Chapter Text
The dark trail along the coast was shrouded in mist, and the air smelled of salt. You walked side-by-side with Mihawk, his presence warming you like flames beneath your skin.
His eyes shone with a golden light, typical of old-blood demons, but his hand, which occasionally brushed against yours, was unexpectedly gentle. You loved these quiet moments, when the world was still and he didn't need words for you to feel safe.
"Are you tired?" he asked in a deep voice, looking you over.
"Not at all." You shook your head and smiled.
Mihawk was about to reply when the air tore open with a blinding white light. The wind around you intensified, sand rose, and the sky opened up. Instinctively, he grabbed your shoulder and stood in front of you.
And then you saw him. A small boy was descending from the rift in the heavens before you. He was no ordinary boy. He had black, feathered wings, composed of a darkness so deep it resembled viscous ink.
A flaming, golden halo blazed above his head, and in his hands, he held a sword of pure light. His eyes… his eyes were the same as Mihawk's. Yellow, piercing, beautiful.
And the most shocking thing was the worst of it. He truly looked like Mihawk. Only younger. A child's version.
"He looks… like you?" you whispered.
"Seraphim," he whispered in reply, visibly stiffening for a moment. The child warrior straightened, his sword pointed directly at Mihawk.
"You have fallen." He spoke in a voice devoid of emotion, without warmth, as if he didn't even comprehend feeling. "I have come to destroy you. You are not permitted to live among mortals."
Mihawk drew his blade without hesitation and spread his own dark, draconic wings wide. His body shielded yours like a wall of marble.
"You understand nothing," he snapped. The Seraphim hesitated, only for a second, when he noticed you.
"Why do you stand behind her? Why protect a human? You are only abusing her... demons are incapable of anything else," the angel growled. His voice suddenly sounded surprisingly childlike, almost hurt. But the sword didn't drop, not for a moment.
"Don't you dare touch her," Mihawk snarled. And then, light and shadow surged against each other.
The Seraphim's fiery aura clashed with Mihawk's shadow blade. Waves of energy shook the coast, sand scattered, and you could only stand and watch as the demon you loved struggled to keep pace with the unexpectedly strong opponent, who was also a child.
When the strike of the light sword breached Mihawk's defense, you heard a harsh hiss. Mihawk collapsed to one knee, blood dripping onto the sand. His wings drooped, though he still held his sword.
"Mihawk!" you cried out, running towards him.
The Seraphim raised his weapon again, this time aimed directly at him, lethal, uncompromising. And you did something neither the angel nor the demon expected. You slipped between them and spread your arms, your body turned toward the celestial child.
"You'll have to kill me first!" you shouted, your voice trembling, yet you stood firm. "He didn't hurt me! He protected me! He loves me!" The Seraphim stood in shock, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. His wings lowered.
"Why would a mortal… protect a demon…?" he whispered softly. "A human cannot love something incapable of love. It is against the Order."
"Perhaps your Order is wrong," you answered quietly. The boy blinked, his halo dimming. He slowly lowered his sword.
"He's not using you...?" he finally asked uncertainly, almost in a whisper.
"No," you said, stroking Mihawk's shoulders. "And we don't even have a pact between us."
A long silence. Then the Seraphim approached, cautiously, and touched your hand. He wasn't cold like the angels of legend, rather, he radiated the warm fire of a hearth. It seemed that for the first time in his life, he felt something other than duty.
At first, he was just watching from a safe distance. Not believing his eyes, at the sight of demon and human being together, without deal or anything.
And after that, he start visiting you every evening. Always wordless, always with a gift. One time, he placed a heart-shaped seashell in your palms. Another time, a small crab that immediately scuttled away. Another time, a piece of smooth obsidian.
He would then stand aside, quietly, with wide eyes, watching to see if you liked the gift. Mihawk observed him with an expression you never would have expected from him, confused, almost jealous. He hadn't looked like this even when a drunk Shanks flirted with you.
"Why… does he bring you shells?" he frowned once, after the Seraphim had flown off.
