A/N~ Ok. Wow. What a wild few months!

Sorry for the delay. I've been hyperfixated on MARVEL after getting my heart torn out by Endgame, IT WAS AMAZING! But I'll never forget this fic, so here's one HELL of a chapter for you guys, no doubt my longest yet!

A few mentions:

Chikai - That is a VERY good question! This Luffy might might feel very different about his father than canon!Luffy. Thanks for bringing that up, and your comment is a joy!

Stormy1X2 - SEMPAI NOTICED ME! Thank you SO much for the review, and I'm glad i'm doing Whiskey justice!

SakuraS41 - Thanks for the review! Don't worry, the Kuja will come in to play at some point :)

Lan3 - THANK YOU XD

Wordlet - ehehehehe! That's all I'm saying :)

DemonKittyAngel - I want this as bad as you do, and I'm the writer XD Thanks for the review

CanIHaveAHug - HELL YEAH FOR KUJA STYLE ACE XD

sorry I can't reply to all of you, your reviews are giving me life, but I've gotta get to work XD

I OWN NOTHING!

Enjoy :)

Chapter 20

On the morning of December 31st, Ace is woken up by Luffy leaping onto his back and jumping up and down on him.

He does his best to keep his eyes squeezed shut, pleading with the universe and everything in it that he might go back to sleep for one hour more ('please, just one more hour, Marco kicked my ass yesterday'). Alas, Luffy doesn't bend to the whims of the universe, and giggles loud and happy into Ace's ear.

Ace groans into his pillow. God hates me.

It's no better when Sabo joins in – he bounces on the bed, though dangerously close to the older teen's face. How the hell can he be so chipper this morning? He'd been up half the night pouring over maps and charts and such at their desk, his smile brighter than the lantern casting shadows across the room...and getting his ass handed to him by Haruta hours prior to that.

Sabo's arm has long since recovered, no issues with mobility whatsoever, much to the surprise of the medical staff. Ace is not the least bit surprised. His twin has never been one to stay down for too long, not even back there (though of course, those wounds will take far longer to heal.) He'd taken up using a staff again, like he had when they were young, though the one Vista gifted him with is wood rather than the metal pipe they'd preferred. Like Ace, he's not quite lost his touch, but muscle memory can only get one so far, less so up against a New World pirate with experience and skill that outmatch Sabo's by far.

Needless to say, he's also sporting some nice bruises that had him whining as they plodded back to their cabin for the night. And yet here he is now, wide awake, laughing alongside Luffy as they bounce on the bed (and on Ace) in an effort to get him up or get him angry. The latter is certainly working.

"Aaaaaaccce~!" Sabo sings loudly, "wake uuuup~!"

Ace groans again from the depths of his soul, clutching the pillow tight and burying his face deeper, mildly surprised when he doesn't suffocate. "Whyyyy?" he whines, muffled by the stuffing of his only protection from the accursed daylight beaming obnoxiously bright through the porthole.

He can hear Sabo's grin. "'Cos it's morning."

Ace's brow twitches, ire growing. At least Luffy's not bouncing on him anymore. Small mercies. "So?" he growls.

Their youngest giggles again, finally sliding off Ace and shuffling off the bed completely, bare feet padding against the floorboards. Ace almost thanks the stars until Sabo drapes himself over him instead, arms snaking around his waist as he plants a hard, grinning kiss against Ace's cheek, and declares –

"Happy sixteenth birthday!"

Ace stiffens. Eyes snapping open, wide awake, ire forgotten. He lifts his head from the pillow, face to face with a beaming Sabo. "Wha?"

Sabo keeps on grinning like it's Christmas all over again, unfazed. "That's right!" he chimes. "Congrats on being alive for sixteen years today! Well, technically tomorrow, but your were born at dawn so it's close enough. Happy birthday! Oh, and Happy New Year!"

Ace doesn't feel the weight of Luffy once again leaping onto him and Sabo, rubber arms encircling them and squeezing tight. Doesn't hear their laughter, doesn't hear Kotatsu's annoyed chuffs as he gets up from his perch at the foot of their bed and pads through the door in search of a new quiet place. Instead, his heart thunders loud in his ears, echoes of his own thoughts a merciless screech like nails scraping against a board.

My birthday, huh?

God. It's been so long since he'd even thought about his birthday. It's only thanks to the yearly performances that he knows how old he is; time had little to no meaning to him back there, a blur of unending hell, years of praying to a god that overlooked them because of the single demon residing among two angels...

Luffy and Sabo's birthdays were harder to keep track of, but he'd managed. Every year, he would sneak food from the kitchens, be they leftovers ready to go to waste or a steal from a meal yet to be served, and hide the bundle under his shirt when escorted back to their cell. It was only food, mere scraps no better than what they were given by the guards, nothing compared to what his little brothers deserved.

But the gleam in their teary eyes, the smiles lighting their faces up like the night sky they'd missed so dearly, made the looming fear of punishment all worth it.

Of course, they tried to do the same for Ace. Unlike them, however, Ace never saw the point, and still doesn't. Not when the beginning of his life had spelled the end of his mothers'. Not when Roger's blood ran through his veins and cursed him, robbed him of any chance of a normal childhood, a normal life, even before they were ripped from their home and sold into slavery...

No. He never saw the point. But it never stopped Sabo and Luffy from trying, regardless of his demands for them to stop. They never listened.

This year seems to be no different.

(A part of him is angry, wondering why the hell they haven't given up, why they won't listen to him when he tells them no. The other part selfishly hopes they never do.)

The weight on his back suddenly eases off. Ace blinks from his reverie, looks up to see Sabo smiling at Luffy. "Lu, go to the kitchens and get that giant cupcake Thatch made," he says. Ace gawks, mortified, but Luffy's already scurrying off before Ace can voice a protest, slipping on his sandals and skipping out the door.

And then Sabo sighs, a soft but weary thing that gives Ace pause. He looks up again.

The mirth is gone from Sabo's eyes, but not in a way that warrants concern as the blond shuffles off him and sits on the bed proper, legs crossed. Chin resting in his palm, elbow perched on his knee, Sabo regards Ace coolly as the elder follows suit and sits up, shaking his hair out from its bedridden mess. His twin is mostly unreadable, calm, leaving Ace blind as to what he's getting into, but only a little; Sabo's only like this when he wants to badger him about something that's bugging him, or for something Ace has or hasn't done. Considering it's his birthday –

"I know you hate it when we do this," the blond murmurs at last, eyes dropping to the blanket. Ace waits, knowing where this is going – it's not their first time doing this, a familiar dance with familiar steps – but he keeps his silence for his brothers' sake. Sabo picks at a loose thread on the bed-sheets to give his hands something to do. "I know you think your birthday isn't a big deal, or that your life isn't worth celebrating. That we shouldn't care..."

