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A News Coo delivers a letter with Buggy’s morning paper. This is strange because no one has ever willingly interacted with Buggy, let alone spent money on postage to do it.
The envelope is unmarked, so he rips it open. A lock of heart-wrenchingly familiar crimson hair flutters out.
Buggy stops breathing. He stares at it resting innocently on the deck. Like it hasn’t just dredged up a hundred unwelcome memories and fears and hatreds. That damned red hair.
He has no choice but to read the note.
Captain Buggy,
He needs your help. Come to these coordinates.
-- B. B.
…Unbelievable.
That dumb motherfucker got himself taken hostage, and he dragged Buggy into it? He told that damn moron, the next time they see each other, it’s on sight. Now, after eight years of radio silence, he’s using Buggy as his lifeline? Pathetic. Unforgivable.
He’ll go, because anyone with enough ballsack to capture Shanks is bound to have a lot of money he can steal. But he’s going to be pissed about it the whole time!
Slowly, he bends down and picks up the lock of bright red hair. Rubs it between his fingers. Greasy as hell. …And unfairly soft. Like always.
Not that he remembers how that shithead’s hair used to feel! He’s not some sentimental moron! He only folds the lock carefully back into the note in case he needs to identify the moron’s body later. That’s all.
The coordinates lead to a tiny island in the most remote corner of East Blue. The only ship docked there is the Red Force, which means either someone was strong enough to take Shanks’ entire crew and ship hostage, or Buggy is being tricked into meeting his “old friend” again.
If that bastard knows what’s good for him, it’d better be the former. It better be motherfucking Garp himself who will leap out of the bushes as soon as he steps foot on this island.
Buggy suddenly regrets leaving his crew behind. Admittedly, his crew isn’t very… seasoned at combat… and there’s only four of them… but that could’ve been four more people to use as meat-shields! Plus the lion— five meat shields! He’d been so busy hiding the fact that he was visiting Shanks that he never considered maybe he shouldn’t have.
Turns out, he was worried for nothing. Because the ship is ghostly empty. As is the island, save a shithole six-building village near the dock. One of those buildings seems to be something of a bar, which is confirmed when Buggy kicks the door in to see the entirety of the Red-Haired Pirates drunk and making merry.
Standing on the bar, flush-drunk and half-dressed with Captain’s straw hat hanging off his head, is Shanks himself. He’s grown into himself, which is jarring, considering Buggy hasn’t seen him in eight years outside wanted posters. Some people might even consider him attractive— if not for the fact that he’s also completely shitfaced, butchering a sea shanty while desperately stumbling to keep upright.
“OI! THAT’S BUGGY!” Shanks interrupts himself suddenly, pointing at Buggy with the butt-end of a bottle. Red wine spills out the neck, all over his white shirt, which was already falling off one shoulder anyway. “THA’S THE FIRST BLOKE I EVER KISSED! Firs’ one smart ‘nough t’leave me too. AHAHAHA!” He throws his head back laughing.
Yeah. Alright.
Buggy turns heel and stalks out of the crummy village.
“Wait!” A deep voice calls.
Some guy is chasing after him. Buggy walks faster.
“I sent the letter!”
That stops Buggy in his tracks.
“Oh, great! Then I know who to kill!” And he hurls a knife at the man.
The guy cusses but steps out of the way before the blade sinks between his eyes.
“Please, he needs help,” the guy insists.
Buggy grits his teeth. “Yeah, he looks to be in real dire straits.”
He throws another knife. This time, the guy catches it.
“He won’t talk to anyone, because he’s our captain. But you’re his friend - he can talk to you.”
Buggy’s lip peels back in distaste. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but I am not friends with Shanks.”
The man blinks. “But he talks about you every time he gets blackout drunk. Told me you grew up together.”
His stomach turns. Unsure what to think, Buggy throws another knife, and the man catches easily. At this point, it’s just giving him free weapons.
“Well, it’s not like he gives a shit about me now. We haven’t spoken in years. I don’t even know who the fuck you are.”
The guy stares at him.
“…Benn Beckman?”
Buggy raises an unimpressed eyebrow.
“His first mate. I sent the note with my initials– why would you come if you didn’t know it was me?”
