Chapter Text
Shanks didn’t know.
Not until Yasopp almost had a panic attack, scrolling the Outreach’s East Blue forum and finding a perfect description of his son, missing.
Not until the whole crew high-tailed it back across the world to start looking into things, when they found out Banchina had passed away and Usopp essentially moved into a human family’s pool house and then got caught and sold, at which point Shanks decided to call up an old friend for help.
Not until he went to meet with Dragon in person, and happened to cross paths with a teenager wearing his-Roger’s-Luffy’s hat around his neck.
Shanks didn’t know then.
He knows now.
Which is why he takes particular pleasure in bringing up a side of himself he usually never touches, crouching to brace a hand against the floor of this prison full of suffering and misery, and snarling in the ancient tongue, “Divine Departure.”
The wrath of the seas is never to be underestimated.
Even on solid ground, the power of the ocean swells, cracks, breaks through. All the concrete immediately around Shanks shatters, echoing shrieks spreading outward, tearing at the foundations with all the fury of a thousand year old storm. Not too far, though; Dragon’s people are still evacuating the warehouse, and need time, without guards shooting or otherwise intervening.
Shanks can give them that time.
Panicked humans come racing, and his men unleash their own fury, taking shots and delivering strikes and generally laying waste. Not often they get the chance for open combat anymore, not since Shanks grew up a bit and got smarter with how he went about helping other merfolk. The Red Hooligans are known the world over as partygoers of the highest quality, sometimes showing up to places with invitation in hand, but usually traveling where the wind and tide took them, never worrying about whether or not Shanks would be named on any flimsy guest list. And if the parties they show up to happen to feature ‘live entertainment’, well. Chances are there’s going to be some technical difficulties, maybe even a few malfunctions allowing said entertainment to disappear, and more often than not the host will find themselves with drained bank accounts come morning, thanks to a bit of well-applied hacking.
Subtle, and effective, and with free booze included.
Right now, though? Shanks is only going for effective.
The power he’s channeling continues to reach out, held within a confined space by his will but allowed to do whatever it wants within said space. And what it wants is to tear into stone and wood and flesh, ripping apart the offices where the kin of the sea were bought and sold, destroying the wealth built on blood. Floors and walls and ceilings are torn apart by the rising gale, the water unleashed from broken pipes, sparks flying from snapped electrical lines. There’s still a measure of calm directly around Shanks, giving his lads a safe enough place to stand, but it’s the eye of a hurricane.
Until. He senses something out of place.
Ancient magic is ruthlessly hauled back under his control, packed away, and in the sudden ringing silence Shanks can hear how heavily he’s breathing.
Then-
Footsteps.
One set sharp and precise, the other heavy, dragging. Approaching slowly enough that Shanks has a chance to get himself under control, to stand and turn, flanked by his closest friends as someone who shouldn’t be here approaches.
“Thought you were going to wait with the car,” he calls, not bothering to disguise the raw hatred in his voice. Not that the words and the emotion are aimed at the same person.
“Our culinary friend is capable of handling that portion of the task by himself,” Mihawk drawls back, giving the monster in front of him another deceptively delicate prod of his sword. “I elected to enter the premises to ensure the youths all actually followed their instructions, and just as well, as I found them in the midst of a fight with this waste of oxygen.”
For his part, Teach is smiling, but there’s a panicked slant to his eyes that Shanks takes great satisfaction in seeing.
“Redtail,” the bastard tries to laugh. “It’s been, what, ten years? Gotta say, the scars look good! I bet you get all kinds of ladies hanging off your arm asking about ‘em.”
Credit to the kids, they did some decent damage: Teach’s nose is definitely broken, pouring blood, and he looks to be missing a couple of teeth. One hand clamped down on the opposite arm, staunching some more bloodflow from neat slices through his jacket sleeve, and there’s at least one bullet hole in his trousers.
That said, Shanks is glad Mihawk intervened.
If only because he knows of a couple of parents who deserve to get their pound of flesh as well.
“Yasopp. You’ve got first dibs.”
