Chapter Text
He opens his eyes and sees white. He lets out a terrified squawk, wings flying out in a desperate attempt to flee the white place and he realizes something. This isn’t the white place. It looks like the infirmary but it’s wrong. Everything is too small.
The realization is terrifying and he screeches in fear, flapping his wings and getting even more terrified when that doesn’t do a thing. He kicks out his legs but they’re tangled in something and he remembers the ropes the Marines shot at him and he panics even harder because he doesn’t want to be caught.
He flails and kicks and screeches and just gets himself more and more tangled and he’s scared, he can’t fly away and he doesn’t know why everything is so wrong and he’s so afraid and alone and—
“Hush, hush now, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Whiskey is there suddenly, and a warm palm settles over his frantically beating chest and another one gently strokes his face and it feels nice and warm and safe even if he doesn’t understand why her hands are so small, “Deep breaths now, you can do it. Just follow me. In and out, just like that. You’re safe, you’re okay, everything is okay.”
She breathes in and out and sets a comforting rhythm for him to follow until the panic fades even if he’s still lost and confused.
“Great job, you’re doing great,” she praises, still gently petting him the way he likes, “You need to get some rest now, can you close your eyes for me?”
He lets out a soft chirp. At least, he tries to. Nothing comes out but a choked gurgle and the surprise makes his heart start beating faster again.
“It’s okay, shhh, you’re fine.”
She repeats it over and over until he’s calm again. His eyes drift shut, too hungry and exhausted to keep them open anymore.
He sleeps.
When he wakes up, the first thing he sees is Whitebeard’s face. Relief washes over him and he trills in happiness that the strange dream is finally over and he’s back where he belongs.
But the trill won’t leave his mouth. He can’t make a sound.
His eyes widen and he tries to flap his wings but they’re wrapped up in something. He looks down and sees a red blanket, like the ones on the beds in the infirmary. He looks up and sees the infirmary.
He’s in a bed in the infirmary.
Why is he in a bed? How is he in a bed?
He looks up at Whitebeard with wide eyes, terrified and confused and trusting that the man will protect him. The captain looks down at him gently with a soothing not-quite smile.
“It’s alright, little one,” the captain says as one big finger that isn’t as it big as it should be strokes the side of his face gently, “I know you’re afraid, but you’re safe. I’m going to move the blanket so you can see, but I ask that you try to remain calm. I’ll explain everything as best as I can.”
He’s too afraid to try and make a sound that won’t come out again so he just keeps watching Whitebeard. The pirate reaches for the blanket tucking him tightly against the bed and slowly pulls it back.
He’s a phoenix; he’s covered in blue feathers and he’s got wings and a beak and talons and a tail made of fire. And he’s still tiny, even after all these months of being fed and cared for and loved.
But his body isn’t there anymore. Instead, there are scrawny pink arms and long, spindly legs and too many little talons coming off his feet. And there’s fabric wrapped around him and he doesn’t understand why the body attached to him is wearing clothes and one not-wing rises to his face and stubby not-feathers press against squishy skin and he can’t find his beak and he’s so afraid and his heart starts pounding and his wings flail and—
A big hand wraps around him, gently but firmly pressing him down into the bed so he can’t flail anymore. He looks up at Whitebeard again, desperately searching the face for answers or promises that this isn’t real and he’ll be fixed the next time he wakes up and that this is just a scary dream. He just wants to be a bird and sit on the captain’s shoulder and for everything to stay exactly how it’s supposed to be.
“I’m sorry. I know this is scary. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but this body is yours.”
He stops struggling. Stares up at the pirate, not understanding anything.
This isn’t his body. He’s a bird.
“Do you know what a Devil Fruit is?” Whitebeard asks him gently. This time when he freezes, he’s trembling.
A Devil Fruit is what the white robes were looking for to make him big. Is that what happened? Did the pirates use the Devil Fruit to make him big and now he’s stuck like this forever?
No. That’s wrong, the captain wouldn’t make him big without asking, the captain isn’t like the white robes.
“There are many different kinds of Devil Fruits that grant strange and unusual powers. I myself have one. It’s called the Quake-Quake Fruit, you’ve seen me use it to make seaquakes.”
