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Summary: After an argument with Abigail, John goes into town to drink his worries away. As always you follow, and as always there's trouble - seems like you bring it with you wherever you go.
Warnings: Canon-typical alcohol/tobacco abuse, canon-typical violence, bar fight, blood, jealousy, toxic relationship(s), a singular French man, mild angst, pining, sexual tension ;)
Word count: 2,203
A/N: Just a chapter or two to go until we hit the official RDR2 timeline!!! This has been some time coming, and I just have to say a huuuuuge thank you to the people who read/comment on this story <333 ghost story is very near and dear to me, and sharing it with you all has been such a joy!! Here’s to many more chapters, and an eventual spark that turns this slow burn into a wildfire 🥵❤️🔥
Series masterlist • AO3
—
John and Abigail are fighting. Again.
Leaned up against the pole of your tent, you take a long drag from your cigarette that does nothing to dull the headache forming behind your left eye socket. Every word they shout is a stabbing pain. You don’t know what the argument is about, this time, but at a guess it’s John’s failure as a father. Or perhaps Abigail’s incessant nagging. Or, more likely, two stubborn fools fighting tooth and nail not over a son, but over who’s right and who’s wrong and a years old hurt.
Maybe that mattered once upon a time, but the way they carry on now isn’t right for anyone.
The whole of camp is sick and tired of the never-ending arguments that last all day, and the too-loud fucking that lasts all night. It never seems to satisfy them, either, because come morning the fighting starts all over again. Not for the first time, you think about moving your tent to the other side of camp. Even bunking next to Dutch’s new best friend, Micah, would be an improvement.
“Leave me be, woman! Can’t you see I want nothin’ to do with either of you right now?” John shouts in her face.
“Fine!” Abigail fires back. “Swan off with Ghost like you ain’t got a family here! That’s what you always do anyhow.”
“Maybe I will!”
“Useless man,” she seethes.
She sends you a withering glare as she marches away, Jack in tow. You smile thinly in return. No doubt she’s headed to vent to Arthur, and then ask him with those pretty blue eyes to do something fun to take the boy’s mind off things. Then, once John has come back, they’ll argue over that, too.
John shakes his head and curls his lip in disgust, but does exactly as Abigail predicts. He storms past your tent with a come on, we’re leavin’, then keeps stomping on to where his mare is picketed. He never looks back to see if you follow.
You do.
—
These past few years have gone by in a blur, like those moving pictures Arthur told you about once. Hosea’s health has waxed and waned. Familiar faces left. New ones came. Jack is really starting to grow up, and Abigail has blossomed into motherhood in spite of John, who in between arguments has re-devoted himself to gunslinging. To Dutch. He watches over him with pride glistening in those dark eyes of his - a father figure and a moral compass and a leader all at once. Arthur is green with envy and red with an angry sort of shame. You’re just happy that unlike those two, whatever rift once existed between you and John has long since healed.
And now here you all are in Blackwater.
To hear Dutch and Hosea tell it, this now-bustling town verging on citydom was little more than a trading post the last time they passed through. Following the two murders everyone is charitable enough not to mention, the long arm of the law has chased you relentlessly. A failed venture up North led you here, further East than anyone has been in what feels like a lifetime.
You’re trying to see it as a fresh start.
John seems like he’s trying to go back in time.
The ride into town has given him a chance to cool down some, but he still carries a tension and a meanness in those broad shoulders of his. Riding just behind, you take a rare moment to admire him. He’s been growing his hair out. It sits lank just past his shoulder, and as much as it needs a wash you think the length suits him. It frames the sharp angles of his face that even the low brim of his hat can’t hide and emphasizes the lean, untamed power of his frame.
The two of you are wilderness and war, survival and spite. Restless remnants of time gone by. Ghosts, you think wryly to yourself.
Blackwater is just the opposite. Each building is young and alive, cut brick and fresh paint. Wooden scaffolding reveals the newborn bones of structures still being built by construction workers that toil proudly for a city made in their image. Passersby are dressed in clothes that make up for fineness in newness and brightly colored dye. Some of the ladies even have delicate parasols to shield their skin from the prairie sun’s harshness. You spy your own sun-weathered face in the expensive glass saloon-front and manage to suppress a sigh.
John parks his mare at one of the hitching posts there. You follow suit, not at all surprised at where you’ve landed. You, Arthur, and Hosea came to ‘test out the drinks’ your first week here. They’re good. Expensive, but good. The two of them have been scheming away about some mysterious lead they won’t let you in on. Meanwhile, Micah has bent Dutch’s ear about a river boat. You’re still sniffing out leads of your own, and figure the bar will be as good a place as any to start. It just happens John will be drinking his problems away beside you.
“Two whiskeys,” he says to the bartender without preamble. He slaps just enough change down on the counter and takes a seat, oblivious to the glares of customers he’s interrupted. You settle in beside him with a poorly-concealed grin.
“What if I wanted a beer?”
He rolls his eyes. “You don’t.”
