Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Doflamingo"s brother came back to him, he was whipcord thin under cheap clothes (Doflamingo made a note to get Roci some outfits that suit his new position). He"d grown up to be almost as tall as Doflamingo, but all lean muscles and sharp, raw edges.

He didn"t talk. That was new-- for some value of the word. Roci wouldn"t tell him what took his voice away, let alone when, but Doflamingo could guess. He grinned, like an animal bares its teeth, and reassured Roci that his presence in Doflamingo"s crew wouldn"t be dependent on something as unnecessary as a voice.

Reassured him that if ever Roci wanted to share what happened, Doflamingo would go to any lengths to avenge any of his little brother"s hurts.

He clapped a hand on Roci"s back and felt him go tense, so abrupt it must be painful. Roci shrunk away from the touch. Under his palm, he could feel the vestiges of Roci"s severed wings flick desperately, in what might have been an attempt to fly away. He moved his hand higher, cupping the back of Roci"s neck and tracing circles with his thumb in apology.

It was all the proof he needed that this was his brother, not some devil fruit user trying to take advantage of Doflamingo"s memories.

Roci watched him with mistrustful red eyes. Maybe it was too much, too soon. But then Doflamingo felt the muscles of his neck slowly relax as Roci blinked at him, as enthralled by his big brother as he had been when they were kids. When Roci"s wings were still baby-down soft and Doflamingo was fledging, watching his flight feathers come in.

(Roci never got the chance to fly. Doflamingo didn"t know which of them should be jealous of the other.)

He watched his Executives watch Roci, and waited for one of them to say something untoward about the wings or the voice. They usually wouldn"t be foolish enough to imply that wings would determine a fighter"s capabilities, but he knew that they were all suspicious of Roci"s miraculous return. Doflamingo just had to show them that his little brother wasn"t going anywhere-- that Rocinante was worth more than the rest of them put together.

And he was already planning to send Vergo to infiltrate the Marines, leaving the Corazon position open. What a perfect opportunity.

Their father, damn him, had once had incredible wings, wide and proud. Rich brown with flecks of white at the tips. Raptor"s wings, for hunting and soaring.

He couldn"t remember his mother"s wings, save that they were grey. In his mind, they were the wings of a dove, but he understood himself enough to know that that might easily be an invention. Doflamingo"s wings had begun to grow in with that same brown as his father had when they"d lost everything.

The one good thing about losing his wings: Doflamingo would not have borne such a stark reminder of his father.

When he realized that Roci had brought literally nothing but the clothes on his back (perhaps because he owned nothing else), Doflamingo lent him one of the coats he didn"t wear anymore. On Roci, the sleeves were over-long, and yet he looked far too grateful. He shoved his hands in the deep pockets, as though searching for warmth, then paused. He pulled out a switchblade with a bold red handle that Doflamingo remembered had gone missing ages ago. He regarded it with a raised eyebrow, then held it out to Doflamingo on an open palm.

Doflamingo closed Roci"s hand around the knife. "Keep it," he said. "A gift, to protect yourself."

Both eyebrows raised now, Roci produced an old hunting knife in a beat-up sheath that he must have been hiding somewhere on his person.

Laughingly, Doflamingo said, "You can never have too many knives, little brother." Not that he used knives, except for when a certain aesthetic was demanded. If Roci carried a knife, though, that almost certainly meant he could use already use them. Good to know.

For all the Roci seemed to have kept his adoration of his older brother, he certainly wasn"t the sweet, gentle, harmless creature that Doflamingo remembered.

The mission was a test, and there was no secret made of it. Approaching the warehouse from the ground instead of the sky felt odd, but Roci seemed unbothered. Hell, Doflamingo caught him watching the Executives, out of their element and discomfited, with a faint, smug smirk, and felt a glint of pride at his brother"s confidence, his ability to use even the absence of wings as an advantage.

They stopped a street away from the warehouse. "Alright, Roci," Doflamingo said, "you know what you have to do. Kill the distributer, take the money, destroy the goods, don"t get caught."

Roci gave him a thumbs up and melted into the shadows.

"This is going to go badly," Diamante sniffed.