A desperate whine finally escapes his mouth and it’s not the confused keen he was trying for but it is the first real sound he’s made since this nightmare started. He didn’t know that was a Devil Fruit, he just thought that was something that captain could do because of being so big and strong.
“I believe you ate a Devil Fruit as well. There’s a very, very rare kind of fruit called a Mythical Zoan that allows its user to transform into a legendary creature at will. I believe you ate the Phoenix Fruit.”
Something deep inside him stirs, hidden within the locked box that stays stubbornly buried, and he has a flash of blue and gold covered in beautiful swirls. His nose wrinkles up as the memory of something sour and acrid and goopey fills his mouth. The captain chuckles quietly.
“Yes, Devil Fruits are known for tasting awful.”
He thinks for a second. If he really ate a magic fruit that lets him turn into a bird whenever he wants, then he should be able to turn back. He closes his eyes and thinks really hard about being a bird, about going back to normal, and never having to come back to this scary dream.
Nothing happens.
The giant hand holding him squeezes once, like an apology.
“I’m afraid your powers aren’t going to work right now,” Whitebeard rumbles with a knowing frown, “You’re exhausted, and your body has needed significantly more nutrients than you’ve been able to consume for a very long time. Once you’re healthy, you’ll be able to change forms as much as you like, but for now, you need to rest.”
He’s scared. He’s scared and confused and hungry and tired and everything aches in ways he can’t understand and he just wants it to stop. He just wants to be a bird. This is wrong.
His eyes lock onto the captain’s face, pleading and terrified. For a second, Whitebeard looks so sad but then the man smiles warmly, the hand holding him shifts until he’s cupped in the giant palm the way he likes.
“Everything is going to be alright, little one,” the man rumbles, so confident that he starts to believe it, “If you think you can stay awake for it, Whiskey will bring you something to eat. Otherwise, it’s time to rest.”
The giant thumb pets the side of his face the same way it always does and his eyes sting but it feels right when everything else is scary and wrong. His eyes stay fixed on the captain’s face and the man just keeps smiling down at him like everything really is fine.
“Just rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
When he wakes up, Whitebeard is still there. But so is the bad dream.
As promised, there’s food waiting for him. There are nuts and berries and some crackers like he normally gets, but there are also dark green vegetables he’s never seen and a little bowl of dirty water that smells like garlic and earthy roots.
The captain holds out the bowl of fruit and tells him, “Start with this, it’s going to take you a little bit to get used to it.”
The pirate patiently demonstrates how to grab things up with his hand, explains that he can’t just crush things with his beak so he’ll need to use his teeth to chew, and helps him hold the bowl of broth (it’s cooked water, not dirty water) up to his lips and take small sips.
By the end, they’re both covered in small bits of food and there’s red berry juice staining the sheets and blankets and it’s all over his hands but even though he’s exhausted, the gnawing hunger in his stomach has started to fade. And the captain never gets mad at him for the mess or for being slow and clumsy.
He mostly just sleeps and then wakes up to eat and sleeps more. The first time he wakes up and Whitebeard is gone he panics but somehow the captain knows he’s scared and appears in the doorway of the infirmary almost immediately. The pirate’s presence is enough to cut through the panic, and the man quickly soothes him back to sleep.
That happens a few more times and eventually it stops being so scary to wake up alone, because he knows the captain will be back as soon as he needs it. He still hates it though. He hates this body, hates being so wrong, hates not being on the captain’s shoulder where he belongs.
Whiskey is the one to help him learn to use the new arms and legs and fingers. She shows him how to grab a fork in his fist so he doesn’t get so messy when he eats, and as he gradually stays awake longer between meals, she teaches him about all the things that human bodies can do that he never needed to know before.
But the captain is never away for long when he’s awake. And when he finally starts feeling more antsy and bored than tired after he eats, Whitebeard is the one to coax him out of the blanket nest and effortlessly supports his weight while Whiskey tries to teach him how to walk on his new legs.
