Chapter Text
i. part one
do you believe in me and what we say?
do you wanna join the road of my life?
it's been a while, but i'm not afraid
of the things that make me feel something big
eyes in the sun by florist
There’s a boy nervously peeking around Rayleigh’s shoulder with hair the color of the ocean tucked into a cap. A normal person would immediately zero in on the bright red nose in the center of his face, but Shanks is preoccupied with staring at a loose strand of hair falling out of the cap, the slight curl of it reminding him of a wave.
Pretty, he thinks, not realizing that he’s just sealed his fate.
“Who’s this?” Shanks asks.
“A thief. He tried to steal my coin,” Rayleigh says. Despite the gravity of his statement, he isn’t angry, looking for all the world unbothered by someone’s attempt to rob him. After all, there’s no way a scrawny kid like him could manage to pluck even a single strand of hair from Rayleigh’s head, let alone any of the coins in his pocket.
“I said I was sorry,” the boy blurts, shoulders hunching up to his ears. His voice is raspy, as if it’s rarely used, but it’s pleasant somehow. Shanks wants to hear more. “How the hell was I supposed to know you were a pirate?”
Rayleigh gives a small snort before he clasps the boy on the shoulder, who flinches at the casual touch and seems to want nothing more than to make a run for it. Rayleigh ignores his obvious discomfort and tells the boy, “I suppose you have a point there,” before turning to Shanks. “Did you finish your chores?”
“Just about. Why do you ask?”
“Perfect. I have a job for you. I need you to take him down below deck.”
The boy’s eyes bug out of his head at Rayleigh’s words, a sheen of sweat forming at his temples. Before he'd looked like he was two seconds away from bolting, but now he looks as though he’s about to pass out on the spot. His lower lip is trembling, Shanks notices.
“Below deck?” Shanks frowns. What is Rayleigh playing at? “Where exactly do you want me to take him?”
Rayleigh shrugs and says, “The galley, your quarters, doesn’t matter. Just don’t let him off the ship or out of your sight. I’m gonna go have a little chat with the captain. Keep your eye on him while I’m gone, yeah?”
It’s not like Shanks can turn down an order from Rayleigh, so he bobs his head in a nod and then turns his attention to the boy, whose face is quickly turning a startling shade of red, almost the same color as his nose. “What’s your name?”
The boy seems to be biting back his own words but eventually murmurs, "Buggy."
"Buggy what?"
"Just Buggy," Buggy responds with a little more conviction this time, as if he's trying to put up a brave front. Shanks might believe him more if he wasn't glaring holes into his shoes to probably prevent himself from crying.
“Well then, Just Buggy, looks like you’re with me.” Shanks wraps a hand around the boy’s wrist and then starts pulling him down the walkway, towards the nearest doors that lead below deck. It feels pretty thin in his grasp. “Are you hungry?”
Rayleigh watches them for a moment, eyes shining with mirth, before he turns and walks off towards the captain’s quarters. Buggy watches him retreat with a tense face.
“Are you hungry?” Shanks repeats patiently.
Buggy’s eyes cut over to him, and Shanks can tell he’s being assessed. The boy is probably trying to decide if he can take Shanks in a fight or not.
Even if he could manage to beat Shanks in a brawl (which he can’t), the ship is still crawling with dozens of strong pirates that could take Buggy down with ease. He won’t try anything, Shanks is sure of it.
“No,” Buggy says, but it’s punctuated with a loud gurgle of his stomach.
Shanks grins at him. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Shut the hell up!”
Shanks laughs and says, “I’m sure there’s still leftovers from breakfast. If not, we can just steal something while the cook’s not looking.”
“Stealing is what got me here in the first place,” Buggy grumbles, but follows Shanks towards the kitchen anyway.
There they find enough lukewarm soup left for one more bowl and some slightly stale bread for Buggy to eat, which he starts inhaling almost the instant they sit at a large wooden table in the galley. Shanks watches him, elbows braced on the table, and quickly realizes just why Buggy was trying to rob Rayleigh.
He’s starving.
Shanks is no stranger to hunger. He’s gone without from time to time, due to lengthy voyages out at sea, but living with the Roger Pirates had meant that finding his next meal hasn't been anything to fret over. His belly is always full and the next meal is only hours away. Buggy evidently hasn’t had similar luck.
