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The headboard is the worst possible place to get bonked on the back of the skull.
It's hard, rough, annoying, in the way, and it gets on Luffy’s nerves. Suppose, though, not as much as people who betray their crew or those who waste food. Or, in this case, nightmares that just won't go away. It's a common occurrence, a pattern, a concentrated turn of events that repeats over and over into a time loop that just won't leave him alone.
Sleep is an escape for most people. It's never a good feeling to shut your eyes, and suddenly that's the one place you don't want to be anymore. But when you open your eyes back up, it's just as bad, and you're trapped, and there's nowhere to go. Like thousands of prongs and sharp-edged forks shoved in your direction that just won't go away. Luffy tries to stay vigilant regarding the nightmares, or, night terrors in rare cases (those are the worst, because he makes a racket in his sleep and it wakes up his crew and that's what Luffy wants last.)
Stubbornness is something practically inborn when it comes to Luffy. After the Paramount War happened, he let his guard down and the big walls of no, I’m going to fight back, I’m not going to let you get through to me fall back to the ground. But- the walls came back, because Luffy is stubborn. To a fault, almost.
Except, this time, there are cracks in these walls. Of course, when you drop a glass cup onto the ground, it breaks into tiny little pieces, right? And when you fix that glass, there's forever going to be little divots in the cup. It's never going to go back into its original form.
Maybe it's the same formula. Cracks go up and down the seam of Luffy’s metaphorical walls, like a fixture, like a machine. Forever there, whirring, repeating, cycling over and over until they fall back down. There are shadows behind Luffy’s eyes and the childish chub-like form of his face is gone and his hands reach to grab the X on his chest more often than not.
Of course he does. The scar is a physical fragment, a piece, a shard. A reminder, even; a ticking, running clock.
Fingers grip his forearm—and Luffy suddenly remembers where he is. The Sunny, the hull of her, almost. He can hear the rock of the waves just outside the cabins, moving up and down, up and down, until maybe it can lull Luffy back to sleep. The hand is familiar. He does not startle.
Zoro’s eye seems lit up with flames even in the dark. “Luffy.”
Luffy inhales through his nose. He is not going to placate Zoro; he does not need to. Zoro can see through him as if he is at his lowest opacity at all times, even when his chest is bare and his fingers are trembling. There is no need to lie to him. He wouldn't believe him, anyway.
The wrist cupped by Zoro’s own hand is connected to still-shaking fingers. Luffy tries to match Zoro’s low, quiet breathing; he closes his eyes and listens for the bump-bump. “Come with me.”
He lets go of his hand and gets out of his hammock, boots clanking against the wood floors. Zoro sleeps in his shoes, because he might need to fight the second he gets back up. Luffy doesn't hear him slow down, obviously expecting him to follow behind, so he gets out of the hammock obediently and pads his way to him with quiet footfalls.
Everyone else is asleep. Whoever was on guard does not notice them. Or, leaves them alone, is a better phrasing for it. It was probably Robin, since whoever it was hasn't spoken a word to ask what the hell they're doing.
His eyes adjust to the dark within time. His cheeks are not wet, luckily—it's not as though he’s embarrassed by the tears, but more or so for his own sake. Don't let it get to you. Do not stumble.
Zoro leads him to the crow's nest, grabbing each wooden handle of the ladder and stepping upwards two bars at a time. Luffy comes right after, and the meat of his palms tingle, but the night air is refreshing. His throat clenches emptily, as if his lungs have had all the oxygen ripped from his grasp.
His swordsman hits the platform of the crow’s nest with a thump, leaning back against the mast in the middle with his arms crossed behind his head. His eye shuts immediately, his legs accommodating for Luffy’s space. Luffy lets himself fall right next to him, a few centimeters between them.
Breathing fills the silence. Zoro’s is uneven, which means he's awake, listening. Waiting. Waiting for something.
“It was just a nightmare.” Luffy says. He blinks, slowly, and stares at his hands hanging limply between his legs. They're not shaking anymore. He's afraid that if he moves, they will.
He does not want to elaborate. It's even worse if you bring the vision to life through your words, instead of ignoring what you saw and disregarding it entirely. But, unfortunately, Luffy might not be that lucky.
Zoro doesn't move. Doesn't budge one bit, actually. “This has been happening a lot."