It’s not as hard as learning to glide, but he hates it more. He wanted to learn how to glide and fly, he doesn’t want to know how to walk like a human. He’s not a human, he’s a bird and he’s sick of not being back to normal. But Whitebeard looks so proud of him when he tries and he can’t trill or chirp or sing anymore so the only way to answer the captain’s encouragement is to keep trying.
But this stupid body is weak and the legs are so thin and frail that he can’t even stand without the big pirate holding him up. He wants his body back and he never wants to be in this body again.
Because it’s wrong. He’s not a human, even if he’s stuck in this body, he knows better. He’s a bird. Just like he’s supposed to be. And that’s all he wants.
Every time he wakes up, the first thing he does is always the same. He closes his eyes and thinks really really really hard about being a bird again. Then he peeks his eyes open and…
Nothing. It never works. But it’s been forever (Whiskey said it had been two full weeks!) and he’s miserable and anxious and there’s a sick feeling growing in his chest the longer he stays stuck. Every day that passes make him more and more terrified and he doesn’t even remember why. Whitebeard still comes and sits with him every day but the captain has other things to do and he’s stuck in the infirmary so he gets left behind and it’s so wrong.
Not even the rotation of pirates that sit with him in the infirmary and keep him company makes him feel any better.
“Heard you’re getting a lot stronger, buddy,” Kinga smiles encouragingly.
“Did anyone tell you about the storm we hit earlier?” Rakuyo asks.
“One of the scouts brought back a new map today, thought you’d like to check it out,” Lima tells him, putting the map in his hands and not even flinching when his clumsy fists close around the delicate paper too hard and the paper rips halfway down the middle.
The only good thing is that the starving pit in his stomach is going away little by little until one day he wakes up and he’s barely hungry at all.
“Let’s go up on the deck today,” Whitebeard suggests after watching him carefully drink from a glass of water clenched between his hands and then put it down on the table without spilling more than a few drops.
He freezes, looking over at the man in fear.
His stomach churns at the thought of going outside like this, of being out in the open where anyone can see how wrong he is.
“You can hold my hand the whole way,” Whitebeard promises, and before he knows it, he’s being led down the short hallway and gradually helped up the stairs and the next thing he knows, he’s out on the deck.
He’s standing on the deck.
Everything looks off. It’s all smaller than it’s supposed to be and the angles are all wrong. He’s gotten used to the infirmary now but he hasn’t been out on deck since this happened and with everything looking wrong and the rocking of the ship with the waves crashing around them, he gets dizzy.
He stumbles, weak little legs giving out under him, and the captain catches him immediately by scooping him up in one hand. The pirate looks down at him and smiles before the hand lifts up to his right shoulder.
He scrambles onto his perch, clumsy fingers grabbing at the fabric with all his might as he pulls himself onto the massive shoulder and it takes a little bit of wiggling around but eventually he’s sitting right where he belongs and even if it’s still not quite right, it’s the closest thing he’s gotten.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” the captain smiles and he lets out some kind of happy sound because he’s finally back where he wants to be. He can feel from the man’s chuckle and the finger that gently runs down his back means that he’s not the only one who’s missed this.
He curls up into the pirate’s neck and snuggles in, watching the waves glitter in the distance until the warm rays of sunlight on his pale skin makes his eyelids heavy and he falls asleep.
When the captain tries to put him back down on the bed in the infirmary, he digs in his fists and holds on as tight as he can and makes a pathetic, wobbly sound and the pirate lets out a mighty sigh. He can’t fit in his usual spot, but the pirate sits on the mattress in the captain’s quarters, back resting against the headboard, and sets him down in his lap. He puts his head down on the massive knee and practically melts as the pirate brings one hand down to rub his spine with the other pulls out a book to read.
He falls asleep, finally feeling like everything is going to be okay.
“You can’t take my patients out of the infirmary without asking me!” Whiskey scolds, and he drags one heavy eye open to see the nurse standing in front of the captain’s bed with her arms crossed.
“He needed me,” Whitebeard responds levelly, one finger still moving in gentle circles along his back, “He’s been so scared since he turned back, and I didn’t realize that I was making it worse.”
The gentle circles on his back are soothing and warm and then he’s asleep again.