Chapter Text
" May your trials end in full bloom."
- So Far Away, Agust D
Explosions sounded in the distance amidst screams of desperation and orders being barked. Swords clashed and guns were fired as soldiers and the world's outcasts struggled and fought surrounded by their fallen fellows. Marineford’s cobblestone pavement would be permanently stained red from that day on and the world would drastically shift consequent to a dying declaration.
But to two brothers at that moment, the battlefield was soundless.
War raged on around them, but to them, it had long ended.
The smell of charred skin and organs was nauseating and Monkey D. Luffy found it difficult to swallow it down. Wide brown eyes were transfixed onto bloody palms; Ace’s blood. It was dark and thick, hot to the touch. Similar to the cobblestone, his hand would forever be dirtied. Whether it was all in his mind or not, that didn’t matter. Luffy would never forget.
Ace coughed, vomiting his insides. Dark red flowed down his neck and stained his younger brother's already dirtied yellow vest to an even darker brown. Drops of blood fell from the tip of Ace’s fingers to the stone below. The plop-plop-plop it made was louder than the cannonballs, only overpowered by the fading thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat.
He'd made it in time. Luffy was safe.
Luffy was alive and nothing else mattered.
Ace faintly registered his younger brother’s blunt nails digging into the skin of his arm. The sting was forgetful when compared to the destruction of his intestines and lungs. He couldn't feel his legs anymore and breathing was becoming harder with every second. He knew that his life was coming to an end, but no sense of regret came forth from wasting the old man and Luffy's efforts. Not if it meant that his brother survived the war. He wouldn’t’ve ever been able to forgive himself if he’d become the reason Luffy couldn't achieve his dream.
He wouldn't be there to see it happen, but he had faith in his stubborn, younger brother.
After all, he’d never imagined that Luffy would’ve stormed through Impel Down and Marineford for him. Then again, perhaps he should’ve expected it. Luffy had always been the crazier of the three brothers. From the moment he’d met him, the boy had been unyielding. Following Ace no matter what obstacles stood in his way. Even when that obstacle had been Ace himself. In retrospect, the rubber-rubber fruit was truly made for someone like Luffy.
Speaking was becoming too strenuous.
Glory, fame.
No, that wasn’t what I’d truly wanted, he realized. The number of people who’d stormed through what had essentially been a fortress to rescue him — he who had tainted blood — simply because he’d been important to them. They’d loved him, despite being a demon’s child. It was only with his body shutting down that he'd finally found the answer to the question that had plagued his mind for the majority of his life.
But, with the assurance that he'd been loved, he closed his eyes, his lids heavy, and smiled. Unburdened in his heart, he let go.
Everything would be okay.
The last thing Portgas D. Ace felt was his younger brother's rubbery skin slipping from his hold as his final breath left him; his vivre card burnt with the last embers of his life.
☆
There was only all encompassing darkness.
Void of light, sound, heat, and life. A crushing, heavy void. Akin to drowning in the endless sea as the waves dragged its prisoner under. Through the overwhelming emptiness, Ace had the fleeting thought that it'd been a while since he’d felt any semblance of coldness. Eyelids weighted, limbs numb, he couldn’t even pick up the pumping of his heart. Any attempts to move his fingers only resulted in the twitching of fingertips.
Mouth parched, as if he’d trekked through a desert, he couldn’t swallow a breath of air. The metallic tang that’d saturated his gums was gone just like everything else. Logically, he knew that he had a tongue and teeth, feet and toes, but they were phantoms. Where he began and where he ended were obscured lines.
He could remember the pain, Luffy's cries, the rubber arms holding him, and then — nothing.
Only darkness.
His body was light, yet — so heavy. What seemed like days, hours, months, maybe even years, passed by.
Or maybe it was only seconds.
☆
A cacophony of racing footsteps, more orders, and — and the ocean. He inhaled the achingly comforting smell of sea salt, and exhaled deeply. The sound of heavy boots hitting the wooden deck of a ship was familiar. The battering of waves against the hull reminded him of home. Ace drowned out everything else except for the salty breeze that swept over him along with the sun beating down on his exposed skin. Without a doubt, every inch would be covered in freckles later.
But it felt too warm to leave. Oh, how he’d missed the sun.
His mind had yet to catch up with the final events of the Navy’s headquarters. At that moment, Ace was on a boat — likely the Moby Dick, he reasoned. It seemed they’d managed to escape, somehow. Everything had simply been a momentary nightmare. Quiet footsteps neared when Ace finally decided to open his eyes. However, instead of being blinded by the sun's rays, he found himself staring at a familiar worn-out straw hat with a fading red rim.
Luffy.
Luffy.
They’d both survi — except it wasn't. Now that he truly looked, the hat covered bright, red hair.
"Shanks saved my life! He gave me this hat and I promised I'd give it back to him once I'm a great pirate!"
Luffy. Straw hat. Red hair. Shanks.
A very young Shanks.
It was then that reality crushed onto him and Ace startled into a slouching position. Marineford, the execution, Luffy, Akainu, Luffy — dying. Breathing heavily, Ace lifted a hand to his chest. Where a large hole should've been, there was only scar tissue. The skin was raised in some areas, especially around the edges, and breathing in deeply, hurt.
His skin felt tight. It was a healed burn, but that was simply impossible. Even Ace knew that no one could've survived that injury, no matter what resources they had on-hand. Akainu had sunk his fist through his body and he’d fried his insides until nothing remained. His spine — bone, muscles, nerves, everything — had been cinders, the usage of his legs gone — but now he could feel them again. He was whole once more.
No devil’s fruit could do this. And now a young Shanks stood over him.
He heaved, bile building up in his throat. Yeah, he was gonna be sick.
Drowning in his panic and thoughts, Ace failed to notice that the red-haired boy had alerted the remainder of the crew concerning his presence. They gathered around his form as he tried finding an explanation for his situation.
"Shanks, who's this lad?"
"Dunno. Just found him lazing here."
"He don't look in very good shape."
"Maybe someone should call Crocus."
"I the only one who thinks he look like Captain?"
Ace jumped as a rough hand clamped down onto his clammy shoulder. Looking up, he found himself suddenly surrounded by unfamiliar faces.
"Hey, lad, what's your name?"
This question raised red flags in Ace's mind. His face and name would’ve been printed and spread across the seas after his capture and with his impending execution. Only an isolated country like Wano would've remained ignorant of the events. It only served to further confirm what he already suspected. Still, he refused to believe it.
"I — the name's Ace."
The man leaning over him opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a gruff voice asking, "Gaban, what's the matter?" This had everyone turning around and had Shanks shouting with enthusiasm, "Captain! Ray-san!"
