Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tony Tony Chopper came from Drum Island. There, he had lived with his two parents and his older sister, three years his senior. Their house was small but always warm, filled with the smell of seaweed soup and the sound of the island’s wind. Chopper still remembered the hands that wiped him clean when he fell, the gentle voice that sang him to sleep.

Then, one day, he understood that he wasn’t like the other children. Too fragile, too different. His bruises took too long to fade, his coughing fits kept coming back, his tiny body couldn’t keep up with the others. And his parents had started whispering to each other, eyes averted, as if he had become a burden.

One morning, they took him to Doctor Hiluluk and Doctor Kureha, two well-known general practitioners… whose hands smelled of strong liquor and whose eyes always drifted elsewhere, toward things a child should never have to see.

Chopper never understood why.

He still remembered Kureha’s words, spoken in a falsely sweet, almost mechanical tone:

“Chopper, this is for your own good. Your parents want us to take care of you, but… we can’t keep you either. Too much responsibility, you understand?”

He didn’t understand.
Why didn’t anyone want him?
Why did no one want him?

Hiluluk and Kureha then spoke of “a place that would take care of him,” and Chopper found himself standing in front of an orphanage door.

The woman who opened it smelled of a sickening mix of mint candy, cigarette smoke, and cheap perfume. Her smile stretched too wide across her cheeks, as if held up by invisible strings.

“I’m Mother Carmel. Come in, little one.”

She spoke to Chopper like he was a stupid baby, then turned to Kureha with the same honeyed tone, dripping with fake secrets and lies dressed up as kindness. Chopper hated that woman. He hated her voice, her smell, her eyes that never truly smiled.

He was dragged into a room full of older boys. Most of them looked up at him and burst out laughing.

“Look, he’s got a stuffed animal! So cute!” “A real baby!”

Chopper clutched his plush tighter against his chest. It was the only thing he had left from home. Its fabric ears were barely holding on, the stitched eyes ready to come undone, but it was his treasure.

When Mother Carmel left the room for her “adult business,” the older boys played with him. Especially games he hated.

The worst was when they formed a circle around him, snatched his plush, and tossed it just out of reach, forcing him to run, to fall, to beg:

“Give it back! Please!”

They laughed until they cried, while Chopper hated every second of it.

When he tried to tell someone, Mother Carmel sighed, impatient, as if his complaints were an attack on her.

“Stop making a fuss. They’re just teasing you. It’s harmless, Chopper. You’re not the center of the world.”

She kept talking to him like he wasn’t even three years old. Chopper hated it. He hated her, and this place where every footstep echoed down hallways that were too long, too dark.

The other children quickly learned that he got sick often. So their games changed. They stole food from his plate at meals, took his things without shame.

“You won’t need it much longer anyway,” one of the older boys sneered, shoving him. “If you’re sick all the time, you’ll waste away. Adults don’t want to adopt someone who’s half-dead.”

That word came up too often: dying. They said it like it was obvious. Chopper wanted to scream that it wasn’t true. That he wasn’t weak enough to disappear.

But whenever he tried to speak to the adults who came to adopt, the older boys always cut in first.

“Him? He’s sick all the time. Always whining.” “You don’t want a kid who might die next week, do you?”

The couples would look away, uncomfortable.
Chopper clutched his plush, powerless.

One day, Mother Carmel slapped him because he hadn’t put his shoes on fast enough.

“Can’t you even manage to get adopted?!”

She dragged him to the dark room. A tiny windowless space. Cold floor. The smell of dust.

Chopper hated that place. He hated being locked up. He didn’t understand why everyone hated him so much.

He curled up in a corner, hugging his knees, pressing his plush to his chest. His tears soaked the worn fabric. The plush’s ears drooped, as exhausted as he was.

When the door finally opened, Mother Carmel looked at him like he was a permanent stain.

“Crying again? Is that all you know how to do?”

She yanked him violently by the arm and threw him against the hallway walls. Chopper thought his shoulder would come out of its socket.

“Visitors are coming in fifteen minutes. Make yourself look presentable.”

She shoved him aside so hard he fell on his backside. Then, without warning, she grabbed his plush.

“You’re still clinging to this ugly thing? The other kids say you talk to it more than to people. How do you expect to get adopted if you seem disturbed?”

With one sharp tug, she ripped the head off the plush. Cotton spilled onto the floor like dirty snow.

Chopper screamed.
She slapped him.
Then threw him onto his bed.

“Stop your whining and go down to the play area.”

The door slammed so hard the frame shook.

It took Chopper long minutes to breathe normally again. He rubbed his eyes, swallowed his sobs.

Then he heard a sound outside: laughter, joyful shouting.

He stood on tiptoe to look through the small barred window. Outside, on the sidewalk, children were playing, all wearing the same uniform. A private school, one of the older boys had once said.

Chopper had never seen a school. But it was… beautiful. The children were laughing. They ran together in groups, gently pushing each other. No one knocked them down on purpose. No one tore their things away. No one told them they were going to die.

He wanted to go there. He wanted to learn to read by himself, to draw, to run, to have friends.

He just wanted to be a normal child.

Someone pulled him away from the window.
Visitors. Again.

But that day, the front door had been left ajar.
A thin ray of light slipped through.

Chopper felt something stir in his chest:
a mix of hope and fear.

“I-I have to go pee…” he stammered.

“Go ahead. Mother Carmel’s already in a bad mood. Hurry up,” another boy grunted, barely listening.

Chopper waited until he was gone. He left the bathroom. The hallway was empty. The door… still open.

The outside air smelled of rain, dust, and freedom.

He breathed in.
Once.
Twice.

Then he ran. Ran so hard his little lungs burned. Ran until the orphanage vanished behind him. Ran until his legs nearly gave out.

He never looked back.
Not once.

He had only one thought:

Never, ever go back.

 

🦌❤️

Chapter Text

Mother Carmel wasn’t looking for him. Chopper had realized it very quickly. No one was calling him. No one was shouting his name. No one was worried about him.

But he… he was terrified. Especially when he saw the police patrolling the crowded streets of Drum. The blue lights reflected off shop windows, and every time a uniformed man passed by, Chopper hid behind a dumpster or under a porch.

Adults were dangerous. They could take him back there.
And “there” was hell.

Finding food was hard. Very hard. He rummaged through trash cans, like the homeless people he sometimes saw near the stations. Some were strange, others frightening, but he had discovered something: many of them weren’t mean. Some gave him a piece of bread, the remains of a sandwich, an overripe fruit.

But he had also learned that others might ask him for horrible things, things that scared him terribly. So he ran. Always. As soon as his instincts warned him.

Everything went wrong one evening when he tried to grab a stale loaf from the bakery’s trash while it was still open. The woman who came out immediately screamed for the police. Chopper, panicked, fled as fast as his legs could carry him.

The police chased him.

“We don’t want to hurt you!” they shouted.

But when one added:

“We’re going to take you back to your orphanage.”

…Chopper’s blood ran cold. Going back there meant death. Maybe not physical death, but a slow death, made of slaps, loneliness, and terror.

So he ran.
Ran like never before.

In the panic, he bolted toward the train station, slipped through the barriers, and jumped into a train just before the doors closed. He hid between two large suitcases, curled up, praying to become invisible. The heat, the smell of luggage, the narrow space… everything made his head spin a little.

But he was an eight-year-old child.
Tired. Hungry. And for the first time in weeks, safe.

So he fell asleep.
Into a heavy, deep sleep, painful with relief.

He woke up when passengers started retrieving their bags. He slipped out without being seen. A voice over the loudspeakers announced:

“Arriving at destination: Flevance.”

Chopper couldn’t read, but he recognized the word “destination.” He knew he was no longer in Drum. The sky outside was clear, warm. People wore straw hats, colorful t-shirts. Nothing like the snow and icy wind of Drum.

He got off with them, carried along in the flow like a small leaf pushed by the wind. A new country. A new chance.
And above all : The adults from Drum could never find him here.

While exploring the station, he suddenly stopped in front of a small room filled with clothes, bags, objects of all kinds.

An old man was sitting behind a counter, half-asleep.

“Have you lost something, kid?” he asked when he noticed Chopper.

Chopper stared at the room in fascination.

“What is it?”

“Lost and found. People forget things, we keep them here. If something belongs to you, you take it back.”

Chopper didn’t like lying. He knew thieves weren’t good boys. But he was alone, lost, with no spare clothes, no blanket, nothing.

The old man looked away while rummaging in a drawer.

Chopper slipped into the room, quick as a mouse. He stuffed into his arms whatever he could: an oversized sweater, an old towel, a pair of mismatched socks, a child’s small bag with a broken zipper…

And above all : He came across a plush toy.

A cream-colored fabric dog, with one darker ear, a black muzzle, and wide round eyes. The fur was worn, almost rough in places, but incredibly soft on the paws. It looked tired, as if it had lived too much. And yet… it smiled a little, thanks to the shape of its stitching.

Chopper felt his heart tighten.

He hugged it close. It smelled of dust, of being shut away, but also… something soothing. Something like “family.”

And when he accidentally pressed the plush’s belly, he felt a small hidden pocket, well-sewn, invisible. A secret zipper.

Perfect for slipping in a piece of food. Or a treasure. Or nothing at all, just for the pleasure of knowing there was a place that belonged to him.

He decided to keep it. Because he was an eight-year-old child, and only idiots would say that at eight you no longer need a plush toy.

He ran out of the station, panting, clutching his loot to his chest. He slipped into a narrow, dark alley that smelled of old metal and dampness.

There, only there, he allowed himself to breathe.

He unpacked his haul with trembling hands, arranging his finds as if preparing a little nest. He placed the plush against his chest.

It was almost as big as he was when he held it upright. Its long ears flopped down like two warm arms. Its round paws seemed made for hugging.

Chopper rested his head against it. A small breath escaped him. A muffled laugh, or a sob. Maybe both.

“I’m going to call you Poussin…” he whispered, even though it didn’t really look like a chick. But he liked the name.

In that unfamiliar alley, in that unfamiliar country, this plush became his first friend. His secret. His makeshift family.

He didn’t yet know that here, in Flevance, someone would eventually find him. And change his life.

---

Law had noticed him very quickly. That strange child. Always the same oversized t-shirt, the same skinny silhouette, the same furtive movements. He often appeared around the high school, like a shadow that didn’t dare come in. Sometimes behind the trees lining the courtyard. Sometimes behind the metal fence, crouched to peer through the gaps. Sometimes even hidden behind the vending machines, eyes fixed on the students.

Law couldn’t figure out what he was doing there. He looked too young for high school. Maybe a middle schooler. Maybe he had a brother or sister to wait for.

But then… why was he there every day? And why did he bolt the moment anyone looked at him?

It had become a daily mystery. A shadow, a breath, a small wild animal you glimpse and that vanishes instantly.

---

Today, the air was cooler. A fine rain drifted across the courtyard, students hurried inside, and yet… he was still there.

The child wasn’t shivering. He wore only a dirty white t-shirt, as if the wind didn’t exist for him.

Law frowned.
That wasn’t normal.

He watched for a moment before deciding: he would circle the school to cut off his path. Not to scare him. But because he was tired of understanding nothing.

He crossed the courtyard, passed between two buildings, followed the fence, and finally saw him from behind, crouched by the bars. Chopper — because it was indeed him — was staring inside the school as if gazing at an unreachable world, a place where children laughed, talked, lived a life he wasn’t allowed.

His stolen station bag was pressed against him, and Poussin, the worn plush, peeked discreetly from the opening, clinging like a little guardian.

Law crouched silently beside him. He said nothing at first. He watched what the child was watching.

Students leaving their clubs. Laughter muffled by the rain.
Umbrellas opening. Wet shoes slipping a little on the slick ground.

Nothing exceptional. Nothing that would justify coming every day… unless it was a dream for someone.

Law let a few seconds pass. Then, only then, he spoke:

“What are you doing?”

The child jumped violently, like a frightened animal. His hands instinctively clutched his plush to his chest, and he stepped back, eyes wide, trembling, almost shining with panic.

He looked for an exit, a gap, an escape route.

Law calmly raised one hand, palm open, in a peaceful gesture.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

But Chopper didn’t move. He hesitated between fleeing and crying. He was terrified, very terrified. And at the same time… he looked exhausted.

The wind blew a little stronger, brushing his bare arms. He was shivering without even realizing it.

Law leaned slightly forward, eyes fixed on the worn plush against his chest.

“You come here often. Are you waiting for someone?”

Silence. Chopper squeezed Poussin so tightly his fingers went white.

Law tried something else.
Softer. Slower.

“You don’t have to answer. I just… want to understand.”

It was rare. It wasn’t in his nature to be kind without reason.
But something about this kid — the thinness, the eyes, the soaked t-shirt, the way he looked at the high schoolers as if it were another world — made him want to shove aside his usual cold instinct.

Chopper moved forward a millimeter, just enough to show he was listening.

