Chapter Text
Summer seemed to bid them goodbye as much as the inhabitants of Foosha did; as the Red-Haired Pirates made haste to depart and avoid the metaphorical storm that Vice Admiral Garp would undoubtedly bring with him, the winds picked up and the waves grew restless, anticipating the return of the Red Force to the open sea. Snake, slipping back into his role of navigator easily - though not without complaining at the lack of warning his Captain had given him - informed everyone that, should they leave swiftly enough, they could avoid the worst of the tropical typhoon that lingered overhead.
It was good news; great news even, though Shanks could not shake the feeling of dread from his insides as they prepared to sail. His hat laid low on his brow, shielding his eyes from the knowing gazes of his crew, so they would not see the warring emotions reflected in them.
The long-buried, possessive side of him raged against his decision; the pull of Conqueror's Haki barely contained beneath his skin as he struggled to keep it in check. It begged him to stay, forced him to repeat Luffy's anguished cries when he was told the news of their departure over and over again, intent on using his affection, his protectiveness against his better judgement. He flinched against the heavy feeling of guilt and shame coalescing in his stomach, weighing heavier than any shackle ever could. He felt like a coward, turning his back and fleeing from some old Vice Admiral, and his instincts did little to dissuade him of the belief; if anything, they made it worse, a voice sounding suspiciously like his long-lost brother hissing that he was supposed to be the brave one.
"Captain?"
Shanks' head snapped to the side, seeing Benn standing next to him. Where Shanks was tense, all wound up springs set to snap, Benn was stoic as ever; his posture was relaxed, expression blank. He didn't even look all that exhausted, though the captain was aware it was unlikely his first mate had slept; after ushering Shanks off to his quarters, he'd taken it upon himself to inform the crew of their last-minute decision and had been very clear as to why they had to leave in such a hurry. It was an act of kindness Shanks was simultaneously grateful for and resentful of; on the one hand, it spared him the excess emotional strain when he already felt ready to drown at the idea of leaving - and on the other, it forced him to make good on his word.
"Preparations done, then?" He asked. Even to himself, he sounded dull.
"Aye Captain."
He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut against the wave of tiredness that begged him to sleep through this three-week excursion. As tempting as a hibernation might be, there was work to be done.
"Alright then. Get everyone to their posts, and pray we beat the storm."
Benn nodded his understanding, but before he turned to leave, he caught Shanks by the shoulder. Much like the night before, the touch helped to ground the captain a little, his trusted friend offering him a silent support against the veritable tempest in his own head. Not for the first time - and certainly not for the last either, he was sure - the young captain thanked whatever strange powers that reigned in the world that, when at his lowest, they had allowed him to find the man that would become his most trusted confidante, a guiding figure when all others had disappeared. He allowed himself a small smile, nodding in thanks before shaking himself off.
It was only three weeks, he told himself as he turned to head below deck; there were maps in his quarters he had to check, circled and notated in an elegant hand and gifted to him by a certain Warlord before he left Paradise. Three weeks was a nothing voyage, would pass quickly on the open waters. He had survived far longer stints at sea.
From the docks below, a voice cried out; "Shanks!"
He stopped still, feet feeling stuck to the deck beneath him for all of a second, before he turned back and flung himself towards the railing.
He hadn't thought Luffy would come to see them off after his reaction to them leaving, and he hadn't had the strength to begrudge the boy for it. It has been an ugly thing, watching Luffy's smile grow small, hearing the soft, aborted hiccups he refused to let become actual sobs. When Shanks had held him, giving him what he hoped was a reassuring hug, he felt the trembles as if they were his own.
("It's not for forever; we're only going to be gone a few weeks", he found himself promising, as he knelt down to Luffy's height and dried the tears with his thumbs. "Just until your Grandpa is gone, so you don't get in trouble, okay?"
The look he'd gotten in turn had nearly shattered him entirely; mournful and sad and far too resigned. "You won't forget about me?"
It had taken all of Shanks' self-restraint not to scoop Luffy up and take him with them, Garp be damned. How could he possibly forget his Anchor? Was it not obvious that his having to leave was killing him?
"I promise, I won't.")
Anchor still looked rough; his eyes were red and puffy, and he was shaking even as Makino held his hand. It struck Shanks all too suddenly that Luffy had probably never been given the courtesy of a goodbye, not a proper one anyway; left by a father that wanted nothing to do with him, a mother that was either absent or dead, and a grandfather that placed a corrupt regime above his own blood. It would be enough to break anyone; and yet he watched, choking back his own silent grief, as Luffy met his gaze with a grin that felt like the first gracing of the sun upon the ground at dawn.