Those words brought a sour taste to Ace’s mouth. Turning around, he found two men approaching.
At the front, a man with slicked-back blond hair and a contrasting dark beard. He bore a scar over his left eye and round spectacles — ‘Dark Knight’ Silvers Rayleigh, Ace identified. The other, a tall man with unruly pitch-black hair — far too similar to his own — a mustache that curled up in the same direction as his grin.
Gol D. Roger. The Pirate King.
To Ace, they were men of legends.
To Ace, one of them was his good-for-nothing father.
Their eyes met and Ace felt himself sinking into that abyss once more. No doubt was left. Wherever he was— this was not his time.
It may as well have been hell.
☆
They were preparing to lower anchor on a small deserted island when Buggy had interrupted to inform them that they had a stowaway aboard. The cabin boy led the way towards the quarter deck where a few other crewmates had gathered. Gaban had his hand on a young man's naked shoulder. His back was muscular, but covering most of it was horrible scar tissue.
A nasty burn it was.
His curiosity ever overwhelming, Roger wanted to know everything about the mysterious newcomer aboard the ship. Calling out to Gaban, he kept his eyes on the hunched figure. The stranger didn't immediately turn around, but once he did, Roger realized he was more of a boy than a man.
Eyes met, a mirror of each other. Fascinating. Greasy jet black hair fell on either side of the boy’s face like a curtain, stopping right as it reached the top of his shoulders. His sallow skin glistened with sweat and his gray eyes — what a peculiar color — were bruised purple, but they stared back at him unflinching and full of anger, or hate. They burned bright.
Roger was now very invested in this boy's presence and identity. The resemblance was uncanny and his eyes held so much life — yet Roger had never met this person before. He would've certainly remembered someone so interesting.
"And who's this?" Roger inquired, moving the attention back onto the boy sitting on the deck. Looking closer, he noticed the scattered freckles on his mud-covered cheeks. They dotted the bridge of his nose and apple of his cheeks, and served to only make him appear younger.
"This is the stowaway I told ya about!” Buggy exclaimed. The captain hummed pensively. That was not nearly enough information to satisfy his curiosity. Roger turned back towards the raven-haired, met his gaze once more, and asked, "What's your name, my boy?"
Immediately, there was a change in the air. It rippled with tension. Roger wasn't sure what had caused it, but the boy's expression had darkened even further. His mouth was set in a scowl, his eyebrows furrowed, and he spat out in response, "None of your damn business." The mood amongst the present crewmembers changed as they noted the hostility the boy now exuded in his words and stiff figure. A snake coiled to attack.
However, Roger’s grin widened in response.
Gaban turned to his captain and answered in the boy's stead, "Said his name was Ace." To this, Ace aimed his anger at the axe-wielder. It appeared the boy only had an issue when it concerned Roger, if he’d been more forthcoming with his crew.
"How did you get aboard?" Rayleigh finally chimed in. The Roger pirates had only just anchored. The island was meant to be uninhabited. A multitude of wounds littered the boy's body. His ribs protruded from his sides, hair brittle, eyes and cheeks sunken, and lips dried out — multiple signs of potential abuse, malnutrition, and dehydration. Perhaps he’d been shipwrecked to this island and decided to hitch a ride on the Oro Jackson, but it didn’t explain his malnourished appearance. This island was abundant in game and edible plants.
Ace turned his gaze towards Rayleigh. He hesitated for a moment, biting at his lower lip — perhaps unsure if he should tell the truth. It was hard to fathom why the truth would be a problem to share. After a long hanging silence, he finally answered, "I dunno. I was — fighting and then, woke up here."
"Yeah, right! As if we'll believ —" Buggy was interrupted by his captain's hand slamming into his face, not unkindly.
Roger knew that there was a link between himself and this Ace-boy and the kid didn’t appear like someone who would lie. If he wanted to figure out the mystery that Ace was, he'd need to tread carefully.
"Buggy, go get Crocus. The lad needs treatment," Rayleigh ordered, to Buggy's complaints. The vice-captain recognized the glint in Roger’s eyes. Nothing could stand in his way when he sported that look. It was almost demonic. A single-minded focus. Despite his loud protests, the apprentice left to bring their doctor as instructed.
Everyone's attention shifted back to the stowaway as Ace attempted to stand up by himself. "I don't need your help or pity," Ace stated, voice harsh and breathing uneven. This was his first attempt at standing after losing the usage of his legs. He took a step and stumbled, but righted himself back. Ace refused to show weakness in front of these people. Roger’s men.
"It's not pity, boy. If you wanna die, that's your call," at those words, Ace flinched, "but this island is remote, uninhabited, and filled with dangerous beasts. If you wanna get off here, go ahead. With your injuries on top of malnutrition and dehydration, you won't survive long. No matter how strong you think you are, you're only human." Whoever Ace was, Rayleigh saw his captain in him. It wasn't just in his looks, but also in that stubborn and reckless attitude. Bringing up the boy's potentially suicidal tendencies had struck a nerve for some reason. Hopefully, it would be enough to convince him to stay aboard.
Ace looked as if he was going to argue back for a second. Then he let out a long sigh, before scowling. Visibly, irked, he finally conceded, "Fine. But I'm getting off at the next goddamn island you anchor at." The blond’s eyes drifted to the young man’s fist, clenched at his sides. The knuckles blanched from how hard he curled his fingers. A bit more, and a trail of blood would’ve dripped down his joints.
Rayleigh agreed but chuckled to himself knowingly. They'd just restocked and were in no rush to anchor again anytime soon unless the captain desired so. He was ready to bet his part of the next booty that Roger wouldn't want to drop anchor until he'd figured out how to make the boy stay. Whether that was willingly or through more — crooked — means, that remained to be seen. They were pirates, after all.
The deck groaned as Buggy finally made his way back with Crocus following a little further behind him. The doctor looked annoyed as ever. Perhaps that was because Roger had skipped his check-up that morning. Again. Indeed, Crocus started nagging the ship's captain as he neared. The sight of Roger getting his ass reprimanded stole Ace’s attention and Rayleigh took that opportunity to stare at the boy's back. A large burn covered it, but there seemed to have been a tattoo under it as parts of purple peaked from the sides.
The ends reminded him of a jolly roger.
"Boy, what was the mark on your back?"
Muscles tensed the moment the words left his mouth, his figure literally frozen in place. A sensitive topic. No words were spoken by anyone; everyone had caught the exchange. "I guess the burn covers it up, huh," Ace broke the long silence, voice feeble and pained. The words were mumbled as if he was talking to himself. From his tone, this wasn’t something he’d been aware of before now. How Ace remained unaware when the injury spanned nearly the entirety of his back boggled Rayleigh’s mind. Unless, it was a recent development.
