Chapter Text
1
high seas, somewhere in the New World
Buggy groans and pulls on the oars, zeal fading fast in the oppressive afternoon heat. The sun beats down mercilessly on their pitiful vessel and every muscle in his shoulders screams for a break. Fucking hell, he hates rowing.
“Keep up a rhythm,” Crocodile snarls, leaning against the raised stern of their boat and looking quite comfortable in his chosen seat. Needless to say, he hasn’t been rowing for a hot second. He’s also still wearing a ridiculous amount of clothing, including his coat, while Buggy has stripped down to pants and bandana in the smoldering heat. The sea is treacherously calm, not even the slightest breeze moves across the smooth ocean surface to bring any form of relief.
“Fuckin’ row yourself if ya don’t like my rhythm,” Buggy spits, long past the point of caring if he is to be drowned in the middle of nowhere. If they were really going to do it, they would have done it by now. (For the record: Crocodile did threaten to drown him seven times and tried to throw him out of the boat twice. Both tries almost caused them to capsize.)
“What was that?” Crocodile growls and stirs, looming over him even when he just sits up straight. The dinghy sways due to the sudden shift of weight.
“Enough,” Mihawk speaks up from the prow, calm but clearly not tolerating any argument. “I’m not saving either one of you again.“
Crocodile stares at Buggy with a look of pure malice but leans back against the hull and lights another cigar. Makes you wonder if he could turn people to stone like Boa Hancock with that stare, Buggy thinks, but keeps it to himself sensing Mihawk’s threatening presence right behind.
He makes a show of leisurely stretching his sore muscles and popping a few joints before he sets himself to rowing once more. Fuck rowing. What did he ever do to deserve this? How the fuck did he even end up in this situation?
Actually, he knows exactly how he ended up in this situation. Once more, he couldn’t keep his big mouth shut.
2
Karai Bari island, two days earlier
“H-h-h-hold on!!” Buggy stutters and struggles against Crocodile’s grasp on his hair, as he is dragged along forcefully. They are in the meeting room, once again, after the men held a roaring surprise festival in anticipation of their great voyage for the One Piece.
“There might be a way!! A way without battling the other emperors for the poneglyphs!!”
“That’s preposterous, even for you,” Crocodile answers with a scornful snarl and yanks him onward. Mihawk takes a seat at the table and observes them with perpetual indifference.
“I’m serious!!!” Buggy insists, clawing at Crocodile’s arm when he is suddenly pulled up by his hair so they are on eye level. The cold gold of Crocodile’s hook comes to rest against his throat and he feels the tip prick his skin. “I-I have a map! I have a map!!”
Excruciatingly slow seconds tick by as Crocodile eyes him with vexed distrust. Then, without any warning, he is dropped to the floor.
“Let’s see that map.”
Cursing under his breath, Buggy sits up and rubs his sore elbow. He never meant to give this away. It’s his last resort and he hates that it has come to this, but: desperate times call for desperate measures, eh? All Shanks fault for prompting him to go down that path once more. It feels a lot like trading one long-held dream for another when he reaches into his shirt and pulls forth John’s armband.
Crocodile narrows his eyes and Buggy shuffles back nervously, only to bump against Mihawk’s legs. When did he get up? Damn those cat movements.
“Explain yourself,” Mihawk demands and nudges him with the tip of his boot.
Fuck it all.
Buggy takes a deep, steadying breath, then climbs to his feet. If he’s going to do this, then at least with a minimum of dignity.
“This ain’t no ordinary jewelry, it’s a treasure marker,” he explains, licking his lips. “Captain John’s treasure marker to be precise.”
Mihawk hums in recognition of the name and Crocodile takes a step closer to snatch the armband out of his hand, but this time he evades him nimbly by splitting himself at the hip and moving backwards until the table is between them.
“It’s a code and it leads to a series of inconspicuous islands—”
“Are you quite sure of this?” Mihawk interrupts him, eyes fixed on the jewelry as he moves closer and takes his seat at the table again.
