Alasse-M: Hopefully this chapter clears up those questions! But I'd rethink that happy ending ;) Ace came through in a pinch, when he was needed the most

DedicatedFan: I had to go back and rewrite that bit - it wasn't very clear, so maybe it sounds a little better, now! But Ace was glad that, between them, *he was the only one left standing, and Law wasn't. He won.

A/N: This fic has ended on Friday the 13th! It was already completed, but what a coincidence to end on this exact date :D Hopefully this chapter clarifies all things and leaves a bit to the imagination. Hopefully, it leaves a reader with ugly feelings. Yessss...ugly ugly feelings, like a horror story should... Leave a comment, let me know what you think!

: 13 :

"Monsters don't get to leave," Ace said, his voice winded, thin.

The heat was unbearable. The very air stung as Law breathed, and he coughed, drawing his hands up to try and cover himself. But the straps held tight, and he struggled, panic and horror flaring to life. He shouted with desperate horror. Without saying anything else, Ace began to drag the bed towards the hole where Law and Luffy had fallen into, intending on dumping him in. The legs dragged noisily, tilted over, and the bed caught on some debris, tilting downward at such an angle that Law thought for sure he'd go over.

But Ace then collapsed over him, and slumped to the floor. Struggling to quell the fright that raced through him at dying in this manner – dying at all – Law felt all the denial and fear rise up in his throat, being trapped there by his hacking coughs. The air burned, searing his lungs, and his eyes stung. If he moved too hard, the bed shifted a little, threatening to dump him over the edge of that hole. The scrape of sound the legs made eked out over the roar of flame overhead, over the ominous grown of weakening wood. He tried to look up to see what was happening there, but the rising and building smoke around him made it impossible.

He could only lay there, filled with utter fear, mind shattered by the rising understanding of the unfairness of losing half his life to the action of another person. To be blamed for the blood on his hands, for finally reaching peace when they were gone – only to die painfully. He struggled to shout, but that took up precious air, and his lungs refused to give him that power. He couldn't remember if anyone were still around to call out, to. The bed creaked, shifting slightly as the floor gave a slight shudder. Something heavy crashed downward, and that caused another plume of smoke that covered the last of the daylight that was exposed by the broken section of the east wing.

He shouted with fright and remorse, various images of his past hitting him at that moment. Tears of mounting defeat and disbelief in that his life had to end this way dried quickly once they rolled down his smoke, dirt covered face. It was too hot. His skin itched, burning – everything was burning. But even as death came for him, his life started to play over the sight of building flames, of thick, black smoke.

He saw pictures of himself as a child, being cared for by Rosinante, flashes of Sengoku's visits to their house immediately laid over by rough flashing of other moments in his life that led up to the Vinsmoke birthday party. Of Buggy forcing them to watch as he took apart John, of forcing both him and Penguin to participate. He remembered the aching, heavy weight of survivor's guilt, that wretched helplessness in being unable to fight Buggy tormenting his every thought. He saw the time when Penguin quietly asked him if he'd join him in using the spirit board, to beg John for forgiveness for helping Buggy kill him. Law remembered feeling scared and awed when someone answered them, when the candles blew out and all they heard was a man's labored breathing, the air vibrating with heat and anger. When that man spoke to them in broken sentences, when it became Buggy, they ended the session too late.

Law then remembered when he started acknowledging the different voices in his mind, telling him secrets about those around him. Sengoku's work secrets, Rosinante's personal experiences, his friend Sanji's terrible abuse, Penguin's fading sanity. The closer he stood to someone, the more Law could 'hear' them, their thoughts plucked out of them. Law remembered desperately asking God to help him, to give him strength to ignore those voices, those moving shapes from the corners of his eyes. Buggy's voice murmured to him from time to time, promising vengeance for his own incapacitated helplessness, to those that treated him wrongly. His ghost warped both him and Law into messes that their own family could not ignore; but no one believed them when they spoke of what was happening to them. The idea of a ghost returning to haunt them was too much of a tall tale for anyone to accept. So they suffered; both with the guilt, and with fear. Too much of it built over time.

