Work Text:
Shanks felt a familiar itch under his skin, wings wanting to burst from his skin, to spread wide and mantle. He just wasn't sure if the instinct was because he wanted to protect or attack.
He looked across the sea at the rookie nipping at his heels, trying to pick fights that he was in no way ready for. Shanks felt his stomach twist and just as quickly dismissed it as nothing but last night's rum's revenge.
The rookie continued yapping, gathering a surprising, if uncontrolled, amount of Haki in preparation to attack. Then again, he had faced down Kaido and Linlin. It took more than just guts to do that.
Shanks almost felt bad about what was about to happen, but couldn't let that shot fire. He was sailing in front of some of his fleet's ships now after-all. And what kind of host would he be if he let the party get out of control like this and have his friend's boats trashed before the night even started?
Deciding that the itch running down his spine must be from offense, Shanks shot forward off the Red Force's figurehead, Gryphon unsheathed and swinging down to meet the storm of metallic parts directed by an outstretched arm.
His wings finally broke free as Shanks cleared the carved dragon's head. An arm fell to the deck; its former owner's face frozen, twisted into an angry snarl, while bronze scales reflected the sun as blood gushed form the standing figure.
It was a warning blow. It was a mercy.
After-all, Shanks knew best that an arm was no insurmountable obstacle to piracy. This was a relatively calm stretch of the New World. The kid would have time to recover, get stronger, and maybe even be humbled somewhat.
Shanks felt inclined to like this rookie, no matter how much his instincts screamed at him. It was probably because Anchor seemed to like him. He felt a familiar energy coming from his opponent's direction that he figured must be his kid's. "Natural Enemy, his digested left arm," Shanks thought to himself, laughing internally.
The power from Shanks' launch left him directly over the rookie's ship and he figured there'd be no harm in giving the kid a few words of wisdom. He beat his wings and landed gracefully on deck.
While opening his mouth to say something appropriately witty, a small movement caught his attention out of the corner of Shanks' eye. Oh fuck. That hadn't been Anchor's aura that he felt on the brat after all.
Black fire burst forth from the deck, a circle of dark tongues shooting out in all directions. Shanks barely had time to jump up before they whipped around his ankles, beating his wings frantically to hover above the deceptively calm sea.
The flames died down to leave a perfect circle branded on the wooden deck. A lone figure stood in the blank space, a reflection of the man hovering over the sea. The newcomer was perfectly still, eyes fixated on the fallen arm.
"So, you're not content to merely spit on our family's pride by acting the way that you do? Now you have to actively try to destroy it?" The doppelganger spoke with a pointedly neutral meter, only the cold fire in his eyes a hint at his fury. His voice was measured and steady, not a tone out of place, sounding as if he was commenting on a museum piece, and not a severed limb, sitting in a pool of blood.
Shanks' heart beat frantically in time with the flapping of his wings. He felt more like a humming bird than a dragon in this moment, small and fragile.
Even so, his mouth ran ahead of his brain, as he shot back, "Not every red head is related to you, you unholy menace."
The downed Captain Kidd spoke up at the same time, echoing Shanks' offended tone in eerie unison, "This is a matter between pirates. Butt out, Shamrock!"
Shanks turned to the rookie in shock, how the hell did he know his twin? Said rookie was looking rough, pale from blood loss, barely standing, and propped up by his first mate. A small blue haired woman was fussing over the shoulder where an arm once was. His teeth were barred, though Shanks couldn't tell if it was from pain or fury.
The audacity to drop the Saint, Shanks could believe that. But when would the brat have met a Celestial Dragon?
One thing Shanks knew for sure though, was that the little upstart was a true pirate, blessed by Davy Jones himself. He was no Cipher Pol spy or touring noble, play-acting as a pirate. No, the man glaring daggers at both twins now had earned his Jolly Roger, lived by it. No matter whatever unfortunate acquaintance he had with his brother.
Shamrock sighed and shook his head, red hair, so similar yet so different from Shanks' glowing in the sunlight, "Why must you both insist on calling yourselves pirates?" He walked closer to the Kidd Pirates, taking his gloves off and delicately tucking them into his belt.
"Because I am a pirate, you flouncy priss," Kidd shot back, hissing as Shamrock laid his hands on his bleeding stump. His well manicured fingers were quickly covered with blood, though Shamrock paid it no heed.
Shanks was still confused. Shamrock hated being dirty, hated being disrespected, hated the under-world. Why would he lay claim to one of the rudest, Supernova pirates that Shanks had the misfortune to be attacked by?
