Chapter 11 (Because I'm a good person and didn't want to leave you guys in suspense too long. :) Oh, semi-important note. Some of you may have noticed I made an edit on chapter 10. It was like, two words at the very end. But they were important words! Go read them and then come back!

Anna Banana: Yes! I love me some plot twists and cliffhangers! Thanks! To have this compared to the actual manga in any way is really flattering!

Thank you! Well, the Whitebeard crew really is a big happy family. It was kind of an undertone in the real series, but I wanted to bring it out more. Well, you have to remember, at this age Ace still has all the self-esteem issues about his lineage, so he just assumed Whitebeard and his crew would hate him too like so many other people had.

Thank you! I'm glad you think my portrayal of young Ace is accurate! (There really are a lot of OOC kid!Ace fics out there, aren't there?) I'm glad! That means I really did get his character right.

I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter so much! Yeah, the end was supposed to leave you hangin'. C: I hope this next chapter is out soon enough for you!)

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Ace ran. The hallways and corridors raced past and Ace paid them no mind. About halfway down a hallway he stumbled and fell hard on his right side. He cried out and clutched his right shoulder in pain, eyes squeezed tightly shut. After a moment he brought his hand away and saw blood staining his fingers. Shit…He forced himself back up and began running down the hall again at a slightly slower and more uneven pace. He kept his left hand pressed against the top of his right shoulder blade, trying to keep the blood from dripping on the floor and leaving a clear trail.

He was panting now, and his shoulder was hurting him badly. I can't keep this up much longer…and they're bound to be looking for me by now. He stopped near the next door and pressed his ear against it, listening for movement or speech from within. There were none. He pushed the door open and walked inside. Behind the door was a large room with stored building supplies and a wide variety of tools used for ship repairs. The shipwright's workshop… Ace looked around a spotted a large workbench against one wall. He went over to it and looked at the objects resting upon it. Tools, half-finished work, the usual. Ace's eyes stopped when they hit a large sheet of paper lying on the table. He lifted the page, trying not to stain it with the blood on his hands, and studied it for a moment. A smile appeared on his face. He rolled up the document and headed back to the door. After listening for people again, he stepped through, shutting the door silently behind him.

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The ship was in an uproar. The crew was scouring the entire Moby Dick, stem to stern, searching for the missing child. Whitebeard was in his cabin, fear for his missing son racing through him. As of right now, they had no idea where Ace was. It was entirely possible he had jumped ship, either stealing a lifeboat or trying to swim. Anyone in their right mind would never try such a stunt, but fear was one of the strongest incentives out there. A member of fourth division came in. Whitebeard looked up and stood. The man was breathless, as if he had just been running.

"Oyaji! It's…It's alright. He's still on the ship." Whitebeard felt relief wash over him, a terrible weight lifting off his chest.

"Thank goodness. Heavens knows how much worse the situation could be." He looked back at his son to find him looking away guiltily. He blinked. "…You still haven't found him?" The man shook his head. "Then how do you know he's on the ship?" The man looked back up at Whitebeard.

"We know he was in the workshop." Whitebeard gave him a confused look.

"How?"

"Well…the ships blueprints are missing." The man ran a hand over his face. "If he has those we've lost the advantage. With the blueprints of the ship, Ace now knows the Moby Dick as well as we do, if not better."

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Serpent crouched low, moving silently over the floorboards. Ahead of her was sitting one of the ship's rats. It's nose twitched in an ugly face, oily black fur covered its body in a matted coat. Serpent took one last step forward. Gotcha. She leapt at the rodent. It saw her coming, gave a squeal of surprise, and shot into a nearby air vent. Serpent hissed in frustration. Marco approached her, having seen the exchange.

"Don't you think we have bigger problems than a few rats right now?" He sounded upset. Serpent looked at him.

"If I catch one I can talk with it, and they know this ship far better than any of you. They probably already know where Ace is." Marco looked at Serpent in surprise.

"You can talk to rats?" Serpent rolled her eyes.