"Maybe he likes me." You smiled at him and rested your head on his shoulder.
"He is a war cherub. Seraphim do not cling. They do not attach themselves. You are the first exception." Mihawk shifted his gaze to the dark sky.
"Then we'll keep him," you said, half-serious, half-joking. "He can be like our son."
"A son? He is a celestial enforcer, not a pet." Mihawk stiffened, his eyes widening.
"He would have a family." You smiled. Mihawk pulled you closer, his fingers gliding down your back.
"If he protects you… perhaps it is not bad," he conceded, albeit cautiously.
And high above you, the Seraphim sat on a cliff, his small wings folded, another found shell in his hands.
Mihawk was training on the beach, but not with you, with him. The Seraphim stood with his feet dug into the sand, his wings taut with tension, the sword of light in his hand. Mihawk walked around him in slow circles, his shadow blade ready.
"Keep your elbow down," he growled. "You're not a sunbeam, you're a blade."
"I am a sunbeam." The Seraphim looked offended.
"No," Mihawk narrowed his eyes, "you're a problem."
You could hear their voices from where you sat on a wooden bench, sorting shells. Some the Seraphim had brought you, and others you had found yourself, but he checked each one to make sure it was worthy of your collection.
When you looked their way, you caught yourself smiling. Both were stubborn. Both were loud. And both... yours.
The training ended without anyone winning. The Seraphim shuffled away from Mihawk and dropped beside you into the sand, tired, sweaty, but satisfied.
"I showed him," he mumbled.
"You looked great," you complimented him, smoothing the hair from his forehead.
He blinked. A strange emotion flashed in his eyes, something deeper than respect, than mere curiosity. He took your hand in his palms and pressed it tightly.
"Mom… am I strong?" You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Your heart hammered painfully hard.
"What did you say?" you breathed quietly.
"Mom," he repeated, and this time he cuddled closer, hiding his face in your shoulder, as if doing something forbidden.
Mihawk was just sheathing his sword, but when he heard it, he froze like a statue. His eyes darkened. He looked as though someone had pulled the ground out from under him. The Seraphim closed his eyes, folding his wings together like a cloak.
"You're the only one who doesn't want to kill me or use me," he whispered. "And you give me the shells back, even the ugly ones."
You didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so you just stroked his hair and gently caressed him. Mihawk was silent for a long time, just watching, and then he slowly knelt behind you and placed a hand on your back.
"If she is your mother…" he growled quietly, "then I am not your master, I’m…" A pause. As if he couldn't force himself to say it.
"…father?" The Seraphim lifted his head, eyes full of hope.
"…if you want." Mihawk sighed, tired and defeated as never before. The Seraphim smiled for the first time in his life.
The evening the Seraphim decided he needed his own room began with him occupying your bed. You lay on your side, Mihawk beside you, his wings embracing both you and the space. Suddenly, a heavy thud sounded from somewhere, and the little angel had apparently teleported right between you.
"I'm sleeping here," he announced decisively, wrapping his wings around you.
"No. That is my spot." Mihawk immediately tensed.
"It's mine now," the Seraphim snapped.
"You're a guest," Mihawk growled.
"I'm a child."
"You're a disaster."
"Mom wants me close!" the angel insisted. Both looked at you simultaneously, like two cats waiting for a territorial decision.
"He can sleep here tonight. Just tonight." You raised your hands in surrender.
The Seraphim nestled closer victoriously. Mihawk sighed heavily, then pulled you tighter into his arms with the angel between you, as if guarding his territory.
"Dad?" he turned to Mihawk after a moment.
"What now?" Mihawk opened his eyes, startled.
"Can I have a black flame sword too?" the seraphim asked innocently.
"No," he answered automatically.
"Why?"
"Because you're sleeping on my wife."
You chuckled, the Seraphim blinked in confusion.
Mihawk pulled you even closer, pressing his nose into your neck, a small gesture, but intimate, possessive, tender.
And then you realized that this peculiar trio, one no one would understand, was exactly what you wanted. A family, not by blood or the rules of the heavens. But by choice.