“Yes.” He affirms. Yes, yes it has been. It’s been uncommon to an extent for no one to see it coming, but it happens enough to make Luffy nervous. It's always been Sanji shaking his shoulders, or Zoro placing a bold hand on his chest, or his wrist, right over his pulse. Sometimes it's Chopper, poor Chopper, all wide and worried eyes. No one else. He's lucky enough for that blessing.
“You are not over it.” It is a statement. Not a question, never a question with Zoro. He knows what Luffy is thinking by just looking at his face. People complain about not being able to read Luffy because of how well he can change from humor to anger within seconds, but Zoro says it's extremely easy if you know where to look.
There's no need to specify what Zoro is talking about, what the it is. They both know.
This fact— You are not over it— not opinion, this fact, makes Luffy angry. But it shouldn't. He has nothing to hide, or so he tells himself, but things like this are the things he doesn't want people looking at. He clenches his fists, maybe even grits his teeth, but he doesn't respond, doesn't try to pry his mouth open with an iron crowbar, because if he tries he might scream.
Zoro cocks his head to look at him, and Luffy cannot bring himself to meet his eye. His own are watering traitorously and he knows that Zoro is purposely pulling at the just right levers to make him open himself up. If he looks at him, Zoro will look right through him all the way to the other side like a clear kaleidoscope and he can't. He doesn't have his hat, doesn't have it here to pull down over his eyes. “You are grieving, still.”
Throat bobbing, still staring downwards, Luffy whispers, “I thought I was done with that.”
It is too dark outside, for this. Too quiet. Luffy can hear his own breathing stutter and shake, and he knows Zoro can too.
Zoro shakes his head, long and slow, eye shutting momentarily to contemplate. “It never goes away, I would know. You're allowed to feel the way that you do. You can lean on us.”
Luffy opens his mouth to speak actual words, but the only thing that leaves him is a garbled whimper. He, very heroically, gathers enough strength to turn and look at Zoro in the lone eye he still obtains—and Zoro’s face immediately softens. “I just don't want you guys to worry.”
He thinks of Chopper, who'd wobble around the infirmary in worry and wouldn't be able to think about anything else, and Nami, who’d create maps out of pure stress because she doesn't know what else to do, and Sanji, who’d spend the whole afternoon cooking Luffy something since he’d probably think there's nothing else he knows how to do—besides kick people really well.
Zoro’s face sharpens, and Luffy recoils and hunches into himself. He drops the expression, smoothing out once more, yet still stern. “You’re making us worry more by not saying anything, idiot.”
He doesn't know what else to say to that. Luffy goes quiet. “I can't promise I’ll tell you guys everything, you know. I won't be able to keep it.”
Zoro’s expression does not change, which means he knew this would happen. Luffy looks back down, for a second, and registers he does not have his swords on him, which is rare. They're both missing their most precious possessions, which might just be a coincidence. “I know.”
Eyes glancing upwards, “I know you know.”
Their voices cannot take over how loud the silence is. It's like they're both stewing in something—Luffy, longing, Zoro, guilt. Guilt, for not being there, which is stupid. It is not his fault, and Luffy voices this.
The man’s remaining eye flutters closed. His scar twitches, and his thumb rubs across the calluses on his palms. “Don't direct this towards me.”
“I’m not,” Luffy says honestly. His voice thickens. “I'm telling you the truth.”
“I’m not the focus here, though.” Zoro’s leg bumps the edges of the crow's nest walls. He stares Luffy down. “Understand that. You know that.”
He crosses his legs, shoving his hands between his ankles. Luffy’s expression goes cloudy; “I get it, okay?”
“Good, then.” Zoro nods towards the ladder. “Back to bed. The cook will shit himself if you miss breakfast tomorrow.”
Luffy scrunches his nose, as if the very idea is insulting. Which it is. “I would never.”
Before Luffy can climb out of the crow’s nest, gangly limbs and all, Zoro snatches the hem of his blouse and tugs him back down. “You can come to me, too.”
Luffy sighs through his mouth, and says weakly, “I know, Zoro.”
Zoro squints, looking for the truth in that sentence. Satisfied, he tugs on a rubbery cheek, stretching it, and proceeds to watch it snap back. “Aye, Captain.”
By the time they get back to the hammocks, it's a miracle everyone is still asleep. Luffy makes a beeline for his own bed, but Zoro snags the back of his collar and slots the other in next to him in his own hammock. Zoro doesn't say anything in response to his own actions, not that he needs to, because the arm around his waist is heavy and so are Luffy’s eyes; it doesn't matter one bit.