“Where did a fool like you get this?” Crocodile inquires, sounding somewhat peeved.
None of your business is probably not the answer he should give if he wants to keep this conversation going. From another fool also puts himself in a bad light. Can’t have that now.
“Impel Down, pure coincidence,” he decides to stray not too far from the truth, but that’s all the detail they need to know. “It’s the real thing, trust me.”
“Impel Down, you say?”
“I suppose in your delusion you imagine yourself to be able to decipher such a code?”
“How would you of all people acquire such an object of value in—”
Crocodile and Mihawk pester him with questions in unison and Buggy lets out a groan of frustration.
“If you’d just let me explain for once!!” He shouts and bangs his fist on the table. To his surprise, it does shut them up for a moment. Taking another deep breath to steady his voice, he quickly reels off the entire explanation.
“I can decipher the code, aye, and I did. As I tried to say, it leads to a series of inconspicuous islands. Five all in all, if I’m right. I’ve been to the first two islands, believe it or not, and found some kind of menhir bearing the same code. Each island points to the next and John’s vast treasure is hidden on the last.”
“I was under the impression you are conveying this to us to vindicate your reckless endeavor to race for the One Piece, but I fail to see where the poneglyphs come in,” Mihawk remarks and Buggy wants to strangle him for his elevated way of expressing himself. He was about to get to that.
“Aye, that’s where it gets tricky,” he continues, trying not to let his annoyance show, and plays with the armband in his fingers.
“You’re familiar with John bein’ part of Rocks’ crew in the olden days, right? Rumor has it, Rocks dabbled in what the World Government doesn’t want anyone to dabble in. Sounds an awful lot like poneglyphs, doesn’t it?”
Crocodile stares at him in what might be curiosity or murderous intent, but Mihawk looks genuinely interested and prompts him to go on.
“So, suppose Rocks had some copies of the poneglyphs. Suppose, John stole them from him along with everything else of value when the crew disbanded. He’s infamous for stealin’ from his own crew after all.”
“The copies would be hidden inside his treasure,” Mihawk concludes, but Buggy grins at him with a wagging finger.
“Too easy. See, from that I learned, John most likely didn’t give a fuck about Laugh Tale. No tellin’ if they even tried to get there, but they didn’t, Roger was the first and handed them their asses anyway. And be that as it may, good ol’ John was convinced that his is the greatest treasure ever seen, so most likely he hid the copies on one of the islands before the last,” Buggy explains, getting a little carried away by the story and his grin widens. “Quite clever, ya know? Once they got the copies, most are likely to abandon lookin’ for his treasure trove in favor of conquering the Grand Line.”
“Quite clever…,” Crocodile echoes and starts to laugh, low and sardonic. He pulls back a chair and sits at the table, looking way too smug for Buggy’s liking. It brings him back down to earth real fast.
“So, tell me, clown. Suppose you’re accidentally on to something there. Why should I fall for this red herring and waste my time on the One Piece, when I could make use of John’s vast treasure, that you’ve been hiding right under my nose all this time?”
Buggy swallows nervously and fights the habitual urge to beg for forgiveness. He knows an implied threat when he hears one and in hindsight, his plan might not have been as clever as he deemed it to be. Even a notoriously dishonest man as himself can learn whom not to double-cross and keeping secrets from his business partners is nothing short of suicide.
Nevertheless, the question doesn’t sit right with him.
It’s the One Piece!! he wants to scream. We’re bloody pirates!! There is no greater treasure!
Now that he’s resolved to trade his wishful fantasy of finding John‘s treasure for an old promise, he won’t renounce it for the sake of business, for the sake of someone else‘s dream. And what is piracy if not a clash of dreams and desires?
“Well?” Crocodile prompts and Buggy licks his lips, thinking hard. He can bargain, he can reason. Either way, they’ll have to follow the chain of islands to get to any loot. Maybe he can convince them at a later point. No. No! That’s all wrong! It’s the One Piece!!
