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Sabo arrives at Baltigo, covered in the grit and grime of Dressrosa, and knows he won’t be staying for long. His fingers are lean, pale and naked in the light of the corridor.
His gloves had been a lost cause, and upon hearing just whose blood had stained the leather, Koala had stolen a salad tong from the cafeteria and thrown them into the nearest fireplace. They had burned slowly. Writhing and contorting on the blazing wood logs.
“I’ll get you a new pair before you leave again,” she had said and then herded him towards Dragon’s office.
When he knocks, the wood under his hands is smooth. It is weathered from the many hands who have knocked on it before him, but it is the first time he has touched it without the leather of his gloves to soften the motion.
It is a weird thing.
“Come in.” There is a quick shuffle behind the door, something being shut and a glass hitting a familiar desk just a tad too hard. Like the good revolutionary Sabo is, he counts out an extra five seconds under his breath, and tries very hard not to think about what might have caused Dragon to drink today.
(He knows there had been a large-scale mission while he had been to Dressrosa. It isn’t hard to imagine it might not have gone according to plan, and that there will be fewer friendly faces once he eats lunch at the mess hall again.
Seas, he hates this part of the job.)
The doorknob is cold in his hand when he turns it and steps inside.
“Ah, Sabo, I see you’ve made it back in one piece.” Dragon is the sort of man to speak with the same intonation no matter what comes out of his mouth - whether he is reporting on his own wounds, or describing a can of beans.
It is something Sabo has long since accepted about the man.
The blonde fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, the door swinging shut behind him. “I’m glad to be back,” he says, and tries to ignore the leftover drops of amber liquid in the glass sitting on Dragon’s desk. Sabo doesn’t manage it, and his eyes stay on it for a second too long before he finds his way back to Dragon’s gaze. “Luffy asked me for a favor - his alliance partners and himself are heading towards Wano as we speak. Luffy asked that I act as a go-between with the Whitebeards, and if any of them want to help dethrone Kaidou in his own home, to bring them to Wano.”
“I’m suspecting you are not quoting your brother directly.”
There is no stopping the laugh that leaves Sabo. “Definitely not. He was a bit busy devouring a banquet, including the paper plates, but I managed to get the gist of his request. I’ve already said yes, but I would like your permission to join the protesters in Wano and provide them with support in my official capacity as a revolutionary.”
“I see…”
It is neither denial, or confirmation. Alas, after knowing each other for so many years, Sabo knows exactly what buttons to push.
“If you approve of this as an official mission effective immediately, I will pretend I don’t know where you stash your alcohol the next time Koala asks.”
The man he has come to respect as both a boss and a pseudo-father, heaves a sigh and falls back in his chair. It creaks, and his grip on the armrest is white knuckled. The eyes staring into Sabo’s own are tired.
But hidden behind the crow’s feet and the wrinkles on his forehead, the blonde knows there is still a fire burning as brightly in his chest, as the day he first spat in the face of the government.
“You will be entering an extremely hostile territory, in an alliance with a rookie pirate, several ex-Warlords, and a small delegation of Whitebeard’s people.” Dragon quirks an eyebrow, and yeah, okay, when he puts it like that, Sabo winces. “We might as well declare war on Mariejois itself afterwards.” There is a curl to the man’s lip. It comes off as a lopsided grin.
Sabo laughs. The soft scabbing on his split lip breaks, and he tastes blood on his tongue when he smiles. “That sounds like a solid progression of our plans, don’t you think?”
Dragon is quiet for a minute.
“I’ll allow it,” rubbing the bridge of his nose, he digs a hand into his trash can and unearths a bottle of alcohol between half-finished mission statements and hastily scribbled infiltration plans. There is such a miniscule amount left, that it might just evaporate upon opening. “ But, ” he says, uncorking it. “Only if you bring back a bottle of Robin’s whiskey. She still refuses to tell me where she bought it.”
He pours himself a meager glass, and downs half of it. It must burn, because he grimaces right after, but Sabo refrains from admonishing him. That is more of Koala and Hack’s job anyway.
“Deal, but if Koala finds out about it, you didn’t get it from me.”
Fishing a paper form from a precariously stacked pile of official documents, Dragon scribbles on it and hands it over. “You have two months,” he says. “But no matter the state of the country, or your battle with Kaidou, I will need you back at Baltigo after that.”
They don’t talk about that.
They don’t have to.
Sabo is high enough in the food chain that he has an inkling about what mission he will be undertaking in the future. He has a pretty good guess about the place too.
Somewhere high in the clouds, where false gods sleep on pillows spun with gold. Where people are instruments to be played and cries of pain are the melody they produce. Where children are taken to die, and false gods tear apart countries on a whim.
He can’t wait to clip the wings of those dragons.
***
Sabo stares down at two pairs of socks on his bed when Koala finds him.
“Striped or dotted?” He asks, scratching at his chin once the door to his room is ripped open without warning.
“Both. You can never bring too many socks.” Leather gloves, just a shade lighter than his previous pair, gets thrown into his bag. It is overflowing with too many things already, but Koala grabs an extra shirt hanging over the edge of his bed, and stuffs that in as well.
An entire sleeve sticks out from between the zipper.
“There,” she says. “New gloves, just as I promised. And before you ask, yes, they’re going to fit. I know your measurements.”
“And how do you know my measurements? Unless–”
The look on Koala’s face promises pain and he swallows the rest of his joke.
Instead, he grabs his last pair of clean boxers and tucks them into the side of his bag. The seams are stretched, each brief glimpse of thread struggling to keep everything contained. Sabo gives it a little pat before swinging it over his shoulder.
“Well, I guess I’m off again.”
The window in his room is cracked open just a sliver, but it is enough to hear the hustle and bustle from outside. For a super secret base carrying anti-government sentiment, there is a suspicious amount of laughing kids and happy squeals.
(They had been kids too, once. Koala and him against the world, or so he had thought. Before their friends stopped coming back from missions. Before Hack had gone from glorified nanny to friend and subordinate. Before Sabo found out he had brothers that he didn’t get to grow up with.)