But, the burn was definitely healed.
The web of mysteries that Ace was tangled in only grew in size.
"It was a jolly roger," Ace continued, voice shaky, confirming Rayleigh's suspicion. A jolly roger, the flag pirates sailed under to represent their ideologies.
The boy had been a pirate.
"Will you be going back to your old crew then?" He wondered what kind of crew the boy had been part of. If he were to chance a guess, it would've been a strong one. He looked like the type that wouldn't submit to anyone unless he respected them greatly. If he’d gotten it tattooed on his back, he’d held a lot of pride for that flag. A shame that nothing remained of it.
"No. I don't think I can go back. Not for a long time at least." Rayleigh didn't understand why that was, but he dropped the subject. Only that sentence about his old crew, but the words were spoken desolately. Ace’s words implied that they were still out there somewhere on the seas. Maybe they'd parted ways on a bad note. But the stowaway’s dejected demeanor entailed something much deeper.
Crocus, deeming his scolding futile — a fair assessment considering its recipient — turned to examine the young new arrival. His sharp eyes cataloged the many cuts decorating his arms, abdomen, and shoulders. His scowl deepened and he cursed. A thorough cleaning would be required to prevent any infection from setting.
"Follow me, brat. We got a lot to talk about," the doctor bit out harshly as he spun around and made his way back to the infirmary. It seemed Ace had the common sense to not argue as he followed silently.
Rayleigh and Roger followed his departing figure with their gaze until Ace disappeared around the corner.
☆
Infirmaries had never been Ace’s thing. The smell of antiseptics bitterly cloying at his throat and headache inducing. An awkward atmosphere hung between Ace and the ship’s doctor as they sat facing each other. The only sound for a while was the pen’s nib scratching the paper's surface, the latter too busy taking notes. Of what, Ace wasn’t sure. Bored, his eyes wandered. Striking was the word Ace would use to describe the man’s appearance. Or maybe strange. Definitely a little unhinged as he eyed the growth of hair on his chin and the petals sprouting around his head.
"Alright brat, let's get started. Tell me ‘bout that burn on your chest ‘n back," Crocus finally began. Ace wasn't sure what to tell him. How to explain that someone had plunged their fist through his body and that he'd miraculously survived the blow. Although, he wished he was anywhere but here. Impel Down was less of a torture than being on this ship and in the proximity of Gol D. Roger.
Deciding to divulge some of the truth and get the doctor off his back, Ace rubbed at the now tight skin of his chest. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. It almost didn’t feel like his own body. Yeah, this next part was gonna sound like bullshit to his ears as well.
"It was a magma devil fruit user.”
"Magma? Ya got the devil’s luck or something? Frankly, ya shouldn't even be alive right now,” Crocus stated bluntly as he pulled out a stethoscope, “Imma check yer lungs, because it's unlikely they're untouched if ya got burned by magma." Wasting no time, Crocus placed the diaphragm onto Ace's skin. The boy shivered at the freezing metal. It was a weird sensation — it'd been a while since he'd felt cold. It was similar to when Teach had touched him. Except this appeared to be permanent.
For several minutes, Crocus moved the diaphragm as he asked Ace to breath-in deeply. The doctor was silent, but his expression betrayed his confusion. "Would ya color me shocked. Some deity must want to see ya safe, brat. By some miracle, yer lungs are completely fine," Crocus declared, still visibly perplexed, and Ace felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
Taking notice of the movement and its significance, Crocus added, "Don't ya relax just yet. You’re suffering from severe malnutrition and dehydration. Imma give the chef a diet plan for ya — better follow it to the letter or you'll be dealin’ with me."
It was not an empty threat.
"Now while I treat that burnt arm, tell me if ya got any other medical conditions I should watch out for," the doctor ordered, reaching for Ace's arm. It was a 1st-degree burn, not anything severe, but it was better if it was treated than left alone.
"Uh — I have narcolepsy." At that, Crocus shot him a look that said ‘well, tell me more’ so Ace continued, "I'll suddenly fall asleep while eating or talking to someone. Usually, it only happens when I'm relaxed and around my family."
"Any cataplexy? Hallucinations? Sleep paralysis? Insomnia?" Crocus asked as he finished applying balm and bandages to the younger man's arm. Ace shook his head, "No hallucinations or cataplexy, but sometimes I have sleep paralysis and insomnia." The doctor nodded before turning around to write once again. "I'll prescribe ya some stimulants, but for now let's start with regulating yer sleep schedule and add in scheduled naps."
Ace nodded in understanding. It was similar to what he’d been doing before. Crocus was much more brusque compared to Marco's calm yet authoritative demeanor, but it wasn't an unpleasant change.
"What ya waiting for? Get out of my office and ask one of the two brats to show ya to the baths and get ya a change of clothes!"
☆
Showering off the grime and blood that had accumulated from his imprisonment and the war felt like shedding a pound of dirt. He’d gotten dressed with the clothes that Shanks had brought him. They'd been too big, but it’d only been until his own were clean and dry.
While bathing, he'd concluded that his devil fruit ability was well and truly gone.
Now back into his clothes, Ace felt much more at ease. He kept the borrowed light blue shirt to cover up the scar on his back and what remained of Whitebeard's jolly roger. His pride and joy.
He couldn't bear looking at what happened to it, even if his actions had been for Luffy's sake.
☆
In the few days since he'd woken up on the Oro Jackson, Ace had tried to avoid the crew as much as possible. However, it’d proven itself to be a difficult task. The ship’s size wasn't anywhere close to that of the Moby Dick, exploring it had barely taken him an hour, and it seemed that there was always a crewmate wandering nearby.
The giant spotted egg that was kept at the stern invited lots of questions but Ace decided he was better off not knowing. For his own sanity.
With the crew members, he was civilized as they didn't deserve his ire. He hated Roger and no one else. Unfortunately, the captain didn't seem to tire. It was like dealing with a seven-year old Luffy all over again — which was insulting toward his little brother. One was cute. The other, not so much.
Whenever Roger spotted Ace, he'd approach him and attempt to start a conversation. Without fail, every time Ace would curse him and storm off in his anger. He had no interest in getting to know his good-for-nothing father. The man was a criminal, a killer, and he was the reason his mother and Ace had been persecuted by the government.
Nothing could change that.
☆
Despite being on a strict diet, Ace steered clear of the cafeteria, even if that meant skipping a meal or two. Any time he could spend without being subjected to Roger’s company, he would gladly take. The snow fell tranquilly, gradually covering the deck in a thin layer of white. Ace’s exhales of hot air condenses once exposed to the cold weather. He’d donned a red scarf and a black jacket with fur lining the hood. Wearing so much clothing was still strange.
