For the One Piece ReverseBang 2016/Giftfic for MajorasMasks.

This fic is completely unconnected to my previous work about the Donquixote Family, Thicker than Blood. This is a standalone fic that serves to encompass my friend's headcanon that Rocinante is alive.

I do not own One Piece.

The Grand Line – three weeks after the death of Donquixote "Corazon" Rocinante.

"If the shipments continue as planned from Pecunia and Shibbola, we'll have plenty of resources for our advancement into the New World," said Doflamingo, indicating the shipping routes on the large maps spread before the family. He took a sip from his glass of wine.

"Neh neh, we could expand to Golpe as well," said Trebol. He extended a slimy finger to jab at another island.

"Indeed," added Senor Pink, exhaling a cloud of cigarette smoke. "Their political situation has been rocky since the recent civilian uprising, and their armies are poorly managed. I'm sure their government would appreciate help from some 'professionals.'

"Which we can easily supply," said Diamante, reclining with a grin. "For a reasonable fee. I can't imagine they'll need much persuasion."

"A sound suggestion," said Doflamingo, nodding. "And the stronger our foothold in the Grand Line, the easier our advancement to when we finally –"

"JOORRA! JOORRAAA!"

The discussion was cut short by the pounding of tiny feet and the shrill voice of a two and a half year-old who was just beginning to understand how to use it.

"Oh heavens," murmured Jora, setting down her sherry and standing up. "Not again."

She crossed to the door, but it was flung open with a crash as Dellinger came careening into the room, sobbing. He ran to her and flung his arms around her legs. She winced as he squeezed, his strength far superior to that of an average toddler.

"Child, you'll break my knees-zamasu," she admonished. "We're having a meeting. You mustn't –"

"JORAAA," he sobbed. "TH-THE MONSTER IS COMING! HE-HE'S GOING TO TAKE MEEEEE!"

The previously cordial air of the room turned still, and grave.

A heavy silence blanketed the gathered family, broken only by Dellinger's sobs.

Doflamingo stood up very suddenly. He grabbed an open bottle of wine from the table and walked brusquely out of the room without a backward glance.

Baby 5's hands trembled on the platter of wine and tea she was carrying and it fell to the ground with a crash.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, before bursting into tears herself and scrambling to the floor to pick up the shattered glass and china. Buffalo and Senior Pink quickly bent down to help her.

"He's g-going to t-take me away, J-Jora," Dellinger sobbed into Jora's knees.

"Jora, get him out of here," snapped Diamante, getting up to follow Doffy, Trebol and Pica behind him. "None of us want to deal with this."

"Do you want me to take him?" asked Machvise, reaching his large arms out to Dellinger.

"No, I will," said Jora, scooping Dellinger up. "Hush child, it's time to go back to sleep."

"But…but the monster will get me!" sobbed Dellinger into her shoulder. "The black monster, with feathers, he's going to t-take me."

Jora felt sick.

The wounds were still fresh for the whole family, nearly a month later. Not just for Doflamingo, but for all of them. The betrayal that had nearly cost them everything.

And still the ghost of Corazon continued to torment the family, refusing to be silent even from his snowy grave.

Dellinger was certainly not the only one who the shadowy, feathered black monster tormented in their sleep.

"I don't want him to t-take me," sniffed Dellinger, squeezing her.

"There is no monster coming to take you from us, Dellinger," said Jora, rubbing the child's back. "Not anymore. Young Master has seen to that. The monster is dead."

Impel Down – present day. One month after the Liberation of Dressrosa.

Rocinante doubted the boy would remember him.

But he remembered the boy.

Plenty.

How many sleepless nights he had sacrificed for the so-called "family?" The strange collection of misfit, lost, misguided fools who had lapped up his brother's pipe dreams.

He had never cared for any of them. Yet still, how many nights had he rocked the screaming, howling baby in a bubble of calm, trying to sooth the squirming bundle of horns and teeth to sleep? How many times had he nearly broken or lost a finger to the child's teeth and incredible strength? He remembered staging small accidents in the kitchen to cover up for the marks all over his fingers and hands - and in his clumsiness everyone usually believed him.