“I still say we could have beaten him,” Ace is snarling, scrambling into the van with Sabo shoving at his back, Kuina bringing up the rear. Zeff waits just long enough to confirm they and Nojiko are fully inside, Kaya already buckled into the passenger seat next to him, before shifting into Drive and slamming his prosthetic foot against the gas pedal.
Two yelps from the back, followed by matching impacts against the floor. “Sit down and hold tight,” Zeff barks, not particularly concerned with the pair of knucklehead brothers. And he knows they’re the ones who just toppled over, Kuina’s got better balance and Nojiko is already kneeling directly behind the front seats, peering around Kaya at the cooler clutched in the smaller girl’s lap. “Snowpea, they all in there?”
“All five,” Kaya confirms. “Zoro and Sanji put up a fight, I don’t think they knew we were there to help - I had to tip the others out of a plastic castle, it looked like Usopp and Nami were holding onto Luffy.”
Zeff grunts. Slows down just long enough to make a hard turn as they shoot past the facility’s gate (ripped apart by that Hooligan Party Bus crashing through it earlier), then floors the gas a second time. There’s a chance Blackbeard will have backup incoming, if Dragon's people weren't able to cut the phone lines in time, and if that's the case he fully intends to get the kids all out of harm’s way before then.
All ten of them.
(Sanji fought back. His Eggplant still had the energy and wherewithal to do that much. Little shit’s bound to be alright. And Zeff will keep telling himself that until it’s stable enough to open the cooler and see for himself.)
In slightly less than an hour, nearly forty merfolk of varying ages, sizes, and species are liberated from Blackbeard’s clutches. Dragon helps carry as many of them as he can, making himself visible enough to be recognized, to help drive the point home that his brethren are not merely being taken to some new hell, but to freedom.
“We can handle the rest, my friend,” Kuma rumbles after the last mer is safely brought aboard a transport, ready to be driven straight to the ocean and turned over to the small fleet of boats under Iva and Ginny’s command. “Rejoin Redtail, and go see your son.”
From anyone else, Dragon might brush off the encouragement. But waiting with Ginny is a two year old guppy who looks just like her, pink hair and sapphire scales, who is so tiny in Kuma’s massive hands but shrieks with joy and absolute trust whenever he lifts her high into the air. “Call if you encounter trouble.”
“We will.”
With that, Dragon moves quickly back into the devastated building, much of it collapsed and exposed to open air. No spreading fires, thanks to a wealth of holding tanks and water pipes torn asunder, not all of it the handiwork of the Revolutionaries. Indeed, the further Dragon goes, crossing from the true warehouse into the smaller halls and rooms meant for human staff, the more he detects lingering traces of the Mother Storm, something very few individuals are still able to call forth and channel in the modern day and age.
Thankfully, Dragon has known one of them since he was a year-old guppy.
Following the lingering magic, he finds his way to the Hooligans, standing in a tight circle full of jeers and shouts. And little wonder - as soon as Dragon comes close enough to see over shorter shoulders, he growls himself.
Shanks catches sight of him from across the circle. Gestures, and the men smoothly step aside to let Dragon in. A mixed crew of humans and merfolk and maybe one or two other things, and yet, they all work together in easy harmony, whether that’s to seek out fun or share some freedom.
This, though.
This is pure, simple vengeance.
Yasopp delivers one more vicious punch, sending Blackbeard collapsing to the ground with a rousing chorus from the men around them. He too has noticed Dragon’s arrival, and takes a step back, face still twisted up with rage but not so far gone he cannot control himself.
“Pff, that- that it?” Blackbeard croaks. “Should- should’ve known, you’d- be too weak- fin’sh me off-”
“Nah,” Shanks cuts in easily. Mihawk is standing just behind him, sword in one hand, eerie obsidian stone in the other. “But now we get to second dibs.”
Blackbeard scoffs. “You- you couldn’t- kill me if you tried, Red- lil’ scaredy guppy, hiding ‘hind Roger’s tail-”
Shanks bares all his teeth in a grin.
Dragon reaches down, to seize the collar of Blackbeard’s tattered coat, and haul him up off his feet. Off the land legs he’s used to hide in plain view, to walk about making deals with the worst sorts of humans, selling his own kind into one miserable existence after another for profit and power.
