July, 28, 2020
READ THE WHOLE STORY AGAIN! This story had been majorly revised, all the past chapters (six) had sections in them that were changed or rewritten. With the recent chapters (last ch 985) a lot of new things had been revealed in the manga. Thus, I had to make a decision either to ignore all the new information and go on with what I had previously planned OR make some big revisions to the story and the plots that I had planned. As you understood, I chose the latter. Special thanks to Black' Victor Cachat for his enormous help with reversion. I wouldn't have made it without his insight and encouragement.
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This chapter was beta'd by the wonderful Gerbilfriend and Black' Victor Cachat who both helped me a lot with grammar, paraphrasing, ideas and especially with their endless encouragement :D (*Ace's deep bow*)
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Warnings:
English is my fourth language. Warning may change in the future.
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Ame
Hello! Thank you for the motivation, yeah, I wanted to read Whitebeard back in time, so I decided to write one myself, hope you continue sharing your thoughts about the Fic with me, enjoy the new chapter. :)
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Pokipo
Oh, thank you sir, yes sir, here it is, sir. XD.
I knew when I said to put my ass on gear, it would come back to bite me on the ass. Lol
Appreciate the motivation and the laugh, I hope you enjoy the new chapter and share your thoughts with me.
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Please read the notes at the end about this Fic.
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"…you're not dying on me old man, are you! Your sons will roast me alive and have me for a snack if anything were to happen to you! Maybe you shouldn't drink so much... '' someone was saying in panic, he ignored the words and concentrated on the voice.
He knew this voice, it grated on his nerves for some reason.
He opened his eyes, when had he closed them?
The rays of the sun were too bright, he blinked and squinted, his head was aching. Why?
He concentrated on his body and posture, he was sitting on … a chair, what felt like his own chair. The one they built especially for him when they built the Moby, in his left hand he was loosely clutching something.
The voice was still going on and on, it was colored with alarm and nervousness, and its volume was increasing with each word. He blinked rapidly and squinted his eyes again looking at the figure sitting across from him, still trying to place the voice.
The voice really made him want to grab hold of his Murakumogiri and swing it at the source. He wanted to rub his aching head so bad but instead.
"Shut up, you brat," Whitebeard snapped and took a long gulp from the sake bottle clutched in his hand. He could feel the sake's heat burning while it ran down his throat. That was how it should be.
His head felt like it was on fire, not even drinking his sake for the first time when he was thirteen (six bottles) brought him this much pain. He had no doubt that this was somehow the damned Roger brat's fault, that shitty snotty rascal.
Damn him.
The wound Roger gave him years ago in one of their first fights ached furiously (Curse his bloody ass), and the annoying needles in his arms and back were insistently prickling him. His power. His Devil Fruit Power pulsed under his skin. He didn't even need to use it to know it was there. It just was. He was right. Natural as breathing.
The Red Hair brat sitting in front of him was eyeing him quietly in bewilderment and worry shining clearly in his eyes.
He was not at the crossroads anymore (he was pretty sure that shitty scamp Roger made up the name), but home. Moby Dick.
Or just maybe the Red Hair brat decided to follow me to the afterlife, him and his captain intending on making my life even more miserable, adding to my headaches literally and metaphorically.
Damn them both, shitty selfish cads to the core.
Whitebeard focused on him, leaning a bit forward, narrowing his eyes and scrutinizing the Red Hair brat's figure from head to toe, as he stared back at him, confusion apparent in his eyes.
For second Whitebeard considered if it may have been a dream (bloody nightmare), and then snorted at himself, he might want to believe that the meeting with that shitty brat was a dream, but the memory of the battle, Ace's death, and of his own death was vividly sharp in his mind's eyes.
Was it possible? Could what the Shitty Roger had implied, be the truth? Some kind of Second Chance!?
The evidence in front of his eyes sure seemed to suggest it. The Red Hair brat in front of him was young. Quite a bit younger from the last time he saw him, a few weeks before the battle on Marineford.
Damn you Roger, you selfish rotten prick.
"And remember to say something cool next time when you face death… Not 'the One Piece exists,' nonsense."
Curse you. You egotistical selfish maniac. I'm going to make you pay for this, one way or another! Just you wait. ROGER!
"If you had the choice to do your journey again, would you take it?"
The damn simple question. The bastard had meant it literally.
Damn you Roger, you piece of snotty crap, to the fiery pits of hell.
When? How long? And HOW in the bloody seven seas was he able to do it?
Whitebeard forced his struggling mind to focus on what was in front of him. He would have time later to ponder it all. Why me? How? WHY? For What purpose? etcetc...
