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It burned. Sanji woke with a start, not realizing he had blacked out, but when reality shifted back into place he could feel the searing pain in his eyes and knew precisely why he had. Hissing, he tried desperately to peel them open despite the gummy substance gluing them shut. But no matter how hard he tried, the slime held firm. Laying in the dirt with the caustic stuff still smeared across his pale face, he tried to calm his racing heart.
What the hell was he supposed to do now? Around him, he could still hear shouting Marines and the mingling voices of his nakama. Sanji’s head swum and he coughed roughly on the smoke that seemed to choke the battlefield, but he counted his lucky stars that it also helped to conceal him from any wayward soldier looking for an easy target.
He was useless. Trembling hands curled into fists and he tried to rein himself in. It was temporary, right? The cook would be just fine after the battle was over, when Chopper had a chance to take a look at him and find the precise solution to safely remove it. Of course. But…what if he couldn’t? What if this shit caused permanent damage? If the young doctor couldn’t treat him in time, would Sanji go blind? How would he cook? How would he fight? Heart throbbing roughly, a steadying breath lead to more coughing and with a desperate whine he was glad no one could hear, the young vampire tried to at least sit up.
Getting as far as raising his upper body with his shaking arms bracing him, he tested to see if his legs would cooperate. They weren’t injured badly, just the normal battle bruising here and there from his kicks against hard bodies, but the ever-present burning sensation across his eyes more or less made everything else nearly impossible to focus on. Panting with the effort it had taken to sit up, he remained in that position, trying to get his bearings.
After his third or fourth attempt to put his legs under him, Sanji gave up and let himself fall back on the hard ground again with helpless panic growing in his chest. This was really bad. Every minute that passed was surely doing further damage to his eyes. Hell, what if trying to open them had only made things worse? The cook was going to be blind and what use would the rest of his nakama have for him then? He’d be a burden. Sure, maybe he could learn to adapt and still be able to cook and to fight, but that would take time. More time than they would be afforded out in the world with enemies nearly always right on their heels. Sanji would only slow them down.
Lost in his raging thoughts, he hadn’t noticed that someone had moved in beside him until they were wiping a wet, warm something over his face. Sanji nearly jolted into whatever move of self-defense he could muster before he realized they were trying to clean the slime from his eyes. Shock boiled down into a weak sense of relief, the red, irritated skin around his eyes already feeling slightly better. The cloth he felt--was it a cloth?--retracted when most of the substance was gone and he lifted a hand to try wipe the rest away with his fingers. That’s when a firm, leathery paw came down on his wrist and gently pinned it back down.
“Oi, don’t touch it,” Zoro advised from his side and Sanji bristled instantly. “You’ll make it worse.”
“What are you now, marimo-mutt, Chopper?!” he snapped in annoyance, red-rimmed eyes finally cracking open, the exposure to air stinging so badly they began to fill with tears. “Don’t tell me what to do!”
But even with his eyes mostly open now, the world remained obscured by swimming darkness, seeing only vague, blobby shapes in hues of red. Blinking did nothing. Squeezing them shut and reopening them did nothing. And obviously rubbing at them was out of the question now according to Doctor Dogbreath.
Sanji heard the werewolf snort, could practically feel him rolling his eye. If he was going to laugh at him for this, he didn’t care if he was blind, he was going to kick the stray dog’s teeth in. But no laughter came, only a heavy sigh and a moment later Sanji felt the werewolf’s paw wriggle its way under the back of his neck. Pushing upward, the cook realized what he was doing and lent a hand, the two working together to get Sanji sitting upright. Once he was, Zoro padded back around before taking hold of one of the vampire’s hands and placing it against his furry side. This close to the werewolf, Sanji idly observed that his fur smelled of the Sunny’s lawn, of steel and blood and some wild scent the cook couldn’t place. Without his vision, he seemed able to actually focus more on other senses. That said, however, he wasn’t sure what Zoro was trying to do.
