Archive of Our Own

Loguetown is a good place for a bounty hunter to work. Plenty of pirate ships coming through, and the local Marine base is always happy for the extra help. Benn can stroll onto a docked ship, find the captain, and take them out. Easy. Profitable. Boring, but that's good. On Loguetown, he's one bounty hunter among many.

Benn considers himself a fair man. He doesn't go after any brand-new bounties; he'll let them have a bit of time to get used to the lives they've chosen before he'll go after them. If there are members of a pirate crew without bounties, he'll let them go. No need to drag them down with the more active members of their crews.

And he won't hurt kids, ever. If they attack him, he'll defend himself, but he'd rather they just ran away.

The number of kids who join up with pirate crews isn't surprising, really. Just sad. Plenty of crews are willing to take on cabin boys as apprentices. Tiny, half-starved creatures that take up little space and eat barely anything, but can be ordered to take on the worst chores. Sometimes they'll attack Benn with just as much ferocity as their adult crewmates. Other times, they'll use the attack as an opportunity to slip away.

The kid on Seven-Hand Simmons crew does neither.

He stands out, with that bright red hair only half-concealed under a well-kept strawhat. But he doesn't jump into the fray. Just leans against the railing, hand on a sword that's too big for him, and watches Benn.

Half the crew is away restocking their ship for the trip into the Grandline, and the few who are left don't put up much of a fight. Soon, the kid is the only one left.

Benn turns to look at him. The kid meets his eyes, sighs, and makes to draw his sword.

"I'd rather not fight a teenager," Benn tells him.

The kid bristles. But he sheathes his sword again, and crosses his arms. "You don't know how old I am."

Unmoved, Benn gives him a look. "How long you been on this ship?"

Glancing up at the sun, the kid squints. "About . . . four hours. They were in the bars looking for volunteers this morning."

Benn sighs, and picks up Simmons' unconscious form. "Go home, kid."

"I'm trying," the kid grumbles. But he hops over the railing, lands on the docks, and strolls back into the crowds.

Benn watches him go, a melancholy homesickness settling into his own stomach. Hoisting Simmons over his shoulder, he makes his own way off the ship.

He doesn't expect to ever see the kid again, but he literally trips over him while heading towards the ship of the Ransom Pirates. Strange to see them at Loguetown; last Benn heard, they were operating clear on the other side of the East Blue.

Seems like Gold Roger's execution really has brought the tension on the seas to a rolling boil. Pirates are flocking to the Grandline now, even crews who had been perfectly happy to operate in the East Blue before. It might be a sorry state of affairs for the Marines, but it's good for Benn's business.

As he stalks down the dock, Benn rounds a pile of boxes and stumbles over a pair of outstretched legs. Swearing, he regains his footing and looks over to see--

The kid, tipping up that hat of his to reveal an absolutely terrible fake beard plastered on his face.

"You again," Benn says.

The kid blinks, then grins. "Hey, bounty hunter!" He sits up. "How'd you recognize me? I'm in disguise."

"That beard is brown."

"So?"

"You have red hair."

Scrunching up his nose, displeased, the kid rubs at the beard. "No one else said anything about that."

"They," Benn gestures towards the ship with the barrel of his rifle, "probably don't care about letting a kid on their crew."

"And you do?" Crossing his legs, the kid looks perfectly relaxed. Like they're just having a casual conversation.

"Nothing good comes from kids joining pirate crews," Benn says darkly.

Something flashes across the kids face. Then he abruptly says, "I'm supposed to be on guard, you know. I really should let them know you're here." Holding up a hand, he lets a whistle dangle tauntingly from its cord.

"Oh, please do," Benn says. "And then get out of here."

An irritable little huff accompanies the kid's displeased tilt of the head. "I've been a pirate for ages, you know," he tells Benn. "I really should have a bounty."

"I thought you said you were trying to get home," Benn replies.

"Yeah, to the Grandline," the kid replies. "Where I grew up."

"You're a tricky little shit, you know that?"