Buggy crosses his arms petulantly and sniffs.
“None of your business.”
Over his dead body will he admit that he thought Shanks was in mortal danger. Not now that the bastard pointed and laughed at Buggy like some kind of freakshow in front of his entire goddamn crew.
Beckman sighs. “Please. He lost his daughter on-“
“Wait. WHAT?” Buggy’s arms and head fly off to grab Beckman’s cheeks and he yell in his face.
Shanks is barely twenty-six years old and has been an alcoholic since he was fifteen. He shouldn’t be near a baby, let alone responsible for one.
“He has a DAUGHTER!?”
Beckman looks pained.
“…Had.”
Buggy’s going to be sick.
“What the fuck happened?”
“Make him tell you.”
Reminded of the argument, Buggy scoffs and releases the guy, popping himself back together. But Beckman keeps going.
“He keeps pretending he’s fine. Runs us from party to party, only slowing down to dangle himself suicidally in front of the navy. If he doesn’t talk to someone, it’s only a matter of time before he gets so reckless he succeeds.”
Three months… right around the time he took credit for the Elegia genocide. Buggy never bothered to entertain the idea that Shanks actually did it - Red is a bastard in a lot of ways, but it’s rare for him to kill even his enemies, let alone a whole island of innocents. Except Buggy never stopped to consider why he would claim the notoriety anyway.
It can’t be a coincidence.
“Fucking fine,” Buggy agrees through gritted teeth. “But if anyone finds out I was here I’ll kill you. Flashily.”
To make this as painless as possible, Buggy just sends his two severed arms alone into the bar and carries Shanks out by his collar and belt. The bastard is so shit-faced he hardly seems to notice. That is, until he’s dumped in the dirt at Buggy’s feet.
Shanks blinks blearily up at him.
“Buggy?” He slurs. “Is ‘is real?”
Buggy considers this for a moment. Then he plops down cross-legged in front of Shanks.
“No.”
They’re alone, well enough into the trees of the forest that they won’t be seen. So he decides it’s safe for him to usher Shanks into a familiar position, pulling his head into Buggy’s lap. He goes easily – not even a semblance of shame, damn him.
“You’re dreaming, dumbfuck,” Buggy lies to his stupid pretty face. “Now tell me what the hell happened to you.”
Shanks instantly breaks out into a thousand-watt smile, way too bright to be genuine.
“Nothin’! I’m great! We’re partyin’, Bugs! Join the party!”
Buggy scoffs. “You’re a shit liar.”
“I’m not lyin’!” Shanks insists, voice pitched up from lying. “I’m fine! Totally great.”
“Then I’m leaving,” he says, and starts to stand.
“Don’t!” Shanks shouts immediately.
Buggy pauses, smug as fuck. “Oh?”
“Don’t-” Shanks sounds desperate for just a moment, before quickly returning to his usual casual attitude. “I mean, you just got here! Have a drink!”
“We’re in the woods, dumbass.”
“We’re- huh?” Shanks blinks and looks around, as if realizing for the first time that they’re not still in the bar.
“It’s a dream, don’t worry about it,” Buggy waves dismissively. “Now tell me why the hell someone says you had a daughter.”
Shanks freezes. There’s fear in his expression. He doesn’t answer.
Of course it wouldn’t be so easy. The last time someone Shanks loved died, he freaked out and refused to go after the One Piece. Now, he has apparently put his entire reality on hold.
Buggy sighs and runs a hand soothingly over the head in his lap. It’s stupid– something they haven’t done since they were real little kids. But if Shanks thinks this is a dream, maybe doing something embarrassing is fine, if it’ll get him to actually talk.
“Red,” Buggy says tiredly, “Just tell me.”
Shanks’ breath hitches. “I- I can’t,” he says, voice tight.
“It’s an easy question. You have a kid or not?”
Shanks buries his face into the crook of his arm, like he’s trying to block Buggy out.
“Please, Bugs, the party…”
“There’s no more party. You’re dreaming. Party’s gone.”
“Hnnnn,” Shanks lets out a keening whine of distress that Buggy’s only ever heard when they were ten and Red got shot in the leg. It’s forever ingrained in his mind as the sound of Shanks bleeding out.
He hates that damn sound.
