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A sickening squelch and the crack of bones.
Crocodile watched the Strawhat's hands lose their grip on the front of his coat; instead, they hovered helplessly by the massive, golden hook embedded in the center of his torso. The kid looked as if he instinctively wanted to grab the foreign object and yank it out, but knew it wouldn’t be any use. He would bleed out within moments of the hook being removed.
Crocodile lifted his victim off the ground, a mocking laugh rumbling in his chest as the little pirate squirmed and groaned in agony. Those wide, frantic eyes stared without seeing while the Strawhat gasped for air.
No more than a few moments passed before the fight began to drain from him along with his blood, and he fell limp, hung on Crocodile's hook like a gutted pig.
“Do you see now, Strawhat? The difference between you and me. You're just another arrogant fool, destined to die in the Grand Line.”
Crocodile mocked, with a provocative grin on his face. His expression faltered slightly when the skewered body on his hook shifted. Somehow, the kid was still clinging to life.
Strawhat grasped the arm that was holding him aloft and squeezed so hard that Crocodile could hear a snap. His face screwed up in a grimace, and he grunted with pain, but he didn't let his prey down. With a furious scowl, Crocodile glared at the Strawhat pirate held aloft on his hook. The barely conscious boy glared back with defiant hatred, his trembling hand still stubbornly squeezing Crocodile’s arm.
Meeting those black eyes, an image flashed in Crocodile’s mind.
Wide, curious eyes, a chubby-cheeked grin, and a tiny hand squeezing Crocodile’s finger.
Those same black eyes.
Crocodile flinched as if he had been struck at the long-buried memory, suddenly fighting its way to the forefront of his mind.
No, that couldn't be.
His body vanished all of a sudden, all but the large, golden hook dissolving into a swirling mass of sand. The hook and, by extension, the body skewered on it fell to the ground, suddenly disconnected from Crocodile’s person.
The warlord reassembled into the form of a person a few paces back, just as the Strawhat's body landed on the sand with a cry of pain.
Crocodile could do nothing but stare, his eyes wide with panic and his chest heaving with rapid breaths, while the injured boy whimpered and gasped in agony, curling in on himself around the hook. The sounds of pain and struggling faded into a memory, into the disgruntled wail of a tiny bundle being held at his bedside.
“Oh, look at him, Croco-boy! It’s a miracle two brutes like you could create something this precious.”
Ivankov coo'd, cradling the fussing baby in their arms. Crocodile watched them with half-lidded eyes, still recovering from the ordeal. His body ached, he was hungry, and by the seas, he was exhausted.
“Ah, you want your daddy, huh? Here you go, as long as you promise to let Aunty Iva hold you again soon!”
Iva turned to where Crocodile lay, gently settling the crying baby down on his chest.
Crocodile carefully rested his hand on the child’s back, watching his crying settle in favor of screwing up his little red face in a grimace.
“He’s so small.”
Crocodile mumbled, his one hand nearly covering the entire baby.
“Another miracle, eh, since you and his other daddy are hulking giants,”
Iva said, as if they weren’t bigger than both Crocodile and Dragon.
Crocodile didn’t respond, transfixed by the tiny creature nestling into his chest. His son. So small, so helpless. The only emotion that came even close to the love he felt for the newborn was fear. Everything in this world was a danger to something so tiny and vulnerable. For how long would Crocodile be able to protect him?
He protectively held the baby closer to his chest. It didn’t matter that Crocodile would have less than a year with the kid before Dragon returned. He vowed that no matter what happened, for as long as he lived, he wouldn’t let anything hurt his son.
Yet now here he stood, having just inflicted a fatal wound upon a kid that had his own eyes. Crocodile grit his teeth, moving through a flurry of sand to crouch next to the Strawhat in an instant. He roughly gripped the kid’s jaw in his hand, twisting his face to look at him.
“Name. What is your name?!”
He demanded in a frantic shout, looking like he was ready to tear the Strawhat’s throat out.
The kid met his gaze with a defiant glare, though his eyes were unfocused, and blood dribbled down his chin.
