Chapter Text
‘Dear Bepo,
Hey cub. Yours is the first letter I’m writing, and I really don’t want to waste these cards, so I’d better not screw this up, huh? I’m sure Law will call all of this sappy or pointless, seeing as Shyarly and I should only be gone for a year’s time at most, but I know how long that amount of time can feel in reality. So I'm writing these for you boys. Call it what you want, but sometimes it's nice to have a physical letter than just words.
Out of all you kids, you're the one that I know will be just fine. You're strong and smart and I know you happen to be the voice of reason more often than not, and I rest easier knowing that there is at least one voice of reason left once we leave.
I know you personally haven’t been on Swallow long, shorter than even me or Law, but I do hope you’ll be able to feel at home here with all the boys. It can be scary, being in an unfamiliar place with different rules than you’re used to, but you’re a smart kid, and I know that the other boys will be there with you too.
I know being away from Zou has to be daunting. I know you probably miss the people left behind. I know you must be aching to go back home. I know you must feel alone, away from home, in a place where everyone says you’re different for a reason that makes little sense to you, treat you differently, try to hurt you.
I know. Gods do I know, kid.
But not everyone is like that. I need you to know not everyone is like that.
If you and I have seen anything from the North, from the people of Swallow especially, it’s that there are good people everywhere, despite all the bad and the pain that others are capable of. There is good, is kindness, and I want you to grow up like that. Surrounded by that kindness.
Zou isn’t some far off land. I know very little of it, but I’ll keep an eye out for an eternal pose while Shyarly and I are in Sabaody or Fishman Island. We’ll get you back there. Even if it takes a bit, we’ll get you back. Hopefully by that time, Law will be healthy and proficient enough with his devil fruit to come along, and you can show all of the boys your home island.
You’re a strong kid, no matter what you might hear from others. I’m sure it sounds sappy and overused, but I want you to be yourself. There’s no better version of you than yourself. Don’t shrink. Don’t apologize so much. You should feel comfortable with yourself, in your own skin. I want you to feel comfortable in your own skin.
Everything that happened was not your fault. It was never your fault, cub. Defending yourself was not wrong. Your instincts were never a moral failing, are never a moral failing. What happened to you was not your fault, Bepo.
I know that you’re scared. Nervous. Worried about taking up space. But you have just as much right to take up space as anyone else. You’re not lesser. You don’t have to shrink yourself down for others. Not anymore. Not here. Not ever again. You deserve to exist, and you should never have to feel like apologizing for it. You should never have been made to feel that way.
I know that these are just words on paper, that I should be having this conversation with you in person, but like you, I’m not the best at saying what I mean when it really comes down to it.
I know that, intellectually, accepting these words will be easy. I know that putting them into actual practice won't be. So that's the other reason I’m writing them down. So you’ll have them right there for you, whenever you need a reminder.
You don’t need to make yourself small to fit into other people’s expectations of you. You don’t have to sterilize yourself down until other people accept you. If someone can’t accept you for all of who you are, then they will never be worth any single part of you in the first place. You deserve to be all of you, without the stress of agonizing over every word, every action, making sure you don’t come across as different or other. If someone is worth any of your time and energy and love, it’s people that are able to look at every part of you, every part you want to press down, and still love you for just being you.
That limbo of pretending for others is stressful, exhausting, and not worth the responses it will get, because every one of them will be just as insincere as the act being put up.
Don’t feel like you need to hide away the traits that make you you, just because you’ve seen other people react badly to them. That just means that those people are worthless. They’re not worth the energy of changing yourself, and they never earned the trust of knowing and loving the real you.
You’re a good kid, a smart kid. I know you’ll be just fine on Swallow with Wolf, but sometimes we need a reminder for things like these. Keep those other three out of trouble for me, okay? Be good, be yourself, and try not to drive Wolf too crazy.
With love, Ross ♡'
Shyarly watched Rosinante tighten the lacing and tune the yawl sail, securing everything in place so they would continue to catch the wind without him babying the sails and rudder too much. Her brow furrowed slightly at the sight, watching.
She had learned over the course of their last stint of sailing that Rosinante- Rosi-san- had a preference to keep an eye on the course over trusting it to hold.
That had been half of the reason for her own exasperation during those first weeks, when the man refused to trust the wind and ship, to even go to bed. Her showing that she was willing to learn and take up a watch eventually helped, but not by much. And now the man was willingly locking everything into place and walking away.
