Thanks Vergina-spva and MyLadyDay for beta'ing ^^
This story is set right after chapter 30 of Reborn in Fire (MarcoAce) and therefore contains spoilers for that story.
Warning: mentions of blood, abuse and violence
Chapter 1
Blood. So much blood.
It was still spreading, trickling down Thatch's sides as he lay motionless on the ground. In the seconds that Izo was too stunned to act, frozen upon seeing his brother, lying wounded and dying – the idea that he could have been dead didn't arise until later – the pool of the dark red liquid was only spreading.
This was not supposed to be happening. Izo had only stopped by because he had had a meeting with a client close by, and he used any excuse to visit Thatch. They were supposed to hang out, to laugh together while Thatch prepared a meal for him, to fall asleep on the couch together during a movie. Not this.
Izo's feet started moving automatically, and he knelt down in the pool of blood. Grabbing the first piece of cloth he could find – later he found out he had grabbed Thatch's favourite jacket – he used it to staunch the blood flowing from the large wound. His mind wasn't preoccupied with questions of who and why; his only thought was to save Thatch.
Izo was sitting on his knees next to Thatch, his kimono soaking up the blood. With trembling fingers, Izo took out his phone, dialling the emergency number while keeping the pressure on the wound with his free hand.
The operator asked him some questions he didn't remember answering, he only recalled the agonising wait on the ambulance. After what seemed like hours, but were in reality only a few minutes, the wailing sound of the siren became louder in the distance. Izo hadn't bothered closing the door, as Thatch was lying in the hallway, so the paramedics didn't have trouble coming in. They did have trouble with pulling Izo away, however, as he insisted on holding Thatch.
Finally, someone said that if he wanted to help Thatch, he should let them do their job, and Izo stopped resisting. One of the paramedics pulled him away and, sitting in the corner, Izo watched them apply emergency bandages to stop most of the blood before placing Thatch on a stretcher. They made ready to leave. Someone was talking to Izo, probably asking if he wanted to come with them, but Izo couldn't understand them. Still, he scrambled to his feet, never taking his eyes of Thatch.
Thatch's face was pale from the loss of blood, and limply, his hand slipped off the stretcher.
Izo gasped for air when he woke up, the nightmare playing vividly before his mind's eye. His gaze was drawn to the bed next to him. No, it hadn't been just a nightmare…
Thatch was lying in the hospital bed, his eyes closed and his skin sickly pale. His hair lay loose around his head. Izo had tried to create the pompadour Thatch was famous for, but had failed miserably.
It was a few days ago that Izo had found Thatch, the same way as in his dream. Ever since, every time he closed his eyes, he saw his brother lying again like that, in a growing puddle of his own blood. Izo had hardly slept since, now only having passed out from pure exhaustion. As if he had needed a reminder of that horrible, horrible day.
Thatch hadn't woken up since Izo found him. The second they arrived at the hospital, Thatch had gone into surgery. Izo hadn't been allowed in, nor had anyone told him anything. Only then did it dawn upon him that he might have been too late. Maybe Thatch wouldn't make it.
Izo had called his Pops and Marco, and later, Ace. Pops had informed the others. From the wound in Thatch's back, it was obvious at least to Izo, that he had been stabbed with a knife or dagger. Of course, he had wondered why. Thatch was the nicest person he knew, always cheery. Sure, he could be annoying, but no one could resent him that much.
It didn't take long to find out who was behind it, though, as it turned out that Ace had known who the culprit was and Marco had had a pretty good hunch. Thanks to them, Blackbeard was dead, shot several times and afterwards blown up by his so-called boss, Akainu, who was currently rotting in jail.
Izo had expected to feel some relief, and he did, but not as much as he hoped. The vengeance didn't bring Thatch out of his coma, and Izo had almost lost Marco and Ace in the process. Both those idiots were now staying in the hospital too, Ace with a knife wound in his back, and Marco with two bullet holes in his chest and without the ability to use his legs. Again.
He rose from the chair he had fallen asleep on to stretch himself, cursing softly when he found out his neck hurt when he moved it from lying in a wrong position. Just great.
Sighing deeply, he moved closer to the bed, taking Thatch's limp hand and placing it against his own cheek. He would do anything to see Thatch smile again, or even hear him make one of his stupid jokes.
