Chapter Text
“Ray, look, I found another one!” Roger shouts, emerging from the bowels of the enemy’s ship.
Rayleigh sighs, already preparing himself for whatever other one Roger found. Hopefully, it will be something useful, but Rayleigh doubts that a ship of rookies from the North Blue would have something like a Poneglyph on board. Those are typically too large to move anyhow. He turns, his head pre-emptively aching, and freezes.
Rayleigh stares. Roger stares back. The small child in Roger’s arms trembles in palpable fear. Around them, the Roger Pirates, currently spread across the two ships, fall silent.
Well, Rayleigh thinks, shit.
It’s a boy, probably, though young enough that it’s hard to be sure. He’s small, with matted blonde hair and clothes that are little more than rags. Rayleigh can see bruises painted across his pale skin, and deep scars that wrap around his too-frail wrists, the type that comes from being bound far too tightly. His Voice is unusually quiet, enough so that Rayleigh can barely sense him. Roger probably isn’t much better off. None of them thought anybody was left on that ship. It paints an ugly picture. This is a child who learned to hide.
Shanks and Buggy’s eyes burn into the back of Rayleigh’s head. He can feel them watching with a mix of curiosity and horror. They both know the seas are a cruel place. Shanks has seen it before, for all they tried to shield him from it. Buggy lived it.
Roger puts the child down, though keeps a hand on his tiny shoulder. It’s probably for the best, even if the boy flinches at the touch. He’s barefoot and unsteady on his feet, clearly favouring one leg, and Seas, are those burn scars?
A silent conversation passes between Roger and Rayleigh until they both turn, finding Gaban already pushing through the onlookers. Good.
Rayleigh steps between the boy and the majority of the crew, sheilding him from view. “Alright, back to work everyone,” he calls. “Let’s get ready to sink this thing, unless any of you want to start your own crew?”
There’s a chorus of vaguely horrified “no sir!”s as they all turn back to their tasks. Behind him, Roger chuckles. The offer wasn’t false. Rayleigh and Roger would be happy to see any of their crew move on to become a captain of their own vessel, but nobody seems inclined, sans their two apprentices who are still far too young.
Gaban claps a hand on Rayleigh’s shoulder as he passes, a show of silent approval, and kneels in front of the boy. Rayleigh bavks off a little and watches. Gaban is shorter than Roger, and the most gentle of the three of them. There’s a reason he’s the one the boys go to when they want emotional support that isn't Roger's particular brand of exuberance.
“Hey there,” Gaban says gently. “I’m sorry about all this, it must be pretty scary.”
The boy doesn’t say anything. He stays tense, as tight as a bow, watching them through wide eyes beneath overgrown bangs.
Gaban smiles. “I’m Gaban. This lot is the Roger Pirates; I’m their navigator. The stern one behind me is Rayleigh. He’s the first-mate, but I promise he isn’t as scary as he seems.” Rayleigh can imagine Gaban’s wink. He huffs, rolling his eyes as Gaban continues. “The loud one there is our Captain, Roger. We’ve got a couple of apprentices around your age too, we call ‘em Red and Blue, but their names are Shanks and Buggy. Wanna meet them? I’m sure they’ve got some spare clothes you could wear.”
Shanks and Buggy must have crept closer than Rayleigh realized while distracted, because they pop up at Rayleigh’s side like the little shits they are. Gaban probably sensed them eavesdropping; his Observation has always been better.
“Hi!” Shanks says, keeping enough distance to avoid making the boy feel crowded. “It’s nice to meet you!”
The boy looks up for the first time, giving Rayleigh an unobstructed view of his face. His eyes are ruddy and sunken, his cheeks hollow with hunger. He looks so different from Shanks and Buggy, well-fed and dressed in their sturdy, well-fitting clothes.
“Speak for yourself,” Buggy mutters. Shanks elbows him in the side.
“We can show you around if you want,” Shanks continues, undeterred by the boy's silence and Buggy's comment. “Are you hungry? We have some extra snacks stowed away,” Shanks says, only to be elbowed back by Buggy.
“Don’t tell them that, idiot,” Buggy hisses, as if the crew doesn’t already know about Buggy squirrelling away food. He’s done it as long as they’ve had him, a lingering habit that years of steady meals hasn’t managed to do away with. It isn’t too concerning. The food is kept carefully stored so as not to attract vermin, and it helps Buggy to have it nearby.
