Okay, I know it's been a long while since I last uploaded something here and I'm sorry for the wait, but life happened. And tumblr. I've spend most of my time on tumblr, trying to get a job and trying to finish some of my many stories.

This is my first really attempt on writing some really angst and dark themed. On purpose. So I hope this is going to go well. It's also why the rating is M.

I have to do a trigger warning: Anxiety and depression is the main focus in this story.

Well, you've been warned and the title says what it's about. Some of it.

Disclaimer: As usual all the One Piece characters belongs to Oda.

He sat at the edge of his bed staring at the thing that mocked him every morning for four months. At first he had just seemingly shrugged it off, being his usual self, but it was slightly getting harder and harder. Especially since the day where he almost lost two people dear to him and he couldn't even be there and help. He couldn't fight for them. Not like he used to and not like he should. He should have been there. No matter what the others said, no matter how much they tried to convince him that it was alright. On the outside he accepted it, but it was slowly eating him up on the inside. He was no fool, he knew that he was not well and that he needed help. However, he just couldn't get himself to ask for it. That would only add another burden to his family, one he couldn't get himself to give them.

A part of him knew he was being unreasonable and that he was never a burden to his family and they wouldn't blame him for anything. He knew it wasn't his fault what happened and yet he did blame himself. Every single day. The evidence that it happened was right there in front of him, mocking him. The wheelchair to which he was partly bound. He could walk and stand, but not for a long time. One of his brothers had to carry him up the stairs, wheelchair and everything. It was embarrassing, even if they never teased him or said anything about it. Like it was just natural, which it probably was, but in his mind everything was a big deal.

Sighing, he managed to put himself in the chair he hated so much. Putting up a mask, he left his room and went to the kitchen. He was still the chef and even sitting down he could cook. It was not that he had lost his hands. On his way he greeted the brothers passing by, everyone greeting him back as they usual did, nothing had changed it seemed. But things had changed. He had been unconscious for 1½ months and now bound to this chair thanks to one he once called a brother. The knife that had been jerked into his back had barely missed the vitals and nerve system. It still had caused damage and he had almost died twice. That's how severe his wound had been and it had forced him into the wheelchair.

And for what? A fucking freaking Devil's Fruit. One he by chance had come across on a mission to retrieve some supplies and get some Intel, along with another ally. His decision to take it with him and show it to his brothers had proved to be fatal. It had caused all this mess. Him almost dying, being bound into a wheelchair, a war and almost losing two dear people, one he called a brother and the other he saw as a father. For one fucking freaking Devil's Fruit and his own idiotic decision not to eat it right away or sell it. Why did he not do either of these things?

He entered the kitchen, seemingly in a good mood, joking around, while the thoughts continued their harmful destruction to his sanity. The cooks went on with their routines and he found himself alone with his thoughts. Like usual. Even before the attack, he had been merely joking around or left with his thoughts on new creations. Though lately the thoughts of creation didn't come, it was being replaced with thoughts on how his family saw him now. Weak and they were probably talking about him behind his back. He shouldn't even be a commander, as he couldn't protect his division, hell he couldn't even go on missions. Not like this and maybe never, as he made little progress.

Still, he hadn't forgotten most training he had and he picked up his name being mentioned and his eyes darted to the people talking, only to see it was Rakuyo coming in and had probably just asked for him. Smiling to his brother, the other commander came to him and sat down at the prep table they had installed in the kitchen, just for him. It was here he prepped everything, just like he would do if he had been standing at one of the tables. That was actually the only change in the routine he had in the kitchen. Almost when it came down to it, but the others didn't have to know about the other change.

"What can I help you with, brother?" He asked, as the other was settled across him.

"Well, it'll be Christmas soon, you know that Izo has already started decorating, right? So I was thinking about how make things go smooth this year and then I remembered the first time we had to celebrate Christmas after a crisis and some lost. You made that wonderful cake, remember? I know that it can be a challenge for you to make it now, but I think the crew would appreciate it. I will help of course. You know I'm not a complete stranger in the kitchen." Rakuyo was serious.