He pauses in the doorframe, all too aware of the distance between them.
“Hey–”
“Yes?”
“Have you seen Bon? I’d like him to come with me to Wano for a mission. His infiltration skills might come in handy, but I have to swing by the Whitebeards first and pick up Ace.”
“Oh,” she slumps. Her left hand gives a brief muscle spasm, not quite a closed fist, and not quite resting. Sabo fights the urge to grab it
and keep hold of it
. Koala smiles and steps closer. “I’ll send him along. Luffy’s vivre card should be enough to get him to Wano, right?”
Sabo nods. His mouth is dry.
Her fingers brush off a speck of dust from the brim of his tophat. Her nose is close enough that if he leans forward, they will brush against each other.
He kisses her cheek. A brush of dry lips on soft skin.
She flicks his forehead.
“Don’t do anything too stupid.” Stay safe. Take care. Come home.
“Give Hack a big hug for me and be nice to the new recruits.” Stay alive. Don’t worry. Look after the rest of them.
***
He finds them on an island in the New World, loading thirty bottles of sake onto the Moby Dick while the nurses give death glares to every single commander passing them. Slinking up to them, Sabo throws an arm around Ace’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Wow, am I glad I’m not you. Whiskey looks like she’s going to choke you all in your sleep.”
The half-hug turns into a full hug. Sabo grunts through the chokehold Ace has on his ribs, nuzzling his nose into the wavy, black hair of his brother.
“Hey, everyone! Sabo is here!”
Someone, it might be Jozu, it might be Haruta, cracks open one of the numerous barrels of alcohol and within the hour, the deck of the Whitebeard’s biggest ship has turned into a party zone.
Ace drags him over to a sunny patch on the deck, close enough to the other commanders to not be rude, but far enough away that when Haruto approaches them with a pen and a pad, mouth open in a question, Ace says “No, shoo!” and sends her away.
Sabo is only on his first beer when his brother shoves a paper in his face. It tastes like ink, despair and overprotectiveness. Or maybe that is actually just the bitterness of his beer.
“Have you seen this?”
“I can't see anything with how close you have mashed it into my face.”
Ace lets go and Sabo grabs it with both hands.
The comic strip at the bottom is intact, if a bit bland with its punchline. The ad for a psychic selling their services through Den Den Mushi is overpriced, but probably a good scam strategy. There is nothing even remotely of interest and–
His brother flips the newspaper to the frontpage, tapping the headline.
Straw Hats Defeat Warlord! Alliance with Trafalgar Law Still Going Strong?
It sits there in dark ink, blocky letters and a font that proclaims it as both the most baffling and interesting story of that day’s newscycle. Yet, nothing in there is news to Sabo, considering he was there.
Quirking an eyebrow, Sabo puts the newspaper in his lap. “In case you missed it, I was there.”
Nodding, Ace dodges an elbow to the back of the head from one of his own division members. His nose dips into a bowl of pasta salad (where did he get that?), and when he turns to look at Sabo again, there is a dollop of mayo on the tip of his nose.
Sabo chokes on a laugh and hides his snort in his beer.
“Yeah, yeah, you helped take down a Flamingo, good on you. But this, ” he says, and taps on the Trafalgar Law part of the title. “What is this about? Are he and Luffy… Are they…?”
“You’re a big boy, don’t choke on your pasta and use your words.”
The second division Commander flicks a soggy spoonful of pasta at Sabo, who ducks and watches it sail through the air, where it hits Vista square on the shoulder. “You know what I mean!”
Sabo doesn’t actually. Not that he is about to admit that out loud.
“Are Trafalgar and Luffy together?!” Ace looks green in the face, forcing the words out of his throat like they are wrapped in barbed wire.
The blonde hums under his breath. “Nah, I don’t think so.” He leans his cheek against the palm of his hand. “He’s already dating Zoro.”
He expects a fireball, maybe some steam out of Ace’s ears. Screams of bloody murder and threats so horrid that Sabo will have to bleach his brain of the memory. Instead, what he gets is a silent little huh, and then Ace turns back to his food.
Sabo blinks. The beer in his hand is warm. “Are you… Not going to yell, or?”
“What for?”
There are fuzzy dots flickering behind Sabo’s eyelids. His temple throbs. “Just thought you’d be a bit angrier. Our baby brother is dating. ”
“I’m going to give Zoro a shovel talk next time I see him, sure, but they seem to be good for each other. Besides, if he does anything to make Luffy cry, I’ll grill him like a marinated chicken and you’ll help me get rid of the body."
It is a joke.
It is just a stupid joke and a reaction Sabo hadn’t been expecting.
He lifts his bottle of beer, hands shaking, and clinks it against the side of Ace’s bowl. “Of course I’d help,” he says.
(What he really wants to say is sorry.
Sorry I wasn’t there when you set sail. Sorry I couldn’t congratulate you when you made Commander. Sorry I couldn’t give Zoro a shovel talk with you by my side. Sorry I wasn’t there to hold you when you drew your last breath.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–
It keeps him up at night, gasping and clutching at his chest while his bed sheets are soaked in sweat. It stays with him when he throws open his windows and lets the arid, Baltigo breeze touch the scar on his face.
Being perpetually sorry isn’t useful to any of them, but it is all Sabo can think about. The missed birthdays. The milestones he never got to see. His brother’s first successful rubbery punch. Ace’s smile when he made his first friend.
He can barely remember his brothers, and he still hates it.)
“Come on, Sabo, why are you looking so gloomy? Lighten up!” Ace shoves a loaf of bread in Sabo’s mouth, and the revolutionary forces down a cough full of bread crumbs with a side of butter.
When Zoro had told him that fateful day on the balcony, Sabo had had no clue what sort of story the swordsman would unveil. A tale of his past maybe. A slight acknowledgement of oh, you have amnesia? Don’t worry, man, I knew you from before, and then that would hopefully have triggered something in his dumb brain.
It didn’t.
Because Zoro hadn’t talked about the past. He had talked about a future marred by magma and Sabo’s dead brother and so much regret that it ended up killing him in the end. So outrageous, so outlandish was the story that Sabo should have shut him down right then and there; declared him a nutjob simply trying to get close to a high ranking revolutionary officer.
