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Vice Admiral Garp has an unmistakable presence to him, even dressed in civilians. He still stands at parade rest, and he marches rather than walks across the bar. Shanks, relaxing at a table in the corner already covered in empty bottles, watches in amusement as the old man has a quick conversation with the bartender, then exchanges a handful of berry for a small key. He hurries back towards the entrance, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the stairs as he hands the key to a tall, slim man who's equally recognizable as an off-duty Marine, and who takes the key with a silent nod and slips out the door.
Shanks can't really talk. It's not like he's trying any harder to hide what he is; Garp's eyes meet his immediately when he turns around. Shanks raises his last, half-finished bottle in a toast, and Garp's mouth sets in a firm line before he strides towards him.
“Captain,” he says, and Shanks smiles lazily.
“Vice Admiral. Fancy meeting you here.”
A muscle twitches in Garp’s cheek. Shanks doesn't bother to hide his smirk as he takes another long sip, savoring his favorite kind of beer: cheap and plentiful. “How was your trip?”
“Let's not play games,” Garp says shortly. “You'll do what I asked?”
“I'll at least look,” Shanks says. “And then yes, I assume so.”
“Thank you,” Garp says, and Shanks frowns.
He eyes Garp critically over the lip of his bottle as he sips from it. Deep circles under his eyes. Rumpled clothes. What has to be at least three or four days of unshaven scruff. He's keeping too tight a grip on his Haki for Shanks to pick up more than a whisper from him, but that's telling in its own way.
He sets the bottle down. “Oh, you're rather desperate, aren't you?”
Garp grits his teeth, shoulders going ramrod straight, then grinds out, “I'm here, aren't I? I wouldn't have asked you for help if I had another option.”
Shanks might be enjoying this more than he should. It's always fun to see someone as proud as Garp have to learn a little humility. “So where's this difficult problem of yours?” he asks, making himself comfortable as he leans back in his seat.
“Bogard’s taking him up the back stairs,” Garp says, and Shanks hums curiously.
“Don't want people to see?”
“No,” Garp says frankly. “He's young, and he’s obviously hurt. I don't want to call attention to him.”
Shanks goes still, grip tightening on the bottle. “It's not Luffy,” he says, halfway between a question and a denial, and Garp shakes his head.
“I'd tell you if it were.”
Shanks searches his face for a lie, then nods. There's no love lost between the two of them, but he doesn't believe Garp would hide that. Besides, Shanks is going to see whoever this problem is in a moment. There'd be no sense in denying it.
That thought in mind, he drains the last of his beer and sets the bottle down with a satisfied sigh, then stretches leisurely and rolls to his feet. “All right, then,” he says. “If you'll settle my tab for me, I'll be happy to get started.”
He doesn't try to hide his amusement when Garp’s jaw ticks again, but he reaches for his wallet all the same. “I don't suppose you're considering that your payment?”
“Absolutely not,” Shanks says with a broad smile. “This is simply a service fee. I'll let you know when I need that favor, Vice Admiral.”
He can practically hear Garp gnashing his teeth as he turns away, but he goes obediently to the bar and pays for Shanks’ drinks without complaint. He's over a barrel and he knows it. After all, he's the one who brought up the idea of paying Shanks with a favor when Shanks had pointed out that Garp almost certainly didn't have enough berry to tempt him. For a man as powerful and well-connected as Garp, there are any number of things Shanks could eventually call that favor in for. He's nearly giddy at the prospect of having a Vice Admiral in his pocket, not to mention ferociously curious about what sort of problem he might have that he would need Shanks to fix. Garp is a powerful Haki user, so for something to be not only outside of his abilities, but clearly something he's had to reach outside of official channels for…
Well. Shanks is expecting a challenge, and he's taking it seriously.
That's not to say he has to let Garp know that. His smile widens when Garp turns to look at him, and the Vice Admiral scowls before jerking his head towards the stairs. Shanks grabs his coat off the back of his chair and strolls after him, humming under his breath. Garp leads him up the stairs and down a short hallway, towards the small rooms at the back reserved for customers too tired—or too drunk—to make it back home at night. Garp knocks sharply on one of them, and it opens a crack, then all the way.
Garp glances back at Shanks, who offers an exaggerated bow and gestures for him to go ahead. Garp opens his mouth like he's going to say something, then presses his lips tightly together and steps into the room. Shanks grins and follows him in.
As soon as he sees who’s inside, all his amusement both real and feigned disappears. There’s the man from downstairs who must be Bogard, sharply dressed in a well cut suit, swiftly closing and locking the door behind Shanks. A tall, blond young man stands awkwardly in the corner, arms crossed over his chest and a sullen expression on his face. And sitting upright in the bed, hands resting limply in his lap and expression empty, is a boy that Shanks hasn't seen in nearly a year.
“Fuck,” he says emphatically. “It's Koby?”
“How do you know Koby?” the blond boy demands. Shanks ignores him, just like he ignores Garp and Bogard straightening in alarm at the same realization. He steps past them both, crossing just the few paces to crouch next to the small bed.
“Hello again,” he murmurs. “Do you remember me?”
Koby doesn't answer. Koby doesn't even blink.
He’s covered in bandages. He's wearing a thick. oversized sweater in a lurid shade of purple, but it doesn't cover the white strips wrapping up over his neck from where they must start around his chest and shoulders. Someone has conscientiously rolled the too-long sleeves up for him, revealing even more bandages around his wrists and a splint on the first two fingers of his left hand. What skin isn't covered by bandages is pale and bruised, broken up by occasional scratches or half-healed marks that have already been cleaned and healed enough to take the bandages off.
His eyes are empty, and the shadows underneath them are deep enough to pass for more bruises. Underneath the bandage wrapped around his forehead, Shanks can see the very edge of a scab poking out, thick and ugly.
“What happened to him?” he asks, not pulling his eyes away from Koby’s face.
There's a long pause before Garp says, like every word is being dragged out of him, “We don't know. He got taken by pirates; he was like this when we found him.”
Shanks nods slowly. “Tortured?”
“Yes,” Garp says, clipped.
Shanks holds up one finger and waves it slowly back and forth in front of Koby’s face, trying to catch his attention. Koby’s eyes don't so much as flicker, still trained blindly on his own lap. “Is he responsive at all?”
“To physical stimulus, at least,” Bogard says. “Reflexive reactions to things like pain and temperature. He can follow some simple tasks.”
“But he doesn't speak,” Shanks says, finally looking at them over his shoulder for confirmation. “I'm assuming he's not writing things down, either. No communication whatsoever.”
He grimaces when they both shake their heads silently. When he glances the other direction, he sees the blond boy holding himself even tighter, fingers digging into his arms as he stares at the floor, face screwed up in misery.
Shanks scrubs at his face and stands up. “Vice Admiral, I don't… I'm not a doctor. I don't know what you think I can do for him.”
“If I wanted a doctor, I'd have left him in the hospital,” Garp snaps. “I told you, it's his Haki I'm worried about. Listen to him.”
Shanks frowns but reaches out all the same. Two stone walls from Garp and Bogard. A screaming mess of anxiety from the blond, which Shanks does his best to tune out. And– and that's all.
“Oh,” he breathes, turning with wide eyes back to Koby, whose voice is dead silent. “Oh, that's interesting.”
