Work Text:
A rock,
Small Sanji woke up, his whole body ached with new bruises and soreness, the last time he felt like this was back at home, and those memories drew a shiver to burst through him. Small winces emitted from him, slipping past his lips and reaching the old man's ears.
'Old man!' Sanji finally noticed, he scowled the best he could and wished for nothing more than to punch him, begging a God he did not believe in to grant him the ounce of strength.
Like always, he didn't listen and left Sanji, a petite boy at the mercy of a pirate that took his ship down, made fun of his dream, and now presented him with the only resources he had to survive. A small bag of food, not compared to the one the man had, Sanji screamed in desperation but it was met with a huff and an insult.
"You're lucky I'm giving you food." The old man stated, not daring to avert his head from the sea, his eyes trained for a small sign of any life, preferably a ship.
'Whatever! I don't need him to survive.' Sanji gripped the bag, dragging it to the other side of the rock and plopping down onto the stone.
The hard surface made his back ache and he cursed the old man once more, he cursed until his mouth ran dry and he cursed until the sunset, cursed throughout his planning, and cursed until the words tired him out and caused the exhaustion that he bottled down to resurface and take claim of the boys' consciousness.
A few days passed and Sanji ate, he felt weaker but determined, a naïve hope that could only be fueled by a child's mind kept him alive. He hugged his knees, staring at the ocean to mirror the position of the old man and he waited like the man had, for a sign of life, a ship or perhaps a magical fairy that would take the form of his mother, to swoop him up in her warm arms and take him away from this hell. Yet, as days passed and food disappeared and his body grew weaker, the hope dwindled and sparked up at random. When he saw a seagull he tried reaching for it, but the blinding light nearly made him fall into the water, even when he saw the waves pick up speed the swore he could see a ship and he called out, but with the wind knocking his starved body back, flinging him against the rocks, the hope disappeared.
Like the man, the boy stayed up, he watched the moon until his eyes won the fierce battle, but on other nights he would stare wide-eyed after a nightmare, wishing for his death. The hunger felt awful and he would bite at the skin on his fingers, eating the tiny bits of flesh that surrounded his fingers just to get a taste of food. The food he so ungratefully rejected before, the food he wasted and threw away just because it stayed out too long, how he wished he could kick that stupid child, only a few months younger into the ground and dislocating his jaw. He would rummage through the trash, and eat stale and rotten food if he had to, even his vomit or another human's flesh, as long as he could stop feeling like this.
Finally down to the last bit of bread, mold seeping into the crust that was once soft and fresh, he bit down, weak hands barely holding onto the remaining dough, he savored the flavor even if it was unpleasant, he didn't care, his body didn't reject it, like his mind it knew he had to eat.
Then, seeming like the universe grinned evilly down at him, the bread slipped from his weak hold and fell, he tried to reach for it but his reflexes didn't match the exhaustion spell his body cast over him, and the bread fell. He watched it, tears appearing in his wide eyes as it landed in the ocean with a soft 'plop' and was eaten up by the ocean, so selfishly.
That was his last straw, the hope and determination he had vanished and he cried out, hopeless. He cried out to his mother, to his father and siblings who never loved him, he cried for them to rescue him, he would endure any abuse they decided to pin on him and he would take it, just so he didn't have to feel hungry ever again.
Waterfalls burst from his dull eyes and he fell face first into the rock, his nose bursting from the impact with blood. Sanji lapped at it, hungry and desperate, he licked his fingers to taste the dirt that was washed away by the wind. Saltiness, he smiled, knowing the ocean's signature taste, he laughed joyfully, his vision darkening. The boy, only 10 years old, had accepted his death and welcomed it by dreaming of his favorite person.
His mother.
"Cook, you've got to cook something up, Luffy's starving, he's eaten less in the past few days and it's taking a toll on his body." Zoro snapped the blond awake, glaring down at him.
Sanji waved him off and promised he would do his best. "You better, or else I'm gonna chop you up and serve you to Luffy, hurry it up," Zoro growled, turning to make his way out of the galley, but stopped and glanced at the cook over his shoulder.
"The ladies are beginning to feel it too," Zoro added and left, slamming the door shut with more force than usual.