He kissed Thatch's hand, and, sighing, moved to the small bathroom that was attached to the room. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he frowned. He had barely worn any make-up for the past few days, which made the dark circles under his eyes all the more evident, and his hair fell limply around his shoulders. He couldn't remember the last time he had allowed himself to let his hair go greasy.
Yet, he still didn't feel compelled to go home and shower. Thatch could wake at any moment, and Izo, selfishly, wanted to be the first thing he saw when he did. He knew he was being optimistic, but he didn't allow himself to give up. The second he would acknowledge that Thatch might never wake up, Izo's world would crumble.
Of course, Marco and Ace were close by, and Izo made sure to visit them as well, but they had their own problems and each other to lean on. Thatch had no one – well, aside from his thirteen other brothers who stopped by as well, but they had their own jobs and lives. Thatch's current girlfriend had left the country on the same day that Thatch had been stabbed. Izo was ashamed to admit he hadn't made a real effort to contact her either, but he knew some of his other brothers had, but until now, without luck. Even her sister hadn't been able to reach her, or so Izo had heard.
Izo moved over to the bed again, caressing Thatch's cheek lovingly. Even if they called each other brothers, none of them were related by blood. Izo hadn't even known Thatch and the others his whole life, even if it felt that way now. Thatch and he had actually only met when Izo was eight.
Izo sat alone on the playground, as usual, looking at his playing classmates. He had wrapped his arms round himself as if he were cold, even though he wasn't. It was something instinctive, as it felt a little safer, even if they were only his own arms. And even though he wasn't there to hurt him.
School was the only place Izo could get away from his father's abuse and drunken ranting. The only place where he could be, should be, happy and without worries. He had tried to play with the other kids, he really had. But when one of them raised their arm towards him, even if it was a friendly gesture, he couldn't help but flinch. The children didn't understand and thought he was weird. They didn't know that he always wore long sleeves and pant legs to cover up the bruises, no one did. And no one would ever know.
It was usually his own fault when his father lost his temper, anyway. He shouldn't be so clumsy to drop a plate, or, worse, drop his father's beer. And it was Izo's fault his mom was dead too, as she died giving birth to him. His father made sure he remembered that.
It was the first day of school after summer vacation and, honestly, Izo was relieved to be at school again. A whole summer alone with his father had provoked more beatings than usual. When there was school, he was at least free from his father for a couple of hours a day.
He was sure to act normal around the teachers, as their interference would only make things worse. He just had to keep a low profile.
Tired of watching other kids play, Izo took out his sketchbook. It was one of his few possessions, and his most treasured one. His father deemed drawing a waste of time and had ripped up earlier drawings Izo made, so he was sure never to show this book to his father. Izo had saved up money to buy the book himself, but, by now, the book was almost full, so he had to obtain a new one soon. Maybe he could do chores for some of his neighbours again, hopefully without his father finding out, or the money would be confiscated to buy more alcohol.
Izo flipped open his sketchbook and looked at the page left. Only one more to go. He had to make sure it lasted. Starting in the upper left corner, he started to draw.
"Looks really good."
The voice coming from behind him startled him so bad that Izo dropped his sketchbook. Looking around, he saw a boy from his class standing, grinning broadly. It was the first year Thatch was in his class, as he had been held back a year. Because he was a year older, a lot of Izo's classmates thought Thatch was cool. He seemed nice, always grinning at everyone, and he had already proven to be the class clown by placing a crayon on his upper lip and pretending it was a moustache. Even Izo had chuckled.
Still, Izo didn't like being snuck up on and he didn't reply. Before he could pick up his sketchbook, however, Thatch had done it for him and dusted off the sand that was on the page. For a moment, Izo was afraid he would leaf through the book, but Thatch grinned and handed it back to him.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle ya. You just looked so engrossed in your drawing, your tongue was sticking out!"
Izo flustered a bit. "Was not!"
"Was too. Still, you're really good."
Izo's flush deepened and he played with his hair. It was getting pretty long, but his father had other things on his mind than taking Izo to the hairdresser. "Thanks," he muttered.
"Can I see the others?"
Izo clenched the sketchbook against his chest. He had never shown anyone his work and he wasn't planning on starting now, especially to someone he barely knew. "No."
Thatch shrugged. "Okay. Do you wanna come and play?" He pointed to a group of kids that was playing tag.
Izo stared at the ground. "I'm fine here."
"I guess we can stay here, then." Thatch sat down next to him and wrapped his arms around his knees.
Izo looked at him confused. "We?"
