Chapter Text
“Shit!”
He tripped over a poorly maintained stone, falling forward onto the cobbled street. Tears still blurred his vision and his breathing was stilted, haunted by everything.
He had lost everything, everyone, it was all gone, just like that.
Roger, gone, dead, his head probably being mounted.
The crew, gone, already sailed away, he was left behind.
Shanks, gone, betrayer, a liar and a snake.
Years of his life, gone, just like that.
He took a deep crackling breath, snot and tears unending.
His legs were shaking and he couldn’t bring himself to stand again, so he crawled into an alley, huddling next to a dumpster and pulling his head band down to cover his eyes.
He just wanted to shut himself out from the world, pretend this wasn’t happening, it wasn’t happening, damn it!
He pushed his headband up, fumbling for his pocket and pulling out his coin pouch to see what he had. The still new silk of his gloves slid against the material and it fell forward, beri spilling onto the ground with melodic tinks.
He cursed, cursed, and cursed, shaky fingers grasping coins as he tried to shovel them back into his bag.
“I knew I heard beri!” An excited voice came from the mouth of the alley.
“You’ve always had an ear for money!” Another laughed.
Footprints quickly approached, multiple, not just two.
Buggy pressed himself against the junction where the wall and dumpster met, bleary eyes watching his beri as a hand reached down to pick up a coin.
Not that, not his beri too, all he had left, all he had left-
He ripped his dagger out and lunged, stabbing it through the hand as he cried out, “You can’t have these too!”
A scuffle followed, yelling, biting, they pressed him against a wall and he kicked, screamed, fought as they collected his beri. Everything he had left, all gone, all gone, everything and everyone.
“Thanks for the contribution kid, hey, maybe we’ll repay you when I become King of the Pirates!” One of them laughed and the others joined. Buggy felt nauseous, their guffaws echoing around his concussed skull.
He detached his hand, grabbed his dagger, and stabbed that one in the gut.
More happened, he was sure. It got louder and his head was stomped into the ground.
There was the kiss of sea stone against his neck, how someone from the East Blue had a sea stone knife was beyond him, but it shouldn't have done anything.
He was supposed to be impervious to being cut.
The kiss of the knife turned into a bite and he could feel it burn as it pressed into his neck, laughing all that surrounded him.
He cried thinking about how this was it, he couldn’t even get 10 minutes from the crew leaving him before he died. He had always been that weak, hadn’t he?
The knife pressed in deeper.
His nose was pressed against the dirt and grime of the alley, he could see nothing, whether it was because his eyes were squeezed shut or because there were so many tears welled up that there was nothing to see. The last thing he could note was how his chest hurt so much more than his throat.
There lay a head and a body in an alley in Loguetown.
On the first day, no one noticed. Everyone was far too busy. New pirates were running around, grabbing ships and crewmates to set sail on the Grand Line. Word would spread with time of Gol D. Roger’s (Or was it Gold Roger?) declaration and they wanted to get a jump on it.
On the second day, no one noticed. The body lay undisturbed. If someone did notice they would think it was a fresh kill. The pool of blood had not dried, had not stained the stone and dirt like rust. If a fly landed it would quickly leave, propelled by some unknown change in thought.
On the third day. The corpse twitched.
All at once. The crunch of bones first, crackling and popping like the escaping of air in joints. Crawling out from the fatal wound, pure white as if bleached by the sun. The periosteum came next, fibrous and fatty to protect the new formations. Nerves and sinew pulsed and crawled along like a fungus. Fat and musculature inched along in layers. Organs, colorful and bare. Skin grew like bacteria in a petri dish, cultured along different spots and spreading outwards. Hair forced itself outward.
On the third day, there were two bodies in the alley.
And on the third day they opened their eyes.
They lay there for a while, foggy and aching, catching up to the emotional turmoil. Both of their brains were shooting too many signals for them to understand.
It clicked for both of them at the same time.
They both sat up, “What the fuck?!”
They pointed at each other, “Who are you?!”
The one that had clothes pointed at the naked one, “Why are you naked?!”
The one that had no clothes looked down at himself, “Why the hell do you have my clothes?!”
