visible. Sat upright, one arm supported the small of Law’s back, the other gently petted his hair. Head limply resting against the cabin wall, the scratchy boat-issued blanket was used instead as a foot warmer for Rosi’s too-long legs. Staring unseeing into the dark, unable to find rest, Law clutched Rosi’s unwashed nightshirt as though it were a lifeline.

Not many moons ago, he would’ve craved a journey like this. No knots to tie, no Marine business, no family matters. Just quiet days for reading and long nights for chain smoking with a stranger. Enjoying the easy sounds of a cheap musician as the crew changed over. The liminal space of getting to know a ship, people, the bottom of a glass he knew he’d never see again.

Now, he despised that quiet. The pair could only hold one another as the boy’s laboured breathing filled the room. Quiet gave intrusive thoughts leverage, the pain and lethargy seeming worse at night. Free from the day’s rush of route planning, hospital visits and running, all they had to think about was reality. The increasingly rapid deterioration was more apparent as Law’s skin became less and less his own. The kid scratched it compulsively, wanting to be free of his discomfort, to somehow peel away the poisoned flesh and see himself underneath. He’d tried to teach Law to ground himself, to hold something comforting when he felt the need to itch. His little body had no extra energy to keep stitching up his arms.

An early night had turned into all night.

Nearing thirteen, most kids Law’s age would recoil at the idea of cuddling as the awkwardness of puberty set in. Too proud, too independent to need his love. On the surface, Law was certainly no different. He left a strong impression on everyone he met, unafraid to challenge the world and every blind adult who inhabited it. He’d sooner carve a hole through Rosi’s coat than admit he wanted to be underneath it.

The dark, the relentless cold, the long, fruitless search and endless hours of travel… These things had an effect. One that even Law was not immune to. As extraordinary as this kid was, he was still just a child. A child who had seen and been through things that would leave an adult scarred. A child who needed a gentle hand and comics as a reward for visiting the Doctor.

Over time, his beautiful brown skin had become ashen and cold, all the warm tones cruelly drawn away as the poisoning progressed. White spots-turned patches became increasingly prominent. All but impossible to ignore in the low light.

So, they did the only thing they could do. Wordlessly try to comfort one another, afraid to speak the truth. It did precious little to stop the long note in the back of Rosi’s mind filling him with dread.

Public transport and cosy overnight cabins were a luxury the pair could ill afford. Too traceable, far cheaper and easier to steal a vessel. Between being a Marine and a pirate, manning a small one single-handedly should be a cinch. Equally, it would be easier and safer to leave Law to die. For him to carry on undercover, to not cause a fuss. To let fate take her course and let Law succumb- or live his remaining years believing dying for Doflamingo was ‘love’.

As the deadline loomed, Rosinante’s heart grew fonder. Softer. Determined. It wasn’t justice nor kindness to leave Law to the wolves. It was unbearable to leave Law alone overnight while he manned a stolen boat.

He wouldn’t go down without kicking and screaming, even if he failed. If they couldn’t secure a cure, Law would pass peacefully by Rosi’s side, knowing he was loved. Safe from having to commit atrocities to live. If his brother got hold of Law, he’d sooner shoot the boy himself. He’d choose Law over himself in any situation.

The easiest option was rarely the right one. Rosinante tried to tell himself he deserved to sleep in a bed.

Until a year ago, Rosi had never imagined children in his cards. He’d never enjoyed being a kid, let alone seen the appeal of raising one. He’d never even entertained the idea of a girl -or boy- friend. Before all their strife; Law had been one of two. Rosi was one of two. He did not doubt that Doffy had fathered many more kids than he adopted. People chose to do this all the time. But it never crossed his mind that it was something for him.

A small part of him wished he had a better childhood, a normal one. A small part of him yearned to understand what kind of life Law had led before the disease ravaged his homeland. Maybe then he’d feel more ready for this. Others his age had tried to kill him, just as their parents encouraged. The brothers had been hunted down and punished for their father's and their community's sins rather than their individual actions. He only had Doffy for guidance, a boy brutalised by their ordeal and forced to turn to violence to cope.