Law breathed softly. Without moving an inch.

---

Chopper studied the tall boy who had just spoken to him.
He didn’t look like an adult — already a good sign. He quickly glanced at his clothes: the uniform of the high school he spied on every day. So… he belonged to that world. The one Chopper watched but could never enter.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. Many adults seemed nice before turning scary. And what if this boy told a teacher? Or worse… the police?

Chopper instinctively hugged Poussin tighter, like a fabric shield.

The tall boy spoke again, calmly:

“My name is Trafalgar D. Water Law. I’m a senior at this high school.”

Chopper blinked. “Senior”… he didn’t know that word.
Probably a very advanced level of study. Far beyond “elementary.” Far beyond anything he had ever been allowed near.

“And you? Do you go to the middle school nearby?”

Chopper froze. Middle school. Another school word.
Another place he had never been allowed to go.

He didn’t know what to say.
Law didn’t seem aggressive, but Chopper couldn’t tell him the truth. That he didn’t go anywhere. That he lived on the street. That he had no home.

So he stayed silent.
Law didn’t seem offended.

“You should be careful. It’s cold out here. You’ll get sick,” he simply said, in a neutral tone.

That sentence shattered something inside Chopper.

His eyes widened, his fingers clenched on the plush, and he almost spat, voice twisted by poorly digested panic:

“I’m not a dying kid!”

Law froze.
He hadn’t expected that.

“I… I never said that,” he replied, genuinely confused. “I just meant the weather is bad. You’re in a t-shirt, anyone would catch a cold by now. It’s just… logical.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying Chopper more closely:
the thin t-shirt, arms covered in old bruises, the gauntness under the fabric, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders tensed at the slightest sound.

Chopper was breathing fast.
Too fast. Like a small animal cornered.

The wind gusted through the alley, making the plush tremble in his arms. But Chopper stayed still, tense as a bowstring.

He didn’t want to look weak.
Never. Not again.
Not in front of him.

He swallowed hard, then whispered, almost like an involuntary apology:

“I’m not… like they say. I’m not weak. Or sick. Or about to…”

He stopped, unable to say the word the other children always used against him.

Law frowned slightly.
Something was wrong.
Really wrong.

This child didn’t talk like a “normal” child. He talked like someone who had already heard too much, lived too much.

So Law softened.
Just a little.

“I didn’t say you were weak. Or sick. Or anything like that.”
Then he added, with deliberate slowness: “I’m just describing what I see. And what I see is a kid who’s shivering.”

Chopper opened his mouth, surprised by the simplicity of the answer. He was used to insinuations. To mockery. To threats.

But here… there were none.

Just a statement.
Neutral.
Honest.

He didn’t know what to do with it.

---

“Listen, that’s my place over there,” Law said, pointing to a street farther down, where the streetlights were starting to come on despite the light rain.

Chopper followed his gaze. A home. A warm, sheltered place. A place where adults might live.

His heart raced. He squeezed Poussin so hard the seams groaned.

Law continued, his voice still calm, steady, as if nothing could shake him:

“If your parents don’t know you’re out like this, they must be worried.”

The word parents sliced through Chopper like a cold blade.
He inhaled too sharply, a small gasp escaping him. He shook his head in a tiny, almost imperceptible motion.

He didn’t have any anymore.
But he couldn’t say it.

Law didn’t seem to notice the depth of his panic, or at least he pretended not to. He simply rested a hand on his own bag, a vaguely reassuring gesture:

“You could… come to my place for a bit. If you have their number, I can explain.”

Chopper froze. Not out of fear of the boy. But fear of this entirely new situation, threatening and tempting at once.

Go to someone’s home? Be inside a house? What if the adults there wanted to send him back to Drum?
If the boy called the police?

His mind spun too fast.

So he asked the only question that came to him, in a small trembling voice:

“How old are you…? Do adults live with you?”

Law raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised by the order of the questions.

“I have parents, yes. But I have my own apartment. I’m 18.”

Chopper’s eyes went wide. A teenager… living alone? Was that possible? He didn’t know freedom could exist that early.

It seemed unreal. Like magic more powerful than school itself.

“Why?” he demanded, without thinking.

He didn’t mean to be rude. He wanted to understand.
Because if Law could live alone at 18…maybe one day he could live somewhere without anyone hitting him, locking him up, taking his things.

Law sighed softly, not annoyed, just… weary.

“Well, my parents think I’ve earned my independence.” He gave Chopper a more attentive look. “You’re curious and smart, aren’t you.”

Chopper straightened immediately, almost stung.
He clutched his plush and blurted out, too fast to think:

“I’m not a baby!”

Law’s lips twitched in the tiniest movement — not a smile, but a kind of softening for someone who never smiled.

A raindrop slid down Chopper’s nose.
He was still trembling a little.

Law tilted his head.

“I never said you were.”

Chopper didn’t feel insulted. Just… seen.

 

🦌❤️

Chapter Text

Law noticed immediately that something was wrong.

The child hadn’t reacted normally when he mentioned “parents.”

No flinch, no worry, no “they’ll kill me if I’m late,” no tears.

Nothing.

It was unnatural.

Any kid his age would have shown some sign — positive or negative — at the mention of family.

But him…

Nothing.

There were also the always-identical clothes.

The way he constantly hid.

His thinness.

His extreme distrust of adults.

And above all… the fact that he came every single day to stare at the high school like someone dreaming of a world he wasn’t allowed into.

Law analyzed everything with clinical calm.

It was in his nature.

And even though he was only eighteen, he had already lived a life that forced him to read people faster than most.

If Corazon were here… Law could practically hear him:

“Law, why is that kid out in the street when you could just offer him a hot chocolate?!”

And Crocodile — despite his legendary cynicism — would probably have growled something like:

“Bring him home. It’s raining. Give him a blanket. Enough nonsense.”

The mental image drew a quiet huff of amusement from him.

But this wasn’t the time to laugh.

He watched the child a moment longer, then asked straight out:

“Hey… do you want to come with me?”

Chopper tensed instantly.

“Come where?” he asked, voice dripping with suspicion, fingers clenched around his plushie’s paw.

“To my place. I told you — it’s not far. And…” Law paused deliberately, searching for the most reassuring words possible,

“There are no adults there.”

Chopper froze.

Law could literally see the thoughts racing behind his eyes.

Danger scenarios.

Traumatic memories.

Quick calculations: *If he takes me, will he call adults? The police? Will he send me back there?*

So Law added:

“I’m not telling anyone. Not even the police.”

He insisted gently:

“I figured it out… you don’t have parents.”

The reaction was immediate.

Chopper took a step back, panic flaring, as if Law had just touched a live wire.

A small, strangled sound escaped his throat.

His eyes filled with raw fear.

Law instantly raised both hands, palms open and visible:

“Wait! I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

But that was the exact moment Chopper flinched hard, stepping back even further.

As if the simple raising of hands had triggered a painful memory.

Law went perfectly still.

A cold shiver ran down his spine.

*Has someone hit him?*

Because that…

That was the reflex of someone who had been struck before.

He lowered his hands slowly, keeping them visible but motionless, and spoke in a voice softer than he thought himself capable of:

“Sorry. I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He took a breath, forcing himself to stay calm for both of them.

“I just thought if you saw my hands, you’d feel safer. That you’d know I’m not hiding anything.”

Chopper was breathing too fast.

His gaze darted from Law to the alley exit, then back to Law again, like a trapped animal.

But still…

He didn’t run.

Not yet.

And to Law, that meant everything.

---

Chopper hadn’t understood right away that the tall boy — Law — was inviting him home.

At first it just sounded like… a weird sentence.

Then the words “my place” sank in.

He had quickly pieced together the rest of Chopper’s story — yes, Law was smart. Too smart.

It was a little scary.

But one thing reassured him:

Law hadn’t called the police.

He hadn’t yelled.

He hadn’t done anything to draw attention.

Maybe… maybe he was a real good person.

Real good people existed. Maybe.

He tried to explain, voice trembling:

“I-I didn’t mean… I thought… you…”

He couldn’t finish.

The words stuck in his throat.

Law answered without the slightest irritation, calm and steady:

“It’s okay.”

He shrugged lightly, as if it were nothing:

“It’s normal to be wary. You’re completely right to be.”

A compliment.

Chopper felt a strange warmth spread through his chest.

He blushed, burying his face in his plushie’s head as if he could disappear into it.

The worn stitching on its snout tickled his nose.

He didn’t know what to say.

He wasn’t used to this kind of attention.

To being looked at like… someone who wasn’t hated.

Law noticed his discomfort, then continued, soft but firm:

“It’s cold. You must be hungry. I promise — my place is safe.”

Safe.

A safe place.

The word echoed in Chopper’s mind like a magical concept, something he’d heard about but never tasted.

Chopper opened his mouth to answer. To say he wasn’t hungry.

To say he didn’t need help.

To say he could manage on his own.

But…

GrrrrrRROOOaaR…

His stomach spoke for him.

A growl so loud it almost echoed in the damp alley.

Chopper froze, cheeks burning crimson.

He clutched his plushie so hard it hurt.

As if that could muffle the sound.

As if that could hide his shame.

Law blinked slowly.

A tiny amused breath escaped his nose — barely there, but real.

“I think your stomach just voted,” he said simply.

Chopper’s face turned scarlet.

He wanted the ground to swallow him.

Law wasn’t mocking him.

He was just stating a fact.

As always.

Without cruelty.

He slowly extended one hand — not toward the child, just an invitation from a safe distance:

“Come on. I won’t hurt you. You just need a hot meal.”

The rain started falling harder, drumming steadily on the pavement.

Chopper shivered.

Another drop slid down his temple.

His plushie was getting wet.

He hesitated.

For a long time.

His eyes flicked from the rain, to the street, then to Law.

But the hunger…

The exhaustion…

And this strange kindness…

Everything mixed together.

Finally, he whispered, almost inaudible:

“…okay.”

Law gave the tiniest nod.

A small victory.

But a real one.

---

Law opened his umbrella just enough to cover Chopper too.

He didn’t ask him to walk closer.

He simply matched the child’s pace, never pushing.

Chopper didn’t need to hold his hand.

Law knew that.

So he offered something less invasive:

“If you want, you can hold the strap of my bag. That way you won’t get lost.”

Chopper hesitated… then grabbed the strap with the tips of his fingers.

Not too tight.

Just enough to feel a presence.

He liked it.

It wasn’t intrusive.

It wasn’t overwhelming.

It was… reassuring.

And most importantly, he could see both of Law’s hands.

One holding the umbrella.

The other in his pocket.

Neither raised.

Neither ready to strike.

Neither hidden.

For the first time, the child felt… strangely safe.

Tired too.

So tired he no longer had the strength to speak.

Law didn’t ask for more.

---

They finally stopped in front of a small, simple house, warmed by the golden glow of a streetlamp.

Law pulled out a key with an adorable keychain: a little pastel rubber bunny head.

Chopper stared at the tiny figure, fascinated.

He had never owned anything so… useless but cute.

Useless-but-cute things didn’t exist at the orphanage.

Law unlocked the door.

“Come in. Take off your shoes — the floor gets slippery.”

The moment the door closed, the warmth of the house wrapped around him like an invisible blanket.

It smelled of wood, a hint of black tea, and something indefinably comforting… like a real home.

Law handed him a big, soft towel.

“Here. Dry off. And take these too.”

He offered a pair of slippers — way too big, but incredibly fluffy.

Chopper slipped them on immediately.

The floor was no longer cold.

His feet finally stopped trembling.

Law turned on the heater; it began purring softly.

“You can settle in the living room or look around if you want.”

He paused.

“Do you like hot chocolate?”

Chopper’s head snapped up, like a startled but delighted animal.

“Y-yes!”

Law nodded.

“Be right back.”

---

While Law was gone, Chopper began exploring the house — timidly at first, then with growing confidence.

He peeked into the living room.

There was a dark blue couch, folded blankets, a bookshelf filled with manga and medical textbooks.

He touched things as he passed:

a lemon-shaped cushion, a little penguin figurine, a framed photo of a smiling couple — Law’s parents, probably.

He even checked behind a curtain.

Behind the bathroom door.

In the kitchen.

In the entryway.

No adults.

Only photos.

Traces of life.

But no one else.

He finally let out a breath.

A long, fragile breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He set his plushie, Poussin, on the couch.

Its little brown ears drooped against the fabric.

---

“Kid?”

Chopper turned.

Law was back with a tray.

On it:

a big steaming hot chocolate, a plate of bear-shaped pancakes — banana slices for ears, two melted chocolate drops for eyes,

a banana slice in the middle for the snout, two strawberries at the bottom like little red sugary paws.

It was the cutest, friendliest thing anyone had ever made for him.

Law set the tray on the coffee table.

“I thought you might like it.”

He said it simply, without pride, but with unexpected gentleness.

Chopper’s mouth fell open.

His eyes shimmered.

His hands trembled slightly.