Rayleigh steps in before the boys can devolve into another argument.
“You got a name, kid?” he asks. The boy’s eyes snap to him and then shy away, his shoulders tensing again. Damn.
“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Gaban says. “But if you do, you can think it really hard, and our captain will hear it.”
The boy glances at Roger, who nods with a wide, encouraging smile. There’s a pause as he stares down at the deck. Then Roger’s smile somehow grows even larger.
“Rosinante?” he asks.
The boy—Rosinante, apparently—jolts. He looks up at Roger, his breath visibly catching.
“Don’t worry, he can only do that if you want to be heard,” Gaban quickly says. “He can’t hear unless you ask him to.”
It isn’t quite true. Roger could skim surface thoughts at any time, but he has no interest in it and never has—even when the boys are in trouble or obviously hiding something. He only uses it in battle, or, sometimes, in bed, when Rayleigh’s so fucked out of his mind that he can’t form words. Rayleigh respects that. They’re pirates, after all. They all have secrets they’d rather not share.
“Why don’t you two take your new friend to the kitchen. I’m sure Marx will be glad to give you something,” Rayleigh tells Shanks and Buggy, hoping the promise of food and fewer adults will coax Rosinante onto the ship. He’s coming either way—they can hardly leave him here—but it will be far easier if he agrees to come himself.
Thankfully, Rayleigh’s plan works. Rosinante creeps forward when Roger releases him. He watching them warily until Roger and Gaban step back. The additional space makes him untense a little; he's clearly more comfortable around children his own age than adults, but still painfully unsure.
Shanks holds out a hand with a soft smile. Rosinante looks at it, and then at Shanks. He hesitates for a moment longer before taking it.
He’ll be alright with the boys, at least until the crew finishes up here. Buggy might be moody and acerbic, but he knows what it’s like to be frightened, and Shanks is good at being gentle. Marx will keep an eye on them too.
Hopefully things will be easier once they get some food into him. Then they’ll see if Gaban can convince him to have a bath and let the doctor have a look at him. Their questions will come later.
Gaban stands, grunting. Rayleigh winces in sympathy for the man’s legs and knees. He looks up at Roger, his arms crossed over his chest. “So, what the fuck was that?” he asks.
Roger shrugs. His usual smile is nowhere in sight. “Found him hiding in the bilge, silent as a mouse. I couldn’t even hear him breathing.”
“He probably wasn’t,” Gaban mutters, which is a fair assessment. The bilge of any ship is disgusting, filled with foul water, vermin, and other things that don’t bear thinking about. Now that Rayleigh thinks about it, maybe they should have insisted on a bath first.
Roger shakes his head. “The kid doesn't make any noise, not even his footsteps. Didn't you notice?”
“He’s barefoot and the deck is loud,” Rayleigh counters, but even so, his eyebrows furrow. As exasperating as Roger can be, his instincts are rarely wrong.
“How’d you find him, then?” Gaban asks. There’s concern creeping into his voice. “I didn’t sense anyone else on the ship.”
And isn’t that terrifying? They could have left the ship to burn with a child trapped inside. The thought makes Rayleigh feel ill.
“I felt something when I was down in the hold,” Roger says. “I wasn’t sure what it was at first, but I followed it. He was hiding near the hatch at least. Didn’t fight me at all when I picked him up. Too scared, I think.”
Rayleigh hums. The opposite of Buggy, then, who bit Roger the first time they met and still masks fear with anger. Too bad their previous experience with traumatized children won’t help here.
“What do you want to do?” he asks.
“Figure we’ll get ‘im cleaned up and see if he has a family out there. We’ll track ‘em down if he wants to go back. Otherwise, we’ll find somewhere for him. Here, if he wants, or a safe port. Sphinx, maybe.”
“You’d let Whitebeard have him?” Gaban asks with a raised eyebrow.
Roger scoffs. “I’d let Whitebeard’s people keep him from ending up on another ship if he doesn’t want to,” he corrects, and then thinks for a moment. “Best set course for it now. We can always change direction.”
Gaban nods and sets off. Rayleigh returns to overseeing the crew, who are currently lugging treasure from the enemy’s ship onto their own. It takes two of them per chest. Roger, snapping back to himself with a loud laugh, picks up one beneath each arm and jumps between ships.
Rayleigh pinches the bridge of his nose. A headache indeed, though it’s less little Rosinante’s fault and more Roger being Roger.