“I do not know everything you’ve done to Luffy,” Dragon rumbles, as deep and dark as the ocean’s strongest currents. “But you will never lay another finger on my son, or any other mer.”
Blackbeard stares, eyes wide with recognition and horror.
It’s almost as satisfying as the noise his neck makes when it snaps in Dragon’s hands.
There’s a safehouse waiting on the far side of town, garage door open and waiting for the getaway van, a seated figure inside holding the remote to close it as soon as the vehicle scoots through.
Bellemere clutches that little fob with both hands until the kids start jumping out, and Nojiko shouts to her, “We got them!”
The remote clatters to the floor.
Seizing the grips for her wheelchair, Bellemere rolls a few feet closer, better able to watch as Kaya gently steps down from the passenger side with the stupid cooler clutched to her chest. “Verdict, doc?”
“Mixed,” the little wannabe mer-medic replies, offering a strained smile even as she hurries to the stairs at the back of the garage. “But I’m going to do a better check now!”
Zeff stomps after her, Kuina slipping around him to stay on Kaya’s heels. Nojiko looks worried, but not scared, not anymore; a gesture from Bell sends her eldest off too, and then she rolls to where Ace and Sabo are practically vibrating where they wait. “Alright, brats, help me get down there.”
It burns that despite her fancier model of chair, she still needs a hand getting down into this house’s basement. But, no elevator, no ramps, no other options. At home, railings and low benches and a dozen other things Genzo has gotten for her this past year make getting around easier than ever, even with the bullet lodged in her spine - here, she has to grip her wheels and hold still as the pair of seventeen year olds carry the damn chair, taking it one cautious step at a time.
If nothing else, at least these two know how to work as a team, and move in perfect sync with each other.
There’s a specialty pool dominating the house’s lowest floor, hand-carved, with a hidden exit out to the bay. Whether the Revs put it in themselves or bought this place once they found it, Bellemere doesn’t know, doesn’t much care. She’s only got eyes for Kaya, stripped down to her bathing suit, easing down the shallow steps with cooler in hand. Nojiko and Kaya are already in the water with their scales out, Zeff grumbling as he fiddles with his prosthetic to do the same.
As soon as the boys set her down, Ace is yanking off his shorts and diving for the deep end; Sabo is a little more polite, asking Bell if there’s anything else she needs. “I can get myself in the damn water, brat, now go on.”
He throws himself after his brother. Bellemere intends to follow, to lock her brakes and lower herself out of the chair, but-
Kaya opens the cooler.
Three tiny, fucking tiny blobs of color shoot out.
Sabo thinks he’s ready for anything.
Best case scenario is a lot of overjoyed shouting that makes his ears ring; worst case, furious, tearful crying, wailing, demands to know where were they, what took them so long, questions that will carve his heart in half and stomp on the pieces.
This is worse.
This is so much worse.
Kuina snatches her cousin, Nojiko slows down her sister, and one barked “Eggplant!” from Zeff is enough to stop the third attacking mini mer in his tracks. Without the shrieking fire alarm throwing them all into a tizzy, this time the rescuees recognize their rescuers, triggering a round of excited yelling and crying. Inside the cooler, another flicker of color appears, a fourth mer swimming up from the bottom of the container, and Kaya laughs even as tears spill down her cheeks. She’s busy enough with a delighted Usopp that Ace gets impatient, reaches past her, he gets as far as scooping out the blob of tan and yellow and red and lifts Luffy up and-
No. Stop. Let go.
Sanji zooms back over from reuniting with his dad to slap at Ace’s wrist with that long tail, and then the other three also abandon their startled people to pull Luffy away, Zoro snarling, “You can’t hold him, not while he’s still out of it!”
Because the worst case scenario turns out to not be Luffy getting angry at them for not saving him sooner. It’s Luffy not reacting at all, other than whimpering, laying flat in Ace’s cupped hands and lethargically begging him to stop.
Usopp starts talking at top speed about a chemical and a separate tank and an investor who liked to get handsy with their little brother, and Sabo clenches his hands tight enough to bend steel.