That actually startles a laugh out of the kid. He cackles, throwing his head back, then grins at Benn. "Everyone says so!"

The honest glee on his face is enough to get a reluctant smile out of Benn. But, trying to quash his amusement, Benn points at the ship. "I'm gonna attack them now, if you want to blow that whistle."

"Nah." The kid stands up, brushing himself off. "They're not really worth it." Settling his straw hat on his head, he strolls away.

Benn sighs. Hopefully, this time the kid learned his lesson.

Benn looks at the kid.

The kid looks back at him.

"This is worse, actually," Benn tells him.

"Have we met?" the kid says, in an atrocious falsetto. "I'm sure I'd remember a jackass-- I mean, gentleman such as yourself."

The kid's new disguise is better than the last, if only because it's so audacious. A red gown with hoop skirt is hardly appropriate attire for a pirate, but the kid still managed to avoid the entire fight with surprising grace. His makeup, though, has been applied with far less skill. He looks like a raccoon.

"Consider losing the hat," Benn recommends. "It's a dead giveaway."

Despite an addition of a large red plume, the old strawhat clashes terribly with the rest of the outfit. Still, the kid gasps in horror and clutches at the hat.

"I could never," he says. Benn doesn't think it's just for the sake of melodrama. He sounds utterly sincere.

Benn sighs. "Can you swim?"

"Of course I can swim." The kid sounds affronted. "What kind of a pirate can't-- hey!"

Picking up the kid and slinging him over his shoulder, Benn glances over the railing to find a clear patch of water and chucks the kid overboard.

When the kid comes up for air, sputtering furiously, Benn shouts down, "And if you're going to do makeup, get someone to teach you how to make it look decent!"

The kid wipes water out of his eyes, smearing the makeup even worse than it already was, and gives Benn the middle finger.

This time, Benn's the one laughing.

He meets the kid again on the Splendid Iris, ship of the Gardening Pirates. Despite the name, they've gotten in serious hot water for burning down the world-class orchards of Plum Island. The royals themselves demanded the Government put a bounty on their captain. It's quite a sum for a pirate who's only been operating for a year. Benn's rather pleased to have been the one to spot their flag.

When the captain is finally downed, the kid drops straight out of the rigging to land beside Benn, damn near giving him a heart attack. "Stop attacking my rides."

"Stop trying to hitch rides on pirate ships," Benn replies immediately, despite his racing heart. "Plenty of merchant ships out there looking for hired hands."

The kid grimaces. "Not right now," he replies. "Not out of Loguetown."

Benn winces. The kid's right.

He'd thought that the frenzy of pirate activity after Roger's death would die down within a month, maybe two. It hasn't. It's getting worse.

There's a dozen new bounties every day, and all of them pass through Loguetown, which means half the bounty hunters in the East are here, looking for an easy score. Normally, there'd be competition with so many hunters together, all living on top of each other. But with the hoards of pirates passing through, there's more than enough bounties to be had for all.

Which means that Loguetown has descended into all-out war. Pirates and bounty hunters fighting in the streets; enough ships left empty in the docks that the Marines have been towing them out to sink them offshore.

Every pirate in the East is passing through Loguetown. But only one ship in every hundred makes it back off the island.

It wouldn't be so hard for the kid to backtrack, go deeper into the East. Even now, ships are still stopping at Loguetown to sell their wares. But not even the most ambitious merchants are trying to sail into the Grandline. Not when that whole sea is infested with pirates.

So if the kid's determined to sail onwards . . . well. He really does have to find a pirate ship that'll let him sail on.

There's a peal of thunder overhead. Benn glances up, and frowns.

"I don't like the look of those clouds," he remarks. "Do you have somewhere dry to go?"

The kid gives Benn a thoughtful look.

Watching the kid inhale an entire plate of pasta, Benn wonders when the last time he actually ate a decent meal was.