There’s a stray soul or two in the galley; people who overslept after one too many drinks or people who had a late night and are only now waking up to start their day. Most of them stare curiously at the new passenger aboard their ship, but none actually bother inquiring as to just who he is. This is a pirate ship after all. People are always coming and going, and nobody has the time to learn every single face.
The staring does seem to discomfit Buggy, who gnaws on a hunk of bread and tries not to meet anyone’s eye. Not even Shanks, who’s probably being the most blatant in his staring.
“What?” Buggy snaps when Shanks’ staring seems to get to him.
“Nothing,” Shanks says, but then: “Why’d Rayleigh bring you onboard?”
“I don’t know,” Buggy says with a shrug. He flicks a breadcrumb off the table.
“He didn’t say anything to you? This doesn’t seem like something he’d do, is all.”
“Why are you so nosy?” Buggy asks.
“Why do you have a stick up your ass?” Shanks retorts. “I thought clowns were supposed to be happy.”
That seems to be the wrong thing to say. He practically snarls at Shanks, mouth pulled down into a scowl that’s too big for his face. “Shut up! I’ll kill you,” he threatens, but makes no move to actually follow through.
Shanks frowns, annoyed. Buggy was a lot cuter when he didn’t talk. That distracting curl of blue hair was still sticking out of his cap though, so Shanks wasn’t too annoyed.
After they got some food in Buggy's stomach, Shanks was at a loss for what to do. Technically he still had some chores to get to, but he didn't want to drag Buggy around the ship with him while he worked. What if he got distracted with another task and Buggy gave him the slip? Shanks would never hear the end of it if that happened. No, it's best to hold off on the remainder of his duties and focus entirely on the task Rayleigh gave him.
Rather than head to the crow's nest, which is what Shanks would usually be doing this time of day, he goes back to his quarters.
His room—if it can even be called that—is tiny. There's a three bunk beds in the far end of the room, with the bottom one being in disarray as it's the one Shanks uses. Scattered on the floor are a couple of crates full of Shanks' personal belongings that he's accumulated over the course of his time at sea. It's messy, but he's under no obligation to keep things neat for anyone but himself. Being the only cabin boy in the Roger Pirates, he gets to use the space as he pleases.
The room is designed to house three people, but when Shanks lets Buggy through the door and then hustles in behind him, he realizes how crowded another body would make it. He counts his lucky stars that it's just him, even if another set of hands would make it easier to get through the daily chores.
"This place is a mess." Buggy turns his nose up at a stray shirt Shanks left lying around the other day. “You’re a pig.”
"And you're rude," Shanks says plainly.
"Yeah, well, you're annoying," Buggy shoots back.
Shanks rolls his eyes but doesn't bother to respond. Instead he goes over to his bed and pulls out a leather bound book from beneath his pillow, opening it in his lap. There’s already a stick of graphite tucked in there from the last time he’d used it, so he picks it up and starts jotting down what he’s done today. It’s his own personal logbook. Practice for when he becomes a captain, which he will become, otherwise this path he chose to walk down is for naught.
It’s never truly silent on a pirate ship. There’s always someone clanking about, or the sea laps against the wood in a never ending pattern, like a tune crafted by nature. Still, it’s strangely silent in the tiny cabin, the only sound being the scratch of graphite on paper as Shanks writes.
The silence is companionable, strangely enough. Shanks listens to Buggy shuffle in front of him, and before long, that too turns into background noise that Shanks grows accustomed to.
"Just how long am I supposed to stay here anyway?" Buggy asks after being silent for so long that Shanks had almost forgotten about him completely.
Shanks looks up at him, tucked against the wall of the tiny cabin, and shrugs. "Until Rayleigh decides to let you go. If he decides to let you go."
Buggy bites on his lips, shifting from foot to foot. Shanks feels for the kid. Rayleigh can be terrifying sometimes, and he would hate to be on the receiving end of that ire.
“Just sit down,” Shanks says. “You’re making me nervous.”
Miraculously, Buggy does listen. He props his foot on the wooden frame of Shanks’ bed and pushes himself up to the second bed above Shanks’ head. His legs hang off the edge, kicking slightly. It gives Shanks a good view of all the scuffs and cuts that litter Buggy’s thin legs, and the pity for him comes back.
After today, Shanks doubts he’ll ever see Buggy again. He wonders how the boy will fair alone. Will he go back to stealing to stay alive? What if he accidentally tries to steal from the wrong person one day? Not everyone is as understanding as Rayleigh, and Shanks is worried for the boy.