Zoro is asleep within seconds, snoring quietly. If he's being honest, Luffy probably would've climbed into Zoro’s hammock within minutes of being on his own, anyway, so he saved him the effort. (Zoro knew this, he bets. He always knows.)
That next morning, though, Zoro sidles himself right next to Sanji in the kitchen—which, as expected, gets on the man’s nerves because no one ever dares to get in his way while he's cooking. Especially Zoro. He likes to keep a fifty-feet radius away from Sanji at all times.
Sanji’s head whips around like a startled parrot when Zoro stops right next to him. His eyes narrow, eyebrows knitting angrily, “Oi!” Sanji barks. “What are you doing?”
Zoro tilts his head down before Sanji can push him away, and speaks into his ear quietly enough even Luffy’s straining doesn't make out any coherent words. Sanji’s posture goes tense, then stiffens. Like- straight as a board, shoulders hunching up, practically at his ears.
The swordsman nods, and saunters off like nothing happened. Sanji looks at his retreating form—obviously off to the deck, before his eyes suspiciously flick in Luffy’s direction. Luffy cocks his head at him, and Sanji looks away.
He keeps a mental tab on the entire scene, though, even if it doesn't seem like it. He messes around with Usopp in the grass and bugs Franky about new machinery; he asks Nami about where they're going next, and Robin asks him to play checkers with her and he has nothing better to do, so.
Eventually, he tires himself out. Luffy’s head feels heavy and his heart aches like it's about to sink to his toes—so he makes his way to the front of the ship. That's where he finds Zoro, seemingly fast asleep against the wall blocking Sunny's figurehead. Luffy plops himself right next to him, and presses their sides together. “Aye.”
Zoro scoots the side enough to give Luffy more room, and nudges Kitetsu’s handle to the left so it's not pressing into Luffy’s thigh at an uncomfortable angle. “Captain."
“Mm,” Luffy acknowledges. He goes quiet. There is nothing to say to him.
The day passes by quickly. It feels strange, too fast, even. Like they're in a part of the New World where time is faster than usual—or it's just Luffy’s head messing with him. Either way, it's dreadful, because night means sleep and sleep means nothing good. He waits out everyone by the skin of his teeth. Zoro casts him a look, a look look, just bordering concern, before making his way to his hammock and just about falling flat on his face.
Brook turns to him as he walks into the boys' quarters. “Are you alright, Luffy-san?”
“Fine,” he says honestly. Fine is a good way to describe it. He's definitely not okay, but it could be worse. “Good night, Brook.”
The skeleton regards him with a nod. Luffy eventually gets into his own hammock, and sleep takes the helm.
It does not last long, as Luffy expected it to, but this time there is no one waking him up. He gets up by practically throwing himself onto the floor, shivering and sweating like a sick dog and a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that has him bolting for the bathroom door.
There's not much keeping his crew from waking up, because his footsteps were jarringly loud and the washroom’s light is on. Luffy swallows, and it's horrible. He gags, which turns into a violent fit of coughs.
His forehead isn't too acquainted with the bathtub’s rim, but there's a first time for everything. Luffy’s fingers dig into his knees and his eyes clenched shut as his body racks with shivers. He rubs the back of his wrist against his lips, brushing away the bile, and grabs the towel on the hanger. Eyes watering at the smell, the feeling, the unbridled drowsiness—his mind flashes back to the dream, the gap in his brother’s chest, and he chokes.
This time, though, a warm hand is centered between his shoulder blades. It makes him jump, slightly, but even that motion makes his stomach coil. Luffy would strongly disagree if he were to say they were not appreciated, because the feeling is nice and it's somewhat grounding. It's too hot. He feels like it's stuffy and warm and he cannot breathe.
Someone, whichever crewmate is behind him—the fingers are smooth and thin, not calloused or rough—takes a wipe and rubs at his forehead. Moving downwards, it brushes at his mouth and his cheeks, and Luffy croaks out a small, Thanks.
The toilet clatters, a water bottle is shoved into his vacant, clean hand, and Luffy reaches up the opposite one to feel that his cheeks are wet. He huffs out a breath through his nose. The hand on his back has not moved once; Luffy appreciates that.
Even after being wiped down, his body still resides at a way too high body heat, which is intensely uncomfortable. Sweat rolls down the back of his neck, and Luffy reaches up a shaky arm to brush it off. He takes a swig from the water bottle, blinks a few times—and his head seems to clear a bit.