A soft smile grazed the corner of his lips. Though the memory was bittersweet, he knew that the special cake he had made for the first day of December had been just the right thing for them. He should have known that someone would remember and ask him to make that cake again. It was really a good cake, in memory of those they had lost and the burden they had back then. Much like now, though now was much worse. Yet they were still a family and still together. It was what the cake was all about. Staying strong as a family.

"You're right, I should make that cake and it'll be nice to have your help. Maybe Izo and Marco too, as both aren't bad in a kitchen either." He agreed with his brother.

Rakuyo smiled brightly and rose. "I'll tell Izo and Marco. When shall we start?"

"November the 29th at 10 am." He answered, knowing that Izo would not want to start before that.

Nodding Rakuyo left the kitchen, leaving the cook to his own thoughts. It didn't take long before the talk was being mocked in his mind. How could he even believe the cake would be as good as back then? Or even help this time? He was not even half the man or cook he once was. How dared he agree with his brother? When they would start making it they would see what a failure he was. They would see the truth and then he would be set off at an island. He would still be family, but they wouldn't have need for him on the ship. He would lose his friends, family and everything he had.

A sigh left him, as he finished the prepping for lunch and dinner. With some last commands, he left the kitchen to get some air. He loved that he had a routine to stick to, one that held him to reality and helped him through the day. Smiling he chattered and greeted various of brothers and once on deck, he rolled to the railing. They had built a ramp so he could get up the stairs on deck. It was a nice gesture, but the fact that they had to do this because of him was just another stone to the heavy bag on his shoulders.

Yet he didn't show it, didn't let them see behind the mask he put on every morning. His routine was back to normal, except for a few check-up's by the doctor - which he hated - and nothing seemed to have changed. It was what he wanted them to believe, as he couldn't bear to see the disappointment, worries or pity in their eyes. He was the cheery and flirty cook, one always joking around, but could be serious. That was who he was and he didn't want them to see him otherwise. At first they had been worried that he might get some mental trouble due to the stress his body was under and he fact he was fucking bound to a wheelchair, but he brushed it off. He proved them there was nothing to worry off. On the outside.

It was not that he wanted these thoughts and feelings to slowly make him crumble, even suffer. He just couldn't help them and he was too proud, to worried and too out off it to ask for help. What should he say? How could he explain what was going on the inside without sounding weak and pathetic? No, it was better they didn't know and didn't see. The mask could be put up forever and he would take this to the grave. It was for the best. They didn't need this stress, they didn't need him being a pathetic weakling, who couldn't keep his mind together. So it was really for the better that he kept it a secret.

After lunch he went to his private kitchen to sketch out a plan for who should do what on the cake he would make with his brothers. At least he had something to do here, unlike other days where he had just sat here, staring at the wall, thoughts swirling in his head. Writing down the list on what should be done, he tried hard to focus on the task ahead, pushing the thoughts back, though they were lurking, trying to find a weak spot and break through. He knew they would, eventually, but he wanted to at least get something done today.

He managed to actually write everything down, make a list of supplies he needed, not only for the cake, but in general and even plan out the schedule for how to make the cake. Then he felt exhausted and the thoughts swirled around, now calling him names, his brother's voices and face being the ones to call him a failure and such. He planted his face into his palms and tried to calm, overwhelmed by the emotions that taunted him. Tears were stinging in his eyes, but he refused to shed them. Even if he could easily dry them off and wash his face. Deep inside he knew that if he started to cry now, he wouldn't be able to stop and he still needed to bring the lists to Marco.

Focusing on his breathing, he managed to pull himself together. He looked at the clock and noticed he still had two hours before dinner and after that at least three hours which he would spend with his family. It seemed so long before he could go to bed. He sighed, but knew he had to not diverse too much from the routine or else they would get suspicious. Or worried, like the one time he had been in too much pain to get out of bed. He didn't like the feeling of helplessness or like seeing his brothers and father so worried for him.