Blue eyes, bright and intense, flick upwards once more to meet startled silver. Ace blinks – this isn't part of their routine – only for Sabo to close the distance, wrapping his arms around Ace's neck and holding tight.

Ace doesn't fight it, couldn't if he tried (not that he ever would), but he's stunned. "Sabo?"

Sabo squeezes him once. "We do care, Ace," he says, full of warmth and love they've never found anywhere else in all their lives. "Screw what the rest world thinks. You matter to me, to Luffy. You might think otherwise, which is stupid of you – don't scoff, you are stupid – but that doesn't change the fact that Luffy and I love you. We love you, Ace, more than anything. And we're grateful you're alive, that you were born at all. You know that, right?"

Ace purses his lips against a scowl, against the stinging in his eyes that's getting harder and harder to ignore every day. He knows they care, of course he does, though the little demons scraping their claws at his heart love to convince him differently. But the annoyance surges regardless, and he sighs against Sabo's neck. "Sabo –"

"Let us give you this," the blond implores, already breaking down Ace's defenses like a seastone cannonball. "Please. Your first birthday, our first new year, as free men..."

Ah hell.

Ace sighs again, defeated – the little bastard knows exactly what buttons to push – finally bringing his arms up to hold Sabo and letting his eyes slip shut. His words rock Ace to his core, every time – hard to believe in something that differs vastly from what you've heard over years and years from others. Though it never changes how he feels every year, about himself, his parents, everything. But just this once, he supposes, for their sake if not his own...

"...alright," he says, feeling Sabo grin against his shoulder, knowing he's won. Bastard. "I'll let it slide. But only 'cos I get a giant cupcake from Thatch out of it."

Sabo snickers. "Figures. You and Luffy, never think with anything but your guts."

"Says you," Ace protests, but he's soon grinning as he lets Sabo go, the blond shuffling backwards on the bed to face him proper. Gratitude gleams in mismatched eyes, and Ace finds it easier to accept this surprise birthday...'party'? It's not so much a party since it's only the three of them, is it –?

"Alright!" Sabo claps his hands once and rubs them together like a satisfied thief. "Now that's sorted, why the hell are you avoiding Whitebeard?"

...that throws Ace for a minute, and he balks, blinks hard. Sabo doesn't budge an inch, arms folded expectantly. Ace stares at him, licks his dry lips. "...pardon?" he squeaks.

Sabo quirks a brow. "Don't even try it. Whitebeard told me, but I didn't believe it until I saw just how much effort you put into avoiding the man. You don't even look at him anymore. It'd be hilarious if it wasn't confusing as hell and a little confusing." The smile fades a little as he leans forward, hands bracing his ankles the way Luffy often does, and it really is a wonder they're not all blood related. "So, why the are you avoiding Whitebeard? You were fine before the party at Tundra, so what's changed? Did you say something to him? Did he say something to you? Did he –?"

He stops. Ace can see the cogs turning in his brain, and suddenly the temperature in the room drops as Sabo's eyes go narrow and cold.

"Did he do something to you?" he asks, oddly calm, and it scares Ace how this is something Sabo does almost naturally, now, this switch from the brother he loves to this killer lying in wait beneath the surface of scarred skin. "Ace, did he –?"

"No, 'Bo, no," Ace appeases, hands clasping Sabo's where they've started to clench around his ankles, knuckles white. "No, he didn't – he didn't do anything, I'm fine. You really think I would've let him –?"

"With the right incentive, yes," Sabo bites back. Ace's mouth slams shut, eyes wide as he gawks at his brother, the unspoken truth blatantly and harshly admitted. "You've always been a self-sacrificing bastard, I know that, we've always known. If he'd used us to get to –"

"Well he didn't, okay?!" Ace snaps. He doesn't quite know what to make of this sudden drive to defend Whitebeard, but the words tumble from his mouth regardless. "I'm fine, you and Lu are fine, everything's –"

"Then why are you –?!"

"Because he asked me to join the crew!"

Sabo freezes, stares at Ace. Ace freezes, eyes wide as saucers, lips pressed shut, but far too late.

"...he what?"

Crap.

Cheeks heating up, Ace drops Sabo's hands like they're made of molten rock and averts his gaze. "I – he, uh – well, it's – god, whatever – fine, yes!" he throws his hands in the air and gives up, letting his head fall back as he glares at the cracked ceiling. "Yes, the old man wants me to join the crew. Pretty sure the invitation extends to you and Luffy too, but, yeah. He asked me that night. Wants me to be his...yeah. There, I said it. Happy?"

Silence.

Ace blinks and lifts his head to look at Sabo. The blond stares back, disbelief in his wide eyes. Then they're searching, understanding, and then –

"You turned him down," he says – doesn't need to ask. "You got angry, stormed off..." He gestures Ace's left wrist with a lazy flick of his fingers, the marks that once marred the freckled skin already fading. "And then you hurt yourself."

Ace sighs slowly through his nose but nods. His fingers clench into loose fists on his lap, nails just shy of biting into his palms. "...yeah. Yeah, I did."

It's...It's not that he hates Whitebeard, not really...not anymore. He respects him. But the old man has no idea who Ace is, and should he ever dare accept his offer, get too close to the crew...it'll blow up in his face if or when the truth comes out. They'll reject him, like Dadan damn near did when he was a baby, and Ace will either flee, live the rest of his days knowing for sure that his existence is a sin, or die by the hands of his father's enemy. Or simply cease to exist, save them the trouble and –

A finger flicks him hard in the forehead. Ace reels backwards, yelps. "Ow, what the – ?!"

Sabo's stare is flat and unrelenting, hand still raised. "Stop that."

"Stop what?!"

"Thinking. Stop it, or I'll kick your ass and eat the whole damn cupcake if Luffy hasn't already." He lowers his hand and shuffles over until they're pressed shoulder to shoulder. Ace is still rubbing his forehead and pouting (it doesn't hurt but he'll bitch about it anyway) when Sabo nudges him with another tired smile. "Look...I get that you're scared. I get that you're confused. But avoiding Whitebeard won't solve anything, and it sure as hell doesn't look good after everything he's done for us."

Ace has to wince, inwardly admitting that yeah, it does look pretty bad. Even so – "What the hell am I supposed to do, though?" he asks, tries and fails not to sound pleading, desperately confused though he is. "I can't just – just join them. What if he finds out? What if they all find out, and they –?"