(But Zoro had cried. Someone who had killed a man without blinking, had looked at Sabo and seen a ghost of someone he had yet to be.)
How does one move on from that?
How can he sit next to Ace, eating and laughing and drinking with people who know his brother better than him? People who can tell just how many freckles the man has with a glance, his favorite cut of meat, or stories about adventures they went on together… people who can reminisce with him about a past, unlike the one that Sabo has thoroughly forgotten?
Seas, what little bits and pieces he remembers aren’t enough. They will never be enough, not by a long shot.
“Cheers!” Ace smacks his lips and downs a mug of sake. The seventeenth division Commander, Izou, walks by them and quickly tops it off. He shoves an ice cold bottle of beer against Sabo’s cheek with a wink.
The blonde cracks it open and downs the entire cup in one solid gulp, ignoring the wetness in his eyes.
(What good are incoherent flashes, anyway?
A tropical-print shirt and the smell of musk and a loud laugh that grates on his ears. The sensation of straw against his neck and a weight on his back and both of his feet finding their way down a familiar path in some sunny forest. An angry, seething voice yelling and screaming and a flash of a pipe hitting the skull of a man holding Sabo’s arm too tight.
What good is any of that, when he can’t even tell who the people in those memories are?)
He puts a gloved hand in front of his mouth, urging the tickling of his throat to remain a quick spell of nausea. Sabo is an officer of the revolutionary army; he can’t puke on an Emperor’s deck just because he can’t seem to hold his alcohol today.
“Sorry, I’m feeling a bit hot. I’ll just go stand by the railing for a bit, if you don’t mind.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. A quivering, ugly mess that surely won’t convince anyone.
Maybe Ace is just kind, but he leaves him be and turns his attention to Izou.
Sabo bolts for the railing, as far from Ace as can get. Smashing his forehead against the cool wood of the railing, the blonde sucks in a breath. The air is surprisingly chilly. A light, ghostly breeze of an exhale against the flushed skin of his neck.
“What am I doing?” Sabo pushes a hand through his curls and tugs, tugs, tugs until his skull stings. The back of his neck is entirely too clammy to be attributed to his alcohol intake alone. “Get it together!”
“Get what together?”
Sabo jumps.
Marco the Phoenix perches on the railing next to him. His legs are a bright, burning yellow and blue, and each talon scrapes a light groove in the Adam’s wood where he sits. Human hands hold a mug of tea, steam wafting from it.
“Uh,” says Sabo. “Nothing.”
“Clearly it’s something, or you wouldn’t be trying to make yourself go bald prematurely. Stop gripping your hair so tight or you might actually lose it.”
“Oh? Speaking from experience?”
Marco heaves a sigh and takes a sip of his tea. For anyone else it might have been scalding, but the Phoenix doesn’t seem to mind. “With brothers like these, then yeah, I’m speaking from experience-yoi. It won’t be long before I go gray, or one of them gives me a heart attack over something incredibly dangerous and stupid.”
Maybe it is the long suffering despair in his voice, or the fact that while Sabo can’t remember shit about Ace, he instinctively knows that the freckled man is the cause of the majority of Marco’s problems.
The nausea is not as strong any more.
“Thanks,” says Sabo and lets go of his hair. “I needed a laugh.”
“You’re welcome.” Marco holds up a canister of tea. “Want a cup?”
Further down the deck, someone is screaming about strip poker.
The sky is clear enough that stars have begun to peek out. Sabo looks up into the uncaring, blue expanse above them, and pretends that everything will work out in the end.
“Why not? What flavor are you brewing?”
***
“Take care!” The Whitebeards yell at the four of them, Jozu nearly falling over the railing as Haruto jumps on his shoulders for a better view. There are enough waves and tearful sobs, that Sabo can’t help but smile at the display as they raise the anchor of their temporary vessel.
“If we can, we’ll try and send more people your way. If not, then assume we’re off whooping Marine ass!" Vista cups his hands around his mouth as he shouts, and Marco gives a shriek of agreement that can be heard over the noise.
A bit strange, Sabo thinks, for a family to be this thrown together and yet so full of love. Not that he has any room to talk, with his second family waiting for him at home, at Baltigo, and so Sabo doesn’t fight the smile on his face.
“Don’t get into too much trouble without us!” Ace is loud, and all three other occupants wince at the sound level.
High above them, towering over all of his children on the Moby Dick is Whitebeard, giving a jaunty wave. “Maybe I can finally get some peace and quiet on this ship without you causing trouble, you brats! Gurararara!”
“Pops!”
“Take care, my children. If I am unable to join you, then pay my respects to my younger brother, will you? It would make your old man happy.”
There are tears in Izou’s eyes. A wet, silky sheen over his dark eyes, but never once do they fall. “Of course,” he calls, and slings an arm over Marco’s shoulder. “He’ll be happy to hear about how much our family has grown. We’ll tell him, Pops.”
Ace helps him rig the sail and take the helm, while Sabo plots a possible course with a scrap of Luffy’s vivre card in hand. Neither of the brothers call out Marco and Izou’s sniffles as they leave the rest of the Whitebeards behind.
***
They only meant to restock. Sabo swears on his life. Swears on his position as Second in Command of the Revolutionary Army, that they really did only come to restock.
A bullet whistles past his ear, and Izou’s hands are quick to reload both pistols before the body he had been aiming for can even hit the ground. “Is it always like this with you?” A lock of hair keeps falling into his eye, and with another exhale, more shots ring out.
Sabo takes one step to the left, dodging the downwards swing of a saber. “If you ask my partner, then it happens more often than not.”
“You cause more chaos than Ace!”
“I’ll take that as a compliment!” He leaps over the saber as it swings at his legs. It is a rather futile effort, considering his armament Haki, and the only thing it forces Sabo to do, is clutch at his tophat to make sure it doesn’t fall off.