"It is a pretty intense mission for a test, Doffy," Trebol inserted nervously.

Pica and Vergo were both silent, awaiting Doflamingo"s judgement. Where they were held against his back, out of the way for walking, Vergo"s wings were ruffled.

Perching on top of an abandoned stack of pallets, Doflamingo grinned. "No one knows he"s with us yet," he pointed out. "If he fails, they"ll know someone"s after them, but not who. True, they might increase security, but that means nothing when their defenses are so weak to begin with. The more afraid they are, the more useless they"ll be. If he fails, the only thing we lose is a little time."

"Young Master, you"ve truly planned for everything!" Trebol blustered, beginning to sing his praises. Doflamingo tuned him out, watching in the direction of the warehouse.

Not twenty minutes later, there was a rumble, followed by the warehouse exploding, thick clouds of black smoke wafting out in plumes. A further series of explosions followed as volatile materials were set alight.

"Well, he"s dead," Diamante said. He sounded unbothered enough that that Doflamingo began planning a particularly miserable mission for him.

Before anyone else could agree-- or, better yet, tell Diamante to shut up-- there was a delicate knock on the wall behind them. They all spun around, Doflamingo ready to shred whoever had managed to sneak up on them.

It was Roci, watching them with distant amusement. There was a smear of blood across his cheek and his knuckles were split open. A bag hung over one shoulder and, in his free hand, he absent-mindedly tossed the red-handled switchblade, catching it without looking. He tossed the bag at Doflamingo"s feet. The Executives stared in undisguised disbelief. Roci ignored them, giving Doflamingo a perfect smile as the blood on his face dried. Without looking away from his brother"s eyes, Doflamingo kicked over the bag. Bundles of money tumbled out across the concrete.

"Hang on," said Vergo. "That"s a hell of a lot more money than they said they had."

"And the distributor?" Doflamingo said.

With an air of remarkable disinterest, Roci pulled a severed hand out of his pocket and held it up. The Executives looked horrified. Doflamingo grinned in delight and took the macabre present from Roci. "What a wonderful gift," he said brightly. "I think I"ll put it over the mantle."

There was a suppressed noise of protest from Trebol. Doflamingo continued to ignore him.

"Tell me, dear brother," he said, slinging an arm around Roci"s shoulders, "how did you manage to pull that off so quickly?"

Roci pulled a pen, bloodstained, out of his pocket and scrawled across the back of his hand. His penmanship hadn"t improved since he was little. He held out his hand to Doflamingo, who had to tilt his head to the side to read the note.

When an alarm goes off, everyone looks up.

Doflamingo laughed, and pulled Roci in the direction of their base. "Bring the money," he ordered, gesturing over his shoulder with the hand. "Tonight, we"re celebrating our newest member!"

If he hadn"t been holding on to Roci, who was shivering painfully and trying to strangle his sobs, Doflamingo would have been screaming. Not out of pain, or fear, just rage. Nothing but rage. His brother"s blood was sticky on his arms, rough bandages not enough to hold the wounds shut. Father had gone to get more medical supplies, but that had been-- how long? Hours ago? Time seemed to slip through Doflamingo"s fingers like water. Like blood.

He pet Roci"s hair with a shaking hand. His little brother was still a baby, practically, and Mother had told Doflamingo to take care of him. If he left him to tear everyone who"d ever dared touch them to shreds, then Roci would be alone. He couldn"t take care of himself.

A thin, plaintive wail broke out of Roci"s throat, before he buried his mouth in his hands. It was a high, shattered noise, of fear and pain and confusion. Doflamingo cupped the back of Roci"s neck, the blood on his hands staining his thin, pale hair.

"It"s okay," he tried to promise, hearing the rawness of his own voice, the sound left over after screams failed. "Father"s coming back. He"ll make everything okay again." The words tasted like lies. Doflamingo had a growing suspicion that all this was their Father"s fault. All this: the fires, the running, the hiding, Mother"s death, and now their wings--

Roci whimpered, the sound sliding into a whine as he leaned into Doflamingo. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. Trying to stay absolutely motionless hurt. There was no escape from the pain, and yet Roci was trying to find comfort in Doflamingo"s presence.

