Hey everyone!
Here's the next chapter for Bleeding through the Seams! (Well, duh, considering you're here.)
First and foremost, thank you for the reviews, for the favourites and follows. You guys are amazing. I've said it before and I shall say it again.
This chapter is slightly longer than usual, but it has quite a few scenes with my OC (Henry) so I hope that's fine with all of you. (I don't particularly like OCs myself.) But, from next chapter onwards, there shouldn't be anymore.
Special dedication to Lifeless Heartless (you'll hear from me soon!) and to all of you too because your reviews made me happy.
Also, just a note, I have received a few reviews where I've been asked if I had studied psychology or whatnot. I must reiterate that, no, I have not studied psychology. This reminds me that I have forgotten to put up the warnings that I had for most of the chapters. So here it is.
WARNING:
Please read this before you go on to the story. I do not personally know anyone who has ever suffered from depression before. Any information on depression I used is from my own research on the Internet. If I wrote or will write anything that doesn't reflect or represent depression correctly, I'm truly sorry. I do not seek to offend. If you have any issues, please PM me or something and let me know so I can make the necessary changes. Thank you.
SECOND WARNING:
Yes, this fic is about a depressed Ace. I am NOT, by any means, advocating that his actions are correct or advisable. If you are depressed and I can help in any way, I'm here. BUT please do NOT take anything from this fic as a piece of advice. Ace is behaving the way he is because he is depressed. Marco, Thatch, Izo and all the rest because they are clueless on how to handle it. Please be forewarned that I am no expert on the subject.
And, third warning:
This chapter may contain sexual references between two people of the same gender. It's nothing horrific. Just a terrible misunderstanding.
Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.
I'll find you somewhere
I'll keep on trying until my dying day
- Somewhere by Within Temptation
The silence was broken by Thatch marching resolutely towards the door. His blue eyes still frozen on the scattered remains of the flowers and bedsheets, Marco's arm snapped up and grabbed at the fourth commander's arm before he could get past.
Thatch spared him a cold stare. "We need to tell Oyaji."
"No." Marco's grip on the man's arm tightened. "No," he repeated.
"Can someone," Jozu interjected loudly, "tell me what the hell is going on?"
With a growl, Thatch rounded on his shipbrother, appearing unconcerned with the other's almost bewildered look. "Shut your mouth," he snapped. "None of us have the time for this!"
At this, Marco dragged his gaze away from the mess to look at one of his closest, if not best, friends. Thatch's hands were balled into fists, shaky, and his shoulders rigid and back straight. And his eyes, dark and shadowed, were aflame with a fury the phoenix had not seen in a long time. Beside him, Jozu looked stunned.
Marco touched the fourth commander's shoulder with his free hand, clasping it gently, though this was in stark contrast with the fierceness that burned in his cerulean eyes as he held the other's gaze. When Thatch remained quiet, he spoke to Jozu: "Jozu, unless the ship is sinking, get Izo here. Now." He felt the muscles beneath his hands tremble. "Don't let anyone know and don't do anything until I get back to you."
Jozu's lips thinned, his eyebrows pulling into a frown. He took a step forward, hesitant. "Marco-"
The said pirate interrupted – harshly, "That's an order."
The broad-shouldered man's eyes hardened. "I will have my answers when this is over." Without another word, he turned and left the two pirates in the fire-user's quarters.
The door slammed.
At the ensuing silence, Marco returned his full attention back to his remaining brother, whose frame was breaking out into stronger shudders, his gaze wide-eyed and focused on something on the floor. Brief concern flitted through the older man but he shoved it away, already feeling the beginnings of a headache pounding in his head. Ace was gone. He barely stopped his own breath from hitching. His youngest brother had left them.
"I…" Thatch suddenly began. He clenched his teeth.
"Thatch. You need to calm down."
Dark eyes immediately flared in anger. Strong arms knocked his grip on the fourth commander off and a hand shoved him two steps back. Marco fell silent, inwardly stunned at the erratic display of self-righteous ire, by Thatch no less. His brother rarely lost control like this. No, he thought. He had expected, of all people, Thatch to be the one to be most composed and optimistic. Apart from himself, though he was known for his general outward disinterest.
"He's fucking gone, Marco!" Thatch was shouting.
"Thatch-"
The pompadour-haired man pointed at the dying torn flowers violently. "How the fuck am I supposed to calm down?!"
"By figuring out how to get him back," Marco said flatly. He levelled cold, blue eyes on his friend. "You're not doing anyone – or Ace, for that matter – any favours by behaving like a common tramp."
There was an inhaled breath and the phoenix braced himself for another outburst (coming from Thatch, that was huge). True to his fears, the other pirate flushed, a bright crimson shooting up his neck and painting his features an angry red. His hand shot out and slammed into the wooden panel where the mirror should have been.
Swearing under his breath, the chef pulled his fist back and aimed for the same spot again, muttering under his breath. He breathed heavily.
Marco eyed him carefully and, when the other fell silent, he came forward and began to pry the bruised knuckles from the dented surface. His thumb brushed against the harsh line of skin.
"Are you calm now?"