"I can hear your neurons failing to fire from here, brother. Do take care before you spontaneously combust before I can properly deal with you for all of this," if Shamrock sighed any harder he'd blow the ship right over the Calm Belt, Shanks thought uncharitably.
Blood up to his forearms, Shamrock's hands were backlit by eerily familiar black flames. Shanks spared a discrete look at the limb he severed from the younger pirate—no trace of that cursed symbol to be found. And indeed, when Shamrock removed his hands from the stump, they were still bloody, and the arm remained severed, though the bleeding had stopped.
"I was fine. You didn't have to butt into my fight," Kidd grumbled. He sounded stronger now that it looked like he wasn't going to bleed out on the deck.
"Despite evidence to the contrary, I try not to 'butt in' as you so crudely put it. However," and here Shamrock brought the full heat of his glare back to Shanks, boring into his skull, "there are some opponents that you're not ready to fight yet. Our brother happens to be one of them."
"Wait, what?" Shanks didn't realize that he had asked that out loud until he heard the last syllable echo with the waves.
Shamrock didn't acknowledge the question as he continued, "Though I do have to applaud the ambition. It's not wise to try to fight another drake, unworthy of the honor as he is, before your own scales have come in."
It felt like Shanks was trapped in the horizon, where the sea swallowed the sky. He was drowning on air, "Brother?"
There was no way.
But Shanks saw the way that Shamrock willingly dirtied his hands checking on Kidd's wounds. The care Shamrock used when bandaging Kidd's injuries. It was like looking through a portal to the past. Manicured hands with sword and quill calluses wielding pure white bandages. Their red-haired recipient receiving that care with a scowl and bad attitude though no malice.
Fraternity.
It was everything Shanks gave up to return to piracy.
It is everything this still pirate, brother, received despite remaining an outlaw.
"Yes. Our brother, brother," Shamrock responded, his words laced with venom. "One who is many things, a brute among them—"
"You always say the kindest things, Shammy."
"—but isn't a liar."
Shanks scoffed, wings and heart returning to a steady beat. "Yeah. And you and dear ole dad are fine with piracy? Pull the other wing, it has bells."
"Father doesn't care—
"And I want nothing to do with that asshole either."
"—about him. And if he would stop interrupting me—"
Kidd had a wild grin on his face. Shanks was sure that even under normal circumstances it would be highlighted by his choice of lipstick, but now splattered by blood as he was, the pirate looked truly feral. "You're the one who wanted a little brother. It's basically my duty to be a pain in your ass."
"—I would be able to say that while a crude and distasteful career choice, Kidd does have quite a bit of ambition. And it suits him."
"Awww I'm flattered," Kidd both looked and acted far better than anyone who just lost an arm had a right to. Shanks should know. "Plus those assholes on their golden mountain want nothing to do with me. Not that I'm interested in 'em either. So Shamrock kind of has to be happy with me gunning for Pirate King." He let off a spine chilling cackle.
Or was that only Shanks' own bias? He couldn't tell anymore.
Hell, maybe it was just Shanks' stamina.
He hadn't flown this long in ages. Usually he stretched his wings to get to a bar faster after too long between ports, when they had drank their rum stores dry and the Red Hairs desperately needed to stop breathing each other's air. Extended periods of hovering felt like work, and work was not something that interested Shanks in the slightest.
Where was the Red Force? Surely he's been hovering here for an eternity.
Shamrock looked at Kidd with an expression Shanks had no idea how to quantify. It wasn't any look he remembers getting.
But then again, a little voice whispered, did he look that closely at Shamrock's expressions as a fresh faced twenty four year old? Or did he do his best to avert his eyes when he saw the unfamiliar, stern look on familiar features? And then block out as many of the details that he did take in, when he felt his muscles learning those same harsh expressions?
"You still don't have to be the Pirate King. We could still find you a kingdom. Just look at Donquixote," Shamrock teased.
"Absolutely not. I don't do handouts. Or ruling non-pirates," a pause, then, "You know that would basically be just giving Killer a country, right?"
"Every ruler needs a competent second in command. Even Shanks managed to do that somehow."
Shanks would like to protest the way the Shamrock said that, but he really did need Benn right now. Where the hell was the Red Force?
And just like a prayer being answered, she came into view in all her glory, snarling figurehead, gleaming planks, and concerned crew mates.
Shamrock noticed her too of course. He stopped bantering with Kidd, and finally directly acknowledged Shanks again, "Just looking at you trying to fly is depressing. Land on your ship already so we can settle this matter once and for all."
Shamrock's head ached fiercely. His jaw hurt from the involuntary teeth barring clenching he had been doing. His gums hurt where razor sharp teeth wanted to break free. His vision flickered as his pupils flattened to slits and rounded out again. And his skull pounded in time with his heart beat as he felt a headache start to form.
