Work Text:
Sabo’s dorm room is in more of a shamble than usual. Papers are strewn across the desk and in piles with ripped out pages of scribbled notes among them. Crumpled papers nestle within the research with a laptop open on sleep mode. His bed isn’t made but Koala’s is. She’s gone somewhere for the week. Sabo had mentioned where but Ace can't remember the name. The plants by the window are wilting but the instructions Sabo meticulously wrote down are still blue tacked to the wall next to the drawn curtains blocking the gradient hues of the sunset outside. He’s still pacing around, wringing his hands in silence as Ace sits on the unmade bed. A tension hangs heavy in the chill that pierces through the uninsulated walls. The dormitory hadn’t turned on access to the heaters yet. They always waited a few weeks into winter before doing that.
Sabo finally sits down with a long exhale, shifting back until he can comfortably rest against the wall. Maybe comfortable was the wrong word. He looked anything but comfortable. His good eye continues to dart around the room and Ace can’t bear the silence anymore.
“Are you gonna ask me to help you hide a body or something?” Ace chuckles – but it's clearly forced, his usual charm and ease failing him. “I’m down if that’s what you need,” he adds with a smirk. Sabo doesn’t respond. He’s still fidgeting with his hands. Still unable to look Ace in the eyes. Maybe he DID kill someone, Ace thinks for a moment. Does he actually know how to hide a body? Where would the best place be? Would this impact their chances of graduating? Could he use it for an extension request for his upcoming assignment?
“Ace,” Sabo starts, finally managing to force himself to speak, his voice unsteady and unsure. “I think…” he pauses, taking another deep breath, convincing himself that he is allowed to say this, “I think something is wrong”.
“Thinking of changing degrees?” Ace jokes, scanning over the incomprehensible notes on the table.
“No.”
Ace’s smirk fades and he realises that this probably isn’t the time for jokes. He’s not entirely sure how to do these types of conversations. It’s always, ‘laugh and get over it’. It’s always been like that. He shifts back against the wall next to Sabo, looking over at him. Sabo still won’t meet his eyes. The light from the lamp on the desk stretches across the room, heightening the shadows on Sabo’s face, the bags under his eyes ,and it glistens against the tears slowly gathering along his waterline. He swallows thickly, trying to get rid of the lump forming in his throat, trying to get his lips to stop trembling. He shifts – the sound of his pyjamas against the sheets are the only sounds in the room besides their breathing. That and the random chatter or screaming from across the hall. He crosses his legs, gripping at the fabric on his knees, digging his fingers into it. Something to stop his stupid fingers from trembling.
“I’m-” Sabo’s voice comes out all shaky. He stops and clears his throat, trying to keep it together, “I don’t think I’m okay right now”.
Shit. What the fuck am I meant to say to that? Ace nods. “That’s okay,” he says, trying for a reassuring smile.
“No,” Sabo shakes his head, “It’s not. It hasn’t been for a while and it keeps getting worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“I haven’t been sleeping.”
“You do that sometimes,” Ace shrugs. “It comes and goes, Sabo. It’ll be okay.”
Sabo shakes his head again, rubbing his eye to try to stop the tears that were forming, “And I got in a massive fight with Koala. It was over something stupid but I got so angry at her”. His voice starts to break. “I told her I hated her”.
“That’s not ideal,” Ace sighs. He raises an eyebrow. “Why’d you do that?”
“I don’t know”, Sabo puts his head in his hands, his shoulders starting to shake, “I don’t know why any of this is happening and it’s so frustrating and annoying but it's also… I don’t know”.
“Scary?” Ace offers, a sinking feeling forming in his stomach but he remains externally composed. He knows this spiral and all he can do now is hope that he’s seeing patterns that aren’t there.
Sabo raises his head slowly, finally looking at Ace. For a moment, he looks just like he did when they were kids. Scared and lost and alone. Then his gaze moves forwards, staring at the wall that Koala’s bed was pushed against. The tension from his muscles slowly fades with the tight knot in his chest and he’s left empty and hollow once more. This happened a lot. It was becoming his new baseline.
“I’ve been hurting myself,” Sabo admits with a strangely detached tone.
Oh.
