Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was in a forest. The one on Dawn island, where the bears and tigers lived, where he used to live with Luffy and Sabo. His palms were pressed to the muddy earth, blood leaking from the numerous wounds littering his body, creating a scarlet path down his arms and to his elbows- it was half dried into the dirt. Rain pelted down from stormy skies, further battering his already bruised and clawed at skin, and in the distance, above his harsh breathing, a crow cawed mournfully.

Luffy was gone. They’d taken him.

The seastone cuffs that chained Ace’s wrists did absolutely nothing to make him feel better about the situation- rather, the contrary. It was a reminder of his failure to protect the ones that he loved most.

Although Ace let out a weak, dry, sob, he had no more tears left to cry. His eyelids were heavy and his body ached, but it was nothing in comparison to the sharp tang in his heart.

Five dead slavers laid in a messy circle around Ace, and the perpetrator had to use all of his strength to unlodge his bloody dagger from one of their skulls. The others had their throats slit or had been strangled by nearby vines from the trees. Dully, Ace hit his raw and chafed wrists against a tree branch in a pitiful attempt to get the cuffs off, but to no avail.

His head dropped, black greasy locks falling in front of his face in clumps.

They’d taken everyone he’d cared about- well, not everyone, but still. All of the villagers from Foosha. Ace had already checked the bandits’ den where he'd been raised, and had only discovered a mangled mess of bodies. Dadan’s noticeable, fluorescent orange hair had been at the front of the pile, as if she’d died protecting her den of thieves. A broken necklace of red beads that matched the ones Ace wore on his neck and hat had been carelessly ripped from her neck, and after seeing that they were nothing of value, tossed aside carelessly by the very slave traders who had caused this.

And she probably had died protecting her family, probably scared to death for the lives of herself and- if Ace thought correctly- Luffy and his, as well. The logia user swallowed thickly, but it was impossible to get his saliva past the lump in his throat. Instead, he retched onto the ground, but nothing came out.

Even the tree house, the tree house that he’d built with both his brothers and his own hands, had been ransacked. Their memories had been destroyed, as carefully cut boards were misplaced and torn, sake cups overturned and cracked- had Ace mentioned their memorial to Sabo?

Burnt and blasted to smithereens.

Not one leaf was left unturned.

So maybe the villagers weren’t dead, like the bandits were, but they were as good as. And so was-

-so was Luffy.

It was all Ace’s fault. He’d frozen in place, fear and disbelief overtaking him, and instead of moving to help, he’d just gawked, uselessly. The men took Luffy away before he could blink. He’d seen each member of Foosha Village being loaded up onto the slavers’ ship, walking the rickety wooden ramp while their heads hung low in defeat. Shame, even.

It was ridiculous. The infamous ‘Fire Fist’ Ace, a man with a bounty of 550 million berri, unable to stop a ship of slavers from taking away his family, the people who made up his past home, his past world ?

His narcoleptic attack couldn’t excuse the severity of this mistake. Granted, he’d ran after his brother and the slavers after snapping out of his stupor, but when he’d reached the shoreline, he’d just….

Fallen asleep. Fallen asleep when he was needed the most- probably the most he’d ever be needed in the entirety of his miserable existence.

Not for the first time, Ace wanted to die.

But it wasn’t that easy - oh, how he wished that it was.

The fire user trudged down to the shoreline once more, following his former footprints in the murky brown mud from where he’d ran to the beach and then back up into the forest to dispose of the remaining slavers. The ones who’d been unlucky enough to not catch the ship in time.

But oh, in a way, Ace fit into that category as well.

He reached the shoreline and fell to his knees. His heart pressed up against his lungs while his ribs seemed to contract. The logia user couldn’t breathe.

Maybe it was because of that faint, desperate strand of hope he had clung to, even as he made his way down to the beach where the slavers’ ship had been before. The hope that somehow that very ship was still there, maybe because they were waiting for the men Ace had killed, or maybe- if Ace went to a ridiculous extent of hope- that their local sea king ate their ship. Now that last bit of hope had been extinguished, ripped cruelly away from him as he was left to face the head of his failure.

Ace was on his knees already, and now he was lying on the ground somehow, sobbing, heaving. He threw up in disgust at himself and at the horror of his plight, the utter brutalness. But that was just life, Ace knew, yet he couldn’t bring himself to comprehend it. It was just too, too… 

Unfair.

