And here begins my collection for Ace and the Whitebeard Pirates. Don't expect an update on this for a while, because I posted this the day of my exams (whoops!) and I have a major project... and AU's.

Things to expect:

- ASL showing up and wreaking havoc in some way, shape or form

- AU's. Ace lives, Marines!AU; whatever. I'm impulsive.

- NO pairings. This fic is strictly gen. Feel free to put on your shipping goggles, though.

Light creeps through the curtains of his room, and Ace rolls over, his back facing the window as he tried to get more sleep. Even with the thick curtains the Whitebeard had given him, it didn't prevent the light from shining in, refracting at the mirror in one of the corners of his room, landing on his shut eyes.

Ace grumbles in response, reaching for the pillow, but luck isn't on his side and he falls off his bed instead, the pillow and sheets following him. He groans, rubbing his head grumpily; at least the light wasn't hitting his eyes anymore –

Standing up was a horrible idea because the lights were hitting his eyes again. If today was going to start like this, he feared what would come once he stepped out of the (his) room separating him from his self-isolation and a crew that had accepted him from a number of weeks (months?) ago. Turning to the mirror, he brushes his hair with his hand, letting the dark strands untangle themselves as they fall into their natural position. Eyeing the white bandages that lined his chest, he felt a sense of dread creep up on him.

And he chastises himself – hesitantly, but he does it. The Whitebeards had accepted him long ago, even during his rabid assassination attempts. They were going to accept him.

(He's lied to himself for the majority of his life. It's easy to keep lying now, even if it's only to reassure himself.)

Ace swallows, and he reaches up to button his shirt. He'd let them know later. Looking at himself on last time, he steps out of his room. The sun is halfway over the horizon, but intuition tells Ace that it's at least eight in the morning.

"Hey, Ace!" One of the other members of the crew grins to him, waving a hand as he passes by. Ace nods to them in return, his insides relaxing as he realizes that no one looks at him oddly. Some give him curious looks when they notice his shirt is buttoned, but none question him and they go about their day.

"You're awake."

Ace turns his head to face Marco, and he dips his head in response. "So you can see," Ace began, the feeling of calmness surprisingly familiar. Only Marco, Whitebeard, and the tattooist – which, for the life of Ace, could not recall, and he felt sheepish at the fact – knew the reason for his bandaged chest.

Marco raises his eyebrows, and Ace inwardly winces, feeling that he's gone too far with teasing – he had just stopped trying to assassinate their captain days earlier, after all; there was little time to become this relaxed. When Ace moves to apologize, Marco's mouth quirks into a grin and the man ruffles Ace's hair, and the raven yelps in surprise, in the warmth embodied in the action. "Nice to see you settling in," Marco says. He jerks his head towards the galley. "Breakfast is being served, and when I brought back the bowl of soup a few days ago, Thatch was determined to make you eat more."

Ace has recovered from shock, and he looks up at Marco. Blue eyes watched him with an air of confidence, and Ace responds with a grin. "You underestimate me, Marco," he teases in return, and the smile that Marco graces him as they begin to walk makes me relax his muscles, tense for things that had passed and for things to come. "I wasn't starving myself." He wasn't going to tell them how much he ate, he wasn't going to drive away this crew that seemed to actually tolerate him.

Something inside him twisted at the prospect of the crew abandoning him. If he thought that the Whitebeards would leave him just because of his eating habits, then what would happen if they learned of his heritage?

Loud footfalls begin behind them, and Marco sighs, almost irritated. "I'll see you there, Ace." Before Ace could respond, Marco turns around and shouts. "OI! I still need your list of supplies – "

People run past him, smiles adorning their faces as they turn the corner and run into the galley, and Ace both wants and fears joining them. He loves the sea and fish, but at this point he was getting sick of eating salmon and cod and other types of fish he was fishing out for the past two-to-three months or so. He stands at the door of the galley, body hidden from view of those already inside. It's awkward, and it's causing his anxiety to stir into high levels. Taking a deep breath, he steps up, hesitantly breaching the line between the deck and the galley. And everyone looks.

Ace really wants to duck his head. He hates being watched, and the crew had been watching him (some mocking) him during his assassination attempts, and his refusal to eat anywhere near them. Or eat at all. And now, he's standing in their galley, a fleeting expression on his face as people watch him –

– and they go back to what they were doing. As if Ace wasn't there. As he was part of their crew. The feeling is enough to make Ace feel odd. He's speechless – Makino's extensive teaching and passing on her vocabulary did nothing to help fill in the void of his speech.