Ace shifts, scratching his arm as his eyes wander over the various posters and random cut outs stuck to Koala’s wall, trying to think of the right thing to say. There are polaroids of Koala and Sabo, some with people Ace had seen in passing and some he hadn’t met but had heard about. There are poems and newspaper clippings, some patterns of fabric and packaging that somehow fit the theme of her side of the room. Most of them are similar shades of pink and orange. They went well together. Ace never really thought about that colour combination much – pink and orange. Out of context, it seems like a terrible match – a clash – but Koala seemed to make it work.
“That’s not great either,” Ace pauses, looking away from the collage to face his brother, “but it’s good that you’re telling someone about it, right?”
“I guess,” Sabo shrugs, his eyes glued to some fixed point on the wall. “I know it’s bad,” he continues, “I’ve literally studied this in three of my psych courses”. His shoulders drop once more as he realises that Ace isn’t going to yell at him. Realistically, he knew that from the start, but he wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind right now. “But it’s keeping me in check.”
Ace looks over at the wilting plants. “I’m not so sure about that.”
Sabo shrugs, tilting his head back against the wall to look up at the ceiling. A silence stretches. The ceiling doesn’t change. Neither does the arrangement on the wall. The plants still remain wilted, bowing their heads toward the soil. The hues peeking through the gaps in the curtains turn deeper red, bleeding into the room. There’s no answer in the polaroids. No hints for what to say in the scribbled crossed out notes across the desk. Nothing. It was frustrating not having the answers. Ace should have the answers, or at least the right words.
“Koala’s coming back later tonight.” Sabo’s tone still comes out lacking any shape or form – just hollow.
“I’ll stick around until she gets here,” Ace decides, speaking a little more quietly than intended.
“It’ll be a while.”
“That’s okay. I’m happy to wait,” Ace smiles, getting off the bed. He stretches – his muscles tight from being hunched over his laptop all day. He makes sure the smile doesn’t leave his face as he turns around to face Sabo, trying not to pay attention to how worn out Sabo looks. “Long enough for a movie?” Ace asks, walking over to the desk.
“Probably.”
“Put one on then,” Ace says, passing Sabo his laptop. He opens the cupboards by the small kitchenette in the dorm, trying to find some mugs. There aren’t any except Koala’s ones. Sabo’s are across the room – one beside the bed and one on the desk. Ace turns on the kettle then walks over, collecting them both, and washes them in the sink while Sabo scrolls through movies on his laptop. The kettle starts producing steam and Ace quickly picks it up, moving it towards the window. He opens the blinds, lifts up the glass pane and makes sure the steam wafts out the window, not wanting to set off the finicky fire alarm.
Sabo finally picks a movie and Ace joins him on the bed, passing him a cup of tea. It was a movie they watched as kids. That time they snuck into the theatre and stayed there all day, moving between auditoriums to do movie marathons. Ace usually falls asleep during movies, especially when rewatching one, but this time his eyes are glued to the screen, avoiding all the obvious signs of decline around the room.
_____ ___ __ _
Warm tones no longer seep through the gaps in the curtains. The laptop displays its default sleep screen, the movie no longer playing. Sabo is slumped against Ace – eyes closed, chest rising and falling in a slow pattern. Sabo’s complexion is pale in the dim light from the laptop. He shivers in the chill that continues to penetrate the room, seeping into all it touches. He instinctively leans further against Ace as if trying to sap the warmth naturally radiating from him. Sabo was usually warm too but not right now. Ace has to tear his eyes away from his brother to stop finding new things to worry about. More things that he can’t just fix. The hollow feeling in his chest continues to expand as his eyes roam around the room. The two cups of tea from earlier rest on the bedside table, one empty and one gone cold. The mirror above the sink had been covered with a tea towel. The small trashcan under Sabo’s desk contains a variety of papers and regular trash but among them is packaging for various first aid items.
With no background noise his thoughts start to wander, reminding him of that awful phone call with Garp last night, going on a rampage about how Ace was wasting time and money at university. Did someone like Ace deserve to go to university? Even when carrying the weight of what his father had done?
He can’t help but see some truth in Garp’s harsh words. He never really was an academic person and the stress of university was much more than he thought it would be. Sabo shifts beside him again and he carefully pulls the blanket over Sabo’s shoulders, keeping an arm around him. He takes his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his messages. Nothing important. Yamato still hadn’t confirmed if he could come to visit after their last talk. He seemed to be having his own problems with Kaido. Apparently Kaido had started drinking again. That never went well. Ace hopes that he’s okay. Maybe he could go visit Sanji later tonight? No. Zeff was meant to come over to help with preparation for one of his culinary exams.