Shanks has seen similar things before, people so scared or traumatized that they shut down to avoid everything. Even then, though, he can still hear them. Their voices might be indistinct or incoherent, but they're always still there. Koby, on the other hand, isn't making any noise at all. Shanks frowns as he peers at him, and this time he drags over the small chair from across the room to sit in, ducking his head so he can look at Koby's face.
“Koby,” he calls softly, listening closely as he presses ever-so-gently with his Haki. “Are you in there?”
No response.
“So you noticed that too, then?” Garp asks, and Shanks nods, frowning.
“Was there a Devil Fruit eater on the crew that took him? I've seen people pulled out of their heads before and put in something or somebody else.”
“We tested all of them,” Garp says, shaking his head. “No Devil Fruits. And I know the boy’s voice; I would have heard him if he had switched places with one of them.”
“And if he had, then we'd still be hearing their voice in here,” Shanks muses. “Not whatever this is.”
He prods a little harder, straining as he feels around the edges of Koby’s mind. The silence is disconcerting, to say the least. Shanks can hear people’s voices when they're asleep, when they're unconscious, when they're impossible distances away. For there to be nothing…
He glances at Garp. “I can try digging deeper.”
“Whatever you need to do,” Garp says.
Shanks hesitates. “I would normally ask him before I did,” he says slowly. “It's not a particularly pleasant feeling.”
Garp presses his lips together. He obviously hears what Shanks isn't saying: that he can't ask Koby, but he still wants someone to give permission before he goes rooting through the boy’s head. It would feel cruel to do otherwise.
“Do what you have to,” Garp says.
“Garp,” the blond protests, and Shanks glances at him again to see him giving the vice admiral a scandalized look. “You can't just– if you hurt him,” he starts, turning to Shanks, and Shanks snorts.
“What's your name, kid?”
The boy bristles. “What's it to you?”
“Nothing,” Shanks says honestly. “I'm just curious what you're doing here. These two,” he says, pointing at Bogard and Garp over his shoulder, “I get. Dunno why they brought another kid with them.”
The boy grits his teeth together. “My name's Helmeppo. I'm here for Koby.”
It takes barely a prod to find the real reason: he's here because he wouldn't leave Koby’s side, and Garp and Bogard decided it was easier to bring him along than fight him on it. Fiercely loyal, impotently protective, and swamped in guilt that Koby got hurt in the first place. Like a guard dog with no teeth.
Shanks throws him a bone anyways. “I'm not going to hurt him,” he says. “It's just Observation Haki. He likely won't even notice that I'm listening, and it won't be painful.”
Helmeppo’s frown deepens, but he subsides with a huff, still glaring at Shanks as he leans back against the wall. Not a guard dog, Shanks corrects himself, grimly amused. A puppy.
The amusement dies as he turns back to Koby and finds himself facing that blank, empty expression, like a house with all the lights turned out. “All right, Petty Officer,” Shanks says quietly. “Let's see what–”
“Lieutenant,” Helmeppo interrupts. Shanks frowns without turning around.
“Got a promotion, did he?”
“Just a few months ago,” Helmeppo says. “You should address him properly, pirate.”
Shanks ignores the condescension in Helmeppo’s tone, as well as the mixture of pride and frustration bleeding into the constant terror in his voice. It's not his fault; the poor kid doesn't realize how loud he's screaming.
Instead, he looks over at Garp. “Bit young to have made Lieutenant already.”
He can practically hear Garp’s teeth grinding. “He's talented.”
“Doesn’t make him less young.”
“Are you going to do what we asked or not?” Garp snaps, and Shanks doesn't bother to hide his eye roll before ducking his head again so he can see Koby’s eyes. The boy won't meet his properly, but it makes Shanks’ job just a hair easier to try, even if it's disconcerting to see all that nothing looking back at him. He takes a deep breath, tunes out the other three in the room, and focuses all his energy on Koby.
He gets nothing. He gets nothing, how the hell is there nothing? The boy’s obviously still alive, albeit seriously injured. Shanks doesn't know where the hell his mind has gone, assuming Garp is right and it wasn't stolen from him completely. If he were more coherent, Shanks might believe he's hiding himself on purpose, but he doesn't think Koby has the will for that right now, let alone the ability. His head is completely empty.
Shanks cocks his head to the side as he feels something odd deep in a corner of Koby’s mind, just the faintest ripple. Not completely empty. But something…. something strange, something he hasn't ever come across before. Something that feels simultaneously foreign and familiar, like it belongs in Koby’s head but not the way it is right now.
“What's that, then?” he asks Koby softly, too focused on his task to pay more than cursory attention to the Marines in the room with him. “What've you got in there?”
It's difficult to feel the shape of it. It’s not like it’s a physical object he can get his hand on, just a strange bend to the emptiness where Koby’s mind should be. Shanks still can’t hear anything from the boy’s voice, but there’s a near-solid something in Koby’s head that feels out of place, largely because it’s the only thing there at all. He presses harder, feeling out the smooth, seamless shape of it. He’s never seen something like this, but he’s never seen someone as silent as Koby, either.
He brings his hand up in front of Koby’s face again and snaps his fingers, loud in the quiet room. Like Bogard said, Koby still blinks automatically at the sudden noise, but his eyes don’t so much as flick towards Shanks’ fingers. That wasn’t what Shanks was looking for, though.
Buried deep in Koby’s mind, somewhere inside that strange intrusion, he hears something.
He doesn’t mean to grin, but he can’t help it. “Oh, you’re clever, aren’t you?” he breathes. “How’d you pull that off? He’s still in there,” he says, turning to Garp. “Just buried.”
“You found the room, then?” Garp says, and Shanks nods.
“You knew that was in there?”
“Took me a while to find it,” Garp says, and Shanks just barely bites back a smirk at the reluctant admiration in the man’s voice. He’s nearly sulking. “I don’t know what it is.”
“Me neither,” Shanks admits. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t know how he did it.”
“I doubt he did,” Garp says. “I told you, he was tortured. Their captain was a Haki user.”
Shanks grimaces. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Vice Admiral, but I don’t think so. There’s no seams on this thing; I can’t even find the edge. It’s locked from the inside.”
Garp’s eyes narrow. “Koby wouldn’t do something like that to himself.”
Shanks sighs. “It’s possible someone else pushed him in there,” he allows, “but he’s the one who bolted the door behind him. It’s fortified, too. He shut it down hard.”
“He did this to himself?” Helmeppo asks. Without having to look, Shanks can clearly picture his expression. The revulsion is clear enough in his voice. “Why?”
“I couldn’t say,” Shanks shrugs. “You said he was tortured. Might have been trying to protect himself somehow.” He frowns thoughtfully. “You’ve been training him on his Haki since the war, right?”
The room goes even quieter. “Yes,” Garp says finally.
“Has he shown any aptitude for Conqueror’s?” Shanks asks, and Garp frowns.
“Is that what you think this is?”
“I don’t know what this is,” Shanks says honestly, dragging his hand down his face as he continues to press around the edges of the shape in Koby’s mind. It’s smooth and solid and shapeless, and he can hear just the faintest whisper of the boy’s voice coming from inside, like trying to listen to someone speak from the other side of the damn ocean. “It’s like he somehow used Observation Haki as Armament Haki, but I don’t know how the hell he could have. That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”
“I told you he’s talented,” Garp says, but he doesn’t sound happy about it, just resigned. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. I found the room, but I don’t know how to get him out of it.”
“I would have thought you’d just break it down,” Shanks says, raising his eyebrows. “All things considered.”