"Then we do what we'd planned to do from the very start, get off this ship. Anyone who doesn't accept you for who you are isn't worth a damn, no matter how nice they've been. Something tells me it won't come to that, though." Sabo smirks, devoid of humor. "I'm not saying you should join the crew if you don't want to...or if you're still unsure. But you can't keep this up, or others besides me will start to notice. You and I both know that Whitebeard's a good man, reputation notwithstanding. You can at least try to get to know him better, talk to him. He's surprisingly easy to talk to," he adds with a smile that's small but real with a hint of something Ace hasn't seen before. It's...weird. Not bad, but weird.

Still, Ace bites his lip, considering. Talk with Whitebeard? It sounds ridiculous, would be had he not seen Luffy do just that first hand on several occasions, sitting on his lap of all places. But Ace isn't like his brothers. Conversation, interacting with people...it doesn't come easy to him. It's only through his brothers, and help from the Whitebeard's, that he's barely managing it. The captain is a whole other matter entirely, and Ace feels goosebumps rise along his arms at the very thought.

"...I don't know if I can do that, 'Bo," he confesses softly, eyes drawn to his lap once more. He hears Sabo sigh and lift his arm to drape it around Ace's shoulders.

"Just think about it, okay? Don't think about how I or Luffy would do it; you do what suits you...within reason. Seriously, don't be stupid."

Ace smirks despite himself. "Sabo –"

"I know that's a hard concept to grasp with what little brains you've got left, but with a little effort I'm sure you can – oof!"

Ace's elbow connects with his gut, and he rocks backwards on the bed with a wheeze. Ace cackles like the villain he is, harder when Sabo lifts a shaking hand and flips him off. The literal icing on the cake arrives when Luffy bursts through the door, the promised cupcake in his arms (it might as well be an actual cake with how big the damn thing is) and a winning grin etched across icing-caked lips – the little bastard had taken a bite!

Sabo's words aren't lost on him, even as they dig into what might be the sweetest, unhealthiest breakfast they've ever had in their short lives. Despite himself, his fears, Ace really can't avoid Whitebeard much longer. The cowering (because that's what it is, no point denying it for the sake of pride) has to stop, whether the subject – the damned question – is brought up again or not.

But how? Does he just stroll up and start chatting to the old man like nothing's happened? Does he sit by Whitebeard's chair in silence like one's lost pup? What the hell can he –?

And then it dawns on him.

Conversation has never come easy to Ace. Not spoken words, anyway. But other things are as easy as breathing to the wild boy that was. It's stupid. Suicidal, really, and if it doesn't end up killing him, Sabo just might. But what else can he do?

(Who knows? It might even be a fun challenge, something Ace has never been one to turn down. Not even for an Emperor.)

0o0o0

Sabo is going to strangle his brother.

He'd told Ace to think it over, to not do anything reckless or stupid as he's often prone to, to do what he thinks works for him on how to approach Whitebeard regarding the unspoken tension (on Ace's side, confusion on the captain's.) He hadn't, in any way, shape or form, given his blessing for his airhead of an older brother to march up to Whitebeard's chair and challenge the Strongest Man in the World to a sparring match!

And yet, that's exactly what he does.

Spine erect, hands by his sides and eyes fixed on the veteran pirate's wizened, amber pair, Ace raises his chin and asks Whitebeard to spar with him, loud and clear for all those on deck to hear. Needless to say, it attracts quite the attention from the milling crew; a few eyes bug out, a few jaws drop, the rest grinning in surprised delight or praying for the young idiot. Sabo almost follows the latter.

But Whitebeard's response to such lunacy almost takes the cake. He doesn't laugh or brush Ace aside, nor is he at all annoyed or baffled by the challenged issued by the newly minted sixteen-year-old still in the beginning stages of his training, rehabilitation; strong and growing stronger by the day, but not strong enough yet. Certainly not enough to even consider challenging an Emperor. No, the old captain meets Ace's determined glare with a mile-wide grin, an eager spark in his eye –

"Of course. Bring it on, brat."

(Sabo, along with over a dozen men and women, choke on their own saliva.)

The match, if can be called that, is embarrassingly brief; Ace leaps into the air, fists and eyes ablaze with a vigor Sabo hasn't seen since their days in the jungles of Dawn, only for Whitebeard to send him flying across the deck without so much as batting an eye – and over the side of the ship –?!

"OHMYGOD ACE!" Sabo screeches as he watches his screaming brother sail overboard and plunge into the sea. He's already one leg over the railing, crew's protests be damned, only for a blur of black and blue to beat him to it. Sabo blinks rapidly, and just catches Namur's nimble form disappear beneath the calm waves.

As he waits with baited breath – he has faith in the Fishman's speed, but the niggling fear festers all the same – Whitebeard comes to stand beside him and peers over the railing. One might find it ridiculous for a man bearing his reputation to be even the slightest bit sheepish when he mutters a soft "Oops," under his breath. Yet, Whitebeard manages it. And despite the fear and annoyance and generally regretting his life choices, Sabo can't help the smirk, though he does flash the captain a half-glare.

(Nearly three weeks ago he never would've dared make eye-contact with anyone, let alone one of the most powerful criminals on the seas. And yet here he is, glaring at Whitebeard, and that fear is nowhere to be found.

Were he not exasperated with the world and everything in it, he might find this concept liberating, funny, even. As it is, he just wants Namur to hurry up with Ace so he can smack him upside the head. And maybe politely ask Whitebeard to please practice some restraint. There's very little brain left in Ace to begin with, no need to knock it around any more.)

When the soaking wet pair are finally brought back aboard with several helping hands at the ready with towels in hand (this sort of thing happens often, evidently) Namur steadies Ace with an arm around his shoulders as the younger splutters and coughs up seawater. "You okay, kid?" the Fishman asks, the concern bleeding into his gaze belying his casual tone. "Not hurt at all, are you? Pops sure sent you flyin' just now. Not that he meant to. Right?"

At this, he sends Whitebeard the very same half-glare Sabo had, one that speaks of fond annoyance and poorly concealed humor. Whitebeard at least has the grace to look apologetic, though he does avert his eyes, a smile under his mustache that's wholly impish. Helping Ace to his feet, letting others wrap him up in a warm towel, Namur's frown deepens in a manner all too similar to Marco that Sabo almost snorts. "Pops."

"What? The boy said he wanted to spar with me," Whitebeard says. "It would be dishonorable of me to hold back on someone as strong and spry as he is, wouldn't it?"

