Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Saaaanji-kuuun, I have a liiitle favor to ask..."

"No."

"You didn't even listen to me!"

It was one of those rare days that Sanji found himself lounging around outside with nothing to do. Lunch was over and dinner was in the middle of defrosting. Luffy had gotten the idea that he wasn't about to get any pre-dinner snacks faster than usual. The girls were sitting content with the drinks he had lovingly prepared. The scent of the sea mingled tantalizingly with the taste of his smoke and there were no stormy clouds on the horizon.

So he was damned if he was going to waste this brief, perfect moment on whatever the shit Usopp was trying to rope him into.

"I'm begging you," said the aforementioned rope-er, managing to wriggle his way between Sanji and the railing. Sanji tried to keep his sight firm on the deep blue of the ocean. "You're the only one who can do this!"

Shit. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop seeing Usopp's damn desperate eyes in the corner of his vision. Sanji backed away and tried to lean on another fine piece of railing but Usopp scuttled continuously into view, each time with another piteous detail added to his face. Pouting lips. Quivering nose. Brimming tears. The works.

Sanji's sigh sounded like it was tumbling off a cliff of bad decisions. "...What do you want."

"You're a lifesaver! I really need someone to test this – "

"Goodbye."

"Wait! No! Come back! It'll be fun, I swear!" The unfortunate thing about someone who was really good at running away was that they were also really good at cutting in front. Usopp was, simultaneously, an inescapable escape artist. It was the most aggravating thing about him and as much as Sanji put up all efforts to shoot him down, he knew in the back of his mind that he would end up doing whatever idiot thing Usopp asked.

This particular idiot thing came in the form of wheeled boots. Usopp raised them up like a proud flag and let them clank noisily against each other. There were several heavy-looking clasps wound around, snapped tight, and attached to the backs were some sort of exhaust.

"Behold! The Usopp Rollers!"

"You put wheels on boots."

"These aren't just wheels on boots, moron! These are the latest in quick-escape technology!" Usopp sent the wheels rolling with a swipe of his hand, as though that would make the wheel-boots any more impressive. "It increases speed; agility; and yet it decreases the effort needed to achieve it. Not even a cheetah would be able to catch up! With these babies, you'll leave pesky pursuers in the dust (as long as you're on moderately smooth ground)!"

"Oh, so you invented something to help you run away."

"First of all, rude. Second of all, yes. In any case, after the...incident with the Usopp AaaAAaaaaAAaaa – " (Sanji cringed as Usopp went through the entire yell at full volume) " – I realized the need for proper testing before use on the field. Plus, I need multiple tests, just in case I miss something. So that's where you come in."

Damn. That actually made a lot of sense. Sanji forced smoke out of his nose with a disgruntled sigh, looking like a particularly temperamental boiler.

"Why me? Can't you just go bother Luffy with this shit? Someone who actually likes doing this stuff?"

"I wanna test them, not break them," Usopp shot back, and they both shared a wry laugh over the human disaster known as their captain. "And you've got small feet, like me. And, you're already graceful on your feet, so think about how cool you'll look on these! You'll glide like an eagle!"

"Fly like an eagle," Sanji said, rubbing out his cigarette on the heel of his shoe and tucking it behind his ear. Usopp scrunched his nose at that (an experience that could only be described as 'watching a miraculous combination of an elephant trunk and an accordion'), but said nothing further as Sanji took the Usopp Rollers from his arms. They were heavier than they looked, probably on account of the wheels and whatever the hell else was added, and Sanji plopped himself down to put them on.

"Uh, no. It's glide like an eagle. As in, you'll glide on these wheels like an eagle glides in the sky."

There were so many straps, all of them clipped tightly enough that they wouldn't come undone on their own. It was a weird feeling, like being much too snug in a bed except it was a bed for his feet. Sanji pulled them tight. "I'm pretty sure that people say eagles fly.Nobody admires them for their gliding ability, moron."

"Sanji, Sanji, Sanji. You're naive to the ways of the land – "

"I wasn't born on the sea, y'know – "

" – so I understand your confusion on all things land-based – "

"Eagles are mostly in the sky – "

" – but fear not, because Great Captain Usopp is a patient teacher, and he will be happy to impart unto you his worldly knowledge."

Sanji clamped the last strap tight and briefly hoped that it wouldn't cut off blood flow. "How about one thing at a time, huh?" he said casually, pushing himself up on his feet, which immediately rolled out from under him and left him slightly dazed on his back.

There was a moment of silence while the two let the past second catch up with them. And then Usopp clamped both hands over his mouth.

"Don't you dare," Sanji breathed from the floor.

"I'm not! I didn't say anything!" The sniper very noticeably moved back several steps, still covering his mouth. Once in a while, he'd let a few words escape in quick peeps. "Though I kinda expected – that, uh – you'd be, um – better..."

"How about you shut the hell – " Midway to standing up again, Sanji's foot slid out behind him and he had to settle for kneeling instead. Bracing a hand against the wooden floor, he shakily tested his weight on one of the skates. "How the shit are you supposed to stop the shitty rolling? Isn't there a way to brake?"

Usopp blinked. Slowly took out a notepad from his pocket. "B-r-a-k-e-s," he sounded out carefully as he wrote the word down.

If Sanji hadn't already thought to tuck his cigarette away, it would be falling out of his mouth.

"Are. You kidding me. How. How." Usopp was looking a little more guilty now, opting to hide behind his notepad this time. "You built this and tested it, and you didn't think about brakes?"

The long nose pointed to the left, suddenly more interested in the direction they were sailing. "Ahahaha, well, I mean, I haven't, tested them myself? Yet."

Sanji wondered if there was a word for when a mouth is already gaping but trying to gape harder. It was something that he thought was very relevant right now, as he fumbled his way to the side of the ship and tried to pull himself up with the support of the railing. "I'MTHE FIRST TEST SUBJECT?! You're the one who built it and I'M – "

Sanji's rant was interrupted by his own incomprehensible angry noises and a very valiant effort to move forward with wheels for feet. He actually made very good progress by pushing himself off from the side of the ship, causing Usopp to shriek and run away. Ultimately, Sanji's downfall was turning, as well as actually trying to kick. As one of his legs swung up, the other leg had the equal and opposite reaction of swinging back and he ended up in an unintentional split. It was as impressive as it was painful.

Usopp ceased his flight as Sanji rolled on the floor and tried to kick off the Usopp Rollers fruitlessly before giving up and lying on his back like a frustrated seal.

"Usopp. Get these shitty things off me."

"Are you gonna kick me?"

"No, I'm not gonna kick you, just get your stupid-ass shit off my feet."

"I think you're lying about the kicking me part."

Sanji tried tearing at the straps with his spindly fingers, failed to do anything, and then made a guttural beastly sound in the back of his throat that he perfected through years of smoking. "Usopp, I swear to god, if you don't take these shitty things back right now I am gonna kick your ass so hard you'll only see it once a year, orbiting the world like a shitty comet."

"See, when you say things like that, it really doesn't convince me that you're not gonna kick me."

"You pile of putrid shit don't make me come over there."

Usopp continued standing a few, unreachable paces away. Sanji continued lying on the floor.

The Merry could have probably been set aflame with the intensity of his internal screaming.

"So, uh. I'll...be right back...with Z...orrr...Llluuuuu...Nnnnaaaaaa...? Someone. Who will protect me so you won't kill me as soon as I – "

"No," Sanji said, his voice too horrified to even be threatening. With wobbly legs, he started to stand, carefully jittering his way up to a stable upright position. He set his feet apart as though he was expecting to sumo wrestle, his arms tense even though they weren't very necessary for anything. His whole body quivered with the effort of keeping completely still. He could feel the ocean roll beneath, chuckling darkly at his precarious position. But he was, currently, upright.

Usopp stared at him. He stared back. He had to admit that he didn't think about what to do after this.

"What's all this noise?" said the last person he wanted to hear at this moment. Zoro rounded the corner with a face that couldn't be fixed even with a good wash. Not that he could see it right now, but that was a given fact at all times. "Stupid cook shouts too much..."

There was another moment of silence, during which Sanji imagined Zoro was spending looking like a dumbass. And then:

"...Do you really need to take a shit?"

"NO YOU ABSO – " The lapse in attention caused the Usopp Rollers to slip out of his control and Sanji was left spinning his legs wildly in place until he managed to somehow keep them under him. His face started to scrunch up, red with the pounding blood pumping in his head.

Another pause. Sanji heard Zoro's thuggish boots plod their way behind him, and then in front. The swordsman, hand to his chin, looked him up and down. And then his face split into the most terrible grin Sanji had ever seen. "Oh. I see..."

"Zoro, look...Sanji's already going to kill me...please don't make it worse...for my sake..."

"Everybody! Check this out!"

As the call invoked a flurry of activity around the ship and stampeding footfalls, Zoro leaned back and crossed his arm like a smug piece of shit. Usopp lowered his pleading hands and moaned, "Of course. Of course. Don't listen to Usopp. It's not your life on the line." Sanji continued screaming in his mind, only louder.

The first to arrive was heralded by the slap slap of cheap sandals and an almost instinctive, "Sanji! Meat!" It took only a few seconds for Luffy to realize that there might be something else almost as interesting as food going on, and he slid into Sanji's view with a barely-contained laugh. "Wow, Sanji! You sure look stupid!"

"Nothing new," Zoro added.

"What's going on?! Is it a monster? Or – uh. What's...going on?"

"Zoro, I told you, only call me when – pffffft oh my god."

"My my, is this what Mr. Long Nose and Mr. Cook get up to by themselves?"

Every sound of amusement stabbed deeper and deeper into Sanji's heart, his building resentment only able to express itself with his flaming glare and his shaking fists – because as much as he would really like to kick several faces in, like hell he was going to fall on his ass in front of the ladies.

"What're these things on his feet? Looks fun!"

"Those are the, uh, Usopp Rollers," said Usopp from the far side of the deck. He cringed when Sanji's eyes flicked towards him. "I'm, um, in the middle of, we're testing them, so, it's a secret test by the way, very dangerous, you guys probably shouldn't – "

"Oh, it's one of your secret weapons? So cool!"

"They just look like skates."

"Ex-cuse me, they aren't just skates!"

"All I'm saying is that I'm pretty sure I asked you to work on my Clima-Tact instead."

"I'm – I'm getting to it, don't rush me..."

"So what's this in the back?"

Zoro had circled Sanji once again and was in a position that Sanji absolutely didn't want him to be in. As much as seeing his goddamn piss-face was terrible and the worst, not seeing it was almost infuriating in how nerve-wracking it was. He couldn't even kick, damn that Usopp, and so all he could do was continue standing in an utterly ridiculous pose while his reputation took a dive into a volcano and melted into magma.

"Uh, that – that's...I...for extra speed, you see – Breath Dials, I mean. In the back? For extra speed."

"Oh?" said Zoro's voice, now much lower to the floor than before, and Sanji's whole body tensed with how extremely not good this was, holy shit. "So...you just press...these buttons?"

There was a click and a slight lurch as Sanji suddenly found himself being propelled by bursts of wind. Which, apparently, had all the power of a hairdryer, and about all the speed of growing hair. Usopp leapt out of the way of his path, straight into a hysterical Luffy and a chuckling Zoro and Robin said, "It isn't nice to tease him so," in that sort of, of...motherly way that was too embarrassing to even consider and this was absolutely the last straw.

"You shit-eating shithead green asshole I'm gonna – "

With a frantic clatter of wheels rolling against wood and another few curses for good measure, Sanji bumped into the far railing, tipped over, and fell into the ocean with a splash.

The rest of the crew leaned over to watch the bubbling (broiling?) water.

"Sh-shouldn't we...help him?"

"The cook's an idiot, but he knows how to swim," Zoro replied, still holding in another round of laughter.

"Guys...maybe...do you think you can hide me before he comes up again...I seriously think he's gonna kill me this time..."

"Well, that's what happens when you don't work on the things you promise to do."

"I said I'll get to it! You're not even paying me so don't even start!"

"Gosh, you sure are getting mouthy without Sanji-kun around. I wonder what he'd think if I told him what you said?"

"He's not coming up," said Robin.

Everybody peered over the railing again. The bubbles were coming up less frequently.

"H-he's drowning! Isn't he drowning?!"

"He fought a goddamn fishman underwater, he can't be drowning," Zoro shot back with a furrowed brow.

"Perhaps he decided to drown himself out of shame."

"He can't do that! I didn't give him permission!"

"Why would you even say that?!"

"Th-there's no way he'd do...that, I mean...that's just..."

The bubbles started to trail behind the ship and, entranced, the crew followed along, walking to the rear deck.

It was with a horrified mumble that Usopp said, "...The Usopp Roller's are pretty heavy...and I didn't build them with swimming in mind..."

It took a moment for those words to properly worm their way in to everybody's minds. Slowly, simultaneously, everybody's faces dropped.

"AAAAAAH! HE'S DROWNING! HE'S REALLY DROWNING!"

"SANJI STOP DROWNING! WHO'S GONNA COOK DINNER?!"

Splash splash

"Goddammit, those two idiots, Nami, Usopp, help me out here!"

"Robin, furl the sails, try to stop the ship! We can't let it drift too far away from them!"

"How was I supposed know he couldn't skate!?"

Splash splash splash

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The Grand Line couldn't be described as anything other than awe-inspiring. The greatest sea in the world. The last unconquered ocean. The unmapped unknown. It was alluring despite its danger, or maybe because of it, and many adventurers had set sail for the promise of new lands and hidden treasures. Sanji could wax poetic about this ocean for probably three whole days (but only because he was already a romantic idiot who had the stamina for that sort of thing).

But sometimes the Grand Line was extremely inconvenient.

“It appears uninhabited,” Robin commented as everybody took in the sight of a sparse, rocky savannah, broken up only by scraggly shrubs and the fat silhouettes of oddly-shaped trees. The heat pounded down on all of them like an enthusiastic drummer, dousing the optimism of even the most optimistic among them. It was hard to want to do anything besides lay around and find a way to get cool.

And there was nothing at all that looked like a market.

“Goddamn shithole,” he breathed out, squinting under the sun, as though if he looked hard enough a food stall would shimmer into existence. No such luck. “Well, there's gotta be something edible around here.”

“You sure we can't just...wait until the next island? I mean, some of this stuff looks...” Nami gestured towards one of the nearby trees, which looked somewhat like an umbrella if the umbrella had made some poor dietary choices and gorged on candy for all of its life. “...weird.”

“Worry not, Nami-san! Any exotic flora that I harvest will all be tested extensively for safe consumption! Hey, Chopper, get up. It's foraging time.”

Chopper remained face-down on the deck. Sanji nudged him lightly with his foot, and he rolled with remarkable ease. Once his mouth was free, he panted out, “Do I haaaave to.”

“You know a bunch of shit about plants, you can smell things I can't, and you can ask animals what shit's dangerous to eat. Yes.”

Chopper responded with a pained gurgle, which Sanji paid no heed as he slung him over his shoulder. “Usopp, you're coming too.”

“At least ask if I want to, asshole! Which I don't! Maybe I want to go swimming? It's really hot.”

“Sure, okay, if you say so. Maybe I'll just come back with a week's worth of mushrooms.”

Usopp opened his mouth with an affronted expression and then clacked it shut before he released any of his fuming in any verbal form. “Fine.”

“Glad to have you on board,” Sanji trilled, tossing a large basket his way. Usopp fumbled with it for a while before it finally settled in his arms.

“I'm the pack mule?!”

“It's a very important job.”

“You could just carry this yourself!”

Spinning neatly on his heel, Sanji turned innocently pleading eyes towards Usopp's direction. “But then who would carry Chopper? C'mon. Wook at this widdle kewtie.”

Sanji's saccharine tone juxtaposed with Chopper's half-conscious expression wasn't at all convincing. It was, judging by Usopp's (lack of) reaction, mostly weird. For his part, Chopper weakly raised a hoof and mumbled, “Do your best...”

Usopp flitted his head around in search of another victim, but Nami had already claimed everybody else's attention to claim victims of her own for a surveying trip. He drooped and sighed and resigned himself to his fate.

“I still can't believe you're wearing all that,” Usopp repeated for the twentieth time today. It was one of several phrases he currently had on rotation. The other phrases were: “It's hooooooooot,” “Oh my god it's so hoooot,” “I'm gonna die I'm gonna die from too much hot,” and “If you set me on fire right now I wouldn't even know the difference it's that hot.” It didn't make for very insightful conversation, but Chopper, in comparison, said absolutely nothing besides plant names, “Safe,” and “Poisonous.” So Sanji would have to take whatever conversation he could get.

“I took off my jacket and tie,” Sanji replied for the twentieth time today, and it was true. It was much too hot for layers and suave fashion.

“You're wearing long sleeves.”

Sanji paused, as if seriously considering the temperature as he buried his hands into a potentially fruit-bearing bush. “Yeah, it's pretty warm.”

“Oh my god.”

“I guess I don't retain a lot of heat, y'know?”

“I hate you. You're terrible.”

“Yeah, okay. Something more important: this shitty island is all rocks and weird plants and I have no goddamn idea what to eat here.”

Usopp paused, remembering what conversations about things other than the oppressing heat were like. “Um. But you already put stuff in the basket.”

“It's all aloe.” Sanji sighed, took out a cigarette, and glared at a nearby tree that looked like if an albino pickle got ambitious. “No wonder this weird-ass island's unpopulated, the only shit we can eat here are leaves and flowers.”

“But then what do the birds eat?”

Very slowly, Sanji turned towards Usopp. Then he turned to where he was pointing. Perched atop the ambitious pickle, tucked in the saddest excuses for branches he had ever seen, was a flock of birds.

And now that he was aware of them, he actually heard their bird song, their dithering chirps and whistles, sounds formerly shunted to the background in his search of edible flora. The birds were, surprisingly, normal-looking birds. They didn't look like, say, if a rose was made of all thorns and decided to wreck a rock's day. This was promising.

Sanji, without moving his eyes away from the flock, started blindly slapping at Chopper resting on his shoulder. “Hey. Hey, wake up.”

“Mnnguh.”

“Ask those birds what's good to eat.”

With herculean effort, Chopper raised his head and blinked blearily at the pickle-tree. Whether he could actually see the birds or not was up to debate, but even so, he said, “'Sssscuse me, bir....ds....wha's good eats...?”

The chatter of birds stopped for a moment, driving home just how desolate and alien the landscape looked, before starting up again, a descending scale of discordant tweets.

Chopper squinted again. Let his head fall back down. “....Says...dun wanna tell...cuz don' wanna no stinky humans grubbing alla their foods...”

“What.”

“Aaalllllright, Sanji, nothing we can do here, let's just try somewhere else – “

“You PIECE OF SHITS I WILL LITERALLY ROAST YOUR FEATHERY ASS – “

“Sanji, you're picking a fight with a flock of birds.”

“SHOOT THEM DOWN, USOPP I FIGURED OUT WHAT WE'RE GONNA EAT.”

“Seriously, calm down, you're not thinking strai – oh. Wait. That's actually not a bad idea. Here, hold this for a sec.”

“Noooooooo....nooooooooo...it's ruuuuude...”

“H-hey, Chopper, stop! I can't aim if you – “

“The assholes are getting away!”

“YOU KICKED DOWN THE TREE OF COURSE THEY'RE FLYING AWAY.”

In between Chopper hanging off Usopp's arm with all the weight of a heavily tired person and Sanji being unable to do anything besides throw his shoes at the cackling birds and cuss about it, the three pirates managed to catch a load of nothing. And lose a pair of shoes.

Dinner for the next few days consisted of aloe salad.

Chapter Text

Even when the world stopped shaking, Sanji could still hear the nonexistent sounds of everything falling apart around him, feel the vibration of a crumbling building live on through his beating heart, which was just pounding faster and faster the more he became aware of his current situation.

Dark. Dust settling down on his face, in his eyes. The echoes of his breath bouncing around in his head, because there was barely any room for it to go elsewhere. One of his arms pinned under his side. His body twisted so that his legs – still attached, oh shit, oh thank god – were side by side. Something was on top of one of them, heavy, like an unwanted pet. Dark. Stale air. Rock all around. How the hell did he even have room? Everything had fallen on top of him, on top of everybody, by all accounts of pure physics he should have been just crushed by debris and okay slow your breathing. Stop.

Okay.

Breathe in, hold. Sanji experimentally shifted. There was enough room for him to get into a more comfortable position, if 'comfortable' could be defined as 'lying in an unmarked grave far from home.' Breathe out. His hands found their way on top of his chest (not at all like a man peacefully resting in his coffin no) and carefully started feeling out the space around him. There was no way he could extend his arms. Slabs of wall to the side, chunks jutting out unevenly. A particularly large one rested by his ear. Breathe in. There was something digging against his side. He traced his fingers around its edge. It was circular, metal, there was something shaped like an empty cup – the chandelier. Thinking about it, it had hit him when it landed. He couldn't remember how. He was probably bleeding somewhere. Might even have a head injury. He couldn't tell. Breathe out.

Fingers still tracing. Wood. A wooden beam, few inches above him. Couldn't tell how long it was. Running approximately diagonal. He didn't know. It bent towards him, holding up the weight of the floor above. Was it creaking? It was probably the thing that's on top of his leg. Wood holding up stone. That's the only thing keeping everything else from just smashing his face in, huh? He tried to brace his leg against the floor and push up. Everything groaned, shifted, dumped a pile of dust on his face. A brick fell on his stomach and bounced off. Holy shit. Hooooooly shit.

“Hey! Anybody out there?! Luffy! Get me out! I'm trapped, I can't – “

He stopped, face flushed. Shouting took effort, actual effort, he was sweating just from those few words, or was that because of the heat? The air was stale. Dust in his face. He held back the urge to cough and choked instead until spit ran down his chin. There was no room to wipe it off.

The bright side was, he would probably suffocate before he starved. (Don't laugh.) Or the beam could snap and let lose the delayed avalanche of rubble.

He was aware of his fingernails digging into the floor beneath him. Instantly, he directed a hand into his pocket, the other to the inside of his jacket, and he was already pulling out his items of choice before his mind caught up and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing.

Calming down, is what, and screw it, he lit the cigarette.

Brief light, not that he could really see it, unable to tilt his head. It took a while to get the cigarette to his mouth, and it involved a lot of flexing of his lips to pry their way towards a hand that couldn't get close enough, but eventually, it came. The smoke. He breathed it all in, held it until his lungs burned like his first time smoking, and let it billow out of his mouth with the force of his declaration: here I am.

He felt the smoke bloom above his face, sting his eyes. He tried not to cough – if the cigarette fell out he might not get it back again. He wished he could see. At least know if his declaration was rising, up and out, making known his desperate signal.

Not that he would stop if it didn't.

Inhale.

If he must die, then let it be by this one deadly habit.

Exhale.

I'm here. Can you see me? Please find me. Anyone.

Chapter Text

“I think they're pomegranates.”

“Don't be silly, pomegranates don't grow in winter!”

“...Uh, yeah. They do.”

Usopp opened his mouth, considered who exactly he was having discussions about fruit with, and closed it again.

Chopper circled around the potentially-pomegranate tree. “They look like Christmas ornaments!”

“They look like pustules of blood growing out of a bare tree,” Robin added, seemingly oblivious to the way that both Chopper and Usopp paused to shiver from something other than the cold. One of her hands reached up and plucked a fruit carefully off a low-hanging branch. “Do you think they're edible?”

Nobody was remotely surprised when the pomegranate disappeared from Robin's grasp in a rubbery blur. “Let's find out!”

It took quick reflexes, backed up by years of training, for Sanji to manage to swipe food away from Luffy's ever-gaping maw. His captain's teeth clamped on nothing but his own hand. “Hey, dumbass, this is wild fruit. Don't just eat whatever the shit you find hanging on a tree, alright? I gotta test to see if it's poisonous or not.”

“You know, Sanji, I don't think any of us are interested in eating some blood fruit anyways so we could just leave – “

With a practiced flourish, Sanji broke the pomegranate open with his bare hands.

“ – or you could do that.”

“Um, how do you test if something's poisonous anyways?” Chopper asked, venturing closer now that it was clear that there absolutely wasn't blood inside of the fruit. “I mean, if you can't find it in a book or anything...”

“Well you see,” Sanji said, already picking at the fleshy seeds inside, “society has been built off of the bulk of knowledge handed down by previous generations. The trial and error that our ancestors went through, foraging unknown plants, gave way to a record of certain patterns that a trained cook can use to figure out what's good to eat.”

“Wow...so what're you gonna do?”

“I'm gonna eat it.”

Sanji's proud smirk was met by a bored look (Luffy), a disappointed face (Chopper), and an unimpressed stare (Usopp). “...Isn't that just trial and error.”

“Shut up, Longnose! It's an educated trial and error! I'm tasting this while thinking like a plant!”

“In other words, you're not thinking at all. Chopper, you should probably sedate him. The snow's gotten to his brain.”

“Actually, what Sanji is remarking upon is the evolutionary purposes of various aspects of plants. If something does not want to be eaten, it will generally evolve a certain type of attribute that would discourage consumption. And so, keeping that in mind, you could test if something has certain attributes in order to gauge the likelihood of whether it is edible or not. Thus, 'thinking like a plant.'”

“Oh Robin-chan,” Sanji crooned, clutching the pomegranate over his heart, “you know me so well~”

Chopper stood by him in his reindeer form, uncomfortably close. “So I shouldn't...?” Out of the corner of his eye, Sanji could see Chopper subtly wave his horns towards his head.

“Well, he's still sick in the head. But that's normal for him.”

“Like I was saying, there's plenty rules of thumb when it comes to this sorta shit. White berries usually mean poison. If something tastes like almonds, it's better to avoid. Anything that burns the skin or the inside of your mouth, anything that tastes bad or bitter or whatever, avoid.”

“Most of that...just sounds like common sense.”

“Shut up and let me test this out already.”

Sanji had been holding one of the seeds for so long that it had started to stain his fingers purple. Giving Usopp a last glance in case he decided to interrupt with something stupid again, Sanji tossed the seed into his mouth and felt it out.

His friends managed to keep quiet for only a few seconds, but frankly, Sanji had a habit of getting way too engrossed in compartmentalizing the exact taste of new foods and it would take him forever if nobody spoke up. Robin, as the only person present immune from any sort of negative reaction from Sanji, took the job. “How does it taste?”

Sanji swallowed and sighed. “Bitter. No good.”

There were a few more seconds of silence for an entirely different reason.

“...Shouldn't you have spat it out, then?”

Sanji considered this, his face blank.

“Oh.”

This one word inspired a flurry of activity and Sanji suddenly found himself surrounded, with Usopp shaking him by the shoulder and Chopper clinging to his arm.

“You just got done telling us about what's not good to eat! Why did you swallow that?!”

“Are you gonna die?! Please don't die! You need to vomit right away! Sanji, please throw up!”

“Look, I dunno, I just ate it without thinking, okay?! Get your shitty hands away from my mouth!”

After a brief struggle, Sanji managed to shove both his overly-concerned friends off and sped behind the pomegranate tree, shuffling around the trunk whenever Usopp and Chopper tried to make their way to him. “I'm not gonna freaking throw up!”

“If you don't want Robin to see, then you can do it behind some bushes or something!” Chopper had grown to his Heavy Point and tried to make a flying tackle as Usopp circled the other way. Sanji jumped over him and ran to the other side of the tree.

“But that's such a waste!”

“A waste of what?!” Usopp shouted back, filling in for Chopper since he was currently dealing with a mouthful of snow. “Are you saying it's a waste of food?! Don't be an idiot! You're poisoned!”

Sanji moved to flee again, but found his legs tangled in some sprouting arms. He was unable to do anything except fall on his face. A few seconds later, he felt someone thump on top of his back, then someone else thump on top of that person's back. There were hands grabbing at his face, and he wrenched his head away, buried it in the snow until he remembered that he needed to breathe or something.

“It's not necessarily poison! It could just make me a little sick or something! Get off! I really don't like barfing!”

There was another thump added to the dogpile, and Sanji sank that much deeper in the snow. He was starting to think that if the pomegranate didn't make him sick, these idiots would.

“Hey, why're we all sitting on top of Sanji?”

“He ate a pomegranate seed that might be poisonous and now he refuses to barf.”

“Wow, that's dumb. Everybody knows you don't eat seeds.”

Sanji could hear the sounds of teeth crunching on fruit.

“...Luffy,” Chopper said, his face pressed into Usopp's back, “what are you eating?”

“Huh? That blood fruit or whatever.”

“Luffy,” Usopp breathed out, trying to bend his arms backwards in a futile attempt to grab at his captain, “we just got done having an argument about the reasonable edibility of that fruit. I literally said the word 'poisonous' a few seconds ago.”

“What? Nah. 'S good.” Luffy spat out several seeds, all of them arcing beautifully over the bodies of his flailing friends. Sanji caught a few of them with his head. His attempts to pull himself out from underneath the weight of everybody increased in intensity.

“Actually, our captain is on the mark.” Belatedly, Sanji realized that his ankles had ceased being held captive long ago. A forest of arms sprouted, picking all four guys up and organizing them helpfully in some form of upright fashion. Robin smiled at them and took another bite from another pomegranate. “The seeds may be bitter, but the flesh tastes rather palatable. That would be a point in favor of its edibility.”

With that, all of the vigor in the 'Saving Sanji's Life For Him Because He's An Idiot' plan dissipated. For his part, Sanji tried not to think about how disappointed Usopp and Chopper looked that he wasn't maybe going to die of poison and instead stomped in front of them.

“There's snow everywhere, you assholes!” Sanji gestured towards himself, his face set in an expression indicating that he didn't fully appreciate snow filling every gap in his apparel, nor the feeling of wet clothing in the middle of winter. “Dammit, I'm going back to the ship. Gotta freaking change. Those baskets better be full of quality shit when I get back!”

Sanji took a few awkward steps towards the Sunny, looking like he would rather walk straight out of his socks, before Chopper grabbed hold of his pants. He whipped his head down, glaring at the top of Chopper's hat. “What.”

There was no immediate response besides a tighter clutch on his pants. Sanji tried not to roll his eyes, did so anyways, and said, “If you're still worried, you can follow me around for eight hours. If nothing happens, then I'm fine, and that means you stop bugging me.”

“R-right! Make sure to tell me if you feel anything different!”

“Yeah, yeah...” Though frankly, he was sure Chopper was in for a boring ride. All he planned to do was take a quick shower, change into some dry clothes, and then gargle water for as long as it took to get rid of the damn bitter taste in his mouth.

Eight hours passed without incident. Usopp and Robin managed to come back with a good haul of fruits and vegetables, while Luffy came back totting an entire bear and commanding him to cook it up immediately. Sanji passed around snacks right before they set sail.

And then, four hours after their departure, he succumbed to a 107 degree fever.

Consciousness.

Or, at the very least, awareness.

It was dark. But also soft. He felt the wisp of something all around him, as though he were engulfed in an oppressive cloud.

The last thing he remembered was a shortness of breath, his heart pounding so fast he almost thought it would stop out of exhaustion, thought he would die. Trying to walk over to a chair and ending up leaning against a wall instead. Telling someone, “I thought, the kitchen is always hot, I didn't realize,” before promptly passing out.

So, a couple of possibilities. He could be dreaming (a really boring dream, if so). Or dead. Couldn't rule that out.

Sanji patted down his pockets for his ever-present lighter and found that, surprisingly, it was not present. Nor were his pockets. Or his pants. He wasn't sure whether this was in favor of the dream or of death, but either way, it was extremely unwelcome. The only thing left to do, he suppose, was to find someone and complain. And with the thought of getting to shout at someone pushing him forward, Sanji started in a random direction.

The terrain wasn't exactly easy to traverse. On the one hand, the floor was soft and easy on his feet. On the other hand, the floor was soft, leaving him to wade through at a speed he wouldn't consider his fastest. It didn't help that his head was constantly brushing up against something and so he felt the need to crouch and, at the risk of sounding like an old man, it wasn't that good for his back. There was no sign that he was even approaching anything resembling an exit out of this cave or whatever the shit he was supposed to be in. And so it was an utter surprise to him when he suddenly stumbled out into a bright light, fresh air, and a rather disquieting sight.

It wasn't that Sanji had anything against beds. They were nice. Warm. Even just thin bedding was a step up from sleeping on bare rock. It's just that when beds stretched out into landscapes, he couldn't help but find cause for concern. Furthermore, when there was a large, brown mound perched on the edge of the bed-cliff, with a smudge of blue on its front and large, curved structures shooting out of its sides, he couldn't help but feel like screaming.

So he did.

“Three inches.”

As the ruler beside him pulled away, Sanji numbly let his feet fall away beneath him, plopping straight onto the wood desk below. He didn't really know what else to do. Mostly, he just looked straight ahead at the curtain of cloth and flesh in front of him. If he kept doing that, he couldn't see that any of it was, in fact, connected to faces that he knew.

Before, when he had screamed, it had woken Chopper up, who took one look and also started to scream. Then Sanji remembered that he was naked and screamed louder, trying to pull up the floor-comforter up to cover himself up and the two of them continued that pattern for a while until someone managed to take control of the situation and now he was here, in front of his friends, wearing only a napkin. His brain was trying to keep up with the current events but it kept getting distracted by how the napkin was too big for him.

“What the heck happened?” And that was Nami's voice, and how did he even recognize it? It was so different, it sounded so booming, and if she wasn't careful, he was sure it could blow his eardrums out. None of that he associated with Nami, but it was Nami's voice all the same.

“It's gotta be the pomegranate seeds. They were poison, I'm pretty sure. I knew he should've barfed them up!”

“There's a limit to what poison does!”

“It is the Grand Line,” Franky rumbled. He was in the back, and loomed far above the others already. It was more like distant thunder than a voice. “Weird is normal here.”

“There's a limit to how weird things can get!”

“Guys...what're we gonna do?” That was Chopper, the only one that he could even see face-to-face. Or, he supposed it was more like face-to-body. Even though Chopper was resting his head flat on the desk, even if Sanji stood as tall as he could, he was pretty sure he would barely stand as tall as his eyes. Eyes that were currently welling up with globules of tears, so it was a good idea not to stand next to them anyways.

“We could call him San-inchi.”

“Dammit, Marimo, this isn't the time for dumbass jokes!” Sanji instinctively shouted, feeling more like he was simply yelling out at mountains and waiting for echoes to come back. It was hard to exactly discern the expressions on everybody's faces, high up as they were, but he could at least tell that all of their eyes were on him now. And it was hard to miss Usopp's hand going to his mouth.

“Are you laughing?!” he accused, his face red with either anger or embarrassment but let's just say it was anger.

“B-but,” Usopp spluttered, and he totally was laughing, “I-I'm sorry, it's, it's just – he sounds like Chopper.”

Okay, it was definitely embarrassment.

“No! Shut up, you bastard!”

“Alright, alright, alright, sorry...by the way, Chopper, you're the doctor. You can fix this, right?”

“Aww, shut up, ya bastard~!”

Usopp gestured towards the two currently smallest members of the crew and quirked an eyebrow. Much to Sanji's consternation, a quiet, understanding 'ohhhhhh' breezed through the air above him.

“In any case,” Sanji gritted out, trying his best to ignore the way Usopp turned around and walked away, hands over his mouth, “we have to turn this ship around! Go back to that goddamn island and get one of those shitty pomegranates so we can figure out what the hell it did!”

“Um...Sanji-kun...you were out of it for a while...” And never had anything that came out of Nami's mouth made his stomach sink so low. “We've...already reached the next island. And the log pose is set for the one after.”

So. That was it. His life was over.

He probably looked pathetic, dropping to his knees and burying his face in his hands, but there was no other way to react to such a sudden upheaval in his very existence that rendered his entire being utterly useless to anybody he cared about. What was he going to do? How could he even perform basic tasks like walking to another room? He had already grasped the vastness of the world long ago, and now it had only become bigger.

“Wait!” Luffy slammed his hands on the table, causing Sanji to bounce and fall over, and then perched his chin on top. “You need those blood fruits, right?”

“Well, if I'm gonna figure out how to reverse...this, then that would help a lot,” Chopper said.

“The thing is, I took a bunch of them to eat!”

Sanji sat up, staring straight at Luffy's earnest face, and for once in his life he found himself praising his captain's goddamn never-ending stomach.

“But I ate them all!”

“Luffy!” Never mind.

“But I mean, if you need the seeds, then I didn't eat those! I spat them out everywhere!”

“Where, exactly?” Sanji asked, trying not to put that much stock into Luffy's competence.

“Mostly over the railing.”

This time, Sanji kicked Luffy right in the nose. This did nothing but bounce him backwards flat on his head. Luffy, not even acknowledging the (frankly, embarrassing attempt of an) attack, shot back to his feet and zoomed out the door, shouting back, “I'm gonna see if I can find some!”

There were some conveniences of being small, Sanji reflected. For instance, being small meant a plethora of available hiding places, where he would never be found.

Currently, three inches tall, wearing only a napkin, and showing off just how completely powerless he was in front of the entire crew, he decided that he would like that very much.

Chapter Text

If anybody asked him, Sanji would insist that he had never felt tired because of his sleeping schedule. Five hours? Pssshh, he's had worse. And since he's kept to those five hours for probably a decade by now, his body was inured to it. And besides, he was an experienced cook, he could do loads of this shit in his sleep. Not that he was sleepy at all, nope.

The fact that he had learned how to do some of the more basic preparation shit in the kitchen without having to look meant absolutely nothing. His ability to cut fruits for a salad while in a complete daze was absolutely not out of necessity because of his poor sleeping habits which weren't poor at all. And of course he was paying attention to his ingredients because he was a profe –

Hang on. What the shit is this.

Sanji blinked at the watermelon that he had just cut in half and saw whirls upon whirls of swirls that he was sure shouldn't have been there. Looking at the...the, what's it called again? Not shell...crust? The...crust of the watermelon? There were swirls on there too. And he knew for sure those weren't there when he bought it.

A devil fruit, his brain started to realize. This was a devil fruit. The watermelon turned into a devil fruit.

This was going to ruin the fruit salad.

Sanji glared down at the very inconsiderate watermelon as best as he could. Now what? What was he going to do with this whole watermelon that he had just cut? Like...it was a devil fruit...so maybe he could...sell it...? Everybody knew these things went for a lot of money. Except that he had just sliced it in half.

Do devil fruits rot? They're fruits, after all. Which meant that he had to do something with this watermelon before that happened because like hell he was wasting anything.

Sanji stared into the swirls. The swirls stared back.

“Sanji-kun...are you okay?”

“Ohhh Nami-san~ as always, your concern is ever so sweet. What makes you say that?”

“Well, it's breakfast, you didn't set a plate for yourself, and you're face-down on the table.”

As always, Nami was the most wonderfully perceptive person in the world. He could never hide anything from her. Heaving a long and low sigh, Sanji turned his head and aimed baleful eyes towards everybody he could see.

“I've made. A terrible mistake.”

“Nah, food'sh gud,” said Luffy, who hadn't stopped stuffing his face the whole time. His loud munching had long been a constant on the ship, and so was easy for everybody to ignore. All eyes never left Sanji.

“I...ate a whole watermelon.”

Everybody reacted in the exact way that someone would react to a declaration of that magnitude. Usopp hesitantly laid a hand on Sanji's shoulder.

“...That's...well...”

“Also it was a devil fruit.”

“Say that part first!”

“I can't believe you...actually, wait, I can. You've always been a stupid Love Cook.”

“Wait! Before that, you ate a watermelon's worth of devil fruit?! Sanji, sit up! How's your stomach feeling?! Bloated?! Tell me what's wrong!”

“...Mostly, it tasted really bad.”

“Yeah, it does, doesn't it? Why did you eat all of it.”

“I think the better question is,” said Robin, discreetly tapping Luffy on the shoulder in an attempt to get him to pay one iota of attention, “why did you even decide to eat a devil fruit in the first place?”

“Woah! Sanji got a devil fruit? Awesome! What is it?”

“I don't knoooooowww,” Sanji moaned, burying his face in his arms. “I don't know. Why me.”

“That's a really good question,” Nami muttered, setting her chin in her hand. “Why you? I should've seen it first...could've gotten millions...”

“Sanji,” Luffy said, his voice uncharacteristically low. He was accompanied by the clattering of plates and several annoyed protests. When Sanji looked up, he saw Luffy sitting in front of him. Directly in front of him. As in, his captain was crouched on the table with his foot in a stack of pancakes.

Before Sanji could join in the general protests, Luffy grabbed the sides his head and pulled their foreheads together until they were practically nose-to-nose. All protests thudded uselessly in Sanji's chest. Though he could see nothing but his captain's eyes, intensely focused on his own, he could feel his breath press against his lips.

“You have to tell me what your new power is.”

Completely blindsided, Sanji smiled out of pure confusion. “Eh?”

“It's either gonna be really awesome or really funny and either way it's gonna be great and I really wanna know.”

Briefly, Sanji's smile grew wider. “Hey, Luffy,” he said, saccharine sweet as he grabbed his captain's head. Luffy had time to blink once before Sanji leaned back in his chair and suplexed the hell out of him. As Luffy lay stunned on the floor, Sanji got up, pushed his chair neatly back under the table, and then started kicking him. Because he was a gentleman.

