Chapter Text
Throughout your life, you’d seen many weird things but most came from a particularly unusual power you had.
The ability to see and hear ghosts.
Mainly the latter and though it was not an unheard-of ability, most of the time it caused you more problems than good. They’d always arrive confused and complaining. They’d want to go back to the life they lived before and required convincing to move along. Bound to you, some blamed you for their suffering.
But strangely, only one stood out. A ridiculously stubborn one.
He arrived a day or so after he died; his soul likely floating for a while before your fruit caught it from the air like a fishing rod snaring a good catch. You’d had a pretty normal day until that point; a relaxing one until the echoes of a soul bounced in your head.
“Where the hell am I?”
Ghosts were no longer human, in voice or appearance. Their voices tended to echo around your head, mere remnants of what they had once been. You closed your book and looked for him but found no physical form had manifested. A somewhat fresh death then.
“You’re dead,” you said.
“Yeah, I got that,” he snapped. “That’s not what I asked. This is a very weird heaven. All these books… did I end up in hell or something?”
You frowned. You rather liked your bookshelves and your carefully curated collection. The dark wood lined the wall of your living room, floor to ceiling with beautiful tomes gathered from passing ships.
It was a nice room as well, warm even with the windows open and thick coastal air drifting in through wide wooden shutters. Sunlight spilled across the tiled floor in broken gold, catching on the edges of low tables and worn rugs.
“That’s quite rude,” you said, keeping your voice neutral as you picked up your drink. “But no, it’s not. I’m afraid you’re currently stuck in the real world so you might need some help moving on. It’s good that you’re aware of your death though.”
“Not like I could miss it,” the voice muttered.
There was a flicker of something in the center of the room and you slotted your bookmark into place, lowering your book onto the table. Bitterness was common. Spirits were people and as much as they bothered you throughout your life, it was honestly your fault that they were stuck here. You felt bad if you didn’t help.
Restless souls normally could roam the seas freely but your devil fruit preferred to chain them to you. Eating that thing was the worst mistake of your life.
“How come you can see me then? Are you dead too?”
“Fortunately, not. But you are bound to my side for now. I’ve eaten something called a devil fruit and mine unfortunately likes to steal lost souls. It’s nothing personal and I have no control over who it grabs. Once you move on, it has no effect on you anymore.”
“Something called a devil fruit?” he asked with a sharp, braying laugh. “Yeah, I know what those are. I can still use mine now. Sort of. It’s not working fully.”
You straightened a little, shifting to sit properly on your couch. Never before had you managed to catch the soul of another devil fruit user nor seen their powers; even the person you bought yours from didn’t show any part of his abilities to you.
“I’m not sure how it works,” you admitted. “Maybe it’s lingering like you are. Once you move on to the next life, it’ll be alright.”
“Well, I don’t want to move on yet. I need to find out if my brother survived first.”
You winced. You’d heard similar requests a hundred times before – never something you could fulfil. So many ghosts came from islands across the sea and their family members lay far beyond your reach. They always took the longest to move on; trapped in an endless what-if spiral as they tried to make peace with not knowing.
“If he didn’t, you’ll see him on the other side,” you said softly.
“That’s not good enough.”
“You can’t leave,” you urged, voice as gentle as you could. “And I’m sorry but holding onto these things will only keep you trapped longer. If you accept what happened and move on, you can let go of the mortal realm.”
“Yeah well, I don’t follow rules.”
“These are hardly rules.”
“Try me. Ow! What is pulling me?”
“A tether.”
“I can burn through this.”
You shrugged and picked up your book again. Sometimes it took them a few hours to realise that you meant it when you said they couldn’t leave. The ghosts you’d spoken to before often said it was akin to an invisible leash, fixing them to your side. It was fine. He’d talk to you again when he’d tried his other options.
It took an hour for him to speak again, his voice almost pained.
“Can you see me or are you ignoring me on purpose?”
“Unless you manifest physically, I can only hear you,” you said. “Think of me as a psychic of sorts. You can only interact with me. You’ll just pass through anything from the living world.”
“How do I take on a physical form?”
“I’m not certain. Sometimes it happens naturally when you stay around for a month but I think you can force it if you really want to. There’s no need though. Nothing changes if I can see you or not.”
“Aw, so you couldn’t see anything I was doing over there?”
“No.”
“That’s annoying because it was pretty cool. You can leave, right? Then take me to my brother. I can’t seem to get out of this room.”
