A/N~HELLLOOO EVERYONE!
So sorry for the long wait, I've had... a LOT on my plate, and couldn't find the drive to write without something or SOMEONE interrupting my workflow. But AT LAST, the chapter we've all been waiting for!
WARNING: MENTIONS OF DEATH, ASSAULT, AND SELF-DECPRICATING THOUGHTS FROM BEGINNING OF ITALICS TO THE BREAK, PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION.
It's the above warning that actually made me hesitant to write this chapter at all, but it's kind of important so I had to, but please take care of yourselves I don't want to trigger anyone.
Okay, honourable mentions!
RevoultionaryCleo - I agree, hon! I totally agree :) Thank you for the review!
CoolCatz14 - THANK YOU! Hope this gives you some feels, too!
Stormy1X2 - EEEE THANK YOU STORMY! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!
xuan - brokoro kokoro?! oh nokoro! THank you for the review dear!
Andy - ANDYYYYYYY! Fear not my friend, this chapter is less - wait no I lied, its just as bad, but only at first I promise!
And to the one guest who posted the experience... I'm truly sorry you had to go through such a horrible ordeal, and I hope this story hasn't triggered you at all. Please stay safe, and know that you are very brave.
Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me this far! Everything I've written till now has been to get to THIS VERY POINT - the moment in the end inspired this whole fic, and it feels so GOOD to have reached it!
I OWN NOTHING. AGAIN, PLEASE BE CAREFUL!
Enjoy :)
Chapter 33
He was supposed to watch her.
He was supposed to look out for her. Protect her, like she protected him and his brothers for so long, protect her like he promised he would. He promised her.
And yet the moment he spots the guard fleeing from their tiny dressing room, clothes ripped, face covered in bruises and splatters of blood and one hand cradling his shoulder, Ace knows.
They were given separate sets for tonight's performance; Ace would be dancing on his own for the first time, and contempt for the whole thing aside, he was nervous. Mei has always been there, a steady presence to ground him to reality, his mirror to look into should he blunder (which wasn't often, couldn't be lest they face the wrath of the king). To dance without her felt like trying to walk with one leg.
(And watching her move from behind the curtain, the way her skirts swirled around her form like water as she twirled and leapt—she was art in motion, a serpent luring her prey with her hypnotizing movements, lulled into her deadly coils. Ace watched her and knew he could never be that, never be her, never be anything less than a cheap imitation.)
But as always, she'd assured him that he'd be fine. "I have trained you well, Ace," she'd said moments before he was due for the stage, her hair coiled with sweat and frizz from the heat; this close, he could hear her heart still racing. "You will be wonderful out there! You don't need me to cast a shadow on your brilliant light, my dearest friend."
And Ace had stared at her like she was an idiot, ignoring the rising heat in his cheeks. "S-Stop saying stuff like that. Like you could ever do that..." She'd giggled at him, pulled him in for a brief embrace that he returned, and then it was his turn to step into the light.
He'd ignored the masses and their hungry stares, ignored the King and his family sitting in the far back on their high thrones, and he moved.
As he sprang and whirled across the stage in time to the music, his flames bright and spiralling about him in a brilliant inferno, Ace thought of his brothers watching him from below, always smiling at him, always there and waiting for him to return to their open arms. He thought of Mei, his teacher, his friend, his partner in every way that mattered and more, watching him from behind the curtain with an aura bursting with delight, with pride... with love.
He thought of the day they would be free, the day they would escape to the ocean and set sail for the dreams that awaited them beyond the shores of this prison island.
And as he finished with a final burst of flames that split and scattered into tiny, dazzling fireflies over the applauding crowd, Ace's smile, for the first time, was real.
He'd been excited, giddy for the first time in years, as he'd hurried back behind the curtain to rejoin Mei.
She wasn't there.
And then the guard stumbles out of the room, not even sparing Ace a glance.
