Chapter Text
If anyone were to ask, Marco wouldn’t hesitate to blame his capture on Thatch. Not that he has any real reason to besides his crewmate shirking his duties as usual which left Marco without any backup, but that’s reason enough for the irritation to build as he’s guided through the halls of a marine ship, an absurd amount of sea stone chains crisscrossed around his body.
It doesn’t help that the guard behind him is an arrogant asshole.
“What’s the matter, Phoenix? Not so tough without that devil fruit of yours, now are you?”
Marco doesn’t bother with a reply. He’s dealt with plenty of his kind before. All talk, but when the big bad Yonko shows up he’ll be the first to piss his pants and beg for forgiveness.
Ignoring him is the best course of action.
If only the guy would just shut up.
The marine pulls harshly on the chain around his neck, and Marco stumbles as he chokes.
“Aw, are these too tight?” the man says. “Sorry about that.”
“I really don’t think you want to egg him on, man,” another marine, younger and obviously much more nervous says as he eyes Marco. Good. At least one of them has some sense. He’d almost feel bad for the poor kid if he wasn’t pointing a gun at the back of his head.
The older marine scoffs.
“What’s he going to do with these on, huh?” He jerks the chains, and Marco’s forced to follow.
“It’s not him I’m worried about…” the other one trails off, staring at the ceiling as if Pops himself will come plummeting from the deck above.
And really it's only a matter of time.
This isn’t the first time a Whitebeard has found himself caught by the marines. It is however the first time Marco the Phoenix will be the damsel in distress instead of the commander in charge of the rescue.
Damn it. He’s never going to hear the end of it.
He’s been in custody for three whole days, waiting on marines that specialize in the transport of high-profile prisoners. What Marco hadn’t really been expecting was an entire fleet to show up to escort him to Impel Down.
Boy if that doesn’t boost the ego though.
He’s shoved through a door into a large hallway with a few cells in it. The two he passes are empty, no sign that anyone’s been held there in a while.
The cocky marine swings open a heavy barred door and pushes Marco inside before slamming the door shut. “Hope you enjoy the ride. This is paradise compared to what awaits you at Impel Down.”
Marco fights the urge to roll his eyes. The marine moves on to the cell across from Marco and kicks at the door, a loud clang echoing in the air. “You still alive in there, mutt?”
A figure shuffles in the dark, and Marco squints as he strains to see better. As his eyes adjust, he can make out more details of his fellow prisoner.
God damn it. It’s a fucking kid.
The shackles around his wrists and ankles make him look even smaller than he is, not helped by how gaunt and bony his limbs are. His hair is stringy and matted, and he’s bruised to hell. Some have taken on a greenish hue as they've started to heal, but others are a dark bluish purple. He can't be much older than thirteen if he's even that.
“Leave me the fuck alone, asshole,” a hoarse voice growls.
The man clicks his tongue as he peers closer. “Just checking. The higher ups would have my hide if I let you die now.” He waves a hand through the air casually as he stands up straight again and turns to walk out the door. “Though we both know that’s how it’ll end for you, anyway.”
The boy stiffens as he watches the man leave, the door slamming behind him.
Well damn. The last thing Marco would ever expect is to find a child chained up in a high-profile prison transport ship. But he supposes if people like Devil Child Nico Robin exist it’s really not outside the realm of possibility.
But he’s never seen a bounty for this kid, and he’s always kept a good eye on those. It’s his responsibility to scope out any promising new recruits or troublesome rookies.
So if he doesn’t have a bounty, then who the hell is this kid?
And what did he do to wind up here?
Marco sits down against the wall, making himself comfortable while he waits for his family to come rescue him.
“Hey, kid.”
Tired eyes meet Marco’s, and the boy tilts his head as he studies him.
“The name’s Marco,” he says with a lazy smile, probably too casual for a man buried under heavy chains sitting behind bars.
Silence settles between them as the kid focuses on the floor, probably hoping if he ignores him Marco will leave him alone. Unfortunately, Marco’s never been good at minding his own business.
“You got a name?”
The kid sighs, eyes drifting to the ceiling of his cell. “That’s none of your business,” he says, voice hard.
“I mean, that’s fine. But I’m just going to call you kid or brat then.”
