Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

It only takes a few minutes of concentrated effort to snap the chains. In an instant, Dragon rises and crosses the stateroom, towards the elegant case made of glass and gold filigree, hung upon the far wall. More specifically, towards the key displayed within said box.

(Just as decorative as you will be, slave.)

If Garling had left the room under his own power, Dragon doesn’t doubt the man would have thrown a smirk over his shoulder and taken the key with him. Now, he can call this the sole benefit of Imu arriving and taking ‘charge’ of the situation.

The glass shatters with one hit. Hardly a tap, even. His father’s Fists of Love carry more weight. Perhaps that lack of destructive weight irritates Dragon more than he should allow, but... it also feels highly cathartic to smack and kick everything else in his path to the main doorway, and leave the stateroom in far worse shape than Luffy could accomplish across two days. Once Dragon is out, though- he needs to find his boy. Seastone dims one’s powers, saps their strength, and with prolonged exposure can even dull the mind simply from lack of energy. But compared to his prior imprisonment, a mere few days in shackles is nothing. Subtly expanding his haki, keeping his Voice quiet, staying below the notice of anyone else aboard, Dragon goes hunting.

It takes no time at all to find Luffy’s Voice. To flinch from the sheer panic. His boy is crying out for someone, anyone, he doesn’t-

He doesn’t want to be alone.

Guilt and shame hit a sharp double-tap against Dragon’s heart. He’s not nearly so foolhardy to claim all of the blame for himself, but- there were other choices he could have made. Other paths that could have been taken.

Options that wouldn’t have left his child alone and screaming.

Few enough marines are patrolling this part of the ship; most seem to be concentrated in the crew bunks and mess hall, well away from their prisoners. The small handful who are present are hardly paying much attention, confident in the presence of a Holy Knight aboard, assured that their mission is already complete. Dodging them is easy, for all that Dragon’s teeth grind at the delay.

And then- there’s something out of place. Someone.

Not a marine. But not a Revolutionary either - Dragon knows his people, knows their training, and while this boy is doing a half-decent job of blending in, more than a moment’s true attention to his Voice ruins the cover.

...as do the failed details of his disguise, when Dragon turns a corner and actually lays eyes on the interloper.

For half a moment, it seems the boy will walk right by him, head ducked, tangled hair and stolen cap hiding his face. At least until Dragon lets him know, “Your tie knot isn’t regulation, and you’re wearing the wrong boots.” The fake-marine twitches, just enough for a single steel grey eye to stare in disbelief. Again, not one of Dragon’s people - which leaves only one other candidate for an intruder on a marine vessel, in an incorrect uniform, clearly searching the part of the ship most likely to hold important prisoners. “Are you Luffy’s brother Ace?”

The boy rears up in an instant, allowing a clear look at his face. A flicker of momentary outrage, followed quickly by distrust, but below those Dragon can just pick out swirling desperation, the carefully guarded embers of hope. “Yeah. You Dragon?”

“I am.”

“Oh, buddy, I’ve got a bone to pick with you-”

Misplaced aggression is not something Dragon can afford to waste time on right now. “Save it for after we get out of here,” he says sharply, already moving again. “Luffy is this way.” There’s a very good chance Ace walked right past him, not that Dragon is going to say that. He is far better practiced at aiming aggression exactly where it needs to go.

“You lost him?” More anger. Further outrage. Both covering a jolt of deep-seated fear, and for a split second Dragon is reminded of his father, expressing one emotion to cover another he doesn’t want to deal with; understandable, if Garp has also raised this boy.

“We were separated,” he explains, terse and sharp, turning at the next intersection. “But our guard was cruel enough to taunt me with a key left just out of reach - or so he thought.” And also arrogant enough not to return right away, for which Dragon might just be charitable enough to thank Garling for, after all is said and done.

Ace is quiet for a few seconds. And then he comes out with a bitter question that almost makes Dragon stumble: “So you’re Luffy’s dad, huh?”

No. No, he isn’t, much as he wanted, wants to be. But there is more to being a parent than simply sharing flesh and blood, and Dragon is all too aware of thirteen years of separation, of giving up his claim to a smiling babe’s love the moment he eased that sleeping bundle into Garp’s outstretched hands. Luffy will always be his son, but he makes no claim to being called his father. Cannot make it, not without time and serious effort. Trying to put all of that into words, though- they threaten to choke him, so instead he simply replies, “I don’t think I’ve earned that title.”

