The fires burned bright, drawing closer as he lay on the bloodied grass. Heat wafted close to him, and Lorey curled up around his hat, hands gripping it harshly as he tried to protect the dried straw from igniting. In the distance his hut was consumed by fire, and the grass that had once covered the graves of his clan were reduced to blackened ash. Their tombstones glowed red-hot, the stone seemingly displaying the anger of the departed as their homeland burned. Tears weld in his eyes and began to trail down Lorey's face, gazing at the destruction around him, helpless to do anything about his burning home with his organs twisted and ripped out of him. He tore his eyes away from the searing fires, staring up at the sky and squinting, trying to take in the sight of the glowing sun through the clouds of black, acrid smoke that billowed out. It was a small pinprick of light behind all the chaos, and Lorey remembered a time when he was younger, when the god played with him and brought him joy and hope. How he had gently taken the straw hat from his father's dying hands, a promise to remember on his lips. If their precious hat burned, then there would be no remembering the god that was slowly being forgotten.

Lorey's attention was drawn to the man that approached, brows drawing down and rage filling his belly at the sight of red eyes and a hollow face. Through the pain in his gut and sting in his throat, he mustered up the energy to spew his resentment. "He would have hated you!" A cough tore out his lips, blood splattering along the ground from where he lay as he heaved.

The man paused as his face twisted, growing furious at his words. "It's people like you," he began, voice acidic and low in anger. "You and your idiotic ideals are what killed him."

Lorey gritted his teeth, blood pouring out down the sides of his lips as his breaths faltered. His lungs no longer able to fill with air. And as blackness began to seep in around the edges of his vision, he was unable to keep his grip on the straw hat that was torn out his grasp. Lorey slumped, sight unfocused as he watched the man admire his hat, one that was far too large for him to ever wear, all in front of his father's grave. More tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision as he died with a broken promise.

Present time

The metal of the poneglyph shone softly, knicks and crannies previously overlooked now weighed heavily in Shanks' mind. Had they been damaged over time, or were they result of a god struggling with his lessening power? Red eyes roved over the etched metal, over the language he couldn't understand and over the small imperfections in each letter. He reached out, finger outstretched, as he dug his index finger into the indent of the words, tracing them down as his throat closed with emotion. The fit wasn't right, belonging to the hand of a person younger than him, but he could still feel the jagged edges inside.

Where each bloodied cough and shake of the god's body was forever stamped into the words. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, letting his hand fall limp as he stared numbly at the relic of the past. The sun had set, and now the moonlight barely reached the low floors of the sea, but it didn't matter. Shanks shifted and turned his face, fully looking at the glow of sunlight that shone from the god, watching as the light dappled across his skin with the warmth of the dawning sun. The Luffy he knew no longer sat next to him. In his place was the form of Nika, face young and cheeks rounded the same as Luffy's, but his eyes were what set them completely apart. Where Luffy's had been wide eyed and full of hope and joy, Nika's were half lidded, as if barely awake and struggling to stay conscious. And as much as his eyes shone with the brilliance of light, they somehow seemed shadowed as they stared blankly ahead at the poneglyph.

Nika's palm was fully pressed against the cold metal, thumb brushing absently as light flickered around his form. Strands of white-hot fire curled around the god's face while the rest of his hair rose into the air, swaying in an invisible breeze. The clothes he wore had been bleached white, skin shiny and pale, as if the moon had turned its head fully to absorb whatever rays of sunlight it could.

"Luffy-" Shanks cut himself off, no longer sure of the true name he should say, especially after what he had been told. He knew this was still Luffy, the young boy he had adopted and cherished, but right now he was also a half-awake god.

The god looked away from the iron block but kept his outstretched hand firmly on it, lips forming into a wide smile and eyes turning blazing as they settled on him. Shanks felt the creep of something along his spine. Some feeling that made him aware, made him feel pressed in all directions. He took a shallow breath in, recognizing it in the next moment. It was the same feeling the goddess of the ocean gave him, though it was far more diminished and barely there, he still felt it.

Yet this time unlike all others, he was able to look back at the face of the god that scrutinized him, able to take in the divinity that shrouded him like a mist; one that disappeared every time he looked too closely. As if the very fabric of the universe deemed him unworthy to truly take in the form of divinity. The god looked away and Shanks felt his body relax automatically, raised hackles lowering and baser instincts retreating now that he was no longer under such a heavy gaze. A pale hand slid across the etched words as the god's smile fell, his face scrunched in barely hidden pain.