His gloved fist makes contact with the saber wielding man’s face. The crunch of a nose breaking is loud enough to drown out Izou’s escalating screech of fury. A plume of fire passes Sabo. Close enough for the skin of his back, underneath a woolen coat, to begin trickling with sweat despite the winter climate.
Granted, grabbing a sack of apples and some dried meat shouldn’t, under any circumstances, result in a sudden revolution emerging at a farmers market, but… Well, Sabo had taken one look at the price of a singular orange, and considered interfering.
(Then a patrolling guard spat a child in the face and stole a slice of bread from her hand. It was only fair that Sabo crushed said guard’s hand in return.
His high pitched squeals had summoned the rest of his squad. The blonde had skedaddled, scooped the child up, and caught up with Ace, Marco, and Izou. Within half an hour, Sabo had located the local resistance leader and offered his help on the behalf of the Revolutionary Army.)
If Koala hears about this, she’ll have his head.
“You know,” he says, and sticks his leg out to trip a young guard reloading her musket. “I’m technically not supposed to be working yet.”
He leaves the woman, hissing and spitting on the ground, with a mouthful of dirt to muffle the local swear words she spouts at him. She can’t be no more than sixteen, judging by the baby fat still clinging to her cheeks.
The kid, the one who kickstarted the whole thing by existing in Sabo’s general vicinity, peeks out from the crumbling wall of what might have been a house. She takes one look at the downed guard, the people in their wake who howl in pain and clutch whatever part of them that Sabo has kicked, punched, or hit with a metal pipe.
“You shouldn’t be out here, go here.” He leaps over a muddy puddle, his boots hitting the edge of it and splashing a few drops in the kid’s direction. She laughs, a high, clear sound that reminds Sabo of Luffy.
Reaching out, she takes a gloved, dirty fist and holds it with her own tiny ones. The fingers, chipped nails and all, curl over his wrist, and she shakes his hand. “Thank you, mister!”
Fighting off a smile, Sabo leans down and scoops her up. She weighs next to nothing in his arms, and as Sabo leaps through a throng of corrupt guards and power hungry fools, her giggling is the loudest thing in his ears.
***
(Ace finds his brother covered in dirt, hobbling on one leg, and carrying a little girl on his hip. He is as sweaty as Ace, even without flames licking at his back. Something inside of his chest swells, and it is not Haki.
It is warm, bursting through his veins and pulsing in his throat.
It is not his devil fruit, or the heat of an unexpected battle. Those are regular occurrences to Ace by now, and while the adrenaline in his blood is a welcome friend, it is not what he is feeling right now.
Maybe it is the girl in Sabo’s arm, clutching at his neck and laughing up a storm through her own misery. Maybe it is his mind, replacing the girl with the little kid he left behind in Wano.
Ace looks at Sabo, and sees Otama in his arms.
He can’t wait to introduce both of them.)
***
The revolution only ends up taking them half a day.
Marco is the one to end it, with a flaming kick of his chicken legs. Sabo has barely managed to wipe off the sweat on his brow before Izou has somehow procured a Whitebeard flag and handed it to the resistance leader.
“For protection, considering that the government decided to turn a blind eye. Again. If you hang it up at the port, we’ll spread the word that you’re under our protection now.”
The woman, covered in scrapes and missing an eyebrow, holds the scrap of fabric close to her chest. “Thank you,” she says, and sends Sabo a look while biting her split lip. “Is it alright if we, uh, hang it up?”
Waving her off, Sabo grins. “Go ahead. The Revolutionary Army will still help with rebuilding and humanitarian efforts, if you want us to.”
She bows, deep, and when Sabo says no need, she switches tactics and grabs him in a tight hug. Ace, standing close enough for her to grab as well, suffers the same fate.
(For a second, Sabo can close his eyes and imagine that it is Luffy hugging them.)
Ace gives her a solid slap on the back, and she lets out a wheeze right in Sabo’s ear. “It was nice to stretch our legs a bit!” He says, and then she lets go.
She traps both Marco and Izou in a hug just as tight and thanks them profusely.
“Ahaha!” Wiping a tear from his eye, Ace can barely breathe through his laughter as Izou struggles like an angry cat to escape the vice grip of the woman’s hug.
The back of Ace’s hand brushes against Sabo’s. “You know, you're pretty good at this.”
“At what?”
Ace throws his hands out and raises an eyebrow.
The farmers market, where it all began, looks like a war zone. The stands have all been overturned, and whatever fruit might have been there, have long since turned into jam with a side of dirt and blood.
And yup, that’s definitely strawberry purée underneath Sabo’s own boots. Definitely not brain matter, no sir, just a nice organic strawberry pulp sticking to the soles.
The local resistance leader unhands the other Whitebeards, and Izou wheezes. The woman takes the hand of a child, the same girl Sabo had held in his arms not even half an hour ago, and eagerly shows off the scrap of fabric in her hands.
“Want to go hang this up at the port with me?” She asks, and the little girl nods. Her hair bounces, brown curls glinting in the sun and then she takes the woman’s hand.
A man stumbles through the crowd, clutching at a little boy. Both of them laugh and cry through snot and tears. An elderly woman has already filled a basket with bread and hands it out to whoever crosses her path.
Maybe Sabo has always been a bit of a revolutionary.
His cheeks grow warm underneath Ace’s stare. There is a smirk on his brother’s lips, so Sabo does the only logical thing and grabs Ace in a headlock.
It elicits a furious yowl from the Second Division Commander, but Sabo holds on and breathes through the sharp elbow getting shoved into his spleen.
Sure, all of them are sweaty, dirty, and slightly winded, but…
They make a good team.
***
With their cupboards freshly restocked, dinner is an elaborate fare for the first time in a week. Izou has been slaving away in the kitchen for the past couple of hours, and roped Marco into potato peeling duty.
Seas, Sabo is starving.
Mashed potato, gravy, meatballs, peas, and jam.
He has barely sat down before Ace is leaning over the table, scooping all the peas from his plate. It isn’t the feral way that he fought with Luffy over the takoyaki at Sabaody, but a slow and controlled action - picking Sabo’s plate clean of peas. Only peas.
Strangely enough, the meatballs and the rest of Sabo’s food remain untouched.
