Warnings: nothing explicit, violence and cursing
Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece.
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Chapter 10 – The Child from the East
I was the match and you were the rock
Maybe we started this fire
We sat apart and watched
All we had burned on the pyre
You said, 'we were born with nothing,
And we sure as hell have nothing now'
- Things We Lost in the Fire
I spy with my little eye, something beginning with… S.
Sun?
Nope.
Sky?
No-pe.
Sea?
Bingo.
…
This is boring. Hey, wait a sec, is that a-
Ace breaks away from his conversation with Sabo to lean forward, holding onto Striker's single mast and squinting into the sunlight. It's freezing cold, but no goosebumps appear on the teen's skin; his tolerance to the cold has risen significantly in the last year. On the horizon, a single speck of land slowly pulls out of the morning mist, and Ace grins fiercely. Perched on top of the mast as Ace's fire lights up the bottom of the boat, Pidge gives a joyful chirp.
"Hey, Sabo, I think I've found it!" Ace's voice is hoarse from misuse.
No fucking- Sabo makes a choked, goofy little noise of glee. Finally! Ace, you- I-
"I know!" Ace runs his hand back through his hair, feeling the sea spray on his clothes and his cheeks. "I did it!"
Maybe you'll finally actually get some sleep now, Sabo mutters petulantly, but Ace can't hear his brother over the sound of pure victory in his ears. Finally. Ace has finally reached the island that Pidge pointed to on the map when they first arrived in the northern area six months ago; the island that houses the Revolutionary Army. It almost feels surreal – a big part of Ace doesn't believe that it's actually happening. The waves leap high around his fire-powered speedboat, smarting Ace's skin with their refreshing, icy waves, and the island draws closer with every second.
It's been over seven months since Ace left Kaira. Vivi, Carina and the others are just vague shapes on the edge of his memory, as are the countless other souls he's met on this journey, and all the teen has to his name are a few changes of clothes, some coins, Striker, his compass and the sketch of his brothers that the girl did. Oh, and Pidge. Pidge, he might add, who has now grown so much that Ace has to use both hands to hold him and he no longer fits in Ace's pocket. The lazy little bugger spends most days draped over Ace's head, feathers tickling the tops of his ears, and his blue plumage is gaining more vibrancy every day.
Sabo's ripping through his naval training, rising in rank faster than could ever have expected. He started as a petty officer, doing odd jobs and frustrated at his lack of combat, before rising to corporal and then, finally, sergeant. Sabo hates having to fight revolutionary towns, having to shoot down villagers who just want to rebel against the system that occupies the southern area, but he pushes through it with an iron resolve that Ace admires. His brother baffles him sometimes. They're on completely different sides of the world – Ace in the revolutionary-occupied north, Sabo in the government-controlled south – and yet he trains and trains for a cause he hates just so that he can try to find Luffy. He's a far better person than Ace.
The north… Ace can't even begin to describe how different things are here. There are no hollow faces and dead eyes, and visible scars garner stares, not just passing glances. Instead of looks of annoyance and irritation from every side, people look at Ace with concern, ask how he is in the streets. Ace figures he looks like a complete mess to these well-built, healthy people. It's bloody freezing up here, too, and Ace doesn't feel like he can really make himself steal much from here, so he just tries to bear it until he gets to the Revolutionary Army.
Which he's now finally reached, apparently. It still seems barely real and for the first time, a hint of anxiety claws at Ace's insides. What if they don't want him? He's still young. Ace turns fifteen in three weeks. What if they turn him away, tell him to come back when he's seventeen and leave him out in the dust? There's no doubt that Ace would survive – after this year, he's pretty sure he could live through Armageddon – but the though still forms a deep pothole in his stomach.
The journey up to the island seems to take longer than the rest of the journey combined. Pidge soon shifts from the top of the mast to Ace's head, warm body soon stilling as he goes to sleep. Narcoleptic little idiot. Ace smiles fondly and veers around the island, trying to find a secluded place to tie up Striker. The island itself is quite large, and covered in different buildings of varying sizes. On one rock-covered beach near a small lagoon, a group of children play and wave to Ace when he passes them. None of this feels real.
