Flame Emperor: A Sabo Zine

And there is Ivankov, whose feelings are obvious even over the snailphone. They sound bone-tired and worried in a way that pricks restlessly at Sabo’s heart like a million needles. Iva explains that they hitched a ride away from Marineford with the Pirate Empress, of all people, who seems to treat anyone allied with Luffy as an ally of her own. Boa Hancock’s ship was hailed by the Heart Pirates, the rookie crew that had rescued and absconded with Sabo’s injured brother, and she gave them enthusiastic permission to shelter at Amazon Lily indefinitely.

“That,” Iva told him, their voice world-wearier than Sabo had ever heard it, “is where Strawhat-boy will be. Whatever need you have of him, please go gently.”

Sabo doesn’t have a gentle bone left in his body and arrives on Amazon Lily like a tropical storm. He’s met with open hostility at first, for all of ten seconds. That’s how long it takes Trafalgar Law to lift his head and say, “So you’re Strawhat’s brother? Emporio warned me you were coming. Took your time showing up.” At which point Sabo becomes an honored guest and the eldest Boa all but trips over herself trying to make a good impression.

He’ll definitely have an opinion about all of these things some other time. It all goes up on the shelf where he’s keeping Ace, safe in the back of his brain. He has to focus on what he can still do—the person he can still reach. It’s too late for him to save anybody but Luffy is his responsibility. His only family. His little brother.  

“Where is he?” Sabo says, doing a passable job of sounding like a human being.

Trafalgar tilts his head eastward, where the coast begins to climb upwards into a craggy cliffside. Jinbe, beside him, has his arms folded over an impressive swathe of bandages that wrap around his chest and midsection and looks Sabo up and down with a critical gaze. He clearly isn’t eager to interject where it isn’t his place, but he’s equally as unwilling to let someone who might be a threat go near the young captain in question while he’s hurting. It’s surprisingly proprietary for a person who has only had Luffy’s acquaintance for a short time.

But then Luffy has always had that effect on people, hasn’t he? He worms his way in. He makes you care.

“The surgery was a success,” Trafalgar says without overture, like the word ‘surgery’ in correlation to Sabo’s brother doesn’t send ice down his spine. “But it wouldn’t have been for anyone without the Op-op Fruit. And there’s still a good chance that all my hard work will be rendered a waste of time if that kid goes on another rampage.”

“He was disoriented when he woke up,” Jinbe adds carefully. “He went looking for his brother. And it—pained him. To realize that Ace was gone. He was hurting himself. I told him to look past what he lost, at the things he still had.” His deep, strong voice softens as he goes on, “If his grief wasn’t so self-destructive, I would have let him have it. He deserves to have it.”

Sabo is halfway up a hill before he’s aware of moving in the first place, using his hands to climb when it gets steep, not feeling it when sharp branches cut against his face as he shoves his way through them. Observation Haki comes naturally to him but he thinks he’d be able to find Luffy even without it. His soul or heart or something equally as important inside him would tug him in the right direction.

He was always the best at finding his brothers.

Sabo knows right where to go. He doesn’t know how he knows, but his feet guide him without faltering, picking his way over the river stepping-stone by -stone. And as he gets closer, over the cheerful babbling of the water and the thrushes in the trees, Sabo can hear the faint sound that’s become so familiar to him over the last couple of months—the sound of a little kid crying.

“This is why Ace calls you a baby, you know,” Sabo says to the hollow log Luffy is hiding in.

Luffy stubbornly won’t budge, so Sabo crawls in after him. Luffy’s face is all sticky and dirty, and Makino would have a lot to say about it if she could see him, but she’s not here. A little dirt never killed anybody. The tears bother Sabo, though.

They bother Ace, too. He probably remembers as well as Sabo does how it feels to be left alone while you cried. They both learned a long time ago that no one was going to come make it better.

Luffy hasn’t learned that yet. He still cries over every little thing that hurts or scares him, and Ace gets loud and mean because he hates it when his siblings are hurt or scared. He hates it even more that this crummy world failed Luffy as wholly as it failed Ace and Sabo. 

But it’s not the same, not really. Luffy can tear up over every heartache and frustration and nighttime fear, and his big brothers will come running. It’s annoying sometimes, and upsetting other times, and they can’t always make it better, but Sabo and Ace would never leave Luffy to cry all by himself.