Ace's heart sinks and his inner fire dies and leaves his body shaking and cold.
No.
No. No, no, no no Mei—
He sprints the short distance to their room, bursting through the door with a desperate cry on his lips, "MEI—!"
He freezes.
The room is chaos. Torn fabric coils in tattered piles on the floor, the mirror on the vanity shattered with shards glittering across the table and carpet, the little stool splintered in the corner, the smooth seat covered in drying blood.
Mei lies in the centre of it all, curls tangled and fanning the carpet in waves of ebony, limbs sprawled awkwardly. Her head is facing away from Ace. Her chest is still.
Ace stares. And stares.
Numbly, he moves his legs and steps forward, falling to his knees before her. His hands tremble as he reaches for her shoulder.
"... Mei..."
He can't feel her. He can't feel her at all. Her aura is gone, bleak and grey like a slowly fading mist.
"Mei..."
When he turns her over, her head lolling unnaturally as he cradles her in his arms, her body is still warm. But her violet eyes stare lifelessly into his own. Their vibrancy is gone, their mirth and light are gone. Their love and pride, all gone.
Mei is gone.
She'd fought, he knows. She'd fought for her life, fought with everything she had just like he told her to. She hadn't surrendered, not for a minute.
But the room is so small, hardly big enough for two children, let alone a grown man. The clutter, the fabrics and chests and chairs and so little room, and for all her skill and speed and strength, she was still as starved as Ace, still a slave, still a child—
Her neck is broken. The bastard had cornered her, she'd fought, and he'd—
And Ace hadn't been there.
Ace wasn't here to protect her. He'd left her alone to fight and to die. He'd left her alone after he'd promised he wouldn't, he'd promised her—
Slowly, gently, Ace's trembling fingers press against her eyelids and slide them shut, brushing a knotted strand of hair from her face, then cupping her cheek in his palm.
She looks peaceful. Like she's sleeping, dreaming of a better place, dreaming of freedom...
She is free now, Ace knows. But this... this isn't the freedom they'd sought. He... he'd wanted... she couldn't—she wasn't supposed to die, wasn't meant to die, he promised he promised—
Ace brings Mei close, burying his face into the crook of her neck as he cradles her, holds her tight, rocking them gently back and forth. His body trembles, fingers clutching the torn fabric of her skirts, stroking her hair, blood dripping from his bottom lip as he fights and fights and fights the tears.
'Come back,' he pleads to the heavens, to anyone who would bother to listen to the silent, anguished cries of a slave. 'Come back, I'm sorry, please come back, I need you Mei please come back I'm sorry I failed you I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry Mei please I love—'
"What the hell?!"
Ace goes still. Lifts his head an inch upwards, enough to slide his gaze over his shoulder. Three guards stand frozen in the doorway, wide eyes gazing upon the mess and then the children in the middle of it, one curled over the other's limp and lifeless body, blood staining his lips and chin.
The guard in the middle has a familiar face covered in bruises, guilt scantily hidden behind a thin veil of phoney horror as he points a trembling finger at Ace. "T-There, that's him!"
Ace cranes his neck to stare at the guard, easing Mei's body to the floor with tender care.
"H-He's the slave that attacked me!"
He's the one that was watching Mei this whole time.
"He just went crazy all of a sudden, pounced on me like some kinda wild animal—"
He'd followed Mei, cornered her. Mei had fought him, and then he—
"—and then he killed that girl! I barely made it out with my life—"
He killed Mei.
Rage explodes from within, fire trailing along his skin, licking and flickering wildly as Ace snarls, low and feral like a beast, the guards realizing far too late that they'd forgotten the sea stone cuffs—
"YOU KILLED HER!"
He pounces, and he and the guard tumble to the ground screaming, one in rage, the other in blind terror and pain as Ace lands blow after fiery blow against his face until only garbled, bloody pleas for mercy escape his swollen lips—
"You BASTARD!" Ace screams raggedly, blow after blow after blow—"You asshole, you son of a bitch you killed her! YOU KILLED HER!"