For now, it was WHEN!?
He hadn't met the brat in front of him too many times. They were Yonkos. They usually kept to themselves and to their territories, well, except when an opportunity presented it itself. They were not nice neighbors, just not fools. He could remember only two meetings like this. One of them was a few months before the war.
Then, this meant….
This was the meeting they had after the Red Hair brat came back from East Blue, nine years ago. Or was it ten years ago?
No.
It was the now, now.
Time Travel ehh?!
He should have beat the shit and then some, out of the annoying pain in the ass rascal Roger when he had the chance.
The Red Hair brat appearance fit his theory. He looked younger, thinner, less muscular than the last time he remembered seeing him. Different clothes too. He had already lost his arm and his hat. That moron's legacy had a new owner. It was that cheeky brat with a headstrong personality, Ace's little brother.
Damn you Roger, curse you, you selfish little stinky prick.
He took another long gulp of the sake.
Maybe he should go to the afterlife early this time, surprise the shit out of the holy terror.
Whitebeard sighed and relaxed in his chair taking another long gulp.
"What is the date today?" he asked, his voice sounding raspy to his ears.
"Is the sake I bought that strong? Did it manage to make the mighty Whitebeard tipsy? Or is it just your age catching up to you, old man?" The brat asked with glee. His eyes dancing with mirth and his mouth pulled into a mocking smile.
His glare that usually made fierce and strong men tremble and take a few steps backwards, seemed to slightly amuse the brat.
"Just answer the damn question, brat!" He barked.
"Hmm…. it's" The Red Hair brat paused, and with flare, he said the current date slowly as if Whitebeard couldn't understand otherwise. His tone was too cheerful for Whitebeard's liking. But he let it go. He had other things to worry about.
Just as he thought, nine, almost ten years, shy a few months.
He didn't ask for it. No, he had refused it. Clearly. But nonetheless he was given a second chance.
Damn you to the eternal inferno! You bloody bastard. Bugger, Rascal, cad!
Let the dead rest while the living journeyed.
His own words came to bite him in the ass.
He was alive, wasn't he?!
Thanks to shitty meddlesome nagging trash.
Why ten years? Was there a reason for it? Something happened in this time that needed changing? Or was it random? And his goal was to just send him back without a set point. One could never know when Roger was involved. Despite how reckless and chaotic a man-child Roger could seem, when he stopped to plan, he could be very calculating about it.
The Yonko needed to think carefully, and plan everything methodically.
There was no easy path nor free ride and definitely no shortcuts. Everything had consequences, and sometimes these consequences were not only very unexpected but unquestionably unwanted.
His dear son Thatch was still with them, breathing, energetic, laughing at his own awful jokes, and getting playfully offended if anyone mentioned his perfect pompadour hair.
Whitebeard choked the impulse to call for him by taking a slow gulp from the bottle in his hand. He felt a need, a longing to embrace him, to feel the blood flowing under his skin, to hear his laughter.
The last memory of him flashed in Whitebeard's mind, his hand clenched tightly around the bottle as he remembered the unmoving body laying on the floor, blood seeping from the stab wound on his back, the knife still there, shining as if a reminder of betrayal in all of its forms.
But it was not a memory anymore. It had yet to happen and it would not.
He unclenched his hand, when he heard a faint cracking sound, the Rat was not worth wasting a good sake on.
He could still feel the sensation of his hand around the Rat's neck, squeezing, and his begging words.
"Stop it, I am your son. Aren't I? How can you kill me?"
Thousands of deaths wouldn't be enough.
The fact that Traitor was here on this ship, his own home, his family's sanctuary, eating, laughing, and drinking between his true sons and daughters made the rage in him itch to be freed. The Rat was playing the role of crewmate like this was only a performance, biding his time to show his true colors. When the time came and his purpose was fulfilled, and only then, he would step down from the old, run downstage, ripping the used costume he was wearing for more than 20 years to begin living his 'true' life. This portrayal created by his mind made Whitebeard want to hurl the bottle out, preferably on the turncloak's head while Ace lit him up for both of their enjoyment. A small voice whispered to him that he could do just that.
No wonder the vermin couldn't sleep. When your heart was full of deceit, your mind couldn't rest for a second. Turmoil was its fuel. Living in constant fear that you might slip and someone would see the real ugly persona you desperately hid.
He felt furious at himself for even considering that vermin as someone that could take Oden's place as the Second Commander.