“You could just not talk to me.”
“Eh,” Marco shrugs, resting his head against the wall behind him. “I get bored easily, and you’re the only thing I’ve got to entertain myself. At least until that asshole gets back-yoi.” He jerks his head in the direction the marine went.
This finally gets the kid’s attention, and his calculating eyes meet Marco’s, something akin to curiosity brewing beneath the indifference. “You’re not like the last few people they’ve put in that cell.”
Well that’s an unnerving statement.
“You been here long?” Marco asks.
The boy wraps his arms around himself like a sad excuse for a hug, and he shrugs. “Long enough, I guess. It's hard to keep track. A few months, at least.”
Damn. No wonder the kid looks kind of rough.
He moves to lay down facing the back wall away from Marco, either deciding it’s nap time or that the conversation has come to a close.
Either way, Marco seems to be shit out of luck.
He closes his eyes, focusing on the lull of the ship as it sails. Now all that’s left is to wait.
“We shouldn’t be down here,” a voice says.
Marco blinks tired eyes as the voice pulls him from the bliss of sleep as it gets closer.
“Relax. No one’s going to care.” Ugh. This guy again. He’s already heard this cocky bastard speak more times than he’d like. “In fact, most of the guys upstairs would probably thank me for doing this. You know how they all feel having the little demon spawn on board.”
They stop outside the only two cells that hold prisoners and while he’s not really sure what’s going on, he doesn’t think they’re referring to him. If they are, it's an awfully weird thing to call him.
Which means they’re talking about the kid, and Marco sure as hell doesn’t like that.
“I really don’t think we should do this,” the nervous marine says, glancing over his shoulder at the closed door. “We were given strict orders-”
“To keep him alive . Doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.”
The door to the cell opens, and the kid’s bare feet slide on the floor as he tries to press himself further into the corner. A large hand wraps around the boy’s wrist, hauling him up.
“Let me go!” the kid shouts as he’s held off the ground by his arm, feet flailing in the air.
“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Marco asks, now wide awake. He hadn’t been expecting anything like this. Usually marines are the lock ‘em up and throw away the key kind of guys. They prefer not to interact with their prisoners unless absolutely necessary.
“If I could, I’d send you straight to hell where you belong. Let you join that devil father of yours,” the marine spits, voice low as he puts the kid down, hand grabbing the front of his shirt as he rams a clenched fist hard into his side.
The boy tries to curl up, but the grip on his collar keeps him upright.
“Damn that felt good!”
A punch to the jaw rattles the boy, and this time the marine lets him drop. He curls into a ball, holding his hands over his head to protect himself. It’s a practiced maneuver, and Marco tries not to think about how many times these bastards have done something similar to this poor kid.
The marine winds up and kicks at the teen’s head like he’s kicking a ball.
“Leave him the fuck alone!” Marco yells, eyes darting from the marine in the cell to the one in the hallway who looks a little disturbed by his crewmate's behavior. “What the hell’s wrong with you? He’s just a kid-yoi!”
The marine in the hall glances down at Marco, sympathy in his eyes as if he knows exactly how he feels. But that’s not possible, because this bastard has the power to do something about it, and all he’s doing is standing there watching.
“Shut up, Phoenix.”
The older marine grabs a hold of the kid’s hair and yanks him up. A calloused hand wraps around the boy’s throat pinning him to the wall, and the kid chokes, dirty nails scraping against fingers that squeeze, and his eyes widen as he tries to gasp for air.
“I can’t wait to see you up on that execution platform,” the marine hisses, face red and veins bulging as spit flies into the kid's face. The teen kicks at the large man holding him off the ground. A finger drags from the boy’s temple slowly down to his chin. “Gonna watch this pretty little head of yours roll.”
Execution platform? The marines are planning to execute a fucking kid ?
Marco strains against the chains. He knows it’ll do fuck all, but it’s better than sitting here doing nothing.
There’s a bang as the door swings open to reveal a marine captain, and the man holding the kid tightens his grip around the boy’s throat.
“Larson,” the captain drawls. “The hell do you think you’re doing?”
The cocky marine, Larson apparently, doesn’t take his eyes off the boy. “Keeping this little bastard in line,” he says, tacking on a reluctant “Sir”.
