A/N~ Guys. GUYS.

THIS CHAPTER THREW ME THROUGH THE RINGER! I could not write it, for the life of me I couldn't write anything I liked for the LONGEST TIME! I'm so sorry for the delay, but I've read every single comment that came through in the meantime and I've gotta say... something tells me you guys really don't like Teach. XDDDDD

Yeah I know that was evil of me. BUT, this story isn't finished yet, so hang in there!

At the time of writing this authors note it's past midnight and I REALLY need to sleep, so let's go through some mentions right quick!

LuffySmileyFace: Aww thank you sm! Schoolwork is important tho, no skipping! And yeah, Teach needs to go down

CheshirePirates: OOF! I do love this comment XD And yes, we're gonna see more about Mei, don't worry! Or worry, y'know, whichever works... XD

xuan: I know what you mean, I've read some fics where Ace is just borderline... angst 24/7 and I do not vibe with that. Thank you for reading!

Andy: I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS SO MUCH THEY GIVE ME LIFE!

BlueLikeSabo: Thank you for the cookies! And thank you for the review, it means a lot to me!

That's all I have time for, super sorry, but you all mean the WORLD to me!

WARNING: MENTIONS OF SELF HARM, SLAVERY AND DEATH IN THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

With that on with the chapter!

I OWN NOTHING, BECAUSE IF I DID, ACE WOULD NEVER SUFFER!

Enjoy!


Chapter 32

There are some things, Rayleigh thinks, he really should see coming. Being Roger's First Mate had taught him that much and being married to Shakky teaches him more, but he'd hoped, really hoped, that last night's conversation wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass.

The universe loves to prove him wrong.

The morning comes as it's ought to after a Whitebeard party—with a hangover the size of the Red Line and a pirate drooling on his shoulder, both of them on the floor of the galley. It takes him a moment to find his bearings and kick Haruta awake, and a moment longer to remember where he was and where his wife wandered off to—Izo's room, a danger zone for those not inclined to a makeover—before he's on his feet, stretching the kinks and aches away faster than these poor rookies ever could. They'll catch up one day.

And then there's noise overhead, coming from the deck. Lots of noise. Footsteps pound like a herd of wild horses, heading towards the galley. Rayleigh shares a look with Haruta, the younger pirate just as baffled as he shrugs, shaking his head.

Seconds later, Sabo and Luffy come barrelling in, wide-eyed and panicked, bringing a trail of crewmates and one or two Commanders on their heels.

Rayleigh can't see Ace among the crowd, can't sense him anywhere nearby. Dread settles in his gut and festers like an infected wound.

Then Sabo meets Rayleigh's gaze. An instant later, the boy's eyes grow narrow, cold and ruthless in a way the veteran pirate has only seen a few times in his life on grown men. It's not a look he ever thought he'd see on a fifteen-year-old boy.

Sabo is across the room in record time, and he cold-cocks Rayleigh into the wall.

There are gasps, shouts and startled curses. Rayleigh barely hears them; his ears are ringing, jaw aching, and then he's slammed into the wall again, two hands fisted in his shirt pinning him there, the teen's eyes swirling with hatred and a vicious sort of fury.

"What," Sabo snarls, "did you do."

Rayleigh blinks and blinks again. "What?"

"What did you say to him?" Sabo shakes him roughly, cloth tearing in his grip. "Where is he? What the hell did you say to Ace?!"

And oh, Rayleigh thinks, heart aching and clenching the way it had the day he'd learned of Rouge's passing, the universe is a cruel bitch.

Rayleigh is an imperfect man. He's bound to make mistakes, has made many, more than he can count. But he tries (lord does he try), and often he's successful. If not, he'll try his hardest to make things right.

But now, pinned against a wall and sporting a bruised jaw courtesy of the livid blond grappling him by the shirt, mismatched eyes merciless, Rayleigh isn't sure how he'll rectify this. But like always, he'll try, hopefully before the boy kills him.

(And he will. A man only looks the way this boy does when he's ready and willing to kill with nothing to gain and everything to lose.)