Rubbing his hands together and blowing hot air in hope to warm them up, he heard a door creak open behind him and glanced back. Rayleigh strode towards him, a plate full of boiling food in hand. Ace felt his mouth water as he took in the smell of Western spices.
“You shouldn’t stay in the cold like that. You’re still weak,” Rayleigh remarked. Crouching down beside Ace, he placed the plate of food at his feet.
Stubbornly and a bit petulantly, Ace answered, “I’m not weak.”
The look Rayleigh gave him was all-too-knowing, but the raven-haired refused to admit defeat. Seeing that nothing he could say would change Ace’s mind, Rayleigh left him to his own devices. Once the blond was back inside, Ace reached for the plate. Taking the first bite brought tears to his eyes. This seasoning reminded him of Thatch’s cooking. Memories of himself seated at the Moby Dick’s kitchen counter as the cook prepared him a meal, struck him. The laughter shared and the jokes exchanged until the early hours of the morning. A routine that’d been robbed by a knife in the back.
Even the manner Rayleigh had brought his dinner was bittersweet to Ace. Marco had looked after him similarly during his murderous era and even after then.
He missed being home.
He missed his family.
☆
The two teens sat on the railing of the Oro Jackson, fishing poles firmly in hand and Ace watched them bicker from the balcony. In the New World, anything could bite. Best to keep an eye out lest something too big took the bait.
Visions of two boys fighting similarly kept surfacing in his mind. A chubby and childish version of Luffy boasting about his abilities while an equally as young Ace taunted him. How he’d pull at Luffy’s cheeks, round with baby fat, until they stretched past reasonable human limits and the younger boy struggled to enunciate. It always worked in shutting him up. Still, Luffy would stick his tongue out impertinently.
Unattainable memories.
Fuck. He missed that idiot so damn much.
The soft smile that had started growing on Ace’s lips, soured.
His heart ached, longingly. A life without his little brother's bright and contagious smile felt bleak — was bleak.
Inside, he held onto the hope that Luffy was not angry at Ace for breaking his promise and dying.
He hoped that Luffy could still laugh after everything.
☆
Seasons changed, but Ace barely took notice of the passage of time anymore. His thoughts kept going back to that decisive moment. He considered how his death had affected the ones who’d been present and what had happened to everyone afterward. The old man had already decided that Marineford would be his last stand. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that his crew blamed him. Ace certainly did.
He prayed that Luffy had managed to escape safely.
Inside him, his heart ached when his thoughts strayed to how his younger brother was coping with his passing. When they’d learnt of Sabo’s death, the usually cheerful boy had cried incessantly for weeks and even refused to eat. Worried was an understatement to how Ace had felt watching his last brother starve himself in his grief. Instead, he’d given Luffy the motivation to move on while carrying Sabo with them. A doomed promise made on a cliff.
But, even Ace had chosen death rather than living in a world without his brother.
Lost in self-destructive thoughts, eyes focused aimlessly on the clear waves, Ace failed to realize that his name had been called repeatedly. A rough hand gripped firmly onto his arm, bringing him back to the present. Ace jerked back violently once he saw his good-for-nothing father’s despicable face — he hated how alike they looked.
“Don’t touch me, bastard.”
Anyone would’ve been angered at being insulted without just cause, but Gol D. Roger —
He laughed.
Taken aback, Ace stared bewildered at the captain.
☆
Around a week later, Ace found Buggy and Shanks reading a newspaper together. Their heads were pushed temple to temple, creating a blend of red and blue. The old straw hat hung by its string, knocked over from its perch atop curling hair. The two didn't appear particularly happy at whichever news they were reading. Buggy stood with his hands on his hips as he exclaimed bitterly, "Those Whitebeard pirates again! They ought to be talking about us! We're the ones making all da ruckus!"
Oh.
That’s right. The old man and everyone else also existed here.
Attention piqued, Ace approached the two apprentices to peer over their shoulders. "It's that samurai again," Shanks mused, pointing out a man with heavy eyeliner and pronounced eyebrows. The page also featured a small picture of Whitebeard, but Ace barely recognized the old man. He had unfamiliar long, wavy, blond hair. Only his trademark mustache and grin were a sight for sore eyes. Ace felt warm seeing his captain in such good health.
Then the newspaper was snatched from Shanks' clutch. Ace he glanced up to see Roger browsing the page about Whitebeard.
"Seems like the samurai’s a flashy guy too! Buggy, take notes!" Roger crackled, eyes scrunching until birds’ feet took shape at the corners. Ace scowled at Roger, arms crossed over his chest. He refused to ask for the newspaper back, stubborn as he was. Saying the contrary would be a blatant lie. No matter how much he wanted to read the article in detail and examine the old man's picture some more, he’d never stoop to ask something of Roger.
Said man held no such reservations concerning what he would and wouldn’t do to make Ace compliant. So, when Roger finally noticed the pair of eyes glaring resolutely at him, he smirked, a plan forming.
"What? You want this?" he waved the rolled up paper around and watched as Ace gritted his teeth and grunted. An affirmation. No insults. It was an achievement in Roger’s books. By some stroke of luck, Roger had finally found a hole in Ace’s defenses. The boy reminded him of a stray black cat with its hackles raised and ready to swipe at anyone with sharp claws if they annoyed him. Or touched him wrongly. He was constantly alert and on his guard, as if expecting to be abandoned at any second.
Positive reinforcement was the way, Roger decided, as he handed over the newspaper. And for the first time since the boy had come aboard, Roger saw him smile. It wasn't a big smile, but it was genuine and full of wonder. For whatever reason, Ace was connected to Whitebeard.
And Roger knew Whitebeard.
"Would you be interested to hear some stories about dear ol’ Newgate, boy?"
No matter if he had to play dirty, he was going to win Ace over.
This time, instead of immediately cursing at him, Ace turned pensive. As if weighing the pros and cons of having to suffer through Roger's company or hearing stories about Whitebeard. With every second that passed without a response, the captain grew worried that his plan would go awry. Then, Ace nodded. Albeit, reluctantly.
Grin wide, like that of a Cheshire cat, Roger sat down and began recounting the day he'd met Edward Newgate before he’d grown his famous mustache and gotten his epithet.
Ace sat in his company for hours, docile for the very first time.
☆
Following the exchange between Ace and Roger, things began to shift. Slowly but surely, Ace was integrating himself within the crew. He ate with them in the cafeteria, played card games with the two apprentices — for whom he seemed to be growing fond of — and would partake in battles against other pirate crews and Navy warships they encountered.
Yet, he continued to keep his distance from the captain.
The boy would still curse at Roger at times, but it appeared he’d lost most of his bite. Instead, he’d claim a seat atop of the mast and stare out to the sea for hours or at Roger broodily.