"Still, we do not toss children overboard, Pops!" someone calls from across the ship – it sounds like Jiru, and despite the reprimand, it sounds like he's grinning. Whitebeard huffs, nose upturned, feigning petulance. It gains a few hearty laughs and collective sighs.

Amid all this, none but Sabo catches Ace staring at Whitebeard, shivering a little even under the fluffy mass of blanket, a look in his eye that Sabo's never seen before in all the years he's known his friend, his brother. It lingers on the old man standing before them, long and hard – and vanishes in the next instant when Namur, having resigned himself to his captain's ways, ushers Ace back to their cabin to dry off and change. Sabo watches them go, watches Ace steal one more glance at the giant of a man before disappearing around the corner.

Vexation aside, Sabo feels a smile stretch his lips, small but endlessly fond as he turns on his heel in search of Luffy – he's in the kitchen no doubt, pilfering all the delicious goods he can from Thatch with his begging puppy eyes. They'll undoubtedly find Ace's most recent 'incident' as hilarious as the rest of the crew seem to now that the crisis has (for now) been averted.

(But the way Ace looked at Whitebeard just now, with shock and awe and a new surge of respect – admiration, maybe – might be what a boy looks like when staring up at his father. Not that Ace will admit it. And Sabo won't bring it up. This is all as new to him as it is to Ace. But it's a good start.)

0o0o0

For as long as they've sailed with these pirates, it seems all they ever do is party. There's nothing wrong with that, of course; how could one call themselves a pirate if they don't take full advantage of their freedom in the form of endless booze, cheers and drunken dancing? Even so, it struck Ace as odd, at first, for the crew of an Emperor to partake in such celebrations as often as they do, never once losing the spirit and vigor from the last party, regardless how long it's been since said party.

Tonight will celebrate the coming of a new year. The chance to leave behind the sorrows and mistakes of yesterdays gone by, a chance for some to start over fresh; a celebration of what has been and what is yet to come, a declaration of joy and defiance to the world and its unpredictability and cruelty hidden under beauty: "We're ready! Give us all you got!"

It awes Ace, the spirit emanating from this endlessly lively crew, and inspires him like nothing else has since Mei. He can't help but be swept right up with them, grinning hard and laughing at jokes and stories (he stays far from the drinks, though, at least the alcoholic ones – he might be sixteen officially in a few hours, but he has no desire to get drunk in the near future.)

It's almost enough to help him forget about his earlier embarrassment, his plight and hatred for the day he was born. Almost.

Sabo's not far off, hanging by the railing with Haruta, Izo and a good handful from both Division's of whom Sabo has gotten to know from his daily 'excursions' to the Navigation room. One can always tell who's part of Izo's Division with how bright and bold they're dressed, some even wearing make-up, men and women alike, and no one bats an eye. One not-so-subtly asks Sabo if he'd be interested in a makeover, to which her companions chuckle and coo respectively while Sabo's face does an incredible impression of a cherry tomato as he ducks his head.

(Sabo getting done up all pretty like Izo. Ace can't quite decide whether he'd give an arm and a leg to make that happen, or be reminded of his own experience trapped in a dressing room, (cold hands pulling at his hair and gripping his chin in an iron hold as they painted over the freckles he'd inherited from his mother, stabbed holes into his earlobes and shoved him into attire too revealing to be considered clothing, ogled at and cooed over by oily voices and ill minded nobles) to ever let his twin near anything of the like.)

Luffy, as usual, is bouncing from table to table, chasing an irate Kotatsu and wrestling with an eager Stefan across the deck, laughing wild and loud a free as anything over the music. It's endearing and infectious; all who hear him are grinning from ear to ear, ruffling his hair when he's near and shouting encouragement when the boy reaches for something to cling to and swing on like the monkey he is, be it the mast or someone's broad shoulders.

The twelve-year-old's ringing laughter is matched only by Whitebeard, sitting at his usual perch with a tankard of rum in his hand despite the nurses warnings, watching his underlings – his family – revel in merriment. From his view by the starboard railing, Ace can see the the smile on his face, warm like a summers night, eyes agleam with mirth and unconditional love. Every now and then a crew-member or commander in varied states of intoxication will wander (or stumble) over to the giant of a man and strike brief conversation; Whitebeard listens close and intent, never once averting his attention until they depart with a wave and a cheerful farewell.

His smile never fades. It only grows.

Ace watches the captain, watches the crew and every interaction between what he understands now to be between father and children, and an urge brews, new and frightening, in the pit of his chest too strong to ignore. Midnight is almost upon them, as is the dawn of a new year. A chance to make a change, to learn and grow from what they were into who they want and are meant to be. This, Ace thinks, might make a good start.

Unless he's too much of a coward to take the first step.

And then he catches Sabo's eye from the other side of the ship, still surrounded by rowdy pirates. The blond looks at him, looks over at Whitebeard chugging what must be his third or so tankard (that seriously can't be good for him), then back to Ace. He smiles softly and tilts his head in the captain's direction, a 'go get 'em' gesture if ever he saw one.

Ace gulps, nerves already getting the better of him. He's spent a good chunk of his life loathing this man and his long dead rival. His goal had been (and still is, to a point) to surpass them both, even if it meant killing Whitebeard. But now, the very man he'd been all too willing to kill has instead granted them a temporary home, food and clothes and warm beds to sleep on, and a promise he's already kept in full and strives to keep despite the trouble Ace and his brothers have caused...and an offer...

'Join my crew, and I will call you my son.'

He shakes his head. He's already made up his mind about that, no point in dwelling on it any longer. No point in pussyfooting around anymore, either. So Ace squares his shoulders, lifts his chin and marches over.

I can do this. I can do this. I'm just...just gonna talk to Whitebeard. Just like the crew does. I can do this. I already broke the ice with the spar this morning – if you can call that a spar – so this should be a piece of –

He's standing before the captain before he knows it, and almost tenses up when those impossibly wise amber eyes meet Ace's shock of silver. A silence passes between them, a brief thing but enough to have the boy nearly rethink his decisions, until Whitebeard smiles. "Hello, Ace," he greets, setting his tankard on the arm of his chair, giving Ace his attention in its entirety; it's humbling and terrifying. "Enjoying yourself?"

Ace swallows, blinks once, twice, three times – 'Say something you idiot!'

"Y-Yeah. I'm – I'm good. Thanks," he stammers, and ducks his head as his face starts to flush a brilliant red. 'Real smooth.'

Whitebeard laughs, and it's not at all mocking. "What's the matter, boy? Not afraid I'm gonna punt you off the ship like I did this afternoon, are you? I'll admit, though, that was a little rough. But you're a strong young lad, and I've been hearing great things about the three of you with your training; I figured you could take it. It's been a while since I've had the pleasure of sparring with anyone as lively as you."