“It seems that there are devils even among devil fruits,” said Robin, tapping a page of a book with a faint smile and when had she gotten that? Everybody crowded around her seat for a look, unnecessary, as she explained: “The Demon Demon Fruit. Model: Djinni.”

Sure enough, in the book, there was a picture of the swirly watermelon and a few paragraphs of text.

“Haaaah? What's a 'johnny?'”

“I suppose they are commonly known as 'genies' – “

“I wish I was rich.”

“Your wish is my command~!”

“ – which are demons who are known to have the power to grant any wish.”

As one, the rest of the crew turned towards Nami, who was currently examining her body and her pockets as though expecting them to be lined with gold. “Nothing happened,” she complained, glaring back at Sanji, who seemed to just be happy that she was looking at him.

“But my dear, you are absolutely wealthy...with the love of the people around you! Especially me~”

As Nami slugged Sanji a good one, Robin continued, “Quite a few genies are known to exploit the wordings of wishes, much to the wisher's dismay. Though considering who the genie is...he does not seem to have the power to grant wealth. Perhaps the fruit was fake.”

“What, so he just gives you stuff? That's boring,” Luffy said, slumping onto the table and grabbing some of the pancakes with his teeth.

“Luffy, lemme explain this in terms you understand...if Sanji was a genie, then you could ask for meat and he'd just poof it into existence any time you want.”

“WHAT. SANJI I WANT MEAT.”

Luffy got an axe kick face first into the table. When his head bounced back up, he aimed betrayed eyes back towards Usopp, who immediately looked away. “I, I said if, he couldn't even get Nami money so he's clearly not a genie. Luffy please don't look at me like that I wasn't the one who kicked you.”

Sanji scoffed out a plume of smoke. “As if I'd do whatever you shitheads asked even if I were a genie.”

“Nah, Luffy did it wrong. You do it like this.” Zoro lazily raised a hand and gestured a rude 'gimme' with his fingers. “Hey. I wish for booze.”

Thunk. “Your wish is my command.”

Everybody froze, Sanji with his hand still on the neck of the bottle he had just set in front of Zoro, who currently looked like he had forgotten what alcohol even looked like. The air chilled with the absolute wrongness of what just happened. It felt like the balance of the universe had shifted considerably towards its inevitable demise. Sanji had not let go of the bottle. In fact, his knuckles were white with how much he wasn't letting go. Zoro cleared his throat, pointed limply at his (his??) drink, and said:

“So does that mean you can live in there?”

Sanji slammed the bottle into the side of Zoro's head before collapsing onto the ground and grinding his own head into the floor with a cry bitter as black coffee. Zoro, also on the floor and bleeding out the temple, managed to get the cork out of the miraculously intact bottle and started to suck it down. As Luffy laughed and choked on his pancakes, as Chopper screamed and scrabbled for bandages, as Usopp and Nami tried to stop Sanji from grinding the skin off of his forehead, Robin said, “...We need to test out the limits of these new powers.

“Cook-san, listen carefully.” Sanji didn't move from his spot, but he did stop crying. “I wish for you to procure a certain book, known as 'The Significance of Equines in Medieval Lore.' But the copy you produce must not be one existing currently, not from any collection or library. Thus, you must fulfill this wish using your own power, whatever it may be.”

Sanji took in a stiff breath and felt himself slide back to his feet. He was somewhat aware of saying the words, “Your wish is my command,” before marching out the door and disappearing around the corner.

A minute later, he marched back in, toting a book, several sheaves of paper, an ink well and a quill.

“Hey, isn't that my – “

“Sorry, Nami-san, I had to borrow these,” Sanji mumbled, parking himself at the table, flipping open the book, and starting to write. He estimated about four hundred pages in the book. Certainly didn't have enough paper, but if he wrote small enough he could probably manage to fit everything. If all else failed, he could resort to crosshatch.

“...I see. Cook-san, can you hear me?”

“Mmph,” he replied. The classical depiction of a 'knight' requires a 'horse' and so without a horse the knight is a poor one indeed, potentially even immoral, depraved...

“I assume this is proof that you cannot simply materialize items upon command. Can you stop?”

Why would he? What else was there to do? There was nothing more important than this at the moment. Sanji shook his head.

“What about a break? You are bound to tire out your hand.”

Sanji shook his head harder.

“He's...seriously not gonna just write non-stop...is he? I mean, he's gotta eat and sleep...”

“I think that if we placed food in front of him, he might eat. But I doubt he will stop until he finishes what I asked.” The fantastical tale of one known as Owaine, on the surface, could be read as a young man's devotion to the code of conduct known as 'chivalry' and how this virtue eventually leads him to valor; however, considering the mortality of his steeds and how they coincide with some of his more questionable decisions, the story of Owaine could potentially be read as a critique on knightly culture...

“Geez...what a useless genie...”

Sanji's leg lashed out towards the voice and he allowed himself a twitch of a smile at the resulting pained grunt.

“Well, that's refreshingly Sanji, at least. But this is...kinda creeping me out...”

“I dunno, doing whatever Robin asks is a pretty Sanji thing to do – OW.”

“In any case, finding out whether one can cancel a wish or not was going to be the next part of the test. Although I do agree, the implications so far are rather unnerving.”

The appearance of the lion eventually replaces the horse as Owaine's steed in his lowest hour and from then on, the story turns into one of redemption for the knight's previous conduct. The conduct, of course, was in line with the idea of chivalry, but such ideas resulted in needless death and a frivolous, careless lifestyle. Only by gaining mindfulness in the midst of his grief does Owaine...

“We have to cancel it with another wish, right? Like 'I wish for you to forget about the last wish' or something.”

“Forget about what?”

Sanji blinked up at Nami. As he took in her expression, he dropped his smile and glanced around the table. At some point, Zoro and Usopp had walked to the far wall, both rubbing their shins. Chopper was staring up at him with those wide, bright eyes that had the tendency to pierce through his heart and Robin had her lips pressed thin. Luffy, despite there being no more food, was somehow sticking around.

“Shit, my hand's all cramped...what'm I...?” When his eyes fell upon the items arranged in front of him, Sanji's first reaction was to drop the quill in his hand and jump to his feet. He was successful with the former, but not so much with the latter: instead of standing up, he bumped his knees into the table and ended up leaning on his legs and settling back in the chair again with a hiss. “That wasn't – where did – who – shit, it was me, I, I'm sorry, Nami-san, I used – “

At the sound of her name, Nami seemed to jump in her skin. “No, forge- ...I mean, it's fine.” She withdrew towards a corner before Sanji could say anything more. And the tilt of her down-turned head, the shimmer of her eyes, the way her arms wrapped around herself, made anything he could say catch in his throat. And then Chopper hopped onto the table and shined a light in his eye.

“Do you have a headache? Dizziness? Can you tell me what day it is today? How many fingers?”

Sanji squinted and tried to push Chopper's hoof away. “What's with you ill-mannered idiots and standing on tables all of a sudden?”

“So you remember that?” Usopp piped up besides Zoro, looking like he was trying to hide his shins behind each other.

“Really hard to forget someone stepping in the goddamn pancakes you made.”

“Well, I ate all of 'em so it's fine!”

“I made them for everybody.”

Chopper moved to brush aside Sanji's hair to check his other eye, but found his patient ducking his head out of the way. “What's the last thing you remember?”

Sanji smirked. “Beaning that marimo in the face with his damn beer.”

From a particularly mossy corner came a quiet, “Asshole.”

“Excuse me, Cook-san, I have to apologize for this...but I need to test something to confirm my hypothesis.”

Sanji pushed Chopper's struggling body down to the floor, confiscated his little flashlight, and beamed towards Robin. “No need to apologize, love~!”

“Wait, hold on, Robin, maybe we shouldn't – I mean, this doesn't feel...”

Nami quieted down as soon as Robin's sharp gaze fell on her. She couldn't even hold her head up for a second before fidgeting and looking back at the floor. Robin continued her stare for a little while before moving to address everybody. “Circumstances may have created a huge weakness in this crew, as much as the party involved does not intend to do so. If we want to be able to negate it, we will need to understand it fully. Otherwise, one or more of us could die. So, Cook-san...”

Even before Robin focused back on him again, Sanji could feel his body tense. He almost felt like he was standing in the chill of a meat locker, hoping that the door wouldn't lock him in.

“I wish for you to reverse your personal gravity for one minute.”

“Uh, Robin...not to offend you or anything, but, one, that's a really weird wish and two, he can't even make money so what's this supposed to – “

“Your wish is my command,” Sanji intoned and he hopped up, flipped over in the air, and landed his feet lightly on the ceiling.

It took a few seconds for the last few seconds to catch up with everybody. Even Sanji had to stop and mull it over, looking down at the floor and looking up at his feet a few times before finally releasing a curt scream and falling over. Falling up. Falling?

The sound of Sanji thudding up (down?) on the ceiling snapped some of the more excitable members of the crew into their own individual freak-outs. Nami slammed herself back into the wall and still looked like she was trying to go further, her eyes wide and her mouth making a few inarticulate sounds. Usopp yelped, “SANJI'S FALLING INTO THE SKY” before fainting. Chopper was stuck between desperately asking Sanji if he felt blood rushing to his head and looking like he was fainting himself. Luffy said, “SANJI, HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT?!” before jumping back on the table with a huge smile and a cup of someone's tea. “Hey, hey, try drinking this!”

“What the hell are you saying?! Get off the damn table!” Sanji stretched his leg down (up?) and managed to whack Luffy on the side of his head. The sight of Luffy looking like he was falling up was enough to set him off again and he knelt up to take a seat. “Holy shit holy shit holy shit.”

“The devil fruit our cook ate may not have given him the ability to materialize desired objects, but it did seem to give him some supernatural abilities. If we were to ask him, perhaps, to change forms or to exhibit some sort of power, then he may very well be able to do that. At the very least, he is mentally compelled to do that. Though I cannot say for sure whether he would be able to perform such acts without a command. Do you all understand the danger of this?”

“What the hell, what the hell,” Sanji shouted from the ceiling. “I gotta do what any shithead bastard tells me to do?! What kind of useless shit is this?! You gotta be kidding me!”

“And that is exactly the problem,” Robin continued, her calm stature somehow managing to anchor everybody down into silence. “You don't seem to be able to pick and choose what wish to grant. If anybody outside this ship were to find this out, they could use you against us. You can be, in essence, hypnotized to do anything against your will.”

Sanji sucked in a breath, a million hypotheticals already running through his mind. And then he fell back to the floor headfirst.

Thus, the first time Luffy fell off the boat, his first instinct was to jump after the idiot.

A few feet from the water, Sanji suddenly recalled that he freaking ate a devil fruit too and turned his faultless dive into a flailing mess as he tried to somehow crawl back up the air and back on board the ship. Which...actually seemed to be working out, as he was somehow not falling. Sanji glanced down, saw that his legs weren't exactly legs, and that's all he got to see because his head caught Chopper on his way down (“I'll save you, Luffy!!”) and both of them plummeted underwater.

“I'm a Zoan type,” he said as soon as he was fished out. The feeling of paralysis as he sank into the depths of the ocean was as terrible as he thought it would be, but he was currently focused on a potential positive.

“What's that?” Usopp grunted out, wringing his shirt while Robin helped with getting the other two hammers to spit out the water they had swallowed.

“I've got that shitty wish thing going on, but I'm like Chopper – that means I have transformations too, doesn't it?”

“The djinn are known to be beings of smokeless fire,” Robin commented from her deck chair. “I can't say that I know what that looks like, but I imagine that you could gain that appearance as well.”

Sanji shoved at Chopper with his foot. “Hey! Reindeer, how do you do that transforming thing? Wake up!”

“...How heartless can you get...”

“Ugh whatever,” Sanji said, hopping to his feet and starting to pace. “Other people had to figure it out on their own, so can I.”

His suit was completely soaked through and his shoes squelched with every step. But, for once, that wasn't important. A being of smokeless fire, huh? And a demon to boot. He had absolutely no idea what that would look like, but it felt like he should, at least if he wanted to change forms in the first place. Though he couldn't figure that out just by thinking really hard, could he? Still, whatever a djinni looked like, there was one inside of him. All he had to do was coax it out...

An image coalesced in his mind and Sanji opened his eyes. There was no more squelching and he couldn't say that he felt particularly wet anymore. Looking down, he saw a familiar sight: his body tapering into smoke, something like a mermaid's tail except less tangible and without the fins. There was a less familiar weight on his head and when he felt above his ears, he found curled, ridged horns growing there. With a grin growing on his face, Sanji whispered, “I knew it,” before whooping and flipping once in the air with all the ease of swimming. “Now this I can work with!”

“Uh, Sanji, if you're not moving with the ship then – “

The cabin wall of the Merry suddenly crashed into the side of Sanji's head and he toppled over onto the deck once again.

“ – that,” Usopp finished.

“Well, whatever!” Sanji shouted back, bouncing back up and making sure to keep up with the ship this time. “Getting to fly isn't bad at all, and maybe I can figure out how to do other stuff! Hey, Usopp, whaddya think?” he added, lying down horizontally on nothing.

Usopp's eyes trailed up and down Sanji's body. “I think you need legs to kick.”

Sanji whipped his ethereal tail at Usopp's face with a scowl, causing the sniper to flinch backwards with a shriek. “Bastard, at least look a little happy for me.”

“I can't help it,” Usopp coughed out, trying to force any bit of Sanji smoke out of his lungs. “You really shouldn't...I mean, what I think is you shouldn't...well, that is...I'm just worried that if someone looks at you and figures out that you're a...you know...then they could...” Usopp bobbed his head forward and grimaced cautiously, as though that alone encapsulated everything bad that could happen.

Sanji opened his mouth but didn't really have an answer for that. Luckily for him, Chopper chose this moment to regain consciousness and sit up, whereupon he took one look at Sanji, screamed, “Oh no, Sanji's a ghost!” and fainted again.

Robin chuckled from her seat. “It seems at first glance, people would think our cook is a dead man rather than a demon.”

“Maybe,” Usopp muttered, patting Chopper on his cheek in an attempt to wake him up again. “But it still feels really risky.”

“So, what, you're saying that I just have to do nothing with this whole damn devil fruit thing? That I just go ahead with nothing to show for it except the complete inability to swim and the compulsion to do whatever someone wishes for me to do?” His hair started to flutter in the air like flames and he briefly wondered if it actually was. It made sense, though it was probably over-the-top – he was frustrated, not fuming mad or anything. “The least I want is some sort of benefit here. I mean, I didn't want this to happen in the first place, but it did, so now I just have to make the best of it! I can't just pretend like, I dunno, I'm still normal when I used to be able to swim and now the number of people on this ship that the ocean doesn't hate is in the minority. So maybe you could stand to show a little support.”

Usopp mumbled out a “Sorry,” but the way he looked down at Chopper instead of looking up at him made Sanji set his jaw harder. But he said nothing more as Luffy chose this time to sit up and shout, “I'M HUNGRY!” loud enough to wake Chopper up again, who also immediately shot up and knocked his antler straight into Usopp's nose.

Sanji sighed a plume of smoke up into the air. “Well, I guess it's snack time already. Lucky for you shitheads I'm still in a good mood, so any requests?”

“That's a good mood?” Usopp muttered, still clutching his nose in pain.

“MEAT.”

“I said snack, not dinner.”

“MEEEEEAT.”

“...I'll put you down for ham sandwiches. What about the rest of you?”

Robin lowered her book for a few seconds. “If you don't mind, I quite enjoyed the drink you made yesterday.”

“Alright! Usopp, Chopper, your turn,” he said, hovering closer to the floor and landing on his feet.

“Um.” Usopp sniffed and wiped at his nose with his arm. “I dunno. You can do...I mean, I'm fine with whatever.”

“I want – “ Chopper started before muffling his own mouth and looking down in shame. “...I'm fine with whatever.” Sanji's cigarette rolled between his teeth as he stared down at the two abstainers.

“I WANT MEEEEEAT”

“Shut up I heard you the first time.” Spinning towards the galley, Sanji called up towards the balcony like some sort of thuggish Romeo. “Oh Nami-saaaan~! I don't mean to bother you, but it's time for me to make snaaacks~! I will make anything for you, if you only desire it~!”

The first person to answer him was, unfortunately, not Nami, but the resident marimo drying by the mast. He snuffled, yawned like waking up was a chore, and grumbled, “D'ya have to be so loud all the time?”

Since Nami was currently coming out of her room with a new outfit and a towel wrapped around her hair, Sanji elected against politely letting Zoro know that he had slept through an entire argument just a few seconds before via foot to the face. Instead, he waved enthusiastically in case Nami didn't see him (somehow) and blurted out something stupid like how divine she looked with damp hair.

“Snacks? Um...well, Sanji-kun, whatever you make is fine.”

“You are too kind~! But~! There really isn't anything you want in par~ti~cu~lar~?”

“Well, y'know.” Nami laughed, a sound that was always melodious, though Sanji could detect a hint of a minor key somewhere in there. “I'm not gonna tell the chef what to cook, right?”

“Although I'm sure you know this already, that is the entire point of restaurants, my sweet tangerine tart~” Sanji laughed back, if only to keep up a certain atmosphere that was long gone.

Nami continued the laugh, turning it into a rather odd contest. “But this isn't a restaurant, after all, and I thought that you like experimenting, right?”

“Ah, it is so kind of you to think of me, o pumpkin pot de crème, but I absolutely insist on hearing your heart's desire!” At this point, with all the laughing the two of them were doing at each other, Sanji was unable to continue his customary trill. Actually, he could probably use a drink. He continued laughing. “Perhaps you are worried about being selfish? But there is no need, and besides, that side of you is a side that I love!”

“Ugh,” Zoro said from the other side of the mast. At some point, he had moved, though he had been wrong if he thought the thick wood would somehow dampen all the sound. “Shut up! Geez, I wish you'd stop it with that love crap already!”

For a moment, Sanji's heart stopped. Only for a moment. In his mind's eye, he could see his brain taking parts of himself and compartmentalizing them, tossing certain things out. No more flirting, no more declarations of love, no more special treatment. That special feeling that came with making someone smile, gone. The same went for the excitement of making new recipes, of combining ingredients in a way that he was sure someone would love. And on and on, until it felt like the only thing left filling him up was an all-pervasive guilt that asked him questions ten years old already; why, why, why are you still alive? Why do you cause so much trouble? Why can't you be better than what you are?

“Sanji-kun, I wish for you to be your normal self!”

The breath that Sanji took in made him stumble and he leaned on the galley door for support. He barely noticed Nami jump over the railing and march right over to Zoro, who had been stuck by the mast, halfway to his feet, for the past minute. As Nami approached, Zoro seemed to shake out of his stupor and, sounding the most flustered he had ever been, said, “I, I didn't mean,”

Nami started stamping on Zoro, shrieking, “Apologize! Apologize right now!” And he did, half-mumbling it out only because he was also trying to fend off Nami's heels with his arm.

“Sanji.”

He looked up at the sound of his captain's voice, as did everybody else before they directed their attention back to him. He breathed. Smiled. “I'm alright.”

Their look of disbelief forced him to smile wider. “Seriously! It's fine, everything's fine! Not that I'd wanna go through that again, but...” Unable to think of what to say next, Sanji trailed off into another awkward laugh that traveled its lonely way into the sky. Zoro looked down.

“So. I'll just go ahead and start on snacks.”

It wasn't even a few seconds before the galley door opened and closed again. Sanji only turned his head enough to see who it was before turning his focus back on the food. “Here to steal something, captain?”

“Nah. Just gonna be here,” Luffy replied, plopping down into a chair, never letting his wide eyes leave Sanji's back.

Despite saying that, Luffy's hand still twitched towards anything that was left unattended for longer than a minute. Sanji kicked his head in quite a few times but never went so far as to kick him out.

The number didn't change. Three apples were missing.

Which wouldn't be too concerning by itself, but it was the same the day before and the day before that. The number of apples had been steadily decreasing every day and he hadn't caught the perpetrator once. Which meant that he could rule out Luffy because the guy was anything but subtle and Sanji would probably gut himself if it turned out he was outsmarted by him.

The thing about thieves on a ship, though, is that they didn't really have anywhere to go. So the list of suspects was small. It's just that, honestly, he didn't want to think about some of the possibilities. And of all things, why apples? It wasn't like that was anybody's favorite or anything, they were apples, and at this point, slightly bruised ones to boot.

Sanji's midnight contemplations were interrupted by Zoro walking right into the galley. They stared at each other. Zoro moved to close the door again.

“Hold it!” Sanji roared, leaping over and pulling Zoro in with all the power of a scorned cook. “What's wrong, apple thief? Lose your courage?!”

Zoro, for his part, didn't go out without a struggle, though he was slightly distracted by Sanji prodding him with his horns. “I wasn't gonna do anything! Dammit, cook, let me – apples?!”

The two paused in their fight, the first time one of those had ever come to a full stop. “What?”

“What?”

“I thought – you aren't why the apples are going missing?”

Zoro snorted. “I wouldn't sneak around for apples.”

“But you would sneak around for something.”

The two of them stared at each other. Zoro turned around and made for the door again.

“Hold it,” Sanji shouted again, slamming a foot against the door. Zoro tried very hard to not look at any part of Sanji. “Alright. Fess up. Swordsmen have their honor, don't they? Or should I guess for myself?”

Still not looking directly at him, Zoro mumbled, “Booze.”

“But there aren't any bottles missing.” He counted those at least ten times, knowing the nature of the thieves already on the boat.

“...I refilled the ones I drank.”

Sanji let this knowledge sink into his mind with all the horror it came with before launching himself back towards the kitchen, grabbing a random bottle and chugging it.

“You filled it with water. Holy shit, how many did you drink?!”

“...I dunno,” Zoro said, sinking into a chair and holding his head now that he was found out. Sanji continued rummaging through the bottles and swigging mouthfuls down. “After a while, I kept accidentally stealing water instead.”

Sanji slammed the twentieth bottle down on the counter. “These are all water and you're an asshole.” Zoro could only shrug helplessly as Sanji marched back to the table and slammed his hands on top. “Why. Didn't you just ask.”

“As if you'd actually give it to me.”

“That's a shit excuse and you know it. You might be an uncultured swine, but I can always find some sort of shit grog that somehow appeals to your taste. Instead, you just rummaged through my shit and drank whatever! Look at me!” When he slammed the table again, Zoro flinched, but answered the challenge regardless. “I'm not sure how much your goddamn tiny brain understands this, but there are different types of alcohol, and some of them are expensive as shit. Those are the ones I never give you, because one, you wouldn't appreciate it, and two, you can't even tell the difference.”

“I think that's the same point,” Zoro muttered.

“You can't even tell the bottles apart, dumbass! If you just asked, I could have given you the usual shit you chug and my collection would be intact and we'd both be happy. So why didn't you ask?!”

Zoro opened his mouth, but only made a strained sound. For once, Sanji decided to say nothing and wait.

“...I can't.”

“You mean you won't.”

Zoro grimaced, but there was a hint of a smirk. “I guess that's more accurate. Yeah. Sorry.”

Sanji waited a little longer, but there was nothing forthcoming. He sighed. “Alright idiot, get up. You're emptying all that water out. And if I catch you sneaking a drink, I'm gonna kick your ass.”

“Okay, okay, jeez, you don't have to pull my ear!”

The two switched positions, Zoro standing over the kitchen counter and Sanji relaxing with a smoke in the chair he recently occupied. The cook spun his cigarette around in his fingers, watching the smoke rather than supervising the damn alcoholic, and he thought about the days before, he thought about people coming into the kitchen to ask for food and the lack thereof, and he thought about what he was supposed to do now.

Sanji sat perched on the kitchen counter, surrounded by empty bottles that he didn't know what to do with anymore, and let out a stream of smoke. “Actually,” he said, staring lazily at Nami, “I haven't even started.”

There was a loud clattering, slapping sound and then Luffy appeared in the door, eventually followed by everybody else who couldn't help but follow their captain's rampage. “WHAT. SANJI WHY.”

He stayed silent until Luffy's heavy breathing calmed a little. And then, looking at the entire crew straight in the eye, he drolled, “Well, I can't say that anybody asked me to – “

“I'M ASKING. RIGHT NOW. I WANT MEAT.”

Luffy's request was repaid with a kick to the top of his head. “Dammit Luffy, sit down! I got something to say!” Although he pouted, Luffy sat on the floor with minimal fidgeting, leaving Sanji to look back at the others, his eyes lingering on each face for several uncomfortable seconds. Zoro. Chopper. Usopp. Nami. He pointed. “Robin-chan, you're off the hook too. Sit down.”

“Thank you,” she replied, taking a chair with a motion as smooth as her voice.

“So,” Sanji continued, “it has come to my attention that some members of this crew no longer enjoy my cooking.”

“What?! It's not me! Who is it?! I'll kick their ass!”

“Luffy, when I said 'sit down,' I meant sit quietly.”

“Um! Sanji, we all like your food, honest!” Chopper piped up, taking his chance to speak. “It's just, um, well...”

“The job of a cook,” a dramatic pause to drag in another breath of smoke, “is to fulfill the needs and wants of the customers. But lately, there's been a significant decrease in the number of requests to this kitchen. As much as I pride my culinary skills, I can't see this incident as anything else except evidence that my skills no longer appeal to you. In which case, I've failed as a cook. So I've decided to resign. I'll leave this ship at the next island.”

“What?! Wait, Sanji-kun! That's not – we...Luffy! Say something!”

For once, Luffy seemed to have gotten the idea of the situation. He simply looked ahead, arms and legs crossed. Nami ran her frustrated hands through her hair and turned back towards Sanji. “It's really not what you think! Ah...right, Usopp?”

“Y-yes!” Usopp said with the instinct of a habitual liar, even as his face said that he was absolutely not prepared to tag in at all. “You see, that is, Sanji, I didn't realize that you would notice, but...I'm on a diet! That's why I haven't been asking you for extra food! Sorry for worrying you, hahaha...”

“It's the same for me, I'm afraid,” Nami added, chorusing Usopp's forced laugh. “I know you make sure to keep our menu nutritious, but lately I just feel like I've been eating too much!”

Chopper looked up at his two comrades before crossing his arm and gritting his teeth. “Um, me too!” he said, and impressively enough, his voice didn't crack too much.

After a little bit of silence, Nami elbowed Zoro hard, who grunted in return. “What? He already found me out.”

“I can make a lot of good shit with apples, you know. Like apple fritters. But I guess they aren't that great if you guys prefer taking just plain ol' apples behind my back, right?” And just as he thought, when he fixed his gaze upon his targets, all three of them flinched. Including Nami, as much as his heart broke to have that confirmed.

“Ah, well, you see, the diet, it's called the Apple Diet,” Usopp continued, his voice falsely light.

“Cut the bullshit already. I get it, y'know? I understand, this whole thing with...me is gonna be hard to get comfortable with. I still have to get used to it. But I'm still the cook on this ship, and that means that I take your wants and turn them into reality. I've done that before and I'll keep doing it because the devil fruit changes nothing. But...” Smoke swirled into the air, spreading itself along the ceiling as it sought a way out. “...I can't do that if none of you talk to me.”

For the first time that morning, Sanji's lips curled into a smile. “It's actually kinda flattering, you guys worrying about me. But frankly, if I had to eat that fruit, then I'm glad that I ate it here. Because out of all the people who  I'd pick to know about my powers, you're the ones I trust the most. I already know that none of you would ever make me do something I don't want to do, not on purpose. And sometimes mistakes'll happen, but that's okay too. I wouldn't hold that against any of you. We're all still getting used to this. Though really, that was surprising; I didn't realize our marimo-chan was so sweet.”

Zoro snorted. “Shut up.”

“But anyways, if you guys start thinking that you can't ask me for anything, not just food but anything, just because of this damn devil fruit thing, then you'll leave me out. Start going behind my back to do the things that I should be doing for you. And then I can't trust you anymore. So...talk to me again.”

Sanji sat still and stubbed out his cigarette, his hand shaking with all the effort it took to not let his face collapse into a blushing mess. Usopp and Chopper were having a harder time keeping composed, and it looked like Nami was on the brink herself, until finally all of them barreled towards Sanji in various states of distress.

“I'm sorry! I'm really sorry, Sanji! You won't actually leave, will you?!”

“Th-that was s-s-so b-beautiful, you're a great man, a-a-and, I'm so sorry!”

“Jeez, I actually thought you were s-serious about that whole leaving thing! Don't worry me like that!”

“Alright alright, stupid reindeer, damn long nose, get off! Your blubbering is gonna ruin my suit, shitheads! Nami-san~ you can keep crying in my arms all you want~!”

“Sheesh, you really are just the same idiot.”

“Just because I called you sweet earlier doesn't mean I won't shave your head and feed your hair to the fishes.”

And, sensing that the atmosphere from before had lifted, Luffy jumped back to his feet and rushed Sanji as well. Robin shared a secret smile with the cook, her expression giving him the thumbs-up that her hand was too elegant to exhibit. Zoro plopped into a chair, now that he was no longer being lectured, and set his feet on the table since Sanji was a little preoccupied with the hugs he was receiving. The cook hobbled closer to the dinner table enclosed in his nest of friends. And he laughed, and everybody else laughed along with him until finally everybody let him go.

Sanji beamed at them all with the relief he felt of things finally going back to (relative) normality and said, “So, uh, when I said I didn't start preparing breakfast, I actually really didn't...”

Chapter Text

...nji...un...

...at...o I do...meone plea...

...o sorry...'m so...

“I wish that you won't die!”

Everything flashed into focus with painful clarity and Sanji gasped with the shock, only to gurgle on his own blood. He breathed even as every rasp felt like it was tearing a hole right through him. The pain made him whimper and cry out, he wanted to curl up, wanted to kick at the hurt, but his arms twitched and grabbed at nothing while his legs only jittered. Moving only made the pain worse and yet he couldn't help it. His eyes sought out the comfort of anything familiar and managed to find, kneeling over him, almost blind with tears, face encrusted with dirt and blood and sweat and snot, was Nami.

He could see burns on her exposed skin, could see something foreign sticking out of her arm like a gravestone, and he opened his mouth to ask who did this to her but only dribbled more blood. His body instinctively tried to sit up only to be stopped by a disgusting squelch near his torso and he really should have saved the gravestone simile for himself because there was a bar of metal sticking right through something that felt important.

Oh yeah. There was an explosion.

He flitted his desperate eyes back to Nami's face, his only method of communication the speed of his breaths, and she placed her hands on him as though she wasn't sure if he could be held and said, “I know, I know, hang in there, you're, you're gonna be okay.”

His eyes flitted to something behind her and Nami had a second to look back before a gruesomely large hand enclosed her face and dragged her up. He could hear her muffled screams and curses and see her legs kicking at the figure looming above, but even though she was better off than him, she was still much too wounded to fight any longer.

“Interesting,” came the rumble of a voice deep from the gut of the devil. “You had that sort of power? Though...you would have used that against me, I'm sure. Unless...”

Underneath the shadow of that red mane, Sanji couldn't quite see the man's eyes but he felt them fall upon him regardless. He tried to glare back. There was nothing much else for him to do.

The man leered and tossed Nami aside, where Sanji couldn't see because he couldn't even raise his head. His breath hitched and grew more labored as he tried to tell him, how dare you, you've made a terrible mistake, and I will never be satisfied until your limbs are strewn across the world so that your body will never be united under one grave.

The man did not understand. Nor was he impressed by the glares from an impaled body. Sanji saw the glint of teeth before he heard, “I wish for your wounds to heal.”

The feeling of bones regrowing, muscles mending, flesh closing, none of it felt comfortable. But all of that was nothing compared to the feeling of the hole in his body closing in around the piece of metal that was still there. He screamed, kicked his legs, grabbed at the spike with hands that were instantaneously shedding his dead, burned skin and replacing it just as quickly, stop, please stop, his lung was trying to close a hole that was already filled and it pushed and strained against the obstacle like a dumb boar he couldn't breathe it felt like every breath just diffused into the rest of his body and just stop

The man pulled him up by his collar and he slid off the metal bar with a wet sound that reminded him of making sausages. The hole closed up and he was left dangling, breathing, vomiting blood and tears as he clutched at the spot where he had been impaled.

“Y-you've just...screwed yourself over...shithead,” Sanji said once there was enough room in his mouth for words. But he couldn't move his hands away from his chest. He was trembling so hard he was sure he would fall apart. He had been practically falling apart just a few seconds ago.

“I don't think so. I think you are going to be a huge help to me,” said the man, and he hated his barbaric voice, his shit-eating shit grin, his unruly hair. “I wish for you to bring me the head of your captain. It would save me the trouble of finding him.” The man threw his head back and laughed, and god he hated his laugh too, before throwing Sanji back to the ground. He miraculously landed on his feet with barely a stumble and jumped forward with a scream and a kick, getting some satisfaction from the look of surprise on that bastard's face before he missed, crumbled to the ground, clutching his head because it was about to explode.

He didn't care to see whatever relief spread across that man's expression. No, he couldn't care. There was a buzzing in his head that just wouldn't stop, thrumming through his brain in the form of words, bring the captain's head, bring the captain's head, and he cried wordlessly because he was beyond the point of being able to curse.

Eventually, his legs stood underneath him. Eventually, they turned towards the ruined city. Propelled him forward.

“That's more like it,” said the man before turning back towards his own crew to give new orders. Sanji didn't care. He only managed to at least scoop Nami over his shoulder before setting off in the hopes that he could run into Chopper at some point. Or someone else. Anybody else except – bring the captain's head.

At times like these, he prided himself on being calm, thinking through the situation, but his thoughts were so damn jumbled and they constantly skidded to a halt and disappeared in the alleyways of his brain.

If only he could – bring the captain's head.

There had to be a way out of this, even if he had to kill – bring the captain's head.

If he could just find everybody, if they could escape. He could live with this feeling forever. It was nothing. As long as – bring the captain's head.

Nami was bleeding on him. He was sure that she wasn't supposed to be moved, but he didn't know what else to do and if only Chopper were here, someone who could stop – bring the captain's head.

“Woah, it's Sanji! Thank goodness, we heard an explosion and we didn't know where you – holy shit what happened to Nami.”

He set Nami back on the ground and leaned her against Usopp, who took her in his arms gently despite screaming his head off. Sanji took in his surroundings. Robin. Zoro.

“Dammit, where's Chopper at a time like this?! Aaagh...I knew we shouldn't have gone on this island...”

“Where's Luffy?” he breathed out.

“Probably where the most noise is. It looks like they've stopped bombarding this place, so...” A burst of sound and a crumbling building punctuated Zoro's statement. “...Ah. There.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled before heading off towards the sound.

“O-oi, what's the plan here? Where're you going? Y-you don't want to, uh, help find Chopper or anything?”

He wanted to. Of course he did. But – bring the captain's head.

If he could just – bring the captain's head.

Something grabbed onto his legs and he hit the ground with his chin. Before he could shake off his stunned daze, more arms grew out of the street underneath him and pinned him down.

“I think...it would be best if you told us what you are about to do.”

The buzzing in his head increased until he was sure he was vibrating from the force of it, couldn't hear anything above the torrent of bring the captain's head bring the captain's head and couldn't it just stop please.

“I think we should knock him out for now. Until we know what's going on.”

“Hang on, Zoro! Think about this a little, I'm pretty sure you'll just crush his head!”

“Shut up, I'm using the hilt.”

“The hilt isn't the problem here it's your stupid strength!”

The arms just wouldn't let him go no matter how much he thrashed; they multiplied, tightened their grasp until he couldn't move. With a growl of helpless frustration, he disappeared in a puff of smoke and reappeared further towards the sounds of rubbery fists crashing every which way.

“Shit! Usopp, go find Chopper already! I'm going after that damn cook!”

“Wait, you're already going the wrong way!”

“Swordsman-san, please follow my lead.”

His feet pounded on the ruined cobblestone. The sounds of fighting had ceased some time ago, but there was still a conspicuous trail of bodies for him to follow. He hadn't heard any traces of followers either. There was nothing standing in his way.

The street opened up into what was once a town center. Now, it was a pile of unconscious bodies. Standing by the fountain, which was gamely spurting water despite a significant chunk of it being several yards away, was Luffy.

One of the fallen men had a sword. He picked it up.

“Hm? Sanji! Everybody okay?”

He winced at the sound of his name, staggered, collapsed under the pressure of watching his captain's instinctual smile and slammed his forehead into the ground until his ears rang.

“Hey, Sanji – “

“Stay right there.” His hand kept opening and closing around the hilt of his borrowed sword. He could feel blood running down into his eyes. It didn't make much of a difference. He had already been pretty damn bloody.

Through dry heaves and wet tears, he gasped out, “L-Luffy...I'm sorry, some, someone f-found – “ bring the captain's head “ – I c-can't...he ordered me to – “ bring the captain's head “ – you g-gotta...keep away, I, I can't...”

“Who.”

Luffy was close, too close. Sanji slammed his head down again and kept it down so that he couldn't see his captain's feet.

“I...I've th-thought of a, a – if I – p-please...kick me off the crew.”

“No way.”

In his shock, Sanji looked up and this lapse in concentration had his hand shoot out and squeeze Luffy's ankle. To his right, he saw the sword raise, and he managed to untangle his shitty fingers enough for it to drop back down. And through all this, Luffy just stared down at him, arms crossed, making no move to escape or take the sword or knock him out or something and this freaking idiot, couldn't he just think for once? At least in a situation like this?

“Dammit...don't let me d-do this...! I-if you're not my captain – “

“That's dumb. I'll only kick off people I hate. And I don't hate you.”

“At least – if you can c-cancel out th-the, the – “

Briefly, Luffy's face darkened with disgust. “I don't wanna.”

“Sh-shithead...you don't understand, I'd rather die – “

“Nah. I understand fine.”

“Then why – “

“You don't even give me meat when I ask, not always, and that's really annoying and mean. But you're saying some guy tells you to kill me or whatever and you can't not do it?” Luffy snorted a sigh through his nose and looked down at him like he was the worst idiot in the world. “Gimme a break! That's not Sanji-like. You're being stupid.”

“B-but – “

“Sanji's always done what he wants. So do you wanna kill me? Or do you wanna tell me whose ass to kick?”

His hand, shaking with the effort, dug deeper into Luffy's leg. Luffy didn't flinch. He stared up with misted eyes, the world around him going blurry until he couldn't recognize his captain at all.

He took in a shaky breath.

Luffy's head rested in his hands as he slowly stepped his way through the empty streets. It was – well, heavy wasn't the right word, but his arms were aching from the effort. Every step felt weighted, like he had to dig his feet into the ground just to keep moving. He shuffled back another step.

“I'm not really much of a sharpshooter, that's more Usopp's thing,” Sanji grumbled, peering down ahead of him.

“It's fine, it's fine!” said Luffy.

“Don't laugh, I'm already having a hard time holding onto you!”

“But he's right in front of us, and also, he's sooo biiiiiiiiiig! I'll definitely hit him. As long as he doesn't move. By the way, you better do it soon, my body can't stay up there forever.”

“I know, I know, I just want to be real sure that he gets what he wants.” Luffy laughed long and hard at the joke until Sanji kneed him in the back of the head to shut him up.

Beyond Luffy's head, beyond his elongated neck and the rest of his body, Sanji could barely see the red-maned bastard. His movements were nothing more than vague gestures, sometimes pointing this way, sometimes that. He seemed preoccupied with the men who surrounded him. That was just fine.

Sanji gritted his teeth into a grin and Luffy beamed up at him encouragingly. Things were about to get very unfortunate for the man up ahead. If only he knew what the two of them did:

That Sanji was a huge asshole.

He let go.

Chapter Text

“Sure.”

That one word reverberated through his entire body, echoing again and again until it drowned out the sound of the sea, the rocking of the boat, even the view of anything outside this small circle of this historical event happening right here in this one moment. That one word broke through his carefully designed shell, making him lose all sense of composure, and if it weren't for a branch of especially helpful arms, the tray of drinks he was holding would have crashed to the floor in a chaotic array of glass and tastefully mixed juices.

“E-ex...cuse me...?” he managed to tremble out.

Nami straightened out her newspaper with a flick and turned the page. “I said, sure. Let's go on a date.”

Once again, Sanji almost fell to his knees, this time being more aware of his current fragile cargo. There had never been a precedent for this sort of situation once in his life. He could feel his brain sparking, warning him of the danger of this vast, uncharted territory he had suddenly breached, and he shook with the anticipation of what he had to do next.

He ran away.

“Usopp! We need to talk.”

Usopp looked up at a breathless Sanji, down at his worktable piled high with various bits and parts, and looked back up again. “...Now?”

“Now.” With a sweep of his arm, Sanji cleared some space of metal clutter for his tray of drinks. He also set down a bottle of alcohol that he didn't even remember picking up, but it was for sure going to be useful. “Listen. Listen,” he said, his voice dark enough to convey the full scope of the news he was trying to convey. He chugged down one of his own drinks and started to fill the glass with the cheap booze. “Nami agreed to go on a date with me.”

“Oh. Congratulations.”

“No! It's terrible! I'm totally unprepared! You've gotta help me!”

For his part, Usopp endured Sanji shaking his shoulders. It was something he had to get used to. “You really didn't fantasize about this sort of thing like, all the time? I thought you'd have some big, flamboyant plan for when this happened.”