With a sigh, he rolled to the door and left his private kitchen. At least he had been productive today and the list for supplies was only a day late, which wasn't unusual. He was known to do the paperwork and lists in the last minute and still managed to be late with them anyway. Marco scolded him for it from time to time, especially when the to due was over a week ago. Else he was pretty large with him, because Marco knew that running a kitchen and division was rough and Thatch had proved that it wasn't because he didn't want to do the reports or make the supply list, he just was short on time.

Knocking on Marco's door, he was called in, the other commander smiling slightly upon seeing him there. He rolled in, happy that the doors on this ship was wide enough for him get around with no trouble.

"I'm finished with the supply lists." He announced, handing Marco the lists.

"That's good, yoi." Marco placed the list on his desk, where a lot of other paperwork lied. "Rakuyo came by and said you would like my help for the special cake, yoi."

"Only if you got the time and also want to. Rakuo and I can do it by ourselves, if you and Izo don't want to or have time for it." He quickly said, not wanting to press Marco into this.

"I'll take time for it. It's a good idea he came up with and I'm surprised, but honored you want my help, yoi." Marco now smiled softly to him.

It had him smile back, actually happy to know that Marco considered it an honor that he wanted his help. Come to think about it, Thatch rarely asked for help before, so that changed. He needed a little more help, but his family didn't seem to mind. That was in front of him. Behind his back they probably complained, asking themselves if he would ever get better, as the progress was really slow. When the thought popped into his mind, he almost dropped the happy mask he put on every morning. However, he caught himself before it happened.

"That'll be great. If Izo agrees too, we'll be able to make the cake better."

"Oh? Here I thought it was perfect, yoi." Marco teased him.

"Ha. Ha. You know there's not such thing as perfect in my kitchen. It's always almost perfect."

Marco chuckled. "I know. We'll make it almost perfect then, yoi."

"It's all I can ask for. Well, I will check up on dinner. Don't forget dinner or I'll come and drag your sorry ass to the galley." He half-hearted threatened.

Marco just waved him off, saying something about that he wanted to see him try. This was not unusual at all, it always was like this. It was as if nothing really had changed and it nagged him. While he rolled to the kitchen, greeting brothers on his way, he thought about how the crew just seemed to ignore the crisis there had been. Or was it because he was too focused on it? He didn't know, but a part of him said it was because they wanted to forget it as quickly as possible, but they couldn't really, because he himself was a constant reminder to it. This also meant the cake was just not enough this time. He was the eyesore, he was the one making it hard for this crew to move on.

With the thoughts swirling again, he continued his routine and when night came and he lied in his bed, tears streamed down his face, as he cried himself to sleep. It was exhausting and all he wanted, all he really needed, was comfort and someone to take those thoughts away from him. Still, he was too scared to ask for the help he needed, too scared to show he needed help and so the downwards spiral kept going. His misery would just continued until he either broke or died, whatever came first.

Days passed, he did his job and stayed himself on the outside and nothing seemed out of it. He joked and even pulled some pranks. Laughter filled the ship and everything seemed normal. The day for making the cake came, where Rakuyo, Marco and Izo all helped him. Thatch felt slight better and manages to get through the cake baking. He was the chef, telling them how to do things and when. The cake turned out to be just almost perfect, just as he liked it. On November 30th, it was done and put in the fridge for the next day.

December 1st came. There was a huge celebration on the ship. Like every year, they celebrated that the month where humans all over the world would be slight nicer to each other (those who wasn't entirely and pure evil that is). The cake was a huge success, a reminder to those who couldn't be with them in life, but was there in spirit. Thatch was praised, but he made sure that all knew who had helped him and so teasing started, but also words of praise. The day became night and the crew were more drunk than usual.

He used this to go somewhere with less people, actually there was no one there. He managed to host himself onto the railing. Sitting there, he looked into the dark depths of the sea. It was a calm night, the stars and moon shined brightly, their light shimmered in the sea beneath him. It was beautiful and it reminded him why he loved the sea so much. For a while he sat there, listening to the sound of his drunken brothers. For a while the thoughts that was destroying who he was, let him alone. There was only him and the sea.