Garp opens his mouth like he's about to snap something, but Bogard clears his throat softly, and he clearly thinks better of it. His shoulders are stiff, and even clamping down on his emotions as tightly as he is, Shanks can still hear the undercurrent of frustration in his voice. “I couldn't be sure he was in there,” he says shortly. “And I don't know why it's closed up so tight. Of course I could break it down, but I don't want to damage whatever’s inside.”
“And that's why you called me,” Shanks sighs. “I'll see what I can do. I haven't seen this before, but there's a first time for everything.”
“Why?” Helmeppo blurts out, and Shanks quirks an eyebrow at him.
“Why are you so mouthy?” he asks dryly, and Helmeppo’s face turns a mottled red as he flushes. “And why do you think? Garp’s paying me.”
“But you know Koby,” Helmeppo insists. “How could you know Koby?”
“I don’t, really,” Shanks says. “We were never properly introduced, but we met briefly at Marineford last year. I’ll leave it to you to figure out the circumstances.”
Helmeppo gulps, but he powers ahead despite his obvious discomfort. “How did you find out his name, then?”
“I made a point of it,” Shanks says. “Little cadets who get in the way of Fleet Admirals aren’t generally rewarded for that sort of behavior. Thought I should keep an eye on him.”
“He doesn’t need a pirate to keep an eye on him,” Helmeppo spits, and Shanks grits his teeth.
“Clearly he does, or I wouldn’t be here. Are you gonna let me help your friend, or keep running your mouth?”
Helmeppo clearly is going to keep running his mouth, inhaling like he's about to start on a tirade, but Bogard clears his throat, and Helmeppo closes his mouth with an audible click. Shanks raises an eyebrow, but Helmeppo only shoots him a filthy look before subsiding, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back against the wall with a huff. God save Shanks from idiot Marines who don't know where to direct their anger.
Shanks isn't the one who let Koby get hurt in the first place, after all, but he doesn't see Helmeppo yelling at anyone else in the room.
There will be time to worry about kids with misplaced trust later. For now, Shanks turns back to Koby.
“Okay, then,” he murmurs. “Let's see what we have here.”
He doesn't see much. He presses, pokes, and prods for hours, straining his ears as he listens for any hint of a voice in Koby’s head. All he ever catches are the faintest whispers, and while he eventually feels out all the edges of the little fortress the kid made for himself, he can't find any kind of an entrance. It's like trying to crack a cannonball with his bare hands.
He jerks when something thunks down on the table next to the bed. His head throbs at the sudden movement; he grimaces and grinds the heel of his hand against his forehead, trying to soothe the headache. “What's–”
“You're shaking,” Bogard says quietly, then nods towards the glass of water he just set on the nightstand. “Don't overextend yourself, Captain. You're no good to us unconscious.”
Shanks doesn't say that he's not sure he's much good to them awake, either. A bleary glance out the window shows the sun is close to setting; hours have passed while he's sat here nearly cracking his skull open trying to find wherever Koby buried himself in his own head, and Koby looks exactly the same as he did when Shanks first saw him. Maybe a little paler. His eyelids are drooping.
Shanks drags his hand down his face and reaches for the glass with a murmured thanks. It's hard to say if the headache is exhaustion or the hangover setting in, but water can't hurt, either way.
“Where’s the other kid?” he asks.
“Garp sent him downstairs to order dinner,” Bogard says. “Koby needs to eat.”
Shanks nods as he looks at Koby. It’s a good thing that someone is paying attention to the kid’s physical needs, as depressing as it is that Koby can’t do it himself. He’s not sure he would have remembered to do it otherwise. “And Garp?”
“Keeping him company,” Bogard says. Babysitting, Shanks hears.
The door opens a moment later, and Garp and Helmeppo return with several bowls and plates full of food. It's simple fare, but hearty and filling. Shanks scarfs down his dinner with a few quick, economical motions, and his eyes keep straying to Koby. Bogard finishes his own meal quickly, then sets about carefully tipping plain broth into Koby’s mouth, alternating between that and a glass of water.
That finally gets Shanks to avert his eyes. He might have been digging around in Koby’s head for the last few hours, but it feels uncomfortably vulnerable to see him needing to be fed like this. The boy Shanks remembers was scared out of his mind but fiercely, foolishly brave, and clearly competent, if the way he’s been rocketing up the ranks is any indication. It hurts to see him this way.
He meets Helmeppo’s eyes by accident while the boy is clearly working just as hard as Shanks to avoid looking at Koby. Helmeppo frowns immediately, still trying to seem tough.
“Are you going to be done any time soon?” he asks, huffing. “We have training we need to get back to. Koby may have been raised by wolves, but he's obsessed with sticking to his schedule.”
He cuts his eyes back to Koby as he says it, looking expectant. When Koby doesn't say anything—doesn't look, doesn't move, barely breathes—he sets his face in a scowl and turns back to Shanks.
“Your plate’s empty. You can get back to it.”
Shanks had been about to suggest the same thing, but like every other thing that Helmeppo’s said today, the kid’s condescending, imperious tone sets his teeth on edge. Helmeppo is still barely keeping a handle on his anxiety, and he's apparently decided the best cover for that is being an unbearable little prick. Shanks is already tired and more stressed than he's willing to let on; the thought of going back to work while Helmeppo lurks a few feet away, unable to contain his emotions, has Shanks’ headache flaring to life again.
“I can, if you leave,” he says, making a show of licking his spoon. Helmeppo scoffs.
“We're not leaving him alone with you, pirate.”
“Not all of you,” Shanks says dismissively. “The adults can stay.”
“Why do you want me to leave?” Helmeppo demands.
“Because you're too loud,” Shanks says, barely keeping himself from snapping. “I can't focus on Koby if you're wailing in the corner.”
“I haven't said anything!” Helmeppo protests. “I'm certainly not wailing, what are you talking about?”
“If you can't calm down, I can't focus,” Shanks says through gritted teeth. There's a sharp, throbbing point of pain behind his right eye, growing worse as Helmeppo’s Voice grows louder and more upset. “If I can't focus, I can't help your friend. I don't care if you go get drunk or walk into the ocean, but you clearly can't handle this.”
“Helmeppo, go take a lap,” Bogard cuts in quietly before Helmeppo can say anything else.
“Bogard!” Helmeppo cries, immediately turning to his superior with a betrayed expression. “You can't just–”
“Clear your head and then come back,” Bogard continues. He doesn't look happy about it, but his voice is firm. “We can't afford distractions right now.”
“I can stay,” Helmeppo protests. “I watched the videos, didn't I?”
Shanks frowns. “What videos?”
“His captors sent us several videos,” Bogard says. “Of Koby.” For the first time, Shanks catches the faintest hint of emotion in his voice. Well, maybe not emotion, per se. He's talking like he's afraid if he opens his mouth too wide he'll vomit. “Presumably to prove they were serious.”
“And I watched all of them,” Helmeppo grits out. “I handled that, I can handle this.”
“There wasn't someone trying to do some delicate work right next to you while you screamed your head off when you did,” Shanks says testily, but his eyes are on Bogard. “I don't suppose you have any of those videos with you.”
“Not all of them,” Bogard says. “But a few.”
He cuts his eyes over to Garp. Shanks follows his gaze. “I think I need to see those.”
Garp's jaw is so tense he looks like he's about to crack a tooth. “Why?”