It is such a strange action, that Sabo can’t help but lift an eyebrow. “Why are you stealing my peas?”
Licking his fork clean of the stolen property, Ace’s face does a weird dance. He squints his eyes, squashes his forehead into a wrinkly mess, and purses his lips. If Sabo didn’t know better, he would say Ace had been sucking on an out-of-date lemon.
“It’s just–”
“Just what?”
“You don't like peas. Your, uh, birth mom used to not let you leave the dinner table until you finished all of them, but you didn’t like the texture.” Ace scrapes the side of his fork against his plate, a trickle of stolen peas landing back in Sabo’s mashed potatoes and dotting it with green.
Sabo stares.
One pea. Two peas. A veritable mountain of peas.
It takes him a second too long to respond. By the time he forces his mouth open, Ace has already sat back down and started chewing on his own food. “I... I don’t like peas.”
The meatball in Ace’s mouth is half chewed and fully disgusting to look at. He gulps it down, pounding himself on the chest when the large bite eventually gets stuck in his throat. “Like, you still don’t like peas? Or you used to not like peas?” His nose scrunches, and the freckles on his cheek jump half an inch.
One of the peas on Sabo’s plate slides off the side of the mashed potato mountain, popping into the river of gravy surrounding it. It floats for less than a second, bobbing up and down, and then it disappears beneath the greasy surface. “I don’t like peas,” says Sabo. “I never liked peas, but I didn't know why.”
He sets his spoon on the table, and there is a lump in his throat. His eyes are prickling at the edges, and he can’t blame it on the dry air or the smoke from the kitchen. The scrape of the wooden chair against the floorboards is an uncomfortable, screeching sound that goes directly into his ear.
He should say something. Should reassure Ace that he is fine, or at least he is going to be fine. But even to his own ears, the lie is shrill before it can even leave his mouth.
Izou, bless his soul, walks in with his own plate in hand and Marco on his heels, takes one look at Sabo looming over the table, and turns right back around. “We’ll eat in the kitchen,” he says, and starts herding his older brother with a wave of his hand.
Marco trips over his own feet, and only an acrobatic stretch of his legs catches the plate before it can smash on the ground. “We will?”
“You’re hopeless. How did you ever make first mate?”
The door locks behind them, and maybe it is bad planning on Sabo’s part, seeing as the only way out of the hull is through the kitchen. They are locked in, just him and Ace.
Sabo and a twin he can’t remember.
Clearing his throat, Ace slouches in his seat. “Me an’ Luffy used to eat your peas whenever Dadan tried to force them on us. I’m sure you can have another portion of mashed potatoes or something, instead of the peas. I’ll go grab you a new plate without peas–”
“It’s not about the peas, Ace!” His eyes are stinging and, oh, his cheeks are wet. When he darts out his tongue, it comes back salty. “It’s not about the damned peas…”
It is about everything but the peas. It is about the fact that when he closes his eyes, sometimes all he can feel is fire scorching his skin, leaving behind scraps of burnt clothing in the crevices. That sometimes, when he sleeps, there is the phantom touch of limbs touching him on a cold, hardwood floor.
What is important is that Sabo can’t remember.
Ah, he’s crying now.
Ugly sobs tear themselves from his throat without his permission. His knees buckle beneath him. In between one blurry blink of his eyes, Sabo is crouching on the floor, water and snot dripping from the tip of his nose. The wet spots on worn planks beneath his feet are barely distinguishable in the weak light of the lanterns lining the walls, but they glisten when he squints his eyes.
The air down here should be warm on his face. The stew on the stove has boiled for hours, but the closed kitchen door means the air only brushes against his burn scar. It doesn’t feel warm on that side. It doesn’t feel like anything at all, really.
Fuck.
“If I hadn’t set sail that day, I would still be able to remember! Argh!”
“And you’d be stuck behind the walls of Goa, living a miserable life with people you hate! How is that even a choice, Sabo? You would have hated it!”
And maybe Ace is right. Maybe he isn’t. “At least then I’d still remember I have brothers…”
Leaning back in his chair, the legs of it tilting so precariously that the freckled man might be an inch from falling and hitting his head, Ace clicks his tongue. “Come on, there’s no use dwelling on it now. We promised to live without regrets.”
That is the final straw.
Luffy has said it a few times before. Zoro had mentioned it in passing, and now even Ace is saying those words like they are an unwritten creed to live by. Sabo fucking hates it. Hates it so much that his teeth ache when he clenches his jaw. There are spots in his vision - white blobs that breed and grow with wild abandon.
He can barely see the floor by the time he finds voice again.
“You promised to live without regrets.” Says Sabo, so low that Ace stops rocking back and forth in his chair.
“What?”
“ You promised! I didn’t! I wasn't there, so I never promised to live without regrets! That’s your spiel - it’s what you and Luffy promised, not me! So I can live with as many regrets as I damn well please!”
The hull is silent for no more than a second, and Sabo really should have realized that Ace won’t let something like this hang in the air between them.
“That’s just stupid,” he says. “I thought you were the smart one. But you wanna’ live with regrets? Fine by me, I’m not going to stop you. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I know you remember something. ”
“But it’s all useless information! Like, I’m pretty sure Garp hates eggplant, but he’ll eat it if someone gives it to him. Luffy snores, in this weird pattern that sounds half like a chainsaw and half like someone drowning. You're ticklish under your left foot–”
“Hey!”
“–and only your left foot. What’s the point of knowing stuff like that? Those aren’t the important parts!”
“Shut up.”
Ace doesn’t yell, and maybe that is why Sabo falls silently immediately.
He hasn’t known Ace for long, but a quiet Fire Fist is a dangerous one, and Sabo rifles through the word vomit he just spewed. There wasn’t anything in there that could have been offensive, right? No, definitely not.
Slamming his fist on the table, Ace jumps to his feet, and the chair underneath him tumbles to the ground. One of the legs breaks off and the resounding snap has Sabo suck in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.