Thatch answered after a moment, "Yeah." He pulled away from the blonde's touch. "Sorry you had to see that." He walked towards the lone bed and fell on it, the mattress giving under his weight.
Marco shrugged and joined him. "It's nothing I've never seen before. I just hadn't expected to see it today."
The chef snorted. "Like how you didn't expect our littlest brother to take off like that?" He gestured to the room.
Marco raised an eyebrow at the term 'littlest'. He remembered Thatch happily adding the admittedly childish term to Ace's status on the ship, even before the teen had accepted his position as a member of the Whitebeards.
"Hey! There's our littlest brother!"
"Ace! ACE! Come on, don't be shy. Don't you know being the littlest has its privileges?"
"Ah, the littlest one has come. Missed us, Ace?"
"OW! What was that for? You are so lucky you're the littlest. I wouldn't have-ow ow OW!"
"But he is the littlest!"
Oh the man had gotten on Ace's nerves. A small smile curled at the corners of his lips at the memory of Ace turning a scarlet red whenever he was deemed as the 'littlest'. The kid hated being treated like a child. Thatch had always ended up with his butt soundly kicked, often with the help of several commanders the teen had managed to rope in in his quest to teach the 'bastard a right lesson'. Well, Thatch hadn't been lying. There were indeed perks to being the youngest in the largest crew of pirates.
"Lucky for us your outbursts are short and swift," Marco said dryly. He elbowed the pirate next to him, unable to stop the small smirk.
Thatch glared at him but didn't return the nudge.
"So what was that about?"
"What?"
Marco raised an eyebrow and jerked his head towards the abused wall. "I understand that you're upset, but not enough to take it out on your brothers or even on inanimate objects."
Thatch exhaled noisily. His head turned away and Marco thought he could spot a hint of red dotting the other's cheeks.
The chef finally said softly, "I just…do you know what happened when I saw him last, Marco?" He didn't wait for a response. "Last I saw him Jozu had decked his head with a glass bottle."
"It was just a group of drunk idiots who weren't thinking, Ace. It's not a big deal."
A flash of hurt and wounded pride. "I know, Thatch. Am I child to you?" The fire-user turned away. "If there's nothing else, I have duties to attend to."
The fourth commander sighed and turned a look of reproach on the blonde. "What if that was the turning point?" he asked, as if in desperation. "He had a breakdown right after with Izo and then left us. I should have stopped the damn glass. Or went after him when he walked away. Damn it!" The same anger that lit up his eyes earlier on burned anew. His fists clenched on the fabric of his pants. "I should never have let him walk away."
Marco blinked. So that was it. Anger with himself. Of all the stupid things, Thatch thought he was at fault? Or maybe, a sinister part of him whispered, all of them had contributed to driving their brother away. He sighed. "You're being stupid."
Thatch scoffed and shrugged. "You said we shouldn't go to Oyaji," he reminded.
Marco nodded, not at all put off by the change in subject. There was nothing else to be said. "As the first commander, my head is telling me we should go straight to Oyaji. One of our brothers have left and no one knows why. He could have been kidnapped, could have fallen off the ship and drowned, or could have been against us from the very beginning."
Thatch looked insulted but kept quiet at the phoenix's quelling glare.
Marco paused, almost hesitant, but ploughed on after another glance at the clutter at his feet. "As a...brother, my instinct is ordering me to keep it from Oyaji. Oyaji will throw a fit and heaven knows how many years of cleaning duty he'd assign us with, but remember what Izo said? What we had discussed?" His forehead creased. "For some reason, Ace is upset. With me, with whomever… He's no longer happy with his life here. That's the only reason he'd leave."
"To be unhappy enough that he had to go without even telling us?"
Without telling us goodbye?
Marco heard the unspoken words anyway. "Perhaps," he reluctantly admitted. "Even so, he's gone now. With the state of his mind, I'm afraid he might…not want to come back." He heard a breath hitch. "Whatever it is, I'm not going to risk the slightest chance of pushing him further away. We need to pull him back, not prove to him that we aren't worth it.
"Whatever is happening, we have to get to the bottom of this," Marco went on fiercely, a fire that had nothing to do with his devil fruit ability flaring through his being. He locked his gaze with Thatch's. "We are going to go after him, Thatch. We are going to find him, wherever he is, and we are going to find out what the fuck is going through that teenage-addled brain of his. And when we're saddled with whatever punishment Oyaji deems fit, that brat is going to be there, complaining for all it's worth. Do you get me?"
"And…" Thatch trailed off. "If he doesn't want to return?"
Marco closed his eyes. "He's marked, Thatch," he said quietly.
"I guess it's good I know his size, huh? Considering I had been the one to dry out his clothes all the time," Thatch mumbles into his hands. Shaking himself out of it, the chef got to his feet and moved to the door. "I'll go get a few clean pairs, you know," – he looked away – "just in case."
"Get one of maps too. It's in my room, first drawer to the right on my side table. I need to be here when Izo arrives."
"Yeah, got it."
Lost in the darkness
Hoping for a sign
Instead, there is only silence
Can't you hear my screams?
