Work Text:
A promise in the light of day
Shanks takes the promise from him while he is still bedridden, because of course he does. Why wouldn’t he force Buggy to promise stuff while he is barely conscious? Okay, the sickness has almost completely faded from his body by the time Shanks brings up the subject, but that’s beside the point. Buggy is still sick and in no condition to make promises. And besides, to top it off, he is also in an emotionally vulnerable space. Because being left behind by your crew, by your family, hurts. The doctor who came by twice a day and now only comes once – and who decidedly isn’t Crocus – tells him that he shouldn’t throw a fuss. He says that Shanks isn’t complaining about this rotten island either. But that isn’t the same, is it? After all, Shanks didn’t get left behind. Shanks chose to stay here and that makes all the difference. But nobody but him seems to give a damn about that difference. All they care about is that, once again, Shanks is taking something in stride, and Buggy, overemotional, overreacting Buggy, isn’t. It’s not fair, but then again, it seldom is.
It’s a sunny day, and the doctor tells Buggy that he should sit in front of the open window for a while. According to the old geezer, the sun is good for his health and refuses to listen to Buggy’s complaints about how incredibly boring sitting on a chair in front of a window for hours on end is. He would read something, but all his books are on the Oro Jackson, which leaves him with nothing to do, except stare into the street and bemoan his terrible luck. And he is doing exactly that when the door to the room is opened. He doesn’t need to turn around to know who his unbidden guest is. Shanks has the habit of not letting him wallow in his well-deserved melancholy. He turns around anyway.
“What do you want?” The question is accompanied by the best scowl he can muster. But Shanks only smiles like the idiot he is and holds up a loaf of bread.
“I brought you something to eat,” he exclaims, like it’s an accomplishment, and invites himself into the room without asking if it’s okay with Buggy. At least he closes the door behind him. Shanks crosses the room in a few strides and hands the bread to Buggy, before pulling a second chair up to the window and squeezing beside his cabin mate. The loaf, Buggy notices to his dismay, is still warm, and it smells delicious. But he wouldn’t admit that to Shanks. No way. He breaks a small piece of bread off and sticks it onto his tongue. It tastes as good as it smells. There are walnuts and pumpkin seeds in the dough. He forgoes breaking another piece off and bites into the loaf, chewing carefully. Savoring the taste and texture. He hasn’t been allowed real food in what feels like forever. Just soup, soup, and more soup for the past few days.
He can tell that Shanks is staring at him out of the corner of his eye. It makes him uncomfortable.
“What?” Buggy asks as he looks up from his bread, unwilling to accept the maniac's stare any longer. But Shanks only smiles. It's a big smile, one that reaches his eyes.
“I’m just glad, you’re doing so much better,” he says. And Buggy is almost touched, but then Shanks adds. “Your face is a lot less red than it was a few days ago.”
And oh, oh, Buggy knows exactly what he means by that. The bread forgotten, he lunges at Shanks.
“What did you just say about my nose? If anyone has a big red nose it’s…” but he doesn’t get any further, because a sudden coughing fit ruins the moment. A yes, the coughing. It hadn’t been part of the sickness from the beginning, but it had started around the second day and while it has also gotten better, it apparently likes to make appearances at the worst possible moments.
“Calm down, calm down,” Shanks insists, as he forces Buggy back into his chair. “You’re going to choke. And I wasn’t talking about your nose at all!” Buggy still scowls as he recovers from the coughing, but he goes back to silently chewing his bread. Shanks doesn’t stop talking.
“Like I said, I’m just glad you’re better. Seriously. You had me worried. The doctor didn’t know how to get your fever down, for a while, and it didn’t look good.” Shanks plugs the knit hat from Buggy's head, and he would complain, but he doesn’t want another round of being unable to breathe, so he lets it be. And that has nothing to do with the upset expression on that idiot’s face. Nothing at all.
Buggy feels exposed without his hat, and a little bit greasy, like he desperately needs a bath. It’s a good thing Rayleigh isn’t here because there is no way the vice-captain wouldn’t have forced him into water by now. But Shanks doesn’t seem to mind, as he slowly rotates the knit hat between his fingers. Buggy doesn’t like the way his friend stars at it. He doesn’t like it when Shanks looks sad. That’s just not how things are supposed to be. He swallows the bite in his mouth and boxes Shanks' arm.