“Well, yeah,” Sanji said, sounding a little offended that the existence of his various predictable fantasies were ever in any doubt, “but it's not like I can get a white stallion out of nowhere. And I don't know if any orange flowers are in season on the next island, not to mention how the hell am I gonna book a ballroom – will there even be a ballroom? Also, do you even know how long it takes to bake a multi-tiered cake with all the trimmings and decorations and shit?”

Usopp tried very hard not to use his 'I Can't Freaking Believe That You're an Actual Human Being' look and failed miserably. “Are we talking about a date or a wedding here?”

“You talkin' romance over there? Y'know, I'm a super – “

“Shut the hell up, goddamn shitty robot,” Sanji hissed towards Franky's corner of the workshop. “This is a private conversation.”

“You're the one who walked into my workshop!”

“Let it go, Franky. Sanji, don't be a jerk.” As the two grumbled vaguely about each other, Usopp took two glasses off the forgotten tray and handed one of them back to Franky as a peace offering before turning his attentions back to the matter at hand. “Alright. Why don't we just bounce date ideas off each other and then you choose what you like the most?”

“It absolutely can't be on the ship.” Sanji took a shot just for imagining all the shit that could happen with a date that had Luffy in the vicinity. Usopp nodded sympathetically.

“Okay, so you're gonna do it at the next island.”

“But I don't know what the season is and the typical weather, I don't even know what's there and – “

“Look, Sanji, you might be thinking about this too hard.”

“What if, as soon as we land, I run off and scope out the entire town and review every single establishment there – “

“Can you please try to think like a rational person?”

Sanji, for once, obliged and scrunched his face up in thought, twirling his glass around. A rational person. Right. Going on a date. Dating rationally. Like people do.

“So what if I get together enough money to buy off everybody in the town and – “

“Try harder.”

Sanji took another shot and slumped backwards on the floor with the most pathetic whine he could manage.

“Okay. Here's a classic. You could go take her to a restaurant and buy her dinner.”

Sanji shot back upright once more. “I could. Just, like, a quiet candlelit dinner.” As Sanji fell into a contemplative silence, Usopp took this as a sign that his job was over and huddled over his own project once more.

“But. Do you think. Isn't it a little...tacky, for like, a cook to take someone out to eat some other shithead's food?”

Usopp sighed and set down his screwdriver. “It's a date. Not. A job interview.”

“But. Usopp. I'll be sitting right outside a kitchen. There's going to be a bunch of incompetent idiots in there shitting up our food. They could ruin our date with terrible culinary skills.”

“Yeah yeah, we all know you're the best.”

“Do you think they'll let me cook our dinner instead?”

“Sanji, does it really sound like a good idea to just leave Nami at the table while you obsess over the food that you're going to eat.”

“What am I talking about? I'm a pirate. I can just steal the kitchen.”

“Sanji please listen to yourself.”

“Dude, just hang out with her. That's what a date is.”

“As if I'd listen to advice from some triple-chinned geezer.”

“I'm not even forty!”

“Alas, the tragedy of old age; as time passes, so does passion. You simply don't understand the fire of young love, old man.”

“...I don't understand young love and I'm younger than you.”

Franky gave a final, confrontational snort out of his nose before turning away. “If you're really not gonna listen to my quality advice, then 's your loss, buddy.”

“Actually, if the next island has an aquarium, then maybe you could go there,” Usopp butted in. “I think you'd really like it and maybe actually calm down a little. And aquariums are cool, so Nami would enjoy herself too.”

Sanji nodded, another shot halfway to his mouth. “So you're saying I should steal an aquarium.”

“NO.”

“So. What made you agree to a date?”

Nami reclined back in her chair, folding up the day's news on the table. “Honestly, I thought it would be funny.”

“His reaction so far has been amusing,” Robin remarked, tapping her ear knowingly.

“I know, right?” Nami replied with a grin, revealing the Black Den Den Mushi she had on her wrist.

Chapter Text

He had no idea what had just hit him, but it felt like...like...shit, who even knows.

First the woman in front of him (that pink-haired arm bastard called her Ain and what a sweet name that was, all soft and round and ending naturally in a smile, he could smile at Ain-chan all day); then there was some sort of pink flash and several strange feelings at once: sickening vertigo, an increase in pressure, all-enveloping weakness, hunger hunger hunger; and then he found himself clawing his way out of his own clothes, suddenly aware of how much smaller a space he was taking up and feeling very distressed about it.

“Sanji-kun!” he heard Nami belt out behind him, sounding just as confused as he was, and he turned around with wide eyes because in his history of jumping in front of people, nothing like this has ever happened.

It was decidedly a bad idea to all of a sudden turn into a kid in the middle of a battle.

Nami was already pointing her Clima-Tact back at Ain, but she seemed to hesitate, her eyes flicking back down to Sanji still in front of her and very much still in the crossfire. Ain certainly had no qualms, and already there was another weird pink glow heating up and then Chopper suddenly came from behind roaring bloody fury and Sanji took this chance to, to...run away.

It was hard. He had to hold his pants up, which meant having to find his hands in the mess of sleeves, and he just couldn't bunch enough fabric in his tiny palms to stop himself from tripping over everything anyways. He stumbled and shuffled his way around the ship, desperately finding some place on deck that wasn't part of the battlefield, because what the hell could he do? He couldn't kick, couldn't help, couldn't even think straight to come up with some sort of brilliant plan and take care of this whole shitfest. All he could hope for was to stay out of the way and curl up and try not to feel too bad about his complete and total helplessness only to end up feeling bad anyways.

In the end, the ugly plant asshole strung him up like a pig on the chopping block and all Sanji could think was, at least the vines were keeping his clothes from falling off him.

“Well, for suddenly losing most of your mass within a few seconds, you seem to be healthy. Though you're rather thin for your, uh, age...”

“I was a picky eater,” Sanji mumbled, letting his shirt drape back over him. It was a miracle that they even had anything on board that wouldn't just fall off, but it just so happened that Sanji still had a few old T-shirts that were a little ratty, but serviceable. And for modesty's sake, even though the shirt pretty much covered everything there was to cover, he took one of Chopper's shorts. The downside was, they were really itchy. Sharing clothes with a literal animal had some disadvantages.

“That's a relief, though...I was really worried about you. You lost, like, half your height! Anyways, Robin, if Sanji's not having problems, then I think you won't have much either, but let me examine you anyways...”

As Sanji slipped off the infirmary bed and padded over to a corner, he could hear Brook say, “Excuse me...I am going to be examined as well, correct?”

“Huh? Why?”

“Ah! I wasn't even considered!”

“Brook...you're a skeleton, bro. What's Chopper gonna examine.”

“I just like being included...”

“You're being pretty quiet,” Usopp commented, plopping right by where Sanji stood.

Sanji turned his head away and set a foot on the wall like he was ready to push off it and bolt. His hands grasped at his pockets, but he remembered belatedly that his cigarettes and lighter were still in his other – actual – clothes. “Just...adapting, I guess.”

A few seconds passed, and then Usopp's hand fell on top of his head. It was surprisingly heavy, and when it ruffled his hair up he pulled away and brushed everything back into shape. “I hope when you were actually a kid, you didn't have that sorta expression all the time.”

“What sort of expression,” Sanji shot back, though seeing Usopp's bittersweet smile made it clear that there was no insult meant.

“You look like someone died. If someone saw you on the streets, they'd probably try to adopt you.”

The image of some benevolent old lady scooping him up and carrying him away despite his protests might have been amusing in a different context (say, if it was Zoro instead of him), but for now it just drove home his small and pathetic appearance. He grit his teeth and flexed his toes against the grain of the wood. “So what, I'm supposed to be happy about this?”

Usopp finally seemed to catch on to some fragment of what Sanji was feeling, and his next answer was slower, more deliberate. “Well...no, I didn't mean it like that, just...I think if it were me, I'd feel maybe a little...nostalgic? Being a kid was pretty fun.”

“Being a kid sucked like hell.”

“Whaaat? C'mon, it couldn't have been all bad! I mean, didn't you go on adventures and stuff?”

Sanji gave him a withering look. “I go on adventures now.”

“I meant pretend ones! With no stakes, just goofing off and having fun! Or, like, climbing trees, or catching lizards!”

Sanji's withering look turned into an incredulous one. “You had to eat lizards?”

“What? No! You catch lizards just to catch them! You don't – why would you – “ Usopp cut himself off, looking more fidgety by the second. If there was one thing he was good at, it was sensing implications, whether they existed or not, and just running with them. Sanji could recognize that look of someone awkwardly and needlessly getting ready to broach a sensitive subject, and turned away again in the hopes that not looking would somehow solve this unwanted social situation. It didn't. “Sanji...um...so...your childhood was...”

“You guys, pay attention! We're talking about what to do here!” Oh Nami, what a beautiful, precious angel, how did the earthly realm even deserve her presence?

“Of course~” Sanji sang as he bounded from the wall and joined back with the group. Usopp spared him one more glance before reluctantly following along.

“Anyways, we need to figure out what to do about...this,” Nami continued, gesturing towards Sanji. He tried not to glower, but wasn't it a little unfair? There were three other people she could have gestured towards, or she could have gestured towards them as a whole. He didn't need to be the example of their problem. (Of course, he knew he was, he was practically the only example of their problem, he was the only one to have become pretty much useless and everybody knew it.)

“What's to figure out?” Luffy asked, punching his fists together. “I gotta beat up that damn arm bastard and make him turn everybody normal!”

“He's not the cause of that!”

“Yeah, Luffy, you got that wrong,” Zoro drawled. “We just gotta beat up that weird woman.”

“Whatever you're thinking of doing to her, you better damn forget it, mossy rockhead.”

“I don't really think you're in the position to make threats, kid.”

That stung more than it should have, and Sanji was left gasping for a retort, his stomach crimping in churning frustration. Nami stood between the two of them before he could say anything.

“Can't you two just not fight for once? Think of the situation! And Sanji-kun, don't be stupid about this, we can't just ignore this whole...de-aging thing. Anyways, as usual, Luffy and Zoro are wrong. What we need is information.”

“Unfortunately, we have limited options. But there is a sea train station here that can take us to a nearby island at the least,” said Robin, and even though she looked younger, Sanji couldn't help but think that she didn't look like she changed at all. Maybe it was the increased height advantage. The feeling of having to crane his neck to see his friends' faces was...wrong. He looked down instead. “We won't necessarily find anything. But our...friend has been active in this general area, so it won't hurt to ask around.”

“Exactly. So Franky's gonna have to stay behind to fix up the ship, but I want everybody else helping.”

“Uh. Even Luffy?” Usopp jabbed a thumb captain-ward. Said captain was currently digging through his nose, having checked out of the conversation ever since he figured out his own game plan.

“...Well, Luffy doesn't have to worry about this. Zoro too. And...Brook, I really don't think you can even talk to people, looking like...that. So you'll have to keep them out of trouble.”

“I'm staying on the ship too,” Sanji blurted out, shuffling his feet from side to side when everybody turned their attention towards him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and, again, found nothing to grab.

“Really? But I was hoping you could help out...you'll be harder to recognize, you know?”

Sanji could feel his face turn red. It was like his blood was gurgling under his skin with anxiety, heating him up until he almost thought he would cry. “I...I don't...” Deep breaths. Don't be a goddamn baby. “I...still have to make dinner. And stuff. Besides, Franky could use some help, right?”

Everybody turned to Franky this time, but it felt like it was out of pity for Sanji's pure desperation. Franky, for his part, startled at the sudden attention and looked uncertainly back down at Sanji. “Uh...sure...”

Was it his imagination or did Nami look disappointed? He didn't want to know. Looking up at her would be the death of him, of his conviction to absolutely avoid any human contact. “I'm gonna start now,” he babbled, and ran to the kitchen, slamming the door behind him and not moving from that spot until he heard the clomping of shoes down the gangplank.

“Hey, little bro? So...haven't seen ya in a while, and I know I gotta fix some stuff in here...”

Franky cautiously pushed open the door when no answer was forthcoming. The entire room was dark, horror movie dark, and he immediately found himself treading as carefully as his modified body could. No sounds of cooking, or even any boiling water, no fragrant smells wafting from the kitchen...the place felt (and for some reason he was feeling much too reluctant to use the word) dead. And if he hadn't finally picked up on the sound of shallow breathing coming from the corner of the kitchen, his mind might have started going down some dark places.

“Sanji?” He found himself whispering, something that didn't feel right with a body as audacious as his. Subconsciously, he flicked on the lights and was quickly greeted by the sound of something clattering on the floor, accompanied by some very creative cursing. Franky rounded the corner in just a few strides and almost wedged himself in the kitchen door trying to get in, managing to catch Sanji in the middle of righting the trash can.

“What the hell!” Sanji shouted at him, though he was noticeably still hanging over the trash can, barely even sparing him a glance. “Knock next time!”

“I did.” The kitchen was a bit of a mess, though some ridiculous arm guy did just wreck the place. It was just a little...sad to see it that way, given how much effort Sanji always put into keeping his space nice and neat. Franky sidled his way fully inside. “You...okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied like an insult, and he seemed to get ready to say something else inflammatory but instead gave out a concerning sort of wet sound before retching into the trash. Franky instantly found himself by Sanji's side, holding him up, patting his back, and holy shit, was this even helping he didn't know what the hell crap crap crap.

“I'll get Chopp – aw crap, he ain't here, shit, okay, maybe we can – “

“No, it's – “ Sanji paused to burble and cough out more bile mixed with something chunky. Franky turned his head away out of some sense of modesty. “It's...nothing. I'm fine.”

“Like hell! Kids don't barf when they're fine! You aren't even supposed to be a kid anyways! Chopper talked all that stuff up about, like, 'losing mass' and shit, maybe this is it! We don't even know what can happen, you could die, and – “

“I just – “ At first, Franky thought that Sanji was getting ready to evict something else from his stomach, but the sudden silence was just reluctance and the tensing in his back was only shame. “I just...ate too much...”

Now that was a shock, and now that Franky looked around a little closer, there did seem to be quite a bit of food scraps strewn around the place. Certainly not because of that damn arm bastard; not even a fight could bust that safe of a refrigerator open. He looked back down. Sanji shivered in his hands, vibrating with the fury that he kept reflecting inwards. He was trying to wipe at his face surreptitiously.

“Oh,” said Franky. “Um. You done?” Sanji nodded, and so he let him back on his feet.

“Don't tell anybody.”

“I don't really know what's going on in the first place, bro.”

Sanji kicked at the trash can and it wobbled and danced on its edge in neat circles until Franky stilled it once more. “It doesn't even happen for another year! I shouldn't...be like this! I shouldn't have to go through this again!”

There was definitely nothing Franky could say here. It seemed a little too private, even, something he shouldn't see, given how much he knew the cook preferred to keep a lot of his inner things inner. He wondered if he was supposed to leave.

“...I can't...I can't cook like this...if I see food...then...”

“Hey,” he said, his voice going uncharacteristically soft again. “One thing at a time. Nobody can cook in this mess, right? Let's clean up first. And then I'll help with dinner. Sound good?”

Sanji nodded.

Maybe it was bad of him to think so, but Franky didn't actually want to help Sanji cook. He didn't want to have to see what would happen, didn't want to see a side of Sanji that contradicted all that he knew about him, something that took away his humanity and left...he didn't know what. But, and maybe because he was present, Sanji did nothing out of the ordinary. Franky was relieved, and felt guilty about it.

The rest of the crew returned with that uncomfortably serious air that seemed to have settled in Sanji's gut ever since this whole mess started. And then it turned out that Luffy had gotten shot with a seastone bullet.

Chopper dragged Luffy into the infirmary for surgery, despite his complaints that meat would probably do the work, and everybody was left pacing outside, leaving dinner where it was on the table. Sanji tapped his foot. Tried not to think about food, not when his goddamn captain was in trouble, but his stomach seemed to deflate and his skin felt too tight, his mouth too dry, and he made for the cigarettes that he always kept stocked in his kitchen, lit one up, filled himself up with smoke, and then immediately fell over coughing it all out.

He could instantly sense everybody surrounding him, picking him up off the ground, and all he could do was cover his mouth with his arm and struggle to keep his frail body still. Someone wrangled the lit stick out of his fingers and someone else was pounding his back and he couldn't tell them to put him down so he said it with his kicks until they got the idea and then he was back on the floor, his eyes and nose like poorly-maintained dams. Through the tears, he could see Usopp awkwardly handing over a tissue but he used his sleeve instead.

Nobody said anything. And that was what he hated most.

“Shit,” he said, just for some sort of noise, and he threw the pack of cigarettes to the floor so that it bounced and scattered. After a few seconds, Usopp moved to pick them up and set them back on the counter.

Things fell silent again until Luffy was finally let out, able to add a little color back into the atmosphere, even if it was mostly a lot of shouting and barely suppressed fury and also the usual gluttony, which freed everybody else to pretend that things were back to some sort of normalcy. Sanji mostly focused on trying not to swallow his plate because no matter what, he wasn't going to fall to Luffy's level.

Even focused as he was, he managed to pay some attention to the conversation around him. At least, enough attention that he could immediately tell when it had suddenly stopped, and he looked up to see everybody either chewing slowly, or not chewing at all.

He felt like he was doused in ice. “What? What happened? What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Robin, touching her lips like she was trying to feel out the taste herself. “It's just...you've made everything rather...sweet, haven't you?”

It took a few seconds for Sanji to understand, and once he did, he let his head fall to the table and wondered if it was possible to just stay rooted there for the rest of his life. “I've got nine-year-old taste buds too,” he muttered with muted horror.

“W-well, it's not bad or anything, it's, it's kinda, cute?” Usopp tried to laugh.

“I like it,” Chopper said, muffled by food. Oddly enough, Sanji didn't feel comforted by that. Years of training, tasting, experimenting, categorizing and compartmentalizing, training his tongue to the utmost perfection, and his taste buds were literally different.

“I'm not going,” Sanji said, and ducked his head again when everybody turned to look at him.

“What're you talking about? We're almost there,” he could hear Nami say, her legs swaying in front of him, and if he could actually look over the side of the ship he might have been able to see an island drifting in the distance.

He tucked his hands under his arms, dug his toes into the grass. “I'm just...I can't...I'm...not supporting a shitty plan that involves beating up a lady.”

Nami gently set a hand over her forehead. “For the love of...don't you think now is kind of a bad time to bring this up? What do you want to do here? You want to just stay on the ship? Alone? When there's gonna be all kinds of marines firing on us?”

“Yeah.”

One pair of legs knelt down until Robin appeared, and it was unfair that she was looking him in the eye, so amazingly devious of her. “The only way for your ideal situation to come about is for that woman to either revert us back willingly or for us to just let her go. You understand that, right? And the first is not likely to happen while the second is simply not an option.”

Sanji tried to shrug as carelessly as he could, but ended up ducking his head further between his shoulders. “Then I guess I'm staying behind.”

“Look, I know you're usually ridiculous about stuff like this, but this time you're being really ridiculous, like, I can't even believe you're saying this right now because if we did things your way, then you'd never get back to normal – “

“In twelve years I will! That's fine, isn't it?!”

Usopp gaped a little before mimicking Nami's pose. “Are you even listening to yourself? It's not fine, for several reasons – “

“Cut the bullshit.”

Zoro's words sliced through the air as easily as his swords sliced through pretty much anything else, as though he had spent time sharpening them to perfection. They cut through all other sounds, and his accompanying glare prevented any new ones being made.

“If he wants to be a kid so bad, we can just toss him at some orphanage on the next island.”

“Zoro, don't be harsh! I know Sanji-kun's being stupid, but when you make that woman undo that thing, then he'll be – “

Nami fell silent when Zoro's hand moved towards his swords. “We don't need someone who won't pull their own weight.”

“Okay, now you're being ridiculous! Luffy, say something!” Nami turned towards the figurehead where the captain was perched, but he didn't even look back. The crew stood around, waiting for...something, someone who would actually step up and defuse the situation, but nobody volunteered.

“Pull my own weight? And what the hell kinda weight am I supposed to pull here?!” Sanji withheld the urge to hit something in order to avoid embarrassment and ended up shaking with the unused energy. “I don't even have shoes that fit me!”

“But you still joined this crew, and you knew what joining this crew meant! Even if you're a dumbass cook, I don't want to see you giving up over stupid shit like this!”

“Of course I'm giving up!” And why couldn't he just push him over, pound on his chest, at least scream at him face-to-face like he usually did? It was unfair, it was so unfair. “When I was a kid, I was useless, and now I'm a kid again! Everything that made me strong is gone because I don't have weapons, I just have me! If this happened to anybody else, all of you would've been fine! Because unlike me, all of you got Devil Fruits or weapons or actual goddamn skills that have nothing to do with how strong you are!”

A sharp looked crossed Zoro's face, and suddenly Sanji found himself pushed against the mast, held up at a height that he was actually used to but his current body wasn't. “You think I wouldn't have trouble if I were in your position? My swords would've been useless to me as a kid. But I wouldn't have given up.”

“That's 'cause you're crazy, and I bet you were crazy as a kid too! But when I was a kid, I was, I was just...weak.” He found his voice trailing off, drifting away as he struggled to keep this burning feeling of raw shame deep down inside. But every time he breathed, it seemed to push its way up higher and higher until it pricked at his eyes and set fire to his nose and it was all he could do to pretend that nothing was happening at all. “Get it?” he quavered out. “I'm weak. And...and if any of you had to, to jump in and rescue me because of that, or, or something, then...I'd just...I'd rather die.”

This admission was met by the silence he had expected, equal parts horrified and pitying, exactly the thing he had been hoping to avoid. But he had forgotten that such silences didn't last very long on a ship like this with a captain such as his. Instead of everybody awkwardly leaving him alone, talking around him with falsely light, unfettered tones, another pair of arms draped around Zoro's shoulders and an extra head seemed to grow alongside his own. It looked remarkably like Luffy's.

While Zoro seemed rather annoyed by his sudden passenger, Sanji focused on the blankly serious stare that was focused back on him. Luffy blinked once. Grinned widely. “I don't ask weak people to join my crew. You're smaller than usual, but you're still Sanji, y'know? And you got loads stronger in those two years and stuff!”

In the face of Luffy's inappropriate cheerfulness and surprisingly on-point commentary, Sanji reacted as he always did. Mostly bemusement. “Are...are you talking about...Observation Haki...?”

Luffy stared at him and then exploded into laughter, not taking notice of the way Zoro winced from the noise. “Oh yeah! You got that too!” And with that, he bounced off of Zoro and bounded his way back to the front of the ship.

The silence felt more communal this time, in a 'what the hell did Luffy just do' way. Zoro coughed and set Sanji back on the ground. “So. There you go. You can use Observation Haki.”

And even if he hated saying that Zoro was right, Zoro was right. His body was different but his willpower was the same. “I don't really know how to use it to help out, though,” he mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed about his earlier outburst now.

Franky shuffled his feet, raised a large hand in the air. “I could. Build a really cool drill. Or something.”

It was, admittedly, really fun to dive up and down through the ground, just plowing up into surprised shitheads that didn't see him coming. But, he thought as he felt that weird tingling feeling again, only in reverse, he probably should have thought to bring some regular clothes to change into for when that thing that just happened, happened.

“Hey, hey Sanji! Over here!”

“These aren't for you,” Sanji said flatly on his way to the girls, tray of drinks balanced perfectly on his hand.

“No, not that (but will you make more), I need you to do something real quick. Like. Stand right here.”

Sanji looked down by the open hatch that Usopp was currently pointing at and looked back up at his too-wide smile. “Why.”

“Just do it. C'moooooooooon.”

Well, if he was a sucker for anything, it certainly wasn't whining because people whining to make him do something just made him want to not do that thing more. But he decided to concede this once because he supposed that's one of the things that friends do, probably. Usopp nodded as he strode in front of the hatch, circling around him and examining whatever the hell he was examining.

“Right. Perfect.”

“I can go now, right? If you make me keep the ladies waiiiiiiiiiiiiit what the hell are you doing” Quite suddenly and completely without warning, Franky had popped out of the hatch, ducked his way between Sanji's legs, and stood up so fast that the drinks on Sanji's tray bounced. It was only through years of training and sheer willpower that nothing spilled. But he was still currently perched in a position he wasn't quite prepared for, that is, on top of Franky's freaking huge-ass shoulders.

“Well, when you were a kid, we didn't have a chance to do fun kid stuff together. And I thought that was a shame, so we're doing it now.”

“Now what we're doing here, bro, is called a piggy back ride – “

“I know what a piggy back ride is. PUT ME DOWN.”

Even as high up as he was, he could still see Usopp's smug-ass smile, goddamn asshole. “Look, just relax! You should have fun once in a while, y'know? I mean, up there, you could pretend you're flying, or a pilot of a cool robot – “

“Hey. Battle Robot Franky,” Sanji said, slapping a hand on top of Franky's head. “Run that guy over.”

“Beep. Affirmative.”

Usopp's smile dropped. “Wait. What?”

“Better run, Long Nose. Or my giant robot's gonna squash you.” Amazingly enough, Sanji's shit-eating grin perfectly matched Franky's manic one, and the two combined was enough for Usopp to realize, yes, this was absolutely happening.

Sanji spent almost two hours chasing Usopp down and pretending to fire laser beams. When it came to childhood nostalgia and all that junk, he supposed he had a lot of catching up to do.

Chapter Text

“Aha! You've fallen right into my trap!”

This was not a phrase new to Sanji, but he had never heard it right after kicking someone's teeth out. He squinted at the man in front of him, who was still laughing, head thrown back and all. Sanji had to admire a guy who could do that despite the blood that was definitely pooling in his respiratory system.

“As soon as you came into contact with me, your fate was sealed! Soon you will realize – “ Sanji kicked him again. He wasn't even sure why he was kicking this asshole (Pirate? Bounty hunter? Just because?) but it was probably best to just knock him out and move on.

“S-Sanji, that doesn't sound good, m-maybe we should, leave?”

He didn't even deign Usopp with an answer. Whoever this guy was, he was definitely being annoying and like hell he would just kick someone and just leave them. Either finish the job or don't start at all, that was his philosophy. “So you gonna stop talking or what?” He nudged the guy's body with a foot. The poor sap responded with a mumble that sounded like a continuation of his previous threat. Sanji kicked him again, getting his body to skip twice across the cobbled street.

“G-great job, Sanji! Getting some distance like I said! Now time for phase two of the plan!”

“If your plan is 'run away,' then forget – “ Turning around, Sanji found the very unwelcome sight of hundreds of caltrops flying right towards his face, and he only managed to save his eyes being gouged out by catching them with his arm instead. They hooked into his clothes and pressed against his skin like unprofessional acupuncture and he had to stop breathing for a moment, afraid that any move he made would somehow sink the damn things further into him.

He threw his arm down and shot a blazing glare back at Usopp. “What the hell! Where the shit do you think you're aiming, you pepper-licking asshole son of a shit!” He was only somewhat mollified by the apologetically terrified look on Usopp's face. Somewhat.

“I, I wasn't aiming at you! I swear! I was aiming for that guy, but, but somehow, in the air, all of them just, kinda, changed directions and, and went towards you!”

Sanji frowned. That sounded completely ridiculous and totally fake, but Usopp had never had an incident of friendly fire before. And now that he was focused back on the damn caltrops, he couldn't help but notice that, honestly, they shouldn't be sticking to him. Trying to brush them off just got them stuck to other parts of his body. Another annoying laugh from the resident kicking bag made him turn around again.

The man, still bleeding on the ground, managed to turn his face and look up at him. “There it is, the dawning realization of your doom...for you see...I have turned you into a living magnet! That is my power, and now you will bear witness to – “

Sanji landed a foot solidly on top of his head. With some of the caltrops sticking to his shoes, he imagined it made the attack more painful.

As he stood there, smoking over the finally silent body, Usopp plodded up beside him, hands clamped on his bag like he was afraid it would go flying off. “Um. So. I should probably take all of those off.”

Sanji exhaled a stream of smoke. “I would very much like that, yes.”

“Oh hey! There you bros are! We've been lookin' all over, jeez, what's keepin' you – “

“Wait, hang on, Franky, don't – “

“...So that's what happened.”

The rest of the crew turned their head from Usopp to stare at the current unusual spectacle and said, “Ah.” Sanji tried not to blush, but he had been doing so for the past fifteen minutes. As he had been doing so all the way back to the ship, he braced his feet against Franky's legs and tried to pry himself off to little success.

“Let me go,” he snarled, managing to peel one of his arms away enough to bang it fruitlessly back on one of Franky's frustratingly metal pectorals. “Of all the damn people in the world who could be made of metal, why did it have to be you?!”

“So yeah, the guy's unconscious but this whole thing didn't wear off or anything so we don't know how long it'll last,” Franky added, plucking Sanji off with one hand and grabbing some cola out of his stomach with another before placing the cook back like a giant fridge magnet. “It's probably not permanent.”

“Probably?” Nami echoed with a frown. At some point, Luffy had got up and disappeared inside somewhere. The only thing more important than laughing at his crew mate's misfortune would be food. Sanji's struggles got more violent. “But he's messing up the Log Pose.” And it spoke to just how spitting furious Sanji was that he didn't immediately say something like how now Nami had an Eternal Pose ~~to his heart~~

“So Curly just sticks to you anywhere, huh?” Zoro said, standing a few feet further away than anybody else. His swords started rattling in their sheathes if he got any closer. “What about your dick?”

It probably wasn't humanly possible for blood to boil this much. After a moment, Sanji managed to grit out, “I'll cut off your dick for asking, you goddamn grass troll.”

“Yeah, he can,” Franky said, and Sanji's blood pressure got that much higher. He started kicking again.

“Alright. If you guys are done talking about your genitals, what are we gonna do about dinner?”

“Dinner! Right, I haven't started!” Straining against Franky's legs once more, he jumped, landed on the deck for one second, and was flung backwards into Franky's body once more, cursing and hissing like a teapot.

“If I may, if you were to attempt to cook as you are now, you will most likely find yourself skewered by your own knives.”

Sanji's blood curdled, which was at least better than the constant bubbling that was happening before. Nami's more placating tones warmed it up a little. “What Robin means is...you should probably take a bit of a vacation, Sanji-kun. Until this whole thing...works itself out.”

“Vacation?” Sanji repeated, going limp with a whimper. Luffy burst back out of the dining room and skidded in front of Franky with a load of spoons in his grubby hands. The load of spoons quite quickly found their way onto Sanji's face.

“Hey, it ain't so bad!” Franky gave him a light knuckle sandwich, his fist coming away with Sanji's hair clinging desperately to it. “Think about it – we could have a little...bonding time together!”

“Oi, oi, don't be stupid, Franky. He's already...attracted to you enough!”

Gradually, the spoons started to vibrate and clank together in an awful din that continued even as Luffy tried to see if Chopper's metal band on his antler was enough to stick him to Sanji's chest. Brook, standing as far away as Zoro was, started laughing up a storm.

“'B-b-bonding time...!' 'Attracted!' Yohohoho, how brilliant!”

“I suppose this is fitting. He always had a magnetic personality, in that he tends to stick with a person he likes for a long time.”

“Please don't encourage them,” Nami groaned out at Robin while Franky, Usopp and Brook whooped and whistled and clapped their hands. Luffy had moved on from harassing Chopper to simply snapping Sanji's tie clip on and off, on and off, grinning widely whenever he let it go and it snapped back into place with a thwap. “Don't you guys have anything better to do? Someone needs to start cooking at least.”

“Eh, I guess I can do that,” Usopp replied, raising a hand and moving towards the kitchen already. Sanji's eyes followed him with unsatisfied rage and a hint of jealousy.

“Guess I'm babysitting this bro right here,” Franky bellowed with a laugh before giving Sanji another one of those goddamn noogies and his godddamn hair was never going to be the same again he was sure of it. “C'mon, I'll show you something super I'm working on – “

“Franky, if we aren't letting Sanji-kun into a room full of kitchen knives, do you really think it's a good idea to take him into a room filled with whatever junk you keep in your workshop? Metal junk?”

Franky paused in his steps, turned to look blankly at Nami, and then peeled Sanji off and held him out. “I don't wanna babysit him anymore.”

“Ooh! Ooh! Me me me! I'll do it!” Luffy shouted, dropping his armful of what suspiciously looked like scrap metal from the workshop below to wave his arms madly about.

“I'm out,” Zoro said with a lackadaisical wave. “Don't want the idiot stealing my swords.”

“I DON'T WANT THEM.”

“It is the same with me, I'm afraid. And violins do have some metal on them. I will have to compose a song about this from afar, alas.”

“I DON'T WANT A SONG EITHER.”

“Well what about,” Franky started, swinging Sanji over towards the ladies, but stopping his suggestion in its tracks when he saw their expressions. He swung Sanji back. “Wh-what about...Chopper!”

Chopper was standing beside Luffy, hiding behind a large sheet of metal rather guiltily.

“Well, that's that. No kitchen,” said Nami, pointing at the spoon-covered cook before moving on to his handler, “and no workshop. Make sure Luffy doesn't go overboard. Have fun.”

“Why did it have to be magnets,” Franky sighed out after a few hours, staring longingly towards his workshop once more.

Sanji couldn't think of a time when he had ever shared a sentiment harder. He muttered something indistinct from within his thick armor of whatever as Luffy pried him off, sat him in the swing, and then laughed so hard he fell over when it went completely horizontal towards Franky like an unerring compass.

Chapter Text

The plan, said Nami (who had taken charge of the situation as usual because Luffy kept being distracted with poking at Sanji's unnaturally small form), was to ask around the island they were currently on for any information about that weird pomegranate. This was, as always, a brilliant plan and Sanji was completely ready and willing to go through with it (and also away from Luffy's goddamn prodding fingers).

“Absolutely not. You're staying on the ship.”

“But – “

“We'll be going outside. With people. I don't even want to think about what disaster could happen with you like this.”

“I've already thought of twenty,” Usopp muttered from his seat.

“For instance, you are just the right size for a bird of prey to swallow you whole.”

Everybody fell silent in the aftermath of Robin's words. Usopp groaned into his hands. “Twenty-one.”

Sanji very gamely pushed his new nightmare for the next few days from his head, as well as Luffy's finger from his face. “I still need to get groceries, though!”

“Then just write down – er, well, just tell us what to write down and we'll buy it for you. Luffy, seriously, stop bothering him.”

Luffy's cheeks puffed up with a pout as he finally withdrew his finger. Sanji found himself sympathizing with him, in that he found himself wearing the same expression. But it was easier to see on Luffy than it was on him, so he tried to express himself louder by crossing his arms and plopping down. But it wasn't like he could bear to just...ignore what Nami told him to do.

“Peaches,” he muttered.

“What was that?” Nami stared helplessly down and then turned to everybody else. “Fishes?”

Usopp crossed his arms. “No, you say 'fish,' not 'fishes.'”

“Tell him that, not me.”

“Nah, nah...ain't there that saying? 'Somethin' fishes in the sea?'”

“That's 'Plenty of fish in the sea.' Fish.”

“I said peaches! PEA-CHES!”

“Oh, peaches. Okay.”

“But we could use some pike.”

“Um...right...just to make sure, does anybody here know what pikes look like?”

“Oh, I do. I'm a master of fish, you know. When I was a stalwart three years old – “

“Okay. So Usopp's on grocery duty.”

“We also need chayotes.”

Nami's pen jerked to a stop. “Ch...chay...otes...does anybody know what...those are?”

Uncomfortable silence.

“Hang on, I can try drawing it,” Sanji said, only managing to grab Nami's quill because she grudgingly let him. He shouldered it, tried not to sneeze with all the feathers (or, rather, feather since there was only one, as much as he kept thinking there wasn't), and started to jog an oval-ish path.

The result was...well...some curves jagged because the pen nib caught on the paper, tripping him up, and then there were all the times he accidentally stepped in the still-wet ink, trailing behind footprints alongside the drawing, not to mention that in the end, he misjudged the distance to the beginning of the oval and ended up overshooting it, making the chayote look more like a really messed up 'U' than anything edible.

Nami squinted at the drawing.

“...Yeah. Okay. You'll have to go grocery shopping.”

One, he had to stay hidden.

This took a lot of debate, as Sanji absolutely refused to be tucked away in some goddamn pocket like a piece of lint, and he needed to be able to see the produce anyways to properly judge the quality. But Usopp absolutely denied him his shoulder (“You'll fall off oh my god don't do this to me”) and it turned out, in an embarrassing turn of fate, that Sanji was easily tangled in Usopp's hair. So it was decided that he would hide in Brook's head. Brook's eye sockets were slightly too small for him to curl up in, but his brain cavity was just about the right size for him to recline and still be able to peer out by opening his skull a crack.

This was, on all accounts, really creepy. “I suppose I shall have another voice in my head,” Brook commented, his laugh sounding somewhat unhinged, and Sanji bounced around in his skull and shouted at him to shut up already. But it worked out. And besides, given the only clothes he had on right now, a scrap of fabric with a hole cut in the middle to pit his head through and another scrap he had to tie around his waist like a precarious skirt, he was very sure that hiding away from sight was a very good thing.

Two, no eating weird things he didn't recognize ever again.

Sanji technically didn't agree to this, but said, “You don't have to rub it in or anything,” which was close enough.

Three, don't do that thing where he gets pissed off and throws himself into unreasonable situations, or at least if he gets pissed off, just stay put and do not explode into flames.

That one he responded to with a noncommittal grunt.

And with that, he was off, or rather, Brook and Usopp were off while he tagged along. The ride was a comfortable one; surprisingly so, considering just where he was. Brook had an uncanny ability to glide along the ground on legs that were suited for a giraffe's gait, ponderously slow but making a great amount of distance with each stride anyways. At every stall, he would bend his spine in angles so acute that Sanji could have fallen right out of his skull if he wasn't careful, and hover his spidery hands over every produce until Sanji said, “That one, that one,” so he could pluck the designated specimen between his fingers. To the side, Usopp would ask the stall owner for any information about a weird pomegranate and produced a drawing of his own, one that was as close to blood red as crayons could manage. Every stall owner replied with pretty much the same answer.

“From the last island? Y'mean the one that nobody lives on?”

“Not like we get shipments from over yonder. Folks sailin' in tend t' buy, not sell.”

“What kinda idiot would just go and eat a wild fruit like that?”

“Never heard of it. Never seen it. Dunno what 'weird effect' you're even talking about.”

It would be discouraging if Sanji hadn't found the most perfect chayotes he had ever seen, and so instead of dwelling about his shitty size, he got distracted by banging against Brook's skull and demanding him to haggle lower, no, lower, this isn't the time to be a goddamn gentleman, stupid skeleton, everybody here are a bunch of crooks out to get your money (except also they have families and their own fees to pay, taxes and stuff) but also: they're all out to get your money.

So even as he could vaguely hear Usopp mumbling at his pomegranate drawing, he couldn't help but feel quite pleased with the haul they were getting for the low price that he had haggled. It turned out that negotiating the price from within a skull made for easy pickings. Probably because nobody wanted to deal with an intermittently yelping eight-foot-tall skeleton for longer than they had to.

“Jeez...I'm starting to think that, that...we really can't find this thing here. What're we gonna do?”

“If we cannot do anything, then that is all. But for now, let us not give up the ghost. Once was enough for me! Yohohohoho!”

In the middle of the skullquake, Sanji slammed a hand against the side of the cranium. “Oi! Brook! I told you don't laugh with me in here!”

“Ah, that's right.”

“And tell Usopp to stop fretting about this shit – pomegranate or not, like hell I'm staying like this.”

“Did Sanji say something?”

“Ah, yes. He says that next time, he will be a giant.”

“Don't put words in my mouth!”

“Yohohohoho,” Brook laughed, as though Sanji's kicks were tickling his (non-existent) brain, and his skull rattled and shook once more, throwing Sanji about until he landed on the one other occupant in Brook's head.

Piano music blasted in his ears and bounced off the walls of Brook's cavernous skull, leaving him dazed and somewhat deaf. For a moment, he thought that Brook was laughing again, that bastard, but no, it was a more deliberate laugh, one that was set to a melody, and it had that tinny quality that all recorded sounds had.

The goddamn Tone Dial, Sanji realized, and then there was sudden light and a lot of confused fumbling and the feeling of being grabbed and then Brook jabbed a thumb on his head about three times before Usopp pointed out, no, wait, that's Sanji, stop and in his surprise, Brook dropped him, actually dropped him and during his fall all Sanji could think about was that at least he got enough good fresh food for everybody to last another month or so before he bounced off the cobblestone twice and skidded to a stop for a few more inches.

There was a lot of screaming, a lot of crying, a lot of “WE KILLED SANJI OH MY GOD AAAAA” and the whole time goddamn Bink's Sake was playing because Brook had completely forgotten about the Tone Dial and he had to climb up Usopp's entire flailing body to get to his ear and shout, I'm fine you goddamn idiot, which just made Usopp scream and flail more but Sanji was prepared for that and held on for dear life but the thing he had held onto was Usopp's hair and the damn black cloud engulfed his arms and chewed them up into its curls and he was absolutely stuck again and he decided, you know what, this was enough groceries.

“Back already?”

“Yeah,” Usopp heaved out as he wheeled the cart full of various produce carefully around Chopper's blanket of drying herbs. “Brook dropped Sanji.”

“WHAT?!”

“Usopp-san! Please, could we not describe it like that?!”

“How else am I supposed to say it?”

