Chapter Text
Banaro Island is a dinky little out of the way place with little claim to fame beyond a few dubiously named rock formations and some fishing docks that double as their port. There’s a town on it that gets called a town more because most of the roads are paved rather than because of a bustling population. It has more travelers resting and resupplying between stops than actual people living there. Thanks to that no one looks twice at unfamiliar faces so it’s a decent place to meet an informant. Or so Sabo is lead to believe.
There is, in fact, an informant and Sabo does have a very quiet, very routine, completely unremarkable meeting with them. It just turns out there was a little… hiccup with the planned transportation for Sabo’s departure.
In that there wasn’t one planned.
For an entire month.
And look, Banaro is a lovely little island and all but Sabo really doesn’t want to spend a whole month here. This whole situation reeks of a particular person who should know better by now than to try this.
“Whatever she has on you I’ll double it!” Sabo hisses into the transponder snail. It doesn’t matter to Sabo if the revolutionary on the other end of the call takes that as a threat or a bribe. Sabo’s flexible. He can make it go either way. Both ways, even.
“Sorry Chief, but right now I’m more scared of her than I am of you.”
“That’s just because I’m here and she’s there. And we both know it’s not going to stay that way.”
“She is standing over this guy's shoulder! And I’ve already talked to everyone else answering calls for the rest of the month! They all know better than to arrange a pick up before your vacation is over so give up on getting out of this,” says his traitorous partner.
“I don't need a vacation! Dragon doesn't take vacations!”
“He is not a good example! We can handle a month without our chief of staff if it means you get some rest for once. We can’t afford to have you at any less than your best! Which means taking time to rest. Actually, really, properly rest! Which you haven't since... ever. You have never taken a vacation since you joined up. When you were ten.”
“I’ve taken time off before!”
“That time you pretended to take a vacation so you could go undercover and spy on politicians doesn't count.”
“Okay, well, what about two years ago?”
“Being on bed rest for breaking both your legs is not a vacation!”
“I was resting! That’s basically the same thing!”
“You did paperwork the whole time!”
“And whose fault was that?” Sabo asks.
“You literally won’t do it any other time! I had to take advantage of you being trapped in one place!”
“Well, anyway, it put me to sleep a lot. Which is resting. And that’s basically all a vacation is.”
“Uh-huh… Was setting up two— two— different spy rings and remotely helping a deep cover agent assassinate a dictator also resting?”
“…Who told you. Which one of them cracked?”
“That’s something you’ll have to figure out yourself... after your vacation.”
“Koala— Koala don't do this. I don't need a—”
"Gatcha" says the mini den-den, a variant of white den-den specially bred by the Revolutionary Army, as it settles back into a neutral state with the end of the call. It blinks expectantly at him. Sabo groans, dragging a hand down his scowling face, and flops heavily back into his chair. He sighs and gives the poor hardworking snail a few pieces of melon rind. As one of the only ways the army can safely communicate with each other from sea to sea it works very hard. As it chows down he presses his hands over his face and groans loudly.
“Why does she do this every year when she knows I’m just going to hop ships back to base,” he grumbles. He looks out the window of his inn room at the sleepy little town and sighs. “I guess I should’ve known this was a trap. Organizing a meet up on a little bitty island like this where getting off would be very hard without prearranged transport is exactly her style... Oh wait...” Smirking, he reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and grabs a money pouch that’s significantly bulkier than usual “I did guess. Better luck next time, Koala.”
He should have enough to buy passage at least to a larger island so he doesn't risk drawing attention to what is— betrayals aside— an admittedly decent meeting place. After that it won't be too hard to either steal a ship or stowaway. Whichever way the wind blows. It might even end up being a fun little adventure. Maybe he can ruin the day of a corrupt noble or three along the way! Still, with how quiet this island is he’s in for a boring wait for who knows how long until he finds a ship that will take a passenger so its not totally his win.
The snail finishes its meal. He resettles it into it’s transportation box and slides it into the inner pocket of his coat. He gets up, slings his pipe over his back, and heads out to see what trouble he can find. Who knows, maybe he'll get lucky and there'll be a ship willing to take a passenger docked and ready to go.
If there’s a ship willing to take passengers Sabo isn't about to find out any time soon. Because before he can even reach the port the sleepy town wakes up and absolutely everyone starts running in the opposite direction, screaming about pirates. Because, of course, some pirates decided to have a grudge match on the island Koala marooned him on and now the whole town is rushing to cower as far away as they can get in the hopes that it’ll only be their homes and businesses that become collateral damage.
Sabo plans on laying low himself. The average pirate might not be a threat to him but he's trying to not attract attention here. Well, mostly. Depending on how much attention the clash gets this place might be burned as far as meeting places go. (Damn you big news Morgan) Actually if it gets bad enough he may need to step in and save some people in which case this place will really be burned.
Then Sabo recognizes one of the names being thrown about by the fleeing townsfolk. Firefist Ace. There aren't a lot of pirates that catch his attention beyond basic information gathering but Sabo always likes hearing about that guy. Has since his debut— which is honestly kinda weird for him, actually. Now that he really thinks about it, rookies that catch his attention outside of work are... hm. Well. Pretty much just Firefist and that new super rookie, Strawhat.
Huh. He’s never really thought about that before. Well, whatever. Everyone has random interests. No need to read into it; not everything has some secret deeper meaning. Even though, with his job, a lot of things do.