Law remembered when Penguin stopped talking – it was two years later, and Penguin just wasn't himself, anymore; he was a terrible person that spoke like Buggy and burned with hate because of the things that Buggy made him do. Law found himself unable to get away from him – it was as if Buggy and Penguin were holding Law from the inside, suffocating him. This terrible thing, this demon, vengeful ghost – whatever it was, it took them apart after they called it out from the spirit world, looking for John. Warped them, tortured them over the layers of pain and fear that they'd already cast over themselves.

Because of these mounting things, Law remembered being looked at crazy, not being able to trust in prayer, anymore, as he 'woke up' doing something one of the voices had made him do. He remembered Rosinante's angry, shocked, frustrated looks at learning of the terrible things he'd done; no longer looking at him as if he were a person, but a burgeoning monster. Law remembered acknowledging the realization of being helpless, of not being himself anymore. Of hearing Penguin's constant voice in his head, telling him to do things that he couldn't do himself; Law wondered if Buggy completely had taken over him, for Penguin had lost all ability to even be a person, anymore. Staring off at nothing, unable to function without a prompt; a living doll that needed constant care, yet responsible for everything between them that was wrong.

Law remembered Sanji giving him code phrases so that they could talk 'in private', but even Sanji stopped talking to him when Law's voices began growing louder. He remembered giving up and sleeping for so long that when he finally woke up again, Penguin was already sentenced to a long stay at the asylum due to his catatonic state at Rosinante's insistence, but Law couldn't stop hearing Penguin call for him. Already, the different personalities that had taken root inside of him had caused him unforgivable trouble. Rosinante didn't look at him the same, anymore, and Sanji himself was so far into his own hell that nothing could reach him, anyway. His inner voice mainly focused on meals, on his appearance, and gave Law nothing to use against him; Sanji had somehow figured out how to do this, something Law was grateful for. The voices left Sanji alone, but in return, their friendship weren't the same, anymore.

Law remembered reading about all the bodies he left had supposedly behind; the prostitutes, the homeless, the animals – all of them not his doing. It had been horrifying realizing that he was considered a murderer, that God refused to answer him at all. This sensation of abandonment made him too weak to reach out for help, and he let himself go. He let the others take over.

Law remembered pieces of the jail time he served when their actions were discovered and he was under suspicion; he remembered being forced through the court process, he remembered his first day at the asylum. He remembered when Sanji ignored him, when Penguin was finally satisfied at having him close by, when Dr Smoker mentioned Akainu when talking about Apoo's progress to Dr Hina. Hearing that name rewakened that Buggy demon inside of Penguin, and Law lost control of himself, again. Those things that happened after were things he couldn't stop or help – not with Penguin so close, when it felt like his fingers were on his brain and his voice wouldn't stop whispering in his ear, encouraging the others to react. Not when they kept putting him in solitary and these voices were louder, and the shadows started to separate away from him, making their own choices, pulling back at those that tried to leave early.

And now Law was free, and he was expected to die with the rest of them. It was unfair.

God had stopped listening to his desperate pleas a long time ago. Abandoned him. If there had been one, Law was positive that he would not be here, today. He stopped shouting and regretfully accepted that he was going to die. He was going to follow after Penguin and the others, for everything his body had done. There was no escaping, anymore. Whatever it was they'd called from the spirit board, it was going to keep them for all eternity – whether it was Buggy's angry ghost or something else, their penance would start now.

It wasn't fair, but he couldn't fight it. It was just another moment where he had to take the punishment for another's action with heavy defeat.

There was a loud crash of sound, a rumble as wood groaned, and embers fluttered around him, burning him. Most of the fire that burned overhead suddenly grew in force and stretched into another direction, like a massive fist going nowhere. Heat and smoke followed in a flurry, finding oxygen. For a moment, Law smelled fresh air. It was beautiful. The floor underneath him creaked and protested, and he heard more of it fall with a tremendous bang.

Then he felt cool hands on his face.

"Don't worry – you'll be forgiven once you get there."