“Your clothes?! These are my clothes- you can’t have them too!”
“You took my clothes, damn you, damn you, I won’t be left with nothing!”
They both paused then, logic hitting at the same time for the both of them.
“What the hell?” They spoke in unison. They looked at each other again, nearly identical sans the lack of clothes on one and the untied hair on the other.
“My head was cut off…”
“My body was cut off, you mean,” The clotheless one corrected.
“Since when does anyone say ‘off with his body’, it's off with his head for a reason,”.
“The brain is in the head, so clearly I’m the one who had something removed,”.
“The soul is in the heart, so clearly I’m the one who had something removed,”.
They stared at each other. Both could tell the other agreed and disagreed.
“I need clothes,”.
“My beri was stolen,”.
“My beri was stolen,”.
Another few seconds of staring.
“Our beri was stolen,” They both ultimately relented.
“I’ll get some and be back with clothes,” The one with clothes stood, pressing a hand to his head as he blinked away spots.
The one with the headband only nodded, pressing himself into the junction of the dumpster and the wall again.
The only one he could trust was himself, they both thought.
The only one he could rely on was himself, they both thought.
This is really fucking weird but what else can I do? They both thought.
On the third day, two teenagers left that alley. Identical twins, Identical minds.
One wore the same purple button-up and green pants from three days prior. A pink bandana kept his hair from his eyes.
One wore a black button-up and blue pants that were just a bit too long. The black bandana he wore three days prior kept his hair from his eyes.
They didn’t have to say it.
Buggy was too weak to go into the Grand Line himself. They knew it to be true.
They stole a fishing ship, saying nothing as they set off further into the East Blue.
“Fucking seas, what did you do?” Buggy stood up from the table, blueprints for a new bomb forgotten as his other half ran in, shutting the door behind himself.
“I didn’t do shit,” Buggy was out of breath, pressing a gloved palm to his chest, “Garp is here,” It was whispered, like saying the man’s name would cause him to bust down the wall.
“Shit-” Buggy grabbed his pens, zipping them into their case and shoving them into his bag as Buggy put the blueprints into a folder.
Bags perpetually packed, they only had to put what was left into them and sling them over their shoulders.
“Did he see you?”
“I could see the white of his eyes,”.
“Shit, did he track you?!”
“I don’t know!”
“Why the hell would you come back here if you don’t know if you were followed?!”
“Oh man, ‘I’m Garp, let me ask the locals about the blue haired guy, what do you mean there’s two of them? At that inn? Oh thanks!’ Like he wouldn’t figure it out immediately?! What’s worse, him following me here now or him finding out there’s two of us?!” He opened the window and Buggy jumped out, rolling onto the roof.
Buggy followed, the other closing the window behind him as they began running along the roof, jumping to the next building.
“The latter,” He begrudgingly admitted.
Buggy threw his hands up, “The latter!”
They had decided early on that it would be better if the fact that there were two of them was on the down low. Something for just the two of them. Buggy could only trust himself with…well himself. Everyone else would ultimately betray him, leave him, die on him.
They dropped into an alley, dusting themselves off, only slightly at different times.
“I talked to a fishing merchant, he’s willing to take us to the Gecko Islands,” Buggy spoke as the other looked both ways to ensure the walkway was clear.
“When did you do that?” He waved the other over, a sign that the coast was clear. He pulled his hood up to obscure his face and hair.
“What do you think I left for?”
“Groceries, obviously, that’s what you were supposed to be doing!” He groaned.
“I heard there’s treasure at the island I’m taking us to yesterday!” Buggy grinned, eyes sparking.
That got the other’s attention, “Oh?! Well…That’s a pretty damn good excuse!”
They both laughed, running off toward the pier.
There came a point when they realized that being ‘Buggy’ and ‘Buggy’ wasn’t going to work.
It was suspicious. It was notable. It would get them caught.
They sat in an inn, eating their stew with a fervor. One of them had gotten lucky and pickpocketed a fabulously wealthy lord.
“Well I’m not changing my name!”
“What makes you think I want to change my name either?”
They glared at each other, both taking a deep sip of stew.
“Whoever changes their name will have to give up on being flashy,” one of them pointed out.