And meanwhile Jora would gush about how well the child was sleeping through the night.

"I'll get you out of here," he had whispered in the protective sphere of silence against the baby's howls. "I'll get you out of here someday. I'll take you away from these people."

He never did.

And it had haunted him since. Haunted him for these sixteen long years. How much had passed in those sixteen years?

He had barely survived his brother's bullets thanks to his devil fruit's latent awakened ability. His body had been preserved in a comatose state of "calm" and upon his recovery he was whisked out of the Marines and into the masked ranks of CP0.

And under those masked ranks carefully, secretly providing the Revolutionary Army with details it needed from the government.

Rocinante had never regretted taking Law, and giving Law back the life robbed from him. Not once had he regretted forging their unspeakable bond, or what they had taught each other about unconditional love, even a love tainted by tragedy and loss that no child should ever have to witness.

And yet despite sparing Law the fate of the deadly amber lead…Rocininate would forever be plagued by the choice. The choice to take Lawand not another child. Not the easily exploited Baby 5, not Buffalo, not the baby.

The choice to leave an infant behind to fend for itself in a vipers nest, knowing what the vipers would raise that baby to be.

Why had he not whisked the child out in the middle of the night? Arranged a secret meeting with a fleet who could get the child to an orphanage? Taken him along with Law? Made a better attempt to get on Jora's good side, and be left alone with the child?

"I know that look, Rocinante," said Vice-Admiral Tsuru, jolting him out of his reverie. "You're brooding."

Rocinante stared at Tsuru from behind the feathered mask.

"Vice-Admiral, you cannot see my face."

Vice-Admiral Tsuru chuckled. "Boy, I don't need to see your face to know what those gloomy silences of yours look like."

"You know me too well, Vice-Admiral," said Rocinante.

"Rocinante, are you quite sure this is an itch you really want to scratch?" asked Tsuru, raising a thin eyebrow. "You're going to be blowing your cover, you know. Now, I rather doubt your brother's family gets together for afternoon tea here in Impel Down to share the latest gossip, but it is very likely he could find out one way or another if you're going to be exposing yourself to one of his 'family' members."

"I don't care if he knows," said Rocinante, staring straight ahead. "He can't hurt me locked up in here. He can't hurt anyone, and that's what matters. His madness can't claim any more victims. It doesn't matter if he knows I'm alive or not, it changes nothing."

"Wouldn't it perhaps be better for him to find out himself?" said Tsuru. "From his own brother?"

Rocinante was silent.

"It is merely a thought," said Tsuru. "A suggestion, for some closure perhaps. But I know that's not why you're here. You're intent on scratching itches and taking responsibility for things beyond your control." She shook her head. "Anyway, I believe your escort is here."

A young jailer in a crisp Impel Down uniform had drawn up and smartly saluted them.

"I'll be taking you to the prisoner," he said. "If you'll follow me please."

Rocinante turned to follow him and tripped over his long cloak.

"Oh for heaven's sake," muttered Tsuru, helping hoist him back to his feet. "You don't change do you?"

She gave a small wave of her gnarled old hand as Rocinante and the guard clambered into the lift.

"We'll be headed to level four," said the guard, looking up at Rocinante. "Given the boy's age we're required to put him in an isolated wing, for his own safety, but really that's hardly a concern. The kid is more than capable of protecting himself."

"Could he not have been placed with another one of Doflamingo's family members?"

The guard raised an eyebrow at him. "You mean his crew?"

"Yes, of course," said Rocinante. How easily the word "family" had tripped off his tongue.

"Perhaps could some of the more, vulnerable crew members have been placed together?" Rocinante continued, his mind flitting to the image he had seen in his files of the tiny girl, who was in fact not a little girl, but a grown woman. He shuddered to imagine what kind of isolation she must be in to keep her away from the prying eyes and hands of her fellow prisoners.