The rain is coming down in buckets outside, and the windows of the inn flash with lightning every few minutes. It's a hell of a storm, and Benn is glad the kid isn't out in it-- even if the kid is going to eat through all the money Benn got from his last bounty, at this rate. So much for that score.

"How long have you been on Loguetown, anyway?" Benn asks, curiously.

"Two months," the kid says with his mouth full. He swallows. Benn isn't even sure he chewed. "I was supposed to leave with a friend but-- we argued. He took the boat."

Two months, huh? Benn considers that for a moment. "You came to see the execution?"

The kid pauses. Glances aside. "Yeah," he says flatly. "I guess. Wasn't like we were there for entertainment, though." He says the word like it's foul on his tongue. "We just . . . wanted to see if it was real. If they were really going to kill him."

If Benn was still harbouring doubts that the kid had been a pirate before the execution, the way he talks about the execution would have melted them. There's no awe in his voice, no excitement. Not even the treasure-hunting fervour Benn has seen in all the pirates he's hunted down.

The kid just sounds . . . grief-stricken. Numb with horror. Like he saw the Marines kill a god, not a man.

"Why were you here?" the kid asks suddenly.

Benn shrugs. "Plenty of bounties showed up for the execution. Of course I was going to take advantage of it." He sighs. "Not that I expected just how bad it was going to get."

"I've been trying to leave for more than a month now," the kid says. "Every day I get on a new ship, and every day that ship gets taken out by bounty hunters, or Marines, or even other pirates! Thirty-five ships, I've seen go down."

"That's a lot of ships." Benn had started to wonder how he was running into the kid so often, but he understands now.

The kid's shoulders slump. "I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever get out," he admits.

Benn takes a sip of beer. "You could wait," he suggests. "All of this is sure to die down eventually. Either someone will find the One Piece, or people will get tired of searching."

"I don't want to wait," the kid replies. "I want to go back out to sea. It feels wrong to be on land for so long. I grew up on my ship."

"I'll guess that you can't go back to your crew," Benn says.

If the kid slumps down any further, he's going to be in his food. "No."

It's a long shot, but Benn makes the obvious suggestion. "What about joining the Marines? You'd get out on the Grandline pretty quick, and they'd be glad for another recruit."

The kid spits on the floor and shakes his head. "I'll never join them." Hate in his voice, lethal hatred. Well, Benn supposes, if he idolized Gold Roger, that probably makes sense

"I'm a pirate," he continues. "I'm going to be a captain, as soon as I can get my own ship and a crew."

Benn is surprised by the immediate, sharp reluctance he feels at the thought of having to fight this kid. No, reluctance isn't a strong enough word. Revulsion might be closer to the truth.

It makes him brave enough-- angry enough-- to say what he's been keeping behind his teeth. "I don't think highly of whatever crew apprenticed a child and then dumped him on Loguetown without anyone making sure you were safe." Benn hasn't forgotten the kid's offhand mention to being recruited by Simmons' crew in a bar.

But the flash of real, raw hurt in the kid's eyes makes him regret his words, if only for a moment.

"They had to," the kid says. "It's not their fault."

"Maybe so," Benn says, leaning against the railing to light a cigarette. It occurs to him that the twins, Jean and Michel, would have been the kid's age by now. Makes Benn's skin crawl to imagine someone leaving them alone in Loguetown. "Doesn't make it right."

"You don't understand."

"I understand that a kid on a pirate crew is likely to get killed," Benn snaps. "You might be stubborn as hell, but you're setting yourself up to die. And if your old crew really did leave you behind, then they've good as killed you."

The sharp intake of breath from the kid is a warning that Benn's gone too far, but it comes too late. The kid stands fast enough to knock over his chair. He looks down at Benn, furious and unblinking, but tears well up in his eyes.

"You don't understand anything," he repeats.

And then he's gone, gone before Benn can reach out or apologize, or even ask him to explain why he's so determined to throw himself into the meat grinder of the Grandline.

Benn squeezes his eyes shut. He tells himself that he had to do it. The kid doesn't want to think about how much danger he's in, but that just means someone has to tell him.

