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They'd made it out of Marineford by the skin of their teeth. In Ace's case, he'd made it out by the skin of his fucking back. There was an awful burn on his back that had completely destroyed Whitebeard's mark. As if fate was mocking him by saying “fine, live, but you're losing part of yourself in exchange”.
Figuratively and literally.
It was a humiliation that Ace could barely stomach, to know the worst of his injuries were burns that he couldn’t avoid. Akainu's magma had eaten into him like a flesh eating parasite, destroying skin and tissue as it went. Luckily — if he could even call it luck — the burn on his back wasn't bad enough that he'd need something like a skin graft to heal.
His arm, on the other hand, was bad. It was still bandaged, but Ace was restless and stupid, constantly undoing the strips of white and peeling away the gauze to stare at the burn. It had gone deep into his arm, damn near reaching the bone, a scalded mess of burnt meat and hair. It was awful to look at, but Ace couldn't help being fascinated with the gore.
It didn’t look as terrible now, at least. After getting him on the barely floating paddleboat, Marco had gotten him to an operating theater as quickly as he could manage. Where Ace wasn't unconscious, his wounds not immediately life threatening, he still needed to be treated. In spite of that, he refused to be put under anesthesia, going so far as to wind himself into a brutal panic attack until Marco had promised to let him stay awake.
He'd grafted skin from Ace's thigh to cover the wound in his arm, and while it definitely was not, and would never be, absolutely perfect, Marco promised it would aid in the healing process. Ace remembered him prattling on about the benefits as well as the risks, stressing the importance of Ace keeping his arm covered and in a sling for the time being, but he hadn't been listening.
It was hard keeping his arm in a sling when he couldn't sleep on his back, anyway. Those were hardly his only injuries, either, for that matter.
Ace had been held in Impel Down for weeks before his slated execution, and in that time the guards had taken a great deal of joy in tormenting him any way they could. Beating him, dousing him in boiling water that shouldn't have hurt (and wouldn't have if he hadn't been wearing those fucking cuffs), before throwing ice water on him the next moment.
They starved him, spat at him, mocked him, humiliated him. Ace was covered in bruises and cuts, scrapes and internal injuries. His muscles ached, his neck screamed in pain when he turned it too fast, his legs shook when he stood up. He felt weak and it was so fucking infuriating.
The crew did their best for him, trying hard not to hover or coddle, but he knew he'd scared them and tried not to hold it against them when they were a little too gentle with him. They'd lost so much just to save him. They'd lost Pops to save him. They weren't gonna let anything happen to him now that they'd escaped.
“You need rest,” Marco insisted, “and stop picking at your arm, it'll never heal.”
Ace tried to rest, he really did. Tucked away in a room they'd set up for him, curled up on the stupid mattress on his right side, because it was the only position he could really sleep in. Not that he got much sleep. It was restless and uncomfortable, plagued by nightmares and haunting memories.
He would wake up in a cold sweat, barely able to breathe. He would taste ash in his lungs, his fingers digging into the tattoo on his left arm, nails clawing at the crossed out S as if it would ground him back to reality.
It was miserable. He wished he could've stayed with Luffy a little longer, but he didn't want the kid to see him like this. After everything he'd put himself through, knowing Ace was alive was probably such a relief for him. It was more than enough, and he could still talk to Luffy where he was recovering on Amazon Lily thanks to the Black Transponder Snail that Boa Hancock held.
Where she got something like that, he had no idea, but she probably stole it. Or more likely, some schmuck marine just handed it over to her when she batted her lashes.
Yeah, that was probably what happened.
They buried Pops on an island near Sphinx not long after the war before taking residence in an old house near the coast on the same island, where they worked to rebuild the paddleboat into a viable sailing vessel.
Ace was moved from the boat (bullied off of it more like) and into one of the bedrooms. It always felt strange being on land, after spending so much time on the sea. It made it even more difficult to get comfortable, and sleep? That wasn't gonna happen.
After a few days he stopped trying. The only times he ever got even remotely close to sleeping were the times when he would completely black out from his narcolepsy.
