Archive of Our Own ^beta

When I Found You in That River, 

You Were Just Another Stone

He isn’t supposed to know . 

Shanks prides himself on knowing little and getting by anyway. The rules of the world and how to break them— that’s always been enough. Also, the small details of his crew, his friends, his family. 

The good things. 

The important things. 

He drinks too often and fights too much to really hope for a head full of strategy, revenge or forethought. It’s one of the reasons he loves being a pirate, he gets the freedom to know what he wants, when he wants. 

Dracule Mihawk is evidently not a member of his crew. He is not a part of his widely scattered found family, no matter how much he wishes otherwise. And he’s not quite technically his friend— at least, not in the traditional sense. Friends and family overlap quite a bit in Shanks’ world; except for maybe Makino, who gets a special place in his heart, just for her. His kids too, his stupidly strong and widely ambitious son and daughter, out there in the world making waves and bringing down the government one crazy adventure at a time.

He honestly couldn’t be more proud. 

But see, he knows about all that because they want him to. 

Because they’re family, and they love each other quite fucking dearly, and there’s trust there, built on— built on something they all share. Something they give each other. 

So, again, Dracule ‘Hawk-eyes’ Mihawk is not a part of his family. Mihawk barely considers Shanks a friend outside of a good bedmate and ex-sparring partner. He’d lost that privilege with his arm, but he can never bring himself to regret it, no matter how angry Mihawk had been when he’d found out.

So again, Shanks isn’t supposed to know . 

He shouldn’t even be thinking about it now, 4 days later. He shouldn’t know and it’s eating him alive because Mihawk is a private person whom Shanks respects and adores and does not want to push away any more than he already has.

Vampire . 

Firstly, he doesn’t even know if it’s true. 

He heard it at a bar from one of his more fanciful informants, who, bless her soul, was quite red in the face and stammering when she recounted spending a week working alongside ‘ the great Dracule Mihawk! Not that you’re not great, boss, but— just wow, you know? ’ Raita is one of his oldest friends, a strong fighter from one of the desert islands on the Grand Line he met in his early days after Rodger.

Despite this, and despite her honed skills in information gathering, he doesn’t appear to have anything new or interesting to tell him about Mihawk. Probably because Shanks is likely the only person left in the world who knows more about Mihawk than ‘ scary, lone-wolf greatest swordsman ’. 

Until her 4th drink, when out from her mouth, unbidden, tumbles; “Red-Hair, I don’t even think he’s human! ”

Not an unusual thing to hear. Powerful people give that impression. But it’s… different, hearing it from Raita. She has this look in her eyes that lets Shanks know she’s not joking. She stumbles through her sentences, half-formed and a disconnected stream of consciousness. 

“He— well, I think he does anyways. And with the, the um, the whole blood thing? That was crazy ! I thought he was gonna turn on me next! You know we have a term for his kind back home; Vampyr . He fits the name well enough, penggoda wanita— oh, hey, you don’t think he’ll kill me for finding out, do you? I mean it’s kind ‘f obvious when you hang out with him! Which… well I guess no one really does. But you do, don’t you Red-Hair? Hey, Shanks, you listening?”

Vampire . 

He doesn’t remember much after that. Raita managed to get back to her lodgings whole, unharmed and without losing any of her weapons. Shanks made it back to his ship, trudging through the back alleys of the average town they’d docked at, promptly collapsing onto his bed much less drunk than he had hoped to be. 

Vampire . 

It’s kind of funny actually. Vampire? Raita had been right; it does suit him. If it was going to be anyone, it would be Mihawk. He thinks hard on what he knows about vampiric lore, but there’s not a lot there. Maybe he could ask? But… his other informant is eight islands away, and he’s not confident that they’ll know anything. The easiest way to find out would be to just, send a message to old Hawk-Eyes and figure out what actually happened with Ratia.

But therein lays the big, glaring issue Shanks has with it all: he isn’t supposed to know . 

Shanks has known Mihawk for a long, long time. He’s fought with and against him more than anyone else on the sea. They’ve shared wounds, shared grief, shared wine and violence and sometimes, when Shanks is just smooth enough, they share a bed. But Mihawk has never shared this with him. It bothers Shanks, even though he knows it shouldn’t. 

Shanks turns in bed, wondering if one of the hammocks would be better suited to tonight’s means of unrest. The bed smells too much like Mihawk from the last time he was here. Or maybe that's just Shanks being stupid and his olfactory senses are fucking with him. On one of his nightstands, he gazes at a string of gold pearls, all clustered and tangled together in a bowl alongside an old photo of him and his crew. Mihawk is there, pressed into Shanks’ side and trying so damn hard not to smile at the camera. 