Soon, Ace finds an abandoned, dilapidated pier around to the south side of the island and drags himself and his speedboat onto the rough wood. It feels suspiciously unsteady under his feet but it's land – sweet, sweet northern land. Depositing Striker on the cold rocks, Ace stretches his stiff muscles and slips his (somehow still surviving) striped bag over his shoulder. Pidge is still asleep, breathing softly into the hollow behind Ace's ear, and Ace tugs at his scarf.
He knows he doesn't really need it anymore, but it's a force of habit, Ace muses as he starts to trek through the dense foliage towards the area where he saw buildings. People here don't really care here if you have a Mark. At all. It's incredibly disconcerting. Realising that he's trying to distract himself from the meeting that's evidently due to occur soon, Ace shakes his head and pushes on, nettles and thorns catching on his shins.
The forest is tranquil and still, and the ground feels like it's moving beneath his feet. It's a side-effect of spending long lengths of time at sea that Ace has grown pretty used to. Moving silently through the trees, the fourteen (near fifteen) year old glances down at his hands, still taken aback slightly by their soft callouses and thick, sailor-birthed tan. Do Sabo's hands look like his do now? Do Luffy's, even?
Breaking out of the treeline after a few minutes of walking, Ace emerges onto a wide, grassy field. At first glance it's empty, but Ace clings to the shadows nonetheless, instinct driving him to be wary of this place. Walking on, the teen soon emerges into what looks like a town – white, clinical-looking buildings stand in rows just beyond a long barbed-wire fence. Just as Ace is contemplating how he's supposed to get over, a man with auburn hair emerges from the treeline a few metres over and shoots Ace a look of abject horror.
"What the hell are you doing there?! Get away, that's the quarantined area!" The man darts forward and pulls Ace away from the fence, not stopping until they're a good fifty metres away, before rounding on him with a glare. "Why did you get so close? You know that there are regulations to stop-"
Suddenly, the man notices the bird on Ace's head. He does a double-take, before looking Ace up and down, taking in his ragged appearance with wide eyes.
Abruptly bursting into laughter, the strange man slings an arm around Ace's shoulder. "Maaah, sorry about that! I didn't realise that you were new. I'm Thatch!"
"I-I'm Ace," Ace stutters. There are a thousand questions flying through his mind. Eventually, he settles on, "There's a quarantine area?"
"Oh, yeah. Well on an island near here there's a bit of an epidemic going around." As the man talks, he pulls Ace through the forest, arm still around his shoulders. "We didn't think it was a big deal 'till people started dying, so we jumped in and got everybody off the island and now we're trying to heal them."
"Wait, seriously?" Not even Blackbeard, not even the government, would do something like that. They'd leave the islanders to die. "You're helping them?"
Thatch shoots him a strange look. "Of course we are. Where're you from, kid?"
Ace lowers his head slightly. "Edgetown, in the east." He can hear Thatch's sharp intake of breath clearly.
"There were no survivors…" The man sounds more curious than mistrusting. "At least, that's what we were told. How did you get out?"
A familiar mistrust paws at Ace's heart but he pushes it down. He's been holding everything in for too long. If this man is a part of the force he's planning to join, then he has to trust him with at least this. "The military mistook my little brother for a criminal and took him away about a year ago. Me and my other brother left to try to find him – he joined the military undercover to try and find him, and I travelled north to find- well, you guys, I guess. A few months later, Edgetown was gone."
"Must've been tough," Thatch observes. There's no pity in his voice, just empathy. It's strangely refreshing. "How old are you, kid?"
"Nearly fifteen," answers Ace, wincing at how juvenile he sounds. "Do you accept people so young?"
Thatch starts. "Wait, you actually want to join?!"
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Ace says, "Of course I do. Why else would I have come?"
"To get our help?" Thatch frowns. "There's no official age limit, but you are really young… Let's just see what Marco says, okay?"