(You killed her. You took her away from us, from me. You took her freedom, our freedom, you killed my partner, my friend—
You killed her. And I failed her.)
He doesn't remember more guards running through the hall with buckets of freezing water and sea stone chains, rough hands pulling him off the smouldering man, barely alive.
(I failed you.)
He doesn't remember the agony of chains and imbued whips against his back, blow after blow until he can't move anymore.
(I'm sorry, Mei.)
He does remember waking up in their cell, hours later, to Luffy crying quietly over him and clutching his bloody hand, his head pillowed on Sabo's lap. He remembers meeting his twins' puffy, discoloured eyes swirling with remnants of tears, remembers his voice breaking as he asks,
"... she's dead, isn't she?"
(I failed you. I'm sorry. I love—)
And Ace can only meet his gaze, his chest empty and cold and broken. Watching Sabo's face crumple as he gave way to more silent tears only served to break him further.
(I loved you.)
0o0o0
Awareness comes slowly to Ace.
The first thing he notices is that he's comfortable. Everything is soft, warm, quiet. He feels soft, warm and strangely safe. He only ever feels like that around...
Wait.
He registers the sound of two breathing bodies next to him, tucked in close to his body, and he freezes. He lifts his head as much as he's able, finding two familiar heads of ebony and gold resting on his chest and by his arm, clinging tight, faces pinched with worry even in their sleep—
And he remembers.
Leaving their bedroom, leaving Sabo and Luffy behind, sneaking off the Moby at dawn, wandering the Groves, the slavers, the fight, Marco—
The Whitebeards had found him. They'd rescued him, and now he's in the infirmary, his brothers glued to his side, sound asleep.
He's back on the Moby Dick.
Oh hell.
Ace lets his head drop back onto the pillow, stares at the ceiling, and has a very silent mental breakdown.
Why, why, why is he back here? After all the trouble, all the crap he must have put the Whitebeard's through from the moment they realized he'd left until... whatever time it is now, why would they even bother? Aren't they sick of him? Haven't they put two and two together and found that he's just cursed, a magnet for trouble worse than Luffy with the bloodline to prove it? He's run away once, what's stopping him from doing it again? Well, save for the obvious, but he'll do better next time! Or will they bring him right back to appease Luffy and Sabo?
Why do they care so much about a troublesome, good for nothing former slave?
Something echoes from the very back of his frazzled mind—a whisper of a memory, foggy and faint but real enough that he doesn't question it—
"Stupid." The press of Marco's forehead against his, a cold drop of water on Ace's cheek. Then, right before he passes out—
"You'll always be wanted, little brother."
Ace's heart misses a beat, and his eyes go wide as they stare into nothing.
That—that happened, didn't it? Marco really said that. He called him 'little brother', held him close, told him he was wanted...
But then what the hell did Ace say? God on high he can't remember. He knows he'd said something, through a mouth full of blood and a head full of fluff and fuzz—oh dammit to hell did he tell them the truth?
He needs to leave. He needs to get up and get the hell out of here before they come back, surround him and ask questions.
Because he's vulnerable enough to want to answer.
It takes a bit of fumbling, but he thanks whatever lucky stars he has left (and years of living with clingy siblings) as he slides out from under their heads and arms and off of the bed. His whole body aches like a sonovabitch—his left arm is in a thick cast from the elbow to the wrist, suspended in a sling, the fingers numb but still mobile, his ribs tender under the layers of wrappings, his cheek stinging under the taped plaster, his legs barely able to carry him towards the door as he stumbles once, twice, three times to get his shoes on.
He spares his brothers a final look of longing over his shoulder—it hurts to leave them again, but he needs to go—and then he's stumbling out of the room and into the hallway, limping and biting back groans of pain all the way.