You hold up your hands in mock surrender. “At least let me get the next round.”
At that he clinks his glass to yours and taps it on the bartop before swallowing his drink down with a grimace. You elect to nurse yours, already prepared for a long night.
He quickly outpaces you. While John oscillates between pouring his heart out to whatever working girl is nearest and playing increasingly worse hands in the ongoing blackjack game, you begin smalltalking. One of the off-duty construction workers piques your interest. He’s a burly, hairy, mountain of a man who introduces himself as Pierre with an accent you can only place as foreign.
“You speak real good English,” you blurt without thinking. “Where are you from?”
He laughs, a deep sound that comes from his belly. “I have been told I speak English very well, yes. I am from France.”
“Awful long boat ride to break your back layin’ brick.”
“Perhaps so, but I like the work. It keeps my mind and my hands busy. Surely you know something of this, Cowpoke?”
You snort a laugh in agreement and try to ignore the heat that rises in your cheeks at the nickname. It sounds… nice, when he says it. A little romantic, like you’re some lone figure on the American frontier and not a liar, a killer, and a thief.
Mischief and delight dance in the dark brown of his eyes when he catches your fluster. “Let me buy you a drink, hm? Then maybe I will tell you about France, and you will tell me about America.”
—
You’re the warm, happy kind of drunk by the time the sun starts setting. Pierre is kind, and funny, and his stories of France paint such a vivid picture in your mind. You’ve traveled plenty, sure, but never across oceans. It sounds equal parts exhilarating and frightening. He tells you about laying strong foundations, and you tell him about breaking young horses. He explains what to look for in a fine building, and you tell him how to buy decent horseflesh. It’s fun. Freeing, even, to speak to someone outside of the gang like this. Of course he mentions a wealthy old landowner outside of town too paranoid to keep his money at the bank, and of course you’ll rob the place later, but he shares this not to screw someone else over, but because the construction of the old house fascinates him. Because he wants to share that passion with you. Because, you remind yourself, he doesn’t know you are what you are.
He tells a joke - something about construction, you think. It’s hard to tell because he leans in and places a hand on your arm and your mind suddenly goes blank. His eyes smile with him, just as strong and warm as the rest of him. You smile back. Then in the blink of an eye there’s a shout, and before you realize what’s happened Pierre is cradling his bleeding nose after someone lands a vicious right hook.
“You keep your hands to yourself, partner.”
“What the hell, Marston?!” you say, scrambling back from the commotion. But it’s no use; John can’t see past the blood red of his tunnel vision.
To your great dismay, Pierre rises to his challenge. He flashes you a look - apologetic or resigned or disappointed, it’s hard to say - before standing to face off with your idiot best friend, piss drunk and fighting mad. He’s easily twice his size, but what John Marston lacks in muscle he makes up for in meanness. When Pierre swings high, he dives low and takes him out at the legs. And so the mountain topples. Straddled on his chest, John beats and beats and beats on Pierre’s face, until finally the larger man throws him off and comes to an unsteady stand. His face is pulpy. His eyes shine bright with anger and dark with understanding the kinds of company you keep. The bloodthirsty crowd that’s gathered jeer and laugh. They catch John on the fringe and push him back into the fight. Standing opposite, Pierre spits blood in his direction before putting his fists up once more.
The bartender is still shouting for them to stop.
You’re just frozen, watching John defend the honor you don’t possess against a man who probably has more than the whole gang combined.
When their fists collide once again, crowd-goers start passing crumpled bills and calling out bets. Twenty on the skinny one, and I’ve got thirty for Frenchy, and let’s see forty for the cowboy! Even they can see John has more fight in him, no matter how many times Pierre clobbers him with a powerful left hook the idiot can’t seem to block.
Fools. Goddamn blood-blind fools, both of them.
John gets full-body thrown against the bar, all sprawled limbs and wind-knocked-out-of-him. He wheezes an insult, goading Pierre closer. Only you can see the writing on the wall, but the cry of warning comes too late; The moment he closes the distance, John whips a bottle out from behind the bar and breaks it over Pierre’s head. He comes crashing down, over two hundred pounds of dead weight lost to the crunch of broken glass and police whistles.
The moment the lawmen burst through the front doors is the moment you finally unfreeze. You rush over to where John stands lording over his fallen opponent and all but tackle him through the back door.
“What the hell were you thinking?” you hiss at him as you dodge through backalleys and behind buildings. “I was working a lead - He was buying my drinks for Christsakes!”
“Shut up,” he snaps, then tugs your arm and pushes your back to scratchy alley brick with a hand over your mouth.
He crowds close, and you seriously contemplate kicking him in the balls or biting him - maybe both - when three officers run past, clearly hunting for you. His dark leather coat blends with the unlit alleyway, but still you don’t dare move a muscle. The two of you hold your collective breath until the sound of their footsteps fade.
John removes his hand from your mouth, but it doesn’t go far. Rather than retreating, he cups your cheek and lets his thumb brush against your lower lip.