Ace blinks again, hard. The tension in his stomach eases – Whitebeard's presence and aura, intimidating though it can be, seems to do that on occasion – but surprise and curiosity are quick to take over. "...you...you think so?"

Whitebeard smiles wide beneath his mustache. "Of course, brat. I knew you were strong the moment I met you and your brothers, regardless of your physical, mental and emotional state at the time." The old man sits back in his chair a little, eyes raised to the starlit sky overhead, while Ace has a little freak-out (he can't mean that, can he? He'd swatted Ace like a freaking fly mere hours ago!). "You often remind me of Marco, back when he was just a rookie, all wet behind the ears and no sea legs to speak of," he adds.

Freak-out over (for now), Ace pauses, looks up. "You trained Marco?" he asks, head tilting, genuinely curious; he's never thought to ask any of the commanders of their pasts, deeming it inappropriate for someone who's not even part of their crew to stick their nose where it doesn't belong. But here is Whitebeard, already revealing more about Marco than the man himself has since the first time he appeared to them as the immortal Phoenix.

Meeting the boy's inquisitive gaze, Whitebeard nods. "That I did. Or as much as I could, anyway. I left the rest for him to figure out on his own. A man of my size and strength can only teach so much to a young man who barely reaches my knee," he chuckles, shaking his head at what might be a fond old memory. "My boy, I could tell you stories of all the blunders we made, back when I was just a rookie captain myself, before our crew had even a hundred souls yet."

And there, the urge to know more, to do as Sabo said and learn and listen and see, brews once again in Ace's chest. He fights the old habit to keep silent, to mind his own damn business and walk away – he has to make an effort, otherwise how might he grow, achieve his goals both new and old? – and steps that little bit closer. A new and incredibly odd bout of meekness takes over as he asks, hesitantly – "Could you...tell me those stories?"

Whitebeard pauses, regarding Ace in stunned silence. Dread seeping into him like water leaking through the cracks of a sinking ship, Ace is ready to turn tail and regret having ever asked – and then the old man laughs, delighted as anything, startling Ace from his downward spiral into panic.

"Of course, my boy," he declares, eyes twinkling. "But the deck is no place to sit, lest you earn splinters on your ass. Come, climb up and sit with me." He pats his right knee, a harmless invitation that Ace, for the life of him (for the first time in forever), can't help but accept with a smile he'll admit is rather shy. So he gathers his resolve (strengthened by this man's warmth and patience and...acceptance, for now) and clambers up the chair to perch himself on Whitebeard's knee like a child half his age.

Once he's settled, Whitebeard offers a final smile and delves into a tale of a much younger pirate captain just finding his feet in a world before the reign of Roger, together with an even younger boy with sleepy eyes, lanky limbs unused to fighting or a life a sea and a crop of blonde hair to match his own (apparently Whitebeard had hair back in the day), that it was all too often the pair were mistaken as father and son in biological terms. Not that it mattered either way; Edward Newgate loved Marco, unconditionally, the first of his many children to come.

Ace listens with rapt attention, grins and smothers laughter as Whitebeard speaks of times in which the young phoenix would get his talons trapped in the rigging after failed flying attempts, how Whitebeard nearly burned their little ship down trying to make breakfast more than once, how they'd nearly cried with joy when Jozu, a capable cook, joined and served them their first, un-burnt breakfast. How his little family grew and grew, years passing in the blink of an eye, until one day he wakes up to find millions under his flag, bearing his mark, calling him 'father'...

Ace can't imagine the feeling. Well, perhaps he can; he'd never imagined waking up in the morning to Sabo's quiet snores and Luffy's octopus arms squeezing his waist. He'd never imagined even living long enough to have something he can call 'family', small and crazy and somewhat broken though it is. But still good. Yeah, still good. Amazing.

Speaking of family...

"...um. Can I ask you something?" he says, peering up at the man through black bangs.

"Of course, Ace," Whitebeard says, draining the last of his rum in one mighty gulp. Everyone's gearing up for the midnight hour, close at hand; all hands are on deck, and Ace can just see Sabo standing by the railing with Luffy perched on his shoulders, both of them beaming fit to burst.

Ace laces his fingers together on his lap, biting his lip, before at last drawing a breath – "Why...Why do you let everyone call you 'Pops'?" he asks. "Why do you call them your sons and daughters? What's that all about?"

There's no defensiveness or indigence in Whitebeard's gaze, but gentle understanding as he raises his eyes to the hundreds of pirates gathered on deck. His smile grows endlessly affectionate, and something in Ace's heart clenches. "It's my dream," he says, "to have a family. I've never had an interest in material possessions, fame or fortune like most sailors do these days. Even One Piece holds no real value to me."

Ace splutters. "S-Seriously?" he cries, wincing as his voice cracks an octave. "You mean you don't want to –?"

"Become the next Pirate King?" Whitebeard shrugs, a careless thing. "If it happens, then so be it. But I'm not making plans to search for Raftel any time soon, no matter what treasures that old bastard left behind. Such things are fleeting, far too easy to lose. It can drive a man mad, because they're never satisfied. No matter how much money you have, the riches you obtain, you'll always want for more. But family, no matter where is comes from, no matter your blood or race or beliefs, can last more than one lifetime if the bonds forged are strong. And you'll never want for anything in the face of such happiness."

He smiles once more, looking down at Ace, and the teen can see a lifetime in those golden eyes, fulfilling and happy, exciting, and full of love and laughter. "That's the beauty of life on the seas, Ace. It doesn't matter where the hell we come from, we are all children of the sea, for she doesn't discriminate. And that's what I strive to do, despite my own faults and the blood on my hands as a criminal. To have my own family of misfits, outlaws and lost souls searching for a place, a home to call their own on the seas of the Grand Line and the New World...what more could I possibly want?"

Ace stares and stares, rocked to his core. He clamps his jaw shut, words failing him.

He's heard stories of Whitebeard from...from the Old Man, back when he was young, wanting and yet not wanting to know more about his father, his enemies and deeds that led him to his execution. Whitebeard was often brought up, Rogers' greatest rival, even greater than the Old Man, a marine Vice Admiral with an infamous punch that could crack boulders in two. From what he heard, Whitebeard was a monster of a man, feared throughout the world for his terrifying power, the sheer strength and number of his crew unmatched – it's a wonder Roger lived at all if he'd faced such a demon.