Shanks looks at his mouth, thinking about teeth and secrets. He lets his thoughts run away from him, and he falls asleep thinking about it. 

-//-//-

He wakes up the next afternoon not nearly as hungover as he should be. 

He wants to feel sorry for himself. He wants to stop thinking about stuff he shouldn’t know. He doesn’t tell his crew, and they don’t ask why the ever-dependable Raita didn’t have anything interesting to talk about. It eats at him for days while they’re stuck at the port, and he doesn’t think about why . 

He wants to see Mihawk again. He wants to ask him about it, to hear it from the source. He wants a reason to find his unchanging rock in these uncertain times but–

But there’s no rush— he’ll see Mihawk when the sea brings them together.

-//-//-

It takes four weeks and a few blows to the head from his crew for Shanks to shake the knowledge from his stream of consciousness. It’s hard being strong. Finding a challenge to distract him is a lengthy and usually fruitless endeavour, resulting in his skin itching for a half-decent fight. Especially since he knows someone who can give him that fight. He drinks more than usual and for all the wrong reasons and he knows his crew notices. But if it was a real problem, they trust their captain will let them know, so his brooding remains a private affair.

They sail aimlessly. 

It takes another three months of travel before Shank’s haki starts to prickle against his skin. At night, he’s taken to staring at Luffy’s wanted poster– his newest one. The white hair is… disconcerting, and it stirs something inside him that twangs the hair-thin control he has on himself. That’s his kid , taking down Emperors ( plural, by the seas) and laughing at the world.

He decides not to think about that either, tearing his eyes away and trying to centre himself. Of course, his gaze lands on his sword, resting in the corner of his quarters. He hasn’t had to use it for a long while and he shakes his head sharply to dislodge Gryphons’ voice. She’s not a very talkative sword, but she’s been humming at him for a while now and it’s driving Shanks a little mad.

Six months in. They stop at an island. 

It’s a small one, a part of a long archipelago smack-bang in the middle of nowhere— which is really saying something. It’s tropical, a white sand beach and no human inhabitants that Shanks can sense– save one.

Mihawk is here. 

He knows it more than he sees it, but there is the matter of his fucking weird coffin boat just… floating offshore. The last time Shanks saw it out in the open was at Rodgers’ execution. He doesn’t wait for his crew, a sudden singlemindedness overwhelming him. Six months is a long time to not be thinking about something so captivating for a bored swordsman.

“Oi! Captain! Where’re you off to?”

He grins lazily over his shoulder, a hand on Gryphon. “Off to hunt a bat!” He calls, “give me a couple of hours, and I’ll be back.”

They roll their eyes, but he can see the relief in their slackening shoulders now that he finally has something to do. Keeping a lid on his haki has been difficult these last few days. His crew wave him off, setting up camp with practised ease. Shanks looks forward, and the jungle swallows him whole. 

-//-//-

Sometime later, after the sun has dipped, Shanks finds Mihawk in a stream. 

He looks terrible , and something vile twists in Shanks’ gut. 

The swordsman-maybe-vampire is on his knees, the rushing water coming up to his waist and pushing so hard on his clothes that his whole body sways. He’s on his knees hunched over, hands and forearms plunged into the stream, hidden from view. He doesn’t react when Shanks wanders over. 

He isn’t wearing his hat and his hair is soaked, plastered down around his face, hiding his eyes. Yoru is absent from his back and Shanks feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Mihawk doesn’t twitch with recognition when Shanks loudly sits himself down at the edge of the bank and crosses his legs, rather obviously and in plain sight. 

Not only was he not suppressing his haki, Shanks was letting it bleed out a little, trying to provoke him. It’s likely Mihawk has had eyes on him– on them – since they came ashore. His observation haki has always been better than Shanks’. But usually there’s… something. 

A word. An insult. A dagger thrown at his head. 

Mihawk doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. 

“…Oi,” Shanks calls uneasily, “Hawk-eyes.”

No response. 

He shifts, uncomfortable, and tries again. No response. Not even a flare in haki. So he does something a bit childish and scoops up some pebbles from the stream, sorting through the evenly sized ones, before throwing them at Mihawk’s head. 

The first two thud off of his wet hair and drop harmlessly back into the rushing water. 

Mihawk catches the third one before it hits. 

Shanks’ eyes go wide. 

Mihawk is finally looking at him, but his eyes aren’t focused at all. And— his hands— he’s wearing sea-stone cuffs. Shanks stands abruptly and Mihawk does not follow his movements. The rest of the pebbles slip from his hand as Shanks steps into the rushing stream. He moves without thinking. His steps are a little unsteady, but when he actually reaches Mihawk, he suddenly doesn’t know what to do. 