He loved this kid; gods help him, but he did.
Taking a steadying breath, Shanks let the careless mask slip back on. He'd always been good at that, hiding his own pain, his own sadness, in the wake of the overwhelm of others. He'd done it for Buggy, playing the role of the strong, protective older brother when Blue had needed it, had needed the safety and comfort that came with standing behind someone stronger. He'd done it for Rayleigh when news of Roger's illness first broke, offered a shoulder to his mentor and teacher the way it had been granted to him so many times in his youth. He'd done it for Roger, when he promised he'd help fulfil his last request, bring about a prophecy that felt so beyond him, even as he mourned.
Benn has once told him he shouldn't have had to do that, shouldn't have had to act like a grown-up when he was still a little kid. At the time, Shanks had bristled, all teenage indignation at being referred to as a child. Looking back on it though, he was probably right.
But he was an adult now, and he'd be damned if he upset Luffy more than he already had today. So, instead, he laughed, leaning down over the railing to call out to him clearer. "I thought you weren't coming!"
Luffy looked away for a second, seeming a little embarrassed as he wiped his nose with the back of his free hand before shrugging his shoulders sheepishly. "Makino says it's polite to tell people goodbye."
The woman in question nodded, her own expression carefully composed into an encouraging smile, though Shanks noticed how her grip on the kid's hand squeezed tighter as he repeated her own words for everyone around to hear. Shanks wondered if she was envisioning all of the people Luffy had never been granted the opportunity to say those words to, much like he himself had done. Perhaps, she was thinking of that elusive father that she had not seen in six years, or maybe the unknown mother that had maybe never even survived long enough to hold her son as a baby. Could she be thinking of Garp, the fair-weather guardian that should have been Luffy's constant, that instead dared to disturb the fragile stability she attempted to build for this child she loved with his abrupt interruptions into their lives, without so much as an apology for his absence?
Shanks knew that anger all too well, still felt it deeply ingrained within him, as if it had long since settled into his bones alongside his grief. He could recall so clearly cursing his former crew in drunken stupors when he was younger, hating them so viscerally for leaving him when he was at his most vulnerable, resenting Roger for choosing to die and leaving him with the burden of protecting and passing on the Pirate King's legacy when he was so awash with sorrow that it felt like he was drowning.
(He remembered one particular night, so wasted he couldn't stand and curled up into Benn's side as his friend carried him back to the ship, he had finally broken down and wept bitterly for all that had he had been bereaved of. He had just turned seventeen and had been all at once struck with that all-encompassing sense of hollow loneliness, so overcome with this awful, indiscriminate feeling of loss that he had been incapable of doing anything but crying.
Benn had held him through it, offering no words of comfort; he had known Shanks well enough by then that empty placations would only serve to make him worse. Instead, he'd sat with Shanks on the floor of his cabin, back against the door for what felt like hours, giving Shanks the space to be a weak and scared little kid that missed his family.
"Why did they leave me?" He'd asked at one point, sobbing so badly that the words were jumbled together, slurred and barely recognisable as speech. "Was I not good enough? Didn't they care about me at all?"
Benn hasn't answered him right away, had first taken the time to wipe the tears and snot off his captain's face that, had he been in his right mind, Shanks would have been utterly mortified by. Benn didn't seem to judge him; only pocketed the handkerchief again once he was sufficiently clean. After that, Benn had held his face in both hands, forcing the younger man to look at him, to listen to him proper.
"The fact that they left wasn't on you, Shanks. It had nothing to do with you not being good enough, or skilled enough, or worthy enough. Sometimes people make choices that hurt us; we may never know the reasons why they do it, and we may never get an apology for it. But we survive; we do not let it define us, we do not let it break us or let that choice dictate our value. We grieve, and then we move on, and do our best to prove that we are better than them."
Shanks wondered if Benn had told himself that when his wife had left him; wondered if, in the life his First Mate had had before, if he'd been given the dignity of some closure. With how cagey Benn was when bringing her up, he could only imagine not.
Benn never told him her name, and Shanks never asked; some chests did not need pried open when they were already shut tight and locked.
"People are flawed, kid. And they'll make mistakes. Doesn't mean you have to forgive them; doesn't mean you have to forget, or bury the hatchet or any of that bullshit. But it should never make you question whether you are worthy of being loved.")
He had done his best since then to live true to Benn's words, finding his sense of self outside of the shadow of his past and building himself into a version of a man he could be proud of. His grievance with the Oro Jackson's crew persisted even as he missed them, like some vengeful ghost that refused to be exorcised; but in turn, he strived to greater heights so as to never be the one turning his back on those who needed him.