“Because I'd like to actually pull this off,” Shanks says. “And I'm not getting anywhere the way I have been.” He's been afraid to push too hard, but the gentle exploration hasn't done him any good. “I need another perspective.”
“Fine,” Garp grits out. “Helmeppo, stay with Koby. We've got another room down the hall, Shanks. Follow me.”
Whether the second room they got was in case they had to spend the night or because they were prepared to have to show Shanks the videos, Shanks doesn't know and doesn't ask. Instead, he simply leans against the back wall and watches as Bogard carefully removes several small snails from a bag at his side and sets them up on the table. He fiddles with the first one, and a moment later, its opening its mouth to project blurry footage onto the wall.
Koby stares straight into the camera, chin raised and mouth set in a hard line. There’s a bruise on one cheek, and the mark on his forehead is still only a small scar, not the jagged mess it’s become. He’s still in his uniform, dirty and torn though it is, and he wears it with pride.
When a hand enters the frame just to backhand him, he barely makes a noise, just spits off to the side and goes back to staring at the camera, expression calm for all that he’s blinking tears out of his eyes.
Or maybe not. Shanks frowns, peering at his eyes. “S’that code?”
“For all the good it did us,” Gael says bitterly. “We followed his directions, but they were gone by the time we got there.”
Shanks knew the boy was brave and resourceful, but he has to admire this extra cleverness. The pirate who hit him talks over Koby’s head, threats and demands that Shanks doesn't bother to listen to, too focused on Koby. Aware enough to stay calm, to ignore his captors, and to pass along a message. Coordinates, even.
“Is he like this in all of them?” Shanks asks.
“No,” Garp says, and the projection disappears with a soft click as he swaps it out for the next video. “We got this one four days later.”
One of Koby’s eyes is swollen shut. The other flutters weakly as he tries to keep it open. He doesn't bother with messages this time, or trying to look unaffected. He ignores the camera entirely in order to glare at his captors, furious expression not quite hiding the underlying fear as he tracks the captain pacing around him.
There’s a blood stain on his shoulder. His uniform jacket is gone, leaving him in only a plain white undershirt with a small Marine logo emblazoned over his heart, blue thread barely visible under the crimson stain. He’s lost the stiff posture from before, too; he’s hunched in the chair, pressed uncomfortably against the ropes as he seeks out a more comfortable position. Ribs, Shanks thinks automatically. It’s a familiar sight from decades of battles and his own injuries. Something wrong with Koby’s ribs. Trying not to put pressure on them, but the ropes keep him upright.
When the captain hits him again, Koby grunts, then looks up with his teeth bared in a snarl. “Fuck you, you piece of–”
At the second hit, he goes limp. Shanks watches with a detached sort of interest as blood begins to trickle slowly down Koby’s cheek from where his skin split when it met the back of the captain’s hand and the bulky ring he wore.
“Out of curiosity, is that man dead?” Shanks asks.
“And in pieces,” Garp says. Shanks nods.
“They got your boy mad, it looks like.”
“Like a cornered rat,” Garp says grimly. “They didn’t seem to appreciate the attitude. We didn’t get another sign of life for more than a week.”
When Bogard plays the third video, Shanks can understand why the pirates waited so long. From their perspective, it must have looked like they broke their bargaining chip.
Koby’s head sags, chin resting against his chest, and he doesn’t move as the captain grabs him by the hair to jerk him upright. His eyes don’t focus on the camera. It’s an eerie mirror to the state he’s in now, but while the Koby down the hall is covered in plaster and bandages, the Koby in the recording is still in a torn, filthy uniform and covered in his own blood. They’ve torn open the wound on his forehead by this point; half his face is covered in tacky red, not that he seems to notice.
The captain blusters on, threats and posturing about what they’ve already done to Garp’s protege and how much worse it will be if he doesn’t comply with their demands—money, leniency, power, the same thing pirates like them always demand when they're too weak to take it for themselves. It’s all bullshit. They must have been scared shitless when Koby did this. No point in hurting someone who can’t even feel it.
At least, Shanks doesn’t think so until the captain holds up one of Koby’s hands and calmly breaks two of his fingers. Koby twitches and inhales sharply, but he subsides a moment later, buried too deep in his own head to understand the pain his body is reacting to. Shanks swallows back bile.
“He’s like this in every other video after this?”
“We only received one more after this,” Bogard says. “But yes.”
“Do you have that one?”
“No,” Bogard says. “That particular recording met an unfortunate end.”
Shanks raises his eyebrows at Bogard’s deadpan expression. Garp huffs. “I crushed it.”
“Right,” Shanks says. “Of course you did. I assume it was worse than these three?”
“Significantly so,” Bogard says, and for all that his role on this mission seems to be curbing Garp and Helmeppo’s tempers, he doesn't seem bothered at the thought of potentially important evidence having been destroyed. “But it was much the same as this one. The captain hurt Koby, Koby didn't react.” His mouth sets in a hard, thin line. “The captain hurt him even more.”
“I would have liked to see it,” Shanks says, pinching the brim of his nose. “But all right, I'll take your word for it.”
“There's nothing on it you needed to see,” Garp snaps. “Nothing anyone needed to see.”
“How long did it take you to find him after you got the last video?” Shanks asked, ignoring that.
“More than a month,” Bogard says grimly. “Once they realized we weren't going to meet their demands, they went to ground.”
“More than a month,” Shanks repeats. “How much more?”
“Five weeks,” Garp says, and Shanks is holding himself too tightly to let his jaw drop, but he doesn't bother to keep the frustration out of his voice.
“And how long ago did you find him?”
“Two and a half,” Bogard says quietly. Shanks grits his teeth.
“Did it occur to you that I might need to know that he’s been like this for two fucking months? Did either of you think that maybe I should have that information?”
He's been assuming it's been a few weeks, maybe a month at the most. For it to be double that–
“I've given you all the relevant information,” Garp snaps. “If I thought you needed to know something–”
“You clearly haven't, and you have no clue what I need to know,” Shanks snarls back. “These are uncharted waters here. If you're trying to keep secrets to cover your own ass–”
“I'm trying to protect Koby–”
“By hiding things from me, the man you asked here to help him?”
“Listen here, you insolent piece of–”
Purupuru. Purupuru.
Garp is flushed and drawn up with anger, but he swears and reaches for a small transponder in his pocket. “Garp,” he barks, not taking his eyes off of Shanks, but then the anger drains from his face, expression going carefully still. “He's what? No, I– one moment.”
He jerks his head at Bogard and storms towards the door, giving Shanks a filthy look and deliberately knocking against his shoulder as he pushes past him. Shanks snorts at the immature display, but he doesn't try to stop him.
He does, however, stop his second in command.
“Bogard,” Shanks says, and the man turns to arch an eyebrow at him, looking impatient as he makes to follow Garp outside.
“Yes, captain?”
“Tell Garp if he wants me to actually help Koby, he needs to stop withholding information,” Shanks says flatly. “I don't trust him any more than he trusts me, but I can't do what he’s asking if he doesn't tell me everything he knows. Keeping secrets isn't going to help Koby.”
Bogard grimaces. “I understand. I'll talk to him.” He hesitates before leaving, then turns around and says, “None of us are trying to get in your way. We're breaking more rules than I can count by being here, and Garp is doing his best. He cares deeply about Koby.”
“Funny how the young men Garp cares for keep ending up hurt,” Shanks says. “I wonder what it could possibly be that they all have in common.”
