Chapter Text
The New World was never a quiet place, but today the air felt particularly heavy. Shanks stood on the deck of the Red Force, his hand resting on the hilt of Gryphon. He wasn't surprised by the encounter; at this level, there were always pirates hungry for the title of Emperor, desperate to carve their names into history by taking his head.
But this particular group, the Phantom Shroud Pirates, were truly getting on his nerves.
Their Captain was a spindly, manic man with wide, rolling eyes and a Devil Fruit power that defied logic. As the battle raged, Shanks’s crew members—veterans who had survived the harshest seas—were collapsing one by one. There were no wounds, no blood; they simply hit the deck, fainted, and fell into a deep, unresponsive sleep.
Shanks narrowed his eyes, his Conqueror’s Haki flickering like a warning flame. He wasn't sure what kind of power this was, but he wasn't backing down. Even if every single one of his men fell, he would stand his ground.
"Step aside, men," Shanks commanded, his voice cutting through the din of clashing steel.
He began to walk toward the enemy Captain. The closer he got, the louder the man’s frantic shouting became. The air around the Emperor began to crackle, his overwhelming Haki crushing the weaker pirates like dry leaves.
The enemy Captain, seeing his crew decimated by mere presence, went into a state of total hysteria. He began a strange, rhythmic hand dance, his belly glowing with an eerie, pulsing light that seemed to suck the color out of the world.
"IF I’M GOING TO DIE, YOU’RE DYING WITH ME, SHANKSSSS!" the man screamed, his voice cracking with desperation.
Shanks didn't wait to see what the glow meant. In a blur of speed that defied the human eye, he vanished and reappeared behind the man. With a single, clean strike, he sliced the Captain’s body in half.
The man coughed up a spray of crimson and slumped to the deck, dead before he hit the wood. Shanks exhaled, thinking the strange chant had died with him. But suddenly, a blinding, white light erupted from the Captain’s corpse. It swirled around Shanks, warm and suffocating, before vanishing into nothingness.
"What was that for?" Lucky Roo asked, shaking off a bit of grogginess as he approached.
"I don't know," Shanks replied, sheathing his sword. "But it didn't change the fact that we won again."
The crew erupted into cheers, the tension of the battle melting into the familiar rowdiness of victory. They picked up their fainted comrades, carrying them to safety while others swarmed the enemy ship to "liberate" their treasures.
"GET ON BOARD, MEN!" Shanks shouted, feeling the adrenaline begin to fade into a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.
"AYEE!" the crew roared back.
After a long cleanup and tending to the wounded, the Red Force became a floating festival. They partied with all their hearts, celebrating another day of survival. Shanks, as usual, led the charge, drinking harder than he had in years. The weight of being an Emperor, the worry for Luffy, the pride for Jax—it all dissolved into the sake. Eventually, the world spun, and Shanks passed out right there on the deck.
,,
The darkness of sleep was deep, but a soft, persistent voice began to pull him back to the surface. It was a voice he hadn't heard in years—not like this. It didn't sound like a rival, and it certainly wasn't the voice of his son.
"Sh..."
"Nk..."
"SHANKS, WAKE UP!"
With a sudden jolt, Shanks’s eyes snapped open. A flash of annoyance surged through him. Who would dare wake him up when they knew he’d been wasted the night before? He was ready to growl a command, but another shout cut him off.
"SHANKS! WHAT WERE YOU DOING GETTING YOURSELF KILLED?!"
The world came into focus, and Shanks froze. His heart stopped, then restarted with a violent thud.
Standing over him was Buggy.
But it wasn't the Emperor Buggy with the massive cape and the loud-mouthed crew. This was the Buggy he always yearned for. The younger version, with his blue hair tied back, his face free of the lines of age, and those wide, expressive eyes filled with genuine worry and white-hot anger.
Shanks was stunned. He didn't know where he was or how this was possible, but his soul screamed with the need to reach out.
"Buggy?" Shanks whispered, his voice trembling. "Wha—what happened?"
"YOU TOOK THE FUCKING POISON, REMEMBER?" Buggy shrieked, his red nose nearly touching Shanks’s. "You jumped in the way of that dart! You almost died, you absolute idiot! Do you have any idea how much work it is to keep you alive?!"
I did? Shanks thought, his mind racing. I don't remember this... I don't remember being poisoned on a ship.
But he didn't care. He didn't care about the logic or the Devil Fruit or the past. What he saw was the person he loved most in the world, standing right in front of him, scolding him with that voice he wanted to keep hearing forever.
Without thinking, Shanks reached out with both hands and grabbed Buggy’s waist, pulling the startled clown down into his lap.
"HEY! WHAT THE—?!" Buggy squawked, his head popping off his neck in surprise. "Are you still dizzy?! Let go of me, you red-haired leach!"