They both looked at their outfits. One wore a bright yellow shirt and pink pants, a fuschia sash tied around his waist. The other wore a dark blue unbuttoned button up and black pants, the only notable thing about his outfit being a yellow headband.
“Shit,” that one sighed.
“Flashily out dressed, once again! I’m Buggy!”
The other looked like he wanted to argue, but knew it would be fruitless. It was obvious, the one dressed less to impress in this situation would lose this battle.
They both knew it.
“Fine. But only in public!” He pointed at him, “We’re Buggy in private,”.
Buggy nodded, “Obviously!”
“I’ll come up with something else later,” The unnamed shoveled a few more spoonfuls of stew in his mouth. They ate in silence for the rest of the meal.
He was still unnamed as he skulked through an alley on his way back to the campsite he and Buggy had set up.
The inn was full in this town, a traveling circus, renowned for its acts (and far too expensive for the Buggys to visit), was in town.
He pressed into the treeline, looking around before letting down his hood, pulling his ponytail over his shoulder. His bag was heavy with stolen wallets and pouches.
He could see the light of the campfire up ahead. Undoubtedly he would find Buggy working on another set of explosives.
A howl of laughter from the camp.
He froze, brow furrowing before raising. A breakthrough? An unexpected success? He grinned at the thought and jogged forward.
“What happene-” He cut himself off mid sentence at the sight before him.
Three strangers and a lion cub sat in the camp. Buggy stood before them, hands separated and holding knives between every knuckle.
Buggy looked at him, but the strangers didn’t, clearly entranced by whatever Buggy was doing.
“Ah! My..” Buggy paused. They had never decided on what to call each other, but he ultimately decided on, “Partner has arrived!”
The unnamed watched as the strangers turned to look at him and then quickly looked back at Buggy, then back to him again.
“You have a twin?!” The one who was cradling a unicycle asked.
“Well, actually-” He was clearly caught up in the mood of whatever he had been doing, so the unnamed quickly cut him off.
“Yes, we’re twins,” he glared at Buggy who just pulled on his neckerchief nervously,
“We’re brothers too!” The unicycle holding one grinned, pointing between him and another kid who had a bag of juggling pins.
A lion cub, a unicyclist, and a juggler.
“You’re from the circus?” He questioned, walking to stand beside Buggy.
“Not anymore!” The juggler crossed his arms, scoffing.
“The ringmaster is always so hard on Richie…” The third kid sniffled, holding onto the cub. Lion tamer then.
“We were fed up with the bad treatment!” The unicyclist tacked on.
“So we left!” They all three said. The lion cub made a yipping noise of agreement.
They all looked far too excited for kids without a job and no skills other than circus acts.
“Buggy. An aside, if you will?”
“Be right back!” The other nodded.
They shuffled off behind a tree.
“What are they doing here?” The unnamed gripped his ponytail, pulling on it slightly.
“Relax! They’re joining the crew!” Buggy laughed.
“The. Crew?” He spoke slowly.
“We’re pirates, it’s about time we get our own damn crew,” Buggy’s smile turned into a determined grimace of sorts.
He was quiet himself for a few moments before he grinned. He had nearly forgotten about that.
A matching one appeared on Buggy’s face.
“Alright then, Co-Captain Buggy,” He raised a hand.
Buggy reached out and gripped that hand in a clap, “Co-Captain Buggy,” he agreed.
They rounded the tree on opposite sides.
“What are your names, then?” He crossed his arms in front of himself, cocking his head to the side.
“I’m Mohji! And this is Richie!” The lion tamer lifted the cub resulting in a mew from the creature.
“Cabaji!” The one with the unicycle grinned.
“Rhubarb!” The juggler nodded, holding his pins up.
Buggy looked over at him expectingly.
Shit.
Not blue, of course not, thought it was the first thing that came to his mind. It was lazy, uncreative, and painful. He racked his brain for a few moments, names flying around until he found one he didn’t…despise.
“Pierre,”.
“Pierre?!” Buggy repeated, perplexed and likely caught off guard. It wasn’t exactly an obvious pick.
“Why are you acting surprised?” Pierre, now, quickly grinned, giving Buggy an elbow to the side.