The buzz of a key card jolts Ace from his thoughts, Koala entering the dorm room with her suitcase and a backpack. She gives him a silent wave and smile, closing the door behind her. She doesn’t seem mad at Sabo which was definitely a good thing. At least Ace didn’t need to play mediator. One less thing for him to worry about. Everything is going to be okay – but his heart is still hammering in his chest. He carefully moves off the bed, adjusting the blanket to cover Sabo and takes the mugs off the bedside table as Koala puts her bags on her bed. She unzips them, trying to be quiet, but one can only be so quiet when unzipping a suitcase. It seems like Sabo is out cold because he stays asleep. Ace turns on the faucet and washes the mugs they used, pouring the cold tea down the drain. Koala unpacks her bag, putting neatly folded clothes in her cupboard and hanging up her coats, leaving a hoodie out to wear. Ace takes the tea towel down from its position – hanging over the mirror – and uses it to dry the cups. The two work wordlessly. After putting the cups away he walks over to Koala, trying to offer her a smile, but she isn’t stupid. They just stare at each other with that expression that people make when they want to tell each other that everything is okay but know it might not be. ‘What the hell are we going to do about Sabo?’ is not really how you’re supposed to start a conversation, right? So instead, Ace asks, “How was your trip?” keeping his voice down.
“It was nice,” Koala smiles, putting on her hoodie. She puts her hands in her pockets, glancing around the room. The silence envelopes them again, providing no comfort from the insidious chill. She yawns, a shiver running through her body. She had been on a long drive and is looking forward to getting into bed and scrolling on her phone. She waves goodbye to Ace and he does the same, leaving the room.
He walks down the corridor, the rows of doors looking a little further away than usual. His heart is still pounding in his chest but the bite of the cold evening starts to fade and dull. He feels like he’s looking through his eyes rather than with them. The hallway begins to tilt. He takes his headphones out of his pocket, connecting them to his phone as he enters the elevator. His gym playlist starts playing and he turns it up. The lift opens and he leaves the building, blindly walking into the night, his legs moving on their own. He’s hit with the temperature drop, a strong wind whipping him, seeping through his minimal layers. He turns the music louder. It’s too loud. He turns it down one notch but now it’s too quiet. So he turns the music up again, the sound hurting his ears, reverberating through his cartilage. He picks up his pace into a light jog down the long stretch from the dormitory to the main area of the university, turning down a path to avoid the hustle and bustle of students drinking after submitting assignments or finishing an exam. His teeth chatter as another gust of wind fights him, the icy chill stinging his flesh. It grounds him for a moment, long enough to realise he’s taking the route he usually does towards Sanji’s, and he turns down a different path once more.
Rain begins to speckle the pavement, dotting Ace’s thin sweater. The music stops for a second and is quickly replaced by Ace’s ringtone blaring through his headphones. He slows down and digs around in his pocket for his phone. It’s Garp. He stares at his phone, rain stippling the screen, an uncomfortable weight forming in his stomach. He declines the call, his music returning once more, much louder than expected. He glances around, unsure of where he is. The shroud of nightfall distorts his normally great sense of direction. The trees shake and shudder with him in the wind. The rain now pelts against his freckled skin, soaking into his clothes and dripping down his forehead. He squints at the path ahead that turns to gravel, much like the one by Dadan’s place. But that was about a five hour drive away. He wonders how Luffy is doing. Had Garp been verbally harassing him too? Was he okay? All things considered, it wasn’t a great neighbourhood. At least Dadan was being more present… that’s what he gathered last time he visited.
Ace turns the music up a bit more.
He grits his teeth, wiping his phone screen with his soaked through clothes to try use it but the screen wouldn’t detect his fingers. He finally manages to dry it – just enough – to change the song and breaks out into a sprint down the path. Leaves rustle, nails embed into palms, rain obscures vision. His chest heaves with each sharp breath. The gravel presses into the worn down soles of runners, overgrown grass reaches out passing the borders of the path.