They were both changed for the worse. What part of that experience was supposed to help him here? There was so much to fuck up with child development. So many ways to permanently damage a young psyche. So many of Doffy’s learned, twisted ideals he didn’t want anywhere near Law at the most impressionable time in his life. Rosinante hardly felt better. He didn’t feel as though he’d ever truly recovered from his childhood traumas, and now he was tasked with guiding Law through his own. Poor kid had already been through so much. Rosi couldn’t afford to lead him astray.

He’d known a few families in his life, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of any of them. There was a memory of his birth parents trying to provide Doffy and him with a real life. With more than what they had. To try to give Law more than what he had wasn’t saying much- yet still felt like a mountain to climb. Sengoku had made it look easy, taking in someone so young and vulnerable with only the simple job of raising them on the line.

As a child, he thought Sengoku was awesome. The shit, invincible. He was like a Dragon, rich and powerful with the world at his feet- but he got to blast bad guys, too. He got to go wherever, command whoever, have whatever. For all their birth parents wanted Rosi and Doffy to lead a normal life, he had fallen on his feet with Sengoku. After months of abuse, mouldy food, loss and sleepless nights in drafty shacks, he’d been comforted to find a familiar home with hot water and soft sheets. In the end, what he knew was luxury.

As an adult…? He wasn’t so naive as to think a family had to be nuclear to work. A family could be a single father and his adopted son. That was his normal; lived it. If he had his way, he’d be reliving it for many years to come. But nothing about his life with Sengoku was normal, really. An admiral for a father figure, almost twice Rosi’s current age when he’d chosen to adopt. He was wise and sound, and he had access to the most powerful support network in the world for anything he needed.

Except… Many of Rosi’s first months were spent not in his care- but in that of a hospital or visiting specialist. After that, he was often away on duty for weeks or months at a time. Even at home, he worked long hours, hardly seeing Rosi as he chipped away at his desk. With Sengoku, he’d been shielded from so much of the world he’d known on the streets. That had been nice at first, but he came to miss someone to play with, regular schooling, and unlimited family time. There was good reason why any sensible Marine took leave or retired to raise their family.

But one of the things he’d never wanted for was medical care. Having found a random child on the street, Sengoku had been wise in getting him checked out. The fleet of Navy Doctors had returned him billed with a long receipt of new diagnoses.

A catalogue of the extensive wounds from his clear history of abuse. Horrific, ugly, burned into the memory of the physicians who saw them. But easy enough to identify and begin to treat. Physiotherapy for his torn shoulder muscles, from where he had been strung up for hours on end. Careful reintroduction to food after malnutrition, a specialised diet to build mass and strength. Extensive grafting and liberal use of creams for his burns. Bedrest for his angry bruises and burst eardrums. He was littered with so many cuts, holes and scrapes that just needed respite and time to repair themselves. For months, he’d looked like a moth-eaten quilt while he recovered. Sengoku amused him, studying the diagram on how to wrap bandages on awkward areas of skin like he would a battle plan- hunched over his desk with his brows furrowed.

Then, there was the acceptance of the permanent hearing loss brought on by prolonged -close-range- exposure to gunfire and explosions. His left ear now heard nothing, whilst the right teetered in the 40-50% range. Therapists helped him learn to live with the difference but there was no cure for clumsiness, only fuelled by the new lack of balance.

He’d been offered something special, a then-experimental surgery. A surgery Vegapunk’s team had been fine-tuning for public use by implementing it in Marine hospital trials. An implant into his left cochlear would allow him some hearing back. A specially shaped Den Den Mushi earpiece would sit on the shell of his ear and act as a receiver and interpreter for sounds. The telepathic snails were billed to provide an overall clearer, more stable sound to the internal components -adapted from the telephone originals- than using electronics alone.