He stayed in that position, losing count of time- why did it matter, anyways? Everything was gone. The rain didn’t relent either, rather, it mixed into the blood and sand while the sea raged.

Why?!

Why was life so unfair to him?

Why did the slavers have to take Luffy and Foosha’s residents?

Why did he have to be such a burden , bringing trouble and despair and destruction wherever he went?

Why did people still smile at him as if he weren’t a monster?

Why was he cursed so, to be immortal, forever looping in time?

Why couldn’t he just die ?

The horizon was grey and empty and it took just a glance to confirm it- the glance  that cost Ace his strength and whatever semblance of fight he had left inside of him. The second confirmation that the ship was truly and utterly gone. That the only living human on this section of the island was him.

Alone again .

It could have been minutes. Days. Hours. Ace knew he’d stared at that horizon the entire time, only pausing to blink. The chains around his wrists rattled briefly in the cold wind that savagely bit at his face and body, but Ace couldn’t bring himself to get up and find shelter.

A blue flash of fire in the sky, a brief glance of disinterest, and Ace was back to looking at the skyline. His tears and snot had dried on his face, and the blood had turned cakey and flakey on his fingernails. The wounds in his back burned- probably because he was laying in the sand and it probably got infected.

Fuck being infected.

He didn’t care.

In the haze of his grief, Ace vaguely heard words being spoken to him, strong hands gripping his shoulders and shaking him. He just wanted to be left alone. He wanted to stare at that spot until the day that he perished.

Never once did his eyes stray from that spot. Not as hands lifted him carefully and his upper torso was settled on a shoulder, not as he became weightless in the air, carried away into nothingness by flickering blue fire. 

Not even as dull grey eyes grew heavy with exhaustion, and when he slept he could still see that very same spot in his mindscape, forever haunting him like a ghost.

I, I just woke up from a dream
Where you and I had to say goodbye
And I don't know what it all means
But since I survived, I realized

The decision had, ultimately, been unanimous. Whitebeard’s crew couldn’t afford to have too many commanders gone at once, so it had just been Marco and Thatch. From the Revolutionaries’ side, Dragon, Koala and Hack had been elected. Ivankov had chosen to stay behind because, in (currently) his own words, “My precious little baby boos couldn’t last a day without all of their main leaders gone.”

Then there was Ace. The sworn brother of Sabo, the man who had a vendetta against a certain Revolutionary leader, and the one who had been on the front page of the daily newspapers multiple times- more, actually than any rookie.

(He’d been proclaimed possibly dead on the headlines before when he’d been kidnapped by Whitebeard, and a few weeks later when Ace slaughtered the slavers that held Thatch, Ace’s bounty had risen once more by fifty million. In the news’ eyes, Firefist was a brilliant source of income no matter what he did. Of course, Big News Morgan received inevitable backlash when he’d incorrectly pronounced Ace as likely no longer among the world of the living.)

Said man was glaring at the table, looking ready to kill both the Whitebeard Pirates and the Revolutionaries. Really, it was a matter of who ticked him off first.

Ace let out a huff of annoyance. Who the fuck invited the Whitebeard Pirates, the very people he was trying to get away from, along? And now he’d be stuck on a teensy little ship with two of the very same group of people who somehow just couldn’t seem to hate him. Honestly, it was unfathomable to Ace, the amount of fucking patience they had, and the ends of his nerves were fraying.

And it wasn’t even their business anyway. It was his . It was about Sabo.

If only damned Teach didn’t exist, then Ace could get on with his life already. He’d never even have to start this fucking looping in the first place. Probably.

Vaguely, Ace wondered what would happen- how would Thatch find the fruit this time? Things had gone so off now that he was going on a trip, just a few weeks before he was destined to, inevitably, find the devil fruit that Teach would kill him for. And what about his former crew, the Spades..? He felt a hint of guilt- he hadn’t seen them since that night, which had led him to assume that they were being held elsewhere- what would they do without Ace? In their eyes, Ace was still their captain. Deuce, Mihar, Skull… Ace could barely remember all of their names.

Guilt made way to rage as it fueled his veins, as he thought of his captors, his family. Some of Whitebeard’s Commanders stuck to him like glue, even after all that he’d done to piss them the fuck off-and no , he didn’t even want to get started on Dragon. He could go fuck himself, and, hopefully throw himself off a cliff to hell. And Teach? Ace wished for that motherfucker to be tortured until merciful death.