"Marco?" Ace stumbles over a root and lurches forward, Pidge falling into his arms with a small squawk. Resituating him on his shoulder, Ace runs to catch up with Thatch, who is waiting a few feet ahead. Now that he has time to properly look at the man, Ace can see that he's wearing an outfit not dissimilar to that of a chef, and his auburn hair is styled into a ridiculous, though slightly impressive, pompadour. He has the overall look of a friendly, if slightly childish, man in his late twenties or early thirties. If he was a little older, maybe Ace would have his reservations (Ace has never really trusted the older ones), but Thatch is probably only ten years or so out of his teens himself, so Ace doesn't feel so on-edge.
"He's one of our Gift users. Technically my superior, but let's ignore that. He's officially second-in-command of this whole joint, but let's ignore that too. He's just a pineapple to us," Thatch rambles. "That bird you've got there is one of his."
"He's a bird Zoan?" Ace asks, footsteps starting to steady on the uneven ground.
"Phoenix, to be exact," corrects Thatch absentmindedly. "We're here." A few seconds later, he and Ace emerge from the treeline and the teen suddenly wishes that he had five more pairs of eyes just to take everything in.
A sea of vibrant, smiling people line the street. Most of them have hair the colour of autumn leaves, as is usual in the North, but Ace can see a good few blondes and a couple with every hair colour in between. Down the street, a group of older teens wearing distinctive leather-collared jackets with the Revolutionary insignia covering the pockets wave to Thatch merrily, shooting Ace curious looks. Thatch pauses to talk to everybody he passes, seeming to know every person on the whole island, and at least three or four people shoot Ace strange looks when they notice Pidge on his shoulder. Ace guesses that it's because they know that he's been lead here by the small bird, and they're wondering what prompted him to seek them out in the first place.
The shops that line the pedestrianized road are lively and bustling, and the revolutionary flag is everywhere – it flies from windows and people wear badges holding the crest proudly. Unlike what Ace has seen the government do, however, these people don't look forced. They wear the mark so proudly that it becomes a part of who they are, something that everybody wears. It binds them together as on unstoppable unit and Ace finds that he's eager to start wearing that mark too.
Sadly, as soon as the street appeared, it's gone. Thatch tugs Ace through the crowds and into a sidestreet, before pulling him through sheltered alleys and down quiet walkways. Soon, they arrive at a large, homely looking building that's honestly far from what Ace would have expected from the headquarters of the Revolutionary Army. It looks more like a huge, well-loved inn than the central powerhouse of an international crime syndicate.
Thatch bypasses the two guards at the large double-doors with a cheeky grin and a wink, letting his arm reacquaint itself with Ace's shoulders again, and they roll their eyes at him. When they enter and Ace's eyes adjust to the gloom, they go wide, trying to take in even more than before. The entrance room has a huge domed ceiling, which is strung with the most haphazard-looking, scruffy decorations Ace has ever seen. Cloths are draped across the walls, flags from countries and cities and tribes from all over the world, and one wall to their right in dedicated entirely to row after row after row of wanted posters.
There are dozens of tables dotted around, ranging from half a foot off the floor, to high up and surrounded by stools, to round and smothered in maps and papers. The room has a strange mix of a 'hard work' vibe and a 'fuck off, I'm going to sleep' vibe. On half of the tables, men and women laugh and eat merrily, singing and draping themselves over the mismatched furniture. On the other half, Revolutionaries slave over maps and complicated-looking diagrams. It's a mash of feelings and hyperactivity and Ace loves it.
"Like it?" Thatch asks, amused, and Ace realises that he's been staring around for at least a few minutes.
Blushing, the boy says, "Yeah. These are your headquarters?"
"Mm-hm." Ushering Ace through the maze of tables, Thatch starts to lead the fourteen-year old towards a door at the back of the room. "It's a little manic, but you get used to it. We have an outpost base in the west that's ten times more crazy than this."
Shuddering at the thought (Ac e can't imagine anything crazier than this), the black-haired boy allows himself to be pulled along, accidentally bumping into a man arm-wrestling with a redheaded woman as he passes. Hurrying an apology, Ace is shocked – not unpleasantly so – when the man waves him off with a tipsy grin and says, "No problem, kid." The people are so laid back it should be illegal.