(And if a small part of him still craved the approval of Roger, still hoped that somewhere in the fathomless beyond that his Father was smiling down on him - well, that was his business.)
Shanks swallowed hard, fought to ease the breath in him that had begun to hitch at the memory. Luffy was here; his Anchor was choosing the brave thing and trusting Shanks would be true to his word. So, he fell fully into his role, leaning further across the ship's railing and nodding sagely in response.
"Oh, it's much more than polite! It's an essential part of a journey!'
Luffy's eyes lit up, sparkling like polished coins and wide as all the world's seas combined; the way they always became when the boy was presented with new knowledge of piracy or tale of adventure. Shanks' heart gave another painful jolt of fondness. "Really?!"
"Of course!" He rested his chin against his palm, tilting his head to the side in the affect of ease. The wind was whipping up more, tousling his hair and making his hat blow back, catching by its string around his neck and coming to rest between his shoulder blades. They would need to get a move on soon; the storm was descending quick, and yet Shanks couldn't make himself leave, just yet. Not yet. Not until he was sure his boy was happy. "A farewell is the most important part of a sailor's voyage, or so I've always believed. There's an old superstition that seeing a ship off from harbour and giving her crew a heartfelt goodbye helps to carry them onto their next destination, grants them good fortune on the sea." He smiled down at Luffy, who was listening with rapt attention. "It might just be an old wives' tale, but it's one I feel has served me and my crew well in our travels."
The boy had come closer as he had spoken, tugging himself free of Makino and running up as if to chase Shanks' words on the wind. "Is it like magic?" He asked excitedly.
"Yeah, Anchor. It's like magic."
Luffy beamed at him, and Shanks felt almost blind with how much love he could hold in himself for a child. Had Roger loved him like this? Had he seen Shanks and Buggy look at him with all the trust children have and felt this incandescent sense of joy?
Thankfully, Makino stepped in and saved him before he completely shattered. She stepped forwards to join Luffy at the edge of the dock, standing directly behind and setting her hands on the boy's shoulders. "Well, if that's the case, we'll have to give you all a proper send-off, won't we?"
From then, the work was fast. A cacophony of cheers erupted from the crew as the sails were unfurled, the fresh canvas catching on the tumultuous breeze with all the eager hunger of a beast scenting blood. With his men working in tandem and the ship's desire to venture back onto the open waters, it took the Red-Haired Pirates no time at all to pull away from the dock of Foosha Village, towards their next lead on the treasure they sought.
Shanks kept his post at the rail, battling off the weariness that itched at his eyes and made his shoulders ache with the want of rest; he stayed until Dawn Island began falling out of view, wanting to catch one last glimpse of his boy waving him off, cheering his name and wishing him to return before too long.
---
Shanks emerged from his quarters sometime in the mid-afternoon, having retired once Dawn Island was firmly out of sight without the use of his Observation Haki. Under the crew's request - or rather, Beckman's request, as the crew were all quite pre-occupied with ensuring the Red Force was moving smoothly on course in spite of the blustering weather -, and with the promise that they would alert him if anything major required his attention, he had collapsed back into bed and was dead to the world only a few seconds later. It was a testament, he supposed, to the faith he had in his crew to man the ship without him present; each of his men were experienced seafarers, some having been sailing as long as Shanks himself, and all those he had named his Senior Officers were individuals that had proven time and time again that they could be trusted with, not just his life, but every life within their crew and beyond in their territories.
He surveyed the deck for a moment, a familiar thrill combating with the new terror that he feared would follow him until he got to see Luffy once more. He was home again, at the mercy of the waves and all their terrible glory; the blood in his veins seemed to sing with the glee of it, rejoicing at his return, regardless of any new attachment to the land he might have brought back with him.
He was a pirate, at the end of the day; so long as he lived, he would always return to the sea.
After a moment, he spied Building Snake on the upper deck, fighting valiantly against the tempestuous winds that threatened to tear his East Blue map from his grasp. It seemed the weather had only worsened the further out from Foosha they got, dark clouds hanging ominously with the threat of torrential rain and thunder. The navigator's shoulders were hunched down to try and shield the sheet of paper from the worst of the wind, and, as Shanks approached, he overheard the man muttering a regular litany of foul-mouthed South Blue beneath his breath.
(While Shanks might not have been able to speak the South Blue dialect fluently, he recalled how Miss Rouge had eagerly taken it upon herself to teach both of Roger's impressionable cabin-boys all her native curses, how she would ruffle his and Buggy's hair any time they managed to pronounce one correctly. And even though it was at his expense, Shanks had always suspected that the three of them bonding in such a way made Roger happy.)