Their little group of pirates and Revolutionaries would be leaving in half an hour, and it wasn’t something that Ace looked forward to- being within conceivable distance of Marco and Thatch, and both of them, undoubtedly, would cause Ace to break down within a week or two. 

Them and their fucking kindness.

…Not if Ace had anything to say about it.

He gripped the fabric of his shorts (he’d burned the blue shirt Izou had given him) and clenched his teeth in a strange mixture of fondness, anger and determination.

He didn’t want them with him. He was a burden . Why couldn’t they just understand? Of course, he would have to stay until Thatch found the devil fruit, unfortunately, and then?

A pit opened in his stomach.

Then he would leave. Leave the only family he’d ever known, the only people who’d ever shown him kindness. Who’d ever wanted him to be a part of them.

Who didn’t want him to leave them.

It’s for their own good , Ace contrived to convince himself, even as he made his way to his room and began to pack up the minimal items he had. 

As he tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his mind that asked,

It’s for their own good, but is it for yours?

Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow
Nobody's promised tomorrow
So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night
Like it's the last night

Half an hour later became too short and too long all at once for Thatch. The cook busied himself to keep himself from his swirling thoughts. He’d packed a few days worth of clothing and enough food to feed a small army for a month- well, the six of them, anyways- he, Marco, Dragon, Koala, Hack, and Ace.

Ace, the fire user which was the very object of his troubles. Try as he might, his traitorous mind kept him thinking about those startling words in ink that hadn’t quite dried yet, blotted and marred by something that looked dangerously like tears.

It’s impossible , Thatch chided himself once again, rolling his eyes at his hyperactive brain’s thoughts. Ace can’t see the future, like Madam Sharley could, and even if he can the World Government should have discovered it by now. Ace doesn’t seem like he’d be very quiet about that either.

So stop worrying over something so useless.

With a final grunt, Thatch hoisted his large bag of materials- including weaponry, ink and pencils, and kitchen appliances. Plus that dumb book that Marco had been bugging him to read, because apparently he and his thick head spent too much time plotting pranks rather than trying to actively learn.

He dragged the bag out through the safety of his cabin in the Commanders’ Quarters, making his way to where dozens upon dozens of crewmembers stared out into the boat that would be leaving within minutes. Brothers and sisters alike whistled and waved to the small party of crew members leaving. Among them Thatch could make out Izou’s pink kimono and know it all smirk, Haruta’s devilish eyes and Namur’s slightly worried expression.

Under any normal circumstances, Thatch would have poked and shoved at the fishman jokingly, telling him that everything was fine, and he would have been in his room planning a prank on Izou or Marco with Haruta. Clearly, however, these weren’t normal circumstances. Someone very important to one of their future crew members had gone missing- well, kidnapped. By a figure named Doc Q, whoever the fuck that was.

“Hurry the hell up,” Marco said, poking his head out of the deck of the mini-ship. Looking slightly disgruntled, he took the bag that Thatch passed to him anyway.

“Get your head out of your ass, bird brain,” the cook teased back. “Hello to you too.”

A well- placed kick to Thatch’s shin sent the cook howling on the floor as he dramatically clutched the area with a look of agonized pain. Marco just rolled his eyes and walked off.

 “Bye, Commander Marco, Commander Thatch!” The crew cheered in somewhat unsettling unison, the sound accompanied by sighs of relief and expressions of overly conspicuous sadness. (Haruta had, in fact, collapsed to the ground in a case of clinical depression as his pranking partner would be gone, and he would have no one to blame his actions on. Really, he hadn’t changed much since the incident with Vista and Ace.)

The sighs of relief were made from both Blamenco and Izou. The former because Ace was leaving with them, and he would no longer have to deal with random holes in the ship or smoking craters inside division cabins and dorms. The latter, on the other hand, was just grateful that Thatch would be gone so that he couldn’t destroy any more of his kimonos.

Within the midst of hundreds of pirates, however, Whitebeard easily towered above them all. A look of concern and unease in his amber eyes were the only thing that gave away what he felt. Evidently, the great pirate felt that something would somehow go awry from the mission. Perhaps it was because of the presence of Dragon, who was still basically a stranger and a danger to two of his strongest sons. Or perhaps it was because of Ace, the greatest enigma out of them all, being in the same residence of many powerhouses. The only reason why Ace hadn’t blown the Moby Dick sky high, in Newgate’s opinion, when he first heard about being put on the mission was because it dealt with one of his family members. This was something that Whitebeard could relate to, as he would do whatever it took to save the ones that he loved. Otherwise, he would have probably protested and snarled and punched his way to staying firmly on the ship in order to take his head.

