I do not own One Piece

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Beta read by the wonderful rose7anne101, who has written some pretty amazing stuff for One Piece.

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Rise from the Ashes

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Chapter 9: Dreams

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Before…

"Ze ha ha ha! You're too late Marco!" Teach roared with laughter, standing atop the limp, unmoving body of Straw Hat Luffy.

"He put up a good fight however, as expected of Commander Ace's brother! He would have made a good Little Brother for the crew even! In fact, I think I'll even keep the Gum-Gum Fruit for myself! Ze ha ha ha ha!" Maliciously, Teach's grinned even wider, holding up a hand shrouded in darkness. "And now it's your turn!"

"GAAAAH!"

With a cry Marco the Phoenix fell off his hammock, frantically tearing his blanket to shreds in an attempt to make some distance from the enemy visible only within his mind, leaping up to take a fighting stance while blue flames flickered across his frame. "Huh, huh, huh, huh," he breathed in and out, drenched in sweat. Slowly it sunk in that it was just a nightmare, and he collapsed down to sit on the deck.

Two years. Two whole years. How much longer, Straw Hat?

The Whitebeard Pirates and their allies had discovered at horrific cost that continuing to try and kill Teach themselves was suicidal, that vengeance was beyond them. At least alone.

Originally they had only intended to help Straw Hat Luffy become the next Pirate King after the traitor was dead, which in itself would benefit the young man. Yet in the midst of this despair, Marco and the others had come to realize that the rookie may very well be what they needed to finally achieve vengeance against the traitor (only Navy people used nonsense like "Justice").

Like Blackbeard, Straw Hat was a wild card: unpredictable, strangely and yet undeniably charismatic, able to draw together diverse and bloodthirsty rogues for a common cause, and even surprisingly powerful. The greatest pirates of the previous generation, Shanks, the Dark King, and even Pops, had demonstrated their respect for him, and according to Jinbe, Silvers Rayleigh was even training Straw Hat.

Apparently it would take about two years, but since the Whitebeard Pirates did not know exactly when the Straw Hats would reunite (it was absurd to think they could all gather on the exact same day), or on which island, where they would surface after departing Fishman Island, what route they would take, their intentions, etc., Marco was worried they might have some trouble meeting up with Straw Hat. After all, it was not like they could hang around Fishman Island without unforgivably endangering the people there.

Yet if they could find him, their Little Brother, then they might finally have the edge they needed to rid the Oceans of that madman once and for all.

Now they just had to figure out where he was . . .

. . . Why, oh why didn't we give Jinbe one of our new Den-Den Mushi numbers— Teach knew the old ones —so he could just call us? We could've communicated in code even to deal with eavesdropper, Marco berated himself for the thousandth time.

No, no more of that. What matters is that we've got to find Straw Hat before anyone else does.

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Through supreme effort, Marco hid his fatigue, projecting only his typical air of boredom and laziness.

His job was to never show any doubt or weariness. He was the leader, not the Captain. Marco would never sit upon the chair that was found upon every copy of the Moby Dick (and not just because he would look ridiculous on that massive seat). Even now, as empty as it was, it still seemed to radiate a presence whenever he stood beside it to make official decisions concerning the future of the crew.

Yet despite this, he still knew that everyone looked up to him, drawing strength from him as they kept sailing forward, hoping for the better.

If he was seen to be losing faith, theirs would crumble.

Teach had won the Payback War, and while they all agreed that Straw Hat would likely prove to be the key to defeat the traitor, the wait was weighing heavily upon them. The endless danger as they sailed without any safe harbour, lest the wrath of one of the Emperors or the ever more aggressive Navy descended upon the island's inhabitants. As for the sea itself, their home . . . they could not shake the feeling that something seemed different. All the currents, weather patterns, creature, and general insanity remained as wild and unpredictable as ever, and yet they could not shake the feeling its intent was now more hostile. Or that a pressure was building, like the calm before the storm, or the sound of a bomb fuse sizzling down.

All they could do for now was survive the New World, while they waited for Straw Hat to finish his training and return.

Straining against their doubts as every day passed. Especially since they had invested all of what remained of their hope and dreams within him.

But as the silence stretched on without word of him, more and more of them were struggling to keep going. To protect their birthright of sailing these waters…

Every time the World Government claimed Straw Hat was dead after being quiet so long, they reassured themselves that it was just lies; that somebody would try to claim the glory for it. That the Dark King was still working to draw out his full potential.

Except still those dark thoughts festered.

They had not touched any more of Pop's personal sake since Jinbe had come to see them after parting ways with Straw Hat, not even for what had once been their monthly joint birthday parties. They were too busy fighting to survive as a sea's worth of enemies tried to hunt them down. What freedom they had from the hunters was spent defending themselves against the savagery that was the New World.

Marco hardly glanced up as several of his brothers were driving off a swarm of octopus-shark hybrids that were each the size of most ships. He knew they could handle it.

The surviving Whitebeard Pirates were the toughest, smartest, most skillful, and luckiest crew Marco could ask for. Unfortunately, that only drew attention to how many had already died. How their numbers were only decreasing. Even as they struggled to keep the Moby Dick (technically the Moby Dick II, but no one called it that) seaworthy, no one could bring themselves to suggest recruiting more members. They were family, and only their Father had ever been permitted to decide whether anyone else could join. And after Teach, they did not trust anyone else, afraid of an enemy agent joining them.

Still walking, Marco passed a bunch of men and women sparring, a result of a radical shift in ship policy. That the former nursing staff were participating that is, the constant training for the men had been a part of their lives long before Marineford.

Everything seemed in order, so Marco continued his routine.