To say he had a headache was a huge understatement.
Ace stumbled over himself, silently bemoaning his stupid choice to get drunk, of all things, when he was alone- oh wait, he wasn't alone. He was with Henry, he thought. Yet, he could have been alone for all the swirling colours around him. It felt as if a tiny demon was treating the insides of his head like its personal playground, if the pounding in his head was any indication. Wasn't the whole drink-induced sickness supposed to come in the morning?
"Ace?"
"Huh?" Ace muttered under his breath even as he whirled around to catch whoever had called out his name, though only succeeding at falling on his butt. His grey eyes shifted wildly about him. There's no one there.
"Ace. You shouldn't drink so much."
The same grey eyes widened a fraction. That was…his voice. He squinted into the darkness, the whites, blacks and greys blending together into a mess of near monochromatic colours. He shook his head and immediately regretted it. His stomach churned and he only barely made it to the foot of the building next to him as he emptied the contents of his stomach. How – when – had he gotten this drunk?
"You're lightweight. You know that, we know that."
Great. Now he was hearing voices. Something cold ruffled at his hair and he froze.
"So don't get drunk, Ace. Especially if we aren't there with you."
Ace's lips began to tremble. A streak of longing reared up inside him and he clutched at his head, silently rocking back and forth. A desperation quite unlike his usual bouts of insane mood swings tugged at his heart and the teen felt almost the instinct to cry out for something, anything, to make things right again.
There were light footsteps behind him and a part of his brain warned him of someone - or more – guffawing from behind him but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was pathetic. Yes, he was. Which pirate were brought down to their knees in a fit of despair after a few measly drinks? What the fuck was wrong with him?
"Hey! Get away from him!" A gun rang out and the footsteps scattered, left one that was approaching him from his left.
A hand touched his shoulder and he would have gone up in flames had he not heard the exasperated, yet soothing, voice of the limb's owner.
"Are you okay, Fire Fist?" Henry peered at him through his bangs. "We should get going, before the more rowdy of pirates leave."
Ace watched quietly as the bartender holstered his gun back into a hidden pocket. He shot the man a questioning look. Henry shrugged.
"The town may be isolated from the world, but for some reason, pirates love to come here. It's good to be prepared." He pinned the fire-user with a hard look, appraising the latter's curled up form on the ground. He held out a hand and Ace took it, only to slump against the taller man, his breath hot and heavy. He felt the brunette tense.
The bartender sighed. "I did warn you not to drink so much." Adjusting his grip on the wasted pirate, he pulled them in the direction of his home, making sure to keep the teen as awake as much as he could. By the time they entered the house in what seemed like an eternity later, Ace was close to passing out.
Was this what it felt like to be drunk? Why did people enjoy it so damn much? Ace let out a giggle and he gasped, horrified at himself. Men do not giggle! Then again, his lovely grandfather had the scary tendency to giggle. Maybe he was drunk when he did..? No, no. His grandfather was crazy. It was as simple as that. The world suddenly tilted beneath him as strong hands pushed him onto his back. He tried to swipe the hands away.
"G'way…" he grumbled, blinking at the strange shadow above him. He heard a soft chuckle before the same hands gently thumbed across his shoulders to press him against the mattress. He belatedly thought that it was softer than his was back at the Moby Dick.
The warm touch left and he feebly protested, having appreciated the small dotted areas of heat, while his back felt so cold. He shivered when he felt someone removing his combat boots. He tried to kick the idiot away – he could take off his own damn boots, but why did he have to take them off in the first place? – but a slap to his knees and a harsh reprimand stopped his struggles. A thump later and he absent-mindedly wondered if the brunette had thrown it out the window. He frowned. It would get wet if it rained.
"Hen-ry?" he mumbled when there was nothing for a while.
A finger suddenly pressed against his lips and he quieted. Unfamiliar fingers carded through his hair then and Ace managed to catch a hint of dark eyes and a soft smile. He gasped as his hair was yanked back roughly.
"Hush now, Ace. It's time to sleep."
Wherever you are, I won't stop searching
Whatever it takes, I need to know
Thatch came back to the room to find Marco and Izo arguing loudly in Ace's quarters, only falling silent when he stepped into the room.
"A problem?"
Izo scowled at him and pointed at the blonde. "He says we aren't to go to Oyaji. Tell him he's wrong," he demanded.
For his part, Marco only looked weary. "I told you," he said, voice strained, "that I've gone through this with Thatch. We're going after the brat. Your only choice is to help us or stay out of it."
Izo glowered at him, not budging an inch. "This isn't about you, Marco! You don't have the right to go about making decisions like that!"
"I'm the first commander."
"Your authority doesn't precede Oyaji's!"
Thatch clicked his tongue. Izo had a point there.
Marco didn't miss a beat. "I don't go through everything with Oyaji."
"Only if the issue is something we can sweep under our feet!" Izo shouted. "Or does Ace's disappearance mean nothing to you?"
Marco narrowed his eyes. He snapped, "You can think that way if you want, Izo. But this is my decision and I'm not changing it."
"And what," the kimono-clad pirate said quietly, "makes you think I won't go to Oyaji anyway?"
