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The marred, pale face stares at him beneath his tophat. It's the epitome of unimpressed. “You’re not a marine.”
What the hell happened to a simple hello? This guy isn't any sort of marine, either. More alarmingly, it’s the usual garb of a noble, even if the man didn't carry himself like one. A black waistcoat, a - napkin, it's a napkin, but the nagging little voice in Ace’s head is gonna call the stupid thing a cravat - tucked in his collar, with gold buckles and buttons down to his belt. More interesting was his face. Not exactly a towhead blonde, more of a pale gold that curled around his ears. A gnarly scar snaked over half his face and down his neck with one round milky white eye that peered at Ace, unseeing. Maybe blind in that one? The other was a cobalt blue. He didn't even have two full eyebrows.
He looked like Sabo. Ah, hell.
“Oh,” Ace cringed. He looked up at the face of a dead boy. “I’m dreaming, I think.”
The stranger frowned. “No, you’re not.”
Ace doesn't use that name very much. Weird enough as it was, he did look as if Sabo had made it to adulthood. It’s disheartening enough that Ace doesn't talk about him to the point he feels as though he’s erased Sabo’s legacy. It was just hard. That's all there was to it. Bringing up old ghosts made Ace’s heart hurt and even moreso there wasn't a soul around that even knew who Sabo was if he brought him up, and the only one that did was Ace’s kid brother who is off on his own, with his own crew, going on his own adventures. Ones that Ace is sure he’ll hear about in the newest edition of the newspaper.
But, hey, there’s literally zero point in thinking about it. The guy’s dead.
Anyway, Not-Sabo is staring at him, clearly waiting for a response, and Ace really has to give is a spluttering, “What’s it to you? You’re not a marine either!”
The blonde’s stare flattened. The stranger stood up a little straighter, hefted his bo-staff against his shoulder, and said dryly, “Fire-Fist, are you even trying to blend in?”
“I’m—”
“Someone’s here!”
“Check upstairs!”
“Oh, shit,” Ace said. Not-Sabo’s head whipped up to look at the door, the ever-nearing pounding of footsteps, like hail on a window. Something a little pained lit up in his eyes. It would be comical, if Ace didn't feel so bad about potentially blowing this guy’s cover. Then, fast as a whip, he turned back to Ace with a disbelieving expression. Ace offered a weak smile. “That’s for me. Sorry.”
“You’re joking,” Not-Sabo gritted his teeth. “No time, no time. Oh - come on.”
Before Ace could even try to stop him, the guy sinks a hand into the front collar of Ace’s private-ranked uniform that he had yanked off of some poor unsuspecting fool, and pulls Ace behind him so quickly that his cap almost tumbles off his head. There’s no exit to this room, but there’s really not much time to think about where the hell this guy is taking him before Not-Sabo bends his arm and runs them mach-10 at the nearest window. They’re maybe about three stories off the ground. The glass cracks and crumbles under the force like an underbaked cookie. Ace’s marine cap is lost to the winds. It’s basically second nature to light up and float midair before he smacks pancake-style and eats shit on the concrete. They landed by the harbor, actually. Ace’s striker is parked only a few docks down. Hopefully inconspicuous.
Oh, right. The stranger. Dead brother doppelgänger. Whatever.
Ace catches him around the waist before the man smacks into the ground. Then he set him down. The man looked up at him, irritated.
“Sorry about that,” Ace said. He peeled off his disguise and tossed it to the side. Pairing his cargo shorts and his orange belt with the uniform really didn't do much for him in the way of fashion, anyway. “Caused a lot of trouble for you. You a spy or something?”
Not-Sabo wrinkled his nose, and he yanked at the ends of his leather gloves since the fall dislocated them. A light breeze whispered over the docks, and the man’s blonde curls rippled in the wind. “A spy wouldn't tell you they're a spy,”
Ace scoffed. “So you’re a spy.”
He paused. Seemed to be mulling over the question if he should be honest to Ace a solid amount. Then he replied with a not-quite answer. “You could say that, yeah.”
What a nice guy. Beating around the bush. Very suspiciously Sabo of him.
Ace must've been making a weird face, because the spy sighed and said, “Did I piss you off or something? You’ve been looking at me odd since I ran into you.”
How was Ace even supposed to respond to that? Anything that was at all close to the truth would've freaked the guy out. Yeah, man, you look like my dead brother that got exploded by a noble ten years ago. You even got the scar for it! Small world.
So Ace just said: “You look like someone I knew.”
“Oh,” the man said. It was uncanny, really. His scar rippled as his expression softened. His frown deepened. “We’ve never met - to my knowledge.”
Ace winced. “Yeah, I, uh, figured.”