It doesn't really help with the guilt.

The Marine base on Loguetown has the most complete archive of active bounties in the East. They get the new bounties delivered before even the newspapers. When Benn decides to bite the bullet and find out whether the kid he keeps running into has a bounty or not, it's the obvious place to go.

He's never asked, is the thing. It's his own personal policy. He's never going to turn a kid into the Marines, so it's best to maintain plausible deniability.

So he never asked the kid his name, or what crew he'd sailed under, or if he had a bounty. The kid said he didn't have one; Benn chose to believe him. But with the rate they've been running into each other, Benn is starting to wonder if the kid might already have a price on his head. It would explain how hard he's trying to get out of the East, and his adamant refusal that any other option but piracy is available to him.

The base itself is an intimidating building, all whitewashed facade and painted blue trim. Benn can't imagine how they've had the resources to spare to keep the paint fresh, but it practically gleams in the early morning light. He shoves open the heavy door and goes to find the archive.

Despite the early hour, there are already a few officers inside, occupying one of the tables to spread out their posters. Benn ignores them, and heads to the desk.

A middle-aged woman is on duty, her white-streaked brown hair in short ringlets that fall to her chin. She gives him a bright smile when he walks in. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a potential bounty," Benn says. Internally, he apologizes to the kid for drawing attention to him. "I don't know if he has a bounty, I mean. But I've run into him a few times, and I can't figure out why a kid like him wouldn't get off Loguetown if he didn't have a bounty." The slight elision of the truth doesn't soothe his guilty conscience.

The archivist looks sad. "Kids, huh? What a world we're coming to. Give me his description."

"Between fourteen and sixteen, probably," Benn says. "Maybe a young seventeen. Very red hair."

She disappears into the files for a moment, and comes out with a few posters. "Any of these?"

Benn scans them, and shakes his head, half-relieved.

"Hm. Any other identifying features?"

"No." Benn reconsiders. "Actually, he's got this hat. Straw, red band. I've never seen him without it."

The archivist frowns. "Red band, you say? And red hair?"

"Redder than the band."

She gathers the posters back together and taps them into a neat pile. "I don't think we have any bounties with that description, sir." She seems suddenly icy.

Benn sighs. "I suppose that's a relief. But I just wish the kid would stop hanging around the docks."

Thawing a little, the archivist gives him another, gentler smile. "Teenagers are always tougher than you think."

The phantom smell of smoke makes Benn's fingers itch for a cigarette, to cover up the memory with something tangible. "Until they aren't." He turns to leave. The officers must have vacated their table while Benn and the archivist were talking, but they've left all the posters behind. He glances over his shoulder. "Do you want help cleaning that up?"

The last of her ice melts as she says, "No, dear, that's alright. I'm too picky about my system to accept any help. But it was sweet of you to ask."

Benn thanks her, and she shoos him away so she can starting filing posters back into place.

The staircase up from the archive is dark, with a few odd passageways branching off to other sections. Passing one of them, Benn catches sight of a pale shape out of the corner of his eye, which gives him just enough time to brace himself when a vice admiral steps out in front of him.

"Sorry, sir," Benn says, stepping aside to let him pass. The officers all look down on bounty hunters-- and they could all make his life miserable with a word. Best not to be noticed.

A brash laugh. "Sounds like you're having a busy morning."

"There's been a lot of busy mornings, lately," Benn says, too lost in thought to be politic with his choice of words. He risks glancing up.

"You'd think they'd have learned by now," says fucking Vice-Admiral Garp. The man who defeated Gold Roger. Who's responsible for all of the busy mornings Benn's been having, and busy afternoons, evenings, and occasionally nights.

Benn should backtrack and apologize. Instead, he says, "Perhaps the Government hasn't spread news of Gold Roger's death quite far enough yet. I hear they've commissioned a play about it, though, and that might help the situation."

Huh. That looked almost like a wince.