(It only hits him now how quiet the ship is, how empty it feels. It's eerie as if everyone's up and left even though he knows that's not true-he can feel the whispers of their Haki through the walls-but even so... where is everyone?
It almost feels like the wake after someone died. He tries not to think about it too much.)
It doesn't take him long to find Marco—his Voice is one of the loudest on this ship, his aura the warmest and as familiar as the back of his hand, as safe as home tucked in the branches of a towering tree. He's on the main deck, standing tall and tense by Whitebeard's chair.
Whitebeard is also in his chair. And he and Marco are surrounded by the other fifteen Commanders, all arguing amongst themselves.
Damn my crappy timing, Ace groans inwardly. There's no way he's getting to Marco or off this ship with so many pirates gathered, least of all with freaking Whitebeard. Best if he sneaks back to the infirmary, for now, wait for a better—
"I just don't get it, goddammit!"
Ace freezes. He's never heard Thatch this... angry? Upset? Anguished? He can't pin it properly but it's not a nice thing, and despite himself Ace lingers, peering at the assemblage from around the corner, crouching. They won't see him, but they'll feel him if he's not careful.
"Why—why the hell would he say something like that?" Thatch rakes a hand through his hair, undone from its outlandish do for the first time—and the man looks bad, from the bandages on display under an unbuttoned shirt to the way his frown accentuates the long scar running down his face, the wrinkle between his brow that has no right to be there. The others are hardly any better, Ace realizes with a start; Izo's face is pale, eyes red. Haruta's face is creased with frustration, Vista constantly toys with his moustache until it loses its curl—Marco looks like he's aged a decade.
Ace doesn't even want to think about how Whitebeard must look.
(I did this, he thinks, dread coiling like a nose in his gut. I messed everything up. Again.)
"Thatch, be still," Kingdew says, but it's half-hearted at best. "You'll aggravate your injuries—"
"Screw my injuries!" Thatch cries. "I wanna know why the hell Ace thinks he's not wanted here!"
A chill runs down Ace's spine, and for once, it's not from fear.
Oh. That's why they're upset? Because I...
"He doesn't—he doesn't think all that, does he?" Namur mutters near the back. "I get it—being a slave for years will mess with your head, I've seen it, but—he thinks he's cursed? Where the hell did that come from?"
"Sure as hell wasn't any of us," Curiel says, but his expression looks doubtful. "Granted, not everyone aboard knows them as well as we do, but there ain't no one on this ship that doesn't like the brats. Everyone else adores the hell outta them."
"I bet it was those damned slavers," Thatch seethes, fingers twitching like they're aching for his swords. "Knew death was too good for 'em, we should've dragged them back here and beat the shit outta them first and then—!"
"Well, they're all dead, too bad so sad! Getting angry won't solve anything, and it'll rip your stitches, so stand down, Thatch!" Izo barks, the last threads of his temper seemingly snapping as he gets into Thatch's face. "I get it! You're confused, heartbroken, angry and you want answers, but so do we! And I'd much rather not deal with that and you getting blood all over the goddamned deck, you fool man—!"
"Enough, yoi!" Marco gets between them and shoves them apart (careful of Thatch's wounds), glaring wearily at the pair as they get their breath back.
A moment of silence falls, and the tension tampers until there's nothing left but a raw sort of grief.
Marco breaks it with a heavy sigh. "I don't know why Ace would think we wouldn't want him, or that he's not safe," he says, looking at each of the Commanders in turn—there's no judgement in his voice, not at them, but Ace can see it in his eyes... he blames himself. "And I know everyone has been doing right by those boys, especially Ace. However, despite our efforts... we still failed them. We couldn't protect Ace from the one thing we should have from the beginning..."
"His own head," Jiru finishes lamely, glowering at his feet in what looks like shame.
"We were too wrapped up in keepin' 'em safe physically," says Fossa, gnawing on his cigar, "that we didn't even think to check on what was goin' on in his brain."
