Title: Something Lost

Summary: Sabo doesn't want to remember. What little he knows of his past fills him with horror, and all he wants to do is build his walls a little higher, a little stronger. And then he picks up the newspaper.

Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or its characters

Note: For whatever reason, my Sabo fics tend to be longer than the others. Wonder why that is...

The first thing that comes to mind when he wakes up is how much his head hurts. He's pretty sure it's not supposed to do that, but when he tries to figure out how it is supposed to feel all it does is hurt worse. Probably best to drop that then. Next, he tries opening his eyes, but all he gets is a sluggish, muddy response that really doesn't promise anything good. That's a no go then as well. Lying still for a moment, it almost occurs to him that he's probably injured pretty badly, and that the headache and thick as molasses feeling limbs can be chalked up to something like pain killer. Almost in that he still tries to get up anyway.

His hands kind of twitch in an imperceptible way and he thinks his eyelids may have fluttered a little when he tried to open them. Progress, he supposes, comes in baby steps. It is still progress though, and it only encourages him to try harder. Even when his head starts trying to kill him and he can't manage much past what he's already got. Most people would have stopped by now, he thinks absently, but it somehow fails to mean much, considering the thought doesn't come with any explanation as to what "most people" actually means. He deems it unimportant and goes back to being an idiot. Why did he even want to wake up anyway?

Well, there's not really any reason, he thinks, at least not one that comes immediately to mind. He just wants to. Shouldn't that be reason enough?

It takes a while, but the idea of giving up never really occurs to him, and eventually he's able to open his eyes. Except… only one of his eyes is opening and no matter how he approaches that conundrum he can't figure it out, both how to get it open and why it won't open. The light is unexpected though, and he quickly shuts it again to guard against harsh glare. Blinking slowly, he's able to finally keep his eye open comfortably.

"He woke up!" and the first thing he sees is a huge thing right above his face. It's colorful and loud and when his brain catches up to his eyes long after he's already flinched and cried his shock he still can't really believe it's a face.

He's vaguely aware of someone else speaking now, but all his attention is still focused on that purple monstrosity, still way too close for comfort but at least at the end of the bed now, instead of right up in his face. It takes a few deep breaths his lungs aren't quite prepared for before he's able to calm down, but what he comes up with is confusing and just worries him more.

"Uh," he looks around, eyes wide, mouth turned down in a disbelieving frown, "Where am I?" because it most definitely isn't somewhere that he recognizes.

Sitting up with only a bit of difficulty, he takes in his surroundings from a better view point, and though they do seem willing to answer his questions, that does nothing to quell his unease at unfamiliar territory. A man does approach slowly from the side of his bed, sometime later, bending down to show him a square of cloth with neatly printed letters along the edge.

"It says Sabo on your possessions. Is it your name?"

He thinks for a moment, because it does sound kind of familiar, but not in a way that really means something to him. "Sabo," he mutters, testing it on his tongue. Only then does he realize, no, he's not sure if it is his name, but he also can't remember what it is.

Looking up at the sound of a new voice, he sees a man with weird looking markings crisscrossing down the left side of his face. He doesn't devote too much attention to it though. Most importantly, he needs to sort out why he can't remember, and if possible maybe figure out his name. But then the conversation shifts to a possibility that makes his face pale and his blood run cold, and even though he has no idea why he feels this way, he knows he'd rather die before going to back to that place.

He tells them so, and he remains steadfast in his conviction. He will not go back. So they do the only thing they can in such a situation, and they let him stay.

Sabo is sitting in the crow's nest of the ship he's on, taking his turn on lookout duty when he gets the feeling of forgetting something important. It's been some years since he joined the Army, and this isn't the first time he's gotten this feeling. It was natural, he was assured, that some things would seem familiar, that what seemed like nothing would feel nostalgic.

It had never been this strong before.

He's looking out on the sea from fairly high up. He's done this before, but somehow this time feels different. It takes a while, but eventually it occurs to him that in all the years he can remember, he's never looked out onto sunset colored water from the crow's nest before. It's beautiful, he thinks, but it also gives him this strange wistful, longing feeling, building up as a dull pressure in his chest until he thinks maybe there's the sound of a child laughing.