Just as Shanks reached him, a particularly powerful gale blew past them, the ocean air biting even in late summer. In his haste to save his map, Snake had seemingly forgotten about his sunglasses, perched precariously on his head once the sun had disappeared and rendered them useless, and Shanks barely managed to catch them as they were sent flying through the air. He himself had had the foresight to forgo his hat for that exact reason, leaving his treasure safe inside his cabin to avoid it being swept away or tossed overboard.
"Woah there! Can't go losing them; you actually paid good money for these! More than they were worth, if I remember right."
Snake turned to him, tucking his map safely back into an inside pocket of his coat. Despite the clear distaste for the weather conditions he'd been forced to work in - the man had never enjoyed the cold, though his time in the New World and its ever-shifting ecosystems had acclimatized him eventually -, he managed a sardonic smile in response to Shanks' teasing.
"Cheers, Cap; though I gotta tell you, the next time you have me high-tail it from some psycho Vice-Admiral, I'm asking for a raise."
Shanks snorted derisively and tossed the sunglasses back to his friend, who caught them one handed, the other moving towards the wheel before him. "No can do, I'm afraid; psycho Vice-Admirals are a hazard of the profession."
"Dammit; well, it was worth a shot."
The two shared a laugh, and Shanks felt the little crackling of anxiety within him dissipate with the easy conversation. While it was true that Shanks had never kept his history quiet amongst his Senior Officers - for how could he expect his crew to place their faith and follow him to the very ends of the earth if he kept such glaring secrets from them? -, there was a stark difference between being passively aware of some indeterminate threat and being confronted by the harsh reality of it. His crew were not foolish, nor naive; they had been cautioned of the dangers that came with the life of piracy, knew that sailing under the flag of a former member of the Pirate King's crew greatly increased those risks. Nevertheless, a part of Shanks had feared his men might grow to resent him for the prejudice his ties would bring upon them in turn, the target on their backs all too prominent from the second they set foot upon his ship.
That's precisely the reason why Luffy can never sail with us.
"I've brought you some co-ordinates", Shanks informed the other man hurriedly, steadfastly ignoring the heaving swell of self-hatred that ate at his insides with the thought. He slipped the sheet of parchment he'd spent his waking hours since setting off pouring over from his pocket, handing it over for Snake to study. "There's a couple of nameless islands Hawkeyes mentioned we should look into, though he can't say for certain if it will come to anything. Seems there's a load of speculation amongst some of the divisions moving into the East on where they'll be posted, so he recommended we cover all our bases, just to be safe. We can set a course once we're out of the worst of the storm."
Building Snake let out a low whistle, gaze roaming over the rather extensive list Shanks had presented to him. "Hawkeyes doesn't do anything by half, does he? Didn't even realize there was this many islands in the East Blue."
The Captain shrugged. "You'd be surprised how many people just don't bother charting them; made them a haven for smugglers back in the day, according to Roger."
This knowledge caused Snake's eyes to light up with a mischief that bordered on dangerous, his lip pursed in the way it did when he was concocting some hair-brained scheme that would inevitably get them into a whole heap of trouble. "What's the chances the Marines have more updated maps on the region; y'know, with the increase of piracy and all that?"
Shanks eyebrows rose. "You want to steal a map of the East Blue... From Marines?"
"Listen, I can't navigate without the proper tools!" The man held up his hands in a mock defence, shit-eating grin spanning ear to ear. It was a lie if ever Shanks had heard one - Snake could sniff out land with an accuracy that bordered on supernatural, with or without a compass or map. "And since a certain Captain didn't get me those cartographer supplies I asked for -"
Shanks barked a laugh. "Oh come on, you can't hold that over me; I asked around and no-one had anything to sell!"
"I can, and I will. Unless, of course, you help me look for alternatives. Preferably in a Marine barracks.
"What happened to us laying low?"
"Aw, Cap; where's the fun in that?" Snake cocked his head to the side. "Besides, don't you think our Anchor would just love to hear about your daring exploits?"
Motherfucker had him. Shanks would have been insulted at how easily his crew could read him if the idea didn't distract him with its appeal.
A soft warmth began to blossom in his chest as he envisioned bringing more stories back to Luffy; new ones, sharp and colourful and recent enough that the adrenaline had yet to wear off. Tales and escapades specifically from Luffy's Blue, his home that often went overlooked and dismissed in the annuls of history, in which Shanks hoped his boy could imagine how his own journey might begin. For there was no doubt in his mind that Anchor would answer the call of the Mother Sea someday; it was simply a matter of when.