“Oh please. As if a dumb fever could ever take out someone as flashy as the great Buggy!” he exclaims, and it has the desired effect. Shanks looks from the hat to Buggy and smiles. Good. That is better.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Shanks puts the hat back over Buggy’s hair and leans forward to look out of the window. Buggy finishes his bread and for a while they sit in comfortable silence. The sun shining on their faces and the sound of the town in their ears. Buggy won’t admit it to Shanks, but he’s glad for the company. The side of the neighbor's house, that he has been staring at for what feels like an eternity, is still boring, but with Shanks here it weirdly feels less oppressing.
The older boy doesn’t take too long to lose interest in the view, though.
“Say, Buggy,” he starts as he leans backwards on his chair to balance on two of the legs. “What do you say, if you’re doing good tomorrow, maybe we can ask the doctor if you can go outside for a while.” Buggy isn’t sure if the doctor will let him, because honestly, the man is a tyrant, but he indulges Shanks nonetheless.
“To do what?”
Shanks stares at him, as if he has grown a second head. “To go and explore this Island, of course,” He says and drops back onto all four legs of the chair. “I’m sure we can discover every little secret this place holds. And then, when the Captain and the others get back, we will have stories to tell as well!”
Buggy frowns at that – he is not pouting. “I bet, you already explored everything on your own, while I’m stuck in this stupid room.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. That would be just like Shanks. The other boy sputters.
“No! I haven’t,” he yells.
“Yes, you have! Don’t lie to me!” Buggy hates being lied to. “I have been stuck in here for days, there’s no way you just stayed in this house the entire time.”
“Of course, I went outside, but I didn’t go exploring.”
“You are such a liar! Of course, you did.”
“No!” Shanks jumps up from his chair and stares at Buggy in anger. He is angry because Buggy caught him in a lie, surely that’s why and-
“I didn’t because it’s not the same!”
What?
“What?”
Shanks blushes, which is an unusual view. Usually, it’s the other way around.
“It’s not the same,” he repeats. “I don’t want to go exploring if it’s without you, Buggy. That’s just not how things are supposed to be. I want to go on adventures with you! That’s what makes them fun. Being alone, that’s just not right.” Now Buggy feels his face heat up as well, but Shanks isn’t done. “And we always said that it’s us two against the world, right? Because we’re the cabin boys of the Roger Pirates! The greatest Pirate Crew to ever sail the seas! And we won’t let anything come between us. Right?”
Buggy bites his bottom lip. Yeah, that is what they used to say. He just hasn’t expected Shanks to still live by that creed. Maybe because he himself has never taken it as seriously as the older boy. He had tried to go his own way, once before, back when he wanted to sell that stupid devil fruit. Of course, he would have come back, though. He had just wanted to prove to everyone that he was as much a pirate as any of them. He had just wanted them to finally stop laughing at him. Well, what a shitshow that had been. But yes, all that aside, it has always been the two of them together.
Shanks takes Buggy’s hands in his own, squeezes them, and looks straight into his friend's eyes. “You and me, Buggy, like we always said. I won’t leave you, and you won’t leave me, right?” There is something desperate in his voice. Something that Buggy can’t quite pinpoint. It makes him think that maybe Shanks is keeping something from him, something that has him worried.
“Right,” he finally answers, and Shanks smiles. “Good! Then it’s a promise.” And Buggy, liar that he is, nods.
“Yeah. It is a promise.”
A promise in the dead of night
Buggy isn’t sure if he ever intended to keep the promise, he made to shanks that night. A promise to always stay at his side, to never stray too far from one another. But it doesn’t matter now. It’s been years since he has last seen the redhead. Years since he has last seen any of his old crew. He doesn’t want to admit that he misses them. Not that they are around to hear it. But admitting it would give him a reason to break the promise he gave himself. And Buggy really, really doesn’t want to break this promise. He can’t. And besides, he is certain that none of the others feel the same about him. After all, they were quick enough to leave him and Shanks on their own, once the captain had decided to disband the crew. None of them cared what came of the two cabin boys, who had been stripped of the only family they had ever known. So why would Buggy admit, even to himself, that he misses them?
The promise he wants to keep is one that is very personal. A promise that is not meant for anyone but himself. He doesn’t share it, but he repeats it to himself every now and again.