“Want a book to read?” Shanks finds himself asking. “I’ve got a couple.”
Buggy’s face appears from the edge of the bed, squinting down at Shanks. “What?”
“Books,” Shanks says. “I’ve got books. If you want to find something to distract yourself with.”
“Oh, uh,” Buggy stutters. His face flushes, and Shanks is again reminded of the fact that Buggy has quite a pretty face. It’s got hints of roughness, and Shanks can almost picture how he’ll look when he’s all grown up.
Shanks hops off the bed and kneels in front of one of his crates, rifling through it and pulling out a couple of aged books. Most of them have been stolen from other crew members or swiped from shops when they dock in towns, and have been well worn from constant use. They’re his own personal little treasures.
Buggy watches him, squinting at the growing stack of books for a moment before he jumps down to the floor and sits next to Shanks. He picks up one of the books and rifles through the pages, eyes drifting up and down the words.
“Most of them are adventure books,” Shanks explains, and taps the book in Buggy’s hands. “This is actually my favorite. It’s about a pirate who overthrows an evil king. I won’t spoil it for you if you want to read it.”
“I, uh,” Buggy looks down and lets the book fall into his lap with a soft thud.
“What is it?”
Their eyes meet and Buggy quickly turns his head to look out the porthole. There’s not much of interest to look at out there, just the clear blue sky. “I can’t read,” he admits.
“Oh. I can—” What Shanks wants to say is I can teach you, but he quickly bites on his tongue and stutters out, “I can read it to you.”
Teaching Buggy to read isn’t a promise he can keep, given that they’re going to set out later this evening and Buggy will most likely be back on land. And anyway, given the way Buggy is scowling at him, the boy probably wouldn’t have taken him up on the offer.
“I don’t want your pity.”
“I’m not pitying you,” Shanks says. “I’m just not sure what to do with you.”
“What’s that even supposed to mean?”
“I—” Shanks doesn’t even know what he’s going to say, but lucky for him he doesn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence before the door is opened.
Shanks glances up to see Rayleigh standing there, towering over both the boys with his hands on his hips. Next to him is the captain, who is leaning against the doorframe and has that ever permanent smirk on his face. Neither look particularly unbothered, but both of them are staring at the pair on the floor with a calculating gaze.
Buggy is quick to his feet, but Shanks, who actually belongs here, is at his leisure as he pushes himself up off the floor. He fixes his straw hat, which went slightly crooked as he rifled through the contents of his crates.
“Shanks, the galley is looking for you to help with the cleanup,” Rayleigh tells him. “I thought you said you’d finished your chores?”
Shanks laughs nervously, giving Rayleigh a wobbly smile. “I think the words I used were ‘just about.’ I never said I finished them all.”
It draws a chuckle out of Roger, but Rayleigh stares at him, unamused. “Finish your chores, boy.”
“Aye aye,” Shanks says, and goes to do just that; but a strangled sound from next to him has him stopping in his tracks. Buggy looks to be two seconds away from death itself, from the way he’s shaking like a leaf. It makes Shanks hesitate, glancing back and forth between this scared boy and his superiors. “Uh…”
“Don’t worry, Shanks,” Roger says. “Buggy here will be just fine with us. Now go.”
“Find me later,” Shanks says to Buggy, and then he leaves.
Later, as he’s scrubbing the floors of the galley, Shanks wants to beat himself over the head with the mop. Find me later? Buggy was probably long gone by now, and all Shanks succeeded in doing was embarrassing himself in front of his captain and first mate. He didn’t even get to make good on his offer to read the book to Buggy, which left an acrid sort of guilt eating away at him.
It must show on his face, his discomfort, because the cook asks, “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” Shanks blurts, ears burning when the cook gives him an odd look before he goes back to washing the dishes.
Shanks keeps his head ducked down for the rest of the time he spends mopping.
“Shanks!”
A bucket full of dirty mop water slips from Shanks’ hands and lands on his toes. He blurts out a couple of very pirate-like words and clutches his foot in his hands, bouncing on the other one as he looks up at the voice. It’s the captain himself, and right in front of him, being pushed forward by a hand on his shoulder, is Buggy.
The sun is venturing dangerously close to the horizon, so sundown is not far off. Despite this, Buggy is still here. He’s still here and someone has given him a new change of clothes. He’s wearing a button up so big that he’s practically swimming in it, and someone has cleaned up the scuffs on his knees and put bandages over them. The only thing that’s still the same is the look of abject terror on his face, and the cap on his head, fixed and properly covering his hair.