Once he's regained his bearings, Luffy calms his labored, uneven breathing. He rubs at the remaining tears that cling to his cheeks, his chin—the ones that his crewmate missed. It hurts.
A voice speaks behind him; he can hear the faucet running. “Back with me, Captain?” Sanji. Luffy should've known—Zoro must’ve asked him at breakfast to go on watch and take care of him if anything went awry.
He puts trust in his voice that it’ll actually say words when he opens his mouth. “Yeah.”
Luffy wobbles on his knees. Sanji reaches an arm around his waist and under his armpits, mumbling a one, two, three- before yanking him to his feet. The world spins, and oh, the hand is back.
Sanji guides him step by step to the kitchen, throwing a blanket around his shoulders, holding his water bottle for him, and eventually seats him in one of the chairs. Luffy looks at the gloss of the table’s surface. “Nightmare, yeah?”
Luffy nods without speaking. He does not want to talk about it, but this time he probably won't get away with that because of what happened in the bathroom. Sanji barrels on, as he expected. “You saw something. In the nightmare.”
It feels like he's swallowing a bitter stone, because his throat will not breathe. “Ace.”
There's a soft spot in between Luffy's ribs. Ace knew how to get to it, knew where it was—just by existing. Luffy let him in, because of course he did, it's Ace; but he is not here anymore.
Sanji’s eyes darken, as if he knew that was coming, and he probably did. While Zoro knows Luffy, so does Sanji; because he makes his way around the island counter and grabs a bowl, paired with flour. “He seemed like a good brother.”
Luffy turns to him, blurry-eyed. “The best,” he corrects wetly. His voice wobbles, full of treble, and it wears him to the bone. “No one could beat Ace.”
Sabo ties with him. But Sabo is not here—with him, right now, and neither is Ace. That's different. Completely different wavelengths, but the same, almost. “I like to remember Ace. It keeps his memory alive, I think. But- but it hurts to remember, because it reminds me that he is gone.”
His cook’s chin dips, then lifts. The whisk clanks against the rim of the bowl. Tears roll down Luffy’s cheeks, and there is nothing he can do to prevent such. Because even if he tried to wipe at them, more would take their place. Hands shaking, clenched tightly, his nails pushing crescents into his palms—Luffy blinks rapidly. “I miss him.”
It doesn't take long for Sanji to shove a plate of golden-brown waffles in front of him. Not that Luffy has a particularly big appetite currently, but it's a good distraction and they're good, as always, melting in his mouth and just the right amount of fluffy. It's the little things, he supposes.
Sanji pulls a cigarette out of his pocket—after Luffy is finished eating, lights it promptly, and takes a seat across from him. “Missing your loved ones is not uncommon. You've just got to keep in mind- or, focus on what you still have. Don't get caught up in the past.”
“I know that,” Luffy pauses, then presses the flesh of his palms against his jawbone, like a poorly-worn pair of earmuffs. He plants his elbows on the table, leaning on them. “It's just—I keep getting those nightmares even though I’ve… come to terms with Ace. I did, a long, long time ago.”
Sanji flicks some ashes off his cigarette. It’s a little concerning that he's doing it inside, but Sanji seems unfazed. “You can come to terms with a death and still think about them a lot. Recurring nightmares are a common symptom of grief.”
He wipes at the slowly-stopping tears rolling down his cheeks with the back of his knuckles. His heart is warm, as if Ace is here, wrapped around him. His bottom lip wobbles. “I just don't get it.”
“It's not something you have to understand.” His eyes gleam, but his mouth is set in a thin line. Sanji’s head tilts, as if questioning, “It's grief, Luffy. It's not something people have ever been able to control, really. Although, you can help yourself heal from it. Did— Luffy, did you ever get closure regarding Ace?”
What classifies as closure, to Sanji? Would Ace have to still be alive to cure that? Would enough people have to grab him by the shoulders and shake him to get him to try and grasp the concept that Ace’s death was never, and will never be Luffy’s fault? Is that closure? Or is closure coming to terms with the fact Ace is never coming back, ever, and recognizing that is just how it has gone, and how it will continue to be?
Luffy doesn't answer Sanji’s question; he does not have an answer to give him. His cards are flat, face-down on the table. He does not know how to play his hand in this scenario. It probably does not matter—his hand was never a winning one, anyway.