At the time, he’d been sick of surgery. The seemingly endless cycle of groggy pain, tubes, and check-ups. Being stuck inside, summer days wasted with their melding together. Adults looked at him with concern as they kept turning up shrapnel in his scans, time and again. Phrases like ‘implant’ and ‘clinical trial’ had been too much for him then, and he’d been quick to turn down any added grief. The Snail solution was also not a perfect one, as it needed rest and to be fed. It would be closer to working with a service dog, and he’d need to learn how to look after it. He wasn’t sure how to look after himself. No, the old wounds were enough.

Perhaps he would’ve taken it now, having felt the impact of hearing loss in his day-to-day life. Perhaps he’d been a stupid, rash kid. He’d often looked back on himself that way. Though if he had taken it… He couldn’t have cheesed the Marine health check. The external components were much too obvious for even Sengoku to be able to hide on his record. He never would’ve gone through basic or field training, never deployed to spy on his brother. Never would’ve come to meet Law. If he’d made the choice he’d always scorned himself for? His dad could still probably swing him a desk job for the Marines: pencil-pushing anti-scurvy fruit deliveries. Safe. Sonless.

On the mental side, there were long-term conditions to contend with. The aspects of Rosi that were harder to pin and even slower to treat. Hordes of unprocessed grief, paranoia, generalised anxiety, insomnia. It culminated with a healthy topping of PTSD. Rosi’s schedule of pills and appointments rivalled Sengoku’s business calendar for a time. Finally, the one that stumped his father the most. Autism. He’d always remember the look on his father’s face as they sat in that office.

In time, it would be something he’d come to learn he shared with Law, although the two experienced it differently. Rosinante’s own was sensory-biased, his social symptoms negligible before the abuse exasperated them. Noise, light and touch. All things he struggled with. Some days, he’d shriek in the bath, find the hospital too bright, or try to bolt when Sengoku hugged him. It had taken a monumental amount of trust and gentle convincing for the hair to be removed from over Rosi’s eyes. He’d resented the sharp, unfamiliar equipment, the feeling of little prickly hairs against his skin, and the prospect of more light hitting his eyes. Audio processing issues combined with hearing loss made calming explanations difficult to understand. Things often needed to be repeated and for a time, the world only grew more terrifying. Sengoku didn’t recommend him for undercover work because he was good with the sounds of battle or because he could process new information quickly. In battle, there was a real chance he’d be stabbed long before he noticed the wielder’s approach.

From what he could gather, Law’s experience was more socially skewed. He struggled to both display and understand emotions. He took things literally and spoke bluntly, the heart on his sleeve sometimes seeming unforgiving to the uninitiated. Law tended to fixate, tunnel visioned for months on end. He could tell you in (literally) nauseating detail about his favourite medical processes. Or his favourite writing techniques used in the comics he liked.

They both found change hard, their new circumstances confusing. Their lack of routine or stability, the constant new faces and towns, made Law antsy. As their journey continued, Law had less to say. Less patience to spare. As a self-conscious teen, Doctors often assumed Law was brought in to be referred for counselling- that he needed help accepting his Autism or ‘Vitiligo’. He probably did, but it was never the main issue. After a while, Law stopped correcting them and stopped speaking up. He let his dad run him through the motions.

It was hard for Rosinante, too, to see and understand that pain. Not being able to do anything to alleviate it. Forced to carry on with the only option they had. He was starting to resent himself for the quiet his power created. For taking Law into a place which made him uncomfortable. For feeling like he wouldn’t be enough.

Sengoku was neither detached nor the most gentle of hands. His job was to be confident and turn the neurotypical into soldiers. He represented the World Government and expected others to fall into line. But even when he wasn’t sure what to make of Rosinante’s behaviour, he’d always been enough. A warm hand to hold, a secure home, a steady job.

Despite his choosing to tackle Rosinante’s trauma response with navy indoctrination. Despite his belief that regardless of Rosinante's disposition- discipline and structure were sure to yield results. That in Sengoku's mind, it was business as usual.

Despite his numerous faults, Sengoku had been a good father to him. He diligently and often single-handedly took care of Rosi when he was around. Rosi had been a quiet, sensitive child, and Sengoku had always been firm enough to slowly push him out of his shell.