(It could be sooner.
In the recesses of Shanks' consciousness, Conqueror's Haki stirred; the instinctive Will raising its head like a Sea King breaking water, jaw agape to swallow a ship whole.
In an instant, the gentle heat in his chest sputtered out and sickening dread took its place.
Stories are but a pale imitation of what we could give him. We could make his dream a reality now. If only you were not so weak.)
Shanks turned away, hoping his indignant sigh would help disguise the sudden sensation of claws within his flesh as he fought to silence the hissing beast within himself. It was more a struggle than it should have been, its Voice loud and demanding even as he smothered it. His Haki had always been a wild thing, almost as if it had the presence of mind to think on its own, to act without Shanks' input; something that both Roger and Rayleigh had informed him was as uncommon as it was dangerous. It was why they had taken such great pains in ensuring he mastered the practice young; with as strong as his Haki was, even when restrained, the consequences of being overpowered by it were simply unthinkable.
For a moment, he wished more than anything that one of them was still around; they would know what to do, how to handle his rapidly declining control over the impulses that howled at him.
"Well, when you put it like that; I suppose we can make a quick detour. Though I'm leaving you in charge of coming up with an exit strategy when things go wrong."
From there, he busied himself with helping the crew, all too happy to have a distraction and lose himself in the comforting numbness of his tasks. He didn't want to burden his crew more than he already had; they had sacrificed so much for him, believed in him even when he had struggled to see himself as worthy of that devotion. So, he would pretend he was fine, pretend he had any fucking notion of what he would do in the long run.
They deserved that much - deserved more, if Shanks was only able to give it.
(Coward...)
---
As he had done many nights before, Shanks found himself in a corner of the galley, nursing a bottle of sake in the vain hope the alcohol would somehow alleviate all the concerns that plagued him, could somehow drown out the persistent snarling of the Conqueror's Haki that echoed in his head like the tolling of a funeral bell. The storm had finally come down upon them proper around the evening, so there was little the men could do but baton down and ride it out, trusting that the Red Force was sturdy enough to weather any sort of condition thrown at her; most of the crew were huddled in groups, either losing their beri in poker or losing themselves in liquor, much like Shanks himself. A steady thrum of conversation hovered over the crash of violent waves against the stern outside, only interrupted every once in a while by a roar of drunken laughter or the dismayed cry of that round's loser. From the porthole to his right, he could make out the lashings of rain within the inky blackness of the night, their splattering upon the glass forming a steady, lulling rhythm in tandem with the rocking of the ship.
It was a quiet night for the Red-Haired Pirates, all things considered; Bonk Punch and Monster had drawn the short straw for night watch, so no music accompanied their late-night activities. Still, the sense of camaraderie, of amenity, was clear to see.
On a normal night, Shanks would join them, all too willing to try his hand at besting Limejuice in cards and failing miserably or maybe participating in drinking games that left all challengers kissing the deck. Tonight, however, the sombre weight under his ribs held him in place, kept him drinking sullenly and stubbornly alone.
The clock on the wall read 11pm. By now, in Foosha Village, Luffy would just be being dragged to bed by Makino, pleading for just one more story, five more minutes, his heels digging into the floor as though planting himself firmly enough would make it so he wouldn't have to leave.
Shanks missed him already, yearned for the routine he had not realized he had fallen into until he was not there to perform it. He couldn't stop his mind wandering, wondering, worrying over what disaster could have befallen his boy in the few short hours he had been gone.
Was Luffy sitting in Party's Bar with Makino now, surrounded by empty tables where just yesterday they had been full? Was he tucked into bed, staring out over the shoreline, already counting down the seconds until the Red Force came back into view? What would happen when Garp arrived? Shanks remembered, as a boy, watching Garp and Captain fight; their conflicts caused devastations the likes natural disasters could not even hope to match - and that was when they seemed to be doing it for sport. The mad old man was also the only opponent Shanks had known to ever really hurt Roger, managing to break The Pirate King's shoulder with an Armoured fist and leaving him unable to use his sword for a week.
Garp's blood or not - hell, Will of D or not - Luffy was still a kid; if a man like Garp used anything more than no force on him, he'd shatter him into bone dust.
(You have abandoned him. Left him defenceless. How can he be safe when not with us?)
Had he made a mistake? Perhaps he should have stayed, obeyed his instincts and faced Garp head-on. For if he came back, and his Anchor was harmed...
A hand came down over his shoulder and he jolted, nearly knocking his drink over in the process.
"Beri for your thoughts, Captain?"