“Is Sanji okay? Is there bleeding? Broken bones? Concussion?! Oh my god, I dunno if I have a cast small enough for him, where is he, oh my god, Brook, what happened?!”

“Ah, well,” Brook said, raising a hand apologetically, “I dropped Sanji-san.”

“Oi.”

“How long ago?! Oh my god, oh my god, I don't have to amputate, do I? Oh no oh no oh no”

“Relax, I'm fine,” Sanji drawled out, pushing open Brook's skull and waving down at Chopper, who was looking more and more like he was just chasing his own tail.

“How can you be fine?! You fell like eight feet!” Chopper paused in his frantic circling to consider the previous sentence. “That sounded less serious out loud than in my mind.”

Taking advantage of the lull in the doctor's panic, Sanji continued, “Yeah, I kinda just bounced a few times. Not even bruised. Rather not do that again, though.”

Chopper hummed, rocking on his hooves. “I, I guess...well, mice can survive long falls relative to their size...”

“Please don't compare me to a goddamn pest.”

“Let me check you for signs of a concussion anyways, okay?”

“I need to put the groceries away,” Sanji insisted, but ended up wilting under Chopper's medical glare. “Alright, alright...”

The check-up took a blessedly short amount of time. As hard as Chopper tried, he just couldn't find any symptoms of anything, besides the fact that Sanji was three inches tall. So with that out of the way, Sanji was free to go. No wait. Free to be carried. To the kitchen. Where Usopp and Brook were undoubtedly putting everything in the exact wrong place.

“Hey little bros!” Franky greeted them as Chopper escorted Sanji into his too-large workplace. “You're earlier than I expected, but I'm almost done building this thing for you – “

“Don't care. Chopper, fridge.”

“It'd probably be easier if you just told us the – “

Sanji snapped and pointed. “Fridge.”

Chopper complied with a sigh and a little mumbling about the herbs he left outside, and before Sanji even entered the code, he turned and glared at everybody in the room until he was reasonably sure nobody was looking. He braced his feet against Chopper's palm, planted both hands on the first button, and began to wish that he had made the code something more...compact on the keypad. Seven-three-two-six.

With the fridge open, he let Brook and Usopp take care of putting the perishables in, only giving them a briefing of his specific organizational system. After that, he got Chopper to set him by his ashtray on the bar counter and leaned back against it, breathing in the smell of ash and considering one of the errant cigarette butts he hadn't tossed out before the...this happened. It rose out of the tray like a leaning tree. The longer he stared at it, the more he was convinced that he could manage to squeeze it into his mouth.

He didn't look back towards the expanse of his kitchen. Its width was more like a canyon, the far side a hazy blur that all things in the distance became, which was stupid because this was his kitchen. But all the same, the bar dropped like a cliff and the oven stretched like a plain and even as he frowned at the two giant blurs fumbling with the innards of the white monolith known as his fridge, he couldn't be bothered to insist on supervising their actions. If his old cigarette butts were trees, then the refrigerator was a multi-floored cavernous monster and the thought of inspecting its entire insides was too exhausting for him to handle. So he looked at his ashtray instead and considered how badly he wanted a smoke.

“Hey,” Franky breathed behind him, and he jumped into the air and landed straight into his ashtray.

“Sorry,” said Franky, fishing him out of the piles and piles of ash. Sanji coughed and dusted himself off as best as he could. And now he needed to ask someone to draw a bath for him. In what, a mug? Maybe a soap dish? “Just wanted to show off the thing I just finished building for you.”

“What thing?” Sanji asked, and Franky gestured grandly towards something on the dinner table.

Sanji squinted. “Yeah. I can't see that far.”

Franky stuttered, laughed awkwardly, left to grab the thing and came back, holding it up to the edge of the bar. Now that it was right in front of him, he could see that it was a scale model of the Sunny. Cut in half. It was huge, and it had to be pretty huge from a normal perspective too because it was as big as the ship was supposed to be and if he was three inches then that had to make this...um...well, shit, he wasn't good at this sorta stuff. It was huge.

“Everything to make you feel at home,” Franky said, sounding extremely proud of himself, though Sanji couldn't help but think that making a representation of your own ship being bisected was probably some form of bad luck. He paced until he could see the bathroom, stationed a little ways above him.

“You got running water working in this?” he asked, trying not to salivate at the idea. Franky lowered the model a little and he could see the detail in the tiles, the lovingly crafted faucets, the sheen of new ceramic.

“Nope, not at all!”

Well, he didn't need to try not to salivate anymore. “Franky, pretty much all of this shit is pointless. I just need a bed.”

Franky looked down at him. Down at his ridiculous model. Back at him. “You're welcome for thinking about your comfort,” he grumbled, but tucked the whole thing under one arm so that he could reach into the bedroom area and fumble about the carefully carved room.

“Yeah, yeah. Put it near the fridge for me or something.”

Franky spun on his feet in automatic compliance, until the actual request caught up to his brain and halted him in his tracks. “You're...gonna sleep in the kitchen?”

And in that one question, Sanji couldn't help but hear myriad others: are you going to stay here now, are you too embarrassed to sleep with us, will you be okay all on your own here, don't you know all of us are fine carrying you back and forth, or is that exactly the thing you don't want us to do, can't you tell that we're worried (so worried), are you going to be safe out of our sight? And he couldn't conceivably answer all of them without making a mess of it (pretty much, maybe, no, yes, yes, yes, probably not), so he shrugged.

Franky paused, shrugged back like it was a secret handshake, and moved on until he too was a haze on the far side of the canyon.

“Um...how many drops do you think...?”

“Not sure...”

Luffy grabbed at the eyedropper in Chopper's hooves, making the table shudder with a clattering roar. “Hey! Hey! Lemme try! I wanna try!”

“This isn't a toy, it's for Sanji! You're just gonna spray it everywhere!”

“Oh Luffy~! If you don't pay attention, this biiiig hunk of meat is gonna disappear~!” Nami trilled from the other side of the table, and Luffy predictably abandoned his current pestering for that instead.

Sanji heard him shout, “Geez! You guys just eat everything when I'm not lookinnphfhf!” and then Luffy stopped talking because of the entire pig in his mouth. Chopper turned back down towards him, hovering the eyedropper back over his plate. Which was kind of also his table and also kind of his chair at the same time, currently. Water ballooned from the nozzle until its weight sent the globule down in front of him. Then another, which the first swallowed up into its mass.

“That look good?” Chopper asked, squinting as he tried to compare the volume of water to the estimated size of Sanji's stomach.

He couldn't say it was easy for him either, since it was in the form of a blob and not a cup, but looking at it, he was starting to think that one drop would have probably been enough. He looked up and shrugged. “It's smaller than my head.”

If Chopper noticed the vague way he answered, he said nothing of it, instead turning back to his own plate before it could be upended in the never-ending struggle between dinner and Luffy's stomach. Sanji focused on trying not to flinch whenever Luffy's arm stretched overhead, far too close for comfort, and remaining as upright as he could on a table that was as shaky as Usopp's legs whenever he was trying to bluff. His own dinner was generously donated by Chopper, who had attempted to measure out a length of pasta that wasn't too overwhelming and also sacrificed a bean and a few grains of rice. Of course, Sanji hadn't cooked the evening's dishes himself, but he did direct their creation, mostly by shouting a lot in Usopp's ear and strategically kicking him in hairless places.

This wasn't permanent, of course – Usopp was just filling in until he worked things out. (Sanji tried not to think too hard about what he even meant by 'worked things out.' If he did, he might start defining it as 'got used to maneuvering his kitchen at this size.')

The table was really starting to heave, dinner having gotten to the stage where Luffy got creative and everybody had to resort to outright violence to save their food. Sanji started to scarf down his own meal, even though there was pretty much no danger of it getting stolen, and choked on the new texture of rice – or maybe it was the old texture, just magnified in a way that was too alien for him to recognize, like he had just stuffed an entire potato in his mouth but without the flavor. The bean he had to break apart by hand before swallowing the crumbly chunks one by one, and the water he figured out he could scoop in his hands like a particularly viscous bubble (thank god, because otherwise he would have to lap it up like a dog or something) and he pressed it to his lips.

The entire drop seemed to suck itself inside him like an eager parasite and, completely unprepared for water this lively, Sanji breathed instead of swallowed.

It burned. His lungs felt like they were swelling. He opened his mouth but nothing was going in or out and he fell over and writhed, hands clutching at his throat, and goddammit he was going to drown, he was drowning above water shit goddammit please someone notice, he didn't want to die alone, like he almost did when he was ten, and he absolutely didn't want to die a stupid death like this.

Something slammed down on top of him, and then the world gave a dizzying lurch and his vision blurred but he could feel soft skin pressing all around him. “Som'fin's wrong wif Ffanji!”

“Luffy, I told you, you can't just grab – AAAGH! SANJI'S SUFFOCATING!”

The table clattered, much noisier than he had ever heard before. A torrent of sound. He kept exchanging hands, tumbling into grasps that all felt different and if he concentrated maybe he could recognize them.

“Chopper, Chopper stop freaking out and do something!”

“I-I-I, I don't know, h-he's...he's so small, I can't, I don't,”

“CPR! CPR, right?! We can do CPR!”

“Usopp, don't, you'll break his ribs!”

“Hang on, I'm gonna pound his back!”

“Franky oh my god you're gonna break his spine.”

“Well, girlie, maybe you can suggest something?!”

“I suggest that weshouldn't kill him!”

A different grip, in a sweaty hand that held him upside-down. And then something that felt much faster than falling, and if he wasn't already choking for breath that might have stolen it away. The table zoomed close, much too close, head-crushingly close, until it stopped zooming and all the organs in his body felt like they were compressing into his head and he opened his mouth and the goddamn drop of water caught in his throat, pushed its way out, and dripped to the wood below.

He breathed. Coughed. Breathed again. All the blood pooling to his brain pounded in his ears, ready to pop out of every orifice in his head. Zoro relaxed his grip, only slightly.

“There. Better.”

After a few seconds, during which everybody else sounded like they were recovering from asphyxiation as well, the dining room was filled with sounds of multiple people beating Zoro up.

He wanted to sleep in the kitchen. Pretty much everybody else argued against him. “Sleeping here means I don't gotta walk the whole damn way to make breakfast,” he shot back, and Zoro said, “Are you an idiot?” before suddenly succumbing to a mysteriously injured shin. Nami pushed the swordsman aside, gave a weary smile, and said, “Of course.”

Everybody lingered a while longer before leaving, like a lingering end to an awkward dinner party, and only then did Sanji fall back onto the bed Franky had made, closed his eyes, and immediately didn't go to sleep.

They would have to leave. The log pose had already set and they couldn't just stay at some island forever just because ofhim. Even if they wanted to, it was plain dangerous for a pirate ship to stay docked at one place. They had found nothing, in the end, and he wasn't about to delay their whole journey and shit just for an unfounded hope. Which meant he would...that he...it meant...well...

...He would have to get used to this.

The darkness of the kitchen created unfamiliar shadows out of painfully familiar things. Whatever Franky had used for the bedding, it was made of bristles that bent oddly against his back, and though he could imagine the material feeling soft under different circumstances, he knew he would get up in the morning with a meaningless pattern imprinted on his body.

He would have to get used to this, too. To textures being coarser. To never wearing any proper clothes. To barely making out objects on the other side of a room because they were just so damn far, to being carried distances that would have normally been just a few steps, to being squirreled away, never able to contribute again, relegated to just a passenger, to looking up, looking up, always looking up.

And wasn't it maddening? Wasn't this utterly insane? For the universe to expect him to put up with this and stay on the right side of hinged. But that's just what he was planning on. He was just as crazy as the universe.

The kitchen door slid open. He could see moonlight sneaking in, and he tried to remember who was on watch but his brain skidded to a halt because no, no. He wouldn't, would he? When Sanji was in a situation like this?

But he would, he absolutely would. Luffy would totally try to sneak food out, even with all the shitty things his poor, cosmic punchline of a cook was going through already.

Sanji hopped out of bed and jogged towards the fridge, arriving at the same time as Luffy, who, he had to admit, got points for actual goddamn stealth, actually crawling around and shit. But considering that his method of cracking the fridge was still just gnawing at the handle for a bit and then staring longingly at the keypad for the rest of the night, Luffy would probably never get any closer to actually achieving a midnight snack.

Sanji rested a hand against the side of the fridge, leaned out over the edge of the counter as far as he could, and said, “What the hell d'ya think you're doing, huh?”

Luffy jumped, his head whirling around until he actually caught sight of Sanji, and he set his chin on top of the counter and stared at him balefully.

“Saaaaanjiiii...I wanna snaaaack...”

“Go back to sleep and wait for breakfast.”

“C'moooooon...just tell me how to unlock it? You don't have t' do anything, I'll just help myself!”

“That's the worse case scenario,” Sanji gritted out, grinding his foot against Luffy's cheek like he was violently grinding out the persistent embers of a cigarette. Luffy pouted, moaned, sighed, drifted bonelessly to the floor and moaned again, as if he couldn't just force the code out of Sanji by simply grabbing hold of him and squeezing. But tantrums didn't work against Sanji either and Luffy eventually pulled himself to his feet and started dragging his way out of the kitchen.

“Stupid mean Sanji...c'mon, let's go...”

Sanji squinted. “Go where?”

“Sleep, duh,” said Luffy, and without warning, scooped Sanji up in a light fist and headed for the door. It took a moment, mostly because Luffy was as careful carrying him as he was carrying most things, and Sanji had a hard time keeping up with everything when everything kept swinging back and forth, but he eventually pounded against a finger and kicked hard enough to grab Luffy's attention once again.

“My bed's over there!” he shouted, pointing back at the kitchen counter, and he had to understand that much, right? But Luffy just rubbed his eyes and snorted and gestured his hand all around (with Sanji still in it that bastard) and said, “You weren't sleeping anyways. You shouldn't sleep where you eat, y'know.”

Said the guy who ate where he slept, but Sanji was a little too dizzy to properly say this out loud. He tried expressing himself by kicking harder. Luffy didn't notice.

“I know you weren't sleeping, 'cause I was real careful sneaking in, you totally wouldn't've caught me if you were sleeping. Y'know, if you're lonely, you should just say so.”

That was enough of a non sequitur for Sanji to pause in his struggles. Luffy was decent enough to hold him up face to face with minimal swinging.

“Sometimes you're really stupid, Sanji.”

And with that, Luffy grabbed the side of his bunk, pulled himself up, curled around Sanji like he was a goddamn teddy bear, and started snoring.

He was completely and utterly pinned. Luffy had him cornered in the crook of his arm and his torso loomed overhead like a crashing blimp that occasionally pressed against him with each soft inhale. Whenever Sanji tried to extract himself, Luffy would just pull him closer until he was practically enveloped on all sides by his captain, like a prisoner in a living prison.

It was warm. It was soft, because despite everything Luffy wasn't made of muscle. A slow, calming beat thrummed into Sanji's back in time with the in and out of Luffy's breaths, both combining in an odd sort of massage, and this was just not fair, being held hostage by a giant with the only escape being an impossibly long fall and dammit Luffy, shitty goddamn asshole with a rubber ball for a brain, and Sanji buried his face in Luffy's skin and made a sound that could only be called a squeak.

Sanji drifted to sleep, the rhythm of his captain's life a comforting lullaby he just could not resist.

Chapter Text

Blue.

It was all around, shimmering with a muted light that failed to pierce through; blue that held him weightlessly, effortlessly, washed over him and into him and he breathed it freely – or maybe he wasn't breathing at all, didn't need to breathe. He found that he had hands, and that was a relief because it meant he could grab at the blue even if it was not something he could hold, grab at the flashes of light that wavered where they willed, grab at the occasional fish that would dash out of reach.

You are in love.

And yes, yes he was, always had been, and he could live here forever, floating aimlessly. No feeling of substance, just a feeling of being here, caressed, loved, cared for.

Truly, a man of the sea. One after my own heart...

Not just of, but for. He would give everything to the sea, had already pledged everything, and when it was over his body would be consumed by the sea.

Would you like it? My heart?

Whatever he took from the sea, he received with gratitude. It was a gift he was not entitled to, and so it was a gift to be treasured, always, always. I give thanks for your bounty. I give thanks for your calm. I give thanks for my life.

I will give it to you...

The blue around him seemed to come closer, somehow, hug tighter, and he smiled and laughed and it felt like a well inside him burst with excitement, anticipation, longing.

He woke up.

Returning to consciousness felt like being smothered by reality. As though someone had balled up a goddamn large piece of cotton in his throat, someone else had crumbled stale bread straight into his eyes, and yet another someone topped it all off with a shitty facial using a thin layer of cold wax.

It was five in the morning. It was always five in the morning. He should be used to it being five in the morning, but today just happened to be one of those rare days when the heavy force of “I don't waaaant tooo” pinned down his arms and pushed his head deeper into the tantalizing embrace of his pillow. Even so, he didn't endure a decade of Zeff kicking his ass around to not have some semblance of discipline, and so he rolled his way out of bed, splashed down to the floor, and dragged his way up to the kitchen.

His mind kept rolling like the waves outside. He splashed his face with water, but it didn't help – whenever he closed his eyes, he could still feel that brilliant blue, thrumming behind his eyelids, calling him back to come drift in that beautiful place again, without worry, without care.

It had been a nice dream, but it was time to snap back to reality. He had several breakfasts to make. Robin would be coming in for coffee soon. Right. Coffee. Make that.

Sanji dumped some ground beans into the coffee machine with one hand and scraped some eggs off a pan with the other. By the time Robin had wandered into the kitchen, he was turning over the last few hash browns with a lackluster flip of his spatula.

Robin took in his slouch, his still-dripping hair, and gave a wan smile. “Had a good night's rest, did you?”

Sanji turned and smiled back, crooning out, “Oh Robin-chan! Seeing you makes me feel like I'm still dreaming! Your coffee is all ready, just as you like it~!” At least, he tried to. But much to his surprise, what came out of his mouth instead was an unrelenting torrent of sea water. It flooded his feet, soaked his socks, and seemed to never end, at least until he got the idea to close his mouth again.

He looked at Robin. She had completely halted in her tracks and was now staring at him with an expression that she did not wear quite often, one of complete bewilderment and shock.

Sanji said, “Uh,” dribbled out a few more cups of ocean, and slapped his hands over his mouth.

This was, they wordlessly decided, something for a doctor to look at. But even after Sanji ran back to the bunks and shook Chopper out of his bed with a manic sort of look in his eye, he couldn't help but think, what the hell was a doctor supposed to do?

His very best, as it turned out, but Chopper couldn't do much besides give him a regular check-up; check his heartbeat (he had none), check his temperature (hovering around 70 degrees), check his lungs (when Sanji breathed out through his nose, more water came out). And when Chopper tapped a hammer on Sanji's knee and it fell in with a faint splash, he fell out of his doctor's chair and screamed.

“I think we can safely say that this is some sort of supernatural phenomenon, rather than a medical problem.”

“What,” said Sanji, and he cut himself off before he could drench his pants any further.

“That's beyond supernatural! I don't even know why you thought I could do anything! Does this really just...happen on the Grand Line!?”

Robin righted Chopper's chair once more and pushed it back under his desk. “I certainly haven't come across any description of this type of event occurring in any of my books. And if this has ever happened before, I'm sure it would be something considered notable enough to record.”

Sanji remembered not to say, “Are you serious right now what the shit is this,” and instead started gesturing towards his head, moving his hands in an awkward hover, this currently being the only way that his frazzled mind could come up with to represent the word 'dream.' Chopper took pity on him and handed over paper and a pen, which Sanji grabbed at eagerly. When he had finished his scrawl, the pen had disappeared into his hand and the paper had gotten slightly damp, ink running like a goddamn marathon. Robin held it out with a detached arm.

“Sounds like a typical case of a mortal receiving a message from a deity. As typical as that can be, I should say.” And, acting as if the entire morning was nothing out of the norm, Robin set down Sanji's haphazard summary and rose to her feet. “I shall reference what I have on oceanic lore. In the meantime, be sure not to sink the ship, Sanji.”

Ohhh, how reliable, his floating flotsam in this frenzied storm, his benevolent guardian angel! There was a weird gurgling sound coming deep from within his throat that got a few concerned glances from Chopper, but he managed to keep his words in and instead blew silent, effusive kisses at her back even after she had shut the door behind her. Sanji swayed like a schoolgirl, biting at his knuckles and kicking his legs with his leftover affection, until Chopper reminded him that there were other people besides Robin by handing him a face mask.

“I don't really know what to do...but maybe wearing this will help remind you about...about that.”

Sanji sighed, causing a bit of the ocean to bleed out his nose, but took the face mask and nodded. Once everybody finally got up, this was going to cause a lot of questions...

“Woah, never seen cook bro sick before!”

“Is he contagious? He's not contagious is he? If he cooked like that, I'm not sure the food's – Luffy don't just eat it!”

“He overworked himself, didn't he. Sanji-kun, if you don't take a break once in a while, then you'll be useless when you finally break down.”

Zoro just yawned and joined Luffy at the table, not even sparing a glance, that bastard. Brook had halted in the doorway and only now started to snap out of his daze. With stiff steps, he strode towards Chopper and leaned down at an impossible angle until his jaw reached Chopper's ear. And though he whispered (as if Sanji's privacy was in danger or something), Sanji could distinctly hear his voice, deep, wavering: “Chopper-san...is this...perhaps...a life-threatening matter...?”

Chopper, already anxious and overwhelmed by the various reactions and questions being thrown around, now screeched and shot himself straight into a chair, promptly clattering to the floor in a mess of fur and wood. “Life-threatening?! Is it!?”

“We're asking you,” Nami snapped, even as she started chewing at her lip. Chopper righted himself and proceeded to avoid everybody's eyes while kicking at the floor. This, surprisingly, did nothing to ease any suspicions.

Sanji slid in front of Chopper, hands raised in a hopefully placating gesture (couldn't say he was an expert in those) and smiled, before remembering that nobody could actually see his mouth. He flexed an arm and patted the muscle there, paused to see if everybody understood, and then gestured towards breakfast, which was already halfway down Luffy's gullet. Everybody jumped for what was left on the table with manners almost as bad as their captain's, but he figured he could let that slide, considering the circumstance.

It didn't mean that everybody forgot about his mysterious condition. “Ffo wha's wrong wif Fanji?” Usopp muffled out, spraying his eggs dangerously close to Nami's luminous visage. Sanji gave him a reminder via a flick to his nose.

Chopper, good kid that he was, swallowed before answering. “Well...I mean...it's not...a disease...? I'm honestly as confused as everybody else.”

“Mmff, but wha're th' symppoms?” said Nami, her flecks of bacon flying straight onto Franky's sunglasses, and what graceful accuracy she had~! For some reason, Usopp thwapped the side of his arm. Sanji nudged him back.

“It's,” Chopper started, but fell into a stutter. Sanji couldn't blame him. The situation was rather hard to explain, not because there were no words to describe it, but because it defied all logic. Where to start?

“Well if it means the damn cook can't talk, then I'm all for it,” said Zoro, scraping his fork across his plate to scoop the last bit of food into his mouth.

Sanji's eyes darkened for a moment. He leaned over, stared straight at Zoro's ugly mug, pulled down his face mask, and opened his mouth. Sea water came out in a pressurized blast, smacking into Zoro's head and tipping him over onto the floor. The swordsman gasped and spluttered. Everybody else just gasped. Luffy, now lacking food, started to laugh.

“What the heck was that,” Nami quavered out. Her hands had shot up to her face, but she was starting to regain some definition of composure and now shook Chopper's shoulder. “What the heck was that?!”

“For some reason, Sanji has sea water in his mouth,” Chopper muttered, resigned to listing off all the unbelievable symptoms one by one. “His body temperature is also abnormally low, around eighty degrees...”

“Hey, hey, what's up with that?” Luffy said, his grin bright enough to power the sun, and Sanji held in a sigh as a rubbery arm snaked around his body. But instead of a brief instant of tension before a hard impact with the ground, Sanji felt the grip instantly loosen. And then Luffy collapsed onto the table.

Everybody jumped to their feet. Sanji shook Luffy's arm off, which allowed Luffy to get back up, looking an odd combination of pissed and upset and confused and intrigued.

“Saaaanji, you did that thing that the stupid rocks do! No fair!”

“I guess touching him has the same effect as seastone on us,” Chopper translated, and Sanji slumped. Oh, Robin-chan! To never feel your touch again! Forced to be like water and oil, was there ever a tale as tragic as this?

Franky scratched at his chin and sat back down. “So it's soundin' to me that our bro's got a whole ocean or somethin' in him. Somehow. Why don't we just let him dump it all out over the side of the ship? Gotta run out at some point.”

“You don't run out of ocean,” Nami argued, and Sanji nodded for the principle of the matter, but it was true, dipshit, you don't run out of ocean.

“But the ocean's inside a person,” Franky shot back, framing Sanji's form with his huge hands. “People only got so much volume in 'em!”

“There's more than you'd think,” Chopper mumbled. “I...well...it's...kinda like...Sanji is water? I...dropped my hammer in him and couldn't...get it out.”

Another (increasingly common) silence descended, lasting until Luffy jumped towards Sanji with wild abandon, hands outstretched, and it took Sanji all his might to not scream before Zoro grabbed Luffy by the vest and pulled him back. “You can't touch him, remember?” It was a good thing that he couldn't talk, because then he might have been forced to (gag) thank Zoro. Luffy wriggled.

“But I wanna! I can do what I want! Lemme go!”

“You should use a broom instead.”

Sanji went back to screaming with everything except his voice as Luffy ran out to find something appropriate to poke him with. Behind him, Franky placed a hand on his back. “Hey, it's not going in.”

“You have to push a little...yeah.”

“Holy shit,” Franky yelped as he recoiled, pulling his hand out along along with the back of Sanji's shirt, both drenched as hell. Sanji turned around and gestured manically with a shaking fury.

“Whoops. Sorry. Didn't think about that.”

“Hey! Franky! I wanted to do it first!!”

“I kinda did it first,” Chopper mumbled, but Luffy was a little too enthusiastic to listen, preoccupied with jabbing a broom handle at Sanji over and over.

“But...how is this possible?” Nami managed, moving on from weak-kneed shock to incredulous curiosity as Sanji flailed in futile attempts to ward off the broom. Dark circles of damp bloomed on his shirt wherever Luffy got a hit in until finally, Sanji just threw it off and tossed it in a heavy clump straight at Luffy's face. If his intention was 'make Luffy topple over with hysterical laughter and pass the broom to Zoro,' then it was a resounding success.

“Gotta admit, this is really cathartic.” Zoro swirled the broom in his bare torso like some sorta shitty soup. Sanji grabbed at the handle, gave it a sharp pull, and wrenched it out of Zoro's hands. It fell in. Shit, he was really polluting himself.

Usopp, who until this point had stayed in the weak-kneed shock stage, suddenly released his death grip on his chair and strode forwards, flipping his goggles down. “Hang on, maybe I can get it.” And with no further warning, Usopp dunked his head straight into Sanji's chest.

A squawk burbled out of Sanji's mouth in streams of water and he froze up, his mind unable to come up with any sort of behavioral protocol for this sort of situation. It seemed that nobody else had much to offer either, all of them focused on the part of Usopp that wasn't in Sanji, which was his butt.

“Oh, I have thought of a delightful recreational activity to partake in! Since we do not have an indoor pool, perhaps Sanji – “

“NO,” Nami shouted, giving voice to some of the screaming in Sanji's head, and she smacked Brook on the skull for good measure.

“Um, something's happening to Usopp...”

At Chopper's prompting, everybody turned to look and mostly saw Usopp's legs looking as distressed as legs could look; and considering Usopp, they looked very distressed. Sanji could even assign what type of distress they were expressing: it was a 'there's a monster and I'm scared but I can't quite seem to decide how to run away' kind of distress.

“Pull him out!” Nami screamed, and Franky reacted first, grabbing hold of Usopp's waist and pulling back. A little too enthusiastically, Sanji noted, as the two rocketed backwards and into the table, toppling everything over, but he was a little distracted by the tiger shark that had followed Usopp out.

“AAAAAAUGH,” said Usopp, and most everybody else.

“AAAAAAUGH,” Sanji tried to express in the form of more sea water as he jumped back and away from the shark that had just materialized.

“FOOD!” Luffy yelled exuberantly. The tiger shark didn't even land before it got wrapped up in a rubbery grip. “Let's cook it right now! Sanji, cook it!”

Usopp had stopped screaming and Sanji had the presence of mind to close his mouth. “Th-th-there's fish in there!” Usopp explained, loudly and needlessly.

Sanji wasn't sure if he was steady enough to get back on his feet, but he was certainly stable enough to think up a joke about how the fish probably thought Usopp's nose was a worm. Not that he could say it, which was a shame, because it was a really good joke that couldn't be properly expressed with creative gestures.

He woke up.

It wasn't quite five yet, his biological clock said, and he raised his head in bleary confusion, only for a hand to clamp over his face.

His first instinct was to lash out, because what else was there to do when you were clearly being smothered? But instead of the counterattack that he expected, the smotherer hissed out, “Goddamn moron, close your mouth!” in a distinctly marimo-ish tone.

He almost shot back a retort just to be his usual contrary self, but the meaning of the words hit him like a train and he bit down on his teeth with a click and threw himself off his bed and his feet immediately splashed ankle-deep in water.

The men's quarters was flooded. Usopp was piling up errant clothing in a laundry basket and balancing that on someone's bed, out of reach from the water lapping at his feet. Luffy was being productive by splashing around, kicking water at anybody unfortunate enough to be close, which was mostly Chopper and Brook.

“Oh! Sanji woke up! Now we won't drown!” Luffy's victims gave a half-hearted cheer, dampened by the few hours of sleep they had.

“Yeah. Water park's closed. Help out already.”

“Franky's not back with buckets yet. Hey, can we get a bubble bath here?”

“If Franky comes back and the room's flooded with bubbles, he'll probably kill you. And I won't stop him.”

Such a violent threat of mutiny matched with a just as threatening glare was met with a disappointed “boooo.” But the men's quarters didn't explode into lilac-scented bubbles, which at least showed Luffy was listening this time.

“As for you,” Zoro continued, finally turning back to the one who created the whole mess. Sanji, his mouth clamped so tight that it might as well have welded shut, made a look of pure contrition, clasped his hands together, and bowed them up and down, looking at each person in turn.

“Shut up,” Zoro said, dragging him back by the collar of his shirt. “You need a new place to sleep. That won't end up drowning us all.” Sanji tried to twist and make some sort of face at Zoro, but he wasn't quite flexible and if he wasn't careful, he could end up falling over.

“It's fine! Don't worry, we'll handle this!” Usopp called out as Sanji found himself taking a crash course on how to keep his balance backwards. He couldn't even come up with a response to mime out before Zoro dragged him out and kicked open the aquarium hatch with his bare feet as though it was just a carpet to flip over. When he started to pull his cargo in front, Sanji realized the hell he was doing and dragged his feet, smacking him on the side of his head and making a noise like a boiling pot frothing over.

Thankfully, Zoro was not too much of a clod to ignore that. He stayed his hand. “What.”

Sanji gestured at his really nice as shit pajamas, pointed to the aquarium, and then pointed from his crotch to the men's quarters.

Zoro's brow seemed to crust over. “I'm not getting you new underwear, bastard,” and before Sanji could bemoan in an overwrought, nonverbal scream about the misfortune that plagued his life, having to deal with a man who grew out of the ground and was likely made from it too, toe to brain, Zoro picked him up and freaking tossed him in the goddamn aquarium, shitty asshole shithead son of a craphole shit.

Blue.

It stretched out everywhere. It connected everything. In the air and on the land. Rivers. Lakes. Clouds. Oceans. He could feel all of it mingling together until he couldn't tell the sky from the sea, a sprawling mass of endless blue that gave the world its shape. He couldn't say that he was in any one point. No. He was rushing down the mountains of a South Blue island. Cresting over a beach on the Grand Line. His entire being felt like it was diffusing, but not growing lesser, simply growing, and there was a place of his origin, a place where everything converged, or the opposite of that, perhaps –

He woke up.

It was five this time, and it took him a moment to recognize where he was until he remembered the current and everlasting bane of his life, Zoro, and what that brute thought was the solution to him accidentally flooding the ship in his sleep. Idiot goddamn ape didn't even seem to understand why he had jumped out and sprinted back to his closet, wet clothes slap slap slapping against his skin, had to ask why he was peeling off all his clothes and washing them and jumping into his swim trunks, because gee, who knows why someone would want to wash out the salt from ocean-drenched clothes! Certainly not the shithead who practically bathed his clothes in blood every time they docked on an island, probably hadn't heard the word 'laundry' until someone listed it as one of the chores necessary to maintain the ship. Probably couldn't tell anything about grumble mutter clothing quality gripe gripe too much scar tissue to even feel sigh moan.

But he was getting distracted. Five in the morning. Breakfast. Food. Cook. If he was going to complain, he could at least complain productively.

The hatch to the aquarium didn't exactly swing open, but burst. And Sanji didn't quite climb out, more like beached himself on the edge of the hole in a soporific, boneless flop that was more in line with primordial ooze than anything resembling a human. He didn't quite notice anything wrong, not until he heard Brook's inelegant squawk.

“A ghost!!! A sea monster!!!????”

It was hard to tell where specifically Brook was looking at any given time, but his ambiguous warning made Sanji try to figure it out anyways. Something over the side of the ship? He swiveled himself around and tried to stand, and it was then he realized he had no legs to stand on.

He turned back to Brook, who stood stock still, eyes wide (as always (not that he had eyes)). “...Sanji-san…?” he said, with far more incredulity than his previous outburst.

Sanji took stock for the first time this morning. He wasn't human. Or he didn't look human; what he looked like was strangely enthusiastic water trying to take over land. Like he was water. Or. He was wearing water. And, in fact, the longer he stayed out of the aquarium, the more that water dripped off him, like shedding skin, giving him back a form he was more used to. As soon as he had visible arms again, he pulled himself further away from the hatch, smacked at the mass of water that wasn't him, no, it was the aquarium, until it all stopped clinging to him, and then shook his legs out until they were proper legs instead of goddamn water.

He was him again. Though, looking at the surface of his skin, it still glittered and wavered under the morning sun, like he wasn't quite solid, not all there. He let out a shaky breath. Just one, because it frothed out in liquid form, reminding him to keep his mouth shut. Brook carefully stepped his way closer, hand outstretched, but hesitated just short of physical contact.

“Are you alright?” Brook asked, in a way that sounded more like “Will you be alright?”

Sanji didn't move, but his throat made a weak gurgling sound that steadily crescendoed into something he hoped was representative of: “What the hell just happened.”

“Think of him like a bubble.”

Breakfast had somehow happened, despite a lot of freaking out and some inarticulate explanations accompanied by harried gestures for those who hadn't witnessed Sanji turning into the ocean and back.

Robin stirred her cup of coffee and everybody patiently waited for her to complete her metaphor.

“When two bubbles collide, it is possible for them to merge together, to form a larger one. Likewise, I suppose whenever Sanji is submerged in a body of water for a long period of time, he becomes a part of the whole. Perhaps.”

“So he's water. We're all just gonna accept that he's water now. Like, literally a body of water.”

“Did you find anything about reversing this?” Nami asked, far more practical than Usopp's fretful babble.

“It is proving rather difficult.” A hand continued stirring the coffee as Robin flipped through one of many books she had brought to the table. “The answer would be most likely found in sailor lore, which is such a broad subject with little regard for a standardized canon – as it is a culture based occupationally rather than geographically – and anthropologists, until recently, did not bother to even think of recording the culture of the working class. As a result, the related material I have is few and far between. Mostly what I am able to find is a common belief in a personification of the sea, varying in power and temperament depending on who you ask. Apparently, she is known to grant gifts similar to this; sailors dedicated and faithful to the sea are said to be transformed into dolphins to spare them from death.”

From one end of the table, Luffy grunted. “What kinda stupid gift's this? Sanji can't eat! It's stupid!”

When Luffy glared towards the side of the room where Sanji leaned, his idiotic intensity made him reflexively smile back and wave his hands in a cheerfully dismissive gesture. Luffy's scowl deepend. “Cooks should eat food! That's what 'cook' means!”

“Not really...but I understand how you feel.” And now Chopper was staring, no, everybody was, at him, at the eight plates he set, at the empty chair. “Are you gonna be okay? With...this?”

Luffy was wrong, as usual. Being a cook meant giving food to others. And Sanji gave perfectly, could still give, and if it was someone else who couldn't eat, didn't need to eat, it would have driven him mad. But it had happened to him. So that didn't matter, as long as he could still give himself for his crew. In some ways, this transformation almost felt representative of his philosophy. A bountiful ocean that gave, never took.

But none of that he particularly wanted to spend time mapping out with his hands, so he curled his thumb and index finger together in a symbol for how okay he was, and beamed another smile for good measure.

He was met with a tense silence.

Brook, a veteran of long silences, broke it with a light-hearted, “Well, at least we will never be in want for fish.”

“Yeah, the aquarium's the fullest I've ever seen! They just all appeared out of nowhere!”

“Out of the cook,” Zoro corrected, bringing the conversation back down to its initial awkwardness, and Nami kicked him under the table.

“It means fishing's no fun anymore though,” Usopp muttered, setting his jaw firm on his hand.

“Fishing's not fun normally, bro.”

“Hey Sanji, you think I could start fishing out of you?”

Sanji's foot splashing right on Usopp's face answered that question.

“But honestly, Sanji-san has quite a thriving ecosystem! I feel invigorated just taking in all the vibrant fish – not that I have eyes to take in with! There was an especially beautiful blue-finned elephant tuna, but they all look so healthy; I wonder if it has to do with the vigor of you – ooouueegh?!”

Sanji had vaulted over the table, crashed straight into Brook, and brought the two of them to the floor, where he started to shake Brook's shoulders roughly. Brook, for his part, did nothing but say, “What? Huh?? Excuse me???” over and over until Usopp tried to peel him off but instead dipped his hands somewhere in Sanji's arms, which was awkward for everybody involved and was thus successful in calming Sanji down.

Usopp jumped up and wiped his hands on his pants. “Jeez, don't just jump at people like that! Brook's a devil fruit user, remember?”

Sanji took his turn to clamber to his feet as well and sheepishly rubbed the back of his head while raising a hand to acknowledge his bad while Usopp bent to help Brook and his chair back up.

“What got your panties in a twist, anyways?” Franky asked, leaning over to look Sanji up and down.

“He's always been like that.”

Franky boomed out a laugh and shared a high-five with Zoro, who looked far too smug about his lame joke. But not even completely justified vengeance on certain marimo bastards could distract Sanji from what he needed to know now and he tugged at Brook's sleeve, slapped his hands together, and wriggled them back and forth.

“...A dance?”

Sanji almost bent over backwards with the sheer frustration, water frothing from his lips as he burbled out something incomprehensible through his fingers, before he rushed out and down to the aquarium lounge, stumbled over to the glass, and pressed his face against it without bothering to see if anybody had followed. His eyes scanned the fauna within, though all of them had flinched away when he hit the glass; it took some time to observe them proper. And even then, there was just so much to see that he found he could barely get a sense of the species of one fish before his attention sprung to another. He saw the bright flashes of color typical of the tropical south. Large schools of tiny fish, which he associated with a barely remembered home. Eels from the east and sharks from the west. All of them, miraculously, in one tank, from one source.

He turned around and everybody had followed him, all of them saying nothing until they found confirmation in the shape of his expression, and his mouth was running just as much as his eyes, as he kept mouthing the culmination of his entire existence over and over again through the current of water pouring out and even as it all pooled around their feet, even as little goldfish started tripping from his mouth, nobody told him to close it, not now.

He couldn't help but laugh. Couldn't help but cry. Because he had prepared himself for many scenarios; he had expected a spontaneous success; he had anticipated a prolonged discovery; he could have accepted a lifetime of failure; he could have been able to predict anything besides what actually happened. Here. Right now.

He was All Blue.

“Here it comes, here it comes!”

“Wooow, Usopp! That's even more than yesterday!”

With an expertise that Sanji might have found worrying some time ago, Usopp wrenched the net out of Sanji's head and tipped the wriggling mass into the aquarium. Before Usopp could give the net another dip, Sanji nudged the hatch shut, mimed an explosion with his hands, and ended it with a meaningful glare.

“Don't worry, there's plenty of room,” Usopp drawled back, though he shouldered his net. When it came to Sanji, any food-related squabble ended with him the clear winner.

Sanji moved his hands close together, tensed his shoulders upward like he was being squeezed, mimicked death in a rather exaggerated and cartoonish way, then held his hands out and raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay, fine. I get it. But anything that jumps out of you is fair game!”

A dolphin chose that exact moment to surface for air. It emerged from Sanji's back, made a beautiful leap over the deck, and landed fortuitously (or not) overboard. Sanji watched as its tail disappeared below the waves, then slyly glanced back to Usopp and jabbed a thumb towards where the dolphin went.

Usopp scrunched his face up in distaste. “I'm not getting that.” And fishing was over.

Sanji didn't sleep in the aquarium, not after that first night, after he wore the water like a second skin and felt an unnerving vastness somewhere in the back of his mind. Instead, he slept in the tub. It had a drain, and Franky had added a convenient tank for any errant fish to go until they could be transferred to a proper home. It wasn't the most comfortable, but it also didn't leave him waking up as a fluid.