If only Ace could see that he was wanted here. That Whitebeard wanted him as a son, and that his children did as well.

“Bye guys!” Thatch screamed, waving as if he were a celebrity on a red carpet, and Jozu untied the knot that held the mini boat to the ship. The sails billowed in the wind, and before long the ship was just a speck in the far distance.

Whitebeard tried to ignore his gut feelings as he turned away, unable to see the leaving ship with the naked eye any longer. Next to the Moby, the Revolutionaries’ ship made their parting ways as well. They would be landing at a nearby island with enough fog to disguise their enormous hull. Ivankov and the others were commandeering the helm, and they would be staying at that island until Dragon, Koala, Hack, and Sabo all returned safely.

Together.

If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you
If the party was over and our time on Earth was through
I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile
If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you

Hack looked around the ship with the slightest hint of awe showing on his expression. It was big- well, more than enough space, really for five people. There were three floors to it, the top holding the ship’s rooms. Since there were at least fifteen separate rooms, each member on the mission got their own.

The Phoenix had explained earlier that this ship was an old lifeboat meant to accommodate twenty, twenty five people max. However, since the Moby had gotten new, upgraded ones a couple years ago, they had no usage for the old ones so they were stored away for use on missions.

The middle floor held the ships’ amenities, including but not limited to, the kitchen, communications, bathrooms, and arguably the best part, at least in Hack’s opinion, the navigation room. Although he had no care for charting maps or plotting courses to islands, the reason why he liked it was because there was a large glass window kept spotless. It held a view of the sparkling ocean, and Hack learned that if one was there near dusk, they were greeted by a large sunset.

Obviously, that didn’t beat being on the deck and feeling the salty sea spray, but during bad weather the window was a fine place to be.

Half of the bottom floor had been made the infirmary because it was the hardest place to get to during an attack. Rows of sterile, pristine white beds made up the room, alongside machines and other medical tools that Hack couldn’t name.

The other half was storage, and although that had been empty for a while, it was now filled with food, pillows and blankets, and spare berri kept inside a safe.

They’d left the Moby Dick around four, and as it grew closer to six (which Thatch had dubbed the official dinner) Hack could hear numerous shouts and curses coming from the kitchen. Curious to see what the ruckus was about, the fishman poked his head through the doorway.

He was still wary about the pirates, but he had heard from Dragon that the Whitebeard Pirates were allies, for now at least. Although Dragon hadn’t said anything about Ace….

Thatch stood in front of the stove, looking quite pissed off and dejected. He looked up to see Hack and blinked. “Oh, uh, hello.”

“What’s wrong?” Hack asked.

“...The stove is being annoying. When I turn it on-” Thatch demonstrated, “it makes this weird clicking noise, but there’s no fire.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “The gas is just going off. Too bad we didn’t bring a mechanic on board.”

“Oh.” Hack said smartly. “What are you trying to cook?”

“I’m making tomato soup for dinner,” the cook replied, brandishing the steel pot.

“Maybe…” the fishman said, “Maybe you could steal Firefist or something and get him to be your human stove.”

Thatch stared at him for a couple minutes, then started laughing his ass off.

“Oh my gosh,” he gasped, “That’s fucking hilarious. I don’t think he’d cooperate though. He’d probably burn my hair and try to kill me instead of Pops again.”

It was Hack’s turn to stare. 

“...Wait. Firefist is trying to kill a Yonko ?”

“So you see,” Thatch explained while taking out ingredients needed, “We kind of. Took him from where he was fighting Jinbe. And put him on the ship, without any chains. He’s been… going after, ah, Pops. For like, I think it’s a hundred and thirty three tries now.”

Hack looked at him in disbelief, while Thatch gave a shout of triumph once he got the stove to work.

“He must be insane ,” the revolutionary said, “A hundred and thirty three?!”

“Maybe more,” Thatch replied. “You’re forgetting that he’s the one who yelled the fuck out of your leader when we first met.”

Hack actually had forgotten that part.

“Well anyways,” Thatch said, “Dinner will be done in twenty minutes or so. Why don’t you go get acquainted with your new room? Marco can show you around, if he hasn’t done so already.” The cook chopped the ingredients with frightening speed and accuracy, tossing them into the instant pot.