"The worst of it is that kids are getting dragged down," Garp replies, with a tone that sounds like agreement. "Hard to get them out of piracy once they're in it. Even when they'd make fine Marines. That brat Shanks might not have a bounty yet, but it's only a matter of time."

The hairs on the back of Benn's neck stand on end. "Shanks?"

"The red-headed brat you were asking after. Gold Roger's cabin boy."

Benn doesn't realized he's stopped breathing until his fingertips start going cold.

"Hm," Garp muses. "Probably shouldn't have said that." He shrugs on his coat, hanging it over his shoulders. Distantly, Benn notes that it clips into place with a fastener at the shoulders. He's always wondered how the Marines keep their coats on like that. "After all, Captain Lyan has gone to handle it."

The vice-admiral turns to leave.

"What did you say?" Benn's voice remains even.

Garp glances back over his shoulder.

"Captain Lyan," he says. "Ambitious sort. She's headed out now to arrest the brat. It'll be a real feather in her cap, bringing in a member of Roger's crew. The rest of them have all gone to ground."

"I see," Benn says neutrally. He does not say, He's just a kid. He doesn't say, He's not even officially wanted. He certainly doesn't say, He's my quarry by rights, and she's a bounty-stealing bastard, because Marines don't follow any bounty hunters' codes.

Instead he just nods cordially, says, "Thank you for the explanation," and turns to walk away.

He walks, casual and relaxed, until he's out of sight of the Marine base. Then he tightens the strap of his rifle around his chest and breaks into a dead run.

This is his fault. His fault for getting too curious. His fault for talking too loudly in the wrong places, and forgetting that not everyone wants to give kids the chance to grow up. A reminder that he shouldn't have needed.

He's not sure how he's going to find Shanks to warn him. He's always bumped into the kid accidentally.

When he hears gunfire in the distance, he realizes he's already too late.

The rifle is already in his hands. He's reloading before he comes to a stop to take in the scene with a glance. Five Marines, including Lyan. Shanks, teeth gritted with fear or fury, and a too-big sword brandished at his enemies. The kid looks small. The Marines look confident.

Shanks notices him before they do. Something like relief looses his clenched jaw as Benn raises his gun.

The closest Marine goes down, and the others turn on Benn. This is bad, because he now has three Marines who are much less interested in arresting a kid and much more interested in avenging their friend. But it's also good, because that's three less Marines targeting Shanks. The kid can make a run for it now.

But it's also bad, because Lyan only gives Benn a moment's glance before turning back to Shanks. And Shanks doesn't try to run at all.

In hindsight, Benn can't imagine why he though the kid would run.

Instead, Shanks lunges past Lyan, executing a masterful bit of footwork to avoid her sword coming down on him, and brings the sword down on one of the Marines approaching Benn. He doesn't flinch at the blood. And when he yanks the sword out of the body, it no longer seems too big for him.

Benn stands his ground. He manages to fire off two more shots. The first clips the Marine approaching him. The second is shot past Shanks, at Lyan, but Benn doesn't know if it lands. As soon as he squeezes the trigger, a sword is buried in his abdomen, and Benn stumbles back.

The Marine pulls the sword back out, and only then does Benn feel the pain.

He collapses. Or-- he must collapse, though he doesn't remember it. There's just white noise for long moments. The next thing to register clearly is hands pressing down on the wound.

"You're not allowed to die," Shanks bites out furiously.

"Sorry. My fault they heard about you." Benn laughs, even though it sends fresh nails of pain through his stomach. "Doesn't look like you needed much help, though." Knowing the kid can handle himself is it's own kind of relief. That wasn't his first kill: it's obvious. Not a moment of hesitation before ending a man's life. Wielding a massive sword like it's an extension of his own limb.

And Benn should hate that someone turned a kid into a master swordsman, but-- well, if Gold Roger was going to bring a child onto his ship, at least he made damn sure that child would survive after he was gone.

"I've got a boat," Benn tells him. "Should be enough for you to get to the Grandline."