So he didn't sleep in the aquarium. But he still spent most of his time staring at it.

Even beyond the time it took for acclimation, after everybody simply accepted yet another turn of fate that had befallen them, Sanji hadn't figured out his own feelings on the matter. On the one hand, this was really freaking weird. Like, the entire top ten list of weirdest things he had experienced, forever. And yet.

And yet...

Luffy plopped down into a seat next to him, standing crouched on the cushion and leaning over the back to stare through the glass rather than just sitting like a normal person. Sanji acknowledged him with a nod, his eyes still sparkling from the sight before him. But Luffy's expression told him this was going to be one of those rare, serious conversations that cropped up every once in a while, and so he schooled his own face in response.

It took a minute for Luffy to open his mouth, as though he was actually struggling to find the words for his thoughts. Yet another rarity, for Mr. Say Whatever's On My Mind himself to be at a loss. But when he finally did, it was, true to his character, kept sweet and simple.

“I hate this.”

Sanji didn't move. This was the most direct anybody had been about voicing their own thoughts about his situation. Luffy pressed on.

“It's your dream, so I'm happy too! But I miss too many things. I wanna hear your voice. I wanna see you eat. I wanna touch you and stuff.”

Woah, woah, woah! Isn't that a little too forward?! Sanji almost fell out of his seat, scooting away from Luffy's angrily pouting face. And it shouldn't be possible for someone who didn't really have blood anymore to blush, but he was sure he was blushing anyways. Dammit, Luffy, at least think a little before you say things!

His captain, socially inept as he was, didn't seem to notice anything, and just lied down and kicked his legs up. “Maaaan, it's just lame! It's stupid! But, like, it's not, 'cause it's cool, but it's lame! It feels like you're leaving! I hate it!”

The fish continued exploring their new home, unfazed by the tantrum going on outside. Sanji raised a hand, paused, and cautiously gave Luffy's head a few pats. Whether that weakened him or not, Luffy glanced up with a smile.

“That means you're staying for sure, right?”

It was weird. It was inconvenient. And yet. He couldn't hate something that ensured that nobody around him would ever starve.

But that meant nothing if there was nobody to feed.

He smiled. Luffy smiled back. Like an unsaid promise.

They had fought armies. Battleships. Vice admirals, even. But this was a whole different kettle.

A whole band of battle-hardened brigands managed to get on their deck. Crowded their deck, with relentless numbers and an eager readiness for blood, sabotage, treasure, all those brigand things that brigands liked. If Luffy or Zoro had managed to catch them on their own ship first, things would have been different. There would be no worry about collateral damage, and the Thousand Sunny would just go on its way leaving a sinking ship behind it. But, somehow, the enemy was on their deck, packed in enough to limit their movement and their options, and Sanji wasn't sure what to do.

He couldn't be affected by anybody's attacks. It was as fruitless as trying to cut water. Something that was pretty nice for his life expectancy, but not so much for his offensive power. Kicking resulted in his leg splaying out like sea spray, leaving his would-be victims spluttering in surprise rather than knocked to the floor. And trying to drown them in him took prolonged, one-on-one grapples that often didn't even work in his favor. And all the while, the fight raged desperately on.

This was all wrong. None of them should be having this much trouble getting this fight over with. He was sure that he didn't even see a single devil fruit user among this entire mob. But any punch that got wound up was grabbed at and stopped. Any swing of a weapon was pushed against with the weight of a troop. This brigand was full of shitty lightweights. But they knew close quarters combat, knew the power of numbers, the power of cramped spaces; knives didn't need a wide swing to be dangerous.

Was that the sound of Usopp being trampled? He couldn't tell. But this was an utter nightmare for a sniper, he was sure. Someone was screaming. High-pitched. Chopper. Sweet Chopper, whose heart bled itself out with the desire to help his injured friends, but who couldn't even see who was injured, where the injured were. The one having the easiest time was Robin, who could simply dispatch the scum around her with a thought, but all her discarded bodies piled up, pressed her against a wall, and even she could be vulnerable to being crushed.

The men around him quickly realized that there was not much they could do against him, and he found himself in a confusing maze of sweat and muscle before finding himself pushed to the side of the ship. He looked down. Stared at the masses ahead. Leaned back, over the railing, and fell.

What happened next could only be called a very selective, relatively small tsunami that rose like a leviathan and crashed down on the ship with a force that didn't let up until every last invader had been swept off. Not that it actually let up, whisking the scattered brigand away with maliciously dizzying currents and slamming them into the hull of their ship until it got peppered with enough human-shaped holes to sink. Strangely enough, the true residents of the Thousand Sunny were somehow spared, the water having breezed over them like air, though everybody was utterly soaked. (To the bone, one of them might say.)

The tsunami settled into calm waves, spreading itself outward, far beyond the tiny ship, feeling out the vastness of space around it. There was the depths, deep and dark and dense with weight. There were different temperatures. Different weather. Smatterings of storms raging in some areas, spring winds ghosting over others. All the extremes and everything in between, over such a wide expanse that it all blended together into a meaningless average. And there was even more space outside of that, all of which served to make everything seem that much smaller; whirlpools became pores, islands became pimples, underwater trenches became the groove of fingerprints. There was more space. Stretching out and around until it ended up reaching itself again. Circling around, constantly moving, waters mixing and mingling, currents like massages on

Somewhere, something disturbed the surface of the sea.

It happened all the time, in many insignificant ways. Creatures broke the surface to breathe. Broke the surface to fish. Broke the surface to drown. Those were smaller than islands, even smaller than whirlpools, so small as to be near invisible.

But something disturbed the surface of the sea. Something struggling, something weak, something scrawny, something...straw, something that was a goddamn rubbery bastard that had a stomach of a giant and a shitty sense of self-preservation and couldn't damn well swim so why the shit was he even there that goddamn pain in the ass he was going to tie him to the mast and throw him scraps for the whole day that asshole what was he even thinking

Sanji had no arms but he whisked Luffy up in them and he had no legs but he kicked fiercely until the two of them burst out of the ocean and back onto the ship, one of them coughing, one of them trying to not be a mass of water, and they landed with a messy splash and a tangle of limbs until Sanji managed to shake off his coat of sea. And it was a good thing he had friends because they were all giving voice to the lectures he wanted to give to the asshole still vomiting up inhaled water, things like how he was an idiot and how could he think doing that was a good idea and maybe he could consider telling everybody else what he was about to do first and was he even listening?? Be serious!

But Luffy was Luffy. And when Sanji glanced down, his skin slowly shouldering on the illusion of being flesh again, all he saw was a smile as brilliant as sunlight skimming across the ocean.

“There you are! You came back!”

And in the end, Sanji wasn't an ocean at all. Couldn't even be compared. Was afraid of being compared, in fact. Because with the vastness of the ocean came its apathy, and he could never bring himself to be that. Not even with an ocean bursting inside of him. Because, after all, he was Sanji. And there was a lot he wanted to say, but all he could do was cover his mouth and choke out something akin to a hysterical chuckle as everybody around him frantically asked questions about this or that.

“Jeez, Sanji, you shouldn't just go jumping off ships like that! It's reckless, is what it is.”

Sanji's face went blank and he leaned over Luffy, opened his mouth, and released a waterfall right over that shitty smile.

Chapter Text

It was one of those days where Sanji found a few more people than usual watching him cook. Despite the sunny skies, Usopp, Nami, and Chopper had decided to stay in, and he appreciated that they would throw their day away just to keep him company as he worked hours and hours over one edible thing or another. As much as he found joy in cooking, it was a time-consuming affair that often left him no breaks – and little time to make happy memories with his friends, save watching them eat the fruits of his labor. Despite that (or perhaps, because), there was no shortage of visitors in the kitchen, chatting, working, joking, sometimes drawing him in, beckoning with a question or asking for confirmation, or just simply existing where he could see them, allowing him the bare minimum of involvement – a gesture of courtesy he treasured dearly.

Sanji showed his gratitude by letting them witness the longest stream of vulgar cursing and general bad-mouthery known to any sentient being, all of it aimed towards Luffy, who was here too. Because of course he was.

Such a constant torrent of the coarsest language ever invented by the bitter minds of sailors, garnished with Sanji's particular flair, could only be experienced in awed silence as the onslaught never seemed to cease, and perhaps it was impossible to stop, maybe their cook's mouth would forever run with the tongue of only the filthiest garbage – but then Sanji finally succeeded in tying Luffy to a chair and it was as though the shit-pour halted in midair and the ass-clouds parted to once again reveal the sun-of-cheery-disposition (for a given definition of 'cheery').

The silence continued as the three witnesses struggled to pick themselves back up, survivors in the wake of a verbal hurricane. It was only after Sanji briefly enjoyed a celebratory cigarette that Usopp cleared his throat like a chimney, leaned back, and said, “Geez, sometimes you curse so much, I'm starting to wonder if you even know what those words mean.”

“Hm?” said Sanji as he dragged Luffy and his chair to the Time Out Corner. Everybody waited patiently for him to stuff all of Luffy's fingers into various finger traps he prepared for the 'Keep the Black Hole Busy' plan and you better just sit there in that shitty chair, goddamn shitty piece of rubber fuck.

“See? That's what I'm talking about! Nobody's a piece of fuck, fucks don't come in pieces.”

“The hell're you screwing about?” Sanji shot back with his most casual scowl, going back behind the kitchen counter for the raw meat Luffy had so recently tried to pilfer.

Usopp jumped out of his seat and pointed. “There! You did it again! You can't just use 'screwing' with any preposition you feel like, there's a specific set that's socially agreed upon to be contextually appropriate to use 'screwing' with!”

Usopp's lecture was accompanied with a lot of gestures that ostensibly had some meaning – to the one making them, at least. It certainly showed his passion for the correct usage of colloquial language. But in the end, all he got was a blank stare. Usopp looked helplessly back and then turned to the others sitting at the table. “C'mon guys, back me up here!”

Nami, with a wide-eyed expression that kept curving too much around the mouth to be taken at face-value, said, “Gosh, I don't know what you're talking about!”

“I'm...not sure I'm old enough to say anything...”

“Looks like my vocabulary's fine, thank you very much.”

Finding himself in the clear minority, Usopp wilted out of habit. But there was no shaking his sheer certainty because, like, c'mon, he was totally right! “Yeah, yeah, alright Nami, you had your laugh, now can you be serious and stop your stupid faking so you – “

Sanji interrupted him with a grunt, wielding a very heavy-looking rolling pin. “Oi, if you're gonna talk to Nami-san like that, then you better fuck out.”

Usopp closed his mouth Opened it again. Worked his lips until he could figure out a proper response. “Now I know you're messing with me,” he managed, just as Nami almost fell out of her chair laughing. Chopper, in the middle of getting his nose stuck in a cup of sweetened soy milk, met Sanji's eyes and shrugged with all the helplessness that came with child-like ignorance. Sanji wasn't sure if he wanted to bond with Chopper through this sort of sympathy.

“The hell's wrong with what I'm saying,” he said, though it came out more defensive than intended. He started hiding his face behind the steam of the soup when Nami had stared, as if waiting for him to give a punchline, and then burst out laughing even harder.

“He's…! I think he's...oh my god, he's serious!” she wheezed out before giving up any image of composure entirely, slamming her head down on the table as she worked out her giggle fit by pounding her fists on its wooden surface.

Usopp didn't look amused at all, or perhaps he had predicted (correctly) that, unlike Nami, he would be subject to all sorts of pain if he laughed. He did look befuddled, however, raising a hand to his forehead and almost recoiling from the shock. “Who even taught you to curse?!”

“Who taught you to curse,” Sanji shot back from behind his curtain of steam. He wasn't quite ready to come out yet, and sure, steam could burn, but this was fine. He was fine.

“Okay, granted, it's not like anybody teaches you, but you kinda pick it up on your own, right? Like, I learned pretty quick that 'shit' was poop (no Luffy, nothing interesting here, go back to your corner), 'ass' was butt, 'fuck' means sex, and – “

“Means what?”

“Sex. And 'damn' means – “ Usopp grounded to a halt, his impromptu lesson dying in his mouth. At least Nami had stopped laughing, though it looked like she had only paused to listen in on this new development. Sanji didn't meet Usopp's eyes and instead pretended to lean his chin casually in his hand and looked away.

“Sanji. Are you saying. You didn't know what fuck means?”

“I do!”

A pause.

“No,” he said a little quieter. “But I was asking – “ Abruptly, he cut himself off by biting his own fist. Nami started to shake with pent-up mirth.

“What? What were you asking? What else could you possibly ask when you asked oh my god.” Usopp clamped his hands over his mouth too late to keep in his outburst of realization and he reeled, his feet pacing backwards as he tried to wrap his head around just what he was contemplating. “No way...but yes...no. Oh my god. Oh my god. Um. Sanji. This is gonna be a weird question. Don't even know why I'm asking, really, I mean, the answer's obvious (or I thought it was), so, like, well, do...you know...uh...has anybody ever...talked...”

“Do you know what sex is,” Nami belted out before another laugh forced itself. It was loud, way too loud, and even Luffy paused in his struggling to turn and figure out what the fuss was about.

Sanji, gaze firmly fixated on his ashtray, didn't answer.

This time, Nami did fall out of her chair, hooting on the floor without regard to volume or lung capacity, and the longer it went on the more Sanji started to flush until he could probably squeeze the color out of his face and use it as a replacement for tomato soup. It got even worse when Chopper swiveled in his seat, stood on it to get a better view, and said, “You don't?” with such an adult incredulity that Sanji almost felt like sinking into the floor and never getting up again.

He tried to channel his embarrassment into thuggish aggression, a trick that had always worked in the past, but Nami was still laughing even as she breathed out how much her stomach hurt oh my god, and he ended up stuttering, “I, I, it's not important, is it? I never even fucking heard about it!”

Usopp's legs almost fell out beneath him, but he managed to get a seat underneath him first before that happened and he melted into it in a glazed stupor, cradling his head. “He never even heard the word. Nobody ever...oh my god. Oh. My god. I don't. How. My entire worldview has come crashing down. What else was I wrong about? Does gravity even exist?”

At this point, Nami had finally found the strength to pull herself back up and onto her knees. She peered over the table, her face still bursting with unexpected glee, and said, “All that time, when, when you were, flirting with me, what were you even, I mean, what did you hope would happen if it wasn't sex?”

“I,” Sanji said, and now his face was probably going infrared, invisible to the human eye, and like hell he was just going to blurt out his fantasies for everybody to hear, but it was Nami who asked and so his mouth babbled on like a freight train over the edge of the world. “Just. It was. Like. Kissing. Holding. Hands? And, hugging and stuff. Get...married...kids...”

That set off Nami again and she disappeared, shrieking to the ceiling, “I can't believe it, Sanji-kun was so innocent all along, oh my god,” and all Sanji could do was numbly stir at the soup, staring at the wall above where he knew Nami lay, contemplating how his life had gone to shambles, what a shame, it had been such a good life so far, too bad that he was dead now, forever. Goodbye.

“Kids. You were thinking about kids.” Usopp's flat voice rose him from the grave for a moment. “Sanji...didn't you even...um...think, about. Where babies. Uh. Come from.”

“Oh yeah! That's when people touch their things together and then someone poops out a baby!”

As one, everybody turned towards the Time Out Corner, where Luffy had taken a break from trying to free his fingers to join in on the conversation.

Very slowly, Usopp succumbed to his fate and collapsed like a very slow rock slide onto the table. “Luffy knows about sex. And Sanji doesn't. I don't. What. What. How does this world exist. Who am I.”

“People touch what? Someone whats a baby?!” He could be reasonably said to be slightly panicking. The entire situation felt like it was very quickly slipping out from under his feet and there was nothing to land on. He kept stirring. “Look, I just repeated what all the other shitheads in the kitchen were saying! Nobody told me anything about what any of it meant!”

“You're saying that you lived on a ship, surrounded by men, and none of them even talked to you about sex?” Nami said, making some sort of effort to sober up. She was failing, quite terribly, but it was a good effort.

“He never had the Talk. He never had the Talk. Even I had the Talk, and I didn't even have parents.” Usopp was now slowly rocking in his chair, mumbling into his hands.

“Look, if it's that important to know, then you tell me!”

Silence descended immediately. Usopp looked at Nami. Nami looked at Usopp. They looked back at Sanji, both of them suddenly looking a fraction as awkward as he felt, their expressions the epitome of 'I never planned on having this conversation with anybody, least of all a nineteen-year-old man,' before they simultaneously affixed a light smile on their faces and said, “Well, you should ask someone older...”

“C'mon Sanji, didn't you listen? I already said what it was!”

“That wasn't helpful at all!”

And then, the absolute cherry on top of this whole uncomfortable shitfest, Chopper raised a hoof and said, “If you really want to know...then I can explain everything.”

Without really waiting for an answer, Chopper started talking. And talking. There were drawn figures involved. And diagrams. And very informative gestures. Sanji turned off the stove. Sat down. There was even a lesson involving mouths and hands. Every time Sanji thought his face couldn't twist even further into a disbelief as deep as a black hole, Chopper would add another detail about, about…something and then Sanji would invent a new expression that perfectly encapsulated all the world's horror into one face. He was starting to ache with all the effort of maintaining his reactions, but he couldn't stop because Chopper wouldn't stop, and Usopp and Nami were staring at him, and Luffy was trying to sneak into the kitchen by hopping the chair towards it but he fell over and Chopper was still talking.

“That's,” he said, after a million years, when thankfully every bit of information was spent about everything he never knew about life and more. “This. You're not...shitting me.”

The doctor shook his head, but it wasn't like he needed to. As if the little guy could even lie.

Sanji took in a deep breath. Set his mental files in order and squirreled them away in a dark, dark place. “That's...unsanitary.”

“That's procreation,” Chopper dutifully corrected, and both teacher and student ignored the way that some of their spectators slowly caved in on themselves and shook helplessly.

“People do this willingly?!”

“All the time. By all accounts, it's enjoyable,” Chopper said with a patience of a saint. “I could go further into the hormones involved, or – “

“But, it, I piss with, that, in there,” Sanji's hands tried to reach for something in the air, like the proper words from his brain hole, but nothing appeared. “Urine,” he finished weakly.

Nami briefly came up for air. “I can't believe this is real life,” she wheezed before diving back down into painful joy.

Sanji sat. Continued to sit.

That's it. Franky was going to have to wear pants from now on.

Chapter Text

“Thanks again for savin' my life! If there's anything I could do to repay you...”

“Nah, no probbweh!!”

Nami stepped into the space that Luffy had so recently occupied and beamed down on the, the...person, who was their new guest on the ship. This...creature was a long way from land, and there had been no sign of any nearby vessel. But it clearly couldn't swim, since Luffy had to fish it out. It was the size of a child but had the voice of a rat. Not much of it was visible underneath its plump, patchwork coat, poxed with pockets of various colors, all bulging with the unknown. It stooped under the weight of a hat that sloped so far down, the only things visible of an actual body were the glimmers of eyes and a fleshy protuberance that could have been a nose, or perhaps a chin. Sanji shifted his weight onto his other foot and chewed his cigarette. It looked much like an armadillo. And that's all he could figure.

Nami smiled her perfectly entrepreneurial grin. “Don't mind him, I'm the one who takes care of these things. So, what do you have? Valuables? Money? Other goods and services?”

“Ya,” the armadillo said, scratching at a place that might have been hair, “I dun have money or anything like that.”

Nami plopped down on her beach chair and went back to reading the newspaper.

With their unofficial manager quitting prematurely, the crew glanced at each other in a silent debate until Robin took up the mantle and said, “If you would really like to repay us, then perhaps you have an idea of how to do so?”

“Ya, well,” said the armadillo, “I'm not...really good at stuff, was the reason I went out to sea an' all; got no work experience, got no job, pretty much useless, so I figured, hey! Might well just leave!”

“That ain't a decision to just make like that,” Franky said, staring down with a serious air that could only be achieved with a buff body contained by a Hawaiian shirt.

“But then I forgot that I didn't know how to sail so my boat sank,” said the armadillo with a sheepish laugh.

“Take that sorta thing more seriously!”

“So you're basically an idiot with no concept of planning.” Sanji exhaled smoke like a cloud of disappointment. “Like we need more of those...”

“Oh, but I could show ya my devil fruit powers – “

Luffy appeared, like a light blinking on, as if he had never even been pounded to the deck in the first place. Sanji flinched and Usopp fell over, neither of them prepared for the space between them to be suddenly occupied. “Powers???” Luffy exuded the word, glitter spouting from every pore.

“Ya,” said the little 'dillo. “Ate the Fuse Fuse fruit, so's I can combine all sortsa stuff.”

“SHOW ME.”

Armadillo visibly jumped back from the aggressive enthusiasm, but when Luffy did nothing more threatening beyond plopping right down on the grass in the perfect front row seat, it lowered its rankled shoulders, tittering another nervous laugh. Somewhere in the back row, Nami slunk in unseen, her curiosity stronger than the news. Brook raised his violin in a salutation and bowed off something bouncy and vaudeville.

Of all the things this guy wasn't experienced in, it seemed that performance art was especially one of those. The show started with a lot of stuttering, some fumbling with pockets, and a gross amount of sweating – though considering the coat, maybe it was just hot. Eventually, it procured a spoon and fork and held them aloft.

“S-so, 'cause of my power, I can make two become one! ...Ya…?”

“Don't ask us,” Sanji grunted, which was apparently intimidating enough to spur the show onwards. Still, despite his disgruntled demeanor, Sanji couldn't help but admit that a combination spoon and fork could certainly be useful under some circumstances. As the armadillo guy crossed the two utensils, releasing a burst of light, Sanji considered asking if he could keep the result.

The result was a fork and spoon fused together in the shape of a cross.

“THAT'S COMPLETELY USELESS!!” The Sunny itself shook with the force of several voices sounding off in unison, enough for poor 'dillo to stumble over backwards with only a silverware cross for a shield – only useful against vampires. And demons, unless it was more ironware; then that would be...fairies, probably?

Luffy, the only satisfied customer, plucked the cross out of its hands and dangled it between two fingers. “Woah, it's really fused! Guys, guys, look!”

“Yeah, we saw, Luffy.” Nami looked like she was ready to go back to her newspaper.

“It's an interesting parlor trick,” Sanji admitted, “but you can't really do anything with it, can you.”

“Hey now...this's the only thing I'm good at, ya know? I can do loads of things with this! Hang on, hang on, watch!” The armadillo grabbed Sanji's hand before he could pull away, grabbed Chopper's, and there was another flash of light, this time accompanied by the feeling of intense heat, melting, assembling…

Everybody stared at where Sanji and Chopper had been. In their place stood...someone. Someone that looked remarkably like Sanji and remarkably like Chopper, blond hair with that stupid style, but also antlers and ears and a nose that certainly weren't human, hair, hair everywhere, or maybe it would be more accurate to call it fur, hands that ended in fingers made of keratin and legs that ended in hooves. A weird combination of suit jackets and shorts, and somewhere, there was room for a tail that was currently bristling.

He – they – someone slowly raised their hands to their face, from cheeks to ears to the antlers, oh god the antlers, and then they – he – someone started making a soft sound that went like, “aaaaaaaaaaaaa”

“See? That's somethin', ya?”

The ship exploded again, for a different reason.

“Holy crap holy crap what just happened, where the who did what go where”

“Damn idiot cook had to open his mouth – “

“AWESOME!”

“Reindeer-gorilla, swirly cook-bro, get it together! ...Reindeer cook-bro? Or...Coorilla-bro?”

“They seem unresponsive at the moment. Perhaps the experience has irreparably shattered their minds.”

“Are you saying that they are better off dead?! Though, being dead myself, I can't say I have much complaints.”

“Hey you,” Nami shouted, picking up the armadillo with ease. “You can't just do that to people! Turn them back!”

“It's the Fuse Fuse fruit, not the Fuse Unfuse fruit.” Dangling from Nami's tight grip, the armadillo guy flinched when she raised a fist. “Ya, ya, okay, look, no worries, ya? They'll be fine!”

“They don't look fine,” Nami growled, pointing back to the Sanji-Chopper conglomeration, which had moved on from screaming quietly to screaming loudly.

“Ya, errybody does that, they'll get used to it.”

There was the sound of a sword scraping out of its sheath a quarter of an inch.

“L-look, it'll wear off, I swear! Two people don't like being one fer that long, unless they're super compatible or sometin'! They'll just bust apart in an hour or so! Honest!”

Zoro snapped his sword back into place and Nami finally dropped the armadillo guy back to the floor. It bounced to its feet with a sigh and hastily brushed off its coat of many pockets.

“Hey, do me next!”

Nami pounded Luffy on the head so hard that he slammed to the deck and didn't get up. “You,” she snarled at the quavering 'dillo, “are going to sit in a corner and touch nothing until we get to the next island and kick you off.”

The Sunny's latest guest just nodded.

“Ummmm, Sapper.”

“Ew. No.”

“Chappy?”

“Vetoed.”

“Ojicherppsan.”

“That's not even a name.”

Eventually, the bizarre addendum to the Straw Hat pirates had calmed down – probably due to a hoarse throat more than anything else – and everybody took this chance to lead the not-reindeer, not-human into the dining room for a seat. Nami wanted to have a physical done, but unfortunately, the doctor was also the patient in this case, so everybody just milled around awkwardly until it seemed pretty clear that their friends-turned-friend wouldn't explode or something, which seemed healthy enough – even while sitting too straight, too tense, eyes flitting like the hunted, looking for a chance to bolt.

And now Luffy was figuring out a name.

Usopp had stayed just to make sure nothing regrettable would happen, but everything seemed to be going smoothly. No more tap-tapping of hooves, nobody looked on the verge of barfing, just two friends arguing about a name. Two. Three?

“So, how can we tell who's talking?”

All four eyes turned towards him, even though by all rights it should be six. “Whaddya mean?”

“Like that! Who just said that just now, Sanji or Chopper?”

“Don't be stupid, Usopp,” said Luffy with a pitying look in his eyes. “It's Sachonjipper.”

“It's not,” said Sachonjipper, sounding a lot like Sanji, but still like Chopper at the same time.

“Ya, yer thinkin' 'bout this wrong,” said the armadillo, spinning around in its seat. Usopp pointed and frowned until it turned around again, facing the Time Out Corner proper.

“Ya, so like, yer thinkin' 'bout this guy as two people when he's one, even though this one is made of two.”

Usopp blinked, very slowly. “You lost me.”

“See, it's prolly more accurate to think of this guy as the biological child of – “

“Okay, that's it, I'm not listening anymore, please shut up now.”

“ – formin' a completely new life form with a completely new existence.”

Usopp wheeled back around to face some non-traumatizing friends and stared right at the new existence before him. “Look, do you wanna be called 'he' or 'they?'”

“Mmm...I feel like a 'he.'”

“Alright, question answered; now you just need a name.”

“How about – “

“Nobody's asking you, Luffy.”

He was introduced to the rest of the crew as Chonji.

“Short for Sachonjipper,” said Luffy, only to get whacked on his head by a hefty antler.

“Soooo...how are you feeling,” Nami tried.

Chonji's ears pricked and then flattened in thought as he hummed and tilted his head to the side. “Weird. Confused. Kinda nervous. Really conflicted about smoking. I'm mostly okay though, my vision's fine and I'm not passing out from heat stroke or anything and there isn't any pain anywhere. Heartbeat's regular. Lungs could be better, but that's to be expected.”

Nami leaned back with the look of someone already exhausted by all this bullshit. “Well, if anything, it's made you ridiculously cute.”

Instantly, Chonji stiffened. Looked like he was going to scream again. But instead, he chose the more reasonable option of fleeing to the infirmary and slamming the door behind him, only to open it again and peer out in the only way a being that was partly Chopper could – the wrong way.

“Oh my god,” Nami said, and she covered her face in her hands and leaned over the table again, shoulders quivering a storm. Usopp followed suit, hand over his mouth to keep in some very unmanly squeak. Zoro scooted his chair back, his face the very image of mortification.

“That's it, I'm out,” he said, hands raised like he was trying really hard to not touch anything related to this exact moment. “Tell me when he's back to normal.” And then he abandoned everybody else for the sanctuary of his weight room, where there were no irritatingly cute and cutely irritating reindeer-man to mess with his conception of life, the universe, and everything. At this, Chonji seemed to flush, but nevertheless blurted out, “What, you got a problem with me, shithead?!”

Everybody lost their composure. Even Robin had to lower her head so that her bangs obscured her eyes, and yet she couldn't quite hide the way her mouth painfully replicated a waveform that, when read with the proper machinery, would probably have sounded like a squeal.

“Oh my god,” Nami repeated at last. “He's really cute oh my god I'm not sure how I can take this.”

“Shut up, I'm not!” Chonji insisted, though after a few minutes he added, “But if you think so, w-wanna go on a date…?”

“Ask me again when you're not half fifteen and half a reindeer.”

It wasn't a no, and so Chonji made a distressedly happy sound and shut himself back in the infirmary once again.

The dock they landed at was quaint and quiet. It had taken three hours to get there, during which Chonji had jumped after Luffy three times, got his antlers tangled in everybody's laundry about seventeen, and had a nervous breakdown twice (the first was over keeping the kitchen clean of his fur, the second was after he had provoked Zoro enough for him to draw his swords, upon which he fainted at the sight).

Three hours, and Chonji was still Chonji.

“Ya, I guess they're more compatible'n I thought? Shouldn't take too long, prolly. Can I leave now please?”

Nami tapped her foot, face still thunderously dark, but magnanimously decreed, “Yes, your time out is over. Now get the hell off our ship.”

The armadillo wasted no time after hearing the word 'yes' and had already scurried out the door before Nami finished getting all her words out, never to be seen again. Good. Could give someone else a headache for a change.

Nami pinched her nose, thought about enforcing a new rule of just ignoring anybody they came across floating in the sea, and turned to the kitchen. “Hey, uh. Chonji? You holding up okay?”

Chonji looked up from the fridge, accidentally banging his antlers against the top. Despite the salty curse, he responded with a bright “mmhm!” and added, “I gotta go restock and stuff, so I'm going to town soon. Do you need anything?”

“Mmm, I can just go with you.”

Chonji stiffened, then slowly puttered back to life. “Oh, cool,” he said casually, but his face said otherwise, lighting up with joy like an arsonist's daydream. Nami took one look at his uncontrollable expression and snorted so hard that she ended up choking on her own spit.

The market was a symphony of smells and Chonji kept flitting about them, constantly distracted by one thing or another, and making it hard for Nami and Franky (who had joined to help carry bags) to even catch up. But since Chonji could just smell his way back (which he did often, accompanied by a constant babble about the ripeness of various produce in his arms that faded away when he zoomed off to whatever else attracted his attention), they simply stopped chasing after him and strolled their way down the street.

All this sensory information was just...exhilarating, somehow, even though part of him was used to this experience. But utilizing his senses for a domain they weren't usually used for just felt...smart. Amazing. Really freaking great! The way he could inhale the green onions and feel the taste in his nose, so crisp and heavy on his tongue, the way he could hear the contours of the sound of bread, of watermelon, one a cacophony of the brisk crunch of autumn leaves and the other the beat of a hollow drum that reverberated through its juices and bounced off the rind until it lost its volume and wasted away.

He was just leaning down to press his ear against another watermelon when, quite suddenly, he was attacked by a broom.

His reaction was the only reasonable one, which was to duck backwards and fix his bewildered, betrayed eyes on his assaulter – in this case, the stall owner, a hefty woman with beastly arms who startled at the sight of his face and blurted out, “Oh, you're – I thought – the antlers – “

“What's the big idea?!”

Nami appeared like a thief and announced her presence like a really bad one, moving her way in front of Chonji with a hand on her hip and the devil in her eyes. Franky rolled up a few minutes after, and despite his disapproving scowl and large figure, he looked less intimidating.

The shopkeeper raised her hands as a mollifying shield. “I really thought he was some wild deer eating the merch or something, honest! It's just the, the antlers!”

“Oh, I see, so you don't treat all people like this, just my friend? That's discrimination. This woman discriminates! She's beating away a customer just because of his appearance! Discrimination!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” the stall owner hissed out, as though leading by example would get Nami to stop marching back and forth, yelling accusations at the top of her lungs. In one desperate lunge over her storefront, she made a swing to catch Nami and drag her back, only for her target to dance out of reach and continue her crusade.

“N-Nami, it's fine, I'm fine, okay?”

“Yeah, listen to him! It was an honest mistake and I'm sorry I did it!”

Nami pivoted on her heel and brought her face in close with a leering smile. “In that case, shouldn't you give us an apology discount?”

Franky and Chonji could only stand and stare in awe at the might of Nami's ruthlessness. “When I first joined, that girlie scared the shit out of me and somehow she still does.”

Chonji found himself nodding, but said, “Say that again and I'll kick your ass.”

What should have been raucous laughter instead turned into a shout of shock and pain as Franky tipped forward, propelled by a shot to the back. Chonji had heard the crack of the gunshot before his nose filled with the smell of gunpowder, before he saw Franky fall into view beside him, and it was wrong, so wrong, to be able to see his face without having to look up, and it was so wrong for that face to be gritted in a subdued expression rather than being as loud as his taste in shirts. There might have been other gunshots – he couldn't tell, because after the first it felt like the world had just muted itself. He could see Nami turn, shaken out of her element, and say something, but he was too busy whirling around to hear, with gunpowder in his lungs and coating his brain, the stuff dragging him along by the nose and he followed it, fueled by a too-honest love and a violent temper until he was finally where he had to be and he raked the gunner with his horns.

At some point, he had ingested a rumble ball. He hadn't even known if it would work, but there he was, horns less like a rack and more like protruding swords that pierced through a wall, pinning the gunner by his armpits. He would have thrown the asshole up and let him break his neck, but as it turned out, there hadn't been only one aspiring bounty hunter.

A broad knife came startlingly close to splitting his shoulder open, but he jerked out of the way, dislodging his first target from his horns in the process. He fixed his stare onto his second, who flinched and backed away in a very satisfying manner. “Oh man, oh man, I told you we're out of our league here! What the hell is that thing?!”

Chonji bristled, but not at the insult. Rather, there was a severe lack of blood being shed, and he was very intent on changing that.

“I don't know, I don't know, it wasn't on the bounty posters!” The first one screeched before raising that gun again, the gun that still smelled of fire and smoke, but Chonji was too fast, had already sidestepped before the shot was even made, and then he leaned down, rolled, and snapped his legs upwards and out so that his hooves cracked against the guy's chin and sent him soaring.

He wheeled towards the other, felt all the power he had placed in his horns pump down to his arms until they bulked with muscles that screamed bloody murder, and slammed their entire mass right into the other's face.

Or, he would have, if the shithead hadn't thought to jump to the side and swipe back with that knife. Chonji instinctively held up a hand, and even though much of his hand was made of hoof, it wasn't enough to stand up to an actual blade.

He felt nothing, not when the knife wedged into his pinky and kept on pressing, digging deep even when his arm couldn't push back against the force and instead relented, until the swing finished, until the knife bit all the way through, and he saw four sausage-like pieces fly through the air, found his eyes inextricably drawn to them as they seemed to hover, twist in the air, before curving downwards, and he didn't notice at all that his defenses were now wide open…

“Strong Right!”

He felt his hair flutter with the sudden absence of a knife-wielding enemy and eventually processed the resulting crash into a nearby building. It was enough for him to break away from staring at the, at – but he found himself looking at his hand instead, the shape of it, like a steep slope, his eyes skiing down it over and over again.

“Bro, bro, snap outta it!”

“What happened, what's wrong, why's he – oh my god”

There was an anxiety in those voices that he didn't like, and still staring, he mumbled, “Hooves grow back. Hooves grow back...they do, it's okay, keratin...like fingernails...they...”

Something churned within him, forcing his mouth shut. His head started to boil. His index finger only lost the tip, but trailing to the right, each one had more and more missing until the last could barely even be called a stump, didn't even have joints, and that was about the time Chonji completely melted and his two constituent parts shot away from each other rather violently, dazed and disoriented.

To Franky's credit, despite having been shot in the back a few times, he reacted quick and scooped up both smaller crew mates in his arms. He even remembered the grocery cart.

“W-wait! We need to – shouldn't we – his fingers, we have to, to get them, right?!” Nami said, halfway crouched to the ground, but looking a little too hysterical for such a morbid scavenger hunt.

“No time, someone's called the marines already, we gotta jet!” And before anybody could argue, Franky ran off with the speed of someone who was used to evading law enforcement, leaving Nami to follow behind just because it felt good to follow someone who seemed to know what he was doing.

The ride was rough. Franky wasn't built with suspension in mind. Nevertheless, the whole way back to the Sunny, Sanji never once took his eyes off his hand.

Chopper was the one who recovered first, his lucidity born out of the necessity for someone to remove the bullets from Franky's back. Sanji seemed to have roused out of his stupor a little while later, but was seen drowning vegetables in the sink, mindlessly rubbing the dirt out until his hands turned wrinkly and raw, and it was only when Usopp tapped him on the shoulder that he stopped and actually began to make dinner proper.

Nobody felt the courage to speak up about today's incident during the meal, and perhaps it was simply because each one was waiting for someone else to start. But, in the end, everybody remained a bystander, and the moment for a heart-to-heart passed when someone thought to compliment his cooking and he responded with an embarrassingly open smile and an all too-hearty, “Shut the fuck up! Y'mean it?”

The next few days were rather bizarre in subtle ways. Sanji would duck his head every time he walked through a door, forget to slip on his shoes, hesitate before jumping into the ocean, avoid meat. And though he could have been said to have worn his heart on his sleeve before, now, it was emblazoned, dipped in neon and stapled in place. He smiled easily. Laughed easily. Startled easily. Even cried easily, only to draw up the dregs of his masculine facade to insist that he wasn't, it's the shitty onions, honest.

On the one hand it was almost nice, to have him not feign constant disinterest, to see him allow himself to get excited about Franky's cool upgrades or Usopp's tall tales, to hear him admit so unthinkingly whenever he was scared, no wait, startled, he was startled, that's all, not scared, never scared, shut up.

Though...it made it hard for anybody to approach him about, well, about...the thing. When Sanji, one of the trio of monsters, who threw himself into certain death situations and came out with smoke and new curses, was just so...emotional. So raw and so child-like and so, so Chopper.

So time went on. And what had been a recent tragedy expired into simply a bad memory, aided by the fact that Sanji never seemed to have problems with his new handicap. Eventually, he even remembered to put on shoes, though he couldn't quite stop ducking through doors.

He could even convince himself that everything had settled into routine, until he woke up one night and instinctively knew someone was missing and who it was without having to look.

Chopper was sitting at the back of the ship, out of sight from the night watch. Sanji curled up beside him and was acknowledged with the barest of glances. Both of them automatically started riffling through their pockets, only for one to actually bring out cigarettes. Sanji tilted the box towards Chopper and was promptly refused. Which he expected, but it did well to be polite once in a while.

What had it felt like, to be fused with another being? They had been asked that several times by curious crew members, and neither of them could come up with a satisfactory answer. Or maybe both of them felt the experience much too private to share. Sometimes Sanji would lean over the bathroom sink, staring into the mirror until his eyes watered, until he could remember the things that were his and the things that weren't.

The hardest part was navigating the things that were similar.

His memories of loneliness bled into memories of isolation, of a hatred he didn't understand directed towards himself, a hatred that he eventually dealt back only to find humanity once more. His memories of an inexplicable kindness given to his undeserving existence bled into memories of death, a death he caused. Shackles that tied him (them) down to one place, taking different forms, but shackles all the same, that were only broken by the same brash kid that came into his (their) life without asking.

“You never told me you experienced starvation,” Chopper started, looking at the sea they were leaving behind.

“I didn't think I needed to. It was a long time ago.”

“There are many long term side-effects, especially for children.”

“Increased risk of poor health,” Sanji agreed, letting smoke escape from his lungs in languid puffs. Chopper gave his cigarette a brief, incredulous look.

The two of them fell back into silence, somehow used to not having to communicate and finding it necessary all over again. Sanji thought about being shot as a kid, barely able to talk. Fear, with the bitter knowledge that he was simply built to be alone, forever.

“You holding up okay? I know it's hard to deal with. Still have nightmares, sometimes,” he admitted, tracing an abstract concept with the lit end of his cigarette.

Chopper shook his head. “I mean...I...remember it, but that's all, it's not like I, I actually felt it or anything...”

“Sometimes the memory is enough. Just...if anything happens, like...y'know...come to me, okay?” Sanji shifted, starting to feel sore. The ship was much too quiet. There was none of the rambunctious antics of the day, only the gentle slosh of waves and, if he strained his ears, the snoring that heralded the existence of people other than themselves. The absence pulled at his throat, and he eventually blurted out, “I'm sorry.”

Chopper swung his face towards him, eyes wide enough to reflect the moonlight. “Huh? No, no, that's not – well, I mean, of course it's important, but, it's not – I'm just, I'll be fine, but – I should be sorry,” and his breath hitched suddenly, a hiccup that he had to struggle through in order to say, “It's my fault.”

“What?” Sanji said, not expecting to be thrown into an apology tango, didn't even know what Chopper was apologizing for. “Look, it's not really anybody's fault – “

“B-but...if I wasn't so, so weak...y-your hand...”