Rayleigh raises his hands, slowly, and meets Sabo's gaze evenly. "I told him what I thought he should do," he says, and Sabo's hands twitch, "I told him the truth—"

"And what 'truth' was that?" Sabo slams him again. The voices behind them grow louder, some telling Sabo to stop, to let go and calm down, another telling someone to "get Pops down here yesterday, dammit!" and Sabo looks no further from beheading Rayleigh than he did before. Luffy stands in the circle of Izo's arms, shoulders shaking, tears gathering in his eyes.

"Ace is gone," Sabo says and wait, what? "He's gone, there was blood on the floor and his things are gone and you said something to make him leave! What did you say to him?!"

Ace is gone? He'd—he'd left?

After all that, everything Rayleigh had told him, everything that happened according to Marco, the kid had thought it best to leave? Without a word? And what was that about blood? He could see the faintest traces of scars on the kid's arms but he'd thought...

"Sabo, listen to me. I didn't know. I didn't think Ace would—"

"You don't know a goddamn thing about my brother! Nobody does, and that's why he thinks that way! That's how people like you make sure he never stays or belongs anywhere because of a stupid name!" Sabo draws one hand back, fingers bent like claws, coated with the familiar black sheen of Armament Haki. "Dark King, Pirate King's right hand, I don't care. I'll kill you—!"

Something slams on the floor—"That is enough!"

Silence falls like a stone, and all heads turn to Whitebeard, bisento clenched in one hand. His wrinkled face is a steady mask of calm, but his Haki, flaring with anxiety and a hint or two of shame, gives him away.

His amber gaze sweeps the room before it lands on Sabo. The boy is frozen mid-strike, arm raised, clawed fingers inches from Rayleigh's nose. Rayleigh meets Edward's eyes and subtly gestures the boy: 'can you do something about this?'

Edward raises a single brow: 'Only if there is a reason that I should.'

And while that's fair, Rayleigh is about as lost as everyone in this room, and for the little time he'd spent around Sabo, he doesn't want to hurt him or give the Whitebeard's a reason to have his head. So he ducks his chin just once: 'I'll explain. Not here.'

And thank god they've known each other as long as they have because it's just enough. Edward looks at Sabo. "Sabo," he says, booming voice unusually soft. "Calm yourself. Let the man go."

Sabo's face, frozen in a snarl, twitches. He blinks once, twice. The third time, Rayleigh watches the warmth return to his eyes and the rage fall from his face. The teen looks him up and down, realization preceding the horror as he gasps, yanks his hand from Rayleigh's shirt and backs up right into Thatch's chest. The chef steadies him when he tumbles, but lets him go right away when the boy bows at the waist—"I'm sorry!" he cries.

Rayleigh doesn't miss the way half the room silently winces, expressions achingly sad. Doesn't miss Luffy's flinch like he's been hit or the way Edward's frown deepens. He misses none of it, but he ignores all of it and rests a careful hand on Sabo's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, kid," he says. "If it were me, I'd have done the same."

Sabo rises from his bow, but his shoulders are tense, brows knitted tight, lip worried between his teeth and guilt swirling in the mismatched blues along with the start of frustrated tears.

Above them, Edward addresses the nearest Commanders: "Kingdew, Vista, Jiru, gather the crew. Search the ship, and prepare a party to search Sabaody, but wait for my order. Inform the others if they're not already aware. Marco, Thatch, Haruta, Izo, meet me in my quarters."

He's met with a chorus of 'Aye Captain's' and 'Yes Sir!'s as the crew disperses like water, though Izo lingers half a moment to press a soft kiss into Luffy's hair before he's following the others at a brisk stride.

Then Edward faces Rayleigh and the children. "Boys," he says, and the young ones barely hide their flinches. "Come. We'll settle this matter in private. I ask that you accompany us, Silvers."

It's less of a request from an old friend than it is an order from the King of the Sea, but he wants answers as much as the rest of them, so he nods and follows them out of the galley. Luffy scurries to Sabo's side, and Sabo's trembling arm immediately winds around Luffy's shoulders to pull him closer.

The four Commanders are waiting for them when they reach Edward's cabin, and Marco shuts the door, locking it before taking his place at Edward's right. Rayleigh lingers with Izo by the door, watching as Edward ushers the boys onto the bed. They sit on the edge, pressed close with their eyes on their laps like they're about to be punished. They've done nothing wrong, but old habits die hard.

