(One Piece-General. 087. Scared. & 024. Cynical)
He went to the field first, which might not have been the most logical choice, which was why he figured Shanks would be there. If something was wrong, Shanks would always be in that field. And something, Ben knew, was wrong. But he wasn’t terribly concerned. The smallest things could drive Shanks to seeking out his grassy sanctuary-his favorite TV show being canceled or his pick-up having a flat tire.
But when he stepped out of his car and his feet touched soft earth, his heart began to race. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Maybe it was the silence of the crickets and the lack of fireflies. Maybe it was the absence of the aforementioned pick-up truck when Ben knew-knew-that Shanks was there. And maybe it was the smell-the strange, heavy, unnamable smell-that seemed to be sticking to the air.
“Shanks?” He cleared his throat, raised his voice. “Shanks!”
The reply came fast, but soft: “I had a dream about you, baby, had a dream about you, baby. Late last night you come a-rollin’ across my mind.”
“Shanks.” Frowning faintly, Ben put out his cigarette before walking out into the field. With each step he took his pace increased, his pulse quickened, and his friend’s faint voice grew steadily louder.
“You got the crazy rhythm when you walk; you make me nervous when you start to talk.”
“Sh-” He stopped suddenly, almost stumbling over a pair of outstretched legs. When he looked down, his mouth went dry, dry as the grass scratching against his jeans. “-shit.” There was blood everywhere. Blood staining Shanks’ clothes. Blood trickling from Shanks’ mouth, nose, forehead. Blood pooling, pooling, in the space where Shanks’ left arm should have been. “Shit.” The stench was overwhelming. Hand over his mouth and nose, Ben somehow managed to form words and asked not what happened, and not who did this to you, but how long have you been lying there?
A lazy smile stretched across his face, Shanks answered, “Shadows are falling and I been here all day; it’s too hot to sleep and time is running away.”
“Stop singing.” The fear in Ben’s voice made his statement less of the command he wanted and more of a plea. “I’m serious, Shanks.”
“Because something is happening here, but you don’t know what it is, do you, Mister Jones?”
“Would you stop?” Ben’s voice was hoarse, and Shanks closed his eyes serenely with a low chuckle. This was bad. His eyes fervently searched the field; he inwardly cursed the tall grass and night darkness. Starlight and moonlight were not illumination enough-all they did was highlight the glisten of his companion’s blood. “Where’s your truck?”
“The woman that I love,” Shanks laughed, “she got two flat feet; her knees knock together walking down the street. She cracks her knuckles and snores in bed; she ain’t much to look at, but like I said-”
“Dammit, Shanks.” Ben ran his palm over his face and breathed heavily through his fingers.
Shanks looked up, as if noticing for the first time that Ben was there, and offered some reassurance: “Don’t worry, it’s all right. Your feet aren’t so bad.” He gestured with what was left of his arm, as if to grab hold of Ben’s foot; he looked at the air, at the blood, when he realized he could not. “Oh, well.” And then, perhaps hoping it would help, he sang, “There’s gonna be just you and me underneath that apple suckling tree; oh yeah!”
They were alone, Ben was certain. He wondered if the attack-or whatever had happened-had occurred in the field, or if Shanks had dragged himself there and spent hours wasting away, getting drunk on blood and pain and moonlight.
“If dogs run free, why not me, across the swamp of time-”
“Stop!” He finally snapped. “And let me think!”
Shanks fell quiet then, his smile fading away so fast it might as well have not been there at all.
“All right,” he said quietly. “Go ahead. Think.”
“We need to get you out of here.” He tried to sound firm, but he was uncertain, so uncertain, and he hated it.
“Yes,” Shanks agreed vaguely.
“To a hospital.”
“Yes.”
“No.” Ben scowled into his palm. “It’s too far, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll take you home.”
“Yes.”
“And once we’re there, I’ll-”
“Yes?”
He didn’t know. Dammit, he didn’t know. Shanks turned his head to watch as Ben lowered himself down onto the dirt beside him. He smiled, light and soft; Ben didn’t. And he sang, “All the tired horses in the sun; how’m I supposed to get any ridin’ done? Hmm…”
Title: Much Love Forever
Author: formerly princeivy, now under cuethe_pulse
Fandom: One Piece
Characters: Shanks x Ben Beckman
Prompt: 024-Cynical
Word Count: 470
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: Rum and just the tiniest bit of almost-gropage
Summary: Pre-series; It was only Ben’s fourth night on board and already his new captain was all over him.
