Chapter Text
Luffy’s phone was a graveyard of forgotten group chats and meme collections, but one thread was always at the top, pinned. The last message was from him, sent eight months ago: ["hey ace they let me have extra dessert today its the good kind with the jello cups :)"]
There was never a reply.
He found himself staring at it now, during naptime at the nursery. The soft, rhythmic breathing of sleeping children usually soothed him, but today the silence felt heavy. His thumb hovered over the screen, the old habit so ingrained he almost typed out another update—"one of the kids called a giraffe a 'long-necked cow' today you'd have laughed"—before the reality, cold and final, washed over him.
He remembered the last time Ace could reply.
Propped up on hospital pillows, his voice a thin shadow of its usual boom, he’d grabbed Luffy’s wrist. "You're gonna be so great, Luffy. Don't you ever doubt it." He’d been the first person to ever say that and make Luffy believe it.
Ace's life had fractured young. His mother passed away when he was an infant, and ten years later, his father followed. If not for the bond between Ace’s late father and Luffy’s Grandpa—two CEOs who were longtime friends—Ace would have been truly alone. Instead, Garp took in the furious ten-year-old, integrating them into their chaotic family.
Ace became Luffy's first and fiercest defender.
The memory was a sharp ache.
The quiet of the nursery was suddenly suffocating. Luffy slipped out, his feet carrying him through the city, the unspoken words to his brother a silent mantra in his head. The journey was a blur, ending where it always did when the weight became too much.
Luffy found himself walking the long way home.
He remembered the funeral—the crushing smell of lilies and damp earth, the way the suited mourners had kept their distance, whispering about the late-stage metastatic sarcoma that had hollowed out his brother. Ace had hidden the worst of it from him, right up until the last hospitalisation. The great fire of the family had simply run out of fuel.
Ace had never let him look weak, and Luffy was trying not to now. He reached the familiar corner of their street, the one with the cracked sidewalk and the overflowing trash can.
That's when he saw it. A small, trembling brown lump, a puppy with a broken leash, darting into the busy intersection, lost and terrified. Luffy ran without thinking. The puppy was safe in his arms, licking his cheek.
But then—
A harsh, blaring horn tore through the air, and for the first time since he was seven, Luffy felt truly warm. Ace. He saw the brilliant, joyful fire in his brother’s eyes, calling him home. The world became a deafening crunch, and then, only peace.
The world had dissolved into an immediate portrait of sound.
A door creaking, someone weeping hysterically, the harsh, metallic clang of the truck idling to a stop, the confused, tiny whimper of the puppy as it was passed to a pair of safe hands. Luffy heard the shouting and the footsteps, the noise of people trying to make sense of a mess that was, for him, perfect.
His chest felt heavy and his vision swam, the lights of the city blurring into an abstract smear of colour. He knew he wasn't going to make it. There was no pain, just the immense, silent understanding that this was the end of his journey on this side.
Grandpa, I did a good thing.
That was enough. He didn't need to be a great CEO or a hero for the world; he just needed to be brave enough to go home. He smiled, feeling the phantom pressure of a strong hand on his shoulder—Ace's hand.
He had run out of time, but he was finally running toward something.
Luffy jolted awake, the phantom warmth on his shoulder replaced by the repeated, sharp tap of a walking stick. "Up, up, up! Come on, boy, you can’t be sleeping here." A gruff, deep voice sliced through the silence.
Luffy blinked, his senses swimming. He wasn't on cold asphalt, but nestled (disgustingly) against a pile of damp, flattened cardboard in the back of an alley—a typical trash-sorting area. The air smelled of rotting fruit and city dust, not sirens and diesel. A stout elderly woman in a faded knit cardigan stood over him, her face wrinkled, but her eyes surprisingly concerned.
"Honestly, young man. Don't you know better? This isn't hygienic," she scolded. She held out a handkerchief. "Are you alright? You look pale as milk. You shouldn't be sleeping with the rats."
Luffy pushed himself up. His body was whole. His shirt was dusty, but not torn or bloody. He let out a strange, choked laugh—a mix of confusion and pure relief that he couldn't explain. He grabbed the handkerchief. "Sorry, Grandma," he wheezed. "Thanks. But... I thought I was dead. Didn't a truck just turn me into a pancake?"
The grandma’s already concerned eyes went wide with sudden, dramatic horror. Her face pinched even tighter. "Oh, dear Lord!" she whispered. She grabbed his arm—a grip surprisingly firm for someone her size. "No! Absolutely not! We don't talk like that, young man! That is no good talk, do you hear me? You’ve been through something terrible, haven't you?"