“Put him down,” the captain says, seeming unbothered by the scene.
Larson growls, spitting in the boy's face before dropping him unceremoniously on the floor. The kid rubs at his neck, coughing as he pushes himself into a sitting position. Larson leaves the cell, replaced by the captain who squats down in front of the boy.
“Got some new instructions. Seems you’ll be spending some time in Impel Down after all. The Fleet Admiral’s gotta get everything all nice and ready for you in Marineford before we can drop you off. Better enjoy our hospitality while you can.”
The boy glares at the captain, scrubbing at the spit still on his cheek.
“Fuck you,” he says.
The man clicks his tongue and roughly grabs the boy’s hair, yanking back to slam his head against the wall as he grips the kid’s jaw with his other hand.
“I’d watch that tongue of yours, brat. I’d hate for you to lose it.”
Marco’s dealt with enough marine captains in his life to know most are calm and professional to the very end, but the display he’s watching unfold in front of him is bordering on sadistic.
What the fuck is wrong with these guys?
Thankfully the boy must sense the very real threat behind the man’s words and wisely keeps quiet.
“Good boy,” the captain says with a mocking smile as he lets go, patting him on the head like a fucking dog.
The captain leaves, letting the nervous marine in the hall slam the cell door shut behind him, and all three exit the hall, plunging the two prisoners into silence broken only by the boy’s occasional raw coughing.
“Are you okay?” Marco asks.
It’s a stupid question, maybe a bit insensitive too, but he has to broach the subject somehow. Like hell is he going to just ignore what happened.
“Fine,” the teen says, voice hoarse. Marco watches him rub at his neck. There will undoubtedly be a bruise forming after an assault like that. Marco’s eyes trail the other bruises in various stages of healing, distantly wondering if he’d gotten them the same way.
Quiet falls again for a few moments, and Marco sighs.
“These guys don’t like you much, do they?” Marco starts. The look the boy shoots at him is downright hostile, but Marco sure as hell isn’t going to back down from a scrawny little brat. Not when he’s itching with a curiosity he needs to sate. “What the hell did you do to deserve an execution? I’m not even getting one of those-yoi,” Marco says.
An extended stay at Impel Down? Sure. But an execution? Those are saved for very special cases. When the marines want to make an example out of something, or prove something to the public.
What would they gain from the execution of some random boy without so much as a wanted poster?
It just doesn’t make sense. And Marco hates things that confuse him.
The way the kid curls in on himself tells Marco he knows exactly what he did to deserve it but doesn’t feel like sharing.
Tough shit.
“Well?” Marco says when the boy remains silent. “You didn’t kill an admiral or something, did you?” Marco jokes with a raised brow. “Because I’ve been trying to do that for a few years and still haven’t succeeded, so if you’ve got some tips…”
The teen lets out a startled laugh at that.
“No, nothing like that.”
He doesn’t seem intent on saying anything else.
“So…what did you do?” Marco pushes.
The kid goes quiet, and Marco can see the battle play out in his expression alone. His hands tighten where they’re grabbing at his biceps, like he’s trying to hold himself together.
“I was born.”
It’s said with such conviction and self loathing, almost as if he believes something like that could constitute a crime worthy of execution.
It’s the dumbest thing Marco’s ever heard.
“That’s it?”
The boy blinks at him, shame clear on his face before he looks away. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew who my father was.”
Marco laughs as he leans back, relaxed. It’s good to know he isn’t sharing a hallway with some deceptive psycho murdering child, but the obvious despair on the boy’s face is something Marco needs to nip in the bud right now.
“My biological father was a deadbeat piece of shit, and my adoptive father is considered the strongest man in the world, feared by all as one of the four greatest pirates on the seas. I’ve got hundreds of brothers and sisters who’ve come from all walks of life,” Marco smiles at the kid who stares at him, clearly unsure where he’s going with this. “Your father could be the devil himself and I wouldn’t care. Doesn’t matter what your parents did, or who they are. What really matters is what you do in this life. It’s your life to live, kid. Don’t go wasting it thinking you don’t deserve it.”
The boy is silent, and Marco would have laughed at the confusion on his face if it wasn’t so damn sad to see. No child should grow up thinking they don’t deserve to live for something that's out of their control.