Recently, Ace had started coming to terms that Roger may not have been the man the stories portrayed him as.
Rather, Roger came across as a child. Easily entertained, lacking a sense of danger, always whining. Whenever they encountered hostile crews, Roger wasted no time engaging in a fight with the strongest opponent. He never backed down regardless of the context or the protests, and no matter how many glares Ace shot him.
He was always there to offer help to his friends.
Always there to offer Ace help — despite him not wanting it.
Now, he felt lost.
All his life he’d heard stories about the Pirate King and the atrocities he’d committed, the misery he’d brought upon people’s lives. The Golden Pirate Era that he’d started with his dying words had without a doubt led to the pillaging of more than one town. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people had set out to sea to find the One Piece. Anyone in their path was simply collateral to their goal.
In search of an answer as to who he was, he’d learned all too much about Roger. He was scum who’d left the world to fend for themselves against pirates. All his life, Ace had been told that his mere existence was a sin because of whose blood flowed within his veins.
Their sneers and jeers had haunted him until his death.
“If Gold Roger had a child? They’d get their heads cut off, no doubt about it!”
“I wouldn’t be satisfied with just that! How ‘bout we poke them full of holes, one needle for every person who’s got a grudge against Roger!”
“No, we should burn them alive! It’d serve them right.”
“I wanna hear them plead for their life and grovel for forgiveness! ‘I’m sorry I was born, I’m just a piece of trash!’”
For a while, he’d even believed their words. Sabo had assuaged the voices. And Luffy had unceremoniously obliterated them. Then, those dark thoughts had left him, preoccupied as he was keeping his younger brother from dying stupidly.
Now, Ace found himself questioning the legitimacy of those words. It was as if his entire world had been a lie.
How should he act with that notion in mind?
What could he say?
Too many questions plagued his mind.
☆
When night came, sleep never found Ace.
Instead, he’d once again found his favorite seat in the crow's nest to stare out at sea. At night, the ocean felt endless and similar to a black hole when the moon and stars were hidden behind clouds — as they were currently. With the exception of the Oro Jackson's lights, it was pitch dark outside. But, amidst the vastness of the ocean, those lights barely illuminated anything.
Everything felt so quiet and soothing at this height.
Sometimes, Ace forgot how big the world was, journeying in such a limited space with the same people for weeks on end. Staring at the neverending horizon helped to remind him.
He pulled the blanket that he'd brought along tighter around himself. The nights were cold and without his devil fruit, he was now just as exposed as anyone else to the changes in temperature. A door creaked open on the deck below and heavy footsteps followed. Faint voices could be heard, but they were too far below for Ace to discern who was speaking or what was being said.
A few minutes later, a hand appeared at the nest's entrance. A bottle of rum smacked against the wood and Roger was lifting himself into the nest. Ace scrowled as he realized his time alone was being interrupted by the man who’d caused so much confusion within him as of late. "Mind if I join you, boy?" Roger asked, but he didn't wait for a reply before sitting down beside Ace.
"I mind!" Ace refused to let his displeasure go unheard. "Why ask if you're just gonna do whatever you want anyway, annoying old coot." Roger chuckled wholeheartedly at those words before taking a mouthful of rum.
The captain gestured to the bottle, silently asking if Ace wanted some. He refused with a shake of his head.
Finally, blessed silence.
Ace didn't know why Roger had joined him up here, but he wasn't going to take for granted this peace and quiet. The captain often spoke too much for his tastes. He relaxed, comforted by the sound of the waves below and the calm breeze that the blanket blocked out. It was like a parent's embrace. Roger breathed in and out deeply by his side. The only movement was his chest moving up and down.
Then the peace was broken.
"Was 19 when I went out to sea," Roger finally said as he took another swing of rum. Ace hummed, showing that he was paying attention, if only mildly. "Met Rayleigh and convinced him that we'd turn the world upside down together."
Ace huffed in laughter. Turn the world upside down, indeed they had — no, they would. He didn't know why Roger was telling him this. Ace was waiting for the rest of the story, but it seemed to have ended there.
It was another long silence until Roger spoke again.
"Ace," the said boy hummed again as his name was called. It was the first time Roger had used his proper name, "what was your reason for sailing out?"
His reason. He'd realized the true reason as he took his final breath in his brother's arms. But — that hadn't been the only one. "My br — I wanted freedom. At first, I just wanted freedom," Ace admitted as he recalled that moment on the cliff so many years ago. On that cliff, they'd proclaimed their dreams. On that cliff, where Luffy and Ace had buried Sabo in spirit. He wondered if he would've met Sabo in the afterlife or if this was the afterlife.
Taking a deep breath, Ace forced himself to come back to reality.
"But, my true reason for sailing out was that I wanted the answer to a question." Raising an eyebrow in interest, Roger fiddled with the bottle in his grasp.
"A question?" Ace hummed in confirmation.
“Did you ever find the answer?"
"I did," Ace smiled.
"Good."
It ended there.
It may have been at this moment where everything changed.
☆
As more time passed, Ace’s desire to leave the ship dwindled — until it was gone. The boy had unofficially fully become part of the crew. Roger still sought out Ace on many occasions, but the cursing had ceased. At last, Ace had come to terms that the eccentric captain was not as stories told. Far from it, in fact.
He wanted to know the truth.
The truth as to who Gol D. Roger was and how he became the Pirate King.
And why had Roger abandoned Ace and his mother.
☆
The crew had anchored for the first time in over two months. Although they were children of the sea, Ace felt glad to finally be on land again. Forests covered a large part of the island. Some of the largest trees had weird shapes that reminded Ace of broccolis. The island was aptly named Broc Coli Island.
"Ace! Can ya carry those crates over here?" Sunbell called out from the dock. The large fishman along with Spencer and Buggy were preparing to go into town for supplies. Nodding, Ace made his way down the platform with the empty boxes in arms. "Ace, ya comin' with us?" Buggy asked enthusiastically. In the last two months, Buggy had become quite attached to the new addition.
Especially after he'd saved the cabin boy’s life during a Navy attack.
"Sure, why not," the raven-haired shrugged. It hadn't been in his original plans. He’d hoped to stock up on some clothes and weapons and maybe get his fill at a restaurant, but that could also be done later. Walking through the market, the crates gradually got fuller as they went from stand to stand buying fruits, vegetables, and meat. It was a much larger amount than Ace had expected considering the size of the crew.
"This is a lot more than you guys last stocked," Ace remarked as Spencer purchased a boar's meat. The chef laughed before adding, "Of course! Have you seen how much ya eat, kid?"
Embarrassed at being called out, Ace shifted his gaze away and chose to stay quiet. It's not like he could control his hunger.