His hand. His incomplete hand, all misaligned, looking like a shoddy staircase going down; his brain froze, but he felt himself say, “You're not weak.”

Chopper had already started to cry and had gained too much momentum to stop. But he somehow managed to quiet down, control his own mouth enough to protest, “Y-you're so strong wi-without me though, it's my fault, if it wasn't for m-me, it wouldn't've – “

“No, no no,” Sanji said, his voice starting to hush as he scooped Chopper up in his arms, physical contact another thing he had grown partial to after the incident. With this move, all restraint flew out the window and Chopper started to bawl, no doubt attracting at least the night watch's attention. “It's, I've got a shitty temper, and sometimes I just don't think, okay? It wasn't because you're weak, because you're not. We should've gotten those bullets out of Franky first – I just, I was just so fucking pissed.”

Sanji's self-aggrandizing babble seemed to have some sort of calming effect at least, and Chopper's wailing slowly quieted back down into sobs, and then to snuffles, until the two of them were just clinging to each other for the stability that they just couldn't get alone. Sanji buried his face into Chopper's shoulder.

“Don't use me as a shitty tissue!” But Chopper was laughing, and Sanji wheezed back but clutched tighter, pressed closer until he could almost think that they were one again.

“You're not weak,” he repeated, softly. “You smile easily. You get happy easily. That's, it feels fucking great. And you're just like that normally, but. For me. This is the best I've felt in a long time, because of you. So. I'm just sorry that, y'know, I'm a piece of shit with nothing good to give back.”

Chopper shifted, forcing Sanji to look down at his face. “You don't think you had a good influence on me?”

“Every time you curse out that marimo bastard, Robin-chan glares at me.”

“But, um,” Chopper said, looking down with something akin to embarrassment. “You're so calm, and, and, you always know what to do! And, um. That feels good too. So.”

“You're happy it happened?” Sanji finished, and when Chopper nodded his head fervently, he smiled as wide as he could and said, “Me too.”

And it was like they had released a discordant sigh together, everything that had gone untouched now out in the open air and rising out of sight. Sanji let Chopper down, left hand squeezing his left hoof, the two a match in unnatural slopes.

Chopper's would grow back eventually and his wouldn't, not ever, but that was fine. In truth, Sanji felt a peaceful content that he had never had when he had all his fingers. And he grabbed hold of it, held it close to his heart, engraved it there with a chisel, a mark left when two kindred souls had been one.

Chapter Text

His mother left him at the age of two, leaving him nothing but a vague collection of colors.

From then on, he lived with his uncle. He remembered crying all day when he was torn off the arm of the only blood relative his infant mind had just started to memorize, not understanding the words around him but understanding enough that they weren't friendly which just made him cry louder, because eventually his mother must hear, if he was just a little louder. She couldn't ignore him.

But she didn't come back.

When he was old enough that his body grew into his head and he was able to balance himself up and down stairs with little help, his aunt stuck a rag in his soft hands and instructed him to scrub the floors. He didn't understand, and so his eyes welled up, his toddler face scrunched, and he wailed a discordant song of discontent that was interrupted with a slap that rattled his head into silence.

“If you have time to cry, then you have time to work!” she said.

His message was not heard, or perhaps it was ignored, and he quickly realized that he would have to hang up this childish communication, bury it deep and let it rot.

So he learned to scrub.

And he learned to wash dishes. And he learned to sweep. And he learned to do laundry, to cook, to sow. He learned the words: lazy girl, stupid girl, leech, good-for-nothing; swirly eyebrows, funny eyebrows, abandoned, unwanted; your mother left you because of those eyebrows, those weird eyebrows, unnatural eyebrows. He learned how to fight. He learned the pain of broken knuckles, the sound of a scream that accompanied a cracked rib, the taste of dirt, of sweat, of blood, learned that hair was easy to grab, that eyes were easy to blind. And he learned another name: beastly girl.

“Look at your dress! Never in my life have I ever seen anybody in such a state! Do you understand that your cousin never got into fights?! Did you do this to try to force me to buy you new clothes?! What a selfish girl, trying to waste our money! You'll still have to wait until Gloria grows out of her clothes, understand?! Go wash yourself up before the neighbors see you!”

He pressed his cut lips together and glared with words that he didn't know yet. He could see his uncle standing behind his aunt and glared at him too, hated him almost as much as he did his aunt, hated the way his eyes shone with concern but his feet remained cemented to the floor, and so he marched with his sole, tattered apparel like it was a uniform, even if he understood that it was just one more name waiting to happen.

He could count the hours by the number of cuts and scrapes and bruises he had, by the number of times he was dragged home by the scruff of his neck and was shoved inside, leaving a sea of apologies on behalf of him until the door was shut and he could freely be called embarrassment, shameful, animal. His uncle disinfected and dressed his wounds until he was more bandage than child, and he counted those as well as they crisscrossed over his body. He counted the sweeps of the broom, the circles he made with the sponge, the bubbles of soap in the sink, and he thought, ah, so this is life.

It was on his fifth birthday that he collapsed from a fever, one of his cuts oozing something dangerous and yellow.

The doctor said he was to be confined to bed, that his temperature was severe enough to be life-threatening. His aunt complained bitterly that there was no one to do the housework now, like it was his fault, and his uncle shushed her, told her not to say this sort of thing in this sort of situation. As he lay there, staring but not really seeing, his body feeling too loud, he wondered if he would die. And his aunt stood over him and said, “This wouldn't happen if you would be a good girl.”

And what did that mean? What was 'good?' What was 'girl?' He didn't know how to be either, or perhaps he couldn't be. He saw the way his cousin was treated, the model of perfection, the way that his aunt cooed over her hair and her dress, indulged in her play, bonded with her over thoughts of the future and of boys, none of which sat right with him. He sometimes saw them laugh together and he couldn't help but think, how frivolous, but someone in his mind reminded him that he had nothing to laugh about, nobody to laugh with, his only occupation the care of the house and his only recreation the bloodying of his hands.

The good thing would be to stop with his beastly ways, let himself be tamed. Stop fighting. Stop talking back. Obey.

But that route was closed off now, wasn't it. He couldn't even if he tried, could he. He was too angry, too spiteful, too bad to ever be good, he was a child of bile and hate and he loved to fight, to curse, to shout and kick and spit, he loved it all, otherwise why would he do it so much?

And on that bed, even though he told himself three years ago that he wouldn't again, he cried with a silent intensity that burned his eyes and flooded his ears.

Seven years old, and he barged into the largest building (and tree) in town, covering his bleeding nose and being chased by of a swarm of insulted children. They pounded their way about, weaving around the furnishings of the inside with no heed to what they were, until someone large and adult appeared with a self-righteous air and bellowed, “GET OUT, GET OUT! THIS IS NO PLACE FOR HOOLIGANS!”

The combination of his imposing height and his really weird beard managed to drive off the rampaging kids, who shouted back irreverent remarks nevertheless. The man huffed at their childish audacity before turning back into the library and saying, “You too.”

The remaining delinquent stiffened and kept still out of the rather unreasonable hope that he meant some other kid that was also hiding behind a bookcase to avoid getting chased out.

No such luck.

The old man had a grasp that was rather firm for his age, and it snaked out and snatched the child's arm with the speed of a cobra. He yelped as he was tugged out into view, which at least seemed to invoke a sympathetic release of his arm. He took the chance to back away but proceeded no further – the only thing waiting outside would be more fights, after all. This place seemed more populated by objects, a sense of the ancient divine that could not be touched by human violence. It was calming, in a way that nothing else ever was.

The man knelt down so that he could better see his face. It struck him with such an inescapable image that he couldn't help but blurt out, “Clover.”

The clover-shaped face laughed at his embarrassed efforts to swallow back his word. “Well, that is my name,” and he was struck dumb at what must have been the most serendipitous choice of nomenclature in all of recorded history. Either that, or the geezer decided to model himself after his namesake. As he considered whether to boggle or laugh, Clover asked for his name as well and he automatically murmured, “Synnøve.”

Clover appraised his appearance with a morose look that contradicted his initial introduction. “My, what a sad look for a young girl...why don't we clean you up? I have enough medical knowledge to at least bandage those nasty wounds...”

He beckoned Synnøve to follow, and it was easy to do so, when it seemed his reputation hadn't followed him in this taciturn place. The two of them walked to the far wall, past shelves and shelves of books. Spines of all color stretched on to either side, almost blending together in their sheer number. Synnøve found that he couldn't even begin to count them all.

“Why's your house only got books in it, old man?” he said, the first sentence he could remember being borne out of a natural curiosity.

“Please, call me professor,” Clover replied with a mild chuckle. “And this isn't my house, though I suppose that I spend much of my life in here. This is a library. These books belong to everybody.”

Synnøve gave a suspicious look in return. “I don't own books.”

“Perhaps not, but these books belong to you regardless. You may come in here and borrow these books to read as you please.”

“Dunno how to read,” Synnøve said with a little bit of defiance, as though challenging the professor to say anything about that, see what happens, punk.

“Well, that's a shame,” was the only answer.

They entered a much smaller room in the back, which felt something like a secret, though definitely more mundane compared to the endless expanse of books. There was a table with a few errant chairs, a counter, a sink, and a fridge. Clover knelt down to heft Synnøve up on the table but after being rebuked, let Synnøve crawl up himself. The two settled in a silence created by the gap in their ages as the elder began tending to the cuts on the younger, who refused to hiss whenever disinfectant touched his gaping skin.

There were quite a lot of cuts to clean, and so the silence drew out until Clover's hands trailed up to the mark left on Synnøve's cheek and offhandedly remarked, “Your eyebrow certainly reminds me of your mother...”

“You know my mom?!” Synnøve shot out, dropping all apathetic pretenses and almost falling off the table in his eagerness. A benevolently cross look from Clover was all it took for him to settle down apologetically, though his face shone with an intense determination.

“Yes, well...she did not stay with us for long, but I certainly knew her – “

“Why'd she leave?” Synnøve blurted out, not someone who could appreciate Clover's languid storytelling style.

Clover fell silent again for a moment, brushing back Synnøve's hair to dab at a cut on his scalp. “The hard question first, eh? Well...she's being chased by….some powerful people. I'm certain she didn't want her only daughter involved in that sort of life.”

He almost collapsed with the answer of a five-year-old question, an answer that contradicted all the other answers he had gotten throughout his life, and he wondered if it was so strong because it was true, or simply because he wanted to believe it.

“So she couldn't help it,” he said, without realizing. His head bowed under the weight of Clover's hand and he smiled, or did something akin to that, clutched that answer close like a blanket, a ward, a shield, something new to stave off the other answers that were shouted at him in taunting sing-song.

Clover taped the last bandage and gave a lingering rustle of his hair. “You have her eyebrows, too,” he said, and Synnøve could hear something behind that one statement, something that sounded like regret.

The library wasn't as void as people as Synnøve had initially thought. Every day, there was an abundance of adults going in and out, people called 'scholars,' who called Clover by name rather than by title. People who didn't lurch back at his presence, but leaned down and gave a solid pat on his shoulder and congratulated whatever progress he's made in reading. They patiently gave him definitions of words longer than five letters. Took the time to read to him. Learning that he had never had a birthday party in his life, they threw together seven in quick succession, and he gorged on so much cake that he barfed – and though the scholars practically tore themselves apart, because of course eating seven cakes in one day was a bad idea they were so stupid, he felt so happy, because it was the first time he had too much to eat. They even bought him trousers like he asked, didn't question when he insisted on absolutely no dresses.

And he read. Kept reading, practically devoured the words in front of him, and when he ran out of books in the common tongue he simply learned other languages just so he could read more, learn more, about adventure and love and the sky and the sea and history and freedom.

In this way, the beast was tamed.

As bright as the day started, it became a perfectly miserable one, battering the library with the sort of rain that soaked the body with chills and made even the puddles more of a trial than a playground. It was bad enough that the scholars refused to let him walk home, insisted he stay until it let up, at least until one (or all) of them could walk him home, and that's what made it so perfect.

Everybody had, as usual, congregated in the oh-so mysterious basement when Synnøve hollered through the door that it was dinner already, come up and eat you stupid adults, and the literary crowd stumbled their way up above the ground blinking like moles and meandering contently towards the kitchen that their collectively-adopted child had commandeered a long time ago. The tiny general stamped his foot twice, one arm akimbo, as he saw to attendance and the distribution of food.

“Geez! You'd all just starve away down there without even noticing if it weren't for me!” he said, and the lucky first-in-line managed to look convincingly ashamed even in the face of his adorably annoyed expression.

“Ahh~ Synnøve-chan, sorry, we all just get so wrapped up in our work...” But the cook was already off, counting, counting again, before scampering back down the stairs and returning with the stray Clover in tow, dragging him by the arm in the manner of dragging him by the ear. He looked nothing like a distinguished professor, the way he was being tugged along by such a small child, and everybody chuckled in amusement despite their familiarity with the scene; until Synnøve's righteous glare cowed them back into silence, and then dinner properly started.

There may have been a couple of armchairs, placed strategically around the bookshelves, but everybody sat on the floor together, chatting lightly about things decidedly not intellectual, jokes and gossip and life and food. Synnøve surveyed it all with the air of a satisfied parent, until someone pointed out that he wasn't eating and he was compelled to join the masses himself just so that he wouldn't be a hypocrite.

“I never stop being surprised about how good your cooking is,” said a gourd-shaped woman next to him. Her brown hair bristled with curls that seemed to twist with pleasure whenever she took a bite.

“I had loads of practice,” Synnøve said, keeping his voice modest as his knees bounced with a different sort of pleasure, and it was so strange, for something that used to be bitter to turn into a badge of pride whenever he was here, with these people.

“Hm? Synnøve, what's that you got under your arm?”

He paused to check, paused again to remember. “Oh yeah! Um, there was this part, in here? I wanted to ask, on this page, 'cause I thought maybe it said something about All Blue but I wasn't sure – here, look.” There was a bit of juggling of bowls and book as the immediate vicinity tried to figure out a way to eat without marring the pages with fragrant foodstuff. Finally, a long-legged scholar held the book up and peered at the page.

“Let's see…'an isolated sea that is separate from all other seas, yet contains all other seas...'”

“Yeah! Yeah! That's All Blue, right? That's what they're talking about?”

“It seems so, but...this is written in an old North Blue language. Synnøve, you can read this?”

He hastily ducked his head, looking into his soup with a flush. “Um, not really...only some words. There's just so many books here, and, and, not all of it's in Common, but I wanna read 'em all, but learning different words for words is hard...”

But the adults laughed and took turns setting their wide hands on his head and scruffling up his hair until he pulled away with a face that made them laugh again. “Such a smart kid! Not everybody can pick up a language like that!”

“You'd make a diligent researcher, Sy!”

“Y'know, if you compiled everything you can find on All Blue and write about it, you could be famous with all the scholars.”

“No way!” Synnøve shot back, smacking all the reaching hands away. “I don't wanna write about it, I wanna go there! If nobody ever found it, that means there's no Aunties there, and no stupid kids with rocks, and I'll make a house there and anybody who was mean would have to go away because it's my house.”

The group listening in said nothing to that, exchanging glances that he recognized on his uncle, glances that were too troubled to move their mouths and say what they meant. It didn't suit them, if only because none of them were his uncle and this wasn't his house, so he said, “I'll take you guys too! Whenever you're all ready, I'll take you on my boat and we can live together. I can make my house a library, and you can stay there. If I didn't have any friends, I woulda run away, but now I do! So I can't leave without everybody.”

His beam was met by various smiles that still had his uncle's look hanging over them. One of them chuckled weakly. “That sounds lovely.”

“You should just leave without us. We can't go anywhere any time soon.”

“Pegg! Don't encourage her to run away!”

“What? People should have the right to go where they want if they're not happy where they are.”

“She's not even ten!”

“You can't leave 'cause of that big rock, right?”

Everybody stopped. Even the ones who hadn't been listening stopped. The silence, which should have suited the library, was much too choking to be comfortable. Synnøve hesitated, but repeated, in case nobody understood the question, “You can't go right now...'cause, um, the big rock, in the basement? Right?”

As one, the scholars seem to all fall over, with a collective shout of, “SHE FOUND OUT!”

“How'd she know about the Poneglyph!?”

“Idiot, don't say what it is!”

“B-but she's seen it! She must've seen it, right?! She's already in big trouble!”

Only Clover seemed to remain upright, and had actually went the opposite direction, onto his feet, and he hopscotched over plates and bowls and overturned colleagues on a straight path towards Synnøve, who had also jumped up, realizing that this might be one of those situations to run away from, but Clover grabbed his arm and leaned down with straining eyes and a burning red brow, and he said, “I told you! Never! To go into the basement!”

Synnøve tugged fruitlessly. “I didn't! I just peeked! It's just a rock with stuff on it, what's the big deal!”

“Synnøve,” Clover barked, stilling everybody in the library once more, even as his voice grew low and somber, like a funeral. “What we are doing here is very dangerous. If we are found out by the World Government, we would...we would be known as criminals. Do you understand?”

Synnøve looked around and only saw equally somber faces, sometimes hard, sometimes sorrowful, none of them contradicting the reality of Clover's words or the possibility of their deaths. It hit him, right in the ribs, and if Clover wasn't still holding him he might have run.

“Do not speak of the Poneglyph. Not in town. Not here. Do not even hint that there is anything in the basement. Your knowledge of its existence may even implicate you as an accomplice, and I could never forgive myself if we involved you.”

He wasn't crying, not now, but his voice quavered just a little when he blurted out, “Let's go. W-we could get away from here, and, and, nobody would find us, 'cause – “

Clover smiled, then, but it wasn't a happy smile, no, not at all, and he said, “We can't. The Poneglyph is too heavy to move.”

“Forget it, then! Who cares about that rock?! What if someone finds out?! Just leave it behind!”

He let go of his arm and instead brushed a finger against his cheek, gently. “I cannot explain it to you. But, you see...it's our All Blue.”

Synnøve stayed away from the library for a few days, curling up on his bed whenever he had nothing to do. He tried to sift and parse out his emotions, but they kept whirling in an ouroboros of thought so that he couldn't tell if he felt betrayed or scared or sad or empathetic. His aunt stomped around him, breathing out the names he knew well, but he couldn't care about trifling things like chores. That damn rock seemed to tower over everything else, casting any other concern into obscurity, overshadowing his friends with something too heavy for them to hold. He hated the rock for what it was doing, pushing the only people he loved to the brink of something...something that was much larger than the town, much larger than the island, even. And yet.

Synnøve cracked first, and he consoled himself with the idea that, as long as he said nothing, pretended he never even met eyes with that cursed rock, then nothing bad would ever happen.

White sails were spotted cresting the horizon, though he wasn't there to see it. The entire house needed to be scrubbed, the laundry put out, the comforters beaten, the fireplace cleaned, on and on and on, until he took a break just to get some feeling back in his arms besides 'throbbing ache' and, only then did he notice the crescendo of conversation outside.

The doorknob refused to turn at his pathetic pawing, so he scooted a chair to one of the windows and peeped out above the crowd of heads.

There, among the sea of hair, was a marching, bobbing line of marine-white hats.

He scrabbled at the door a little harder, too long, much too long, until with a final, painful wrench, he managed to stumble out and into the back of the crowd. The adult he ran into turned to tell him off, but he quickly asked, “What's going on?”

The novelty of the event was enough to overturn his pariah state and so he was told, “The marines are here...”

The forest of legs surrounding him shifted slightly, circling around the other adult. “They just said the scholars are criminals, right? I wasn't hearing things?”

“It's unbelievable, isn't it?” he heard someone say, as blasé as talking of disappointing weather. He couldn't see the marines anymore. They were going to the library. They were going to…

The thoughts in his head got drowned out by the pounding of his feet, or his heart, or something. Think, think.

The library loomed above the center of the island. All roads led to it. Straight lines. But he ran, as though if he tried hard enough, he could just make a shortcut, warp space around him so he could beat the marines, please beat the marines, if there was one thing in life he deserved (though maybe he had never deserved anything to begin with, and didn't that make sense?), if he was allowed one bit of selfishness –

The library was being emptied of scholars when he arrived, with marines lined up all around, gesturing with guns and faces infuriatingly unsympathetic. The scholars stood as straight as the military and looked much more stately even without a uniform, but that soon changed when he burst into the clearing with burning lungs and a hotter disappointment.

“Synnøve!” Clover roared, striding forward despite the situation. A marine snapped a gun in his direction and he was aware enough to stop, but he shouldn't have to, there shouldn't even be guns pointing at him, threatening with high-speed lead.

A marine approached. “Hey, little girl, you shouldn't be here. Why don't you go find your parents on the refugee – “

He punched the piece of shit straight in the bits, dodging around his collapsing form and running for the scholars again; but in the end, even if he had years of fighting and kicking and biting behind him, they were adults. Adults that could pick him up easily, pin his arms, push him against the ground, until he was just an ineffectual, weak child and all he could do was just scream.

“Now gentleman,” slithered a voice from the library door. “Is this the way the world's heroes ought to treat children?”

“Sir, she's intent on attacking us.”

“Are you saying you can't even deal with a child?”

“Sir, please, I suggest you don't approach – “

A face slid into view. There was a man, not in uniform but in a black suit, and somehow he was just immediately detestable in a way that couldn't be explained. It wasn't just his hair or his sneer or his voice, but something in his very essence that felt repulsive. It all focused on Synnøve, and he said, “You ought to be a good girl and – “

Synnøve's teeth sank into his leg.

The next second, his head rang with the rebounding of his brain in his skull. It took him a little while to realize that he tasted blood. Around him, sounds blazed about, wavering in and out of his comprehension.

“Sir!”

“What?! You saw...! What...supposed to do?! Damn kid...hm…?”

A dark shape shadowed his view.

“Hang on...this kid...one of...asked about someone like her, right? ...weird eyebrows can't be a coincidence...”

“Yes, Chief Spandine. ...the description of...girl, unique eyebrows...”

He seemed to black out. Or at least, he stopped listening to the words. There was the sensation of being picked up, too fast, his head spun anew and he might have moaned.

The familiar sounds of Clover's voice...still so authoritative, even now, though what he was lecturing on was lost.

And then, two words that were chillingly ominous enough to stir his brain to something similar to consciousness:

“Buster Call.”

He looked around. He was on another suited man's shoulder, nose pressed against his back. There was a flickering light that made him nauseous. He looked to the left.

Oh. The library was on fire.

The tree seemed to writhe in the flames, shaking out debris that he realized were books. The scholars were in there, tossing tomes out into the lake below, saving what they could. The scholars were also still standing outside. He heard them there, felt their stares boring into – well, not him, but the one holding him.

“Where are you taking her,” Clover said, his voice the lowest and darkest he had ever heard.

The despicable man waved dismissively. “Just join your friends in the fire, gramps. She'll be alive, better off than you. You should be glad. She'll be with her father.”

He could hear the shuddering in Clover's voice when he replied, “She was not left here just to go back! If you're a father, then – “

“Then what? I should leave her here on a doomed island?”

An explosion rocked the ground and rained dirt and bits of tree on them, as though trying to back up the despicable man. The person carrying Synnøve stumbled and it was like something in his brain flipped a switch – this was his chance, this was his chance – to do what? But he was already pushing with his hands, wriggling his legs, until he just slid out of the grasp and rolled on the ground.

He shook his head. Stopped, when the world spun again. He heard, “Shit! Pick her up and let's go, before the damn Buster Call kills us!”

“No!”

And then:

A gunshot.

He whirled around. His eyes blurred from the sudden movement and from the excess of smoke, but he could still see Clover, see him reel back, see a hole in him that shouldn't be there.

But he didn't fall. He took a steadying step, and then, with a speed that surprised everybody, tackled the man closest to Synnøve.

Everybody seemed to pause to understand this turn of events, even the man who was currently being grappled, but then everything started again, much too soon. Marines started raising their guns, but hesitated to shoot at risk of friendly fire. The detestable man growled with rage and started to shout incomprehensible orders. Other men advanced on Clover, and on him.

“Synnøve, run,” Clover said, sounding not like a professor, and he stared up, not ready to figure out what he was feeling but tearing up anyways, and he could only stand there, even when there was someone else approaching, to hurt Clover, to take him.

There was another blur, frantic firing of guns, and suddenly more of the suited men were met by bodies made immovable despite their lack of physical training. “Synnøve, run!” a scholar repeated. “Run, already! Get off the island any way you can!”

All around, scholars wrestled with marine rifles. Charged forward with nothing but their own bodies and determination. Blood was starting to pool in places on the ground, and Synnøve watched, his breathing getting harder even before he turned and ran, ran faster than ever, and in the end, it wasn't because he was obeying his only family, it was because he was afraid of what he would eventually see.

He felt something rotting inside, eating its way out, but kept running, long past the voices that bellowed behind him. Every time the earth shook with a not-so-distant explosion, his heart leapt into his throat – but he didn't, couldn't, stumble. Just keep running. Don't think about what's behind, don't think about what's coming from above, don't,

The shore.

The refugee ship already left it. He stood there, gulping down air that was starting to get tainted with ash, watched it go. Felt something welling up in his chest again, let it out in the form of a wet cough –

The ship fell apart like the island it left behind.

Bits of sail and wood plopped into the sea. It had been so completely and thoroughly blasted that Synnøve couldn't even see bodies, just an object that couldn't be identified anymore. Nothing big enough to be called flotsam, nothing usable left, nothing that would wash up on a distant shore and hint at a larger story. It simply added to the building smoke in the air.

Navy warships surrounded the island, so unbelievably huge, almost as big as the library, and he could clearly see the World Government's mark on the sails, the flags. The cross that represented the world, the entity that tied all the oceans together under one rule.

He turned back. Ran further into the forest, dodging falling branches as much as he could, scratching his arms against foliage. He started feeling a stabbing pain up his feet – oh, yes, he forgot his shoes. Just one of many things he was leaving behind today, wasn't he.

His feet led the way to a lump hidden under a shoddy camouflage, which he tore off to reveal an equally shoddy boat. A project built off of a daydream that had grown to involve other people – and yet here he was, alone.

The boat, or maybe it was more accurate to call it a raft, didn't sink, which was the most he could hope for. He waded out after it in the choppy water, crawled on, and started to paddle.

He wasn't sure what direction he was supposed to go in. Just 'away.' And he could do nothing but stare at the place where he was getting away from, because rowing required him to, and he took in the red sky, the uninhabitable island, the occasional barrage of the lingering attack. The water seemed to flicker as harshly as the fire. He kept thinking he saw people down below the waves, grasping, staring, before sinking down, down…

His escape wasn't quite so fast-paced anymore, and so his brain was forced to slow, had the ability to reflect, play back what had just happened, as much as he didn't want it to. His ribs seemed to collapse and he stopped to curl up and try to control his breathing. He coughed instead. His eyelids couldn't keep out the light of the wreckage. He still heard the booming of something he wished he could pretend was just thunder. His amateur raft kept bobbing, reminding him just where he was.

They should've gone with him. They should've listened, left this island behind long ago, with him, gone to a place where something like this…

The act of blaming them made him feel even sicker.

If only. If only they could have been untouchable. Some place out of reach from the World Government, from laws that, that just…did things like this.

All Blue...an undiscovered sea. Not on maps. Not on flags, or sails, or anything. There couldn't be any freer place.

If only...we had…

The mustached man had a ridiculous hat that clearly indicated him as the boss of this place. He had eyes with too many wrinkles, a face that sagged in ways that seemed something more than just age. Those eyes were scrutinizing him now, up and down. They didn't need to cover that much distance.

“This ain't a place for brats. Go home, kid.”

He stood there and scrutinized right back, down and up, up, up. He had gotten used to the lightness of his hair now, the way the back of his neck was now exposed. There was nothing he could do about the eyebrows. “I've been cooking all my life.”

“All three years?”

He kept staring, refusing to answer. The chef with the ridiculous hat eyed him some more, rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I'm not running a house for snotty runaways here. This is a business. I employ adults. With skill.”

Well, the old man was right. He was a runaway. He had just ran away from a merchant ship. But he wasn't here to list his bloodied tracks that led him here.

“People liked my cooking,” he maintained. “You should let me try before kicking me out. I'll be your best chef.”

At this, the man could help but bark out a laugh, something too harsh to be amused. Disbelief, perhaps. “You don't even have your pubic hair and you think you're better than my men?”

He didn't know what pubic hair was, but he tried to look affronted anyways.

“You're only staying until your parents – “

“Have none.”

“ – whoever, grabs you and dump you back on the ship you came from – “

“Snuck on the ship.” He grinned, then, teeth crooked and snaggled from years of fist fights and from that one night. “Nobody's here that'll miss me. Nobody's gonna come pick me up. You're stuck with me, old shit.”

“I'm calling the marines.”

“What, no – “

He slapped his hands over his mouth but wasn't fast enough to beat the speed of sound. The old shit swiveled back around on his peg leg, eyebrows touching each other, and he looked him up and down again. What now? Did he think he was a criminal? Was he thinking of the best way to restrain him until a Navy ship could come? They couldn't have much more than ropes or something, easy stuff to get out of if he got caught, not that he was going to, his legs were already braced and he was a much better runner than when – than before. There were patrons, though, he could get easily surrounded, and there was nothing but sea around, no good escape route and why did he think this was a good idea, so stupid –

“You any good at being a waiter?”

His brain skidded to a halt, but he had learned to be enough of a liar to nod and say, “Yeah, 'course.” His legs kept themselves braced. What's his angle? Was this just a distraction, to lure him in and keep him here willingly while he went around back and called the marines? But that was too obvious wasn't it, unless he knew it was too obvious, and was counting in him to think it was too obvious –

“My men are good cooks, but they're shit at being hospitable. You're gonna have to seat customers, take orders and deliver their food, pretend that you don't hate their guts. Unless they're too uppity. Then you can call someone to beat the shit outta them and toss them out.”

He blinked, his mind derailing again. “Uh. Yeah. I'm good at pretending.”

The man nodded, though what could he be approving? He gestured to follow him around back, but stopped and turned his head, remembering something.

“What's your name?”

His mind whirred, spinning through aliases he had already used and discarding them, eyes glancing around for any bolt of information – tables; patrons; food; fish; sea; clock –

“Sanji,” he decided.

Chapter Text

Sanji looked down at the grubby sheet of paper. Looked up at Luffy’s eager face. Back down.

“I can’t read this.”

“Huh? Really?” Luffy snatched the paper back, squinted at it, turned it over. “I think it’s upside-down.”

“You think.”

“Sanji, you gotta cook it, it was so good, and the guy told me the recipe and I wrote it down so I could give it to you so you could cook it and you gotta!”

“Yeah, I wanna eat it too!” Usopp chimed in.

“Me too, me too,” Chopper said as well, and the childish triad was complete.

Sanji sighed. Ran a hand down his face. Turned the paper at all angles. “Luffy, I never thought I’d say this, but there’s something worse than your art. It’s your handwriting.”

“Nuh-uh,” Luffy shot back, stretching over to peer at the paper again, but all he could do was frown. “I can’t read this.”

Usopp took it and sucked his breath in, as if he had seen a corpse. “Uh. Luffy…is there any chance that maybe you…remember anything about the recipe…?”

“It was round! And chewy, and warm and, and, there was something in it and it was delicious!”

Chopper took the paper from Usopp and squinted at it. “Umm…I think I can figure this out,” he said, like he was a master decoder or something. “I used to read Dr. Hiruluk’s writing, and it’s kinda like this.”

It took an hour of Chopper sweating over a new sheet of paper, looking back and forth, scribbling something down and then scratching it out, writing and rewriting. When he was finally done, eyes blinking from overuse, he had words lined up straight, letters looping into each other, instructions clearly numbered.

Sanji squinted at this one and felt really bad, but said, “I can’t read this.”

“Eh?” Chopper exclaimed and took his paper back in his hooves (which might have been part of the problem, but Sanji didn’t have the heart to say this), skimmed through his loopy, quick writing, writing that was usually found on prescriptions rather than recipes. He looked up.

“I…can’t read this either.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, asshole.”

Usopp looked up and glanced at Franky. Franky glanced at Usopp and Zoro. Zoro was already standing up, but paused, looking at Franky. Chopper looked all around and nudged Brook awake. Luffy very carefully looked at nothing at all.

Sanji coughed and clarified, “Usopp,” allowing Zoro to plop back down and Brook to go back to sleep. Luffy laughed as loud as he ever did and belted out a long, low, “Ooooooooooooooooh! Someone's in troublllleee~”

“Luffy, I already know you snuck a slice of the roast. You're not eating until everybody else is done.”

The resulting emotional dramatics were cut off by the closing of the dining room door, and Usopp found himself alone with a temperamental man who happened to be good with a knife, and also was in the presence of many knives. That very man was, in fact, already moving into the kitchen, like he was a magnet, which were known for attracting metal, and, by the way, knives were usually made of metal, and even if Sanji made a point (which knives had) to not use knives except for cooking-related purposes, he was, as mentioned, very temperamental and also, technically, Usopp was made of meat.

Before Sanji could say anything, Usopp blurted out, “Whatever it is, I didn't do it!”

Usopp didn't get attacked by knives. Only by a very sour look. “Don't be an idiot and get over here.” Usopp obeyed, if only to not be an idiot.

The kitchen wasn't bustling with noise. It had been, judging by the way pots and pans were currently arranged on the counters and the way food was carefully placed on the table (minus one slice of roast), but the past didn't fill the current silence and it felt a little disconcerting.

It seemed like Sanji wasn't in one of those angry moods and so Usopp relaxed. “So, uh...d'ya need me for something?”

Sanji uncovered a pot that was still on the stove. The kitchen smelled of soft ribs, melting off the bone. Usopp breathed in a whole mouthful, getting a taste of future satisfaction, but Sanji simply pointed. “You know why you put salt in soup?”

If Usopp was feeling cheeky, he probably would have made some jab about being concerned that a professional chef was asking him, but instead he was just feeling off-guard and hungry, so he stuttered and said, “What? Um. Flavor, right?”

“Yeah. But when do you put salt in soup?”

“What's with the quiz all of a sudden?” Usopp shot back, but Sanji crossed his arms and stared until he was forced to mumble, “I dunno, I never thought there was a when or anything…”

Sanji stayed silent, but when Usopp didn't come up with any other answer, he said, “You don't put salt in soup until the very end, right when it's being served. If you put it in while it's cooking, then the water evaporates, and then the whole soup-salt ratio is all fucked and you have a salty-ass soup. For this pot, I like putting in two scoops of salt,” he added, and Usopp felt that he was supposed to be watching him grab the tin of salt and measure it out, but he was watching Sanji instead. The only thing Sanji did was heft the pot of soup over to the table and then shout out the door that dinner was ready, and after that, it was like he had never called Usopp in at all.

“How do you prepare meat?”

Usopp was in the kitchen again, and he wasn't sure why. This time, it was before Sanji started cooking dinner. He was moving ingredients around, oiling up one thing or another. Rather than sit on the other side of the counter, Usopp found that he had to actually follow Sanji around, which was a little nerve-wracking, because every once in a while Sanji would just suddenly turn around to grab something and there had already been a few near collisions with sharp objects and red-hot woks. Usopp pressed himself against the fridge, the only safe spot, and shouted above sizzling vegetables. “Well…you gotta defrost it first, and then you season it?”

Sanji beamed at him briefly, or maybe that was a trick of the smoke. “How long to defrost?”

“Hours?” Usopp guessed.

“You estimate half an hour per pound. But you can speed things up by putting it in hot water. That's really the only way I can deal with Luffy's huge-ass stomach without leaving shit out overnight. You don't cook meat from frozen, because it'll take longer for the temperature on the inside to get high enough and by then, the outside'll be overcooked to hell. Not that the shitty rubber band'll mind, but it'll be inedible for normal people. When do you season it?”

“Look, Sanji...why're we doing this?” He didn't mean to sound impatient, but he probably did anyways. “Not that this isn't interesting or anything! But,” Usopp added, only that sounded even more impatient and so he stopped there.

Sanji looked over, his eyes shining dull. He opened his mouth. Chewed on his lip instead. “Just in case,” he finally answered.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

But Sanji said, “Season meat before you cook it, but not too early. The salt'll dry up all the juices...”

Steam rice for about an hour. Don't leave it in, unless you want dry rice. Wash it before you steam it. If you’re frying leftover rice, pour some water over it to soften it up. Make sure the meat isn’t raw before serving it. Check the middle. You use this knife for meat. This knife for fish. This one for the rest. Curl your fingers like this so you don’t cut them off. Don’t chop the knife up and down for these vegetables – rock it on its wedge back and forth. Tomatoes: cut them in half, then lay them on the flat edge and cut them in wedges. Don’t try balancing them on their round edge. Same for anything else round. This is how you hold a spatula. Not like a dagger, like a spatula. This is how you flip a pancake. This is how you turn a fish.

On and on and on and on. Over and over until it started to leak out of his head and finally Usopp threw down a spatula (very carefully) and said, “If you don’t tell me what this is all about, then I’m not gonna put up with this anymore. I’ve got stuff to do, and you don’t even need my help or anything! I think I at least deserve a reason before I let you just drag me all over the place.”

Usopp crossed his arms. Sanji glared at him, but he stood his ground, even as his nose started to falter a little. It took some time for Sanji to even answer, like he was seriously considering the pros and cons of just dropping Usopp in favor for dragging someone else in the kitchen and starting over, but both of them knew that there had never really been any other option in the first place, whether because everybody else was a culinary hazard or because he was an idiot about women; that was why Sanji had gone to Usopp first, after all, and Usopp knew that Sanji knew that Usopp knew, so there was no use trying to bluff Usopp back into cooking by pretending he did have other options, so Usopp pressed his advantage by raising his nose up like he was looking down at Sanji, even if Sanji was slightly taller than him. But it was the look that counts.

Sanji ran his fingers through his hair and then down his face, sighed like the whole process was painful to him. “Don’t make a big deal out of this, okay?” he finally said, before switching the stove off and leaning heavily against the counter on one arm. The other was, of course, slipping a cigarette into his mouth. Usopp waited as Sanji tap-tap-tapped out some sort of pattern with his nails and sighed harder. “It’s just...so...lately I’ve been...thinkin’ ‘bout...”

He might have actually said something more under all that smoke he was spewing out, maybe? “Uh, could you repeat that?”

Sanji snorted, hard, and spat out, “I’ve been thinking about what if I die in my sleep, alright? And, and it’s kinda freaking me out, but I just can’t stop thinking about it, so I figure, why not prepare for it? And here we are.” He waved his cigarette around with a flourish, before unwisely using the same hand to sift through his hair again. “So that, if it does happen. At least you still got someone who can handle the kitchen. That’s it.”

Dying in his sleep. Usopp had never quite thought about that before, but his imagination was eager enough to make up for lost time, not that there was actually anything to imagine, just going to sleep and...never waking up. Just stopping, and not even being aware of it. And then non-existence.

To be honest, it wasn’t necessarily a bad death, comparatively speaking. Not that there was a good death, by any definition, but it was probably a painless one. Still, thinking about it would be enough to keep you awake at night, probably. And speaking of which, Usopp was pretty sure that the usual bags under Sanji’s eyes had actually been deeper than they were before. And he wanted to say, ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’ or ‘Do you feel bad? Are you sick?’ or something, but Sanji didn’t want him to make a big deal out of this, and saying those things would probably be making a big deal out of it, or at the very least a middling deal, a great deal maybe, so Usopp tried to think of other things to say. Conversational things. You know, like mortality was a normal thing to talk about on a regular basis. Sanji was staring at him now, mouth pressed thin, waiting.

“...If it weren’t for the cigarettes, you probably wouldn’t have to worry,” he offered.

Sanji was still staring, but differently. “What.”

“I, I was, I mean, you eat pretty healthy, so it’s just, like, health-wise...”

“I told you to not make a big deal out of it, not be a fucking asshole,” Sanji said, but he was scoffing like he actually wanted to laugh and was holding it in to look all business-like. He solved that problem by sticking the cigarette back in his mouth, which just goes to show how much he thought of Usopp’s advice. “Anyways. Now you know. We gonna cook now?”

Usopp looked away for a moment, fidgeted with his fingers. “But, doing this...doesn’t actually, fix it?” he said like a question, and Sanji went rigid so maybe this counted as making a big deal out of it, but it seemed important to continue. “I mean, you still think about it. Right? You’re thinking, as long as you’re sure that we have...a backup, then you don’t have to worry about what would happen after. But. That doesn’t stop you from. Being afraid of the thing itself. So when you think about it, you still feel bad.”

Sanji’s fingers tightened around the cig, and maybe he was about to lash out, maybe Usopp went too far, but instead of kicking Usopp into oblivion for the sin he committed, Sanji just stared at some cabinets and gritted out, “It’s fine if I die as long as everyone’s okay.”

At that, Usopp grabbed Sanji’s arm, and Sanji looked surprised at that, and Usopp was surprised too because it just kinda happened and now he was just holding Sanji’s arm like an idiot, but he kept holding it anyways because sometimes you had to commit to your actions, and he squeezed it a little and said, “Nobody will be okay if you die.”

And that was probably enough of that. Usopp let go and coughed. “Anyways, you’re changing the subject, ‘cause I was talking about you feeling bad, not us, and I know how it feels to be afraid almost all the time, it’s not great. So you should actually do things that will make you not feel bad.”