It’s like Mihawk can’t hear him, can’t see what’s right in front of him. Shanks crouches down so they’re eye to eye and frowns. 

In his opinion, one of the most beautiful things about Mihawk is his eyes. Shanks used to tease that they were made of real gold, and that his observation haki was only so good because he was blessed with eyes worth more than his bounty. 

Now, Mihawk’s eyes are yellow. 

They’re a dull, swollen yellow that reminds Shanks of sickness and famine. They’re red-rimmed, and the outer corners are inflamed, his eyelashes stuck together like spider legs. His pupils are a strange cloudy grey, flicking back and forth between two points Shanks can’t determine.

He looks awful . He looks hurt . Who the hell could have managed this ?

He lifts his hand to Mihawk’s face and the swordsman snaps to attention, finally looking at him. 

Shanks grins. Mihawk stares. Blinks a few times. 

His arms go slack and the pebble falls from his palm, the sea stone cuffs hitting the water hard and soaking the rest of Shanks’ coat. 

“ …Akagami ,” Mihawk mumbles in his native tongue, and Shanks raises an eyebrow to suppress the memories attached to his name sounding like that . Stay fucking focused, Shanks. 

“Hey to you too,” he says easily, “what happened?”

There’s a tense silence, as they tend to be between them, before Mihawk’s eyes slip shut and his body crumples. Shanks jerks forward.

“Woah hey, hey! Mihawk!” 

Shanks holds him upright so the bastard doesn’t fucking drown in the watery grave he seems to have chosen for himself, fighting the very foreign sense of panic that’s making his mind freeze up. 

Get him out of the water . That’s step one. 

Step two is deciding whether or not Mihawk will kill him if he wakes up on Shanks’ ship. The answer is probably yes, but what the fuck else is he supposed to do? Leave him in the jungle? Fuck no. So, compromise. 

He gathers his friend in his arm, grimacing at how light Mihawk feels even soaked to the bone. It’s a bit raunchy, but Shanks has fucked Mihawk enough times to know what supporting his entire weight should feel like– and it sure as hell isn’t this , even if he ignores being waterlogged and missing an entire arm. The solid sea-stone cuffs don’t even hide it. 

He lays Mihawk down for just a second while he figures out the fastest way back to camp. He places a hand on Gryphon and decides on a shortcut. 

-//-//-

He only feels a little bad when Benn berates him for cutting down half the jungle. In all honesty, it was an accident— he’d only meant to cut a straight path. But Mihawk–

Mihawk.

Luckily slugging back with an unconscious ex-warlord on his shoulder was strange enough that the jungle's destruction became a non-issue. 

“Holy shit captain, did you finally kill him?” Limejuice asks from a hammock while Hongo is grabbing medical supplies. 

Shanks shoots him an unimpressed look. 

“ Lime ,” he chastises, “we didn’t even fight. Fucking found him like this, and look—“ he sets Mihawk down on one of the makeshift beds, “he’s got cuffs on.”

Yassop raises an eyebrow and sets his jaw. “Sea stone? Thought he didn’t have a devil fruit.”

“He doesn’t ,” Shanks stresses, “‘s why it doesn’t make any damn sense.”

When Hongo sits down next to Mihawk, the first thing he does is check his pulse. 

Alive?  …sort of, so, check.

Injuries: a dozen small bruises on his throat and four on his inner arms. 

Blood pressure: dangerously low. 

Pupils: unresponsive. 

And on and on goes the bad news until finally, Hongo checks for poison. 

He sticks his fingers in Mihawk’s mouth and pries open his jaw. His lips pull back, and as Hongo inspects the gums for signs of bleeding or burns or lacerations, Shanks sees them. 

His teeth . 

Vampire . 

Hongo notices them too just as his haki spikes and his crew all snap to attention. 

‘ And with the, the um, the whole blood thing? That was crazy! ’

Damn it. Damn it . What if he’s wrong ?

‘— oh, hey, you don’t think he’ll kill me for finding out, do you? I mean it’s kind ‘f obvious when you hang out with him!‘

It’s not impossible. It’s not even improbable. He just doesn’t know for sure . 

‘ Which… well I guess no one really does. But you do, don’t you Red-Hair? ’

Damn it. 

“Hongo,” he forces out, feeling stupid. “You know about vampires?”

His doctor, understandably, stares at him. Looks down at Mihawk’s fangs. Looks back at Shanks. 

“…yeah,” Hongo says eventually, “I know a bit.”

“This one of ‘em?”