It wasn't much, but Law felt a sliver of hope because someone else felt it for him. He looked over his side in time to see Sanji standing there, too out of it to acknowledge the flames around him. He was dirty and disheveled, hair blackened with smoke, bloodied with ripped clothing on the shoulder, but clearly, the pills he'd hidden away had rendered him a vague-minded mess. He patted Law's forehead with one hand, then turned and wandered away; a sleepwalking skeleton.

Not even moments after that, two men pushed into the ward, clearly struggling to see, breathe, shouting – their voices lost in the roar of the fire. But once they saw him, they grabbed Sanji. One look from one of them told Law that they weren't going to bother saving him. The three of them made it back outside as the floor creaked and snapped, and began to collapse under the weight of the weakening supports. Embers flew upward, sparkling around him like glowing fairies.

Seeing that Sanji was rescued gave Law a little comfort. Not all of them would perish, today. The spirit of Buggy would not win.

The rest of the mansion began to collapse around him, trembling noisily before snapping, burning weight falling inward as the floor gave away. At that moment, Law closed his eyes and let go.

: :

A few days later, Sanji opened his eyes. It hurt to breathe. Everything hurt. But as his mind uncurled from the heavy drowsiness of sleep, head aching with powerful pain, he started registering things slowly. Still under the intense impression of hiding his thoughts from that dangerous person, Penguin, he thought of breakfast. Of 'safe' food, of excuses to give if the nurses argued with him. Even as his emotions and memory roiled, remembering that people were dying around him under the hands of a vicious killer, spiking his heart into a hard pounding panic, he had to keep his secrets, safe.

"Ah, you made it," came the relieved voice from his left, and he found difficulty turning his head to look. Once he saw it was Ichiji, he felt frozen hard weight in his chest. Inwardly, he felt dismayed and horrified that he was still alive, that he had been able to walk away. "You don't have to move. Just rest."

Sanji's jaw stiffened. Every part of him went rigid, tensing painfully. It took a few moments for him to see that the hospital room was large, spacious – there were large, comfortable chairs around his bed, and empty plates on one table. There was a blanket folded over one chair, and a jacket abandoned on another. Books near Ichiji, the spines reading of business and marketing strategies, arithmetic, and a much thinner one; a journal, maybe.

At that moment, he wished with all his might he had taken all those pills. A short memory showed him only taking five, spilling the rest. Hazy spots of Luffy's worried face, of building fire. Nothing more than that. Everything was only a roaring blur of blackened nothing – his voice refused to work for him as he tentatively allowed himself to wonder about the others.

"All of them perished in the fire," Ichiji told him, shifting his chair. Sanji had to wonder if he'd relayed his thoughts out loud to that answer. His older brother reached for a nearby pitcher and cup.

At that moment, Sanji remembered Luffy taking the keys from him. He took a measured sip of water, but rejected the rest. His mind already definite about measurements, allowances, and a reluctance to accept anything from Ichiji's mouth.

"Dr Hina was relieved that Trafalgar's burned carcass was found," Ichiji then said, setting the cup aside. "Apparently, she blames him for the fire. She wants to talk to you when you're more rested, and so does the head investigator from the police station. Apparently, the sanatorium was going through a serious situation – rumor is, that son of Rosinante's was killing everyone. Is that so?"

Sanji refused to answer him. He knew it was Penguin's fault. He knew that Law, the one he knew from a long time ago, would never have done those things. But after years of knowing what the pair were capable of, his mind refused to delve into it. He wondered if the food served here were prepared by the hospital staff, or from their family's. he started to inwardly measure just how much he could eat, today, and tomorrow.

He could feel his brother's stare upon him. So Sanji looked at him, feeling intensely weary already. Guilt, shame, disgust – all of it was heaping over his thoughts of food.

"Will Dr Hina transfer me to another facility?" he asked, his voice rough and scratchy from smoke damage. Almost a hard whisper. It hurt to breathe.

Ichiji frowned at him. He resettled back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. For a few moments, he said nothing.

"Father gave me some power of authority – limited, of course, but he entrusts that any decision I make on your behalf will be one he'll respect," Ichiji said. "I was able to secure a house of my own on the other side of the island. I have already arranged for a small number of staff and interns for your care."