Someone's arm drapes over his shoulder, and Ace stiffens momentarily until he realizes it's Marco; the man was giving him a curious look. "Well?"

Ace's fists clench in worry, and he can't help but peer at Marco's own tattoo. Something taps at his head, and his expression turns into one of incredulousness when Marco's finger keeps tapping at it non-stop. "Stop that."

Marco complies, an amused look in his eyes. "Go. Eat. They feel bad that you haven't eaten."

Ace supresses a smile; it wasn't very easy, because something reminded him of Luffy, of Dadan, of Garp. Softly, quietly, he strides towards on of the tables in the corner, a sense of security over him knowing that Marco was there. It was an odd feeling – weeks ago, he considered them enemies. Days ago, he (hesitantly) considered them neutral acquaintances. Now, he already felt… protected.

(It was odd. He was always the protector back at Dawn Island – Sabo initially had no knowledge in fighting, and Luffy was Luffy.)

Ace sits, but Marco doesn't. He has his arms crossed, a frown instead of the earlier smile. Thatch slides right in, a happy expression on his face as he leans on the table, eyes wide. "Hi there, Ace!" He chirps, tilting his head, and his eyes flick down to Ace's shirt.

Ace purses his lips, and he les out a reluctant response. "…Hi?" Ace can feel his mouth go dry. "Say, Thatch – "

"Woah, woah, woah," Thatch cuts in, eyes steel and looking at Ace critically. "Why are you bandaged?"

Ace really did not want to answer that question, mainly because he didn't want to reveal it yet.

"Did someone hurt you?" Someone prods, and Ace nearly jumps out of his skin. There are more people around the table he specifically chose because there wasn't a lot of people there. One hand was reaching out as if to grasp hold of Ace, and Ace unconsciously moves back. He's not used to being in the limelight. The hand retracts, fingers curling hesitantly. "Sorry. It's just – " the person lets out a frustrated noise.

Someone slams their hands on the table, taking control of the conversation. "It's just that you're the youngest, and if anyone hurt you…" The pirate says, a threatening tone used, and Ace can't help but feel utterly confused. He's confided in Marco and Whitebeard that he's joining the crew (the man hugged him, and days after that, Ace still can't explain the feeling of warmth that rushed through him at that moment) and no one else. No one else was to know until he revealed the tattoo.

"Aright!" Marco says loudly, drawing attention away from Ace and towards the commander, and Ace can't help but give a sigh of relief, though it was quite. "I suggest you get back to your food, yoi." Ace looks around the room discreetly, and is pleased to see some of the crewmembers back away. "Unless you're done eating and are eager for more chores?" Marco adds as an afterthought, and Ace muffles the snort that escapes him when several shout in surprise, and soon, the table is clear again. Marco catches his eye and nods his way. "You have my permission to kick their asses if they keep bothering you like this, yoi." Marco's eyes gleam, and he walks away.

Thatch was still looking at him, eyes wandering and Ace resist the urge to shiver. Thatch was looking for something, and after a few moments, he sighs and rests a hand on Ace's shoulder. "You let us know if you're hurt, alright?" Thatch grins cheekily and raises his eyebrows, giving him a mischievous look. "Gotta go cool off our local mother hen."

Ace blinks, and instinctively, he speaks. "I'm telling Marco you said that."

Thatch stares for a moment before a grin splits on his face, and Ace wonders what hell he just unleashed. "I'm sure he'll be pleased – I, uh – " Thatch splutters, cutting his own sentence off, and Ace's brows furrow in confusion. "Please don't. Really, please."

Loud, very, very loud yet light footfalls could be heard from the other entrance of the galley, and Thatch freezes, eyes wide before he dashes off. Angered roars and shouts come y moments later, and he can pick out Thatch's name from several people, and when the crowd chasing Thatch disappears, silence reigned.

Until the snickering began, and soon after, full blown-laughter. Ace raises a hand to smother his laughter, and the sense of familiarity (achingly painful familiarity) washes over him. Thatch reminded him of Luffy, and Marco vaguely reminded him of Sabo.

…Maybe he'll let Thatch in on it before he reveals it to the crew.

Let me know if you guys liked it! Feel free to toss me some prompts if you guys have any. Thanks for taking the time to read!