Luffy blinked, bewildered by the rapid shift in her demeanour. She was dragging him out of the alleyway now, her stick tapping frantically on the concrete. "Come on, you are not spending another minute in this filth talking nonsense about... about pancakes. You need a shower, and you need proper food in your stomach! Come straight with me. I live right around the corner."
Luffy, utterly lost and too confused to resist, allowed himself to be hauled along. He was still trying to process his intact limbs and the absence of Ace. He gave the old woman a dazed but genuine smile. "Okay, Grandma. I'm Monkey D. Luffy."
She didn't pause her speed walk. "I'm Dory. Now hurry up!"
Grandma Dory was a whirlwind of practical instructions and bossy care.
Before Luffy could finish absorbing the warm, cluttered chaos of her small apartment—all crocheted doilies and sturdy, vintage furniture—he was pointed toward a cramped bathroom. "Shower! Use the lavender soap. There's a towel on the rack. I'll leave some old, clean clothes of my son's outside the door. They might be big on you, but they're better than that street garbage. I'll go buy you proper new clothes later. Food in five minutes!"
Luffy was utterly bewildered, but charmed by the relentless kindness. He liked her. He liked the smell of old wood and spices. As he turned toward the bathroom, his eyes snagged on a bright, illustrated wall calendar hanging above a small kitchen table. The paper was glossy, advertising a local mechanic shop.
His breath hitched.
It wasn't just the wrong month.
The bold numerals screamed a completely impossible year: 2014.
2014.
The number echoed in his mind, but Luffy forced a shake of his head. No way. It was probably just part of the décor, some weird, vintage calendar Grandma Dory had hanging up. Everything in this house looked old. He pushed the thought aside—it was too big, too insane and his brain felt too bruised to handle anything that complicated.
He stepped into the bathroom, stripping off his filthy clothes.
The warm water was a shock to his system, washing away the stench of the alley and the phantom chill of death. He scrubbed hard, trying to cleanse his skin of the memory of the truck's shadow. Stop thinking about it, he commanded himself. Thinking hurt. Thinking led him back to Ace, to the grave, and to the ridiculous, impossible year.
He emerged later, feeling clean but unsettled. The clothes Grandma Dory left were, as promised, old but clean: creamy, loose-fitting short-sleeve shirt and baggy grey trousers, cinched tightly at the waist by a too-big belt. He looked less like a survivor and more like he was wearing someone's hand-me-down pyjamas.
"Luffy! Get out here! Before you eat, you drink this," Grandma Dory's voice boomed from the kitchen. Luffy walked out, ready for food, but dreading the confirmation of the outside world. She thrust a mug of warm, clear liquid into his hand. "Don't upset the stomach."
Luffy took a large gulp of the warm water. It tasted of nothing, but it was soothing. He flashed a genuine, wide grin at Grandma Dory. "Thanks, Grandma Dory! You're the best!"
Dory softened slightly, tapping his arm. "Of course, brat. Now sit down! This is a simple rice porridge, good for easing you back. Eat your carrots and the bits of chicken. All of it." She placed a steaming, generous bowl in front of him.
Luffy’s eyes immediately lit up at the sight of the food. His stomach rumbled loudly. Just as he was about to dive in, the memory of the calendar hit him, freezing his hand halfway to the spoon. He needed to know. He looked around the sunny, normal kitchen.
"This is great!" he started, trying to sound casual, "But I'm kind of confused. When I fell asleep, it was dark, and now it's morning. So, um, what time is it right now? And what day, exactly? Like, the date?"
Dory patted his shoulder heavily, mistaking his genuine confusion for lingering mental distress. "Now, now, brat. Don't worry about clocks or calendars. It's 9:15 AM, and it’s Friday, November 23rd, 2014, a perfectly good day to start fresh," she stated firmly, her voice kind but leaving no room for argument. "It was just a bad dream, brat. Now eat the rice."
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The fact that it was 2014 and that he was somehow perfectly intact after being hit by a truck finally clicked into place. Monkey D. Luffy had died and woken up in the past. It was absurd, it was impossible, and yet, here he was, sitting in vintage clothing in a stranger's house.
Luffy patted the pockets of his discarded jeans, which were neatly folded on a chair.
Everything was gone—wallet, keys, even his ridiculous straw hat keychain—except for his phone. He pulled it out. It was a sleek, modern smartphone, a completely foreign object in 20014. It powered on instantly, battery full, showing the familiar wallpaper: a grinning selfie of Luffy, Ace and Gramps squeezed together at the last birthday party.
A heavy weight lifted from his chest, replaced by frantic, soaring hope.