But that's not what Ace sees before him now in the soft glow of the moon and stars and lanterns. What Ace sees is a man, a mere mortal like himself, wrinkles and scars marring his ageing body, hooked up to machines to keep him going most days. He sees a man who's lived the best life he could despite the wrath of the world and its rulers, despite the unkind, looming truth of death waiting for him with baited breath. He sees a man who feels blessed by what he's gained, unbothered by what many might find he's lacking. He sees a man who's content, wise in his own ways, imperfect but trying, not at all a saint but not unkind...

On this day, mere seconds before midnight, Ace sees Whitebeard for who he truly is; not quite a monster – he's yet to see him fight, after all – but a man, a pirate...a proud and happy father.

Holy hell...

Ace swallows hard, looks down at his lap when Whitebeard's gaze become a little too much to bear, the stinging behind his eyes threatening to overwhelm him.

'It doesn't matter where the hell we come from, we are all children of the sea...'

Those words...they ring in his ears and rattle his brain, squeeze his heart and make it ache for something he's wanted but never deserved, or so he tells himself. Those words, wholly genuine and indiscriminate...

'...so...when he asked me to join his crew,' Ace thinks, 'it's not because...he pities me, or cares where I'm from or what – what we've been through. It's...it's because he really –'

"It's midnight!"

Ace nearly slips off Whitebeard's lap, would have if not for the man's giant hand catching him at the last second, as cheers and laughter erupt from the throng of men and women, shaking the heavens as they declare as one – "HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Whitebeard throws his head back and laughs uproariously. "Happy New Year, my children!" he bellows. "I'm proud of each and every one of you for all you've done, for making it this far! Let's see what this year brings us, and let nothing stand in our way!" A new chorus shortly follows, loud as the last. Ace can still see Luffy on Sabo's shoulders waving a stick of meat about as he wordlessly cheers. Sabo, though grinning just as wide, struggles to stay upright with Luffy's squirming.

The festivities continue, followed by a collective groan at Haruta's stupid joke – "Hey guys! I haven't showered since last year!" – some flares and fireworks are shot into the air for others to 'ooo' and 'ahh' at, tankards are filled (and refilled) to the brim, and laughter and dance abound anew.

Ace has to grin. "Hell've a way to start the year," he mutters. Above him, a chuckle rumbles from Whitebeard's chest.

"Indeed. Never say that we Whitebeard's don't know how to have a good time," the man replies, goes to reach for his tankard only stop mid-motion, remembering it's empty. "Damn," he mutters in disappointment, and raises a brow at Ace when the teen snickers and then shrugs at him, feigning innocence. He shakes his head with a smile, and they both turn to watch the crew go at it with their usual gusto. Luffy pulls Sabo and a few others into a silly dance, one that those who've a little too much to drink stumble through dizzily; Thatch is balancing trays on both arms, letting passing members pinch what they like off the steaming plates; Marco is scolding Vista and a sopping wet Jiru hanging limp over Namur's shoulder, the result of what might've been a brawl gone awry.

Then – "Ah, Ace. If I recall correctly, it's your birthday today, isn't it?"

Ace stiffens, pales, neck cracking painfully as he spins to look up at Whitebeard. "Uh...I, ah – oof!"

A mighty hand, bigger than most of him, pats his back twice, not hard enough to hurt, as Whitebeard chuckles again. "Don't worry. Sabo let us know not to make a big deal of the occasion. But consider this," he sweeps his other hand out across the deck and its insanity, "as a celebration of both. Oh, and the commanders wanted me to give you this, seeing as they're otherwise 'occupied'."

He plucks something from the inner folds of his coat, and holds it out between two giant fingers for Ace to take. Once in his hands, Ace gapes and holds it with reverence. It's a dagger, the leather sheath an emerald green and immaculate. When he draws the blade out, it glistens in the midnight and lanterns, untouched and perfect.

Ace blinks hard, looks up at Whitebeard's soft, knowing smile. "F-For...for me?" he asks, quiet and so confused, conflicted and so incredibly touched. "From...all of you?"

A giant finger ruffles his hair as Whitebeard's smile broadens. "Happy birthday, brat. Now, I think your brothers are looking for you. You run along now and enjoy yourselves. Don't worry about sleeping in, tomorrow is yours to spend as you please."

Biting his lip, bangs over his eyes, Ace manages a nod under the man's finger, and then he slowly slips off Whitebeard's knee and lands on his feet, the sheathed weapon held close and tight to his chest. He makes to join the fray and seek his brothers out (just follow the sound of boyish giggles and flying pieces of meat), but pauses one last to look back at the veteran captain over his shoulder. He shuffles a little, hesitant...and then he smiles.

"...thank you," he says, swallowing hard. He raises one hand to rake it through untamed hair, hat hand by the chord around his neck. "Any chance we could...spar again tomorrow?"

Whitebeard's grin is more than answer enough. "Bring it on, brat."

Ace's smile broadens into a grin to match the captains', and then he's marching through the crowds, feeling better, lighter, happier than he's felt in days as he tucks his new dagger through the hoops in his belt at his left hip. It sits snug, like it's meant to be there.

Sabo was right, after all. And Ace can start this year fresh, free of regrets, and with a new sense of excitement for what's to come.

(He can ignore the lingering doubts for now, drowning himself in the laughter and music and unity that comes with this crew. This family.)

0o0o0

The days pass, as they're ought to, but with a new air of excitement hovering over the Moby and her crew, anticipation and a hint of dread for aching muscles, bruises and early wake-up calls for three weary but no less happy teens.

Ace can see the changes in each of them, feel the difference with every spar and lecture (courtesy of Marco, ever the worry-wart and concerned First Mate, and rightly so, with a rubber ball of boundless energy and a miniature supernova parading about the decks waiting to cause trouble). The commanders have finally bumped them up to the next level, and every day sees them sporting new aches and pains, but they're improving. They're getting stronger, faster, better.

The commanders have split into three groups for each boy, to train them in areas they're lacking or have specific interest in expanding, be they devil fruit based, tactics based or weapons training; Marco, Fossa, Kingdew and Jozu take Ace on, being some of the strongest commanders and more durable to Ace's outrageous brute strength – something said freckled teen is pleased to know hasn't diminished quite like he'd feared – and bursts of searing flames. Marco, both figuratively and literally, takes the younger fire user under his wing in that regard.

(He's still not yet comfortable beyond lighting up his fists, or illuminating a room with gentle fireflies from open palms. But Marco's patience and faith spur him on. Like Mei had.)