“Practice, of course!” Buggy quickly adapted, nodding his head like it was all a part of the plan.
The three new members of their crew made noises of understanding.
“Well,” Pierre pursed his lips, “Welcome to the crew!”
Pierre wrapped a salve drenched bandage around Buggy’s hand, sighing.
No words were spoken.
Pierre found himself away most of the time. He would pickpocket and steal while Buggy began crafting a reputation and image for themselves.
That meant Buggy would be bored and experiment with explosives. Pierre was jealous, of course he was, he didn’t have the time to do that. Buggy seemed to have too much , however.
And he would get risky.
So Pierre had returned to the ship, smelt the familiar smell of a bad chemical reaction, and hurried to their room.
“What did you get?” Buggy asked once his hand was done being wrapped. He tested the tightness of the bandage, nodding at the shared preference for wrap job.
“A couple beri pouches, nothing too major…” He couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face.
“But….?” Buggy picked up on it immediately, teeth flashing.
“But if you count this as major…” Pierre pulled out a scroll of paper.
“Is that…?” Buggy grabbed it and opened it, laughing in delight, “A map!”
“What's a pirate without treasure?!” Pierre laughed.
They both laughed, same tone, same timing.
Pierre stood tall and stretched before pulling his scarf up to cover the bottom of his face.
“Whats say you tell our crew of our prize?”
Buggy slid a glove over his bandaged hand, “Sounds like a plan!”
They laughed. Pierre’s was just a little behind.
“Where the hell have you been?!” Buggy hissed between his teeth as Pierre slunk into their room.
“I was barely gone that long,” Pierre pulled his mask down and reached into his satchel, dropping a sizable bag of beri onto the desk with a heavy clunk.
“Seas, who did you rob?” Buggy rushed over, happily opening the bag and marveling at the coins.
Pierre simply shrugged, not that Buggy cared. It was more of a rhetorical question anyway.
“Could get us some nice new knives with this…” Buggy mused.
“We do deserve it,” Pierre agreed.
Pierre walked out of the marine station, pushing his bag of beri into his satchel.
He had stumbled into bounty hunting by accident.
He didn’t mean to.
He didn’t want to be a bounty hunter.
A pirate was meant to get their beri from treasure hunting, from robbing other pirates.
He could sort of make it make sense in his head. He was stealing other pirate’s lives…and exchanging them for money.
He reached up and shifted his mask, the fabric tight across his nose.
It got him money. Money for Buggy, money for their slowly expanding crew.
Did it really matter where the money came from?
Pierre looked back at the marine station.
He didn’t like walking in there. It scared him. He hated the marines and the marines hated him. There was a bounty on his head, on Buggy’s head.
Doing anything meant wearing a mask.
Pierre returned to the ship, mask up.
“Buggy!” Buggy grinned when he walked in and he couldn’t help but grin right back.
He pulled out the beri and Buggy cheered, grabbing a handful of beri and holding it up.
“You sure as hell figured something out, huh? A new pickpocketing technique?” Buggy whistled, sifting through coins.
“Something like that,” Buggy shrugged, sitting down on a chair.
Buggy looked back at him, “You taking the mask off?”
He blinked, not realizing he even had it on still. He reached up, tracing the edge of the mask.
“I’ll wait until bed,” He hummed, letting his hand fall back to his side.
Buggy raised a brow, “You don’t take that thing off ever, thats nasty. Your skin is probably breaking out like crazy,”.
He rolled his eyes, “Good thing I wear a mask then,”.
“You’re breaking out because of the mask! Just take it off more often! You're going to have weird tanlines!”
“Isn’t the whole point of me wearing it to make sure that others don’t see how alike we are?” He huffed.
“You can trust the crew!”
“What?” He glared, glared at Buggy.
Buggy glared back at him, hands on hips, “You can trust our crew! We can tell them-”
“No!” He stood now, chair falling back behind him.
“What in the seas is going on with you?! You’ve been acting like a recluse!” Buggy threw his hands up, also standing.
“We both decided I would be the one in the shadows, remember?! And I’m fine with that, I am! Just don’t try to tell me how to do it! I want to wear my mask, so I’ll wear my mask! It’s necessary, even if you don’t think so!”