The silence is thick and heavy with unease, enough to choke a normal man. Edward kneels by the bed and looks at the pair. "Boys," he says, soft yet tinged with careful urgency. "I understand you're afraid, and until now I have never asked you to reveal that which you aren't ready to. However, Ace's disappearance, blood on your bedsheets... and your outburst—" Sabo's shoulders hitch "—this is a serious matter, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to be honest with me. Why would Ace run away like this? Is it perhaps something we've done?"

Sabo and Luffy share a look, nervous, reluctant, frightened.

"Sabo," Edward says, almost a whisper. "Please, son."

Sabo's breath hitches on what sounds like a sob, eyes squeezed shut as his shoulders tremble. Luffy clings to him, rubbery arms wrapping around his brother's waist. A beat passes, then another. Finally, Sabo draws a breath and lifts his head, meeting Whitebeard's steady gaze.

"... Ace has... Ace has always h-hated himself," the boy at last admits. "I—I can't tell you why, that's not my place and I made a vow I wouldn't, but—but it's there, and it's deep, and he thinks no-one could ever love him for it. And sometimes he... he does horrible things to himself as if to punish himself for feeling or wanting to cry or—or wanting anything at all..."

That explains the marks, Rayleigh thinks and very carefully doesn't react. The Commanders look like they're going to be sick or kill someone. Edward's frown turns pained, but he nods for Sabo to continue.

And after a moment, he does. "He... only does it when he's feeling too much. And he's careful about it. Wraps up, cleans, makes sure never to leave anything behind even though we always find out, but... but there was blood on the bed and the floor, like he forgot to wrap it up properly, a-and his things are gone... and I knew there was something off when he came in last night, I knew it but I didn't do anything—"

"Hush, Sabo," Edward rests a careful hand on Sabo and Luffy's backs just as tears start to drip down Sabo's cheeks, his efforts to wipe them away with his sleeve a vain one. "None of this is your fault. If anything, the fault is ours for not seeing this until it was too late." Edward's brows pinch, ashamed. "It was foolish of us to think that keeping our distance, not asking questions—the right ones—would do you any good. In the end, we've only hurt you more. I apologize, Sabo and Luffy."

The pair stare at the old pirate with wide eyes, like they never had anyone—an adult, a parent, a person, anyone—ever apologize to them. It's a sad, sad thing.

Edward gives them a final, careful pat before standing, his full height ever imposing. "We made a deal with you in the beginning—that we would never force you to stay or leave. However, for Ace to leave without a word to us or you, harming himself on top of that... I'm afraid we're going to have to bend the rules just this once. We will find Ace and get to the bottom of this. We will not let our mistakes go uncorrected."

The boys nod shakily. "Okay," Sabo breathes, wrapping his arm around Luffy's shoulders and squeezing. "Okay. Thank you."

Edward nods back, smiles, and then turns to Rayleigh in silent prompting. The Commander's eyes fall on him too, equal parts expectant and borderline distrustful. Again, that's fair, and in any other situation, it'd be incredibly endearing to see how much these three boys have them wrapped around their little fingers.

Rayleigh faces the old captain. "I'm afraid I'm in the same boat as Sabo. I can't tell you anything that Ace hasn't already told you, and I promised him I wouldn't," he explains, noting the slight irritation and impatience emanating from Marco and his siblings. "But I told him about Roger. About the relationship you had. And I told him he, and his brothers, would never find a safer ship to sail on, or a better crew to live with, than right here on the Moby. I'd hoped Ace would see it, too." Rayleigh frowns and lowers his head. "I was wrong. Or rather, something or someone put it in his head that he had no place here regardless of what I, or Red Hair, said."

At the mention of Shanks, Edward raises a brow but says nothing of it. His eyes are calculating, though, as if he's putting some dots together... Rayleigh wonders how long it'll be before they're connected and if this would count as him breaking the promise he'd made to Ace.

