"It was a really long time ago," Whitebeard started slowly. "Long enough that the name of the island escaped me years ago." He glanced down at his son, his very first child, curled up in his arms and scowled darkly enough that Ace subconsciously began to heat up and flicker. "Not that I think that place," He growled, "is worth remembering."

Thatch startled when Izo sat down beside him, hand tight on his gun. "Marco never talks about it," he said quietly. "Even if I ask."

Whitebeard chuckled tonelessly. "He wouldn't. The people in that place weren't kind to each other– even less so, to those different to them."

His eyes glazed over, lost in thought. "He had already eaten his devil fruit by then."


Whitebeard was carefully picking his way through the undergrowth, bisento cutting away at the nth patch of vines in his way when he first heard it.

At first, he thought a baby bird had fallen from its nest. The forest was too thick to see whatever was causing the noise, but he could clearly distinguish the sound of frantic wingbeats crashing through the leaves above him.

He looked up in time for his vision to be flooded with bright blue and he blindly lashed out, trying to grab for whatever the thing was before it smashed into him. His fingers sank into something cool and wispy, almost semi solid. Panicked squawking rang in his ears, shrill and confused.

Eyes wide, Whitebeard thrust whatever the thing was out at arm's length.

It was… definitely a bird.

Not a bird Whitebeard recognized, but a bird nonetheless– one currently doing it's best to peck his eye out.

"Woah, woah!" He shouted, ducking to avoid a wing to the head. A sharp beak stabbed into his wrist and he hissed, struggling to pin the creature's wings down to it's body to avoid being battered. The bird wasn't necessarily huge– definitely bigger than any seagull he usually saw, but compared to him, it's wingspan wouldn't even be long enough to fully wrap around his head. They were just long enough for flight feathers to slap him across the jaw. "I'm not going to hurt you," He tried. The bird stared him down, eyes huge and terrified, and let out a shriek that made him nearly drop it.

He barely avoiding doing so anyways when the bird suddenly flared up in his hands, blue flames and feathers dissolving into recognizable tanned skin and small limbs. A tuft of dirty blond hair hung into glaring blue eyes.

"Let me go," The definitely human child demanded.

Whitebeard stared, transfixed.

"This is… certainly a surprise– woah, hey now!" He fumbled, scrambling not to accidentally hurt the child when it– he, snarled at him and started to writhe in his hands. "Hey, hey, Calm down–– i'm going to put you down now, okay?" He dropped the boy as gently as possible, quickly drawing back a few steps to give him some space. "Look, see, I'm backing away now. Not even in arms reach." The boy froze, watching Whitebeard with clear confusion.

"What are you doing?" He asked. He back up on all fours before even risking standing on two feet, scowling with teeth bared. Now that he wasnt moving, Whitebeard could glance him over. The boy wore no shoes– Whitebeard doubted he could wear normal human ones, if he couldn't will his talons away– and was smeared with dirt and dust all over. Leaves stuck out of his untamed hair; his clothing far too worn to still be worn as anything more than a cover up.

Whitebeard frowned. He didn't like what he was seeing, stranger or not. "I didn't mean to startle you, I'm just passing through–"

"No, why would you– you just– just– let me go? Just like that?" The boy sounded dumbfounded, staring at him as if he was crazy.

Something wasn't right here, clearly.

Something huge, that somehow completely slipped Whitebeard's notice for the two days he'd been resting at this island already.

The boy narrowed his eyes, backing away uneasily. His feet still weren't human, and he brandished them like tiny, incredibly sharp daggers. The little defensive display would have been funny. Whitebeard, a huge, towering man, being threatened by a dirty feral child.

Except nothing about it was funny, because this was a child in front of him– a child who was either alone or abused, who was clearly terrified of him and conditioned to believe he had to fight him in order to escape someone not even being aggressive.

How many times, Whitebeard wondered with a distinctly familiar sinking feeling, has this boy needed to do exactly that in order to survive?