“Yes, captain?” Shanks asks through the pain.
“Great news. We’ve got ourselves another cabin boy. You’re gonna show him the ropes tomorrow, so treat him well.”
“Huh?” Maybe Shanks should have found some more fitting words, but it’s as though all the substance has been pulled from his brain and the only thing he can say is huh?
Roger laughs, full bellied, and repeats, “Buggy here is our new cabin boy. He’ll be sleeping with you so sure you get him settled in.”
Is this what Rayleigh had wanted to talk to the captain about? Is that why he’d brought Buggy on board to begin with?
“Okay,” Shanks says, voice unsure. He glances as Buggy, who still hasn’t said a word. “I just have to dump this water out and then I’m heading to the galley for dinner. He can join me.”
“Good boy,” Roger says, patting Shanks on the head. “Knew I could count on you. I’ll leave him in your care.”
When Roger leaves, Shanks turns to Buggy, scrutinizing him even more now. Earlier today Buggy had just been another kid Shanks felt bad for, and now they were nakama.
“You’re… staying,” Shanks states, but it sounds more like a question than anything.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go, and Rayleigh offered,” Buggy says. His shoulders are hunched up high, as though he wants to concave in on himself and vanish.
“Do you even want to be a pirate?” Shanks asks, legitimately curious. Despite the time spent in Shanks’ company, the boy had never alluded to wanting to live on the sea, as a pirate or otherwise. Was he truly so desperate that he jumped at the first chance to have stability?
“Does it matter?” Buggy asks, and then takes the bucket off the floor. “Where are we putting this?”
Dinner that night is interesting. There’s a lot more fanfare over the new crewmember than Shanks had expected there to be, and Buggy seems to be at a loss for what to do about all the attention. Everyone had ignored him earlier, but now that he’s staying, they’re poking and prodding to try and get a sense of his character.
Buggy, for his part, is very feisty. This doesn’t necessarily come as a surprise to Shanks, who spent the better part of the day in his presence and quickly grew accustomed to the boy’s countenance. Buggy is quick to anger, and even quicker to panic. It amuses the Roger Pirates to no end.
“Leave the poor boy alone,” Rayleigh scolds, but he seems just as amused as the rest of them. He’s been doing a shitty job of hiding his smirk when Buggy swats away a stray hand that wants to poke his nose.
A word from the first mate has the crowd that had gathered around Buggy to dissipate in the blink of an eye. Buggy watches them all leave with suspicious eyes before he rips a chunk out of his mutton and swallows without chewing.
“Nervous?” Shanks asks.
“Shut up,” Buggy spits back.
Like Shanks said, feisty. They’ve only known each other for a couple of hours and Shanks has successfully managed to step on every single one of Buggy’s toes. More than once.
Strangely, Shanks doesn’t mind all of Buggy’s sharp edges. He has a feeling that they’ll work over that hurdle and become great friends.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. Buggy kicks him in the shin, to which Shanks retaliates by throwing a piece of boiled carrot at him.
Roger, who always tends to be the first to dinner and the last to leave, finally walks through the door. He’s late, which isn’t normal for him. Despite this, it’s as though the crew knows it’s him because they turn to the door automatically. They were all compasses and their captain was true north.
Without preamble he says, “I got word that the navy became aware of our location, so we’re heading out. You know I don’t mind a scuffle with authority, but we should move away from the port to prevent any damage from befalling on the town.”
People spring into action before the sentence is fully out of his mouth.
Shanks lifts the bowl and swallows down his soup without much chewing. It spills over the lip of the bowl, dribbling down his mouth and onto his shirt. He wipes the remnants of dinner off his face with the back of his hand and stands to his feet. “Come on,” he tells Buggy. “We’ve gotta help them get ready to leave.”
“Where are we heading exactly?” Buggy asks.
Shanks grins. “The Grand Line, of course!”
Buggy doesn’t bother trying to hide his look of horror. He shakes his head viciously, and that little curl falls free again. Shanks’s eyes rest on it immediately. He can't help it. It really does look soft and he's gotta wonder...
“You’re all crazy,” Buggy says before Shanks can actually consider reaching out to touch his hair. He sounds terrified beyond belief, but he's the one who leads the way out to deck. Shanks only laughs and follows.