At this, Thatch decided enough was enough. He glanced at the clock; they were losing enough time as it was. By Jozu's estimation, Ace must have left by the morning. It was by no means a great feat hunting someone down. If they wanted, they could have their intelligence teams track Ace's position within less than an hour but that would mean giving away the knowledge that Ace had run away.
"Go ahead and report it to Oyaji then," Thatch said from his position at the door. "Do it or not, Marco and I are still doing this."
Marco looked surprised and Izo simply looked torn between spluttering and tearing at his hair in frustration.
"You agree with him?" he asked in disbelief.
Thatch shrugged. "He's not first commander for nothing. Just know that, whatever Oyaji decides to do, if it clashes or interferes with our plans, we won't be the ones answering for it." At Izo's surprised and hurt look, the chef softened. "This is Ace, Izo," he said, unwavering, as if that name was reason enough.
Izo gritted his teeth and hung his head, and both Thatch and Marco knew they had made peace with him for the moment.
Marco clasped him on the back as a silent 'thank you' before he turned to the fourth commander. "You have the map?"
Thatch nodded. "I know where he is. We only passed by one island the whole of today and yesterday. Before and beyond that, there's no other nearby land for him to get to before running out of food." He dumped the bag on the bed and rolled out the map. "Besides, I doubt he's too out of it to risk staying on the waters for too long. Goodness knows how the weather is like here."
He only hoped they could get back in time.
Living in agony cause I just do not know
In the end, it was decided that only Marco and Thatch would head over to the island. Izo would remain on the Moby Dick to stave off any questions pertaining to the whereabouts of two of their commanders and youngest brother.
The weather was still pretty bad for them to take out a small boat, if the six going on ten metre waves were any indication. Besides which, they would have to seek permission from their father to take a boat out. Even if they were to pretend they had to head to town for something, both pirates knew their father and captain would never let them go while the storm was still going strong. Whitebeard was also smart enough to immediately catch on to the hidden purpose of their request; which seasoned seafarer would risk going to town for something as measly as food supply when they had enough stock on deck?
Thatch had packed clothes, some beri and a map of the island and surrounding waters into a small haversack. By unspoken agreement, he was allowed to use a rope to tie one end to his right wrist and the other to Marco's leg in the off chance they fell into the water. It wouldn't do to be unable to save his older brother because the rough waters tore them apart, after all.
"You ready?"
He looked up to see Marco staring at him. He smirked. "No need to look so grim, commander."
Marco rolled his eyes. Both of them were on the crow's nest to the back of the ship. The sky was tar-black, the clouds streaking across the sky. There was a shrieking, almost keening, sound that grated at their eyes as the wind slapped at their faces. They hadn't been out for longer than two minutes and already they were both soaked to the skin. Marco watched in concern as Thatch stumbled to grip at the sides of the crow's nest, his frame shivering slightly.
He glanced beneath them. Their men were running about, hollering commands and acknowledged responses. To the side, he froze as Namur hurled Haruta onto the deck before disappearing beneath the waves again. Shit. The storm's that bad.
"They can handle it." He turned back to Thatch, who was now mirroring his own grave expression.
Marco breathed in and let it out. "You're right."
Transforming into the form of his phoenix, he bared his back for Thatch to hop on, feeling the man's fingers dig into his back as the pirate made himself comfortable. It was going to be a long journey, perhaps a few hours, considering they had moved from their morning position and even then they had been quite a fair bit of distance away from the island.
Two pats on his head and he took off, hoping no one would take notice. For a moment, his form sank, jerking him into flapping his wings harder as he strove to get used to the weight on his back. Marco was no weakling, but heck if he was used to flying on his own. A few strokes later and he was gliding over the sea.
Ace.
He hoped- no, knew his family on the Moby Dick would be okay. They were the Whitebeards, after all. They were not so weak they couldn't take on a mere storm.
You are in so much trouble when I'm done with you.
But one thing's for sure
You're always in my heart
For some reason, he knew he couldn't be seen.
He was standing on the bow the ship, almost at the very edges. The morning was a brilliant amber and he could feel the sun on his back, soothingly warm even when against his fire. His hair fell about his face wildly, consequence of the wind that caressed his form. Ace couldn't help a small smile. It was a good morning. A good day.
"Morning, Oyaji!"
Haruta was practically bouncing on her heels as she beamed up at her father. A large grin adorned the much older pirate's face.
Whitebeard laughed loudly. "Someone's excited this morning." He gestured for his tankard to be re-filled.
Marco, who stood off to the side, only shook his head as the nurses protested, only succeeding in eliciting a grumbled dismissal from the captain. "Oyaji," the blonde began, as Ace knew he would. He did so every morning. "Can't you at least lower your alcohol intake? Drink a little less?"
A thin line of fondness warmed the insides of the fire-user when their father only eyed Marco distastefully, as if the phoenix had suggested he cut off his own arms to eat.
"Why would I do that, brat?" Whitebeard laughed that unique laugh of his again at Marco's sullen expression. (He had only twitched an eyebrow, but that was Marco.) "What kind of example would I be if I held back on the beer?"