“Shut up, asshole. I’m still pissed at you, but I’m here because I’m a pathetic dog who can’t help crawling back every time you want to kick me. So if I’m here taking a torch to the tiny scrap of dignity I have left, the least you could do is tell me why the fuck I’m doing it!”
His voice raises just a bit too loud, and the echo bounces off the trees around them.
Slowly, Shanks pulls his arm from his eyes. His face is so heartbroken and earnest Buggy might throw up.
“You’re not pathetic.”
That’s rich. Buggy scoffs.
Shanks sits up.
“Bugs, you’re not pathetic. Where- where would you even get that idea?”
Buggy stares at him for a long moment, because there’s no way this motherfucker is serious. But he doesn’t break. Not even the tiny involuntary smirk at the corner of his mouth that always broadcasted their pranks a mile away.
“Ha! Seriously? There’s a reason I never bothered to assume I could get the One Piece for myself, dumbfuck, and it’s because everyone and their mother can tell I’m pathetic at a glance.”
He was too sick to see it when he had the chance. Even with Captain Roger carrying him 99% of the way there on his shoulders, Buggy couldn’t cross the damn finish line.
“You?” Shanks asks, bewildered. As if Buggy has told him some startling revelation. “Bugs, you’re clumsy and annoying as hell—”
“I hate you.”
“—but if anyone looks for more than three seconds, it’s clear that I’m the pathetic one.”
“…Wait, what?”
Shanks sits up properly, so that he’s facing Buggy.
“Seriously? You said it yourself, I’m too soft to sail to Laugh Tale, even all these years later. Too cautious to leave the East Blue, because there’s no way I can protect-“
With a sharp intake of breath, Shanks cuts himself off. He’s suddenly gone deathly pale.
“No. Even in East Blue, I couldn’t protect her,” he whispers, staring vacantly at the ground. “Captain brought us through the New World twice, and I couldn’t even raise her here.”
Buggy swallows. That’s unfair. He’s still got no damn clue what happened to this kid, but Ray and Captain Roger were seasoned pirates well into their forties raising them. As opposed to Shanks at twenty-six who— again— is really not responsible enough to be around children at all. Even with this Beckman guy babysitting him.
Still, he knows better than anyone that trying to convince someone they’re not pathetic is a fool’s errand. Buggy’s a clown, but he’s not stupid.
“What was her name?” He asks instead, voice frightfully gentle.
Shanks closes his eyes and lets out a shaky exhale.
“…Uta.”
A droplet falls to the earth beneath him.
“She- she loved to sing for us. Always put on a show any chance she got.”
More drops splatter softly into the dirt.
“You-“ his voice breaks. “You’d’ve loved her, Bugs, she was so flashy.”
Buggy crosses his arms and turns up his nose, sniffing petulantly. “Sounds to me like an infringement on my brand. Little thief.”
Damn him, Shanks laughs. Gross and wet, warbled under those tears, but a laugh nonetheless. For once, Buggy thinks maybe it was worth it to become a clown, even if he never gets another laugh ever again.
“She was that, too,” Shanks agrees, tears rolling down his face around the smile. “Once, we were docked at this little village in Goa…”
Shanks talks for hours, sharing every story of Uta he can remember, and then some he clearly doesn’t. By the time he’s run out of tales, the light of dawn peeks gently through the trees, and Red is drooping forward onto Buggy every minute or so, barely awake.
Eventually, he fails to startle himself awake, and just fully collapses into Buggy’s chest.
“Mmrph,” Shanks says, and the way his voice rumbles across Buggy’s skin makes him feel a way he refuses to acknowledge. “Rmrmmph?”
“If you wanna say something, try opening your mouth, dipshit,” Buggy says, absently rubbing a hand over his back.
“I said stay ‘til I wake up,” Shanks murmurs into his chest. “I missed you.”
Something in Buggy’s throat seizes. He thinks that the smart move would be to leave now, and let him pass out in the dirt. Or to hit him over the head and drag his unconscious ass back to his little barfly battalion. Or to just cuss him out.
But like a sap, an idiot, a pathetic pining loser, he just places a soft kiss into his hair.
“Sure, Red. I’ll stay.”
He’s not entirely certain it’s a lie.