Reaching the doors, Ace finds that the world beyond them is yet again different from the entrance room. Thatch leads him down a long, cold corridor, the nearly worn-away soles of Ace's shoes letting the cold seep into his feet. He shivers, but the walk doesn't last long; soon, the pair stop outside an unassuming-looking door and Thatch knocks out a little tune on the wood. "Marco? Monsieur Pina-pelle? You alive?"
"Come in," floats a tired voice from inside the room. Thatch pushes open the door, shoving Ace inside, and the boy is met with the sight of a tall, muscular blond with very blue eyes, looking immensely exhausted and half-buried under paperwork. Upon catching sight of Ace, he raises an eyebrow. "Thatch, yoi. Who is this?"
"This is Ace." The redhead gestures to the phoenix on Ace's shoulder. "As you can probably tell, he wanted to come find us." A meaningful look, that Ace doesn't miss. "As in, come find us and join us."
Marco considers Ace for a second, before waving Thatch out of the room with a flick of his wrist. Motioning for Ace to sit at the other side of his desk, Marco folds his hands under his chin and looks the teen up and down. Ace suddenly has the disconcerting feeling that he's being x-rayed.
"Where are you from, kid?" That seems to be a common question here. These are people who don't shy away from everything to do with the past.
Ace meets his eyes, feeling his apprehension slip away. "Edgetown, in the east," he says carefully.
If Marco is at all surprised, he doesn't show it. "Interesting," he says mildly. "Why do you want to become a revolutionary, Ace, yoi?"
"So I can change the system that took my brothers from me, and save my sea of origin," Ace says after a moment of thinking. "So I can change things."
Marco continues to look at him but for a second, it's like he's seeing a different person. Eventually, he says, "That's quite a dream, yoi. Alright, kid, sure. But first-" He cuts Ace off. "Infirmary. The nurses are going to have a fit; you're half-starved."
Thanking Marco hurriedly, Ace allows himself to be lead down a few more corridors, still barely able to believe that this is actually happening. He's a revolutionary. He's done it. Sabo is cheering madly from the other end of the bond, praising Marco to high heaven, but Ace just feels numb. Slowly, a smile spreads across his face.
"Thanks, Marco," he mutters. Even though it's just under his breath, he has a feeling that Marco can hear him.
The nurses do indeed have a fit when they arrive, pushing Ace into a bed and shoving ten types of test and injection onto him at once. Naturally, his body isn't in the best state right now. It's been a long, long year, and Ace has never lived in much comfort anyway. The accumulated stress has made him far weaker and far more brittle than Ace would like – but the nurses are kind, and they don't seem to pin anything on him at all.
Marco stays there throughout the checkup, even when the nurses tell him he can leave. There's something about him – Ace doesn't know what – that makes him seem both comforting and intimidating at the same time. Ace hasn't even seen him fight and he knows; he wants to be stronger than this man. For now, though, he'll settle for allowing the revolutionary medical staff to fuss over him and prod him and stuff food down his throat.
Sabo is still ecstatic. What's it like there? Have you met the leader?! Who-
Slow down, Sabo! No, I haven't met the leader, and as for how it is… Ace struggles to find the right words. It's insane. Completely insane. Everybody here is insane.
And you love it? Sabo guesses.
And I love it, Ace repeats.
"So, how's the new kid?"
Ace holds his breath from his hiding spot, trying hard not to make a sound. They're talking about him. It's been a few hours since he arrived and even though the nurses have him down for full bed rest, he couldn't help but sneak out after darkness fell and creep into the first room again. Now he's hiding in a gap between the wall and a table, listening in on the conversation at the table where Marco, Thatch and a couple of others are having a conversation. Pidge is curled up into a ball on the floor beside him.
The teen listens hard, straining his ears, and hears Marco give a sigh. The conversation around the table quietens slightly.
"He's scared, yoi. I mean, he was damn strong to get all the way here on his own – but at the end of the day, the kid's fourteen years old. He's mistrustful to the n'th degree and he's from the East, so he's probably seen some-"
"Wait, he's from the East?" Another voice chips in, male and friendly. He sounds…concerned? "Seriously? He followed one of your birds all the way from the East on his own?" A pause. Then, the man gives a low whistle. "Damn. That's some serious determination."