Or maybe he was just trying to make sure that Doflamingo"s heart was still beating.

There were footsteps, suddenly, coming closer, and Roci went silent, burying his face in Doflamingo"s shoulder. Doflamingo wrapped his arms around Roci"s, trying not to touch his wounds. If he had too- if they were looking for them-- could he use that power again? Take out whoever was attacking them and run with Roci?

He wasn"t even sure he could stand.

When their father stepped out of the trees, Doflamingo released the white-knuckled grip he"d had on Roci"s shirt.

"Boys," their father said, more exhaled than spoken, naked relief on his face. He sunk to the ground, a bag slipping off his shoulders. "I brought-- bandages. Needles and thread."

Stolen, probably. There had been a time when the world had been given to them. When if someone had even tried to injure them, they"d be utterly destroyed. And now here they were, reduced to stealing bandages. Acid crept up Doflamingo"s throat.

Taking Roci"s shirt off without destroying it-- because they had no spares, nothing to change into-- was a whole new nightmare. So was peeling off blood-sodden wrapping to expose jagged, weeping lacerations where there should have been wings. And then they had to stitch the wounds.

If Doflamingo never had to hear that terrible keening sound out of his baby brother"s mouth again, it would be too soon.

He had to hold Roci while Homing did the stitches, artlessly and unpracticed. That only meant that he felt the moment that Roci went limp, slumping in his arms, head dropping on to Doflamingo"s shoulder.

"Roci? Roci!" The words came out choked. Not his brother, not his little brother too, hadn"t he lost enough?

"He"s alright," Homing said, voice shaking. "He"s just... asleep. We need to finish the stitches before he wakes up."

They finished the stitches. Then they had to stitch Doflamingo"s back, and he couldn"t even escape into blissful unconsciousness, because if he did, there would be no one there to hold Roci when he woke up.

"Why"d they do this?" Doflamingo said suddenly, insistence and demand more than question. Both a desperate attempt to distract himself from the feeling of thread pulling through torn skin, and a genuine need to know. "We didn"t do anything wrong. They took our wings."

There was quiet behind him for a moment before Homing spoke. "Maybe we did do something wrong," he said softly. "Doffy, do you know what Celestial Dragons do to their slaves?"

This was such a bizarre non sequitur that Doflamingo had to take a moment to readjust. "I don"t know," he said. "Why does that matter?"

"Because," Homing said, "Celestial Dragons cut off the wings of their slaves."

Doflamingo bristles, ignoring the pain that shrieks through his back at the moment. "They can"t make us slaves! We"re better than them!"

"No-- no, Doffy," Homing continues, sounding weary. "They didn"t want to make us slaves. They wanted us to understand what Nobles like us made their friends and family who were slaves go through. They wanted us to be like them."

To be like them. Doffy frowns at the words. Wasn"t that what their father had always wanted? To be just like the lowly, pathetic humans who thought that they could down a Dragon without consequences? Did he want this to happen?

Homing reached out to run a hand through Doflamingo"s hair. Doflamingo ducked away from the touch, scowling into the forest. It was Homing"s fault they were here. Maybe, if he were gone, Doflamingo could fix this.

Maybe they could go home.

He woke up with a strangled scream and rolled out of bed, gasping in heaving breaths. There would be no more sleep tonight. Trying would only be pointless (painful). Without bothering to put on a shirt, he sat down at his desk. Work was the only reliable way to chase away the memories that nipped at his heels like unruly dogs, and, lucky for him, his latest project was nowhere near finished.

He had been awake long enough for the night to swing from late to very early when he heard the telltale sound of someone falling and barely catching themselves.

Now. It could have been anyone. If it was just anyone, Doflamingo would have left them to their insomnia. But it probably wasn"t anyone. Only one person in the crew was that chronically clumsy.

Doflamingo set his work aside and stood up, pushing the door open silently and following the almost-imperceptible sounds of movement to the kitchen.

It was Roci, of course. He knew it would be. Watching the kettle boil, quiet and alone in the night. He glanced over his shoulder when Doflamingo stepped over the threshold, but didn"t hold his gaze. There was a mug with loose tea leaves on the counter beside him.