And he’ll scream it at the top of his lungs until this boy believes him if he has to.
Huh, guess Pops is rubbing off on him after all.
They sit in silence for a little bit, and Marco hopes the lack of argument on the boy’s side is confirmation that the kid’s at least rethinking his philosophy on life.
“Ace,” the teen’s voice echoes in the quiet hall. It jolts Marco from his thoughts, and he tilts his head in curiosity.
“Huh?”
“My name,” the boy says, eyes meeting Marco’s for only a second before looking away. “It’s Ace.”
Ace, huh? Well, all right then.
“Oh good. I was getting kind of tired of calling you kid.” Marco says, hoping to ease the tension.
The boy, Ace, scowls at him, and Marco mentally tallies it in the win column.
But then something clicks in Ace’s little teenage brain, and his eyes widen comically. His mouth opens once, then twice, like he’s trying to figure out how to word whatever epiphany he’s finally had.
Marco just sits there, letting the poor kid work it out.
“Your dad… Whitebeard ?” Ace chokes out, not even able to form a coherent sentence.
Ah, so that’s it. The mention of the world’s strongest man must have jarred something in the kid’s memory, but to be honest Marco wasn’t expecting him to be so surprised.
“Yes?” He raises a brow. “Do you not know who I am-yoi?”
He does a piss poor job of hiding his amusement if the way Ace’s eyes narrow at him is any indication. “Should I?” he demands.
“I’m Marco the Phoenix, first division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates.”
It’s odd, having to actually introduce himself to somebody. Usually people know exactly who he is and what he’s capable of.
“Commander?” The wheels are smoking in the kid’s brain, and Marco can’t help but smile as he waits for whatever comes next. “So you’re like important or something?”
Marco laughs. “You could say that.”
“Huh.”
Marco thinks the kid might look intrigued, maybe even downright impressed.
If the boy has any more questions he doesn’t voice them, so Marco shifts to settle more comfortably against the wall, letting the dull crash of waves against the hull fill the quiet.
It’s a few hours later when the same damn marines return. This time, oddly enough, Larson’s holding two bowls in his hands.
“Chow time, boys,” he says.
The marine opens the metal flap at the bottom of Marco’s cell door and slides a tiny bowl of plain rice inside.
Marco raises a brow at the bowl before glancing to the chains holding his arms in a way that makes movement impossible.
He waits to see if the marine will remove one of the more restricting chains, but the bastard just smiles at him as he backs away.
“Hey, stupid fucker,” Ace drawls from his cell. “How the hell is he even supposed to eat that with those chains on?” The marine pulls out a key and unlocks the metal flap in Ace’s cell door. “What, is this some kind of game to you? You get off on starving him like that?”
The marine surprisingly doesn’t say anything, probably remembering the way his superior had chided him the last time he’d messed with the kid. He slides the other bowl of rice in the cell and locks the flap again.
“He’s gonna be dead before we even get to Impel Down. I don’t want to room with a corpse.” Ace waits but there’s no answer. “You as deaf as you are dumb, asshole?”
“Careful, mutt,” Larson says, a sick smile on his face as he eyes Ace. “If you can’t be quiet, I’ll find another way to occupy that mouth of yours.”
Marco sits up straight, unease rolling in his stomach as he glares at the man. He’s seen enough perverts in his life as a pirate to know what that disgusting smile means.
Unfortunately, his movement has drawn the attention of the marine who casts a glance over at him, an eyebrow raised in amusement.
“Oh? Does that bother you, Phoenix?” the marine’s mocking lilt grates on him. “I didn’t take you to be such a prude.”
“I’m not,” Marco says, “I just have a thing against pedophiles. I’m sure you understand-yoi.” He smiles, though it resembles more of a snarl.
To his surprise the marine huffs out a laugh. “Oh please. This,” he waves a hand at the boy in the cell, “can hardly be called a child. He’s nothing more than a monster. An abomination. ” There’s a heat behind that word that implies a history, and the way Ace flinches the moment it’s uttered is undeniable evidence of such.
Marco doesn’t respond. There’s really nothing to say that won’t get the man riled up even more. The marine sighs and looks down at Ace. “Unfortunately, we’ve got a vice admiral on the way and I’d hate to be found so…compromised when he arrives.” His eyes spend far too much time roving over the boy. “Perhaps another time.”