"Who the hell would do such a thing?" Izo wonders aloud, looking to his fellow Commanders for an answer; none of them has one, of course, and neither does Rayleigh. As far as he knows, he was the last person Ace spoke to before he'd ushered his brothers off to bed. Unless...

"Was there anyone else that spoke to Ace last night?" Rayleigh asks.

Then Thatch lifts his head. "Teach was on watch from midnight till this morning. Maybe he saw something?"

"Jozu already spoke to him," says Haruta. "Told me as we were on our way here; he did see Ace sitting on the figurehead, and they talked for a bit before Ace went to bed. Teach said he watched him go straight there, but never saw him leave the ship. He must've snuck off during the switch."

Marco curses under his breath. "Smart, yoi."

"What did they talk about, did Jozu say?" Izo presses, nails pinching into his skin as he clenches his fists.

Haruta wrinkles his brows in thought, finger tapping his chin. "... yeah. I think he mentioned Roger again or something. He asked Teach about him and Pops and what they were like back in the day..."

Thatch runs am agitated hand through his hair, mussing it up from its usual do. "Dammit, this makes no sense!" he cries, throwing his hands up and narrowly missing smacking Marco in the face. "What, does Ace have some beef with Roger or something? And why the hell does that even matter, the guy's dead! He's got nothin' to do with any of—"

He's silenced by Marco's hand on his shoulder. "We can cross that bridge when we come to it, yoi. Right now, we're wasting time. Ace is not on the ship, so he's probably wandering through the Groves. Pops?"

All eyes fall on the Captain, who grants them a single nod. "Send the order for the search teams to disembark," he says. "We'll scour the nearest Groves. In his mental and physical state, he can't have gone too far yet. Sabo and Luffy, you stay with me. Marco, you four search Sabaody Park. Take Jozu and Rakuyo with you; I don't doubt your strength, my sons, but considering where we are I will take no chances."

"I'll take Shakky and search our Grove," Rayleigh says. "Chances are slim that he might've wandered that way, but it's not impossible."

Edward nods. "Very well. The rest of you, make haste. Find Ace, at any cost."

With that, Rayleigh follows the storm out of Edward's quarters in search for Shakky. He hopes, for all their sakes, that they find the boy quickly. And he hopes, for the sake of the islanders, innocent or otherwise, that they find him before anyone else does...


0o0o0


It's about noon, he thinks, and Ace doesn't know where the hell he is.

All he knows is that he'd left the ship sometime just before dawn while the watchmen changed for their shifts and that he's been walking for a while in what he assumes is a straight line. Maybe he'd turned at some point? Maybe he's going in circles? Who knows. Who cares.

He'd gotten away. That's the important thing. It was surprisingly easy, almost anticlimactic, but then again half the crew were sleeping off booze and food comas. It was easy to pack the bare essentials from their room and slip out unnoticed even by their resident feline.

It was... less easy not to look back at the sleeping little brothers he'd left behind.

(It was the hardest goddamn thing he's ever done in his life. He'd had to reopen the wound in his arm to stave off the tears.)

But they'll be fine, he knows, better off with the Whitebeard's than he'll ever be. They'll be safe, even if they grow to hate him for leaving without even saying goodbye or leaving a note.

(He knew if he'd lingered long enough for them to wake, he'd never leave. They wouldn't have let him, and Ace didn't have the heart or the strength to tell them why he had to go. He didn't want to ruin what innocence they have left. Not over this. Not over the curse he brought with his name and dirty blood.)

Now, he wanders the Groves, mostly aimless. Maybe there's a ship that'll take him back to East Blue? Unlikely, but if push comes to shove he can always steal a row-boat or something. Or he could just hang around Sabaody for a bit. He hasn't explored all the Groves yet, might be interesting. Which Grove is this? He hadn't bothered to look, hasn't looked anywhere but at the ground so far. Was it 5? Or was it 3...?

Something in the back of his mind warns him against going any lower. Something he only absently heeds as he keeps walking. It'll be fine, so long as he keeps his head down, keeps moving.

The universe, however, loves to prove him a liar.

"Hey, you there!"

Ace slows to a halt, tips his chin up just enough, and about six or eight guys are standing a ways off to his right, armed with swords, guns and the like, some big and broad, others not so much but have no shame exposing their chests to prove they can at least hold their own, which is kind of sad.

