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The Bluejam Pirates, people kept insisting. Hoping to scare away the Celestial Dragon, the Observer from the World Government. Bah. Garp smelled something rotten, other than the slowly growing heaps of trash.
Those mostly sat near the city’s gates, where the garbage wagons didn’t need to trundle out very far to dump their loads. Beyond... beyond that small area, most of the Grey Terminal looked barren, a wasteland of ash and soot. A few hills remained, where damp wood and things that didn’t burn so easy sheltered whatever lay beneath. More of ‘em closer to the shoreline; fewer towards the jungle.
Garp picked one, the first day he got there, and started looking.
Most of the bodies burned completely, or were cleared out right away, some snooty desk clerk tried to tell him, when the Hero of the Marines arrived in a seething rage and demanded to know what search efforts were made after the fire. Any riff raff who made it out have since been smart enough to keep their distance.
As if that helped. As if it meant a single damn thing, in the face of Dadan’s brief letter, telling Garp about the massive fire and three little boys who never came home.
So. Garp looked.
He turned over heaps of half-melted trash, dug into piles of ash for any clues that might’ve been buried, left a trail across the grey waste as he searched for something, anything, that might provide a smidge of hope.
Or, more likely, at least a hint of closure.
(At the end, Garp almost wished he hadn’t bothered.)
(Almost.)
The sad remains of a pirate ship sat in a tiny inlet right on the shore, only a few charred boards and the torched mast still sticking up out of the water. Right around that spot, some bigger piles of trash remained relatively intact under their burned outer layers, the benefit of more moisture soaked into them.
Underneath one, underneath what must have been a fallen roof, Garp found the bodies.
Small. Too small.
One broken pillar managed to hold the heaviest debris off of them; a few bits of colorful cloth and rope, rope, turned up at the very bottom, when he oh so gently lifted the boys out. Ace and Sabo were too badly damaged to tell apart other than what was left of their shirts, but he could recognize Luffy underneath them easily enough. Although, even if his smaller size hadn’t been enough, even without the obvious way the older pair were curled up around his body, trying to provide some meager shelter, that hat, that damn blasted hat, managed to come out relatively unscathed.
Not for the first time, Garp almost seized the stupid thing to toss into the ocean.
But.
But.
It wasn’t as if there was much else he could hold onto, and keep Luffy close.
So Garp just set it aside instead, and used his white coat to wrap up three too-small bodies, and got ready to carry them up the mountain.
He expected Dadan to yell bloody murder, to cuss him out with every foul word she could think of. And she did, no two ways about it; but then she took Garp by surprise, bursting into tears, kneeling down next to where he set his coat and its precious cargo. The rest of her band of misfits gathered in close, several sniffling, a few also outright sobbing, every single one bearing the same air of misery Garp could feel weighing down his own body.
(Hardest thing he’d ever done, climbing up the steep path with his boys. Didn’t matter that they were small, that they hardly weighed a damn thing; every step felt like trying to lift the whole world with him.)
Eventually, enough of the bandits pulled themselves together to grab some shovels, and started quietly arguing about where to dig. Dadan put a stop to that right quick; she barked at one of the smaller men to run to the village, get Makino and the mayor, and then stiffly gestured for Garp to pick the boys back up.
He’d heard about their treehouse. Hadn’t ever bothered to go looking for it, his last couple of visits. If his grandsons wanted their own space, they were entitled. And as soon as the unhappy gathering got there, and Garp realized Dadan’s intention - he couldn’t help but agree. The boys deserved to be laid to rest underneath their home, the one they’d gone and made for themselves out of scraps and sheer determination.
Makino arrived at a run before they’d finished digging the grave, already crying herself. Dadan’s man and Woop Slap turned up moving slightly slower, but still in time for Garp to carefully set the boys down in the ground.
He didn’t bother unwrapping his coat.
(He also kept holding onto the damn hat.)
Three months later, it still felt like the whole world dragged against every step he took.
Plenty of folks noticed, and gossiped, but other than Sengoku cautiously prodding, no one bothered to ask what awful thing turned Garp’s perpetual loud cheer into a grim stormcloud instead. And even Senny didn’t press, after getting only a stiff ‘personal matters’ for his growled answer.
Still. Never let it be said the old bastard didn’t understand grief. He started giving Garp specific tasks to do, rather than the more free-form ‘train recruits’ or ‘patrol this region’ orders that normally came down. It helped, a little. Having one clear goal after another, and reporting back to Marineford each time, waiting to start feeling a little more like himself again.
But each time Garp arrived in his personal quarters at night, he looked at the damn straw hat with its scorched brim and soot-stained ribbon, and felt heavy with misery all over again.
He could have gone looking for a way to end things. A suitable final blaze of glory to cap off a life filled with adventure and accolades. Except... Garp truly, honestly, just couldn’t muster up the energy to go looking for such an end.