It's a lukewarm night and his crew, if you can call the handful of young aspiring pirates, he has surrounded himself with that, is celebrating their latest success. The merchant ship, though bigger than their small vessel, had been easy enough to take over and now, multiple crates of wine and a decent amount of Berries richer, they had stopped on a small isolated island to throw a party becoming of a crew as flashy as theirs. That’s one of the many things Buggy likes about the East Blue. As the calmest of all the blues, the people here often revel in a sort of safety, that simply doesn’t exist. East Blue may be calm, but there are still pirates roaming the sea, and people would do best to remember that. Because Buggy is not the kind of man to not rob somebody, simply because they don’t expect to come across his path. It’s not his fault those people underestimate their own Blue.
“Maybe we can head a bit further south next.” Cabaji’s words pull Buggy from his musings. The younger man is seated next to him on a fallen tree trunk, close enough to feel the warmth of the fire, but not close enough to feel the stinging burn of it. The night is well advanced at this point, and most of the crew has found a place to lie down and get a few hours of sleep. Or maybe they just collapsed where they stood, Buggy isn’t so sure about that, but as long as they can sail come morning, or maybe come noon, depending on how gracious he feels, he doesn’t care. They are a good crew, even if there are few of them, and missing the people he used to sail with, feels a bit like a disservice to them. So that is one more reason Buggy doesn’t admit it to himself.
“Why south?” he asks. He likes Cabaji. He’s one flashy hell of a bastard, but at least someone he can talk to.
“The map we took from the merchant,” the swordsman explains. “It says there is a group of three small islands there. Barely more than one village each. If we act smart, we can hit them all in the same night. Get triple the amount of treasure before anyone can raise alarm and warn the other islands.”
Buggy scratches his chin. That does sound good. Very good. Another thing he likes about Cabaji, he knows what’s important. Buggy nods, but before can formulate a reply, there is another voice that interrupts their private conservation.
“No way! I know where we should sail next!” It’s Mohji, who else would it be? The boy, and he is just that, a boy, barely 15 to Buggy’s 25 years spend on this godforsaken earth, is red-cheeked and his voice is slurred, but to his credit, he does not stumble as he makes his way to his captain’s side. Buggy isn’t perfectly sure when exactly the boy started trailing him like a lost kitten. It must have been somewhere during the last two years before he met Cabaji and the other members of his crew, which is why the boy insists on being called Buggy’s first mate. He indulges him. Obviously, the boy has more than just a few sips from the wine they had scored, but Buggy doesn’t care about that. Shanks and he had their first taste of alcohol at a far younger age, and they turned out just fine, thank you very much. Well, at least he did. Shanks is a rotten bastard, but that has nothing to do with the drinking.
Behind Mohji trails the lion cub. Richie is what the boy called him after he found him on a merchant’s ship. He had begged Buggy for hours to let him keep the animal and insisted that he could tame the beast. Not that Richie is much of a beast at the moment. More of a cute furry ball, with too many teeth and too many claws. But hey, how many pirate Crews have a lion in their midst? Which is why Buggy relented in the end.
“So?” Buggy asks, as the boy plops down next to him on the stem, “Where do you think we should sail?” In the end, it technically doesn’t matter what either of them thinks. He is the captain, which means that he's going to decide, but it doesn’t hurt to get a second or a third opinion. Even if it’s from a brat who tries to train a lion.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Mohji asks, fully ignoring the cub that tries to crawl onto his lap. He puts his hands in front of his face and pulls them apart as if he is indicating something grand and… oh no. Buggy knows exactly where this is going. “The Grand Line of course!”
Called it. Buggy feels his face harden. There is no way he is ever setting foot onto that horrible ocean again. Never.
“No,” he says. And he doesn’t have to look at Mohji to know his face falls in disappointment. But he doesn’t let that perturb him for long.
“Why not?” he asks, and Buggy wonders if he was that insistent as a teenager. Probably not. “We’re ready! Have you seen the ship we took down today? It was at least twice our size. And with your devil fruit, Captain, there is nothing that could get in our way and-“
“Because I said no.” is the simple answer and if Buggy wasn’t in the middle of keeping it together, he would realize that he sounds just like Rayleigh did during these kinds of arguments. He hears Cabaji chuckle next to him.
“The captain is right,” he says and Buggy almost breathes a sigh of relief, because at least someone here has any amount of self-preservation, but then the swordsman continues. “We’re not quite ready yet. That merchant ship was nothing compared to what the Grand Line holds. Give it a while, I’m sure we will sail that ocean sooner than later.”