“It’s… it’s for me?”

Law gave a faint smile.

“Yes. Who else?”

Chopper approached slowly, as if it were too good to be true.

He sat on the couch, tucked Poussin against his side, and took his first bite of warm bear pancake.

His eyes filled with tears.

But this time…

they were gentle tears.

Not of fear.

Of relief.

---

“You never told me your name,” Law said, settling into the armchair across from him.

Chopper looked up, startled.

He hadn’t even realized he’d never given it.

He hugged Poussin tighter, as if the plushie could help him find his voice.

“Um… Tony Tony Chopper,” he whispered timidly.

The name floated in the warm room like a fragile little breath.

Law blinked, then answered without a trace of mockery:

“An adorable name.”

Chopper’s eyes widened.

No one had ever said that.

Ever.

He ducked his head, cheeks pink, half-hiding his face behind his plushie’s ear.

That single compliment unsettled him more than hunger or cold ever had.

Law watched him for a moment, then continued, voice still even:

“You look tired.”

It wasn’t judgment.

Just a gentle observation.

Almost concerned.

“If you’re okay with it…” he went on, choosing his words carefully,

“I should have some old clothes that’ll fit you. Nothing fancy, just stuff I wore when I was younger.”

Chopper glanced shyly at his soaked, dirty t-shirt.

He didn’t know how to respond.

He had never worn “clean” clothes to sleep in.

He slept in whatever he had on. Always.

Law added quickly, to ease any pressure:

“And I can get the guest room ready. It’s the one I use when friends stay over. It’s small, but clean and warm.”

A bedroom.

A real bedroom.

Not a cell, not a dormitory, not a place where someone would rip his plushie away.

A real room just for sleeping.

That no one would take from him.

Chopper felt his throat tighten, his chest squeeze with an unfamiliar emotion.

He nodded — slowly, almost imperceptibly.

As if saying “yes” out loud might shatter the moment.

Law understood.

He stood without any sudden moves.

“I’ll go set everything up,” he said simply.

Then, softer:

“Rest a bit. Eat if you want. You’re safe here.”

Chopper wrapped one hand around his plushie, the other around his hot chocolate, and for the first time in a very, very long time…

…he felt like he belonged.

---

Chopper had nearly finished his bear pancake. The warmth of the hot chocolate seeped into his fingers and chest. His eyelids were growing heavy, as if his whole body finally understood it could relax.

Law sat in the armchair across from him, legs crossed, watching the child calmly.

Then, suddenly:

“You never told me your name.”

Chopper’s head jerked up too fast, heart racing on instinct, as if giving his name could get him in trouble.

He hesitated a second, then breathed:

“Um… Tony Tony Chopper.”

He clutched his plushie like a shield.

His trembling voice melted something inside Law.

The high schooler tilted his head, faintly amused:

“An adorable name.”

Chopper blushed to the tips of his ears.

No one at the orphanage had ever called his name adorable.

They said it was “ridiculous,” “too long,” or “weird.”

So… a real compliment?

His heart did a strange little flip.

Law leaned forward slightly, never crossing the invisible safety bubble Chopper kept around himself.

“You look tired.”

It wasn’t a reproach.

Just a soft, almost worried observation.

“If you’re comfortable…” Law continued, choosing each word with care,

“…I have some old clothes that should fit you for sleeping.”

Chopper glanced down at his soaked, filthy shirt.

He didn’t know what to say.

He had never worn clean clothes just to sleep.

Law added, removing all pressure:

“And I can get my guest room ready. The one my friends use when they stay over.”

A room.

A bed all to himself.

Sheets.

A door he could close.

No one to hit him.

No one to take his plushie.

Chopper looked up, eyes shining.

He had that indescribable expression children wear when they discover something for the first time:

a mix of hope, fear, and disbelief.

“Y-you have… a room just for… sleeping?” he asked, as if the very idea were royal luxury.

Law blinked, surprised by the question… then understood.

All the clues.

All the behaviors.

All the fear reflexes.

This kid had never had a room.

His voice softened to an almost impossible gentleness:

“Yes, Chopper. And tonight… it can be yours. If you want.”

The child squeezed Poussin tight against his chest.

His lip trembled.

“I… I can sleep… without anyone hitting me?” he asked — honestly, innocently, heartbreakingly.

Law felt his heart contract so hard it almost hurt.

He breathed in slowly to contain the cold rage creeping in — rage toward whoever had dared do this to a child.

Then he straightened and answered in a voice firm, unshakable, like a promise carved in stone:

“No one will ever hit you here. Ever.”

Chopper finally breathed.

Truly breathed.

As if air was returning to his lungs after years.

 

🦌❤️

Chapter Text

Law stepped away for a few moments, leaving Chopper alone with his plushie and the sweet scent of pancakes still warm. When he came back, he was holding a small pile of clothes in his arms: a sweatshirt too small for him now, a clean and soft t-shirt, a simple pair of shorts, and even a pair of colorful socks.

“I kept these… even though they don’t fit me anymore,” he admitted, a little embarrassed. He looked away. “Bad habit. But for once, it’s useful.”

Chopper stared at the clothes as if they were forbidden treasure. No one had ever given him clothes that were truly his. People threw things at him, tore sweaters off him, dressed him in a hurry. But giving… that was something else.

Law pointed to a door down the hallway.

“The bathroom’s that way. You can stay in there as long as you want.” He paused, thought for a second, then asked carefully: “…Unless you’re too little to wash yourself alone?”

Chopper straightened up at once, stung in his pride. “I’m 8… I think I’m big enough.”

But he didn’t really lift his chin. Deep down, he wasn’t sure.
At the orphanage, he never got to decide how he was washed. Adults turned on the faucets. Stranger hands scrubbed his back. He had never been allowed to say “I can do it.” Law sensed it.

“You sure?” he asked calmly. He set the clothes on a chair, then opened the bathroom door. Soft light revealed a clean, tidy room that smelled of honey soap. “I can run the bath for you,” he continued. He wasn’t pushing; he was offering. “I don’t mind keeping an eye on you. Just to make sure you don’t slip.”

Chopper blinked. Keeping an eye on him. But not to hit him. Not to yell at him. Not to humiliate him. Just… to make sure he didn’t hurt himself.

“Really?” he breathed, unable to hide his astonishment.

He took a step back on reflex. Distrust hadn’t left yet. Not after everything he’d been through. But it had softened, disarmed by Law’s calm voice, by the warmth of hot chocolate in his belly, by the softness of the slippers on his feet. He glanced at the open door. Steam was already rising; Law had turned on the tap, testing the temperature with his wrist the way a big brother would.

“Just… just to stay there?” Chopper asked, still hesitant.

“Just that,” Law confirmed. A steady, safe tone that left no room for worry. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

Chopper gave a tiny nod, like an animal slowly getting used to the idea of being safe. He clutched Poussin tight… then gently set the plushie on a shelf by the sink.

“O-okay.”

---

The bathroom was warm, full of gentle steam, and Chopper was shyly playing with the bubbles. He didn’t know how long he’d been outside before—days? weeks?—but here, surrounded by warmth and foam, he felt like he was floating. The bathtub was an entire world. Bubbles popped between his small fingers. The soap smelled like coconut—sweet, almost sugary. Too curious, Chopper tasted a drop. It was awful. Law, watching from the doorway while respecting his privacy, stifled a laugh, then came closer and handed him a cup of tap water.

“Rinse your mouth. No panic.”

Chopper spat noisily, soap bubbles still clinging to his pink lips. He looked up at Law with the most mortified expression in the world.

“Try not to eat soap in the future, yeah?” Law added with a small smile.

“Y-yes… sorry…” Chopper whispered, ashamed.

He was terrified Law would change his mind and decide he didn’t want him anymore after that mistake. Worse—he was afraid of being locked in a dark room. But none of that happened. Instead of getting angry, Law simply lathered Chopper’s short brown hair, now finally free of street grime. Under the foam, their real color showed: a soft caramel brown. Chopper closed his eyes, letting it happen despite his instinctive wariness. He watched every movement. But… he was relaxing.

---

Law, hesitant but needing to know more, asked gently: “Tell me, Chopper… I get that you don’t have parents. But you weren’t just wandering the streets, right?”

Chopper frowned slightly, still half-submerged.
A little plastic duck floated past; he pushed it with his fingertips.

“Hm… I don’t know where my parents are.”

Law froze for a second. It wasn’t “they’re dead.” It was abandonment. And worse: an abandonment no one explained.

“I see… you don’t know where they are. But before, you were somewhere, right?”

Chopper suddenly looked up, worried. “You’re not gonna tell the police?”

“Nothing at all. I promise,” Law answered with icy sincerity.

Chopper nodded, then whispered: “I was in… those houses where they leave kids. You know?”

Law understood immediately. “An orph—”

Chopper pressed a trembling finger to his lips. “Shh.” As if the word itself was forbidden. Dangerous. His eyes filled with tears instantly—not crying, just memories that stung.
Law copied the gesture.

“Okay. I know the places. And then…?”

Chopper took a deep breath, as if speaking cost him dearly: “I ran away. There were only mean people.”

Law quietly clenched his fist. “Then I understand why you left. Sorry I asked.”

“It’s okay. I just don’t like talking… about the mean people.”

“Understandable.”

---

When Chopper stepped out of the water, Law saw the marks on his skin more clearly: old bluish bruises, thin scars, patches where the skin was too dry, too red. His heart tightened. He held back a wave of anger. This wasn’t the moment. Chopper didn’t need an angry Law right now.
He picked up a fluffy towel.

“Tell me, Chopper… where are you from? You don’t have to answer. I promise… I’ll never take you back to the house with the mean people.”

Chopper hesitated. “It’s a secret.” He rubbed himself clumsily with the towel, still wary. Then, seeing Law wasn’t pushing, he added: “But… you haven’t called the police or the mean people. So… I’ll tell you.”

A permission. A gift. Law smiled softly. “That’s kind of you.”

He stepped closer slowly to help, wrapping Chopper in the towel with an almost maternal gentleness. Chopper blushed but didn’t pull away.

“My house… and the house with the mean people… it’s in Drum.”

Law paused. Drum. Two days away by car. And this child had gotten here alone? He didn’t let anything show. He picked up the hairdryer, sat Chopper in front of the mirror, and started drying his brown hair. Chopper, eyes half-closed, let him, like an exhausted little cat. Law carefully worked through the tangles—too many for an eight-year-old.

“Sorry… I’ll go slow.”

“It’s… it’s okay,” Chopper murmured.

When everything was clean and dry, Law picked up the clothes he’d prepared. A little gray pajama set with space patterns: colorful planets, stars, rockets, rainbows. Exactly like the one in your picture. It glowed in the dark.

“Like it?” Law asked.

Chopper touched the fabric… and broke into a smile that lit up the entire room.

“It’s… for me?”

“Yes. For you.”

Chopper put on the pajamas, clumsy but happy. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a real kid. A kid with a home. Pajamas. And someone to take care of him. He placed a hand on his chest, as if checking he was really there.

“I… am I pretty?” he asked with heartbreaking shyness.

Law answered without hesitation: “You’re perfect, Chopper.”

---

Chopper stood in front of the mirror a little longer, gently tugging at the fabric of his pajamas. He rolled his shoulders, spun around. The planets, rockets, stars seemed to float across his small, clean body.

Law watched in silence, arms folded, mind elsewhere.
Drum. The kid came from Drum. A place he’d left alone, at eight years old, because of “mean people.” Law had seen injustice before. He wasn’t naïve. But seeing a child this small, this smart, this gentle… carrying so many marks and so much distrust? It twisted his stomach. No child should ever go through that.

He himself had slammed doors as a teenager, yelled, “You don’t understand me!” And maybe his parents had been exhausted by him sometimes… But they had never raised a hand. Never locked him up. Never torn away his plushie.

Law breathed deeply. What was he going to do? Chopper was here. Now. Tired. Hurt. Alone.

Become a parent at 18?
Ridiculous.
Insane.
Impossible.
Or maybe… inevitable.

He had a house thanks to his parents. He paid his own bills. But with a child? More hours at the part-time job?
A second job? How to juggle that with high school? And what if the orphanage—or worse—was actually looking for him?

Panic rose. He imagined telling his dads: “Dad, I have a kid now.” Absurd. Surreal. He couldn’t tell them. Not yet. He hadn’t even asked Chopper what he wanted.

A small hand suddenly closed around his sleeve. “Law… I’m a little tired.” The soft, broken voice brought him back to earth.

“Ah… yeah. Sorry. I was lost in thought.”

He quickly drained the tub, gathered Chopper’s dirty clothes—deciding to wash them anyway, even if they’d probably never fit again—and picked up Poussin, handing it back.

“Your room’s this way. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company… ignore the mess.”

He turned off the bathroom light, turned on the hallway light, and started the little tour: “Toilet’s here. My room’s across. And this…” he put his hand on a handle, “this is your room. Guest room usually. Storage is at the end.”