“You’re stuck with me,” you reminded him. “It’s got different limitations. You have maybe fifteen steps in any direction, shorter through walls. That’s what I’ve learned from the others before you.”
“So if your devil fruit hadn’t grabbed me, I could just go there?”
“If my fruit hadn’t grabbed you, you likely wouldn’t even be conscious. Untethered spirits either pass on or they wander aimlessly forever. You wouldn’t have a form or memories.”
“This sucks.”
“Being dead generally does.”
“Okay, then can you go get a newspaper? Somebody has to be reporting this stuff, right?”
You sighed to yourself. It wouldn’t be the worst. You’d wanted to visit the market either way and a newspaper hardly mattered. Hopefully it gave him enough closure that this could be one of those quick visits you got from time to time. Ghosts could get very annoying when you were the only person who could hear them for ages.
“I’ll get you an offering too,” you said as you stood. “Do you have a favourite food?”
“I can eat when I’m dead?”
“If I send it to you. What would you like?”
“Anything spicy. Damn, how long has it been since I’ve eaten?”
The moment you stepped outside, heat settled over your skin; the air thick and sun-soaked, carrying the sharp scent of salt and something sweet frying in oil nearby.
The streets were alive. Buildings painted in faded blues, yellows, and coral reds leaned close together, their balconies strung with drying laundry that swayed lazily in the breeze. Voices overlapped with laughter, bartering, and distant music carried from somewhere deeper in the town.
Palm leaves cast shifting shadows over the cobbled ground, and bright-feathered birds chattered noisily from open shopfronts. Someone called your name. Someone else waved. The rhythm of the place moved around you, constant and familiar.
“That person walked through me.”
“Because you’re dead,” you reminded him. “And as a ghost, they don’t even know you’re there.”
An older woman shouted in greeting and you raised a polite hand to her.
“You’re popular.”
His voice sounded more muted against the drum of the city.
“I can speak to the dead. Many people hope that when their loved ones leave this world, I can provide them with closure.”
“Can you?”
“I can’t control which ghost my devil fruit finds,” you admitted. “But sometimes, even the idea alone is enough for mourning families. If I do see their loved ones, I can pass on messages but a small lie does them no harm if I don’t.”
“Not sure about that. I lost a brother once and I wouldn’t want you to lie to me about it.”
“Well, luckily you wouldn’t know. Where did you die?”
“I…” he paused before answering, as though the name made him on edge. “Marineford.”
You raised a curious eyebrow. Marineford? You’d heard the title in passing, nothing concrete but muttered rumours amongst the crews that visited this island. Government talk was frowned upon in these parts though so you knew little more than the basics.
“Sorry, I don’t know where that is. I tend to avoid the government and world news where I can.”
“Good. You should.”
“This town is the best place for that,” you said. “Our traffic is mainly pirate crews looking for a place to restock.”
“Sounds like I fit right in.”
You turned past the livestock market where large groups of braying animals and bustling merchants quietened him for a bit. Your nose wrinkled as you skirted the edge, boots sticking faintly against the muddied ground. Goats bleated, cages rattled, and merchants shouted over one another, their voices rough from the heat.
You quickened your pace, almost at the spot for the best chili oil you knew of on the island.
“There’s so much meat around here,” he said suddenly. “Luf would love this place. How is my stomach growling when I’m dead?”
“Were you hungry when you died?”
“Yeah, I was starved.”
“Then that’s probably why. I’ll get this offering done quickly.”
“Oi! Seriously, can nobody else hear me?”
“No.”
“Figures.”
Most of your shopping was done in peace though irritatingly the newspaper stand was out of newspapers. You ended up walking to each of your neighbours to ask until the lovely lady next door found one she’d bought that morning
“Big news going on around the world,” she said.
“So I’ve heard,” you answered.
“You seeing many ghosts from all of it?”
“One or two.”
The voice beside you echoed around. “You’ve seen more ghosts than me from Marineford?”
You said goodbye to your neighbour before you answered, stepping away from the worn-wood porch. “No, I haven’t. You’re the first one I’ve gotten in about a month.”
You set the newspaper flat against the wooden counter of your kitchen, smoothing it once with your palm so the pages wouldn’t curl in the humidity.
The kitchen was small but functional. Your clay stove was still warm from earlier and jars of spices lined unevenly along the wall. You moved automatically, lighting the flame, and setting a pan down.