Those bursts of “rest” only lasted a few seconds, minutes if he was lucky, and normally it happened in very inconvenient places. When he was eating, or trying to take a shower, or trying to talk to one of his crew. It had always been a problem, but it was so much worse now. Logically he knew it was because of his injuries, but having a legitimate excuse wasn't going to stop him from getting annoyed about it.
Ace lost track of time at some point. He was still recovering, still bandaged, so it couldn't have been too long since the end of Marineford. Luffy was in the papers once, but since then he'd disappeared from the public eye. He was still alive, Ace knew that. He was training with Rayleigh somewhere isolated to avoid distractions. That was fine. Ace could wait.
He wished he could train, too, but his health simply wouldn't allow him to push his body beyond its current limits. Not without collapsing. He needed more rest, Marco reminded constantly, and Ace was getting sick of it. Even if it was true.
At least they'd stopped fussing over Ace every single time he got out of bed. They still didn't seem happy about it.
When Ace passed the kitchen on the way to the front door, Namur stepped away from the stove he was hovering over. It smelled like he was making miso. Ace was tempted to stop and grab some, but he wanted to be outside.
“Ace, hey. Are you feeling alright?” Namur asked and Ace waved a vague hand in his direction.
“Fine. Marco outside?”
“He's with the ship. Wait a minute, you should eat something first.”
“I'm not really that hungry,” Ace said.
Namur looked stressed at the comment. Ace couldn't blame him. After the years he'd spent on the crew, he'd developed the reputation of having a pit for a stomach, so not having an appetite was a concern.
“I'm gonna visit Pops,” Ace said, reaching out for the doorknob. “I won't be gone long, I promise.”
“Okay, that's fine. How about bringing someone along with you?”
“What's gonna happen?” Ace asked, unable to muster any of his usual lighthearted jests. “I'll be back in a bit.”
Ace had just stepped outside and was heading down the path when he met Haruta jogging away from the cliffside where Pops had been laid to rest. He had a discomforted expression on his face, and stopped when he noticed Ace.
“Hey, what are you doing out of bed?”
“You're kidding, right?”
Haruta sighed. “Right, sorry, fine. Do you know where Marco is?”
“Namur said he was on the ship, why?”
“I just need his help with something.”
Ace held his right arm out when Haruta tried to pass him, furrowing his brows in concern. “What's going on?”
“Nothing,” Haruta said quickly, then winced and sighed. “Look, you don't need to be worrying about it, I'm sure it's nothing, just…” he looked over his shoulder towards the path that led to Pops. “I was going to visit Pops, but when I got to the field I saw something… in the sky.”
Ace slowly dropped his arm, looking confused. “Something in the sky.”
“Right, and when it got closer, I realized it was a flock of birds — a huge murder of crows.”
“Crows,” Ace repeated, and Haruta looked over his shoulder again.
“And there was a guy sitting on their backs flying with them.”
“A guy riding a murder of crows.” Ace hummed. “Have you been sneaking my pain meds by any chance?”
Haruta turned to give Ace an irritated look. “Be skeptical if you want. I've never seen anything like it either. What if this guy is affiliated with Blackbeard? Or the navy? This island isn't connected to the government, and with Pops gone there's not much protection. There's just us. I wanted to grab Marco so we could assess the situation and see if this guy is dangerous, or a threat.”
He had a point…
“Alright,” Ace agreed. “Let's go get Marco then.”
After explaining the situation to their acting Captain, they headed back towards Pops’ grave. Ace thought it was a bit overkill for Marco, Vista, Izou and Jozu to be there, ready for a fight, but it was probably good to be cautious.
They didn't want Ace to come along, but Ace had wanted to visit Pops anyway, and what were they gonna do to stop him? Already injured like he was?
Plus, there was something… strange, about the situation. Ace didn't know why exactly, there was just something itching at the back of his mind telling him he needed to be there.