Scraping up his courage he looks Crocodile straight in the eye and gives his answer.
“Men will follow ya to your grave for riches but to theirs for the One Piece. I don’t know or care about your utopia, but we both know fear makes for brittle loyalty. Glory, on the other hand… ”
For a moment, the room is dead silent, then Mihawk laughs, not in the least maliciously but rather buoyant, and leans back in his chair completely at ease.
“Well said,” he acknowledges, even smiles a little and Crocodile sends a chastising, tired glance his way as if he’s just betrayed him. Buggy can’t decide what scares him more, Crocodile‘s impending wrath for his boldness or that damn little smile.
“Fair enough,” Crocodile concludes with a touch of resignation to his fate, contrary to Buggy’s dire expectations. What the fuck just happened?
“Where is this third island?”
3
high seas, somewhere in the New World, now
Buggy sincerely wishes their sailboat had survived the beginning of their little expedition. Considering how it all went down, they were incredibly lucky to have found this sorry excuse for a dory, though. It may be old, battered and ugly — Seriously, who builds boats like this? It looks like a gondola gone wrong — but it’s seaworthy and that’s all that matters for now.
Still, is a sail too much to ask? He fucking hates rowing and his two comrades in misery are as useful as a wet pile of potatoes in that regard. Crocodile would rather die than stoop to such menial tasks as rowing and Mihawk, well. Mihawk is banned from rowing.
He did offer, to Buggy’s delight. After the first three hours on sea, that is. And if their miserable boat hadn't been so fragile, they could have been back on Karai Bari by now.
“Let me,” Mihawk offers unexpectedly and Buggy makes room for him at the oars faster than a rat up a drainpipe. Stretching his stiff back, neck and shoulders, he moves to the prow of the boat and pops a few joints while Mihawk gets settled.
“Going soft on the clown already?” Crocodile teases with a smug grin. “Just when he was contributing to our cause so effectively, at last.”
“Talkin’ trash about me again, eh??” Buggy can’t keep his mouth shut. Not when, for once, it wasn’t him who fucked up. He’s still mad at Mihawk for his rash actions. Few hours ago, he would have bet a lot of gold — not his own necessarily — that the swordsman doesn’t even know the meaning of rash. Just didn’t seem to be the type. But well, you live and learn. The living part has become a bit tricky lately. Still is.
“This guy fancies blood rituals an amusing pastime,” he goes on complaining and points at Mihawk, who has taken off his coat and is readying the oars. “We wouldn’t be in this bloody mess if someone had listened to me instead of playing with a fuckin’ bloodthirsty stone!!”
“One encounters them very rarely,” Mihawk remarks calmly, as if that explains and justifies everything, and places his hat carefully in the hulk.
“That’s not the point!!!”
“Enough with your childish banter,” Crocodile cuts in, staring exclusively at Buggy.
Buggy grimaces and bites his tongue not to let another remark slip. Whatever. As long as Mihawk takes over rowing, he can forgive him a little daredevilry. Rubbing his sore hands, he makes himself comfortable against the bow and watches the partly undressed swordsman pick up the oars. Not the worst view, he has to admit begrudgingly.
Then, Mihawk pulls on the oars once and the ship is propelled forwards half a mile in a matter of seconds. Buggy yelps and crashes face first into the most well-defined back in the history of well-defined backs.
“Are you out of your mind!?” Crocodile roars, before Buggy can even fully process what the fuck just happened. The former warlord looks positively murderous, his ashen skin turned paler than usual, right hand gripping the railing so hard the knuckle are turning white.
A cold sensation creeps up Buggy’s legs and settles in his midsection, but he is still too shocked to realize it for what it is. Blinking and rubbing his head, he looks around and spots seawater dribble through a fresh creak in the hull. Oh, no. No, no, no.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses, rips off his bandana and hastily tries to plug the hole with it. Somehow it works, but it might not be the only hole in the hull, judging from their impact on the ocean surface. Damn, his nose hurts.