He was losing control. All of these were small changes to be sure, but they shouldn't be happening.
Yet.
He could still smell it, the copper tang of Kidd's blood mixed with ocean brine. He could feel the slick life-blood on his hands start to become tacky. At the rate this conversation was going, it would dry and flake before he had a chance to wash his hands.
Hands that he refused to let shake in rage, though he felt talons wish to grow as well. Oh how he wanted to rend that which hurt what was his to pieces.
But he couldn't. Not now. There were rules to this. And Shanks, for all that he forsook their blood, for all that he was worse than a cuckoo, was still entitled to certain protections. There were ways to seek recompense from noble blood for insults and irreconcilable slights.
Shamrock just had to follow the rules, as was right and proper. That was something that Shanks never understood, even when he tried to playact as one of them. There was always a correct way to get what you want. And you can always get what you desire.
Sometimes though. Sometimes it just took more creativity than normal.
So Shamrock ignored the rage that burned like black fire in his veins. And focused on making sure that Kidd was okay.
He wasn't lying when he had told his brother that he was strong and that Shamrock was proud of him. He was so very proud.
But Kidd was young. Younger that Shamrock had been when he himself had been injured by Shanks. An invisible crack that he didn't acknowledge until the fateful day he absentmindedly grabbed a bounty poster for its bright red color, intending to use it for target practice, and saw an unfamiliar face smirking back at him.
The age wasn't right, or the Blue, or even the personality. All the information he could find on one Eustass "Captain" Kidd matched neither himself nor his brother. And yet, he felt compelled to seek him out.
He wasn't prepared for what he saw. A teenager, crude and vulgar. He screamed what few thoughts passed through his brain with abandon. A feral child with no manners or decorum.
And yet. He was honest.
He cared about the group of lesser beings who followed him around, gruff but watchful. He was too much but at the same time it wasn't the exaggerated acting that Shamrock had seen Shanks perform only in hindsight.
Still, Shamrock did nothing. He watched from a distance, not engaging, not announcing his presence. Once burned, twice shy.
He had given his trust, his confidence to one pirate-brother. He would not make the same mistake again.
Shamrock returned to his estate in the clouds, fiery rage somewhat quenched. At the very least, he no longer felt as if he would try to claw out the next knight's eyes whom he fought against.
Instead he flew to his favorite perch, a remote island covered in greenery, with a small and more importantly private, cave where he could store his horde with no interference. No one would trouble him here. And if when he left, a rolled up tube of parchment was left on a dresser, well, no one else would know.
Time passed. Missions were completed. Treasures were collected.
Shamrock let the monotony of peace and prosperity wash over and drag him under. He didn't really notice the years passing him by. The sun rose and set. Pirates were a nuisance.
He kept coming back to watch the young firebrand.
Eventually, after the world was irrevocably changed after the death of one young D, Shamrock left enough clues for the subject of his observation to realize that he was being watched.
There was a confrontation.
Truths were revealed.
Bonds were forged.
Time continued to march forward, though now Shamrock was significantly happier to see new bounty posters.
Shamrock watched his brother retreat to his ship, tail all but tucked between his legs. Good. He should feel cowed, ashamed.
Shamrock felt an uncomfortable swoosh in his stomach and a tightness around his throat. How he wished to let his own wings free, cocoon Kidd in them, and fly him far away from here.
But Kidd wouldn't appreciate that. And he's learned that working with Kidd leads to less headaches than working around him. He hadn't quite grown into all his potential yet, but by Imu above did he grow into his lung capacity. Paired with Shamrock's own sharpened ears the combination was—unpleasant to say the least.
Not that their other brother didn't cause his own heart headaches. But they were the callous effects of an unthinking force of nature. Shanks' hurts simply were.
Except for this.
Red blood spilling onto polished wooden boards, staining sun tanned skin. His brother standing despite the pain, fierce and defiant.
Shamrock didn't know what possessed Kidd to try to fight their middle brother. It wasn't familial pride. Kidd had made it clear that he too didn't care for the Figarland name, though he had decided to give their fraternal bond a chance. And if there was an opportunity for something more well, Kidd would have to stop almost dying first.
Perhaps it was personal pride, a spot of hubris. For all that Kidd forsook any claim to divinity. Shamrock remembers hearing a story of a winged youth's folly. And Kidd, fresh off a victory against two Emperors, must have felt that same high, and believed he could defeat a third by himself.
No matter. Whatever possessed Kidd so that he decided to pick a fight with Shanks was of no consequence. What mattered was only the result
Shanks had hurt what was his. That was a mistake.