For a while he was alone, but then he heard and felt someone approaching. It was Ace, who came to stand next to him. His little brother didn't speak, he just stood there, watching the sea. It was a nice and silent company to have, even if the storm inside of him started to bite again.

"How long do you think it will take before Marco, Izo or anyone else catches up to the pain inside of you?"

He choked on the air, as Ace spoke and he tilted his head to the younger. "I have no idea ..."

"Don't you dare lie to me, Thatch. If anyone knows what it means to beat yourself up on the inside looks like, then it's me. I see it in your eyes and I've seen how harder it is for you to hide it. I'm not saying you should tell me what is wrong, just know that I can see the mask is soon going to crack. I thought I should make you aware of it."

He swallowed. Why hadn't he foreseen that Ace would have an idea what was going on inside of him? The freckled man had been beating himself up for years, so far Thatch could understand. The rage Ace had was mostly towards himself, but it had burned slower when he became their brother, but it had burned even more when Ace told them who his father was. To Thatch it didn't matter if Roger was Ace's father or not. Ace was Ace and that's that. It had taken Thatch some time to understand why Ace loathed his father and himself so much. This was why Thatch should have known that Ace would be able to see behind the mask.

"How long have you known?" He asked defeated.

"Since we picked you up after the war. However, I first thought it would go over, but it's becoming worse, isn't it? Thatch, please consider talking to someone about it. It's not pathetic and it's not being weak. I know that now. I'm not telling you to do it, I won't force you, but if you break ... You know deep inside what will happen, right?"

He thought about it and nodded. "They will blame themselves for not seeing and it'll make me feel worse ..."

"Exactly." Ace jumped up and sat next to Thatch.

For a while there was silence again. Both stared at the vast sea, the only noise was that of the party on the other side of the ship. Thatch thought about Ace's words and he knew that Ace was right. He had known for a while, but had pushed it aside. To hear that someone knew what was going on inside of him was making him feel more frightened, but Ace didn't push him to tell him anything nor did he push him to tell anyone. He asked Thatch to think about doing so. That actually made it feel less frightening, because he wasn't forced into talking. Not yet.

"I'm sorry." Thatch whispered.

"It's not your fault. You never did anything wrong. If it's anyone's fault, it's that traitor's fault." Ace refused to speak his name, teeth gritted together at the mere thought of Teach and his actions towards this family.

"But I found the fruit and ..."

"Thatch! He wanted it from the beginning, it was why he was even here. He would have betrayed us anyway, so it's not your fault. It can never be your fault. Nor can what happened afterwards be my fault. I know that now. Sure, part of me will blame myself, but there is nothing we can do. Blaming ourselves won't help the past. We can't change it. So please don't go there and if you're there, then try and get away. I know the path is long and some leads straight back, but ... I know you can do it. My hand is there to guide you if you want it. Just please start moving away from the dark space you are in now. It hurts you and I want it to stop. For you."

He had no idea Ace was so insightful or well-spoken. For a while he stared at his brother, as if it was the first time he saw him. This was a side of him he had never seen and he actually liked this Ace too. It somehow calmed him. To know that there was someone here understanding the storm ... no the hurricane inside of him. The words were wise and Ace didn't speak them to make Thatch do things for him, but for Thatch to start thinking about himself and his well-being. It was what started the first crack in his mask to show. He knew that Ace was right and knowing that Ace would be there, no matter what and would never look down on him, but stand next to him and even hold him up, was soothing.

Inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, as not to tear up, Thatch gave a small nod. "I will start moving."

Ace nodded and took Thatch's hand, squeezed it lightly, before jumping down. "I'll eat the rest of the cake, if there's anything left. It was really good. If you need me, you know where to find me."

