Chapter Text
“ Sorry, I need to do what now?!”
Koala rolled her eyes so hard Sabo swore he could hear them, muttering something much too close to drama queen under her breath.
“Come again?” he asked cautiously, already sensing trouble.
“ You heard the boss,” she said holding up the bucket filled with dark, suspiciously sludgy liquid. Her finger jabbed menacingly at his perfectly coiffed hair.“ We have to go undercover. And our hair is too recognizable.”
“ And why can’t we wear wigs?” *
“ Because,” she sighted, like he was talking to a little kid, “ We don’t have time, nor budget for ridicoulos disguises. If we don’t take in cosideration what you usually wear, that is.”
Sabo would have felt offended, were it not for the fact that he was too busy trying to keep his hat firmly on his head.
“ Oh, no, no way,” he mumbled, running away from Koala, her dye, and her screams, “No way in hell I am dyeing my hair. Besides… what’s even gonna happen?!”
“You’ve been photographed,” said Dragon, and Sabo almost spit out his coffee.
“ I have?!”
Dragon dropped the paper in front of him. Sabo blinked, then leaned closer, squinting at the image with disbelief. There he was: blurry, half-hidden, but him. Koala shot him a look that quite literally translated as told you so, dumbass.
“ Don’t worry too much,” he added, waving a hand, “ thanks to Koala’s idea of dyeing your hair, and the fact they took it from the side without the scar, it’s unlikely anyone will be able to recognize you.”
But Sabo wasn’t listening. Not really, not anymore. His eyes were glued to the photo, scanning the face as if it might change under his gaze.
Except it wasn't quite his face, now, was it? It looked more like a stranger, without his usual clothes, and his scar.
A stranger, with dark hair, and a face like a shadow of someone he should know, he felt like he does… a stranger who felt eerily familiar… and yet, somehow, away.
But suddenly that face had freckles on. And a soft, brilliant grin. And deep, dark eyes that stared at him, laughing.
Safe. Warm. Home.
" -bo? Sabo? Are you listening to me?"
Dragon. He was in the base. Everyone was staring at him.
" I- I'm, ahem," he coughed, once, twice, trying to regain some clarity, some semblance of control. " I'm sorry, boss. Although I have to admit I look pretty photogenic," he added, throwing in his classic smirk, the one he was born with.
Or so he always thought.
Laughs, and yells, and the sound of mismatched shoes splashing in the mud.
Sabo sees, from his very eyes, two shadows darting ahead of him, laughing, carefree, impossibly alive.
He’s running through the forest. What forest? he wonders, but the answer isn’t in words. It’s instinct, memory, something older than thought. This is the forest he’s always known, the one where the earth beneath his feet feels solid, safe, unshakable.
And the two little heads in front of him, dark and wild, unruly hair in the wind, bob and weave through the undergrowth. He can’t quite make out their faces, but that doesn’t matter. There’s a warmth in their presence, a tether to a kind of comfort he’s never felt before, a pulse of belonging that hums straight to his chest.
Home, he thinks, almost in a whisper. My home.
And then the world shifts. The laughter fades. The mud, the trees, the little shadows, everything vanish.
He’s alone again, the forest gone, the echoes of joy lingering like smoke in the air.
" I need your help."
" Hello to you, too, Sabo. Where's the fire?" Koala chuckled, then stared at him fumble over his own rambling for far too much time.
" … Sabo?"
" Do you know," he started, running a hand through his hair, mud in his mind and urge in his words, " do you happen to know of a pirate with dark eyes, and dark hair, and freckles?"
" Freckles? That's unusual."
" I'm aware, yes." he muttered, as if he’d rehearsed that response a thousand times.
Koala tilted her head, thinking for a few seconds, then shook it decisively. “Nope. Nothing comes to mind, at least.”
Sabo exhaled, slumping his shoulders, and Koala patted his shoulder.
" Why haven't you asked Dragon? I'm pretty sure he's the one that could help you the most, really."
Sabo hummed absently, chastising himself silently. Of course Dragon was the best bet. Why hadn't he thought of that himself?
Maybe because this wild goose chase had him scrambling for both clarity and calm.
" Thank you anyway," he murmured, leaving behind a perplexed Koala and some of his sanity.
If he had any left to lose, at that point.
Someone tall, standing over him. Reassuring, somehow. He never thought he could be reassured by an adult this close to him.
“ We’ll have to hide you someway, Sabo,” she’s saying, and her voice is rough, but also half sweet, like she’s reluctant to admit she cares about him.
“ You are too recognizable, there’s no way they are not going to look for you.”
“Maybe we could dye his hair!” A young voice quips up, words mumbled through a full mouth, “ you know how, don’t you, Da-”
“ Shut up, you little rascal! My hair is absolutely natural!”