They're also making their way towards Ace. Joy.

Ace blinks slowly at them as they approach. "Can I help you?" he asks, and huh. Why does his voice sound so hoarse and dead?

"Maybe." The biggest guy, bare-chested, a gun strapped over his shoulder and scars running down his right side, folds his arms and grins. It's not a friendly grin. "Or we can help you. What're you doin' out here by yourself, kid? You lost?"

His friends start chuckling among themselves over something, like the bad guys in children's stories do when they feel especially evil. Ace is anything but impressed, and he shrugs. "Just passing through."

The big guy nods and grins wider, hand falling casually on the butt of his gun. "You realize where you are, kid? You're getting' real close to our turf, y'know. Wanderers like yourself don't usually come back. At least not as free men if you know what I mean..."

His buddies laugh again, and it's getting old fast. Absently, he recalls a time a group this size would've made him nervous. But then, he'd had little brothers to protect and a seastone chain holding him down. Now he has neither of those.

But he also doesn't care enough to start a fight. Too tired. "Cool," he says, "so are you gonna move outta my way or...?"

The laughing stops and a silence, slightly awkward that it's almost funny, hovers over the group. They look at each other and then at Ace, perplexed. What, are they expecting him to be afraid? Unrealistic. He shrugs and walks under Big Guy's arm, throwing a lazy "later" over his shoulder as he passes. They watch him dumbly for a minute, and then the shock fades.

"O-Oi! Don't just walk away from us you idiot!" Big Guy shouts, and it sounds like he's stomping. "No one walks away from us and lives to tell the tale!"

"Awesome," Ace sighs, shouldering his bag. "Well, I don't have much cash on me but if you really wanna rob me you're welcome to try. I will resist, though. Hope you have something for burns."

"Oh, we don't wanna rob ya, kid!" another guy pipes up. "The only prize we're after here is you!"

That's interesting. Ace stops mid-step and turns on one heel to face them, eyes narrowed under the brim of his hat. "Come again?" he asks slowly.

The gang of lowlifes grin, glad to have his attention again, and one or two go so far as to unsheathe their blades, glinting in the sunlight. Big Guy steps forward all dramatic-like, "Y'see, we run an incredibly lucrative business around these parts. Folks like yourself—tourists, wanderers, upstart pirates, cocky kids or whoever—are just what we need to, shall we say... satisfy our target clientele."

Which is a very long-winded, very proud way of saying they're a band of slavers.

Ace stares at them, and for the first time in months, he feels the familiar spark of rage light up in his chest, building and festering like an open wound. "Huh." He turns to face them fully, voice dull but barely withholding a scream because of course they're slavers, of course of freaking course they are. "You don't say."

Figures that the first thing he feels the moment he leaves the Moby isn't relief, sadness or even regret, but pure, unadulterated fury. Fury, grief, and the urge to laugh 'till he cries at the irony of it all.

At least now he has something else to take it out on than himself.

(Now, in some small way, he can take his vengeance.)

Big Guy nods almost gleefully, and they start to surround Ace. "That's right, glad you're catchin' on, kid! Not so dim after all!" He brandishes his blade, the honed tip just touching the underside of Ace's chin. "So how's about we cut the chitchat and get a move on, yeah? Next Auction's tomorrow and I bet we'd make a pretty penny outta—"

Ace's fist ignites and is buried in the bastard's chest before he can finish his sentence, and then he's flying across the barren field and through the nearest tree in a shower of splinters. Smoke drifts lazily off him where he lays, motionless. His buddies all gawk, shaken, and slowly turn back to Ace.

Ace breathes in smoke and exhales flames with a long sigh. "... y'know, I oughta thank you," he says, adjusting his hat and allowing himself a full, toothy grin that reaches his eyes in all the wrong ways.

"I really needed to feel something today."


0o0o0


Marco feels it from miles off, and freezes in his tracks. Thatch and the others feel it too, and turn to look off into the distance the same time he does.