He could feel the newcomer’s haki before they'd even gotten close. It was strong. Far stronger than Ace had expected; but… it was also warm. He could tell through their haki that they were, as Haruta assumed, dangerous — very dangerous — but they didn't feel like a threat, necessarily. It was so strange. The presence felt familiar.
Izou had one of his pistols in his hand when they came up to the field, beginning to cross it to reach the gravesite.
Swords, spears and other weapons had been planted into the earth surrounding the great grave, to honor the others who had fallen in the battle, and to honor Whitebeard himself. The field itself was filled with blooming flowers, giving off a sweet, earthy scent, and the ocean the cliff was overlooking gave off a peaceful ambiance. It was the perfect place for a grave. Ace was sure Whitebeard would be beyond pleased with it.
Standing in front of his grave, easily spotted in a long black coat, was a man. Likely the one Haruta had mentioned. Izou paused, holding his arm in front of Ace protectively and raising his gun. Vista and Jozu followed Marco a bit further before stopping, letting Marco take the lead. Vista had a hand on the hilt of his sword. Jozu was in a defensive stance, his diamond fist tightly clenched. Ace wanted to get closer to see better, but Izou wouldn't budge. Neither would Jozu or Vista, who acted as perfect walls blocking his view.
“Hey there,” Marco greeted, and Ace tried to lean sideways to see around Izou. “Nice day out, yeah?”
“Sorry for the intrusion,” a new voice said, somewhat rough. “I didn't think anyone was around.”
“Sure,” Marco agreed. “It's a big island. This section isn't populated beyond birds and bugs.”
“Hm.”
“So who do we have the pleasure of talking to today?” Marco asked.
There was a pause before a somewhat dull voice answered. “Nobody,” the stranger introduced himself. “I'm no one. No one important.”
“Uh-huh,” Marco responded.
“I don't mean to cause any issues here,” the stranger continued. “I'm not a threat.”
Ace couldn't say for certain if that was true, considering the power and strength of his haki. There were four outrageously overpowered pirates between them and Ace could still feel the impact.
“I wanted to pay my respects,” the stranger explained himself. “That's all… I won't be here long. I'll be out of your way soon, I assure you.”
“I see,” Marco murmured. “Did you know Pops?”
“No,” came the answer, and the stranger sounded quite regretful actually. “I wish I could have had the honor… but no, I never got the chance. I hope it's still alright I pay my respects?”
Marco seemed to consider that for a long time. Ace didn't blame him for being protective of Whitebeard's grave. They all were. He did wonder how the stranger would react if Marco told him to get lost. Not for long, of course, because Marco wasn't a heartless man, and this stranger sounded… broken.
“Sure,” Marco decided.
“Hell, we can’t exactly kick you off the island when you want to honor the old man like that,” Vista added.
“I appreciate it.”
“So… where are you from, stranger?” Vista asked, slowly taking his hand from his sword hilt. That was notable.
“Nowhere.”
“Sounds like a nice place.”
“I thought there would be more,” the stranger murmured.
“Come again?” Marco asked, and the stranger spoke in the same quiet voice.
“Graves… I thought…” his voice cracked, and there was a long pause. “I expected to see more graves.”
It was Jozu who answered that. “We lost a lot of people,” he agreed, “crewmates and allies alike… but we could only return with so many.”
“Oh…” the stranger replied in a whisper that Ace barely heard.
“The weapons are in honor of those we couldn't lay properly to rest,” Marco explained in a tight voice. “At best their spirits can rest with their weapons, alongside Pops.” Another pause followed, before Marco spoke again, sounding worried. “Are you alright?”
“Fine.” The stranger almost snapped in response.
His voice was extremely rough. It sounded like he'd been crying for hours, actually. Why would he, though? He didn't know Whitebeard.
Ace leaned the other way to look around Izou's other arm. The man had lowered his gun, finger off the trigger, but he still wouldn't move away from Ace. Even when Ace pushed his right shoulder into Izou, trying to nudge him aside.
“How about we leave you alone for now?” Marco offered. “Let you pay your respects privately. If you need to talk, those of us left are taking residence a bit to the east of this spot. Can't miss it.”