Ace is the one who stumbles, just for a moment, and Dragon takes six more steps that bring him to the right door. Thick, resistant to sound, but hardly more sturdy than the trees of Dawn’s jungles.

His son’s Voice is still screaming on the other side.

The rage that Dragon has been carefully holding in check surges.

“Luffy, back away from the door!”

He laces the command with a touch of haki, just enough to make it roll through the heavy wood. A strike of shock goes through his son, but Luffy listens, and Dragon wastes no time in tearing through the door like it’s paper. And then he truly hears his son, is nearly bowled over by the desperate gasps and wailing sobs. The thirteen year old slamming into his chest doesn’t carry near as much force, still small enough for Dragon to immediately wrap him up in a tight, all-encompassing hug.

For the first time since the marines brought a child he would recognize anywhere into the ship’s stateroom, Dragon feels like he can breathe.

Chapter Text

Not even five minutes, and Dragon comes to the conclusion he approves of Ace. Even aside from the fact this teenager snuck onto a marine vessel with the intent to retrieve Luffy, he clearly loves the younger boy. Hugging him close, reassuring him, even smuggling aboard what’s obviously a much-beloved hat that Luffy seizes with both hands - all signs of a good big brother, from what Dragon knows of them.

It’s a very small weight off his shoulders, to know Luffy has someone who cares for him so completely.

And once they get the seastone cuffs off of Luffy, revealing Devil Fruit powers that make him stretch of all things, it seems Ace is able to muster up a hint of his own approval for Dragon in turn. He’s quick to lay out where the three Revolutionaries he came with are holding position - Sabo, of course, with Koala and Hack, unsurprising - and then sticks close on the careful rush out of the ship, holding onto Luffy’s hand the whole way.

Dragon lets some of his attention remain on the boys, but for the most part he’s focused on finding a safe path out, keeping his Voice subdued, staying beneath notice. The worst thing at this point would be for Garling to notice his escape, and subsequently Imu as well; for the God’s Knight to make a sudden appearance in the cramped corridors, blocking off their escape, forcing Dragon into the position of attempting to fight while also shielding Ace and Luffy-

A flare of pain hits the leading edge of his haki, a split second before Dragon hears a scream that makes his heart leap.

That would be the second worst option: Garling beating them outside, and finding the other boy Dragon cares deeply about.

In an instant, the key he’s been clutching this whole time serves its purpose, unlatching the cuffs from Dragon’s wrists. He takes a deep breath and goes, calling up his haki, calling up the storm, and delivers a punch straight to Figarland Garling’s face just before his sword can cut Sabo in half.

“Bed-slave,” the World Noble sneers, recovering his footing despite the wildly bucking deck. “You still refuse to learn respect for your betters.”

Normally, Dragon would answer that. In days that are better forgotten, he’d have exchanged barbs and grim philosophy with the Knight for as long as possible, just to eke a meager bit of positive emotion from getting under the man’s skin. Even just three days before, newly clapped in chains and shackled to a wall, Dragon could match every not-so-veiled insult easily.

Here and now, he focuses on punching.

The storm roars out his fury for him, wind tossing the waves higher, lightning striking the upper reaches of the ship, thunder like cannonfire cracking across the world. Garling tosses caution aside, throwing himself headlong into the fight - and Dragon is glad for it, even as some of those blows come within a hair of cutting him open. The more Garling focuses on him, the longer Sabo and Koala and Ace have to get Luffy out.

A fact which unfortunately does not go unnoticed by all parties involved.

As if the Gates of Hell have opened, Garling’s entire demeanor darkens, his grim scowl morphing into an open snarl as demonic wings erupt from his back. They snap open, impossibly wide, lifting his feet off the deck yet maintaining perfect balance even in the midst of the raging storm. “YOU HAVE TRESPASSED FAR ENOUGH AGAINST MU’S PATIENCE,” Imu announces, haki lashing out, pressing against Dragon’s defenses. “MU CANNOT ABIDE SUCH DEFIANCE, BELOVED, NOT EVEN FROM YOU. THERE MUST BE PUNISHMENT. CEASE BY YOUR OWN ACCORD AND MU WILL SHOW MERCY.”