Unfortunately Shamrock couldn't make Shanks pay for it with his own life. Or even his own left arm.
An eye for an eye only worked when the offending party still had theirs. And if he took Shanks' remaining arm, Shamrock was sure that Shanks would continue to sail and fight. And somehow find the most undignified way in which to remain alive.
Shanks may no longer go by the Figarland name. And the short period in which he did was the worst farce. But he shared a face with Shamrock himself. It would be better to let the man keep some dignity. If only so that Shamrock didn't come face to face with photographic evidence of whatever the consequences of his rage were, most likely planted by Killingham or Sommers.
So as Shanks' ship came closer, Shamrock made a decision. He may not be able to take Shanks' arm in retribution, but his brother had plenty of so-called "nakama" all with full pairs. The dragon figurehead of the ship came into focus, with two silhouettes on the dragon's head. How convenient, they were delivering themselves for atonement on a silver platter.
In an eerie recreation of the action that had caused this catastrophe in the first place, Shamrock launched himself off of the deck of Kidd's ship, unsheathing Cerberus as he cleared the skull that made up the Victoria Punk's figurehead. Shamrock's own wings finally burst from his back like they've wanted to since he arrived.
For a second Shamrock seemed to be frozen in the air, golden wings spread wide as if he was an avenging angel sent to deliver divine justice. Then he shot forward, once again unknowingly copying his brother, as he swung Cerberus down.
An arm fell to the sea; its former owner's face frozen in a blank stare, while golden scales reflected the fiery hues of the setting sun.
Shamrock propelled himself backwards towards Kidd's ship and landed gracefully. There was no need to hover in the air like an idiot, when there was a perfectly decent vessel right behind him.
"An arm for an arm, Brother. Be glad I chose to leave you with your last."
"You—" Shanks looked furious, right hand already closed upon Gryphon's hilt. Shamrock is sure a similar look was on his face when he first arrived.
"'Every blow you land upon your enemies, you land upon your own men.' I believe those were your own words, Brother. We're at an impasse. You can't harm me unless you wish to declare war on the World Government. I can't directly go against you due to our shared blood. So take the draw for what it is and depart."
The grey-haired man wobbled next to Shanks, blood loss rapidly weakening him. The man turned and gripped Shanks' shoulder, to steady them both. Then it looked like he yanked at Shanks' left shoulder with his remaining left hand, fully turning his back to Shamrock, and hiding his mouth behind the fall of Shanks' hair.
He whispered something that Shamrock couldn't make out over the sound of the waves. Shanks continued to stare down Shamrock, though his hand left Gryphon's hilt.
The ferocious glare morphed into a pained grimace, "Fine. We'll leave it here for today." Shanks motioned to his helmsman to start redirecting the Red Force, "Guess I can't argue with my own words. I'm not a hypocrite.—"
"No, you're just a snake," Shamrock didn't quite know what came over him, but then again Shanks always brought out the worst in him. Kidd snickered behind him, having recovered enough to stand at Shamrock's side.
"—so I'll call us even. But kid, Shamrock might call me a snake, but he lays in a vipers nest. I'd watch out before he poisons you too. It would be a pity to see."
Shamrock and Kidd both scoffed, their voices layering over each other as they responded.
"I can hear the condescension from here, asshole. I don't need your bullshit advice."
"Pretty words from the man that tried to maim him."
Shanks shook his head before turning his back on the duo, "Don't say I didn't warn you. And that was a warning shot, brat. If you come after me and mine again, I'll take you out, pirate to pirate. No matter what your minder says."
Shamrock clicked his tongue, "If there comes a next time, Kidd will be more than ready to face you."
At the same time Kidd yelled, "Don't look down on me, douche-bag. I don't need your pity."
Shanks shook his head and swept his companion off his feet, tossing him over his shoulder and hopping off the figurehead.
Nothing more needed to be said.
The Red Force and the Victoria Punk passed each other in the night, though very aware of each other's existence. There was no further incident between the two parties this evening.
"Come Kidd," Shamrock motioned to invite Kidd into his own cabin. "As it so happens, I'm headed to Elbaf as well. Tell me about what you've been up to lately. I'm sure there was much the newspapers left out from your fight with Kaido and Big Mom."
Kidd shook his head at Shamrock's familiar presumption, though he followed his brother with a grin, speeding up to match his pace, and clasping his brother's shoulder with his remaining arm, "Okay, so to start, Morgans is a hack and missed all the best parts—"
The two disappeared behind closed doors as the Victoria sailed into the night, headed to the land of Giants.