The two stared at each other for a few moments before they both let out a sigh.
Pierre knew why Buggy was so sensitive about this. He had thought about this for months and come to terms with it.
“Just say it out loud,” He whispered for the both of them.
“I…Don’t want to be like…him…I don’t want you to be stuck in my shadow…” The brighter complied.
His shadow approached, sitting beside him and imploring him to do the same.
“I didn’t want to either. Be your shadow, I mean. But… it’s better than before,”.
Buggy sat down beside him, looking at him with a slight pout.
“It’s better. I’m choosing it this time,” He smiled, a small and natural thing.
We chose this, they didn’t have to say.
“I see…” Buggy nodded slowly.
They leaned against each other without a word.
“I’m happy doing this,” Pierre murmured.
It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
The other was silent before nodding, laying his head on his shoulder.
“Right,”.
“Right,”.
And he meant it.
He dressed in black, he tucked his hair into a black beanie. He tried not to be seen around his other in public, sneaking in during the night to sleep.
And that's how they worked.
Telling himself he enjoyed being in the background eventually shifted into actually enjoying it.
He didn’t like the idea of the spotlight anymore.
It frightened him.
The idea that something could happen to them if he was revealed was terrifying.
What would happen? Anything? Everything? He didn’t know, he didn’t care.
Part of him knew that he was stoking this fear on purpose, to stifle the desire for adoration.
He did get to see that spotlight with himself. He supposed that was nice, seeing what would have been if they had decided to do the opposite role.
So it wasn’t that bad.
He had left their newest base of operations to do some bounty hunting.
When he came back it was a mess.
Of course it was, Buggy was bomb-hungry.
But…more of a mess than expected.
He nearly missed the sight of the crew boarding the Big Top.
His brow furrowed and he ran up to the side of the ship, scaling the side and sneaking into his room.
No Buggy.
He waited thirty minutes.
No Buggy.
They had set sail.
He had not heard Buggy’s order to do so.
His frown deepened.
He stuffed his beri bag into a chest and swung out the window, pulling himself onto a ceiling beam and scooting along until he could pull himself into Mohji’s room.
Richie lifted his head at his appearance, making a low coo and rolling onto his back.
Pierre quietly approached, rubbing the big cat’s belly.
Steps outside the door.
He left Richie and climbed up over the door, watching as Mohji and Cabaji entered, the door closing behind them.
“Oh seas, what do we do?!” Mohji flopped onto Richie, sniffling into the feline’s fur.
“Calm down! We can handle this! The crew is looking at us for guidance now, so we need to be strong!” Cabaji was pacing back and forth.
And that was all the information he needed.
He dropped down in a crouch to reduce noise and stood.
“Where is Buggy?”
The two others screamed, jumping back, with Mohji flipping over Richie.
“P-Pierre!” Mohji rang his hands together as he pulled himself back up.
“We didn’t know you were back!” Cabaji chuckled nervously.
“I just got back. Where. Is. Buggy?”
Mohji and Cabaji looked at each other. Tears sprang into their eyes and they clung to one another, starting to cry.
“He’s dead!” They sobbed, crying out.
No.
No, impossible. Buggy did not die.
Pierre left the room, rushing back up to his room.
The room he and Buggy shared.
He pulled up one of the floorboards and grabbed a square of paper.
It still pulled in two directions.
He pressed a hand to his chest, taking a deep breath.
Buggy was not dead.
He grabbed an empty compass and pressed the paper inside, watching it flit around like a compass, pointing to both him and Buggy.
“Hang on, I’m coming to get you,” He whispered to the paper.
He headed back to Mohji and Cabaji.
“Set a course,” He instructed.
“Where? What's the point!” Mohji sobbed, blowing his nose into Richie’s fur.
“He is not dead. Set a course, damn it,” He huffed.
“He isn’t?” Cabaji stood from where he had been slumped against a wall.
“Of course he isn’t. Where is your faith?”
“He got flung into the sky by that strawhat!”
Pierre’s heart hammered suddenly. Strawhat? But no, Shanks was nowhere near the East Blue right now.