He opened the door. The room was simple: a single bed, clean sheets, a small nightstand, a half-empty shelf, a few boxes. Not really a child’s room. But it was a space that was his.

Chopper stayed quiet. Eyes shining.

“Here’s your space,” Law said softly.

Chopper stepped in, slowly. Then spun around suddenly: “We’re not sharing?… So it was true.”

Law blinked. “Uh… no, sorry if you wanted to share. I can—”

Chopper shook his head. “No, that’s not it, Law. It’s just… it’s been a really long time since I had my own room.”

Something tore inside Law. “Oh… I see.”

He recovered, pointing to a small key hanging on the wall. “You can lock the door if you want privacy. There isn’t much yet, but I’ll try to find some toys for you. Sheets are clean.”

Chopper hugged Poussin tight. “Law… thank you. But… do you have a little light? Because… well…”

He didn’t need to finish. Law understood everything. “No need to explain. I get it. I’ll grab something from storage.”

He left Chopper to timidly explore the room: opening drawers, touching the sheets, checking under the bed to make sure nothing dangerous was there, gently pulling the curtains… A room. A real one. His.

---

“I’m back.”

Chopper ran to the bed, unable to hide his excitement.
Law set a funny round box on the nightstand. “I loved space when I was younger. That’s where the pajamas came from…” Then he tapped the box. “…and now, this.”

He turned off the ceiling light. Closed the window gently.
Drew the curtains. The room went dark.

Then he pressed a button.

And the ceiling, the walls, the floor… lit up. Planets. Stars. Comets. Entire galaxies slowly spinning all around Chopper. A real cosmic night. Chopper brought both hands to his mouth, eyes wide as moons. His glow-in-the-dark pajamas lit up too, completing the living galaxy. He stood in the middle of the room, tiny in the universe, but strangely safe.Like an astronaut in his spaceship.

“Woah…” he breathed.

Law smiled. “Good night, Chopper. I’ll leave the door cracked for your first night. Call me if you’re scared or want water.”

Chopper slipped under the covers, clutching Poussin. “Law…?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s… the most beautiful room in the world. Thank you.”

Law nodded gently. He closed the door just enough to let a sliver of light through. In the hallway, he leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. Yes. He would do everything so this child would never again spend a single night in fear.

 

🦌❤️

Chapter Text

Chopper was sleeping deeply, curled into a tight ball, his glowing pajamas tracing tiny galaxies that mingled with the stars projected on the walls. The room was silent, soft, safe. Until a tremor ran through his small body. At first it was slight. A trembling hand. Breathing suddenly too fast.
Then his legs kicked under the sheets, as if trying to run away. He was trapped in his own nightmare. His skin grew clammy, his hair plastered to his forehead. His eyelids fluttered frantically even though they were closed. And then

 

—

 

A scream. A scream so raw, so gut-wrenching, it seemed to tear the night in two. In the next room, Law jolted awake.
His heart slammed against his ribs. He slipped on the blanket and crashed off the bed, knee hitting the hardwood, elbow smacking the desk. “Shit— Chopper!” He scrambled up despite the pain, stumbled into the hallway, and threw open the guest room door far too hard. The door slammed against the wall.

Chopper screamed again. He curled into himself instantly, arms over his head, knees pulled to his chest, unable to breathe properly.

 

“S-sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! Don’t hit me— I didn’t mean to—!” The words tumbled out, broken. His breathing wheezed, ragged, like he couldn’t get any air. His fingers shook so violently that Poussin slipped from his grasp.

Law froze. Cold shock flooded his stomach. He had never imagined the first night would be this brutal. He realized then that Chopper wasn’t going to magically “be okay” just because he’d had a warm bath and pancakes. Of course not. Chopper had survived, not healed.

Law instantly softened his entire posture: shoulders down, one step back, then slow steps forward with his hands clearly visible.

 

“Chopper. It’s me. It’s Law.” The child kept sobbing, unable to tell dream from reality. “The bad people are very far away. You’re in Flevance. At my place.”

 

He took a breath. “I’m sorry I opened the door so hard. That was my fault. Not yours. Okay?”

 

Chopper lifted his eyes, still shaking. His breaths made heartbreaking little sounds, like every inhale hurt. Law approached the bed gently, palm up—a universal sign of peace.

 

“I’m just going to sit here, next to you. I’ll tell you everything I do, okay? I won’t touch you. I’m just doing this.” He lowered himself to his knees, then sat very slowly on the floor. The little one was still trembling like a leaf. Law hesitated, then spoke in a low, almost conspiratorial voice:
“My dad taught me a trick when I used to have attacks like this…”

 

Chopper looked up, startled. Law? Having attacks? “Breathe in… and out. Then you name five things you like the most.”

 

“I-I-I don’t know… I… I…” Chopper was too panicked to think.
His hands clutched his arms, his legs curled tighter.
Law nodded, understanding.

 

“It doesn’t have to be five. It can be three. Even one color. Something you think is cool.” He placed his own hands on his chest, showing the rhythm. “Breathe in with me… slowly… yes… again… and out… There you go. That’s really good.”

 

Chopper tried. Once. Twice. Three times. Little by little, his breathing eased. Then, in a shattered little voice, he whispered: “I like… red.” Law nodded gently. “Keep going.”
“I like… animals…” His breathing calmed. His shoulders lowered. “…and I like my plushie Poussin…”

 

Law felt the tension in his own chest loosen. It was a victory. Small, but vital.

 

“Repeat them. As many times as you need. It helps your chest hurt less. And helps you breathe better.”

 

Chopper nodded, eyes still wet but clear now. “Red… animals… Poussin… red… animals… Poussin…” Each repetition soothed his racing little heart a little more.
The starry projection around them seemed to shift with his breathing, as if the galaxy itself were trying to comfort him.
Law stayed there, motionless, within reach but never too close. Present. Solid. Steady.

 

Chopper wasn’t alone with his fear anymore.

 

---

Chopper repeated it a few more times, softer: “Red… animals… Poussin…”

 

His voice shook less. His breaths grew longer, less ragged. He was slowly coming back to reality: to the starlit room, under the space projector, in clean sheets, wearing glowing pajamas. Law stayed seated beside the bed, back straight, hands clearly visible on his knees. He didn’t speak anymore—just there. He didn’t want to startle the child again. Chopper sniffled, wiped his face with his sleeve, then looked up. His pupils still shone with fear. He hesitated. One second. Two.

Then, very timidly: “Law… can you… stay? I-I mean… just until I fall asleep a little. Not long.” His voice cracked at the end. He was terrified Law would say no. That asking for “too much” would get him in trouble.

 

Law blinked softly. “No problem. I’ll stay.”

 

Chopper inhaled, almost relieved. He uncurled a bit, slipped back under the blanket. His fingers found Poussin and pulled the plush tight against his chest. Law stood to grab a folded blanket from the closet.

Chopper panicked instantly, sitting up: “Wait! Where are you going?!”

 

“Not far. Just getting this.” Law answered, holding up the blanket.

 

Chopper calmed, nodding quickly. Law spread the blanket on the floor right beside the bed, then sat down on it before lying down slowly. He didn’t want to invade the child’s space. Just be there.

“You can sleep. I’m staying right here. I won’t move,” he said softly.

Chopper tugged the edge of the bed’s blanket a little, as if checking Law wasn’t lying. “You… you’ll stay all night?”

 

“Yes.”

Chopper let out a tiny, awed “oh,” like someone had just given him something priceless. He lay back down, staring at the ceiling covered in planets. The projected light formed gentle rings around him. His pajamas glowed faintly, and his tear-streaked face slowly relaxed. Just before closing his eyes, he whispered:

 

“I… I never had anyone stay when I had nightmares. The grown-ups… they said it was my fault.”

 

Law quietly clenched a fist around the fabric of his blanket.
He took a deep breath so the anger burning in his chest wouldn’t show.

 

“It’s not your fault. Never. Nightmares aren’t something you did wrong.”

 

Chopper nodded, eyes closed. His breathing evened out. A few minutes later, he spoke again, voice almost asleep:

 

“Law?”

“Yes?”

 

“Thank you… for staying.”

 

“Always,” Law answered without thinking.

 

Chopper finally fell asleep.

 

Real sleep this time—less restless, less violent. He kept one small hand hanging off the edge of the bed, like a signal he’d never been allowed to give before. Law stayed awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling too. The planets turned slowly above them. He thought about tomorrow.
About next week. About everything this meant. The paperwork, the risks, the responsibility. The child sleeping two feet away. He draped an arm over his eyes and sighed.

 

“And shit… I’m really becoming a dad at eighteen…”

 

But he didn’t leave. He stayed. All night. Watching over him.

 

🦌❤️

Chapter Text

Chopper opened the door to his room very slowly, as if something might jump out from behind it. The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. He closed his hand around Poussin, his fingers trembling slightly. He hated this silence. It made it feel like Law was angry. Or worse: that he had left. His stomach knotted. He had had a nightmare. He had screamed. He had cried like babies do. He had had a “crisis,” as Law had called it. Grown-ups didn’t like that.

At the orphanage, they always told him he made “too much noise,” that he was “bothering everyone,” that he was “overreacting.” And the bad people punished him. What if Law called the police? Or the bad people? Or sent him back to Drum because he had been “bad”? Chopper bit his lip, his heart too heavy for his little body. He stared at the living-room clock, squinting. He couldn’t read the numbers, but… he knew some shapes, some positions. He guessed. “11:00… that’s late…” His heart sank. Law had surely left. Tired of him. He didn’t want to wait for a child who had crises in the middle of the night.

It was too much work. He was too much work.

Chopper walked in tiny steps down the hallway, barefoot, holding up the too-long hem of his pajamas so he wouldn’t step on them. Poussin dragged a little against his chest, like a white flag. He had to apologize. Right now. Before Law sent him away. He poked his head into the living room.
No one. The kitchen? No one. The couch was tidied. A blanket folded. An empty cup on the counter. It looked so much like someone leaving…

Chopper felt panic rising again. His throat tightened. “Law?” he called in a tiny voice. No answer. “Law…?” weaker, as if his courage was melting. What if he really was gone? What if he had decided Chopper was too complicated? Too loud? Too broken?

Chopper inhaled sharply, his eyes filling. I have to apologize. I have to— I have to…

He took two steps forward, ready to collapse in on himself, when a door opened behind him. The bathroom. Law stepped out, hair still damp, wearing a clean t-shirt and shorts.

“Ah! Chopper, you’re awake.”

Chopper froze on the spot. Like a statue. Blood rushed to his head all at once.

“Y-you’re… here? You didn’t leave?” the child asked, voice breaking.
Law looked at him, surprised, then frowned.

“Why would I have left?”

Chopper lowered his head, clutching Poussin like his life depended on it. “Because I screamed… I was bad… I woke you up… and… and I had a crisis…” He trembled. “Grown-ups… they don’t like when I do that. They say it’s my fault.”

Law approached slowly—like yesterday, hands visible, movements announced: “I’m just going to crouch down in front of you. I won’t touch you. Okay?”

Chopper nodded, eyes shining.
Law crouched. He looked him straight in the eyes, with a rare gentleness: “Chopper. Nothing you did last night was bad. Nothing. You didn’t scream because you wanted to be naughty. You were scared.”

Chopper squeezed his eyes shut, as if to hold back tears. Law continued, calm, firm: “Anxiety attacks aren’t being bad. They’re being in danger inside your head. And it’s my job to help you. Not to punish you.”

Silence. Then Law very slowly extended his hand, palm up. An invitation, not an obligation. “I’m here. I didn’t leave. And I don’t plan to. Besides, it’s my house.”

Chopper let out a small hiccup. His body relaxed all at once, as if invisible chains had snapped.

“I was scared you wouldn’t love me anymore…”

“Impossible. You’re a child, Chopper, not a problem,” Law said without hesitation.
Chopper quietly burst into tears, but they were warm tears, not tears of terror.

“I’m not a problem…?”

“No. You’re someone who needs protecting. Plus, look what I made you for breakfast.” Law motioned for Chopper to come to the kitchen table.

Chopper moved very slowly at first, as if a bad surprise could jump out at any moment. Poussin pressed against him, his bare feet brushing the cold tiles.
When he reached the table, his eyes went wide. A little bento. Full of colors. Cute shapes. And in the center, a rice bunny, perfectly shaped, with white ears, rosy ham cheeks, a little curved smiling mouth. It was beautiful. Too beautiful.
Way too beautiful for him. Chopper stood there, mouth open.

“A… bunny…” he breathed, unable to look away. “Cute.”

Law scratched the back of his head, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, I’m not very good at it. But I followed a recipe. I hope you’ll like it.”

Chopper nodded so fast his still-damp hair shook.

“Y-yes! Yes! I love it!” He had never had anything so pretty. No one had ever made something just for him.
Let alone something cute.
Law set a glass of orange juice next to the plate.