Shanks debated for a moment, worrying his lip between his teeth as he gathered his courage to speak, voice low and gentle. "Are you… have you recovered?" He shifted as close as he could, only stilling when sweat beaded across his forehead and a too intense heat wafted over his skin. The god's eyes closed, though he could still see the glow of his pupils through the skin of his eyes.

"Not yet."

The god pulled away slightly from the ancient iron block and Shanks mourned when he saw the fire that made up Nika's body flicker. Resignation slowly etched itself onto the light facial features of the god, his eyes dimming to a burned red, like a dying sun. He shook his head and repeated himself, "No… not yet."

The god faced him again and gave him a brilliant smile, eyes scrunched, and cheeks stretched so far it must have hurt. "We'll meet again!" Nika laughed, bright and loud, mimicking the lightness and warmth he represented. Then for the first time since he told his tale, the god removed his outstretched hand from the poneglyph.

The effect was immediate. Hair that had blazed like a fire dyed itself black, only flickers of white burning in the now limp locks like coals. His clothes returned to their true colors, and Shanks realized that they had never been dyed. The effect had been more like the reflection of an obscenely bright light source being too close and washing the hue away. Lastly, bright eyes dimmed and settled into coals, face relaxing momentarily before a look of confusion contorted his face.

It was gone a moment later and Luffy launched himself at him, arms outstretched and wide smile on his face as he laughed. "I don't really know what happened, but I'm pretty sure you shouldn't look so sad, dad!"

Shanks felt his chest tighten, arms raising automatically to hug Luffy close and tuck his head under his chin, ignoring how even his hair seemed too warm. He opened his mouth to respond, surprised when his usual teasing and jaunts didn't come to him easily. Shanks let his arms squeeze Luffy closer, emotions still dull and numb, seemingly far away as he tried to process everything that just occurred. Luffy wiggled and pulled back, black eyes staring into him almost knowingly, as if picking apart his mind and reading his thoughts. Luffy's smile never faded, and as he began to laugh and smile, Shanks felt his blood run cold.

"Not yet!"

xxx

Garp sat back against the chair, right arm resting along the table and eyes trailing down the wooden logs that made up the walls. They were old with age, cracked and splintered in some places and no longer sealed against the elements. The door was only on one hinge, and didn't lock anymore. It was a miracle it managed to keep itself shut against the wind. Garp drew his attention back to his son who was seated across from him, an unapologetic look on his face and back stiff as he stared back.

"The last time I was here," Garp began, glancing down at his empty lap. "Luffy fit in the palm of my hand." The winds outside stilled and it was now a dead giveaway that Dragon was clamming up. Garp felt his fingers twitch, mind drifting off to a long ago memory of a baby boy with black hair, eyes far too intense and gaze too knowing to be anything but normal.

"I get it," he began again, absently trailing a pattern on the table with his fingers. "You knew when to step back, I never did." He glanced back up at his son, watching as his brows twitched down and his frown deepened ever so slightly. "I ended up pushing you away, but I'm glad you keep to your convictions, Dragon."

His son closed his eyes and his frown wobbled before it turned into a smirk, Dragon's shoulders beginning to shake in his amusement. His voice tinged with mirth as he spoke, "You're easy to read, father."

Garp shrugged and kicked his feet up onto the table, grinning to cover his embarrassment. "Yeah well-" He cut himself off, not knowing what else to say. Their past was butchered, but they were never ones to truly linger on it. "Anyways, what happened?"

Dragon looked away, towards a broken window and out at the sea. "I wasn't needed. When a child grows up without a father, he has no need of one to return."

Garp swallowed, mind bringing up the countless men and woman who had grown up abandoned and unwanted. But Luffy had never been truly unwanted, not with a mother with an ocean full of love and an adoptive father that the sea itself had picked. Garp frowned sharply, mind coming to a halt as he took in Dragon's statement. Luffy hadn't needed Dragon to return as a father because he already found one. He tried his best to keep his face neutral, but he was sure his son had already caught on.

"You know something?"

He cursed under his breath, damning whatever god deemed it necessary for him to be such a shit liar and even worse at hiding it, even when he hadn't said anything. "I'm more surprised you haven't," Garp made a sweeping gesture with his hands. "Aren't you supposed to have all the info all the time?"