"Just let me stay like this for a minute," Shanks mumbled, burying his face in Buggy’s shoulder. He could feel the warmth of Buggy’s body, the scent of sea salt and cheap greasepaint.
It was real. He was back. And this time, he wasn't going to let the world pull them apart.
Buggy’s head, currently hovering three feet above his own shoulders, was wearing an expression of pure, unadulterated scandal.
His detached hands were flailing in the air, trying to pry Shanks’s fingers off his waist, but it was like trying to move solid iron.
"SHANKS!" Buggy shrieked, his face turning a shade of red that put his nose to shame. "Have you finally lost the last two marbles rolling around in your skull?! The doctor said the poison might cause hallucinations, but he didn't say it would turn you into a CLINGY OCTOPUS!"
Shanks didn't move. He couldn't. The smell of Buggy—not the expensive, gold-dusted scent of the future Emperor, but the smell of cheap soap, gunpowder, and the salt of the East Blue—was hitting him like a physical wave. He felt the steady thrum of Buggy’s heart against his chest. It was a rhythm he hadn't felt in decades.
"You're so loud," Shanks murmured, a small, sleepy smile breaking across his face. "I forgot how much you yell when you’re worried."
"I AM NOT WORRIED!" Buggy’s head dived down, snapping back onto his neck with a violent click. He grabbed Shanks’s face with both hands, squishing his cheeks until Shanks looked like a confused pufferfish. "I am ANGRY! Do you know how much a funeral costs?! Do you know how much paperwork the Captain would have made me fill out if you died on my watch?! You’re a liability, you red-haired brat!"
Shanks looked into those wide, furious eyes. In the future, Buggy looked at him with a mix of rivalry and deep-seated resentment. But here? There was a spark of genuine, terrified affection buried under the insults.
"Sorry," Shanks said, his voice dropping to that deep, resonant tone he used as a Yonko—the voice that commanded fleets.
Buggy froze. He blinked, his grip on Shanks’s face loosening. "Whoa. What was that? Why did you sound like... like a grown-up for a second? That was creepy. Stop it."
Shanks let go of Buggy’s waist, allowing the flustered clown to scramble back to the other side of the small roo.. Shanks looked around.
They were in a simple supply dinghy, a few crates of oranges and hardtack scattered around them. The Oro Jackson was visible in the distance, a majestic silhouette against the setting sun.
He looked at his left hand. He opened and closed his fist. The sensation was intoxicating.
I have time, Shanks thought, a fierce, burning resolve lighting up his soul. I don’t know how I got here, but I’m not going to let him swallow that fruit alone. I’m not going to let us break up at Loguetown. And I’m sure as hell not letting that dart hit him next time.
"Hey, Buggy," Shanks said, leaning back against the wooden hull, his eyes tracking Buggy’s every move.
"What now, Captain hallucinating-red-haired-idiot?" Buggy was busy aggressively rearranging a pile of ropes to avoid looking at Shanks.
"When we get back to the ship... let's go to the crow's nest tonight. Just us. I want to tell you about a dream I had."
Buggy stopped his frantic rope-coiling and looked at him suspiciously. "A dream? Is it about treasure? Because if it’s not about a legendary hoard of gold, I don't want to hear it."
"It's about the greatest treasure in the world," Shanks said, his gaze softening.
Buggy huffed, crossing his arms and turning his back, but Shanks could see the tips of his ears turning pink. "Fine. Whatever. But if you try to hug me again, I’m stabbing you with my dagger. I mean it, Shanks! I have standards!"
He's so cute. Shanks thought, he really loves buggy acting like that.
As they rowed back to the massive ship, the crew cheered for their "brave" cabin boys. Rayleigh stood at the railing, a knowing smirk on his face, while Roger let out a booming laugh that rattled Shanks’s very bones.
"Back from the dead, are we, Shanks?!" Roger roared, clapping a massive hand on the boy's shoulder as he stepped onto the deck. "Buggy here was ready to jump overboard to save you! He was crying like a fountain!"
"I WAS NOT!" Buggy screamed, his nose practically glowing. "It was the sea spray! It was an allergic reaction to his stupidity!"
Shanks looked at Roger—his mentor, his king. He felt a lump in his throat. He wanted to warn him. He wanted to tell him about the illness, about the end, about the execution. But as he looked at the vibrant, healthy man in front of him, he realized he had to be careful. He couldn't break the timeline... yet.
"I’m fine, Captain," Shanks said, his eyes shining with a strange, ancient wisdom. "Just glad to be home."
That night, under a blanket of stars that seemed brighter than any he had seen in the New World, Shanks sat in the crow's nest, waiting. The hatch opened, and a blue-haired head popped through.
"This better be a good story, Shanks," Buggy grumbled, pulling a warm blanket around his shoulders as he sat down next to him. "I missed my favorite dessert for this."
