I thought now would be a good time to finally post the next chapter of the story, which was technically originally 2 chapters, but I figured with how long you guys waited you deserved a lengthier chapter! Like last time I wrote this, well, actually before I posted chapter 1. So the writing is a bit dated, but nevertheless I hope you enjoy!

Pushing through the small crowd that had formed at the harbour, Edward narrowly managed to squeeze past to arrive in front of his brother. He grinned, watching as a few surrounding Marco spoke over one another, bickering about something he paid little mind to-advice on where to head first, it sounded like. Honestly, he knew his brother wouldn't take their advice; he'd already mapped out his course.

Upon seeing him, Marco pulled himself away from the downward-spiralling debate, completely ignoring it as he stepped in front of his little brother and ruffled his hair, earning a displeased pout and groan.

"I'm going," Marco stated casually, watching as his sibling stiffened and pulled his lips taut, very obviously pushing back a myriad of feelings before settling on excitement, his grin stretching across his face. "Be good for Mira while I'm away, yoi."

The younger pouted, offended at the command. He didn't need to be taken care of anymore, and though Marco had asked for their old family friend to watch over him, he really didn't think he needed it. "I'm not a kid anymore, you know; I can take care of myself."

Marco rolled his eyes at those overused lines, words he'd heard plenty of times the older his sibling got, but the amusement never left his face. "Sure you can," he replied, lacing his words with sarcasm.

"I can!" Edward shouted in retort, huffing at his brother's lack of trust before quieting, allowing a silent moment of thought to pass between them. He wanted to say so much, tell him so many things, but couldn't find the words and they hadn't the time. Even if he could bring to mind every little thought he wanted to send his brother off on, Marco would be gone before even half of it was uttered. But he wouldn't be back for years - the boy knew that well. That was his last chance. "Marco…"

"Hm?" The man bent down, meeting him at eye-level.

When their eyes met, Edward knew his brother could tell that he was holding back tears, causing his face to heat in embarrassment. Damn it, he'd told himself he wouldn't cry… He was getting to be too old for that. In the end he said nothing, voiced none of the thoughts on his mind, none of his hopes or concerns. Marco didn't need to be weighed down by them. Instead he grinned, looking up at his caretaker with stinging eyes. "Thanks… for everything."

Marco's features softened, his own grin fading into a warm smile, and he pulled the boy into a loose hug. "You're going to be all grown up next time I see you."

"I'll be taller than you."

Marco snorted. "You wish."

When he finished bidding everyone farewell, the pineapple boarded his small boat and began drifting off. Edward ran to the edge of the docks and waved, watching as his last remaining relative shrank into the distance. It was only when he was sure Marco could no longer see him that he sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes, remaining fixed to that point even as the boat vanished upon the horizon, its passenger long since lost from sight. Part of him wondered what to do, how things would play out, stuck there as he was. He wasn't sure what came next. The other part of him was swelling with pride, excited for the soon-to-come day when he'd see his brother's wanted poster in the paper, hear stories of his travels. He worried, too, about Marco's safety. But, well, it was Marco. He could take care of himself.

He stayed there alone, wanting the moment to stretch into infinity.

Because that was his brother.

And he was free.

Adjusting to life without his older sibling wasn't as hard as he thought. Within a matter of days he was back to normal, picking fights with the more aggravating children on the island - he'd come to the unfortunate understanding that there were plenty of those - and playing around with his friends. It… was rather uneventful. Mira took good care of him. She was a friend of the family, and they'd known each other a long while, so spending time with her wasn't all that bad. While she didn't replace his brother as his caretaker, she was there when he needed her, whether it was to get bandaged up after a scuffle with the other village kids or to have someone to talk to when his mood shifted for the worse. She was there when Marco could not be and that's what got him through those difficult first few weeks.

No matter how well he adjusted, though, his thoughts always seemed to drift back to his sibling, the adventures he went on and the places he was visiting. What was it like, out on the ocean? Had he found a crew yet? Had he reached the Grand Line? How long would it be until he sent a letter home?

Edward was energetic and cheerful throughout the day when his friends and daily tasks could keep his mind occupied, but returning to an empty house every sunset was a quick reminder of what was missing. His home felt cold. Being there was horribly unpleasant because whenever he came back and ate dinner or attempted to drift into sleep, the walls would whisper to him.