The unspoken question that was surely in her eyes was answered when, unprompted, Rosinante grabbed and handed her a fishing rod. Shyarly blinked down at the rod in her hands, and then up at Rosinante, who just looked back at her, lips quirked up at the corners.
“You know how?”
“...Not really.” Shyarly admitted, letting the pole lay across her lap to roll her wheelchair over to the rail of the ketch, following Rosi-san. “Usually, we just catch fish with our bare hands. Sometimes a net.”
Rosinante hummed a sound like acceptance of that, and pulled a crate over to sit and hold up his own. “I’ll show you. If nothing else, it’s good to pass the time. Hand me the tacklebox there?”
Shyarly did, looking around and tilting sideways to grab and pass as was requested.
As it turned out, Rosinante was an adept teacher, waiting and demonstrating a couple different ways multiple times, until Shyarly could almost say she could probably tie a fisherman’s knot again if she had to later. He explained the pole itself, and though she could likely have figured it out herself just by looking, the comprehensive explanation was appreciated.
Then Rosi-san handed her a dried fish head, and silently with his own, demonstrated hooking into the mouth and pushing up until the point came out the top of the skull, securing the bait in place with a tug. It was all relatively simple, and Rosi was kind enough to go slow and let her Shyarly copy everything, before tossing his line out off the prow of the ketch away from the rudder. She shifted to the side a little, giving his line a little room, before tossing her own out.
Nothing happened for a long moment, but Shyarly supposed she should have expected that. She had seen Rosinante sit and fish for hours before, so it wasn’t surprising, though it did slightly cool the bubbling feeling of elation that had been gathering in her chest.
Rosinante wasn’t one to let them drift into awkward silence though. “It’s not the most exciting thing,” he hummed, “but it’s useful, and worst case, you’re just sitting out in the cold for a bit.”
“You seem to enjoy it.” Shyarly observed, noting once more how Rosi had been more than willing and proficient enough to teach.
“Mh. It’s relaxing. Nice memories, I guess.”
Oh? That was interesting, at least.
“How’s that?” Shyarly asked. “Father son bonding?”
“Not quite.” Rosi laughed, shifting his pole so he could lean his elbow on one knee and rest his face in a palm. “I learned from Garp.”
That took a moment to actually process in Shyarly’s brain. Then “Wha- Garp?! As in-”
Rosinante laughed, warm and full, and reached over to straighten her pole before she lost it into the drag of the water where it was starting to dip. Shyarly corrected her hold, but her eyes didn’t leave Rosi now.
“He’s surprisingly good at sitting still when it’s of his own accord, you know.”
“I- that’s- lets back up.” Shyarly breathed, “How do you know Garp.”
Rosinante quirked an eyebrow at her, but his expression was relatively surprised. “You don’t know?”
“I-...” Right. Right. She never had- they never really had cleared any of that up, had they. Shyarly turned to face forward again, huffing softly like that could cover the embarrassment that was no doubt showing on her face. “I saw you, but only from the moment of contact on until-... Then Law's path. That’s it.”
“...Oh.” Rosinante murmured, definitely softer now. And then a hand was placed on top of Shyarly’s head, and she stiffened. “Shit kid, I’m sorry...”
“It’s fine.” Shyarly replied, brushing him off verbally, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do so physically as well.
The hand didn’t move for a long moment, just resting on her hair for long enough to almost be awkward, but then Rosi shifted, hand coming down to her shoulder to give it a soft squeeze, reassuring and steady and quiet, and then it was gone again.
Shyarly felt herself almost tilt when the weight left her, but stilled and didn’t let it show.
“I grew up around Garp.” Rosinante redirected back, smooth and even, like the small interaction had never happened. “He’s not so bad. Like Wolf, if Wolf liked throwing cannonballs at people.”
That... Wow, that... Was a hell of a sentence. And a very good redirection, actually.
Shyarly turned a squinted look onto Rosi, trying to gauge if he was screwing with her or not. He didn’t turn away from his line, and Shyarly was pretty sure he was being 100% serious.
“Rosi-san, I’m going to need you to maybe elaborate on that.”
Rosinante just laughed.
“You knew I was a marine, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sure, but knowing you were a marine and hearing Sengoku’s voice over your den-den are very different things from being told that the Fleet Admiral is your fucking father!”
“Hey, language.”
“Langu- You’ve just told me that the Fleet Admiral raised you, and the hero of the marines trained you alongside an Admiral candidate! That deserves a few expletives!”