“And that’s why I’m doing this, shithead. I said that when I was answering the question you asked, in case you forgot,” he said. It might have been a pointed statement in other circumstances, but for this one, it mostly sounded resigned. Like Sanji was just accepting that this therapy session was happening but he was tired of it already.

“Sanji,” Usopp said, trying to be patient and succeeding rather well, considering the topic at hand, “you’re thinking that if you make sure nothing bad happens after you die, then you won’t feel bad about dying, but have you considered. That maybe. You should work on figuring out how to...not think that you might die in your sleep?”

That swirly brow furrowed, like Usopp had just repeated himself. Usopp rested a gentle hand on his shoulder and started screaming on the inside because how dense can one person be, holy shit, what a goddamn idiot.

“I’m saying. Instead of thinking about us. You should probably. Think about you.”

Sanji looked scandalized. “What about me,” he said suspiciously, like Usopp was pranking him with one of those fake snake cans or something.

“I know that this might be a hard concept to grasp. But maybe. Instead of trying to accommodate us in case you die. Maybe. You could think about. How we. Could accommodate you. So you can sleep easier. And not worry about dying in your sleep.” You buffoon.

Sanji held in a breath and glanced around, looking a bit lost. It was a bit funny and a bit pitiful, but mostly frustrating, and so Usopp took his arm and started to lead him to the table. “Let’s just sit and brainstorm, okay? What would make you stop thinking about this?”

“Probably working until I pass out,” Sanji drawled, but at least it was a joke and not a serious suggestion. Hopefully.

“We could hook you up to a heart monitor, so we could tell if something happened.”

“Are you an idiot?” Sanji said after a slow, long look, and wasn’t that unfair because who was the idiot who didn’t know how to take care of himself?

Usopp bristled and said, “I’m just tossing out suggestions.”

“Toss out better ones.”

Well. At least he was open to suggestions. Or at least playing along. This could be going a lot worse. Usopp hummed. “What if we have someone watching you sleep?”

“That’s creepy.” Sanji sighed, crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair. “Look. Maybe forget the whole surveillance thing. I’m still gonna think about shit, and that’s what keeps me up. So.” He shrugged, like that was the end of the sentence.

So he needed a distraction. But something that wouldn’t just keep him awake anyways. Distractions, distractions…

There were times when Usopp needed distractions from thoughts that traveled down dark, thorny paths. That’s when he would start a story, something heroic, something about himself, something that made the dark, thorny paths look traversable. But sometimes the solution wasn’t a story. Sometimes he just needed to stop thinking, because his own thoughts were treacherous and wouldn’t stop circling around and around. Those times, he just wanted to hold someone, let the sensation of physical touch fill his mind and push everything else out, know that there was a person with him who just somehow could magically make the thoughts go away. And even when he had nobody to cling to, there were other ways to fulfill that craving for something physical to hold.

“A stuffed animal. Or a body pillow,” Usopp said, and when Sanji gave him a skeptical frown, he added, “I mean, when I was alone, I always liked having something to, uh, hug. I dunno, it always made me stop thinking about things. So maybe it’ll work for you too?”

Sanji looked at him flatly. “And have the guys make fun of me.”

Of course. Of course he would be difficult, just outright reject a solid idea just because of some stupid image thing. “Nobody’s gonna make fun of you! Except for Zoro, maybe, but you guys fight, all the time, so that’s nothing new!” But oh boy was that the wrong thing to say, because just mentioning Zoro made Sanji’s teeth grind, probably as he was imagining whatever insult Zoro would think up.

“I’m not gonna drag some shitty toy into bed, where everybody’s gonna see.”

Usopp threw up his hands and got out of the chair because life was just a whirlwind of pain and he was just trying to help. “Well! If you’re worried about, like, physical evidence, then your only option’s to go snuggle someone after everybody’s asleep!”

There was an entirely too loud bark of a laugh, and Sanji almost fell off his chair when he scooted it back too fast. “In bed! With one of you? Fucking really.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you hate men, whatever! I mean, I get that my other suggestions were kinda out there, I was just spitballing, alright? But this one you could at least try, instead of being picky just because you don’t wanna look like an idiot, which, we already know you’re an idiot, it’s nothing new! Unless you actually like your own misery, and that would really not surprise me at all! And if that’s the case, then just tell me right now so we could stop wasting time on this!”

It slowly dawned on Usopp, in the next few seconds as he caught his breath, that he said a lot of things that were exceedingly likely to get him kicked and probably buried in the ground. And this was bad, because Sanji was staring at him, mouth shut tight, very still, and he couldn’t exactly read his expression but considering this was Sanji, it was likely some flavor of pissed off, and maybe if he ran now he could make it to the door and hide behind some allies, but then Luffy crashed the door open and belted out “Sanjiiii, when’s food!” and Sanji suddenly had a very different look on his face as he fluidly leapt out of his chair and back into the kitchen, shouting, “Fuck, I didn’t finish making dinner!” and in all the clamor and confusion, Usopp decided that this was a perfect time to make himself scarce and possibly never look at Sanji again unless in company of someone else who was a higher priority on his Kick List, like Zoro.

Dinner was uneventful. Or, considering everybody’s propensity to make every meal a party, the correct phrasing might be, dinner was full of the same events. Sanji only looked at Usopp once, and that seemed to mostly make sure that he hadn’t told anybody about his messed up death thoughts. Which he didn’t, because he wasn’t a jerk, because this really should be a thing for Sanji to tell, because Usopp didn’t want his ass kicked.

Sanji didn’t approach him after dinner, nothing about going somewhere to talk over things more, or maybe apologizing, or maybe even acknowledging that maybe Usopp had given a legitimate idea that he should try out because his own health was more important than whatever pretenses he shrouded himself in just to look cool. But no, nothing, and soon enough it was time for bed, and Zoro went off for the first shift of watch and everybody else filed into their respective rooms, and Usopp found himself staring at Sanji across the way, just to see how much trouble, exactly, he was having. But it was too hard to tell, with his stupid bangs in the way. He was lying on his back, face looking straight up, and maybe that meant he was awake and maybe that was just his sleeping pose. It wasn’t like Usopp ever made a habit of studying how everybody slept. And in any case, he was drowsy and if Sanji wasn’t going to move, then he might as well just doze off.

Usopp’s consciousness skipped a beat. His eyes were still closed, but he was starting to be aware of something happening. His bunk shifting a little. A shadow above him. Sanji very carefully trying to get in his bed.

Sanji was trying to get in his bed.

This was enough for Usopp to snap his eyes fully open and he stared straight into Sanji’s face, which he seemed upset about but what else could he expect since he was trying to get in his bed, and Usopp was stuck between consternation and smugness because, hello, you could maybe give a head’s up? But also, ha!

“Move over,” Sanji whispered, like this was a regular thing he was doing, and then he climbed the rest of the way in. It was a bit of a tight fit – the bunks weren’t exactly made for two – but given both of their skinny frames, they were able to rest against each other somewhat comfortably. Sanji seemed at a loss of what to do next, so Usopp wriggled until he got Sanji’s head resting kind of on his shoulder, leaving his hand free to rest on Sanji’s side. Sanji threw his arm around Usopp and seemed like he was trying to get used to the idea that he had his arm thrown around Usopp. After a moment, he whispered, “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.”

That was the worst pillow talk that Usopp had ever experienced. And also the first. But it was far too late in the night to make a big deal out of it, and he really just wanted to go back to sleep so he just grumbled, “Keep that up and I’ll kick you out,” because both of them knew that there was really no other option. That was why Sanji always went to him first.

Sanji went silent. But Usopp could feel his breath, trying too hard to be regular, going in and out too fast, could sometimes feel his eyelashes brush against his skin. Usopp moved his hand to Sanji’s head and started tangling his fingers in his hair, muttered, “Close your eyes.” And then, “Just listen.”

He could hear his own heart beat-beating away in his head, proof that he still existed, proof that the outside world still existed, and he could feel Sanji’s breath start slowing to match the rhythm. He kept idly fiddling with Sanji’s hair, sometimes rubbing his fingers in slow circles against his skull, sometimes raking them gently across and twirling some strands around a finger. Doing whatever else he thought of, just to say that there was someone here.

Sanji’s breath evened out. Even his arm felt lighter, somehow. Usopp waited for a moment and then quietly said, “Hey.” And, getting no response, he finally allowed himself to drift off again.

Chapter Text

Pain. And an overwhelming pressure.

He was currently falling. Sinking, really, looking at the keel of a ship he would desperately like to go to. But when he tried to engage his limbs for that very purpose, his arms circled, slow, uncoordinated. Propelling him nowhere. Bubbles burst out of his mouth and he reflexively inhaled water.

Oh.

Well.

There were all sorts of things his body was telling him. That he should be worried, anxious at the least. That he should start enacting plans for his own self-preservation. But his mind said something different.

As long as everybody made it out safe, I don’t regret this.

He repeated this over and over, even as adrenaline urged his malfunctioning body upwards, even as something primal clung desperately for life. As long as everybody made it out safe, I don’t regret this. I don’t regret this. I don’t regret this. I don’t regret this…

Sanji stood on the deck of the Sunny.

The thing was, he didn’t really remember why he was standing on the deck of the Sunny. Judging by the position of the sun, this would be the time he would be making lunch. In the kitchen. Something major would have to tear him away from the stove, such as a surprise attack or a sudden storm or the end of the world. But there was none of that here; no rain, or rain of cannonballs, or rain of fire. So. He was out here...to find someone?

That didn’t sound right. That sounded extremely not right. Though the whole thing wasn’t right to begin with, just finding himself standing here. He glanced around the deck, saw Usopp sitting on the railing, hunched over a fishing pole, and strode over.

“Hey Usopp,” he said, right as his hand passed through Usopp’s shoulder. Usopp shivered, but kept his eyes on the water. Sanji flinched back.

Oh. That’s right.

He died.

And that was when Brook walked out into the sun, looked at him, and screamed.

Usopp dropped his fishing pole and almost fell after it. All around the ship came the sounds of a mad dash to where Brook was. Zoro jumped off the crow’s nest with all his swords already out. Franky barreled his way out from below deck, almost wedging his huge shoulders in every door along the way. Robin simply appeared on the second floor. Nami burst out from the dining room, and Chopper followed a second later. Luffy jumped out of the men’s quarters and swung his fists around wildly, only to find no one to punch. Usopp got solid footing on the deck again and sputtered out, “What? What? What’s going on?”

They all clustered around Brook, still tense, still glancing around for any enemy, and Sanji watched as all their eyes passed over him. And the only one with no eyes at all raised a shaking hand and pointed straight at him. Brook’s teeth chattered like hyperactive maracas as he managed to stutter, “G-g-gh – “

“Ghost?!” Usopp supplied with a squeak.

“Sanji-san,” Brook said.

They all moved into the dining room. Most everybody needed a seat anyways. But once organized, nobody seemed to know what to say. Brook, center of attention, tapped his fingers in an irregular rhythm.

It was Luffy who started. “He’s here?”

Brook glanced to the side and sucked in a breath. “Yes.”

“It’s really him?” Chopper pressed, his voice on the precipice of tears.

“It...looks very much like him. He’s...” He looks like he’s underwater, the way his hair’s fluttering in imaginary currents. He’s wearing the same clothes he wore back then. He’s right here, but he sounds so far away. “He says he’s sorry.”

After a moment, Chopper’s face broke and he started to cry. Franky collected him in a light hug, but ended up crying even louder than him, which just started a downpour indoors, where everybody was either sobbing their throats raw or were keeping deathly still and blank. None of them had looked particularly great before (red-rimmed eyes with bags that dragged under, frazzled hair and a fragile look), but now they looked worse. Physically ill, or getting there. Brook bowed his head, crossed and uncrossed his legs, waited. Then he looked to the side and mumbled, “Eight days.”

“What was that?” Luffy demanded, furiously rubbing at his face and smearing what was on there all over.

Brook jumped. “Well...he asked how long it has been since...his demise,” he finished.

“Is there something he wants? Does he need us to do something?” Robin asked, her voice terse.

“Ah, yes. Well...his final wish...”

The air went colder. Was it just the atmosphere, or was it Sanji’s presence?

“...is for you to show me your panties.”

Brook got hit by several different things at once, including a lightning bolt, some dangerous projectiles, and a lot of significant verbal abuse.

“I – I’m sorry!” Brook wailed. “The mood, it was simply so dark, I thought maybe if I lightened the air – “

“I swear to god, if this whole thing was a fucking joke,” Nami hissed, standing with her fists clenched at her side and her eyes filled with involuntary tears.

“No no no, it wasn’t, really, I – bweh!” Brook’s soul suddenly went careening away from his body, which...didn’t collapse. It stood, staring at its own soul, and if it had eyelids it might have blinked before slowly gazing down at its spindly, bony hands. “Holy fuck,” it said, and then the body crumpled to the floor.

Everybody stared at the pile of bones. Brook was preoccupied with staring at the far wall until he remembered he was currently a pile of bones, and with a polite “excuse me” he slipped back in and stood again.

Luffy laughed, loud and hard, his face glistening with leftover snot. “So Sanji’s back!” he said through a smile, though the smile was strained closed rather than open as it usually was. “Hey, maybe he can be like Brook!”

“He can’t,” Nami snapped. “His, his body’s at the bottom of the ocean. Sanji-kun, you’re an idiot and I hate you, also, if you try to peek at me or Robin – “

“Why can’t he,” Luffy whined.

“He says he would never dare,” Brook translated.

“Uh, so, wait. He just possessed you, right? That was a possession? Can he posses us?”

“He can’t because he’s at the sea floor,”

“He says he would rather not possess anyone.”

“Is he okay? Does he hurt anywhere?”

“in a place we wouldn’t be able to find, under tons and tons of pressure,”

“He doesn’t appear to be in pain...”

“and Brook’s only here because of a Devil Fruit! If everybody could be a ghost”

“I suppose we’re all living on a haunted ship now.”

“Don’t say it like that, that’s way too creepy!”

“and get back to their bodies, it’d be all over the world!”

“Hey, if he can possess stuff, maybe I can make him a super robot body!”

“That’d be awesome! Do it Sanji, do it, do it!”

“At least listen to me!”

“Ah, he said a rude word, and then no.”

“Saaaaaanji, you have to – “

Zoro slammed a palm on the table, silencing everyone. For a moment, it looked like he would flip it, but he shot to his feet instead and strode out of the room like a storm cloud.

Luffy pressed his lips together, but turned back to Brook. “If Sanji gets a robot body, then he can cook again!”

With Brook as the only real conversational partner on the ship, Sanji found himself hanging around him the most as he acclimated to his new life (death) situation.

“This one.” Sanji pointed at a drawer and Brook pulled it open, dug around near the back, and pulled out another box of cigarettes. Nobody had cleaned them out in the eight days he’d been gone, so he was cleaning them out himself. Kinda.

It looked like nobody had really been in the kitchen at all, actually. Not that anyone had been starving. It’s just that nobody had been eating anything that required cooking. Mostly sandwiches and booze, Brook explained.

It was understandable. It ached to see the kitchen so inactive, without him, even though he was actually there. Sort of.

The boxes of cigarettes were starting to look like a cityscape. “Really wish I could fucking smoke.”

“Did you perhaps have a packet in your pocket when you died?”

He dug through his pockets and came up with soggy cardboard and a lot of water. “Figures,” he groused, tossing the useless box. It faded away before it could hit the ground, which made Sanji’s stomach churn in uncomfortable ways, not that he had a stomach, and oh god he made a skull joke.

“What shall we do with them?” Brook said, gesturing to the counter.

“Doesn’t really matter to me, does it.”

“They are your possessions.” Possessions. Was he baiting him? Ignore it. Sanji rubbed at his face.

“I guess. You could just...toss ‘em. Or give ‘em away at the next island.”

“Perhaps someone would like one for a keepsake,” Brook suggested, and Sanji scoffed.

“What better keepsake of me to have than me?”

“You are a member of the crew,” Brook replied softly.

“Not really.”

Brook went silent. Sanji tried to remember if he had hid any more boxes anywhere. It would be easier if he could check himself, but.

“If you would like to smoke, you could through me, I believe.”

Sanji glanced over. “No offense, but your body really freaks the shit outta me.”

“We all made it out alive,” Brook said.

The change of topic blindsided him and in the ensuing whiplash, Sanji could only manage to say, “Yeah?”

“I just...are you really alright with the way things are?”

“If you’re asking if I’m okay with everybody being alive, then yeah,” Sanji replied snidely, because even if he was dead, his sarcasm wasn’t.

“No, nothing like that. Simply...well, the typical lore of ghosts mention that they manifest because of – “

“I don’t regret anything,” Sanji gritted out. He wasn’t staring at Brook, just at the towers of his old cigarettes. “I knew what I was getting into. I did it because I was fine with what’d happen, as long as everybody was okay. I don’t regret it.”

Brook didn’t say anything to that, and his eternal smile made it difficult to tell what he was thinking. Sanji ran his fingers through his hair and turned around. “That’s all the cigarettes, okay? Just throw them out or something,” he said, walking around the counter and moving to the door with quick strides. His hand went through the door handle, and he stared at it for a moment.

Brook was already following him. “Ah, if you want, I could,” but Sanji held his breath, or a facsimile of one, and pressed himself against the door, through it, and out.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he had expected to feel something. The smooth surface of the wood against his face. Some sort of resistance, like walking through gelatin. Maybe even something like the dispersal of his form, like smoke seeping through the cracks, rather than the unobstructed walk that it was. All he felt was the flip-flopping of his brain and the intense need to feel sick. At least Brook had the tact to not follow him out.

Luffy was sitting on the figurehead. Other than that, there was nobody out on the deck. The atmosphere was oppressively empty; Sanji suspected that this was how it had been for a while. Without Brook to confirm his own existence, he walked to the front of the ship.

Luffy shuddered when he joined him on Sunny’s head, and then whipped his head around wildly. “Sanji? That you?”

“Yeah,” he said, and then hovered a hand above his shoulder. Luffy suddenly clamped his hand at the same spot, then smiled that tight-lipped smile.

“It’s gonna be fine! You’re back, so we’re all together again, and you can still find All Blue! So stay here, okay?”

Sanji glanced back at the deck. It was probably going to be a long while before everything was fine. But the way Luffy’s voice sounded made him dearly wish that the process would be fast.

He looked up at the sky. It should be dinner soon. When he pulled away, Luffy swiveled around and said, “Huh? Where’re you?”

And how the hell was he supposed to answer that? But Luffy didn’t even have that fragment of his smile anymore and he had to do something, so he grabbed Luffy’s arm and stayed there until Luffy relaxed and said, “Okay.” And then he turned back around to his silent surveil.

Usopp would be downstairs, most likely. Sanji paced around a bit, took in a breath, and managed to sink through the floor in a very reluctant manner and got himself in the workshop below. Franky was there, holding something that looked suspiciously like a suited torso. Usopp was across the way, tapping a pencil against a pad of paper, which remained stubbornly blank. Sanji ignored the monstrosity that Franky was working on (for now) and moved to Usopp and then...uh, and then he had no idea, because honestly he didn’t think this through all the way.

Ah hell. Sanji kicked him in the leg and Usopp stiffened and looked around.

“What’s up, bro?” Franky said as Usopp continued to turn his head about.

“Uh,” he replied. “I think...um, Sanji? Sanji is maybe up. I mean, here. I think?”

C’mon Usopp, Luffy got it immediately, are you really gonna be dumber than him? Sanji stuffed his fists in his pockets and kicked him a few times in the arm. Usopp’s shoulder jerked and he started waving his hand around like he was hoping to knock a gnat out of the air. “I think...I gotta find Brook.”

Franky waved a wrench. “Alright. Let’s talk more later.”

Sanji trailed behind Usopp, skittering through closing doors, until they got back on deck and Usopp immediately turned the wrong way. “Oh my god,” Sanji said, and then furiously grabbed at Usopp’s elbow.

Usopp jumped and turned around, eyes flickering in his general direction. “Cut it out!” he hissed, then glanced around like he was worried that someone else would hear. “That’s really freaking me out, whatever it is!” Usopp stomped in the right direction, went past the kitchen, then went in the kitchen when Sanji started shaking his shoulders figuratively.

They both walked in and Sanji immediately belted out, “Unfortunately, you’re my only form of communication, so tell this shithead that he’s cooking an actual dinner and if he messes up I’m haunting him for the rest of his life!”

At the same time, Usopp said, “I can’t tell if Sanji’s here or not but I think he’s been like doing ghost things at me so can you tell him he’s bothering me a lot so he can stop doing that?”

Sanji took a swipe at his head and shouted, “I can hear you, asshole, just tell me yourself!”

“Oh my god he just did it again, I don’t know what he’s doing but it feels wrong Brook please help me.”

Brook looked up from making a fort out of Sanji’s cigarette boxes. “Oh. Usopp-san, Sanji-san is asking if you could cook dinner today, please.”

Usopp stiffened. “Uh. Dinner?”

“I need to look in the fridge to see what you got,” Sanji called, already in the kitchen, tapping his foot like it would actually make a sound.

“Yes, Usopp-san, if you don’t mind. Could you open the fridge for him?”

Eventually, Usopp circled around the counter and into the kitchen, walking like his feet had gone painfully numb. The look on his face was hard to categorize; not quite scared, not quite blank, not quite sad. Sanji looked at the fridge instead. “Okay, shit. I guess I gotta tell you the – “ he said, right as Usopp keyed in the code for the lock and opened it up.

Usopp dug through the innards unimpeded. Sanji stared. “Why does he know the code.”

“Ah, we thought it more convenient if everybody knew,” Brook said from the other side of the counter.

Usopp ducked out of the fridge. “What?”

“The code for the lock.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess he wouldn’t know that. It’s really easy to remember. And also really predictable – agh, stop that! I’m holding eggs!”

“We didn’t give it to Luffy-san, by the way.”

“Yeah,” Usopp said, examining a pound of pork and letting it slam onto the counter. “Some things never change.”

There was a weight to that cliché that Sanji subtly ignored. He studied the stock instead. “We’ll do something quick and easy. It’s already late as it is. Tomato and egg soup...better use these eggplants before they go bad...we can get away with defrosting this scup in warm water...Brook, start writing this down for him.”

Sanji had scribbled down recipes before, stuffed them in drawers and books and sometimes absently in his pockets. For some reason, as organized as he was, he just couldn’t seem to be anything but disorganized when it came to recipes. So it would be much faster to write a new one than even attempt to find the relevant scrap of paper that might not even exist.

Brook handed over the transcribed recipes and Usopp started to boil a pot of water. He skimmed the page. Squinted. “Is this really all he said?”

“There were some elisions I made, as certain vocabulary didn’t seem to pertain to cooking.”

“Right. So he said, ‘put sesame oil on fish.’”

“Indeed.”

“How...much sesame oil.”

“He says the amount that looks right.”

“This is the most unhelpful thing I – stop that!”

Dinner stuttered to completion, between Usopp’s varying competence and Sanji’s unseen supervision, and so Usopp opened the door and announced it.

The word bounced off into the void of silence, answered by too-tepid air, and then Luffy jumped off the figurehead and bellowed, “DINNER!!!” before zooming straight inside. Some things really never changed.

The others trickled in with uncertain steps and faces; seeing the table all set up was a shock, the cooked dishes a delusion, but there it was and here they were and Luffy was already eating so they all took their seats.

Sanji watched them all take a bite and then. Stop. He glanced at Usopp. Did he make a mistake? But Sanji had been watching and insisted that he taste it before serving, and even if the technique was amateurish the result appeared to be fine, but if that was the case, then why, but then Franky let out a clipped, amazed laugh and continued eating, prompting the others to dig in.

Nami looked around and set her eyes on Usopp. “This was made by...”

“Me, kinda. With, help?”

Luffy was already on thirds. “It’s sooooo good! Thanks Sanji!”

“Thanks Sanji!” Chopper echoed, slurping down his soup. Nami flinched at the name. Zoro made a derisive snort, chewing slowly.

All in all, it was a quiet affair, something much too bizarre on this ship. At least they were eating, and eating together. And yet.

Zoro set his fork down. “We need a new cook.”

It was like the world stopped. Except Luffy was still stuffing his face even as he stared back at Zoro. “Why? Sanji’s back.”

Zoro was leaning back in his chair, but his squared shoulders still made him look like business instead of a slouch. His brow was darker than usual. The way his jaw was set looked like he had had this conversation before.

“Whether the idiot’s back or not doesn’t mean a thing. We need a new cook.”

“Well if you don’t like the food, then I’ll help myself~”

Before Luffy’s hand could reach his plate, Zoro stood up and threw his arm to the side, sending the plate flying into the wall, where it shattered, exploded, really, and Usopp yelped and ducked. The food it carried did nothing so dramatic and slid its way down. Zoro slammed both hands on the table. “Dammit Luffy, you know we can’t stay like this! If you’re in mourning, fine! I don’t care! But you do your job!”

Luffy looked carefully at the remains of Zoro’s dinner, then turned his gaze back to Zoro himself. He was still chewing.

After a moment, Zoro stalked his way to the door and slammed it open so hard that it rebounded and he had to slam it again so it didn’t hit him in the face. Luffy only stared after. When the door closed again, Sanji let his figurative breath out. It sounded like everybody else did too.

“I can clean it up,” Robin said, scooting the chair back gently and moving for the mess even as uneven arms already started the job.

“Usopp’s closer,” Sanji muttered, but it looked like Usopp was still in the process of ducking and unlikely to resurface any time soon. And it wasn’t like anybody could hear.

Luffy ate the discarded food, because of course he did, and Chopper looked like he wanted to leave but quietly offered to do the dishes, soon joined by Usopp. Nami leaned back in her chair and covered her face with her hands, then stood and moved towards Luffy. “Look,” she started, but Luffy pulled his brim down and marched outside. She hesitated, then followed after, fists clenched and voice going louder, until the two were muffled sounds in the distance. Franky hung around pretending to be engrossed in Brook’s cigarette fort. He took a box and set it down again. Brook stayed seated by Sanji.

It felt like the whole world was moving around him while he stayed still. Which was perhaps true, in a sense, but that truth wasn’t the same thing as this feeling, and he wanted a table to lean on or a wall to lean against but there was nothing for him here, nothing but people walking by and if he was lucky he would get a glance, or rather, they would glance in his general direction. How long was this supposed to go on? How long could he even keep this up?

“You need a new cook,” said Sanji. Brook stared straight ahead.

Something like panic clutched at Sanji’s heart. “Don’t ignore me.”

“Yes...I’m sorry,” Brook whispered. Franky and Robin turned to look at him, then turned away again. Sanji paced, but it just seemed fruitless when nobody could see. He sat in a corner and watched as everybody worked. Left. Brook was the last one out. He paused as he stood, said out loud, “I will have to retire to bed now, Sanji-san. I shall be up at five, as usual. Would you like to go outside?”

He was holding open the door. And it was stupid, because walls didn’t mean anything anymore, but his one sanctuary was starting to feel like a coffin, something he couldn’t escape, and so he jumped to his feet and hurried onto the deck.

“Good night,” Brook said before he disappeared into the men’s quarters.

Nights had never been this long.

Sanji stared at the stars. They didn’t move much. He walked up and down stairs, wondering how was it that he could stand just fine without sinking through the floor. Maybe it was just a thing. He walked all around, staring at doors, ladders, windows, until he finally found himself back at the mast looking up at the crow’s nest and figured, what the heck. He oughta learn how to fly.

Learn was a strong word, though. It was more like, he decided to stop thinking that he still had to follow the rules of physics like a human being. It came natural after that. He just. Took a step up, and now he was in the air. He didn’t really know how ghosts actually propelled themselves around; swimming motions worked, but it also felt really stupid, but at least nobody could actually see him or anything, just him and his own judgmental mind.

Sanji raised a hand to push against the hatch, another useless gesture. His head peeked through the floor of the crow’s nest and there was the marimo, staring out to sea. It was first watch. It was still first watch. He felt like hours had passed, roaming around, but first watch hadn’t even ended, and nights had never been as long as this.

Sanji got all the way in and stared at the seats, wondering if he could approximate a sitting position without falling through. Out of the corner of his eye, Zoro bristled and looked around.

“Cook,” he said, though he couldn’t have expected an answer. The silence seemed to have satisfied him, though, because he sank back into his seat.

He wasn’t pumping weights, or doing push-ups, or whatever else he did to make his body burn with muscles. Just sat there. Sighed through his nose.

“If you really had to die, at least have the decency to stay dead.”

“Well fuck you too,” Sanji said, because when it came to Zoro, he always forgot how to say sorry.

It seemed like that was all he had to say. Sanji gingerly touched a cushion, passed through it as expected. Stepped on it instead and stood, then carefully curled up so that he sat like a child in time-out or something.

“It was nice, though,” Zoro spoke to the window, looking nowhere in particular, “eating your food again. Even if you didn’t cook it.”

The sudden burst of inaggressive honesty almost made Sanji fall right out of the room. Nice? Nice??? An unprecedented word, from the lips of a meaty mossball who shouldn’t have even known the meaning of nice. His only defense was more insincere sarcasm. “Was it nice when you threw it against the wall like a goddamn animal?”

Zoro scratched at his head with an annoyed hum. “You’re probably complaining about me knocking it off the table. Whatever. Bet it didn’t go to waste.”

“The plate did,” Sanji shot back, because even if Zoro’s accurate prediction surprised him, bickering was just a habit at this point, an addiction that survived the process of death, unlike his other one.

Zoro didn’t really say anything for a long time. “I can’t really do anything about the plate.”

“Asshole. You suck the fun out of not being able to hear what I say.” Sanji was looking in the opposite direction now, across the sea to the horizon. They probably looked like a reversed image. Synchronized opposites. Some things never changed.

There was apparently nothing else to say. Zoro alternatively sighed and scratched at some body part or another. Stretched his legs out. Just lounged around. It was boring company but company nonetheless.

“I’m gonna have to leave the crew over this,” he sounded out to the empty air. His tone was tired. Like this was his job. “I don’t know if I can.”

“If you leave just because of me, I’ll kick your ass.” Even though he understood. Both statements spread themselves in front of him, logical and ugly.

Zoro didn’t say anything else after that.

The night passed in this manner, someone coming up to take over the watch and sitting in silence, whether they could feel Sanji there or not. Usopp had walked towards him, stopped, and spun on his heel to another seat. Chopper had haltingly went towards him, hooves held out like he was expecting to bump into something. He managed to find his way right next to Sanji and just sat there, focusing on his own breath, like he was trying to get used to the sensation of something. Nami was almost the same. But after the initial pause, she sucked in a breath and strode straight to the seat she had been aiming for. She was always focusing on something else, anything else, the sea, her nails, the lights. She never glanced at his direction during her whole shift. Franky was the loudest. He spent his time alternatively staring out the window and scrawling something on paper, something that Sanji pointedly didn’t look at, before he just crumpled it up until it disappeared into his fists, made to throw it, rested his hands between his knees instead. “Why’m I getting so excited about this,” he muttered, and Sanji wondered if he shouldn’t be listening in, but Franky didn’t say anything other than that.

Brook greeted him when the sky was preparing for the sun, and sat down next to him without hesitation. “How are you?”

“I’m dead.” And no wonder those things were called negative hollows, because he sure felt like a negative, hollow space.

Brook hummed and tapped a finger on his knee to show that he was contemplating a response. “Being dead is not necessarily bad.”

“Being here is.” Sanji stretched his legs out and leaned back to glare at the ceiling. “Why the hell did I come back.”

Brook went the opposite way and leaned on his knees, the angles he made acute enough to imply a burden on his back. A sigh rattled around in his ribs. “It was bad before you arrived.”

“But it’s worse now that I’m here,” Sanji shot back, and Brook couldn’t give a direct response to that. “You should’ve just ignored me.”

“I could never do that,” Brook answered firmly, but that was the only strong declaration he had, and the mood slowed back to languid remorse. “To be honest,” Brook mumbled, “I was too optimistic. I can see you so clearly when the others can’t, and yet...because I could see you so clearly, I thought everybody else would eventually...act like they could too. Or something akin to that. I just wish they could have my perspective.”

“Not that anything would’ve changed.”

“Not that anything would have changed,” Brook repeated to the floor. With something between a sigh and a groan, he sat up straight. “Sanji-sa – aaaaaaAAAAAAAAGH!”

Sanji jumped to his feet when Brook clattered to the floor, scanning the sea for some sort of threat and seeing nothing. “What? What is it?!”

Brook, eventually, managed to click his jaw closed. “Ah...you...were sinking through the chair, and...”

There was a moment where Sanji just stood there, legs braced for nothing, and Brook sat, sprawled for no reason at all. “Oh my god, Brook,” Sanji groaned out, trying not to let on that he hadn’t noticed at all. “Would you grow a backbone alrea…”

Brook paused in the middle of getting to his feet and then. Raised his skull. And looked directly into Sanji’s widening eyes. “No,” he whispered, wanting to look away, but it was like the moment right before watching a plate smash against the ground, and he was nowhere near catching it but he was trying anyways when he should probably just accept that gravity would take its victim, but he was stuck willing his hand closer to just prevent the whole thing. “No, don’t you dare,” he said louder, but Brook was already opening his jaw.

“Ah, but I have plenty of backbones already! If I grew any more, I’d have a third leg! SKULL JOKE!” he bellowed, then cackled madly as Sanji sunk his face into his hands and was it too late to go to hell?

Brook was still laughing. He probably wouldn’t stop, not without intervention, considering that he didn’t even need to pause for breath or anything. Sanji actually had to engage him in conversation now and traverse through the rhetorical minefield to get him to not make another goddamn joke. “Yeah. Okay. Real funny. Can we be serious now?”

Brook stopped and looked down at him with an inscrutable expression.

“I don’t think you enjoy my jokes at all. You see, you are...wholly transparent to me!”

“You’re the only one I’m not transparent to! That’s why we can have this stupid conversation in the first place!”

“Please do not be upset, Sanji-san. I must say, you are making quite a...”

“Don’t.”

“...Specter-cle of yourself!” Brook almost toppled over from the weight of his own laughter and if Sanji could, he would have pushed him the rest of the way down. As it was, all he could do was press his face into his hands and imagine himself back-flipping out the window. Which was a thing he could actually do at this point, but then that meant that Brook would win (win what, he couldn’t say) so he muffled a scream into his palms and shouted, “You’re killing me! I’m already dead, and you’re killing me!”

“That’s the spirit,” Brook said through a grin and Sanji flew up into his face and tried to strangle him. “Ah, oh, that I didn’t mean as a pun.”

Sanji’s hands stayed around Brook’s throat for a few long seconds. He pulled them away and realized with a start that, uh, he was actually literally face-to-face with Brook. He looked down and made a self-conscious descent back to the floor.

Despite the recent nonsense, Brook managed to achieve a refined air once more as he tapped his cane thoughtfully. “It’s very easy, I think, to wallow in such morose thoughts after death. I vastly prefer to make light of my circumstances. Self-reflection may be all and good, but once in a while you ought to make a joke to lift your spirits! That one I meant as a pun,” he added.

“It loses the impact if you tell it twice.”

“Try it.”

Brook was giving him an encouraging nod. Sanji stared at him, willing for him to stop, please, but he was as unmovable as death itself. “I’m not great at jokes,” Sanji warned, but he just motioned him to go on. Crap. He leaned his head back and sighed through his nose. Paced a little. A joke. A joke about being a ghost. A joke about dying and living on in an intangible existence for an indefinite period of time. A joke about being unable to be seen or heard, except by the only other dead-alive person in the world he knew. A joke.

Sanji coughed into his hand and glared sullenly at the floor. “Wh...at. Does a ghost. Use for transport…a boo-cycle...”

Brook maintained his poker face. “A valiant start. Of course, the next step is immortalizing your good humor in the form of a song,” he continued, taking a violin out of his ribcage. “I am not sure what sort of tune we can make out of a boo-cycle, but – “

“I gotta make breakfast,” Sanji shouted much too loud and then back-flipped out the window.

To be completely accurate, Usopp had to make breakfast. But Sanji had to wake him up for that to happen since the lazy lug didn’t even contemplate getting up until at least eight in the morning.

It would have been easy to just tip him out of the bunk. Easy in a past life, anyways, but for now Sanji had the only way he knew how to interact with people – stabbing them with various spectral appendages until they paid attention to him. He did just that.

Usopp frowned and rolled over, but didn’t get any more conscious. Sanji scrunched his nose and tried stirring both arms in his innards, which did make Usopp shiver, but not much else. Okay.

“Dammit Longnose, what the hell’s it gonna take to wake you up?” Sanji hissed (like he even needed to) before just grabbing at his head and

a field. A uniform green, boundless. Grass. Thin strands. A cliff, overlooking an equally boundless ocean. Usopp. Usopp turning to look at him Usopp squinting.

Sanji clutched at his shirt. This shirt was blue. This shirt had been rendered unsalvageable, back on Skypeia, but he was wearing it here. He felt. Corporeal. He felt...alive?

No. Not really. There was something wrong...with his senses…

“Oh fuck,” Sanji said, looking up at Usopp. “I’m in your dream.”

At these words, Usopp blinked, squinted again, focused. “You’re. Haunting my dream.”

He sounded like he wasn’t quite sure if he should be pissed or not, which he should be because holy shit was his only way of actually interacting with people through invading their privacy?

He didn’t know whether to start crying because Usopp was actually seeing him, talking to him, or because his un-life was a comedy of fucking errors and in the end he elected not to cry at all, thank you very much, and approached Usopp with his hands raised.

“I didn’t mean to, okay?” Sanji hissed, grabbing at Usopp’s shoulders instinctively, and his hands didn’t pass through and his breath skipped a beat, even though it wasn’t quite right, the texture not quite there, the warmth only an idea in his head. “I was just trying to wake your lazy ass up to make breakfast! How the fuck do I get outta here.”

Usopp’s face scrunched and he brushed Sanji’s hands off. “Excuse me? How do you get outta here? You’re the one who came in!”

“I didn’t even know I could do this, okay! This is my first time being a fucking ghost! It’s really freaking me out!”

“It’s freaking you out?!”

Okay, okay, Usopp had a legitimate reason to be more freaked out over this than him, but he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t even be able to be here, because dreams weren’t a physical place to be in, dreams weren’t real but then again ghosts weren’t exactly physical to begin with so what did this mean for his current existence? He was just thinking of himself like air or something but air didn’t go in dreams! Did this mean he was operating on a completely metaphysical plane of reality? Did this mean he could interact with thoughts, or ideas, or

“Okay, wow, you really are freaking out,” Usopp said carefully, taking Sanji’s hands so that he stopped pulling at his hair. “Forget about metaphysical planes or whatever for now.”

Sanji squinted at him. “Did I say that out loud?”

Usopp shot his eyes from side to side, as though the words would be hanging in the air. “Uh. I don’t actually know? Anyways, you’re in my dream, and I would really like you to get out. How did you even get in here?”

“Uh,” Sanji said, glancing down. Usopp realized he was still holding Sanji’s hands and flinched away. “Uh. Shit. I was trying to wake you up, like sticking my arms in you or whatever – “

“That’s what you’ve been doing!” Usopp shouted, pointing an affronted finger.

“Shut up. It didn’t work, so I just kinda grabbed your head and then,” Sanji flung his arms out wide, not even sure what he was gesturing about, “this shit happened. So.”

Usopp crossed his arms and bit his lip. “Uh. Okay. So you just need an exit? Like a door or something?” The concept of his words materialized in the air and there was a door helpfully marked ‘exit.’ It felt like it had always been there, but also didn’t. Sanji opened it, saw fields, slammed it shut.

“It doesn’t actually go anywhere, idiot!”

“Well who’s the idiot who opened it!”

Sanji grabbed at his hair and dearly wished for something to throw besides grass. He kicked the door over, which helped a little. So did arguing. Arguing was normal. Normal was great. He’d had so little of that lately.

He let out a huge breath. “Okay. This isn’t even a, a place. So it’s not like there’s an exit door for me, or like I could just fly up and out of your head or something. I think you have to stop dreaming and, y’know, wake up.”

“So. You’re just gonna wait here until then? I dunno how long that’s gonna take...”

Sanji kicked Usopp off the cliff.

As he watched Usopp go screaming down to the dream-ocean below, it occurred to him that, shit, how was he gonna tell him what to cook? And he shouted down, “Look in my locker!” before Usopp landed and

Sanji was gently wheeling in the air, away from Usopp’s body. Usopp was harshly wheeling straight to the floor, which he hit with a yelp and a groan. His consideration of everybody’s sleeping schedule kept him from being too loud as he steadied his bunk and made his way to change out of his pajamas, but he still muttered very inconsiderate things about Sanji.

When Usopp started pulling his shirt off, Sanji turned around and ended up staring at his own empty bunk.

He had always made it nice and neat, unlike the other assholes on the ship, and it was nice and neat now. Quilt smoothed and folded right where it met the pillow. Pillow pumped for the perfect shape.

He turned back to Usopp again, who was buckling up his overalls and he thought, why the fuck is it always overalls, and then he struggled to continue that train of thought but it turned out that there wasn’t much to think about overalls. He ended up listing seasonings in his head, very loudly.