Sabo hears himself groan, even if he barely recognize his own voice; smaller, almost squeaky, but still his.
“ Well that’s good to know,” he hears himself say, causing a burst of laughter, “ I would hate to be a ginger.”
“ That would be even worse! You already stand out as it is, with this blond hair! No, we’ll make you a brunette, just like these other brats.”
And then he sees himself, with dark hair, no scar, a missing teeth. And a smile so big that he could spark fire.
Dragon was, of course, on the terrace, gazing out at the horizon as if the wind itself whispered secrets only he could hear. He didn’t even bother turning to face Sabo.
" Are you in need of something?" He asked, his voice calm, precise, measured. Like usual.
Not like Sabo was losing his mind with his first semblance of memories in ten years, that is.
Sabo took a big breath, trying to steady the jumble of urgency and hesitation in his chest.
" Do you know of a pirate, young, around my age I believe, with dark eyes, and dark hair, and freckles?"
Dragon stayed quiet.
" Freckles, you said." He remained silent, letting the question hang like smoke in the air.
" Yes. I believe-"
“Are you remembering something from your past?”
Sabo nodded, heart beating faster, even as Dragon didn’t look at him.
“An old friend, perhaps? I’m not sure, but… I think it’s worth a shot,” he added, hope mingling with the uncertainty in his voice.
The Supreme Commander let the silence stretch between them for a while.
" It's not that I'm not happy, here, Dragon," added Sabo, suddenly worried, " and I'm grateful for all you did, and trust me when I say that this is the life I chose, that I choose every day, but-"
" I may have an idea on who's that freckled pirate you talk about."
Sabo shut up rather quickly.
" … You do?"
" Whitebeard second in command, Firefist Ace. Does the name tell you anything?"
Firefist Ace, of course he's heard of him. He saw his wanted poster, and heard of him, often. About his powerful fruit, and how he defeated Hanafuda, the King of Lizard, and was asked to become a Warlord. And yes, the description matched his, for what he remembered: he had dark hair, even if the eyes were not that visible, on his wanted poster. And he very clearly had freckles.
But the name fell flat to his ears, not more appealing than the next one.
" Nothing much, no," he said, carefully neutral.
" I could arrange a meeting, if you think that would be helpful." Dragon offered, voice smooth, deliberate.
" Wait, what? How?"
Dragon turned his face to his side, allowing Sabo to see his smirk.
" Let’s just say I know a man who knows a man."
It had been a fairly ordinary day for Ace, up until that moment, at least. He had woken up beside his handsome husband, as it was the case in the past two years of his life; a comforting routine that never failed to put a smile on his face. He had gone through the motions of his division commander duties, checking reports and coordinating tasks; necessary, although pretty boring. Later, he had sat through yet another round of Thatch and Vista’s endless bickering, nodding and pretending to pay attention while secretly enjoying the playful sparring, and maybe mending a chipped tooth or a wounded pride.
Afterward, he had spent some time training with both Marco and Yamato, pushing his limits just enough to feel the burn in his muscles without overexerting himself. By the time post-lunch downtime rolled around, he was lounging comfortably, letting his mind wander and savoring the rare moment of peace.
Then, a flash of movement caught his eye, and he quickly moved close to the railing, not-so-quietly followed by some crewmate.
A vessel he didn’t recognize was getting closer to his home. Its presence was immediately striking: a deep red flag fluttering in the breeze, adorned with bold black symbols: a dragon flanked by two wings. Just below that, a white flag was raised, to symbolyze a peaceful approach.
" Marco. Who's that?"
“Oh, didn’t Pops tell you? The Revolutionaries requested a meeting,” Marco replied casually, leaning on the rail beside him.
Ace turned fully toward his oldest friend, eyebrows raised. “Come again?”
“Yeah,” Marco said. “Apparently they have… things to discuss.”
" Who's watching in?"
" Jinbe, for sure, he's the one that brought them in, apparently their commander and him crossed path quite some time ago. And then Izou, and Jozu and me. What, you want to come too?"
Ace scoffed.
" Nah, that's fine. If Pops needed me he would've called me in too. I'll be on the second dock with Yama if you need me."
He leaned back against the railing, eyes following the mysterious ship as it cut through the waves. Calm now, but beneath the surface, a spark of curiosity stirred inside him. Something told him the day was far from ordinary anymore.
The interior of the Moby Dick felt less like a conventional captain’s cabin and more like the heart of a warship that coincidentally was also a home.
Inside of the ship's main body was carved a large meeting space, with the thick timbers curving inward like the ribs of the enormous beast naming the ship herself. The ceiling was tall, far taller than any other Sabo had seen before, with heavy beams crossing overhead, wrapped in iron bands, darkened by salt, smoke, and years.
There were lanterns hanging from the beans, lights warm and far, uneven, casting long shadows on the faces of the attendings. Barrels line the walls, alongside racks of weapons, at reach but not brandished.