Buggy shakes his head. Of course, he doesn’t understand. How could he? No one, who has never been on the Grand Line, could ever understand.
“No,” he finally snaps. His upper body separates from his legs to float in front of- and stare at both of them. “We are not sailing the Grand Line! Not now! Not in a few months and not in a few years! Never! Am I understood?”
They have the decency to look ashamed, even though it is obvious that neither of them understands why. At least Cabaji has the courage to ask.
“That is none of your business. If you can’t deal with my decision, you can feel free to leave this crew,” Buggy barks, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Maybe it is an overreaction, but he can feel how the thought of going back to that ocean almost sends him into a panic attack. He can’t go back there. He won’t! Both are quick to assure him that they won’t question his authority. That they will sail wherever he decides and nowhere else, and that is good. He needs to stifle those thoughts before they can grow into ideas. And the ‘why’ of it all shouldn’t matter to them. No one needs to know. No one needs to know about the promise he made himself the night after he left Shanks. No one needs to know the words he repeats to himself later that night when he is alone, a few feet away from the fire to calm his nerves.
“I’m never going back to the grand line. That is a promise.”
A promise in the face of death
Buggy doesn’t keep that promise either. He tries to. He really does. But then some stupid kid with an all too familiar straw hat shows up and claims to become the next pirate king and ruins everything. For more than twenty years Buggy keeps the promise he gave himself, but then lightning strikes him down in Loguetown, on the same scaffold that saw Gol D. Roger take his last breath, and he is once again reminded that it does not matter where he is in this world. He will always be at the bottom of the food chain. Always be the doormat for those more powerful than him. Always the laughingstock. Always the clown. So, he takes his chance. Because why not? It doesn’t matter either way. There is nothing more this world can claim from him, it already has his dignity. And for a while, it goes well. He meets Ace, and he isn’t stupid enough to start a fight with one of Whitebeard’s crew members. But then everything goes to hell, because of course it does. He ends up in Imple Down of all places and has to rely on none other than the straw hat-wearing kid that ruined his life in the first place to get out.
But there is something positive to it. Even though, Buggy hates to admit that his misery has a positive side. It does remind him of another promise. One he hasn’t broken yet. One he must keep at all costs. It’s a promise he made long before he said he’d stay at his bunkmate's side or never set foot on the Grand Line again. And it is more important than the promise he made to Shanks. More Important than the promise he made to himself. Because it’s a promise he made to his captain.
The first thing Buggy notices upon waking up is the incredible need to cough. And so, he does. He leans to the side, he is pretty sure there are hands pulling him, but he can’t concentrate on that, and coughs up a lung full of seawater, and then he continues to cough and cough and cough, until he can hardly breathe. A large hand pulls at his side to get him to lie on his back.
“It’s okay, boy. You’re okay,” a familiar voice insists. It’s a lie. Nothing is okay. He doesn’t feel okay. His throat hurts, most likely from the coughing. His lungs burn from all the water he swallowed and his ribs. God, his ribs make him want to scream. But he can hardly move, let alone fill his lungs enough to express the pain he feels. He is cold and wet and scared, and he has no idea what happened. He cracks his eyes open. It’s not the first time he has fallen into the ocean – because that is what must have happened, right? – but it’s the first time no one managed to get him out in time. Buggy can see the guilt about that in his crewmembers' faces.
“Sorry kid. We didn’t notice soon enough,” Gaban, ever practical and not one to beat around the bush, says. But Buggy, for once in his life, doesn’t care. He will care later, once he isn’t in so much pain anymore, but for the moment there are more important things.
“What…” he manages to utter before another cough shakes his body. He whimpers as his broken ribs protest at that. Oh right, he has seen Crocus do this before. Break someone’s ribs to bring them back to life. Does that mean he was dead? He doesn’t want to think about that. The thought scares him. But it doesn’t matter anyway because, with the amount of pain he is in, he can think of little else. He feels his eyes fill with tears, and isn’t that just great? He can’t cry right now. Most of the crew already consider him a useless kid, just because he’s the youngest. He can’t prove them right. And because of what? Drowning. Pah! That is nothing to cry about, right? Buggy detaches a hand, he fears that moving his whole arm would hurt too much, and he feels too drained to do that anyway, to pull his knit hat over his eyes. It’s a stupid habit. Everyone knows what’s going on beneath the wool, but with ‘flight’ not being an option, it's his only way to hide from the rest of the crew. However, his hand doesn’t find the hat. It only finds strands of soaked hair, and suddenly a bigger hand grips it and pushes it back to his arm. “Oh, Buggy.” Roger, just as soaked as Buggy, rumbles in that deep voice that usually brings Buggy comfort. It doesn’t sound comforting now, it sounds apologetic. “I didn’t find it.”