Dragon pursed his lips, gaze growing distant and drawn to the sea once more. "I knew about Luffy's condition and how he was doing but-" Dragon gave a weak shrug. "I don't know him."

Garp dipped his head in acknowledgement before sighing and nodding along further, even if he hated how their family seemed so distant, he knew there was no helping it. "He didn't need you," he continued off from Dragon's question, barreling on even as he saw his son's lips tighten. "Why would he need another father?"

The winds that had grown still suddenly raged, causing the cabin to creak and moan as it was assaulted by the force of nature. In another instant it stilled once more, and the entire time, Dragon's expression never changed. Garp supposed that Dragon was born with none of the transparency that Garp was plagued with, but he was fortunate enough that there were a still a few signs he could judge his son's emotions off of, and right now he seemed distressed, no matter how calm he seemed. It was one thing to know a child didn't need a father, but it was another to know you had been replaced.

Garp scratched at his head, hands running through his grey hair in a rough manner as he tried to avoid eye contact with his son. "You were right, he did have his mom to raise him. But I guess she decided he still needed a dad-" He let out a breath, too heavy and weary to be considered a sigh. "Anyways, he's some no-good pirate, but he cares for Luffy." Garp bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to stop rambling, hesitantly glancing towards Dragon's shadowed face before grimacing. The cabin descended into a heavy silence, the winds that gusted outside seeped through the cracks in the logs and brought the chill of the night inside. The candle that melted down to the base shrived and withered as it died, casting the cabin into darkness. Clouds covered the sky and blocked out any light that the stars may have provided, and Garp couldn't see his hand in front of his own face. In a way, this was better than having to face his son directly. He was never good with these sorts of family issues, no matter how badly he advocated for staying close together as one.

"I see," Dragon spoke into the dark, voice monotone and flat, failing to bounce off the cabin walls. More silence followed and Garp clenched his fists on the table, eyes blind but senses fully trailed on his surroundings.

"Don't give me that, Dragon," Garp hated to be the reminder, but it had to be said. "Remember, you never had a say." The words were harsh, cutting through the darkness of the cabin and echoing with a sort of finality that he didn't anticipate. He leaned back against his chair, hyperaware of the groaning wood as his other senses tried to compensate for his lack of sight. He didn't know what else to say on that, but it shouldn't have mattered. It had never been the reason he showed up anyways.

"They know about him." Garp clenched his jaw tight, grinding his teeth across each other before stretching his mouth open to release the pressure. "My sources, well, he told me how much they know." His lips curled back, brows drawing down in anger. "They sent the admirals after the boys, and whatever occurred there made Luffy show his powers." Garp's eyes began to adjust to the lack of light, and he could see the outline of Dragon as his son leaned forward, assumedly a frown on his face.

"They showed me pictures, that Luffy can swim while he has a fruit and that he called for his mom-" Garp took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease away any headache that was threatening to form. "They saw a connection in the worst possible way, and now I don't know what to do. The five know by now, but what they decide to do with that info is anyone's guess." Garp dropped his hand and let his head fall back as he stared into the darkness.

Dragon shuffled around for a moment and Garp winced as a match was struck, momentarily blinding him with its intensity. Once his vision cleared, he looked towards the flame, catching the way orange light highlighted Dragon's face from below. It caught onto his stress lines and wrinkles, illuminating the bags under his eyes from sleepless nights and forcing him to take note of the intensity in his gaze.

"Where is Luffy now?" Dragon's voice held the first real emotion in it since they began talking, and Garp wondered if it was at the prospect of Luffy's death that spurred him on.

"With that no-good pirate. He's safe, they won't get him, Dragon." His assurances seemed to have failed completely when Dragon didn't even let his shoulders drop from their hiked, defensive position. A part of Garp couldn't help but be glad, it seemed that Dragon hadn't completely abandoned Luffy after all. However, that feeling was short lived as his son pressed for more answers.

"Who?"

He grimaced involuntarily and Dragon's eyes zeroed in on the motion. He debated lying, but it would be pointless. Dragon would eventually come to find out who Luffy called father, but Garp had hoped he would be far away when that occurred. Fate was cruel however, and deemed it necessary that he be the one to tell his son who his replacement was. So, he steeled his shoulders and sat up straight, carefully taking in how Dragon's face grew more tense, as if also preparing himself for an answer he wouldn't like.