“I remember stupid shit, too!” He might as well be spitting literal fire, for all the anger in his voice. “Like that time you were mad at me, and you got eaten by a crocodile alongside Luffy in a show of solidarity. I remember Garp choking on a drumstick until Dadan slapped him so hard on his back, that I swear his lungs popped out of his body. I remember Luffy not winning a single match against either of us.”
Something niggles at the back of Sabo’s mind. A shishishi in a forest at night. A pipe to the back of his head. A woman, yelling, with cigarette smoke on her breath. It is all fragments, and nothing more. It’s stupid.
“It’s not,” says Ace, and oh shit, he said that last part out loud, didn’t he? “That’s the whole point, Sabo. Family aren’t the people who can remember every little detail. Family are the dumbasses who never let you forget that you got drunk when you were nineteen, and stripped in front of a Marine fleet.”
Sabo chokes.
Crouched on the floor, he muffles a scream into the sleeve of his shirt. The tears aren’t stopping, and the more he tries to breathe deeper, the harder his chest aches. His heart, the silly little thing, is beating so loudly that he can feel it inside his ribcage.
Ace crouches next to him and pulls him into a hug. “Stupid shit is exactly the point. Recovery takes time, or it might never happen at all. It doesn’t change the fact that we’re brothers. If you never remember, that’s fine too, we’ll just make new memories together.”
Sabo laughs, a bit too loud, a bit too breathy, face squished against Ace’s freckled chest and fingers combing through his hair. It is warm and safe and familiar in a way that makes Sabo’s shoulders slump. “For once you said something smart. Did you steal it from someone else?”
It earns him a punch in the shoulder.
“Fuck you, asshat.” Ace snorts into his hair. “I’m the brains of this trio.”
Sabo promptly chokes on another laugh and his own spit.
Though muffled, Marco and Izou roar with laughter through the closed door to the kitchen.
***
It was, perhaps, inevitable that their journey wouldn’t go as smoothly as Sabo had hoped. A revolution or two in passing would have been within the margin of error. A run-in with the crew of the only Emperor not either an ally or on their hit list?
Unlucky, foolish, and honestly, just a tad bit expected.
(Still, a few foot soldiers wouldn’t have been too out there.
A Sweet General, though?
Sabo’s luck isn’t usually this bad…)
“So,” says Marco, flicking out one arm to the side and engulfing it in blue flames. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
On the deck stands Charlotte Katakuri, arms crossed.
Frowning, Sabo bites his lip. It doesn’t make any sense. “There’s been nothing in the papers about an alliance. Big Mom Pirates have no business being this close to Wano, except if you are in an alliance with Kaido?”
There isn’t any reason for them to be, not unless…
He really, really hopes that Charlotte Linlin has not yet realized the identity of the thieves who stole a copy of her Poneglyph. If she has, Sabo is going to wring both Luffy and Zoro’s necks the next time they want to have a date heist on an Emperor’s territory.
There are giggles coming from the waffle ship moored next to them. The pirates on board don liquorice armor and peppermint candy hats.
Sabo spots a few of the man’s siblings lurking, ducking under the railing of the ship the moment he makes eye contact. Katakuri rolls his eyes.
For a fearsome pirate with a bounty over a billion, Sabo just sees an older brother tired of their sibling’s bullshit.
“My mother is not one for alliances, but I have been informed that you are on your way to meet the Straw Hats.” It is not even a question. One of Katakuri’s hands grows gloopy and white, the mochi turning solid in his grip and forming a trident. The air tastes powdery sweet and slightly toasted.
One of the ropes holding their main sail snaps.
Sabo clicks his tongue. “I can’t tell if that was an observation or a threat. Mind elaborating?” His undershirt, once pristine and freshly pressed, is wet and clings to his skin. The sweat on his upper lip is liquid sugar.
Swinging his trident, Katakuri tugs the scarf around his neck higher. “Consider it an observation, and a favor for my sister.”
Ah, yes, totally not ominous and disconcerting.
Ace pelts over the side of their ship and onto Katakuri’s ship. He throws three pirates over the candy cane railing and turns to Sabo, hands covered in hissing, spitting flames. “Was that– I still can’t tell if that was a threat.” Melting, liquid peppermint candy sprays onto the deck as he knocks another pirate over.
Both decks erupt into chaos.
Izou takes to the crow’s nest, providing cover fire. From the corner of his eye, Sabo sees flashes of blue and the heat makes his skin uncomfortably tight. Sabo smiles at a stockstill Katakuri and holds out his hands. “Siblings,” he says, and cocks his head to where Ace is busy pelting fireballs at an extremely flammable candyfloss sail. “What can you do?”
The trident in Katakuri’s hand jabs forth, catching the rim of Sabo’s top hat and knocking it off of his head. Sabo's booted feet skid on the wet deck, but each jab of Katakuri’s weapon is slow and telegraphed. Each swing has a wind-up large enough for Sabo to duck away, and for a man rumored to see the future, he surely can’t be trying very hard.
Should an Emperor’s crew, one of her top generals, not be gunning for rival pirates and not the odd man out? Why go for the revolutionary? It would be the smarter move to get rid of three Whitebeard Commanders in one fell swoop.
Not that Sabo will let him, of course.
Something that isn’t hot mochi squeezes itself into his closed fist, between his glove and seastone pipe.
The jelly bean crow’s nest goes up in flames and Ace cackles, joined by clucking bird noises that Sabo has come to realize is Marco’s way of snorting while going full bird. The two Whitebeard Commanders have nearly dismantled the entire waffle ship.
“Enough.” Katakuri turns on his heel, spiked boots clanging with every step. Leaping back onto his own ship, strings of mochi extend from his arms, grabbing both Ace and Marco. A quick yank through the air and they land at Sabo’s feet back on their own ship.
“Hey!” Jumping to his feet, Ace has a foot on the railing before Marco can pull him back by the string of his hat.
Katakuri stands at the helm of his ship, one arm raised as his minions scurry about. A new spun sugar sail is hoisted, his siblings emerge from the corners they hid in, and a liquorice wearing pirate pulls up their anchor.
“The Big Mom Pirates have no qualms with Whitebeard or the Revolutionary Army.”
