The first three chapters have been revised as of 10/18/16

Chapter Four: A Family

"Here, boy. Push the hook through at an angle. That's right, just like that," Grandpappy said, watching over Roger's shoulder as he hooked the worm.

The small skiff rocked on the waves, and Roger fought sea sickness as he fumbled with his baited hook. His grandfather fished daily, but Roger had no interest in the hobby. When he went out to sea he'd be on a ship with a cook. Sailing, navigating, and fighting! Those were the skills he'd need if he wanted to make it onto a ship. Fishing was a waste of time.

"Fish will really eat these things?" Roger asked, looking at the wiggling worm with some skepticism. He'd tasted worms before and they were horrible. He couldn't imagine anything, even a fish, wanting to eat them.

"Of course! Best bait in Loungetown, fresh from the soil," Grandpappy assured him, casting his own rod into the sea.

Roger followed suit, grinning when the hook sailed past Grandpappy's before plunging into the water. There really wasn't anything to this fishing thing. The thought of all the money he could have saved on buying meat pissed him off. Why didn't anyone show him how to do this before?

He waited for a pull, but minutes passed and his pole didn't budged an inch. He stole a glance at his grandfather

"How long do I have to wait?" he asked impatiently.

" Until a fish gets hungry."

"This is boring," Roger sighed. He was supposed to be learning about sailing, and here they were, sitting in a crappy boat doing nothing. What a waste of time.

"You want to sail?"

"Yeah!" Roger answered eagerly.

"What do you think happens when you're out at sea and the food runs out?"

Roger frowned, "I'd just eat fish."

"Not if you can't catch them, idiot!" his grandfather growled, bopping him on the head.

"So shut up and pay attention!"

"Hit me!"

"I… I can't! You're old!"

"The hell did you just say?"

"N...nothing! Get ready, then. I'm stronger than I look!"

Roger charged his grandfather, balling his right hand into a tight fist. He got ready to sink it into the old man's stomach, but skidded to a halt at the very last moment.

"What was that?" Grandpappy demanded, slapping the boy upside the head.

"You...you weren't trying to block it at all!" Roger exclaimed, panting.

"Like I need to block a weakling like you!"

Anger sparked in the boy's dark eyes. He balled his fist again, and sent it right into his grandfather's stomach. He heard a crack, and withdrew his hand with a pained whimper.

"See? You should worry about yourself!" Grandpappy laughed, shaking his head. He put a hand on Roger's shoulder and led him toward the house. Roger cursed him the whole way, angry that he couldn't even hit the man without hurting himself in the process. What kind of a monster was this guy?

Later on, alone in his room, Roger couldn't help but feel a begrudging respect for the old man. It grew against his will, twisting his feelings of apprehension and resentment into admiration and hope. Maybe his grandfather would decide he wasn't worth the trouble, that he was too weak to make anything of himself.

But those thoughts were losing their foothold. When he looked down at his wrapped hand and remembered how carefully his grandfather had bandaged it, he felt it. There was something in his grandfather's actions that was permanent. Something in his words that felt like commitment, and Roger didn't think he'd be kicked to the curb. That night he decided that his grandfather wasn't so bad, for a scary old bastard. Maybe they were a family.

"I actually felt that one!" Grandpappy praised, rubbing his chest, "Good job, Roger! You've made real progress this year!"

The ten-year-old smirked, getting to his feet. His punches were improving. His hand didn't hurt nearly as much as it used to, and he was much faster now. His grandfather rarely praised him, but the encouragement made the boy absolutely glow with satisfaction.

"I think it's time we start working on your other areas of weakness."

"Like what?" Roger asked, wondering what they could possibly add to the already rigid training his grandfather set up.

Grandpappy jerked a thumb over to a man leaning against a tree. He was the tallest man Roger had ever met, and the slimmest man, with wild brown hair and a book forever glued to one hand. If his grandfather had to name his greatest friend in the world, Roger knew the name that would brush his lips.

"What's Mateo going to teach me about fighting?" Roger was completely baffled. The man looked like a strong wind could blow him over.

"Not fighting," Grandpappy grinned, "Mateo's going to teach you your letters. And your numbers. And some basic goddamn manners, too."

Roger looked between the two and he felt his stomach drop. It was true that a good pirate should be able to read, at least basic words. And how would he make sure he wasn't getting short changed when they split the treasure if he couldn't count his share?