So far their search has yielded nothing but dead ends, disappointment and desperation that grows as the minutes go by. The park held nothing, nor did Shakky's bar for all they'd hoped, and they dared not venture any closer to the single-digit Groves. But that's exactly where Marco feels it coming from, emanating in rippling waves from one spot...

Conquerors' Haki, combined with Ace's heated rage.

It feels like decades since he'd felt it last, but he'd know it like he knows the sea and her temperament, like he knows his father and his family and everything that matters. And god, does Ace matter.

And he is far, far too close to the Auction House for Marco's liking.

He shares a single, brief look with his fellow Commanders, and they all nod back, and then the six Whitebeard Pirates are charging through the bubbling foliage. Marco is in the air in an instant, wings alight with blue flames as he tears through the low canopy ahead of them.

Hang on, Ace, he pleads, hang on, we're coming for you.


0o0o0


Ace realizes, too little too late, that he's made a mistake.

He'd expected (hoped, maybe a little) that they'd be tougher than the bums they'd fought as kids back on Dawn, tougher than that wannabe Bluejam would ever be. He'd expected to be fighting for a little more than a few minutes maximum before he had his fun, spent his anger (grief, regret, pain) and left them in a pile of semi-conscious bodies for someone else to pick up. He'd expected decent weapons and restraints—they're slavers after all, in the Grand Line no less.

He hadn't, for the life he doesn't deserve, expected the seastone imbued chains and whips.

The moment they figured out he's a Devil Fruit user, the whole fight took a turn before it even truly began; he'd gotten a few good licks in—a crushed nose here, a fractured knee there, and so many burns—before Big Guy re-entered the fray, wheezing and still smouldering a little, and charged at Ace with a guttural cry and a whip in one meaty fist.

He cracked it at Ace, and like a fool Ace had brought his arm up to let the damn thing wrap around his wrist to yank the guy forwards for a knee to the jaw—only for the crippling fatigue to hit him immediately, and then he was on his knees, dizzy and panting and confused until he realized.

Shit.

That was all it took, and suddenly he's losing ground.

Eight men, nothing Ace hasn't already faced and more, and he's already bleeding and swaying on his feet, aching all over. They wail on him with seastone clubs, chains and whips against his back and legs and arms, and it's taking it's toll big time. His flames are wild and catch on a few bushes, but not long enough to deter the men as the bubbles put them out quick, not hot enough as his body pushes itself to its limits against its new natural enemy.

It's pathetic, really. To go down like this right after leaving the one place he knew he wouldn't be safe, and he'd been hopeful (or stupid, blind and too numb) enough to think for a moment he'd be better off out in a world he doesn't know and hasn't for a long time.

But damn him he's going to fight. He will not go back, never ever again. He'll die before he's sold off again, branded, back in rags, in chains, behind bars like an animal, an object, never to see daylight again.

I'd rather die than live through that hell ever again. I won't break my promise to her...

(But hasn't he already? He'd left his brothers, left his chance of happiness over the name of the dead man that haunts him...)

"Gotta admit, you're pretty strong!" Big Guy wheezes, exhausted but clearly having more fun than Ace is, cracking his whip against the grass, taunting him. "I know a few Nobles that'd pay a high price for a kid like you!"

"Shut. Your goddamn. Mouth," Ace growls and spits blood off to the side, raising his fists and setting them ablaze. It'll do him little good, but it's better than nothing, and his Armament Haki is still too weak to hold up for long. Sabo's always been better at that than him. Sabo's amazing, Ace adores the hell out of him and he misses his twin so much—god, how much blood has he lost? Why is the world tilting—?

He blinks, and there's guy leaping at him with another club that bashes against Ace's skull, and stars dance across his vision. His face hits the grass, and there's a boot on his back keeping him down as he struggles and squirms under its weight—

He hears the crunch of bones in his left arm before he feels it, and when he does, he screams.


0o0o0


A scream rips through the landscape, and Marco's heart stills. He almost plummets, almost smacks into a tree as terror grips him as nothing has in what feels like forever.

Ace is hurt. Ace is hurt. And his Haki is growing weaker—

"MARCO!"