"Yes. I can. Now why don't you leave me to this, and you get back to-" There was a sound of scampering over head, coming from the vent system of the Moby Dick. Serpent hissed in annoyance.

"Damn rats. They all hide in those bedamned vents." Serprent followed the sound down the hallway, leaving Marco alone. He turned back down the hallway, moving off at a jog. I know you're scared, Ace, but we just want to help…don't hide from us, please. You're our family, we'd never intentionally hurt or scare you. He felt guilt, remembering the betrayal he had seen in Ace's eyes before he fled. Selma approached Marco, coming at a run. Marco stopped. Selma walked up to him, panting.

"Marco…" she took a moment to catch her breath. "Any luck yet?" Marco shook his head.

"What about you? Have you found any sign of him?" Selma also shook her head. After a moment of hesitation, though, she spoke. "I think he may have been in the infirmary, though." Marco's eyes widened.

"Really? How can you tell?"

"I left when the search began, and when I came back, some stuff had been moved around. Nothing big, and it's only because I remember specifically setting something somewhere that I noticed at all." Marco nodded.

"I'll go tell Oyaji, you keep looking." Selma nodded and ran off. Marco turned down the hallway and headed towards Whitebeard's cabin.

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Whitebeard was sitting still, deep in thought. Worry and guilt ran through him. The door to the cabin opened and closed quietly. It was only because the room was dead silent that Whitebeard heard the noise at all. He lifted himself out of his brooding and turned to look at his visitor. Before him stood a woman, maybe 30, with waist length light red-brown hair. She was wearing a very light blue dress with loose, elbow-length sleeves. She had a pretty face, large eyes and a small nose and cute, almost childish freckles. Her face was calm, but when she saw Whitebeard it hardened, growing set and determined. She marched across the room quickly, her strides eating the distance in seconds. As she drew close, her expression didn't change. She reached him, and drew herself up to her full height.

And slapped him.

Whitebeard was shocked. He had experienced many things over his lifetime, sustained many injuries. He'd been stabbed, punched, slashed, bitten by animals, bruised, and bludgeoned. But never once in his entire life had an opponent slapped him. He sat there in shock for a moment, and the woman before him spoke without hesitation, voice full of protective fury.

"How could you lose him? How could you possibly lose him on your own ship? You supidi maiali! I left him in your care for two days and this is what happens? Non ho mai dovuto fidarmi sciocchi stupidi come te!" Now, Whitebeard didn't speak Italian, but he assumed based on her tone that the words weren't exactly kind. He tried to be polite in the hopes that she would calm down. He didn't know who she was, but there was something very familiar about her face.

"I'm sorry, madam, but who exactly are you?" She was glaring at him, staring right up into his face. She wasn't intimidated or afraid at all, standing up to a yonkou with no weapons or protection. Whitebeard was impressed. The woman below him continued to stare up at him furiously. Just then, the door opened. Marco strode through.

"Oyaji, we-Oh. Who's this?" The woman had now turned her glaring away from Whitebeard and refocused it on Marco. Again she marched across the cabin with angry intent, and stopped just before Marco and slapped him across the face too. He stumbled back a step in surprise. The woman glared at him with furious passion.

"You. Of all the people here, it had to be you. Do you have any idea what you've done? He trusted you!" Marco was staring at her in open shock, backing away from the enraged female.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry but I really have no idea what you're talking about." She sighed deeply, placing her hands on her hips and closing her eyes. When she spoke again her voice was calmer.

"No, I suppose you don't." She looked to Whitebeard. "And you and your crew are doing an admirable job of searching for him. You have to hurry, though. But you must also be compassionate." She looked between the two. "Do you even know why he's afraid? What he's running from?" The two exchanged a look and shook their heads. Whitebeard spoke.

"…What is it that's scaring him?" The woman looked at him with sad eyes.

"It's not my secret to tell. But he needs all the kindness and love you can give him." A scratching noise came from over head. The woman looked up. "What was that?" Marco shook his head dismissively.