Another voice chips in, with a soothing accent that makes Ace subconsciously relax. "Still – if he's from there, it's no wonder he'd want to join us."
There's a dark silence, and Ace closes his eyes, not quite sure what to think. It's only starting to hit him now just how hard the last few months have been on his body. A year ago, he wouldn't have been able to fit into this alcove – damn; he has lost quite a bit of weight now that he thinks about it (the nurses were right). As well as that, his black hair is slightly sun-bleached from a year of travelling with virtually no shelter, and it's rough to the touch. He really does look like shit.
"So are you letting him join? Did'ja ask him the question?" This voice is older and deeper, with a distinctive lilt.
"Yeah, I did, yoi. He said it's 'cause he wants so take down the system that took his brothers, and save the Eastern Seas. Pretty ambitious brat, isn't he?"
"Ah, I actually know the story behind that," Thatch speaks up. "He had to separate from his brothers because one got taken by the government, and now the other one is going undercover in the marines down south. Ace doesn't know for sure that the youngest one is dead, but…" He trails off.
"He probably is," Marco finishes. Something stabs at Ace's heart at the dull confirmation, but he tries to ignore it in favour of listening on. "Well, that doesn't sound like the best childhood in the world, yoi. Which island is he from?"
Thatch whispers something which Ace can't make out, and Marco sighs heavily. The mood at the table has suddenly gotten a lot more sombre. "I see, yoi," says Marco quietly.
Somebody yawns, breaking the tense atmosphere, and says, "I'm gonna conk. Night, all." A chair scrapes back from the table, then another as somebody else leaves, and soon only Marco and a man in a kimono remain.
"You're stressed," the other man observes.
Marco sighs, slumping slightly across the table. "Things aren't getting any easier over this end. You know what the government are resorting to. If they're bombing the East just to get it out of Teach's hands, the same is due to happen to this place too. They hate us far, far more than they hate him, yoi." The man drops his head into his hands, running his fingers through his strangely styled hair. "It's at times like these that I remember why we're fighting them. When we have kids asking to join a war to get back their families, half-starved kids who had their homes blown up and their brothers killed. What the hell did Ace even do to deserve that, yoi?"
"Don't get too attached, Marco," the other says quietly. "He's only a kid. Even if he does remind you of yourself."
Marco gives a heavy sigh, looking younger than he is for a minute, before he stands and rubs his tired eyes. "I'm going to check on the kid, then head to bed," he announces. "See you, Izo."
Realising that he has to get back to the infirmary before Marco gets there, Ace takes off, hoping that the man loiters. His mind spins with new information and one thing is clear; he isn't the only one with secrets.
Ace has only just thrown himself under the covers and rolled over when the door to the infirmary opens behind him and somebody steps in, stealthy on silent feet. Marco. The man sits in the chair beside Ace's bed, on the side opposite the direction he's facing, and is silent for a good few minutes. Ace feels his eyes starting to droop and closes them for a few seconds, but when he opens them again, the clock has moved forward by just under an hour and Marco is talking.
"-about fourteen, yeah, Oyaji. I mean, he's tuckered out right now, but he must have been strong to get here at all. Something tells me he's marked, too, yoi."
"What makes you think that?" The deep, rumbling voice is slightly muffled, as if it's being played from a recording.
"Well, for one thing, he refuses to take his scarf off. Sort of like I used to when I first met you guys. He's just secretive all-round, really."
There's a pause, before the older man says, "Is there anything else?"
"Well, there is one thing… He summoned one of my daemons while he was travelling, and you know I always despawn them once the people they brought arrive?" The older man gives a noise of agreement. "Well, this one refuses to despawn. And I have no idea why. It seems really attached to him."
A hum rumbles through the room. "Just leave it there for now, and see what happens. We at least want our newest member to have somebody to trust, and if your daemon is a friend to him, then that's good enough."