"Honestly, Ace, sometimes with your manners — ya'd think ya were raised by wolves!" the youngest exclaimed. Ace huffed, amused, "Yeah, you're not far off the mark. Was raised by mountain bandits."
"Well — that explains everything."
The laughter carried down the streets.
☆
He’d gone earlier to purchase some new shirts and jackets that fit his frame and he’d wasted no time removing the oversized clothes that had been lent to him. A black leather vest covered his burnt back, the zipper left open at the front, showcasing his scarred abdomen. Ace had simply gone too many years without shirts to start wearing them properly again. Unfortunately, the sleeves covered Sabo’s tribute. A necessary sacrifice, the mark far too distinctive and identifying.
Too many questions remained unsolved concerning his presence here and what it meant going forward. Precautions were required to prevent any potentially disastrous repercussions. Such as exposing the link between Portgas D. Ace, rookie from the east blue and the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger.
He’d also found himself a new pair of boots to replace the ones Impel Down had confiscated along with his knife. One thing he’d refused to part with were his cargo shorts and belt. They were his only physical reminder of a time now unreachable.
Pushing open the shop’s door, he found the front desk empty and the space filled. Little light came through the shop’s windows, plunging it into a cozy dimness. Dust particles floated in the air as Ace browsed the weapons on layed out. The store held a variety of blades from katanas of differing grades to nodachis, khopeches and kusarigamas. A sword was definitely out of the question; he’d never trained to become a swordsman. A naginata hung on the wall along with some maces. Although he’d wielded heavy weapons occasionally, such as a giant axe, they were impractical for fighting. And much too cumbersome to carry. Eyeing the bao staves stuffed in a barrel, his mind wandered to Dawn Island and rusted pipes.
Reaching a glass case full of daggers with differing blade length and curves, his mind was set before he’d realized it. The lack of weight at his side was now more noticeable than ever. Scanning the rows of knives, he considered the pros and cons of each and after considerable deliberation, gravitated for a pair of curved blades. Deft fingers twirled unsheathed blades. Handles covered in a dark brown leather offered a solid grip. The sharpness was visible to the naked eye; any mishap and he’d be short a finger.
Upon further consideration, he also grabbed a small set of needle-pointed knives. Daggers were always useful. Small, lightweight, easily concealable, and most of all, versatile. The curved ones would be best for slashing, the straight ones for throwing and piercing.
These would do just fine.
☆
On the seas, there was never true silence. The ocean roared gently or fiercely depending on the weather, the men prattled, sang, boasted, gambled freely. As the orange sun set on the crimson horizon, Ace and Roger shared a bottle of rum in the sanctuary that was the crow’s nest. It’d become routine between the two to hide atop the main mast and share moments of their lives.
Some were insignificant, daily happenings. Others were precious or life-changing events.
The older man barked, laughing with his whole chest at Ace's recounting of his first crew. Through these moments, Roger had learned that Ace was reckless, stubborn as a mule, and loyal to a fault to those that he cared about.
Dry, hacking coughs suddenly cut short the moment.
Roger rasped, trying to catch his breath. A tanned, scarred hand dived in his coat pocket to retrieve a cream handkerchief. Coughing into the cloth, dark eyes traced the surface now dyed a deep red. Feeling Ace’s curious gaze lingering on him, he stuffed the evidence into his pocket. But Ace, who’d seen Whitebeard’s health fail rapidly in his remaining years alive, recognized the signs. This wasn't a normal cough.
"Hey — geezer, you alright?" Ace inquired, tone softer than he'd intended, betraying his worry.
Clearing his throat once more, Roger smiled reassuringly at the boy. "Just fine. Don't you worry your noggin 'bout it, Ace."
Roger wasn’t a liar, yet Ace knew just this once not to believe him.
☆
Rayleigh had been planning their course in the chart's room when Ace confronted him about Roger's coughing. It would be no act of kindness to lie about it, so the first mate’s answer was blunt and to the point.
"Roger's terminally ill."
Ace’s world came to a standstill. One too many times he’d peered over Marco’s shoulder to survey the medical books he read. Terminal was a term he was familiar with. Incurable. Deadly. Seeing the conflicted expression the boy wore, Rayleigh put down the map in his hands to give him his full attention. "He had it diagnosed around a year ago and only Crocus has managed to ease his pain.”
Although Ace still kept his distance from Roger, the ravine that once separated them was nothing more than a stream now. The next words were hard to swallow for anyone who knew Roger, full of life as he was.
With finality, Rayleigh added, "Roger's only got a few years left to live."
Ace felt his stomach twist and sink with dread. Any hope for more time was gone with the wind. It wasn’t old age and failing health like Whitebeard. It was an impending certitude. It would be here faster than any of them knew it.
Ace didn’t know how to act or what to do with this information.
It only brought forth the question: Had Roger truly abandoned Ace and his mother?
☆
Ace found the marines of this time incredibly annoying. They were much more persistent in their chase than he remembered them to be. Throwing one of his smaller daggers, it hit the marine in the forehead and he collapsed, dead. Ace ran across the deck and grabbed his weapon on the way to clash against another officer. Blades slid against each other, sparks flying.
Buggy and Shanks were a little further in front of him, back-to-back, holding their ground against men much older than them. Ace was proud of their competence and strength. He hadn’t remembered Buggy the Clown to be a notably courageous man.
People changed; some for the worse.
Movement in his left peripheral. A brown fabric shifted; the figure, covered with a brown cloak to blend with the cabin’s wooden roof adjusted their rifle. Following the new trajectory of where the gunman was aiming, Ace felt himself boil with anger. The coward was aiming for the apprentices.
Aiming at Shanks, who proudly wore an old worn-out straw hat that would one day be Luffy’s. Shanks who would save Luffy’s life.
A first of magma aimed at his bro —
Unconsciously, his anger manifested into the conqueror's willpower and it was so potent that most of the people in their immediate vicinity passed out, including the sharpshooter. Those who’d collapsed, foamed at the mouth, eyes blank. Realizing what he’d done, Ace was conflicted. In the past, he’d seldom used this ability because it’d reminded him of Roger.
Because of Roger and his lineage, he’d awakened this power, so he’d refused to use it.
Yet, Ace felt no regret this time and no negative feelings.
☆
“Conqueror’s, huh?” Gaban remarked later on as they sat in the kitchen. Ace swallowed his mouthful of rice. “Yeah, what about it?” he asked; conqueror’s wasn’t so rare on these seas and the crew had two members that could use it as well.
Rayleigh chuckled, “We’re curious. It doesn’t seem like you received any training for it. Even knocked our guys out.” The raven-haired hummed in agreement. He’d forwent learning to control conqueror’s because it’d been an inherent reminder of Roger. Now, he was slowly coming to terms that the captain wasn’t the demon the citizens of Goa had described him to be.