And then Sengoku gave him a new mission.
“A dangerous Devil Fruit,” the man told him, tone level and face stoic, like everything was business as usual, except for how Garp wasn’t trying to steal his rice crackers. The concern lurked deep in Senny’s gaze, even as he pulled out a map to point out the specific island their information indicated. “You’ll need to move quickly, before word of this leaks, and pirates up and down the Grandline start trying to compete to get there first.”
Garp grunted. “My ship’s ready, I can go within the hour.”
“Good.”
Bogard was the one to actually read the thin folder with more information about their target, and tell Garp what Fruit they were going after. “The Grave-Grave Fruit - apparently it’s supposed to have the power to bring the dead back to life.”
Garp... paused.
They didn’t manage to reach the island in question before anyone else. Thankfully, the handful of pirates who’d gotten there first looked to be busy fighting each other on the shoreline, which made a perfect opportunity for Garp to announce his presence with a Galaxy Impact.
If Bogard and the others felt glad to see something of the usual Hero of the Marines return, though, it likely fell away in the face of him quickly leaving them behind, leaping higher and higher up the mountain shaped like a massive tombstone. It rather neatly divided the island in half, hiding one shoreline from the other, which Garp would claim as his excuse for not noticing who else had landed and was swiftly climbing up the other side.
Still- would take more than the element of surprise to land a decent hit on him of all people. The sword that swept down landed squarely against Garp’s raised forearm, both steel and flesh covered in a layer of Armament Haki that left them at an impasse. On the other end of his blade, Red-Haired Shanks bared his teeth in a smile significantly less friendly than Garp remembered from his younger years. “Vice Admiral. Out on a shopping trip?”
“None of your business, brat,” Garp barked, before giving the pirate a twist and shove. To his credit, Red-Hair didn’t land all that far away, and came down gracefully on both feet to boot. His dark cloak briefly flared out, revealing the stump that barely extended past his left shoulder.
The sight of it made something twist in Garp’s gut.
“I realize you’re all about Justice regardless of extenuating circumstances, old timer,” Shanks said, deceptively relaxed as he settled into a new stance. “But I’m not about to let the World Government get their hands on a Devil Fruit like this just to inflict more misery.”
Garp could guess what he meant well enough. Revolutionaries who took their own lives rather than be captured and tortured for information; prisoners in Impel Down that died before certain individuals felt they’d properly suffered long enough.
Garp also did not give a flying hoot.
He didn’t bother to say as much to Red-Hair; the moment the pirate launched himself forward for another attack, Garp threw a punch that nearly knocked him off the top of the mountain. And then, rather than continue to fight, he hurled himself down the cave opening, and hit the walls hard enough to collapse it behind himself. Wouldn’t keep Red-Hair out forever - likely not even for all that long, if Garp knew the first thing about Roger’s oldest brat - but hopefully just enough.
The long climb up mirrored a long descent down, through twisting tunnels that didn’t have so much as a hint of glowing moss or mushrooms to help light the way. Observation Haki kept Garp from crashing face-first into any walls, at least, but he could have made the trip with his eyes shut and not been able to tell the difference.
Not until, at least, he found the cavern at the very bottom, which did come with its own helpful illumination in the form of glittering crystals embedded in the ceiling. Evidently those worked well enough to allow a decent amount of vegetation to grow in the underground space... including a fair amount of fruit trees. Front and center, Garp spotted what looked to be the remains of a small settlement, hastily abandoned when its residents realized what they’d stumbled across. Smart folks, he decided, getting the hell out of the way before calling in a report about the Grave-Grave Fruit. With any luck, they managed to avoid the fighting that had since arrived on their shores.
A single small chest sat in the center courtyard area. Garp stepped towards it, the lightest he’d felt in three months.
So of course, damn blasted Red-Hair chose that moment to come rocketing out of the tunnel behind him, and slam into Garp’s back harder than Roger or Rayleigh ever managed in all their years of exchanging hits.
That comparison twigged a stray thought, as Garp found himself flying through the air clear over the chest and its dangerous contents. Ah. Brat’s worried about Roger getting brought back for a stint in Impel Down. And sure, if he took the Fruit to Marineford as ordered, and some guard posted at the prison with an eye on promotion volunteered to eat it, Garp could see the proposal being put forward.
What he couldn’t see was Red-Hair holding still long enough to get the idea beaten through his thick skull that Garp didn’t give a damn.
So, instead, he tried pulling out the trick hidden up his sleeve. Or in his pocket, rather.
One flash of yellow straw and dull red ribbon proved enough to make the pirate seize up, his eyes going wide. “What- why- why do you have that?”
Ignoring the thunderous fury that echoed in the cavern around them, Garp quietly answered, “Luffy died three months ago.”
Shanks flinched, face dropping into shock, followed quickly by pure devastation. The sword still held in his right hand dipped, no longer held up and ready to unleash another attack. Nor did the man move as Garp slowly turned, and resumed his approach to the chest.