Bogard is too put together to scowl, but the barest twitch of his lips gets the point across all the same. Whether he doesn't have a rebuttal or doesn't want to risk their tenuous truce, he leaves without another word, spinning on his heel and striding down the hallway after his commander.
The second he's gone, Shanks sags against the wall, staring down at the transponder with wide eyes. It looks back at him as it continues placidly chewing its leaf of lettuce, clearly unbothered by what it just showed them. Shanks, on the other hand, doesn't think he'll be getting those images out of his mind any time soon.
He's seen a lot of pain in his life. He's caused a lot of pain. Those videos still make the list of some of the more senseless acts of cruelty he's witnessed, and they left the four of them with the insensate young man down the hall, snuffed out like a candle.
Shanks swallows back nausea and steps out after Bogard. He's filled, suddenly, with the need to check on Koby. The sight of him eerily still and quiet is still disturbing, but it's a far cry from the boy in the videos, soaked in his own blood and barely twitching as the pirates snapped his fingers. If nothing else, he could use the reminder that the kid has received medical attention recently.
He pauses outside the door. It's open just a crack, and he can hear Helmeppo’s voice floating through the opening, softer and more soothing than the abrasive tone he's been taking with the three of them all day. Shanks cocks his head to the side curiously, then pushes the door open a little more, carefully holding the handle so it won't creak.
Helmeppo has taken Shanks’ chair by the bed, and he's pulled Koby forward some from where he was sitting leaned against the wall earlier, just enough that Koby can lean his head back. The bowl of broth is empty, and Helmeppo’s holding the refilled glass of water in one hand while the other reaches for Koby’s head. He moves with quick, practiced efficiency, like this has become a normal part of his routine, and he keeps up a constant stream of chatter as he works.
“You know, you should have seen what Martin was wearing when we left,” he says. “It was hideous. I know you don't know shit about fashion, but even you would have recognized how bad it was. Open.”
Koby’s lips part automatically, and Helmeppo raises the cup to his mouth, the other hand coming up to cradle Koby’s head as he tips it back to carefully pour water into his mouth. “There you go,” he murmurs, then scoffs when a little water dribbles down Koby’s chin. “God, you're a mess. Were you raised by wolves? Don’t answer that, I already know. I swear, sometimes I don't know why I put up with you.”
He wipes the water away without another word, though, and the next sips are smaller, easy for Koby to swallow without spilling. He keeps his movements soft and firm, supporting Koby’s weight while being careful not to hurt him. His hands aren't used to being kind, Shanks thinks, but he seems like a quick learner.
He helps Koby sit up on the cot, leaned back against the pillows, and brushes his hair carefully out of his eyes. All the while, he keeps up a steady stream of chatter, gossiping about their fellow marines and complaining about the trip here.
It's all whiny nonsense, but it's the first thing Shanks has seen Koby actually look at all day. He doesn't know if the kid is actually seeing Helmeppo, and he sincerely doubts he's hearing him, but his eyes, hazy as they are, are tracking Helmeppo's face.
Shanks doesn't move from the doorway, but he deliberately shifts his weight so that the floorboards creak underneath him. Helmeppo jumps and turns to look at him over his shoulder, and his gentle expression immediately shutters.
“Oh,” he says. “It's you. Did you learn anything from those recordings?”
“Not as much as I would have liked,” Shanks admits. “But something, yeah.” Helmeppo sets the cup down on the table with a grunt of acknowledgment, and Shanks nods towards Koby and says, “He watches you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Helmeppo says, and Shanks tries to hide his surprise. He's not sure why he's so taken aback by that, honestly. Helmeppo might be an annoying little prick, but he's also spent the entire day circling Koby like a territorial dog. Of course he pays attention to him.
“Do you think he can understand you?” Shanks asks, genuinely curious, and Helmeppo scowls.
“He's not stupid. Of course he can.” He hesitates, then admits, “When he can hear me, at least. I think that's the thing he's having a hard time with.”
“Yeah,” Shanks says softly. It's impressive that Koby even seems aware of Helmeppo’s existence; his mind seems to be intact, but he's buried so deep in himself Shanks doubts any noise can get through. He wonders how much deeper those instincts must run, for Koby to still turn to his friend when he doesn't even recognize him.
“Where are Garp and Bogard?” Helmeppo asks, busying himself with shuffling things around on the table, making sure the bowl and cup are safely away from the edge. He's obviously just avoiding looking at Shanks, but Shanks doesn't call him on it.
“Garp got a call on his transponder,” he says. “He and Bogard ran off to answer it.”
Helmeppo’s head snaps up at that, awkwardness forgotten as his expression twists with dread. “Fuck. Was it the hospital?”
“They didn't say,” Shanks says, frowning. “Why would that be bad?”
“It wouldn't,” Helmeppo says automatically, then winces when Shanks just raises an eyebrow. He clearly knows he already gave himself away. He ducks his head, shoulders hunching, and mutters, “We're not exactly supposed to be here.”
“I gathered that much,” Shanks says, and Helmeppo looks up with a wince.
“Yeah, but, uh… Koby’s really not supposed to be here.”
Shanks blinks, mulls that over for a moment, then bursts out laughing. “Oh, god, did you have to break him out of the hospital?”
“They wouldn't let us sign him out!” Helmeppo protests. “Not even Garp!”
Shanks just laughs harder, trying to imagine it. For as capable as Garp and Bogard are—and as much as he has to admit he might have underestimated Helmeppo—he can't picture any of them on a stealth mission.
“I would have paid good money to see that,” he says, making a show of wiping his eyes just to see Helmeppo scowl at him.
“It's not like we had a choice,” he snaps. “We had to get him out before–”
He clamps his mouth shut again, flushing an angry red. Shanks’ smile fades.
“Before?” he prompts, and Helmeppo jerks one shoulder in a shrug and looks away.
The room is small and mostly empty. There's nothing else to look at except Koby.
“They were going to discharge him,” Helmeppo says, voice low. Koby stares back at him, blank-faced. “If they couldn't wake him up.”
Shanks frowns. “That's what you wanted, isn't it?”
“Not from the hospital,” Helmeppo says, teeth gritted. “From the Marines. He can't stay in the infirmary on base forever. But he– he can't be on his own, either, not like this, and he doesn't have any family. They're just gonna throw him in a madhouse if this doesn't work.”
Shanks’ stomach drops. That information doesn't change much, not for him; he was already determined to help Koby. But the thought of Koby spending the rest of his days in a hospital room, unmoving and unseeing, unable to speak up if he needs something…
All right. Maybe the stakes are a little higher.
“I'm gonna do whatever I can to help him,” he promises.
When Helmeppo looks back at him, his eyes are wet. “I just want him to wake up,” he says, voice breaking. “I don't know why he won't.”
“Because he’s very strong,” Shanks says quietly. “And because he got very badly hurt. But I've got good news for you.”
Helmeppo snorts and drags the back of his hand across his eyes. “What?”
Shanks grins. “I'm better at this than he is.”
“It's just the time,” he explains later, when Garp and Bogard have returned, both wearing carefully blank expressions. Shanks doesn't ask what happened on that call, or what sorts of consequences they'll be facing when they get back. They're all risking things to be here. “I didn't realize it had been so long. He grew around it.”
Helmeppo frowns. He's back by the window, arms crossed over his chest. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“Say I stab you right now,” Shanks says, then rolls his eyes when Helmeppo looks nervously at Garp. “I'm not going to. But say you get stabbed, and you just leave the knife there. Assuming you don't die immediately, when the wound starts to heal, you'll just heal around the blade.”
