Chapter Text
If you had asked him, Shanks would have said he was an easy-going man.
As a boy practically born upon the sea, he had long since reconciled that, while the ocean was fair and sweet and giving in many ways, so too was she cruel and vindictive, eager to snatch up anything or anyone too comfortable for it's own good. From his time on the Oro Jackson to where he was now - a Captain in his own right, well on his way to cementing a legacy of his own that would make his Father proud -, he had borne witness to droves of hapless sailors fighting against fate to save some paltry treasure or another; sometimes gold and jewels, sometimes rare artifacts, and sometimes something so mundane that, until that moment, Shanks would never have considered it to be treasure at all. And, with each time he observed as such, a lesson was relevant, as ingrained into his mind as the points of the compass or the proper way to tie a knot.
As the sea gave, so too did she take; it was best to accept that, should she wish, she could claim back any and all with a mere crash of a wave upon a ship.
Shanks had thought he had done a good job of taking his lesson to heart. After the death of Roger and the dissolving of the Roger Pirates, he had done well to keep himself from growing too attached to things. While there was the odd exception - he still cherished his beloved straw hat, gifted to him by his Captain before his execution at the hands of the Marines -, he had for the most part succeeded in his endeavour. Sure, he adored his crew of course; Beckman, Yasopp, Lucky Roux and all the rest of them were more family than anything else at this point, slotting near perfectly into the void left behind when his former crew disbanded. However, it was always with the understanding that, for as much as it might be a painful truth to accept, the life of a pirate promised danger and death at every turn. For as powerful as Shanks might be, and no matter the faith he might have in his crew's ability, it might not always be enough to save them; as such, Shanks had accepted that, at any point, he might lose them all.
He was sure he could recover; he had faith that, no matter the loss, he would rebuild again.
That certainty went out the proverbial window as soon as he met Luffy.
---
It had been a warm summer's day when they had docked in Foosha Village, a sleepy little town unused to pirates in general, much less ones coming from the Grand Line. Shanks supposed that was to be expected; as the calmest of the seas, many a pirate aimed beyond the East Blue, most moving on from it quickly in exchange for more lucrative prospects. The villagers had greeted them warily, eyes darting from the Jolly Rodger splayed proudly upon the mast to the weapons at their belts, before acquiescing Shanks' request for directions to the nearest bar. He had been sure to be polite, heartfelt in his thanks, hoping to put them more at ease; he had no quarrel with honest townsfolk, provided they didn't try and report their presence to the Marines.
After they had all finished unloading the cargo they no longer needed, they had wandered down the quaint little path to Party's Bar, as per the passersby's direction, and settled in for a night of celebration. Shanks had always been of the opinion that the first night on land after a voyage should be spent getting as drunk as humanly possible, and he was well on his way to indulging himself - being sure to thank the bartender Makino for her hospitality at every opportunity - when he'd felt a little hand grasp at his leg.
His first impression of Luffy was his size. A scrawny little thing, to be sure; all bone jutting out under sun-tanned skin. He couldn't have been more than six years old. He took in his appearance; vaguely dishevelled and unkempt as rambunctious brats usually were, wearing tattered shorts and sandals that looked like they had seen better days.
The boy looked at him, head tilted in curiosity, as if mirroring Shanks' assessment, before an impossibly wide, bright smile erupted upon his face.
"Are you the pirates everyone's been talking about? Can you tell me stories? What's it like at sea? Have you found any treasure?"
Questions were fired off in quick succession, leaving Shanks a little overwhelmed. He had to admit to being a tad out of his element; most kids steered clear of pirates on principle, having grown up on horror stories parents told them of cut-throat thieves and murderers that killed for fun as much as for survival. The rare ones that didn't tended to be dragged away by panicked caretakers who would cast fearful, furtive glances back every few seconds, grips tight on their little one's shoulders as if to keep them from being snatched away. Shanks never took such a reaction to heart; while he had been lucky to have Roger and Rayleigh as his guardians while at sea, who were more parents to him than any other he had ever known, he was all too aware of pirate crews that were not so kind to the brittle bodies of children.
Shaking off his stunned stupor, Shanks leaned back and laughed, deciding to indulge this strange boy. "We sure are, kid. Guess we should have expected word to travel quick." He pat the bar stool next to him. "If it's stories you're after, I think I know a few that you'll like."
He regaled the kid with a couple of his tamer stories, always sure to cut out any details that might have made for unpleasant listening for little ears. The kid was an avid audience; oohing and aahing at appropriate moments of drama, nodding along as the pirate spoke, and clapping when a tale reached its conclusion before immediately demanding another. Each time he asked, Shanks felt helpless but to oblige him, taking a rare joy in seeing the boy so enthralled by tales of his misadventures.