“He was touching you,” he says, half defense and half confession.
Somehow you find your voice. “What if I wanted him to?”
“You didn’t.” Alcohol and iron sit heavy on his breath. His grey eyes are blown black, drunk and something else you’re too scared to name. It’s hard to breathe. You wish it wasn’t.
“What do I want, then?”
He tilts his face forward, so the bridge of his nose brushes against yours. Your eyelashes kiss his cheekbones. You can feel how wide your own eyes have blown, can feel the want and the warmth and the desperate, pathetic hope that builds in your chest and threatens to bubble out of your mouth.
“Someone who ain’t afraid of ghosts.” He doesn’t speak so much as breathe the words into you.
You open your mouth - to respond, to kiss him, maybe - but before you can say another word the sound of heavy footfall at the opposite end of the alley snaps both of your heads to attention at breakneck speed.
“There they are!” a voice shouts, and a whistle blows shortly afterward.
“Fuck!” John curses. “Shit.”
The two of you sprint off into the night, to the edge of town where you whistle desperately for your mounts to follow. Two ungraceful running mounts later you’re off, shaking the police tail with ease on moonlit backroads.
Once the danger has passed you let your heart break to the sound of hoofbeats that lead home.
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Sugimoto getting emotionally attached to a bear cub is only one of many things that made me fall hard and fast for him early in the series. also the fact that 10 chapters in and he already knows so well about Asirpa's passion for citatap and that'll also become a passion of his
Yep, another Crocodile learns that he's Luffy's mother fic because why not? Also, I'm making him the Snake Princess before Hancock because I'm already in Crocomom hell so why not pile on more to it, right? Expect a reunion with Dragon as Crocodile goes on a journey for the truth and eventually finds peace.
Despite most of the children being young and small, Crocodile struggles to hold three of them in his arms. A new shock of pain shoots down his spine with every step. The wound in his right shoulder from where the Celestial had stunned him is still fresh with no signs of healing. Eventually the children’s weight becomes too much, and he must let two down and force them to run on their own. The last one he holds tight in his arms. It’s the boy who had rested his head in Crocodile’s palms. He holds the boy tighter, placing a hand to the back of his head as the boy’s thin arms wrap around his neck. His tiny bony body shivers from the cold rain. Crocodile wishes he had kept Doflamingo’s coat. He can hardly believe that happened only earlier today. Sitting in that restaurant with him and his pirate crew feels like decades ago now.
It wasn’t too hard to sneak the kids past the marines. Most are frantic as several of their ships struggle to stay afloat. It must be the aftermath of Dragon’s fight. When they are finally running through the empty streets, its then that Crocodile realizes that he has no idea where they are going. He thinks of the Kuja Pirates still hidden away somewhere in the city. He could take them there. He glances around, trying to make out the names of streets, hoping he could get his bearings enough to find the way back to the hotel they had planned on staying at.
They turn a corner as the rain finally starts to let up. Crocodile runs a hand over his head to smooth his soppy wet hair. A few of the children cough and wheeze, their weak bodies are not used to running in the cold rain. He realizes that most don’t even wear shoes. He forces himself to focus on the matter at hand. Get them to safety and then get them proper clothes and food. They take another turn before Crocodile comes to a sudden stop. A few of the children bend over with their hands on their knees, trying desperately to catch their breath. Crocodile’s gaze is stuck on the large man blocking their path as his marine coat billows in the wind.
Garp.
The Vice Admiral slowly approaches him and his group of terrified children. Crocodile holds a hand out, trying to corral them behind him. Garp stops a few feet away, his eyes staring down at the kids before meeting Crocodile’s eyes.
“I can save you or I can save the children. Pick one.” His voice is sharp and low. His light natured behavior gone.
Crocodile stiffens, lets the words register before snapping, “The kids of course, you sick fuck!”
Garp’s face doesn’t change for a moment before cracking a smile with his head tilted down.
“Good. I was going to save the kids either way.” He slips a hand into his pocket, but his shoulders stay tensed. Crocodile frowns. What was that? A test? Crocodile doesn’t budge, keeping his hand protectively in front of the children.
“How do I know you won’t just turn them back over to the Celestial?” Crocodile narrows his eyes, not moving away from the children. Garp looks down at the wet cobble stones beneath his feet, shame spreading across his face.
“I’ll make sure they’ll get to Dragon and his people.” his voice is so quiet that Crocodile barely heard it. Crocodile swallows, glancing at the kids. They stare at him, their eyes silently pleading not to let him take them. They’ll never look at the Navy the same after this.
Crocodile turns back to Garp before he changes his mind and takes off with the kids himself. “So, what? You take the kids and then cart me off to jail?”
Garp stares at him with dark empty eyes, “No.”
Crocodile shifts, a chill racing up his spine, “Then… what?”
“I take the kids and leave. I report them as missing. Nothing else.” He pauses but doesn’t look away. “An order was sent out, overruling all others. Sengoku has been personally assigned to capture you. Only you.”