"It's just some rats. They like to use our vent system as a means of transportation. The vents run throughout the entire ship, but they're too small for anyone but a child to…" He trailed off, eyes widening. Ace has the blueprints of the ship! He turned to Whitebeard.

"I think I know where Ace is and why we haven't found him yet!" Whitebeard looked at him in surprise. "He's in the vents! With the blueprints he knows the whole layout and uses them to get around without being seen!" Whitebeard's face grew hopeful. He pulled out a baby den-den mushi from his pocket. All of the commanders had one, and at any time any of them could contact any of the others or Whitebeard. He spoke into it firmly.

"Sons, we now know where Ace is. He's in the ventilation system of the ship. We don't know exactly where, but I want you all to put people near every vent you can find. Am I understood?" A chorus of positive responses echoed out of the snail and Whitebeard set it back aside. He turned back to the woman.

"You have to tell us what's wrong with Ace. If we don't know, we don't know how to help him." The woman gave no signs of having heard him. Her head was turned slightly to the side, eyes widened.

"Mio Dio…" She turned and began heading for the door at a fast pace. "I have to go." Marco blinked.

"Wait, stop!" He reached out to grab her shoulder before she could leave.

And his hand passed right through her.

Whitebeard and Marco both froze in shock. She turned to face them once more. For the first time, Whitebeard noticed her feet didn't actually touch the floor. Her face was determined once again.

"I am leaving. My son needs me." And with that, Portgas D Rouge turned around and walked through the door, leaving behind a stunned Marco and Whitebeard. They sat there in silence for a moment until the den-den mushi near Whitebeard spoke. Jozu's voice came out clearly.

"Oyaji. We've got him. Second deck. But…there's something wrong with him. Bring Selma." Whitebeard's face became concerned. What could have happened to him? Both he and Marco headed out the door, equal expressions of worry on their faces.

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Several minutes earlier

Jozu had sent two people to stand by each vent on the second deck. He was making rounds regularly to check if there had been any sign of his missing brother. Thus far, there had been none. When Jozu had assigned everyone, he had told them to be as quiet as possible and to stand directly next to the vents. This way they would be neither seen nor heard, and could efficiently grab Ace if he should come out. He was halfway to the next vent when he heard sounds of a disturbance.

"Let me go!" Ace's voice was near shouting. Jozu began running and rounded the next corner. Before him, Ace was being held down by two members of third division. One was holding his arms while the other held down his feet. Ace had been fighting back. The man near his feet had a broken nose to show for the struggle, and he had to use both hands to hold Ace's legs, leaving his face covered in blood. Both were grimacing with effort and Ace was writhing wildly, desperately. His eyes were widened in terror and his breathing was shallow. Apparently some other members of third division had heard the struggle, and a small crowd was beginning to gather in the hallway. Some of the people stepped forward, moving towards Ace to help hold him down. He grew more frenzied, and face turning wildly from person to person. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"JUST KILL ME!" Everyone froze, the room going silent instantly. To say Jozu was shocked was an understatement. Ace tore away from the two people formerly holding him and ran down the hall. This seemed to reawaken the crowd, and they chased him.

Several hallways later, they had managed to corner Ace at a turn in a hallway. He was now standing with his back to the corner, pressed as far against it as he could go. He sank down against the wall, panting. From his seated position he stared out at the crowd. At Jozu's signal they all began moving in simultaneously at a slow pace, leaving no way for Ace to run. Ace looked around desperately, but there was no escape route. His breathing grew shallower, fear nearly consuming him. He shut his eyes tightly.