“Apologies, I did not expect the boat to be this weak,” Mihawk mumbles, as if he is genuinely surprised and a tad disappointed by this personal slight from the boat.
Both Buggy and Crocodile stare at him in utter disbelief, more pissed by the second.
„Do you have a death wish?“ Crocodile asks dangerously low and loosens his grip on the railing to stroke his hook. Buggy gulps. Mihawk just blinks and inclines his head the slightest bit to the left, like a cat confused by its prey doing something unexpected.
With a sigh, Buggy lets the oars rest and starts rummaging the boat, pushes Mihawk’s long legs and even longer sword out of the way to reach beneath the bench seat. Mihawk doesn’t even stir, napping peacefully. Fucking napping instead of rowing! Shouldn’t the Greatest Swordsman have a little more control over his strength? Damn brutes, the whole lot of them.
“I now have a better grasp of this boat’s strength, allow me to continue,” Mihawk had offered after some more makeshift repairs and Buggy had almost been willing to risk it, if it meant he wouldn’t have to row anymore, but Crocodile brought the discussion to a prompt and decisive end.
He should have left them on the island — or on whatever’s left of it. Chafed fingers touch glass and with a triumphant shout, he pulls forth an old dusty bottle. Rum, as it seems. Water would have been preferable after this ordeal, but beggars can’t be choosers, aye?
“Give me that,” Crocodile demands and Buggy scurries away from him, as far as the boat will allow without landing on Mihawk’s lap. No thank you. “Shrivel up and die, sandman,” he quietly curses under his breath and uncorks the bottle.
“Get back to rowing and hand that over, or you might have outlived your usefulness.”
Mihawk lifts the brim of his hat just a little and pins them with his piercing gaze. “As I said, I will not save you from drowning anymore. Neither of you.”
“Oh, get over yourself! It’s only been four times!” Buggy snaps but reluctantly presses the bottle into Mihawk’s outstretched hand. After all, three out of these four times, it had been his hide that had been saved. He’s still mad about the creaks in the boat, though.
4
inconspicuous island, somewhere in the New World, a few hours earlier
“This… is it?” Crocodile asks and eyes the island they are heading for skeptically. Thick, old mangroves and lichen covered crags protrude from the water, making it seem more like a grove than an island. The entire structure is roughly about the size of a marine warship, yet the dense vegetation makes it impossible to see far ahead.
“Aye, has to be it,” Buggy answers and steers their sailing vessel towards an old abandoned dock, careful not to go aground on the ancient mangrove roots. While he is busy furling the sail and towing their boat, Crocodile and Mihawk disembark. There is no crew, since Crocodile insisted that no untrustworthy employees come along. Turned out everyone on Karai Bari is considered an untrustworthy employee — except for Daz, but someone has to keep an eye on the business in their absence. So they had their crew bring them close and sailed from there on their own. Buggy doesn’t mind, though. The fewer people who know about John's treasure, the better.
The ramshackle jetty leads up to a trail so overgrown that one can hardly see it anymore. Mihawk reaches for Yoru’s hilt, but Crocodile steps past him and brushes the protruding branches with his fingertips as he passes. Withered leaves scatter at the ground and boughs wilt as he approaches, giving way to a winding, well-trodden path.
“Showoff,” Buggy mutters, checks the rope one last time and follows them into the emerald undergrowth. After just a few steps, the sounds of the ocean are muffled and the crashing of the waves against the rocks becomes a faint and distant noise. Stranger yet, few forest sounds make up for it.
“No birds,” Mihawk observes as well, looking at the canopy of leaves above them, then bends down to touch the ground and seems to listen intently.
“No animals, no insects,” he concludes, rises and takes another look around.
Crocodile just shrugs, evidently not worried in the slightest. The further they move ahead, the more oppressing the eerie silence becomes and it’s giving Buggy the creeps. He can’t really make up his mind what’s worse: that nothing seems to be alive here or that something might be hiding very very well. He hurries up to fall into step right beside Mihawk and keeps close. Better safe than sorry, aye? He certainly doesn’t want to be eaten first.