Another pause. Hongo presses the tip of his finger against the tip of Mihawks’ fangs and immediately blood wells.

“I’d say so, yeah.”

And then it’s done. Confirmed . Out in the open. Hongo sighs. 

“Treatin’ a vampire is hard enough without knowing what’s wrong with ‘em though. You sure about this one, Captain?”

Shanks hums. He isn’t, not really. But Hongo is his doctor and he has full faith in him to do as much as he can. He tilts his head in a nod. 

“Right. Okay then, stay put.”

-//-//-

Turns out the easiest way to help a vampire is, predictably, a blood transfusion. No one says anything about it when it was obvious Shanks would be the one giving blood. 

“It’ll be a lot, captain. I’m gonna filter out the old blood and make sure it’s clean.”

Shanks sits in silence as Hongo works, watching his blood flow through the clear tube. After 30 minutes, Hongo cuts him off, closes the small wound, and looks pointedly at the darkening sky. 

“He has to stay with us until he wakes up. In a bed, not a hammock. Captain?”

Shanks already knows. 

-//-//-

Having Dracule Mihawk in his bed again actually loosens some months-old tension in his chest, neck and shoulders. He’s a little swamped in one of Shanks’ hardly worn shirts and pants that should keep the warmth in his freezing skin. The cuffs are… upsetting to look at. He couldn’t get them off and neither could his crew. There’s a lock, which means it can be removed, and at least they weren’t linked together by a chain.

They’ll have to figure it out tomorrow. 

He argues with himself for a few minutes about where he should sleep now. On the one hand, his crew is out on the beach, watching the stars and enjoying their freedom to the fullest. 

On the other hand… he has Mihawk in his bed, in his clothes, apparently vulnerable and on an enemy ship. He’s not just gonna leave him there . Shanks groans and rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm. 

‘ Seas, I really hope he doesn’t kill me. ’

He shucks off his shirt and sandals before sliding into bed next to Mihawk. His heart hurts a little, so he gently, cautiously, pulls the swordsman closer so his back is flush with Shanks’ chest. He’s warmer than he was, blood and clothes and body heat to keep him feeling alive . To keep him human. 

Shanks doesn’t sleep for a long while. 

-//-//- –//–//–

His whole body aches . 

It’s the first coherent thought Mihawk has had for the last… amount of time. If he had to guess exacts he’d say around three months, and honestly? Consciousness is awful . For starters, he doesn’t know where he is. He’s no longer in that leaky basement those people called a prison, but a short scan of his body reveals that he can still feel the weight of the sea stone cuffs rubbing raw against his wrists. 

But he’s warm. 

He hasn’t been warm in a long time. The cell hadn’t been warm, and judging by the fluttering in his stomach he’s been warm for a while now. It makes his body lethargic and his thoughts sluggish, his haki (which he should be using ) a distant and slippery concept. Where is he?

He shifts experimentally, rolling his shoulders and bending his spine this way and that. He can move freely enough, but he finds that there’s a weight on his waist and softness around his head. He’s in a bed of all things. The realisation makes him sigh, breathing deep to fill his lungs with what he hopes to be fresh air– he jolts . 

Holy—

Holy gods —

His mouth floods with saliva as something heavenly spills across his tongue and nose. A taste that he knows but has never experienced to this intensity . His breathing stutters and he snaps open his eyes to a quiet, dark room. 

Gods, what is that? 

Where is he? 

Who is holding him —

Finally his haki does its job, Mihawks’ senses twisting rather violently to the muted presence at his back and he feels the shock of recognition like a physical strike.

Red hair. 

Scars. 

A frame too large to be anyone else. 

“A–Aka- gami? ” Mihawk rasps. Fuck, his throat is so dry . 

He’s thirsty. He’s hungry . Damn it. Damn it . What the hell is he doing here? He has to— he really should just—

He rolls over and buries his face into the junction of Shanks’ shoulder. 

Bad idea bad idea bad idea.  

But he’s starving . He’s been starving for weeks now, and Red Hair is right there— He knows Shanks could take it, knows Mihawk would never be enough to kill him. He shouldn’t. Oh gods he shouldn’t but–

His body makes the choice for him. 

His jaw snaps open, his teeth so sharp they cut his bottom lip as they open, locking onto Shanks’ throat. 

First, the skin tightens. Then it punctures, splitting apart like a cold, crisp grape. He feels Shanks jolt awake the second blood floods his mouth, but it’s too late.

Mihawks’ mind skids to a halt. 

It is… the most addicting blood he has ever tasted. It is powerful , red-electric in a way he’s never been able to consume before. He can’t even think over his ugly instincts, telling him to drain this creature dry – to keep it alive so he can feed on it forever– to stop now before he kills his oldest–

A fierce grip makes itself known in his hair and the pressure burns .