"The Red Haired Emperor."

xxx

Benn tapped his finger along the side of his glass, watching the amber liquid inside ripple before swinging it up to his lips. Groans and creaks filled the silence as the Red Force swayed in the dock, each tilt of the ship easing him, reminding him of calmer times. He leaned his back against the chair, taking in the sound of the gurgling water that was easily heard from how deep they were in the ship. It was one of the lower floors under the waterline, a small room that could be considered an office, not that it had ever really been used as one. His eyes lingered on the burning candle in the center of a beaten down table before trailing over to his captain, his lips thinning at the clear stress he was in. Shanks hadn't said a word when they met up again, his mind distant and distracted, but holding Luffy as close as he could to his side, as if he would lose him if he were to even slacken his grip. Luffy had been obliviously happy as usual, and it had taken some coaxing from Roo and Yasopp to let them take care of Luffy, everyone being able to sense their captain's frayed nerves and anxious mood, regardless of how purposefully calm he kept his exterior.

When Benn had asked what had him in such a state, he had shaken his head and headed down to the room they now sat in. So they sat, each with their own thoughts, Benn unable to pry any information from his captain. It was unusual, Shanks was usually carefree about most things or downright protective, both he had firsthand experience in, especially recently. Yet, this mood was different, it felt more oppressive, like a secret was hanging over their heads, one lifechanging, and at this point, it may have been world ending. He glanced back at Shanks who had his elbows on the table, head held heavily in his hands and red hair limply framing his face. The drink Benn had poured for him earlier was untouched, and if he needed any sign that his captain had a lot on his mind, that was certainly one.

He debated if he should try striking up a conversation again, but just as he decided not to, Shanks leaned back in his seat with his head hanging carelessly over the back of the chair, neck exposed and arms limp at his sides. His captain let out a long, drawn-out sigh, hand reaching forward blindly to grab at the drink in front of him and sloppily brought it up to his lips. Benn raised a brow when Shanks didn't even bother raising his head up, simply opening his mouth and pouring the whisky right in. Unsurprisingly, the idiot almost drowned himself, and Benn took another drag of his smoke as he watched him struggle and cough.

"You done?" He asked when the coughing was mostly over, ignoring the cup that had fallen and rolled across the floor.

Shanks banged on his chest, nodding and spluttering, face red as he tried to speak. "Y-Yeah." A few more coughs later, Shanks sat back up, eyes watering as he wiped the drool form his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

"You ready to talk about it?" Benn scooted forward, placing his drink down on the other end of the table and extinguishing his cigarette on a dusty ash tray. Carefully pouring out another drink and sliding it over. When he drew his attention back to his captain, he sighed. Shanks had his hands covering his face, scrubbing vigorously before dragging them down.

"I don't even know where to begin." Shanks let out a small laugh, it was hollow and his face reflected it. He took a sip of his drink, this time like a normal person before continuing. "Well, we were right. About the whole god thing. So that's….good."

Benn wasn't surprised, but he was unsure as to why this was coming up again, there had already been plenty of clues, and this was something they both deemed a strong possibility.

Shanks made eye contact with him, red eyes brightening and a genuine laugh left him. "Haha! It's not often I get to see your face like that Benn!"

Benn immediately dropped any expression from his face and rolled his eyes, gesturing for Shanks to continue. His captain sobered up quickly, brows furrowing and glancing off to the side, as if he could see past the wood of their ship and to the world outside.

"I met him," Shanks blurted out, eyes still trained on the side of the ship. "He told me a story, well history I guess. He talked about how the world used to be," Shanks cut himself off and turned to him sharply, the corners of his eyes crinkled as his eyes narrowed in his distress. "Did you know Benn, that at some point, there was no sun?"

Benn leaned back, grabbing another cigarette out of his pocket and flicking his lighter a few times before it caught. He had a whole pack of them, but he wondered if that would even be enough at this point. "No," he breathed out, smoke escaping his lips and curling up around his face. Through the dim lights, he could see how his captain gripped the edges of the table tightly, his eyes distant in his memory.

"Nika walked every day, from island to island." Shanks let his elbow rest on the table, hand supporting his face as he continued to speak. "Can you imagine? Being the only source of light in the world? Living in the dark?"