Once he’d been deemed old and fit enough, he’d been allowed to accompany his father on safer voyages. Time on the sea had been presented to him as part of his recovery, that it would be good for him to get fresh air and see some sights after being inside for so long. Whilst not untrue, both father and son knew it was cover so they could spend more time together.

His days as a glorified ship’s mascot had been a blast. He had no official job, but he spent his days soaking up information, experiences, and affection from his crew. He got to see his dad daily and get tucked in every night. They played board games in their quarters and identified sea mammals together. When the cannons were tested, Sengoku comforted and taught him how to protect his ears. And why Marines needed those loud sounds he was so afraid of. How they could be used to protect. They bonded, truly, as father and son.

The books and globes in the map room showed him the world, the navigation crew was only too happy to show off what they knew. Having only known sunny, moderate climates, places like deserts and tundras seemed like that of myth. Watching the cadets work by day, he got a good feel for terminology, knots and drills. During mealtimes, they'd chat about daily life back home and regale him with fanciful tales of mermaids and adventure. Being with them was the closest he got to normality his parents dreamed of.

Hanging around with his Dad gave him exclusive access, too, to explore the private areas of a ship without being summoned there for punishment. Eventually, he even learnt what it was that his Dad actually did.

He'd never thought of it as conditioning, but at 16, with a gentle push from dad, he’d signed up for basic training to join the crew full-time on the other end. And sure, he did turn out to be a decent Marine. He never fought back on Sengoku’s ideas. Eventually, they even put him in charge of others, which had always seemed like a mad decision to him. Being a Marine gave him something to do and a way to make his father happy. Being with Law now was the first time he’d ever carved his own path.

Rosinante still felt young in the only way he had left. Even after years of therapy, he felt no closer to true normalcy. Too much to reflect on, much more to learn- and precious little time. His kid couldn’t afford for him to be lost in his head, reeling from the past- wondering if Sengoku was any parent worth replicating. Wondering even if he could. Law needed his guidance, his support, and his answers now. Could Rosinante be trusted to provide a good life for Law- where professionals had failed him?

Thinking back, he was starting to feel that Sengoku had been this way, too. He’d loved Rosi unconditionally but hadn’t really known what to do with him. Nor had he the time to learn. For all his good intentions, it had been easiest to put Rosi into a box of his ideals and call the job done.

Bringing his mind back into the present, he held Law closer, resting his chin on the crown of the boy’s head. As if he wasn’t already too late to shield Law from anything.

Maybe enlistment was the only way Sengoku could think of to keep an eye on his vulnerable son. Maybe he was actually insane, thinking the military was any autistic person’s first career choice. His head spun listlessly. What the hell did either of them know about raising kids?

Shifting at the pressure, Law looked up at Rosinante.

“Toilet.”

Right. They’d been lying here awake for four or five hours now. He should probably go himself. Smiling gently, Rosi shifts the arm supporting his back to scoop up Law, his rear now resting on his arm. Law clings to him like Koala joey as they leave the cabin.

He thinks it sweet that Law still wants his security. That a kid so willing to kill still doesn’t want to walk an unfamiliar hall alone at night. He has to have hope that there’s still time to fix this. Law might not have his sea legs yet, but Rosi isn’t much better. Thank goodness it’s a calm night; he’d rather not go ass-over-hat with his kid in hand. That clumsiness never failed to amuse his fellow seamen. He traces along the wall with his free hand until they reach a small communal washroom.

The pair leave each other to their business, taking a stall each. He takes a longing look at the showers, knowing he’ll have to take a bath stool to fit under the shower head. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. He’d been putting off washing and using the laundry service so their clothes would stay clean for longer once they were back on dry land.

Eventually, the two finish washing up, and Rosi scoops Law back up to pad back to their room. Even if Law wanted to walk, Rosi couldn’t reach down far enough to hold his hand. Somehow, he feels more tired after having gotten up. He’s thankful every night that Law came into his life not needing to be fed at 3 am.