He really didn’t want to ask his name. Ace wasn’t really sure what would hurt more: being told a stranger’s name, or a stranger’s face having the name of his brother. So he did what he figured was most sensible, and kept his mouth shut. The man did look sorry, though. That soft expression molded into something a little more careful, a little more understanding: sorry for your loss. Ace sucked on his teeth.
The man lifted an arm behind himself and wrapped a gloved hand around his pipe. Ace didn’t really know any spies that used a steel staff as a weapon, but this guy clearly seemed comfortable with it. How goddamn frustrating. The bastard had Sabo’s face, Sabo’s weapon, and by Ace’s rotten luck, probably his name too. His heart and his lungs and his much-lowered, much more matured vocal cords.
“I’ll see you around,” The ghost offered with an open palm. Ace firmly shook his hand, which took a lot more effort than Ace was brave enough for.
“Yeah,” Ace swallowed down a lungful of what damn near tasted like sawdust. “Pleasure.”
Death is so close he can just begin to make out the shape of his scythe.
It glimmers like a gem beneath murky water. The air around Marineford is more gunpowder than oxygen, so boiling it’s probably hot to touch. Ace’s blood is hotter than most and considering his body is essentially made of fire, he can’t exactly feel the heat all that well. His cheat-sheet is Luffy’s face.
Sweat drips off his chin after it rolls down his temples. Grime litters his arms and legs. There’s crusted blood under his fingernails, to which Ace realizes the kid’s fingers are trembling from exhaustion. Luffy’s steam and energy isn’t even composed of adrenaline anymore: he’s so goddamn tired the only reason he’s standing is because Ace isn’t safe. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot and his chest heaves like a ship’s rattling engine.
Ace met Marco’s eyes. He hopes the look alone gets the message across.
“Luffy,” Ace rasped. Of all things, his mind is thrown back to his twelve-year-old self, Luffy’s tiny hands clinging to his shirt as they loop around his neck. He extends a hand, ignoring the chaos around them as the ground trembles and shakes, as Ace’s closest friends throw themselves at the feet of the scythe in Ace’s honor.
Luffy’s pained, bleary eyes settle on him. Ace would bet that his vision is so blurry he can’t even make out Ace’s face. He makes a small, aborted noise and when Ace clasps his weak, thin fingers he practically topples forward. It’s second nature to wrap an arm around his shoulders and heft him up, and Luffy is so out of it that there is no protest. There is no incessant clamor to put him back down and let him fight. It’s easy enough for Luffy to revert back from the role of a stubborn pirate to a little sibling. Luffy hides his face in Ace’s neck.
It is the strongest encouragement to run further from the chaos. The weak drumming of Luffy’s heart.
His chest hurts at the thought of his dad laying down his life for him. He’s already cried so much he’s not sure he has many tears left to spare. Luffy’s fingers weakly tangle themselves in his hair.
Akainu’s roar echoes across the battlefield - which is less of a battlefield and more of a graveyard. Ace steps over the body of one of his own men as he runs, and he doesn’t have the heart to try and recall his name. Several voices call out he and Luffy’s name in sharp warnings; it is not enough to prevent the admiral from smacking into Ace’s side at lightning speed. Akainu’s magma is hot. Ace had said he didn’t know true heat, but with the man’s blazing, dripping fists directly next to his face it feels as though his very skin has lit up. Ace lets out a cry of pain as he topples onto his back— his empty back. Right where Luffy was supposed to be, who has now been knocked off of him and rolled away.
Sheer terror jerks through him. Ace rockets off the ground, a chunk of hair getting stuck in his mouth as he turns his face against the wind. He turns and–
Ace makes the most embarrassing noise he’s ever had the displeasure of hearing himself make. He denies that he ever made the expression currently glued to his face. His eyes go wide. His tongue is a nuisance to the dry surface of his mouth.
That fucker. He lied to his face? And Ace didn’t even realize? Shit, maybe it was a dream.
Sabo, and it must be Sabo, because it’s the same cocky bastard Ace had met weeks prior, with the same stupid outfit, and the same stupid tophat– is standing just feet away from the admiral. With one hand clenched so hard around his pipe he’s surprised it hasn’t snapped in half and the other clasping the strap of Luffy’s vest, who lays at Sabo’s feet. Ace can’t quite catch Luffy’s eyes, because he’s too busy staring up at Sabo, slack-jawed and teary eyed.
Akainu’s face is nothing short of satisfactory. Ace’s mouth quirks into a smirk. “Who are you,” Akainu hisses. He’s so angry he seems to shake with the effort. Akainu as well as every other marine in proximity doesn’t seem to register what Sabo’s business is here, before something appears to dawn on him. “You- Revolutionary. Dragon came here for Straw Hat.”