Ace was alive.
Luffy did the quick math: Ace was twenty-three in 2032. That meant in 2014, Ace was five years old. Five years old! Luffy hadn't just been sent back. He'd been given time. Time to fix everything, time to save his brother from the cancer that had quietly stolen his future.
Luffy bolted upright, knocking his chair backwards.
"Hey! What's wrong with you, brat?" Grandma Dory snapped, startled, rice porridge forgotten.
Luffy looked at her, his face alight with manic, joyful certainty. "Grandma Dory! It's not a dream! I time travelled! I have to go now! I have to go save my brother!"
Dory immediately stood, her expression transforming from annoyance to alarm. "Save him? Where in heaven's name do you think you're going? You're not thinking about running off and doing something silly, are you?"
Luffy stopped at the door, his hand already on the knob. He looked back at her, suddenly deflated. "Where... Where do I go?" He needed money, clothes, a plan. Then the answer hit him, the only anchor in this impossible reality. "Gramps! I have to find Gramps!"
He turned back. Standing right there in Grandma Dory's small kitchen, he poured out the impossible truth: the future was 2032, Ace was his brother who had died from cancer, he'd just been hit by a truck and killed, and now he was alive in 2014 when Ace was only five.
It was a chaotic mess of dates, death, and desperate hope. He spoke with the unshakeable, bright conviction of a madman, but the pain in his eyes when he talked about Ace's illness was too real to be dismissed.
Grandma Dory listened, her expression cycling from shock to utter disbelief. She didn't shout. Instead, she walked right up to him and gave him a firm smack on the top of his head. "You crazy, stupid brat!" she cried, a single tear tracking a path through the flour on her cheek. "Well, if you say so, you probably did! Because nobody that sane would be sleeping next to my garbage bins!" She wiped her face, suddenly regaining her composure. "Alright. But you're not going anywhere on an empty stomach! And look at you—you need travel funds."
Dory shoved him back into his seat. She then supervised his consumption of the rice porridge, forcing two more helpings into him. While Luffy frantically ate, she pressed a surprisingly thick wad of Thai baht into his hand. "Go brush your teeth properly this time! You need to look presentable for your grandfather!"
Five minutes later, Luffy was clean, full, and clutching the cash.
He knew exactly where he was: the city of Bangkok, Thailand, and he knew his grandfather’s flagship building by heart. Garp's corporate headquarters, the 'Rising Sun Provisions' Tower—a gleaming, fortress-like skyscraper famous for its executive cafeterias and global food export network—was a landmark downtown.
He gave Dory a final, grateful hug that nearly knocked the wind out of her. "Thanks, Grandma Dory! I promise I'll come back and buy you new cushions!"
"Wait, brat, you can't run out barefoot!" Dory’s shout stopped him at the door. She shoved a pair of shoes at him: fresh, bright green canvas sneakers she must have darted to the nearby market to buy while he was showering. They were cheap, but sturdy and even had a ridiculous, smiling bear pin clipped onto one of the laces.
Luffy didn't care. They fit perfectly.
He thanked her with a nod and was gone, bolting into the bustling street. He calculated the travel time instantly: he was near the central market; he could grab an express public boat up the river, then switch to a taxi for the final stretch. Estimated Time of Arrival: 45 minutes.
He ran, leaping over potholes, weaving through early morning market stalls, his heart pumping.
Forty minutes later, breathless, he arrived.
The Rising Sun Provisions Tower was exactly as imposing as he remembered. But the ground level was different. The entrance was flanked by polished brass railings and heavy, dark granite columns, leading to automatic glass doors that looked slightly thicker and opaquer than the seamless portals of the future. The lobby, visible through the glass, had deep, gold-veined marble flooring and several visible security cameras mounted conspicuously on high columns.
Luffy barrelled through the automatic doors. He barely noticed the heavy columns or the glaring cameras because his destination was the central, massive security desk. Behind the gleaming black granite stood a woman in an impeccably tailored navy suit, her hair pulled back tightly, who looked down her nose the moment she saw him—sweaty, panting and wearing clothes far too big, topped with a ridiculous bear-pin sneaker.
"This area is for employees and scheduled visitors only," she stated.
Luffy slammed his hand flat on the desk. "I need to see Monkey D. Garp! It's urgent!"
Her expression tightened into a professional mask of disdain. "Sir, if you mean the CEO, Mr. Garp does not accept walk-in appointments, especially—" she paused, looking him up and down—"from children. And furthermore, I can assure you that Mr. Garp has absolutely no living grandsons." She punctuated the lie with a condescending sneer.