Thatch's voice below breaks him from his spiral into panic, and he looks down. They're still running, keeping pace with his flight, and Thatch is waving frantically. "Hang in there, Marc! He's close by, we can sense it! We'll make it, I swear to god we will! Don't flake on us now, brother!"

I won't, he wants to say, but there's barely time for a nod before he's picking up speed. He can't falter now, not here, not when Ace is so close, they're so close, they're almost there they can save him—

Whether it's the Phoenix crying within him or the cruel voices of the past coming back to haunt him, it lights a fuse in his heart and pushes his body to go faster.

Hang in there, Ace! Please just hang on a little longer. We'll save you, I promise. Hang on, little brother!

They break through into a clearing, and Marco dives and skids against the grass, leaving scars in the earth as his wings vanish in a swirl of fire. His brothers stop just behind him, and they all stare, frozen, at the scene before them.

Patches of grass scorched, bushes burnt to nothing, a hole through a tree, snapped swords and splatters of blood...

In the centre stands eight men, nursing wounds and burns, some clothes singed and still smouldering, men limping and groaning but smirking amongst themselves proudly—

And being hauled like a sack under a large man's arm, limp and bruised and bleeding all over, wrists tied with a black whip, is a black haired teenager.

Marco's breath stills, sleepy eyes wide.

Ace.

"No," Izo gasps wretchedly. Marco doesn't look, can't, but knows what his face must look like, what they all must look like; grief-stricken, shocked, anguished.

Beside him, always beside him no matter what, Thatch is still and silent as stone.

The chef's Haki flares with bloodlust.

The large man notices them and turns, cocking his head. "Huh? Who the hell are you?" he grunts. "Sorry, if you're lookin' for a catch, we already beat ya to it! See?" And then he jostles Ace under his arm as if to show him off as a prize—

Marco feels the moment they collectively snap, and he finally, finally, gives in to the Phoenix. Flames burst forth from his body, wrapping around him until his other form emerges with a shriek that could shatter glass.

"You bastards!" Thatch bellows, tearing his blades from their sheaths just as Haruta does, Jozu's entire left side glistens with diamonds, and Rakuyo pulls his club out just as Izo whips out his pistols and shoots a man in the knees. He goes down howling.

The first blow dealt, the Whitebeard's charge forth, minds and bodies in one accord, one thought among them all:

How dare you touch one of our own.

Marco sinks his talons into the big one's shoulders and lifts, the man screaming in agony and dropping Ace. Izo leaps, catching the teen in his arms mid-air and rolling upon landing, one hand bracing the back of Ace's head protectively. The sharpshooter hurries just outside of the fray to kneel with the boy cradled close, gun in his other hand.

"Is he ok?!" Haruta shouts over his shoulder as he slices one man from his shoulder to the hip, blood spraying as he collapses.

"Still breathing!" Izo shouts back, absently shooting another thug that thought he could sneak up on a Whitebeard. "He's unconscious though, bleeding a lot—oh good god, his left arm is shattered!"

Shattered?

Marco's trills are that of grief and blind rage as he swings the big one around and lets go, and he falls screaming to the ground. He's not dead, but Marco's not done yet.

He drops his transformation for all but his wings and talons as he lands, glowering darkly. The big guy lifts his head from the ground weakly, breaths stuttering like a dying engine. It's only then that he notices the mark on Marco's chest, bold and proud and unmistakable, and his eyes grow wide with realization and crippling fear.

He tries in vain to scoot away. "We—we didn't know," he quivers, eyes glistening. Marco feels nothing as he stalks closer. "We swear, we swear we didn't know—!"

"You know now, yoi," Marco drones. "You can take that knowledge with you to the grave."

"Please—!"

Marco charges, leaps, and his talons plunge into the man's chest with a sickening crunch. It's only moments until the body beneath him stills and breathes no more.

It's over.

Stepping off the corpse and fully dropping his other form, Marco looks around. Jozu and Rakuyo have bodies at their feet, barely out of breath, and Thatch pulls his sabre out of another's gut, one arm pressed against the bleeding wound across his chest, pristine white shirt stained a grotty red. He falls to one knee.

"Thatch! You good?!" Rakuyo calls as he, Marco and Jozu hurry over.

