Chapter Text
The Albatross:
‘God save thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that plague thee thus! –
Why look’st thou so?’ – With my cross bow
I shot the ALBATROSS
When Shanks had been a young boy – barely old enough to hold a sword, or probably too young to do so – he had a coin. A single gold coin. Compared to all the other coins he came across, it had been hardly anything special. In fact, it had differed from the others in only one thing. It had been his. The very first piece of treasure he had ever managed to obtain himself. It had been his everything. And like with every great treasure, Shanks had held it close to his heart. Literally so. It had resided in a little pocket, sewn to the chest of his shirt, and there it had remained for weeks. Until, one day, Shanks had leaned too far over the side of the ship and had felt the coin slip from his pocket. He had tried to catch it, of course, but his clumsy fingers had been too slow, forever surrendering it to the great blue of the sea.
Rayleigh had reprimanded him, had told him that he should have taken greater care, if it had truly meant that much to him. And then, once his lecture had been over, he had told him one of the many truths about the sea.
“People will tell you, that the ocean is cruel. That she does not care about the people that traverse her waters, but that is wrong. Without her, there would be no rain to give us water and no fish to give us food. She takes from us, that is true, but she always gives, and we can never forget that.”
A few months later, a wooden raft, barely held together by wood glue and ropes, had crossed their path. On it, a young boy, with blue hair and a red nose. He had introduced himself as Buggy and Shanks had decided that, in exchange for his coin, the sea had given him a friend.
However, gift from the sea or not, right now, Shanks couldn’t help but be mad at his cabin mate. Because while Shanks had spent the past few hours tossing and turning from side to side, cursing both the heat in their shared room, and the adults that had sent them off to bed, while they stayed up, enjoying the late hours of the evening, Buggy had managed to drift off to sleep almost as soon as his head had hit the pillow. And that was simply not fair. Shanks wished he could simply fall asleep. At least then he wouldn’t have to endure the stuffiness of the room on a conscious level. It would also mean that the next day would come quicker, and that meant that he would get to train with his captain again. Roger had promised the young boy that they would work through some sword forms together before the heat of the midday would render all training fruitless. The Oro Jackson was sailing along a ray summer islands and the grand line, for once, had apparently decided to match that climate between them. For days, it had been unbearably hot and the mood of the crew, happy about the sun and warmth in the beginning, had started to grow tired of the stifling temperatures. Shanks especially so. He prided himself on being someone who could deal with all sorts of outer effects. No matter if crushing heat or bone chilling cold, nothing could stop him in his endeavors. But lying in his berth, unable to drift off to sleep, because everything was just too warm, he couldn’t help but be annoyed.
Shanks pulled the pillow from behind his head and turned it around, only to discover that the other side was just as warm, as the one he had been lying on. The young boy groaned. Not loud enough to wake his friend, but also not trying to keep particularly quiet. This was torture. And the worst part, was that there was nothing he could do about it.
He just lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. A lantern swung softly not far from him, but it had long since been snuffed out, which left the cabin almost entirely dark. The moon, that reflected off the water outside, painted shadows from cool light against the wall opposite of the porthole. They shifted a bit, when a wave moved the Oro Jackson, but these days the sea had been calm and the waves barely worth mentioning. When both of them were awake, Buggy, and he would use their hands to throw their own shadows against the cabin wall. They would tell stories of all the different animals they could form, even though Buggy had an unfair advantage, because of his Devil Fruit. He hadn’t had his powers for long, a few months, and he was still growing used to them, but being able to detach your hands from your body, definitely helped, when it came to creating shadow puppets. Not, that it mattered, because Buggy just had to go ahead and fall asleep.
Shanks was almost tempted to wake the other boy, just to have someone to talk to, but he dismissed the thought almost as quick as it had come. It would be a dick move, and Buggy would surely not be happy about being woken up. And then he would be in a bad mood the entire next day. And that would mean, Shanks wouldn’t only have to deal with the heat, but also an angry Buggy, and he could gladly do without either.
Having chosen the upper bunk as his own, Shanks was close enough to the ceiling of the room, to see the warm candlelight, that shone through the small cracks in between some of the wooden boards. Right above them was the galley. During some nights, he could hear the laughter and voices of the adults on the ship that drank and talked long into the night, while he and Buggy had already been sent off to bed. And most of those nights, Shanks wished he was old enough to stay up with them. To laugh and talk and drink and have a jolly good time. But instead, he and the other young member of the crew were often sent to their cabin, long before any of the others decided to catch some shut-eye. Courtesy of Rayleigh, who was able to go on and on about how children needed more sleep than adults.