Marco looked resigned. "Oyaji…"
Sometimes, Ace wondered why he even tried. No one ever won an argument against Oyaji. Heck, with Oyaji, there wasn't even an argument. Marco looked off to the side, though not before giving Whitebeard one last disapproving look.
Thatch appeared then. "Come on, Whitebeards!" he was yelling to the crew. "The storm's over! Get a move on!"
"Where to?" someone hollered back.
"Anywhere with food! We're running out of stock!"
This declaration was met with several shouts of disbelief. Within moments, everyone was moving.
"Hey, wait!" Marco rushed back to the deck. When had he disappeared? "Someone's missing."
Ace tensed. They had found out he was gone. They already knew. Oh shit. Oh no- what was he going to do? Maybe it wasn't- He shut up at the next question.
Whitebeard leaned forward in concern. "Who is it, son?"
Marco frowned. "…Ace?" he said after a moment, as if unsure if he got it right.
Damn it. The teen prepared for his father to explode.
"Ace?" their captain repeated.
Thatch looked surprised. "Ace is missing?"
To Ace's surprise, Whitebeard leaned back on his chair, looking thoughtful. "Do we know why he left?"
Marco shook his head. "No idea."
Ace looked indignant. He left a letter on his bed for them! …hadn't he?
"What should we do, Oyaji?" Marco was asking, and Ace shook himself out of it.
He expected Whitebeard to stop the ship immediately, or perhaps round everyone up to discover where he had gone. To his greatest shock, his father only shrugged.
"There's no point in chasing down a brat who sees no life with us."
Ace gasped. Oyaji? Why was he saying that!? Of course he did! He saw his entire life with the crew, from the moment of his initiation to his last breath, he had envisioned them to be by his side and he theirs!
"That's true," Thatch said thoughtfully, his fingers on his chin. "Well, I guess it's a relief anyway."
Ace felt as if something had reached into his chest, grabbed his heart and tore it out from the confines of his ribcage. Felt as if a spiked shoe had promptly stamped on it before putting it back.
"A great relief," Izo corrected. Soon enough, the pirates around them were agreeing.
"He's been such a pain. Hiding out in his room like a coward. Making those annoying sad expressions. Hell, he treated us as if we upset him every second of the day! Like it's our fault he's so unhappy," Haruta piped up.
Jozu nodded his head in agreement. "I couldn't take his stupid self-pity streak anymore and just had to deck him with a bottle. Didn't expect it to hit his head but guess that woke him up, huh?"
"You decked him with a bottle?"
"A glass bottle."
Someone whistled in approval. "Well done, Jozu!"
Ace looked down at his chest and wasn't in the least surprised to find blood seeping through the gaping hole where his heart should be. It dripped, sliding down his bare skin, drenching his pants before pooling at his feet. He felt numb. This couldn't be happening.
"Is this true, Marco?" Whitebeard asked the silent blonde.
Ace bit his trembling lip, turning his gaze to the first commander. His heart died when Marco agreed.
"It's true, Oyaji. He's been exploding on our brothers as and when he sees fit. He treats us like the plague and no one dares to approach him lest he set them on fire."
"I see." Whitebeard nodded. "You should have told me earlier, son. At least he solved the issue by leaving himself." With that, the pirate laughed, though the sound this time didn't warm the listening teen's insides as it usually would. Instead, his heart would have broken if it wasn't already in pieces.
"Oyaji!" Thatch interrupted. "What about his mark? He can't wear your mark if he's not one of us."
Marco sighed at this. He held up a hand. "It's okay, Oyaji. We'll track him down and remove it before he's gone too far."
The teen gasped, immediately taking a step back, as if that would protect him from them. Quite suddenly, the ship has gone quiet and he realised every single pirate had turned to look at him. He froze. Their gazes were icy and empty. He tried to pull his eyes away but he felt trapped like mice would before the gaping snarl of a snake.
"O-oyaji," he whispered as he inched backwards.
The next thing he knew, he was screaming and falling back into darkness.
I want to embrace you and never let you go
Almost hope you're in heaven so no one can hurt your soul
Living in agony cause I just do not know where you are
Ace jerked into awareness.
His breath came in heavy gasps, his fingers clutching the edges of the worn blanket tightly. His hair stuck to his forehead in clumps and sweat slid down his neck. He could feel his heart pounding and for one insane moment, his fingers snapped to touch at his chest. His heart was beating, he realised with relief. Beating. It couldn't beat if his heart wasn't there, right? It was just a dream. Just a dream, he assured himself. He just had to step out of bed and pretend nothing was wrong. He'd see for himself that his brothers weren't- shit.
He wasn't on the Moby Dick.
He looked around him, his eyes wide. This wasn't…his room. For one thing, his room didn't have rows of wanted posters lining one side of his walls. He didn't have a black wardrobe at the foot of the bed or a dresser, and he was very, very sure he didn't have a huge poster of himself beside his bed.
Something mumbled beside him and he whipped around, only to see someone curling up next to him. Recognising the brown tresses, Ace let out a breath, inhaled and promptly shrieked.