He would know.
“He’s alive,” He got in close, “Set. A. Course,”.
“...Where?” Cabaji swallowed thickly.
Pierre grabbed the unicyclist by his scarf and dragged him out of the room.
“Monkey D. Luffy…?” Pierre slowly repeated the name that Buggy had just told him.
They were in their room, Buggy rubbing at his ankles and elbows like they were godsends.
“Bastard, Shanks’ doing, and I mean Shanks’ doing! He wore Shanks’ hat- Cap- I mean, that little shit!” Buggy hissed.
“Have you even realized?!” Pierre grabbed his other’s shoulders.
“Huh?”
“His name!”
“What about it?”
“No, his family name!” Pierre grit his teeth.
“Monkey..D…” Buggy paled.
“Garp’s,” Pierre nodded.
“Seas,”.
“Lets hope he has a bad relationship with his…grandfather?” Pierre let Buggy go.
“Well, he is a pirate,” Buggy huffed.
Pierre nodded.
“Are you fucking crazy?!” Pierre slapped Buggy, actually slapped him.
“I almost had him, he was right there! His neck was right under my blade-”
“What the fuck! Why would you do that?!” Pierre was struggling to catch his breath.
“Why wouldn’t I?! I needed to get my revenge on that little shit- I still do! We need to go after him-”
“No! Absolutely not! He’s going into the grand line, let the sea kill him!” Pierre gripped his own ponytail, digging fingers into wind-knotted strands.
“I’d rather it be by our hands!” Buggy growled through grit teeth, “I am the captain and I say we go after him!”
Pierre's eyes widened before they narrowed and he slapped Buggy’s hand off of him, “You’ve let all the publicity go to your head, you’ve let the persona become you, because you seem to have forgotten one specific thing!” He took a few steps back, “We’re supposed to be co-captains,” He spoke a bit quieter then.
Buggy stopped and seemed conflicted for a moment before he shook his head.
He doubled down, “Exactly, sure! Why aren't you agreeing with me then?!”
“Because we’re different!”
“No we aren’t!”
“Then explain this!” Pierre threw his hands out, motioning to both of them, “We have experienced different things, we do different things, we’ve been different for a long while!”
Likely from the very start, they had been different. Pierre had been the one huddled in the alley, naked and afraid of anyone seeing him. Had that been the moment? The moment that destined the two of them to their identities?
Buggy growled, huffing and clenching his fists.
“We’re going to the Grand Line,” Buggy reiterated.
“No,” Pierre took a step back, “You’re going to the Grand Line,” He grabbed his sidebag and slung it around his shoulder.
“No,” Buggy paled, grabbing Pierre, “No, you don’t get to leave. We’re- we’re me! I’m you, you can’t leave! We’re the same!”
“No, we aren’t,” Pierre laughed, “I can’t imagine we stay separated forever, if that's any consolation,”.
“It’s not!”
Pierre slipped out of Buggy’s grasp, rushing for the door.
It took a few more minutes of flying limbs, but Pierre had spent the last 20 or so years of his life being the sneakier and slippier Buggy.
He sailed away from the Big Top, watching Buggy fight the urge to scream out at him, lest he alert the crew.
Pierre had never been on his own.
Well, he’d been with himself, but that wasn’t the same.
He was truly alone.
Buggy had gone into the Grand Line, he couldn’t take that back, he had already told the crew before telling Pierre.
That had been one of the straws. They were supposed to run decisions past each other before acting on them.
Pierre should have seen this coming.
They had been drifting for a while, further and further apart.
He…he would be fine on his own.
He knew that..?
No, yes, he knew that.
He had never told Buggy about his bounty hunting and he had already picked up a bit of a reputation over the years. Most bounty hunters, when they became as experienced as Pierre, moved on to the Grand Line or one of the other three Blue’s that had bigger scores.
Not Pierre.
He stayed.
The East Blue Hunter, that was him.
And maybe that was part of the reason that he stayed in the East Blue. He could be selfish too, he liked hearing his moniker whispered about. The East Blue Hunter was probably the oldest bounty hunter in the East Blue.
That came with notoriety that he craved.