“I knew I had it, just never bothered to learn to control it.”
“Why’s that?”
“I — it made me remember someone I disliked,” Ace admitted, if a bit unwillingly. He didn’t delude himself into believing that they wouldn’t make the connection to his past hatred for Roger. Revealing the following information was perhaps jeopardizing his identity, but how did it matter at this point. “I didn’t want to rely on that ability, because it was something I’d gotten from him.”
Although the supreme king’s willpower was inherent to strong-willed individuals, it was also in part due to one’s bloodline. If they’d assumed Ace was talking about Roger, they now knew that the two were related by blood.
Gaban and Rayleigh shared a long, knowing look before the former went, “Well, lots of things suddenly make sense.” Rayleigh stroked at his beard, fingers smoothing out the thick, black hair while Gaban had tilted his head back and bore a hole into the ceiling. Attuned with their mannerism, Ace knew that they were processing the implications of the revelation. After all, as far as they knew, Roger had no siblings.
Lifting his mug, Rayleigh took a big swig of rum. The wooden mug hitting the table, startled Ace.
“Ace, If you want, we could teach you to master it.”
Without missing a beat nor thought, Ace expressed his desire to learn.
He wouldn't let old, meaninglessly grudges weaken him.
☆
The banquet had been in full swing for a while. Drinks and food were passed along and the sound of laughter and music brightened the otherwise tranquil sea.
Amidst all of this, Ace had fallen asleep with his face first in his plate. On the Moby Dick, it had been a daily occurrence which had amused his crewmates dearly, especially the 4th, 12th, and 16th commanders.
Thatch and Haruta loved to seize these opportunities to doodle over his freckled-covered cheeks or to play connect-the-dots. Izo liked to pamper Ace since the fire user didn't and couldn't argue back in those instances.
On the Oro Jackson, it was another story. The moment Ace's face planted itself into his food, Buggy and Shanks jumped back in shock. They’d been having a conversation and suddenly Ace was unconscious.
This had garnered everyone else's attention and the party momentarily stopped, for fear that something bad had happened to their latest recruit. It was only when Crocus merrily explained, "No worries, he's just asleep. It happens," that the ship's occupants relaxed.
"Asleep? He's never fallen asleep like this before," Spencer pointed out. Now that Crocus had cleared Ace to only be sleeping, Buggy scampered to find some markers while murmuring about a flashy revenge and go fish. "The brat has narcolepsy, a condition that's marked by sleep attacks. This is one of them," Crocus explained, chugging his drink.
"How come we've never seen it happen before?" Gaban mused, his attention fixed on the snoring young adult. It was quite fascinating that he wasn't asphyxiating on his food.
"The brat said it only ever happened when he was relaxed and surrounded by family."
Any tenseness the crew members still felt vanished at those words; the implication hitting them all at once. Ace felt comfortable on the Oro Jackson. Safe surrounded by them.
He considered them his family.
It was an unexpected development. Ace was not the type of person that would ever express love in an obvious manner. His love was seen through his banter and his actions.
This, however, was indisputable proof of how Ace felt subconsciously.
Grinning, Shanks exclaimed "C'mon Buggy! Did'ya find the markers yet?" and the crew laughed at their youngests' liveliness.
☆
Blood, screams, death. The battlefield was full of it. Ace saw it all from the platform, chained down and unable to move. He watched uselessly as his comrades were struck down while he waited for the executioners to bring the blades down upon his nape.
Watched as the old man was stabbed and shot continuously until he fell in battle.
Watched as Akainu burned his brother to dea —
Ace woke up in cold sweat, panting.
It was that nightmare again.
Eyes wide in horror, he tried to calm down. He knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. That every time he'd close his eyes, he'd see images of his family perishing.
All to save him.
Everytime that he remembered that day, the burn spanning his chest came to life. Nails dug into the scarred tissue, attempting in vain to erase it from his skin and everything it implied. For hours, Ace laid in his cot staring unblinkingly at the wooden ceiling and the lamp hanging there. Itching. It swayed to the movement of the waves carrying the Oro Jackson and its passengers.
It was another long night.
The itch never left him.
☆
They made quick work of the marines and the warship that had followed the Roger pirates to this unnamed island of the New World. It was almost unsatisfying. Ace sat arms propped on his bent knees and his back to the boulder where Buggy stood watch. He sighed and looked enviously as Shanks devoured a bar of chocolate.
He wasn't one for sweets, but suddenly Ace was craving some.
"At least bring Sengoku or Garp with you! The lot of you are no fun!" Roger berated a fallen marine soldier and Ace shuddered at the mention of Garp's name. He was glad that somehow he'd managed to avoid that encounter. Meeting the man who'd been his grandfather after what happened during the war — he wasn't ready.
At the corner of his eyes, he saw all the birds on the far side of the island take flight, fleeing from danger.
Buggy then stammered that the Whitebeard pirates had anchored on the other side of the island. His interest was officially piqued. Now that would be a good fight. However, it seemed that Rayleigh disagreed, mentioning they'd just fought.
Ace tried ignoring Roger's response about this possibly being his final meeting with Whitebeard.
Ace felt a strong presence approaching quickly — it was so intense, but it wasn't one he recognized. There were shouts of 'samurai' in the distance and he thought back to the previous 2nd division commander.
Rayleigh and Gaban armed themselves, but before they could move to engage the fighter approaching, Roger stopped them. Ace watched bemused as their captain ran to meet the samurai 's blade with childish glee. He huffed with choked-up laughter.
Gol D. Roger was truly more like a child than a murderer.
The next thing he knew, the samurai — Kozuki Oden, if he remembered correctly — was being sent flying through multiple tree trunks with a single swing from Roger's sword. Then, Whitebeard was crossing blades with Roger. Blackened lighting surged from the meeting point as willpower flew out from the two in waves. Ace was awestruck as he watched the two. "They're not even touching!" he remarked, standing firmly with Shanks and Buggy in his arms, lest they were swept away by the captains' clasing willpower.
He felt the earth trembling beneath his feet and chanced a glance above. The sky was splitting in two. This was a clash between two conquerors; this was Whitebeard in his prime, Ace realized, euphoric. He'd never imagined that he would one day witness it.
He also realized that he'd been in over his head for believing that he could've ever defeated Whitebeard.
"Ace, you look as crazy as Roger smiling like that right now," Rayleigh pointed out beside him. He stood easily, stance firm, as if the energy of the clash was nothing.
"Shut up! This is incredible, alright! I didn't know that willpower could do this!"