"And have those monsters all plot to escape together? Heh, that's the last thing we need. Oh, and do not, put your hands near the bars.

"Pardon?"

"Do not, put your hands near the bars," repeated the jailer.

He held up a gloved hand. It was missing the index finger.

Rocinante felt a surge of nausea in the pit of his stomach.

He glanced down at his own hand, where there was thick white mark across his thumb. He had hastily scribbled to his brother that he had hurt his hand on a pair of scissors.

Some things had clearly never changed.

The lift clamored to halt. Rocinante could feel the scorching heat before the elevator doors were even opened.

"First hallway, last cell on the left," said the guard. "Shall I escort you?"

"No thank you, I'll manage," said Rocinante, lifting his coat so as to not trip over it again.

The heat was stifling, smothering. Already he felt the sweat running down the back of his neck and beading up on his forehead underneath the heavy, awkward mask.

The cells were fewer, farther between. Some did not even have occupants. An ancient old man chuckled quietly to himself and waved a frail, shrunken hand at Rocinante as he passed. Further down a young woman muttered vaguely to herself in an unidentifiable language, seemingly carrying on a conversation with her cell wall.

Rocinante felt a great swell of pity and revulsion. These people likely did not even belong in prison. These were the ones that had to be separated for their own safety, lest they fall prey to their fellow prisoners.

The boy in the last cell did not even acknowledge him as he drew up.

The child he had rocked to sleep at night had grown into a long-limbed and lanky sixteen year-old boy. A boy who should have somehow been spared a sentence in Impel Down.

He was curled up in the corner of the cell against the stone wall. His huge eyes were hidden in shadow and staring blankly, dazedly elsewhere. His face was dirty and flushed from the heat; his blonde hair sweaty and matted. A dark bruise was visible along his jawline.

There were cracked pairs of holes all over the cell walls, set equally apart. Holes that matched all too well the shape and thickness of the child's horns, which curved outward from his unkempt hair. The horns had been mere nubs, smaller than his scarred thumb the last time Rocinante had seen the boy.

Rocinante took in the picture: a portrait of sixteen years, of knowing nothing but his brother's madness; his brother's games of family and war, camaraderie and violence, and believing such things to be normal.

Rocinante snapped his fingers, activating his ability.

"Dellinger, yes?" he said quietly.

The eyes did not move. They did not even blink. Rocinante remembered even as a baby, the huge eyes seemingly never needing to blink.

"Who the hell are you?"

Dellinger's pointed teeth glinted dully in the light.

"Are you gonna torture me?"

The voice was deadpan, exhausted. The apprehension and fear were still tangible, but long deadened under resignation.

Dellinger clenched his toes together, the only genuine sign of movement Rocinante could see. His dirty, bare feet, shackled no doubt to counter his devastating ability to kick, were tucked underneath him. Scores of barely healed red gashes and burns covered the soles of his feet. On his curled toes poking out Rocinante could see chipped, near faded, pink toenail polish.

It was all Rocinante could do to not break down the cell door right there. This was not right.

He swallowed, composing himself, and removed his mask.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Dellinger," said Rocinante, sitting down. "I'd like to talk to you, if you'll let me. I'm…I'm an old acquaintance of your, well…your family."

The pupils slowly slid to him. The huge eyes peered out at him from the shadows.

Slowly, Dellinger turned his head to look at Rocinante.

"You know my family?" he whispered. His eyes were wide, wider than what should have been humanly possible. Rocinante reminded himself that the boy was not entirely human.

"After a fashion, yes," said Rocinante. "Dellinger, I—"

"Are you like Vergo, are you a spy?" Dellinger whispered, the tenor of his voice rising drastically. He was sitting upright now, leaning forward, his thin body rigid and shaking. "Are you, are you going to get us out of here? Are we going to go back home to Dressrosa? Can I…can I see Jora?" His voice rose tremulously and cracked.

Rocinante felt his heart sink.

The child was desperate, isolated, and terrified. Dellinger wanted his home; his family, or rather, what he had grown up believing to be his home and family. He wasn't going to be interested in the words and apologies of a figure long forgotten to him.