“Drink slowly. It’s fresh.”

Chopper did exactly what he said, as if every instruction was a life raft in an ocean where he couldn’t swim. He took a tiny bite of the rice bunny. His eyes lit up. He had never eaten anything so good. While he devoured his breakfast, Law pulled up a chair.

“Chopper, I have to do my school homework. Is it okay if I do it next to you?”

Chopper’s head snapped up. For a second he panicked—what if Law meant he had to leave later?—but he calmed almost immediately when he saw the calm expression.

“N-no… you can…” he said. He watched Law take out a big binder, papers, a pen, a calculator. Chopper had no idea what all those things were. He blinked several times, intrigued. The fear came back in a gentle wave: what if Law expected him to do something too? what if he had to prove something? what if he asked a stupid question? His fingers tightened a little on Poussin. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then, very softly:

“Law… what’s… school?” He said it like the word was a forbidden secret.
Like it was too stupid a question to exist. Like Law would laugh. Or mock him. Or get angry that he didn’t know.
Law immediately looked up at him.
No mockery. No annoyance. Just… soft surprise. And a pang in his heart.

He put down his pen. “Do you really want to know?”

Chopper nodded timidly, his ears turning red. “Yes… but… I’m scared it’s a dumb question…”

Law shook his head. “There’s no such thing as a dumb question, Chopper. Especially not that one.”

The child took a breath, reassured, then leaned in a little closer as if the explanation was something sacred. Something that had been stolen from him his whole life.

“Tell me… what’s school?” he repeated, eyes wide. Law took a breath, ready to explain.

“To keep it simple, school is a place where you learn to read, count, and discover things with teachers,” Law explained calmly, setting his pen down.

Chopper froze, head slightly tilted.

“Teachers…” he repeated, confused, as if the word itself was a mystery.

Law gave a very faint smile.

“They’re grown-ups, but kind grown-ups. They teach us lots of new things,” he said gently. “For example, when I grow up, I want to be a surgeon. So I have to go to school every day and do my homework.”

Chopper’s mouth fell open a little.
Pure, transparent admiration.

“School… really teaches all that?”

“Exactly,” Law confirmed.

He took a blank sheet, folded it in half, and wrote a few simple words:
Cat. House. Sun. Tree.

Then he slid the paper toward Chopper.

“Here. I made you some very basic exercises. Nothing hard.”

Chopper touched the paper with his fingertips, as if it were a fragile, precious object. He didn’t want to ruin it. He had never had “homework.” It felt like he was… normal. Like Law.

“Can you read?” Law asked.

Chopper lowered his eyes a little.

“A little…” he mumbled.

It wasn’t completely true. He barely could. But he wanted to try. He wanted so badly to try. Law pointed to the first line.

“All you have to do is read the word and draw what you understood underneath. Then we’ll check together.”

Chopper’s head snapped up, eyes shining.

“I want to try the homework!”

The sentence burst out with an energy he couldn’t even control. Like a childhood wish he had never been allowed to voice.
Law nodded, satisfied.

“Great. And if you don’t know, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Yes!” Chopper repeated, more motivated than ever.

He took the pencil Law gave him.
He held it awkwardly between his fingers.
Then, slowly, he leaned over the paper. His little face scrunched up in intense effort. He didn’t want to disappoint. He wanted to show he could understand. He read the first word under his breath:

“S… u… n… su-n… sun?” He looked up at Law, ready for a sign of disappointment.

But Law simply nodded:

“Yes. That’s it.”

The smile that lit up Chopper’s face was worth all the galaxies projected on the walls the night before. He drew a little circle with lines all around it.
And in that precise moment… Chopper felt like a child. A normal child. Doing homework. At the table. With someone waiting for him. And who stayed.

---

Law gave him a few minutes to draw his “cat.” It didn’t really look like a cat—more like a ball with four sticks… But Chopper had read it. He had tried. And Law was proud.

He stood and opened the fridge to get a bottle of orange juice. The cold liquid felt good; his head was already spinning from thinking so much. Chopper was smart. Really smart. He reasoned quickly, understood quickly, asked the right questions.

But… he had huge educational delays. Not because he was stupid. Just because no one had ever taught him. No one had helped him. No one had guided him.

An eight-year-old should know how to read.
An eight-year-old should at least know how to count a little.

But Chopper? Chopper was learning what a word even looked like. Law sighed. He felt overwhelmed.

If he really planned to take care of Chopper, he would have to:

catch up on the basics, find children’s books, make adapted exercises, assess his level before enrolling him in school, manage his own homework and Chopper’s at the same time, protect him psychologically, feed him, reassure him, stabilize him.

He inhaled, almost too loudly.

Should he talk to his parents about it?
His dad Corazon would love Chopper, that was obvious. Crocodile… wouldn’t say anything, but he would help. Even if he pretended not to care. But Chopper reacted very badly to adults. Extremely badly.

Law had no idea how he would handle that meeting.

He also didn’t know… if Chopper truly wanted him. As an attachment figure. As a “dad.” It was only the second day. He didn’t want to rush anything.

They would see how the week went. One day at a time. One step at a time.
He was returning to the table when Chopper’s small voice brought him back to the present:

“Law? Could I go to school too?”

Law froze. He hadn’t expected that.
Not so soon. Not so directly. Chopper’s heart shone with brand-new, almost fragile hope. Law set the juice on the table and took a breath.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “But we’ll do homework together first, to practice.”

Chopper nodded hard. His eyes sparkled.

“Yes! I understand.”

He looked so proud of having understood that Law felt a wave of warmth spread through his chest.

“Great,” Law said, taking two glasses.
He filled Chopper’s and handed it to him. “Here. Take a break and drink.”

Chopper grabbed the glass with both hands, with immense seriousness, as if the task were important.

“Thank you,” he said.

Simple. True. Full of sincere gratitude. Law watched him for a few seconds. He had never heard anyone say “thank you” like that: as if drinking orange juice was a rare privilege.

---

After a few more exercises and a glass of orange juice, Law calmly put his things away. Chopper watched every movement, sitting up straight, Poussin against him, as if moving too fast might upset Law or “break” something important.

Law looked at the little drawings: a wobbly sun, a cat that looked like an apple with legs, a house leaning dangerously.

Objectively? They were bad.
Subjectively? They were magnificent. Because Chopper was trying. Because he was learning. Because he trusted.

Law grabbed his jacket.

“Chopper, we’re going out. I need to buy you some children’s books. And exercise books too.”

Chopper’s eyes went huge.

“We’re… going out?”

“Yes,” Law confirmed, putting on his shoes. “Don’t worry, I’ll be with you.”

Chopper jumped up like a little rocket ready for takeoff, but stopped dead, looking at his bare feet.

“I… I don’t have shoes…”

Law grimaced. “Ah. Right.”

He rummaged in the entry closet and found an old pair of sneakers he had worn when he was about 10 or 11. They were a bit worn but still in good shape. He came back to Chopper:

“Try these.”

“They’re too big,” Chopper noted as he slid his tiny foot inside.

“Yes, but I’ll tie them tighter,” Law explained, crouching down.
He pulled the laces until the shoes sort of stayed on.

Chopper took two steps. The shoes went clomp clomp on the floor.

“It’s like… I’m wearing a giant’s shoes!” he said, surprised but amused.

Law let out a very faint laugh. “It’ll be better when I buy you new ones. For now, this’ll do.”

Chopper nodded, extremely proud to have “things” that were his.

---

They left the house. Chopper stayed glued to Law, almost against his leg, like a small animal discovering unknown territory.

Law carried a bag, a mental list, and the start of a migraine thinking about everything ahead of him.

During the week… how am I going to manage?
He visualized his schedule:

Monday: classes 8 a.m. to 4 p.m.
Tuesday: 10 a.m. to 6 p.m.
Wednesday: short but packed
Thursday: 8 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Friday: 9 a.m. to 3 p.m.

And Chopper? He couldn’t stay alone.
Impossible. He would have a crisis. And even if he didn’t, Law would never dare leave him. Ask his parents? No… Chopper would be terrified. They had to go slowly.

A daycare? Too risky. Paperwork. Identity.
Impossible for now.

Bring him to high school? Unlikely. Law rubbed his temple.

“Law?” Chopper asked, gently tugging his sleeve. “Why are you making that face?”

“I’m thinking,” Law answered.

“About what?”

Law hesitated. Then told half the truth: “About how to take care of you properly.”

Chopper frowned, a little confused: “But… I’m not doing anything bad…”

“I know,” Law said quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just… a lot of organizing.”

Chopper nodded without really understanding, then resumed walking while holding the strap of Law’s bag—his little gesture to feel safe.

---

They entered a small neighborhood bookstore. Chopper froze at the entrance.

“So… many books…” he breathed, awestruck.

Law grabbed a basket. “You’re going to discover a lot of them.”

He started putting in:

an alphabet book, a handwriting workbook, a picture book, a children’s reading manual, a little book about animals, a math workbook for first/second grade.

Every time he added something, Chopper’s eyes grew wider. Law thought: I’m really becoming responsible for a child. A child who depends on me. A child who follows me everywhere. The weight settled on his chest.
Not unpleasant. Just… enormous.

---

As they left the aisle, Chopper tugged his sleeve again.

“Law… when you go to school… where will I go?”

Law stood still for a second.
Just one. He answered honestly:

“I don’t know yet. But I’ll find something. I’ll never leave you without a solution.”

Chopper lowered his head. “Okay. I believe you.”

And he really meant it.

 

🦌❤️

Chapter Text

Monday arrived much faster than Law could have imagined. He’d barely had time to breathe. Barely had time to figure out how to make breakfast, how to comfort Chopper at night, how to handle homework… and already, the reality of high school was crashing down on him.

Law stared at his schedule lying on the table. Chopper, meanwhile, was playing on the floor with the little toys and books Law had given him over the weekend, completely absorbed, his tongue sticking out slightly as it always did when he was thinking very hard.

*How am I going to manage this?*

Take him to school with me?
Impossible.
Too many people.
Too much noise.
Too many adults.
Too many students.

Chopper would panic.
He’d be overwhelmed.
He’s never even been to a school.

Leave him home alone?
Out of the question.
He’d have a meltdown.
Or panic. Or think Law had abandoned him.

There was only one solution.

Even if it scared him just as much as it scared Chopper.

Law walked over to the little boy, crouched down, and waited for him to look up.

“Chopper, do you trust me?”

Chopper nodded immediately, without thinking, without hesitation.

“Yes,” he answered, still clutching his little figurine in his hands.

Law took a deep breath.

“Chopper… I need to ask you something. Something important.”

The child blinked, attentive.

Law felt his heart beat faster.
He’d never said this to anyone.
Not like this.

“Would you… like me to be your dad?”

Silence fell suddenly.
A real one. The kind that makes your chest tremble.

“I know it’s fast,” Law continued, his voice very soft, almost fragile. “And I know I’m just starting out. It’s my first time. I’m not perfect. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Because… I want to take care of you. And protect you.”

Chopper lowered his eyes to his hands for a moment, as if trying to understand a sentence in a brand-new language.

Dad.
Law.
His dad.

He looked up again.
His gaze trembled, but it shone.

“Really…? I-I hadn’t thought about it much,” he murmured. Then, louder, almost shyly: “But I like you a lot. I’d like that.”

Law felt a warmth rise in his chest. Something powerful.
Something that felt a lot like pride… and an enormous responsibility.

“Thank you. It’s… it means a lot to me.”

Chopper smiled a little, timidly.

Law went on: “What I’m trying to say is… right now it’s a lot for me. Not you. Never you. But me… as an adult. I’d like you to stay with my parents for a few days while I’m at school. Just long enough for you to practice a lot and for me to get organized. After that, you’ll go to school too. And I’ll worry less. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

He was afraid of his reaction.
Afraid he’d feel rejected.
So Law quickly added:

“I want to be your dad. I don’t want you to think I’m sending you away because I don’t want you. It’s just… complicated for me. And I want to do this right. For you.”

Chopper hugged his plushie tightly.

“And… are they nice? Your parents?”

“Very,” Law said without hesitation. “They’re funny. Caring. Kind. They’ll like you a lot. And I know I promised… no adults. But if I get things organized properly, it’ll be so much better.”

Chopper hesitated.
He was scared.
He was always scared.

But he wanted to be a good boy.
He wanted to learn.
He wanted Law to be proud of him.

“I-I’m willing to try,” he whispered.
Then, in a tiny voice: “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Law felt his heart squeeze tightly.

He placed a hand on Chopper’s shoulder—slowly, so the boy could pull away if he wanted, but Chopper didn’t move.

“It’s not you. It’s me. Being an adult… is sometimes hard. I have to train too. Like you with your homework.”

Chopper nodded, as if the logic made perfect sense to him.

“Oh,” he said seriously. “So you have homework too… to be a dad.”

Law let out a nervous but genuine laugh.

“Exactly.”