"You know, we have pots for the tea," Doflamingo told him.

Roci shrugged.

With a huff, Doflamingo shouldered past him to remake the tea in a pot. "Really, Roci, does eating wet leaves hold some sort of bizarre appeal for you?" He took out a second mug. "Honestly, little brother, how on earth did you manage on your own?"

He looked over just in time to see Roci laugh silently, ruefully. Not for the first time, he wondered if there was perhaps some damage to Roci"s voice, rather than trauma rendering him silent. Surely he could have made some sounds? He could have helped, if Roci would let him. Brought in the best doctors in the North Blue-- hell, further than that, the whole world. There was an island renowned for their medical knowledge on the Grandline, wasn"t there?

But he couldn"t help. Because Roci wouldn"t tell him what happened--

He only noticed that the mug had begun to creak in his grasp when Roci laid a gentle hand over his. The kettle started to whistle, and he brushed Roci off to pour it into the pot. Cups and pot went onto a tray, which he carried to the table. Roci tripped over a chair on the way there, less sitting down than collapsing when his balance finally gave out. He made a face-- Doflamingo was delighted to see that it was a pout, childish, almost cute-- and accepted the mug of tea Doflamingo pours for him.

There were a few quiet minutes while Doflamingo wondered if he should ask why Roci was awake at such an hour. (He was awake too, but his own sleeping schedule was a mess of bad habits and drug use that were never quite able to keep away the omnipresent nightmares.) Before he could say anything, Roci scrawled something on the notebook he kept shoved in his coat pockets and pushed it across the table.

So how do you have such good balance?

There was an implication, maybe even accusation to the words. How did Doflamingo have such good balance when, just like Roci, he had no wings?

His thin smile was humorless. He opened a hand, and a dozen fine strings uncoiled, almost invisible unless the light hit them right. "The same way I fly."

Roci"s expression was inscrutable.

"Although, I think your balance is even worse than mine." Shouldn"t it have been the other way around? Roci"s wings hadn"t fully grown in when he"d lost them-- when they were taken-- so shouldn"t it have been easier for him to adapt? "Maybe you just have bad luck."

Inaudibly, Roci sighed, his shoulders and chest moving enough for Doflamingo to see it.

"If you ever want to join me," Doflamingo offers, "when I go flying, just say the word." He thought that his strings were probably a pale imitation of real flight, tethered to the clouds, trapped below them, but he"d long since resolved to take back whatever he could, however he could.

Taken aback, Roci hesitated. Then wrote With your strings?

"Of course."

I"ll think about it.

He turned the notebook back to himself-- and then paused, nib of the pen tapping the paper. Doflamingo waited for a moment, but quickly grew impatient.

"Just spit it out, Roci."

With a glare, Roci wrote another sentence, without looking, and then pushed it across the table. It was almost illegible, with how poorly it was written, but when Doflamingo figured it out, he felt his heart sink.

How often are you mistaken for an escaped slave?

Doflamingo"s teeth ground together.

How many people had made that mistake about his brother? How many had tried to arrest him, had treated him like dirt, had pitied him? They deserved none of that, deserved nothing but the respect that was their due. What a useless fucking world, that couldn"t even see a god past the empty space where wings should have been.

Roci was still waiting for an answer.

"Never, these days," Doflamingo said. "Anyone who sees me already knows that they shouldn"t make such baseless accusations. It"s bad for the health, and they know better."

From the way Roci"s heavy eyes settled on him, Doflamingo knew that his brother had caught his slip of the tongue. These days. He didn"t always have a reputation, after all.

"And you, little brother?" Doflamingo braced himself, waiting for the response to stoke the bloodlust that always lingered just under his skin.

Roci huffed out another silent laugh, shrugged. He scrawled his answer on the notebook. Rather than waiting for him to finish and turn the pad around, Doflamingo read upside down, while he was still writing.

Nothing I couldn"t handle.