“Oh- well, thank you,” Hack said, exiting the room. He’d already explored the layout of the ship, so he went to go find Koala instead.

The brunette was in the communications room, frown on her face as she tapped her fingers against the table. 

“What are you waiting for?” Hack asked curiously, and Koala shrugged. 

“Ivankov said that he’d give us an update if he found anything out, and-” she shrugged, “I guess I’m just waiting. Not really much I- we can do now. We don’t know anything about where he is, we just know the ‘who’. Some guy named Doc Q- well, Phoenix said he researched him, but-”

Koala cut herself on, closing her eyes and blowing out a breath. “I- I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Hack looked at her sympathetically. “It’s a very hard time for all of us, Koala. I understand how you feel. We have two teams searching for any possible information, and another team that’s going to trace the call line.”

“Jo’ said that he was heading someplace called Port Chibaralta Island,” Koala said, shrugging. “That, and the fact that Doc Q took him are the only two leads that we have.” Her voice cracked and she looked down.

“I’m scared, Hack. I know Sabo can handle himself, but this Doc Q guy must be dangerous if he can catch him off guard.”

The dinner bell rang, and Hack helped Koala get up.

“After dinner, try to get some rest, alright? We’ll need it for tomorrow, we’re going to hold a meeting between all of us once Ivankov manages to relay us that information.”

Koala sniffled and nodded as they walked down the hall together. An orange blur raced past them to the dinner table, grabbing a bowl. It was about to speed off again when it was stopped by Marco.

“No. You’re going to sit with us and eat, yoi,” he said, glaring down at Ace, who pulled his orange cowboy hat down his face.

“Who are you to tell me what to do, old man?!” Ace snapped back, getting ready to move again.

The two Revolutionaries sat down and watched the scene with mild interest and surprise. 

Ace gave them all a death glare so murderous that Hack feared could really hurt someone one day. Then he wolfed down his meal so fast that all present couldn’t believe their eyes.

Firefist was about to get up again when Thatch placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Uh- uh, kid,” he tutted, we know how much you eat, and you eat way more than that,”

Ace snarled ferally at the cook and tried to bite his hand off.

So much was the fun (see: violence) at dinner, and soon it was bedtime.

The sounds of fighting and metal on metal could be faintly heard through Marco’s ears, as if he were listening from underwater. The sounds of someone’s anguished screams were muffled but still somehow very clear at the same time.

He tried to breathe, but instead there was a weight on his chest that prevented him from doing so. Blue flames sprung to life, flickering merrily in order to try to heal the phantom pain.

Where am I ?

Marco blinked, and the barrier that prevented him from properly hearing and seeing was gone in an instant. He could observe everything with much more clarity as opposed to earlier.

A war. Was that what he was seeing?

It was horrible.

There was blood- that precious vital fluid that kept everyone’s heart pumping, that kept them alive. But it wasn’t inside the body, where it was supposed to be. And there was a lot, too, splattered over ice- why was there ice - and over overturned stones and gravel- oh god s.

Bodies- bodies stacked on bodies. Some wearing the tattered, destroyed uniform of a marine, and others- his blue eyes flicked onto the jacket of one- some bearing Pops’ mark.

Marco felt sick, like he was going to throw up. 

But he couldn’t even close his eyes, to rid himself of this hellish sight. Something forced it open, forced him to watch , as if this were one of the most important moments of his life. But how could it be? This was just a dream- one that would never, ever happen- not on his watch or anybody else’s anyway.

The wailing .

It grew incessantly, but Marco couldn’t just find the source. Until he did.

Ace. Why was Ace in his dreams?

Even from a distance, even though his hair hung over his face like a curtain- thus effectively obscuring it- Marco could still tell that it was very much him. He was cradling a broken, lifeless body in his wounded arms- no, arm . He was missing one- it was completely and utterly burnt off. The bone shone through the bloody, scarred, fleshy remains like a diamond in a coal mine. Surprisingly, from what Marco could see, the tattoo of Whitebeard shone in purple ink on his back despite the fine layer of blood and grime.

A straw hat was seated innocently next to him and the corpse he was cradling carefully, seemingly out of place in this war. Pure and untouched, without an ounce of blood or grime on the sunny rim.

Blood seeped through the Logia’s arms and the pained howling grew louder. They were meters apart, yet Marco could see in almost perfect clarity the tears mixed with blood pouring down freckled cheeks.