He lifts the feather coat left on the bed, gently depositing Law underneath it. The small lump on the mattress doesn’t move. Rosi stares blankly at the dozing lump before tucking it in and arranging the sucky boat blanket as a pillow on the floor. For such an underdeveloped kid, be sure does take up a lot of space. He doesn’t mind, though. He’d known this was coming; he’d been too tall for the standardised mattress from the start. Besides, Law had the rule of cute and couldn’t be moved.

Only as Rosi shifts to curl up on the floor does Law stir, shuffling the coat to stare at his dad. Rosi stares back. A little hand appears from under the fluff, patting the bed and making a grabbing motion. His whole body then scoots closer to the inside of the bed, up against the windowed wall.

How can he say no to that? He’s so proud of Law for considering him!

Feeling sufficiently sleepier, Rosi opts to lie down facing towards Law, his knees bent and feet hanging out of the covers. The position isn’t optimal but it makes Law happy. His arm finds Law’s hat and passes it to him before loosely resting on the coat in a gentle hug.

Like them, that hat had been through a lot. It was the one thing Law still carried from his home island. He used it as a plush toy at night and thumbed it during the day when he was nervous or needed to itch. Frayed patches in the brim were already starting to appear. If it wasn’t being held, he wore it as though he’d crumble without its presence.

When Law joined the family, they’d tried to prise it from him. Tried to burn it with the rest of his old, corpse-stained clothes. There was no way they’d ever been clean, healthy enough to wear again. He wouldn’t say exactly how many days he had hidden in the corpse pile, let alone how long ago they had been fresh on. The rest of his wardrobe had been replaced, and Giolla and Baby 5 loved the opportunity to start fresh and dress Law in the same fun patterns as their Corazon. But taking the hat crossed a line. Even for the eccentric family, that hat was disgusting. It still had old, caked in blood on it. It reeked of sweat, bile and death. Turns out Law liked the stench of death. That was what home smelt like.

Law had bitten Diamante several times for trying to take it, threatening to eat his fingers so that Doffy couldn’t sew them back on. Ultimately, Doffy had to oversee an ‘intervention-negotiation’ to sort the matter out. Gladius tried to convince him a replica could be made, as his own clothes often needed replacing. Pica suggested some form of resin encasement. Baby called him a rat boy. No dice. Eventually, they’d reached the compromise that Law could keep the hat after a thorough washing. Sugar was picked as most suitable for the care of materials, and her soul was bored by gold eyes during the entire process.

After the washing, Law wasn’t happy for days. Not until the hat smelled right again- if a little less like death this time. But much to Rosi’s horror, Doffy’s intervention on Law’s behalf had only strengthened their bond.

There was real irony in how Law and a surprising number of other kids liked Doflamingo so much. A man equally damaged by his past as Rosinante and Law, only his trauma had manifested itself in a far more dangerous way. The way Doflamingo dealt with his issues made self-destruction look preferable. It was endlessly worrying to Rosi that these strays found care and support from an adult, he would argue; was the worst he knew. That Doffy would radicalise these kids like Trebol and the others had done to him all those years ago. He could see that cycle beginning to continue and it horrified him.

In trying to appear ruthless, to protect them, there hadn’t been any room for bonding. Even for their safety, he couldn’t allow himself to slip. But being so close to Doffy did allow him to learn the patterns.

He'd never anticipated this many when he’d agreed with Sengoku to ward off kids and stop the crew from growing. For all his brother did underground, he was far from subtle with his daily persona. Dressed loud, laughed loud, dreamed and dealt loud. Where he went, people took notice. People got ideas.

Kids whose parents had chosen the pull of the tide over them. Brave, stupid kids who egged each other on to test their mettle talking to a real captain. Desperate mouths who needed feeding, thinking they could learn his underhanded methods. Those were the ones who were easy to scare off, to knock sense into.