All too soon however, night had fallen, and there was nothing else that Marco could justify doing around the ship without tipping anyone off to how he really felt. How close to breaking he really was.

With some trepidation, Marco laid down in his hammock to sleep.

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The world Marco awoke to was something new.

It was a rocky island, but coloured a comfortable brown, with the rays of the sun playing upon them. Yet he only vaguely glimpsed this, as he took in the sight of the figures before him as they watched the spectacle.

They were facing away from him, but he would recognize those hundreds of men anywhere. Atop of the highest stone pillars were two in particular: one in a light blue outfit with a brown pompadour and two swords sheathed at his side, the other with wild black hair, a red bead necklace, and the Jolly Roger of the Whitebeard Pirates emblazoned across his muscular back, whole and pristine.

Before them all was the rising dawn, its growing light silhouetting them so that before Marco's eyes, they increasingly appeared to be enveloped in a warm glow.

He stared in shock, fighting to speak while wondering why they were so quiet, why were they not looking at him? Are they that upset with me? My failures!? Marco feared, now paralyzed by this hell. Then he was snapped out of these thoughts as a voice spoke behind him. One that sent shivers down his spine despite all these years.

"The dead cannot face the living, Phoenix," the man behind him spoke. Anyone hearing those words would know that this was a man who lived his life to the fullest, wearing his emotions upon his sleeves as he laughed at whatever life threw at him. All with a terrible power leashed within him, channeling a strength of Will which not even Pops could overwhelm. "Otherwise, my beloved's son, and all your brothers, would be the ones talking to you now. This is the most they can do to show that they are still with you."

"And why are you here, Pirate King?" Marco asked, his tone steady, even as he tensed for a fight. With some effort he managed to regain his customary drawl. "After all, you're dead too. Kinda famous for it, really."

The laughter that boomed out nearly made him jump, but he knew from the timbre of it that he was safe.

"This is a dream, you daft fool! A time when the living and the dead can meet! As for why I'm here," and Marco could hear those teeth locking together in a fierce grin, "well now . . ."

He sniggered.

Marco's spine crawled as he recognized the man behind him knew some joke he was not going to share. Or at least not fully.

". . . The truth of the matter is, I was born too soon. I knew I would not live long enough to see the storm that was to come. To hear the sound of the drums, echoing with a heartbeat. So I did what I could to set in motion what was to come. To prepare the way for the man I had to accept I would never meet while alive. Ah, but I'm jealous of you, and what you shall be privileged to see . . ."

As shocking as the implication was, Marco was no fool. "Straw Hat!?" he hissed.

"Why of course!"

"Hah. Now I know this is make-believe. Of all people, Gol D. Roger knew that a pirate is to be free and choose his own path, the seas we sail offers no handouts, and thus the title King must be earned, not given. There's no such thing as fate or destiny for us!"

The roar of laughter made him flinch. "Too right you are! He shall walk down the path of his own free will, and in claiming my crown prove be freest of all!"

A beat of silence after he was done, and Roger sighed. "Still, I'm a little disappointed in Whitebeard for keeping that one secret to himself, for whatever reason. He should have told you about the D's."

Marco brow furrowed slightly in confusion. He and his brother's had discussed the irony that both Teach and Straw Hat had that same weird middle name that popped up from time to time, but had dismissed it since no one seemed to know if it actually meant anything.

Then the former King grunted. "He'll probably say he didn't want to burden you with the whole story, or thought it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. 'Bit typical of him really. I'll have to have a talk with him. Or just hit him a few times to get him to see his blunder."

Blue fired roared around Marco, casting fierce shadows that conflicted his measured words. "Dead or alive, the Whitebeard Pirates don't tolerate threats to our family! Especially not after you never brought back Oden."

A shifting sound which could be a flinch, and yet Roger gave a bark of joy "And never forget it! I'm glad to see you feel that way. Despite everything, your spirit remains unbroken. Good, the entire world will need you whole for the dark days ahead. Events which will either consume you, or see you through to the true Dawn. For on the seas ahead, hold on to your one true compass: that you never forget whose Son you are, and what that tattoo on your chest stand for!"

Whatever else Marco might have said was drowned out by the uproarious laughter behind him, until it was sharply cut off.

A shifting of the air, and the Phoenix knew he was alone, and his brothers were gone too.

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The world suddenly shifted under his feet as the rocky island vanished, and Marco found himself at a beach now. One that was not so much familiar to him, as it was etched into his very heart.

Up ahead, sitting down on the pristine sand, was a towering yet reassuring figure, his Pride emblazoned upon his white coat. This island was within Paradise, but that was not the reason why they had never returned. Unspoken between them was the desire never risk sullying their memories of this place. Where their Family had first been formed.

"The dead cannot advise the living," the man gruffly spoke. "Nor tell them anything they will not learn upon awaking." The massive shoulders shrugged in apology. "Come the morning, you probably won't even remember this conversation, or the specifics at least, but I can tell you this: I'm proud of you. All of you. Know that my love is with you. Always."

A single tear escaped Marco, and he knew his Father was silently crying as well. "I know."

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"Marco! Marco!" Vista barked as he burst straight through the door without even wasting time opening it. "The morning paper!"

With a lazy, smug grin, Marco said looking straight at the eyes of his brother, without bothering to glance at the newspaper Vista was holding for him to see.

"I know. He's back. Straw Hat's back!"

And now...

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Author Notes:
Inspired by "
Light My Fire" by alicat54, particularly with Whitebeard.

The actions of the Daughters of Whitebeard, his former medical staff, will be addressed in Chapter 11.

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Next Chapter: "Stand Up"

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