Chapter Text
The Donquixote Family hideout couldn’t really be called a home. It was more of an abandoned warehouse they were staying at until the marines caught up with them and they had to move again. It was hardly worth the effort to even fix up the place when they would most likely be leaving in a month or two.
There was one main room that they called the living room or the dining room, depending on what they were using it for at the moment, and a few smaller rooms in the back that were used as rooms for the executives. Doflamingo had his own private room, of course, and the rest of the executives, Rosinante included, were made to share the remaining two rooms to sleep in.
The kids slept in the living room. Or the dining room. Whichever room it was at the moment.
Rosinante didn’t like sharing the room with the other executives, so he tended toward sleeping in the living room/dining room, or on the Numancia Flamingo. With their newest arrival, a macabre little boy in a spotted fuzzy hat named Law, Rosinante was sleeping on Doflamingo’s pink eyesore of a ship more often. While Baby 5 and Buffalo reacted to Rosinante’s attempts to scare them off with laughter or retaliatory pranks, Law reacted with screaming, rage, and violence. The scar from that stab wound was still pink and tender.
Rosinante was on his way out of the hideout to make his way to the ship for the night when a soft sound caught his attention. He was passing through the living room and saw the kids strewn around in various corners. Baby 5 was sleeping soundly and quietly, Buffalo was snoring, but that wasn’t the sound Rosinante had heard, which left…
He saw Law, laying on a pile of canvas they used on the ship to cover their supplies. He was thrashing around as he slept, clearly distressed and in the throes of a nightmare. Rosinante could relate to nightmares. No surprise that the abandoned children who were so psychologically damaged that they wound up on a pirate crew were tormented by nightmares.
Rosinante turned to continue on his way out of the warehouse when he heard Law suddenly cry out.
“No! No!! Please, don’t shoot!”
Rosinante froze by the door. Hearing those words shouted by a child’s terrified voice brought back far too many painful memories for him. The memory of being blindfolded and tied up with his father and Doflamingo for the crime of being former Celestial Dragons. The memory of holding his father and pleading with Doflamingo to not shoot, only to hear the bang of the gun, and feel their father’s warm blood on his face before he collapsed on top of Rosinante, nearly smothering him.
He turned back to face Law again, and saw that he was crying in his sleep. Rosinante could relate to that as well. After Doflamingo had killed their father and Rosinante had been taken in by Sengoku, there were many nights when he would wake up screaming, tears streaming down his face as he looked around, trying to remember where he was and if Doflamingo was there too and if the next bullet in the gun was meant for him.
He wondered who had pointed a gun at Law. He knew the entire country of Flevance had been murdered, leaving Law as the sole survivor. Maybe in his dream the marines had come to finish the job.
Rosinante stayed still by the door, telling himself to go to the ship already so he could go to sleep. What did it matter if Law had nightmares? He wasn’t special. They all had nightmares.
As he told himself that, memories of his own childhood came to mind. Memories of the nights and weeks after Sengoku carried him home in his arms, when Rosinante would wake up crying, and Sengoku would come to his room no matter what hour of the night it was, and he would sit with Rosinante. At first he would just sit and keep him company so that Rosinante knew he wasn't alone. Sometimes he would chatter mindlessly about ridiculous things other marines had done, or he would bring the newspaper or one of his military history books with him and read to Rosinante. As they grew closer and the nightmares continued, Rosinante would wake up to find Sengoku rubbing his back, or he'd find himself seated in Sengoku's lap, Rosinante's ear pressed to his chest and listening to the steady beating of his heart.
Rosinante wondered if Law would startle awake if he put a hand on his back to rub it like Sengoku did for him. Would he get stabbed again? Only one way to find out.
“Silent.” Rosinante snapped his fingers and wrapped himself and Law in silence so his crying and screaming wouldn't wake anyone up. He sat beside Law on the canvas, looking down at him. He was so small for his age, surely no thanks to the Donquixote Family feeding him so poorly. He wondered if Law had ever eaten out of the trash to survive like Rosinante and Doflamingo had.
He reached out and slowly settled his hand on Law's back. Law didn't wake up suddenly or react violently, so that was a good sign. Rosinante started rubbing Law's back in small circles, listening to him begging and pleading for his life in his sleep. As Rosinante kept rubbing his back, Law's cries became quieter and quieter until whatever nightmare he'd been having was chased away.
Rosinante sat there for a while longer, continuing to rub Law's back, wanting to make sure the nightmare wouldn't return anytime soon. He knew from experience how hard it was to sleep when the nightmares came from your lived experience.
Finally, Law seemed settled. Rosinante stood and walked away from Law, stopping at the warehouse door to turn back and look at the peacefully sleeping boy once more before he headed toward the Numancia Flamingo to sleep.
