Chapter Text
"We have a problem."
As Shanks spoke the words, he wearily realized just how often he had been saying them lately—more often than not about those two. Which was frustrating, because the day had started beautifully.
The island the Red Hair pirates had decided to visit was small, a ring of sand and rock wrapped around a thick jungle. Broad-leafed trees crowded close together, their branches heavy with vines, and the air carried the damp, green scent of soil and salt. Shanks remembered first coming here as a boy with Roger’s crew, enchanted by its quiet beauty.
Just beyond the treeline lay a single village, humble but welcoming. Its people had greeted them warmly, wary at first but quick to smile once they had recognized him. They had even warned him of a recent change on the island—though by then, it was already too late.
The red-haired Yonko remerbered the lake at the jungle’s heart that looked almost enchanted. The surface shimmered like glass, and the air carried a soft coolness that promised relief after the heat of the day. It looked untouched, pure... The kind of place that could easily lure two curious men, even if one was a seasoned pirate and the other a former admiral. Especially when Shanks, with complete confidence, had assured them that this island was perfectly safe.
And Shanks was now standing near this small lake, his one hand braced on his hip, expression unusually taut. He exhaled, then turned to the cluster of Red-Hair pirates behind him. His words had pulled every gaze back to the sleeping children. Because on the bank were two small figures, sleeping soundly. Both looked impossibly small, dwarfed by fabric meant for grown men.
Lucky Roux let out a low whistle. "Well, I’ll be damned." He crouched carefully, as to not wake them, and tilted his head. "That’s… Kuzan, isn’t it? And Benn?"
"Last I checked, yes." Shanks muttered, rubbing at his temple.
The crew pressed closer, and Yasopp leaned over with a snort. "Oh, that’s rich. Even as a kid, Benn’s already frowning in his sleep."
"Quiet!" Shanks said sharply, though there was no real bite to it.
The villagers had gone silent behind them, leaving only the hum of the forest and the soft lap of water against the stones. At last, the eldest stepped forward, voice quavering. "We are really sorry we didn't warned you in time. That water hasn’t been safe in years now — cursed by a Devil Fruit user. Anyone who touches the water… becomes a child again, until a week passes."
"So… a week of babysitting?" Yasopp asked with a grin. Shanks’ look silenced him instantly.
"We can’t leave them like this." Lucky Roux said, his arms folded. His usual cheer was muted by the sight of Kuzan’s too-thin wrists sticking out from his coat sleeves.
"They’ll need clothes." Hongo said grimly. "We’ve nothing in their size. Only shirts and pants they’ll drown in."
"We’ll make do." Shanks said.
Yasopp, now serious, gave a sharp nod. “He’s right. And the safest place for them is at sea. If this truly wears off in a week, then we only need to keep them out of harm’s way until then.”
Seven days. Seven days of keeping two children safe, fed, and unafraid. Benn would be the easier, Shanks thought. At ten, the boy had still been living with his parents, who were part of a crew on a merchant ship. He’d believe a story about being swept overboard in a storm. Even as a child, Benn had been pragmatic — he’d roll with it.
Kuzan was different.
Shanks realized, with a faint twinge of guilt, how little he knew of the man before the Marines. Kuzan rarely spoke of anything that came before his Devil Fruit, before the uniform. At least at this age, he had not eaten the ice-ice fruit. There would be no accidental blizzards, no frozen deck or crewmates to worry about.
Shanks knelt, slipping off his own cape to drape it over Benn, tugging it higher around the boy’s shoulders before settling Kuzan’s collar closer to his chin. He exhaled through his nose, quiet but steady.
Kuzan’s height — while a little above average for a boy at that age— gave no hint of the towering man he’d become. But his thinness… none of them liked the look of it.
"He’s all skin and bone." Lucky Roux muttered, shaking his head. "Like he’s missed too many meals already."
"Not unusual for a kid from South Blue." Hongo said softly, though his frown lingered.
"Then it’s settled. We leave the island now. No docking until the week is through. No distractions, no fights." Shanks’ tone was even, but final.