“I’m-”
A couple of wet coughs cut him off before he gathered himself with a wheezing breath.
“I’m Monkey D. Luffy… I’m gonna be-.. The king of the pirates. ”
Strawhat croaked.
There it was.
Crocodile covered his mouth with his hand in horror and disbelief, letting the kid’s face fall back to the ground.
Monkey D.
No.
No, it couldn’t be.
What had he done?
The crushing realisation hit him all at once. He had fatally wounded his own son. His only child was dying because of him.
The wailing baby that had been so very small, cradled in Crocodile’s arms, now lay, still just a kid, convulsing on the ground beneath him. He watched as his son’s blood was soaking into the sand of the endless desert, swallowing up his very life.
He couldn’t just watch; he had to move.
He fell to his knees next to Luffy’s prone form, trying to assess the damage he had done and figure out the next necessary steps. The hook had completely speared through his body and was simultaneously the only thing keeping him from immediately bleeding out.
“No no no, hold on- Stay with me, L-Luffy,”
His voice trembled as he said the name. The name Dragon had given him.
As he reached out with his remaining hand, Luffy whimpered and twisted away from him. Of course, Crocodile was the one who had done this to him. Luffy, who was barely clinging to consciousness, surely thought Crocodile was trying to further injure him, to finish him off.
It made sense, but it still felt like a rifle shot to Crocodile’s chest.
His son was afraid of him, hated him.
And it was his own fault.
Amongst his panicked and self-loathing thoughts, Crocodile was vaguely aware of something very important about the hook still embedded in his son’s body. It was full of poison.
It wouldn’t release unless Crocodile removed the protective gold casing, but hearing the faint sound of it sloshing around inside the weapon as Luffy struggled, he couldn’t take any chances.
Shrugging off his coat, Crocodile tore one of the sleeves off like it was made of tissue paper. It wasn’t the best in terms of tourniquets, but it would have to do.
Trying to reach for Luffy, the boy flinched away again.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Luffy, stop it- let me help!”
Crocodile’s voice rose with panic and frustration, trying to keep Luffy still enough to deal with the hook without hurting him further.
He didn’t even know if Luffy could hear him, but the boy let out a panicked noise and gripped the base of the hook as hard as he could when he saw Crocodile reaching for it.
Crocodile felt sick. Luffy was trying to keep the hook in his body, knowing he would bleed out within minutes without it putting pressure on the wound.
“Luffy, let go. I won’t let you die, come on- Please just let me save you-”
Crocodile pleaded, which in his panic mostly just came out sounding angry.
He hated how desperate Luffy looked, how scared he was. Why couldn’t he understand that Crocodile wanted to help him? That he had realised his grievous mistake.
But Luffy didn’t understand what was happening; he was only trying to fight for his life. As much as it hurt to frighten him further, Crocodile wasn’t going to let him die.
He gripped the hook, and while Luffy held on for all he could, he had no strength left in him, especially not enough to stop Crocodile from pulling the golden hook out in as smooth an arch as he could manage with Luffy’s struggling.
Tossing his precious weapon aside like it meant nothing at this moment, Crocodile immediately went about trying to stop the bleeding, trying to ignore Luffy’s steadily weakening moans of pain. With a combination of his own ascot shoved into the wound and the sleeve of his jacket wound tightly around Luffy’s sickeningly pale form, Crocodile scooped him up in his arms.
Even now, 17 years later, he was still so very small.
Holding his son close to his chest, Crocodile let the sand carry him as quickly as possible towards Rainbase. Luffy had gone still and quiet in his arms, and Crocodile didn’t dare look down at him.
He couldn’t bear knowing if he had killed his own baby.
He had to fix it. They had doctors at Rain Dinners; they would help him, and Luffy would be okay.
Crocodile had to keep telling himself that, had to believe it.
His son was strong; he would make it, and Crocodile would have the chance to tell him he was sorry, to spend the rest of his life making it up to him. He didn’t care about Alabasta, the World Government, or Project Utopia.
He just wanted his son to live.
“Please, Luffy, hang on…”