It was the ones with nothing to lose and everything to gain that were dangerous. Doffy was drawn to the ones with strong ambitions and no inhibition. He had been that child. He knew how to exploit brave souls who ignored all the red flags for personal gain. Letting Rosi scare off the ones with sense was an effective screening method, cutting out a lot of legwork for Doffy. Anyone who stuck around after being beaten by the ‘half-giant brute’ was the most vulnerable. The easiest to manipulate.

Easy to manipulate… Diamante's harsh criticisms of Rosi being 'damaged' and 'unintelligent' rang through his mind.

Mariejois was a strange place. Eerie, dreamlike. Nightmarish. It stood perpetually in the witching hour of the Gods, within the veil of unreality. A confusing place. The inhabitants were supposedly the freest, most powerful, most important people in the world. But still, they had to conform. Rosinante and Doflamingo had been expected to dress the same way as their parents and attend the same functions from birth. They were expected to live outlandishly, frivolously, in the same manner as everybody else. Their personalities and futures had been decided from the start.

Their father had been cast out for his sensitivity, for thinking differently. For wanting differently. Ultimately, he had died for it. Doflamingo didn’t think differently. At first, he had wanted back in, more than anything, to ascend both figuratively and literally. Even for a choice the child didn’t make, Doffy’s bubble of conformity burst. Forever outcasted and angry, he was going to destroy them.

Even if Rosinante had never left, he would’ve never truly fit in. No matter how many years passed, there would be no closure as to whether his emotional sensitivity was natural or an effect of his abuse. Attuned over the years to look for imminent threats, the slightest changes. If his difficulty speaking -the ease with which he slipped into his role- was a product of being unsocialised as a child or through trauma. Could even his clumsiness be a mask? A learned behaviour to appear less threatening, less deserving of abuse? He was frequently described as aloof. Off-putting. People thought of him as abnormal, unhinged, and incomplete. Lacking in personal style. That was before he put on his undercover persona. He was still adjusting. He’d never stop adjusting.

It was neither here nor there. Being autistic was not the prescribed way to be a Dragon. There would be no understanding or adjustment. Not if the material of his clothes made his skin crawl. Not if the frequent parties burnt him out or tripped him into social faux pas. He’d be laughed out without ceremony, and for all the power his father didn’t hold, Rosi may have found himself as a servant or even a slave.

For what it was worth, those loyal to Doffy were supported and accommodated. He’d never let anyone talk shit about Pica’s voice or show discomfort around Trebol’s mucus. He happily facilitated Diamante’s weird need for both approval and bloodlust. The kids he took in were provided for and protected by their elders. Despite popular belief and countless reports, he’d defended Law’s right to exist without hesitation. With his countless connections and eye for cutting through bullshit, he’d learnt the truth and dispelled fear from the family. Just once, he’d used his powers for good. But it was useless to imagine his ways ever changing as he welcomed Law’s nihilistic ideals with open arms.

For what it was worth, Doffy had always defended Rosi. From when they were small and Rosi could do nothing to defend himself. To now, riddled with afflictions, real and fake, even if Doffy saw through them- he still accommodated all of them. He never assumed Rosi could do or be less. Didn’t assume Rosi wasn’t listening just because he couldn’t speak. Always checked in after a briefing, explaining things slowly and giving Rosi time to write. He kept the other members off his back and ensured he was comfortable.

It was easy to see why troubled kids liked him, really. To come from nothing and find sanctuary, understanding- and power. To not be dissuaded but enabled. To be pushed to new heights was to serve his needs. Most troubled adults still couldn’t see past his platitudes. But that was how he got people. He lured children, Law, further and further into this underground world of terror, from which they would never be able to escape. Doffy’s latest scheme, to groom Law to die for him as another cog in the Donquixote machine, was perhaps his most heartless yet. How little another Human life meant to him.

Manipulation had always been one of Doffy’s strong suits; he knew what buttons to push. Try as he might to mask it, he had not returned unscathed from their ordeal. It was an open secret among the family that their head was legally blind. He saw in tunnel vision, the dark surround of which flashed with half-processed light. Though his fashion sense was widely regarded as worse than Rosi’s own, the bright colours were easier for his eyes to detect. For a time before his Haki was fully developed, he used the parasite puppet to see his new members. Not accommodating other’s needs would be hypocritical of him.