"I don't think you would remember me, Dellinger," Rocinante said quietly. "The last time I saw you, you could fit in the palm of my hand. I used to keep you some quiet at nights when you wouldn't sleep. Give Jora and the rest of the family a bit of sleep. You would always bite my hands," he added with a chuckle.

Dellinger's brow furrowed. "I don't remember that," he said. "Who are you? Did Young Master send you somewhere? Why didn't he ever mention you?"

Rocinante swallowed. "I doubt the Young Master would have talked about me very much. When you were about two, I left with Trafalgar Law. Doflamingo is my older brother, Dellinger. He eventually tried to kill me, and he nearly succeeded. You would have remembered me, if I was ever mentioned at all, as Corazon."

Dellinger's eyes dilated and he suddenly lurched away from the bars, a terrifying sound coming from his mouth that was half snarl, half cry.

"You," he said, his voice a half-whisper. He shrank even further back into the cell wall, if that was possible.

"You're…you're the monster," Dellinger finally said, his voice shaking."You were, you were the one who was going to take me. Take me away from everyone." Dellinger stared at him, disbelief etched across his face.

"And I wish I had," said Rocinante. "This is the last place I ever wanted to see you, Dellinger."

"You're supposed to be dead. Young Master killed you."

"He nearly did," said Rocinante. "My devil fruit ability allowed me to stay alive, just barely. I was in a coma for months. My cover was blown, I had no way of going back to the family to rescue you, or Buffalo or Baby 5."

"Rescue us?" Dellinger repeated. "Rescue us from what? You…You're the one who tried to hurt us all!"

"Rescue you from my brother's madness, from a terrible band of people who would only use you for ill—"

"Use me?" Dellinger cut in, his eyes and teeth glinting. "Terrible people? You were a traitor who tried to ruin us all!"

"I made a choice, Dellinger," Rocinante said, bowing his head. "And you are a victim of that choice. I gambled on the family being caught at Minion. That would have ended it all. You and Baby 5 and Buffalo would have been spared a fate bound to my brother's madness. But Doffy nearly killed me and you all beat Vice-Admiral Tsuru out of Minion. But none of that changes the choices I made. I chose the life of one child over yours; over a helpless baby."

Dellinger flushed, even pinker against the heat. "Don't talk about me like that," he said, looking away. "You don't know anything."

"Dellinger, listen," said Rocinante. "I am not without influence in the World Government, even if I do not condone everything they stand for. I have been not only trained as a Marine, but under CP0."

"Why does that matter? What do I care about the World Government?" muttered Dellinger.

"Dellinger, please –" said Rocinante. It was taking all of his training to curb his desperation. The overwhelming heat did not help. "I was trained under the former Fleet Admiral himself. The government is not unaware of the sacrifices I made during my time undercover. I have made a case for you and the other children of the family. You could start anew. There are people who would welcome you. With your compliance and cooperation, it could be possible for me to get you out of here."

Something passed over Dellinger's face. His eyes widened even larger still, and the glint in them seemed to dull.

"You…you could do that?" His voice shook…out of fear or out of disbelief, Rocinante couldn't tell.

"Of course, Dellinger," Rocinante said. "Why do you think I am here?"

The huge eyes looked away. "Are there, are there really people who would want…me?" Dellinger's voice rose and quavered.

"The world is a vast place, Dellinger," Rocinante murmured. "I know that it must have seemed like my brother's family was the only place you would ever belong. But there are strange and wonderful people out there, who I know would gladly accept you."

Rocinante's mind was racing. The Revolutionary army would welcome Dellinger with open arms. He would have humans and fishmen who would mentor and care for him, help him adjust to a new life. Inazuma and Invankov would no doubt adore him.

"I…I don't know," Dellinger murmured. He inched closer to the bars, twisting a lock of dirty hair with his shackled hands, anxiously. His eyes were glassy. "Corazon, I…I'm not like other people. Or even like other fishmen. I –"

"Dellinger, listen to me," said Rocinante. "There are people out there who would accept you as you are. You have grown up believing that my brother's family was your only world. I cannot imagine how this must feel, to be punished for the only life that you've ever known as normal."