The blond eyes him, but lets it go. Or, more specifically, keeps the thought marked down but lets Luffy off the hook for the unforeseeable future. Luffy repositions the blanket over his shoulders, and Sanji stands—throws away his cigarette, and grabs the empty plate.
Once he's done, he pats Luffy’s cheek. “You're not sick, right? I won’t need to tell Chopper about that?”
Luffy shakes his head, and turns to Sanji stiffly, “No. Do not make him worry like that.”
Sanji blows out a breath, and ruffles the younger man’s hair. “Alright, then. Go get some sleep, Captain.”
Robin’s eyes are soft. “I called Sabo.”
Luffy inhales sharply, lips parting, eyebrows hitting his hairline—because of course he does, it's Sabo, but he can't help but feel just a little bit betrayed. “You called Sabo?”
“Sanji took my place last night.”
Luffy goes quiet, his hat tipping over his forehead. She was probably also on her shift the day Zoro woke him up. Robin can see almost everything on the ship when she's awake when she wants to, and—well, Luffy being sick to his stomach, quite literally, is probably enough to warrant her concern. She's probably noticed his sleeping patterns. “Robin-”
“I don't want to hear it,” she says, gently, yet firm. “You're going to talk to your brother about it.”
Talking to Sabo about Ace is always a sore spot, probably for both of them. It makes Luffy feel every emotion he ever felt on that day come back out; it never feels good, because he becomes so heavy with sorrow it practically makes him tired. Sabo swims in guilt on a daily basis—the mixture of both their feelings thrown into one conversation wouldn’t end well for either of them.
He's also breaking their promise, by calling Sabo. Sabo has his own adventures, Luffy has his. Not being able to sleep at night should not make them have to pull Sabo from his duties to babysit him. That's not his job—he's a revolutionary. He has much better things to do. “Why would you-”
“Luffy,” Robin fiddles with the white bow sitting in her hair, and the blue in her eyes gets smaller. She smiles, comforting and soft, but her eyebrows tighten and the corners of her eyes are stressed. “Trust me on this one, okay?”
It takes a lot in him to shut his mouth, but he does, because he trusts Robin’s opinion. He can do it for her, because she has asked him to.
“Hey,” Sabo’s voice is mellow, his face painted in concern. His boots are heavy weight against the deck’s floors. “Luffy?”
Luffy looks away from him on approach, and sways his foot over the open ocean on Sunny’s figurehead. He speaks to the open air, “Sabo.”
His brother steps over the wall with ease—and Luffy is almost forced to turn and look at him more closely due to proximity—he's not wearing his coat, and he's stripped himself of his pipe. Sabo’s hat is gone, too. Luffy’s straw hat presses lightly against his back.
Sabo’s eyes narrow at the black circles under his own. Luffy wipes at them, almost self-conscious; he's never been self-conscious in front of his brother, but—Sabo’s face is watching him as if he's documenting his expression down on paper. Drinking his fill, making sure Luffy is not injured. “Robin wasn't lying when she said you hadn't been sleeping.”
He blows out a quick breath of air. Under his breath, he mutters, “I have been, technically,” he shrinks under Sabo’s disapproving look, “Sabo, every time I go to sleep I see Ace.”
That wakes Sabo to attention more than any caffeine ever would, if his sharp gasp says anything. Ace’s name always seems to bring something out in Sabo, for good reason, but it's always disheartening. It always physically affects him, one way or another. “Oh, Lu.”
He can't bear to look at him, so he turns away and faces the open ocean. It doesn't smell like salt, or sand. It smells like gunpowder, fresh blood, and burning smoke. “I always wake up with my crew shaking me. He won't leave.”
Sabo’s face goes dark, when he shifts himself back around. “I see him a lot, too. I don't even have a right to be able to—”
Luffy’s eyes go sharp, and gives Sabo a swift punch to the shoulder; it's hard enough to make the blond wince and rub the spot out of necessity. “Don't act like he wasn't your brother, too.”
Sabo rubs at his face with a clenched fist. “Luffy-”
“ No!” Luffy slams his hand down on the top of Sunny’s head—he retracts it right after, rubbing the top of her apologetically. “No. No, Sabo, it doesn't matter you didn't see him for all those years, because the second you got your memories back you remembered us, and you cared. You wanted us back. That is enough.”
Surprise is etched into his face. Luffy knows that meant a lot to Sabo. His hand reaches and cups his cheek— “Thank you, Luffy.”