He hadn’t stopped liking publicity over time, it had just mutated away from Buggy’s publicity.
The quiet whispers, the revering from younger, starry-eyed bounty hunters.
He enjoyed that.
He poured himself into the work over the next few months, taking in heads, alive, dead, it didn’t matter.
He heard the news late.
He was in his ship, a new one with various bells and whistles, working on a powder coating for his daggers. He had a den den mushi next to him, one that picked up signals from marine dens.
It was staticky at first, but he could make out voices. He stopped what he was doing, taking off one of his gloves and fiddling with the dial until he could make out voices.
It was like his own personal talk show.
It was between two captains, one in the East and one who had just come back into the East from the Grand Line.
“Vice Admiral Calmon’s got me by the balls,” one captain groaned.
“Should you really be saying that?”
“You a snitch?”
“Well, no,”.
“Then I say again, Rear Admiral Calmon’s got me by the balls,”.
Pierre rolled his eyes.
“Why’s that?”
“Something about an East Blue pirate got her all worked up, I think she wanted to get him?
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, that freaky clown one,”.
“Ohh! That guy?! Why him?”
“I think she just really hates clowns,”.
She wanted to get him.
Past tense.
It struck Pierre suddenly. When had they captured Buggy?
He reached into his drawer and pulled out his compass. One part of the paper pulled towards him, while the other still yanked off towards Buggy.
He was alive.
But how..? How had he not known?
And what was he supposed to do?
“That seems a bit drastic for an East Blue pirate,”.
Shit, he had zoned out.
“Apparently not, but what do I know?”
“Eh, whatever. Speaking of Impel Down, though-”
Impel Down- they sent him to Impel Down.
The crew would not be going to rescue him.
That East Blue crew was probably hiding out right now, mourning their not so dead captain.
And Buggy could escape, likely would escape…but..
Pierre knew it wasn’t a complete 100% chance that he would succeed.
He sat frozen at his seat, stuck with indecisiveness.
Was he going to go into the Grand Line?
He stood and moved to the ship’s wheel and shifted his course.
He would think about it as he approached.
He passed over the reverse mountain, avoiding Laboon, who crooned at him softly as he passed.
He would think about it as he approached.
He picked up supplies and went back to sailing.
He would think about it as he approached.
The seas were on his side, wind strong and pushing him along at absurd speeds.
He could feel his heart hammering in his chest.
He was fucking terrified.
He docked in a small cave that barely fit his boat, pounding a nail into the side of the cave and tying his ship to it.
He was there.
He hadn’t needed to think about it, apparently.
He packed his holsters full of daggers and blades.
Smoke bombs in his belt pouches.
The vivre card in his watch compass.
“I’m coming for you, Buggy…” He whispered to the sea.
Buggy hadn’t seen Pierre in months.
Sure, he said that they would see each other again, but Buggy didn’t know if he could actually believe it. He didn’t trust himself.
Buggy hadn’t seen Pierre in months, so while he was running through the halls of Impel Down, side by side with that straw hat brat, and he saw a flicker of familiar blue along the ceiling…?
Well. He had been in Impel Down. He figured he was hallucinating.
He continued to see blurs of black and blue, though that could be visual manifestations of his bruises.
Buggy snuck away to find somewhere to breakdown quietly when they arrived at Newkama land.
“How did you end up in this situation?” His own voice sighed.
He looked up.
Pierre, crouched in a dark corner, mask up, but ponytail slung over his shoulder.
Buggy sniffled and Pierre scooted closer, grabbing him by his shoulder and pulling him in for a hug.
Buggy pressed his face into Pierre’s shoulder, the only thing that didn’t smell like cold metal and blood- or far too strong perfume. He smelt like gunpowder, chemicals, and dust.
“How’s our crew?” Buggy managed to squeak out.
“Why would I know?” Pierre scoffed and Buggy hung his head at the reminder.
“...I’m sure they're fine. Probably hiding out. You can call them when you’re out,” Pierre relented after a few moments.
“Wait- what are you doing here?!” Pierre had been in the East Blue- when had he come to the Grand Line? How had he broken in?!
“I came to get you,” Pierre shrugged like it was no big deal.