He scrambled off the bed and tumbled to the floor. To his embarrassment – and mounting horror – he realised he was clad only in shorts that ended inches above his knees.
"What?" Henry's sleepy voice came from somewhere on the bed.
"What did you do?!" Ace shouted, pulling the fallen covers over his chest. Confused dark eyes met his. "What did you do!"
"What did I do?" Henry muttered, appearing annoyed at the wake-up call. He quickly held up his hands when one of the teen's hands turned to fire. "I brought you back home. I expected some gratitude but obviously that's beyond you."
Ace flushed. That's what he meant by bringing me home?! He backed away when the brunette moved to get out of bed. "Stay where you are!" he demanded.
Henry's features morphed into anger. "Hey, I saved your life last night. Some pirates were going to have a go at you but I drove them away. I brought you here so you won't have to face that drunk, alone and outside and this is how you're going to treat me under my own roof?"
Ace could only gape at the man. Just how drunk had he been? Marco's words returned to him.
So don't get drunk, Ace. Especially if we aren't there with you.
Well done, Ace, he thought sarcastically. One night away from the Moby Dick and already you've made a mess of yourself. I hope you're proud. Goodness knows your family won't be.
At that thought, something inside him sank. He recalled the nightmare he had, remembered their looks of relief that he was finally gone, and now the only one who was putting up with him was mad. So what if they had...? As long as he was still his friend, that was okay, right? He heard a long, drawn-out sigh as Henry knelt in front of him.
"Look, Fire Fist. I get you might be having the rough morning, what's with the hangover, but let's not argue over nothing, alright?"
Ace peered at him through his bangs. "I just…I didn't expect, I mean…" he trailed off, gesturing to himself and then to Henry, eyes downcast.
"Expect what?" the man prompted. Then, as if struck by lightning, he fell over himself as he backed away violently. Ace frowned, bemused.
"You thought we..?" Henry ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. He took one look at the fire-user and sighed. "Fire Fist, I mean, Ace," he said exasperatedly. "Nothing happened."
Ace perked up at this. Nothing?
The bartender waved his finger in front of the teen. "No-thing," he repeated. "You threw up last night, all over yourself, I might add. Apart from saving you the complete disgust in having to wake up in soiled attire, I didn't want to dirty my bed sheets either. Secondly, I live on my own so I don't have an extra bed." He frowned. "Didn't think you were the type to freak out at sharing though."
Ace spluttered, "I so can share!"
Much to his consternation, Henry waved him away. "I'm sure. In any case, take this as revenge for kicking my face."
"I kicked your face?"
"With your boot," the brunette confirmed. He rubbed at his cheek. "Even though you're a pirate, you don't sleep with your shoes on, though you?"
Ace looked sheepish. "Oh, right. I don't." He scratched at his hair. "Sorry?"
Henry snorted. "Apology accepted. Now get up so we can have breakfast. Your clothes are in the laundry. You should be able to dry them with your fire."
"Right."
Ace got to his feet, though he opted to bring the blankets with him. He resolutely ignored his host when the latter rolled his eyes at him as he marched towards the laundry in the kitchen. Like the bedroom, the kitchen was small. It had a small back room for the laundry. A tinge of guilt tugged at him when he noted his pants had been washed and hung to dry. Henry must have washed it before he headed to bed. He sighed. He must have caused a lot of trouble for the man.
As he changed into his usual attire, a thought occurred to him. He moved back to the bedroom to check if he had really seen it or if he had truly lost his mind. He wouldn't be surprised if he had.
Stepping inside, he confirmed the unsettled feeling in his gut.
Taking centre place of the wall adjacent to the bed was the blown-up wanted poster of himself.
Fuck. It wasn't his imagination.
I'll keep on trying until my dying day
"Is it this one?"
"No," Marco replied. He glanced at the paper in his hands. "Up another street."
Both of them ran up the street and took a turn to the right. According to people at the bar, their dear brother had gotten himself drunk before being happily whisked away by some brave (but stupid, Marco inwardly thought) soul before the bar closed. Even better, it had been the fucking owner of the bar. If Marco was certain of anything, that bar wasn't going to be open for much longer.
"Why are we saving that idiot again?" Thatch asked, a frown marring his features. "I swear, I've never heard of a pirate needing rescuing from…this sort of thing."
Marco rolled his eyes. "Because he's our youngest and he doesn't know any better."
"We should have talked to him about this! Hell, Oyaji should have!"
For a moment, Marco looked horrified. "You're not seriously suggesting-"
Thatch shrugged. "He's the dad," he answered.
The image of Oyaji sitting Ace down in his room as he went over the subject and Ace turning a bright red filled his mind. He grimaced. "Suffice to say, Thatch," Marco said. "Ace really doesn't know. I doubt he even thinks about it. How old is he? Seventeen going on eighteen?"
"You'd be surprised."
"I really don't want to be." For all his temper and bravado, Marco knew Ace was as ignorant as a child when it came to these matters.
"Well, damn. Come on, hurry up, birdbrain! It's already morning."