Bogard makes a soft, understanding noise. “Scar tissue.”
“Scar tissue,” Shanks confirms, snapping his fingers and pointing at him in agreement. “He's been shut in there for two months. His mind grew around it, covered all the seams. It's why I couldn't find an opening. He buried it.”
He doesn't give them a chance to ask anymore questions, just turns back to Koby. “All right, Koby,” he murmurs. “Let's get you out of there.”
Shanks takes a deep breath, braces himself, and dives back in. After most of the day poking and prodding at the strange fortress in Koby’s mind, it's no effort at all to find it again. He jumps straight to it and, rather than the gentle, cautious way he's dealt with it before, he does what he suspects Koby did two months ago: he sharpens his Haki into something hard and vicious, and he drags it like a sword down the edge of Koby’s mind.
Koby sucks in a sharp breath. Shanks grits his teeth and keeps going.
From here, the work is easier. It's still nearly impossible, but only nearly. He peels away the places where Koby’s mind tried to cover itself, and from there, he can find the actual shape of the little box Koby made for himself.
This actually has a lock on it, or something like one, but Shanks is a pirate. He's never been bothered by a locked chest. It would be easier to bash his way at this point, without the extra layers guarding it, but he takes his time, carefully fiddling with it, feeling out the new shape now that he's unearthed it and looking for the opening.
He doesn't know how long it takes. Not as long as when he was senselessly looking for an opening where there wasn't one, but still long enough that he's distantly aware of the sun setting outside and his back and knees aching from sitting in the same position for so long.
And then finally, with the satisfying click of picking the lock on a stolen treasure chest, he gets the door open.
He's been so focused on his task that he's actually caught by surprise when Koby’s first instinct upon waking up to throw a punch at him. It's weak, and his aim is off; instead of connecting with his jaw, Koby’s fist glances off Shanks’ shoulder, and even that small effort has him groaning and doubling over, cradling his hand to his chest.
Shanks stumbles back all the same, nearly knocking the chair over as he scrambles away. The hit barely registers, but the screaming–
Koby bursts out of the hole in his mind like a bat out of hell, what must be months of panic unleashing all at once. The voice is only in his mind: he doesn't need to pause for breath. It's a long, uninterrupted wail, impossibly loud and unbearably scared, incoherent as he pleads with no one.
After hours of straining to hear the faintest whispers, the voice hits Shanks like a cannon blast going off next to head. Garp and Bogard wince at the same moment, and Shanks takes an automatic step back, an animal instinct to get away while he frantically tries to block out the noise.
Only one person in the room can't hear him. Helmeppo shoulders past Shanks, ignoring the chair entirely to sit on the edge of the bed next to Koby.
“Hey,” he says. “Hey, Koby, come on, come here.”
Shanks blinks the stars out of his eyes and shakes his head to clear the ringing in his ears. As much as he's screaming in his mind, Koby's barely making any noise, physically. He's scrambled back in the bed, wedging himself into the corner and drawing his legs up to his chest, shoulders hunched and arms wrapped around his head to protect himself like he's expecting a blow. He's shaking and hiccupping with muffled sobs as his breath hitches unevenly, well on his way to a panic attack just seconds after waking up. He doesn't so much as twitch at Helmeppo’s words.
“Koby,” Helmeppo says again, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a small case that he fumbles to open with shaking hands. “Hey, come on, I've got your glasses. Put these on so you don't walk into a damn wall, won't you?”
Shanks doesn't imagine that Koby will be walking anywhere any time soon—even with his mind back, he still has more than enough physical problems to deal with after his captivity—but his quiet tears pause for a moment, and he peeks up through his arms, revealing one wide, red-rimmed eye.
“Meppo?” he whispers, voice hoarse and cracking. Helmeppo’s lower lip trembles for a moment before he forces his mouth into a thin, hard line.
“Who else?”
Koby’s still shaking, but he slowly uncurls one arm to reach for his glasses. He freezes for a moment when he sees his own bandaged fingers, then sniffles and lowers his other arm so he can put them on. He wipes his tears away as best he can even while he keeps crying, blinking around at the unfamiliar room. He frowns when he notices Shanks, but seeing Garp and Bogard seems to steady something in him. He's still crying, but his expression slowly shifts from fear to shock as he looks back at Helmeppo.
“You… I'm back? You found me?”
“No, this is an elaborate illusion,” Helmeppo says, rolling his eyes. “Of course we found you, did you seriously think we–”
He's cut off with an oof as Koby throws himself at him with a sob, pressing his face against Helmeppo’s chest while his shoulders start shaking again. Not with panic, this time; Shanks can still hear plenty of underlying fear in his voice as he clings to his friend, but it's being drowned out by overpowering waves of relief. Helmeppo wraps his arms around him in return, holding on tightly even while clearly trying to be mindful of Koby’s injuries.
“Come on, get a hold of yourself,” he says roughly. “Don't you know how to behave in public? Were you raised by wolves?”
Shanks, head still throbbing, frowns and opens his mouth to snap at the kid for being an ass at the worst possible time, but Koby only lets out a soft, hiccupping laugh.
“No,” he croaks, voice muffled where his face is still pressed against Helmeppo’s shoulder. “I was raised by pirates.”
Helmeppo’s expression crumples, and his shoulders heave as he bends over Koby, hiding his face in a mess of pink hair as he starts to cry. “You're not funny,” he sobs, fisting his hands so tightly in Koby’s sweater that his knuckles go white. “Shut up, stop– that's not–”
“You asked,” Koby protests, laughing through his tears.
And Koby finally answered, Shanks thinks, chest aching as he realized why Helmeppo’s been asking him the same question over and over. It's clearly an old joke between them, a call-and-response that Koby hasn't been able to complete until now.
“I missed you,” Helmeppo chokes out. “Please don't do that again, please don't go away again.”
Koby nods, bunching the fabric of Helmeppo’s shirt under his forehead, and brings his shaking arms up to hug him back. The screaming panic is dying down, now. He's still scared and overwhelmed—and more than either sensation, starting to register how much pain he's in—but he doesn't seem like he's about to lose it again.
He's still crying, though, and he doesn't seem likely to stop any time soon. By tacit agreement, Garp, Bogard, and Shanks all keep their distance, letting Koby and Helmeppo take the time they need. They've been apart for months, in one way or another, and Shanks is all too aware of the ache of being separated from your best friend.
Koby lifts his head eventually, sniffling as he pushes his glasses up his forehead with one hand so he can wipe his eyes with the other. He winces when he does, clearly not realizing how many injuries he has until he hits one by accident. He stares down at his own bandaged fingers for a moment, unnerved, then looks back up at Helmeppo.
“What happened?” he asks hoarsely.
“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Garp says quietly and Koby jumps like he forgot he was there.
“Vice Admiral,” he says, and starts to bring one hand up to salute only to wince and clutch his ribs. Helmeppo, still teary eyed himself, huffs as he twists around and slips an arm around Koby’s middle, helping him sit up in a more comfortable position. “I– I'm sorry for the display, sir, I didn't mean to, um…”
“You're fine, Lieutenant,” Garp says, and Shanks pretends that it doesn't rankle to hear genuine fondness in the man’s voice. “It's good to see you awake.”
“Thank you, sir,” Koby says, smiling a little as he wipes away a few errant tears. “I don't know… was I asleep?”