“He’s always like this for a while after Imu leaves,” Nami tells them, arms wrapped around Luffy to hug him close. Because he does want to be held, to feel contact that proves he’s not alone, but in his drugged state all he can recognize about Ace is large hands. Unwelcome hands. “Sooner or later he falls asleep, and by morning he’s back to normal.”
Morning. Sabo and Ace need to wait until morning to really get their brother back. And maybe it’ll still be the other bad option, of Luffy getting angry and screaming at them, two years, it’s taken them two years too many, and even then, they still might not get Luffy. Bright and eager and laughing little Luffy. Twelve year old Luffy, who wanted extra snacks and didn’t care about properly hiding and soaked up affection from his brothers like a dry sea sponge.
Fourteen year old Luffy might be someone completely different.
Ace’s tail trembles in the water.
Sabo grabs his hand.
They’ve lasted two years. They can last a handful more hours.
And then they’ll know, one way or the other.
Mihawk takes all of three steps into the safehouse basement when he hears a small voice snarl, “You!”
“Me,” he responds automatically, even as Kuina curses and claps both her hands together, a small green and grey tail wriggling furiously where it emerges from her fingers. “I would say this conduct is unbecoming, but truth be told, I’m glad to see you are still yourself, Zoro.”
Short strands of green hair fling water in all directions as the boy manages to pop his head up between Kuina’s thumbs. “Screw you, Hawkeyes! You’re a damn liar, you-!”
“Yes. I am a liar. I lied quite easily to gain entry to Blackbeard’s inner office, entirely for the chance to confirm your presence and well-being.”
That, at the very least, causes Zoro to fall still in his cousin’s careful grasp. “...what?”
“He went in to scout for us, dummy,” Kuina informs the younger mer, while Mihawk removes his boots and coat but otherwise steps into the water fully dressed. “-weren’t sure if all five of you were there, and- what are you doing.”
Wordlessly, Mihawk arches an eyebrow. His ward huffs, but opens her hands, so that he can fully inspect Zoro at a far closer distance than three days ago. The initial assessment stands, although it’s hard to see the lad as ‘older’ when his poleaxed expression makes him appear painfully young. “You- were helping.”
“Indeed. As I still am.” And with that, Mihawk raises the object he’s not let out of his grasp since seizing it from Blackbeard’s throat.
Zoro outright hisses at the sight of the plain black stone. “Get that thing the hell away from us-”
“You would prefer to remain this size on a permanent basis, then?” Elsewhere around the pool, other conversations fall silent, as the rescued children realize what he’s brought and their relations catch the rise in tension. “An acquaintance gave me a quick assessment and sufficient instructions for operation.”
"Yeah? They also tell you how to keep it from hurting?"
Intention will transfer. But you've got good enough control over yourself not to let any emotions tangle with the magic, and besides- you'll be doing it to help, not harm. "Yes."
Uneasy shifting. Perhaps he broke the boy's trust too badly with his playacting for this - they may need to wait for Shanks to arrive after all. But then, surprisingly, Zoro states, “Luffy first. He’s been stuck like this the longest.”
A brief glance at the huddle of miniaturized mers confirms their agreement across the board, matched nods and determined gazes. “Very well, then.”
In short order, the group embrace disbands, the smallest child whining slightly as he’s left alone upon the flat stone that Mihawk holds at the water’s surface. He centers himself, breathing in and out, and follows the outlined steps from Shanks. Power coils outward from the artifact, dark as ink, wrapping around young Luffy and causing him to twitch, just once.
Then Mihawk thinks of sunlight.
An inverse to the consuming void whose power condensed physical form; by envisioning the opposite, Mihawk triggers a flash of gold across the darkness, a reversal of the prior curse. Water roils with bubbles, energy rippling outward, and within seconds, the figure small enough to curl up within his palm is abruptly a dozen times larger, still thin and scrawny and perhaps undersized for his age, but no longer miniature, grown enough to require two arms to hold him up in the pool.
A pair of shouts. And then Dragon’s two tagalongs appear, taking their brother, expressions ashen and petrified.
Unwarranted, as it stands.
Because the young boy’s eyes peel open, and he blinks- and he smiles.