He's gone. You're all alone.

He's not coming back.

You've been forgotten.

Of course, he did his best to ignore those voices and wanted nothing more than for them to shut the hell up, but they didn't and so he just coped however he could. He'd go out with his friends more often and stay out late. Sometimes he wouldn't go home at all. Why should he? No one was waiting for him. Besides, when he was around other people he didn't think so negatively. He could forget his troubles and laugh away the hours without a care. When thoughts of Marco did cross his mind, they were filled with a sense of admiration and not wrought with dread. He was happy.

But through it all he knew that something was missing. No matter who he was with, the connection he felt before, with him, was able to drown everything out. Nothing was ever as strong or real, and it wasn't the fault of his friends, it was just...

He wanted his family back.

Several months passed like that. Most others slowly forgot about Marco in that time. Of course they would; he hadn't sent back a single letter, not a word of contact. Everyone moved on with their lives, and none seemed too inconvenienced by it. Nobody cared outside their little family. But while Edward hadn't heard one word from him since he left, he was too important to put out of mind, always in his thoughts, deep within the recesses of his mind.

Edward found himself eating breakfast alone at the kitchen table. The voices he heard before no longer fazed him, no more than a figment of the past. He'd learned to cope with the loneliness eventually, and being at home wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was… nice. It held memories.

From the front door came the sound of footsteps before the offending slab of wood was shoved open with almost enough force to remove it from its hinges. Edward blinked as he studied the panting form of Mira, her dark hair dancing as it fell in front of her face as she bent forward, trying to catch her breath. With how panicked she was, he couldn't help but worry that something was wrong.

Then he noticed the newspaper tucked protectively beneath her arm.

Edward's eyes widened on it and he hopped down from his chair, immediately rushing to grab it and flip it open, not even giving her the time to catch her breath. There it was, front and centre - the lazy grin he missed so much.

Unknown Pirate Crew Annihilates Marine Fleet.

There, right under the heading, was his brother's face, a picture of certainty and confidence. Beneath that was the name Marco Newgate in bold, black lettering. The best part was at the very bottom, though—a bounty that reached thirty-five million beli. His chest swelled with amazement.

His brother was okay, and he was succeeding.

Reading over the article, savouring every word that detailed the crew's status, he learned about what his brother had been up to over the last few months. He procured a fine bunch of men to sail under him and took his time getting through West Blue, as expected. Marco wasn't one to rush things; the more the boy thought about it, the more he realized that his sibling's slow progress was just like him. He was careful, calm - inspiring. The article listed his first mate's name but provided no poster and, at the very end, declared that they had just passed through Reverse Mountain and entered the Grand Line.

Hands trembling with excitement, Edward's mouth curled into a grin, practically bouncing in place. "…He made it," he murmured, turning to the woman to give her a sudden hug. "He made it!"

"I know!"

"He's in the Grand Line!"

"I know!"

They laughed before releasing each other, and he again looked at the paper, staring fondly at the black and white printed image of Marco's face.

That was his brother, and he was so damn proud.

Two years came and went, and not one word was heard of his brother since the first bounty was released. Edward kept telling himself that it was because he was no longer sailing in West Blue, but deep down he knew there was something wrong. He did his best to push negative thoughts from his mind but the effort was in vain. Even if he tried to forget, the village kids wouldn't let him. Of course, that may have been his fault, boasting about Marco as much as he had before.

"There's no way he made it through the Grand Line," one declared with a smug look on his face, causing Edward to flinch.

"Bet he was eaten by a sea king," another added with a grin.

He spun around and pounced on the boy without warning, tackling him to the ground and pulling his fist back in preparation to knock a few teeth out of that damnable mouth of his. But he stopped. Looking down at that boy, now a panicking mess begging his friends to help, he remembered his promise to Marco - that he would keep out of trouble - and loosened his grip, lowering his fist. Of course, he hadn't exactly kept that promise throughout those two years, but… somehow now felt like a good time to start. The boy scrambled away and, after spitting a few curses, fled with his group.