“It wasn’t like I was special, Dragon was there too.”
“...You are a very scary person.”
“Wha- I- how does that even-”
“The ties you have. I don't even... You know that you alone have connections to all four conflicting parties of the coming war, right? That you’re just- sitting on. You know how insane that is, right? And you... are just Rosinante-ing on despite all that.”
“Are- Shyarly... Please don’t use my name as a verb like that...”
“Oh you got one! It's your first, right? Let me get my cameko.”
“Oh- thats okay, I don’t-”
“I do. Hold up your pole and smile!”
'Ka-lick-!'
“It’s... A little small for celebration.”
“We’ll have it for dinner with whatever else bites. I can finish up here if you’re tired of sitting in one place.”
“...No. It’s okay. Show me how to hook the bait again?”
“...Sure. Here, let me.”
“It’s just a thought.”
“Yes, but honestly I think I’ll be fine in this stretch of the trip.”
“I’m just saying, the water is rather cold for me to dive in to retrieve you if you fall overboard.”
“...Okay, sure. But... Rope..?”
If there was one thing that Shyarly did know how to do, it was deboning fish. The ones they had caught were a bit smaller than what she was used to handling, but that made it no less easy.
Rosi-san left her up to decide what to do with the fish, and Shyarly was feeling like tonight was just a sauté night. Easier to cut, and with how small these all were it would be easier for both of them that way.
Rosinante was looking through the supplies that were outside in the cold under the deck compartments. They’d need to eat some of those sooner than later, lest they rot and go to waste. Whatever he chose would probably go just fine with sauteed fish.
Rosi-san didn’t disappoint either, coming back with a lime, something that looked like an onion, maybe a shallot, and a handful of different greens. He set everything out on the counter, and moved to fill a sparse amount of their freshwater into a bowl to set to washing everything, pulling up a stool to sit.
“Plans?”
“Sauté. Those?”
“We can just sauté them too. Unless you have a preference for steamed?”
“Sauté is fine.”
“Mh.”
They moved in tandem with their own tasks, more conversation unnecessary. It was easy, no need for more, just the two of them, side by side after fishing and talking for hours. Comfortable, companionable quiet, broken up by the sound of her knife and his careful washing.
Shyarly couldn’t help watch as Rosi put to work on the actual meal, half out of curiosity and half to make sure nothing was set on fire. The man dug around in the supplies packed into the pantry, coming back with a couple jars that he sniffed experimentally one at a time.
He starting to construct something in a pan put to heat, a spoonful or so of sugar scooped and left over the flame while Rosinante set to cutting the lime, right up until the sugar started caramelizing, then almost burning, and Shyarly had to elbow Rosi-san to get him to realize and save whatever he was making.
The pan was fumbled, but stirred so that the scent of burning lessened, and then Rosinante was squeezing all of the lime into the pan too, along with the pulp that he scooped out into the pan after it. Rosinante seemed to be trying to get all the juice possible, before setting the rinds back on the counter.
Shyarly must have made a face, because Rosinante spoke up once more. “We’ll cut those up and dry them to use somewhere else. Zest or something, we can figure it out later.”
Shyarly hummed in understanding, looking back at the unused bits of fish with a thoughtful gaze. “And these?”
“Bones will be dried for broth, and the heads we’ll brine for bait.” Rosinante replied, again smelling a couple different jars before settling on two or three that looked like garlic, some sort of red powder, and a dried leaf. “I don’t know much about how to use innards, so those we’ll just dry to throw overboard as bait too. Taste this?”
Shyarly looked up at the non sequitur to find a dried leaf being offered. She accepted, but couldn’t help but look down at the unassuming herb skeptically. It was hesitantly placed on her tongue, but nothing seemed wrong with it, so she looked back up at Rosinante with a confused expression.
“Nothing? Taste fine?”
“Uh... Yes?”
“Good.” Rosi nodded, adding that into the pan too. “Don’t want you tasting soap.”
Soap? What did that mean? “Soap?” Shyarly questioned as much, feeling a little young just from the events of today.
“Cilantro. To some people it just tastes like soap. Kinda a hit or miss spice, honestly, but it should go pretty well with this.” Rosinante explained without a pause, pouring some oil into the pan, then reaching past her to grab and put the fish fillets to sizzle in the sauce that he had cobbled together.