Apparently so lost in his grim musings that even his Observation Haki hadn't flared, Shanks had somehow missed Yasopp breaking off from one of the groups and seating himself in the empty chair by his captain's side. The marksman flashed a grin at the reaction, as though surprising Shanks counted as some personal victory.
He tried to return the gesture, smile in turn, though it felt shallow, stretching wrong at the corners of his mouth. "Can't say my thoughts are worth much right now; you should ask me when I've had a proper sleep."
Yasopp guffawed, jostling Shanks good-naturedly before releasing him in favour of picking up his own bottle and downing a hearty swig. It was a sweeter mix than most of the men favoured, though, at the end of the day, they all ascribed to the motto that booze was booze, regardless of taste; Shanks could smell the overtones of caramel and pear on the lip of the bottle as his friend moved it back, strong enough to burn his nose. "Don't sell yourself short, boss; I'm sure you've got plenty of insights well worth a listen."
"Only insight I have right now is that Rockstar is too drunk to hold a poker-face and Lucky Roux is going to make him suffer for it."
Throwing his head back, Yasopp let out a cackle. "Damn right; pocketed a neat stack of my own from him before I came over. Man never learns."
They descended into companionable silence for a while, observing the less than fair game as it unfolded, only breaking it to huff in amusement anytime someone made a particularly witty or scathing retort. In the end, Shanks had been right on the money with his prediction, with Lucky cleaning house and leaving a slurring Rockstar slumped against the table demanding a rematch.
He had just polished off his bottle and reached for another when Yasopp spoke again. "You missing your boy, huh?"
Shanks froze for a fraction of a second, before letting the mask drop entirely. He leaned back in his chair, sweeping his hand over his face with a heaving breath. "Am I that obvious?"
"I'm sure no-one else noticed", Yasopp joked, though it was said with a softer touch than Shanks usually associated with the sniper. "I mean, you could be brooding for any number of reasons. Plenty of them to pick from."
Plenty of reasons, sure; but they all stemmed back to one small boy that had managed to knock Shanks' very state of being off its axis.
"I miss him", he finally admitted, after allowing another beat of quiet to envelop them. He took a drink, let the sour taste of spirits sit on his tongue before swallowing and revelling in the burn it left in his throat. He wanted to be numb for the conversation he could feel coming; wanted to dull the knife's edge of agony that pulsed every second be was awake, aware, absent. "I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way. I thought I’d already experienced the worst thing that could happen to me, but missing Buggy or Rayleigh or Captain doesn’t even compare to this. It's as if I’ve left a piece of myself on that damn island.”
He wanted to say more, could have waxed poetic about just how disproportionately affected he was to be leaving a kid he’d only known three months – gods, only three months? What had life before Anchor even been like; trying to recall it felt like looking into some colourless void of senseless shapes, impossible to distinguish.
A bitter laugh escaped him, choked out like a sob. “Fuck, I’m pathetic!” He lamented, bracing a hand over his eyes as if it would somehow rewrite fate and reverse this cruel path he’d unknowingly set himself upon. “We’re gonna be back – it’s not like this is the last time I’ll see him. And even if it was, the kid’s not even mine; a few months ago, I didn’t even know he existed. Why does it feel like I’ve lost a fucking limb? Why do I feel like I’m going to lose my mind, worrying about him?”
Perhaps the alcohol was hitting him more than usual; Hongo often reminded him that lack of sleep and ‘emotional dysregulation’ – which was the doctor’s nicest way of telling Shanks he needed to get a grip – could alter the effects it had on the mind and body, and that maybe drinking all his problems away was actually doing him more harm than good. Shanks couldn’t in any good faith say the man was wrong, for he sure as hell was no doctor; but time and time again, sometimes even against his better judgement, he found himself falling into the easy oblivion the bottle provided. It was hard to shake a lifetime habit, even moreso to find something else to distract him when everything became too much once again.
(It was how his fathers had dealt with all their problems, had handled their woes. Seemed Shanks had picked up more than his swordsmanship from them.)
Yasopp stayed quiet for a time, in which Shanks took the reprieve he needed to compose himself, at least partially; he felt shaken still, off kilter in a way that had nothing to do with the erratic movement of the ship underfoot as she was bullied by the harsh tide. The roof of his mouth tasted acrid, and he chased the taste away with a mouthful of sake.
An arm was slung over his shoulder without warning, Yasopp’s heat pressing against his side as the sniper scooted closer.