The world sprung Sanji into action and pranced around the kitchen, his domain in glee, thinking of all the things he could make the girls, yet when he finally got in front of the fridge Sanji felt pain rip into his gut, he recognized it to be the pain of starvation and his palms began to sweat. His body stilled and his feet suddenly fell asleep, taking him by surprise that he almost fell forward and hit his head against the fridge but he caught his clumsy body before he could injure it. He shoved a shaky hand into his pocket, nearly ripping the fabric from the sheer force and he pulled out a cigarette, doing the same with the box of matches he owned.
Frantically trying to light one, he failed many times, even burning his finger one time which caused him to stomp on the match until he heard a few screws come loose from the floorboards, only then did he decide to stop his assault on the ship and put his attention on the cancer stick between his lips.
'Success!' Sanji smiled, lighting his cigarette and relishing the feeling of nicotine spread throughout his body, welcomed dearly. The cigarette replaced the feeling of hunger and dread and Sanji finally got to work, a small smile on his face, rather fake and dull but content.
He filled a pot with water and set it on the stove, allowing it to boil while he exhaled some smoke. "As long as I can smoke, I'll be fine."
Sanji held a small knife in his hands, gripping it with the last of his strength as he threatened the man for his food, seeing the bag still full or barely even touched after nearly 3 months had passed. The man didn't fight, like before he simply ignored the small boy's nonsense and waved him off, too weak from hunger to fight against it. Despite being a pirate he could imagine the face of the young boy when he saw nothing but treasure fall out of the bag.
His face was riddled with despair. He let out a cry, racing to the man and dropping his long-forgotten knife onto the ground with a loud clunk. Sanji shook him frantically, begging him for food he didn't have.
Then he noticed his leg, and in shock he took a step back, stumbling on the gravel and falling back on his butt. He nearly vomited at the sight…
The pirate was missing a leg, and Sanji could think of a few reasons why. His eyes were wet with tears as he desperately questioned the old man.
"Because of you… you have the same dream as me." Sanji's eyes widened.
"The All Blue…" The young chef concluded and bit back tears.
He begged the man to stay alive, he pleaded with the pirate to suck it up for a few moments longer and mother nature finally allowed the boy a little fortune in his life to get what he, so desperately needs.
'Thank you The child said to nobody in particular but the small gust of wind that washed past his body, soothingly moving his hair made him sure that whoever he thanked received and accepted the gratitude.
"Sanji… It isn't enough." Usopp complained, and after the coward spoke out so did the rest of the crew, complaining rather cold-heartedly that he should cook more, that the captain was starving and that they were beginning to lose weight.
"We must eat well… Our bodies could suffer a lot, Sanji…" Chopper chimed in, sheepishly rubbing his neck as he looked away from the chest gaze.
Sanjo bit the cigarette, nearly glaring at Nami, but he stopped himself, the gentleman he praised himself to be wasn't going to slip away that easily because she was hungry. No, he understood the feeling and frustration more than anybody else, but he couldn't help but feel resentment.
His hands clenched into fists and he nearly drew blood with how hard he pressed his nails into his palms, seething with anger.
'They don't know what starvation is… Do they think two meals a day is starvation? They think one less cup of coffee is starvation?' Sanji huffed slowly, covering his mouth as he went to light his cigarette.
His ears were ringing from the complaining and he nearly burst a blood vessel before he noticed all of the filings out of the galley, all except one. Zoro. The green-haired man continued eating, slowly, like he was savoring the taste of the food and getting every single nutrient.
"Marimo, get out." Sanji's voice broke and he nearly collapsed behind the kitchen counter in embarrassment.
"No, I'm eating." Zoro shrugged the chef off and continued eating.
Only after what felt like hours did the other finally finish, setting his plate in the already full sink and strolling his way towards the door, muttering to himself about a nap. When the door finally clicked and the footsteps got further and further away did he manage to let out a heavy breath, the lump in his throat disappearing after he hadn't even noticed its appearance.
He lit another death stick and placed it between his lips, tossing the other in the trash. Although being left alone made him think back to what his crew was saying and he could only bite his lip, blood trickling down his chin as he scowled at their ungratefulness.