This was a bad idea.
Ben frowned faintly at the pint of rum he held in his hand. Around him, his new fellow pirates were laughing uproariously and singing the same dirty ditties they’d sung for the past three nights. This partying was starting to get ridiculous. Ben could understand it the first night; he was even a full participant the first night. Of course the first night called for a celebration. Now, he didn’t drink or sing as much the second night, but he still joined in every now and then; because yeah, okay, that buzz that one gets when making a new friend or falling in love all over again was still there. And the third night-well, people did say that the third time’s a charm.
But now it was just silly.
He felt like he’d gotten stuck with a group of adolescents going crazy because they’d left the house for the first time. He wondered if they would ever stop partying.
Probably not.
He was surprised no one had fallen overboard yet.
There was a splash someone to his left, followed by more laughter.
Oh, well.
He watched, unfazed and unconcerned, as a couple of the men helped to pull their soggy crewmate back on board. He jumped only slightly when he felt a hand clamp down hard on his shoulder (he wasn’t completely used to the touchy-feely stuff yet) and Shanks’ liquor-moistened breath was suddenly much too close.
“Ah, he’s all right,” the captain said cheerfully. “Just a bit damp, eh?” He laughed and slapped Ben’s back, making the older man wince slightly. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
“Well, I-”
“‘Cause I noticed you weren’t singing. Don’t know the words? I’ll teach ‘em to you!” And he loudly launched into a raunchy song, slipping his hand down to the small of Ben’s back.
Ben allowed the contact, if only because the man was his captain. If he wasn’t, he might’ve been missing some fingers by now. As the other pirates joined in on the song, Ben vaguely toyed with the idea of ditching this crew at the next opportune moment. Then again, they might drink themselves to death before then, which would save him a guilty conscience. And then he could join a serious crew.
As he finished the song, Shanks lifted his mug to his lips and lowered it with a pout. “S’empty.”
“Here.” Ben wasn’t going to finish his, anyway.
Shanks looked like he’d just been offered the entire world on a silver platter. He took the drink gratefully, moved his hand to Ben’s hip, gave him an affectionate squeeze, and promised, “Much love forever, mate.”
Ben looked at him, looked at the smile that really shouldn’t have been so dazzling, and remembered why he’d joined this crew in the first place.
But when he stepped out of his car and his feet touched soft earth, his heart began to race. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Maybe it was the silence of the crickets and the lack of fireflies. Maybe it was the absence of the aforementioned pick-up truck when Ben knew-knew-that Shanks was there. And maybe it was the smell-the strange, heavy, unnamable smell-that seemed to be sticking to the air.
“Shanks?” He cleared his throat, raised his voice. “Shanks!”
The reply came fast, but soft: “I had a dream about you, baby, had a dream about you, baby. Late last night you come a-rollin’ across my mind.”
“Shanks.” Frowning faintly, Ben put out his cigarette before walking out into the field. With each step he took his pace increased, his pulse quickened, and his friend’s faint voice grew steadily louder.
“You got the crazy rhythm when you walk; you make me nervous when you start to talk.”
“Sh-” He stopped suddenly, almost stumbling over a pair of outstretched legs. When he looked down, his mouth went dry, dry as the grass scratching against his jeans. “-shit.” There was blood everywhere. Blood staining Shanks’ clothes. Blood trickling from Shanks’ mouth, nose, forehead. Blood pooling, pooling, in the space where Shanks’ left arm should have been. “Shit.” The stench was overwhelming. Hand over his mouth and nose, Ben somehow managed to form words and asked not what happened, and not who did this to you, but how long have you been lying there?
A lazy smile stretched across his face, Shanks answered, “Shadows are falling and I been here all day; it’s too hot to sleep and time is running away.”
“Stop singing.” The fear in Ben’s voice made his statement less of the command he wanted and more of a plea. “I’m serious, Shanks.”
“Because something is happening here, but you don’t know what it is, do you, Mister Jones?”
“Would you stop?” Ben’s voice was hoarse, and Shanks closed his eyes serenely with a low chuckle. This was bad. His eyes fervently searched the field; he inwardly cursed the tall grass and night darkness. Starlight and moonlight were not illumination enough-all they did was highlight the glisten of his companion’s blood. “Where’s your truck?”