"But there is a way out." A familiar voice caused Ace to open his eyes. He looked up. Standing beside him was a man. Well, almost a man. Ace looked up at him with wide eyes. He was wearing a dress suit with a tie. Long legs stretched up to a slim torso with elegant arms. A pocket-watch was held in one of the gloved hands, and the man was studying the time. With a last look he snapped it shut and stuck it in his breast pocket. The man bent down, hand extended towards Ace. His head looked like that of a starved and diseased rabbit, but the face was more human. The rabbit ears suck up from his head crookedly, with many unnatural bends and twists. An inhumanly wide smile was on his face, the ends of it reaching up near his eyes. And his eyes…Hazel-grey eyes, Ace's eyes, stared out of the distorted face. The entire head was covered in a thin and unhealthy coat of white fur. Beneath it, open, rotting sores covered some parts of the skin. "Let's be off, Ace." The unnatural smile remained on his face when he spoke, and some of the sores opened, oozing pus and sludgy blood. "We're behind schedule. Running very close to late."

Ace looked out at the approaching pirates. He looked back up at the White Rabbit and took the proffered hand. The unnatural grin grew wider.

"Oh, come now, Ace. Give us a smile." He pulled Ace to his feet and led him away. When they reached them, they simply walked through the pirates and out beyond them. The rabbit turned his face towards Ace, still leading him by the hand. "Everyone's happy these days."

Jozu gave a signal and the crowd stopped. Before him, Ace had gone completely still. Jozu approached Ace alone and knelt down beside the child.

"…Ace?" He didn't respond. Ace's face was turned away from Jozu, and Jozu carefully used one hand to turn it towards him. The boy was totally limp, and there was no resistance. Ace's breathing was shallow and slow. Jozu looked at Ace's face and his eyes widened.

Ace's eyes were dead.

They were clouded over and unfocused, and it really did look as though he had died. Jozu hurriedly picked up one of Ace's hands, putting his first and second fingers on Ace's wrist. His pulse beat steadily beneath Jozu's hand. Jozu gently shook the boy.

"Ace…Ace, wake up." Ace made no response, body swinging limply with the movement. Jozu supported his weight with one arm and used the other to pull out his den-den mushi.

"Oyaji. We've got him. Second deck." He looked down at the boy, filled with worry and a hint of guilt. Is this my fault? He refocused on the den-den-mushi. "But…there's something wrong with him. Bring Selma."

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Whitebeard and Marco arrived at the scene moments later. Marco rushed up first to look at the boy, at first with excitement, but upon seeing his lifeless expression his jubilance faded. He sat next to Ace, gently trying to rouse him. Whitebeard approached at a slower pace. As he moved, the crew parted, giving him plenty of room. As he drew up to Ace, Marco and Jozu stepped back.

Whitebeard kneeled near the boy. He studied him for a moment, looking into his eyes for some hint of the Ace they all knew and loved. He didn't find it. He shut his eyes and bowed his head for a moment. Looking back up, he gently picked up the boy, cradling him almost like a baby. Ace didn't respond, and Whitebeard held him close, feeling a tightness on his heart. He slowly began walking away from the area, heading for the infirmary. Again, as he passed the crew stepped back, giving him plenty of room. After he had passed them they fell into step behind him. They walked this way for a few moments in silence, the mood dark. Whitebeard felt the tightness growing, as well as a kind of anger. His voice was hard when he addressed the crew.

"This isn't a damned funeral procession! Ace is still alive, and we're going to find a way to get him back. Now, could one of you please go and tell Selma to prepare a bed in the infirmary?" The crew looked up, surprised. A few nodded and headed off down a side hallway at a faster pace. The crowd behind Whitebeard dispersed, and he continued walking as smoothly as possible towards the infirmary. He looked down at the boy in his arms. "We will get you back, Ace. I promise." Marco, still by his side, looked up at his father and brother with concern.

A short while later Whitebeard reached the infirmary. Before he could even reach for the handle of the door, it was flung wide and Selma and a nurse bustled out. Selma was in her cold, collected doctor-mode, and the nurse beside her also bore a determined expression. Selma pointed towards one of the many cots in the infirmary.

"That one. Near my desk." Whitebeard nodded to her and walked over, setting Ace gently onto the bed and pulling the blankets over him. He stepped back and Selma walked over, pulling up a chair near the bed and sitting down. Marco also pulled up a chair and sat down next to Ace. Selma glanced at him, saw his expression, and decided to leave him alone.

