Chapter Text
Rosinante stared at the den-den mushi, recognizing his brother as it rang. And rang. And rang.
Doffy would want to know where he was. Even if his throat didn’t close up at the thought of speaking to the man (a habit rendering him basically mute since their reunion), he wouldn’t be able to give him an answer. He didn’t know. A bar, somewhere, within a night’s walk.
“You going to answer that, pal?” Someone asked loudly, before his drinking partner shut him up with a curse and an elbow.
They recognized him, then. Or they recognized his coat, a gift, a match to his brother’s. They wouldn’t bother him again, at least.
The den-den mushi kept ringing through it all, unanswered. Finally, it went quiet on its own.
Rosinante stared at it, holding his drink close, waiting.
Would he call again?
When Rosinante left the Marines, he took their den-den with him too, for some reason. He’d answered it, once or twice. His throat or his fruit kept him silent through Sengoku’s pleas.
(He’d said once that Rosinante could see him as a father, if he wished. What father dropped their traumatized teenager into the hazing, the rigor, the corruption of the Marines with nary a warning or shield? He was an Admiral for fucks sake-)
He’d stopped answering early on. For the first week, it rang several times a day. Then, twice a day. Once a day. Sporadically. It didn’t take that long to peter off entirely. (He never had any evidence that Sengoku did more than call, that he might have actually gotten off his ass to go look for Rosinante himself.)
Would his brother call again? He’d stayed on the line until it forced him off. Twenty rings. Rosinante had counted. Knew it by heart.
(The Marines hung up after ten, only two weeks in.)
It’s not like Rosinante went far. Still, he’d disappeared without a word. No note or comment. Doffy had at least told him where he was taking their father’s head before he left. Rosinante never could match up to his brother in anything. There wasn’t even a real reason. Doffy had taken him in without question, welcomed him with open arms, lavished him with gifts.
The black feather coat, to mark him as the brother of Donquixote Doflamingo, a matching set. The engraved golden lighter, custom made for his birthday, unexpectedly remembered a week ago.
He lit another cigarette with it. Gaudy and loud, like his brother. Made specially for him.
Rosinante couldn’t remember the last birthday gift he got (that hadn’t been destroyed or ‘lost’ within a week-)
Ah.
He clutched the lighter and inhaled deeply.
So distracted—nursing his cigarette, his drink, his yet-unspoiled gift—he didn’t notice the bar go quiet.
“There you are, little brother~” Doflamingo’s voice made Rosinante jump, again as he wound an arm over his shoulders and leaned into his view. He spared a glance at the den-den mushi sitting plainly, right in front of him. “You didn’t answer my call.” There was an edge there, so obvious that Rosinante couldn’t be bothered to be afraid of being cut.
Not that he wasn’t. Not entirely. Wasn’t tense, avoiding Doflamingo’s eye.
(Traitors that were caught got one of two awful punishments, in the Marines. Life behind Impel Down's bars or in front of a firing squad. He wasn’t fool enough to think Doflamingo would be as merciful.)
Rosinante made himself shrug, once it was clear his brother would wait however long it took.
Doflamingo hummed. “If you were trying to run away from me, Rosi, this is an awful show of it.”
Rosinante ducked his head.
“…were you?”
Rosinante hesitated. If his brother hadn’t followed… he would have kept going. See how far he could get. Now? An anxious, considering tilt of his head before it shook. No. He’d barely tried.
Doflamingo clicked his tongue… and ran his hand through Rosinante’s hair. Some tension dropped, but not all of it. He let Doffy do as he wished, leaning neither in nor away.
“Ah, Rosi… you’ve only been back with me a few weeks. Not used to staying put?” He tried not to feel the comfort of the arm grounding him to the bar stool, the gentle gesture, the softest voice Doffy ever used that Rosinante couldn’t prove was only used for him-
“Was this a test for me, little brother?”
That threw him so much he finally looked up at Doffy, expecting to meet a sharp look, that tight, dangerous smile-
The smile he saw was shockingly genuine.
Rosinante started to shake his head, then stopped as one perfect eyebrow raised. After all… What had he been thinking, as he let the den-den mushi ring? (Will he care? Will he make an effort? Will Doffy just toss him aside again, after so many years, after Rosinante came back—?)
That smile grew as Rosinante ducked his head again, face red, a sigh dropping all strain left in his shoulders. He shrugged again, small, embarrassed, childish.
Doffy just laughed. His hand stayed in his hair, and Rosinante closed his eyes and let himself lean in, just the tiniest bit, he wouldn’t even notice-
“That’s fair, I suppose. I’m man enough to recognize I made a mistake back then, as children.” Rosinante froze— “I should have taken you with me, no matter what. You’re my baby brother, after all. Family needs to stick together.”
Rosinante let out a shaky breath. He was right about that, not right enough- in a way. Things would have been… not better, (absolutely not better, he wasn’t so far gone he couldn’t lie about his brother being a monster,) but different, if they’d stayed together back then.
Doffy pulled at his shoulder, encouraging Rosinante to lean into him, and damn him he did. “A test to prove I mean it now, hm?” He said softly. “Can’t fault you for that. I do mean it, Rosi. But I’m guessing words don’t feel like they mean much sometimes, even between brothers. Especially when it’s been so long, and I can’t know what else they did to you-”
His grip tightened around Rosinante and he can’t help the wobbly gasp it elicits. Doflamingo paused, readjusted.
“If you need me to hunt you down to prove to yourself this is real, Rosinante,” Doffy whispered. “Then I will. If you can’t tell me when you need me with words, or any other way… you just run off somewhere and not answer my call.” The arm around him tightened again, the edge dulled. “We’ll fix whatever those bastards broke in you eventually. And I’ll find them too. Let them find out what it means to cross a Donquixote.”
Another unsteady breath escaped Rosinante, and the one coming in hitched. A shaking hand went for his drink, dropped his cigarette, almost spilled the glass trying to catch both—
Doffy caught it all, easily. Even Rosinante, as he tried to stand to avoid the drink and tripped over the bar stool. The rest of it was set down by his threads, but he helped Rosinante to his feet by hand. He graciously ignored the fine tremble that felt like it was going to shake Rosinante to pieces. He just laughed again.
“Yeah, lets get back to the house, eh? Get you a real drink, not whatever this dump calls liquor.” The bartender frowned at nothing, the entire room studiously acting like nothing was said and nothing was seen. It was still close enough to their base (their base?) that the locals knew how to survive his brother, for the most part. “Next time, at least pick a place more befitting someone of our station. Ne, Rosi?”
That arm wound around him and pulled him in again, and Rosinante didn’t have it in him to resist being held to his brother’s side. He looked down at the lighter, still clutched in one hand. ‘Next time’.
He nodded sharply, held together only by one bright thread as they walked out.