"Sabo is no different," Atmos adds. "You saw what happened in the galley with Rayleigh; he would've killed the man had Pops not stepped in."
Wait, what? Sabo—Sabo switched on Rayleigh? He'd nearly killed Rayleigh?! Why, what the hell did he do—?!
"And Luffy still won't talk," Blamenco scratches his cheek, eyes averted. "Poor kid clams up even at the thought of it."
Thatch chuckles bitterly, eyes shining as he swipes a finger under his nose. "... When you look at it, we've... we've done a piss-poor job at taking care of these kids, huh?"
"If anything," Izo folds his arms into his sleeves, shoulders hunched and brows pinched, "we've kept them rooted to the same spot. Or perhaps... we've made it worse."
No, no you're wrong, Ace wants to say, scream, cry, you've been—you're better than anything we've ever had, you've put up with all our crap for months and never complained, we—I don't deserve you, you're all so good—
But would they still be good, would they still care, if they knew the truth? If Ace told them why he'd left? If they knew—?
"Regardless," Whitebeard's voice barely rises above the waves lapping gently against the ship, and yet every head turns to him as he speaks, "If Ace for whatever reason feels that he is no longer safe with us, we cannot go against the agreement we made. Once he awakens, we may speak with him directly, settle the matter with clear heads. And if he chooses to leave, with or without Sabo and Luffy... so be it."
Thatch steps forward, "But Pops—"
"I will not make the same mistake again, my son." Whitebeard stands, and from Ace's crouch, the Captains broad shoulders have drooped like wilted flowers, and he hates to see it. "Ace hurt himself and left without a word because he felt that he couldn't come to me about what was causing him such pain. The responsibility, and the fault, for what happened to him lies with me. Now, I will heed his words and do what must be done. Even if that means letting him go."
All eyes fall to the floor in silent acceptance. No one is smiling—if anything, it looks like they're mourning a loss.
His eyes sting.
"A damn shame," Jozu sighs, folding his massive arms and shaking his head. "He'd have fit right in. He did fit right in." A murmur of agreement follows his claim, as do a few bittersweet smiles and chuckles. Thatch sniffs once, and Izo steps close enough to link their arms.
He grits his teeth, fingers curling into fists that tremble—
Whitebeard nods, and Ace can hear his smile—"Indeed. Those boys are truly a wonder. They'll make fine young men... and wonderful sons."
And then his heart lurches.
He called us his sons. He called me his son.
It's not a trick, or a lie or a facade. They don't know he's here, watching and listening—they're speaking the truth, straight from their hearts. Whitebeard is telling the truth.
He wants us here. He wants me here. He... he loves—
The sting in his eyes is unbearable, and his teeth are clamping down on his finger before he can think better of it, pressing harder and harder until the skin breaks don't cry don't cry don't cry not here you can't you're not allowed this you can't have this—
He hears a sniff, followed by a louder one. The air grows tense, and though Ace can't see them, he knows they've all gone still.
"Hey," Marco says, "I smell blood, yoi."
Shit!
Izo groans. "Thatch, I told you—!"
"It's not me!"
"Wait, wait a sec—you feel that?"
"Hey, who's over there?"
Footsteps, loud and drawing closer, and Ace can't move fast enough before Marco rounds the corner first, followed closely by Thatch, Izo, Haruta and the rest. The man's eyes go wide the moment he spots the teen—"Ace!"
Dammit. Ace stands from his crouch, unable to meet their eyes even as Marco steps closer and carefully, hesitantly, puts his hands on his shoulders and looks him over like the mother hen he is and never, ever pretended to be.
"What are you doing out of bed, yoi?" he asks. "How are you even awake?"
"Thought Whiskey drugged him good to reset his arm," Haruta mutters.
"How long has he been here? Did he hear all of that?"
"This kid's gonna kill me with his stunts, swear to god—"
"His finger's bleedin', why's his finger bleedin'?"