He tried to step forward, move, willing himself to fly. To stop this horribly messed up shit that his mind had managed to conjure. To stop those heartbroken screams ripping out of Ace’s throat as he cried and cried and cried , tears pouring down his blood stained face.

Something fell in front of him.

Oh.

Something that he couldn’t quite place fell in perfectly, like the missing piece of a puzzle. 

It was a body- but, more importantly, his body. There was blood pouring out of his mouth, eyes now foggy and cloudy, azure blue flames desperately trying to heal their owner that was long since gone. Or was it just recently? Marco felt numb, he couldn’t tell. Couldn’t reach down and feel the pulse of his own heartbeat, to see if he was even still alive.

His gaze traveled further down his own other body, and found that there was a hole in his chest. Lava bubbled up from the dripping magma that covered his torso. Gods, there wasn’t even a bit of bone left where his spine was supposed to be- like the lava had just melted straight through it, incinerating everything in its trial of destruction. 

Other Marco's right arm was torn off, and what was left of it was a fleshy, bloody stump. Tendons hung awry and a dull pool of red seeped from it, red, red, red everywhere.

They say that you couldn’t see your own death in your dreams. That’s because it hasn’t happened yet. So why, why , could Marco see his own corpse at his sandaled feet? 

Marco was living proof that the aforementioned scientific theory wasn’t true.

Tearing his eyes away from the sight of his broken and bloodied body, his mind began working to identify the people in the pile of bodies. Izou was at the very top, gun in a single, lax hand, Haruta at the bottom the saber that he wielded impaled in his own chest.

An explosion shook the battlefield- no, explosions , and as Marco looked up he saw Ace on his feet once again, hair whipping around an enraged, grief stricken face. He howled something to the sky, far above the sound of the ringing in the Phoenix’s ears-

Why?!

And then he descended upon the faces of horrified marines, all flaming fists and bared teeth but with a singular, broken heart, slaughtering them all. 

Ace was inconsolable as he dropped to his knees once more, ignoring the grievous wounds littering his body. He was crying again, heaving gut wrenching sobs, tearing at his hair as he mourned. He was repeating the same question over and over like a mantra; why, like a child who couldn’t have a piece of candy before dinner time.

Oyaji was behind Ace. Oyaji wasn’t moving.

Oyaji was dead.

Whitebeard stood, bullet holes and stab wounds in his chest and half his skull melted off in some sort of sludge. Yet, even as a corpse he stood strong and proud, against the sun, not a speck on his back. Even as the war was ravaged around him- and the sobbing Ace at his feet.

Ace’s sobs relented- but not for the typical one reason one might expect. 

He was dead too.

Everything in Marco’s sight dissolved into blue flames, his flames, the cool, comforting feel of it pushing back the pounding in his cranium. What he’d just seen slipped away in bits and pieces.

When Marco woke up in a cold sweat, he didn’t remember anything at all. His cheeks were wet and he didn’t know why- it was as if he’d been crying. But he did know that he felt as if a piece of him- something very important , was missing, and he felt a deep sense of melancholy wash over him.

He stared up at the familiar but unfamiliar wooden boards that made up the ceiling, lumpy mattress against his back and a heavy quilt pulled over him. The First Division Commander shivered a bit, then let out a sigh as he looked down.

At first, he’d forgotten why he was here, well that is until he remembered. Marco just really hoped that Sabo was alright.

He didn’t want to find out how Ace or the Revolutionaries would react if he wasn’t.

Love, let's talk about love
Is it anything and everything you hoped for?
Or do the feeling haunt you? (Haunt)
I know the feeling haunt you (haunt)

Their small boat rocked from side to side, angry dark waves lapping at the perimeter of their vessel. It was early in the morning, with grey clouds overhead that had yet to lessen into a lighter, brilliant blue and fiery sun.

Squinting at the sky, Ace paused. No, that was wrong- the day would be cloudy and rainy, but not enough for a storm. Of course, that could change in a matter of minutes, seconds even, but currently? The forecast seemed to be for light rain, foretold by the soft, barely imperceptible hint of ozone in the air as well as the breeze that made goosebumps arise on the fire user’s skin. Gloomy weather for what would most likely be a gloomy day, Ace mused. It seemed perfect for the situation he was in.