Sabo looked offended. Ace, too, had a hard time believing Luffy’s deadbeat father would do anything at all to help out his son, but the idea that Sabo was a Revolutionary seemed more believable. So you are a spy. “No,” Sabo sneered. Almost subconsciously, Sabo’s fist clenched tighter around Luffy’s vest. “I’m here for my brothers.”
Luffy let out a whine and looked up at Sabo as if he hung the very stars in the sky. His voice cracked as he whimpered out a word that was probably Sabo’s name. Ace would like to compartmentalize his anger at Sabo for lying to him, but the first thing that leaves his mouth is, “I’m gonna kill you.”
His brother’s eyes flickered away from Akainu only for a moment. Sabo met Ace’s hard stare, and his face softened the same way it did when Ace told a stranger he looked familiar. He offered a weak, apologetic smile. “Maybe later? I’ve got something to do first.”
Luffy’s eyes darted between Ace and Sabo, clearly a little lost. Akainu scowled, but his own curiosity seemed to win out. He raised a flaming fist, boiling so hot it made Ace tear up. “There’s three of you? A family of devils. Whose boy are you? I can kill all three of you and do the world a favor in one go.”
Akainu wasn't worth responding to. Clearly, Sabo had the same idea, because Ace’s only warning is a pointed look from Sabo and a surprised yelp from Luffy as he's lifted into his brother’s arms with one quick, strong yank of Sabo's Armament-coated fist. Ace lifts himself to his feet and takes off in a sprint with Sabo at his heels. Akainu chokes down a yell; if the noise gives away anything, Ace’s fellow Commanders have stepped in to take the fight from them.
Luffy rasped, very obviously trying not to burst into tears for the sake of keeping a brave face—and yet, just by his voice Ace can tell he can’t quite believe what he sees. “Sabo,”
“Shh, Straw Hat,” Sabo teased, “Don’t cry.”
“I can run,” Luffy protested weakly, tears beaded at the corners of his eyes. Ace takes it back - he’s trying to put up a brave face for Sabo. He accepted his exhaustion with Ace because Luffy knows Ace is already aware of his newfound strength, his label as a Worst Generation pirate. Luffy must feel he has something to prove to Sabo, since he hasn’t been around to see him grow. He wants him to know how much stronger he’s gotten. And, Sabo must know already, he must, because the crumpled face he makes as he looks down at him—he’s never looked more proud.
Both Ace and Sabo snapped at once, “No, you can’t,”
Luffy winced as he’s jostled. The front of his jacket is still burning at the tips where Akainu skimmed him. It’ll probably form a nasty scar. The poor kid doesn't even seem to have enough vitality to properly cry. In lieu of it, he pressed himself closer to Sabo and circles a rubber arm around Sabo’s shoulders twice over, effectively locking himself in place.
“I am so mad at you,” Ace hissed, the very second Luffy lays his head down. He doesn't really mind if Luffy hears their conversation, but it’s unlikely he’s got the strength to pay any attention. “We met, you asshole. And you lied to my face.”
Sabo knew this conversation was coming. He still looks like he’d be anywhere but here. “I’m - I’m sorry, Ace. It’s probably best that I explain this when we’re—”
“No,” Ace said, all the smoke and dust and gunfire dimming around him. All they have to do is keep running. Tune everything else out. “No, you’re gonna tell me now, and it better be really good, because if you tell me some bullshit, the second you put Luffy down I’m gonna punch the absolute hell out of your face.”
“I missed you too, Ace,” Sabo said meekly.
Frustrating, achingly relieved anger curls in Ace’s gut. God, it’s been so long since he got to bicker with Sabo like this. The only replacement he had of this was with his brothers on the Moby, but he didn’t want to replace Sabo. Nothing could replace him. That was the whole point.
A yellow, metallic top of a submarine begins to surface in the bay. It has vaguely familiar black markings on it, and a man with a white hat peppered with black spots materializes on the deck. Sengoku furiously bellows out a command in the distance to the remaining soldiers he has left, and Pops laughs so loudly it echoes far enough Ace can hear him. The pirate standing on the deck clenches a hand around the scabbard of his sword. “Bring Straw Hat to me. I’m a doctor! We don’t have much time.”
Ace blinked. He didn’t particularly want to argue with this guy, because if he was offering safe passage for Luffy off this island - Ace was entirely out of options. Unless Sabo magically has an escape route planned. “Who the hell is he?”
Sabo murmured low enough that the stranger couldn’t hear. “Trafalgar Law. Part of the Worst Generation.”