On the nights where Shanks wasn’t plagued by jealousy, the voices from the room above had something comforting. Like a weird lullaby that wasn’t sung and changed from night to night. It made him feel safe and cozy, and he drifted off to sleep easily, when he could hear the voices of his crew mates.
Tonight, while there was light, there was no loud laughter or happy chatter. Just two voices murmuring to each other. Over the creaking and groaning of the ship that shifted on the ocean, Shanks couldn’t understand what they were talking about. But his gut told him that it had to be something important. If he strained his ears, he could barely make out that one of the voices belonged to Rayleigh. The other, however, remained a mystery. Shanks sat up in his berth. It groaned under the movement. A small part of him feared that the men upstairs must have heard the traitorous old wood, and he held his breath in anticipation. But the voices didn’t stop, and neither Rayleigh nor the other person suddenly burst into his cabin to tell him off for eaves dropping. Now, closer to the ceiling, Shanks could at least make out fragments of words, but it still wasn’t enough.
His interest had been peaked and, desperate for an excuse to get out of bed and out of this stuffy cabin, Shanks made the decision to head upstairs. As silently as possible, he dropped from the upper bunk to the floor. His decent softened by the blanket that Buggy must have kicked out of his own berth at some point during the night. For a quick moment, Shanks took the time to look at the younger boy. Buggy was lying on his back, all four limbs stretched away from his body. His chest rose and sank with each breath he took, and Shanks realized that not waking him had been the right decision. He was glad Buggy got to sleep this peacefully. For a few weeks now, Buggy had had troubles falling and especially staying asleep. Often being awoken in the middle of the night by nightmares. Shanks had insisted that they talk to Roger or Rayleigh or at least Crocus about it, but Buggy had refused.
Shanks knew why these nightmares were happening. Or he could guess why, at least. And he knew that Buggy refused to talk to anyone about it, because he didn’t want to start any trouble.
He wished Buggy hadn’t had the foresight to make him promise not to tell anyone, either. Then at least he could confide in their captain. But like this, there wasn’t really anything he could do, other than tell Buggy over and over that he should not accept his current predicament. He had made a promise after all. Shanks sighed softly. Sooner or later, things would get better. That much, he was sure off, he just needed to figure out a way to put the change in motion.
Sparing one last glance at the sleeping form of his best friend, Shanks slipped towards the door. He opened it, just a smidgen, and peered outside. The corridor in front of their shared cabin laid empty. A few lanterns illuminated it in relatively consistent intervals and most of the other doors, that Shanks could see from his own cabin, were closed. He smiled to himself, before scurrying into the hallway.
After closing the door, as silently as possible, he made quick work of getting down the corridor and up the tight staircase at the end of it. From here it didn’t take long to get to the canteen. Perfect. Once there he would be able to press his ear against the wooden door, and, hopefully, get a better understand of what was being discussed so secretly in there.
Except, Shanks had made his calculations without remembering to keep two very important factors in mind. First, was Rayleigh’s, at times scary, awareness. There was simply no world in which Shanks could sneak up on the man. Second was the fact, that he had chosen to leave his room without putting on his shoes first. Which meant that, when he, in his eagerness to get to the door, overlooked a wooden plank that protruded just a bit higher than the rest, he managed to get his little toe stuck on it. At the same time, Rayleigh opened the door to the canteen.
Now, of course, Shanks had had worse injuries than a stubbed toe. Far worse, actually. But still, sometimes it was the little things that hurt the most. And so, what Rayleigh saw, when he opened said door was Shanks, his hands clasped around his left food as good as possible, while simultaneously hopping on the right foot, to keep his balance. He was also cursing up a storm under his breath.
“And what do you think you’re doing here?” He asked, his voice lacking any form of true curiosity. Shanks stopped his hopping, his other foot was still clasped in his hand, but the pain slowly subsided.
“Uhm,” he hesitated for a second, cursing the fact that he hadn’t thought of an excuse while making his way up here. “I couldn’t sleep, and I was getting thirsty, so I thought I’d get myself a glass of water.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie entirely.