"You can't fool me," The boy snapped. He had only gotten more tense the longer Whitebeard had remained silent. Sweat ran dirty trails down the side of his head. "I don't know what they paid you, but I'm not stupid!" Despite his bravado, the child flinched when Whitebeard frowned, hands tightening on his bisento.

"Paid?" He said quietly.

The boy blinked, taken aback. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Whitebeard carefully edged closer, forcing himself to stop immediately when the child bristled like a feral street cat. Blue flames flickered over his arms like a pre-emptive shield.

Building dread that had already began to nag at the captain dug its claws in tighter. Memories of his own childhood, of prices and paychecks and people.

Nothing about the situation bode well.

He has been silent for too long. The tension in the child's posture had only pulled tighter and tighter. "Wait," He called out, holding up a hand, and cursed himself for how the child flinched backward. "I really am not here to do anything to you," He pleaded, carefully propping his bisento against a nearby tree. "I don't know what someone might want with you," He did. A child, alone, with clear devil fruit powers? Even if he didn't have his own experiences, it was obvious what people might do with an exotic and vulnerable child involving money.

He nearly gagged at the thought.

"...but I can assure you I wasn't aware of any price on your head. I'm only hunting for food, for my own travels."

The boy regarded him suspiciously and Whitebeard slowly sat down, crossing his legs loosely and relaxing his shoulders. A glance confirmed that his bisento was far enough away from where he was sitting to hopefully not raise alarm. "I'm not going to hurt you," He promised.

For a long moment, he was only stared at. The child's eyes darted from his weapon to him, lingering on his hands laying lax and open on his knees. Slowly, the boy nodded. "...Okay," He eventually said. "I… I believe you." He still made no moves to get closer, but he also didn't bolt like he clearly wanted.

"What's your name, son?"

The child hesitated and Whitebeard smiled, waving a hand dismissively in an effort to hide the sick feeling in his gut. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, boy. It's up to you." He hoped the kid would tell him his name. It felt like a disservice, to willingly choose not to respect the autonomy of this child's identity. Not when he so clearly had no one else to do anything more than threaten him. He was pleasantly surprised when the boy shook his head, mouth firm and eyes determined.

"Im– I'm Marco," He said quietly.

"Just Marco?"

Blue eyes darted away, pinning themselves to the forest floor and Whitebeard nodded. "Okay Marco. Nice to meet you, I'm Edward Newgate, or Whitebeard." The child frowned, mouthing the name carefully and Whitebeard just chuckled and held back the impulse to ruffle the boy– Marco's– hair. "If it's too much, you can just call me Pops," He said jokingly, laughing delightedly when Marco felt safe enough to glare at him. There was no heat behind the expression this time and it made a world of difference, transforming a scared and half-feral bird zoan into a normal, malnourished child.

His laughter faded at the reminder of why Marco was here and he gently lowered his voice to ask; "So, Marco, why did I find you falling like that?" He was greeted with the frankly adorable sight of Marco flushing in embarrassment. His cheeks got so red they caught fire, sending blue flames licking all the way into his hairline. Now that there was less urgency belying Marco's actions, Whitebeard allowed himself more time to truly look at the flames. It was obvious the boy had a civil fruit power from the moment he transformed in Whitebeard's arms– but it doesn't change that it wasn't one he recognized. At least he could be sure it was a loan type– and judging from the blue flames, definitely not a common one.

"I was trying to fly," Marco muttered. Whitebeard raised an eyebrow and he crossed his arms defensively, refusing to break gazes with the captain despite his anxiety. "I have wings! I should be able to, I just... I'm just not very good at it yet." Whitebeard hummed, glancing the boy over in contemplation.

Marco fidgeted under the weight of his eyes. "What?" He asked nervously.

"I don't think you're going to have much luck here," Whitebeard said honestly. "The trees aren't tall enough. You just immediately hit another branch and fell, didn't you?"

Marco blushed darkly.

Whitebeard cackled loudly, slapping his knee in mirth and grinning with all his teeth when Marco barely reacted. All it took was some slow movements before this boy, this child, hunted down and ostracized, warmed up enough to him to be relaxed in his presence. He didn't talk back, but there was clearly some disposition for sass and cheek in him as all children have.