Luffy smiles, curving his lips. Sabo’s eyes narrow, the tears still prominent. “It wasn't your fault, either.”
His expression drops like a snap of the fingers. Ace died for him. If he wasn't in the way—if Luffy was stronger– “But, Sabo- I could've-”
His face crumples, as if the very concept of Luffy blaming himself for Ace’s death is physically painful. His thumb rubs the purple underneath his eyes with the uttermost care, gaze morphing into something more gentle than Luffy has ever seen, beating the face he made when they reunited. “Ace made his decision, Luffy. His. He chose to do what he did, you had no control over it.”
“He's so stupid,” Luffy bursts at the seams, picking and pulling at the threadbare line, frustrated tears bubbling in his eyes, “Why was he so dumb?”
His brother's gloved-hand comes and covers the span of his nape, tugging him forward so his forehead is pressing against Sabo’s chest. Luffy digs his teeth into his bottom lip—an iron tang fills his mouth short after. “That's how Ace was. He didn't change a bit, did he?”
Sabo’s voice is wobbling. His brothers never crumbled, they never did, but over time—Luffy lost that outlook, because no one is immune to what is grief. Not even someone as strong as Sabo. Ace died without ever knowing Sabo lived—and Sabo lived without ever knowing Ace was even, if ever, a thing at all. The irony is a stab to the gut; and all he can do is shove that feeling to the pit of his stomach and ignore it till kingdom come. “No,” Luffy whispers, his voice cracking and stilted. “He just became more polite, I think.”
The voice above him chokes, and dips, “So we switched personalities, then.”
Luffy shrugs helplessly, circling his arms around Sabo in reciprocation. “Kinda.”
He doesn't like crying, anymore. Never did. Ace spent so long in their childhood telling him Don't cry, Luffy, banging the ideal in his head to not cry, that he almost doesn't know how to at this point. Or- he does, he just doesn't know how he's supposed to handle that feeling. The emotion of feeling so helpless all you can do is shed tears and let yourself go. “You still cry a lot.”
Point proven. He rubs his face into Sabo’s shirt, which Sabo will have to deal with later, but he does not care. “Ace spent a while teaching me not to. It worked. A little.”
Luffy only cries at times that he really feels is a time to cry. When he wants to, though, differs from when he can. He is the captain of the Straw Hats; he has people to protect. There are times when he needs to hold it back in, and keep his head on straight. Of course, the feeling is unpleasant, but he still does it. Except- not that he'd ever admit it- around Sabo, he feels a lot more emotionally vulnerable than he does around anyone else. When Ace died—all Luffy did was cry. There's no one else in the world who knew Ace like Luffy did except for Sabo; that connection gets the ball rolling. It reaches a phantom hand around his heart and squeezes all the blood out of it until he suffocates to death.
“I’m sure he did,” A hand tugs away a stray curl in front of his eye. “Probably tried his best, but you were always such a little shit it didn't work too well.”
“No,” Luffy agrees, nodding slightly. Sabo’s torso is warm. While, Sabo does run hotter than the average person, it seems to be at such a temperature he's doing it on purpose. As if to try and summon Ace’s presence with the showing of his Fruit.
His lip wobbles. Sabo’s hand goes aflame at will, and his fire-tipped fingers press against his cheeks. It's a strange feeling, yet comforting, and warm; Sabo’s eyes are tinted in concentration, focusing on not burning Luffy. It feels like it's Ace's hand holding his face. If he shuts his eyes, he can pretend—but he doesn't, because this is not Ace. It is Sabo. Sabo is all he has (besides for his own crew)—Ace is gone.
Sabo notices the look in Luffy’s eyes and bites his tongue. Luffy looks down. “I get alone, sometimes. And then I miss you guys. But I don't like missing you guys, because—”
Luffy does not finish his sentence. There is no need to; Sabo knows quite well what he means. He misses Ace, Sabo—the two of them together at once. Except, Luffy cannot give in to those fantasies, because they're the type that will never come true. He has to keep his head high for his crew and for himself, because he is going to live for Ace.
It goes quiet. The breeze makes the edges of Luffy’s hair sway. None of his crew has come to bother him or Sabo—maybe Zoro told them not to. Maybe Sanji joined in. It takes a heroic amount of courage to get himself to speak. “He didn't deserve to die.”
