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Buggy’s stomach won’t stop hurting.
He was fine this morning, when the Oro smoothly slid into a new port, Roger practically bouncing from eagerness to go explore a new island. Rayleigh went with him, like usual, while Shanks and Buggy were told to stay with Gaban during the re-supply run, but buying food was boring and the marketplace wasn’t all that big, so Buggy slipped away as soon as the navigator was busy haggling and of course Shanks followed on his heels.
The two of them wandered down a narrow aisle, peering at the usual assortment of weapons, jewelry, clothing, cooking supplies and maintenance items, ammunition and brightly colored soap and a dozen other things that could always be found in markets like this, on islands with decent trade from coming-and-going ships.
And then Buggy spotted something shiny.
Stones for luck, young sir, for good health and greater strength, for wisdom when it’s most needed.
Hey, Shanks, maybe she’s got one that’ll help balance out getting dropped on your head as a baby!
Oh shut up, Bug. What’s that one? The red and gold?
Ah, that’s quite the special case, young sir: a twinstone! Even when you don’t have both halves, they’re able to bring about change and better days in your life.
Kinda looks like it’s glowing-
“And all he did was pick it up?” Rayleigh asks, sharp, worried. Buggy can only nod, not looking his first mate in the face. Stupid Shanks picked up the rock, and then it really DID glow, a big burst of blinding light, and when Buggy finished blinking and looked-
Well.
He doesn’t remember it, but apparently he screamed loud enough to bring half the crew running.
Shanks stopped gasping and shaking by the time their captain carried them both back to the ship, but he still hasn’t woken up, and Buggy’s stomach won’t stop hurting.
Rayleigh sighs. “Wasn’t your fault, kid.”
“I know that,” Buggy quickly insists. His cloth hat is twisted into a thin roll between his hands. “It’s his fault, stupid Shanks. I’m gonna rub his face in it when-” If “-whenever he wakes up.”
A broad hand settles over his head and ruffles Buggy’s hair.
It’s almost sunset by the time a noise comes out of Roger’s bunk.
Buggy shoots up from the desk chair. Watches, closely, as Shanks moves his head back and forth a little, eyes scrunching up, until they finally, finally, start to peel open. “You moron,” he can’t help but hiss at that point, quickly scooting over with the cup of water and bendy-straw that Gaban left sitting on the desk hours ago. “Why’d you have to go and do that, huh? You looked like an idiot and the captain had to carry you home and everybody was worried, dumbass!”
Dark eyes blink, bleary. Buggy shoves the cup closer, insistent until Shanks accepts the straw and drinks a few sips. He takes it away when the other boy moves, pushing himself up higher against the heap of pillows piled behind him, and waits anxiously for Shanks to say something. Anything.
“...who are you?”
Okay, uh- maybe anything besides that. Freezing cold fear shoots straight down Buggy’s spine, until he gets a grip on himself. Until he gets a grip on Shanks, seizing the front of the bastard’s shirt. “That’s NOT FUNNY. You seriously scared everyone, Shanks, do NOT try to make a stupid joke about memory loss-!”
“Shanks?” Oh hell. There’s no hint of the ‘I love being sneaky’ glee in the other boy’s eyes that always drives Buggy up the wall. There’s actual confusion, SURPRISE, and then an alarm that is not doing good things for Buggy’s upset stomach. “I’m not- that’s-” Shanks looks away, stares at the maps and posters and odd bits of treasure that Roger keeps around his cabin, and now there’s fear, too. “Where am I?”
Shit.
“ROGER!” Shanks flinches from the shout, but Buggy can’t let himself care about that, he just grabs onto the idiot’s hand and clings, waiting for the big heavy thump somewhere else aboard the ship to turn into rapid footsteps and then the door is being flung open and- “Something’s wrong with Shanks! He doesn’t know who he is!!”
“I do too,” stupid red-head snarls, yanking his hand but Buggy isn’t letting him go that easy, “But I’m not- I-” He falls quiet as a shadow looms over them both. Freezes, too, as soon as he glances up, and shit now he’s even more scared, that’s the opposite of what Buggy meant to do.
“Shanks?” Roger reaches down past Buggy’s shoulder, and Shanks flinches. That- that’s wrong. Shanks doesn’t ever flinch. Roger pauses, but doesn’t let it stop him. He scoops Shanks out from under the covers, turns to sit with the red-head on his lap. Pulls Buggy in close while he’s at it. “Hey, you’re okay, kiddo. Everything’s going to be okay - tell me what’s going on inside that thick head of yours, yeah? We’ll figure it out from there, I promise.”
A face that’s supposed to grin and laugh and be full of mischief wobbles. For a second it looks like Shanks is about to start crying. But he sucks in a deep breath, gets ahold of himself, and- and it’s wrong, the stiff expression he puts on, the way his jaw clenches and his chin tips back, how he glares down his nose at Buggy rather than try to do the same to Roger. “I demand that you return me to the Holy Land this instant, pirate!”
...uh.
What?
Buggy isn’t sure what kind of noise he makes. Roger, though - Roger doesn’t sound stunned or shocked or anything. He just grunts, a little confused. But then he adjusts how he’s holding Shanks, gets his hands around the idiot’s ribs and hoists him up like a cat so Roger can squint directly into his face. “Huh. Hey, Bug, what did that lady call the rock Shanks picked up?”
What the hell does THAT have to do with anything-?! “A twinstone?”
Roger laughs.
Shanks looks spooked. And it only gets worse when their captain goes, “Heh, you aren’t Shanks at all! You’re the other one! Hey, nice to meet you, brat!”
“Other one of what?!” Buggy demands, before Shanks - or, Not-Shanks? - can say a word.
“The other twin! The one the damn Knights got back! Ooh, I should tell Ray we gotta call up Dragon, he should get to meet you too!”
“Unhand me!” Not-Shanks screeches, finally struggling like he should’ve from the start if he didn’t want Roger to pick him up like a stray cat. Not that he struggles well, none of his kicks even collide with Roger’s face, for crying out loud. “I am the Heir of House Figarland! Just because you stole my brother does NOT entitle you to this-”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, kid.” Still grinning from ear to ear, Roger stands and tucks the squirming red-head under his arm, hollering as he goes bounding out the door, “HEY! Rayleigh! The twins changed places-!”
Well.
Buggy’s stomach isn’t hurting anymore.
His head, on the other hand...