“Law?” Luffy croaked. Ace had to lean in to hear. “I know ‘im.”
Sabo met Ace’s eyes. They had to make a decision quickly. Law grew impatient. Sengoku’s forces were still hot on their trail, and the three can’t just sit around like ducks on the dock waiting for them to catch up. This Law guy was clearly their only ticket out of here; Ace nodded curtly. Sabo steeled his face, and they boarded the ship.
Not dead, Law had said. He’s stable for now.
Stable, Ace’s ass. Luffy had a ventilator over his mouth and his eyes were shut. His skin was so pale you could see all of his veins, a spiderweb of purple and sickly blue. Ace jumped whenever the heart monitor went up or down in pitch, but the bear-doctor had assured that was normal. Regrettably, Ace did feel a little sorry for this sub’s crew, having to deal with two nosy protective brothers that would start tweaking if they did anything fishy. Law was already tentatively allowing them to stay in the room while he worked.
Ace tried not to let his mind linger on the fact he abandoned his crew, his friends, his dad. They came for his aid and he jumped ship the first chance he got. Was it probably what they wanted? Yes, Ace knows that now. But did it make Ace feel any better? Hell no.
But, it was a good time to wrangle some answers out of Sabo.
No, he didn’t abandon them. Yes, he’s a Revolutionary. No, I didn’t lie to you. The attack from the nobles got him right in the face, fucked up his brain and made him forget who he was for ten years. Explains why he’s blind in one eye. Ace could tell just by his expression that Sabo was beating himself up for just about everything. All the things that happened to him that he had literally zero control over, Sabo goes, that's mine. That’s on me.
Absolutely infuriating. Ace wants to grab him by that stupid napkin and squeeze him until he’s not so stupid.
Ace realizes he’s crying when he shoves his face in Sabo’s chest. Sabo gently puts a hand over his tattoo. “I’m sorry, I really am.”
“Stop apologizing,” Ace hisses wetly. He peels himself away, although his hands are still clenched into the fabric of Sabo’s waistcoat. “None of this is your goddamn fault.”
Sabo opens his mouth, perhaps to argue even more, then shuts it when his eyes set on something behind him. Ace turns, and Luffy has turned his head on the pillow to watch them quietly. It’s likely he was listening to their conversation, which makes it a lot easier on Sabo since he won’t have to tell the story twice. He’s not allowed to talk because he’s forbidden to take that machine off from over his mouth, but Ace can tell what he’s thinking just from his eyes.
“Luffy,” Ace grins, pulling himself away from Sabo to slide his plastic chair to Luffy’s bedside. “You’re awake!”
Ace frowns, then turned to Sabo, “Uh, should I tell–”
“Law probably knows already,” Sabo says quietly, withdrawn. His heart isn’t even what he’s saying, peering at his little brother with sad eyes. “He said it wouldn’t be long until he woke up, because of his metabolism burning through the antibiotics.”
Luffy makes a noise and reaches a fragile hand to fiddle with the ventilator. Ace grabs him gently by the wrist and wrenches his hand away with almost zero force. “Hey,” Ace glares at him as he speaks, just so Luffy knew he was serious. “Don’t touch that. You can’t breathe on your own.”
Ace almost sighs. Luffy was not listening. His eyes were bright with fresh tears, looking up at Sabo. The monitor noticeably sped up, and Ace softly shushed him. Sabo slowly, weakly, clasped Luffy’s hand in his. Luffy gave him the strongest squeeze his fingers could muster, which was probably around the grip strength of a kitten. “Hi, Luffy.”
The garbled response was probably a mix of hi and hhpmh. Ace snickers, while Sabo fruitlessly scolds him, “Your lungs were failing! Don’t try to talk.”
“You made him cry,” Ace grumbles, wiping the endless tears rolling down Luffy’s cheeks with his knuckles. “Good job, Sabo.”
A small smile crawled across his face. “Sorry,” He amends. It was interesting how his vision worked. The blind eye stared blankly, while the blue one was much more animated. Sabo turns to Luffy, almost amused. “I heard you punched a Celestial.”
“He what?” Ace gawks. Then he rounded on the boy in the bed, “You what?”
Luffy valiantly ignores his blotchy red cheeks, or the sniffle of his nose, and proudly nods his head. He was so damn lucky he was critically injured, so Ace couldn’t shake him by the shoulders as Luffy giggled and somehow wrench a full explanation out of him. The drowsiness is still evident in Luffy’s face as he rumbles through the whirr of his oxygen mask, and something suspiciously close to I missed you is what Ace makes out. Sabo swallowed thickly, pinched at his eyes, and managed a pitiful, “Me too.”