“What are you..?” he began with a puzzled expression.
“Grab hold and stick with me,” the swordsman instructed gruffly. “I’ll take you to Chopper.”
“You’ll get us both lost in this damn smoke with your shitty sense of direction,” Sanji corrected.
“Shut up, you lousy leech!” Zoro barked at the cook, losing patience.
Instinctively, the vampire hissed and flashed his fangs at the werewolf, rewarded with a low, challenging growl for his efforts. But the tense moment passed and Sanji’s shoulders slumped, his hand reluctantly taking hold of a tuft of Zoro’s fur. There was nothing he could do about the situation and as it stood, the directionally-challenged swordsman was his only chance of getting to safety. Very slowly and relying more on the werewolf’s anchoring bulk than he would have liked, Sanji was able to pull himself up onto his feet.
“Thanks,” he muttered under his breath, looking down in the general direction of the werewolf’s head.
“What was that?” came a reply dripping with smugness.
“I‘m not repeating myself, just go already!”
Zoro began to walk, thoughtfully taking his time to find a safe path through the battlefield, stepping around rocks--and groaning bodies--while also avoiding ditches and sudden dips in the ground. Every so often he would glance back at the down-turned face of the cook, frowning to himself. He knew that slime hurt, having gotten some splashed across on of his sides by the stupid Marine captain wielding it, but could only imagine having it on his face. Cringing at the blistered redness of the skin around Sanji’s eyes, he turned away and focused on his surroundings again.
Some minutes later, the werewolf’s ears perked up as he heard their small doctor squeak and come running to meet them.
“Ahhh! What happened?!” he fretted, looking up at Sanji.
“Some of that purple shit got in his eyes,” Zoro replied, feeling the cook’s grip tighten on his fur momentarily.
“Quick! We gotta get him inside so I can--ZORO!” Chopper all but shrieked, startling Sanji.
“What?”
“YOUR MOUTH IS BLEEDING!”
“Is it?” he sounded bored by the idea.
“What did you do?!”
“Nothing.”
“Agh! Both of you, come on! We have to hurry!”
Blinking blindly, Sanji wondered what the big deal was. Zoro bled. That was just a thing that happened. Constantly. Honestly, it would be more shocking to find that the swordsman wasn’t.Though, he supposed he had to admit, it was a pretty unusual place to be bleed from. What had that idiot done to injure his mouth?
Stopping suddenly in his tracks, he stared down at the vicinity of the werewolf with wide eyes as he realized exactly why the idiot was bleeding from the mouth. No, not just the mouth. The tongue, especially. Shaking fingers tugged at Zoro’s fur to the point that he had to stop and glance up at the cook.
“You…idiot!” he blurted, expression that of concerned anger.
The werewolf simply shrugged with a grunt and Sanji swore loudly.
Chopper wrung his hooved hands together anxiously, waiting for the pair to join him so he could tend to them in his clinic. Cuts and bruises would have to wait, the chemical injuries had to be treated immediately or one could end up blind and the other…the tiny doctor shuddered to think of what ingesting the stuff would have done. Some activated charcoal and milk would certainly help until he could determine exactly what the substance was and the proper antidote if it was toxic. He was also glad Sanji had gotten his eyes open, preventing prolonged exposure to the slime and allowing his tears to flush some of it already.
Walking again and practically dragging the cook with him, Zoro followed after Chopper. If his mouth burned a little, that was fine. If his tongue bled, that was fine too. Everything would be fine now that he’d found their doctor. Nothing to worry about at all. He could feel Sanji’s glare boring into the back of his head and that was fine, too. He understood. But he was confident that he had made the right call, trading temporary discomfort--the shit tasted bitter and coppery--for preserving his nakama’s vision.
“Masochistic moron…” Sanji sighed heavily as his grip relaxed on the tuft of fur, letting his fingers run through it almost apologetically as they went.
“You’re welcome,” the swordsman muttered, telling himself that he didn’t enjoy the gesture even remotely.