Sabo has half a mind to ask why he even stepped foot on their deck, then.
Climbing down from the crow’s nest, Izou lands with a thump. Half a dozen spent bullet cases are shaken out of his kimono before sticking a fresh bullet between his lips and opening his revolver with a flick of his hand.
He slides in the new bullet and frowns at the waffle ship disappearing in the distance.
“What in all the Seas was that about?”
Ace and Marco, covered in soot and ash clinging to their hair, both give a shrug. The motion is enough for the stab wound in Ace’s side to start bleeding. Slapping him over the head with a wing, Marco lowers Ace to the ground and grabs a needle and thread.
Sabo sighs, opens his mouth to say no idea and that he is just as confused, but–
A slip of paper sits in his hand. Folded again and again into a tiny square that Sabo can barely open for fear of accidentally tearing it. The process is slow and methodical, but after unfolding it for half a minute, Sabo finally has a letter in his hands.
Dear Sanji, it reads, and Sabo gets a sinking feeling in his stomach.
This is the recipe to my super secret, special chocolate mousse. It is a family recipe, and I’m not supposed to share it (sorry for not telling you over the Den Den Mushi!), so I sent my big brother to bring it to you, or one of your captain’s brothers. This recipe serves six.
You will need 200 grams of dark chocolate broken into pieces, 50 grams of caster sugar, a spoonful–
“I think we just got boarded by a Sweet General for a dessert recipe.”
The thread piercing Ace’s skin snaps. “What.” A vein throbs on Marco’s temple.
Izou raises one sleeve to his mouth and muffles a scream into the fabric of his kimono. His clothes are covered in whipped cream and there is a scoop of tricolor ice cream in his hair.
Dusting off a handful of sprinkles from his shorts, Ace ignores Marco’s hands as they pull the string taut and finishes up his stitches. The Whitebeard Commander licks his lips. “Do you think it tastes good? Can we make it on the way?”
***
The minute Ace stomps up to him on the deck, Marco and Izou nowhere to be seen, Sabo knows that he is in deep shit. The kind that reaches your knees, and then you tumble and fall, and no matter how much you try and scrub it out of your clothes, you will always be reminded of that time you fucked up.
What part Sabo fucked up on remains to be seen, but in all fairness, Ace has about as much tact as an elephant trying to build a model ship with a pair of pliers. It shouldn’t take more than a few seconds to figure out, and so Sabo isn’t sure why he is surprised when Ace knocks their shoulders together and says, “So, what was that about an alliance?”
Oh fuck, Sabo is screwed.
“What do you mean?” He chuckles, and it comes out too high pitched and light. His brother snorts and punches him in the shoulder, and Sabo lets the chuckle die out.
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Ace spits it out quickly, and then wets his lips as he tries to make sense of his own statement. “Urgh, you know what I mean.”
Sabo laughs again, because it is easier than the conversation lying ahead of them.
Please, he isn’t ready to share that yet.
Just to be a little shit, Sabo rests his chin in his hand and taps his own cheek in a steady pattern. “Hm, but do I know what you mean?”
Ace shoves a hand in his face. “Asshole, stop deflecting! Why did you ask the Big Mom pirates about a potential alliance with Kaido? That’ll be so much extra work for us if they start considering it now!”
There are a million different ways he can spin this story. He is a revolutionary, maybe he heard the rumors through the grapevine. Maybe he has a contact inside the Big Mom Pirates. Maybe Dragon just wanted him to debunk a theory.
But it isn’t the truth, and Sabo is tired of lying to his brother.
Sabo knows, from the moment Zoro broke down on that balcony - long before he knew he was an older brother, and before Teach had breathed his last - that one day, he would crack too. Slowly, piece by piece the fabric of this story would unravel, but maybe that day can wait. The cracks have already been showing for a while now, but…
Maybe he can let his brother live for a bit longer, blissfully unaware of the trauma that their little brother keeps closely guarded in a chest.
Maybe spinning a false tale of the revolutionary grapevine isn’t such a bad idea.
And then Sabo opens his mouth, and he fucks up.
“Let’s say that in an alternative universe, Big Mom and Kaidou got all buddy buddy with each other. They teamed up, and Wano very nearly turned into a shitshow the likes of which is rarely seen.” Sabo should stop talking. He should shut his mouth, because this is not what he meant to say.
His voice is cracking, and there are minute trembles in his hands where he clutches at the railing. Sabo knows that if he were to take off his gloves, his skin would be white from the pressure of his grip.
He doesn’t look at Ace. Can’t look at Ace, and then everything spills out of his mouth before he can stop it. “In that universe, I didn’t remember you either, and y-you died, with Luffy by your side. I didn’t even know, and Luffy thought he was alone and–”
“What?”
Sabo dares nothing more than a brief glance at Ace, but it is enough. He stands there, mouth agape, hands slack at his side. “You died, Ace.” Each time those words roll off Sabo’s tongue, part of himself dies.
Shaking his head, Ace blinks at him. “I don’t care about that part,” and oh, Sabo will be having words with him about that statement later, but he bites it down when Ace stumbles on; “I left Luffy alone? Fuck, I left Luffy alone… ”
He wants to say no. Wants to reassure Ace that yes, he might have passed, but Luffy wasn’t truly alone. He had his crew. Zoro. Sabo, but… the truth is, in the end, there was only one person left standing at Luffy’s side, and it wasn’t either of his brothers.
It stings.
Running a hand through his hair and tugging out a knot that gets tangled in his fingers, Ace lets out something between a sob and laugh. “How do you know all this? Did you– you didn’t eat a devil fruit, did you?” In the next second, Ace has wrenched Sabo’s jaw open, standing close enough for the blonde to smell their lunch on his breath.
Grilled fish and onion.
Gross.
He slaps the hand away before Ace can start digging his fingers in to try and make him spit out the imaginary devil fruit. “No, Ace, jeez,” he doesn’t move away, and Ace scowls at him. Sabo can see every single wrinkle and pore on his face, and he reaches out a finger to trace a constellation on Ace’s freckled cheeks. “It’s complicated. Kind of. Or, well, not really–”
“Sabo!” His brother grabs him and shakes him like a ragdoll, a wild hitch in his breathing. Ace is all twitching fingers and too fast breathing, gulping down air over and over again.