Izou, Jozu, Vista and Marco all turned, but stopped when the stranger spoke up again.
“I thought he'd have a grave too,” he said. “Maybe it's… not here… or he's… one of the crew you couldn't bring back. That wouldn't… shock me. After everything. The government is diabolical. They could have… kept his… body…”
“Who are you talking about?” Marco asked.
“Fire Fist,” the stranger said, and Ace tensed, furrowing his brow. “Is he not buried here?”
“Ace?” Jozu asked. “Why would he be?”
Ace felt the ripple in the air, the way the strangers' haki vibrated in anger. A shiver went down his spine as Vista reached for his sword again.
“Why would he be?” the stranger's voice wasn't shaking anymore. He sounded enraged. “Was he not your crewmate too? Did you not start a war to get him back? Or is the information I have wrong?”
“Huh?!”
He sounded beyond angry, and Ace was beyond confused as to why. Whoever this man was, he'd gotten so offended on Ace's behalf, but what for? Unless they knew each other? Was this man someone Ace had met in his travels? He'd met so many people, pirates or otherwise, so he supposed it would make sense that one of them would hunt down where Whitebeard had been buried to pay his respects. Especially if he thought Ace was there as well.
Why did he think Ace was dead, though?
He finally started forward, nudging Izou out of the way, needing to know for sure if this stranger wasn't actually a stranger. If they knew each other, then the guy needed to know Ace wasn't dead, right? He didn't seem like an old enemy. An old enemy wouldn't sound so angry on Ace's behalf, right?
“Of course he's our crewmate,” Vista snapped. “Calm down.”
“Then why didn't you bury him with your captain?” The stranger asked. “Don't tell me the marines… you let them keep his body? Do you have any idea what the government could do to him?!”
“No fucking way!” Vista snapped, pulling his sword halfway from its sheath.
Ace lunged forward, grabbing Vista by the wrist to stop him as he squeezed between him and Jozu, lifting his left leg to kick at Jozu's knee in order to get him to move. Once they'd both shuffled a few inches away from each other, there was enough space for Ace to squeeze between them.
“Would you two calm down, fuck!” He exclaimed, forcing Vista to return his sword fully to its sheath before letting go of him and reaching over to cling to the strap of his sling. “There's no grave cuz I'm not dead, damn!”
Marco was standing a few steps in front of Ace, turned to the side so he could look back at him, a tired, grim expression on his face. The man needed sleep; he was looking like complete trash.
The man Ace zeroed in on was the stranger standing in front of Whitebeard's grave. The first full look Ace had gotten. He was facing the pirates, feet apart and body coiled like he was preparing for a fight. His shoulders were squared, but he was frozen, like he hadn't decided on fight or flight just yet.
He was dressed in that long black coat, as well as a white button up, a black vest with a loose white cravat around his neck, and pants tucked into knee high boots. There was a pipe hanging on his back, a bag hanging from his left shoulder, a hat clenched in his left hand with goggles sitting on the brim. Cradled in his right arm was a bouquet of red hibiscus.
He looked… familiar. With wavy blond hair, a single blue eye, and a hideous scar on the left side of his face, partially hidden by his bangs, where a pale, blind eye sat behind a hooded, scarred eyelid. He looked awful, like he hadn't slept in years, and he looked angry, until his gaze met Ace's.
Then his right eye went alarmingly wide, his mouth gaping open and his arms going loose. The flowers and his hat hit the ground at his feet, petals shaking loose. Ace was prepared to ask who he was, inquire as to if they knew each other… but he didn't.
His eyes followed the hat as it fell, staring at the goggles, memories coursing violently to the front of his mind. His eyes raised slowly, following the man from his boots to his scarred face and the pipe on his back. Something agonizingly hopeful wrenched around his heart like Akainu putting a fist into his chest.
He thought he was hallucinating for a moment there, until the apparition in front of him moved, taking a staggering step forward but stopping abruptly.
Ace opened his mouth, disbelieving. Half of him didn't want to speak, fearful he would be wrong and sound like an idiot; but he had to know.