Physical health aside, that plague-drenched rat of a man had been more apparently damaged in his psyche. He could no longer truly care for anyone except himself and would never be able to put another before him. The last time he had done so, he had lost his entire family. Never again would he be controlled or outplayed. Understanding his people was only a means to an end; allowing them to work harder for him. Making them believe they couldn’t live without him. Trust Doffy to put sanctuary seekers under his thumb. Those with issues were just easier to manipulate. They both knew that from experience.

He knew from the first utterance of ‘family’ that there was more to the dynamic than met the eye. He and Doffy were thankfully dissimilar in all the ways that mattered, but in the end, they both still value family. Doffy had always yearned for what he had lost, forever unable to escape the past fully- and what that companionship and validation meant.

It was foolish to expect it to be innocent. True, you could take the reading that ‘family’ was perhaps more fitting for a crew who largely did not sail. And yet. Whitebeard rather famously referred to his men as sons. Germa was publicly a royal family but presented itself as an army and force first. What his brother had was not a family. It was a collection of people who ate his lies and believed the hype. It was a crime den more akin to a cult than a family. A ring of false promises and safety in numbers, impossible to leave once entered.

In becoming a family, he’d tapped into something more akin to the mindset of Big Mom. With family came loyalty and expectation. It was much harder to betray a family member than a disembodied leader. Not that he’d have any experience with that. He had no doubt he was doing the right thing by running off with Law but ‘family’ always left niggling doubt. No matter how far they ran, the Marines and Donquixotes would always be his family. It would always hurt more to think he was disappointing Sengoku by running. To disappoint mother by harming another. That was a sick power only madmen like Doflamingo would think to wield.

For all those doubts and feelings of self-hatred, Rosi was proud of how far they’d gotten. So far, Law was safe. In another life, he’d take Law further. Keep him safe forever. Truthfully, he knew there was no way they could both survive this. Not for any extended length of time. Even if he cured Law, there was no way Doffy would let Rosi live to see it. He wouldn’t take kindly to his scapegoat being influenced by outside forces or his plans being ruined. Doffy was the type to hold grudges, even if he had to hunt them down for years to come. If Doffy couldn’t live forever, he would at least take Rosi’s years down with him.

But seeing Law peacefully asleep, he allowed himself a small moment to imagine their future- how he’d establish them. A timeline in which this accursed boat wasn't taking them to some dark, Arctic recess of the North Blue.

Naturally, they’d hide in the East Blue. Skip seas to be far away from the family’s eyes. With any luck, the fabled ‘safest sea’ would have a lessened military presence. He’d pick some relatively safe, nowhere island where they wouldn’t be recognised. This meant nowhere too noteworthy or prosperous, lest it attract the attention of pirates and Marines. They’d be poor but happy; nothing wrong with that. He’d known rock bottom before and it wouldn’t be that way again. He wasn't a Dragon now. He was safe, could hold a job and had military training. He could protect them.

Somewhere completely average for a perfectly normal family.

Requirements aside, he wasn’t looking for much from the island itself. All he really wanted was other kids for Law to learn and play with. His mind’s eye chased the fantasy. A quaint schoolhouse of just two classes. Well-used blackboards and slightly rocky seats, old names and jokes scratched into the desks. A quiet, undemanding school where all the parents and kids knew each other. Surrounded by friends and well-meaning adults. Seas, he hoped Law would be able to make some nice friends. How lovely would it be for him to be influenced by normal kids? Kids who hadn’t grown up like Rosi and Law had? Kids who shared games, got messy outside and would copy Law’s homework…

A library or bookshop would be nice, if not a formally organised school. Law had already come so far with self-study; he’s sure they could make a form of homeschooling work. By the time Law was old enough for medical college, they should be safe enough to move island.

His boy graduating. All grown up and helping others. Successful in keeping a heart full of love and compassion. A prodigy who would continue to research new methods of recovery. This fruit could change everything. How nice it must be to be a parent with normal ambitions. He’d love to be there for as long as Law would have him.