Funny. He’d never before entertained the idea of eating a Devil Fruit. Never felt it necessary, especially after deciding he held no interest in being promoted past Vice Admiral. Sheer willpower saw Garp achieve whatever he wanted, whatever he needed, and no flashy abilities could serve him better, especially not at the cost of being able to jump into the ocean and wrestle a Sea King or three for his dinner.
But sheer willpower couldn’t get his grandsons back from the grave.
So Garp opened up the chest, took out the small oily grey fruit that looked rather like a skull, and swallowed the entire thing whole.
“Go, just go!” Ace coughed, trying to shove at Sabo with his one free hand. “Get Luffy and get out!”
“Can’t,” his brother insisted, face screwed up with concentration as he sawed at the ropes with the same piece of glass Ace tried to use earlier. The stupid thing had sliced his fingers more than the ropes, leaving it smeared with blood, but at least Sabo could hold it at a better angle, could see what the hell he was trying to cut. “You’re both tied to each other as much as the pole - it’s all of us or none of us, Ace.”
As the ceiling creaked alarmingly, and the flames around them grew ever higher, Ace started to fear that it would, in fact, be none of them. But he didn’t say it out loud, not when they’d only just gotten Luffy to calm down a bit and stop yelling about the heat-
Snap
“There!” Sabo shouted, yanking at the ropes, adjusting the slack enough to make most of them fall away. Ace immediately tried to wriggle free, only to put too much weight on his busted ankle and fall over with a yelp.
Because Bluejam and his crew hadn’t just been content with tying him and Luffy up when they left to start the fires, no, the bastards needed to get some hits in first.
“A-Ace, come on!” Sabo grabbed at him with one hand, the other pulling at Luffy, their middle brother throwing a glance over his shoulder at the open door he’d burst through a few minutes before. “All of us, now-!”
But ‘now’ came too late. Something above them cracked- shattered- broke. Without bothering to look, Ace launched himself towards Luffy, and Sabo followed, both of them trying to cover up the wailing younger boy-
-and then.
Then.
Nothing.
After a moment that hung forever, Ace realized he could breathe. Clear fresh air, even, no smoke curling into his throat and lungs. The sound of the roaring fire vanished, as did the pain of his fresh bruises and cut fingers and busted ankle. Sabo’s grip on his arm spasmed, and when Ace reluctantly peeled his eyes open, it was to see his brother staring back, just as stunned.
Before either of them could sit up and take a look around, though, two massive arms swept in, scooping them and Luffy up all together into- into-
“Gramps?” Ace demanded, recognizing the arms and instinctively squirming against their hold, “Where did you- what are you doing?”
“What’s it look like I’m doing,” their stupid grandfather barked, his embrace somehow growing even tighter. “I’m hugging you, ungrateful brats!”
Sabo wheezed, and Ace struggled harder. “Why?! You’ve never hugged us before!”
“Well I’m gonna do it a lot more often, so you’d better just get used to it!” Even as he opened his mouth to protest, something wet dripped onto Ace’s bare shoulder. Startled, he twisted his head up and around - saw the white marine uniform, rather than one of the usual flower-patterned shirts - saw Gramps- crying.
Grinning from ear to ear in a way that usually meant nothing good, sure, but also actually crying, tears spilling from both eyes. It defied reality. It made no sense.
Ace got the idea something was really, really wrong.
Luffy picked that moment to squeeze his head out from between Ace and Sabo’s shoulders, not looking at Gramps, but the weird cave around them. And just to make things more interesting, the twerp gasped, and shouted at full volume, “SHANKS!”
“Hi, Anchor,” another voice answered, sounding suspiciously wet as well. “It’s good to see you.” Sure enough, when Ace looked, he saw a tall red-haired man standing just a few steps away, smiling through his own tears. “Who’re your friends?”
“My brothers,” Luffy said cheerfully, the rest of their strange situation flying right over his dumb head. “Ace and Sabo! I told ‘em all about you, and- Ah! Your hat!” Rubber limbs immediately started twisting around, only going still when their grandfather rumbled.
“That damn hat’s fine, Luffy, I’ve got it right here.” Gramps crouched down and eased his hold- his hug, in order to pick up the item in question and drop it onto the seven year old’s head. Gently, even. Which the straw hat apparently needed, since it look like- like-
...like it got squashed, and a bit burned, and not cleaned off after.
Swallowing, Ace murmured, “Gramps? What- what happened?”
“Doesn’t matter now,” the old man muttered back, pushing Sabo’s top hat a little more firmly onto his head, and then ruffling Ace’s hair for good measure. “I fixed it. And I won’t let it happen again.”
Ace didn’t ask what ‘it’ meant.
He didn’t think he wanted to know the answer.
But if Gramps said he fixed things... Ace felt willing enough to believe him.