"No."

"He will not visit that house."

"No."

Ichiji's lips thinned.

"I can make my own decisions," Sanji said stubbornly. "I refuse to be entrusted to anyone within the family."

"Unfortunately, I can overrule that. Dr Hina has already mentioned that your position demands outside responsibility. You are unable to make decisions for yourself, due to your inability to take care of yourself. She had already removed patient files from the sanatorium before the fire, and yours clearly demands that you continue to receive further care. Father had no arguments when I mentioned that I can take responsibility."

"No one can make those decisions for me, unless – "

"It's already been decided. Power of authority was given to me upon father's permission. The papers were already submitted. When you are well enough to move, you will be transferred to that house. Dr Hina agreed to it – she doesn't think you'll thrive very well in the facility she had intended on transferring the others, to. She will work with us. Sanji," Ichiji said with gentle insistence, "let us take care of you. Niji and Yonji had decided on it, as well. With us, surely – "

"I can't spend another minute in your company," Sanji interrupted him stiffly, feeling all those overwhelming feelings of anxiety and terror building over his meal worries, filtering into his voice. His face reddened, and he was distraught over the sensation of tears building. Overwhelming stress and terror built with strength, and he struggled to breathe without that tremble in his voice – using Dr Smoker's strategy of counting down from twenty to regain control, again.

Ichiji waited for those moments, watching as Sanji blinked rapidly, as the shake in his hands subsided. But he was firm, unfolding his arms to shift in his chair again.

"Let us take care of you, the way you did for us," he said softly.

Sanji stilled, then looked at him with a frozen expression.

Ichiji's stern frown had fallen away. Remorse and shamed crossed over his face, and he looked away from his younger brother. "Dr Hina let me look over that file. Dr Smoker's notes…gave away those things father did to you."

"Don't talk about it."

Ichiji tightened his mouth. But he obeyed Sanji's stiff command. That weight increased in Sanji's chest, rebuilt over his mind. He had to struggle to breathe again, to fight that rising wave of nearly uncontrollable sickness that always threatened to overwhelm him when he strayed from his thoughts.

Somewhere, deep inside, he heard himself chuckle. A curious weight began to burn with a surprising amount of heat that strengthened him. He loosened his fists, unaware that he was making them.

For several silent minutes, the pair just sat in their respective places, lost in thought. Sanji struggled to remember anything more of that day, but all he remembered were the bits and pieces were he refused to help anyone. He thought he'd feel guilt about it, knowing that they were desperate to escape, but he refused to be close to anyone. It was safer to isolate himself from others. Years of keeping to himself had given him the strength to continue living, even if it had trapped him in his own hell. It was easier to protect himself when no one else had.

'God is listening when you ask for Him,' he remembered a younger Law telling him gently.

So why didn't He listen to you? Sanji asked that memory bitterly.

I didn't talk to Him enough, he heard Law answer. I said all the wrong things.

That wasn't right, Sanji thought, brow furrowing. At that time in their life, he remembered Law carrying the bible in his school bag. Wearing a cross. Attending church diligently.

Maybe I just wasn't a good boy, anyway, Law chuckled.

Sanji found himself wondering where that voice was coming from, when the right memory wasn't accompanying it. For a moment, he wondered if he even heard it at all. Maybe he was still suffering the effects of the barbituates, imagining things.

"We'll make it right, somehow," Ichiji said suddenly, startling Sanji out of his thoughts. "We can start over. Quietly, I'll take more of father's power, and keep you entrusted to me. He won't be able to hurt you again."

Sanji looked at him suspiciously. Ichiji wasn't looking at him, still wearing a troubled expression. Admittedly, Sanji had never seen his brother's face wearing that emotion when it came to him.

Don't trust him. They always lie. They'll sign away your rights as if you were only property. Rosinante stopped caring. Look what happened to me.

"Damage has already been done," he said stiffly. "I hate all of you."

Ichiji's lips tightened – not with anger. But with regret.