At the far end of the room was an oversized chair, not exactly a throne, but not that far off, either. Broad, reinforced, ancient and somehow soaring, positioned to be the focal point for anyone entering the room.
And on it…
Of course the ceiling is so tall.
Edward Newgate, captain of the Whitebeard Pirates, stares at them quietly, waiting, surrounded by the soft noises made by his medical machines, and the curious murmur of his loyalists, gathered faithfully around him.
The hair smelled of sea brine, medicine, sake. And respect.
Sabo followed Dragon, and Jinbe, as he was brought closer to the captain, the Emperor. Quiet, but not scared. He noticed a table, big enough for all the various commanders to attend meetings, but not for them. Meetings with strangers aren't conducted as equals, on the Moby Dick.
He could get behind with that.
Besides, the only thing he wanted were answers.
The various attendings weren't crowning them, but they were very there, very present in the space, looking at them as they got closer: Diamond Jozu, Third Division Commander, almost as tall as his seated captain; Flintlock Izou, Sixteenth Division Commander, all elegance and sharp eyes; and Marco the Phoenix, First Division Commander, the most famous right-hand man in the New World.
Silent, assessing. Family, all of them, and protective.
Whitebeard didn’t rise.
He sat forward slightly instead, massive hand resting on his weapon, his presence alone filling the room more than any number of men could. The floor creaked as the ship shifted, but no one mistook the source of the pressure pressing down on them, no. That was all on him.
And when he spoke, his voice didn't need to be loud. It carried anyway, deep and steady, like something pulled up from the ocean floor.
" Revolutionary Commander, Monkey D. Dragon. Jinbe assures me you are here with pacific intentions, and I believe him. What are your intentions toward my crew?"
" None, from me personally. But my comrade comes looking for clarity, and…" Dragon turned slightly toward Sabo, and he felt a lump rising in his throat.
" Does your comrade have no voice?" Whitebeard interrupted him, a clear smirk on his face, and Sabo knew.
" I can speak on my own, and thanks for the consideration," he responded, trying to maintain his calm while the attention of the whole room shifted over him.
Yeah, he did not enjoy having all of those eyes on.
" We want not to waste your time, Whitebeard, sir, so I will be quick. Ten years ago I-I was in this huge explosion and… I barely remember anything from before that, so…”
" Why did you ask to meet with my son?" Whitebeard cut him off, too, and Dragon grabbed his wrist, a silent ask to slow down.
But oh hell if it was hard to speak.
" I think… I think I knew him. Firefist Ace, I mean. Before losing my memories," he ended up saying, trying with all of himself to hold the gaze from the emperor.
Whitebeard hummed, resting back on his chair. He then turned back toward the Phoenix, to then simply nod in his direction, and before Sabo even realized it, he had already flown away.
It was still a pretty ordinary day, for Ace, when Marco flew literally over his head and plopped down on him. The wind from his landing ruffled Ace’s hair, almost causing his hat to fly off, and the sudden weight nearly knocked the breath out of him.
" Ace! You need to come with me for a second in the meeting hall, the big one."
" Why? The Revolutionaries are giving you troubles?" Ace leapt to action instinctively, his hand flying to grab back his hat, but Marco just laughed.
" Please, it's just two guys. No, but the young one asked to talk to you. That’s the whole reason they’re here, actually."
Ace turned to him, confused.
" Ha? And why am I only knowing this now?"
" Pops wanted to talk to him first, I guess. He says he maybe knows you."
" Marco, did you bump your head over the mast, flying here? What does it means he maybe knows me?"
Marco shrugged, unamused. Or, actually, very amused.
" He said that he lost his memories after a big explosion or something like that." he said, starting to walk back, with Ace hot on his heels.
" An explosion? And when did that happen, sorry?"
"About ten years ago?"
Ace froze mid-step. His stomach turned. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way.
Marco frowned at the sudden change in his friend’s color.
" Ace? Are you-"
" Is he blond?" Ace asked, cutting him off, voice sharp, tense.
Marco blinked, taken aback, then thought about it for a split second more than necessary.
" I don't think so? It really looks like he has dark hair. But he's wearing a weird hat, so I'm not sure."
Ace got paler.
" A … a top hat?"
" Yeah, like Vista! And he also has a funny frilly thing around his neck, like-"
" A cravat."
Marco stared at him.
" How do you know the word for that? But yeah, I think so."
Ace's gaze grew hazy, then clear, his brows furrowed, as if he were doing a sum in his head, and the answer was always wrong.
" There's no way," he murmured, starting to run toward the meeting hall.
“Is everything alright?” murmured Dragon, and Sabo nodded, a weird knot firmly lodged in his throat.
Whitebeard was still staring at him.