“I can’t touch anything,” he muttered. “But I can sit down. How does that make sense?”
“Little about the world does,” you answered. “I’ll turn the pages as you need.”
You gathered the candles from the shelf, their wax softened from the heat and pressed them into place around the chalk circle etched onto the counter.
Incense next. Thin sticks you struck and waved gently until they caught, smoke curling upward in slow, deliberate spirals. The scent spread quickly, sharp and earthy, cutting through the heavier smells of food and salt.
It had taken you ages to learn how to do this but you found out that even a simple offering could make the dead much calmer.
“Okay, he’s alive,” the voice said. “But…”
His voice cracked and you turned, looking toward the newspaper page that you’d left open when he began to rapidly speak again.
“Wait! Don’t look at that. You said you don’t care about news, right?”
“No, I don’t but if it’s that upsetting –“
“Then just don’t. Don’t read this.”
You hesitated, eyes flashing toward the paper. Curiosity almost got the better of you but you decided it didn’t matter. It was okay. You avoided world politics most of the time and it did wonders for your mental health.
“Alright, I won’t but if your brother is alive, that’s very good news. Maybe after your meal, you can move on.”
“Not a chance.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not unless I’m taking Teach with me.”
You winced and lit the last of the incense. “Vengeance is never good for the soul to hold onto. Chances are revenge won’t be possible.”
That flicker again. You frowned toward it, wondering if that was him. It was certainly new. Almost like the faint glow from a coal left inside an abandoned fireplace. Maybe he was starting to manifest? Weird.
“Revenge is very possible,” he said. “Luf is more than strong enough. If you take me to him, I could talk through you right? I can help. I’ll make it work.”
“If I went running across the world for every ghost I saw, my life would be very tiring,” you said. “Maybe if he’s on an island nearby, I can help but I’m not crossing the sea for you. Where is he?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Well, then I don’t think it’s even possible to find him.”
“I can’t go anywhere until we do.”
“You might be stuck with me for a very long time then.”
“Then I’ll figure out where he is and you can take me to him.”
You smiled at nothing and gestured toward the food on the table. “Come, you should be able to touch this now.”
The plate moved slightly, rocking back and forward as though he was prodding it. You left him to it, stepping past where you presumed he was when something very warm brushed your arm. Startlingly warm. You jumped the second you felt it. It was as though you’d accidentally leaned against your stovetop.
“Wait,” he said. “I felt that. I can touch you?”
That had been him? You nodded slowly, gingerly rubbing the skin on your arm. “As I said, I’m pretty much the only thing you can interact with right now. Unless I do this little ritual, you’re only able to feel me.”
Silence again. You began to make your way to the living room when he spoke.
“Then can I have a favour?”
“It depends.”
“I –” He exhaled sharply. “Forget it. This is stupid.”
You waited. The silence stretched until he spoke again.
“You’re not going to laugh, are you?”
“No.”
More silence before he grumbled, so quietly that you barely heard it. “…I need a hug.”
You tilted your head. That wasn’t one you’d heard often, especially not from a supposedly starving ghost when there was food in front of them. You hesitated, just for a second, before sighing and opening your arms anyway.
You couldn’t see him but you felt him. An overwhelming wave of heat that crashed into you like stepping too close to an open flame.
Your breath caught as something solid reached around you. Arms wrapped over your shoulders, tight and unsteady, like he wasn’t sure how much force to use.
“You’re very warm,” you said, voice thinner than before.
“Yeah. Makes sense.”
You hesitated only a moment before returning it, your hands finding his back and shifting lower when something jagged pricked at your arms. Scars? No, a little too rough for that. Maybe his clothing.
The hug lasted only for a breath before he stepped away. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Just haven’t touched anybody in a while.”
You nodded at the air in front of you. “Well, you haven’t eaten either. Enjoy.”
His physical form flickered into existence without warning.
A ghost, sure enough, with the deathly-pale skin and sunken eyes you associated with them, but also with freckles still on his cheeks and a boyish charm to his blood-stained lips. Dark hair fell into his face as he looked down at his own arms, blinking.
Your gaze slipped lower, over his shirtless façade to his chest. There was no question about what had killed him. The hole smouldered. A clean, devastating absence straight through him; its blackened edges still curled faintly with heat.
Your stomach turned and suddenly the smell of food turned to nothing better than bile.