Rayleigh crossed his arms in front of his chest. And Shanks caught a glance at the person who was still in the galley. It was Spencer. He was sitting at one of the long tables, or better said, currently standing up from one of the long tables. Curious. What could be so heavy on Spencer’s mind, that he needed to talk to Rayleigh about it, in hushed tones in the middle of the night. But Shank’s attention was pulled away from the question when Rayleigh began to talk again.
“Is that so?” Rayleigh had never been a gullible man, that much, Shanks knew, but he also knew, that there was little the older man could do, if he stuck to his story. After all, there was nothing that would prove he was lying.
Shanks nodded. “Yeah. It’s super-hot in our cabin. I thought I was going to melt.” Shanks let go of his foot and raised his chin in defiance.
At the same moment, Spencer appeared in the doorway. From when he had stood up, he must have crossed over to the small table in one corner of the room, where there was almost always a pitcher with water and cups at the ready. One of those cups was now handed to Shanks.
“There ya’ go, Rat,” Spencer smiled softly, underlying the hated nickname with a wink. It had started out as Red and most of the crew still used that one, but some of them, Spencer in particular, had started calling him Rat instead. Their reasoning being that it sounded almost the same.
Shanks took the cup with a thanks and emptied it, in one go, making sure to demonstrate Rayleigh just how thirsty he actually was. Once done, he dried his mouth with the back of his hand and handed the cup to Rayleigh, who took it with a raised eyebrow. “See, all better now,” Shanks grinned and even though he was looking at the vice-captain, he could clearly hear Spencer chuckle behind his hand.
“Great. That means, you can go back to bed.” Shanks’ smile fell. That was definitely not, how he had wanted his little adventure to go. Get out of his berth only to, more or less, immediately be turned around and redirected to it? No, he still needed to figure out what Rayleigh and Spencer had been talking about. That, after all, had been the sole reason why he got up here in the first place.
“But I still can’t sleep!” Shanks whined, “It’s way too hot! And Buggy snoring is so loud, it sounds like the ship is breaking.” In his mind, he sent a quick ‘Sorry’ to his best friend, for selling him down the river like that. “I couldn’t possibly fall asleep like that.” He gave first Rayleigh and then Spencer his best puppy dog eyes.
And, because Lady Luck was on his side, it worked. Spencer sighed softly, throwing an apologetic look at Rayleigh. “How about you let him stay up with me. I’m about to go to the crow's nest, anyway. Taro’s shift is almost over and it’s my turn next. A little practice won’t harm him.”
Rayleigh didn’t seem too sure. His eyes lingered on Shanks for a second, then they wandered to Spencer and back to Shanks.
“I’ll bring him to bed, when he falls asleep,” Spencer added, ignoring Shanks’ scandalized “Hey!” at the notion that he could possibly be falling asleep while on lookout duty.
Finally, Rayleigh’s shoulders relaxed. “Fine,” he relented, fixing Shanks with a warning glance. “But that doesn’t mean you get out of your chores tomorrow; I don’t care if you end up being tired.”
“Yes!” Shanks exclaimed, maybe a little too loud. He grabbed Spencer by the arm to pull him towards the door that led to the deck, just in case Rayleigh would have enough time to overthink his decision. “And I want you to help with Lunch preparations tomorrow,” the vice-captain called after him, but Shanks wasn’t listening anymore. Spencer followed him willingly.
The air on deck was cooler than inside of the ship. Still warm, but far less oppressing. Shanks breathed a sigh of relief as the air began to dry his clammy skin. A few men were top-deck. From where he stood, Shanks could easily make out Sunbell. The giant fishman was seated close to the main mast, polishing his trident, while Pine – at least Shanks assumed it was Pine, from the horn he could see peak out besides Sunbell sat next to him. Every now and again, Sunbell would break out in hearty laughter, clearly amused by whatever Pine was telling him.
Spencer placed a hand on the back of Shanks’ neck, slowly steering him towards the main mast. They didn’t get that far, though. Their rout ended up being intercepted by Hurley. He was a tall man, the years at sea clearly shown on his scarred arms and by the many tattoos that peaked out from his short sleeves. Buggy had once told Shanks that the man had an entire map tattooed on his back. Shanks hadn’t seen it yet, but he didn’t feel the need to check for the claim’s validity. The less time he had to spend in Hurley’s presence, the better. The bold man had joined the crew almost a year ago, and from the very beginning, Shanks had not liked him. He was crude and always looked at Shanks and Buggy like they were nothing but dirt beneath his shoes. Apparently, he had spent most of his adult life on sea, first as a sailor and later as a pirate. He knew these waters, and he was convinced that kids had no business on a serious pirate ship. According to Gaban, Hurley was a pirate of the old kind. He believed in all the old sailor tales and had very strong opinions on who should and who shouldn’t set food on a ship. For most of the time, Shanks had taken the front of his distance. Earning sneers and side-eyes for the color of his hair, but Hurley had been laying off him for a while now. Because someone else had woken his scorn.