“There’s nothing pathetic about missing your kid, Captain.” He told him. He was solemn, face more grave as Shanks had seen in years. “Or for worrying about him. Doesn’t matter how long you’ve known him, or that you share no blood – you of all people know blood doesn’t make family. I don’t think you’re weak for it; and if any of the crew thought that they’d be answering to me, though I can promise you that they don’t. As for why it all feels intense? Can’t say I understand the science behind it, but it’s normal for a parent to want to protect their kid above all else; some biological instinct.” He sighed, a little humour coming back to him as he went on. “Hell, when Banchina and I found out she was pregnant, it was like a switch flipped, you know? Suddenly the world had narrowed down to one single point, and nothing else mattered. I thought I was bad; you should have seen her – the hormones didn’t help, I’m sure, but she damn near turned into a feral tiger anytime she got startled.”
Despite himself, Shanks cracked a smile. He’d met Yasopp’s wife once before, right before the sniper joined his crew; she was as sugary sweet as people came, friendly to Shanks even as he spirited away her partner for a life on the high seas. “Seriously? Banchina, a feral tiger? You sure you weren’t talking about someone else?”
“Oh, you didn’t see her; I was practicing my long range one morning in the garden and forgot to warn her about the noise. She ripped me a new one for scaring her; she thought Marines were firing on the house.”
Yasopp recounted it all with a fond smile, head back and eyes closed as if to relish in the memory. But Shanks knew his friend, as he knew himself – knew all too well when the happiness was tinged with melancholy.
“Do you ever regret it?” The words were hushed, intent on keeping some semblance of privacy between them, but even then, Shanks thought they felt all too resonant for the casual atmosphere of the galley. “Do you ever regret taking my offer to join me?”
Yasopp went still by his side, and from his periphery, Shanks watched his crewmate’s eyes open, gaze falling to linger on the bottle still in hand. He recalled how excited Yasopp had been to find that specific liquor on Dawn Island, as well as shocked that trade for it had made it so far outside of the Gecko Islands; when Shanks had asked about it, he’d been told that it was a native brew from Yasopp’s hometown, made with the syrup for which the village got its name.
“What’s there to regret? I was already a wanted man when you came along, Shanks. I was already a risk to my wife, who was good enough to put up with me bringing danger to our doorstep every time I came back home from a job; I know it scared her, and she was always looking over her shoulder, but she did it anyway. We made it work for as long as we could, but neither of us wanted our son getting tangled up in all my shit; especially when Marines started sniffing around looking for me. By that point, the only option was to run; you gave me the means to do that.”
His arm fell away from Shanks’ shoulders, shifting instead to rest a hand upon the gun at his belt, as though the touch of the handle soothed him. He had that far away look that told Shanks he was not really here, lost deep instead within the dredges of a murky past that had led him to the present. He looked aged, suddenly; and Shanks was reminded of the wealth of experiences Yasopp had denied himself by choosing to leave, by choosing his family’s safety over his own happiness.
“If I regret anything, it’s starting out as a mercenary for hire in the first place; for being the sort of man whose reputation put his loved ones at risk. At least this way, away from Banchina and Usopp, they’re safe.”
If Shanks was sober, he wouldn’t have pushed further. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have brought any of Yasopp’s old wounds up at all, far too conscious of what had happened the last time it had come up in casual conversation – more specifically, the denunciations Benn had levied at Yasopp that had almost led to them killing each other. But the swaying of the ship had grown rhythmic now, loosening his tongue and inhibitions. And, unkind as it might be to speculate, Shanks had found himself curious on a few of the details of his friend’s arrangement.
“How come you never write to her?” He found himself questioning, trying not to make it sound accusatory. He had always trusted that his friend had had his reasons, was familiar enough with the man’s character to know that whatever decisions he had made when joining Shanks, Banchina would have had to approve of them. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder. “To Banchina? Or send anything back home? Even if you didn’t visit in person, you might still have been able to be in their lives that way.”
The corners of Yasopp’s mouth pinched; his fingers tapped agitatedly against the glass of the bottle in his hand. His foot bounced, a sharp tapping against the floorboards, all too loud in the space between them. Shanks felt suddenly ashamed.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have –“
“Baterilla.”
The apology died in Shanks’ mouth.
“… What?”
Yasopp glanced away, keeping his focus fixed on some undetermined point across the galley. He set his drink down carefully, choosing instead to cross his arms over his chest.
“Was pretty rare for news from the South Blue to reach the East; it’s one of the reasons the story stuck with me so much, beyond the contents. Rumours of the Pirate King having a kid, the World Government searching for the last of Roger’s legacy; even if they didn’t give details in the paper about the god-awful shit they did there, kept it all clean and presentable for the media, I knew more had to be going on, and none of it was going to be pretty.”