Rayleigh chuckled, adding with a wink, "Only a few people can use it like this. You may be one of them, kid." Now that prospect excited Ace even further.
Finally, the energy receded.
Then, it was an all-out battle.
Fighting was thrilling, Ace realized as he shoved his fist in someone's jaw. The bone cracked on impact and his opponent went down. The dull ache in his knuckles was familiar and had been sorely missed. It'd been a while since he'd fought seriously and he was glad that it didn't bring up any memories from the war.
He turned to meet someone's blade with his knife and smiled widely. He would enjoy this fight with all his might.
☆
The battle lasted three days and three nights. Above them, the skies had raged with every swing from Roger and Whitebeard. Now, a cease-fire was in play. Ace had caught glimpses here and there of Marco's bright blue flames and Izo's kimono , but he hadn't had the chance to speak to them.
Finding their resting figures, he gathered the courage to approach. After all, they were merely strangers in this time period. A small, yet familiar, figure stopped him in his tracks and Ace's expression turned scornful as he recognized the claws belonging to Marshall D. Teach.
But — he couldn't intervene.
He didn't have any standing in Whitebeard's crew to accuse someone of betrayal.
A betrayal that hadn’t even occurred.
Reigning in his contempt, Ace explained curtly that he only wanted a chat with the blond and the dancer. Marco — who was very much only a teenager and lacked his trademark tattoo — raised an eyebrow in such a nostalgic manner that Ace felt himself choke up. Seeing that there was no threat, Marco ordered for Teach to back down.
Taking a seat beside the zoan user, Ace was quiet. He didn't know how to begin when the last time it’d been Marco who’d started everything. With sincere words and a kind, outstretched hand.
"So you're the new kid on Roger's crew," Marco drawled out, opening one eye to glance at the raven-haired boy. Still without a word, Ace confirmed the statement with a nod. "Must be strong then."
It felt surreal. Meeting a Marco that was younger than Ace himself was even more surreal than meeting Roger or seeing Whitebeard in his prime. Marco had been his rock when he’d first ended up on the Moby Dick. Without him, Ace may have never had found a family within the Whitebeard pirates. Maybe, he would've never felt loved.
Without much thought, Ace uttered firmly, “Thank you.” The blond’s eyebrows raised even further in surprise. “What for? I haven’t done anything-yoi,” Marco replied amicably. Even the phoenix’s speech habit was something Ace hadn’t even realized he’d missed.
“You’ll understand one day,” Ace grinned and it was returned by Marco. It wasn’t a smile Ace was used to seeing. It was youthful and full of energy that Ace didn’t associate with the much older and self-assured Marco that he knew from the future.
“You’re a weird one-yoi! Definitely one of Roger’s!"
☆
The two crews had begun an exchange of goods when Ace spied the two captains seated atop a boulder at a fair distance from everyone else. He stalked closer and unbothered by the possibility that he may be interrupting, he lifted himself beside Roger.
Whitebeard and Oden immediately paused and shot the newcomer a look, which Ace nonchalantly ignored in favor of examining the large parchment lying between the men. The paper was worn and faded, certainly quite a few years old. On it, black unfamiliar characters spelled out their next adventures.
Whitebeard felt like déjà-vu.
"Oh! Ace! You joining us old men?" Roger exclaimed as he slung his arm around the boy's shoulder, dragging his body closer. The blond examined the two now seated by each other with a scrutinizing eye. The same black curls framed their faces, the same eye shape, and the thin upper lip.
Ace turned to answer Roger and Whitebeard did a double-take. Their side profiles were reflections of each other. It was then that he knew.
The fleeting thought of 'oh great, there are two' crossed his mind briefly and left just as quickly.
"What are these anyway?" Ace questioned as he lifted the parchment, covered in the strange symbols. Thumb smudging at the charcoal at the edges. He'd never seen anything like these before. "Oh! I was just explaining to Newgate 'bout these big, ol’ red stones!"
Seeing that he had nothing better to do, Ace decided to stay and listen. Roger explained that there were four red stones covered in these writings that would lead them to the end of the world, that the reading of these was forbidden by the World Government to stop anyone from reaching that point.
A legend about a massive treasure.
A journey about finding this treasure & becoming the greatest pirate crew in the world.
And Roger — in a manner so very reminiscent to Luffy — proclaimed,
"And then, I'll be —"
☆
“Shit! That was a slip of tongue, shouldn’t've said that! Ace cried to Yamato, tipsy. They’d been sharing some bottles of saké and Ace had drunk more than his fruit could burn through. “Anyway, you can’t laugh! It’s my little brother’s dream!”
Perhaps it had been selfish of him to say that Yamato couldn’t laugh when Ace and Sabo had, but his mind muddled with alcohol saw no wrong in it. After all, they were family.
They had laughed but they did it with unmoving and immeasurable faith that Luffy would accomplish his dream.
Ace couldn’t’ve ever predicted that instead, Yamato would shed tears. He cried as he declared that the journal Kozuki Oden had left behind spoke of a great man that had once proclaimed the very same dream. The unsuspecting Ace had laughed and drunkenly declared,
“Maybe Luffy and I should share a drink with him!”
☆
The puzzle’s pieces now laid out in front of him, Ace finally understood that Yamato had been talking about Roger that day.
“Yamato, why do you let Kaido chain down your heart, too?”
Ace was a hypocrite. For decades, he’d been allowed Roger to chain down his heart as well. Yamato hadn’t been wrong; they got along well, now that Ace wasn’t letting lies cloud his view.
He was free.
After all, Roger wasn’t so different from Luffy.
Roger, who now bowed his head, requesting for Oden to join in his travels. Ace watched him bemused. A king who bowed for the sake of his dream. Whitebeard who’d been laughing was now obviously pissed and Ace snickered as he felt the familiar jostling of the sea, a result of the captain’s power.
The face Whitebeard made when Oden admitted wanting to leave with Roger, caused Ace to wheeze even more.
☆
Their yearning for a fight satisfied, their stomachs full with good food and wine, and their cargo much lighter, the Roger Pirates departed from the island with new passengers. Ace waved back at Marco and Izo as he watched their forms at the shore become smaller with the distance.
Boots stomped on the deck before a firm, rough hand hardened by many battles found its rest on Ace’s shoulder. Grounding and comforting. “We can still turn around if you want to join Newgate,” Roger said and there was no doubt in Ace’s mind that Roger meant each of his words.
Inhaling a lungful of air, he considered the things that had happened in the last year, the bonds he’d formed, and the changes within himself.
“Nah. I’m good,” Ace replied softly, his words carried away with the wind. A gentle and serene smile graced his lips.
“I think I’ll stay here a while longer.”
Roger smiled back in shared understanding and contentment.
The embers burned just a little stronger and brighter.