"Then maybe I'm just better off here…" Dellinger's voice trembled, and he buried his face in his shackled hands, shaking. "I'm, I'm just soscared. They hurt me every day. I just… want it to stop…I just want my f-family…"

"Dellinger, I do know what it's like to lose a family, "said Rocinante. "I do know how it feels to lose a family that loved you, but maybe didn't have your best interests at heart. It is so hard to realize that about the people you look up to. But please, Dellinger, I want to get you out of here. I want show you something different. Something better even, than what you've known."

He reached out his hand to Dellinger through the bars.

"Trust me."

Dellinger's head shot up, his eyes dilated.

Rocinante barely had time to react, whipping his hand away just in time, as Dellinger lunged for him, his head smashing into the bars of the cell.

Dellinger had locked his teeth around the bar where Rocinante's hand had been reaching mere seconds before. Rocinante stared down at the bloody red gash down his hand and realized Dellinger had just grazed him.

One of his pointed teeth had broken on the bars. Dellinger stretched his mouth, and spit out the broken tooth viciously. A new tooth immediately grew in its place.

His nose was bleeding from striking the bars so close and so fast. His tongue snaked up to lick the smear of blood, his eyes a pulsating red. Corazon stared in shock. How easily the boy had lured him in.

This was what his brother had raised.

This was what he could have prevented.

"That was for my family," Dellinger hissed, his eyes shining. "Why would I trust someone who betrayed us?! Why would I trust government trash like you!? You think you're better than us because you're sitting there on the outside in your uniform. You're no better than anyone in this prison! Are you happy, Corazon? Happy to see us all behind bars? I WON'T ABANDON MY FAMILY IN THIS HELL! I'M NO TRAITOR LIKEYOU!"

Rocinante could only sit, and stare at the product of his choices.

"I wish Young Master had really killed you," Dellinger snarled.

There was a heavy, weighted silence that had nothing to do with Rocinante's ability.

"Sometimes I do too," Rocinante murmured.

It wasn't a lie.

A lifetime of failure. Failure to stop Doflamingo's madness and watch his brother lay waste to everything before him. Failure to save Dressrosa. His cover in CP0 affording him safety while he stood by to watch the World Government make a mess of the very world they wanted to protect, unable to stop their hypocrisy.

Unable to see Law, without putting him in danger.

Now unable to save the life of a child who had never been given the chance to know anything different.

Sometimes he wondered if he should have died back on the snow banks of Minion Island. Perhaps that would have been more merciful than to watch all his endeavors fail.

"Sir! Sir, are you alright?!"

Rocinante spun around to see two guards running towards him. Rocinante stared in shock, quickly throwing his mask back on. He hadn't deactivated his ability. He looked from his bleeding hand to Dellinger.

The bars.

Of course…seastone. What else would be strong enough to keep Dellinger from smashing his head through the bars? No doubt his hand had grazed it as he had whipped it away from Dellinger's teeth, too fast to even feel the momentary weakness.

"We heard screaming sir, what's going on?" demanded one of the guards. "Sir, you're injured!"

"It's nothing," said Rocinante, retracting his bleeding hand under one of his long sleeves.

"Your blood tasted like dirt," Dellinger laughed. "Like filthy, double-crossing scum. Think of it as my family's blood, that you've got all over your hands."

"Do you have any idea what you've just done, you little brat?!" shouted one of the guards, jabbing his rifle between the cell bars, inches from Dellinger's face. "You've just assaulted a member of CP0!"

"Go ahead and torture me," Dellinger spit, curling back up against the wall. "It's boring here."

"No sir, this isn't necessary, he barely touched me," said Rocinante, stepping defensively in front of the cell.

"I DON'T NEED YOU TO PROTECT ME!" Dellinger screamed at him. "I DON'T EVER WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN. I HOPE YOU DIE."