“Oh.” Weird. “You have an odd bank of knowledge. I didn’t think you knew how to really cook.”
Rosinante gave her a sideways glance, almost amused. “I’ve been helping Wolf in the kitchen for months.”
“That was different.” Shyarly waved off, rolling around him to make a brine with little more than a huff. “That was with cookbooks and Wolf right there. I just didn’t realize you were such a jack of all trades.”
“Mh, not really. I know one or two basic recipes just because they’re easy or straightforward. Everything past that is just adapting those to whatever is on hand.”
“And making sauces.” Shyarly countered, eyeing the pan where Rosi-san had caramelized sugar and put together something more complicated than she would have even thought to.
“Scurvy is no joke.” Rosinante turned to point, but the expression on his face was nothing but slightly amused. “You have to make sure to include citrus and greens wherever you can. That's not skill, that's experience and disease prevention.”
Well there was really nothing to deny about that, she had to concede, offering a slight tilt of her head, looking up from mixing a brine up in a jar.
“Experience is its own skill.” Shyarly mused, her own voice softer now in the easy lull.
“...I suppose it is.” Rosinante huffed, that smile softening even farther on his lips.
He turned away from the pan, just for a moment, to reach over and ruffle Shyarly’s hair. The action was short and sudden, but Shyarly couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but pleased under the touch, a breath of air escaping her in a puff at the growing familiarity of the action.
Prep went by quickly after that. The banter, and that’s what that had been, wasn’t it? Banter? It tapered off back into their previous comfortable quiet, and Shyarly realized that she could get used to this. Comfortable conversation and good natured ribbing in these bursts, natural and easy in a way that didn’t leave her feeling tired or like she needed to slip away to recharge.
It was quiet, just the two of them, and the comfort was both mildly unfamiliar, and exactly what Shyarly craved after getting a taste these last few months.
The guys were great, fun, wonderful, but energetic in a way she herself wasn’t fully capable of being. Rosinante himself was a little different. Not in a bad way, never in a negative way, but he was...
He wasn’t quite a friend, but. He was-... A companion. Someone who could follow her line of conversation, but just as readily lapse into silence with her. Reliable. Competent. Kind. Rosinante was kind, and more, she knew he wasn’t with her for anything but the fact that it was her. This her. The present her. Not her powers. Not a notion of her future. Of her connections to the royal family or those she had prophesied for before. No. Just Shyarly. Just her.
It was nice, setting to work making tea for the two of them while Rosinante finished plating up dinner, her own fish, sauteed broccoli and asparagus and that sauce all put out for a nice dinner.
It was nice, having a quiet meal, the lack of need to fill the silence except for compliments to the surprisingly good tasting dish. Not that there had been any real doubt about the food itself, but it was very good.
It was nice, this ability to be herself here. With him. At ease. This comfort. This safety.
“Well, he is a fucking sap!” Law groaned glaring at the letter they were all gathered around, a flush high on his cheeks.
Shachi laughed, clearly torn between teasing Law or Bepo first, and Penguin was still squinting down at the loopy cursive handwriting they were all in the process of deciphering. Gathered in the livingroom, all laid on their stomachs in piles of blankets and pillows on the floor next to the fire, a mug of hot chocolate each mostly forgotten in favor of the more interesting activity of reading their letters together.
“I think I got the next part.” Penguin murmured, Bepo pressing up against his side to peer at the letter too, both of them visibly stumbling through the words with narrowed eyes and tracing fingers, Penguin taking up the job of narrating the words in a voice that mimicked the deep baritone of Ross’s.
Wolf sat at the kitchen table, where he was meant to be working on the circuitry for the updated version of the Super Cleaner, but he found his hands unmoving and soldering iron paused over the project to listen.
While the words that left Penguin’s mouth had started out in something of comical mockery, all in good fun of course, Wolf listened as the inflection slowly drained from the boy’s voice with every sentence. Listened to the blanketing silence of the other three boys, the lack of comment from Shachi, lack of scorn or embarrassed expletive from Law, lack of any sound of movement from Bepo at Penguin’s side.
“‘I know. Gods do I know, kid.’” The words came from Penguin’s lips in his own voice, softer than before as he read, and from the table Wolf could both hear and see the minute hitch in Law’s breath.
Something about that, about the words themselves, about the softness, the sincerity that Wolf could practically feel from the words, made something in his chest curl with unease, discomfort maybe. Penguin continued on, softer the more he read on for them, any bravado or jesting in his tone or the other’s reactions lost to the quiet and the crackling of the fireplace.