Chopper walked over to him, rested his little head against Law’s chest, and murmured:

“I want to be a good kid. For you. And for school.”

Law closed his eyes.

Yes.
He would do everything for him.

Even if it scared him.
Even if it was hard.
Even if it was too soon.

Because Chopper was worth it.

---

Needless to say: Law could have warned them.

He should have warned them.

But with everything that had crashed down on him all at once—an child, homework, nightmares, school, panic attacks, the word “dad”—he clearly hadn’t had time to think rationally.

Result?

Instead of going to school that Monday, Law had sent a message to the administration:

“I’m sick.”

Which wasn’t entirely untrue.
He was sick… with stress, with responsibilities, with improvised parenthood.

But he wasn’t in bed.
He was standing in front of his parents’ house, Chopper clinging to his left leg like a little koala, Poussin pressed against his chest.

Law took a deep breath.

“Chopper, remember? We observe first. You don’t have to talk. You can hold onto my leg if you want.”

“I want to,” Chopper answered immediately, tightening his grip.

Law nodded and knocked.

A second later: BAM.
The door flew open so fast it nearly hit him in the face.

“LAW MY BABY I MISSED YOUUUU—”

Rosinante burst out, huge, blond, in polka-dot pajamas (he wasn’t working today), and grabbed his son in a hug that could have killed a normal man.

“Dad—breathing—Dad you’re crushing me—”

Rosinante eased up a little. Then he saw Chopper. He froze. His blue eyes widened. He took a huge breath. Then he put his hands on his cheeks.

“OH MY GOD… LAW. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH A GIRL?!”

Silence.

Chopper blinked.

Law closed his eyes tightly.

“Dad. No. NO. Stop.”

“BUT HE HAS YOUR EYES! YOU CAN’T—”

“DAD!”

Chopper looked around, searching for the supposed girl. He didn’t see one. He hadn’t understood. Why would Law do things with a girl? Chopper didn’t even know what that meant.
He thought very seriously:

*Maybe grown-ups have weird ideas…*

Rosinante leaned dramatically toward Chopper.

“Kid! Tell me the truth! Were you kidnapped?! Do you want me to call the police?! Blink twice if you want us to save you!”

Chopper opened his mouth, horrified.

“No!! He didn’t… I mean— no police!” The words jumbled in his mouth.

Law placed a hand on his shoulder, reassuring him. “Chopper, ignore him. My dad… is a dramatic clown.”

Rosinante gasped. “I AM WOUNDED. BETRAYED. INSULTED IN MY OWN HOME.”

Chopper’s eyes widened.

“O-oh… so… you really are… a clown?” he asked sincerely.

Rosinante stopped dead. Silence. Then he placed a hand over his heart.

“I… I have never been understood so perfectly.”

He burst into joyful tears. Law dragged a hand down his face.

“Dad… stop traumatizing Chopper.”

“I’m traumatizing HIM?? I am a RAY OF SUNSHINE!”

“You’re shouting,” Law pointed out.

“I SPEAK LOUDLY BECAUSE MY HEART IS BIG.”

Chopper still hadn’t let go of Law’s leg. His fingers trembled, but his eyes were a little less frightened than before. Rosinante… was weird. But not mean. Not like Mother Carmel. Not like the adults at Drum.

Just… loud.
Very loud.

Chopper hugged Poussin tighter and whispered: “He’s like… a nice clown…”

Rosinante started crying again. “He already loves me. I’m officially a grandfather.”

Law took a long, very long breath.

“Dad… we need to talk.”

Rosinante wiped his eyes with his pajama sleeve.

“Yes, let’s talk. And then I’ll make hot chocolate for… my grandson?”

Chopper blushed. “I… I’m not your grandson yet.”

“YET,” Rosinante repeated dramatically, hand raised to the heavens.

Law pushed his father toward the living room.

“Let me explain. And… be serious. Just ten minutes.”

Rosinante turned back, still theatrical: “For you, my beloved child, I will be serious. For ten minutes. Maybe nine.”

Chopper lingered in the entryway for a moment, looking at the photos on the wall: baby Law, laughing. Law at school. Rosinante dressed as Santa. Chopper thought very hard:

*If the other adults are like Rosinante… maybe… maybe I can try.*

---

Chopper explored the house cautiously, taking tiny steps.
He checked behind doors, under furniture, like a little animal making sure no danger was hiding.
But he was also fascinated: photos, plants, oversized cushions, decorative toys, a strange painting done by Rosinante himself.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Law was trying to “talk calmly.”

It wasn’t working.

He had already explained the situation three times, each time a little faster, a little more panicked. Rosinante sipped his tea in silence, very focused… but his eyes clearly said *I’m completely lost.*

Finally, Law sighed so hard the tea nearly spilled. “You didn’t understand, did you?”

Rosinante slowly lowered his cup, with a small guilty grimace. “I admit I didn’t get everything,” he said honestly.

He set the cup down.
Straightened up.
Blinked several times.

“Breathe, my heart. And… speak slowly this time. Because you lost me the moment you said: ‘Dad I have a kid now but not how you think—’”

Law dragged a hand over his face, ashamed. “I’m sorry… I… everything hit me at once and… Chopper said he’d be okay with me as his dad and… I forgot to warn you, and I didn’t know what to do, and I couldn’t leave him alone, and—”

Rosinante raised a hand. A simple gesture.
But incredibly effective. Law fell silent immediately.

“Start from the beginning,” Rosinante said.

His voice was gentle. Steady. Calm. The one he used during his son’s worst crises. Law took a deep breath. Twice.
Then began, slowly:

“Dad… I met Chopper on Friday.”

Rosinante nodded.
He was following.

“He… doesn’t have parents. He’s from Drum. He ran away from a horrible orphanage. He’s been living on the streets for… I don’t know… a long time.”

Rosinante’s face changed immediately. No more clown. No more theatrics. Just soft, deep sadness.

“And you… took him in.”

“Yes,” Law answered, throat tight. “And since then… he won’t leave my side. He has nightmares. Panic attacks. He can barely read. HE’S EIGHT YEARS OLD, DAD.”

Rosinante set his cup down. Silently. Law continued, voice breaking with emotion and exhaustion:

“I offered to be his dad. And he said yes.”

Rosinante brought a hand to his mouth. But this time, no drama. Just raw emotion.

“Oh, Law…”

“I want to protect him. I want him to learn. I want him to be safe. But I’m still in school. I don’t know what to do during the week. I don’t know how to organize everything. I can’t leave him alone. I… I’m just…” His voice cracked. “… overwhelmed.”

Rosinante stood up. He walked around the table.
Approached slowly. Then placed his hands on his son’s shoulders.

“Law… my baby… you’ve done something very big. Something very beautiful.”

Law opened his eyes, surprised.

“You’re not overwhelmed. You’re human. And Chopper needs a human, not a superhero.”

Law clenched his teeth to keep from crying. Rosinante smiled, with all the gentleness in the world.

“Let me help you. Let us help you. That’s what parents are for. Not to judge. To support.”

In the hallway, Chopper watched the scene half-hidden behind a wall, clutching Poussin. He didn’t hear everything.
But he saw. He saw that Law’s dad really was a “nice clown.”

---

The front door closed softly—not loudly, not harshly—but to Chopper, it felt like the whole house shook. A massive shadow appeared in the doorway. A man entered. Very tall. Very broad-shouldered. A dark coat still damp from the rain, the smell of cold tobacco, and a heavy, almost crushing aura. His stern face was marked by a scar across his nose, and his right hand wasn’t a hand: a perfectly polished metal prosthetic. Chopper froze. His fingers squeezed Poussin so hard the little plush nearly squeaked. The man set down his briefcase. His amber eyes landed on him.

“Who are you, kid?” His raspy voice rumbled through the air like a growl.

Chopper melted inside.
He didn’t hesitate. He ran.

“LAAAAAW!” he yelled, sprinting down the hall. He practically leapt onto the couch, burrowed into it, and clumsily tried to push Law behind him. “There’s a bad man!!” he panicked, attempting to climb over the back of the couch.

Law caught Chopper just in time before he fell.

“Chopper, what are you talking about?” he asked, completely confused.

Chopper was shaking so hard his knees knocked together like castanets. “He’s coming to get me! He’s going to take me back there! He’s evil, Law!”
He waved his plushie frantically. “Even Poussin saw him!”

Law hadn’t yet realized that Crocodile—his second father—had just arrived. And as if the universe itself wanted to test Chopper’s heart strength…

Crocodile walked into the living room. “What’s going on now?” he grumbled, voice low, tired from his day.

Chopper screamed as if the man had stepped out of a horror movie. “AAAAH!!”

And he literally tried to merge between Law and the couch back, burying himself in the fabric, face hidden, ears flattened, Poussin held up like a shield. Law slapped a hand to his forehead.

“Oh no…”

Crocodile raised an eyebrow. “Why is he screaming? What did you tell him?”

Needless to say, the VOICE, the SIZE, the AURA, and the PROSTHETIC were not helping. Chopper, still hidden in the couch, only showed a bit of fabric and the top of one trembling ear.

“He’s going to kill me and stuff me in a suitcase!!” he whimpered, completely convinced of his tragic fate.

Law choked.

Rosinante held back a panicked laugh.
Crocodile blinked slowly.

“… A suitcase?”

Chopper nodded frantically without showing his face. Crocodile dragged a hand down his face.

“Rosinante. Your son brings home a traumatized kid and the first thing he sees is my scary mug?”

Rosinante threw his arms up. “I didn’t have time to roll out a red carpet!”

Crocodile sighed long and deep—that exact sigh Law knew so well, the one that meant: *I signed up for this, I’ll deal.*

Then he slowly, very slowly crouched down so as not to frighten Chopper further. He stayed several meters away. He rested his prosthetic on the floor so it wouldn’t gleam too much under the light.

“Kid. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice much softer, though still deep. “I’m not a bad guy. I’m just… tired. And ugly, apparently.”

Law tapped Crocodile’s shoulder. “You’re not ugly. You’re just… intimidating.”

“Same thing,” Crocodile muttered.

Chopper timidly tugged Law’s sleeve.
“Is he… really a good guy?”

Law nodded. “Yes. He yells sometimes, he grumbles all the time, but… yes. He’s a good guy.”

Rosinante added dramatically: “A good guy, just a bear who was licked the wrong way!”

“I’m going to strangle you,” Crocodile replied calmly.

Chopper blinked. The tension in his shoulders eased a little. He looked at Crocodile again. The scar. The prosthetic. The tobacco smell. The voice. Everything was scary. But…
He wasn’t advancing.
He wasn’t yelling.
He wasn’t punishing him.
He wasn’t even touching him.
He… was waiting.

Chopper clung to Law like a pocket koala, but his voice was a little less panicked:

“Okay… I get it… he’s just a big tired man.”

Rosinante burst out laughing. Crocodile almost said thank you for the first time in his life. Law sighed in relief. Peace was fragile. But it existed. For the first time in a long time, Chopper was surrounded… not by dangerous adults. But by adults who would protect him.

---

Chopper was still glued to Law, his little fingers gripping Law’s t-shirt like a lifeline. He kept one wary eye on Crocodile, in case the man suddenly decided to charge or turn into a monster.

And Law, who knew Chopper’s thoughts all too well, knelt to his level.

“Chopper, I promise. My dad is nice.” He pointed at Rosinante. “And Crocodile… he’s married to Rosinante. So he’s my dad too.”

Chopper stared at him. Then at Rosinante. Then at Crocodile. Then back at Law with an expression that clearly said *you’re lying, I can tell.* He shook his head firmly.

“Hmm no. Boys don’t fall in love.” He lowered his voice as if it were a secret. “He probably took your mom.”

Rosinante nearly choked on his own laughter. Crocodile raised an eyebrow, deeply offended. Law felt his brain stall for two seconds. Okay. New information: Chopper comes from a very… limited environment.

He took a deep breath.

“Okay, I see…” he murmured. “Chopper, do you know what a gay couple is?”

Chopper shook his head, eyes round as saucers.

“No…” He hesitated, then asked in a tiny voice: “Is it… bad?”

Law immediately placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders so he could see him clearly.

“Not at all.”

Crocodile, behind them, crossed his arms.
Rosinante leaned against the doorframe, a soft smile on his lips. Law continued, slowly, as calmly as possible:

“A gay couple is just… two people of the same gender who love each other. Like two men, or two women.”

Chopper furrowed his brow, very focused, as if Law were explaining quantum astronomy.

“They love each other… like couples? With… hugs and… marriage?”

“Yes,” Law confirmed. “Exactly the same.”

Chopper blinked several times.
You could almost hear the gears grinding in his brain.

“So… your blond dad… and the big cigar man… they… love each other?”

Rosinante chuckled. Crocodile rolled his eyes. Law smiled. “Yes. They’ve been married for a long time. They’re very happy together.”

Chopper stared at Crocodile as if the information had just exploded his universe.

“Him? He’s in love?”

