Chapter Text
Gentle waves cut through the fog and break against the hull of the large ship that is anchored in the harbor. It seems out of place, a vessel that can cross the oceans tucked next to such a small village. The noise coming from that ship, however, matches her size.
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” A voice shatters the calm of the inlet, as several seabirds take flight, irritated by the noise. “I can fix a lot, Captain, but this is ridiculous!” Laughter follows and a top knot of blonde hair emerges from below deck and a very pissed off Hongo appears, and makes eye contact with the rest of the crew. Usually a fun and easy going lot, they shift awkwardly on their feet, waiting for news. “Broken bones? Missing teeth?” The man whistles through the gap in his own, as if to prove a point. “But THIS?!” Hongo is gesturing furiously around to no one in particular. “A WHOLE ARM? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!” He kicks at the deck and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Benn, please give him a talking to, he doesn’t care what I say.”
The top-knotted man huffs a bit and pulls a face, “I need a drink.” Monster lopes up as if already prepared for this end goal, his scruffy hair more on end than usual, as he offers a bottle to the blonde. “Benn? Please?” Hongo repeats, glancing behind him, “I’ll get over it, I just- ugh, he never thinks things through.” Several of the crew pull up to help Hongo “get over it” and give him some hearty slaps on the back, more bottles appear and the conversation veers elsewhere. Soon enough, Hongo is still cranky, but much less stressed out. Perhaps some of the newer crew members wouldn’t notice, but the tinge of a higher pitch at the end of his outbursts were full of worry about the young, brash captain.
Benn unfolds his long legs from the crate he was sitting on, he has been abnormally quiet since Hongo exploded from below deck. His lips are dry, and he plays with the butt of his cigarette, long since spent. Flicking it away, he reaches into his pocket and draws out another, lighting it as he makes his way across the deck. Taking a long drag, the kind where his lungs just start to prick with pain, he descends into the dark interior of the ship. Eyes adjusting to the low light, he reaches the door, and lays a long look at the handle before turning it.
“You didn’t have to yell so much, I said I was so-“ the voice dies off, Shanks is sitting in one of the several beds of their sick bay, hair glinting copper in the lamplight. Benn pinches off the end of his cigarette and exhales slowly before approaching the Captain. “Sorry Benn, I thought you were Hongo, back for another round.” His eyes glance up, the corners of his mouth in the barest hint of a smile, “I guess I made him pretty mad”. The taller man says nothing and sits down on the edge of the bed, hands held together tightly as he runs his eyes quickly over the red-headed man, searching for answers. “It’s not like I was thinking it about it, you know, I couldn’t just let the kid die, it wasn’t his fault”, Shanks pauses for a moment, “and it’s not like it’s the worst, I mean I could have been eaten!” He laughs, but the sound dies in the stuffy room, “I guess it’s a little worse than I was expecting, though.” The corners of his mouth droop a bit. “Ah, maybe more than I thought it would be…”
Benn glances over at the Captain, who looks oddly small for usually having such a large presence, Shanks is looking at his remaining hand, as it lays in his lap. His fingers twitch slightly, and he lets out a shaky breath. His voice is much quieter when he speaks next, “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Not like this, I mean, it wasn’t even cool or anything.” The older man raises an eyebrow at this statement, “cool?” He drawls out the word, leaning back on one arm, long dark hair spilling over his shoulder, “is that what you were going for?”
Shanks laughs, the sound brittle against the walls. “Maybe a little, just you know, flashier.” He stops at the word, and looks down again, “never thought about it, right? Figured it would be fine, or I’d be dead, never really put myself in the middle of things.” Shanks slowly reaches up to his shoulder, where Hongo has bandaged him, and thumbs the cotton. The waning adrenaline has caused him to become acutely aware of two things, the first being pain. No matter, that’s just how things went. The other feeling, though, was an acute sense of loss that suddenly was overwhelming. Tipping his head, fine red hairs filtered into his vision, blurred by sudden unshed tears. “Shit, Benn, what am I going to do?” He gripped the bandages a little tighter, “what am I going to do?” he repeats, in a louder voice, that cracks along the edges. He picks more fitfully at the bandage, rough fingertips catching on the fraying material.