For years, even after Roger had told him of Oden's plans, he couldn't find the heart to fill the post. It was Oden's! Plain and simple. Whenever he came back, it would be waiting for him.
But with years passing, and his crew expanding, it was becoming evident that a division without a commander was taking its toll on the other commanders that were juggling both their own responsibilities and the Second Division. Even if no one had complained, or even raised the issue. So despite what he had wanted, deep down he knew it couldn't continue, so he had tried to fill the post. He thought the Rat was a suitable replacement.
Ace was the only one that could fill Oden's place. He did. It saddened Whitebeard, and filled him with joy, to say the words: 'Ace had made it his.'
Carefully and methodically. Everything has its consequences, he repeated in his aching head, putting a temporary leash on the rage boiling under the surface of his mind.
Sengoku, that shitty cad Akainu, hmmmmm… those damn marines that dared to go after his family, I need to teach them a lesson that they would never forget….. Especially Akainu.
The picture of the bastard lava fist piercing Ace's body. Right into his heart. Ace's back turned from that bastard. His son gave up his life to protect and save his younger brother. The light leaving his once full-of- life-eyes. His last words.
"Old man, everyone! And you... Luffy. Even though I've been good for nothing my whole life, even though I have the blood of a demon within me... Thank you… For loving me!"
While that piece of filthy trash …Akainu.
Whitebeard forced himself to breathe and to relax his clenching fists. Despite his usually unyielding self-control, there were actual cracks on the bottle. Fortunately, no sake was leaking out, although he should probably finish it off quickly.
He ignored the weird, slightly concerned look the younger man was throwing his way.
That picture wasn't something he could ever erase from his mind. But he could sure as hell try. Maybe if he replaced it with a picture of Akainu's body torn limb from limb, shredded like torn pieces of used paper. Blood and gore everywhere. He could almost smell it. The foul stench emitted from his rotting mutilated body. Taste it on his tongue.
Priorities, he reminded himself.
First thing first. Patience was required in this scenario. He may be an old man and far from his prime, but his hunter's instincts were sharp and one could never forget the lessons of his past voyages.
His last Captain (before he took up the mantle as captain himself), Rocks D. Xebec, was an incredibly vicious, fearless, indiscriminately ruthless, and truly ambitious man. It was these qualities which allowed him to successfully lead for two years a mismatched crew full of powerful, egoistical, and ruthless people like theirs. He had been so powerful, that an alliance between Roger and Garp had been required to be able to finally take him down.
Unlike him, Whitebeard never dreamed of ruling the world, and the methods used by his former captain didn't fit the ambition he wished to achieve. So he saw no need for such methods. That is, until now.
Maybe a different method was needed to protect his dream.
Whitebeard brought himself back to the reality of now. Priorities, he told himself.
Ace.
His son, the one to leave only seconds before him.
He wouldn't fail him again, he couldn't, and not because of the selfish airhead moron brat Roger.
"His time wasn't over yet..."
Whitebeard gritted his teeth and ignored Roger's bloody annoying voice which made those words echo incessantly in his head.
He found himself saying loudly.
"East Blue, huh, maybe I should go there and find me a brat of my own."
His son was ten now, almost eleven, he could give him and the other younger brat a real family early. It would be fun to have those younglings running around the Moby Dick wreaking havoc to their elder brothers' dismay. He would have a chance to see Ace grow up to become the wild spirit he knew he was born to be.
Shanks laughed, relaxing his body as he said, "Careful Whitebeard, your jealousy is showing."
"Gragragragragra," Whitebeard bellowed his laughter. His body relaxing despite the pain and the turmoil of thoughts storming his mind.
Jealousy, hmmmm, the Red Hair brat was sometimes too much like the prick Roger for his own good.
The Red Hair brat seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, the worry he expressed for Whitebeard's well-being already something of the past.
Shanks said suddenly as an impulse, "My brat as you dubbed him, doesn't have it easy at all."
A longing smile crossing his face.
Hmmm… not easy … he meant …
"Garp," muttered Whitebeard loudly.
The Red Hair brat was right, Whitebeard mused, his own son, Ace, did tell him about some of their training sessions as young children, and about the most feared and dreaded fist of love, as he shakily and respectively dubbed it. If he were actually to take the two young brats, Grap would not be happy (an understatement), he would need to consid… the thread of his thoughts was cut by a chilly wind howling directly at him, making him blink.
The temperature had suddenly dropped.
Whitebeard felt a chill seep into his bones, and it was not helping one bit with his still aching head, he glared at the suddenly darkened sky.