Crocodile pursed his lips, offended. “I have a heart, you know.”

“Where?” Chopper asked, genuinely alarmed.

Rosinante burst out laughing. Law stifled a smile.

“Here,” Crocodile said, placing his prosthetic on his chest—which didn’t help Chopper at all. Chopper scooted back two centimeters. Law decided to take control before the educational disaster continued.

“Chopper, there’s nothing bad about two men loving each other. It’s just a way to be happy. Like your future friends at school. You’ll see, you’ll meet all kinds of different families.”

Chopper thought some more. Then softly, he said: “Oh… so… it’s just a family that chose… two dads… instead of a mom and a dad?”

“Exactly,” Rosinante said proudly.

“And they’re happy like that?”

“Very,” Law confirmed.

Chopper looked at Crocodile again.
Long and hard. Very seriously. Then he whispered to Law:

“Okay… but he’s scary. Can he smile?”

Crocodile growled. “I smile just fine.”

“I don’t believe you,” Chopper replied instantly, reattaching himself to Law.

Rosinante doubled over laughing. Law ran a hand through his hair, exhausted but touched.

“Chopper… you’ll have time to get used to him. Crocodile isn’t mean. He’s just… impressive.”

Crocodile finally spoke, voice slightly softer: “No one here is going to hurt you, kid. Or take you anywhere.”

Chopper turned his head just enough to see Crocodile out of the corner of his eye.

“… Promise?”

“Promise,” Crocodile answered without hesitation.

Chopper didn’t pull away. He stayed there. Clinging to Law, of course. But he wasn’t trembling as much anymore.

---

Rosinante, absolutely delighted by Chopper’s entire existence, had decided to show him the family photo album as if it were a sacred tradition. He settled on the couch like a proud mother hen, patting the spot right next to him to encourage Chopper to sit.

“We’re veeery happy, I promise you, Choppy,” he cooed. “Look, here… I was pregnant with Law.”

Law’s eyes shot open. “Dad. No. That’s already too much for—”

Too late. Chopper stared at the photo. Stared at Rosinante. Stared back at the photo. His gaze went… blank. Truly blank. As if his eight short years of life had just collapsed beneath him.

“How…” he breathed, mouth open. “How can a boy make… a baby?”

An ABSOLUTE silence fell over the living room. Even Crocodile stopped breathing. Chopper continued, panicked, reciting what he’d been forced to believe:

“I’m suuuure a boy can’t make a baby! The adults at the orphanage told me! It’s a girl power because…”

He stopped.
Because what?
He had no idea.
But he was sure he was right anyway.

“…because that’s how it is!” he concluded, proud of his flawed logic.

Law slowly turned toward Rosinante with an expression that clearly said:

*Dad. WHY.*

Rosinante smiled innocently.

“What? It’s family culture!”

Law pinched the bridge of his nose. Great. Now I have to explain trans identity to an eight-year-old traumatized kid who still thinks adults eat children if they scream too loud.

He took a deep breath.

“Chopper…”

The boy looked at him with wide eyes, waiting for a scientific, magical, or biblical answer. Law panicked internally. Not now. Not yet. Not after the gay couple lesson. It’s too much. Way too much.

He placed a hand on Chopper’s head and declared:

“My dad is… special.”

Rosinante gave a thumbs-up, proud to be “special.” Crocodile exhaled loudly as if witnessing the dumbest scene of his family career. Chopper blinked, unsettled.

“Special… like a superpower?”

Rosinante opened his mouth to proudly say “yes”… but Law shot him a death glare.

“We’ll talk about it another time,” Law said with fake calm. “Much later. When… you’re ready.”

Chopper nodded, even though he looked like he needed to reboot his entire existence. Law opportunely grabbed the workbook on the table.

“Here, Chopper. Your workbook. Let’s draw, okay?”

Instantly, child logic kicked in. Trauma? Existential shock? A dad’s trans identity? Forgotten.

“Thank you!” Chopper said enthusiastically, grabbing the crayons as if the world were suddenly rainbows and wobbly drawings again.

Rosinante exhaled in relief.
Crocodile muttered:

“You’ll explain it to him. Not me. I refuse.”

Law slumped against the couch back, already drained.

---

Chopper sat cross-legged on the floor, workbook open in front of him. He held a crayon between his small fingers, tongue out, concentrating on drawing… something.
Probably a cat, even if it looked like a squashed cloud.

He glanced nervously at Crocodile from time to time, checking that the man wasn’t getting too close. Rosinante discreetly put the photo album away, looking guilty, while Crocodile slowly approached Law.

Very slowly. Like a predator deliberately choosing not to scare—but still scary anyway.

He stopped in front of Law, arms crossed, his coat’s shadow falling across the floor. In a deep, steady voice, he announced:

“Tell me. What’s going on.”

Law straightened automatically.
Even at 18, Crocodile still had that natural authority that made him obey without thinking. Crocodile continued, voice low but firm:

“I come home from work. And I find a terrified kid in my living room. A kid clinging to you like his life depends on it. So now… I want to know everything.”

Law felt cold sweat run down his back. Not because Crocodile was angry—he wasn’t really. But because it was Crocodile. And serious Crocodile was worse than angry Crocodile.

Rosinante moved closer, just enough to offer support, but stayed quiet.
He knew Crocodile needed to hear the truth straight, no filter.

Law took a breath.

“Okay… but speak softly. He’s listening.”

Crocodile glanced briefly at Chopper. And indeed, Chopper was drawing… but one ear twitched. He was hearing everything.
Crocodile turned back to Law.

“Go ahead.”

Law began, with a long sigh: “Dad… I found Chopper on Friday. He… was hanging around near school. All alone.”

Crocodile raised an eyebrow. “All alone? At that age?”

“Yes,” Law replied. “He was living on the street. And before that, in an orphanage… that was horrible. He ran away.”

Crocodile’s face shifted. Very slightly. But Law saw it: a twitch in his jaw, tension in his eyes.

That was Crocodile’s compassion.
Minimalist version.

“He’s eight,” Law added. “And he’s terrified of adults. All of them.”

Crocodile watched Chopper out of the corner of his eye. The boy kept his head down, drawing very slowly, as if afraid someone would snatch the book away.

Law continued, throat tight: “He has no one. Nowhere to go. And when I offered for him to stay… he asked if I’d be willing… to be his dad.”

Rosinante brought a hand to his heart, moved.
Crocodile remained still. His prosthetic tapped once against his arm, almost a nervous gesture.

“And you said yes,” Crocodile concluded.

Law nodded. “Yes. I wanted to. I do. But… I’m still in school. I can’t leave him alone. I want to do things right. So I thought… if you could help. Just until I get organized.”

Crocodile didn’t answer immediately.
He was thinking. Intensely. Law felt his lungs freeze. Rosinante placed a discreet hand on his shoulder. Finally, Crocodile spoke. Very calmly.

“This kid… you want to take care of him seriously? Not just a whim?”

“Yes. I’m serious.”

Crocodile nodded slowly.
Then he declared: “Then so are we.”

Law blinked. “Huh?”

Crocodile turned his head toward Chopper—the kind of look a lion gives a fragile but very important kitten.

“If he’s yours… he’s ours.”

Rosinante smiled softly. Law felt a huge weight lift from his chest. Crocodile added, with his usual severity:

“But, Law… next time you bring a kid home without warning… I’LL DECAPITATE YOU.”

Law jumped. Rosinante exploded:

“Croco not in front of the child!!”

Chopper looked up, worried: “Decapi… what?”

Law panicked: “NOTHING!! Nothing! He’s joking!! He’s ALWAYS joking!!”

Crocodile exhaled. “… Yes. I’m joking.”

Chopper looked at all three of them. And a tiny glimmer of reassurance appeared in his eyes.

 

🦌❤️

Chapter Text

Chopper was staring intently at the front door. More precisely: he was staring at Law as if Law was heading off to the front lines against a thousand demons and would never return.

His little hands were trembling on the hem of his pajamas. His gaze darted from Law...to Rosinante... to Crocodile... then back to Law.

His brain was screaming: danger danger danger.

When Law slung his bag over his shoulder, Chopper took a panicked step forward:

"Law... I don't want you to go to school!"

He shook his head vigorously. "The mean guy and the weird clown are going to call the police!"

Rosinante placed a hand on his chest, shocked: "Me? Weird?"

Crocodile snorted through his nose, already tired of his ogre reputation. Law crouched down, placing a gentle hand on Chopper's shoulder.

"Chopper... do you remember what we said?"

Chopper bit his lip. "4:30... you'll come back?"

His voice was trembling. It sounded like he was expecting Law to say no. That Law would leave him here forever. Law smiled softly at him.

"Exactly. At 4:30, I'll be back." He gently tapped Chopper's forehead. "And in the meantime, your mission is: your homework. I'll check it when I get home."

Chopper nodded mechanically.

Then: "They won't hit me if I'm bad?"

"No. No one will hit you. Ever." he said, without hesitation.

Chopper, hesitating: "They won't put me in the dark?"

Law froze. In the dark? They locked him in a dark room? How many times?

He took a deep breath to hide his anger.

"Not that either. No one will do that here."

He placed a reassuring hand behind the little one's head. "Here, Chopper, you're safe."

Chopper blinked, as if it was a concept too beautiful to be true. Law rummaged in his pocket and handed him an old flip phone, battered but functional.

"Here."

Chopper took the object as if he were being entrusted with a sacred weapon.

"Is this... for me?"

"Yes." said Law. "I put my number in it. If something scares you... if you want to talk to me... if it's urgent... you call me. Okay?"

Chopper looked at the dark screen. Then at Law.

Then at Rosinante. Then at Crocodile. His heart was beating fast; he had a safety net.

"Could I... call you if the bad guys come back?"

"Even if it's just because you want to hear my voice." Law replied.

Chopper blushed, clutching the phone to his chest.

"Okay..."

Law stood up. He hesitated for a second...

then he took Chopper in his arms. Chopper froze... then clung to Law with all his strength, like a koala hanging from a tree.

"I'll be back later. I promise." Law murmured.

Chopper nodded against his chest.

Then Law turned to Rosinante and Crocodile:

"Take care of him."

Rosinante raised his hand like a scout: "Promise! Mission Protect Choppy!"

Crocodile grunted something that sounded like: "Don't worry."

Law opened the door. Chopper took a step back, the phone gripped in his hand, his eyes wide open. He watched Law leave. The door closed. Silence.

Then Chopper huffed: "You better be nice. Otherwise, I'll call Law."

Rosinante melted. Crocodile raised an eyebrow. But neither laughed. Because they knew: Chopper was serious.

---

Chopper lingered for a moment longer near the front door. He stared at the exact spot where Law had disappeared, as if staring hard enough could make him come back sooner.

Law had taught him a bit about telling time yesterday. 4:30 seemed really far away in the day. He already missed him. Chopper didn't like waiting. Especially not waiting alone.

But he had no choice. It was temporary, Law had said. Because Law had to learn too. Not reading or counting, but how to be a dad. Chopper sniffled softly, then finally turned away from the door and went into the living room. He had a mission.

Homework.

Law had said he'd check it when he got home.

Chopper didn't want to be a bad boy. If he wanted Law not to leave him forever with Law's dads...

then he had to study well. Do his homework. Be good. He settled at the coffee table, his notebook open in front of him, the pencil gripped between his fingers.

"What are you doing, big guy?" Corazon asked from the kitchen.

Chopper immediately looked up.

He eyed the blond man warily, ready to defend himself.

"My homework." he replied seriously. "It's papa who made it for me."

Corazon felt his heart melt on the spot.

He made no comment. He just smiled softly.

"Okay..." he murmured, touched.

He approached a little, without invading the child's space. "And tell me... what would you like to eat for lunch?"

Chopper thought for a second.

Then replied, with the utmost seriousness in the world: "A dish with cute shapes."

As if that settled the whole question.

Corazon blinked.

"I... see." He slowly turned his head toward Crocodile, sitting farther away, arms crossed. "Do you know how to make cute dishes?"

Crocodile shrugged. "I know how to make food."

"It's not the same thing." Corazon murmured.

They looked at each other for a second.

Then, in silence, Corazon pulled out his phone.

"Google."

"Google." Crocodile confirmed, gravely.

In the living room, Chopper was diligently tracing his letters, tongue slightly out in concentration.

He had to succeed. For Law.

---

Chopper didn't like talking to adults much. But papa had said these ones were good. So he was trying. He'd only learned to tell time the day before. And besides, the clock was on the mantelpiece, too high. Even on tiptoes, the numbers blurred.

So every ten... sometimes fifteen minutes... Chopper would come back. He'd grab Poussin tightly against him, like a talisman, take a deep breath...

and approach Crocodile or Corazon.

"When is papa coming home?"

He asked the question for the umpteenth time, his voice a little smaller with each repetition.

Corazon got down to his level, still as patient, even though it had been a while since Chopper clearly preferred Law to their company.