“Might as well have been,” Helmeppo mutters. Koby frowns up at him, lost, and Helmeppo looks away with a shrug.
“Koby, what's the last thing you remember?” Shanks cuts in. Koby frowns at him.
“You're Red Haired Shanks,” he says, and Shanks mimes tipping an imaginary hat at him. “Are you supposed to be here?”
“He's fine for now, Koby,” Bogard says. “We brought him here to help. You can answer him.”
“I don't… completely remember everything,” Koby says hesitantly. “It's fuzzy. I know I got captured. They kept asking me things, and I wouldn't answer.” He snorts a little and says, “They weren't happy about that.”
“Something changed,” Shanks prompts when Koby trails off. “Something happened that scared you.”
“Yeah,” Koby says, looking down at his bandaged hands again. “Yeah, they–” He swallows hard, then forces out, “They started asking me things that I didn't know. That I couldn't know, that they knew I couldn't know. And I realized they weren't–” Another gulp, nearly a gag. “They didn't even want me to answer. The interrogations were just an excuse.”
“They just wanted to hurt you,” Shanks says quietly, and Koby peeks up at him and nods.
“I just remember thinking that I couldn't tell them what they wanted to know even if I wanted to, so I knew they weren't going to stop, and I just…” He lets out a long, shaky sigh and leans against Helmeppo, who rubs his arm soothingly. “They said that if I didn't start talking soon they'd…” His mouth twists sharply, and his eyes skitter away from Shanks. “Nothing I wanted to be awake for.”
“So you found a way to sleep through it,” Shanks says, and Koby shrugs.
“I guess. I wasn't really thinking clearly. I just wanted to…” He trails off again, brow furrowing. “I wanted to go away somewhere, or hide somehow, but I couldn't get away. I was just trying to hide where they couldn't find me.”
“Well, you certainly pulled that off,” Shanks says thoughtfully. “It took a fair bit of effort for me to find you.”
“It was an impressive piece of work,” Garp agrees, and Koby colors.
“Thank you, sir. I'm sorry, I still don't… how long was I gone?”
“We got you back almost three weeks ago,” Bogard says, then more reluctantly, “You were missing for a month and a half before that.”
“A month and a…” Koby’s eyes go wide. “So– so two months? I've been like this for months?”
“Give or take a few days, from the sound of it,” Shanks says. Koby looks down at his bandaged hands again, shoulders hitching as he draws in an uneven breath.
“Some of these are fresh,” he says softly, picking at his bandages. “So they– they kept hurting me? When I wasn't even reacting?” He laughs before anyone can answer, burying his head in his hands. “I was hoping they'd stop,” he mumbles, with another weak, painful laugh. “If I wasn't screaming anymore.”
His eyes are damp when he looks back up, and he smiles wryly. “I thought maybe they'd get bored.”
“I'm sorry, kid,” Shanks says, and Koby shrugs and slumps back against Helmeppo’s side.
“It's fine. It's not like I remember most of it. Basically didn't even happen, if you think about it. At least not to me.”
He's still picking at the bandages wrapped around his hands. Shanks doesn't think he realizes he's doing it; he looks startled when Helmeppo gently pulls his hand away before he can undo the knots entirely. He offers his friend a small smile and then drops his head on his shoulder with a soft, exhausted sigh.
“I'm just glad it's done now.”
“Koby,” Shanks says gently. Koby’s small smile fades as he looks at Shanks, and then he swallows hard enough that Shanks can hear it.
“You're not done,” he realizes, and Shanks shakes his head.
“I'm not.”
“But you… but you did it,” Koby says, gulping again. “You woke me up. I'm back, I'm okay. We don't have to do anything else.”
Shanks sighs. “You carved out a room in your own head,” he says as gently as possible, but Koby still winces. “And you told yourself it was the only place you'd be safe if someone tried to hurt you. That room’s still there, kid. If you get scared or hurt again–”
Koby looks away, shoulders hunching. “But I don't want to go back in. I won't do it again.”
His voice is plaintive, like a child asking to stay up past their bedtime. Or, Shanks thinks miserably, like a deeply hurt young man asking not to have his head torn open anymore.
“You won't do it on purpose,” he says. “But instinct is a strong thing. You did this while you were panicked and out of options. If you end up in another situation like that–”
“He won't,” Helmeppo says fiercely, tugging Koby closer. “We won't let that happen again.”
“Or a situation that feels similar,” Shanks says, sparing Helmeppo only a brief glance before he looks back to Koby. “Torture is scary, but one man with a sword is scary, too. If you feel like you're in danger, you might not be able to tell the difference.”
Koby presses his lips together, but it doesn't quite hide the way they tremble. “You think I'll get stuck again.”
“I think it's a risk you shouldn't take,” Shanks says frankly. “I had a hard enough time getting you out of there, and I won't always be around to do it. Even if I am, the better option is to make sure you can't get stuck in the first place.”
“You'll lock the door?” Koby asks. “Seal it somehow?”
“Locks can be picked,” Shanks says. “And barred doors can be broken down. I'll have to take the room apart completely.”
Koby shudders. “So you'll just– you'll just break it. I won't get locked in again cause there won't be anything to lock me into.”
“That's right,” Shanks nods. “It won't hurt. You shouldn't feel any pain. Maybe a tension headache afterwards, at the worst.”
Koby looks back at him, clearly hearing the hesitation in Shanks’ voice and searching his face for what he's not saying. “But?”
Shanks grimaces. “But you'll know I'm in there,” he says. “It'll be quicker than before, but you'll be awake for it this time. You'll feel it.”
Koby gulps so loudly Shanks can hear it. “Can you knock me out?” he asks. “I could– I could just sleep through it, couldn't I?”
“You could,” Shanks says reluctantly. “But I'd rather you be awake for it. It's your head; I don't want to put something back in the wrong place.”
Koby mulls it over for a long moment. He doesn't look at the other Marines in the room this time, just stares down at his own bandaged hands. Shanks doesn’t push him. This is well and truly up to him; Shanks is entirely capable of trying to set the boy's mind to rights without Koby’s help, even if the thought makes him more nervous than he'd like to admit. It would certainly be easier with Koby awake.
“Can everyone leave?” Koby asks, voice soft and eyes fixed resolutely down. “Just while he does it?”
“Koby,” Bogard protests, but Helmeppo, surprisingly, cuts him off.
“Yeah, okay.” He shrugs at his commander's obvious surprise, carefully untangling himself from Koby and standing up. “What? We've already seen more of him lately than I'm sure any of us would have wanted to.” More than Koby would have wanted them to, Shanks translates, and he can see Garp and Bogard realizing the same thing. “Personally, I'd love a break.”
“Koby?” Garp asks, the first time he's addressed the kid by name, and Koby meets his eyes resolutely.
“I'll be fine, sir.”
It's not terribly convincing when Helmeppo has to stop to help Koby lean back against the pillows before he steps away, but there's steel in Koby’s eyes and a determined set to his mouth. Not willing to outright demand his privacy, perhaps, but stubborn enough to argue for it if he needs to.
“We'll be just down the hall,” Garp says without looking away from Koby. “Close enough to hear if something happens.”
He doesn't bother to look at Shanks, who knows perfectly well that's a threat directed at him and likewise doesn't bother to respond. The three Marines file out in silence. Helmeppo closes but doesn't lock the door behind him as he goes, and Shanks rights the chair and sits back down.
