Chapter 2

He slipped away while Rebecca admired the massive ship that was the Moby Dick (and seeing it on paper or a screen was one thing, but real life? It was magnificent).

Hidden in a dark corner halfway back to his house, Marshall (not Teach, he refused to think of himself by that name) sank down into a crouch, put his head between his knees, and breathed, silently breaking down as everything hit him. It was all so unbelievable, but it was true. No one would go through the trouble of making a working replica of the Moby just to trick him, but that meant that not only was he in One Piece, he was fucking Blackbeard before he became Blackbeard, long before if he remembered the latest flashback chapters right-

Smacking himself across the face, he took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. Okay, he had to calm down, no time for hyperventilating, he thought firmly, putting all his focus into calming his heartbeat and just breathing. His Observation haki was running overtime to make sure no one snuck up on him as he stood up and made his way back towards the main streets. Pretty much everyone was down at the docks looking at the pirates and their ship, so he had the street to himself.

Passing a shop window, he paused midstep when he caught a glimpse of his reflection. Turning and looking at it intently, he felt like he was seeing himself for the first time.

He was tall for a ten year-old (Teach's birthday was August 3rd, he remembered); big-boned with tanned skin and, he was relieved to note, all of his teeth. Hygiene was something he'd always made a point about, and he was glad he had. He remembered Blackbeard's gap-toothed grin and shuddered. No, no way, not on his life!

Although he ate more than most, his rigorous training kept him muscular rather than fat. His hair was dark and frizzy and wow, maybe Rebecca had a point about brushing his hair more often...with dirt smeared across his face and his hair like it was, he was a mess. He was still growing, so he wasn't put off by the gangliness of his limbs or the disproportionate size of his hands and feet. He remembered what people could look like in One Piece, so technically speaking he got off lightly.

With a proper diet and training, he wouldn't have to worry about looking like a sumo wrestler when he was in his twenties, he assured himself.

Self-consciously brushing at some of the dark stains on his shirt, a plain white one that he was quickly outgrowing, he straightened his fur-lined coat with a swift tug. He stood up straight, acutely aware of the fact that his shoes were falling apart and his pants only came down to mid-calf thanks to his latest growth spurt.

Yeah, he looked rough, he acknowledged. But still, there was potential there, if he played his cards right.

If he remembered right, it was originally Teach who asked to join the Whitebeards so he should just, not do that? Maybe? Would that work, he pondered as he resumed walking. He would admit that he kind of wanted to meet Whitebeard, but the memory of the clusterfuck that would follow convinced him that it wasn't worth it. Okay, so it was decided: no joining the Whitebeard Pirates.

He sometimes worked a few odd jobs down at the docks, mostly loading and unloading cargo where his monster-like strength came in handy, but he could miss a few days until the Whitebeards left.

As worried and mildly terrified as he was about what would happen in the future, there was one thing he was certain of, and that was that he wasn't going to join the Whitebeards.

(He wasn't going to kill Thatch! He wasn't! He wouldn't start the War!)

"You want to what?"

He stared blankly at Rebecca, who patiently repeated.

"I think we should join the Whitebeards." She looked at him hopefully even as his eyebrow twitched. Of course. Of freaking course that would come up the day after he resolved to never join that same group of pirates. Hell, he'd be happy never leaving his home island.

(He knew he'd have to at some point though, which was why he worked at the docks and picked up what he could about sailing and navigation from the workers there.)

"No." He said firmly, crossing his arms resolutely.

"Why not? You're strong! They'd definitely let you join if you asked!" The raccoon-girl exclaimed. "Think about it! We wouldn't have to worry about food or shelter, we'd have other people to watch our backs, we wouldn't have to be afraid!" The raw, aching hope in the eight year-old's voice hit him like a punch in the gut. It was obvious what Rebecca wanted: a family. He wasn't enough anymore. He'd expected it, but the knowledge still hurt.

Judging by Rebecca's flinch, she realized how it sounded, but she stood her ground, dark eyes hard and shining with determination. It was a battle of wills with neither one willing to back down.

Rebecca wanted a home and family, somewhere she wouldn't have to struggle for every scrap of food or affection. He, he just wanted to stay under the radar and live peacefully and grow strong enough to withstand the shitshow that is Canon.

(And avoid Ace dying, that was also a major goal.)

He knew what he had to do (didn't know if one less crewmember would make a difference), and he looked her right in the eye as he said, "You go. While they might let one kid onboard, two is a stretch, and of the two of us, you have a Devil Fruit so you'll be more valuable." Everything he said was true, so Rebecca didn't have any way to argue.

Or at least it was true for pretty much every pirate crew except the Whitebeards. But she didn't know that and by the time she found out it'd be too late.

"Come on, Marshall! This is our chance to get off this island, so just try!" She pleaded, but he stood fast, turning his back and not saying anything more until Rebecca finally gave up several hours later.

The Whitebeards were set to depart early tomorrow morning, Rebecca told him in a whisper, still hopeful that he'd change his mind.

He knew he wouldn't. The looming specter of Canon ensured that.

Shortly after dawn the next day, he stood in the shadow of a building next to the docks and watched as the Moby Dick sailed away.

He didn't wave, he didn't call out, he just watched the massive ship get smaller and smaller until it was just a black dot on the horizon. Rebecca was on that ship, and he could only hope that his first real friend in this life would be okay. The Whitebeards were good people and they looked after they're own, he told himself, and felt a tiny bit better. He stood there until the ship was out of sight, and then turned and walked away.

If a single tear slipped down his cheek, he was the only one there to know.

He promised himself that he'd keep an eye on the bounties, just in case.

The few weeks after Rebecca left, he felt adrift after having dodged the first Canon event he encountered. A bit giddy over avoiding the action that would set in motion a series of events that would end in pain and death, he could admit he splurged a bit on some new pants and shoes, even buying a brush to fight with his tangled mane of hair. Which turned out to be longer than he thought, falling to the tops of his shoulders once he got all the tangles out.

He practiced his haki, coating his hands and arms with gleaming black and tracking the giant jaguars that competed with the wolves for control of the jungle. He came up with a new training regimen that involved coating parts of his body in Armament and holding it for as long as possible - mainly his hair, because it wasn't as noticeable if he went into town. He hunted and trained and fought, occasionally working the docks.

On a side note, he finally figured out where his home island was located, and the knowledge made him want to curse.

The New World. It just fucking figured that Marshall D. Teach was a New World native - it fit with the flashback scenes at least. He sighed, lifting a crate that would have taken four grown men to move with one hand and trudging towards his assigned warehouse. He knew where he was, now he needed to work from there. He definitely needed a Log Pose, and he'd have to check and see if anyone was selling a boat or fishing vessel just in case-

His thoughts were interrupted by a rough shout, "Hey brat! Get over here!" and he sighed as he put the crate down and went to see what the dockmaster wanted.