Whitebeard couldn't help but like him. For such a small kid, he's was a little spitfire of a bird– his little talons had left shallow gashes that still stung on his arms, and for his size he was surprisingly strong. He makes for decent company, and is far more lively than any of the men and women I've met so far in this village. He's an interesting little brat.

The idea hit him like a punch– or a wing to the face, overwhelming and uncontrollable.

"Why don't you come with me?" Whitebeard blurted out.

Marco immediately tensed, his posture curling defensively in a way that had Whitebeard cursing his impulsive offer. "Come with you?" He asked quietly. His eyes were glazing over and Whitebeard's heart leapt into his throat. He fought to swallow down the panic before Marco noticed.

Despite himself, Whitebeard nodded. There wasn't much sense in back-peddling at this point, and he wasn't about to lie and say he wasn't interested in Marco. "Come with me, Marco," He said, trying to stay relaxed and calm. "Join me on the seas, free, as one of my crew."

Trying to hide how his heart pounded, he winked conspiratorially. "Maybe you'll have better luck flying, if it's on the ocean breeze."

A pang rang through his chest when Marco just crept backwards, shying away from his offer. "N-no," He said quietly. "No, No, I won't come with you. I'm not going anywhere!" Whitebeard fought not to slide his eyes shut. Not to move, not to hug this child so clearly bleeding right in front of him. Pain and fear vibrated off every coiled muscle and tense line in his face. "You–– You can't make me," He whispered. It sounded more like he was telling himself rather than Whitebeard. It sounded like a promise.

He is in no chains, and yet already completely prepared to wait for an opportunity to escape them.

"Marco," Whitebeard tried, but Marco scrambled backward, face collapsing halfway into blue fire and feathers.

"I won't let them have me," He whispered frantically. "I– I won't let anyone have me. I'm going to learn to fly, and then i'm going to get out of here and never come back." The desperation was clear in his voice and Whitebeard swallowed thickly. The boy couldn't focus enough to hear him anymore, too lost in his own panic. His breathing was starting to pick up and Whitebeard frowned uneasily.

How many times has he been in chains? How many times was he threatened with them?

This is a child. He doesn't look older than 10. Dirty and malnourished and afraid.

Whitebeard could hear faint gunshots echoing, feel phantom fire against his skin. Charred wood and chains and cheery nobles.

"Marco–"

"No!" Marco shrieked, raising his arms high and exploding them into wings just large eniough to shield him from an attack that wasn't coming. He curled in on himself so tightly that Whitebeard felt like he had just been slugged in the gut."I know what you want, what they all really want– I didn't know what it was, I swear, I was just so hungry–"

"Marco!"

Marco gasped, flailing in shock when Whitebeard slammed his fist against the earth. Splintering cracks webbed out from the new crater and the boy was forced to hop onto a tree root, wings flapping uselessly as his talons nearly dipped into the new cracks and vibrations forced him to his knees. "Wh-what–"

Whitebeard pulled a face just left of a smile, all sharp and unforgiving edges. "Do you really think I would sell you," He said quietly, "For being someone like me?"

Marco stared at him like he'd never seen him before. His eyes were huge, practically glowing in the flickering reflections of his own power. He looked down at the ground, kneeling down to touch the chasms almost reverently. The edges were blue with his flames.

"You…" Marco started, as if the words weren't comprehendable, "...You ate one too?"

Whitebeard chuckled, hoping Marco couldn't hear how much it hurt. "I ate the shake-shake fruit," He said simply. He flicked a finger in Marco's direction and grinned humorlessly when the child yelped, looking at him with a new sense of awe.

"Marco," He started slowly, laughter fading. "I won't force you to come with me, if you really don't want to. I am only offering." He smiled gently when he saw Marco listened attentively, expression serious. "The choice is completely up to you. I will never keep you if not of your own will." Marco's eyes shot to Whitebeard's hand when he carefully opened it, stretching it towards him.