"Any physical injuries?" She had a clipboard and was scribbling down notes on the sheet of paper. Whitebeard considered.

"Not that I know of. Thatch said he thought Ace was bleeding, but when I found him there was no blood, not even on his shirt." Selma nodded briskly.

"Thatch must have imagined it then. Do you know what triggered this response?" Whitebeard shook his head.

"Jozu said it happened when he and some other members of third division were approaching Ace in order to collect him. Said he just randomly went limp." Again Selma nodded. What followed was a basic examination of Ace's condition. She shone lights in his eyes, tested his reflexes, and attempted to use all kinds of stimuli to get Ace to respond. As the night progressed she grew more and more stressed out. Finally she turned to Whitebeard and Marco, who had remained in the room the whole time. She looked guilty.

"I…I don't know what's wrong with him. He hasn't responded to anything I've tried and he seems perfectly healthy besides" she gestured to Ace's face. "this." Whitebeard bowed his head and nodded. Marco's face grew even more worried and he ran a hand over his face and through his hair. He reached down and gently grasped Ace's hand, clasping it between both of his own. He bowed his head. She continued to look at them, guilt doubling.

"I'm going to keep trying, though. And I'll do some research, see if I can't find anything similar."

"Can I stay in here with him?" All three turned to look at the source of the voice. Thatch was standing in the doorway, face serious. Selma's eyes grew softer and she nodded, stepping aside. Thatch gave a nod of thanks and walked over, taking Selma's now vacated chair.

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Marco blinked several times and rubbed swollen eyes. He, Thatch, and Selma had been up all night. Thatch and Marco refused to leave Ace alone, and Selma was busy looking through her medical books for any kind of similar case or cure. Beside him, Thatch yawned widely. One of the ship's cooks came walking in, bearing a tray containing three plates of food. Marco stood and accepted the tray, setting it on a table not far away.

"Thanks for bringing us breakfast, we really appreciate it." The man nodded.

"…If…if there's anything else we can do, don't hesitate to ask." He looked between the room's occupants. "Seriously. Anything." He finished speaking and stepped back out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. Marco looked at the tray of food without much interest.

"You should eat something." Marco turned to look at Thatch. It was the first time Thatch had spoken in nearly six hours." Marco shook his head.

"I'm not really hungry-" At her desk, Selma gasped. Both instantly turned to look at her.

"What? What is it?" Selma was staring her book with wide eyes. She looked up at Marco.

"Call Oyaji in here. I just found what's wrong with Ace."

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Whitebeard strode to the room as quickly as possible. When he finally reached the infirmary, his urgency didn't fade and he quickly opened the door and entered. As soon as he was inside, he turned to Selma.

"Well? What's wrong with him? Can you fix it?" Selma didn't look up when he spoke. She was reading the page she had been turned to when Whitebeard had been called in, and as she read more her face filled first with confusion, and then with sorrow. Selma turned to him with deep sadness in her eyes. Whitebeard saw the expression and froze. "What? What is it?" Selma looked away, swallowing thickly. She spoke quietly to herself.

"It shouldn't be possible…not in a child this young…" Whitebeard looked between her and Marco and Thatch. They looked just as confused and worried as he did. This time it was Marco who spoke.

"Selma, we have to know. We can't help him if we don't know what's wrong." Selma looked back up at them, sadness still written across her face. After a moment's hesitation she spoke.

"Ace…Ace has a very rare and very extreme form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

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(A/N: THIS IS NOT A LEGITIMATE SYMPTOM OF PTSD. I MADE IT UP. At least, I think I did.

Why does Rouge speak Italian? Because I like the language and decided it should be the native language of the island she lived on. Problems with that? Deal with it.

I don't really have much else to say except to remind all you lovely people to review! I will send out…hmm…desert foods I like…cupcakes! Everyone loves cupcakes, right? Review and you get a cupcake! Try for length, people! I will take the time to respond to you if you write a review! Thank you all for being amazing! ~Mountain97)