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Shanks is no fledgling. He’s traveled the Blue Sea, survived extreme weather and fought the most fearsome of pirates. He’s suffered through loss of crewmates, betrayals and debilitating sickness, but somehow, nothing prepared him for Luffy. He didn’t know how it happened, when this curly-haired boy slithered his way into the nooks and crannies of his heart. When he carved a space for himself and settled in the blood of his arteries.
When the thought of losing Luffy became akin to losing a limb.
They’re standing on the dock, hidden under the netted shade in the storage, and Luffy is crying silently, tears pooling in his eyes and spilling over his cheeks. He looks miserable, deeply unhappy in a way no eleven-year old should, and Shanks’ heart aches fiercely in response. He wishes he could wipe away the sadness. Drag him close by the nape and whisper to him that everything will be okay. Don’t worry.
Everything will work out.
But he can’t. The boy has a grandfather, a guardian. Shanks has no familial ties to him. He’s just a man; a stranger with complicated feelings that he can’t quite yet untangle.
So, what he does is this: he leans forward, as close as he dares, and allows himself to soak in Luffy’s features, from his flushed cheeks to his button nose, his earth-colored eyes and the straw hat that sits on his head like a king on his throne.
“Be good, Luffy,” he says, overcome with emotion, but voice unwavering. His lips tug into a fond smile. It’s all his wishes enclosed in three words. Take care of yourself, he means. Don’t get into any trouble. Please, don’t get hurt.
He extends a hand and touches Luffy’s arm—too soft like malleable rubber, and the agonizing memory of the week hurls through him again, the proof of how inadequate he really is, how close Luffy had been to certain death. He’d been saved only by the grace of a higher power. If Shanks’ sixth sense hadn’t tingled, he would have been dead, gobbled up by a sea king, and the village would have been none the wiser.
The thought unsettles him greatly, so he sets it aside. He forces himself to give Luffy a reassuring nod, full of warmth and certainty. Then, with monumental effort, he straightens up and turns to stride in direction of the ship.
Every footfall slaps against the ground, echoing in his aching chest, and the smile dies on his lips like it was never there. As he walks, tension creeps into his muscles, urging him to whirl around, go back to Luffy, but he carries on. He reminds himself that he’s doing the right thing. Luffy is too young for piracy; he deserves to dwell in innocence a while longer.
Growing up in Windmill is exactly what he needs, surrounded by a blood relative who cares for him, villagers who tend to him. Shanks knows it to be true, but for some reason, it doesn’t loosen the painful coil inside his chest.
“Shanks!” calls out a voice.
He stops in his tracks, nostrils flaring. For a second, he debates ignoring the voice and continuing, but yearning overrides him. He turns on his heel, just in time to see Luffy clench his jaw and charge toward him with single-minded determination. Shanks’ mind goes fully blank, before revving up, and he opens his arm, at the same time as Luffy launches into him.
He stumbles back with a grunt.
“Easy,” he murmurs, as spindly arms wrap around his waist, clutching him.
On instinct, Shanks folds over him; tucks his chin against the top of his skull and buries his nose in his hair, from where his straw hat has dropped, dangling from his neck. The small-sized body shakes against him, thin tremors running through its limbs, like a sailing boat floating in tumultuous waters, and Shanks longs to be the anchor that it needs.
“Please don’t leave me,” sobs Luffy, eyes squeezed shut, clinging to him desperately.
Shanks blinks against the sharp sting of tears, rising in his throat. Is this normal? To care so much about someone, that you break under the weight of their sadness? He takes a deep breath, then another, steeling himself for Luffy’s sake.
“I have to,” he says thickly. He raises trembling fingers and sifts them through the mass of curls. “I’m sorry.”
“But why can’t you leave tomorrow? Stay one more day, please.”
Shanks shakes his head. “I can’t,” he replies as gently as he can. He swallows and searches for his next words. “My crew needs me with them. I’m the captain of the Red Hair Pirates. They can’t leave without me.”
“But I need you too,” Luffy pleads, his voice breaking, and Shanks hugs him tighter.
“I swear I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says fervently. “But in return, I need you to make me another promise. I can’t travel the Blue Sea, constantly worrying about you. So, promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”
Luffy nods minutely.
“No, you have to say it,” insists Shanks. “You have to give me your word. Promise me you won’t jump off a ship, or... or stab yourself, or eat more devil fruit.”
Luffy chokes on a laugh, but it sounds pained. “I promise,” he says in a strangled voice.
“You’re a good kid,” says Shanks. “I’m sure we’ll see each other soon. Maybe when you least expect it. But for now... I have to go.”
Luffy releases him and steps back. His face is blotched red, swollen from crying, and he stares at the ground, embarrassed. Shanks bends down, cups his jaw and wipes his cheek once, tenderly, before bidding him a final farewell.
Later, he stands on the stern deck, while the ship undertakes its steady departure from the Windmill port. The sun hangs high up in the sky, and it’s a breezy, cloudless day—perfect for sailing, but Shanks doesn’t care. He can’t take his eyes off the slight figure, sitting on the dock with slumped shoulders and a straw hat; the downcast disposition matching the way he feels inside.
A beefy body sidles next to him, interrupting his rumination.
“Finally worked, huh?” asks Yasopp, nodding his chin in direction of the shore. “Never thought we’d get rid of him.”
Shanks scoffs, not feeling like his jovial self. He doesn’t feel like joking around. His chest hurts, and he’s having trouble breathing, like a giant is kneeling on his lungs.
They stand for a minute in silence.
“For what it’s worth,” Yasopp says in a more sober tone, “I know how it feels. Left my own son, back in Syrup Village, almost thirteen years ago now. I’ll never forget that day. Felt like my heart was being ripped outta my chest.”
“He’s not my son,” Shanks corrects.
“Really?” Yasopp’s body angles toward him, curiosity rolling off him in waves. “Mhm, could’ve sworn you were hiding something from us.”
Shanks frowns, as he registers the words. When the implication hits him, he swings around to glare at Yasopp, only to be met with quirked lips—so, a joke. He relaxes, when Yasopp cuffs his shoulder, and says, “It’ll get easier, I promise.”
Then, he walks off, leaving Shanks alone. He braces himself with a palm against the railing and watches the figure zoom further away.
Yasopp’s words replay in his head, filling in the gaps in his head, bringing sense to the hollowness inside his chest. But it doesn’t add up. Luffy isn’t family. He’s just a boy; a stranger with whom Shanks bonded closely while operating in Windmill. But then, why does he feel this way? Like he’s leaving behind a piece of himself? Abandoning his own flesh and blood?
He mulls it over for a long time, until the island has reduced to a dot, a speck of land in the distance. It continues to haunt him after that. He prays to whatever god that Luffy stays safe and sound. That he doesn’t get into trouble, and that his grandfather watches over him as a father would over a son.
Hopefully, they’ll meet again soon.