“Sa… Sabo?”
“Ace,” the stranger — Sabo — whispered the name, and any doubt or hesitation completely snapped in Ace's chest.
The fist around his heart loosened and let go, and Ace sprinted forward before any of his crew could reach out to stop him. Sabo staggered a few more steps forward, reaching his arms out to meet him. Ace collided with Sabo so hard that the wound in his back began to scream in pain. He yanked his left arm from its sling so he could get both of them around Sabo, one tight around his shoulders as his other hand buried into the back of Sabo’s hair.
Sabo tipped back, collapsing onto the ground with Ace between his legs. Ace's legs were awkwardly hanging over Sabo’s hips, wrapped around him like he was Luffy trying to hug a tree. Sabo leaned into Ace, trembling arms lifting around Ace, gloved hands grabbing his shoulders as his body curled into Ace, his face buried in Ace's shoulder, knees lifted, heels digging into the earth like he wanted to close himself around Ace.
“No way,” Ace said in a shaky voice, his eyes wide as he stared behind Sabo towards Whitebeard's gravestone. He pressed his cheek against the side of Sabo’s head, arms winding tighter. “No way, no way. Dogra said… Dogra said he saw your ship… and your stupid fucking letter. Sabo.”
Sabo was shaking furiously, his body jerking and spasming, and Ace realized with a start that he was wheezing. Ace leaned away, though Sabo followed, trying to keep himself curled up and hidden against Ace's chest. Ace moved his hands to Sabo’s shoulders, then his neck, forcing him back in order to see his face.
Meanwhile Sabo’s fingers scrabbled uselessly on Ace's shoulders, trying to get a grip, the leather of his gloves slipping against Ace's bare shoulders.
When Ace got him to back away, he felt his heart breaking at the fear in Sabo’s eyes. His mouth was gaping as he struggled to breathe. Ace could hear the way his inhales weren't reaching his lungs. There were tears coursing down Sabo’s face, moving frantically over Ace, his hands feeling over Ace like he needed to touch him, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
He thought Ace was dead, and he wasn't breathing. Immediately Ace went into caretaker mode, trying to calm Sabo down.
“Sabo, Sabo, look at me,” Ace chided, cradling Sabo’s cheeks in his palms and lifting his head for their eyes to meet.
Sabo’s still moved frantically, all over Ace's face. The pupil in his right eye was blown wide.
“Look at me,” Ace pressed further, digging his thumbs into Sabo’s cheeks beneath his eyes. Sabo tensed, finally meeting Ace's eyes. “Now breathe,” Ace said. “You're hyperventilating. Breathe like I'm breathing. Focus on me.”
It took a minute, but Sabo did his best to copy Ace's breathing, their eyes locked together. Sabo’s shaking eventually began to settle, and he moved his hands from Ace's shoulders to hold him by the face. There was still bruising there, but the pain was grounding in a way. It was proof that he was awake, this wasn't a dream, Sabo was fucking real.
“I thought you were dead,” Sabo whispered, dumbstruck. “They put you on the front cover and you were… you were dead…”
“The cover,” Ace repeated. “The paper? No, no, I was just unconscious in that picture! Fuck, I did look pretty dead in that, didn't I? Not my best photo opp for sure. But what about you?!” Ace exclaimed, pulling his hands from Sabo’s face — Sabo leaned forward as if chasing the touch. “You— you got blown up! Your ship got blown up, Dogra saw it! Oh, fuck.” Ace's eyes went to the scar on Sabo’s face, his right hand lifting to hold his cheek. Sabo shut his eyes, leaning into Ace's palm as he dropped his hands to his lap. “God, you did… he really saw that happen, and… you really got…” he shook his head. “Sabo where have you been?”
Sabo fell forward, dropping his head against Ace's chest. Ace wrapped his arms around Sabo, leaning over him protectively and burying his face into the back of Sabo’s hair.
“Someone saw me in the water,” Sabo mumbled. Ace barely heard him. “He pulled me out before I could drown.”