The crew nodded.
The Red-Hairs moved quickly, wasting no time. Lucky Roux scooped Kuzan up with practiced ease, while Shanks gathered Benn against his chest. The boys barely stirred as the crew cut back through the jungle, the quiet rustle of their only company.
When they finally reached the Red Force, two mattresses were placed in the crew’s dorm for them, and they carefully laid both children on them.
Hongo rummaged through their wardrobes until he found the smallest pants and shirts they had, and with Yasopp’s help they eased the children out of their now too big clothes.
Even so, the fabric swallowed them whole. Rope belts were tied snugly around their waists to keep the trousers from sliding, and sleeves were rolled until their small hands emerged.
Still, they looked impossibly small — two strong men shrunk into frail bodies swimming in clothes that didn’t belong to them. When they were settled, Shanks drew his cape back over Benn, tucking it around him like a blanket, while Kuzan was swaddled in the folds of his own coat.
Benn stirred first, letting out a soft groan before blinking blearily at the heavy cape draped over him. He sat up, his hands fisted into the fabric, and then his sharp, intelligent eyes snapped up to meet Shanks’. They were too small, too young, and yet the same calculating stare Benn had always carried was already there.
"Who are you?" the boy demanded, voice thin but steady.
Shanks smiled, keeping his expression gentle, reassuring. "Don’t you remember anything?"
Benn frowned. "Remember what?"
"The storm." Shanks said smoothly. "Your boat got caught in it and we think you were thrown overboard. We found you adrift."
The boy’s brow furrowed deeper. He clutched the oversized cape tighter, his mouth thinning into a line. "That’s not— My parents— I want to call them!"
Crap. Shanks’ stomach dropped as he watched the boy’s face twist, panic welling fast.
He knelt down beside him, lowering his voice, trying to make himself seem less imposing. "I’ll try to contact them, okay? I promise I’ll tell them to meet us in a week. Is that alright with you?"
Benn hesitated. His shoulders sagged just slightly, the calculating look dimming into something smaller, sadder. "They’re not gonna be mad, right? That I got lost?"
The question hit Shanks like a cannonball. Forcing a chuckle, he reached out and ruffled the boy’s messy dark hair with his hand. "Mad? Nah. They’ll just be glad you’re in one piece."
For a moment, Benn seemed to relax at the touch. His eyelids drooped, and he let himself sink back against the mattress, losing the fight against sleep.
Shanks kept the smile fixed on his face until the boy’s breathing evened out. Only then did he glance over his shoulder at his crew. Uneasy expressions stared back at him, silent but heavy with unspoken thoughts.
A week. He just had to keep the boys believing this story for a week.
Another groan stirred the silence.
Unlike Benn’s dazed confusion, Kuzan’s eyes snapped open sharp and wary. He sat bolt upright, his oversized coat slipping from his shoulders, his thin frame rigid like a coiled spring.
He didn’t ask who they were, or where he was — as if he had already made up his mind. His gaze darted from Shanks to Mihawk, to the looming pirates behind them, cataloguing threat after threat.
His breath hitched when he spotted Benn asleep beside Shanks. Then his eyes dropped to the rope-belted trousers and shirt hanging loose on his body. Realization dawned — these weren’t his clothes.
Fear flashed quick and hard across his face.
"Why’m I here?" His voice was low but sharp with suspicion, enough to make Shanks almost wince. This wasn’t going to go as smoothly as with Benn.
"There was a storm." Shanks explained with as much conviction as he could muster. "You were probably caught in it and we..."
"You’re lying!" Kuzan snapped. His voice cracked, but his glare didn’t falter. "Let me go!" He shoved the coat off entirely and stood barefoot on the wood. He was shivering, but his small fists were clenched tight, his whole posture daring them to come closer.
"Easy." Shanks said, keeping his voice calm. "We’ll reach the next island in a week, alright? It’s a good place. I promise we’ll leave you there."
Kuzan didn’t answer, but disbelief was written all over him. "Where’s my stuff?" he demanded suddenly.