The other islands leading to the treasure had also had a strange aura about them, but not like this and he finds himself suddenly a little fonder of his two companions. The greater the peril, the greater the treasure, eh? he tries to cheer himself up and keeps a wary eye on their surroundings. It feels like they are moving in circles and judging from the size of the island, they should have reached the center by now.
Sometimes he catches a glimpse of the shore and the surge can be heard softly, then the dense forest swallows it all up again. Only dim light filters through the towering treetops and the air smells of spray as if they were still on the ocean. It reminds him of the peculiar illumination at Fish-Man Island.
“Huh,” he pauses, noticing something odd as they reach a small clearing. The ocean is closer again, deep blue shines through between the tree trunks and something black and red sticks out of the undergrowth. He takes another step and spots a battered boat wedged between mangrove roots, partly overgrown with vines and crusted with mussels. It looks pitiful.
“Bad omens,” Buggy hisses and knocks on the nearest trunk three times. Mihawk seems thoroughly unbothered, while Crocodile gives him an annoyed look.
“You’re making even more of a fool of yourself with your superstitions, clown.”
Buggy just snorts and watches the boat disappear behind green as they walk on. For once he hopes Crocodile is right, he certainly doesn’t care for nasty surprises.
The path winds on and just when Buggy is absolutely positive that they have passed this particular tree at least twice, the forest opens up to another clearing. An overgrown ruin rises in the middle of the glade, more of a megalith structure than an actual building. Seven huge menhirs keep up a gigantic slab of rock, forming a rough circle. They enclose a pitch black ashlar that seems to stem from a different era, judging by its even cut.
“Clown”, Crocodile calls him over and Buggy flinches involuntarily at the irritation in the former warlord’s voice. “Were we expecting this?”
It occurs to him just now that he’s probably also an untrustworthy employee, albeit a necessary one. How the fuck is he even supposed to know what to expect? The islands are all different, as he said on multiple occasions. The last one certainly didn’t look or feel like this — but although it’s nerve-racking, it’s also pretty exhilarating.
“Lemme see,” he says, squeezes past and takes a good look at the structure. Most of the carvings on the black ashlar seem to be ancient, vaguely resembling various animals, arranged in spirals. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what it all could mean. However, there are also some newer ones, carved with brute force. Buggy traces them it with his fingertips and feels the familiar tingle of excitement.
“Yep, that’s it!!” Grinning broadly he turns around after inspecting the crude runes for a few moments and pats the black stone. “Even left us some instructions, good ol’ John.”
“Why would you leave instructions to what you’ve specifically hidden,” Mihawk questions, ponderingly and Buggy rolls his eyes.
“Come on, Hawky, don’t go questionin’ piracy traditions now. Can’t call yourself a true pirate if you hide your treasure without a map, eh? A treasure no one ‘s lookin’ for might as well not be a treasure at all,” he scolds with conviction and turns towards the carving again, rubs away some algae and lichens that make it hard to read. Mihawk blinks, perplexed by the sudden outburst, but steps closer and hovers over Buggy’s shoulder.
“What does it say?“ He asks curiously.
“No idea about this,” Buggy replies with a sweeping gesture encompassing the whole structure, then points at the cruder carvings. “See these newer ones? That’s John’s cipher. Or, well, one of his ciphers. Pretty sly dog, ol’ Captain John.”
“What does it say,” Crocodile insists with impatience. Buggy huffs, indignant that nobody is appreciating his vast Captain John knowledge, but complies with the request.
“Press the crane of dawn and dusk and the vault shall open,” he reads aloud and scratches his head. Whatever a crane of dawn and dusk is. But he quite likes the sound of vault, sounds like riches.
“A riddle then,” Crocodile concludes in his deep rumble and lights up a cigar. “Solve it.”