“Looks like you’re on babysitting duty,” Hurley sneered. His eyes fixed Shanks for a second, and the young cabin boy could feel Spencer tense up next to him. His hand, sliding from the back of his neck to his shoulder, effectively pulling Shanks a bit closer to himself, tightened. Still, when he spoke, his voice betrayed nothing of his apparent stiffness.
He laughed, his voice sounding almost carefree. “Not at all. If anything, Shanks is the one making sure I won’t fall asleep up there.” From his peripheral, Shanks could see Spencer motioning to the crow’s nest, but he refused to take his eyes off the large man opposite of him. Something about Hurley’s face always reminded Shanks of a shark. Even though he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was. Maybe the fact that he was missing an ear. Maybe the way his scowls tended to look like too wide smiles.
But right now, Hurley didn’t smile, or scowl for that matter. He just scoffed. “If you say so.” He was, by now, solely looking at Spencer, as if Shanks didn’t even exist in his vicinity. “Still, if you have a moment, I would like a word.”
“Sure, go ahead.” Spencer's voice was still as carefree as he could muster. Hurley hesitated before he clarified, “Under four eyes.”
“We’re one crew, right? Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of the boy. We don’t have secrets.” Spencer’s hold on Shanks’ shoulder grew tighter. He tried not to wince.
Hurley’s expression grew darker, and a humorless laugh escaped his lungs. “No secrets. Ha! That is rich coming from you.” He took a step closer to the pair in front of him. Neither Spencer nor Shanks backed off. “Fine,” Hurley continued. And his voice grew quieter, “I know what you are planning, boy. And I’d advise you to stop. Maybe I haven’t been part of the crew as long as you have, but I can smell a bad fish from leagues away. And you stink.” If he didn’t tower at least a whole head over Spencer, the two of them would have been nose to nose by now. Spencer made a show of turning his head and sniffing at his own armpit.
“You must be smelling yourself, my friend. I took a bath just earlier today!” Hurley's face started to grow red, as if he was rearing up to yell at the younger man. But Spencer, seemingly done with their conversation, used the hand, still on Shanks’ shoulder, to put the boy in motion, and together they stepped around Hurley. Spencer turned his head. “And the only thing I am planning is to get the crow’s nest. Taro’s shift is over, and we’re already late, so if you don’t mind.”
Hurley spat on the floor. “You should watch your back,” he grunted before stomping off into the direction of the door that would lead him under deck. Spencer’s hand on Shanks shoulder relaxed, and he gave it a soft apologetic squeeze. Shanks turned his head, looking at Hurley’s retreating bold head. Once he was sure the sailor was out of earshot, he let out a soft sigh of relief.
“I don’t like him,” He mumbled and to his surprise, or maybe not, judging by the conversation he had just witnessed, Spencer agreed, “Yeah, me neither.” The conversation was quiet. Almost so quiet that Shanks was convinced he hadn’t been supposed to hear it.
The pair continued their walk to the main mast. But Shanks couldn’t help but push on. “I don’t get it. If nobody likes him, why doesn’t Captain just throw him out of the crew. If I was captain, I would never have somebody on board that I didn’t like. A crew is supposed to be filled with friends.”
Spencer weight his head from left to right. “It’s not that easy, Rat. Sure, he is an asshole, but that doesn’t mean you can just throw him off the crew. Crocus is an asshole, and we don’t get rid of him, do we?” he chuckled, “Don’t tell Crocus I said that.”
A soft snicker escaped Shanks. Spencer was right. Crocus was an asshole. And he knew that if he got wind of his crew mates talking about him like that, he would torment them with needles for the rest of their voyage. But soon enough the seriousness came back.
“That is different,” the boy insisted. “Crocus is an asshole, but we need him.” And then, because he, despite everything, liked their ships' medic, added, “And the Doc isn’t always an asshole!”