Edward knelt there in silence, head lowered to face the ground. He clenched his jaw shut tight and dug his fingernails into the dirt, inwardly cursing himself. They were probably right. He hated admitting it, but his brother likely died when he entered the Grand Line. Wasn't that always the story? Aspiring pirates, sailors, most people didn't make it back after going there. Only the best of sailors braved it. But he thought Marco could make it. He was so sure that he would pull through. Marco was invincible. He was…

A light touch to his shoulder brought him away from his thoughts. He looked up, met with Mira's concerned face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle and soothing as it always was.

He couldn't hold it back anymore. Wrapping the woman in his arms, hiding his face in her shirt, he sobbed.

Marco never came back.

Liar.

Ten years.

Ten long, hard years passed until the day came when Edward was to begin a journey of his own. So much happened over the span of a decade; if Marco were there, he probably wouldn't have recognized him. He changed a lot. He'd grown into a very calm man, relaxed - a trait he liked to think he shared with his sibling. And, much to his amusement, he'd grown quite a bit over those ten years; were Marco there, he would have been the shorter sibling.

The crowd that gathered for his departure was much smaller than the one present when his brother left the village. That was fine. He didn't mind. There was a chance he would never see that village again, anyways. He had no reason to return. Sure Mira was there and he got along with some others but… they would understand. There was nothing there for him and they all knew that.

Turning to gaze out at the sea, he felt excitement swell within him. Beyond that vast ocean lied his brother, likely long gone. But he wasn't bitter. No, he would face the truth head-on. He would see his brother's dream through to the end. But he also had something he wished to search for during his time at sea. He hoped to find it one day.

"Ed," called a familiar, sweet voice.

The blond looked down to his left at the older woman, now dwarfed by his size. Only a scant few years earlier, she'd been taller. Time changed so much…

"Be careful, alright?"

He smiled. "I will be."

"You better be," she said in a threatening tone. "And I better hear from you often. After what happened to-" She stopped herself before she could say any more, silently reflected on her words before continuing her thought. "I want to know you're safe."

He smiled, giving a curt nod. Could he blame her for worrying? Not at all. Marco vanished without warning; she feared he would, too.

"Hey," she began.

"Hm?"

"What is it you're going to search for?"

He didn't need to think about it. Closing his eyes, he allowed his grin to broaden as he listened to the waves rolling against the deck, a sound that would soon meld into his everyday life. That was the life he would lead from that moment on. Those were sounds that would soon become part of his everyday life.

"I want to find what I lost."

A family.

Chains

The sun was annoying. No matter how many years past, Marco would always hate how brightly it shone down, how it aggravated any rest he managed to get… not that he really needed to rest but, well, he wanted to. The sun disturbed him. Be it the blinding light, the burning heat or the amount of people it brought to wander about, he couldn't stand it.

And he never would.

Bringing his right arm up, he flicked his wrist and shook the bottle in his hand, hearing the liquid swish about inside. Listening to the miniscule amount of liquor that resided within it, he sighed. It seemed that he was always running out of rum. It always vanished all too quickly, leaving him with nothing but a small canteen of water, used only for dire situations. That was not at all dire. It was too bad he lost track of how much he chugged back so quickly, but it was hard to tell how much he ingested when he couldn't get drunk.

Dropping his arm back to his side the bottle clanked against the ground, left lazily in his hand. Unable to venture to the next island until his ship was repaired and the island holding nothing of interest for him, he spent the day sleeping against a tree near the center of town. The place was busy but quiet, for the most part, and he hoped he could get in a good nap before returning to the shipwright tending to his battered vessel. The sun had changed position, however, and was glaring him in the face. He was almost asleep, too.

Suddenly he heard the energetic shouting of one of the paperboys delivering the evening news. People flocked from the market and shops to grab copies of the paper in a very orderly fashion, seeming almost robotic to him, likely due to them purchasing it each day. Rarely was he interested in it, though. He didn't concern himself with the happenings of the world. Regardless of what breaking news hit the headline that day, it wouldn't matter. Time stood still for him, so why should he care?

"Rookie from West Blue takes out marine fleet!" the paperboy shouted.

Well, that was interesting. He supposed reading it once in a while wouldn't hurt.

Absently as he purchased a copy from the nearby vendor he wondered if he met that rookie in his travels. Before he arrived in the Grand Line he made sure to visit almost every island in West Blue. Sure it slowed down his progress, but he was more for the thrill of the adventure than the result, anyways. But with how long it'd been since he was last there, he doubted the man would be familiar.