"You're not allowed to die," Shanks repeats, a weight behind the words that seems to press harder than his hands. "I'm not leaving you. Where's the boat?"

Smoke on the horizon. Benn's had this dream before. He knows what he's going to find, but it doesn't stop him. He drops his bags and breaks into a dead run.

He's not sure if he's awake. There's quiet conversation, somewhere to his left. He can't follow the language.

"Grand-maman?" he tries, hoarsely. "Est-ce qu'il y a . . ." The words slip out of his hands. He knows what he wants to say. Why can't he remember how to say it?

Someone says something reassuring. A boy's voice. The words still don't make sense.

"Albert, où est ta mère?" Benn asks.

But the boy doesn't sound like Albert when he replies with more soothing nonsense, and a cold cloth on Benn's forehead.

Maybe this is just another dream.

The house had stood for a hundred years. It could have stood a hundred more, but now it's burning.

In his desperate run, Benn nearly trips on the body in the garden. Renée was only six. Benn's killed enough men to know she was shot in the back.

The fire has burned down to smoke and ashes, embers breathing their last in the ruins of Benn's home. The bodies he finds here have all long since expired.

He recognizes the red hair when he wakes up the next time.

"Shanks?" he manages.

"Hey!" Shanks lights up. He nearly drops the sword he's been sharpening when he turns to Benn. "You're awake! Are you really here this time?"

Benn looks at him, uncertain. He's not sure where here is. He's not sure why he's not on his boat.

He tries to sit up, and finds he doesn't have the strength.

"Oh, don't do that," Shanks says quickly. "You got stabbed. Don't you remember?"

He remembers that Shanks was . . . dressing in drag? No, that was weeks ago. They'd had an argument. He was trying to tell Shanks to stop being a pirate. But Shanks was-- Gold Roger? That can't be right.

"The man's still drugged to the gills, Shanks," says another voice. "He won't be lucid until tomorrow at the earliest."

Benn narrows his eyes at this mysterious voice. "Vice-Admiral Garp?" he guesses suspiciously.

"If you were actually looking at me, and not a hat stand, I'd be very insulted," the voice says.

There's something very important that Benn was supposed to tell Shanks, but he can't remember what it was. "You're my cousins' age," he tries. "They were twins."

There's a moment of silence. "Just go back to sleep," Shanks says. "I'll keep the watch."

For some reason, Benn trusts him.

In the dream, it's always his fault. There is a certainty that they're all dead-- Grand-maman, his parents, his cousins, their parents-- because of him. He, the bounty hunter, is responsible. A revenge killing. Someone come back to destroy him for all he did to them.

In reality, he can't be sure. The attackers didn't come into town; they must have landed on the family's small docks. No one saw them. With the house burned, Benn couldn't identify whether anything had been stolen. There were plenty of valuables. It could have been revenge-- but it could have just been pirates. Just bad luck, that they came while Benn was far away, far from home.

In reality, that has still never eased the guilt.

He wakes up, and wishes he hadn't.

He tries to sit up and wishes he hadn't done that either. He lets out an absolutely foul string of swears before a snicker lets him know he's not alone.

"I don't even think I've heard half of those."

"Don't repeat that," Benn tells him.

"Câlice," Shanks replies puckishly.

"Teenagers." Benn makes this remark to the world at large while examining the small room.

It's fairly small. To call it a hut or a shack would be ungracious, but not inaccurate. The walls and roof are whitewashed wood, but the floor, unexpectedly, is stone. Not rough-hewn, but carefully cut and shaped. Everything is perfectly, spotlessly clean, despite the faint smells of wood smoke and sea salt.

"Where are we?" Benn finally thinks to ask.

Shanks flushes. "Okay, so don't be mad," he starts. In Benn's experience, this is one of those inadvisable openings that shows one's hand too early.

But before he can point this out, another voice says, "You're on Reverse Mountain, and damned lucky to have made it here."

