Chapter Text
No
Don’t take him
Not again
Please, don’t take him away again-
Images collide in Dragon’s mind, past and present, the thirteen year old boy squirming and struggling to bite Figarland Garling’s arm, laid over the sight and sound of a small, screaming bundle being carried out of the room. It is not a new punishment- not remotely new, even from the very first day Dragon was allowed to see his son, to hold him, when he made the mistake of continuing to gaze down at round cheeks and the lightest dusting of downy hair despite Imu calling his name-
(Your attention belongs to mu, Beloved. The child can wait.)
Nurses attended to the baby, kept him fed and clean in an opulent nursery, filled with gilt and gleaming treasures, toys meant to be expressions of wealth more than actual sources of play. A few times, Imu allowed Dragon to stay in the room for a few hours at a time, to sit in the gilded rocking chair and hold an infant who never failed to smile at him. More often, Dragon would be in the garden, or a sitting room with balcony doors that were left tauntingly open, closely observed whether he could see his watcher or not.
Inevitably.
Inevitably, Imu would want his attention, his presence, his compliance, and gaining any of that meant removing the baby.
Every time, Dragon could not help but resist.
(Please- he’s asleep, he’s being quiet, he can stay-
Perhaps another time, Beloved. Now- let. Go.)
And every time, it only hurt all the more when other hands tore his son away.
The worst, very nearly the last, he startled out of an unintended nap at the sensation of someone tugging his arm, attempting to scoop the baby up, and an old instinct from his days wandering the jungles of Dawn Island surged up, causing Dragon to snarl at the offender and twist away, hiding his son from view - only for the collar around his neck to activate a mere breath later, the damn paralytic needles digging deep, trapping him in motionless hell.
(Foolish, Beloved. Mu thought you had grown beyond such wildness.)
Dark hands were not gentle as they plucked the squirming bundle from his stiffened grasp, and Dragon could only listen in agony as the baby cried, carried out of the sitting room and away down the corridors.
Nothing else Imu could do to him hurt as badly as that.
And now, years later, here they are again, because Dragon was stupid, observing Luffy go around the stateroom, treating it like the jungle, breaking and tearing and smashing items far more delicate than anything else he’d likely ever encountered. Every scowl and irritated twitch from Garling served as a balm to Dragon’s strained nerves; more than that, as the man’s focus tracked Luffy, it gave Dragon a chance to take advantage of the growing storm outside. To use every crack of thunder, a split second here, a brief moment there, to concentrate sharp jabs of haki, and slowly weaken the chains attached to his shackles.
Too slow, perhaps. Or too fast- he could have spoken to Luffy, could have encouraged him to limit his destruction, instead of enjoying the boy’s defiance to their circumstances. Could have seen where things were going, when Luffy found reason to scream his frustrations and Garling finally lost his patience-
-when a hand went up, more than ready to slap his son-
-when their unseen observer chose to step in.
And Imu, also, did not tolerate Luffy’s resistance. Old instincts surged when the possessed-Garling grabbed the boy’s arm, and Dragon at least needed to try- “Wait! Don’t take him away.”
Not again
Please not again
I don’t know what you’ll do to him if he’s taken away again
The chains binding his arms to the wall strain, but they aren’t weak enough- or perhaps it’s Dragon who isn’t strong enough, his muscles trembling, his heart pounding.
“You used to beg so prettily once, even when mu thought you might never learn. Have you forgotten already?”
No.
No, Dragon hasn’t forgotten.
And though it aches, though it burns, he will put those ‘lessons’ to use once more, if it means his son isn’t carried off yet again, alone and frightened and without so much as a single kind person to wipe his furious tears. “...Please. Imu-sama. My queen, my heart, moon of my life. Don’t take him from me again.”
Only twice before has this worked. Only when the monster shrouded in silk and shadow was already in a generous enough mood to humor him. For a split second, as Imu guides Garling’s body back across the floor, Dragon dares let himself hope. “Very good, Beloved. Your tongue is clever when you want it to be.”
Please. Please let him take Luffy back into his arms, to wrap up his son and keep the boy safe, sheltered, away from the darkness that will never stop trying to twist him-
“But the child needs to be taught. Clearly, you are not the one who will teach him.”
-no.
Luffy protests. "Let me go! Let us both go!" Continues to kick and struggle, even as Imu strides towards the door. There’s a rushing numbness drowning everything else out in Dragon’s mind; he slumps back, the chains going slack, that hopeful spark snuffed out in an instant. Imu’s intent, he’s sure. Yet another in a long string of petty cruelties, meant to remind Dragon exactly who he’s dealing with.
...but even without hope, there remains habit.
The storm outside is drawing closer. The thunder grows louder, lasts longer.
Dragon twists his wrists inside their shackles, and focuses once more upon the weakest links of his chains.
Hold on, Luffy.
I’ll find you.
I won’t let them take you away again.