“…awk! Mihawk! Hey, listen to me Hawk-eyes! Snap out of it! ”

He does, rather forcefully. 

His other senses come rushing back as his head is torn from Red Hair’s shoulder.

Their positions have changed; Mihawk is flat on his back, squished in between the less-than-luxurious pillows Red Hair somehow enjoys. The emperor is sitting on him, breathing hard, his hand pressing against the still-bleeding wound Mihawk has inflicted upon him. 

Any thoughts Mihawk tries to muster up are lazy with pleasure, Red Hair’s blood sliding down into every part of him, soothing his muscles and healing some internal wounds. He gazes up at his companion, mildly enjoying the panic that’s blown Shanks’ eyes into a wide frenzy. His hair is mussed, falling in strands over his face. He’s speaking. Oh , Mihawk should tune in, shouldn’t he?

“ –Come on Hawk-eyes, tell me you’re awake,” Shanks says, a little desperate. It takes considerable effort for Mihawk to focus on that, on the words that are so uncharacteristically strained from Red Hair’s mouth. 

“You’re looking at me,” Shanks continues, “can you actually see me though? Please say something after biting me, it’ll make me feel better. Come on Hawk-eyes, can you even hear me—?”

“Be quiet ,” Mihawk rasps. Shanks’ face lights up, an obnoxious grin splitting his face.

“Oh seas, you’re awake. You’re— you’re conscious thank the seas . Mihawk, what the hell happened ?”

Poison. Paralysis. Torture. Kidnapping. Restraints. Bloodletting. Starvation. Hunger. Mindless murder. Slaughtering. 

“…I was careless,” he ends up admitting, and doesn’t say anything further even as Shanks waits for him to continue. It’s a bit disconcerting, honestly. Shanks has eyes that match his hair, red like blood.

“ …Found you in a river,” Shanks says slowly, “unresponsive and cold as death. You remember any of that?”

Mihawk shakes his head no. Shanks continues.

“Yeah you seemed pretty out of it. I had to pelt you with rocks,” he looks ridiculously smug about that, “half-drowned myself trying to get to you.”

Shanks brought his hand to Mihawks’ face, stroking his bloody fingers against Mihawks’ cheek. Tenderly. Mihawk turned his nose into Shanks’ hand and pressed his tongue flat against his palm. 

Shanks says softly, “you called me by name— the way you say it, in your language.”

That makes Mihawk pause. 

“Won’t you say it again?”

“And why should I entertain your whims of fancy?”

Red Hair leans down and brings the smell of drying blood with him. Then he falls to the side, making them both bounce as the mattress bows, and Shanks lets out a long sigh. 

“Well, for one I saved your life.”

Mihawk scoffs. 

“And then afterwards, you attacked your saviour in his sleep. How cruel you are Hawk-eyes.”

Shanks has this nasty habit of gazing lovingly into Mihawk’s eyes. He knows what he’s looking at, it’s never been a secret how much Red Hair adores Mihawk’s eyes. 

‘ Gold ,’ he had said, ‘ what more could a pirate ever want? ’

He threads a hand through Mihawk’s hair and pulls their faces together. Mihawk shuts his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by the warmth, the smell and the lingering taste of Red Hair’s blood on his tongue. Shanks kisses him, softly and without intrusion, and Mihawk feels the isolation of 3 months slam into him at once. He presses himself fully into the Emperor's embrace and kisses him hard. Shanks indulges him, even when the gentle touch becomes too much, and Mihawk feels his body begin to shake. Three months. It wasn’t Hell, but he doesn’t have to go through Hell to miss and crave being cared for. 

“ Akagami ,” Mihawk breathes when they break away and he feels Red Hair shudder. 

“It must’ve been bad,” Shanks says, “what they did to you. You’re shaking, Hawk-eyes.”

“Don’t use such an impersonal name,” he hisses, “ Akagami , commit to your caretaking.”

Shanks smiles. “Dracule,” he mumbles into Mihawk’s throat, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I wouldn’t have been. If you hadn’t found me,” Mihawk confesses and Shanks stills. “You haven’t asked. About me biting you. Did you know?”

“I… guessed. For a while.”

“They starved me.”

“Who did?”

Mihawk shifts against the bed, his brain moving normally and retrieving the memories he’d lost. He licks his lips, eyeing the still-bleeding wound on Red Hairs’ shoulder. 

“The marines–”

“Got the better of you? ”

“It was Akainu ,” Mihawk snaps. “They were hunting me as soon as the Warlord contracts were null and void. I had little time to prepare, and finding a safe way off the island for Perona was a hassle.”