With Whitebeard added to the mix, seeing Ace go flying into railings and/or over them into the sea becomes a common thing, enough that Sabo no longer bats an eye once he's certain someone (mostly Namur) goes sailing in immediately after him. Luffy watches and laughs, because of course he does, while Ace's eyes spin in circles from his latest attempt at flight via Pirate Captain Toss. Thatch calls it 'yeeting'. Doesn't sound like a thing, but Thatch insists it is.

Choosing proper teachers for Luffy was a challenge; never have the Whitebeard's come across anyone quite like the twelve-year-old, bouncing and full of youthful vigour unmatched, potential untapped. In the end, Thatch, Blamenco, Jiru and Blenheim were chosen (for Thatch's ability to make light of everything, make Luffy's training at least a fun experience, and the others because...well, no one wants a repeat of what happened to poor Wilhelm.)

Haruta, Izo, Namur, Vista and Curiel were chosen to mentor Sabo, with Haruta taking him down to navigation to get him started him on the basics. Sabo's passion for learning, not just of the seas and her currents but of everything and anything this world has to offer, hasn't dwindled in the slightest even after years in captivity. Needless to say, Sabo was driven near tears by the commanders' gesture, and is down there nearly every day, reading every night before crawling into bed late in the night. Ace hasn't seen his brother this happy since their first steal as a team back on Dawn.

Days after the delightful disaster that was New Years, Ace's heart is light and his body is sore in ways that feel good. Nothing like the endless aches and pains of hard labour and tortuous punishments that left him black and blue.

Speaking of, he hardly feels what had once been a searing pain in his spine. Even the bruises have all but faded, like they were never there at all. Almost as if the hell they experienced, the fear and tears and bloodshed and murder, were naught but a nightmare. It's not the case, not even close, the memories and phantom pains too crisp and clear in his minds eye or in the occasional flinch to physical contact, to every nightmare that still leaves them shaking.

But it's a start, a good start, on the path towards the sun, towards true freedom.

We're almost there.

0o0o0

Luffy's excited. More than excited, practically bouncing off the walls (Sabo's hand around his is the only thing that keeps him bound to the floorboards, but wait till he's given free reign; nothing will stop him.)

Finally, after two long weeks of sailing, they're about to drop anchor at a new island. He hadn't paid much attention to what Marco said about this place other than there were no people, but plenty of wildlife to hunt in the dense jungles that spanned the entire island from it's sandy beaches to the peak of the highest mountain – which might actually be a dormant volcano, so watch out for that or whatever.

Still, a whole new island, just waiting to be explored! Luffy can hardly wait, squeezing Sabo's hard hard enough that he grinds the bones and earns a pained laugh from the elder blond, who then joking tells him to "calm the heck down, Lulu! We're nearly there, just be patient."

Luffy nods, but continues to bounce on his toes as the Moby Dick approaches the island of endless greenery, untamed and untouched by man, the crew already making preparations for landfall. Who knew so much work had to be done to park a ship – then again, there aren't any docks to speak of, and sand is uneven, fluffy and sometimes sticky from his experience back at Dawn. Extra measures have to be taken in case the ship sails away without them. (He's got a lot yet to learn before he sets out to sea himself.)

Finally, the ship is successfully docked, tied off to the nearest, sturdiest trees and the anchor dropped. Luffy's slipping from Sabo's grip, slackened from his awe at the breathtaking sight of their temporary resting spot, and catapulting himself off the ship before the gangplank is even lowered. Startled shouts follow him as he flies through the air, but Luffy's learned from last time, and rolls into a crouch when he hits the sandy beach. Relieved sighs and cheers echo from the ship as Luffy stands, dusts himself off and offers a two-fingered salute to the crew as they amble off the ship a few at a time, his older brothers with them.

It's been so long since Luffy's felt sand between his toes, felt the warm breeze caress his face and muss his hat-less hair.

He takes a moment to shut his eyes, take a deep breath, and just be.

It feels amazing.

Despite his earlier excitement, he doesn't go rushing into the thick of the jungle just yet. Instead, he's content to sit on a nearby rock and watch the crew go about their business; teams are split to hunt for fresh meat and fruits to take with them on the rest of their voyage, others sent to scout the area in case of any unexpected surprises. There really isn't much to do otherwise; this island serves as a well-deserved break from two weeks at sea for the ship and her crew, and a little break from training for Luffy and his brothers.

Speaking of which, he can spot Ace by the edge of the jungle not far from where Luffy's sat. He's got his dagger out again (a collective birthday gift from Whitebeard and the commanders, how cool is that?), twirling it between his fingers and striking out at invisible enemies. Luffy smiles, full of pride. He's as dedicated to mastering this art as Sabo is to studying charts and books and training with his staff. As dedicated as he'd been to Mei. And they're happy, so incredibly happy and at ease, as if the last five years never happened.

(Only...Luffy still doesn't speak. He'll holler and laugh and giggle 'till the cows come home – whatever that means – but the words remain lodged in his throat. It frustrates him to no end, leaves him wondering why his brothers are already adapting, coming out of their man-made prisons, while Luffy has yet to undo the shackles binding him to his.

They've come a long way from what they were in the span of a month. It's uncanny, really, to think they were once...property of someone else, something to be used and abused to the advantage of others, to be seen and not heard, damned to life in cells and shackles until their dying breath. Now, Sabo reads at night and climbs the rigging by day, wielding his new staff like it's second nature, no longer bowing his head and apologizing even less. Ace's fire burns brighter and hotter than ever, confidence growing – he even spars with Whitebeard (even if he's sent spiraling across the deck every single time, grinning like a madman every time he gets back up.) And Luffy can't remember the last time he'd been so happy, playing with Stefan and Kotatsu, pilfering sweets from Thatch's kitchen and playing pranks with Haruta.

And yet...he keeps his silence.

He doesn't understand what's holding him back. Doesn't understand why, every time he opens his mouth to try, to speak, he freezes up. Like there's something inside him that seizes his voice with crooked hands and tells him no. And despite his efforts, he always obeys.

What sort of Pirate King will he be if he can't even say his dream aloud for all to hear?

Luffy shakes his head, casting dreary thoughts aside. He'll figure it out eventually. He has to.)

With that, Luffy hops off his perch to look for Sabo. Time to quit sitting around thinking about sad stuff. There's an island to explore, and he's not about to make the same mistake twice by wandering off on his own without a word. He might be stronger now than what he'd been when the hunters took him...but better to be safe than sorry.

He has enough nightmares of isolation, loneliness and cold, dank cells without adding dying brothers to the mix, thank you very much.

0o0o0

"Marco! Pops!"

