Chapter Text
He wakes suddenly, his heart leaping like a startled, frantically fluttering bird behind his ribs and one arm raised, fingers straining into the empty darkness as he gropes for someone who's no longer there.
The abrupt transition chokes the protesting cry wrung from his throat, and it takes Ace nearly a minute to realize that he's sprawled in bed with the comforter trailing off the mattress and the soft, reassuring sound of his little brother's slow breathing coming from the opposite side of the room.
Dreaming- I was dreaming.
Realizing there's moisture escaping the corners of his eyes and trailing down both cheeks to the pillow, he swipes clumsily at his face with the heels of both hands.
Jeez.
He rolls onto his stomach, burrowing into the sheets and waiting for his pulse to slow, but the dazed languor of sleep's been replaced by nervous energy and his mind insists on racing from one thought to the next in rapid succession. Eyes closed or not, he keeps seeing his parents' faces, contorted with grief and despair.
Stop being stupid- it was a DREAM. You got thinking about that stuff they told you and then Dad being sick the other week scared you really bad and it all showed up in your dreams 'cause you were thinking about it before bed.
It's hard NOT thinking about it, though, at least a little- especially after seeing Zoro confined to the infirmary following the fever brought on by heatstroke and his subsequent collapse. The knowledge of what his father endured and sacrificed- the knowledge that his father risked life and limb to keep him safe. That he himself almost died being born-
I- I did. I was dead in the dream, I KNOW I was.
"This is a world where you don't exist." Recalling the lilting, amused voice of a shadowy female figure whose features he couldn't quite make out, which makes sense because despite their repeatedly occupying the same room during his father's imprisonment in Impel Down, he's never seen her face. But her identity had been clear enough, given the context of the dream.
He shudders, a fist knotting in his pillowcase.
They were so sad, and I kept trying to tell them I was RIGHT THERE, but they couldn't hear me- they couldn't even SEE me. Is that what it's really like? To be dead?
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he thinks it might be true, and he's suddenly afraid. Afraid that he's alone, that he's only imagining Sabo's occasional sleepy murmurs. That his parents-
D-Don't be a dummy; they're right across the hall. Just go back to sleep.
He can't.
Throwing off the covers, he slips out of bed and pads barefoot across the floor to where his sandals lay discarded beside the bedroom door, one turned upside down so he's forced to flip it right-side up with his toes before sliding his foot inside.
Despite the dimness of no more than a single lamp burning near the capstan, the hallway seems blindingly bright after the darkness of the room he shares with his younger sibling. Rubbing his eyes as he crosses the corridor, he fumbles for the doorknob, hoping he won't find it locked. Uttering a ragged sigh of relief when he discovers it's not- and immediately freezing as the opening door emits a creak that's deafening in silence broken only by the barely lapping of ocean water against the ship's hull. Apparently Franky hasn't gotten around to oiling the hinges yet.
There's faint rustling as one of bed's occupants stirs, disturbed by the noise.
He takes a deep breath. "... Dad?"
"Hm?"
The low pitch of his father's voice leaves his knees weak, and the knob rattles slightly in his trembling hand as he eases the door further open, the fleeting thought of "oh thank god he hears me" flashing almost unrecognized through his head.
"Can- can I sleep in here tonight?" He asks sheepishly, embarrassed. He should've known there was little chance of climbing into their bed unnoticed; the green-haired swordsman now regarding him with placid, only semi-conscious contemplation is usually a notoriously light sleeper.
Sanji-aniki says you could probably throw a knife or something at Dad and he'd dodge it, even in his sleep, Ace recalls doubtfully. I dunno, though... sometimes he sleeps like a rock too, and NOTHING wakes him up. 'Specially right now. Chopper-aniki said he gets tired really easy 'cause of the baby.
Zoro wriggles free of the arms hugging him firmly around the middle and sits up, absentmindedly brushing at the smear of drool Luffy's deposited on his shoulder. He's clearly groggy, stifling a yawn, and for a moment, Ace regrets waking him and considers going back to his own bed, but then his father's mouth twitches into a somewhat sad smile of comprehension. "Bad dream?"
He hesitates, gaze averted. Nods quickly, not trusting his voice.