Shanks blinked. "Your stuff?"
"Yes!" His voice rose, cracking but fierce. "My bag, my umbrella and my clothes! Where are they?"
The crew exchanged uneasy glances. Shanks rubbed the back of his neck. "We didn’t find anything else, kid. Just you."
Kuzan’s eyes narrowed, his shoulders curling forward. He looked like an animal about to strike. "No!" The shout ripped raw from his throat. "It’s mine! You can’t just take it!"
The words cut through the room like a blade. His chest heaved, knuckles white, desperation trembling through every line of his small body. No one spoke, and even Yasopp’s usual smirk slipped away. Lucky Roux shifted, his hands twitching at his sides as though it took effort not to crouch and soothe the boy.
Shanks swallowed hard. This wasn’t the man he knew — the quiet, unhurried admiral who had walked away from the Marines. This was the boy beneath him, stripped bare: thin, defensive, feral, clinging to scraps because scraps were all he had ever known.
It was Hongo who finally broke the silence. "We didn’t see a bag or an umbrella when we found you. But if they’re yours, we’ll look again. Nobody’s taking them from you."
Kuzan’s glare flickered, the fight in him wavering but not gone. His chin trembled once before he snapped it still, crossing his thin arms tight over his chest. "…You better." he muttered, voice harsh and brittle, and everyone nodded almost as one.
Because while they had seen and understood Benn’s confusion, a child’s mind trying to stitch the world back into something he could grasp, Kuzan was showing them a ghost of a past he had never spoken of. And it told them more than words ever could.
The Red Force rocked gently, wood creaking softly with the steady swell of the sea. Shanks lay sprawled on his side of the bed, Mihawk beside him.
Dinner had been… passable. Benn, once he had woken up, had clung to Yasopp’s every word, wide-eyed at the sharpshooter’s tales of duels and narrow escapes. His laughter, high and unguarded, had been a strange echo of the man he would become.
Kuzan, on the other hand, had vanished the moment no one was looking, retreating into a storage room and barricading himself in. Not even Shanks’ promises of food had drawn him out. And when Shanks had tried to reach for him, to grab him to get him to eat...
The red-haired captain flexed his right hand, the crescent marks vivid against his skin. "He’s a biter." he muttered, holding it up so the lantern caught the raw dents.
Mihawk’s gaze flicked to the wound, his mouth curving in the faintest smirk. "I’m fairly certain Roger is rolling in his grave with laughter right now."
Shanks snorted, tossing his arm over his face. "I’ll have you know I was adorable and well-behaved as a child." He paused. "Well, mostly." Another pause. "Alright, maybe I should call Rayleigh for a few tips."
One of Mihawk’s brows arched. "He will enjoy your suffering, you know that."
Shanks groaned. "Yeah, probably." He dragged his arm down, eyes settling on the ceiling. The levity ebbed, replaced by the thought that had been gnawing at him since the lake. "He’s going to try to run, you know."
"Undoubtedly." Mihawk’s tone was calm, clinical. "He already behaves like a cornered stray, so flight will be his first instinct."
"Which is why we stay at sea." Shanks said firmly. "We can’t let him slip away. Kid’s half bones already — he wouldn’t last a night on his own."
"Unfortunately he won’t be nearly as reasonable as his adult self." Mihawk admitted with a sigh.
Shanks barked a humorless laugh. “Reasonable? Kuzan’s never been easy, but at least the man talks." He lifted his bitten hand again, staring at the marks. “This boy is all bark and bite.” His voice dropped, quieter. “I’ve known him a while now, Mihawk, and I never asked what came before the Marines.”
Mihawk stayed silent at this, simply studying him quietly, his gold eyes sharp and unreadable. Shanks huffed out a breath, rolling onto his side to face him. He tried to smile, but it came out tired. “It’s going to be a very long week, isn’t it?”
Mihawk reached out, his fingers brushing the back of Shanks’ bitten hand, steady and grounding. “Yes. But you’ve weathered worse seas.”
For once, Shanks didn’t argue.