Chapter Text
Buggy knew something was off the moment a New Coo knocked its beak against his cabin window. He raised from the desk, charts laid open next to a small notebook, and let the bird in. He frowned at the seagull who stared at him, impatient. He’d been cut off from the New Coo service years ago– after months of payment refusal. He sighed, taking the roll offered, shooting the desk a quick glance in search of berries, he reached out to take a couple– to his surprise, the seagull took flight.
Most uncommon.
A sixth sense forecasting bad news made him shudder. He unrolled the paper taking a deep breath, trying to keep himself steady. A small roll slid from the newspaper, falling to his desk. Buggy rushed to take it, opening it with one of the multiple blades he always had at hand.
He recognized the handwriting in an instant– Benn’s.
“Buggy.
I'll keep this short. He's not good. He hasn't been good for a while. The drinking got worse– ugly. I've been covering, but I can't cover forever.
I've run out of options and I know him too well– the only light he’ll see while drowning in such darkness will be yours.
Benn”
Buggy’s stomach dropped. Benn had never written to him in all these years– hell, he’d crossed word with the man only a handful of times. Benn had always been openly transparent about how unimpressed he was by Buggy. He could tell, he could always tell. And those close to Shanks had never been shy to state it clearly. “Why does he keep tolerating the clown?”
His chest tightened a bit, but he pushed it aside. Why, indeed. He let out a deep breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and re-read the letter twice. It sounded serious enough. Not a trap set to ridicule him, Ben wouldn’t do that. He looked at the ocean, dark blue. The drinking got worse– ugly. Buggy had always thought the drinking was bad enough, he’d never said it out loud, because who was he to say anything? His mother? Perhaps Benn was overreacting. They had simply grown old, and hangovers got worse with age. He crumbled the roll in his fist. Yes, surely that was it.
But what if it wasn’t?
What if he truly needs me this time?
Needs me. As if ever.
He tortured himself with the same loop of obsessive thoughts, until he had no choice but to curse under his breath and stomp from his cabin towards the navigator.
"Head to his island," he spat, regretting the words the moment they left his mouth.
"His island?" Alvida couldn't stop herself, a wide grin spreading across her face. "It says quite a lot that you don't have to say a name and we all know who you mean."
Buggy rolled his eyes, trying to keep his nerve. "It just means you're all fucking nosy." He shot a final murderous look at Cabaji, who wisely kept his mouth shut and simply adjusted their course. Good.
It took two days to reach Shank’s island. The Red Force docked, Buggy always felt a bit humiliated when docking next to her— the difference was too big to miss. Still, he fixed his hat, cloak, and brushed (once more) his ponytails, knowing they always caught his eye.
Benn received them on the deck, he nodded at him as a greeting. “Thank you for coming,”
“Don’t be too grateful– it might cost you more than you’re willing to pay.”
Benn's lips curled into a dry smile. "If you manage to bring him back, I'll pay whatever you ask."
Buggy froze. That wasn’t the right answer. Shanks' crew always bristled when he brought up money, debts or treasure.
“Where is he?”
"His cabin. These past several weeks."
Buggy frowned. "He hasn't left the ship?"
Benn shook his head.
"How long have you been docked here?"
"Over a month."
Buggy frowned. Odd. Most odd. Shanks never lost the opportunity to party, to walk through the beach and swim a bit. Swim. A wave of envy rolled through him.
He turned over his shoulder, locking eyes with Alvida “I’ll go alone,” he turned to Benn, "And as a gesture of your considerable generosity, I trust you'll see my crew fed, housed, and well-supplied with your finest booze?"
Benn twitched slightly, but nodded.
“Good.” Buggy smiled, “I know my way.” He walked towards the gangway, wandering through The Red Force as if she were his own. To some odd extent– she was.
-
At first he’d thought Benn had been nothing but a paranoid, overprotective first mate freaking out over a bad hangover– he had never been more wrong.
The moment he walked into Shank’s cabin, he knew they were in deep shit.