"So?" he asked quietly. "How about it?" He hoped Marco wouldn't refuse him. His heart in his throat, he kept his eyes soft, his lips quirked, his hand open. He kept every limb and muscle loose and relaxed.

...He hoped it was enough. Marco had clearly already had too many bad run-ins with lying adults and he refused to be one of them.

Please, He thought, just take my hand. Take my hand, and I will protect you as one of my own.

Marco's eyes were huge, arms tight to his sides. Whitebeard felt like if he reached out and touched, at that moment, he'd feel chains binding the child's wings to the dirt.

You will never fear for your freedom again with me.

Whatever Marco saw in Whitebeard's face made tears well up in his eyes. "O-okay," He whispered, and when Whitebeard ever so gently pulled him into his arms, smiling with all the warmth and relief of the sun on the ocean and cool wind under wing Marco sobbed.

"Okay," He said again, and allowed himself to hope for the skies again.


Whitebeard would be a liar to say that he wasn't intimidating. He's a huge man, armed and dangerous, and has a bounty worth a double take or two. Even alone he'd be fully capable of leveling a island, not to mention a country, or a city.

Or a small town. One of which his current– and only– crewmember desperately did not want to go anywhere near.

Marco clearly didn't want to say anything. Whitebeard had warned him, before they left the forest, that he had anchored his little ship by the town's docks. They would have to pass through the town in order to get to it. Whitebeard wasn't exactly worried about the townspeople attacking them– even if they had been friendly to Whitebeard so far (as friendly as a small, quiet, isolated and wary town could be–) he was sure that they could hold their own where it counted.

No one could be so helpless and rotten at the same time, to threaten a child the way they clearly did Marco.

No, he wasn't worried about being surrounded, or threatened, or stabbed or shot. What they could dish out would be nothing towards what he could retaliate with and he was certain they all knew it. He, and by extension Marco, would physically be fine. No one would dare touch the child, price tag or not, with the way he had so carefully stepped close to Whitebeard's side. Regardless... If Whitebeard ever bothered to wear a coat, or even a cape, he was sure Marco would be doing his best to vanish under it.

In that moment, with the kid's heart pounding so hard Whitebeard could feel it where Marco squeezed close to his hip, Whitebeard wished he did.

"It'll be quick," Whitebeard promised. His heart sank when, just like the last four times, Marco just nodded quickly and refused to meet his eyes. Tiny hands clenched onto his sash tightened further. Whitebeard almost wished he would throw a tantrum instead of the unnerving quiet Marco had fallen into the moment the town had come into sight. He wished Marco would argue. It would be better than the wild fear sunk deep in the child's posture– better than seeing him trying to silently hide away behind Whitebeard's mass.

He gently ruffled the boy's tuft of blond hair, smiling reassuringly when Marco tried to smile at him through his tight lipped grimace.

They stepped onto worn cobblestone.

Whitebeard tried to walk quickly. It would have been nice to walk slowly, to show Marco that no one would bother them like this, but the building distress forcing past Marco's careful composure made him immediately speed up before he could even consider it further. He waved casually when people looked up at his approach, hoping the movement would draw their eyes away from the child firmly attached to his hip.

He knew it didn't work when the eyes of a pleasant fisherman he had been talking to just that morning positively lit up. Dread immediately sank like a stone into his gut, heavy and cold.

Marco tensed, grip tightening the moment the Fisherman's eyes caught him. Whitebeard instinctively clamped a hand down on his shoulder. Marco stared up at him with eyes huge with disbelief and Whitebeard swallowed hard, but when he didn't move no blue flames licked at his hands and no child bolted. A sudden movement could start something Whitebeard wasn't willing to put Marco through– but he couldn't tell him that in the middle of the town.

The town that wanted Marco tagged and sold like livestock, whose people were smiling at Whitebeard with the same polite atmosphere they had given him just that morning.

A woman the fisherman had been speaking to before Whitebeard arrived frowned as her companion went quiet and followed his eyes to Marco. Her brow shot up and she gasped."You–! You caught the bird!" she exclaimed, eyes wide.