No, Benn couldn't imagine it. The very idea seemed ridiculous, impossible even. There were so many factors of life that relied on the sun, it would have meant nothing but barren and frozen lands. Benn coughed, forgetting to let out a breath as his mind raced with the possibilities. Shanks didn't mention how he could possibly manage to choke on the smoke of a habit he had been doing for nearly his entire life. Once he calmed down and his lungs stopped burning, he pursed his lips in thought, mind drifting, wondering how and why no one would have remembered such a great occurrence. The sun being born would have been a worldwide spectacle, and to have silenced so many people about its birth would have been a massive undertaking.

"I wonder how long he did that for," Shanks murmured, eyes regaining focus and flickering over to his. They were creased at the edges, and his hair was almost less vibrant, even with the candle flickering among the crimson locks. "He mentioned a giant he knew, an elder man that he had watched grow up." Shanks' face crumbled, distress clear how his lips twisted and brows furrowed down. "If I had to guess, he was probably around to see his father's father."

Benn took in another long drag of his cigarette, staring blankly ahead towards the wood of the ship. Giant lived for a long, long time. He could only imagine how old the god had actually been-

"And he was still a kid," Shanks cut off his thought and Benn watched as he brought his hand up, finger extended out. "He carved those words into the poneglyph with his finger-" His captain cut himself off and swallowed. "And a finger of that size most definitely belonged to a human no older than a teen."

The implications were weighing heavily on Benn's mind. There were numerous possibilities of what the god would be like awakened, but Benn couldn't in good faith ask a child to help in their goals, god or not.

Shanks voice cut through the noise of his thoughts, somber and distant. "And then he just…died."

Benn closed his eyes, trying not to dwell on the fate of the god that had apparently given them all the opportunity to live. He tapped the ash off his cigarette, eyeing the embers as they fell and cooled into a mass of grey lumps.

"Yet he's alive," Benn murmured out, drawing his eyes towards his captain and taking in how his gaze still seemed far off and morose. Then, like a switch, Shanks tilted his head back and laughed. Eyes now focused, zeroed in on him, and with a wide smile on his face Shanks shook his head.

"No, not yet!"

xxx

Sengoku nodded his head in greeting, face impassive as he strode towards the center of the room and stood at attention, careful not to let his eyes linger on any of the elders that sat scattered around the room. Instead he focused on the back windows, high and reaching towards the ceiling with drapery that weighed down heavily towards the marbled floor. The gold accents that lined the room highlighted the intricacies of the carved wooden furniture, but did nothing to soften the presence of the hateful men that sat among their chairs.

"The admirals failed to capture a child," Saint Topman began, the distinct birthmark on his forehead crinkling as his brows drew down in anger. Sengoku knew better than to reply, he had not been told to speak, and while it bothered him that they would look down on his men, he could not deny the claim, regardless of the circumstances. The elder huffed when Sengoku didn't raise to take the bait and a cold laugh escaped the hunched form of Saint Jaygarcia. His curled, powdered wig was coiled tight, and the locks bounced as he shook his head, frown deepening on his face if the way his mustache shifted was any indication.

"These children do not know the price of failure," Sengoku stiffened imperceptibly, jaw tightening at the possible thought of punishment for the admirals that failed to fight off two emperors and the former vice captain of the pirate king.

"You're lucky that this is less significant than we thought," Saint Topman picked up again, shifting back in his seat and staring down his nose at Sengoku. "These claims are baseless, there are many ways for fruit users to circumvent the sea. His worth as a translator for sea kings remain though, and the possibility of his future involvement in …other matters may hinge on that ability." The elder stroked at his beard, glancing briefly out of a window before continuing. "Lay low for now. When he is no longer near Red hair, then we shall strike."

"Do we make ourselves clear?" Saint Shepherd spoke from where he loomed behind them, blonde hair bright against the beam of sunlight that he stood in.

Sengoku nodded, noting that he had finally been given permission to speak. "Crystal, sir."

"Leave."

The elders watched as the admiral left, the door closing behind him with a silent click. They sat in silence for a moment longer before Saint Ethanbaron spoke, voice hard and unyielding. "I still believe this to be a mistake." His fingers gripped the golden scabbard of his sword tightly, knuckles turning white from the pressure of it.

"It would surely be a false hope to for our lord." Saint Jaygarcia rumbled out, slanted eyes narrowing further as they scanned the room in challenge. "It has been eight hundred years since our lord has made this place, and even longer since his childhood. There is no longer any hope for it."

"You speak boldly," Saint Marcus stood from his seat, towering over the others and setting his gaze out towards the cloudless sky, daring to stare up at the sun. "For the god's power is still vibrant and unrivaled."