As the evening stretched on, the red sun dipping below the mountain's elevated horizon and giving way to a dark and clear night sky, Shanks cast a subtle glance around the bar before reaching out with Observation Haki to see if anyone was searching for the kid next to him. He was young, and it was getting late; surely someone had to be looking for him at this stage?
He sensed nothing. It made his hackles raise slightly.
He caught Benn's eye from across the bar. His first mate nodded towards the kid happily chatting to Shanks about his favourite spot in the forest to hunt for meat and why the fuck was a six-year-old hunting for food on his own? Shanks shook his head as a way of answer, and Benn took a drag from his cigarette.
"Say, Luffy", he started, doing his best to sound casual. The boy looked at him, still wearing that same ecstatic smile; Shanks felt a sliver of pain in his chest at the sight. "It's getting late, kid. Don't you think your mum and dad might be looking for you right now?"
He felt Makino's gaze on him and looked up to see her glancing between him and Luffy, a tankard clutched in one hand and a cloth dripping water in the other. She seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden, a tension in her shoulders that hadn't been there all night; not even when she found out they were pirates. Shanks frowned, narrowing his eyes a little. What was so bad about asking after the kid's welfare?
Luffy laughed at him, oblivious to the thickening air between the two adults. "No, no-one's looking for me. Gramps isn't here right now, so I don't have a bedtime!"
A nerve in Makino's jaw jumped and she set the tankard down on the bar top with a little more force than maybe was necessary. She turned away from Shanks, and he watched her come round from behind the bar and try to usher the kid off, much to Luffy's vehement protests.
"But I wanna stay Makino! I don't wanna go back yet!" The kid's lip was trembling, his eyes the size of plates as they begged the woman not to make him leave.
Makino sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's late, Luffy; your grandfather told me to make sure you were keeping to his schedule, and I've already let you stay up past that tonight." Her expression softened at the boy's dejected pout, kneeling to meet him face to face. Shanks listened to her whisper that if he was a good boy and went to bed now, she'd make him some extra meat for breakfast in the morning; he brightened up at the promise and nodded eagerly and turned to run. However, before he reached the door, he stopped, turning back to Shanks with a hopeful gaze.
"Will you be here tomorrow?"
The rest of the crew's eyes turned to him, pinning him with the silent question. Would they be? They had not intended to stay, only really there to regather supplies before they ventured our again in search of a treasure so forbidden, you could not speak its name without bringing the wrath of the World Government down upon you. He opened his mouth to apologise, to say that they would be leaving the next evening, that pirates did not linger on land for too long -
"Sure will, kid. Why don't I tell you more stories tomorrow?"
---
"So, we're staying an extra day then, Captain?"
Shanks didn't look at Benn; didn't need to in order to feel the piercing stare directed at his back. He was sitting on the figurehead, gazing up at the crystalline clear night, eyes tracing over all the constellations he had learnt over the years, naming them off one by one. He remembered nights where he and Buggy would sit with Roger, lain out on the deck, gazing up at the stars, giggling while their Captain told them of the myths pertaining to each pattern mapped out within the sky. After Roger died and he had been left on his own, it had offered him some shred of comfort to tilt his head back and observe them anew, reliving the happier moments of his youth before it had been snatched away from him.
He had hoped it would allow him some peace once more, now he was battling some long-forgone enemy that resided only within himself.
"Couldn't hurt to get more provisions, could it?" He offered weakly in response, knowing that Benn, ever perceptive as he was, would call bullshit the second it was out of his mouth. The captain let out a long, beleaguered sigh and let his head thump back against the wooden stern.
Stupid, stupid; he was so stupid.
His first mate did not dignify his pathetic excuse with a response, choosing instead to lean against the railing, freshly lit cigarette in hand and waiting for Shanks to speak. For a moment, it was silent between them, and Shanks listened to the smooth, steady draw of Benn's breath as he inhaled the smoke and let it out, the rhythm of it habitual and cathartic in its own way. The younger man found himself reminiscent then of how they met; him a snot-nosed rookie still awash with grief at losing the only family he had ever known and Beckman a man struggling to find some purpose in life. They had both been messes, though admittedly in very different ways; and yet, they had come together, made friends over dirty tavern tables piled high with bad poker games and cheap booze. It had only been natural that Shanks ask Benn to be his first mate; he needed someone stable, someone wise and thoughtful to counteract his own wild, reckless abandon. Benn had more than fulfilled that role over the years, offered plenty a listening ear and worldly advice to any worry a young captain could come up with.
Shanks let out another sigh, shut his eyes tight and willed himself to action.
"It'll just be another day; give the men a bit more rest before we set off again after our target."
There was a sizzle and the faint aroma of burning wood on the air. Benn's voice betrayed nothing, carefully impassive to his Captain's declaration. "Aye Captain - I'll inform the rest of the crew of the plan."
Then he left, allowing Shanks to stew in his own skin, awash with memories of a childhood stolen out from under him and the face of a boy that reminded him of all he had lost.