Wrapped in a torn strip of his cloak, soaked through with blood from the bloody stump where his left arm used to be, Shanks staggered up the Red Force's gangplank. The sea king had sunk with his arm in its belly, and Luffy was safe. Damn fool move, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat. His vision swam a little as he pushed forward, pain pulsing white-hot through his shoulder and skull.
Beck, cigarette dangling, spotted Shanks first. It fell forgotten to the deck as he crossed in three strides, voice low but sharp. "Captain? What the hell happened? Yer arm–" Shanks waved him off with his good hand, gritting his teeth. "Sea king got a healthy bite is all. Luffy’s fine. Barely felt a thing." Lies, but a captain doesn’t whine.
Yasopp’s rifle clattered as he leapt from a barrel, that usual cocky grin replaced by something raw, almost panicked. He hovered near Shanks, hands flapping uselessly like he wanted to help but didn't know where to start. "Boss! Yer arm’s gone! How’re ya still standin'? We need the sawbones...someone fetch some bandages!" Lucky Roux, mid-bite into a massive hunk of meat, froze with his mouth full. The drumstick slipped from his fingers, rolling across the planks.
"Cap'n...that's...that's bad. Real bad." His voice boomed, but it cracked at the end, and he lumbered over as he tried to scoop Shanks up as if he was a sack of potatoes. "Lemme carry ya! You ain't walkin' on your own with that!" Shanks sidestepped him–barely, his legs feeling like jelly–and shot him a glare that probably looked more pained than stern. "Back off, Roux. It's just an arm. I've got another."
Beck wasn’t fooled. He grabbed Shanks’ good shoulder, steering him toward the cabin. "Yer not fine, mate." His eyes flicked to the crew. "Clear the deck, ye scurvy dogs! Tell the village we ain’t weighin’ anchor till he’s patched proper." Shanks made it to the cabin door, leaning hard against the frame as the world tilted beneath his closed eyelids. "We’re staying put," he rasped out. "In Foosha. Till this heals. No sense in rushing off half-cocked." Beck nodded, jaw tight, worry carved into his face.
Inside, Shanks collapsed onto the bunk, the room spinning. He poured rum onto the wound, the burn clearing his head enough to think. Staying made sense; let the arm scar, maybe keep an eye on Luffy. That kid sure had fire, defying those bandits. A soft, insistent knock rattled the door. He groaned. "What now?"