With that Ace left, showing how much trust and faith he had in Thatch. The cook sat on the railing for a while. Ace's help would not be enough, he knew that. There was at least one more he had to show the hurricane. With a sigh and fear curling inside of him, he got down and rolled inside, back to his room. He would have to wait until that person was somewhat sober. Also, he didn't want to ruin the party mood. Tomorrow, or rather later, he would take another step towards healing. Ace's words had giving him some hope and he hoped it would still be blooming when he showed how he was feeling to the man he saw as a father.

When he woke again he didn't feel like leaving bed. It wouldn't be too suspicious if he got up a little late. There had been a party and maybe they would think he had drunken a little too much. No, some might have noticed how he barely had drunken any booze and even left before he usual did. It did happen from time to time, there wouldn't bee causing too much suspicion after all. Still, what if this time would be the time they saw? Saw the suffering, the pain and the hurricane inside of him? He wasn't ready for them to know, not yet.

So he forced himself up, washed his face, styled his hair, put on his clothes and rolled out. The mask was on and he ignored the crack. Ace gave him a grin and acted as he didn't know about the hurricane inside of Thatch. The cook appreciated how subtle and respectful Ace was. Then again, Ace knew exactly what this did to one and what thoughts Thatch had. He should really accept Ace's hand and let him guide him through the hurricane and into the sun again. The freckled male was a guide he could accept. Because he knew, he understood and he didn't need to hear what was going on. Just by knowing it happened, was enough for Ace to reach out and show that things wasn't as bad as Thatch thought it was.

After breakfast, which wasn't as noisy as usual, thanks to hangovers, he was on his way to his father. As he came closer and closer, he felt more and more anxious. What if he was a disappointment to his father? What if the hurricane he felt was reduced to a small storm in the eyes of the man he called father? What if he was brought to a mental hospital, where his family didn't have to deal with healing him? There were so many questions and he came to a halt. Suddenly he couldn't do it. He couldn't go and take off his mask. It was impossible.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and a light squeeze. Tilting his head, he wasn't surprised to see Ace there.

"Do you need my hand?"

He looked around and there were no one in sight. "Yes."

"Oyaji?"

"Yes."

Ace nodded and pushed the wheelchair to the room of Whitebeard. He knocked the door and when they were called in, he even pushed Thatch inside, before giving him an encouraging smile and left. Thatch looked at his hands, as he heard the door close behind him. He felt the curious eyes of his father on him. How should he start? Where should he start? He suddenly realizes he hadn't giving a thought on how to explain about the hurricane that he fought every day.

"My son."

The words were soft and had him look at Whitebeard. While it was clear that the war had aged him more than he had in a decade, his eyes were still the same. Caring, loving, wise and strong. It eased him a little.

"I take you've decided it's time to move from the dark hurricane you are in?"

His eyes widened, actually surprised that his father knew. He shouldn't be. He should have known that nothing really passed his father and he knew how his sons felt. It was all it took for him to break completely. Before he knew of it, he was crying and he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. Whitebeard lifted him from his chair, put him on his lap and let him cry. For a while it was all Thatch could do. Cry and cry and cry. His father rubbed his back with the tip of his fingers, but didn't speak. It helped Thatch calm, knowing it was alright. He was allowed to cry and he was allowed to feel.

"Help me, Oyaji." He spoke, voice hoarse from crying.

"Anytime, my son."

Here it is. My angst story.

Thatch will now get the help and guidance he needs to get over the whole thing with the betrayal.

First I actually had planned it to be Marco pushing Thatch to get help, but then it felt more natural to me that it would be Ace. If anyone knows what it feels like to beat yourself up for something that you have no control over, it's Ace. The freckled male also would know what those feelings look like and that's why he could see them in Thatch's eyes.

Yes, I know Ace seems more mature and wise, which I did on purpose. This is set after the war at Marineford, where Ace and Whitebeard survived. I headcanon that Ace matured due to this and also became more at peace with himself.

I hope you liked it and that I didn't triggered anything. If I did, well I did warn you.

See you in the review.