"And we deserve it. But…your brothers and I want to…somehow make it up, to you. If we had known father was doing those things to you, we wouldn't have just - !"

They ain't gonna do anything for you. They just wanna cause more trouble!

At the feel of a strong, determined surge of anger, Sanji snapped, "I don't want to talk about it! I don't want you near me! I don't want any of you near me!"

"I understand that this will be tough, at first, but we're committed," Ichiji insisted, finally making eye contact with him. "Niji, Yonji – we're doing this. It all makes sense, now. God only knows what he was doing to Reiju – she's married, now, did you know? And she took the advantage to leave the island immediately. Like you, she said nothing to us, but I suspect that this was happening to her, too! Her apathy now makes sense!"

I wonder what was served at the wedding? Good food? Dessert?

Sanji said nothing as his stomach growled at the thought of food. In the fit of his feelings and thoughts, there was the faint sound of machinery starting up in the distance. He wondered what it was. He started to worry over what the nurses would bring to him – maybe he could use the excuse of his throat pain to refuse most of the food. Unconsciously, his fingers flit to his wrists. They could still overlap, and he felt relief that he hadn't lost that much control.

Write it down on paper. Paper is safe.

Like they will understand me, Sanji thought bitterly. But he was a little confused, because this bitterness felt odd. It had the weight of something else, entirely, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

I can tell they're lying.

"It's getting hot in here, I'm opening the window," Ichiji then said, leaving the chair to do so. Sanji saw him move from the corner of his eye, but he had to look again when it looked like two people had stood up from the chair.

It was the effects of the pills he'd taken, he supposed, that made him see faint shadows. Stress, the trauma of surviving an ugly ordeal and placed into a new one.

In the back of his mind, he heard himself chuckle again, but it was a faint sound. And it didn't sound like his voice. He thought he had heard it somewhere, but his memories weren't cooperating with him. They felt too scattered, too vague. Maybe in a few more days, his mind would settle back down again, and he could speak his own thoughts.

Ichiji opened the window, and the smell of fresh air made Sanji feel as if he hadn't breathed it in awhile. It felt good to breathe, again. It felt like he hadn't breathed in so long, that he inhaled deeply of it.

He looked around himself. For as large as the room was, it felt too crowded. It felt as if there were too many people looking at him, and he felt self-conscious, all of a sudden. He felt wrong. But he felt it was only because of this thing Ichiji was forcing on him, and he thought it was only his discomfort in being forced to agree.

Mind fuzzy, he looked away, to focus on the wall to his right. He was tired, but he felt hot, inside. Whatever that machine was, it continued to churn. A constant whirring of power, a faint buzz of sound that seemed as if it crept behind his thoughts, warped his words. It had to be the pills. Why weren't they flushed from his system, yet?

Stupid.

"Get some rest," Ichiji said, moving to the door. "I'll send the nurse over to check on you. There's some paperwork I'll need to complete."

"You'll be gone for the rest of the day?" Sanji asked curiously.

"Yes. But Niji or Yonji will be here – maybe within an hour." Ichiji paused at the door. "Father has no reason to visit you. He will not show up unexpectedly."

"I wasn't asking about that."

"Sanji. I vow to you that he will never hurt you again," Ichiji said low. "Trust in us to do this."

He's telling the truth. He's telling you the truth.

Sanji ignored that, looking off to the side. He reached up to fiddle with his right ear; there was something about that machinery in the distance that made his ear canal itch. It was irritating. When he saw he wasn't going to get anything more from Sanji, Ichiji left with a quiet closing of the door.

Sanji stared at the faint glare coming from the window. For a few moments, he felt vague, lost in some thoughts that he couldn't see clearly. He wished he could remember more of what happened in the sanatorium, if he'd taken those pills to kill himself, or just to drown out the noise. Why hadn't he taken them all when he had the chance? He could've been one of the corpses pulled from the remains of the building, and that would've been the end of it.

Because I'm not done.

He realized he was mumbling a prayer for protection, nervously checking the width of his wrists, suddenly aware that something was wrong. Something was very wrong with him.

He just wasn't aware of what it was.