"Are you—are you okay, kiddo?" And there's Thatch, hovering over Marco's shoulder like he's unsure he's even allowed near Ace—a far cry from how he'd been in the beginning, the first to open his arms for a hug the day they met. The others are no different, and ordinarily, it'd be funny to see pirate Commanders so sheepish and unsure around a single teenager.
But after listening to all that...
"... Why?"
Marco's hands twitch on his shoulders, confused murmurs floating among the others. "Why what, Ace?"
"Why did you come for me?" Ace mutters, staring at his boots. "I ran away. You should've just left me out there. Why do you care?"
Another silence, this one stunned.
Marco breaks it—"Ace... is—is this about what you said back on the Grove?" he asks softly. At Ace's single nod, the man sighs with his whole body. "Ace, kid... I understand that this is all still new to you, and you're still, trying to comprehend it all. I get it, I really do. But after all this, everything we've been through, why the hell do you think we don't care, yoi?"
Don't say it—
Tell them already—
"Is it something we've done?"
They'll hate you, like everyone else in the world—
They'll understand, Shanks and Rayleigh said they would—
Ace squeezes his eyes shut, shoulders trembling under Marco's hands. He can feel a tingle along his arms, his heartbeat loud in his ears, a familiar pull of something in his chest that begs to be released—
"Please, Ace, we just want to understand—"
Don't say it!
Please tell them!
They'll HATE you—
They love you!
Don't you DARE—
It's time to accept the truth and stop blinding yourself—
DON'T SAY IT YOU IDIOT THEY'LL BETRAY YOU THEY'LL HATE YOU-
YOU CAN'T TRUST ANYONE!
It's okay.
And like an overflowing dam—
"I'm the son of Gold Roger!"
—the truth bursts out.
Silence befalls the deck. He doesn't dare open his eyes or lift his head, but he can feel every stare burning into him.
A moment passes, then another, until the silence becomes agonizing as he waits waits waits for the outrage, the horror, the betrayal, the pain—
"What."
Ace pries an eye open, then the other, slowly looking up to finally face the crew. Marco's sleepy eyes are wide, his mouth slightly agape. Haruta's lips are taut in a smile that looks half-panicked. Vista's jaw is on the floor.
Not one of them is angry.
He dares to look at Whitebeard, hovering at the back of the pack and still towering over them. His golden eyes are bright with surprise—they seem to be searching, for the remnants of his old enemy in the face of the child that outlived him, or for something else...
He's not angry, either.
"Hoooooolly crap," Thatch groans, and there's a slap like he's face-palming. "Yeah, that—that checks out. Good god."
"So, wait—the rumours were true?" Izo gasps. "Rouge, she—but how?"
"And ain't he sixteen?" Rakuyo muses. "Shouldn't he be, I dunno, older? Unless..."
"You never know with D's," Jozu says with a soft chuckle of disbelief. "We all heard how incredible that woman was. Shouldn't be a surprise she'd pull something like this on her own, yet here we are."
Marco huffs a laugh, letting his hands slide of Ace's shoulders and shaking his head in awe. "That woman, yoi. Though I expect nothing less from the woman that had the Pirate King hang up his hat." He looks at Ace, his eyes soft. "To think her kid was right under our noses the whole time... the Grand Line is an incredible place, huh?"
Ace looks at Marco, looks at each of them, unable to hide his growing disbelief. They're not mad. Shocked, surprised, confused, amazed—but they're not mad.
And then Whitebeard's rumbling chuckle rolls over their heads as he steps forward, his men parting like the sea to let him through—"Well damn. I'm surprised. I truly had no idea. Though I had my suspicions, with Shanks and Rayleigh so easily drawn to you." He comes to a stop scant feet before Ace and Marco, regarding the former with warmth. "To be honest, you don't take after old Roger much."
Ace stares. And stares. And stares.
