Chapter Text
“How long...like this?”
“...days…”
In the depths of the darkness, broken sentences nuzzle Buggy’s ears. He feels like he’s underwater; numb and powerless, his consciousness flitting in and out of awareness. However, there’s a sting of pain on his neck that pulses ever so often. Something’s wrong with his body; the clown can tell because under all the silence is screaming.
His omega is screaming.
Why?
But before he can completely grasp the anchor of reality, he is swiftly pulled back by the currents, watery hands reach out to drag him deep, deep under.
He’s so tired.
_______
“Call him.”
Crocus pays no mind to the midriff-flaunting hag that’s propped up behind him on the wall, continuing with his watch over the brat’s vitals. It’s not where he’d like it to be but, at the very least, it’s much better compared to earlier. Soon, the heart monitor’s constant beeping swallows up the silence left by the other doctor in the room. But it is the heavy gaze on his back that finally makes him cave.
The former Rogers pirate turns to look at Kureha, a sigh escaping his lips at the unyielding expression on her face. “It’s not that simple.”
The beta did not like his response, he can tell. “What’s making it so difficult?” She takes a quick glance at the man lying on the bed, her face growing more grim, “He’s dying.”
Crocus casts his gaze downwards. Anyone with working eyes can see that; Buggy’s face has lost its healthy glow, growing duller with each passing day. Not to mention the concerning amount of weight he’s lost in the past couple of days. There are now valleys in place of cheek fat, and two large depressions have settled under his eyes. His wrist has shrunk down to resemble a twig and the needles stuck into it look more prominent than ever.
The old omega’s heart had nearly stopped when the consistent beeping of the machine turned into an uninterrupted line that chilled his very soul. Just thinking about it has his hair standing up.
It reminded him of the excruciating days, when all he could do was stand back and watch as his captain withered away.
Seeing his wavering resolve, Kureha steps forward, pushing herself off the wall. “Listen here, you flowery bag of bones, just get that bastard here, so that Clowny has a fighting chance. Plus, those crazy brats of his are already on the way.”
Crocus remains silent, eyes stuck on his patient. A fighting chance. That’s what Buggy needs. However, it would mean that his former protege will have to come face to face with the past he had so desperately tried to bury. The doctor reaches out to knead his forehead. “He’s going to kill me.”
Kureha scoffs at that, rolling her eyes away. “If he can even stand after all the shit his body’s been through.”
“Blue’s always been a persistent one.” Crocus rises from the chair, patient chart in hand. He’ll have one of the blue-haired omega’s crewmembers keep an eye on him. Probably the green-haired one—Cabaji. In Buggy’s state, it wouldn’t do for him to be around alphas, but considering that his crew’s only composed of omegas, it won’t be much of an issue.
“Are you still in contact with Shakky?” The omega doctor asks the nosy witch as he opens the door to a pirate-infested hallway. Most of the Buggy Pirates have congregated inside and around the hospital, scaring the local Drum staff shitless.
Kureha rolls her eyes again—someday it’s going to get stuck like that and when that day comes Crocus swears to laugh his ass off and have a Cameko ready. “Of course not. I’m a busy woman.”
They only take a step out of the room before the pirates are onto them, firing question after question regarding the health of their Captain. Crocus does his best to pacify their concerns, however, it takes another fifteen minutes before he manages to drill into their thick skulls that having ten other people in the room will just exacerbate Buggy’s condition and that he did not, in fact, need a battalion to guard him.
By the time the former Rogers pirate reaches his fellow doctor’s room, he just drops onto the nearest chair that’s placed beside a desk that has papers and books littered on it. Crocus heaves out a deep breath before leaning his head against the wooden backrest. Davy Jones, he’s too old for all this excitement. If it had been anyone else knocking on his door that cold night, he would have turned them away, but how could he do that to Blue’s crew? Especially when Mohji’s first words still ring in his ears to this very day.
“Crocus-san! Help! The captain—there’s something wrong with him!”
Buggy’s condition kept fluctuating. No matter what he did he would always relapse, just like what had occurred a few hours prior. This was the reason why Crocus had them sail to Drum Island as soon as possible, because while none of his books could provide him the answer he needed, Kureha’s might. And it did.
The old doctor’s eyes roam the messy desk, zeroing in on a single sheet of paper, weathered hands grasping it tightly. It is not the first time that he’s religiously read the text word for word, and will most likely not be the last. There are five lengthy paragraphs that describe the symptoms of the sickness, which Buggy ticks all the boxes for, and the cure.
If Crocus is to be honest, everything is too vague, and seems more like a personal entry rather than a scientifically observed piece of information. Unfortunately, this is the only thing they’ve found that comes even remotely close to resolving his former protege’s malady.
This is their only hope.
And speaking of—
“How are we going to contact Red?” Crocus voices out his concern. Behind him, the constant sound of boots striking the floor quiets down before starting up again; this time growing louder as it comes closer.
The Drum Witch plops a Den-Den Mushi onto the disarray of papers, gesturing to it with an exasperated expression painted on her face. It is the old omega’s turn to roll his eyes. He is no fool, what else would they be using other than the snail? Unless, that is, Kureha decides to swim her way to the New World, an idea that will definitely provide him with entertainment until he boards Davy Jone’s ship.
He takes a closer look at the snail and realizes that he missed the tiny piece of paper that seemed to have been ripped off the corner of a whole, sitting next to the Den-Den Mushi with something scribbled on it. After having raised the red-headed brat from toddlerhood to teenagehood, it doesn’t take much for Crocus to recognize the god-awful chicken scratch of his crew’s former apprentice. It seems Shanks had left his number with Kureha for whatever reason, which is now coming in handy during this emergency.
Picking up the paper, the omega doctor runs a thumb through the creases of the material. He casts an uneasy glance at the witch. She stares back at him dead in the eye. This crushes the small hope inside of that had been asking for some type of miracle or deity to step in and magically wave away Blue’s malady.
Crocus takes a deep breath before reaching for the receiver.