“Your ghost daughter?”

Mihawk levels him a look that just makes Shanks laugh.

“Come on Hawk-eyes. I know a little something about adopting wayward kids. That girl is your ward, isn’t she? And the boy–”

“Yes. Fine . My wards they are, if that appeases you.”

“It does. Akainu ?”

Mihawk exhales. “I had grown complacent. I’ve had no real challenge for so long that, faced with a true threat, I made a mistake. I can’t tell you what it was, but next thing I knew they had me in– in these .” He clanks the sea-stone cuffs against each other. “The government knew– knows. About my… condition.”

“The vampirism.”

“Yes. That. The undead are in mild cousinhood with the concept of devils, therefore weakened by the sea and the like.”

“But I’ve seen you swim?”

“Mother Ocean doesn’t hate me the way she does the demons. I can still swim, it simply drains me. And the sea-stone has made my senses dull.”

Shanks runs a hand tenderly over the skin just above where the sea-stone cuffs sit. 

“It’s got a lock. We can make a key, easy as. They’ll be off before tomorrow ends.”

It shouldn’t make Mihawk as warm as it does.

“They tortured me. For information I do not have.”

“What kinda info?”

Mihawk slides his eyes away.

“About you. And your children.”

“What, Luffy and Uta?”

“Do you have other children? Wait– I do not want to know.”

That makes Shanks laugh which ignites the suspicion that perhaps Red Hair does have more adopted children wreaking havoc across the seas. It would make sense. Shanks has that effect on the younger generation.

“In any case, I became useless to them after the first month–”

“The first? ”

“ –so the last two were purely because they had no transport strong enough to hold me. Your son has been a real handful for them.”

“Wait, Mihawk. Three months? You’ve been without food for three months ?”

“That’s what I said, yes.”

“Holy shit– how are you alive ?”

“I’m not , Red Hair. I died a long while ago.”

That shuts him up like a salt clam. Shanks’ jaw clenches so hard Mihawk can see the veins on his neck push against his skin. His teeth ache. 

“You’re still hungry.”

“I am always hungry, Akagami .”

Then, Red Hair does something… mindlessly stupid . With his one arm, he grabs Mihawk by the waist and pulls him on top of himself. The vertigo is nauseating, and the cuffs make balancing on Red Hair’s waist difficult. The second he looks down to berate the stupid captain, Shanks tilts his head and offers the other side of his neck.

“No,” Mihawk says immediately, “Shanks no –”

“Why not? You can barely sit up, let alone swing a sword– let alone swing Yoru .”

“Red Hair. Stop.”

“You’ve already bitten me. What’s the hang-up?”

“It could kill you. I could kill you.”

“Nah, I don’t believe you.”

“ What ? It is not a matter of belief –”

“I want you to. C’mon, please?”

“Why are you– why are you begging for this?”

“Oh you’d love to get me begging, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh fine! Fine. I won’t pretend I don’t need this.”

Two beats of Red Hairs’ heart. That’s all it takes. Mihawk descends in a violent snap on his neck because he is frustrated . Shanks jolts under him, a tense grunt escaping his clenched jaw. Then he relaxes with a full-body shudder. Mihawk drinks his fill and then some, because he can and he’s starving and Shanks had insisted . He savours it, trying to discern what makes Shanks’ blood so much more than anyone else’s. Shanks’ hand settles on the nape of Mihawks’ neck and he feels more than hears Red Hair groan.

“This ‘s weird ,” he mumbles, “definitely the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Mihawk doubts that. Despite its scarcity, vampirism isn’t actually very rare , it’s just not talked about. There are only downsides to being a vampire in a world with devils and seraphim, and Mihawk is lucky he was turned so late in life ( see: Thriller Bark ), otherwise the government would have hunted him like a dog. Much like they’ve just done. 

Damn .

He can’t stop his thoughts from wandering to Perona, how scared she had been for him even though any real danger posed was for her sake. He thinks about Roronoa Zoro, who was so close to being worth a real fight. Two youngsters he considers his wards, even if he insisted otherwise.

The hand on his neck tightens just a fraction, and Mihawk takes the warning for what it is, unlocking his jaw. He feels better, and he’s mildly pissed off about that. He hates it when Red Hair is right– especially when he has to admit it so blatantly. Mihawk doesn’t move very far, panting over the wound. He licks at it, watching as it heals. He can’t tell if it’s Shanks’ body or his saliva, but either way—

“You didn’t kill me,” Shanks laughs, shaking Mihawk as he does so. “Were you trying?”

“You would be dead if I was.”