The rain that had let up now slowly begins to trickle back down. It’s as if the wind has been knocked out of him.
He blinks, struggling to find the words, “Me? Why me?”
“You tell me.” Garp finally tears his eyes away. He steps towards the children. Their tiny hands grab at Crocodile in a frenzy, snapping him out of his daze. He turns, sees their wide teary eyes. They’re speaking all at once but it’s all the same. Don’t let him take us.
Crocodile kneels, drawing them in close and says, “Listen to me. This man is going to take you to someone named Dragon. He has no eyebrows and a grumpy face. If he tries to give you to anyone else, you run. Run like hell and look after each other.”
They’re still pleading for him to stay but if what Garp says is true then they would be safer away from him. The little boy in his arms clings to him even tighter, his tiny body still trembling but not from the cold. It takes everything for Crocodile to peel the child from his arms and hand him over to the giant girl. He looks into her eyes as an ache stretches across his chest. It’s not fair what’s happened to them. They don’t know who to trust and are more scared than a child should ever be. He thinks about running. Taking the children and making it to the Kuja pirates and going to Amazon Lily.
Then he thinks of Dragon. If Crocodile runs, then Sengoku will go after him instead. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the piece of paper Doflamingo had given him with his number on it. Crocodile stares at it. He blinks, swallowing a knot growing in his throat before crossing out the number and flipping it over to quickly scribble a note and folding it.
“You’re stronger than you think Be brave.” He wants to say more, give them some encouraging words that could sway them into feeling like they can take on the world, but he can’t. Instead, he stands and steps back, letting Garp stand in front of them. Crocodile hands the paper to him. “Give this to Dragon.”
Garp nods, taking the paper and slipping it into his coat. “Fine.”
He turns back towards the kids as Crocodile warns, “Hurt so much as a hair on their heads and I’ll kill you.”
Garp grins but says nothing else before leading the kids down a different street.
Crocodile stands alone, letting the cold rain wash over him. He’s trembling but not from the cold. Sengoku is coming. His heart pounds against his chest. When he had faced Garp he had felt excited. Part of him knew he wouldn’t die, that he’d find a way to get away before anything drastic happened. But this time it’s different. This time he’s not so sure. He places a hand on his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. His fingers slide up until they’re touching the cold metal of the collar still latched around his neck. He presses his lips together, his eyes closed as he musters the courage to do what he’s about to do.
He moves fast. This city is large, but it won’t be long before Sengoku is able to find him. He needs weapons, lots of them. He races down a street until he spots a group of marines standing around a small temporary base they’ve set up between an alley. Crocodile coats his arms in armament haki and attacks fast, taking them down before they’re able to fire a single shot. His hands shake while gathering as much explosives and guns as he can carry and even coming back for some heavier weapons.
If he even has a shot at surviving this, then he needs to control the battlefield. He’ll need every advantage he can get. He finds a wide street with mostly abandoned shops and decides this is as good a place as any and begins setting up. His eyes frantically scan over the buildings, trying to cultivate a plan of attack, a strategy that could mean life or death. When everything is in place, he pauses. It’s not enough.
He runs down a different street until he spots a firework store. He’s not sure how they’ll work in the rain, but they’ll have to do. He breaks the shop window and steps inside, his feet crunching on the broken glass as he fills his arms with as many fireworks as possible.
When he’s returned to the street and finished setting up the last firework, he steps back. His heartbeat pounds in his ears as he takes in his work. The wound in his shoulder aches from the constant moving and toting of heavy weapons but he ignores it. This is as good as its going to get. He slings a rifle over his shoulder and starts towards the tallest building at the end of the street. He kicks the door down and climbs the stairs until he’s reached the roof entrance. The once heavy rain has turned into a light drizzle as he steps out onto the ledge, taking in the city. The dark clouds hang low in the sky with thunder rolling overhead. Lightning is striking in the distance, illuminating the city in bright bursts. Even with the thunder and lightning, he can hear the marines tearing through the streets. He closes his eyes, taking slow controlled breaths.
When he finds a sense of calm, he opens his eyes and lifts his right hand and fires off the first flare.
It takes three flares before he spots Sengoku. He’s racing towards him at an unnatural speed. Crocodile lowers his arm and aims the last flare at him. It misses, of course but there was no harm in trying. Crocodile turns and starts down the stairs. When he steps out into the street, he pulls the rifle from his shoulder and waits.
Sengoku rounds the corner and Crocodile opens fire. Despite using a bow and arrow most of his life, he’s an excellent shot with a rifle. But that doesn’t mean much when up against someone like Sengoku. His movements are insanely fast. If he hadn’t spent his entire life honing his observation haki, his eyes wouldn’t have been able to keep up. When he fires off his last shot, he jumps back just before Sengoku can land a blow. His fist crushes the road where Crocodile had just been standing. Crocodile stands a few feet back, grinning as he tosses his empty rifle to the side and unholstering two pistols.
“Funny, just earlier today I was thinking about how much I’d like to beat you into the ground.” Sengoku stands, cracking his knuckles with narrowed eyes.