Heads snapped up at the comment and Whitebeard felt physically nauseas as the growing crowd immediately began clamoring over each other. Even though none of them even reached his shoulders he felt suffocated. Marco whimpered at his feet.

"Oh, Thank you–"

"Did it give you much trouble?"

"I hope it didn't hurt you, the other hunters who tried to help got slashed up by that monster–"

"Here– we can– shit, Jules get the chains, the special seastone ones Nelly got–"

A smiling man walked up to them, hands clasped gratefully. He was the same dockhand that Whitebeard remembered asking about what he could hunt in the forest just hours before.

His eyes were pinned to Marco with the same look he gave Whitebeard when talking about meat.

"Just keep holding him still, sir," The man advised, and Whitebeard could feel Marco starting to squirm under his hand, could feel the way his tiny body trembled with every breath taken far too fast– "Jules will be right back with the chains, and then we can take it off your hands–" Marco made a distinctive whimper, freezing fast in Whitebeard's grip.

Whitebeard saw red.

"That won't be necessary," He snapped, and felt a dark satisfaction at how the man frowned in confusion.

"Sir, I'm sure someone of your strength could handle this feral thing, but–"

"No," Whitebeard cut in. "I'm saying that won't be necessary." Marco's tiny hands scrabbled over his, clinging on tightly. Whitebeard wasn't sure whether to attempt to pry it off or to hold on. With how Marco seemed unable to move, he wasn't sure he knew what the boy wanted either. The dockhand's eyes narrowed irritably and Whitebeard was, in that moment, nearly overwhelmed with the need to punch the man in the face.

Maybe a broken jaw and a black eye or two would prove to Marco how serious he was about his offer.

"I am taking him with me," Whitebeard said, and all the casualness in the word could not hide how violently he wanted to bury this man for insinuating that he would sell a child clinging to him for safety. The town was deathly silent, shocked and cowering, and he never felt better for it than right in that moment.

"He will be free, far from this place, Forever." Marco sobbed, the sound gasped and choked. For the first time, he didn't flinch when Whitebeard reached out to pull him closer, enveloping his entire small and hunched back with one hand.

A previously kind fisherman he had met just hours before scowled. "That little monster," he snarled, "has been terrorizing this town–" the crowd yelped and ducked when Whitebeard snapped out a fist, ploughing it straight through the air with an alarming crack. Chasms split the shaking ground, forcing townspeople to tumble to the ground. At Whitebeard's left, a building crumbled to nothing but rubble and dust. Marco only watched on in awe, barely reacting besides to hold on tighter when Whitebeard carefully scooped him up into one arm.

"This place is rotten," Whitebeard said humorlessly, and cackled loudly when another set of buildings were reduced to splinters under his fist.

"Stop! What are you doing?!"

Whitebeard didn't bother wasting his breath on the panicking townspeople, instead smiling down at the dumbstruck child staring at the destruction with wide eyes. "Do you see Marco? With devil fruit alone I am stronger than everyone here. Do you understand?" He held up his free hand, watching Marco reach out to touch it and chuckled at the reverent look the child leveled at it. Something tight and angry in him lessened just the slightest, softest amount when Marco carefully pressed his own blue flames against his palms. They were cool, licking against his skin searchingly. Little blue feathers dotted Marco's skin in a growing array of flame wickers and wisps.

"Those who eat a devil fruit are often strong, Marco," He murmured, and Marco watched, transfixed, as he calmly leveled another building in his way. People were running frantically, dodging between blows and darting out of the streets. Whitebeard grinned at Marco when he felt the boy flare brighter, bigger, feathers chilled against his skin. He raised Marco high to sit on his shoulders, laughing as the boy only yelped and flapped his wings. "And I am the strongest man alive!" He shouted gleefully. The island trembled under their feet, rocked by his voice alone.

"Let's go," he said, quieter, and when Marco threw his head back and laughed, loud and unafraid, Whitebeard felt like he could never get any freer than right then.