As he unrolled the newspaper, he stilled and blinked. How many years passed since he set sail?

Hurriedly he pulled it taut and looked at the top corner, scanning the date. Shocked, he realised it'd been over fifteen years since he last set foot on his home island. He sighed, guilt swelling in his chest. Edward probably forgot about him. Maybe he hated him for not keeping in contact… While he had his reasons, there was no excuse for breaking his promise. Even if he were to return it was doubtful the boy was still waiting there. That was fine. He didn't mind being hated or forgotten. It was all deserved. He wouldn't return because… he didn't want that boy to see what he had become.

Shaking his head of such dreary thoughts, his gaze scrolled down the page to the blurry black-and-white photo staring at him front and centre. It was hard to tell what the man looked like, aside from his massive size, light hair and huge grin. Below listed a series of the rookie's accomplishments as well as speculations detailing the opinions of well-known officials. It was just a bunch of sensational bullshit, but he was curious about the man nonetheless. Anyone from West Blue interested him. He wondered if maybe that pirate knew Edward, but that was unlikely.

Skimming the over-hyped bit of media garbage, he managed to pull a few facts from the dramatic words of the author. Apparently the man arrived in the Grand Line five years ago, so he wasn't really a rookie. He had been working on some pirate crew whose name Marco didn't care to remember but recently broke off to form a crew of his own, making him a rookie captain, not an actual rookie. Other than being given the epitaph Whitebeard as his only means of identification, it was a very ritualistic report holding nothing noteworthy or intriguing, much to the blond's dismay. It didn't really matter, though; he was no longer a pirate, so why should he bother keeping up with the various powers sailing about?

He gave up that life long ago.

Hearing footsteps approach Marco glanced up, attention torn from the rather drab article in his hands as a man dressed in some matter of lavish suit passed by. He wasn't what caught Marco's attention, though. No, he was much more interested in the clanking of shackles that followed so closely behind the steps.

Marco narrowed his eyes as they settled on a small boy lagging behind, metal collar clear on his neck so that every passerby would know what he was and who he belonged to. Of course, child slaves weren't very popular; they had little use because they lacked in physical strength and appeal and, as such, were rarely bought and sold. In a likely scenario he was birthed by a sex slave. There was also a possibility he was kept more for novelty than anything, in which case he was for show or used as something to amuse the noble whenever he was bored.

Though having young children as slaves was uncommon, he saw it before. It wasn't the first time and certainly wouldn't be the last. Still, he couldn't stomach it. The boy reminded him so much of Edward—not in appearance, but in expression. It made him cringe to see how broken the child looked, like he'd resigned himself to the unfair fortune that befell him. What bothered him most, though, was the infected gash at the corner of his eye. Being on the sea for so long he knew how dangerous a wound like that could get when left untreated. It seemed that neither the boy nor his owner cared, though. That was what angered him.

As the man stepped in front of him, he was quick to run his foot along the ground, tripping him just enough to lessen his grip on the chains. In one fluid motion he stood, dropping the paper into his belt loop as he pulled the shackles from the man's hand and slipped them into his own. The noble was quick to notice, though, and spun around, his face a mask of shock and confusion.

"What do you think you're doing?" he shouted, immediately pulling a gun from his suit and aiming it at Marco's head.

The people of that island weren't very friendly, were they?

He felt the boy behind him, likely the most confused there, stiffen. His breath hitched and he probably hadn't a clue what was going on. The sight of the random stranger holding his bindings getting a gun aimed at him must have been stressful. It wasn't for Marco.

"I think I'm going to let this kid go," Marco said casually, eyes retaining their usual indifference.

"What?" the man shouted in outrage. "That's my slave! Unhand it!"

He glared at the noble, ignoring the crowd beginning to congregate around them. "He's not your property and I would appreciate it if you didn't treat him as such."

At that point the man was seething. "How dare you-" His grip tightened and he pulled on the trigger.

A bang resounded around him, shocking the happenings of the town into silence. All eyes were on the strange blond whose forehead sported a fresh hole where the bullet pierced his skin, coming out cleanly through the back of his skull. Some gasped and others turned away, but the victim merely stumbled back against the force before righting himself, his expression unchanged. They all thought he was dead - that in a few short moments he would fall to the ground in a pool of his own blood.

He blinked.