"It's only 12:30, Chopper." He smiled softly. "Come eat instead."

Chopper hesitated. What if Law thought he'd been bad? What if he thought he hadn't listened? He squeezed Poussin tighter.

"Papa said... I have to be good..." he murmured.

"Being good also means eating." Corazon replied gently.

Chopper looked at the chair. It was high.

He put one foot on it, hesitated... then felt a solid hand supporting his back.

He jumped. It was Crocodile. Chopper stared at the hand. For a long time. His body tensed for a second... then, seeing it wasn't doing anything, that it was just there to help, he let it.

"Thank you..." he murmured, surprised at himself.

Crocodile didn't respond. He just pulled out the chair and made sure Chopper was settled properly. Then the plate arrived. Chopper's eyes widened.

Rice. But not just any way.

Little bears. With ears. Paws. Heads. The curry formed like a landscape around them.

"..." Chopper was silent for several seconds. "Is it... alive?" he asked, very seriously.

Corazon stifled a laugh. "No, Choppy. Promise."

Chopper took a small bite. Chewed slowly. Then another.

"It's good..." He timidly looked up at Crocodile. "Thank you... mister not-mean."

Crocodile looked away. "Eat." he growled.

Chopper ate. But every few minutes, between bites, he'd set down his spoon... grab Poussin...

and ask again, voice full of hope: "Is it almost 4:30?" And no one mocked him. Because both knew: for Chopper, waiting

was the hardest part of all.

---

Chopper felt tired. His little body was sprawled against the couch, curled on his side, Poussin tucked under his chin. The cushion smelled different from Law's scent. Not bad. Just... not the right one. He'd waited a long time. Too long. From staring at the clock without really understanding the numbers, an ugly thought had started creeping into his head, slow and sticky:

What if papa doesn't come back? Even if Law's dads weren't bad.

Even if they didn't yell. Even if they made cute dishes. Chopper didn't love them as much as his papa.

His chest tightened. He turned on the couch, unconsciously seeking Law's reassuring presence, his voice, his smell... but there was only the house's silence and the distant tick-tock of the clock.

His eyelids grew heavy despite himself.

He hadn't wanted to sleep. He shouldn't sleep. Papa had said 4:30. But his body, exhausted from waiting too much, gave in.

When Chopper woke up, it was abrupt.

A sharp jolt, like being thrown out of the water.

The living room wasn't the same anymore. The light had changed. The sky outside the windows had turned dark gray, almost blue-black. Shadows stretched across the walls. The room's corners seemed bigger. Deeper. Chopper's heart raced instantly.

"...Papa?" His voice was tiny. He sat up abruptly on the couch. His eyes widened.

The room was darker. Not completely black. But for Chopper, it was enough. Darkness always came back like this. Without warning. His breathing quickened.

"No... no..." he murmured.

His brain panicked. They locked me in.

I fell asleep. I got punished. The memory of the orphanage darkness shot through his body like an electric shock. Cold walls.

Silence. Time that never passed.

Chopper slid off the couch in a panic, his feet hitting the cold floor.

"HELP!!" he cried, voice already breaking. "PAPA!! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! I'M SORRY!!"

He backed up to the wall, fingers desperately searching for a light switch he couldn't find. His vision blurred with tears.

"Please... not the dark... not again..." he sobbed.

His breathing became wheezing. Too fast. Too short. His chest hurt. He couldn't think anymore.

"Papa... papa come back..." he cried, squeezing Poussin against him so hard his fingers went white. "I waited... I did my homework... I ate... I was good..."

The world around him seemed to close in. Every shadow looked like a locked door. Every silence was punishment. Chopper cried out again, voice hoarse, panicked, terrified:

"I'M SCARED!!"

---

Corazon and Crocodile were busy.

Not because they'd forgotten Chopper.

Not because they didn't care. Just because Chopper was sleeping. They'd seen him doze off against the couch, face finally relaxed, Poussin clutched against him. Like all kids, he'd eventually fallen from exhaustion after too many emotions.

"Kids take naps." Corazon had murmured. So they'd done what they thought was right. They'd pulled a blanket over him, gently, without waking him. A clean, warm blanket.

A simple gesture. Kind. Then they'd moved away. Crocodile went back to his papers... Corazon tidied the kitchen, glancing toward the living room now and then to check everything was okay.

Everything was okay.

Until the cry tore through the house.

"HELP!!"

Corazon jumped, heart skipping a beat. "Chopper?!"

A second cry, higher, more desperate:

"PAPA!!" The voice was broken by panic. Confused. Too loud for just a nightmare.

Crocodile stood up immediately, chair scraping the floor.

"Shit."

They rushed to the living room.

Chopper was standing, pressed against the wall, the blanket tangled around his legs like a trap. His eyes were wide open, drowned in tears, unable to process what they saw.

"No... no... not the dark..." His breathing was fast, wheezing. "I didn't do anything... I was good... I want papa..."

Corazon knelt a few meters away, hands visible. "Chopper, my heart, it's Corazon... you're not punished... you fell asleep..."

But Chopper wasn't hearing him.

The dark had won. Logic was gone.

"PAPA WON'T COME BACK ANYMORE!" he cried, shattered.

"I WAITED... I WAITED..."

At that exact moment... The front door opened, lighting the living room as Law flipped the hallway switch. The metallic clink of the key. The gust of cold air.

A familiar voice, still tired from the school day:

"I'm home."

Chopper froze. His cry caught in his throat. He slowly turned his head.

"...Papa?"

Law entered the living room, and the scene burned into his mind like a photograph he'd never forget.

Chopper curled against the wall.

The blanket trailing on the floor. His panicked eyes. His trembling hands around Poussin. Law's world stopped.

"Chopper." He dropped his bag.

Chopper burst into sobs and ran to him without thinking, nearly tripping. Law knelt just in time to catch him and wrap him up. Chopper clung to his t-shirt as if he might vanish.

"Papa... I thought... I thought you weren't coming back... It was dark... I was scared..."

Law held him tighter, one hand behind his head, the other on his back.

"I'm here." His voice trembled slightly.

"I promised you. I always come back."

Chopper nodded against him, unable to speak, his breathing slowly calming, syncing with Law's. Behind them, Corazon brought a hand to his mouth, eyes wet. Crocodile looked away, jaw clenched. They'd meant well. But they'd just understood something essential:

For Chopper, darkness was never just darkness.

And Law wasn't just someone he loved. He was his anchor.

 

🦌❤️

Chapter Text

Law didn't let go of Chopper. Not for a second. He had sat down on the couch, his back slightly hunched to better envelop him. Chopper was curled up against him, his face buried in his t-shirt, his fingers still clenched as if he feared Law would disappear if he let go.

Law slowly stroked his back. A steady motion. Repetitive. Reassuring.

He pulled the blanket up to Chopper's shoulders, wrapped it completely around him, then rested his chin against his hair.

Chopper was still trembling a little. But his breathing, little by little, slowed down. He eventually fell asleep there. On him. As if the couch no longer existed. As if the whole world could wait. Law stayed motionless for a long time, afraid to wake him. Then, very gently, without taking his eyes off Chopper, he looked up at Corazon and Crocodile.

His voice was low. Controlled. But tense. "Tell me."

Corazon approached slowly, as if any loud noise could shatter everything. "He fell asleep on the couch," he explained softly. "We thought... a nap would do him good. Like for all kids."

Crocodile nodded. "We put a blanket on him. We didn't wake him."

Law held Chopper a little tighter against him, almost unconsciously. "And then?"

"He woke up around a quarter to four," Corazon continued. "The light had changed. The sky was darker."

He took a breath. "He thought we'd punished him. That we'd locked him in the dark."

Law briefly closed his eyes. "What did he say?"

Crocodile answered this time, in a deep voice: "That he'd been good. That he'd done his homework. That he'd eaten. That he'd waited."

Silence. Chopper stirred slightly against Law, as if he could still hear it.

"He asked for you all day," Corazon added. "Every ten minutes. Sometimes less."

Law swallowed hard. "Was he... okay?"

"Very," Corazon replied without hesitation. "He did his homework all by himself. He ate. He even said thank you."

Crocodile added, more stiffly: "He was scared. But he was never insolent. Never aggressive."

Law lowered his eyes to Chopper.

His features were relaxed now.

Exhausted. "He did exactly what he thought he had to do... to make me come back," Law murmured.

No one responded. Because there was nothing to add. Law placed a firmer hand on Chopper's back, like a silent promise.

"I won't let him wait like that again."

Corazon placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're already doing more than many adults do in a lifetime."

Crocodile looked away, then simply stated: "That kid... we'll never let him think again that he was punished for existing."

Law nodded. Chopper sighed in his sleep, moving even closer to him. Law didn't move.

He would stay there. All night if he had to.

---

Law didn't move. Chopper was still sleeping against him, heavy with fatigue, his cheek squished against his chest, the blanket pulled up to his chin. His voice remained low when he spoke again, as if he were talking as much to himself as to them.

"I've been looking into it..." Corazon looked up at him. Crocodile crossed his arms. "To get hired, even after my student job," Law continued. "I talked to my boss. He said he wasn't sure he could hire me full-time. Not right away, anyway." He paused. "And I also looked into Chopper's school."

Corazon stiffened slightly. "Already?"

"Yes," Law replied straightforwardly. "Because I don't want to improvise. Not with him."

He lowered his eyes to Chopper, whose breathing had become slow, deep.

"They told me he clearly doesn't have the academic level for his age. That he'd need remedial classes first. Maybe specialized support."

Crocodile clenched his jaw. "Did they ask why?"

"No. They don't need to ask."

Silence settled in. Corazon moved a little closer. "You're already doing everything you need to, Law. You don't have to carry this alone."

Law let out a short, joyless laugh. "I'm eighteen. I'm still in high school. I don't have a steady income. And yet..." He tightened his arm around Chopper. "He relies on me as if I'm already all he has."

Chopper stirred weakly, murmured something incomprehensible, then moved closer still, drawn to Law's warmth and voice. Crocodile finally spoke, slowly.

"Money, school, work... those can be figured out. A child's trust like his... no."

Law looked up. "I know. That's why I'm scared. Scared of doing it wrong. Scared of not being enough."

Corazon gently placed his hand on his son's neck. "Being a parent isn't having all the answers."

"It's staying, even when you doubt."

Crocodile added, more curtly but just as sincerely: "And if you fall... we're here."

Law took a deep breath. "I want him to go to school. To learn. To have friends. But I never want him to be afraid of the dark again, or of falling asleep thinking we'll abandon him."

No one responded. Because no one disagreed. Chopper sighed in his sleep, his fingers clutching Law's shirt. Law rested his forehead against his hair.

"I'll find a solution," he murmured. "Not perfect. But stable."

And for the first time in a long time,

he didn't feel completely alone in searching for it.

---

Law spoke without really looking at anyone. His voice was low, choppy, as if the thoughts were rushing too fast to come out properly.

"My boss is okay with me bringing Chopper anyway." He paused. "As long as he's well-behaved." He let out a nervous breath. "As if an eight-year-old traumatized kid could be 'well-behaved' by choice..."

Corazon frowned, worried, but didn't interrupt him. Law continued, the words now spilling out unfiltered:

"I need to think about new clothes too. He has almost nothing. And... I need to register him." He froze for a second, as if this realization had only just hit him full force. "I hadn't even thought about it at first..."

Chopper was still sleeping against him, unaware of the administrative chaos he unwittingly represented. "What if the old orphanage looks for him? What if his biological parents..." His jaw tightened. "There's so much to do. So many papers. So many risks. I can't leave anything out. Not a single thing."

Crocodile straightened slightly. "You don't have to do it all tonight."

Law let out a short, almost bitter laugh. "I'm afraid that if I don't think of everything... someone will come take him away."

Corazon felt his throat tighten. "Law..."

"And university..." Law continued, as if he hadn't heard. "I was supposed to go next year. Medicine. Everything was planned." He lowered his eyes to Chopper. "But how do I do that if I leave for university? How do I do that if I leave him?" He slowly shook his head. "I've thought about taking a gap year. Just one. Time to get a stable situation. To make sure he's okay."

The silence weighed heavy. Crocodile spoke, grave and composed: "One year more or less doesn't define a life. But what you're doing now... that will define his."

Law closed his eyes. "I'm afraid of ruining my future."

Corazon approached and gently placed a hand on his neck. "You're not ruining it. You're transforming it."

Law took a deep breath. "What if he resents me later? What if he thinks I stole something from him?"

Crocodile replied without hesitation: "He'll mostly remember that you stayed."

Chopper stirred in his sleep, mumbled a small "daddy..." almost inaudible, then fell back asleep. Law felt something break and rebuild at the same time in his chest. He tightened his arm around him.

"Okay..." he murmured. "One thing at a time."

And for the first time since the beginning of the day, he didn't think about everything that could go wrong. Only about one essential thing: Chopper was sleeping safely.

 

🦌❤️