"Yes, he does! I'm his grandson! Monkey D. Luffy! I need to talk to him now!"
The receptionist didn't blink. She reached a manicured hand toward the desk phone. "If you do not immediately vacate this lobby, I will call security to have you physically removed from the premises. This is private property."
Luffy's initial instinct was to charge the desk, but the mention of security—big, burly security visible just past the turnstiles—made him freeze. A sudden, cold wash of reality hit him. If he got tackled and arrested, he would lose the money Grandma Dory gave him, be stuck in a 2014 Thai jail with no identity and most critically, he wouldn't be able to look for Ace.
His mission would be over before it began.
Ace is the priority.
He dropped his shoulder. "You're right," he admitted, slightly deflated. "Rules are rules. You're doing your job, I guess." He paused, looking the stern woman dead in the eye. "But you didn't have to be a jerk about it. My grandpa wouldn't like how you treated his family."
Luffy turned and walked briskly out, pushing past the heavy glass doors and back onto the Bangkok side walk. The heat of the street felt less welcoming than before. He was still full of hope, but now he was walking, aimlessly and the huge meal Grandma Dory had forced on him felt like it was already demanding a refill.
He was definitely going to need a bigger plan, and probably some meat.
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Portgas D. Ace was five years old, and he was officially bored. Again.
His dad, Gol D. Roger, the CEO of 'Gold Line Airways', was currently somewhere over the Atlantic negotiating routes or buying new planes—it was always something. That meant another day of being supervised by his sweet, but utterly ineffective nanny, Dadan, and his two massive, perpetually stoic bodyguards, Dogra and Mogra.
Today’s destination: the brightly coloured indoor "Adventure Zone" playhouse at the mall, complete with its sticky plastic slides, padded obstacle courses and massive, hygienic pool of primary-coloured plastic balls. It was loud and contained, which meant it was the perfect place for a high-profile child to be lost.
Ace understood Dad's work. It meant always moving, always needing to be discreet, always leaving him behind. That quiet, burning resentment had taught him to rely on himself.
While Dadan was distracted giving Mogra a very serious lecture on nutrition, Ace slipped away.
He shimmied out of his shoes, tucked his small body under the netting of the climbing structure, and found the small, emergency staff exit tucked behind the faux-rock wall. Another day, another escape. He was already outside the climate-controlled mall and sprinting across the hot asphalt, enjoying the pure, silent thrill of being trouble.
Even a five-year-old could recognise the tools of a successful disappearing act.
Back in the playhouse, Ace had swapped his new, light-up shoes for a worn-out pair of sandals and a brightly coloured trucker cap from a slightly older kid. He'd then convinced a giggling girl to trade her mum's ridiculously large, rhinestone-studded sunglasses for his special, engraved pendant. No one would look twice at him now.
He wasn't going to vanish completely.
Just enough to cause a fuss.
He settled into the shade of a large banyan tree in a small, slightly forgotten park across from the mall. Soon, Dadan would start crying, and Dogra and Mogra would be shouting into their comms, and the news would filter up the chain.
It was the only way to get a reaction. The only way Dad really paid attention.
Ace felt a familiar hollowness. His mother had never been there, a ghost in every conversation. He knew it wasn't his fault, not really, but a part of him still blamed the tiny, helpless baby he'd once been for her absence. He felt perpetually on the outside, looking in at a world that his father controlled, but that never quite held Ace himself.
Ace tightened his grip on the strap of the sunglasses.
This was his way of reminding them all that he existed, that he was important enough to be missed.
A sudden noise nearby made Ace lift his head.
A sweaty, goofy-looking young man with a wild grin was barrelling toward him.
Ace instantly recognised the look of reckless intent. A stranger. A very fast stranger.
"Get lost!" Ace snarled, already scrambling off the planter, his five-year-old body poised for flight.
The stranger was quicker. A strong arm swept him up, the speed breath-taking. Ace yelled a muffled curse, his heart pounding a furious rhythm, and wound up a small fist to smash into the man's ribs. But the blow never landed.
Instead, he was pulled into a fiercely gentle embrace.
The man, who smelled faintly of lavender soap and old rice, was shaking violently. Ace felt the tears against his hair and heard the panicked, broken words: "You're okay. You're alive. Oh, God, Ace, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I failed you! I won't let you die!"
Ace's muscles locked. Die?
The confusion was paralysing. The hug was overwhelming, a crushing weight of affection he had never felt before, yet utterly secure. He felt his defiance drain away. He dropped his fists, resting his head unknowingly against the man's shoulder.
This is dumb. This is a trap.
Yet, a small, lonely part of him desperately wanted this intense, strange attention.