First thing that hit him was the stench. Sour and heavy in a way that made his insides turn, his hand flew to his mouth. He rushed towards the shut window and opened it as wide as possible, still the air didn’t seem to be enough. Buggy took a quick glance of the room – too many bottles. Most were empty, scattered through the cabin, others were half empty crowding every possible surface within hand-reach.
How did Benn ever let it go this bad?
Then, without intending to– he spotted a mane of red hair. Shanks had his back pressed against the wooden wall, a bottle of rum on his hand and a bitter smile on his lips. He had been observing him since the moment he'd walked in.
“You have no idea how much you owe me at the moment,” Buggy said as a greeting.
“Get out.”
His heart dropped, blood turning thick. He looked away feeling his eyes itch. Shanks had never used those words with him. He usually said something preposterous, like "Name the price," or "I have a lifetime to repay you". His grip on the edge of the desk tightened until his knuckles ached. He did his best to swallow down the tsunami of emotions those words had triggered.
“You’re a mess,” Buggy said, unable to look back at him, his blue eyes drifted through the space, wondering where to start. “We need to tidy this up, you can’t live like this”
“Why would you care?” Shanks’ voice was neutral, almost indifferent.
It made something inside him twitch.
“How long have you been drinking like this?” Buggy asked, still unable to meet Shanks’ eyes.
“I don’t need your pity.”
That pulled him from his heartache. “Good, because I don’t have any.” He turned to face him with more dignity than he ever thought he could pull off. “Not for you.” He threw a black plastic bag to Shanks. “Empty bottles, there.”
Buggy took one bag in his hands, and started collecting trash.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did– Shanks is completely unable to function. He sat there, scowling, drinking in silence while observing Buggy clean up after his mess. Is this what he’s been reduced to? He’d been Shanks whore for more than a decade, and now… was he turning into his maid? The sole thought twisted his gut. He did a good job (for about half an hour) escaping those destructive thoughts, yet at one point, the voices inside his head became too loud.
To his misfortune, what quieted them was the awful sound of Shanks retching. The moment he turned to face him, Shanks was partially covered in his own bitter vomit, laughing.
“You’re a disaster,” Buggy snapped, filled by rage, “you should be fucking ashamed of yourself.”
Shanks’ smile didn’t leave his lips, he locked eyes with Buggy. “Oh, I am– from all people, I was cursed to love a fucking clown.”
Buggy gasped, chest heaving. He had never been called that. Not by Shanks. Not at their lowest. His eyes itched as his breathing sharpened.
Shanks let out a dry chuckle, “Yes, I am fucking ashamed sometimes.”
Buggy couldn’t hold back the tears, it had been too sudden. He knew it. He fucking knew it. Still, he had indulged himself to believe Shanks saw him differently… he had tricked himself in the darkest hour to believe he was worthy enough. Of course he wasn’t. A sob slipped through him. He quickly wiped his face and took a deep shuddering breath. He wouldn’t break down before Shanks. He wasn’t going to give him the pleasure.
The quick glimpse at his vulnerability seemed to have done something on Shanks.
“Bugs–” Shanks voice came out different, the way it usually came out when speaking to him. “I– fuck, Buggy, I didn’t mean it–” his tongue was dragging and Buggy heard the noise of bottles rolling and a body hitting the floor.
At the loud sound, Benn storrmed inside the cabin, his hand ready at the hilt of the sword. Sword. Benn knew he couldn’t cut him. it came clear to him, Benn had entered not in defense of Shanks, but in his defense. Buggy turned towards Benn, the pale skin around his eyes had turned red from the held back tears.
“Are you all right?” Ben asked him.
Buggy nodded, not trusting his voice to speak aloud.
“Buggy, I didn’t mean it– you know I didn’t” Shanks was on the floor, unable to even sit upright. His voice was desperate.
“Take him out, then be back, you and I will clean up this mess.” Buggy said,
Ben nodded, taking Shanks from the floor. Buggy turned his back at him, heart pounding loudly.
“From all people, I was cursed to love a fucking clown.”
He knew those words would follow him into his grave.