He was never so bitter, but he couldn't help the hate he felt towards them when they complained. They should cook themselves if what he does isn't enough, they disregard him, and his hard work like he doesn't do one of the most excruciatingly hard jobs on the ship! Most of them just sit and relax all day, even after a fight they all have the time to sit back and rest while he has to cook and all they do is complain about the food anyways.
Sanji winced when the cigarette fell from his mouth and onto his hand, trying desperately to hide the burn and continue washing dishes. He felt awful about how bitter he sounded but he wished for even a moment he could do something.
He was the cook, and his crew was begging for food but all he could do was disappoint and tell them to wait. For what? A miracle? A rescue shop that would let pirates go afterward? He scoffed, drying the last plate and shoving his hands in his pockets, he knew very well that the universe wouldn't smile upon him a second time.
Weeks passed and their food supply grew smaller, not to mention the meat supply was nearly all gone… Sanji was sure that dinner tonight would end the long battle of rationing food and he would have to face an undeniable reality and it brought tears to his eyes.
He cooked the meat and let tears flow down his cheeks when he noticed he didn't have enough, if he fed Luffy all of it then the rest wouldn't get their share and he couldn't handle the thought. If even one person complained he thinks he would burst and let all his sealed emotions flow out like a fountain.
His breath hitched when he eyed the sharpest kitchen knife he had, it would do the trick, it would be smooth and with his skills, he could do enough with it to not have much trouble. He picked it up, the handle rubbing familiarly against his palm, and he admired the fine piece of metal, staring at his reflection in the clean knife.
Sanji had a feeling that the knife knew him, that it trusted him, and that it knew exactly what he was going to do. He set it down, fishing a few clothes from the drawers and setting them to the side of the open space on the floor. Between the kitchen counter and the dining table, he had a lot of space to work with, he just needed to keep everything clean.
The chef rushed to the bathroom, plucking towels off the drying racks, which he set up and did every day. Running back into the galley after he got a few questioning looks, he managed to set up a small square where he sat, the leg of his pants rolled up over his knee, ruffling the suit pants, much to his displeasure.
Sanji's hands shook when he picked up the knife again and brought a cloth to lodge in his mouth. His breathing grew heavier when the cloth obstructed his wind pipes, causing saliva to build up and seep through the gaps his lips formed from his teeth.
Sanji clenched his eyes shut, bracing the knife against his thigh and letting out a soft scream when he felt it pierce his skin, the warm blood trickling down his pale leg and onto the towels below.
"Cook?" A voice called and Sanji froze, opening his eyes reluctantly and staring back at the swordsman who looked just as horrified.
"What the hell?" He said, repeating in a shout moments after, he demanded Sanji explain himself, and the chef did.
He told him everything, he even admitted to resenting Nami for her words, but even when his words stopped, his tears didn't.
Zoro brought him into a hug, shushing him and calming him down with a few gentle pats to the back. Then he pulled back, a look on his face that made Sanji chuckle, a look that confirmed Zoro had remembered something important.
He opened his mouth, and reached up, ruffling Sanji's hair as he said three words that sounded like music to Sanji's ears.
"We’re finally going to resupply our food.”
Sanji opened his glossy eyes, his eyelashes peeling away from each other, hope. Nothing more, the vision he had was fake and the hallucinations began just like before. The ship he saw in the sea that had come to get him and the old man was nothing but a figment of his imagination, a plea to the universe to save him.
Just like last time, mother nature mocked and laughed in his face, and all over again he wanted to scream his lungs out.
He felt pathetic, utterly bitter, and disgusting for wishing to save himself despite his crew starving, he felt horrible and it caused determination to surge through his whole body, and he picked the blade back up.
The cold steel pressed against his leg, creating a clean cut in his flesh and he barely had the strength in his jaw to keep the cloth between his teeth. A firm hold on the knife handle held his focus and he could feel his vision blur from the tears that sprung to his eyes, warm tears threatening to fall and he didn’t stop it, at least the saltiness on his lips would satisfy his hunger for a moment more.
Sanji took a moment to stare up at the ceiling in disbelief, how had it ever come to this? His mind foggy and his thoughts scrambled, he willed himself to continue, convincing that it was for the best of the crew.
Zeff plunged into the water, he swam with ferocious kicks, willing his exhausted body to rush through the salty water, mixing into his wounds and causing him to slow down.