They don't hate him. Whitebeard doesn't hate him.
But...but...
"Why?"
Whitebeard blinks at him. "Hm?"
"Why don't you hate me?!" Ace shouts raggedly. The truth is out, at last, laid bare at their feet, the existence of the demon child made known to the few among many in this world that would (should) despise him, and yet—
It can't be true. After all this time, all these years, it can't be this easy. It just can't.
"Don't you get it?! I'm his son, his bastard child, scum of the earth that has no right to live! He was your enemy, wasn't he? You tried to kill each other, you couldn't stand him, he stole from you—shouldn't you hate me too?! Don't you wanna kick me out, kill me?! Why do you..." his voice breaks, the lump in his throat thick and heavy, eyes burning again as he ducks his head. "... why would you want me?"
"Oh, kiddo," Thatch sounds pained. Marco's arm is solid as it comes to wrap around his quaking shoulders, pulling him to his side and holding him fast.
And then Whitebeard kneels before them. He still towers over Ace, but for the first time, he doesn't feel small. "Ace," he says softly, "look at me."
Ace obediently lifts his head to meet ancient golden eyes.
"I don't know who fed you such heinous lies, my boy, but I assure you they're wrong. Roger and I had our differences, but our past has nothing to do with your present or your future. The sins of the father are not the sins of the son, and certainly not in this case."
His large hand comes to rest against both his and Marco's backs, a solid pillar of strength and safety. "You were born into a world full of prejudice and hatred, but you didn't give in to that darkness, be it for the sake of yourself or those you drew close to your heart—you have every right to hate the world, be fuelled with distrust and anger, and yet you chose to protect, to love and yearn to be loved in return. I knew that the moment I saw you."
Ace's breath hitches as he clenches his jaw. Marco gives him a gentle squeeze, and Whitebeard smiles, wide and kind. "Do you remember what I said? I don't care where the hell you come from, we're all children of the sea. And I'll thank her for the rest of my days for bringing you and your brothers to me, Portgas D. Ace."
Ace's knees feel weak, the breath leaving him in a rush that leaves him trembling.
There. Do you see? He doesn't hate you.
He loves you.
Tears prick his eyes. Panic grips him, and he lifts his right hand to his mouth—
Marco's hand covers it before it can touch his lips.
Ace whirls on him with wide eyes. The man is smiling gently. "Don't, yoi," he says, squeezing Ace's fingers carefully like one might hold a delicate flower. "It's okay. You're okay now, Ace."
Ace blinks. He stares at Marco.
It's okay.
He turns to the Commanders, gathering around like a barrier, a shield against the world, all of them grinning and nodding—some eyes are shiny and wet, brighter than stars.
It's okay.
He turns to Whitebeard, his smile unchanging.
You're okay.
A single tear rolls down Ace's cheek. Then another. And another.
Before he knows it, he's blinded by a pouring river of tears as he falls to his knees, hands gripping desperately at Whitebeard's boot, his forehead touching the floor—
"I'm sorry!"
—and he sobs.
Cries of surprise and confusion echo around him—he thinks Thatch and Izo are crying, Haruta and Vista too—but he can hardly hear them over the force of his wracking sobs. Hands are rubbing soothing circles along his spine, Marco hushing him, telling him he's okay, you're okay, let it out little brother, you're okay—
"I'm so sorry!" he wails against the scuffed leather of the Captain's boot because he was a fool, he'd ran away and accepted the misguided lies so easily, let the demons in his head drive him away from his brothers, his family, this family that wanted him and they do, they want him, they care about him they love him—
Ace is loved.
And he loves them. He loves them, so much that he can't hold back the tears any longer. And they're tears of joy.
A single giant finger pets his hair. "You have nothing to apologize for. Everything is going to be alright. You're home now, my son."
Yes, Ace thinks as he continues to cry, for the first time in years. And it feels wonderful.
I'm home now. I'm home.
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