Crocodile smirks and lazily lifts his left pistol up against his shoulder, “Don’t try to be cute, Sengoku. With a face like that? Just doesn’t sit well.”
Sengoku’s face flushes and clenches his fists. Crocodile shoots first, moving before Sengoku can reach him. He’s moving back, never turning away from Sengoku. But he’s getting closer, his attacks getting harder and harder to dodge. Finally, Sengoku lands a punch, sending Crocodile flying back. He lands on his back, skidding into the dirt only worsening his wounded shoulder. Crocodile moves his jaw; glad it’s not broken while trying to get his head to stop spinning. The pain in his left cheek stings like a hot iron but it doesn’t stop him from propping himself up and grinning, blood staining his teeth. They’re between the flower shop and the boarded up café.
Sengoku stalks towards him. “I’m going to wipe that grin off your filthy face.”
Crocodile gives a laugh and pulls out a detonator. Sengoku’s eyes go wide but it’s too late. Crocodile hadn’t planned on getting caught in the blast, but beggars can’t be choosers. The two stores erupt in a beautiful explosion as debris and shrapnel spray in all directions. Crocodile shields his face with his arms while bracing himself for impact. He hisses when something sharp slices through his side. The back of his throat stings as he chokes on the dust in the air. When things have settled enough, he forces himself to move, coating his entire body in haki and takes this moment to attack. He ignores the screaming pain in his side and shoulder and lunges towards Sengoku, who is still trying to recover from the blast. Crocodile swings his leg, hitting Sengoku’s head.
Sengoku stumbles forward, his face pointing towards the road. Crocodile winces and jumps back with a hand pressed to his side. When he had struck Sengoku, it had sent an eruption of pain down the left side of his body. When he pulls his hand back, its coated in blood. He sucks in a pained breath and reapplies pressure, gritting his teeth to keep from moaning. A single line of blood drips down the side of Sengoku’s face as he lifts his head. His dark eyes are zeroed in on Crocodile. He grits his teeth and starts to move again but Sengoku delivers another blow.
“You’re only delaying the inevitable!” Sengoku yells as he slowly walks after him. Crocodile crashes through a store window. Shattered glass sticks into his right side and covers his face with deep cuts. He manages to push himself up, letting out a pain husky breath. His palms are left bloody from the glass beneath him. He stares down at his left leg where a large shard sticks out. Holding his breath, he pulls it out, struggling to swallow a scream. When he’s able to stand, he stumbles out of the broken window and falls against a crate. Beads of sweat roll down the side of his face as he pants, the pain making it hard to breathe. Then he notices what he’s hidden behind the crate and gets a burst of energy. He grits his teeth and swings a heavy rapid fire gun around, only pausing long enough to catch Sengoku’s expression before firing.
This time, Sengoku is the one running from his attacks. The bullets tear through everything, leaving a trail of destruction behind it. His trembling legs bulk beneath him as he struggles to keep himself and the gun up. The pain from his bleeding thigh and side is nauseating. When he squeezes the trigger again and hears a click, he lets the gun drop to the ground, nearly toppling over in the process. He leans on the crate one more time, taking slow pained breaths. He glances down the street where a potted fern sits.
Just make it past that. He tells himself. Just to that point.
Pushing himself from the crate, he limps further down the street. Sengoku steps out from the dust and debris practically unscathed by any of his attacks. Crocodile chokes out a laugh, but this time at himself. He knew winning this fight would be a long shot, but to lose this badly was nothing less than an insult. He grits his teeth, ignoring the tangy iron taste coating his tongue and keeps walking, leaving a trail of blood behind him. When his legs give out, he falls on his hands and knees, sweat dripping down his nose. He lifts his head and realizes that he can see the ocean from here. He spots a ship leaving the harbor with a dragon figurehead crawling down the sides of the bow. A smile spreads across his lips as he drops his head. Even though he’s never seen Dragon’s ship before, he knows.
They made it out.
“With all the arrogance you displayed earlier, I was expecting more of a fight.” Sengoku’s steps are getting closer. Crocodile digs into his pocket, wincing at every new surge of pain racing down his leg with every shift and fidget before he can pull his lighter out. Sengoku’s footsteps come to a stop just behind him. He flips it up and lights it before throwing it towards a fuse peeking out from behind the fern. He drops down, covering his head. He prays the fuse isn’t to wet to light just before the first firework shoots off hitting Sengoku in the chest.