“But- But we’re mad at each other! We left!”
“I did say we won’t stay separated for long,” Pierre leaned against a wall, head thunking against it, “Didn’t think it would be like this,”.
The Buggy’s sat there for a few minutes.
“Okay, let’s go,” Pierre stood, stretching and bouncing on his heels.
“Yes!” Buggy quickly scrambled up.
“I already have an escape route, we need to-”
“There you are!” Galdino’s head poked around to peer into the darkness of where Buggy had chosen to hide.
Within a second Buggy noted that Pierre had disappeared, climbing up the wall and likely hanging to a small crevice somewhere above.
“Galdino!” Buggy quickly switched back over to his more performative side.
“We’re getting ready to keep going! Hurry!”
“Oh- well- yes- I just need to grab my..bomb! I’ll be right there!”
“...Alright..!” Galdino stepped back away.
“I can’t go with you,” Buggy spoke up to the ceiling.
“What the hell?! Do not tell me I wasted my time. You will get out so much faster with me!” Pierre dropped down.
“I just- I can’t! I want to, believe me, ohh I really really want to, but I can’t!” He tugged at his ponytail.
“Why?!”
Buggy made an incomprehensible mess of noises before landing on, “The biggest reason is probably…” He opened and closed his mouth a couple times.
Pierre made a motion of annoyance.
“We’retryingtorescuecaptain’sson,” Buggy rushed out.
Pierre stared at him like he had just grown a second head. Again.
“So that’s one of the reasons I want to-”
‘What,”.
“What?”
“Who?”
“Portgas D. Ace…? He got taken in before me…?”
“And he’s…?”
“Captain- Roger’s. Yeah,”.
“Here?” Pierre asked a bit more quietly.
Buggy nodded. He had also been a bit…stunned by the news. But he hadn’t really had the time to react in the way he had wanted to considering he was trying to escape prison.
“Yes, yes, he’s here, and happens to be that straw hat brat’s brother- Not biologically!” He quickly added when Pierre’s eyes began to widen.
“I see…” Pierre paced back and forth for a few seconds before groaning and hitting a wall, “Fine, fine! But I am not helping!”
“Wait- you’re staying?!”
“Of course I’m staying, I came all this way to rescue you,” Pierre rolled his eyes like it was obvious, “I haven’t heard a thank you yet, by the way,”.
“I-”
“Buggy!” Galdino popped his head around the corner again. Pierre disappeared and Buggy leant over to scoop at the ground.
“Found it! Coming!” He waved his fist and Galdino disappeared again.
“Saved by the candle…” Buggy chuckled. A small pebble smacked him in the head.
Pierre was honest about not interfering.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t killing marines. He was an unknown hiding in corners so when he was spotted (and of course he was spotted, there were too many people not to be spotted by at least a few).
He watched Buggy run around, fighting and raising his notoriety more and more. Raising their notoriety. There was no way in hell that Pierre was ever going to be taking off his mask now.
Whitebeard died. He hadn’t seen the old man in decades, and he supposed that it would make sense that he would go out fighting for his family.
Ace died. So he supposed that was a bit useless. He ignored the pit in his gut at seeing the last of Roger’s blood spilled.
And then Shanks showed up.
His other interacted, grabbed him, yelled at him and made his followers believe him to be more than what he was.
Pierre watched from the side, pulling his voice in. Shanks had always had an absurd haki sensing ability.
And just a while later, Buggy was getting an offer for an escort to the Big Top by the Red Force.
Pierre tried to give him a look, no, no, no, but Buggy had that gleam in his eye that said ‘I’m going to steal shit’ so Pierre knew he had lost this battle.
He wanted to get his boat. He did not like the idea of being around people.
So he did.
He took hold of a smaller vessel, shoving off in the midst of the clean up effort, hidden by the dark of night.
He returned to his ship, unmooring it and expertly sailing away. Security was tighter, but Pierre knew what he was doing.
When he was a few hours away he anchored and sat on his bed, pulling his mask down.
He went to the sink, shaving his stubble away to avoid further irritation with the mask.
He would have to wait a day or two to call Buggy.
That was hoping he had the same number.