As the man opens the door, Marco comes to a decision he’s been mulling over for a bit now.
“I’m going to kill you,” he calls out, tone far too casual for the statement. The marine freezes in the doorway but doesn’t turn around. “When my crew comes to get me, and they will, I’m going to make sure I’m the one that ends your miserable existence.”
Larson’s shoulders stiffen, and Marco feels a thrill run through him. Even helpless and bound in chains he’s managed to unnerve the bastard. Because it’s not an empty threat.
It’s a promise.
The door closes and the prisoners are left alone again.
Ace shivers. “That guy’s a creep,” he mutters.
“You ok?” Marco asks.
Ace nods. “He’s all talk.” The teen reaches up to rub the bruise on his neck and winces. “Well, most of the time.”
“Still…it’s kind of fucked up what he said. What he called you.”
Ace shrugs. “I’m used to it.”
And that might be the most fucked up thing of all.
Ace reaches for his bowl of rice. “I-I hope you don’t mind…”he says in an odd display of politeness as he holds the bowl up.
“Don’t worry about it,” Marco replies. “My brother would kill me if he found out you went hungry because of me.”
Ace shovels in food like he hasn’t eaten in days. And for all Marco knows, maybe he hasn’t.
“Your brother, huh? Is it hard to keep in touch, being a Whitebeard commander and all?” Ace asks around a mouthful of rice.
Marco laughs. “He’s not my biological brother. He’s part of my crew.”
Ace’s brow scrunches up as he goes quiet, those little wheels of his turning again, and Marco decides to give him a hand.
“We’re more than a crew really. We’re one big family made of a bunch of orphans and misfits, the ones the world has turned it's back on. Pops takes in anyone who needs a place to call home.”
Ace nods, the confusion on his face clearing up.
“Sounds nice.”
And Marco couldn’t agree more.
“So…what’s your crew like?”
The kid’s sudden desire to start a conversation throws Marco for a loop, but he’s not going to discourage it.
He smiles as he thinks of his hundreds of siblings. “They’re a bunch of stupid fuckers, every last one of ‘em,” he says.
He thinks of the countless stunts those idiots have pulled over the years, picking fights and pulling pranks. There’s not much else to do when you’re sailing around with the strongest man in the world. Very few people are arrogant enough to tangle with a Yonko and when they are, the battles don’t last very long. They’ve learned to make their own fun.
Unfortunately, being the serious guy he is along with his rank as second in command has left Marco the perfect victim in the eyes of his crewmates. He’s found hair removal cream in his shampoo bottle enough times to guess there’s some kind of betting pool going on who’s going to succeed first.
Stupid fuckers, indeed.
“You like them,” Ace says, studying his face. It could have been a question if Ace didn’t sound so sure of himself.
“Yeah, I really do,” Marco says.
He’d do anything for his family, consequences be damned. And he's sure that’s true of any one of his brothers and sisters. There’s a certain sense of loyalty amongst the Whitebeards when it comes to stuff like that. Nothing is more important than family. It’s Pops’ dream after all, and Marco would rather die than see someone or something mess with Pops’ treasure.
Just thinking of them all makes his heart ache.
“So how many commanders does Whitebeard have anyway?”
And boy is this brat going to regret the moment he brought that up.
To his surprise Ace seems to enjoy his stories about his fellow commanders. He shares some about action packed battles, others about stupid stuff around the ship. It feels good to talk about them. Gives him something to hold on to while he’s away.
He tries not to share any important information though, being inside a marine ship and all.
The kid soaks up each story with wide, eager eyes.
“What’s Whitebeard like?” Ace asks when Marco finishes up one of his stories about Thatch.
He looks nervous, like just talking about Pops might summon the Yonko and bring his wrath down upon him. Which is fucking hilarious considering this kid is the exact kind of brat that would hit Pops right in that serial adopting soft spot of his.
If he were here right now, Pops would love the shit out of Ace.
“Pops is kind of crazy in his own way,” Marco says. “He cares a lot about his crew. We’re his family, you know?”
“Which is why you call your captain Pops?” Ace asks, head tilted like a little puppy.