Benn sighs, and thinks about Hongo’s request of a lecture, and keeps his mouth shut. His lips are dry again anyway. Reaching up, he pulls the hand away from the bandages, where a tinge of blood has begun to seep through. “Careful”, he says, just above a whisper. Shanks barks out a laugh, bitter at the head and empty on the finish, “Should have told me that earlier today, B.” Benn’s mouth is pressed together in the thinnest of lines as he reaches up and gently lays his hand over the bandaged shoulder, “I will always tell you to be careful, Shanks”. His voice is clear, but still very quiet. The red-head’s breathing is a little too loud, a little too labored, he lifts his eyes to meet his first mate’s. Through his hair, they are glassy and dark.
Fear is not something Benn has seen often on the young captain’s face, nor uncertainty, but in the dim light, Shanks’ face is a pale mask of his usual boisterous self. “Have I ruined it?” The words are stretched and almost a whisper, and Benn runs his large hand up over the bandaged shoulder and along the side of the other man’s head. Fingers sifting through a sea of red, he tilts his head to better see his captain's face in the lamplight. “We’ll get through it, it’s not the first time you’ve gotten yourself into a blunder, and it won’t be the last.” Shanks looks up, a timid smirk pulling at his mouth. “How dare you imply such a thing,” Shanks says with mock incredulity, “me? Getting US into a blunder? Ridiculous.” Benn graces Shanks with a rare smile, and the other man looks away hurriedly. Benn almost never smiles, but when he does, Shanks can feel an odd tickle in his chest and the back of his throat, that makes the tips of his ears color in a most unbecoming way.
“I will get back to them,” Benn says, swiftly standing and brushing off his pants in one smooth motion. As if on cue, a series of loud sounds comes from the deck, accompanied by some muffled shouting. His mouth is already set back in a firm line, ready to do his duties as first mate. “B?” Shank’s voice is quieter again, and the Benn looks over his shoulder, “I’m sorry this happened,” his fingertips brush over the bandage again, “we’ll figure it out as a crew though, right?” Benn pauses, then leans down to gently press his lips to the worry line on his captain’s forehead, hand brushing along his hairline. “Together”, the word is said easily and fluid, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Benn Beckman does not choke under pressure or the weighty feelings that have seeped into the room. “Rest now, someone will check on you later,” he murmurs against Shank’s forehead, and pulls back. In the flickering light, Shanks looks even more young and awkward, ears and cheeks stained scarlet. Later, he will chalk it up from coming out of shock and some number of other things.
The tall man walks easily out of the room, and Shanks is left sitting on the bed. As he slowly edges under the covers, he thinks of Benn, his first mate, leaning over him, dark hair with flecks of red dancing from the lamp and warm body hovering as to not fully touch him. Benn who smells of the sea and soft sun and says few words, and keeps his lips pressed together tightly. Who lectures sharply and critically, but visibly cares about the entirety of the crew. Oh, does he care. Shanks presses his temples with his thumb and ring finger of his remaining hand, “together” he breathes out, cheeks still burning.
Benn stops outside the door, he has overstepped a boundary between captain and first mate. He hadn’t known else what to do though, Shanks’ face had been slipping, and he looked so worried at the thought of a future that wasn’t as a group. Brief panic had set in, though he’d never show it, and he took what seemed the most expedient route to get the other man reassured in a way that wasn’t a normal platitude. He begins to climb the stairs back to the upper deck and presses to fingers to his lips, “dry”, he mutters, reaching into his pocket. Lighting a cigarette, he strides toward the crew. “Together, he thinks to himself. “Together.”