“Luffy time traveled.” Says Sabo, and Ace stops shaking him back and forth. The left lapel of his jacket is hanging on by a stitch or two, and then the other man abruptly lets go. Tumbling to the ground, the air is punched from Sabo’s stomach and he lets out a choked cough.
Looming over him, hands still extended in the air where Sabo had been a second ago, Ace looks about ready to blow steam out of his ears. Or maybe succumb to a two day long narcolepsy attack.
“Did you hear me?” Sabo sits up, patting out the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “Time tra–”
“Stop! I heard you the first time!” Ace doesn’t blow steam out of his ears, but his hair lights on fire. It is promptly blown out by a vicious slap of wind hitting the deck. His brother crouches down to Sabo’s level, fists clenched and then he grabs his orange hat. Bringing the rim of it to his mouth, Ace bites into it.
“That’s not very sanitary, Ace.” Sabo stretches a hand, and just as his fingertips brush the orange leather, Ace rips it away from his mouth.
“Time travel, Sabo! Time travel?! Oh, just wait until I get my hands on that stupid, little rubber duck - I’ll wring his neck into a pretzel! Why didn’t he tell me? Wait, is this why you knew about Luffy and Zoro dating? Sabo! ”
Ace pounces, throwing his entire weight on top of Sabo, and they both hit the deck hard. There is going to be a bruise on the back of his head, and a migraine in the near future, but Sabo can only laugh. “Hahaha!”
“Stop laughing, you piece of–!”
With his brother screeching in his ear, the wind on his face, and an oncoming war with an Emperor ahead of them, Sabo knows they will be okay.
***
On the final stretch towards Wano, after their encounter with the Big Mom pirates, and Sabo spilling far too many beans, Ace takes to pacing so often that Marco threatens to throw him overboard if he doesn’t get some proper rest.
“I’m sure my narcolepsy attacks give me plenty of rest.”
Without another word, Marco punts him over the edge of the railing.
“Children, all of you,” hisses Izou, poking the phoenix in his bare chest so hard that his index finger leaves an imprint on the skin. Then the commander takes off his kimono, folds it, and jumps in after Ace. He hauls him back up, and while Ace is gargling salt water on the deck, Marco makes them swear to stop pacing.
Somehow, Sabo thinks, it is worse than getting scolded by Dragon.
So they all stop pacing.
Izou cleans his guns, one chamber at a time and then once again from the top. Ace climbs up the rigging and makes camp in the crow’s nest. Marco flies in circles above them, and Sabo doesn’t fight the sigh that leaves him as he stands at the helm of the ship.
They’ll be okay.
Big Mom and Kaido aren’t in cahoots this time. Luffy, Zoro, and the rest of their crew are better prepared. They have the Surgeon of Death as their ally. Sabo and his little entourage are on their way.
Wano won’t be a shitshow this time around, Sabo will make sure of it.
They will be okay.
“Land ahoy, people!” Ace is leaning out of the crow’s nest, spyglass in hand. “Wano coming up on the starboard side!”
Sabo smiles. He spins the wheel of the ship, correcting their course, and the wood beneath their feet groans. Haki throbs in the air, angry and excited. Protective. Ready.
Kaido better watch out.
***
Bon Clay finds them on the beach, waving his hands and familiar makeup on his face. Sabo pulls the Okama into a hug the moment he disembarks. He pulls back, slaps the other man’s shoulders, and frowns.
“I didn’t expect you here yet.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve been having plenty of fun while you picked up the Whitebeards. Un, deux, trois! ” Bon makes a pirouette and promptly slaps Marco, Ace and Izou in the face. “Face catalog updated! Now let’s get you lovely boys to our camp!”
Izou cradles his red cheek and Ace grimaces, tongue running over his teeth and smacking his lips. Marco blinks, shrugs, and follows the whirlwind that is Bon Clay.
The only way for Sabo to describe Wano is gobsmacked. Sure, he had been expecting some different flora and fauna, as par for the course when one lives in the New World, but to have an island like this– a natural fortress, regions locked in their own weather patterns, and nature so rich it would put the Celestial Dragons to shame.
The most beautiful thing that Sabo sees, though, is when they arrive at a little village. There are no people milling about, and the dinosaur footprints overgrown with weeds tells the revolutionary just enough about what happened here.
There is a little girl, barely reaching up to Sabo’s knees, who takes one look at them. She blinks, breathes in, and then yells from the top of her lungs; “Ace!”
His brother catches her mid-air, curling over her tiny body as he tucks her into a hug. “Otama!” He cries, and Sabo smiles.
(He hasn’t met her yet, not officially. But Luffy had spoken about her so warmly, and Zoro had known her favorite foods, the way she liked to braid her hair and what she sounded like when she got too tired to stay awake.
This is his niece, and Sabo can’t wait to get to know her this time around.)
Leaning on the doorframe to a small hut is Trafalgar Law, the Surgeon of Death. He nods at Sabo, before turning and heading back inside the dark house. Someone lights a candle, and while Sabo isn’t familiar with all of the people inside, he recognises Robin in a heartbeat.
“Ah, Sabo.” Her hair is done up, a silk kimono hanging off of her frame. Her lips are painted a dark red and in the flickering candlelight, they gleam like two thin streaks of blood. “Did you perhaps have a run-in with a messenger on the way?”
A messenger? Oh.
“Do you mean Charlotte Katakuri boarding our ship and giving us a collective heart attack for a chocolate mousse recipe? If so, then yes, yes we did.” He pats the breast pocket of his jacket, where the paper has been safely tucked inside for now. Handing it over, he doesn’t miss the smirk of Trafalgar’s face.
Sabo has half a mind to tell them off for not warning him, but then Robin takes one look at the paper, eyes skimming more thoroughly through than the blonde ever did. Her eyes crinkle in a smile.
“Good,” she says, linking her arm with Sabo’s and pulling him inside. “Torao and I have a plan.”