Hells and heavens, man, could you stop?! Im not used to-
“ There is something you didn't tell me, boy.” The emperor interrupted his thinking, and Sabo furrowed his brows.
“ What's that?”
“Your name.”
“ Well, yeah. I'm pretty famous for not being known, you know. That's kind of my thing.”
“ I think that's a courtesy I deserve, kid. You know mine, don't you?”
Sabo sighted.
“ Fair enough. My name is S-”
“SABO!”
The door slammed open so hard it nearly tore from its hinges.
A pillar of fire burst into the room, scorching the air, then vanished just as quickly.
In the middle of the dying flames stood Portgas D. Ace, second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, wearing the most unhinged expression Sabo had ever seen on a human being.
Sabo blinked.
“You... you know me?”
His heart skipped.
“I was right. I was right!”
The realization hit him like lightning.
Someone knew him.
Someone remembered.
At the exact same moment Ace launched himself across the room with a fist already drawn back.
Oh fuck.
The punch, mercifully not on fire, landed square on his cheek.
A second later Ace grabbed a fistful of his jacket, and both of them went crashing to the floor.
Sabo barely had time to register what was happening before instinct took over.
He shoved back.
Ace shoved harder.
They rolled across the floor, each trying to pin the other down, hands tangled in jackets and punches. Sabo tried to get leverage underneath him; Ace fought like a man possessed.
And yet, somehow…
it didn't feel strange.
Didn't feel new.
His body knew this, like a second nature.
“YOU FUCKER!”
Ace landed another punch.
“Ten years?! TEN YEARS?!”
Another.
“For ten years I cried for you!”
Another.
“I thought you were dead!”
Another.
“And now you just show up?!”
Under different circumstances, Sabo might have laughed.
As it was, his brother was actively trying to beat him into the floor.
His brother.
The thought echoed through his head.
His brother.
Sabo laughed anyway.
“You absolute asshole!” Ace barked. “Goldilocks of my ass! Why the fuck are you laughing-?!”
Something warm landed on the scar above Sabo's eye.
He blinked.
Then it happened again.
And again.
The punches were getting weaker.
Slower.
Sabo stared.
For a second, the room disappeared. Nothing mattered anymore.
All he could see was Ace.
Ace, whose face was twisted with anger and relief and grief all at once.
Ace, who was crying.
For him.
“...What?”
The word escaped before he could stop it.
Ace looked away immediately, like he'd been caught doing something embarrassing, eyes red and wobbly lips.
Sabo felt something twist painfully in his chest.
Then, because he was still Sabo and had never once made a good decision in his life, he grinned.
“Wait,” he wheezed. “Are you actually crying for me, Firecracker?”
“Go fuck yourself in a ditch and die,” Ace sobbed.
And Sabo did the only thing he could think of.
He punched him back.
Ace yelped.
“Ow! What the hell was that for?!”
“For punching me first!”
“You disappeared for ten years!”
“I got amnesia!”
“That's not an excuse!”
“It literally is!”
Ace opened his mouth, ready to argue, then stopped.
For a moment they simply stared at each other.
Then Ace laughed.
A sharp, disbelieving sound that broke halfway through because he was still crying.
Sabo felt himself laugh too.
The next thing he knew, Ace had grabbed him again.
This time there were no punches involved.
Just a crushing grip that nearly squeezed the air out of his lungs.
“Dumbass,” Ace muttered.
“Yeah.”
“You should've come back sooner.”
The words weren't angry anymore.
They were small.
Honest.
“I know,” Sabo replied.
Ace's grip tightened.
Silence settled between them.
Not uncomfortable, not awkward, just... full.
Sabo glanced past Ace's shoulder.
Whitebeard was smiling into his moustache.
Marco looked openly relieved.
Dragon looked like a man who had finally solved a problem he'd been carrying for years.
For the first time since he could remember, the knot in Sabo's throat loosened.
The world was still a mess.
The Revolution still waited for him.
Ace was still a pirate.
They would probably start arguing again within the hour.
But Ace was alive.
He was alive.
And somehow, after ten lost years, they had found their way back to each other.
His eyes drifted down.
Ace still had a fistful of his jacket.
Still refused to let go, like he was afraid Sabo might disappear again if he loosened his grip for even a second.
Something warm spread through his chest.
Ten years.
Ten years of missing memories, of searching for a face he couldn't remember.
Ten years of looking into mirrors and seeing a stranger stare back.
And all along, somebody had remembered him anyway.
Sabo smiled.
Maybe that was enough.
For now.
"By the way," Ace suddenly said, bringing him back from his head.
"Hm?"
"Your hair looks stupid."
Sabo stared at him.
Ace grinned.
The sams grin from his dreams.
The same grin he'd been chasing for weeks.
Home.
"Go fuck yourself," Sabo said fondly.
Ace laughed.
And this time, Sabo knew exactly who he was.