And now the tears truly do fall. Great. An even more embarrassing and childish reason to cry. But he just can’t contain the tears, no matter how hard he tries. And he can’t even exactly say why. Maybe because that hat was his, no one else’s. Just his, and there’s not a lot of that. Or maybe because he feels exhausted and because he is still in pain, and this is simply the final straw. It doesn’t matter what’s the reason, it’s embarrassing and Buggy hates that he can’t stop, and he wants to hide, but he can’t because his stupid hat is missing and none of this would be happening if Shanks hadn’t made him eat the devil fruit and now everyone is going to judge him and …
And he is successfully working himself into a fit of hysterics. The big hand that had pushed his own down, pets his wet hair, once twice. Then he hears the captain address the ship's doctor. “I’m going to bring him to the infirmary. Just in case.” He kind of knows what is going to happen, but he still isn’t prepared for the influx of pain, when Roger picks him off the deck of the ship. He doesn’t complain, though. Instead, he uses the chance to turn his head and finally, finally, hide his face in his captain’s shirt.
“Shanks, do me the favor and get some of his clothes from your cabin, so he can get out of this wet stuff,” the captain orders, and Buggy doesn’t see the other boy, but he hears him agree and run off.
Roger takes slow and steady steps toward the infirmary. He cradles Buggy softly in his arms, and for the first time since waking up on the deck, he feels like maybe everything is going to be fine indeed. Even though he is still upset over his hat. The tears are almost completely dried up, by the time Roger places him down. However, the embarrassment is doubled when his captain helps him change into a dry set of clothes, brought by Shanks. He’s not a toddler, he shouldn’t need help getting changed, and he feels the flush in his cheeks rise to his ears.
“You know, there is nothing to be embarrassed about,” Roger hums, as he starts the process of running a towel through Buggy’s hair.
“Of course, there is!” Buggy argues. He knows a good cabin boy isn’t supposed to disagree with his captain, but he can’t help it. His face is still burning, and he is still in pain. At least he is not as cold anymore.
“And why are you embarrassed?” the captain insists. Buggy really can’t believe he is going to make him answer that, but Roger does stop in his motions until the boy starts talking.
“Everyone’s going to think I’m some stupid crybaby.” They were probably already talking about him. Roger catches his chin and turns it so that Buggy has to look at him. His eyes are soft and that alone is almost enough to make Buggy burst into tears again, but he manages to keep it together this time.
“You were scared. I think most people in your situation would be a little scared.” He’s only saying that to make Buggy feel better, he knows that. And he has no problem in telling his captain such.
“Nobody else was scared. Probably not even Shanks, and he’s only a few months older than me,” he insists, but Roger shakes his head.
“Well, I was scared. Very scared.” And at that, Buggy’s eyes grow large. He has seen his Captain in many a state. Happy, Angry, even sad but never, never, scared.
“You can’t get scared.”
Roger has the audacity to laugh.
“Of course, I can get scared! Terrified even. And I was scared out of my mind today. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t woken up.” And oh, Buggy hasn’t thought about that yet.
“But I did wake up,” he insists, because for some reason it feels like he needs to remind Roger that he is still here. The captain laughs softly and places a hand on Buggy’s head and ruffles his hair.
“I know, but you might not have if I had been even slower. So, you see, in dangerous situations like this, it is perfectly normal to be scared. It’s just important that we don’t let out fears control us.”
Buggy bites his lower lip. He’s pretty good in letting his fears control him.
“What can we do? Against the fears?”
Roger seems to think for a moment and then he smiles a big smile. He holds his pinky out for Buggy to shake with his own.
“How about we make each other a promise. I promise to never let you get that scared again and your promise to do your best to always wake up again, okay?”
Buggy doesn’t need to think long. “Okay!” he exclaims excitedly.