“The woman that I love,” Shanks laughed, “she got two flat feet; her knees knock together walking down the street. She cracks her knuckles and snores in bed; she ain’t much to look at, but like I said-”
“Dammit, Shanks.” Ben ran his palm over his face and breathed heavily through his fingers.
Shanks looked up, as if noticing for the first time that Ben was there, and offered some reassurance: “Don’t worry, it’s all right. Your feet aren’t so bad.” He gestured with what was left of his arm, as if to grab hold of Ben’s foot; he looked at the air, at the blood, when he realized he could not. “Oh, well.” And then, perhaps hoping it would help, he sang, “There’s gonna be just you and me underneath that apple suckling tree; oh yeah!”
They were alone, Ben was certain. He wondered if the attack-or whatever had happened-had occurred in the field, or if Shanks had dragged himself there and spent hours wasting away, getting drunk on blood and pain and moonlight.
“If dogs run free, why not me, across the swamp of time-”
“Stop!” He finally snapped. “And let me think!”
Shanks fell quiet then, his smile fading away so fast it might as well have not been there at all.
“All right,” he said quietly. “Go ahead. Think.”
“We need to get you out of here.” He tried to sound firm, but he was uncertain, so uncertain, and he hated it.
“Yes,” Shanks agreed vaguely.
“To a hospital.”
“Yes.”
“No.” Ben scowled into his palm. “It’s too far, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll take you home.”
“Yes.”
“And once we’re there, I’ll-”
“Yes?”
He didn’t know. Dammit, he didn’t know. Shanks turned his head to watch as Ben lowered himself down onto the dirt beside him. He smiled, light and soft; Ben didn’t. And he sang, “All the tired horses in the sun; how’m I supposed to get any ridin’ done? Hmm…”
Title: Much Love Forever
Author: formerly princeivy, now under cuethe_pulse
Fandom: One Piece
Characters: Shanks x Ben Beckman
Prompt: 024-Cynical
Word Count: 470
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: Rum and just the tiniest bit of almost-gropage
Summary: Pre-series; It was only Ben’s fourth night on board and already his new captain was all over him.
This was a bad idea.
Ben frowned faintly at the pint of rum he held in his hand. Around him, his new fellow pirates were laughing uproariously and singing the same dirty ditties they’d sung for the past three nights. This partying was starting to get ridiculous. Ben could understand it the first night; he was even a full participant the first night. Of course the first night called for a celebration. Now, he didn’t drink or sing as much the second night, but he still joined in every now and then; because yeah, okay, that buzz that one gets when making a new friend or falling in love all over again was still there. And the third night-well, people did say that the third time’s a charm.
But now it was just silly.
He felt like he’d gotten stuck with a group of adolescents going crazy because they’d left the house for the first time. He wondered if they would ever stop partying.
Probably not.
He was surprised no one had fallen overboard yet.
There was a splash someone to his left, followed by more laughter.
Oh, well.
He watched, unfazed and unconcerned, as a couple of the men helped to pull their soggy crewmate back on board. He jumped only slightly when he felt a hand clamp down hard on his shoulder (he wasn’t completely used to the touchy-feely stuff yet) and Shanks’ liquor-moistened breath was suddenly much too close.
“Ah, he’s all right,” the captain said cheerfully. “Just a bit damp, eh?” He laughed and slapped Ben’s back, making the older man wince slightly. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
“Well, I-”
“‘Cause I noticed you weren’t singing. Don’t know the words? I’ll teach ‘em to you!” And he loudly launched into a raunchy song, slipping his hand down to the small of Ben’s back.
Ben allowed the contact, if only because the man was his captain. If he wasn’t, he might’ve been missing some fingers by now. As the other pirates joined in on the song, Ben vaguely toyed with the idea of ditching this crew at the next opportune moment. Then again, they might drink themselves to death before then, which would save him a guilty conscience. And then he could join a serious crew.
As he finished the song, Shanks lifted his mug to his lips and lowered it with a pout. “S’empty.”
“Here.” Ben wasn’t going to finish his, anyway.
Shanks looked like he’d just been offered the entire world on a silver platter. He took the drink gratefully, moved his hand to Ben’s hip, gave him an affectionate squeeze, and promised, “Much love forever, mate.”
Ben looked at him, looked at the smile that really shouldn’t have been so dazzling, and remembered why he’d joined this crew in the first place.