The street lights up in a rainbow of color. Some shifted and fire in different directions, some shooting straight up into the air, but most are aimed directly at Sengoku. Crocodile knows this won’t kill him. But with luck he’ll be able to use it to get away. He musters the last of his strength and forces himself to his feet. A firework streams past grazing his shoulder. He ignores it and keeps moving. An explosion of light bursts to his side causing hot embers to spray into his face but he doesn’t stop moving. Sengoku is screaming something, but he can’t hear it over the whistling and crescendos of the fireworks. When he finally breaks through the line where he had lined the fireworks, he stops, panting for air. He coughs, his throat burns as if he had inhaled an ember. Even though the fireworks are still going off just behind him, the sound is muffled with a distinct ringing in both ears. When he lifts his head, he freezes. The Celestial Dragon from before stands further down the street, laughing and flailing his pistol. Crocodile notices smoke coming out of the weapon as if it had just been fired. Then he slowly lowers his eyes to his stomach and finds a red stain quickly growing. Hands are grabbing him before he can fully register that he’s just been shot.
He doesn’t remember being thrown. He doesn’t remember smashing through three buildings. He blinks up at a wooden ceiling as bricks and rubble fall around him. He coughs, feeling warm liquid spill over his lips.
“You’re determined, I’ll give you that.” Sengoku’s voice cuts through his haze. He stands over Crocodile, a smirk across his face.
“… won…” he has to shift so that his lungs can get enough air to speak.
“What was that?” Sengoku grins. Crocodile mumbles the words making Sengoku laugh. “Sorry, couldn’t quite catch that.”
Crocodile struggles to say it again so he waves for Sengoku to come closer. Sengoku frowns but steps over a pile of rubble and leans his ear down.
“I… said…” Crocodile wheezes just as Sengoku hears it.
Tick… tick… tick…
“I won.” Crocodile lunges forward wrapping his arms around Sengoku, pressing the explosive collar against both their necks. Sengoku lurches back, desperately trying to get Crocodile off him, but Crocodile refuses to let go. He wraps his legs around his waist and uses everything he has left to keep himself stuck to the admiral. Sengoku stumbles back out into the street while failing to pull Crocodile off.
Tick… tick… tick…
Sengoku begins punching at Crocodile’s head, ribs, and back. Crocodile bites down into his own arm when he hears the snap in his ribcage. Hot tears swell in his eyes as the rain begins to fall harder than ever. He’s never feared death before, but as he clings to Sengoku his mind begins to wander. He thinks of Amazon Lily. They’ll hold a funeral for him even if they don’t get his body back. But as he blinks away the tears, he knows that no one will mourn him. Instead, they will mourn the position that he held until it can be filled again. He thinks of his mother still sitting in his childhood home, staring out the balcony. He imagines them telling her that her only child was killed. He imagines her smoking her pipe as if nothing had happened. As if he had never existed. He lets out a strangled cry when Sengoku punches his head and warm sticky blood spills over his left eye. He digs his fingernails into his arms until he draws blood.
Tick… tick… tick…
Then, out of nowhere, a gust of wind blasts down the street causing Sengoku to stumble. Before he can get his footing, something moves so fast that Crocodile could only make out a blur. Suddenly, accompanied by the booming crash of thunder, a powerful force hits Sengoku so hard it causes Crocodile’s arms to break apart, letting him go. Sengoku’s body flies back into a building as Crocodile falls. It happens so fast that he doesn’t even register when he’s been caught in someone’s arms. His head spins when he feels himself being lowered gently to the ground. Blinking away the rain and tears, he stares up at a familiar face.
“Don’t move.” Dragon’s eyes are dark and focused. His hands are moving just below Crocodile’s vision, but he can’t bring himself to look away from his face. As if looking away might make him disappear. Then there is an explosion, and it takes a minute before Crocodile realizes it was from his collar. He blinks, lifting a hand to his throat and only finding tender flesh. He lifts his gaze back to Dragon.
“Why… didn’t you… leave? You… moron!” It takes everything just to speak. His words come out in wheezy pants as his lungs fail to fill with air. He wants to shake Dragon in frustration, but he can barely lift his hand to his shoulder. Dragon’s face is dark.
“Shut up!” The harshness in his tone makes Crocodile freeze. Then his expression softens before he pulls his cloak off and wraps it around Crocodile’s shoulders and pulls the hood over his head, protecting him from the rain. Dragon lifts a hand to his cheek, rubbing his thumb carefully across Crocodile’s scarred face. “You’re my friend. What other reason do I need?”
All at once, something shifts. As if the walls Crocodile has built over the years have melted away. Fat tears build in his eyes as Dragon’s callused hand radiates a warmth Crocodile has never felt before. He finds himself letting his face rest against his palm. He can’t bring himself to speak, this time due to a knot forming in his throat. He drops his head, not wanting to cry in front of him.
Dragon lowers his head and murmurs, “Just hold on a little longer. I’ll protect you.”
The warmth of his breath against Crocodile’s ear makes a chill run up his spine. Crocodile nods, unable to meet Dragon’s gaze. Heat spreads throughout his body and face as his heart begins to race. Does he have a fever? He’s never felt anything like this before. He manages to lift his hand to his chest feeling his heart pounding like a drum. When he’s able to bring himself to look at Dragon again, he pulls his hand away to stand. Crocodile has a sudden desire to pull his hand back and press it to his cheek as something stirs in his lower stomach. Dragon turns and stands at the center of the street, watching Sengoku climb out of the rubble.