"Thanks, dad," says Marco quietly, before there's a click and the sound of crackling recording goes silent. Closing his eyes and continuing to pretend to sleep, Ace lets himself slip back into his thoughts. He has a full stomach for the first time in weeks, bandages that aren't stolen and aren't full of infection, and his sun-bleached hair has been scrubbed with real freshwater instead of coarse, salty seawater. It's still hard to believe that any of this is real.
Marco stands and stretches, and Ace thinks for a second that he's going to leave. All he does is wander over to the window, however, humming a tuneless melody in the back of his throat. Peaking at him out of squinted eyes, it suddenly hits Ace just who Marco reminds him of so much. Wavy blonde hair, lightly tanned skin, startlingly blue eyes. Sabo. He must be a westerner too.
On the bed beside him, Pidge shivers and burrows himself deeper into Ace's side. Smiling slightly, Ace wraps his arms around the bird and pulls the covers over his head. Marco was right. At least he does have a friend.
When Ace wakes next, it's to terror and panicked breaths. Nightmare. The people of Loguetown are burning around him, blistering and turning into screeching monstrosities that claw at his legs with the voices of children, and when Ace tries to get away, the arms of the men from Kaira hold him down and tear at his skin. Then, he's tangled in his blankets and panting, a scream on his lips that never escapes. It's still dark outside.
Marco jerks awake, disorientated for a second before he catches sight of Ace and jumps into action. "Where does it hurt?" He moves with calculated, careful movements, acting like Ace is a wild animal that he doesn't want to startle.
"Just a nightmare," Ace gasps, "I'm fine. I'm fine." His heartbeat refuses to calm, and images still flash before his eyes.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Marco grabs Ace's wrist lightly and applies a little pressure with his nail. The light pain is enough to focus Ace's mind, and he breathes along with Marco to help calm himself. In. Out. In. Out. He's okay. He's okay.
"You okay?" Marco asks quietly.
"I saw Loguetown," Ace says in a rush. "I tried to get the people out, I did, but there were too many of them and I managed to grab onto the pier but they all- Marco…!"
"You're here, in revolutionary headquarters. You made it." Marco keeps his voice perfectly level, arms slightly open just in case Ace feels the need for that kind of comfort but not pushing anything. Ace wonders, in a passing thought, if this is what it's like to have an older brother. "All of that is over now. It's over."
With a strangled gasp, Ace throws himself at Marco. On any other day, in any other circumstance, he wouldn't be caught dead sobbing all over a complete stranger. Portgas D. Ace is self-reliant. He comforts his brothers. He takes care of himself. But with the images still flashing through his mind, Ace finds that he can't make himself do anything else. Marco returns the hug warmly, arms wrapping around Ace firmly, and Pidge squeezes his way in between them to nestle Ace's stomach.
When Ace's sobs tail out, Marco waits for him to pull away. Face flushed, shouting at himself internally for being such a baby, Ace wipes his eyes. "Sorry about that," he mutters.
"No problem," replies Marco calmly, "You're not the only one who gets nightmares. I'm the commander of the whole Revolutionary Army. It's my job to take care of everybody here, and that includes you. Until you're healed up and you start training, would you like me to stay here?" He speaks in a business-like tone, as if this is no big deal and it's just a part of his job, and Ace is infinitely thankful.
The teen wants to say no but his mouth forms a 'yes' before he can stop it.
Marco nods in approval, shooting Ace one of the only smiles he's seen on his face that isn't a smirk. "Then I will. Now, how about you try to get a bit more sleep? Me and your friend," -he points to Pidge- "Will both be here when you wake up."
Nodding, Ace rolls over and scrubs his hand over his face again. Once he starts training, Ace can't let himself be weak; for now, though, he has a compassionate stranger who's willing to take his weakness without complaint. It isn't so bad, after all, to be a child for a while.
Thanks for reading! As always, reviews are appreciated and Ily
Review repliesss!
Guest who said it was cool that I brought back Law: thanks! And yep, it was obviously going to. I just love hurting my freckley kid
zoewinter1: yep, pretty ironic :P and im sorry about the argument! It wont happen again (much) in the future, I promise. And thank you for reviewing! They keep me going :D