Marco scowled at the nickname but quickened his pace anyway. One look at the sky and he knew they had already been too late. In any case, at least they could beat the little daredevil who had dared even think about Ace that way. Both of them skidded to a halt at the front of a small one-floor apartment. Huh, he thought. He would have expected a grander house if the house owner and the bar owner were one and the same.
Flicking the address another glance, Marco felt his inner feathers ruffle in unrest. "Let's go."
Thatch kicked open the door and began yelling for Ace. The first commander sighed. Not that way, you moron. Following dutifully after his brother, he stopped when Thatch froze in his tracks.
In front of them, a brunette was leaning over the prone form of their brother, who was lying on his side, pale and unmoving.
Thatch was the first to act.
"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"
Lost in the darkness, try to find your way home
Ace blinked blearily, feeling something shake his shoulders. He lifted his head. "Huh?" he mumbled.
His vision came into focus to reveal a frowning Marco staring down at him. His eyes widened. "M-Marco?"
A look of relief cross the older's face and the grip on his arms softened. "Ace," Marco breathed. "Thank goodness you're fine."
"What are you…" Ace slowly set up, confused, but he didn't push the commander away. "What's…" he trailed off again as his gaze zeroed in on Thatch holding the edge of a sword to Henry's neck.
His eyes met Henry's frightened ones.
He shoved Marco away. "What are you doing?!" he shouted. "Let him go!"
At his voice, Thatch involuntarily – that better be involuntary! – jerked, drawing a thin line of blood from his captive's skin. "Ace?! Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
Ace got to his feet. "I said to let him go, Thatch," he said through gritted teeth. "Put that sword away."
Thatch narrowed his eyes but a glance at Marco had him drawing back. However, his sword remained firmly in his hands. Henry watched his movements, wary. The moment Thatch was a sword-breadth away from him, he jerked his head towards the door.
"Now get out," he said coldly. "All of you."
Thatch almost snarled, "Why you- after all you did-"
Ace rushed to stand between the bartender and his brothers. "Shut up! What the hell is wrong with you?!" he snapped. He turned back to Henry and immediately looked beseeching. "Henry, look. I'm sorry. I swear I didn't know they'd-"
Henry cut in, "I don't care for your excuses, Fire Fist. I have taken care of you and it has brought me nothing but trouble. Had you woken up just a little later, I doubt my head would still be where it is." He pinned the teen with a harsh glare. "Now out," he repeated.
"Don't speak to our brother like that, you perverted piece of crap!" Thatch interrupted, bristling from the words 'taken care of'.
Ace closed his eyes, briefly wanting to shoot himself to escape from their utter stupidity. "Thatch! I said stop it!"
The bartender narrowed his eyes. He added coolly, "Yes, stop it and get out."
Thatch sneered, "Of course you want us out, considering you've had your way with him. Did you think we'd just leave it at that? Even if our naïve, teenage brother had agreed?"
For the second time that morning, Ace gaped in horror. He turned scarlet, his mouth struggling to come up with something. For his part, Henry only sighed.
"No!" Ace finally shouted, his voice an octave higher than usual. He waved his hands about. "Nothing happened!"
The fourth commander affected an incredulous expression. "Ace," he said slowly. "He was leaning over you when you were unconscious."
"I was checking if he was alright!" Henry snapped.
"And why was he unconscious in the first place?" the chef fired back.
"Because," Ace cut in, his voice strained. "I have narcolepsy, remember?"
Silence.
Thatch froze and lowered his weapon, looking sheepish. "Oh. Right." He scratched the back of his neck and held up his arms at Ace's furious expression. "You'd get the wrong idea too if you saw someone putting their grabby paws all over you while you were out cold!"
Marco took the increasingly aggravated bar owner's expression as his cue to step in. "Thatch," he said smoothly. "He wasn't putting any grabby paws on Ace. He was just leaning over him. Ace, please step away from him." He turned to the only non-pirate in the room. "And…your name is Henry, I presume?" At the tense nod, Marco dipped his head in apology. "I apologise for my brother's uncouth behaviour. However, I would require you to explain what this means." He pointed to Ace's wanted poster.
"Oh, yeah, that," Ace muttered as he stepped closer towards his brothers, feeling strangely safer from their closeness alone. "I was going to ask about that when I fell asleep." Marco closed a hand around his wrist and drew him nearer.
This time, Henry looked away. "It's none of your business."
Marco raised an eyebrow. "It is our business if somehow our brother is made a target. For some reason, you have a special interest in him. Speak," he snapped. "Or nothing in this island can save you."
"Marco…" Ace protested from beside him but was gently shushed.
Henry must have caught on to the seriousness of the phoenix's threat and finally relented. "My father…hung it there." Quite suddenly, he began to speak in earnest. "He had always wanted to be a pirate. To sail the seas, to be part of a crew. For adventure. That's what he called it." He looked down. "He couldn't do it, of course. He was on the frail side. Couldn't fight for his life. He tried once. He was seventeen when he joined a crew who were willing to take him in and all he did was clean the ship. And, fuck, he was grateful for that.