Shanks grins lazily, a red flush to his cheeks, even though his skin should be pale and waxy from losing that much blood. He shifts, and where Mihawk is sitting on his waist he feels why . He straightens up, arching an unimpressed brow.

“ Really? ” he drawls.

“Really what?”

“You’re hard , Red Hair.”

“Yeah?”

“From me drinking from you?”

“Nah. Well, maybe a little. But it’s mainly just you. Having you back with me.”

A warm hand rests itself on Mihawks’ waist. He’s ridiculous. Mihawk knows how Shanks feels about him– about the people he’s close to in general. He gives all of himself– in fighting, in parenting, in fucking etc– and Mihawk appreciates that about him. But, right now ?

“You’re ridiculous . How could this possibly be a time for your dick to take over your brain?”

“Not much up here to begin with. You don’t have to do anything about it, don’t worry.” Shanks says, sobering up from whatever daze Mihawk eating him had created.

Mihawk grits his teeth. 

“Good. Because I am far too exhausted to play with you right now.”

Mihawk shifts off of him, collapsing back onto his back and silently cursing the sea stone cuffs as they rub against his wrists. There is a blessed moment of silence where Mihawks’ mind is blank because he chooses so. 

Then Red Hair breaks that silence with a soft, “what were you thinking about? When you were eating?”

“What?”

“You stopped for a moment. I felt it. What were you thinking about.”

“You’re just all questions tonight, aren’t you Red Hair?”

“Aw come on, no more Akegimi?”

“ Akagami ,” Mihawk corrects sharply even if it means giving Shanks what he wants, “and I was thinking of Perona.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm. I know where she should be, but I doubt that girl could have stayed put for very long.” 

“We should go get her” Red Hair suggests, “when you’re recovered.”

“I will recover in less than a day once these cuffs are removed. You said you had a way?”

“Oh! Yeah, Limejuice is making a key right now. It was tricky getting a cast of the lock, but we managed. Like I said, you’ll be out of them before tomorrow afternoon.”

It’s a comforting thought.

Shanks continues, “we should go see Zoro too.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m being serious.” Shanks shifts to his side so his healed wound is obscured by pillows. He observes Mihawk with a disgustingly fond gaze. “I know where Luffy is, and that boy isn’t going to be far away from his captain,” Shanks grins, “he’s wonderfully loyal that way.”

“You’re serious.”

“That’s what I said.”

“By the gods, you’re insane. You do know that currently Strawhat Luffy has you as his next target–”

“ Wrong . He’s after Blackbeard now, remember?”

“ –which is beside the point , since Roronoa will challenge me the moment he senses me.”

“Listen– and don't take offence to this because you’re being really nice to me right now–”

“ This is nice–?”

“ –but I can’t imagine him challenging you while you’re like this .”

Mihawk bristles and Shanks– Shanks shushes him .

“See? What’d I say? Don’t take offence, Hawk-eyes. He’s a good swordsman. He won’t fight you–”

“ –like this . You’ve said .”

A pause. Then;

“...I would like to see them.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

-//-//-

“Got the key captain!”

“Good man Limejuice! Oi! Mihawk!”

Mihawk, who had been gorging himself on the Red Hair Pirate’s water supply, sighs. Now the next day, midday, Shanks has abandoned Mihawk to check on his crew. Dressed in the rags Shanks calls clothes Mihawk wanders out from the storage belly of Shank’s ship (he refuses to call it by its name) and squints his eyes against the light. He had been saved from the usually barrage of questions that normally accompany someone finding out about vampirism due to Shanks’ morals.

‘If you don’t wanna tell me then I won’t ask.’

The righteous red night of the sea. Mihawk is thankful, even more so now than when he woke up. Because of all the people in the world to have found Mihawk on his second deathbed, his Akagami is the best outcome.

He walks down onto the beach, appreciating the tact Shanks’ crew has not to ogle or stare at him. He can never be too sure just how mature or developed the men Shanks associates with actually are. In front of Shanks is who Mihawk assumes to be Limejuice, holding a metal key that spells Mihawks salvation. Shanks spies him, and smiles.

“Hey! Look at you, up and about. Feel good to be alive again?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Ah ha! I can see you’re just itching to get those things off. Well come on then, Lime finished the key hours ago.”

The sand is warm and the distance is short. Mihawk holds his wrists up to Limejuice, but the pirate just gives him a wary grin and hands the key to Shanks.

“Not gettin’ in th’ middle of this, no way captain,” he says by way of explanation. Mihawk arches a brow, wondering what Limejuice could mean by this . Surely it’s no secret in Shanks’ crew what he is, but he wouldn’t have thought them… afraid . Mihawk just loses a breath and pivots to Shanks.