“Dragon.” Sengoku narrows his eyes as he fully recovers from Dragon’s attack. Crocodile didn’t think it was possible, but his heart begins to beat even faster as an image of Dragon beaten and bloody flashes across his mind. He wants to tell Dragon to run, but even if he could speak it was unlikely that he would hear it over the wind. Dragon says nothing as he slowly rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. For some reason this sends another burst of heat through Crocodile’s body. Sengoku frowns deeper. “Do you really think you can beat me?”
“I have no intentions of fighting you, Admiral. Not today at least.” Dragon closes his eyes as the wind grows even stronger. Crocodile grabs onto his cloak, desperately trying to keep it from blowing away. He’s so worried about the cloak that he almost misses Sengoku struggling to keep himself from blowing back. But there’s nothing he can do. A small tornado forms behind Sengoku making it impossible to get away. One second the Admiral is there and the next… gone.
Dragon’s shoulders relax and as if on cue, so does the rain. The tornado disappears as Dragon turns and faces Crocodile, a warm smile spreading across his lips. Crocodile feels himself returning that smile. Until there is another gun shot. This time Crocodile feels the bullet pierce his skin. Dragon’s face twists into an expression of horror and rage as Crocodile struggles to let out a scream. Blood spills over his lips as he falls forward. He had forgotten about the Celestial Dragon.
A foot hits the side of Crocodile’s head as the Celestial’s voice screams, “You ruined everything! Do you know who I am? To you I am a god—”
Dragon punches the Celestial across the street. Crocodile watches as he lies motionless on the ground, no longer able to move. The Celestial’s nose is bent to the side as blood gushes out and down his chin. He’s clearly never taken a punch before and even in Crocodile’s near comatose state he takes some satisfaction at seeing the worm writhe in pain. He’s so wrapped up in his broken nose that he hasn’t even noticed his precious air bubble has popped.
“If you’re a god,” Dragon’s words come out in a low dangerous rumble. “Then that must make me a god killer.”
“What?” the Celestial pushes himself back in frantic movements, dirtying his pristine white robes. “Who—who are you?”
“Monkey D. Dragon.” Dragon stands over him, his fists clenched so tightly that a vein bulges in his forearms.
The Celestial’s eyes grow wide, “Did you say… D?”
That’s all the Celestial is able to say before Dragon strikes and Crocodile slips into unconsciousness.
When Crocodile wakes, bright beams of sunlight are washing over him. It takes a moment before he realizes he’s on the Kuja Pirate ship. He doesn’t move at first, even now his body is aching in tremendous pain. He starts with wiggling his toes. He winces. Bad idea. He tries his fingers and when no shooting pains spread up his arms, he goes a step further and lifts his left hand. His arm and fingers are bandaged but other than that, its fine. It takes more encouragement to inspect the rest of his body. His left leg is bandaged tightly with a tourniquet. His abdomen and right shoulder are bandaged as well, along with his right arm being stuck in a sling.
He forces himself up, biting back a cry of pain from his first gunshot wound. That damned Celestial. Then he remembers Dragon and heat floods his face. Is he okay? What happened to the Celestial? Did Sengoku come back? He needs to find out but before he can even attempt to maneuver off the bed, the door to his room swings open and one of his crew steps in. She carries a tray filled with clean bandages and ointments. When she sees Crocodile sitting up, she gasps and nearly drops the tray.
“Snake Princess! You’re awake!” she rushes to Crocodile’s side as he sighs and stares at the wall.
“It would seem so.” He shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position. There isn’t one.
“Snake Princess, please, you should be lying down. Your injuries were grave.” The woman tries to ease him back down, but he refuses.
“How did I get back to the ship?” he asks when the woman finally gives up on trying to get him to lie down. She sets the tray on the bedside table and frowns.
“It was horrible,” she begins preparing the bandages as she speaks. “This horrible looking man carried you through the city to us.”
“What? Dragon?” Crocodile stares directly at the woman for the first time. This makes her flinch.
“I… didn’t catch the man’s name.” she says, her fingers hesitating as they work. Crocodile opens his mouth to ask more when voices come from outside the room.
“… you are not welcome here. You must leave nyow!” Granny Nyon’s shrewd voice nags.
“And I told you that I’m not leaving until he wakes up.” a deep rough voice snaps back. Crocodile’s heart pounds against his sternum as it suddenly becomes hard to breathe.
Crocodile can stand it no longer. He begins to maneuver himself off the bed when the door to the room opens. He freezes as Dragon steps into the room. He stops, their eyes locking on to each other.
“You’re awake!” Dragon moves to his side, sitting on the edge of the bed. Crocodile’s face burns hot. His fever must have returned.
“You’re here…” Crocodile is breathless.
Dragon opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted when Granny Nyon bonks him on the head with her cane.
“He must leave!” she says, getting ready to bonk him again. Dragon rubs the top of his head, frowning at the old lady.