Blue flames shot from his wound, licking his skin as the bullet hole started to repair itself. They all stood, faces pallid white before the panic set in and they hurried away, shouts of alarm giving the indifferent blond a twinge of irritation. Marco was used to it, though. He simply stood there, ignoring the commotion as he watched the shooter fall to the ground, scrambling away with a look of shock on his face. He was just lucky the man didn't happen to be a Celestial Dragon, else he be chased by government officials and marines.

"I'll be taking him, then. I assume you don't mind."

Without waiting for a reply he turned and scooped up the terrified slave and paced away from the town. He didn't fail to notice that the boy was too scared to even resist but ignored it. Children didn't normally know much about devil fruit abilities so he wasn't surprised. Most people weren't informed of ones as rare as his, anyway.

Setting him down against a tree on the outskirts of the city, Marco looked him over. He noticed the wounds littering his body much clearer than before. His red hair was brown from dirt and his dark eyes welled with fear and confusion. Then he saw the damaged skin surrounding the boy's cuffs and collar, realizing all too quickly that his master wasn't exactly caring.

First thing was first: remove the bindings. He'd done it before and was confident in his ability to remove them without harming him. Slowly he raised his arm, but the child flinched and pulled away until his back was flush with the tree trunk.

Eyes softening, Marco lowered his hand. "I'm not going to hurt you," he stated.

Looking up at the blond, the boy seemed confused. He swallowed heavily when he saw Marco repeat the motion but made no try to get away. Instead he just watched as a rough, calloused hand brushed against the metal enclosing his neck. He shut his eyes, scared, before hearing a series of metallic noises close to his ear. Looking once more, his eyes widened when he saw his bindings lying on the ground next to him. His head snapped back to the blond stranger whose mouth held the slightest curve of a smile.

"There," Marco began, "you're free."

Immediately he saw the child's eyes gloss over, understanding dawning all too quickly. He probably never thought he'd hear those words. It made his stomach turn, just imagining what the boy went through. Despite that, the kid was still trying to hold back his tears, putting up a strong front. Marco chuckled. The boy reminded him of Edward.

"You can cry, you know," he said in a comforting, gentle tone.

The redhead's lower lip quivered and he fisted Marco's shirt, lowering his head. The older simply continued to crouch there beside him, allowing him to let out any emotions he had, stroking his back in a soothing motion as his body trembled from the sobs. He knew his injuries had to be treated but that could wait. Allowing him a bit of relief was more important.

Replacing the medical supplies in his bag, Marco glanced at the boy sitting on his bed. After returning to the inn he was staying at he tended to the infected gash on the side of the kid's face and bandaged up his injuries. With that over and done with, he had to think of what to do with him. He supposed he could just leave him - allow him to adjust on his own. It might have been a little cruel but he didn't feel like waiting around for an additional few weeks while trying to find him a place to stay. Still, he wasn't heartless and doing that certainly wasn't for the best.

"Umm," began a tiny voice, bringing Marco from his thoughts. The boy was looking awkwardly at his bandaged arms, away from the one he was speaking to. He was likely taught not to look people in the eyes, as it was a sign of defiance. "W-what are you?"

Marco blinked before remembering their earlier adventure. He was so used to it that it became a part of everyday life. The boy wasn't, but he really didn't feel like going into detail about his ability. He hated talking about it and knew that the kid barely knew the term 'devil fruit user.' So he thought, moving to sit on a chair placed against the wall. "I'm just a human, same as you."

"But-"

"Let's just say I'm unique, yoi." Marco relaxed after seeing the boy's reluctant nod. His eyes scrolled to the brand on the boy's shoulder and his face fell into a frown. Finding someone to care for him on that island with that symbol on his body would be near impossible. They would return him to his owner at the first chance they got. He could deal with that later, though. "What's your name?"

The boy went quiet, finally looking into the blue eyes of his savior, mouth curving slightly. He looked amazed. "Thatch!"

Marco smiled. With how excited he was, he probably hadn't used that name since he was bought. The fact that he had one at all was a good sign; it meant he at least wasn't born a slave.

"Marco," he responded, patting the boy on the head. It felt nostalgic. The kid looked to be around the same age Edward was when he left his home island.

He would worry about what to do with him later. For the time, allowing him to lodge there was enough.

And now that you have the setup, I'll leave you off here.

Adieu~