"Then, one day, his crew was attacked and his friend was killed trying to save him. I'm sure you'd understand that that turned him away from the life of piracy completely. Even so, he couldn't turn his back on the life he wanted so badly. He began collecting wanted posters and kept them up at the bar, at home." He scoffed. "The only ties of piracy he could hold on to were some pathetic pieces of paper."
His dark eyes locked with Ace's intensely. "But then you came along. A seventeen-year-old kid taking to the seas on his own, a Captain. A kid who took on Whitebeard and became part of that crew. You can't imagine how happy my father had been. So ridiculously happy that someone was living his dream for him. He wanted to meet you so badly, Fire Fist." He shrugged tiredly. "Like I said, it's like a fan who would put up posters of their favourite celebrity on their bedroom wall."
Ace bit his lip. Oh. "I thought you said you lived here alone," he finally said, his voice small.
Henry sneered at him. "I do. My father's dead. Killed by pirates a few weeks ago."
Ace's gaze darted up to look at the brunette. His voice grew even smaller. "Oh." A realisation then struck him. "You wanted me to visit his grave," he blurted.
The bartender flinched.
"I still could if you-"
Henry stopped him. "No," he said shortly. "I wasn't lying when I said I enjoyed speaking to you, Fire Fist. But from recent events, you've proved you're more trouble than you're worth." He pointed to the door, ignoring the dark looks the older pirates sent him. "Now get out."
The three pirates moved to leave the house, though Ace managed to whisper a 'sorry' before Marco tugged him along, stopping only when the door slammed.
"Why did you come?" Ace said quietly when none deigned to speak.
Marco and Thatch traded worried looks.
The first commander opted for the gently route. "You disappeared. We were…worried."
"So you don't even trust me to take care of my own back? Is that it, Marco?" Ace snapped.
Thatch held up his hands. "Whoa there, Ace. Calm down. We're sorry for that guy inside but you disappeared. Missing. Gone. No explanation." He snapped his fingers. "Don't you think we'd try to find you? What if you were kidnapped or something? What's going to happen then?"
Ace opened his mouth to retort but fell short as he processed the other's words. "Wait. What do you mean by 'no explanation'? I left a note on my bed!"
Marco unfolded his arms. "You did?" He looked at Thatch. "But we didn't see anything." A second later and understanding crossed his features. He groaned. He turned to Thatch and glared at him. "You must have thrown it to the floor when you messed up his room."
Thatch spluttered indignantly, "What? This is my fault?"
Ace looked between them in confusion. "You messed up my room?"
Marco sighed, the headache returning full-force. What a stupid misunderstanding. "Okay, Thatch, shut up." At Thatch's hurt expression, he glared. "Please. I have a headache. Ace, what did the letter say?"
The teen frowned at the change in subject but relented at the tired look on the commander's face. "I said I needed a breather and was going out for a while, but that I'd return soon."
For some reason, instead of the scolding he thought he'd receive, Marco smiled in relief? at him while Thatch – the annoying moron – tackled him into a hug.
"Uhh, Thatch?"
"Shut up, you heartbreaker!"
"Can't breathe!"
Marco rolled his eyes and pulled them away from each other. "Okay, that's enough." He ruffled the brat's hair, smirking at the annoyed glare. "We'll explain to you on the way, Ace. Although we really have to talk about you disappearing like that. How would you find us without a vivre card, huh? Oh, and you'd have to endure having Thatch sharing your skiff with you."
"What? Why?"
"We didn't bring a boat."
Ace sounded confused. "Then how did you get here?"
Thatch snorted. "Flew here on a chicken. OW! Okay okay! What the hell ruffled your feathers? Ow ow ow! Stop it!"
Ace watched them, a sudden rush of fondness sending a small smile tugging at his lips. He could still feel the warmth of Marco's hand on his head and he had to refrain from reaching up to touch that spot. They came for him. They were bringing him home. A second later and the smile fell.
"You've proved you're more trouble than you're worth."
He turned downcast eyes to the floor. He had troubled them too, hadn't he? No matter that they still cared, how long more until they wouldn't anymore?
The two pirates must have sensed the change in his mood, for Thatch quickly blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"Ace, it was a blue chicken."
A sigh.
"Thatch, you better run."
The rest of their stay on the island consisted of Thatch sprinting from them as Marco pulled Ace along with him, mentally noting that Ace's mood was quickly improving as they both made it a race to get to the fourth commander first. No one needed to know if Marco had 'accidentally' slipped, causing him to lag behind.
The smile when Ace had tackled the chef to the ground was like staring at the sun.
There it is. My first pathetic attempt at humour to lighten up this fic and...no cliffhanger! I almost ended at the "GET AWAY FROM HIM!"
On another note, did anyone catch on to what Thatch was referring to? Re-cap:
Marco rolled his eyes. "Because he's our youngest and he doesn't know any better."
"We should have talked to him about this! Hell, Oyaji should have!"
For a moment, Marco looked horrified. "You're not seriously suggesting-"
Thatch shrugged. "He's the dad," he answered.
Oops. Couldn't resist.
Anyway, please review and tell me what you think! I hope the chapter was okay. :)