“Enough,” Crocodile’s voice is authoritative and makes both the woman and Granny Nyon take notice. “All of you, out.” And then much softer, “… Dragon can stay.”
Granny Nyon looks as if she has been turned to stone but is able to snap herself out of her shocked state. She eyes Dragon and Crocodile suspiciously before slowly following the other woman out of his chambers. When they are alone, Crocodile can hear his heartbeat in his ears.
Dragon turns to him, “How are you feeling?”
This makes Crocodile scoff, “Great. Planning on going for a jog later.”
Dragon grins as Crocodile’s stomach does a flip. Dragon leans on his knees, “You can’t scare me like that though.”
“What?” Crocodile arches a brow. Dragon digs into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. It’s the note Crocodile had written him.
“Take the children and leave. I will distract Sengoku long enough for you to get away. S.” Dragon reads before frowning at him, “You could have come with them. We could have gotten out of there together. You didn’t have to face Sengoku alone.”
. “Then he would have come after all of us. I couldn’t risk the kids getting captured again. Besides, he was only after me.” Crocodile’s fingers fidget with the edge of the bedsheet when Dragon gives a warm soft smile. Then Crocodile asks, “What happened to the kids?”
“My old man found me when I was on my way to find you. They had found one of my agents but apparently someone told them that they could only be given to a man with a grumpy face and no eyebrows,” he eyes Crocodile who holds in a laugh. “I took them back to my ship and had my people take them away. It’s the reason it took me so long to find you.”
“Then they’re safe.” Crocodile rests back against his pillows. “What will happen to them now?”
Dragon frowns down at his hands, “Those who were taken will be given back to their families. The fishmen and mermaids will be taken to fishman island. One of my men knows the queen there. She’ll make sure they’re taken care of. Unfortunately, most kids are sold into slavery by their parents. They’ll stay with us. We’ll give them a home until they’re old enough to go out on their own.”
Crocodile frowns at him, “You aren’t making child soldiers, are you?”
Dragon gives a laugh, “No, but if they do grow up and decide to join the cause then that’s their choice. I do plan on teaching them how to protect themselves if nothing else.”
Crocodile sighs. It could be much worse, and he doesn’t have any clear answer. They sit in silence for a moment, listening to the creaks and moans of the ship as it sways with the waves.
After a while, Crocodile speaks, “What happened to the Celestial Dragon? Did you kill him?”
There’s a pause before Dragon says, “Yes.”
Crocodile smiles. Good. Then he glances at Dragon and presses his lips together.
“Is it true that you carried me through the city?” he meets Dragon’s eyes.
“Yeah. What was I supposed to do? Wait for you to get up and walk yourself?” Dragon gives a lopsided grin. Crocodile stares down at his hand again, a strange ache fluttering in his chest.
“Thank… you…” it barely comes out as a whisper.
Dragon tilts his head. “What was that?”
Crocodile’s face burns as he struggles to say it again. “Thank… you…”
Dragon blinks, “What?”
“Thank you!” he says it too loud this time. He can’t bring himself to look at him.
Dragon laughs, “Never thought I would hear those words from you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the first and last time. Don’t get used to it.” Crocodile would have crossed his arms if he could.
The day went on. Sometimes Crocodile and Dragon would talk about the day and everything that had happened, and sometimes they would sit in a comfortable silence. They were both exhausted from the day and found themselves dozing off from time to time. Dragon would sleep with his head propped on his arms as he sat in a chair and leaned on the edge of the bed. Crocodile would get weird urges to touch his hair when he slept. Granny Nyon never strayed far. She wore a very suspicious expression every time she entered the room. Crocodile made her leave every time. Eventually it became nightfall. They had just had dinner. Crocodile could barely eat a mouthful while Dragon ate enough for ten men. Crocodile settled against the mattress, feeling the pain meds finally kick in. Dragon spread his arms out in a deep stretch before suddenly leaning over Crocodile. Crocodile freezes as Dragon’s scent washes over him. He smells of dirt, sweat, and the sea air and yet Crocodile somehow finds it intoxicating.
“There,” Dragon says when he sits back into his chair. He had leaned over Crocodile to open his window. Crocodile stares out at a night sky full of stars. Dragon leans his arms on the mattress and stares out. “I love to star gaze.”
“I never noticed them much before.” Crocodile mumbles, his head light, probably from the meds.
Dragon lets out a relaxed breath and tilts his head on his arms to stare at Crocodile. Then, for the first time, he says, “Come with me.”
Crocodile arches a brow, “What?”
“Come with me. Join the revolution.” He says, never dropping his relaxed smile.
Crocodile shifts slightly and shakes his head. “Get your head out of your ass.”
Dragon gives a soft laugh, “I’m serious. You could come with me.”
Crocodile thinks about it for a minute. Leaving with him and living as a revolutionist. He shakes his head again, “I don’t like taking orders from anyone.”
Dragon shrugs. “Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, find me.”
Crocodile says nothing else. They soon fall back into an easy silence and slowly fall asleep while gazing out at the stars.