Grinning weakly, Thatch offers them a thumbs up. "I'll live. Just... just got a little excited is all."

Marco huffs something between a laugh and a scoff. "Excited is a strong word considering you just stabbed three people, yoi," he says, helping Thatch to his feet with one arm over his shoulders, Haruta supporting his other side.

"To be fair," Thatch grunts, the three of them limping quickly towards Izo and their unconscious charge, "those three needed a good stabbing."

"Little dark there, Thatchy," Haruta mutters, and they all know he hardly means it. After all, anyone who sells their own kind into slavery is anything but human.

They all kneel around Izo, cradling Ace close to his chest with one arm, the other hand gently stroking his hair. The whip used to tie his wrists lies discarded some feet away, and the boy's skin is raw and bloody where it dug into his flesh. Ire burning hot and strong, Marco reaches for it to tear it apart until Izo's clipped voice stops him.

"Don't touch the whip. Seastone imbued."

Rakuyo wheezes a curse. Jozu growls low and rumbling like a beast. Haruta lets out a shout and kicks a broken blade across the grass. Thatch stares at Ace's bruised and bloody face with something like heartache, something like guilt, eyes shining and fists trembling as he fights tears.

Marco almost doesn't bother to hide his own, but he's needed here, so he puts his feelings on a shelf for now and gently takes Ace from Izo's arms. The other man's eyes are already red, cheeks wet, lips pressed firmly together, probably to protest against letting the boy go ever, ever again.

Holding the teen close as his healing flames get to work on the worst of the lacerations, Marco understands completely.

"Much as I'd like to, there's not much I can do here," he says, sliding an arm under Ace's knees and standing as he shifts the boy into a princess carry. "We need Whiskey to work her magic yesterday. Haruta, contact Navigations, get them to meet us halfway with my stretcher."

"Already on it." Haruta's Transponder Snail is out and working for a signal. The younger man's face is flat with restrained wrath, his voice steady, but his eyes are as wet as Izo's.

Marco nods at him. "Good. Let's get him home, yoi."

They take off back the way they came, leaving the death and destruction behind them without a second glance. Marco moves quick as he's able, and he wants so desperately to take off into the air, but dare not with such precious cargo.

God, what the hell was he thinking? Why did he venture so close to the goddamn Auction House, couldn't he see the signs? Didn't they tell them not to wander beyond the double-digit Groves yesterday? Or was he too lost in his head, too deep in his despair and confusion and hurt to even notice where he was—?

A shift, followed by a weak groan—"... M'rco?"

The First Mate damn near trips. He looks down. "Ace!"

Silver eyes, half-open and barely if at all lucid, stare bewilderingly at Marco. He blinks slowly. "... wha... what're you... doin' here...?"

Marco offers a grin that wobbles horribly. "Looking for you, you little troublemaker," he chuckles breathlessly. "I swear, you and your brothers are going to make me grey before I'm fifty, yoi."

"... oh." Ace blinks again, head lolling against Marco's chest like a kitten burrowing for warmth against its mother, and it makes Marco want to laugh and cry. "... wh're we goin'...?"

"Home, kiddo. Back to the Moby. You'll be safe there, yoi. Whiskey's going to patch you up, let you rest, and we're going to have a long, long conversation about all of this once you're lucid, but you're gonna be okay."

"Can't... can't go back..." Ace lifts a trembling hand to push weakly at Marco's chest to no avail like he's trying to get away, and for the first time since Marco's known him the boy's voice shakes like he's going to cry. And Ace never cries, and now Marco knows why. His eyes flutter shut, and his hand drops limp onto his lap. "C-Can't—can't g back home... not safe... 'm cursed... not safe... not—not wanted..."

He hears Thatch choke back a sob where Rakuyo has him on his back. Hears Jozu whisper curses in his mother tongue, and spots Izo wiping his eyes somewhere to his left. He sees Whiskey's nurses and three fellow Commanders off in the distance, waving them over and urging them to hurry.

But Marco swallows and spares a precious moment to lean down and press his forehead against Ace's. "Stupid," he chokes and shuts his eyes against the tears that spring. One falls at long last, landing on a dirtied freckled cheek.

"You'll always be wanted, little brother."


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