Marco nods. “He calls us his sons, so it just seems right.”
It’s a special thing, to be taken into a family he doesn’t have blood ties to. To be chosen instead of cast aside.
There’s a lump forming in his throat that his pride just can’t afford right now.
“He’s got no concern for his health though. The nurses and I have been trying so hard to get him to stop drinking, but all he does is hide the bottle from us.” Marco laughs and shakes his head. “I swear, he keeps pulling flasks out of his jacket, and no matter how many times we check, we can never find where he keeps those damn things.”
Ace laughs. It’s a nice sound to hear. If only it wasn’t tainted by the heavy clank of chains as the boy shifts positions.
“I thought Whitebeard was supposed to be this scary pirate who can take out an entire fleet of ships in two seconds flat.”
“He is,” Marco agrees. “But only to people who threaten what’s his. Which is why I’m not sure what these idiots are thinking. They seem pretty sure of themselves considering the last time one of his sons was captured Whitebeard decimated an entire marine fortress.”
“Well that sounds like a story,” Ace says with a radiant smile, and if the boy wants to hear another tale of the Whitebeards, well who is Marco to deny him such an easy gift.
The loud boom of a cannon startles Marco awake. Alarms blare throughout the ship, and people run past the door shouting orders.
“I think your crew is here,” Ace says when he catches that Marco is no longer sleeping. “Didn’t take very long.”
Marco rolls his shoulders, wincing at the stiffness in them. “Longer than I would have liked,” he admits, but he won’t complain. They’re here after all. What more could he ask for?
A cannon fires again followed by a loud splash and the ship lurches.
Heavy thuds and loud screams come from the deck above him and Marco smiles.
It appears his brothers have boarded.
It’s really bumming him out that he’s so close to the action but can’t join in. A good fight like this seldom happens anymore, and it’s a shame he’s missing out.
He supposes this time he can be a good brother and share the fun with his fellow commanders.
He’s curious who Whitebeard picked to lead the rescue in Marco’s place.
Then there’s an odd rumbling, a sound he’s heard time and time again and a massive wave slams into the hull, the wood cracking and groaning at the blow.
Huh. So Pops is leading the charge himself this time.
“What the hell was that?” Ace asks, eyeing the walls of the ship like they might spring a leak at any moment. He might not be too far off.
Damn it, Pops. You’ve got to learn to hold back.
“That would be my captain.”
Ace’s eyes widen as he chokes on his own spit.
The door to the hall flies open and an unconscious marine flies through the air, sailing clear past Marco’s cell and landing in a heap.
Marco looks over to see two familiar figures walking through the door now barely hanging on by a single hinge.
“Took you long enough,” Marco says.
“Well, well. What do we have here?” Haruta says with a smirk as he swings the key ring around his finger. “Why, is that first division commander Marco of the Whitebeard Pirates? Bested by the marines no less?”
“Shut up and get me out of here-yoi.”
Another boom rocks the ship, shouts following as the battle rages.
“That’s no way to talk to your rescuers,” Izou chides.
Damn it. Why do his brothers have to be so smug about this? He remembers distinctly the time he’d had to save Izou’s own ass just last year. Just because he’s been with Pops the longest doesn’t make him invincible.
He glares, and Haruta rolls his eyes as he unlocks the cell and pulls the door open. “Wow, they really weren’t taking a chance with you, huh?” he muses when he sees the layers of chains.
Unfortunately each layer has its own lock, and his crewmates waste precious time trying to figure out which key goes to which lock.
“Sometime today would be nice,” he drawls as he watches them fumble and curse with each wrong guess.
Izou doesn’t bother looking up from the chain he’s examining. “We could just leave you here,” he says, though they all know it’s nothing more than an empty threat.
It’s nice to be around his brothers again. He missed the playful banter.
Finally the chains drop to the floor, and the energy he’d been drained of for almost a week returns in one quick wave. He feels like he could sink this entire ship by himself.
Izou hands him his things and he wraps his belt around his waist, grateful that his knife is still in its holster. He’d hate to have to replace it.
“Let’s go,” Izou says, all hints of humor gone as they leave the cell.
“Wait.” Marco pauses in front of Ace’s cell. The boy blinks at them, apprehension obvious in his expression as the pirates focus on him. “Haruta, can you get this cell open-yoi?”