Sabo’s forehead thumps against his shoulder. The breeze is quiet in his ears, because it is just the two of them. There is no one else to hear, to feel what they feel. “No, he didn't.”
“But he's gone. And he's not coming back.”
He knows all of these things. He lists it off like the law. Like he's making a list of things he needs to keep track of, keep in mind. He will not lose his head. “No, he's not.”
Luffy’s throat bobs, and he scrubs at the burning in his eyes. Sabo’s pride radiates off of him; he’s doing good. “There is no point in constantly thinking about how Ace is gone.”
Sabo’s exhale is heavy. His body is warm, real warm. A hand cups the back of his head. “No, there isn't.”
Ace is dead, Luffy could say. He died in my arms. He is dead. He was murdered in front of me. He does not say this. He doesn't think he could bear it. It's not worth putting Sabo through it, either. He can talk to the mirror all he wants, but the mirror is not alive, and will not drown in the guilt he pours onto it. Sabo will. He will not do that to Sabo. “He's our brother, and we are going to live for him.”
It's the first yes. “Yes, yes we are.”
Despite not wanting Sabo to be there in the first place, he has a hard time letting him go again.
Luffy might not see him again. It's too much of a parallel—but, he has priorities and things to do. When the Revolutionaries' ship is floating in the distance, all Sabo needs to do is fly over there and he’ll be gone. His crew stands behind them, far enough they probably couldn't hear the conversation that well if they strained themselves. Not even Robin has an eye open—she’s giving them privacy.
Sabo fingers at his staff, twirling it and then placing it back to press against his spine. Luffy opens his mouth, to fill the silence, but Sabo rips one of his gloves off with the skin of his teeth and holds his hand out in front of himself. Mentally preparing himself, Luffy steadies his feet on the ground so he doesn't keel over—Sabo’s pointer finger flares, and fire surrounds the span of it.
It's not that hot . The aura is somewhat solace, as if pulling Luffy toward it, and the same finger of Sabo’s presses against his temple. Like before, it does really seem to be taking a good chunk of concentration so it doesn't burn him, but Luffy—this fire is Ace's. Ace’s fire is incapable of hurting him, because it is literally him. Ace. It's like it's in the fire’s code to stay at bay around Luffy. Or—it just applies to both Sabo and Ace.
Luffy curls his own finger around Sabo’s. The fire doesn't burn, the yellow flocking outwards absentmindedly. “Where are you going to go, now?”
Sabo’s other hand pulls at the skin on his cheek. Luffy winces, his head yanking itself to the side subconsciously to accommodate. “Why are you nervous?”
He blinks. He doesn't feel nervous—but Robin said a while back the Revolutionaries had a plan to raid the Reverie and that Sabo was practically leading it. Not that he doesn't have confidence in his brother’s abilities, except, according to his crewmate, anything could go wrong. There's a little bit of room to worry. “You're going to be okay.”
His brother’s eyes gleam. “I’ll be fine, little brother.”
He flexes his fingers, and Luffy’s head dips, grinning. “Okay.” His eyelids’ fall unceremoniously. “I’m tired.”
Sabo muffles a smile. He looks up at Luffy’s crew—Zoro is leaning against the back wall with his swords, Sanji’s got a cigarette between his fingers, and Usopp is kneeled on one knee, poking at Chopper’s cheek playfully. Robin is watching them with fond eyes, and Nami is looking out at the sea with a hand on her hip. The skeleton—Brook— Sabo adds, is speaking idly to Franky, his shoulders shaking when the cyborg’s hand lands on his back. Jimbei is standing next to Nami, eyes closed in concentration. “Yeah? Go sleep.”
Luffy leans forward, like a stilt tipping over, and plants his face in Sabo’s waistcoat. Sabo laughs, breathily, and pulls him from the garment. “Not there, idiot.”
Straw hat inclining backwards, Luffy’s brown eyes regard him with a strangely large amount of intelligence. But—then, he grins, big and loud, and Sabo feels his heart ache. His fingertips buzz in the best way possible. “See you, Sabo.”
He tips his hat with a smirk, like a big inside joke. Leaning back up, he pats Luffy’s head and ruffles the curls. Luffy’s nose scrunches, akin to a puppy. “Cya, brother.”
(That night, Luffy does not wake up in the middle of it. His fingers stay still, his eyes do not twitch, and he breaths with ease. His dreams are not plagued with the thoughts of his brother—it is like, well.
It is like he is at peace.)