The sun was hidden behind black clouds. Was there a storm on the horizon today? (It seemed poetic, a physical storm to reflect the storm pouring in his own mind).
The change of the weather didn't surprise him, they were in the New World, after all.
But...
He didn't remember a storm happening on this day. A storm had happened three days prior to his meeting with the Red Hair brat, they were lucky to meet without the scrutiny from the marines, who were probably now fretting, worrying and trying to find where the Moby disappeared... Hmmmm... If he remembered correctly it took them more than a week to spot a marine ship in the area.
The marines keeping a close watch on them would have to change, gradually and slowly, they need to be really cautious while slipping away so as not to raise any unnecessary suspicion.
He sighed inwardly, one more thing to consider added to the endless list of things he has to keep in mind, in the grand scheme of things.
Hmmmm… the wind was getting stronger, and thunder began rolling in the distance.
Today was supposed to be a sunny day, too hot according to his grumbling sons….
Was it a consequence of him being back, he didn't know how the brat Roger pulled this feat off and what to expect as ….
"Newgate, what do you know?" A cold deadly voice demanded, it was not loud but you could hear the intent clearly in every syllable.
Or maybe not.
The change was happening because of the brat in front of him, he didn't look happy at all.
His Haki was as impressive as always, not surprising, he was after all the youngest to become a Yonko, the apex pirates. Whitebeard shook his head in weariness, the headache was making him slow to notice the obvious.
The look in the brat eyes did remind him of the shitty scum Roger (always bringing him trouble) before the start any of their fights, a fierce deadly look, that promised he would have his way and if he didn't like the answer, things would get real ugly.
Whitebeard took another a gulp from his sake, here goes his plan to think and consider everything slowly and meticulously.
Because of a slip of tongue, from all things.
He should have been more careful, he wanted to bang his head (it might help with his headache if nothing else).
Here came his downfall, he grimaced, cursing mentally. So typical because of the D Duo morons, Garp and Roger. Some things never changed. It wasn't enough that they teamed up against his previous crew, even in spirit they worked together to cause chaos. Of course, they did.
That idiotic duo always brought him trouble, of course, it could never be the fun kind of trouble like battling against fleet of ships or destroying a marine base and taking their sake as a keepsake.
No, it has to be the fate of the world kind. The God Valley kind. The life and death of the whole nations kind, not his own demise, unfortunately.
He could almost hear the idiotic brat Roger laughing merrily at his predicament. Curse the moron (he wondered again if he should just die to spite the little shitty git, and go beat the shit and the snout out of him repeatedly in the afterlife. When he saw him again, he would...)
The Red Hair brat seemed to mean business, that was what every fiber of his body was transmitting. The furious brat stood up posture tense, his eyes seemed to glitter with the color of blood like his hair, his hand gripping tightly the hilt of his sword.
"Newgate," his voice was as cold as the storm pouring behind him, because of him. The old Yonko marveled leisurely for a few seconds, at the striking difference between the man-child Roger and said man-child portégé. The Red brat's 'Newgate' to bloody Roger's 'Edward'. Comparing the fury of the one standing in front of him to his old rival bow.
The wind howled echoing the Red Hair brat voice, the air getting chillier by the second.
So different, yet so similar. It brought back memories of his past fight with Roger.
Whitebeard heard several loud thumps, he assumed some of his sons had fainted, others were panickingly shouting, his eldest was trying to keep everything under control, he could hear Marco's voice loudly giving orders, if not the words.
Whitebeard sighed. He crushed the surge of nostalgia welling up inside him and grabbed Murakumogiri in his unoccupied hand while taking a long gulp from the bottle in his other hand. It was finally empty. He let it drop. Neither of them paid attention to the shattering sound as Whitebeard took to his feet.
Pity, he was just getting used to the feeling of the warm sun on his skin again.
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Thank you all that reviewed and PM me with ideas and motivation. Guests reviewers your answers are above.
What do you think about the timeline? ^^ and Whitebeard's reaction?
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know.
Decisions about this story:
1. With a happy and heavy heart, I decided on the final timeline (I may changes the plots of the timeline, I always change things when I write), and discarded the long list of potential timeline (six pages, each one of them had great potential, :( )
2. This story would have a lot of different POV in the future, and not only Whitebeard.
3. Few times things would seem vague and unclear, it is deliberate.
4. Some minor characters that are barely mentioned in OP would play a major role here.
5. Even though I wrote scenes and planned the next few chapters (very proud of myself), this story would still be slow in updating in comparison to my other fics, except if you motivate me to write more ;)
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Please leave a review, and keep the motivation rollin' ^^