Science labs, buildings, lecture halls, and obscure statues are swallowed by the downpour. The concrete monuments give way to greenery that wilts in the harsh winter. Brown slithering vines curl in on themselves, giving up their search for sunlight. Grass patches find themselves among dead friends trampled by feet and bicycles. His muscles are starting to burn in tandem with his chest. Breaths become harder to take. He runs faster. The path ends and his shoes slide with each send off from the wet grass. All it takes is an unforeseen rock to contort his ankle and send him face first into the muddy lawn, his chest smacking against the ground. He rolls over onto his side, gasping for all the air that was violently knocked out of him, mud caking into his clothes. His body trembles as he tries to breathe in, only producing a wheezing sound. His lungs and diaphragm burn as panic floods him, unable to take in any air.
Ace finally manages to take a breath, his body still tingling. He sits up slowly, muscles aching and spasming, chest heaving as he coughs and splutters. His headphones are in a muddy puddle beside him, music crackling out of the speakers. The rain slowly returns to a drizzle and he looks up at the sky. There weren’t any stars out tonight. He could have sworn there were supposed to be more stars. He knows because of all those nights in the treehouse with Luffy and Sabo, the sky as their roof before they’d built one. The star speckled sky was a monument of wonder and awe. Did they fade with time? Did he simply not notice?
His phone starts buzzing again and he’s about to throw it across the field but realises it’s just Marco.
“Hey Ace, do you still wanna come over for dinner tonight?” Marco’s voice sounds a little distant, overlaid by the rumblings of a car. He probably finished his shift a little later than planned.
Ace nods before realising he’s on a phone call and answers verbally, “Yeah, that’d be great, actually.” He stands up slowly, his body tensing, a bruise forming where the ground had winded him. He looks around, trying to figure out where he is. “I’m at the, uh…” He registers details - grandstand, goals. “The football field?”
“The football field? That’s pretty far from your dorm, Ace,” Marco chuckles over the phone, the rhythmic clicking of his turn signal being picked up with his voice.
Ace wipes off as much mud and dirt as he can as he walks towards the road. He knows Marco will probably have some words for him about running in the rain and getting his car all wet and dirty. However, when he gets into the passenger seat and the warmth of the heating system envelopes him, Marco turns down whatever nu-metal music was playing and sighs, looking over at Ace. Great. More disappointment.
“You okay?” Marco asks, his voice taking on a strange gentle tone as he pulls back onto the road.
Ace’s eyes widen, his gut sinking. His words get stuck in his throat for a moment before he huffs out a chuckle, “Yeah of course. I just stacked it while running, alright? Don’t look so worried”. The anxiety continues to bubble in his stomach, no longer a dull feeling but tingling and writhing. He looks ahead out the windscreen, feeling Marco glance over at him every now and again before watching the road ahead. Ace taps his fingers on his leg along to the drums of the song playing from Marco’s speakers.
Marco breaks the verbal silence. “You went to go see Sabo, right? How is he?”
Ace shakes his head, his jaw tensing. He can feel that stupid lump forming in his throat, that frustrating tightness balling in his chest.
“Alright,” Marco decides to move on, mentally noting to follow up on that later. “You wanna go visit Pops before dinner?”
Ace clenches his teeth harder but his lips won’t stop trembling, pulling into a wobbly frown. He covers his face, curling into himself with his elbows on his knees as his breaths start to hitch. Tears that had been brimming in his eyes finally break free, hidden by his hands.
“Ace?”
“I can’t do this, Marco.”
Seeing Whitebeard with all those damn cords and wires attached to him, withering in a hospital bed. Last time he visited, it really clicked. Pops looked thinner, hollow almost. His humour was still there. He still had that boisterous laugh but it would end with a hacking cough. It would be too much. Another thing Ace can’t fix, doomed to just watch them wilt away as he bows his head towards the soil.
“I can’t fix any of this,” Ace chokes out, his fingers embedding themselves into his scalp, tangling in his hair as his palms cover his eyes. “I’m supposed to know how to handle this. I’m an adult for fuck’s sake.”
The windscreen wipers need to be replaced, squeaking each time they change directions as the rain returns. Streetlamps light the road along with the car’s headlights as Marco pulls into his apartment’s garage. He lifts the handbrake and turns off his headlights but keeps the car on, keeping the heater running. Ace hears the click and zip of Marco’s seatbelt unbuckling. He won’t blame Marco for leaving him in the car to collect himself. Instead there’s a steady hand on his shoulder. Ace moves one hand from his face to unbuckle himself and apologises. Marco doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? Ace feels Marco pulling him closer, wrapping his arms around him. The tears flow faster and his breathing grows shakier. He isn’t even sure why. He can't stop it. This time, instead of feeling frustrated and ashamed he just… lets it happen.