Reluctantly, knowing that these lessons would be the worst part of his day, Roger followed Mateo back to his bookshop in the village.

"Ok, let's see what you know already. Read as many of these letters as you can for me," Mateo said, holding open a children's book with the alphabet printed in elaborate, curving letters. Roger scanned the page, glaring at the jumble of lines and curves. There was one that was familiar, at least, which was one better than nothing.

"That's an X. Like X marks the spot."

Mateo blinked a few times, waiting for more, then realized that was all that was coming.

"Alright then. Let's start from the beginning."

"Grandpappy, what was it like being a marine?" Roger asked, watching the flames dance across his grandfather's face. The old man's sharp features were intensified by the light and shadows, making him look like the dangerous man he was. Roger could imagine pirates coming face to face with his grandfather and running away with their tails between their legs.

The old man smiled, looking ten years younger in his enthusiasm. The sharpness melted away, his eyes bright and proud. Even his voice softened, as though he were telling Roger a secret he held close to his heart.

"Hear this, Roger. Being a marine is the greatest honor there is. The strong need to protect the weak, and the weak need to respect the strong."

"Respect?" Roger asked. He knew the Marine's were feared, spending his childhood exploring the back streets of Loungetown taught him that much. Respect was a word he wasn't so familiar with.

"That's right. As a marine, you'll have the power to save countless lives! And in return, all will respect your strength and service. Without the Marines, this world we live in would drown in it's own chaos."

"Really?" excitement widened Roger's eyes, "I didn't know Marines were that important."

"Move closer to the fire so you don't catch a cold," Grandpappy instructed, leaning forward, "I'm going to tell you a story. Listen carefully, I'm not a man to tell the same story twice!"

Roger strolled down the streets of Loguetown, tossing a coin in the air and catching it again. He made a game of it, throwing it higher each time before grabbing it up again in his fist. He didn't notice the shadows falling in step behind him, or the strange silence of the street.

His mind was on the coin, and what he would spend it on. It was the first time Roger had ever been given money to spend on himself. The only money he'd ever handled was the small sum that had trickled in monthly from the town. He spent it on meat, bread, and cheese. Sometimes he'd go hungry to pay for shoes or pants. When he was a little older, stealing was a supplement that kept him clothed. That was before Grandpappy knew about him, back when he was fending for himself.

Candy, he thought, would be great to try. He'd never tried chocolate before. The kids that roamed the streets talked about it. Even if their mothers threw them out of the house for the day, there was always a warm meal waiting for them once the sun set. And on holidays they were given desserts and cakes made with a mysterious candy called chocolate.

He knew exactly where to go, and it was with great satisfaction that he imagined the look on the old shop owner's face when she tried to kick him out. He'd toss the coin on the counter, right under the old witch's nose, and walk out with his prize.

His excitement was crushed by a hand. It closed around Roger's shirt, pulling him back into a narrow alley. His head smacked against the brick wall as hands pressed against his chest, pushing him back. The first punch came fast to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He felt like he was going to be sick, but swallowed the pain.

Laughter closed in. He glared up at his assailants. The boys circled him, all a few years his senior. They were members of an infamous street gang, one that Roger had fallen into trouble with before.

"What the hell do you want?" Roger growled, moving his hand to pocket the coin before the boys could notice it. It was too late for that. The boy standing opposite him grabbed his wrist and twisted it until Roger cried out. The clang of his coin on the pavement rang in his ears.

"Just this," another boy smirked, dancing the coin across his knuckles before making it disappear up his shirt sleeve.

Roger lunged forward with a growl, determined to get back what was rightfully his. He saw movement from the corner of his eye. A fist! Agony carried him away, and all he could do was brush the boy's arm before the world was gone.

When Roger woke, the sky was gray and soggy. He wobbled on his feet, his head pounding and clouded. The walk home was slow and miserable. His hand clenched into a fist, then loosened again, over and over as he remembered the weight of the coin. If only he'd kept it out of sight! He knew better than to flaunt anything on the street.

Except he hadn't been flaunting it, not intentionally. He just forgot himself in his excitement. He wasn't naive enough to think that having his grandfather around made him immune to the rules of the streets. The strong take, and the weak are taken from, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Grandpappy didn't say anything when he found Roger sulking at the kitchen table. He took a slab of meat from the cold box and tossed it to the boy. Roger pressed it against the side of his head.

