Chapter Text
It happened like this;
Buggy had not been in a good place mentally after Roger’s death. He might even be obliged to say he was in the very opposite of a good place, and he meant that in the most literal of senses.
He had never been one for getting into fights before, but there was so much rage in his body and nowhere to take it that he ended up causing one in a bar just an island over. No weapons besides fists, but that was still enough to do damage in the East. It wasn't like the Grand Line, where anyone who had a violent bone in their body had control over armament.
Buggy wasn’t going easy. He was all fifteen and filled with grief and rage and questions, questions like ‘Why hadn’t he said goodbye? Why go out like that? Why tell people, why send people out? Why had no one else been there to comfort Shanks and he?’
Shanks. That rotten bastard, that rotten lying bastard. What good was a promise when someone could just go back on it? Buggy had trusted Shanks, seas damn it, he had believed in Shanks!
Buggy wiped blood from his lower lip and adjusted his headband. His ponytail was loose and nearly falling out but he didn’t care. If anyone tried to grab his hair they’d be met with strands easily chopped off and wrapped around their throat, squeezing the life out of them. Buggy knew he looked worse for wear, but he didn’t care. He was usually so vain, but all he cared about at the moment was beating the shit out of whoever approached him next. He had already taken care of three people, only one of them truly putting up a fight, and he was itching for another.
Luckily for him another person approached. He wasn’t too sure of their gender, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to feel the rage rather than the grief. Anything to ignore the emotions building up inside his chest. Anything to ignore the numbness that had nestled itself deep inside his body.
He was pretty sure they gave him a concussion if the blurring of his vision was anything to go bye, but it didn’t matter now. They lay on the ground, eyes rolled back. Defeated. Buggy couldn’t be sure but he thought he saw some money being traded to someone else in the corner of his vision. They were making bets on him. Or, more accurately, how much he could take.
He was just about to turn and threaten anyone daring to make money on him, daring to make money on this cope, this anger and rage and visceral urge for release when he heard the door slam open.
“Oh shit, Marines! Scatter!” Someone in the bar shouted, and the dingy building quickly submerged into chaos. Bottles were being thrown from hands and people were being trampled, but Buggy-
Buggy couldn’t breathe. Because he could see the hat towering over the heads of the seedy bar patrons. And more specifically, he could see the way the hat wasn’t moving. The marine wasn’t looking at the patrons. He was looking in Buggy’s direction. And Buggy knew that hat. He had seen it countless times on the seas, always being carried by a head that either housed an entertained grin or an annoyed scowl.
Buggy knew that hat because that hat was Garp’s. Even if the man hadn’t been wearing it when he gave the order for Roger’s execution, Buggy would know it anywhere.
The bar cleared out. Garp was alone, not even Bogard at his side. His head was tilted down. Buggy couldn’t see his eyes. He couldn’t see if he was looking down or at the teenager. He hoped he was looking at the ground. Did he even feel guilty? Buggy remembered Captain and Garp sharing drinks once, had that meant nothing?
Why was Garp here?
Why was Garp here, at this gross-out bar made for fighting and fucking, why was he here? Why was he at the exact bar Buggy had picked to shed his emotions? Buggy didn’t know and he found himself not caring, either. Because here was this fucking marine that he- fuck, why did everyone Buggy think he could trust betray him? He had known Garp for years, but he had killed his fath- Captain. Garp had killed Roger, or at least gave the order for those swords to swing, but nonetheless, it was his fault.
There was that buzzing in his veins and Buggy wiped blood from his nose. He couldn’t fight Garp. Garp was stronger than him, Garp wasn’t like these easy pickings in an East Blue bar, Garp was-
Why was Garp here again?
He still hadn’t spoken yet and Buggy’s adrenaline was starting to fade into a nervous clammering in his mind. Was Garp shaking or was that his concussion talking? No, Garp wasn’t shaking it was just his fists, why was Garp here again?
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Fuck, was that him? Buggy’s voice was a mess. It sounded like he was holding back tears, was he? He had thought he had started crying a while ago. Then again, it would sound the same even if he was crying. Was he? His head hurt.
Garp didn’t say anything. Buggy was half tempted to conclude that the marine was a poor-taste joke conjured up but his ailing mind until he remembered that the other criminals in the bar had gone screaming and running out. They didn’t want to get captured and imprisoned-
Fuck. Was that why Garp was here?