As for himself? Well, he’d need a new identity to start. He’d seen enough witness protection procedures to know that much. Easy. Just become someone new. Someone far removed from the records, the bounty posters, the divine descension. Trafalgar Rosi had a cute ring to it. Rosey. Rosy. Rossi. Rosie? Rosie. Then it would look different on paper, enough to deter anyone who didn't already know the name Trafalgar Law.

Of course, it was only practical to change his name if he were to be inconspicuous as Law's father. Father... the thought made him giddy. Maybe he'd finally try growing that beard Sengoku had always warned him off.

As for his career… hm. He’d need something very ordinary for that, too. After burning down so many hospitals, he could definitely have a future in demolition. The medical circle probably wouldn’t want to see his face as a nurse. But then, what peaceful village would have steady work for him? Equally, they were unlikely to need his skills as a trained gunman except as a game hunter in Autumn. There was always childcare; after the kids of the Donquixote Pirates, nothing these ragamuffins had could phase him.

He could set up a Den Den switchboard and direct calls. Plenty of islanders didn’t keep them due to the care and set-up costs weighed against the usage. A small fee to use one when needed was preferable to most. Communication was at the crux of his role as a spy, so he may as well lean into his training. Plus, he’d get to take care of lots of cute Snails. He could see himself whiling away an afternoon painting one or making up the accessories.

Maybe there would be some kind of neighbourhood watch or council? Then he could do all these odd jobs. Get involved with all the news- a good source of information and an easy aid for his sense of security. Sounded peaceful enough.

A peaceful life was all he really wanted. Having tasted freedom from The Family and Marines put things into perspective. Travelling with his son and making his own choices, it becomes harder to want to return to work. Risking his life was a thankless task, one he likely wouldn’t see the benefit of whilst he still drew breath. He’d be excited to be a homemaker. Get to know some people his age and settle into a community. Share fruit and books and make-up tips whilst their kids hang out. Feel his presence in a space. To truly matter to people.

If only they lived in a world where all they had to worry about was where to settle down or which school to send Law to. The worries everybody else had-

Rosinante wiped the growing tear from his eye, holding Law ever so slightly tighter. Enough.

There is nothing material he can guarantee. As with his own parents, there is no home to return to. No money, no power, no community. For better or worse, there is no one to fall back on but themselves. Like Sengoku, he cannot magically fix what is broken. He succeeds or Law dies. Like Doffy, he cannot force Law’s hand. It must be guided.

But. Equally.

Like his own parents, he can hope for a better future for his child. Like Sengoku, he can offer all that he can within his power. Even, like Doffy, he can open Law’s heart to the concept of family once again.

There is no guarantee that he’ll be able to undo the damage done, but there’s hope. Maybe, like Rosi, Law will always be recovering. Maybe that constant growth isn’t a bad thing.

The only promise he can make is that his love will never waver, that he will always try his fucking hardest for his son. With an open mind and heart to go forward in their relationship, with whatever time he has left.

For that, he can't be as bad as he thinks. Surely.

Increasingly tonight, he was getting the impression no one knew what they were doing. That all anyone could do was try not to repeat the mistakes of those before them. To treat each other as equals. They were both different to the others around them. But in that way, they understood each other. And through each other, they found the other was every bit as deserving of love as they were. Rosi would be happy if Law came out the other side of this with even an ounce of love and humanity left in his heart. He would’ve succeeded.

Being around Law brought out the best in Rosinante. Law gave Rosi the courage to follow his idea of justice and choose a path for himself. For Law, he would betray everyone he’d ever known. Start a new family. Law gave his life meaning and purpose and made him smile again. Around Law, Rosi knew no bounds.

Rosinante brought out the best in Law. Rosi gave Law energy and brought out the kid in him again. For Rosi, Law would smile and talk about his fixations for hours. Would show compassion and trust. He would give people, and life, a second chance. He’d hope- and dream of a future. Around Rosi, Law was happy.

Together, they were free.