The man who steps into view pings the sense that Benn has honed over the last decade of bounty hunting, that tells him he's seen this man on a bounty poster, at some point, at some time. And that hat-crown should be pretty damn memorable; with a moment of thought, Benn will figure out who he is--

"This is Crocus!" Shanks tells him brightly. "He was the doctor on my old crew."

Without a moment's thought, Benn tries to get up again. "So you're one of the motherfuckers who thought it was acceptable to leave a half-grown teenager alone on Loguetown--"

Somehow, Benn makes it to his feet, but at that point, a wave of pain hits, and it's only Shanks' steadying hand that keeps him from tumbling over entirely. Shanks helps him back down to the bed.

Behind the always-neutral doctor's facade, Benn catches a glimmer of approval in Crocus' eyes. Approval, and perhaps grief. "And if you'd been any further than Loguetown, you certainly wouldn't have made it here alive. As it was, it was touch and go for a while."

That's when Benn realizes: "We're on the Grandline side of Reverse Mountain."

Shanks slumps a little. "Yeah."

Benn considers that. "Did my boat make it through?"

"Yeah," Shanks says, looking very sincere. "I took care of her."

"Alright." Benn lays back in bed. "We're good, then."

Shanks doesn't reply for a moment. "That's it?" he says. "You're not mad?"

"Kid, my promising career in bounty hunting was dead in the water the moment I shot a Marine," Benn replies. "At this point, I'm just--" surprised to be alive, he means to say, but the words catch in his throat when he sees the raw relief on Shanks' face.

"I'll get you some broth," Crocus says, "if you agree to stay put and not open your wounds any further."

Benn agrees, and the man disappears through a door into a kitchen.

Shanks is still watching Benn with those wide eyes. "I didn't know you were from the North Blue," he starts cautiously.

"I haven't been from the North in half a decade," Benn replies. He's done his best to not be from anywhere.But the nightmares have brought it all closer to the surface than usual-- the language, and everything that comes with it.

"You talked a lot in your sleep," Shanks says. "Crocus said it was a Northern language. T's not one I know. But a couple times, you were talking to me. You said-- You told me, I mean, that I was the same age as your cousins. The twins."

It hurts. Maybe not as much as it would if the feelings hadn't already been pulled to the surface, but it's never not going to hurt.

"The age they would be. If they were alive."

Shanks is silent for a moment. There's a lot of things Benn expects him to say. To ask how they died, to ask him if that's why he refuses to hunt down kids, if that's why he was so busy trying to keep Shanks from piracy.

"Will you tell me about them?" Shanks asks instead.

Benn takes a breath. Pain in his stomach, pain in his heart. But, he misses them. So much.

"My parents were the first in their generation to have kids, so I was the oldest on both sides by quite a few years. So all my cousins were younger than me. The youngest was--" Sharp pain. He swallows. "She was six when I was twenty-one."

Shanks nods. "So you were the designated babysitter."

It startles a laugh out of Benn. Wet, disbelieving, and rather choked, but real. "That's one way to put it."

When no reply to that comes, Benn lets his head rest against a pillow. He's almost considering whether he could fall back asleep when Shanks says, "What are you going to do?"

Benn cracks open an eye. "What?"

"I just mean, since you can't be a bounty hunter."

"Oh." Benn thinks about that for a moment. "There's no talking you out of being a pirate, now that you're in the Grandline, is there?"

"Nope."

"Alright. Piracy it is."

Shanks blinks. Then grins, huge and bright. "You mean, you're staying?"

"Well, I'm not inclined to let you go and get yourself killed now."

Shanks laughs, surprised and bright, and grabs Benn's hand. "You won't regret it, I promise! You can be my first mate!"

A stirring sense of dread makes itself known. "Hang on, I thought you were trying to join a pirate crew."

"Only to get into the Grandline!" Shanks' grin is bright and sweet and profoundly malevolent. "My plan was always to start my own crew eventually!"

Benn groans, and throws an arm over his eyes, despite the way it pulls at his healing wound. "I'm regretting it already."

His captain just laughs at him.