Dinner was had in silence, something that Roger was very grateful for, and he thought for sure his grandfather was going to let the whole night pass without a word about the incident. He was almost right. On the way to his room, his grandfather's stern voice called after him.

"Be glad it was just money. This world will always try to take things from you. Next time it could be something important."

"Money is important," Roger muttered, closing his bedroom door behind him. If his grandfather responded, he didn't hear it.

What would a Marine know about going without? His grandfather would never understand what that coin meant to him. It was his. He earned it.

What a horrible feeling. He never wanted to experience it again.

"Give it...back! It's mine!" Roger panted, his body shaking in absolute rage. His eyes bore into the teenager across from him, longing for another go. The boy wasn't a street kid. He went to school, and his parents were wealthy business owners who ran lucrative shops in the town.

It was no surprise that Roger got in more than a few good hits, but the older boy was strong and heavy. If the teen's uncle hadn't broken up the fight, Roger would have more than a black eye to deal with. Now the rich bastard stood facing Roger, blocking his path to the teenager and his stolen property.

"You filthy miscreant!" the uncle sneered, looking down his nose at Roger. He put a hand forward, and Roger backed away, sure that the man was going to grab for him.

"What's all this?"

The voice broke through the blood pounding in his ears. Roger looked, searching for his grandfather. The old man was marching forward, pushing through the small crowd that surrounded them on the busy street.

"Once a thief, always a thief," the short, fat uncle said, "this grandson of yours is accusing my nephew of lying."

Grandpappy looked between Roger and the older teen. His eyes rested for a moment on the yellow straw hat clutched in the teen's hand. When his grandfather met his eyes, Roger glared and looked away.

He felt shame burn at his cheeks. His grandfather pushed past the fat uncle and snatched the hat away.

"What do you think you're doing!?" the uncle yelled, moving to take the hat back. The look Grandpappy gave the man made even Roger's blood run cold.

"Be careful who you call a thief," the old man growled, "I won't forgive anyone who insults my family. He's only ten years-old, and already twice the man you'll ever be."

The conviction in Grandpappy's voice shocked the crowd. Roger was well known on the streets. Most people had given him food or clothes at some point in his toddlerhood, after the death of his mother. As he grew, their sympathies melted away with his baby fat, until their eyes fell coldly on a scrawny, burden of a child. A boy who stole what they would no longer freely give. Mannerless, dirty, and alone in life.

After his mother's death, the townspeople had decided to house him in his paternal grandfather's house, which had been boarded and vacant while the Marine was at sea. Popular opinion was that the old retired Marine merely put up with his grandson out of a sense of familial obligation.

"Old man…" Roger whispered, his eyes wide and watery. It was the first time anyone had ever spoke up for him like that.

Grandpappy took him by the arm, pulling him away, and pressing the straw hat down firmly on his head.

"You really gave it to that boy, didn't ya?" He asked, wrapping an arm around his grandson's shoulders.

Roger wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, grateful for the cover the hat's rim provided. He managed a nod and a smile.

"Never let them take what's yours, Roger. Always fight for it."

"If you take that hat sailing, you're going to lose it," Grandpappy warned.

Roger fondled the hat on his head. He'd taken to wearing it all the time now. Still, he didn't want to lose it…

"I'll be careful," Roger promised, deciding he didn't want to leave it behind. It'd become something of a good luck charm, and today was his first day sailing the ship on his own.

"Bring that ship back in one piece," the old man ordered, "don't be more than an hour. I'll be watching from here. I'll come get you if there's trouble."

"If I'm going to become a Marine one day, sailing is the very least I need to know," Roger grinned.

Grandpappy looked surprised for a moment before he broke out in the widest smile Roger had ever seen.

"So that's how it is?" he laughed.

Roger felt the old man's eyes on him as he sailed away from the shore. He heard the echo of his grandfather's words. They guided his hands, talking him through the steps. All the training, all the lessons, were finally paying off. The wind caught the sails and the boat pushed away from the shore.

The wind was warm and fragrant. It was a wonderful day, and Roger was sailing.

In four more years he would be sixteen, old enough to enlist in the Marines. He would do things his way, he would become an admiral who had the freedom to roam the world as he pleased! Nothing would be out of reach for him.

He'd make the old man proud.

A/N I love writing this story, it's such a cool break from what's set in cannon. Having the freedom to speculate on what Roger and Shank's childhoods might have been like is a lot of fun. Please let me know what you think :) Chapter 5 goes back to Shanks. See you then!