Thatch shrugged again. "You looked kinda lonely, so I thought I'd keep you company."
"I don't need your pity," Izo snapped, looking away. "I'm fine on my own!"
Thatch started to laugh. "You need some alone time? I have a big family, so I get that. Betcha I have more siblings than you do!"
"I don't have any," Izo muttered. He wished he had. At least then there would be someone who knew, who understood.
"Oh." Thatch scratched the back of his head, but then the grin returned to his face again. "Then I definitely have more. One of my brothers, Marco, goes to this school as well, but he's on the other playground, 'cause he's older. But he's cool, you'd like him."
"How would you know who I would and wouldn't like?" Izo asked sceptically. "You don't even know if I like you."
Thatch cocked his head to the side. It seemed like he hadn't considered that. "Well, do you?"
Izo mirrored Thatch's earlier position by wrapping his arms around his knees. "I don't know…"
"Come on, I'm sure we can be friends." Thatch placed a hand on Izo's shoulder.
Izo flinched.
Hastily, Thatch pulled his hand back. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"
At that moment, the buzzer went, announcing the end of the break period. Izo quickly grabbed his sketchbook and ran inside, leaving Thatch behind.
When school was out, Izo was sure to pack his things slowly, so he was the last person remaining in the classroom, aside for the teacher. Izo greeted him, faking cheeriness, as he left, relieved to find that Thatch was already gone.
He was always sure to make a detour home, so he could enjoy the time not being home. His father was usually too drunk to realise the school was close by, anyway.
What he hadn't expected, however, was Thatch waiting for him at the gate of the playground, along with an older boy with a tuft of curly blond hair. As soon as Thatch saw Izo, he started to wave enthusiastically, as if Izo hadn't seen him yet.
Sighing, Izo walked towards them; it wasn't like he could leave without passing them, anyway.
"Yo, Izo," Thatch greeted him, grinning, as soon as he was near them. "I wanted to introduce you to my brother. This is Marco."
The older boy, Marco, apparently, held out his hand. Izo stared at it, reluctant to shake it.
"He doesn't like people touching him," Thatch said to Marco.
Marco nodded and pulled back his hand.
"You wanna come to our house and play?" Thatch asked. "Blenheim should be here soon to pick us up. He's one of my brother's too, but he's older and has his driver's licence. You could meet the others, too."
For a moment, Izo just stared at him. He had never been invited to come to someone's house to play. The offer was tempting, even if he hadn't liked Thatch, if only to escape his father's fury for a little while longer. "I don't think my dad would like that," he said, hesitantly. "I promised I would come home right away."
"Ah, come on! He's seen you all summer," Thatch pressed.
"Thatch, if he has an agreement with his father, you should respect that, yoi," Marco said. It was the first time Izo heard him speak, and it was obvious he was more mature and responsible than Thatch was. Though, Izo did wonder if "yoi" was some kind of nickname for Thatch.
Thatch pouted. "No fair."
Izo couldn't help but feel flattered by Thatch's desire to play with him. Nobody had ever made such an effort to become his friend, especially someone like Thatch, who already had a lot of friends. "Maybe tomorrow?" he suggested. He could always tell his father his teacher had asked him to help him after class or something.
Thatch's face brightened. "Okay."
The next day, Thatch approached Izo's desk, a bright smile on his face and his hands behind his back. "I have something for you." He placed a brand new sketchbook on Izo's table.
Izo's eyes widened.
"Surprise!" Thatch grinned. "I saw your other one was almost full, so I figured you needed a new one."
Izo could only stare at him, his mouth opening and closing several times, before he could stammer, "Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Wanna play with me during the break?"
Izo nodded.
Thatch flashed him another bright smile and went to sit in his place.
Izo clutched his new sketchbook against his chest. His cheeks had heated up a little and he couldn't help but smile.
Izo pulled back his hand from Thatch's cheek. It was easy to lose himself in happier memories. Thatch had been the first to show him kindness, and many times after that first time.
He was Izo's brother, his confidant, his friend, and the only person Izo had ever truly loved.
AN
I've based Izo's primary school experience on how they work in the Netherlands, and, more specifically, how my own worked. Children in the Netherlands go to school when they're four or five, to the first grade, and leave school when they're eleven or twelve in the eighth grade (and then go to secondary school). My primary school had two playgrounds, one for grades one to four and one for grades five to eight. Marco would have been on the 'big' playground, opposed to Thatch and Izo, who're in the fourth grade.