…See, Koala, this is why he doesn’t take vacations. Too much time to get caught up in random weird thoughts not enough government officials whose days he can ruin.
Sabo heads in the opposite direction of the fleeing townsfolk. When he gets there Firefist is on the ground with some giant asshole standing over him, cackling about the power of darkness triumphing over fire and his plans to turn Ace over to the marines for a warlord seat. Typical petty power play if played out on a slightly grander and more worrying scale since there’s no way Whitebeard will take that lying down.
And Sabo, hunkered down behind debris with his presence banked down low just in case the giant asshole is any good at observation haki, feels a very confusing cocktail of feelings bubble. Fear, concern, and a terrible burning rage roaring it’s way up his throat. What the fuck? he thinks as he fights the urge to leap out, pipe swinging, and show this asshole why it’s a bad idea to mess with Ace.
Ace, who Sabo does not know. What’s wrong with me? Sabo clenches his hands so hard they ache. Okay, so he’s weirdly fond of Firefist. That doesn’t explain why he feels like he’s watching someone get the drop on Koala. He forces the feelings down and refocuses on the situation, evaluating.
Giant Asshole aka Teach aka Blackbeard— age 38, birthday august 3rd, 344cm, very recently former member of the second division of the Whitebeard pirates, unremarkable career up to that point, no known bounty, betrayed the Whitebeards for reasons unknown and struck out on his own, rumored to have killed a crewmate on the way out, allergic to mangoes and scared specifically of centipedes — leans down and grabs hold of Firefist, dragging the battered pirate aloft. Sabo is going to fill a mango with centipedes and shove it down his throat.
“Maybe I will stop by Water 7 and kill that baby brother of yours. Handing you over will net me a Warlord seat for sure. Who knows what else they’ll give me if I give them Strawhat Luffy as well.”
Firefist snarls. Sabo hears him tell Teach to stay away from his baby brother, muffled and distant under the sudden pounding of his heart sending rushing blood to fill his ears.
Teach laughs. “Who’s going to stop me? You?”
Sabo’s hand closes around his pipe. He trembles with the effort of staying in place and doesn’t understand why.
“Even if they don’t give me any bonuses his bounty will still be a nice prize. But that will be nothing compared to getting to hand you over to the marines with your baby brother’s head in your lap!” Teach throws his head back and laughs.
Sabo’s last little thread of control snaps, confusion swamped over and consumed by a blinding blaze of rage.
By their intel, Teach may be a skilled user of observation haki but all the foresight in the world can't help if you’re not cautious enough to bother using it. Or if you simply can't dodge fast enough. Who can say which it is? Teach won’t be telling anyone. Sabo brings his pipe down on Teach’s head with all the speed and force musterable by someone who can crush skulls bare handed.
(Reluctantly) To his credit, Teach’s skull doesn't shatter like a watermelon under the bat of an overly enthusiastic beach-goer. That doesn't mean he’s immune to getting a metal pipe slammed into his head by Sabo “Dragon Claw” Revolutionary. He goes down hard, brain rattling in his skull like a bagged goldfish at the fair in the hands of a sugar high child. His limbs flop ungainly as he tries to right himself.
Whatever attack a heavily concussed man like Teach can mount never gets the chance to come. Sabo slams one boot against Teach’s back, pinning him down, and raises his pipe again, a feral light in his eyes. There’s a well of rage burning through his chest and down through the fingers clenched tight around his pipe. He’s beyond questioning where it’s getting it’s fuel. He’ll worry about it when this asshole is dead and his head doesn't hurt so much.
“How dare you,” he growls through gritted teeth as he brings the pipe down on Teach’s head again. Teach’s fingers spasm. Sabo’s heart drums a pounding beat in his head, each pulse driving his rage higher.
“How. Fucking. Dare. You!” Sabo punctuates each snarled word with another slam of his pipe. He swings it down again and again until bits of rock and mud join the gore splashing across his face, his clothes, his pipe.
Bits in the air. Bits in his head, flickering and bright and each one a new point of pain.
“That man is— is Ace. Ace is. Ace is... he’s—” Sabo’s head feels like he’s on the other end of the brutal pipe murder. His arms shake. He drops his pipe to clutch at his head, panting as it pounds. A spike of pain in his eye like a lightning bolt to the brain. He squeezes his eyes shut as he claws at his hair. His knees wobble and he hits the ground in the mud and gore.
There’s a scuffing sound. A frantic voice. A hand on his elbow. He opens his eyes to a blurry face surrounded by dark hair. Freckles and fear and of course he knows who this is. This is—
“Ace.” The name is as familiar in his mouth as the way it so easily slipped into his head suggests. Heat races from his head through his veins like fire is leaking out of his skull. “You— You’re— I know you? I know you.” Of course he does. Of course he knows Ace. It’s Ace. How could he possibly forget Ace? How did he forget Ace?
He drops one hand from his head to grab Ace’s shoulder. What’s wrong with him? What’s happening? His body feels like it’s liquefying. His brain is soup. He could pour it out into a cup. Three cups. Three wide grins as they bind themselves together. Where’s Luffy? He’s missing. Where is he? Where is their baby brother? His head thunks into Ace’s chest. His brother’s chest. Ace is his brother and there’s something wrong with him.
“I know you. Ace. Ace, help.” He doesn’t fall so much as slide toward the ground, hands so weak they tremble slowing his descent. He doesn't worry about catching himself. Ace is here. Ace will catch him. Ace always catches him.