Spencer sighed, “I know it’s hard to understand. But Hurley has his own merits. And besides, right now, there is nothing the captain can do. Even if he wanted to throw him off the ship. Being an asshole is no crime. And we’re in the middle of the ocean. Abandoning him here would just be cruel. The least the captain could do is wait till we make land.”
Shanks suppressed the instinct to argue that Hurley was also cruel and that he surely wouldn’t care. Spencer continued, “Also, just because you and I don’t like him, doesn’t mean the rest of the crew doesn’t either. Imagine if the captain kicked you out just because Gaban doesn’t like you.”
Shanks furrowed his brow. “That wouldn’t happen, Gaban loves me.”
They reached the rigging and started their assent. Spencer was climbing a bit further behind Shanks. The boy knew that it was a safety measure. So that Spencer could catch him if he happened to slip and fall. It was, in Shanks’ opinion, also absolutely unnecessary. He hadn’t slipped in ages. Still, he knew that there was nothing he could do to convince the older man to climb next to him, so their conversation had to pause for a while.
As soon as he reached the crow's nest, Taro grabbed him and hoisted him into the basket. Shanks complained, because he was a big enough to climb in himself, but Taro just laughed and ruffled his hair, while they waited for Spencer to climb the last few meters.
“Thought you've forgotten all about me,” Taro laughed, while pushing his goggles from his hair into his eyes. Spencer shrugged apologetic. “Sorry about that. We got held up; Hurley wanted a word.”
The two friends exchanged a glance. One they, apparently, thought Shanks couldn’t see, and the boy knew there was an entire silent conversation happening between them. Finally, Taro shrugged. “Alright, at least tell me, there is still some chow left. I’m telling you; I am starving.”
Spencer patted his back, “I think I saw Captain go for seconds. So, you may be out of luck there. But if you’re quick enough you’ll catch Moon Isaac before he heads to bed, I am sure he would whip you up something, if you asked nice enough.” And with that, Taro had already started his descend.
Shanks watched him for a while, before turning to Spencer, “It’s not you and I, you know.”
The other man stopped what he was doing – unfolding a blanket they kept up here, and fixed Shanks with a questioning glance. “Huh?”
“The people who don’t like Hurley. It’s not just you and me. Buggy doesn’t like him either.” Shanks took the blanket, and wrapped it around his shoulders. It was a lot windier up here than down on the deck and even though it wasn’t cold per se, he would start to shiver as soon as his tiredness would kick in. Shanks sat down, leaning his back against the main mast, before he continued, “I think he is scared of him. But he won’t admit it.”
Spencer had taken position at the edge of the basket, overlooking the surrounding ocean. He made a sound, obviously indicating that he had heard the boy. Then, after a few minutes had passed and Shanks had almost believed that their conversation had ended, he asked a question Shanks hadn’t suspected.
“Has he said anything recently? To Buggy?”
Shanks shrugged. “Not that I know of, why?” Spencer turned his face to him, even in the dark of the night, Shanks could see the smile on his lips and the reassuring blink he gave. “Oh, no reason.” It was a lie. His eyes gave it away, but Shanks didn’t call him out on it. After all, his own answer hadn’t been true either. A few days ago, Buggy had confided in him, that Hurley had cornered him and told him, that he needed to get off the ship, now that he was a devil fruit user. That he would bring nothing but trouble to the crew. Like a bad omen. Hurley had insisted that Buggy was cursed and that he should have never left the shore. It had shaken the younger boy to his core, and Shanks was convinced that this was where Buggy’s nightmares had stemmed from. But since Buggy had made him promise not to tell, he couldn’t exactly go around telling all this to Spencer. And he couldn’t go and beat up Hurley himself. On one hand, because Buggy didn’t want him to and on the other, because Shanks, as confident as he could be, knew that he wouldn’t have a chance.
Their conversation died down after that, and Shanks started to feel his eyelids get heavy. He realized that he still hadn’t learned what Shanks and Rayleigh had been talking about, but the cool wind was doing a good job at bringing his body temperature down. He pulled the blanket closer around his shoulder, using the excess to rest his bare feet on them.
Shortly before his eyes drifted close for the last time, he could swear he saw a big bird slowly glide by the crow's nest, fixing him in his gaze for a second, before he bat his wings and passed him. But he couldn’t tell if that was happening or already part of a dream.