Snapping his head quickly down, trying to pinpoint the source of that noise, both because he knows there are no children on this ship but also because it sounds so familiar. Sabo is greeted by the sight of a serious faced little boy, covered in more freckles than it should be able to fit, and an even smaller dark haired boy with a wide grinned stretched across his face. For a while, he can only stare at them, eyes widening and mouth thinning into a tight line.

No. He quickly looks away. There was a slightly surreal feel to them, like they weren't actually there, no matter how real they looked. There edges were kind of blurred, but in his haste, Sabo only notices in passing. Hallucinations, that's all it is. Granted, he's never had one before, but again, it had been among the list of possibilities, especially given the way he'd lost his memory.

Curling his hands into fists, eyes clenching tight, Sabo pretends they aren't there. They're not real, he tells himself, it doesn't matter who they are, they may not even exist at all. It's not important, it's best not to remember, because the last time he felt even close to this strongly about his past he was young and injured and scared out of his mind about what that past held.

Whatever had happened, whoever he used to be, he hadn't been happy, and more than anything, he hadn't been free. So now he shuts out this new development, he makes a mental note to never watch the sunset again because he doesn't want to remember. Remembering means accepting all the things that terrified him, means knowing what those terrifying things are. He's happy now though, he doesn't need to know, so he blocks out the memories and fortifies those walls inside his mind that lock away the dark places. After a while, someone comes up to relieve him, and Sabo forgets the incident.

Seven years later, Sabo is reading the latest newspaper and sees something that catches his attention for a reason that isn't immediately obvious. It's a bounty, is the first thing that really registers, and he can't wrap his head around why he stopped on this one, out of all the others. It's new at the very least, featuring a picture of a freckled young man in an orange cowboy hat. No matter how long he looks at it, Sabo can't shake the feeling that he knows this kid, even though he's pretty sure he's never seen him before in his life.

Soon enough, Sabo skips over and promptly forgets he even looked. It's just a new kid, his bounty isn't even particularly high.

In another two years, Sabo is staring at another wanted poster, and the photo of the ruffed up kid with the huge grin and the old straw hat somehow reminds him of Fire Fist, whose wanted poster is now filed neatly in with that of Whitebeards other commanders. He doesn't know this kid either. He and Fire Fist don't even look all that much alike. So why do though both seem so familiar? A promise he can't quite remember tingles at the back of his mind.

It's only been a few months this time, and the war at Marineford has more or less come to a close. While a bit dramatic (Shanks really did fit with the rumors of his flair for it), the outcome was important to keep up with. Surely, it would affect their operations greatly in the future, besides, it was smart to keep up with current events as much as possible anyways.

Sabo is flipping through the pages, reading as fast as he can because he's curious, but also not curious enough to take any more than the essentials. Suddenly he's stopped over a photo of Fire Fists gruesome death. A young man, hunched over, back to the Den Den Mushi, and an enormous hole punched through his chest. The fist is still there, glowing with heat and Sabo marvels at how the very air has yet to combust.

But it's a fleeting thought, because also on that page is a much better picture of Fire Fist. His wanted poster, printed neatly right next to the war footage, and Sabo nearly doubles over and vomits right there.

It's better not to remember, he tells himself. There was only pain before. I'm happy now. Except he can't tear his eyes away from that smirk and wavy black hair. Can't stop those cracks in his walls that suddenly turn to falling slabs because now he remembers.

This wasn't just some high powered important player, or an old mistake the World Government was keen on cleaning up, or one of the many sons Whitebeard was known to go to the ends of the ocean for.

This was Ace, his brother. And for the first time in years, Sabo cried.

Well there you have it. I'll do my best to get into some lighter stuff, but no promises. For whatever reason I can't explain (so don't ask), all my ideas recently have just been angsty even though I legit can't write angst. Well, maybe "can't" is a bit strong, but you get what I mean. But whatever, I'm running out of things I wanted to write about, so if anyone wants to read something in particular without having to write it, I'd be happy to fill out a prompt for them.

Anyway, good night, got stuff to do tomorrow... Actually guess it would be "today" now. Whatever, this is the end, hoped you liked it. Good night.