Shanks looked at the boy beside him—the boy who would one day become a legend in his own right, the person who would have a son named Jax with him in another life. He reached out, not for a hug this time, but just to rest his hand near Buggy’s.
"In my dream," Shanks began, his voice a low whisper in the night wind, "we were together until we were old. We had a son. He was magnificent, Buggy. He was beautiful, and loud, and he had your nose for gold."
Buggy stared at him, the sarcasm dying on his lips. "A son? With me? Shanks... you really did take too much poison."
"Maybe," Shanks smiled, looking up at the North Star. "But it was the best dream I ever had. And I’m going to make sure it comes true."
The night air in the crow's nest was crisp, the high-altitude wind whistling through the rigging of the Oro Jackson. Buggy was huddled in a thick wool blanket, his knees pulled up to his chest, looking like a very grumpy, very blue-haired cocoon.
"Okay, okay," Buggy interrupted, waving a detached hand dismissively in Shanks’s face. "Enough about the 'son' and the 'growing old' stuff. That’s boring and weirdly sentimental. If you’re going to tell me a dream, tell me about the gold! Was there a mountain of jewels? Did we find the Captain’s stash? Tell me I was wearing a crown made of pure emeralds!"
Shanks looked at him, his heart aching with a mixture of nostalgia and sheer, unadulterated affection. This was the Buggy he remembered—obsessed with the shiny, the tangible, and the expensive.
"You love treasure that much, huh?" Shanks asked softly, leaning back against the wooden railing.
"YES!" Buggy shouted, his eyes turning into literal Berry signs. "Treasure is reliable! Treasure doesn't get sick or jump in front of poison darts! Treasure is beautiful, it’s flashy, and it never talks back! I love treasure more than anything in this world!"
Shanks let out a short, airy laugh. He looked down at his two hands, then back at the boy beside him. "Well, that’s good to know. Because if you love treasure that much, then you must really love me."
Buggy stopped his mid-air hand-waving. He blinked, his nose twitching. "Huh? What does your idiocy have to do with my financial goals?"
"Think about it, Buggy," Shanks said, his voice dropping to a teasing, conspiratorial whisper. "How did I get on this ship? The Captain and Rayleigh found me in a treasure chest at God Valley. I was literally part of the loot."
He leaned in closer, his grin widening as he saw Buggy’s brain gears grinding.
"Technically, I’m an antique. A rare, one-of-a-kind find from a legendary battlefield. So, by your own logic, since I'm 'treasure,' you have to love me. It’s basically a law of the sea."
The silence lasted for exactly three seconds before Buggy’s head performed a 360-degree spin of pure annoyance.
"NICE TRY, YOU RED-HAIRED CON-ARTIST!" Buggy shrieked, shoving Shanks’s face away with a gloved hand. "You?! Treasure?! Don't make me laugh! If they found you in a chest, it was probably because the previous owners were trying to throw you away! You’re not a 'rare find,' you’re a shipping error!"
"I’m serious!" Shanks laughed, dodging a playful (but sharp) jab from Buggy’s elbow. "I came wrapped in silk and surrounded by gold! I’m a premium item!"
"You're a liability!" Buggy huffed, pulling his blanket tighter around him to hide the fact that he was actually smiling. "If you were treasure, I’d have traded you for a decent map and a bag of oranges years ago. No merchant in their right mind would buy a 'Shanks.' He’s too loud, he eats too much, and he has a hero complex that’s bad for the bottom line."
Shanks watched him, his eyes glowing in the dark. You say that now, he thought, but I know you. I know how much you'll cry when I'm gone. I know how much you'll care about our 'Princess' one day.
"Fine, fine," Shanks said, letting the joke go but keeping his gaze fixed on Buggy. "I'm not treasure. I'm just your partner. Is that better?"
Partner in love is more acceptable. Shanks said in his mind.
"It’s... acceptable," Buggy muttered, his voice softening as he looked out at the moonlit waves. "Just don't get any more 'poison hallucinations.' One more 'romantic dream' and I’m charging you a listener's fee."
Shanks stayed quiet for a long time, listening to the steady breathing of the boy beside him. He realized that in this timeline, Buggy hadn't found the map to the underwater treasure yet. He hadn't swallowed the Chop-Chop Fruit. The "breakup" was still years away.
He reached out and, very carefully, let his pinky finger hook around Buggy’s.
Buggy stiffened for a second. He looked down at their hands, then up at Shanks. He didn't pull away. He just let out a long, dramatic sigh.
"You're lucky I'm tired, Shanks. If I had my full energy, I’d kick you out of this nest."
"I know, Buggy," Shanks whispered. "I'm the luckiest guy on the sea."
As the Oro Jackson sailed through the night, Shanks made a silent vow. He was going to save the Captain. He was going to save his arm. But most importantly, he was going to make sure that the "Treasure" Buggy loved most wasn't gold or silver—it was the life they were going to build, together, this time for real.