“You’re barely an adult, Ace. You’re twenty.” Marco pulls him closer, resting his chin on top of Ace’s head. He can feel his body shaking, the dampness of his mud caked clothes seeping into Marco’s. Ace covers his mouth, trying to muffle his sobs. It was beyond embarrassing. He hadn’t even cried this hard after Thatch died.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ace manages to say between hitched breaths, a tightness forming in his chest. He grits his teeth and exhales forcefully, wiping his eyes. He pulls away from Marco and sits up straight in the passenger seat, the car engine still humming idly. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, “sorry. I’m okay”. I’m okay.
“No you’re not,” Marco replies. The humming of the idling engine fills the silence once more. “Talk to me, Ace.”
No. He can’t. He can’t put all of this on Marco. Marco has enough to deal with. He probably has a bunch of assignments to grade and a bunch of shifts at the hospital in the city. He’s probably just as worried – if not more – about Pops. In the back of Ace’s mind he remembers that Marco is a mandatory reporter. Would Marco have to report Sabo if Ace talks about it with him? Would that make things better? Worse? His breathing is starting to pick up again.
“I’m… worried,” Ace starts, choosing his words carefully. His resolve quickly dissolves into rambling, “about Pops… and Luffy and Dadan… and Yamato and Sanji has this big exam coming up and…” he groans, putting his head in his hands, “and Garp keeps calling me and I’m starting to think that he’s right.” The words taste bitter as he spits the last few out. “What if he’s right? You know?” Ace looks up at Marco, desperation filling his gaze, “What if I really am as bad as Roger?”
“Ace,” Marco’s tone makes his name sound like a warning, cutting off his disjointed ramblings.
A sick heavy feeling pools in Ace’s gut. It’s sticky and impossible to shake, slowly crawling upwards, spreading its gunk into his lungs and the back of his throat. He fights against his body, trying not to start crying again. “And Sabo,” Ace chokes out a laugh but it sounds wrong, almost startling himself. He shakes his head, closing his eyes, refusing to look at Marco. He doesn’t care what Marco’s expression is because he knows he’ll break down when he sees it and the filth of guilt would infect him further.
Sabo’s hurting himself. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud. He can’t. He can’t process it.
“I should have known,” Ace whispers, staring at the cement wall of Marco’s garage through the speckled windscreen. “Out of all people, I should have known. Seen the signs or at least known what to say.” There’s an air of defeat in his weak words.
“He’s not coping healthily?” Marco asks, trying to figure out what Ace is avoiding.
Ace pauses and nods, his hands moving to wipe away his tears but they keep rolling down his cheeks. Ace crosses his arms, his fingers digging into the damp fabric, feeling the protruding bumps of old white scars beneath. He barely notices them anymore but now they feel embossed and embedded into him.
“That must feel pretty awful,” Marco sighs, at a loss for words.
“Yeah,” Ace’s voice breaks. It’s pathetic.
“You’re carrying a lot of weight on your shoulders right now. What can I do?” Marco asks, no judgement in his tone, “What do you want?”
“What I want is to fix everything.”
“That’s not possible.”
Ace pauses, thinking for a few moments. His head aches and he sniffles, his nose running from crying. He takes a shaky breath, trying to find the next best option. Something he can do.
“Then I want to get belligerently drunk,” he grumbles flatly.
It earns a chuckle from Marco and Ace can’t decide if that pisses him off further or if he should count it as a win.
“That’s reasonable, but not a great idea. We both know that,” Marco replies. He turns to face Ace. “Look, I’m not exactly sure how to help right now but I’m here if you want to talk about it. If there’s anything I can do, just let me know, okay?”
Then it clicks. Marco has absolutely no idea what to say or do either. It’s not just him. Ace can’t help but huff out a shaky chuckle that turns into an actual laugh. The gunk washes away, receding slowly. He manages to take a deep breath, actually filling his lungs instead of fighting him. The tension in his muscles lingers but lessens slightly. The warmth of the car is no longer overbearing but comfortable.
“I’m actually pretty hungry,” Ace finally looks over at Marco.
“Well, good thing you’re here for dinner then, right?” Marco smiles.