“Huh?” Haruta peers inside and tilts his head as he gets a good look at Ace. There’s a flash of hope in the kid’s eyes as Marco’s crewmate sticks the key in the lock. “Is he coming with us?”
The cell door swings open, and Ace struggles to his feet. Marco smiles at him and jerks his head in the direction of the hallway.
“What do you say, kid? You want to get out of here?”
Ace’s eyes dart between the three pirates, hesitation showing for only a split second before he steels himself and nods, shuffling over to the open door.
Haruta shares a glance with Izou before stepping forward to help get the chains off. He reaches out to steady Ace’s shaking arms, and the boy flinches away at the touch.
“Sorry, kid.” The chains fall with a loud clang and Haruta moves on to the shackles around his ankles. Ace rubs the raw skin on his wrists and flexes his ankle when Haruta finishes.
“Feel better?”
Ace nods, and Marco notices a distinct shine to his eyes.
“As touching as this is, we really do need to go,” Izou says as he pulls his gun out. There’s shouting coming from further down the hall, growing louder with each second. Seems some of the marines have finally decided to check on their precious cargo.
In fairness to them, the Yonko wreaking havoc on their ship probably took top priority.
“You stay back with Haruta, okay Ace?”
After the beating he took from that fucker, getting caught up in a fight is the last thing this kid needs.
“Keep him safe-yoi,” Marco says to Haruta before he takes off running, not bothering to wait for a response. He’s got full faith that his brothers will follow his orders. When it comes down to it, there’s no one he trusts more.
Blue flames flicker across his body and damn does it feel good to have them back.
He distinctly hears a quiet what the fuck behind him, but he has more important things to focus on.
The fight itself can hardly be called such. The men in the hall drop with a single kick.
Perhaps all that pent up anger is good for something.
Marco leads the group to the top deck. Most of the marines are dead or out cold, the fight winding down as the Whitebeards inflict their vengeance on the men who took their crewmate.
It’s when he sees Vista going to stab the arrogant marine that’s been a thorn in Marco’s side that he shouts for him to hold.
Vista freezes with the tip of his sword mere centimeters from the man’s chest, and Larson falls to his knees. A dark spot appears on the front of the marine’s pants as he squeezes his eyes shut with a whimper. Marco steps up to him, cold eyes flicking down to the growing puddle on the deck. He scoffs.
They’re all the same.
He bends down and fists the front of the marine’s shirt. “Look at me,” Marco commands. The man’s lips tremble as he opens his eyes, meeting Marco’s gaze for a split second before jerking his gaze down.
“P-please,” the man cries. “Please don’t kill me.”
It’s almost pitiful, the way he begs, but then the image of him beating Ace, of him smirking at the boy while he threatened to do unspeakable things to him burns bright in his mind.
“I promised to end your pathetic life myself,” Marco says with a cruel smile. He leans forward, lips almost touching the marine's ear as he whispers, “and I never break a promise-yoi.”
He shoves his knife up under the man’s ribs, watching as his eyes go wide. The marine gasps and chokes, and Marco lets go of his shirt, giving him a push that sends him crumpling to the deck. He coughs, blood flecking his lips as he grabs at the wound, body twitching while he tries to breathe.
Then his body goes still.
The people on the deck are silent, marines backing away uneasily, obviously thrown by Marco’s appearance while the Whitebeards shift uncomfortably, knowing their commander enough to understand a kill like that isn’t just part of the battle.
It’s personal.
Marco sheathes his knife and looks over the battlefield until he spots Pops standing on the Moby Dick. His captain nods in greeting, and Marco’s eyes flit over to where Ace is standing beside Haruta then back to Whitebeard, an obvious question in the movement.
Pops’ expression softens as he takes in the sight of the injured boy. There’s that twinkle in his eye, an idea forming as he studies Ace before smiling at Marco.
It’s the closest thing he can get to permission without Pops outright saying it.
“The hell he do to you?” Haruta asks as Marco approaches, brow raised as he stares at the lifeless body still spilling blood on the deck.
Marco doesn’t bother responding, instead focusing on Ace.
“You good to go?” he asks.