“Remove them.”

Shanks’ smile turns snake-like, and as he leans down to do so, he breathes into the space between them, “of course, princess.”

The words register as the cuffs click open, and open wounds be damned, Mihawk snaps his hand forward and crushes Shanks’ throat. He feels the rush of freedom, his nails elongating into claws sharper than needles and his senses dialling themselves up to one thousand percent. 

“ Watch your tongue, Shanks ,” he hisses, a muddle of confusing emotions ripping into Mihawks body. The cuffs had dulled a lot more than he initially realised– and Shanks was goading him . Distantly he noticed the Red Hair pirates were watching them. Shanks had one hand on Mihawks’ wrist and the other up in the air, signalling everything was fine. 

Fine? At Mihawk’s mercy?

“C’r’full,” Shanks chokes out, “ ‘f the bite didn’ k’ll me, th’n th’s– w’ll –!!”

It’s a ridiculous claim. Mihawk would never kill Shanks. He squeezes harder. Beads of blood well around the tips of Mihawks’ claws and run down his fingers, soaking into the shredded skin of his wrist. It burns .

He drops Shanks like a hot stone and trips on his own feet trying to step away from him. He hits the sand, and the grains get into his wrists .

“They’re not healing ,” he gasps, “ why aren’t they healing?! ”

“Oi! Hawk-eyes! Permission to approach, mister?”

Mihawk lifts his head to the Red Hair’s medic, Hongo, with Shanks in tow.

“Hongo I don’t–”

“Shut it, captain. Your bird here is fuckin’ up his wounds and I won’t have it.”

Shanks sighs. Then, with a guilty look on his face that has all sorts of alarms ringing in Mihawks’ head, he shrugs and says, “alright then.”

Shanks’ haki hits him like a train and Mihawk is out like a light.

-//-//-

“ …sure he’ll forgive you, captain. I mean, it was for his own good!”

“Yeah well, let’s hope he sees it that way.”

For a second time, Mihawk wakes up. It is not the charm he’d hoped it to be, however there are a few niceties he didn’t have the first time around. He is not hungry, which means he can’t have been out any longer than a day. The smell of the ocean is on the breeze, which means he can’t have been taken inside the ship again. His bed is swaying, a hammoc strung between the tropical trees. Mihawk cracks open an eye.

Shanks is already looking at him, a rightfully guilty expression imprinted enough to be a scar. His crew is around him, also at attention, and Mihawk realised Shanks must have sensed his waking up. 

“Bastard,” he spits, “using your fucking haki like that on purpose –”

The Red Hair crew groans and to Mihawks utter surprise, gold coins start to be exchanged between them.

“See I told you he’d be pissed! Obviously you greenie pirates have too much faith in Rouxs’ story telling.’

“But we did him a massive fucking favour? You’d think he’d be grateful, ex-warlord or not.”

“Sorry about them,” Shanks says, stepping forward. Mihawk feels his gaze focus on the Emporer, because Shanks has reminded him that is who he is . Someone on par with Whitebeard, who could fight Kaido and live. Mihawk feels the anger drain from his mind. His emotions and senses have regulated themselves and he loathes to wonder if it was the shock of strong and stable haki that did it. 

“It’s no issue,” he grumbles, turning his head away, “they’re right to be surprised. I should be thankning you and your crew.”

“Aww Hawkey, you don’t have to–”

“Shanks.”

Mihawk doesn’t look at his oldest friend, because he fears he’s not strong enough to speak his heart at this moment. So instead he gazes across the ocean, his haki stretched as far as it can go, searching for his treasures. 

“What you said, about finding Perona. You meant it?”

Shanks makes a sound of confusion. “Yeah! Yeah, of course I meant it. Do you still… with me? And my crew?”

There’s a deeper question there, one Shanks has asked him many times before.

Join me? Please, Dracule, be with me?

Mihawk has always denied him, because he was young and foolish and would not submit himself to anyone , no matter how powerful or pure of heart. But now that he is older and has lost almost everything, he knows that’s not what Shanks is asking of him. 

Stay with me. Let me care for you, because I love you and it could be so brilliant if only you’d stay.

“I want to find my daughter,” he says slowly, “and to do that I need your crew. So I will stay. With you.”

“You– you will? What about Zoro? Do you still–?”

Mihawk turns to look up at the man who’d haved his life. Shanks has a wet sheen to his eyes, and Mihawk cannot think of a time he’s seen Shanks cry. 

“Akagami,” Mihawk says gently, “I will stay with you.”

And Shanks’ tears curl around his cheeks as the Emporer whoops with a joyous laugh.