Saint Ethanbaron straightened and jumped on the opportunity for support. "And a boy calling for his mother? Not sinking in the sea!?" He struck the hilt of his sword harshly against the ground, mouth twisted in anger.

"Gods do not die to mortal men."

It was spoken softly, and none would admit to saying it, but it was a fact that could not be denied. After another long, tense silence, Saint Marcus bowed his head and closed his eyes, relenting. "A false hope then," the grip on his cane tightened. "He does not need to know."

xxx

Thatch coughed and choked on water, holding onto the overturned ship with one hand while he held onto Jozu with another. His brother a dead weight in the sea. He felt arms grab onto him, pulling on his wrist and gripping his shirt just as others pulled Jozu from his grasp. Thatch heaved as he was hoisted up onto the Moby, flopping onto his back on the deck and spreading eagle as he took in gasping breaths. The last thing he remembered was rowing out to the Moby, then catching the cries of alarm behind him. And when he had turned to see what the commotion was, it was to the sight of a massive wave rapidly approaching, flipping over their row boats with ease and making them tumble into the water.

"Thatch!" Maro's voice was near and Thatch let out a sigh at relief that his brother managed to fly away in time. For a second there, he hadn't been sure if Marco would have been able to fly high enough with how fast it had approached.

Thatch groaned and stood, tugging at his belt and disconnecting it from where he had joined it to Jozu's. It was a safety tactic they had picked up a long time ago, and in this instance it especially helped keep them together. "Uhgf how long was I holding onto that damn boat?" Thatch forced himself up as he spoke, and he felt gentle hands ease him along. Some at his pulse and others on his back as he blearily blinked, taking in the sight of everyone that surrounded him.

"Hours, yoi. You two were the last to find, everyone else managed to get aboard not too long after the initial hit." Marco's voice was nearly in his ear, and Thatch realized it was he who was taking his pulse and counting his breaths.

"Oh. Yeah I guess, my hand is cramped like a bitch. Guess that explains that." Before he even finished the sentence his hand was grabbed and examined, and if Marco's dissatisfied grunts were any indication, the analysis could be better.

"You can't use this for a bit. Your hand stiffened up from staying in the same position too long. Don't force it, but I'm going to have some exercises for you to follow." Marco's voice was stern, not like Thatch needed the reminder. His hands were important after all, how else would he feed his brothers and sisters? His father? Thatch couldn't imagine a worse fate.

"So what the hell was that?" Jozu's voice sounded rough, and Thatch cringed when he realized it may have been from the few times he hadn't managed to keep his brother's head above the water. Slowly, he opened his eyes, wincing at the sting of salt and the brightness of the world around him.

"Not here," Marco murmured, just loud enough for them to hear, and Thatch's attention was immediately caught. Once his eyes adjusted he looked around, noting the puddle of water he sat in and the nurses that surrounded them. His crewmates formed a circle further out, various expressions of worry on their faces as they watched him get the all clear from Marco.

"Where we really gone that long?" Thatch questioned in surprise, brows raising as he twisted his body around to try to get a better view of the sky. He blinked, now only realizing that the ball in the sky wasn't the sun, but the moon. He had his eyes closed so long that he had been blinded by the light of the moon.

"Well fuck." Thatch cursed out, finally realizing the seriousness of their situation.

"Are you cold?" Marco asked even as he wrapped him in a blanket, huddling it close to him and forcing him to take of his wet clothes at the same time.

"I-" Thatch cut himself off, startled. "No?" Marco's frown made Thatch think that wasn't the right reply, especially when he started murmuring under his breath about hypothermia.

"Get him inside, yoi!" Marco shouted orders over his shoulder before turning his piercing blue eyes back on him. "And when you're rested, we can talk."

"Hey wait!" He protested, digging his heels into the deck and craning his neck back to look up at Marco, uncaring of his brother's annoyed expression. "We can talk now! Please, I'd really like to know what the heck happened." Thatch could see the 'no' forming on Marco's mouth and he he tripled his efforts into his puppy-dog eyes. Praying to the four blues that it would be in his favor for once. "I won't even complain afterwards!"

Marco paused, brows furrowing as he thought over the pros and cons of the deal before ultimately sighing and nodding. "Fine. Change first, then meet up in pop's room."