Marco turns the same time his father does as Isaac, an older man from Fossa's Division, hurries towards them with his team of scouts in tow. There's dread in their wide eyes that gives Marco pause and churns his gut as they stumble to a halt in the sand, panting for breath. A brief look shared with their captain – he sees it, too – before Marco steps forward, arms crossed, casting worry aside. "What's wrong, yoi? See something?" he asks.

A beat, and Isaac straightens, sweat beading along his brow from the run and the midday heat. "We spotted another ship," he says. "Couldn't get a good look at their flag, but they've set up camp at the other side of the island. We saw their base from the side of the mountain back up that way," he points back the way they've come, up a slope of wild greenery that one might get a good look of the West beach.

Marco nods. "Pirates or Navy?"

"Definitely pirates. Don't think they've spotted us yet. Should we rally the commanders and investigate?"

Before Marco can reply – he's honestly not sure what the right call is, especially if these other pirates have yet to spot them or cause any trouble – Whitebeard shakes his head. "We'd best keep our distance. No need to make a fuss over nothing, so long as they don't trouble us. You say they docked on the West side of the island? In that case, we'll stay here in the South. Marco, inform the commanders and keep the boys clear from the jungle for now. They've grown stronger, but I'd rather not have a repeat of what happened on Tundra."

Marco nods, and Isaac and his team follow suit. Though it does concern the First Mate that they've yet to identify these other pirates staking claim to the other half of the island, to go investigate might be a little dramatic on their part, and unnecessary. So long as they steer clear and keep the kids in the know (and in their sight at all times), there's nothing to worry about –

"What was that about pirates?"

Marco turns, as does Whitebeard. Ace and Sabo are making their way over, confusion and concern creasing youthful features as they look between the captain, the First Mate and the little squad of scouts. It's Ace who asks, worry and a hint of suspicion in his tone, "What's going on? Are there other pirates docked here?"

There's no need to hide or lie about any of this, so Marco goes ahead and shrugs. "Yeah, we just received word. Unknown pirates have set up camp on the other side of the island, but I wouldn't worry about it, yoi. For now, though, we'd feel better if the three of you stuck close to the beach where we can see you, no wandering in the jungles or...what?"

He trails off as Ace and Sabo's eyes grow wider and wider with dread and perhaps a hint of fear, the pair trading a look that spells trouble for all of them. It's only then that Marco realises there's only two of them –

He closes his eyes, counts to ten – don't shout, don't lose it, it's cool, they didn't know – and then opens his eyes, asks very slowly, patiently – "Where is Luffy, yoi?"

He doesn't really need to ask, but he does anyway, for the sake of his father watching on and the lingering scouts who've yet to depart. So it's no surprise to him when Sabo and Ace gulp once in unison, and slowly, wordlessly, point to the jungle.

Dammit to hell.

These boys will be the death of him.

0o0o0

Luffy hums a tune to himself as he treks through the thick, sweltering heat of the jungle, walking stick in hand; it's only proper for one to carry a walking stick with them on an adventure such as this, and he'd happened upon the perfect stick before even entering the jungle, just sitting there waiting to be snatched. So snatch it Luffy did, and now he's deep in the jungle, none but the breeze wafting through the trees and the quiet chattering of wildlife for company.

It's nice, he thinks, being surrounded by nature that speaks to him in a way that Tundra hadn't, the snow so thick and endless that it dulled the senses, muted the wildlife thriving beneath the blanket of white. Here, he's reminded of home. How the animals, wherever they lurked, were never silent even at night. Trekking through the foliation, over fallen trees and over muddy puddles and winding streams that flow through the land and back to the sea, he feels like he's back at Dawn, making his way back to Dadan's place to drop off their latest kill to roast on the fire, before retracing their steps to return to their new dwelling in the tree-house, a little home they made for themselves.

He misses their tree-house, misses Dadan and the bandits and Makino...maybe they should write a letter at some point, let them know they're still alive, they're okay –

He freezes.

Something pricks his senses again in a way that's steadily becoming familiar. Usually it spells trouble, danger, a warning for him to stay the hell away or run. But this time, like when he'd felt Kotatsu, heard him though he spoke no words, his anxiety is silent. There's no danger here.

The jungle thrives and sings around him, but Luffy pricks his ears and listens harder, closer, brows furrowing as he inclines his head sideways.

There. A strong presence, far stronger than he's felt except around Whitebeard, the strongest of them all. Confident, too, almost cocky he thinks, but oddly lonely. And then –

"Gather up all of the crew, it's time to ship out Bink's Brew~"

Luffy freezes, nearly trips over his own feet. A voice. An actual voice, a person. But this island's supposed to be uninhabited...

There's a pull at his chest that begs him to follow despite his better judgement, despite the niggling threat that this might be a repeat of Tundra. But he fees no danger here, no fear like he had with the hunters, no reason for him to ignore the voice echoing from beyond through the endless green.

And he knows this song; Bink's Brew, a pirate's classic he'd learned what feels like a lifetime ago.

He drops his stick and takes off into the jungle, following the voice.

It doesn't take as long as he'd thought – he nearly falls into a ditch once and almost gets tangled in a curtain of vines twice, leaves and sticks in his hair and dirt on his shorts and feet, but soon enough, he's approaching the source of the voice. It's a neat little clearing behind a thicket of vines and low trees, sunlight beaming through a break in the canopy to land on a lone, cloaked figure sitting on the stump of a long dead tree, his back turned to Luffy.

"Gather up all of the crew, it's time to ship out Bink's Brew ~. Sing a song and play along for all the ocean's wide~. After all is said and done, you'll end up a skeleton..."

Luffy leans against the nearest tree and listens, mouth slightly agape as the person's – the man's voice, soft and steady, washes over him. The way he's singing...the boy feels sadness, suddenly, flowing off the man's bowed head and shoulders, like there's a weight pressing him into the earth that shouldn't be there, a sense of nostalgia and longing that tears at his heart...

He's half a mind to approach the lonely man, to help in some way, already taking a hesitant step into the light.

And then the singing stops. The stranger lifts his head, cocking it to one side. Luffy doesn't move another inch.

The man smirks, almost surprised. "It's not often someone sneaks up on me," he says. He slowly rises to his feet, and his black coat swishes just so as he turns to face Luffy. "To what do I owe the –?"

He stops. Everything stops.

Luffy's eyes go wide, jaw agape, heart pounding loud in his ears, hard that it might burst from his chest. His hands tremble, cold sweat dripping down his brow, tanned features paling. The man is no different, staring across the distance at Luffy as though he's a ghost.

The wind shifts, a black cloak and hair red as blood shifting with it.

The man blinks once, his only hand rising, reaching out, hesitant and hopeful and oh so scared, and he whispers –

"Anchor?"

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