Yet, despite the discomfort he pushed further, lowering himself to the wreckage that slowly sank to the bottom of the ocean, why?
To save a dream.
Zeff’s eyes landed on a splotch of bright yellow and he swam faster, reaching the little boy who seemed near death already, by sheer will and hopes he continued and kicked at the wood the best he could. His kicks, mixed with over exertion and the water were significantly slower, so he chose to lodge his foot within the mast.
He pulled the boy's hand, leaving a light bruise on the skinny wrist when he finally freed Sanji from his prison within the ship's walls. Although after all the hard work, the ocean wanted something in return.
With one leg stuck, Zeff had no other choice, he was running out of air, but most importantly the small boy tucked between his side and his arm was closer to death by the second.
An impulse caused him to act, ripping a knife from his pants pocket and driving it through his leg. The chef’s mouth clamped shut and he refused to let the air out, knowing it to be the only way for either of them to survive, and he continued, cutting the flesh like it was another steak.
The blood reminded him of wine, using it to enhance the flavor of a delicious steak, carefully cutting it into a satisfying shape and making sure to keep the fat for cooking later on.
The blood oozed from his leg, floating around in the water and staining the beautiful blue in an angry crimson, he didn’t spare the sight a second glance before swimming upwards again, determined to save the boy in his arms.
Long forgotten, the leg hung loosely between the boards of the ship and the fresh flesh would attract and feed a few fish for days and Zeff couldn’t care, his job was to feed so it made sense his legs were used for such a cause.
The rock,
Zeff climbed the ragged walls, flinging the heavy bags and the boy over the ledge so he could heave himself up. After all the hard work, he managed to put pressure on his wound, stopping himself from dying and saving as much food as he could for the little chef.
He sighed, content and he turned around to face the sea and the sun, the heat kissed his skin and welcomed him to stay and he did, enjoying the few moments he had before hell would start.
He saved a dream, defended the dream, and now, he would sacrifice a part of his life for that same dream he was starting to lose hope in finding.
Sanji barely registered the commotion outside, a deep gash in his thigh caused his eyes to flutter closed for a couple of seconds and he was more disoriented than anything. He barely felt his face, but his legs were nothing short of numb.
Somewhere along the visions, he was having, he dropped the knife and managed to injure his other leg, the pain was barely noticeable but he couldn’t help but grimace at the red line decorating his other leg.
The chef coughed and dry heaved at the sight, not having enough food in his stomach to vomit anything. He wanted to keep going but he didn’t know how long he would last, the last of his consciousness was helped by a string of determination that was slowly disappearing with each shout he heard outside of the galley.
Was it a storm? He couldn’t hear, maybe the light pattering was rain or just another false hope, but he wanted to believe, he felt selfish for the hope he had… He tried so hard to suppress the feeling, wanting to continue. His nature of sacrifice was unhealthy, too harmful for his good and he could only laugh at himself.
Just like Robin, Chopper and Nami attempted to tell him and reason with him to trust his crew in the future, to try to hold on until the last possible moment, yet no matter how much they tried to convince him he wouldn’t listen. His brain is hardwired to think of sacrificing himself after any minor inconvenience.
He was sure he would die from this, the cut in his leg was long, but not too deep and he almost fell back, wishing for Chopper to rush in and scold him and patch him up. Sanji wished for Zoro to come in and ask for booze one last time, and hoped for Usopp to spend another night cleaning up after an experiment, even wishing for Brook’s skeleton jokes and Franky's complaints about the fighting.
He wished for Robin’s mischievous smile and remarks, for her to spout some historical nonsense nobody but he ever listened to, he begged the universe to bless him with one last glimpse of Nami’s beautiful face, her vibrant hair, and her beautiful smile.
Most of all, he wanted to see Luffy, his captain, the man that saved him from himself and his idiotic sacrificial nature time and time again, he wished to see the goofy smile that lit up the room with laughter. He would give him all the meat he asked for, just to see him bouncing around like a 1st grader again, sad tears and a sad smile accompanied his face at the thought.
As his vision was covered up with black spots, inching closer to take the beautiful ray of colors and claim it as his own, did he hear the galley slam open, more frantically than in his dream?
Perhaps it was real?