"Oh great I'll just change in there!" Thatch beamed and forced his legs to sprint away, laughing when Marco's incredulous cry faded out behind him. He scurried down the halls quickly, reaching into his room for a brief moment to throw different clothes on and grab a warmer blanket before continuing his spring down the Moby. By the time he was knocking on pop's door, he was out of breath but smiling, giggling at the sight of Marco glaring at him. He could almost imagine his ruffled feathers. What Thatch hadn't expected to see though, was a warlord sitting comfortably across from Whitebeard. Wineglass in his hand and legs crossed, a condescending look on his face as he took in Thatch's duckie blanket.

"How amusing." Mihawk drawled, smirk tugging at his mouth as he took a sip of his drink before continuing. "I assume the bird blanket is to heighten the mother hen's instincts?"

Thatch paused, blinking as he processed the words spoken and tried to hold back his laughter. Marco's feathers were visibly ruffled, and it took everything Thatch had in himself not to laugh. This of course meant that he did not succeed. Spit flew out of his mouth as his cheeks deflated and he let out a roar of laughter, clutching at his side and gripping his duckie blanket loosely. "Oh my god! I wonder-" He choked, tears gathering in his eyes as he heaved. "I knew Izou got this for me for a reason!"

Marco held his face I his hands from where he sat, groaning in annoyance and shaking his head in denial. "Of all the blankets to grab," Marco muttered before lifting his head up to face Thatch. "Can't you be a normal pirate, yoi!? Where's the jolly roger one, or the sword one?"

Thatch shrugged, still grinning as he plopped himself down next to his father who had his eyes crinkled in amusement at their antics.

"Quite interesting that you know what blankets your shipmate has, do you do his laundry too? Tell him when to go to bed?" Mihawk uncrossed his legs and tilted his head back arrogantly, smirk growing on his face as he stared down his nose at them.

Thatch laughed again, leaning back as he howled with his hand covering his eyes. "He does tell me when to go to bed!"

"Damnit Thatch! Be quiet, or do you not want to be filled in, yoi!?" Marco's angry growl sobered him up quickly and Thatch let out a final cough, fist at his mouth as he forced his mouth into a more subdued smile.

"Ah, yeah." Thatch looked away from Marco and towards his pop's giving him a thumbs up when he was asked about his health. He could be between, but he wasn't going to burden his father figure with that.

"So what's angry eyes doing here?" Thatch Jabbed a thumb towards Mihawk who looked more amused than offended at the nickname.

"He helped us find you with his raft, which Jozu accidentally destroyed. So he's tagging along with us to escape that chaos." Marco's tone was carefully neutral and Thatch took notice immediately, eyes roving over the room and once again taking in the dynamic.

"Oh, thank you." He nodded his head in thanks towards the warlord before scrunching his nose at him. "Then why wait down by pop's quarters? Aren't there plenty of other rooms?"

"A precaution," Whitebeards voice rumbled out, low and thick in the large room. "A warlord helping an unallied pirate is grounds for treason. The less of the crew involved, the better."

Thatch nodded along, bringing his blankie up closer and tucking it under his chin when a shiver went down his spine. It did not go unnoticed by his brother, but Thatch was blessed when nothing was mentioned. "Shouldn't everyone else know about this? Well you know what I mean." Thatch made a gesture with his hands towards the upper deck and Marco shrugged.

"No, we just need you, yoi. You spent most of the time with the boys when they were here." His brother jerked his head towards Mihawk, annoyance in his gaze. "And in exchange for searching for you, he wants some information."

Off to the side Whitebeard huffed in amusement, bringing up a pitcher of his ale and drinking it messily. When he finished with a sigh, his father turned his attention towards the warlord, knowing look in his gaze. "Eventually you will find the answer you are searching for, proving you are right. But to do so, you are willing to ignore the hundreds of other pieces of evidence that are at your feet."

Whatever his father was going on about must have struck a nerve because Mihawk's clasped hands tightened, his eyes narrowing before the shadow of his hat covered his gaze. "You assume much. I am merely trying to come to my own conclusions-"

Whitebeard's roaring, condescending laugh cut Mihawk off and Thatch bit his lip, feeling the tension rising in the room. "Of course! And when you can show me another example of the sea cradling another young boy as her son, then I will eat my words." His father slammed his hands down, making him jump as the objects on the table shuddered. Thatch briefly wondered at his father's anger, eyes wide as he stared at the usually composed man. "Leave my ship now, and may the sea have mercy on your stupidity!"