Luffy isn’t crying when Sabo sits beside him. His dark eyes are wide and faraway, gazing out over the water the way he used to when they were children, dreaming about their future.

His brown skin has a sickly, ashen pallor to it. There are bruises beneath his eyes and an unhealthy thinness to his frame. He is covered, head to toe, in bandages. Even his hands are wrapped up, finger by finger. It’s proof of how far he would go, how much damage he’s willing to do to himself for just the opportunity to reach out and save someone he loves.

Sabo doesn’t know what to say. This is one of the most important people in his life, and he failed this person so spectacularly. He opens his mouth, but he can feel the words forming right before he speaks them—Do you hate me? He closes his mouth.

Coward, he berates himself venomously. If Luffy hates you, it’s as much as you deserve.

But his lips stay glued shut. He can’t open himself to that inevitable blow, not yet. The question goes up on that mental shelf next to Ace. Instead, Sabo sits beside his only living brother for as long as he’s allowed.

“I haven’t seen you since I was little, Sabo,” Luffy says suddenly. “I saw you all the time back then.”

Sabo’s heart is racing. He’s confused and unsettled and hurting so keenly he could lay down and die from it. But he can’t let Luffy go unanswered, so he says, “Of course you did. We lived together.”

A faint smile touches the corners of Luffy’s mouth, like some distant part of him wants to laugh.

“I mean after you died. We saw you a lot. We talked to you and you would talk back. Sometimes I wondered if maybe you were really still there and everyone just got it wrong. I was dumb.”

“No,” Sabo says quietly.

“I thought I’d see Ace now,” Luffy goes on, in a meandering, conversational way. “The way we used to see Sabo. But Sabo is here again instead. I’m not mad, ‘Bo. I missed you. I wish you hadn’t left.”

Sabo doesn’t know how to hold this without it breaking him. He needs more hands. He needs his twin, his anchor, his other half, to help with the heavy-lifting. He isn’t enough on his own. He will never, ever, ever be enough on his own to make up for Ace dying in Luffy’s arms, bleeding all over Luffy’s hands, carving a hole into Luffy’s heart right next to the one Sabo left there ten years ago.

There is nothing that he can say that will make this better. The only thing he can do is be here, and put his arm around Luffy the way he used to when they were children, and whisper, “I missed you, too, Lu. I wanted to stay.”

Luffy doesn’t cry how Sabo remembers. He doesn’t throw his head back and wail and shove balled fists into his eyes. But the way he curls against Sabo’s side is familiar—the way he makes himself smaller, and tucks his face against Sabo’s shoulder like he’s seeking shelter, and winds rubber limbs around him until they’re too well-tangled to do anything but hold each other.

The sun sinks slowly through the sky, and Luffy’s body gets heavy and loose. He falls asleep between one thick, hitching breath and the next. 

“I don’t believe him,” Sabo’s twin says incredulously, staring down at the little boy sprawled like a sack of potatoes across the mossy rocks. “As soon as it gets dark, he’s out like a light.”

Sabo laughs, the way he’s only recently learned how to laugh. It bubbles up all the way from his stomach, from the squishy warm center of him. He isn’t allowed to be noisy at the mansion, but Ace’s face always scrunches in a wolfish grin at the sound.

“And he’s up with the sun, too,” Sabo says. “Better than an alarm clock.”

He sloshes across the shallow part of the river and kneels in the muddy bank, beginning the familiar chore of gathering up a seven-year-old’s sprawling rubber limbs so they can carry him home. Luffy always droops when he sleeps, like taffy left out in the sun, his bones going all bendy since there isn’t conscious thought to keep them firm. He’s as light as a kid half his size, and twice as much work.

“Brat’s lucky we don’t just leave him here,” Ace mutters, but he doesn’t mean it. He sits carefully still while Sabo situates Luffy on his back, and keeps one rough, scarred hand wrapped carefully around one of Luffy’s soft wrists the whole way back up the mountain.

Their little brother only comes close to stirring once, and all he does is press his face against Ace’s shoulder with a content sigh that’s so quiet it could almost be a secret. 

Luffy is lucky that he has someone to carry him home. But Sabo and Ace are lucky, too. They have someone to carry.

Sabo rests his cheek on the top of Luffy’s head, and listens to the marathon march of his heart. He counts every beat. He feels like a ghost.