No one was awake this early in the morning, and Ace was perfectly content with that. Better for him, anyways- he much preferred the peace and quiet of dawn as opposed to the Commanders’ constant nagging and his effort to keep up with appearances to take Whitebeard’s head. That is, if he were still on the Moby- here, only the former applied to him. Plus Dragon, who was a whole other category by himself.

Ace pushed himself off the ledge of the boat and made his way to the kitchen, absentmindedly fiddling with the log pose on his wrist. He’d might as well start breakfast early, anyways. There was bacon in the freezer, as so kindly provided by Thatch, and Ace took a whole ass bag. Who cared, really, about the amount? There were like forty more of where that came from, more than enough. 

Besides, this was the average breakfast for Ace. 

Another advantage of being up so early meant that he didn’t have to share food with anyone. He wasn’t here to get all buddy buddy with the other five members of this ship anyways. And, he was going to make sure that a particular two- no, three, members out of them received hell.

The door opened with a cream and the Logia jumped, startled, just as he had poured oil onto a skillet and turned up the heat on the gas stove.

“Fuck, jeez!” Ace grunted in annoyance, disguising his surprise, and a glance out of the corner of his eye revealed the brunette standing in the doorway. Kalifa, or something- wait, no, it was Koala.

“I should be the one saying that,” she replied, “Why are you up so early anyways?”

Ace shot her a glare. “What, am I not supposed to be allowed to have my own sleep schedule and shit?” He tossed a few strips of bacon into the pan, then decided, ‘ fuck it ’ and poured the whole thing on there. A single piece fell out of the pan into the flames, in which Ace reached into without hesitation. He grabbed the now half burnt, half raw bacon that was still on fire and ate it.

So maybe his sense of self preservation and common sense had dulled a bit.

Koala stared at him in what could be described as either horror or disgust, or maybe even a mixture of both. To her credit, she didn’t immediately exit the room. Her eyes strayed to the comically giant mound of bacon that was partially burning on the stovetop.

“…Are you going to seriously eat that much for breakfast? And just meat?”

The responding stare was the only answer she got.

“That’s not healthy, you know,” Koala ventured to quip, “And isn’t bacon like, half fat? You need something besides fat and pure protein. Don’t you have cereal lying around somewhere?”

Ace choked on the piece of raw bacon he’d just tossed into his mouth. “Are you my fuckin’ doctor or something? You aren’t Mar-“ he paused his train of thought. “Besides, this isn’t my ship. I ain’t even part of the damn crew.”

As if to punctuate his response, he shook the skillet a bit and tossed the bacon into the air. Hot oil spilled over onto his appendages, but Ace paid it no mind.

Koala just nodded very slowly.

She backed out of the room, footsteps receding down the hallway. 

Back in the kitchen, Ace shrugged and plated his somewhat cooked bacon onto a plate, before finishing it in two minutes.

“…Ah, shit. I forgot to turn off the stove.”

This may be the night that my dreams might let me know
All the stars are closer
All the stars are closer
All the stars are closer

To be fair, the storm isn’t even that bad , Thatch mused as he nursed his morning latte. Marco sat beside him, drinking his pure black and caffeine rich coffee while he read the morning newspaper. Thatch shuddered at the very sight- what Marco was drinking was arguably worse than decaf. It was pure, black bitterness.

Besides them, the news coo sat shivering pitifully, drenched to the bone. The cook fed it a bit of omelette, to which the bird snatched from his fingers greedily.

“Can’t you like, speak bird to it or something?” Thatch inquired of his brother. The blond, without even looking up, scoffed. 

“Come on, Thatch. You know I would have to go into my bird form to do that.”

“But you can still understand it, right?” When he received no reply, the brunette smiled in victory. He nudged the bird’s head, attempting to pet it while it ravaged the rest of Thatch’s breakfast. Instead it pecked aggressively at his hand, and Thatch was forced to withdraw with a petulant pout. He considered taking the bird’s food away, after all it was his breakfast, but decided that it would be too cruel to do so.

“It finds you quite annoying and wishes you would stop attempting to touch it,” Marco explained, without looking up from the paper. Thatch fixed him with a glare, stealing his coffee in favor of pouring a bit of it into a tiny container.

“Then let’s find what it thinks about your taste in coffee.”

The phoenix visibly paled, glancing up at him for once. “It would cause heart failure and then the poor bird would die from the amount of caffeine intake, yoi.”

Thatch pushed the container closer to the bird, and the news coo looked up. It was about to drink from it when Marco chirped at it.