Mercy. Mercy?

This creature which only cares for its own whims and expressions of power claims to possess a shred of mercy?

“You don’t know the meaning of the word!” Dragon yells back, teeth bared and hands clenched. He can feel the power of the wind thrumming in his veins, the scorching heat of every lightning strike. He can feel the terror buried deep in his gut, the fear of once again being taken, being kept, because he knows better than to think mercy will make any true appearance.

All because he dared to laugh in the face of certain death, over a decade ago.

After days of holding onto his blank expressions, of keeping his emotions tightly contained, Dragon bellows, allowing it all to come rushing out with his next blow. And the next, and the next, all colliding against Imu, refusing to let the demon gain so much as an inch from him. For a few infinite moments, the world narrows to this, and this alone: the monster that wants so badly to claim Dragon wholly, heart and soul, versus his utter refusal of the very concept. A battle of wills, of physical strength, of intangible concepts straining against one another, waiting for the slightest give, the tiniest break-

“GOMU-GOMU NO PISTOL!”

A tiny fist rockets forth at the end of a stretched arm, and the sheer shock is enough to make Dragon sway back on his heels, enough to make Imu flinch from what should be an inconsequential impact.

No-

No, no, no-

Luffy should be gone by now, safely away-

His power chokes, the storm falling agonizingly still. As blazing red eyes turn back towards them, Dragon steps closer to his son, curls a hand around the boy’s small shoulder, uncertain yet if he needs to continue this fight or take flight and run.

Imu, against all odds, seems equally stunned. “Child. What have you done?”

There is a weight to the question Dragon does not fully understand, but it makes his hackles rise. Luffy, unaware or simply uncaring, answers with a confidence Dragon wishes he possessed in this moment. “I ate the Gum-Gum fruit and became a rubber man!” He reaches back over his shoulder, grabbing and pulling on his hat, his straw hat with a bright red ribbon, which Dragon glanced at earlier and thought familiar, but now there’s a bone-deep certainty he’s seen it before, on a different head of dark hair, and another of red- “And stop calling me that! I’m Monkey D. Luffy, and I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!”

A growing, halfway hysterical voice in the back of Dragon’s mind is screaming for his son to stop. The remnant of his time in Mariejois, the part that grew louder with each passing month, don’t let your face betray you, stay quiet, stay still, avoid attracting attention for as long as possible, do not let anything slip that can be twisted and turned into a weapon. A voice he normally throttles before it can hardly begin to speak, but in this moment, the rest of Dragon is trapped, just as paralyzed as if he’s still wearing the damn collar, unable to do anything but watch the threat, the coiled snake just before it strikes.

“And so the child is lost to mu.”

No-

“Corrupted by the world.”

No, no, no-

“Tainted beyond repair.”

No, he is brave and strong and right-

“We will have to try again, Beloved.”

-no.

A dozen memories crash into Dragon all at once, the massive, sprawling mattress and gossamer hangings and silk sheets that burned, the delicate chains woven together into thick bindings holding him down, the collar that soon enough replaced them, a hand stroking over his hair and tutting if it grew longer than desired, a voice that constantly crooned and never left him alone-

A tiny, so small bundle, cradled against his chest, a lever that only came into existence as a means of control but Dragon doesn’t care, this is his child, sunlight in miniature, fingers too little to wrap around his thumb but trying anyway, holding on, finding a chink in the armor around Dragon’s heart and tearing it wide open entirely without intention-

A single sentence that chilled him to the bone, when this one is old enough to begin training as a Knight, we will make another, another tool for control, another means of tearing Dragon apart, he can’t allow that to happen, but neither can he abandon the one that’s already being leveraged against him, never, never-

Out of it all, that single word escapes Dragon’s throat: “Never.”

The dam breaks.

The storm erupts with fresh chaos, thunder and lightning and wind all colliding, crashing down upon the ship, upon Imu - who withstands the blow, redirects the blast of lightning aside, but just that bare moment of fractured attention is all Dragon needs. He scoops up Luffy, his son, his child, and bolts for the railing.

His arms wrap fully around the boy.

A pair of small hands clutch back.

And into the waves, they leap.