Buggy’s heart picked up again. Why him? Why had Garp come after him? Because he was the easy pickings of the crew? Or had Garp already pinned everyone else down and was saving the easiest for last? Shit, Buggy couldn’t fight Garp! Well, he could, but he wouldn’t win! He wouldn’t last more than a few seconds! And that was being generous! And counting on the Buggy being at his best- which he very much so wasn’t!
Nonetheless he slid his feet apart in a defensive- wary- stance. Why wasn’t Garp saying anything? Why wasn’t he screaming about how he was under arrest?
Finally, Garp angled his head up. What the hell was that look? Buggy was reading it wrong, surely. He was shit at observation (Like all other haki’s, fuck you Shanks for being good at those too), so he couldn’t trust that to tell him if he was right.
Again, he decided to repeat himself, “What the fuck are you-!”
He couldn’t get through the sentence before he found himself knocked to the other side of the bar. His gut churned violently and he heaved, only the booze he had been downing coming burning up his throat and splattering onto the ground. He wheezed, choking and coughing as Garp walked over to him. He was rubbing his fist.
“You expect to be a pirate when you can’t take one measly punch?” Was the first thing Garp said to him.
What.
Was- Was Garp mocking him? Was Garp mocking him after having condemned his fath- fuck- his captain to death? Nausea tightened its hold on him and the teen had to resist the Unger to curl up protectively around his stomach. Instead he forced himself up. His head pounded in protest.
“Fuck you,” He replied hotly. The next thing he knew he was face facing the ceiling, the brown remains of a table beneath him. The shitty wood grains above him swam along like the tides and he found himself getting lost in them. Where was he? Did it even matter? The water looked nice-
He was being hefted up and held by the collar of his shirt, face to face with Garp. His vision was moving in and out of focus, but he’d know that stupid dog hat anywhere- He’d already done that thought process before, damn it!
“Just two and you’re already almost out for the count!” Garp shook his head disappointedly.
“You k-killed him” Was all Buggy responded with. Garp pursed his lips at that. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Instead he grinned, “You wanna end up like him?”
Buggy paled. The worst part of that picture wasn’t even that he’d be getting executed. The worst part was that no one would bother coming to see it. Not even Shanks, not after how they split up. He’d be surrounded by the enemy. No one to care about his last words. No lasting impression. Just an afterthought. Maybe a fact for those fun fact buffs that were probably already showering for information on all of them to show off about. ‘Hey, did you know the Roger pirates actually had two cabin boys?’
Garp chuckled and tilted his head down again to hide his eyes. Buggy gripped at the hand holding him up just a little tighter. He kicked just a little more. He yelped when Garp looked back at him again, face getting just a little bit closer.
“So I’ll give you an ultimatum, brat!”
A… A what? He knew what an ultimatum was. Like a compromise. But Garp wasn’t one for compromising. Buggy knew that. There was truces and draws every once in a while, but not ultimatums.
“What?” He ground out. Confusion and hurthurthurtseasplease laced in his breath.
“Give up your pirating ways,” Oh no, he couldn’t possibly be about to say it, “Join the marines!” No fucking way.
No fucking way. No way. Not a chance. Buggy? A marine? Not happening. He was a pirate, though and through. He was raised a pirate! It’s what he was born to do! Treasure hunting and fighting other pirates! Fighting marines, except, Buggy never really did any of the fighting…At most he was used as a distraction. At worse he would be running around stabbing anyone that came too close. He wasn’t made for the fighting part…
But the treasure hunting part! Were marines allowed to hunt treasure? Buggy didn’t think so, so Buggy wouldn’t join the marines! Besides, marines weren’t allowed to just go willy nilly fighting…Except, thats what Garp did. And, again! Buggy wasn’t even that good at fighting!
…What were the cons of being a marine again?
Right, government dog, no treasure hunting, and the uniforms were totally not flashy!
But…It would be irresponsible of him not to consider the pros…
Security, company, not being in hiding, probably low expectations…
Seas, captain would be cursing him out right now for even considering it. But it wasn’t Buggy’s fault! He was just…Where was he going to go from here?
“And if I don’t?” He decided to ask. He could hear his own words slurring. The flames on the wall behind Garp kept rising and falling, Buggy felt like he was talking to the devil.
“Then I’m arresting you for piracy!” Garp shrugged simply.
And that was the other choice. Right. Maybe…
“Fine…”
As Garp hefted him over his shoulder, Buggy’s vision abruptly fizzled out, but not before his last thought:
Captain would be fine with this, right?