Koby regards him silently, wary but resigned.
“Before I do anything else,” Shanks says, “I have to say, I'm glad to finally make your acquaintance properly, though I wish it had been under better circumstances.”
One side of Koby’s mouth ticks up in a smile. “Better than the last time, at least.”
That surprises a laugh out of Shanks. “I suppose so.”
Koby’s expression doesn't change. “You saved my life that day,” he says. “Why?”
“Because Akainu is a madman and a zealot,” Shanks says frankly. “And you didn't deserve to die for doing what no one else was brave enough to do.”
Koby nods slowly. “And helping me today?” he asks, voice mild and eyes sharp.
This kid would make a hell of a pirate. It's a shame that Shanks can't just grab him and run.
“You saved the life of someone important to me last year,” he says. “Knowing that you might not survive it, and knowing that your sacrifice might not be worth it.”
Koby searches his face for a long moment, then settles back against the pillows with a sigh. “What do you need from me?”
“Stay calm and sit still, if you can,” Shanks says. “More for your sake than mine; I don't want you to hurt yourself by accident.”
“Can't hurt much worse,” Koby mutters. Shanks thinks of that last video, and of the video that Garp destroyed, and is perversely glad that Koby thinks that right now is the worst pain he's ever felt. “I'm ready when you are, Captain Shanks.”
“Shouldn't take too long,” Shanks promises, and he hopes he's not lying.
He's unfortunately, uncomfortably familiar with the shape of Koby’s mind after today, but it's jarring to have company in there for the first time. Koby’s trying to stay still, at least, thoughts buzzing with curiosity and stress but staying almost forcibly quiet.
He gags when Shanks pries away the first board. “Sorry,” Shanks says, genuinely apologetic, but he doesn't hesitate to go for the next one. Koby makes a hurt, anxious noise, a high-pitched whine caught in the back of his throat, and wraps his arms around his middle even though it hurts. Shanks can feel the flash of pain as he puts pressure on his ribs.
“Are you almost– fuck, god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry–”
He's panicking. Shanks swallows hard and pauses for just a moment, only long enough to reach for Koby’s uninjured hand. “Here. You'll hurt yourself like that.”
Koby doesn't hesitate or argue, just grabs it and holds on so tightly Shanks’ fingers ache. “Are you done,” he gasps, and Shanks squeezes back as reassuringly as he can.
“Halfway through.”
Koby sobs and buries his head in his free hand. Shanks gives up on any subtlety or caution as he dives back in, peeling the room apart with ruthless efficiency while Koby hiccups and cries. The kinder thing, at this point, is only to make it quick.
“Please,” Koby chokes out. Shanks tries not to let on how sick it makes him to hear the kid’s voice breaking. He might as well be sticking his hand through Koby’s ribs to squeeze his organs. “Please, sorry, I'm sorry–”
“Almost done,” Shanks says frantically. The room is nearly demolished now; he's only trying to smooth out some of the wreckage. “You're doing great, I'm almost done, you're okay–”
It's as close as he can get it to what it was before this happened, now; the rest, unfairly, is up to Koby. Shanks yanks himself back and slams up his own walls, trying to keep his own Voice muffled so he doesn't overwhelm Koby when he's this raw.
Koby lets go of his hand with a gasp once he's alone in his head again, but he immediately sags forward to collapse against Shanks’ chest, sobbing. Shanks catches him automatically, running his hand up and down Koby’s back.
“It's okay,” he breathes. “I'm so sorry, it's done. I'm done, you're okay. No more of that.”
Koby nods against his shoulder and sucks in a wet, uneven breath. He doesn't cry as long or as hard this time; it's only a minute later that he's straightening and wiping his eyes. He looks a thousand times more exhausted than he did even right after waking up, face haggard and eyes haunted. Shanks hands him the half-drunk glass of water from the table without a word, and Koby takes it, drains it, then sniffles and lifts the hem of his sweater to wipe his face.
He makes a face down at it when he lets go. “Of course he put me in this,” he mutters. Shanks quirks an eyebrow, and Koby huffs and plucks at the bright purple fabric. “It's Meppo’s. He's always saying that I don't know how to dress. I'm unconscious for two months, and of course he uses it as an opportunity to dress me. Asshole.”
His voice is nothing but fond. Shanks smiles. “He's a good friend.”
“My best friend,” Koby agrees, then looks at Shanks uncertainly. “You're… we're done now? Really done?”
“Really done,” Shanks says. “I'm sorry I had to do that to you, but the room’s gone now.”
“Don't apologize,” Koby says tiredly. “I should be thanking you.” He sags back against the pillows with a groan. “So, thank you.”
Shanks snorts. “You want me to go get your crew, or do you need a minute?”
Koby closes his eyes and waves a hand vaguely. “You can get them. I'm okay now.”
“You are,” Shanks agrees, then hops to his feet and hurries down the hall. He's more shaken than he's willing to let on in front of any of them, but he feels lighter than he has all day, now that Koby’s actually awake and coherent. Shanks might feel like a butcher for the way he had to shred Koby's mind to get him out, but at least he did it.
The Marines don't stay long. Shanks didn't expect them to, now that the work is done. Helmeppo goes to prepare their boat, and when he comes back to assure them they're ready to leave, Bogard carefully lifts Koby into his arms again and carries him towards the back stairs.
Koby offers Shanks a wry smile and a sarcastic salute as he's carted away, still too weak to walk on his own. Shanks laughs and returns the gesture with a one-fingered salute of his own, and Koby's grin shifts to something a little more sincere as he's carried away.
“Vice Admiral,” Shanks says as they leave, and Garp turns. “The matter of my payment.”
Garp frowns, but he nods to Bogard and Helmeppo to keep walking and strides back to Shanks without a word. “You've come up with your favor already?”
“Technically, no,” Shanks says. “I would have done this for free once I realized who it was. I owed Koby a debt. You don't owe me anything.”
Garp’s eyes narrow. “I see.”
“That said,” Shanks says, and Garp snorts. “I have a request. Or advice, if you want to take it that way.”
“What advice could you possibly have for me?” Garp asks incredulously, but he doesn't walk away. He's stubborn, but he's not an idiot.
“Koby did something that until today, I wouldn't have guessed was possible,” Shanks says. “And he did it under duress, with minimal training, and without completely destroying his mind in the process.”
Garp’s mouth sets in a hard, thin line. “He came close to it.”
“He's either incredibly lucky–” Garp snorts again, derisive. “–or he's a once in a generation prodigy. Keep an eye on him.”
“I plan on it.” Garp glances down the hall after the other three. “Is that all?”
“Just one more thing.”
When Garp turns back to him, Shanks drops every last vestige of flippancy, voice and expression deadly serious as he says, “If I hear of Marines doing what Koby did to himself on other people, even the slightest hint that you've weaponized it, you're the first one I kill.”
Garp doesn't answer for a long moment, just regards Shanks with something that's not quite respect, but might be recognition.
“There's a reason I came to you instead of another officer,” he says finally. “I know what I am, and I know what the Marines are. What Koby did never leaves this island.”
Shanks doesn't like Garp, and he doesn't trust him. He still believes him.
“Safe travels, Garp,” he says quietly, and Garp nods.
“You too, Shanks.”
Garp spins on his heel and follows his crew out the door, and Shanks sinks back in his chair, rubs at his aching head, and then heads back down to the bar to order another round of drinks.