“I-my bag…” Ace chews on his bottom lip. “There’s something I need to get.”
“On it,” Haruta says before Marco even has time to ask. He disappears into the ship, and a bit of the tension in Ace’s shoulders seeps out.
The kid looks even worse in the harsh sunlight. Marco hadn’t quite gotten to see how pale the kid’s skin is, the dark bruising on his hollowed cheek contrasting harshly against the sickly color.
When was the last time the kid had a decent meal? Certainly not since he boarded this hellhole, and that had been months according to Ace.
That’ll be one of the first things they take care of when they get him aboard the Moby Dick. Following a very extensive check-up courtesy of Tate and her nurses.
“Is this it?” Haruta asks when he returns, a green sack held in his hand and Ace lights up as he takes it.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
The boy rummages around to make sure whatever he’s looking for is there before hugging the bag tight like it might get yanked away again if he’s not careful.
The Whitebeards have finished off the last of the marines, and a crowd has started to form around Marco as his brothers greet him.
“Good to see you in one piece, commander.”
“Glad to have you back, sir.”
Unfortunately, the bodies pressing closer are making the kid nervous, and Ace takes a step back as he watches them all with wide eyes. He looks seconds from bolting, and they can’t have that.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s good to be back. Now let’s get out of here. I’ve seen enough marines to last me a year-yoi.”
The men around him laugh, taking the dismissal for what it is and they only spare a glance at the new face before piling back on the Moby Dick.
“All right, kid. Let’s go,” Marco says as he pats the boy on the back.
Stepping on the Moby Dick has never felt quite so good. Most of the commanders are gathered near Pops’ chair, where the captain now sits. The rest of the crew parts, giving Marco a clear path.
“Welcome home, son,” Whitebeard says as Marco approaches. “It’s good to see you’re unharmed.”
“Nothing’s hurt other than my pride, Pops,” Marco replies.
Whitebeard laughs. Then his eyes flit over to the boy standing just behind Marco. “And who do we have here?”
Marco looks over his shoulder. Ace is staring at the pirate, fear clear on his face as he takes a step back, leaning away from the imposing figure.
“This is Ace. He was in the cell across from mine. He’s a good kid, just got dealt a bad hand.” Marco levels a look at his captain, promising a better explanation later when the kid isn’t seconds away from keeling over from the mixture of fear, exhaustion, and pain.
Thankfully Pops doesn’t push it.
“Well, welcome aboard, child. I’m sure you know who I am?”
Ace gulps, eyes darting to Marco before returning to the massive pirate.
“Yes.”
Whitebeard smiles in that way that somehow makes him seem harmless. It’s saved solely for scared or injured civilians, and it’s surprisingly effective.
Ace’s shoulders lose just the slightest bit of tension.
“I’m sure you’ve heard rumors about me, but you don’t need to worry. You’ll be safe here.”
Ace clutches his bag tighter and gives a polite bow. “Thank you, sir.”
That damned look is back on Pops’ face, and by the way the rest of the commanders grin at each other they can see it too.
But that’s a problem for another day.
“So, Marco,” Whitebeard says, effectively drawing the attention away from the clearly uncomfortable newcomer. “What do you think we should do with the ship?”
There’s a hard glint in his eye, like he knows exactly what he’d like to do but is willing to ignore his lust for vengeance if his son disagrees. Marco eyes the boat, gaze drifting to the young boy beside him as he’s reminded of the poor kid trapped in a cell headed for an execution he never deserved.
He nods at Pops.
Whitebeard laughs. “All right, my sons. Send it to the bottom of the sea!” His voice booms across the ship, and the crew cheers as cannons sound, blasting holes and splintering wood.
The mast goes down hard, breaking the deck in pieces and bodies fall into the water as the ship tilts. The other ships that were escorting them are nowhere to be found, the wreckages probably already resting on the ocean floor.
Marco walks over to the railing to watch the carnage, Ace following closely behind.
It’s a beautiful sight, the husk of their prison sinking beneath the waves in all its flaming glory, and Marco can’t help but feel grateful that things played out this way.
He glances at Ace who watches the spectacle in awe.
As a pirate, Marco has learned that fate can be a cruel force, but perhaps this time the Whitebeards have managed to gain its favor.
And maybe a new brother, too.