Ace half laughed, rubbing his cheek against Sabo’s hair. “Then why didn't you… why didn't you…”
“I lost my memory,” Sabo whimpered. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I wasn't there. I had amnesia, I couldn't remember, I'm sorry.”
“Shhh,” Ace pinched his eyes closed, scratching his nails across Sabo’s scalp as he ran his fingers through the blond hair. “How are you here now, then? You remembered?”
“I saw you in the paper,” Sabo mumbled, his body slowly unwinding until he was slumped against Ace completely, no strength left in his body. “The news of your death made the memories… all of them, all at once.”
Ace sighed, shutting his eyes and relaxing, lying himself fully over Sabo. Sabo lost his memories when his ship was blown up, but the instant they came back he went in search of Ace. Of course he had. Of course he would do that. Fuck, and he thought Ace had died. Ace knew exactly how that felt.
“I wanna hit you,” Ace laughed, tears burning his eyes. “I'm gonna hit you so fucking hard after this. You fucker. I can't believe you've been alive this entire time and I didn't know.” He moved a hand up, rubbing at the tears on his face. “I'm so sorry, Sabo. I should have tried harder to look for you after. Of course you wouldn't have died that easily, I'm so stupid.”
Sabo shook his head. “You had no reason to think otherwise.”
“I had your letter,” Ace argued, then laughed again, running his hand across Sabo’s shoulders. “I still have that stupid letter. Really broke my heart with that one, you big idiot.”
“I don't remember,” Sabo said, sounding tired. “My mind is… it's still… there's pieces missing… but I remember you.” He lifted his hands to Ace's arms, squeezing at his biceps. “I remember the kid I met in Grey Terminal who wouldn't ever run from a fight.” He slowly began to pull away, lifting his head to meet Ace's eyes. “You haven't changed, have you?”
Ace felt his lips curl into a crooked grin, his fingers tracing the edges of Sabo’s scar. “Nah. Still getting myself into trouble like always. What about you?”
Sabo dropped his eyes in thought before leaning forward, lying his head on Ace's shoulder. Ace cradled the back of his head, leaning his cheek against Sabo’s temple and rocking slowly sideways, one way then the other, doing everything he could think of to comfort his not-so-dead childhood friend.
“Man, I have so much to tell you,” Ace chuckled, but he could tell by the way Sabo had slumped against him that they would have to finish their conversation later.
Sabo had fallen asleep against Ace. No surprise, really, if he felt as exhausted and relieved as Ace felt. Ace shut his eyes with a smile. With Sabo in his arms and the sun on his skin, the breeze carrying the scent of the ocean over them, Ace hadn't felt this relaxed in weeks. Not since his fight with Blackbeard.
It seemed inevitable that he would fall asleep, too. Sitting there with Sabo in a position that would probably have his sore muscles aching once he finally woke up. That was fine, though. It would be a pain that, like the bruises on his face, proved without a shadow of a doubt that this was real.
No one seemed willing to wake them up to move them, either. Jozu was the first to break the silence between the four commanders that had started when Ace ran at Sabo.
“Should we… bring them to the house?”
Marco thought for a moment, staring down at where the two were curled into each other, hands clinging even in sleep. “No,” he said eventually. “Something tells me they'd wake up angry if we tried to separate them.”
“Yeah, good point,” Vista agreed. “I think we can probably just leave them here, right?”
“Yeah,” Marco turned away, nodding to his friends. “Let's go. Give them some space.”
So they did, somewhat reluctantly, leaving their injured second division commander with the stranger who'd shown up riding a murder of crows. Stranger, but Marco was pretty certain he knew who the man was. Ace didn't talk a lot about the brother he'd lost when he was eleven, but Marco could read context when it was right in front of his eyes.
He knew. So he knew it was safe to leave Ace with Sabo. There was no one better for him to be with at that point. Marco smiled to himself as he followed the three other commanders down the path away from Whitebeard's grave, where the two brothers had fallen asleep curled around each other, protected in each other's embrace, watched over by the legacy of Whitebeard himself.