He wouldn’t believe it, but he allowed himself to smile when he heard his name, whoever had shouted it, whoever saw him, he would be grateful to them for the last few minutes he spent alive. The chef was glad that in his final moments when hunger finally claimed him as its own, he would spend it with somebody else.
He felt his body sway, almost like the floor was a magnet that was directed at his back, pulling him down. He went, he allowed his body to drop, even when he heard the loud footsteps, even when he felt warm arms wrap around him;
Sanji let himself fall victim to starvation, and he welcomed his destiny with a smile and warm tears.
Sanji's eyes fluttered open, and he barely even woke up before he jumped to his feet frantically. His eyes were blown wide, and fresh tears threatened to fall as he looked around, surrounded by sea and the beautiful baby blue sky. A nostalgic feeling washed over him, but dread soon overcame that blissful feeling in an instant. Sanji looked around more, desperately trying to find the one component that was missing from this dreadful mixture, the last piece to complete this memory, or perhaps an event since he could feel every sore spot on his body and the blood dripping from a wound on his arm.
He stopped, dead in his tracks, and eyed the spot the old man was. Sanji blinked, rubbing his eyes and finally he saw the figure, he laughed, not sure if he was going insane to see such a young version of the man who took care of him for nearly a decade. Tears of joy sprang to his eyes and he rushed forward, wanting nothing more than to hug the man and apologize, but... He simply ran through him.
The chef's face fell into an expression filled with despair and hurt. He tried to punch the man, kick him or even insult him in any way but nothing worked. No matter what he did the old man didn't recognize or even see him there, despite everything seeming normal, everything seemed in order, except for him.
The only piece of the puzzle that didn't seem to fit was him.
'You were meant to die.'
The blonde-haired man flinched at those words, produced by the wind or by his mind, it hadn't mattered, he agreed with the statement nonetheless. He dropped to his knees, covering his ears when those words started repeating, screaming at his brain to comprehend that he wasn't meant to live. He wasn't meant to survive, he wasn't meant to join Luffy, he wasn't meant to cook!
He wasn't meant to live!
He shouldn't have lived.
He shouldn't have the right to live.
He doesn't deserve to live.
He Doesn't Have The Right.
Sanji screamed, but to the old man sitting just across from him it was nothing but a howl of the wind, it was nothing more than a heavy breeze that hit the man's back and ruffled his hair. Zeff didn't notice, accustomed to harsher weather that he took pleasure in the slight site of rain and heavy wind. He moved away from the ledge and stared at the sea like it was the most precious thing in the world and he waited for a sign of something. The sight made Sanji sob, trying to form apologies but the words hadn't managed to make it out of his throat, creating a lump that was encouraging the chef to vomit.
Sanji's vision blurred once more, and suddenly he was in front of his 10-year-old self, the same 10-year-old that tried to kill Zeff, or rather, threaten him. The same kid that would turn into one of the best chefs in the whole of the East Blue, Grand line, and the New World.
The same kid he resented, the last sign of weakness in his past, nothing more than a selfish stain he wished to wash out. If only he could do laundry with his past, he would make sure to clean this part of his life so many times that there wasn't a trace left behind from the stain of weakness he presented.
A stain, nothing more, nobody would be hurt if it was removed, frankly, it would do the world a lot of good to do the laundry and wash the clothes he wore as his past and memories. It would be good for him, good for Zeff, and good for his crew if this little kid never existed, he would never be at fault for causing people to starve, cut off their limbs, or even be subjected to betrayal.
This stain needed to be removed.
With a new found will to remove this grim reminder of how weak he used to be, he managed to take the knife in his hand, finding at least one tangible thing within the memory. He gripped the handle as he did with the kitchen knife when he was doing his duty to feed the crew. He twirled it around in his hand, admiring the steel, despite how dirty it has become he could still see his reflection past all the dirt.
He smiled, his eyes dry. He understood what he was doing better than anything he had ever done or set out to do in his life. Sanji approached the boy, tightening his grip on the knife and when he finally came up behind the younger version of himself, he could feel the shallow breaths, almost like they were his own again and he matched the rhythm of his breathing, they were the same person and he would be killing himself, killing a part of himself that he wished he never had and he was fine with it, he was glad God, if he even existed, gave him this chance.
With a smile and one final breath,
He swung.