"Come now sir, there's no reasoning with this half-breed," muttered one of the guards, leading Rocinante away. "We'll see to it that he's punished. Severely."

"Please," said Rocinante. "He was upset at seeing me. He reacted as any boy his age might – with fear and lashing out. The problem his he's been taught to channel those reactions into something…well, something a bit more potent. What he needs is -"

"What he needs is a leash," muttered the second guard. "We'll see to it that he's properly restrained and can't be attacking people. We'll have him chained to the wall or –"

"I told you to do that when I lost my finger!"

"I know, I know. We're sorry for our negligence, sir. We'll ensure something like this doesn't happen again, we'll -"

Rocinante was not listening to whatever things the guards were going to do Dellinger.

The screams were following them down the hallway.

"YOU RUINED MY FAMILY," Dellinger screamed. "HOW DARE YOU ASK ME TO LEAVE THEM?! I WON'T LEAVE THEM LIKE YOU LEFT US!"

Only they weren't screams anymore. They were sobs.

"I'M NOT A MONSTER LIKE YOU!"

The word stung richly coming from a sixteen year-old who had just tried to bite his hand off. But Rocinante felt the truth in the words. He turned around slowly.

"You're right, Dellinger," Rocinante said. "You're not a monster like me. We are…we are very different monsters."

Monsters he had hoped could help each other.

Monsters created by his brother.

"Roci, what happened to your hand? Did the little shit bite you?"

Tsuru raised an eyebrow at him as he ducked out of the lift.

"No," Roci lied.

Tsuru laughed. "You know better than to be lie to me, boy. Let me guess, you stuck your hand right in there?"

Rocinante was silent.

"Oh Roci, I'm sorry," said Tsuru, reaching up to place her gnarled old hands on his shoulders. "Truly, I am sorry. There's nothing to laugh at about your trying to make amends. But you are entirely too hard on yourself, how many times can I say this?" She shook her head, and took Roci's injured hand in hers.

"Did you make choices, Roci? Yes, yes you did. We all make choices. And we all look back and wonder what we could have done differently. But there was no way for you to have no gambled on your brother's madness. You are too good-hearted, too trusting for this world."

"And he wouldn't trust me," Rocinante murmured, looking down at his hand.

"Yes, I wonder who he learned that from," said Tsuru dryly. "Stubborn little creature. Needs a smack in the ass and some manners. Though he's not entirely without hope I suppose. Bastille's daughter reckons he's cute."

"Bastille's daugh–? Oh you mean Sadie."

"Yes," snorted Tsuru. "That feral woman. Thinks he's sweetest thing she's ever seen. Then again she loves anything vicious and highly dangerous. Maybe she'll give him a job as a jailer beast."

"He needs to be anywhere but here," Rocinante murmured. "I just, I feel like I could have done something different. Maybe if I had taken him with us, or if I had tried to have gotten him out sooner, before I –"

"Tch, all these 'ifs', Roci," said Tsuru, shaking her head. She turned to look at him. "You sound like that troublesome brother of yours. Have you thought about my suggestion?"

A flicker of a shadow passed over Rocinante's face. He ran a hand through his hair, a wry smile on his face, and sighed.

"With all due respect, Tsuru, I think that's a conversation for another day."

As previously stated, this fic was a birthday present for writer/artist MajorasMasks and then became part of the OP ReveseBang 2016. I wanted to write something about our favorite characters, and then it turned into this...fic of pain. MajoraMasks then prompted that this should be collaboration for the ReverseBang, despite my protestations that she shouldn't have to illustrate her own giftfic!

Again, this fic is unconnected to my previous work Thicker Than Blood. Majora's headcanon is that Rocinante is alive and a double agent for the Revolutionary Army, whereas in my previous work he is dead and remains dead. So while this could be something that would chronologically play out after my fic Thicker than Blood, it is in no ways meant to be connected and serves as a standalone piece to consider the fact that Roci left the baby behind.

Thank you to any and all readers, reviews are always appreciated!