“I will always wake up again. That is a promise!”
Buggy isn’t quite sure why he has to think about that final, or strictly speaking that first, promise now of all times. It’s late into another sleepless night that he spends wandering aimlessly between the tents of his imperium. And maybe it’s his tendency towards melancholy that has him thinking about his old captain right now. Or maybe it’s the other way around. A part of him is well aware that his lack of pride is not the only reason he buckles before the likes of Crocodile. There is more to it, even though he knows that he won’t ever talk to anyone about this. Because how could he explain to anyone, that when he grovels in dirt, or offers to lick their shoes or offers them anything they want, that a part of his mind simply goes: ‘Survive, you need to survive, you promised him you would survive.’ Buggy can’t allow himself to die, can’t allow himself to be killed, because he made a promise, and he intends to keep this one as long as he possibly can. Roger broke his half, of course, because Buggy had never felt as scared as he did when he watched the only man he ever saw as a father be executed while the crowd cheered around him, but that is beside the point. Roger only made a promise to Buggy after all. But Buggy, Buggy made a promise to his captain. And he doesn’t mean to let him down. And so he grovels and he lets things happen to him that no self-respecting man should ever let happen to themselves and at the end of it all he pulls himself together, literally at times, and he gets back up.
That’s how it has been for a while now and with how their world is going, it will probably continue to go like this for a while. Even becoming a Yonko did nothing to change things. It only made it worse, but Buggy had expected such. But that doesn’t make it easier and if Buggy was honest with himself, he would admit, that he is about to reach his breaking point. The constant humiliation, though it is often kept private enough that most people who follow him won’t be able to tell, the constant fear he is in, because any day Crocodile or Mihawk could change their mind and end his existence. It’s just getting a little much to bare and for now, Buggy has no idea how to get out of this situation.
There’s a sudden stinging pain in his scalp as someone yanks his hair and quite literally pulls him from his thoughts. Buggy yelps and he doesn’t think as he whirls around. He is tired and sad, and he can’t deal with stupid schoolyard behavior right now. “There are other ways to get my attention,” he snaps ready to embed one of his knives into the other person's neck, because honestly, he killed for less, and it’s the middle of the night, so however snuck up to him is at fault here, when he remembers who the person who usually likes to pull on his hair is. Buggy freezes. The knife clatters to the ground as it is dropped and in front of him, Crocodile raises one unamused eyebrow. So much for staying alive.
“I… I’m sorry … I didn’t mean… I didn’t know … I’m sorry.” Buggy screws his eyes shut and raises his shoulders in anticipation of the pain that would most definitely follow, but no pain comes. Instead, he feels the cold metal of Crocodile’s hook under his chin, he follows the movement, before it the sharp end can draw blood it still bites into his skin, but it doesn’t pierce it. Once his head is turned upwards, he carefully opens his eyes. As expected, he is looking straight into Crocodile’s eyes. His expression is unreadable, but it sends a shiver down Buggy’s spine.
“Did you just try to attack me?” the older man asks. His voice as rough as ever, and Buggy is pretty sure that he might collapse from the sheer force of fear he feels.
“No, yes,” he starts, knowing better than to lie to him. “I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t aware it was you,” he insists. He is about to say more, start his whole spiel of offering services to make it up to him, but Crocodile just… chuckles. Even though chuckle doesn’t appear to be the right word. It implies something warm. Something comforting. And the noise coming from Crocodile’s lips is neither warm nor comforting. But it is still a chuckle alright, and in the face of that noise, Buggy allows himself to breathe.
“I’ll let it slide,” the older man finally says as he pulls his hook away from Buggy’s chin. He doesn’t know what exactly has Crocodile in such a good mood, but he isn’t going to question it. Especially since his so-called subordinate doesn’t seem to be done yet. “The next time something like this happens, I will have you thrown into the next river, understood?”
“Yes… Of course, it won’t happen again.” Buggy knows what empty threats sound like, and he knows that Crocodile doesn’t make them. And without another word Crocodile simply turns around and vanishes into the night, leaving Buggy to sink to the floor. As much a pile of misery as he feels. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, simply staring into the direction Crocodile vanished in. It must be a while, because the first rays of sunlight rise with him, as he finally manages to pick himself off the floor. He feels horrible.
But hey. He gets to live another day. He hasn’t broken his promise yet.
~fin~