Doflamingo scoffed. He reached out and ran a hand through Roci"s spun-sunlight strands of hair. "Nothing you should have needed to handle, more like." The contact seemed to have frozen Roci, who blinked at him wide-eyed. Perhaps he was unused to touch without threat of violence. Doflamingo ran a thumb across Roci"s cheek and smiled at him. "You"ll be alright now."

Doflamingo spread a hand across his latest project, smile creeping across his face. It had taken three months and some quite expensive materials, but, finally, it was done. Worth the wait, to be sure. And maybe the wait was a blessing in disguise; after all, in the past three months, Roci had proved himself a thousand times over. No one would question his promotion now.

Not that they would have before, if they knew what was good for them. But, as it was, they wouldn"t even have reason to question Doflamingo"s decision.

A heart, for his little brother, the missing piece of him. How perfectly fitting. He pushed open the door to his room and went looking for his prodigal heart.

He didn"t need to go very far. Roci sometimes wandered off to explore Spider Miles, but today, he was standing on the balcony, smoking and staring out at the sky.

No; not the sky. When Doflamingo followed his gaze, he saw the rest of the Family practicing aerial maneuvers, flying in great swooping loops and dives. His fingers twitched with the desire to lash out with his strings, to bring them all crashing down to earth. Deliberately, he laid a hand on Roci"s shoulder.

Roci jolted, setting his shirt on fire. He patted it out frantically, then turned to Doflamingo, question in the tilt of his head (and embarrassment in the quirk of his mouth).

"Come with me," Doflamingo said, "I have something for you." He wrapped his arm around Roci"s shoulders, feeling fragile bones under scarred skin, leading him back inside. He still had a few inches of height over his brother, far more obvious with Roci tucked against him like this. Vividly, he remembered when they were younger, how he used to shield Roci with his wings, like a blanket around his little brother.

He"d forgotten about that, somewhere along the way. Like the way he"d forgotten that Roci"s eyes were a shade paler than his, his hair a shade darker-- just a shade, but enough to make him irrationally angry. Not angry with Roci, never with Roci, but the differences grated in a way Doflamingo couldn"t quite explain.

He closed the door to his room with a quick flick of his hand, strings closing the door soundlessly. Still, Roci must have heard it, glancing over his shoulder. With a reassuring pat to Roci"s shoulder, Doflamingo turns to face him.

"You must know how well you"ve cemented your place in the Family by now," he began. He feels Roci"s sharp intake of breath under his hand and smiles. "Really, I can"t bear to think of how much farther we might have gone if I"d had you by my side all along. There"s no point wasting any more time."

He settled his coat more comfortably on his shoulders. "I"m sending Vergo on an important, long-term mission. He won"t be able to fulfill the duties of his position as the Heart Executive anymore. I want you to take his place."

Roci took his notebook out of his pocket, but Doflamingo closed his hand around the pen before he could write anything.

"You understand," he continued, serious now, "the level of trust I"m placing in you. I have no doubts in your ability to perform this role, but I can"t promise that the rest of the Family sees in you what I do. You will have to prove yourself to them."

A slight smile curled the corners of Roci"s mouth. Amused, anticipatory-- ready for the challenge.

"I knew you"d say yes," Doflamingo said. He turned back to his desk and picked up the project he"d been working on since the day Roci had walked into the room and Doflamingo had folded him back into the Family. He held it up: a feathered coat, identical to his own, but in a rich black instead of bold pink, for his quiet, unobtrusive brother. "This is for you."

As Roci"s eyes widen, Doflamingo steps forward to drape it over his shoulders like a cape. It fills out his silhouette, almost like wings would. He looks less like Doflamingo"s slender shadow, and more like a Donquixote, all menace and power.

Doflamingo grins. "Perfect," he declares. "Just what you needed, Corazon." His brother looks up at him, just in time for Doflamingo to put a pair of dark sunglasses on his nose. He steps back to admire his handiwork. Frowns. "There"s still something missing..." Waving it away for the moment, he grins again. "It"ll come to me later."

Roci slides his arms into the sleeves of the coat and settles the sunglasses so they sit more evenly.

"Now, come on, Corazon!" He pulls his brother out of the room again. "Let"s tell our Family the good news."