The older pirate's expression, visible in the dim light spilling through the doorway, softens further. "Makes it kinda hard to sleep by yourself, huh." Not a question this time, but an observation.
Ace nods again, still hesitating, and his shy reluctance prompts an exasperated but amused huff accompanied by a hand patting the empty gap of mattress between his parents.
"Oi, what're you waiting for? C'mere."
Relief easing his temporary paralysis, the seven-year-old barely restrains himself from scrambling for the bed, remembering at the last second to shed his sandals before he climbs in.
Registering the movement beside him, Luffy opens an eye, utters a muffled hum of welcome when he sees his eldest son peering down at him, and then promptly goes back to sleep with both arms now hugging his pillow.
"He got to bed late," Zoro explains, reaching across to shove repeatedly at the captain's hip until he retracts the leg sprawled across the mattress and preventing Ace from lying down. "Nami had him in the library going over records and shit again."
"Mmm," he responds detachedly, far more interested in wriggling under the safety of the rumpled sheets and curling up beside his green-haired father, who's gratefully returned to a prone position after giving his pillow a good shake.
Zoro's warm, his body and clothing holding a familiar, comforting smell tinged with the faint scent of steel that Ace's known from birth, and after a brief internal debate, he forgoes his usual stubborn dignity and nudges his way into a firm embrace, snuggling against his parent and wrapping both arms around him.
There's nobody to see, no older crewmates to smile knowingly and think he's acting like a baby.
The swordsman returns the affection without hesitation, giving him a brief squeeze and combing fingers through his hair in a way that makes him feel like he's really little again. Sabo's age, maybe, or even younger, instead of seven going on eight, but somehow he doesn't mind.
There's something odd about how the hug feels, though, and after some deliberation, he realizes it's the slight curve of the belly he's huddled against and finds himself wondering if his unborn sibling's awake too.
Can he hear me and Dad talking yet? Chopper said babies can learn to recognize voices even when they're still inside-
The sleepy euphoria that's been stealing over him is suddenly gone.
Is that how I knew what she sounded like, even though I couldn't see her face? 'Cause I remember hearing her talking to Dad? And on the heels of that frightening thought comes another that chills him to the core, causing his breath to catch in his throat and his spine to stiffen. Did she ever talk to ME?
"That bad, huh?"
He jumps, an involuntary noise escaping his throat and his face burning where his cheek's pressed to the broad expanse of his father's chest.
"I always have trouble getting back to sleep after the really bad ones," the low voice rumbling beneath his ear confides gently. "It's like I can't stop thinking, and sometimes I can't get comfortable again then either, so I end up spending the rest of the night flopping back and forth."
Ace swallows, hoping the pounding of his heart's not audible. "D-Do you ever-" He instinctively turns his gaze upwards to judge Zoro's reaction to the question he's about to ask- and abruptly realizes that he can still see his father's face because-
"Ah, crap, I left the door open!" He moves to reluctantly detach himself but the arm curled around him hauls him closer. "Oi, Dad, leggo. I gotta-"
"Nah, leave it. Everybody's asleep except the watch. Nobody's gonna come down here and bother us." A short pause. "... you wanna talk about it?"
Biting his lip, he fiddles with the hem of the sheet that's being tucked back around them. "I dunno. Does it help? If you talk about it, I mean." Hoping the older pirate understands that it's not merely his own dreams to which he's referring.
"... sometimes. But not necessarily the way you'd think," his father admits, then exhales heavily through his nose. "It doesn't go away, not really. It's still inside your head, only it's shoved all the way in the back, waiting for somebody to say the wrong thing or for something to happen that drags it out again. But, yeah, sometimes you can forget about it for a little bit."
"Do you..." He wants to ask, but he's afraid. Not that he'll make Zoro angry, but that he might do exactly THAT. Mention something that might drag those dark memories into the light again.
"It's okay, kiddo. I told you- if there's something you wanna know, just say so."
"... do you ever dream that Dad didn't- didn't get to you- to us- before- uhm-" He's staring at his father's collarbone now, unable to meet his gaze for fear of what he might find there.
The fingers that've been stroking his hair all this time go still, cradling his skull as though it's a delicate bubble of soap, and it's several minutes before a husky, emotion-choked voice tells him quietly, "Yeah. Those are the really bad ones."