Wolf listened, almost absentminded in lowering his tools as Penguin continued on, and the more he did, the more sure Wolf was that Ross was much more observant than the man ever let on.
The words hit, struck a cord of reality in his chest in a way that Wolf hadn’t connected, both in regards to the mink cub’s uncharacteristic meekness, that he had mostly brushed off as a personal trait, and the growing idea that the written words were... Rather sure of themselves. Confident and reassuring in a way that Wolf was not truly able to reconcile with the image of Ross that he had in his head. The genuinely kind but clumsy, rather ditzy man, masquerading under that intimidating, dangerous figure.
“‘I know that you’re scared. Nervous. Worried about taking up space. But you have just as much right to take up space as anyone else. You’re not lesser. You don’t have to shrink yourself down for others. Not anymore. Not here. Not ever again. You deserve to exist, and you should never have to feel like apologizing for it. You should never have been made to feel that way.’” Penguin continued, but his voice hitched slightly, cracking in the way that growing teenage boy’s voices do.
Whether on accident or from some emotion that the boy was also feeling, reading, listening to the words written out on the vivre card Ross had gifted all of them, Wolf didn’t know. What he did know, from his vantage point at the table, pretending to not be listening or clenching his fingers too tightly around an innocent pair of pliers, was that Bepo moved. Slight, careful, just a shift, taking the card from where Penguin had taken to holding it.
The mink’s own voice picked up the reading, softer, more quiet than Penguin’s, to the point that Wolf had to focus to pick up all the words, but the boy read on.
“‘Y-You don’t need to make yourself small to fit into other people’s expectations of you. You don’t have to sterilize yourself down until other people accept you. If someone can’t accept you for all of who you a-are, then they will never be worth any single part of you in the first place.’”
His voice wavered at the edges, so close to copying Penguin’s in cracking, but the change in reader spurred the other two to shift closer too, still quiet, and without the previous mockery displayed from the first few sentences. The closeness seemed to ease the cub, his ears relaxing back to a more neutral angle, voice slowly evening out with every quiet word.
Even as the letter slowly seemed to come to a close, a jabbed comment thrown at Wolf's own expense, he couldn’t find it in himself to do more than reflect back on all he knew of Ross from the last couple of months. Which was... Very little, actually.
That... Was almost a startling realization.
For as much as an open book as Ross seemed to be, for as truly kind as his actions really were, Wolf found himself coming up blank on anything of substance he knew of the man himself. Law, Shyarly, some sort of kidnapping that had ended up being for the kids’ own good, but-... Passed that? Anything deeper, personal? Blank. Nothing at all.
And that uneasy feeling in Wolf’s chest only seemed to grow. Not distrust, per se, nor guilt, but... Pity maybe? Empathy. And okay. Maybe a little twinge of guilt.
“‘With love, Ross.’” Bepo finished, before softly clearing his throat and tapping a claw on the paper. “He- He also... Uhm... Drew a h-heart here, t-too”
“Sap.” Law huffed again, but still quiet, and Wolf very much wished he knew what was going through the kid’s head for him to have that expression on, soft and fond and sad in a way that made Wolf very aware of who might have the most context to those kind, heartfelt words held in the cub’s claws.
“...He... Wow.” Shachi murmured quietly. “That's... That’s fuckin’ deep.”
Wolf watched, though he pretended not to be, as Bepo slowly pulled the letter from the other boy’s eyes, tucking it to his chest almost as one would a security blanket. The other three boys stopped, but none made a comment, and Bepo didn’t move to say anything either.
Eventually, it was Penguin who moved, gently knocking his shoulder against the cub’s, a soft smile on his face as he pointed at his cousin. “Let’s read Shachi’s next.”
Any other time, there might have been some kind of reaction, some bravado, spluttering and denials. Now, Shachi just grinned, all sharp teeth, and handed his own card over, rolling with the shift of attention away from the mink cub.
It was getting late, and the boys had dragged out what looked like every blanket and pillow in the damned house to make a pile in the livingroom. Wolf should to make them clean it up, get all four to bed.
But Wolf could see the fur at the nape of Bepo’s neck slowly start to settle from where the cub had started to bristle anxiously, could see the way tension seemed to seep from his shoulders. Could see the way all four huddled closer around the card, swamped in blankets and the glow of the fire.
And Wolf decided he could let the boys have this.