The Fourth Division Commander fell out of his chair.

“I’m saving ,” Marco said through gritted teeth, “the poor bird from agony. My coffee is an acquired taste , Thatch. And I’m not taking a chance that you would have actually fed my coffee to the bird.”

“I wouldn’t have!” Thatch replied, feeling rather affronted. Marco kicked him in his side, finishing the final dregs of his slightly poisonous coffee. He threw the news coo out the window, back into the storm.

“Come on, will you? We’re going to the Communications room. The Revolutionaries are waiting for us, they’re trying to get any information that they can on Sabo’s situation.”

Tell me what you gon' do to me
Confrontation ain't nothin' new to me
You can bring a bullet, bring a sword, bring a morgue
But you can't bring the truth to me

“So it’s who, what, where, when, how, and why,” Koala said sharply, glaring at the room’s occupants, “Who, we know. Doc Q. Phoenix here has so kindly provided us insight into who he is.”

Marco laid the information out on the table. “Haruta sent it to me last night right before bed. We know that he’s got a seventy seven million bounty on his head. He’s got a devil fruit that allows him to give people diseases, and here’s his bounty poster.”

The pirate held up an image of a large, sickly man half collapsed onto the back of a bony, near skeletal horse. In one hand, he clutched a basket of apples, and there was a large grin stretching across his face. A crazed glint was in his eyes as he reached for the camera with the other hand.

“In other words, he looks like and is a total sleaze ball,” Thatch piped up rather helpfully.

“Unfortunately, we don’t know who his employer is. He’s part of some no name crew called the Blackbeard Pirates, but there’s no other information on them either.” Marco continued.

Ace visibly tensed up, and the Phoenix spared him a glance. “Ace? Do you know something?”

The logia glared at him, shaking his head, black locks flying everywhere. “Just thought of something. Stupid.”

“Anyways, the what is Sabo, obviously,” Hack said, “Kidnapped from Foodvalten, which is an island protected by Whitebeard. So either they’re really dumb or they’re essentially and intentionally picking a fight with the strongest crew in the world.”

“Maybe,” Ace said, and everyone looked at him. Firefist shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, and he looked down, suddenly looking very much like the teenager he should have been. “Or maybe they’re just trying to pick a fight with me. They have to know by now that I’m on the Moby.”

The room grew silent.

“I’m a pirate. I’ve definitely pissed the wrong people off over the years,” the logia continued. “Maybe it was someone who has a vendetta against me.”

“But how would they know that Sabo is your brother?” Thatch asked, “it’s not like we’ve gone around shouting it to the world. Unless you’re suggesting that it was someone on our crew-.”

Ace didn’t meet any of their gazes. He opened his mouth, as if he were about to say something, then closed it again.

“…Never mind. let’s just continue, shall we?”

Omake wonderfully written by anime1934, my beta reader (see the tag labelled above), this is a continuation of the omake in the last chapter. Just edited a lil bit. (Omakes, by the way, are in no way related to the original plot, just like a lil side story.)

"You know it’s rude of you to attack your elders. How much longer are you going to keep attacking Pops? Why not accept our offer of family instead?"

Ace pauses and Marco notices, concerned that his shoulders are shaking..is he crying? No not crying- it seems to be silent laughter but that only concerns him more. Ace turns around and the smile he is wearing is off, too sharp, and maybe almost unhinged. 

"I am his elder and I will not, no cannot join you." 

And then Ace turns and hops off the side of the crows nest, sending Marco into a panic. He already is pulling his flames out, letting them flicker to life, ready to swoop in and save Ace. He pauses, however, seeing him safe on the deck and raising a flaming middle finger his way before dashing off leaving Marco up in the crows’ nest, baffled. 

Most people would have waved it off as the words of a rebellious and cocky rookie, but Marco knows better. As a veteran on these seas he has long since learned that eyes are a window to the soul. When he looked into Ace’s silver-grey eyes, he found that they were dull with a heavy exhaustion, but even behind that exhaustion lies an overwhelming amount of pain, the kind of someone who has been pushed far beyond their breaking point many times before. Eyes that seem to know suffering as a constant companion. Almost ancient in the way he seems to know . Similar to Pops’ knowing gaze except darker and filled with pain. But nothing Marco saw in those eyes indicated his words were anything but the truth. "I am his elder" is yet another piece of the mystery that is Portgas D Ace.