The next morning, Law woke up before Baby 5 and Buffalo, feeling surprisingly well rested. He remembered hints and whispers of a nightmare, a gun pointed at him as Amber Lead rapidly crawled over his skin and covered him in white. And then the nightmare had stopped, replaced by a calmer, happier dream from a time before the massacre. In it, Law was younger than he was now, his head on his mother's thigh as she rubbed his back and read a book. He'd glanced up at her once and strangely, she seemed to be wearing Corazón's face paint. She didn't act like him though, she didn't throw him out of a window, and the dream didn't turn back into a nightmare like it did sometimes.
He wondered why his mom had Corazón's makeup in the dream, but dreams were weird. It didn't mean anything.
The days and nights went by. By day, Rosinante remained at odds with Law and the other kids, never giving up on trying to chase them away. By night, he found himself seeking out wherever the kids had settled down to sleep to check on Law and see whether his dreams were tormenting him. After only a few nights of chasing away Law’s nightmares of fire and guns and marines and being crushed under the weight of the bodies of everyone he’d ever known and loved, Rosinante was noticing a difference in Law. He had more energy from sleeping through the night, and he was looking and acting more like the little boy he actually was, instead of the dour little specter he’d been when he first showed up at their door. He was laughing more and smiling more, able to forget about his past for just a moment and enjoy himself.
And with all of his newfound energy, he began to eagerly join in on Baby 5 and Buffalo’s pranks targeted at Rosinante. He laughed with them and ran away when Rosinante tripped over a wire they’d set up across a doorway or when he spat out the extra hot ghost pepper coffee they’d made for him.
Rosinante didn't mind the pranks. They were a small price to pay to hear Law laughing and see him smiling and looking his age.
Some nights later, Rosinante was at Law's side as usual, rubbing his back to soothe him out of his nightmares and into a restful sleep, but tonight the dreams wouldn't leave him alone. No matter how long Rosinante sat there and rubbed Law's back, he kept struggling and crying, calling out to a nun and some childhood friends.
It wasn't working. He nervously thought back to Sengoku and how he would lift Rosinante in his arms and settle him down across his lap, letting the sound of his heart drown out the screaming in Rosinante's nightmares.
He knew Law was a pretty heavy sleeper. He hadn't woken up once during any of Rosinante's visits. He wasn't sure if Law would sleep through being handled and lifted though. But he wanted Law to be able to sleep. He wanted to watch him act his age and be a rude little boy instead of a desperately tired and deeply traumatized little ghost of a boy.
Rosinante started slow, setting both hands on Law's sides, and waiting to see if he would wake up. He heard only the usual cries, the begging, the pleading. Sometimes he cried about guns, other times he cried about fire. What on earth did the marines do to Flevance?
There were no signs of waking, so Rosinante moved carefully, not wanting a clumsy episode now, of all times. He pulled Law closer, settling the boy in his lap and letting his heavy head rest on Rosinante's chest while he resumed rubbing Law's back.
Soon, Law's cries grew quieter and more infrequent. Rosinante could tell that whatever nightmare was plaguing him tonight was fighting to hold on and continue to terrify Law, but the loud beating of Rosinante’s heart finally proved stronger than the dreams, and Law stopped crying, stopped thrashing.
When Rosinante was just a boy and would fall asleep and wake up on his adoptive father's lap like this, he would wonder how Sengoku could sit there like this all night, holding him close to let him rest, often sacrificing his own sleep. But now, having seen the difference a small gesture like this could make, it made sense. It felt good to see Law having moments of fun. It was well worth it to lose some of his own sleep.
Law yawned and turned his face in the other direction, the movement waking him up just a little. He gazed around, his eyes heavy and his brain sleepy enough that he wasn't sure if he was asleep and dreaming or if he was awake. He could tell he was in the hideout, and he knew he was laying on someone. He could feel the rise and fall of their chest and their exhaled breath ruffling his hair. But who was it? Law smelled tobacco and the slightly floral, waxy scent of lipstick, he felt feathers tickling his nose, a warm hand rubbing his back in circles, and he heard nothing but the thunderous beating of the huge heart inside the chest his ear was pressed against.
Law gazed upward, still unsure if he was dreaming or not, but when he squinted and saw that Corazón was the person he was laying on, the person whose heart he was listening to, then he knew it was a dream. Corazón hated him. Corazón would never be this nice and sit up with him and rub his back until his nightmares were gone.
As Law fell back asleep, he wondered if the real Corazón was this warm and comfortable, and if his heart really was this loud. It was louder than the screams that echoed in his memories and nightmares, scaring away everything that haunted Law to allow him to finally sleep.