Yassop was right; none of it had been pretty. In fact, it was one of the ugliest things Shanks had ever seen the World Government do. When he’d learnt of the lengths the Marines had gone to snuff out even the suggestion of Roger’s continued line, he’d vomited up all the contents of his stomach.
He had searched for Rouge after, fuelled by some vain hope that maybe, somehow, she had survived. If she was with child, maybe she had hidden herself away; she was smart, cunning in a way that made her terrifying, and had made Captain adore her all the more. Maybe she hadn’t been pregnant at all and thus had managed to escape the corrupt judgement of the Marines.
He never found her. Not living, and no headstone bore her name. He was forced to reconcile with the likelihood that she had been buried with the rest of the slaughtered women and babies of her island in an unmarked grave.
Through the ringing in his ears, he heard Yassop continue. “The whole story sat with me wrong. The idea of hunting down a defenceless kid for what his father had done. Made me worry about how my kid might be perceived if he was ever connected back to me. Don’t get me wrong; I’m nowhere near Roger’s level. But you are, boss. We’ve gained a lot of notoriety in a short space of time in the New World. Honestly, I’m shocked we’ve been able to settle in the East for as long as we have without someone recognising us; gotta be grateful for how slow news is to get here, I suppose. But regardless; it would only take one slip up, one intercepted News Coo, one unsecured Transponder Snail… and the Marines would have my greatest weakness in their hands.”
He turned his head towards Shanks, and the captain could plainly see the terror Yassop carried at the mere idea. The same terror that wracked him when he thought of Luffy in danger.
“I love being a pirate; it gives me purpose, challenges me, makes me feel alive. And I love this crew, though I’ll never tell them that to their faces, big-headed bastards. But I love my wife and son more. And I know, if I was to ever see them again, I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to leave. I’m a selfish man, Captain; I’d risk their lives just to hold them close to me. That’s why I can’t be there.” He huffed out a soft, sad sound and wiped at the corner of his eye discreetly. Shanks didn't comment when his fingers came away wet. “You know, I see you and Luffy, and I think about my boy and how he must be - he'd be about Luffy's age by now. I wonder if he’s inherited any of my traits, or if he’s his mother’s image. I dream of seeing him and Banchina and being the husband and father they deserve. But I can’t be that; so, I content myself with knowing they’re safe without me - that even if they hate me, at least they are alive.”
It was a cold comfort. Barely comfort at all.
The beaches of Baterilla flashed in his mind’s eye, stained red with gore from innocents butchered for no sin other than another’s paranoia and suspicion. He imagined Rouge amongst the corpses; wild and gentle in equal measures, made still and cold simply for loving a wanted man. Her rounded stomach, sheltering the child of his Captain, the sibling he might have had if the world had not been so barbaric as to snatch their life before they had the chance to even live.
The scene shifted, twisted and merged until it was Foosha Village; the white sands soaking up blood, the dock sticky with viscera. Himself searching, screaming his son's name until his throat was raw, for the only answer to be dead, deafening silence…
No, no; that wouldn’t happen. For all his gripes and reservations about Garp and his capabilities as a grandparent, he had to believe that he wouldn’t allow something as horrific as Baterilla to happen on the off chance that it would hurt Shanks.
Besides, Yasopp had been correct that they had not been recognised. Perhaps the universe would be generous and allow them to remain under the radar of the World Government for a little longer.
At his side, Yasopp shifted, breaking the tension with a clearing of his throat. “Feel like the mood got a bit heavy there.”
Shanks hummed, the ghost of a smile cresting on his face. “Just a bit, yeah.” He tossed his head back and downed the rest of his drink without breaking for breath. He set the bottle down with a sigh. “Does it ever get easier?”
Does the fear ever ease? Do you ever stop imagining worst case scenarios? Do you ever get used to the feeling of abject helplessness when you can’t do what you think is best for your child?
The sniper gave him a smile tinged with pity. “I wish I could tell you yes, boss; but I’d be lying. And I don’t want to lie to you.”
Great… He was in for the long-haul then.
But before he could sink back into his depressive state, Yasopp nudged him. “Think we’ve had enough morbid talk for the night, don’t you?” He stood up and stretched, shaking out his limbs before hauling Shanks to his feet. “Come on, let’s have a go at robbing these bastards blind.”
Perhaps it wasn’t a perfect solution; indeed, there was a part of Shanks that would have been content to spend the night wallowing in his misery. But far more, there was the want to bury his head in the sand once more, to forget the horrors and injustices of their world and enjoy a night of easy entertainment with his crew. So, he let his friend drag his sorry ass over to that evening’s makeshift poker table and spent the rest of the night winning and losing in tandem, much to the drunken delight of his crew.