When Usopp shut his locker and turned around, Sanji worried for a moment that maybe he hadn’t shouted fast enough, or maybe the entire dream was already fading away in the sleepy haze of recent wakefulness, and shit, how was he gonna tell him through pokes where to go, but Usopp blinked and adjusted his trajectory towards Sanji’s locker. For a moment, he just stared. Then he rubbed his face with both hands and slowly opened it up.

“Alright,” Usopp said, weary. “What’m I supposed to do.” Sanji edged to his side and peered in as well. It was all so recognizable. Untouched. Probably the first time it had been opened, since his demise, and Sanji suddenly felt a surge of gratefulness for what Usopp was doing now, something else he couldn’t communicate through pokes.

“Okay, so. I’m just gonna. Go through this, and you tell me when I got what you want. But don’t stick your creepy ghost hands in me, okay?” Sanji prodded at him to get going. For his part, Usopp didn’t flinch, but he did let out a long, slow breath, and then started by running his hands over the hanging clothes, making them all swing in a way that just seemed stiff.

If he just started from the top, it would take forever. Sanji thought for a moment, then nudged Usopp in the leg. Usopp paused, his hand clutching at the sleeve of a pink dress shirt, sending wrinkles running up and down. “Uh. Lower?”

Nudge nudge

With some trepidation, Usopp crouched below the hanging clothes and reached for the mass of folded clothes on the shelf below.

Nudge nudge nudge nudge nudge

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Usopp snapped, and kept going down. Past more boxes of cigarettes, past a drawer of ties, down below the layer of shoes, until.

Usopp stopped just above the goal and slowly closed his eyes. “Oh my god. What the hell.”

Nudge nudge nudnudge nudgenudge –

“I hate you. Why are you doing this to me.” But Usopp rested his hands on the prize and drew out a stack of magazines that had various women in various poses on their covers. Usopp shut his eyes again and massaged the bridge of his nose, which required some complex maneuvers considering the length of it. “Sanji. It’s extremely early in the morning. I didn’t want to wake up to this.” When no answering nudge came, Usopp looked at the stack again with great reluctance. “How did you get so many? Why did you get so many? Is this the only thing you buy besides cigarettes and food? When would you even have the time to look through these? I mean, this isn’t really surprising, but I really didn’t want to know about your secret library. I would rather live my life without ever knowing about your secret library. You freaking bookmarked these too, why – “

Poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke

Usopp paused, took a deep breath like he was diving to the bottom of the sea, and flipped a magazine open. Stared at the bookmark. Squinted at the bookmark.

“Why. Do you use recipes as bookmarks. For your porn.”

Poke poke pokepokepoke

“Okay, okay,” Usopp muttered, waving Sanji’s arm away only to shudder as they passed through each other. He slid out the scraps of paper he saw, then piled the magazines up all neat again and set them back in the locker. All in all, the paper outnumbered the magazines, and Usopp struggled to wrap his hands around them on as he tried to move to the kitchen, eventually just balancing them horizontally on his arm and holding them lightly against his chest. Sanji followed him into the kitchen and watched as Usopp found a drawer to dump the recipes in and started flipping through them. Occasionally, he’d pull a card out and place it in the front. It didn’t happen very often, and Sanji wondered if it was due to the apparently shitty way he wrote recipes or Usopp’s self-perceived skill.

“It was, nice. Seeing you,” Usopp voiced out loud, looked around like he would be able to tell if Sanji was there. Sanji helped him out by poking him in the back, and he relaxed. “Like, maybe if I had some warning or something...you could do it again, if you want.”

Sanji was pretty sure he was saying that just to be nice. And besides, it probably wasn’t healthy, for Usopp or anybody else, if he just went around and...existed in their dreams. He had made enough of a mess just by being here as it was. But he gave Usopp an understanding prod anyways.

Breakfast went much better than last night, in that nobody threw a plate against the wall. But Zoro left as soon as he shoveled the plate into his mouth, left before he was finished chewing, and Luffy simply stared at the door in silence and everybody else said nothing at all, except for the occasional loud yawn from Usopp.

And on top of everything else, the Navy attacked.

It was probably the worst time possible for something like this, but despite missing a crewmate (in more ways than one), despite whatever disagreements bubbled under the surface, everybody simply...fell into place. Zoro standing by Luffy, mowing down the front line. Usopp standing high and sniping any cannoneers he could see, no matter how many hours of sleep he’d had. Nami in the back, raining lightning down on anybody unfortunate enough to be standing under suspiciously low-hanging clouds. Everybody just working together just because there wasn’t room for anything else if they wanted to stay alive.

Sanji found himself automatically kicking out at a marine who had climbed on board and was charging at Chopper’s back, with predictable results. At the very least, the marine stopped, looking uneasily over his shoulder, before getting caught in a large rack of horns and flung back overboard.

Sanji planted both feet on the deck and swept his gaze all across the ship. He was dead. He was useless. But they were okay, right? He didn’t have to, he couldn’t,

Someone ran right through him and he got a glimpse of eyeballs, the inside, the back of, thin reddish webs all around, meat, bone, the porous insides, folds and folds of gray matter, and then the scene in reverse, ending in the back of a marine’s coat.

He staggered. He saw the marine stop, but he didn’t think that their experience of that too-intimate moment was as alarming as his. Sanji stepped back. But the Sunny was being invaded, inundated, with eyes, muscles, skulls, brains, vibrating throats, pulsing hearts, flesh, bones, blood and bones and fat and brains and muscles and eyes and flesh and stomachs and partially-digested meals and ribs and hearts and spines, fuck fuck fuck

He was below deck and he could hear the fight going on above and shit. He was the one in the least danger and he was hiding away, curled up, trying to remember that he had a specific shape, here were his legs, here were his hands, he wasn’t just an indistinguishable mass of, of just space hanging in the air, nothing like that, and god he was just so pathetic, what kind of shitty ghost was afraid of people, he had to be the absolute worst, just running and leaving the fight behind, not that he could do something but it was the principle of the matter you can’t just abandon people, you just don’t do it, and he just abandoned the people he fucking died for and he was staring at the floorboards, the wood grains, following lines up and down, until he finally heard a cautious, “Sanji-san?” and he looked up to see Brook standing there for who even knew how long.

“Uh,” he said, looking up and taking his hands away from the sides of his head. “I’m.” But he wasn’t sure what he was trying to say.

“We’ve fought them off,” Brook supplied. “It’s just us now. Would you like to head up?”

No more sounds of fighting. No yells or screams or anything, no people, so Sanji forced himself to his feet and looked somewhere to the side of Brook’s face. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“No need,” Brook answered, and if he was curious about why Sanji was down here in the first place, he didn’t ask.

Zoro was sitting right by the door when they emerged from below and he opened an eye and focused it on Brook. “Found him?”

Very quietly, Brook said, “Yes,” and Zoro closed his eye again and sighed through his nose.

“Dammit cook, what’s it gonna take for you to move on?”

Sanji didn’t even have a smartass response for that because he would really like to know himself.

When they cleared the doorway, Luffy came careening by and Sanji jumped back a good several feet to avoid a collision – or, he supposed, the opposite of one – but Luffy skidded and fell over in the grass and came crawling back up to his feet and towards where Sanji was approximately at.

“There you are!” he declared, like he found him, and he flung his arms out wide. “It’s raining!”

It certainly was, and not one of those storms that was so common around here, but the perfect light drizzle with a shitty rainbow to match. The rain was so fine that he could’ve said the air was shimmering instead. Usopp was just sitting at the garden, dangling his legs down and looking up, letting the rain drip down his face. Nami was at the swing, peering at the clouds for anything more dangerous than this but leaning back, satisfied. Franky was very noticeably trying to squeeze all of himself under an umbrella, grumbling something about rust probably, but still staying with everybody else. Chopper was sitting with Robin, a book in his lap, which was being protected by an overhand of arms, but he was poking his nose out to the sky. Brook was standing by, as always, and Zoro didn’t look like he wanted to go anywhere.

Only Luffy was really playing around in the rain, but that seemed right. It seemed natural, in the middle of this moment of peace, for Luffy to be the most active of all. He smiled with his teeth, all wide and bright, and he really seemed to be looking straight at him, and he said, “Is it raining for you too?”

It was a weird question, and Sanji tried to think about what it could mean, forgetting for a moment that it was Luffy who was asking and it wasn’t like the goof asked things anything other than directly. There wasn’t a poetic bone in his body, unless you counted the poetic defeats he doled out. And though Sanji could see the rain, it all simply went through him and if he closed his eyes, he wouldn’t even be able to tell. So the answer was no.

But Sanji was all poetry, all embarrassing lines and self-destruction and layered metaphors. And ever since he came back, this was the most unified he’d seen everybody. Quiet not because of tension, but because of companionship, because of a collective enjoyment of being here, being alive, being in such rare weather. And he could feel that. Whatever residue panic Sanji had melted away, like the rain was washing him off, and it would be nice if this feeling could last forever, but it was already nice enough to simply know that this feeling could still happen. That something in all of them wasn’t just irreparably broken. And because of this, Sanji answered, “Yes.”

It was the next day that Chopper and Robin approached and said, “We would like to try some experiments.”

The word ‘experiment’ didn’t bring to mind any pleasant imagery. But even if his friends were willing to dissect him, it wasn’t like they could dissect a ghost, and it would be a break in the monotony of wandering around watching everybody else and occasionally feeling sorry about himself. So Brook, Robin, and Chopper commandeered the library and Sanji hung around, tapping his fingers on his arms.

“I researched some books about ghosts ‘cause I wanted to understand more about Sanji’s condition.”

“My condition is I’m dead. Don’t tell them I said that,” Sanji hastily amended, and Brook kindly didn’t make him sound like an asshole.

“Robin helped me with some of the scary books. So we both have lists of things that books say ghosts can do, so I was hoping that it’s okay for us to try to see if Sanji can do them?”

“If anything, we were hoping to uncover an easier form of communication,” Robin added. Both of them had notepads in their hands, and Sanji walked behind them to peek at one, but Chopper’s fur bristled and he clutched the notepad to his chest.

“No peeking!” he shouted. “The subject can’t have any bias beforehand!”

Sanji threw his hands up and backed away, around to his own side of the table. Robin laughed like she could see him, but probably she was just laughing at Chopper’s consternation. Once Brook assured Chopper that there was absolutely no cheating going on (though Sanji wasn’t really sure how you could cheat this), he lowered the notepad again.

“Well, we can start with what we know,” Brook offered. “He certainly exhibits the typical ghostly abilities of flight and intangibility.”

“I just don’t do it much,” Sanji added for nobody in particular. Or for himself, to at least feel a part of this conversation about him.

“And there’s certainly a chilling atmosphere when he’s nearby. Which would imply a presence, a form of manifestation. It’s also an observable effect on the physical plane, so perhaps there is some level of interactivity he can have in the world.” Robin was already writing things down, though what she could possibly be writing, he didn’t know.

“Um, there are loads of stories where people actually see ghosts, so maybe there’s a way Sanji could become visible?”

Brook glanced at Sanji. Sanji glanced at himself. Clothes dripping wet. A constant reminder. “I don’t think anybody would wanna see me like this.”

“Perhaps you could alter your appearance?” Brook suggested, tilting his head back towards Chopper and Robin.

“Considering that there’s no real physical form involved, it’s a possibility. But generally speaking, the lore does not account for that. Ghosts are meant to be stuck on the memory of their own death. That’s largely why they appear in the first place.”

“But it doesn’t hurt to try!” Chopper chirruped.

“Yeah. Just like changing clothes. Except the clothes don’t exist.” But still, how could he say no? So he pressed against his eyes and tried to think himself through it, methodically, logically. Clothes soaked. Time to change them. Dry clothes looked like, looked like...the clothes still hanging in his locker. Nothing dripping, nothing heavy, nothing cold. Though...he didn’t really feel any of that anyways. But he could remember, couldn’t he? It wasn’t that long ago. He could remember sinking into the sea, gasping for air but only getting water, couldn’t even choke because there was no room to, and his lungs grew weighty and dragged him down all the more; detached panic, detached awareness, detached body; nothing.

So he could remember that. So he should be able to remember dry fucking clothes. But he couldn’t describe to himself what warm felt like, just that it was, warm, y’know? He couldn’t think of what the opposite of wet was, because it was too abstract for him to chase after. He tried to think what it had felt like in Usopp’s dream, but that had, in the end, felt like nothing. Dreams didn’t feel like anything. He had just come out with the impression that he had been in dry clothes, but his brain couldn’t tell him what that meant. And it’s just so fucking frustrating, because it wasn’t like these shitty clothes were even real, hell, he was barely real himself, so why couldn’t he just brute force his appearance, mold everything the way he wanted to, but as he grabbed at a sleeve and pulled at it, he couldn’t help but think about what if his clothes really were mutable, didn’t that mean that he was mutable as well? And if he made one change, would that just set up a constant decay, as he tried to keep himself together, tried to keep himself Sanji, and if he could forget what dry clothes were like then couldn’t he forget his own shape? Until all he could remember was the ocean, sinking, water, drowning, panic, acceptance

“Sanji-san,” Brook said sharply, and Sanji snapped back to the library once more.

Brook was standing, clutching at his shoulders, or at least making a go at it. Robin was also on her feet, a hand halfway up, like she had wanted to reach over to him as well. Chopper had backed further into his seat, eyes perched over his notepad. After a moment of silence, all of them settled down and Sanji tried to take a few long breaths. “I...I’m sorry, I dunno why...did, uh, something happen…?”

“Is he okay?” Chopper asked at the same time, and Brook looked to each in turn, like he was deciding who he should answer first. Robin had started scrawling something down on paper, but she was using an ancillary arm to do so and had her main focus on the space where Sanji was standing.

“I think, Chopper, that I would like to hear your experience first,” Brook finally announced, folding his hands on his lap. “While the sight is still fresh.”

Oh boy. Just the fact that there had been something to see put Sanji on edge, and the way that Chopper was clutching his notepad wasn’t helping. Sanji let himself fall to the couch, yelped as he sank through, and did the same trick he had done last time in the crow’s nest.

“I...saw him, sorta. But it didn’t look like him...it’s just, there was something over there, like fog? Or a mirage, or something. And there was wind, suddenly, and I thought I heard...moaning. Or a storm. Brook, is he okay?”

“Yeah,” Sanji breathed out, wrapping his arms around his legs. “Great. Fantastic.”

“He’s calming down,” Brook said.

Robin set her notes aside and leaned back, looking more worn out than before. “I believe a recurring pattern in ghost lore is how their existence is tied closely with their emotions.” She closed her eyes, as if reciting. “Ghosts typically result from traumatic deaths. And whatever intense emotions they feel in their trauma, whether anger, mourning, or regret,” Sanji bristled at that word and glanced at Brook, who said nothing, “these emotions tie them to this world. And, typically, whatever can resolve the binding emotion frees them. I think,” Robin hesitated, started to slow, “that the way they are able to interact with the world is also largely tied with trauma and emotion. Vengeful spirits are said to appear to those who have done them wrong, or appear to bade their relative to enact revenge in their name. Mournful spirits may end up performing their own death, over and over, for everybody to see. When ghosts move objects, usually it coincides with intense anger or upset, rather than with intention. Having said all that...it would seem that on his own, Sanji would not be able to interact with the world consistently, unless he experiences intense emotions.”

Chopper waited for a moment in case Robin wanted to say anything else, then jumped in. “So Sanji was angry? Or sad?” He looked at Brook, who looked at Sanji, who blinked and set his chin behind his knees.

“Uh. I don’t really think I was...either? Just was thinking about this whole shitty ghost...thing. It’s just been messing with my head.”

“So it would be the traumatic experience of dying and reviving as a ghost that set you off,” Brook concluded, and that sounded right enough. He just would rather his mind not throw some tantrum every few minutes or whatever so he could at least have a peaceful afterlife. Though being a ghost automatically meant he wasn’t at peace, he supposed.

“Well, we might as well skip over everything to do with direct interaction with the world, at least for now,” Robin said, picking up her notes again. “I’d rather not cause undue stress.”

“But there’s other things we can do! ‘Cause ghosts can also communicate indirectly, like through Brook!” Chopper, bless his heart, was keeping up his stalwart optimism, and he felt himself getting grounded again, so to speak, coming down from whatever it was that he’d been freaking out about.

“The most well-known method is probably possession – “

“No,” Sanji repeated, because he wasn’t gonna fucking budge on that, no matter how desperate he got.

“– if not through a living being, then through an object.”

Sanji glanced around. “I don’t think I can do much talking through a book.”

“Not many objects really have speaking capabilities,” Robin also conceded.

“Maybe whenever Franky finishes with the robot?”

“Oh god no,” because he wasn’t going to budge on that either.

“Also, while they may or may not have any merit to them, Ouija boards could be a possibility to examine.” Not that he knew how that was supposed to work, if he couldn’t actually move anything, but sure.

“Oh, and also some books say ghosts can go into dreams!”

Oh.

Right.

Brook stared at him as he took much too long to answer. “He is not voicing an objection,” he said, the bastard.

“That method would have to be tested on your own time, I’m afraid. Though I can tell you that there would be many willing to assist. Nami has shown interest when I shared my studies with her...”

Ah hell. Now he had to, didn’t he, couldn’t keep Nami waiting. Robin, you beautifully conniving meddler.

“In the meantime,” Robin continued, leaning down and pulling a Ouija board out from under the table.

“Ah...Robin-san...did we always have that…?”

Robin just smiled, and Sanji wasn’t sure if he would rather believe that she had just procured the board out of thin air or that she had bought it long ago for this exact occasion.

Had he ever been in the women’s quarters before? Once, perhaps, back on the Merry. But never on the Sunny, really. It was a stronghold, a sanctuary, never meant for him except in the most dire of circumstances.

Or if invited.

Which, it was not an explicit invitation, not really, but he was reasonably sure it was an inexplicit invitation, so that made his trespass okay, and besides, he wasn’t going to look or anything, he didn’t have ulterior motives, there wasn’t anything to even see because it was all covered up, and even if he was a particularly tenacious creep (which he wasn’t), then he’d have to stick his head through several objects to see anything and that would be really really weird.

It was already weird enough having to press himself through the closed door. Or maybe he should say, it was still weird. He should probably learn to be a better ghost or something. Stop getting freaked out by his own ghost-ness.

It was the shift before Nami’s. That seemed to be the best time, just to make things convenient, since she’d have to wake up anyways. He hoped there wouldn’t be any cliffs involved, he couldn’t bear it, but that was something he’d have to figure out later so he just wove his way towards that beacon of bright orange hair and prepared himself and stuck his hands

in. He was in an ornate bedroom, wallpapered with a deep red, carpeted with the most plush of carpets. There were lots of stuff that implied itself to be highly expensive and surely exquisite in whatever meaning of the word applied. The bed itself was a four-poster, curtains for days, and some of that see-through stuff for good measure. And he was pretty certain this room was meant to be in a castle, somewhere isolated, intimate…

He heard giggling. Two sets of giggling. And he saw flashes of legs, tangled together, that familiar orange hair, that familiar...blue hair...with skin that spoke of deserts...and…

Sanji made a strangled gurgling sound and spun around, hands over his eyes, which was redundant but it felt like a good kind of redundant, like if there was ever a time to be redundant then this was it, and the sounds from the bed came to an uncomfortable halt and he heard someone sit up and he knew it he knew this was a bad idea, why was it that he could only communicate by invading people’s privacy someone kill him now.

“Oh, it’s you,” Nami said. She didn’t sound particularly upset. Just a little annoyed? But she slid out of the bed and tapped him on the shoulder. “You can turn around now.”

Sanji did so, very carefully. Nami had decided to clothe herself in lacy negligee. Back in the bed, Vivi stared blankly. Sanji shielded her from view. “Uh. Does she...it’s a little...”

Nami glanced over her shoulder and gave a dismissive sort of wave, and Vivi slid down under the covers and slept. Or looked like she did. Nami looked back at him, scrutinizing. “So how can I tell whether you’re here or I’m dreaming that you’re here?”

“Uh.” He hadn’t thought of that, actually. “That’s...I don’t really...”

“I guess if I was dreaming Sanji-kun in this scenario, then he’d have wanted to join in instead of acting like a weenie.” He had nothing to say to that because he did, essentially, act like a weenie. “Either way...”

With a wind-up so huge that Sanji couldn’t even tell what she was going to do, Nami swung an uppercut straight into his chin, sending him up and crashing into the wall. “Ow,” he said, more out of politeness than anything else.

“Have a seat.” There was a table now, white and elegant, and two chairs. Nami was already sitting with a teapot in front of her, though no cups. It was there more for looks, probably. She was much better at this dream thing than Usopp was.

Sanji rubbed his jaw like it had hurt and slid awkwardly into the empty chair. Nami’s face wasn’t upset or pissed off or anything, really. It was more like...judgmentally bored. The sort of way cats looked, when they were at rest and unimpressed with any attempt to interact with them. She didn’t say anything, so Sanji took the opportunity to bask in the feeling of being here, since he had been a little distracted the last time he had done this.

He was wearing a pink dress shirt. No tie. It meshed well with the wallpaper. He rubbed his thumb against his fingers and felt the impression of touch, of warmth. He breathed in and a simulacrum of air flowed into his nose, filled his lungs, and went out again. There was weight to him and he just knew that gravity was pushing down on him, that the laws of physics applied to him. He existed. He was punchable. He was alive.

It was enough to be addicting, and he knew plenty about addiction, but he couldn’t let himself go there.

“It’s really you,” Nami said, eyes staring half-lidded as she leaned on her arm. “So. You’re a ghost.”

Given that this had been his existence for the past few days, none of this was news. But the way Nami said it was, and his voice sounded as numb as she looked as he said, “You didn’t believe in me.”

She looked away at that, didn’t answer, and that was an answer all on its own. Could he even be upset? Not really.

“Did you think Brook was just...making it up? Or...”

“No. I just...it’s complicated.” And didn’t that just summarize this whole damn mess. Nami still wasn’t looking at him, just frowning off to the side. “Before, it was just Brook talking to air. This is different. And it’s just...you’re dead. For sure. I didn’t want to believe it, you know? But now I have to.”

“I’m sorry, but...there was no way I could’ve lived.”

At that, Nami scoffed, a sad little thing that barely moved the air. “You wanna know what he said? ‘Sanji’s such a good swimmer.’ ‘Sanji could’ve washed up on an island.’ ‘Sanji’s smart, he could catch up to us, someday.’ And it wasn’t like there was a body, and he just...drew me in. We’ve managed impossible things before. But here you are.”

At some point, Sanji found himself holding the teapot. Just to have something in his hands. Something to look at besides that face. “Well, this is rather impossible on its own.”

He chuckled. Nami didn’t.

She pulled on her hair, bit down on her lip. And then, all at once: “I really fucking hate you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But you went and died, so I just feel like shit for hating you.”

“I’m okay with you hating me.”

Nami slammed a fist on the table with a sound so loud that Sanji thought the table would just fall to pieces, but it stayed standing. She was looking at him now, her eyes hot and watery. “Do you even get why I hate you right now?”

He could hear the sounds of a storm, somewhere outside the walls, and the roar of a Sea King. The longer Nami stared, the louder it seemed to get. Sanji kept holding the teapot. He was gripping the handle too tight. He tried to relax his hand. “I do.”

“Then why the fuck did you do it.” She wasn’t shouting. She was muttering, growling, challenging. He heard waves crashing into him, or into something else outside of him, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Because it was the only way – “

“Like hell it was. You could’ve trusted me. You could have tried trusting the goddamn navigator to get everybody out! Without anybody dying!” Ah. There goes the table. Sanji held the teapot closer. Opened his eyes again, because Nami deserved at least that much. She wasn’t quite standing yet, but it was enough for her to loom over him. “You could’ve told us your plan. You could’ve waited for someone else to help you! You could have at least weighed other options before just diving into your death like the idiot asshole you are!”

But no, no, it couldn’t have been any other way, and he had been cruel, he knew, but it just wasn’t possible for anything else to have happened. He could have given every counterargument under the sun for every single point that Nami made or ever will make, and it wouldn’t be enough, not for her, not for anybody else on the ship because, whether or not they knew, at some point they all got an ingrained belief that everything would turn out fine, someway, somehow. And his only belief was that one day, it would all come crashing down, and he had to be ready to keep the casualties to himself.

And there was no way he could say any of that. So he just said, “I don’t regret it.”

“You’re dead! You’re a fucking ghost! You’re haunting us, and you still think that maybe you didn’t make a huge mistake?!”

But I don’t regret it. Really. Honestly. You were worth it, all of you, because my heart had never been full until I joined you, and I would do anything just so that you could keep going, and I did, and here you are, so I don’t regret it, I never will. But it felt like the wind was picking up, and the ocean was here, in this room, and he could feel the Sunny pitching hard on the waves, the roar of a Sea King, the roar of cannons, both of them, together, and he was drowning, drowning, as he clutched at the teapot, and Nami was standing up now but with a far different expression and she was asking, “Sanji-kun?” in a way that he didn’t like, and the teapot shattered but he couldn’t tell if he had dropped it or just squeezed it too hard, she was repeating his name, over and over, with varying urgency, and he was repeating in his head, I don’t regret it, I don’t, I don’t, I could never regret it, and

Nami shot up in her bed. Sanji didn’t even look at her face as he flew out the room as fast as he could, still repeating that mantra to himself, until he was able to recognize that there was no storm, there were no Sea Kings, nothing like that now. He pressed his palms against his eyes and sank under the deck, listened to the creaks and the slosh of gentle waves.

No more dreams. Never again.

“Land ho!” Luffy shouted, and the idea of being able to get off the ship for a while eased the atmosphere. Sanji couldn’t say that it eased him any, because land might have towns and towns might have crowded streets and he really would rather not deal with crowds at all, but they needed to restock and he was still the only one who best knew what to buy so he hoped that sticking close to Brook would ward most people away.

When asked about whether he could really project himself into dreams, Sanji evaded the question and just hoped that neither Usopp or Nami would ever mention it later. He wasn’t subtle about his avoidance, not at all, but Brook dropped the subject anyways. He was so accommodating. Too accommodating. It wasn’t like Sanji required anything at all, or even deserved any of it, so he just kept feeling a beat of gratitude and dependency and love whenever he was given accommodation, and he just wished that it wasn’t Brook he was feeling this to. Life continued to be a joke.

Zoro was staying to watch over the ship, and Franky had gone to his workshop first thing after breakfast and was unlikely to come out. Everybody else was ready to disembark. Sanji followed them down the gangplank. Or, actually, Sanji followed them halfway down the gangplank and just. Stopped.

Brook turned around, prompting the others to pause as well. Luffy, frowning at the head of the group, said, “What’s up?”

Sanji wanted to put into words what, exactly, was up, but he couldn’t figure out how. It wasn’t like there was an invisible wall, or a feeling tugging him back, or anything he could really pinpoint as the reason why he stopped. It was just. He couldn’t.

“He cannot seem to leave the ship,” Brook reported, and Sanji thought he was done being surprised by shitty ghost bullshit already but of course there was more shitty ghost bullshit. There was always more, wasn’t there. What a fool he was.

“Hopefully the Sunny won’t ever sink and drag him down to an afterlife on the ocean floor.”

“Don’t say that around Franky,” Usopp muttered dryly.

“I could stay on board.”

“No, you don’t have to...go enjoy yourself, alright? I’ll be fine. Just make sure to get groceries.”

Brook stood silently for a moment when he gave him a casual wave, then said, “If you insist,” and walked onto shore with the others. Sanji waved them off and moved back to the deck, and that unsettling feeling faded away.

He’ll be fine. It wasn’t like he was alone. Sure, the two other guys on board he couldn’t stand hanging around for several reasons, but that’s fine. Even if he was alone he’d be fine. There was just so much shit to do. Like thinking about shit until he freaked out again or telling himself that he should get used to all this ghost shit but still getting mentally stuck on the way he had moved when he was alive. Debating whether he’d be losing something if he gave in and just accepted that he didn’t have to walk anymore, why was he even still pretending. Somehow dragging his thoughts back to death and freaking out some more.

“So many choices. I’m a regular busybody, ‘cept I don’t have one.” Sanji laughed hard for a long moment and then suddenly cut himself with a horrifying realization. “I’m going insane.”

He made a sincere go at not going insane, but it became clear that he just couldn’t trust himself being alone anymore when he found himself in the ocean, halfway out the hull, making up conversations for the passing fish to have. With different voices and everything.

Zoro was right out. So that just left Franky to hang around, and Sanji pulled himself back through the hull and prepared himself for whatever mechanical monstrosity he’d have to see.

He hadn’t really gone in the workshop for the past few days just because he didn’t want to see anything there. Franky was affably harmless at his best, but sometimes he sort of teetered on the edge of ‘mad scientist,’ and building a robot body for the ghost of a recently-deceased friend was definitely mad scientist material, and it didn’t help that the guy had been spending pretty much all hours down there, unseen and unheard, only coming up for meals and sleep and looking more haggard every time.

Sanji felt bad about it, but he really did hope that Franky never finished, because he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to say that he would never ever step foot in a goddamn metal piece of shit ever, especially after all this work. Franky seemed to be doing his best to accommodate that wish since even after all this time, he didn’t seem to make any progress and just seemed to come out even more disappointed than before. It was odd, really, since one of his major good points was his ability to work fast. But robots were probably harder than shit like bridges or stairs or something.

There was no robot in the workshop. No completed robot, anyways, just a bunch of metal parts collected in the corner. There was a cyborg, and he was drawing something on paper with wide sweeps of his hand, something he had been doing for a while, judging by the litter of paper discarded around him. The only discernible robot part was a torso and a leg, both of them set separate from anything else in an alcove, the wall around them peppered with apparently approved sketches of ideas and designs, none of which were comprehensible. In front of the alcove was an ashtray, with a smoking cigarette standing straight in it. So that’s where those went.

It looked a lot like a shrine. Which was somehow weirder than the robot body, but so many things were weird lately that this just didn’t faze him, not anymore. He stepped closer to peer at it and saw that the torso was hollow, which didn’t seem like the sort of way you’d build a robot, but he wasn’t an expert or anything.

At this point, Franky looked up and around, sucking in a breath automatically. “That you, bro?”

Sanji responded with a poke, and Franky settled down, leaning back from his desk and tapping his pencil against the paper. Sanji peered over his shoulder and saw a vague figure and a lot of measurements, more detailed parts, scrawled notes, some things scribbled out. It looked like a goddamn mess.

“Been tryin’ to work out height and weight and shit,” Franky started. “Figured that it oughta feel right. It’s hard, though. Getting the weight down. Probably impossible. Metal’s heavy as shit.”

There were intricate drawings of gears, hinges, joints. Notes for the future, to figure out one logistical problem or another. Was that a fucking rocket in his leg? What the fuck, Franky, you could probably take that out if you’re so worried about the goddamn weight.

“Oh. Hey, actually, here’s a speaker. Still dunno how you deal with machines and stuff, so maybe you could try fiddling with it? See what happens.”

Franky set the small device in a relatively clear area on his workbench. Hm. Right. Possessing objects. He hadn’t tried that yet.

His first thought was, I can’t fit in there. His second was, you shitty idiot. For a while, he just hovered his hands around the thing, trying to figure out some sort of approach. Franky went back to drawing whatever he was drawing. It’s just. Did he just, go in? There weren’t any eyes on this thing, would he still be able to see? Or, just, could he kinda just...manipulate it, from outside? Not that he had any goddamn idea how these things worked, so he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to make it make sounds. But. Like…

Sanji got up on the table and tried stepping on it. Tried to sink into it, but not through. Or maybe he could think of it as like, haunting it?

It turned out that possessing objects had the same sort of concept as possessing people, but a different sort of perspective. With people, it was like slipping into another skin and becoming that person entirely. With objects, it was more like...melding with it, looking at it from afar, but somehow getting information about it. Being aware of its inner parts, and aware of himself powering it, aware of where the channels of his energy was going and where it could go.

But he still didn’t know how it worked, and this became evident when the speaker blared out an unholy screeching sound instead of actual words. Franky covered his ears and cursed. Sanji flinched, breaking his connection.

“Alright,” Franky said slowly, lowering his hands. “You should. Probably practice that.” But he looked relieved, and why not? This was confirmation that Sanji could actually do things other than ‘float’ and ‘fuck all.’ If everybody carried around speakers, then he could actually talk directly to them without fucking around in their heads or anything. He just needed practice.

“But practice out of earshot? Please? Here – try this.” Franky held out something spindly, with sharp points, and it was only when he sat it down that Sanji recognized it as a robotic skeleton of a hand.

This one wasn’t as intuitive as he hoped; just sticking his own hand in and trying to flex his fingers didn’t work. He had to think about the way that the gears should turn, which ones, the force required...it was all about focus, an all-encompassing awareness of the minutia and the whole. It was really freaking exhausting, but it felt like progress and Sanji continued practicing because there was no other way to get to the point where he could do this without a thought. If he could get the hang of this, then…

...Fuck. He was starting to sound like he did want the goddamn robot body. Which he didn’t. But the idea of actually being able to be seen, in some small way, to be heard, to exist spatially...he got carried away.

As though sensing his killjoy thoughts, Franky leaned back and flung his pencil on the table with a rough sigh.

“I’m a real asshole,” he said to the ceiling, and Sanji paused, ready to bolt if it seemed like Franky wanted to talk to himself in private. But Franky glanced towards the skeletal hand. “I said I’d do this. I really wanna do this! Building robots is my jam! But somehow, I...can’t.” He flicked up his sunglasses to rub at his eyes, and they were bloodshot red and looking a bit watery. Though not nearly as watery as they could be, not by a long shot. “I got loads of ideas for these super cool features, and I get jazzed up when I think about them. But when I start building...it just doesn’t measure up. I still remember how you look, and nothing I build’ll ever look right. But I’m still sketching these shitty ideas ‘cause I don’t wanna just go up there and say I give up. So I guess I’m saying, I just don’t want you to get your expectations up, ‘cause I’m a stubborn asshole and – “

The speaker suddenly screeched, drowning out any words in the vicinity, and Franky had to plug his ears until it stopped. “Jeez! What the hell! I’m spilling my guts here trying to apologize and – “

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech

“Ow, stop!” Franky waited for a minute before he let his ears free and he grumbled, “If you don’t want my apology, just say so.” But he picked up his pencil again and continued working, eyes softer, back lighter, and Sanji went back to the hand and haltingly got it to do a thumbs up. Franky laughed at that. It was so nice to see, something that had become too rare, nowadays.

Sanji made a mental note to get Brook down here so they could talk more. He wasn’t gonna get in any fucking robot, but. It didn’t have to be a robot.

A few hours later, Sanji heard the thumps of footsteps from above, the sounds of carefree voices, and he hovered up and through the deck to see how everybody was. His head barely poked through when he heard a ghastly scream and saw Brook fall over.

“Aaah! Brook, is something wrong? Is it a broken bone? A heart attack?!? But you don’t have a heart! How do I treat it?!”

“Sanji-san,” Brook cried, on the verge of tears and sounding very affronted about it, “please don’t make such a creepy entrance!”

“You stop being so goddamn scared of things that you can do!” Sanji retorted, still only a head on the deck. He pulled himself the rest of the way up when Brook screeched and covered his eyes. “Shit, calm down!”

“I suppose,” Robin said, smiling lightly, “that Sanji has scared Brook...half to death.”

It took a moment to sink in that Robin just made a Skull Joke, basically, and then Luffy threw back his head and laughed.

“It’s not funny! I was really scared!” Brook wailed, only lucky enough to have Chopper trying to console him.

“You were so scared you practically jumped out of your skin!”

“Please don’t bully me, Usopp-san! You would have been startled too!”

“Yeah,” Nami said, sternly flicking Usopp in his forehead. “He was so startled that his blood ran cold.”

“I am older than you??? Could you at least consider respecting your elders???”

Because everybody kept making fun of Brook, it took a while for them to actually load up their purchases. Nami took her new outfits into her room and came back out to help with the food. Luffy fell down the stairs delivering materials for Franky and was soon kicked out. Chopper went to organize the books that he and Robin bought. It was almost time to make dinner when Luffy looked around and said, “Where’s Zoro?”

Franky withered under the mass of focused stares. “I was downstairs the whole time, alright? I didn’t see him.”

“Sanji-san?” Brook said quietly.

“Uh. I was actually avoiding him, so no. I thought he was up with his shitty weights or something.”

It took too long, far too long for Nami to take on that exasperated tone of hers and huff out, “He got lost again.”

“Yeah, definitely, it’s what he does,” Usopp quickly answered, nodding his head like he was in an earthquake. “I guess we’ll just have to wait for him to come back! Or, uh, go out and find him?”

“Let’s wait.” Luffy’s voice was low and dark, and no amount of feigned normalcy could stand up to it. All anybody could do was exchange anxious glances and go to sleep.

Zoro didn’t show up the next morning.

Only when he didn’t show up at lunch did Luffy call for a search, and Sanji watched each crew member disappear into the town again, calling his name. All they brought back was hunger and exhaustion.

They went at it the next day, taking their meals to go, already anticipating that they’d be gone the whole day, and so this time they came back with nothing at all, and Luffy just went to his bunk and stared holes into the ceiling above until he fell asleep.

And he was gonna have to do this, huh. He was the only one who could, because of course he was, and this was probably all Zoro’s fault in some way or another so Sanji cursed him, cursed his hair, cursed his ancestors and his descendants for as many generations he could think of, and he closed his eyes and took the plunge

onto the deck of the Sunny, standing, balancing on the rocking of the ship. His clothes hadn’t changed. That is, his clothes were the ones he died in, only dry; which didn’t last long, as an angry wave tossed itself on board and left him soaking again.

Oh boy.

The rain was about as bad as he remembered, large drops that smacked rather than splashed. The lightning was almost constant. The thunder sounded like the sky was just cracking open. Sanji moved with the sway of the ship, looking around, and finally caught sight of Luffy by the railing, shouting himself hoarse at the sea, leaning out, too far, too far…

There wasn’t any danger, not here, but Sanji ran anyways, sped up when he saw Luffy start swinging a leg over, caught him by the shoulders and spun him around.

It was heartbreaking, seeing Luffy’s eyes go wide, and then his whole face just collapsed under the force of his tears. He jumped at Sanji and wrapped his arms and legs around him, squeezed him in a vice grip, and that made it slightly harder to balance, but that was nothing to talk about now, and Sanji set his arms around Luffy as well, waited until those wracking cries became intelligible words, became soft sobs, and then ragged breathing, and...silence.

Luffy pulled his head away and looked at Sanji, a smile straining against the instinct to cry more. “It’s Sanji! Like, really Sanji! Right?”

“Yeah, it’s me, it’s me,” Sanji grumbled, pushing at Luffy’s solid grip. “Get off.”

Luffy got his feet on the floor but still had his arms wrapped around his waist, and buried his face into his chest, pushing at it like he was making sure it would hold up.

Sanji waited for a moment, took a breath, and said, “You need a new cook.”

It felt like the rain just stopped in the air for a beat. Luffy jerked, but stayed as he was. “No. You’re here. You’re the cook.”

“I’m dead.”

Luffy let go and carefully stepped away, looking at Sanji’s face. “So what? So’s Brook.”

“I can’t cook.”

“You’ve got Usopp to help! And everybody else!”

“Usopp can’t keep up with my schedule. He doesn’t know anything about nutrition either, or how to tell good products from bad. Hell, is he even good at haggling? Even if I could teach him directly, that takes time. And you don’t have time to wait for one of you to become a competent cook on the Grand Line.”

This part was the toughest, emotionally speaking, and yet Luffy’s eyes were dry. It was always during fights that that he hardened up, even in fights with his friends. Crying would have probably been easier to deal with. Easier than those eyes, willful and opposing, ready to knock him flat.

“We don’t need a new cook.”

“If you want that mosshead to come back, you do.”

Luffy blinked in a way that looked like a flinch. “Zoro’s got nothing to do with – “

“Oh c’mon Luffy, you’re an idiot but you’re not stupid,” Sanji said. The rain seemed like it was coming down harder. He might have to wrap this up. “You know this isn’t a coincidence. It’s his ultimatum. He won’t come back unless you do your job as captain.”

Luffy balled his hands into fists, but didn’t swing them, not yet. Instead, he shouted, his voice booming over the sound of the storm, “I can’t choose between the two of you! Why doesn’t anybody get it! Why’re you making me do this?!”

“Listen to me,” Sanji whispered, grabbing Luffy’s face with both hands and leaning in, staring into his eyes. Those strong, hurt eyes. “You’re not choosing between me and Zoro. You’re choosing between losing Zoro or getting a new cook.”

“But if I get a new cook, then it’s just...like I’m getting rid of you...”

“You shithead, I died and I’m still here! I don’t even know how to fucking leave! I won’t go anywhere. But you have to get a new cook.”

He was backing up now, keeping his eyes steady on Luffy’s, locking them in place. The ship was still bucking, but in a distant sort of way, like the storm was only half there. “Just, think about it. Okay? And I’m sorry about this,” he finished, standing up on the railing. And once Luffy realized what was going on, Sanji dropped overboard and slammed into the ocean,

and Luffy sat up, hand reaching out for nothing at all. His mouth hung open, ready to scream out a name, but he sucked it back in. He sat in the dark and stared at his hand for a long while, getting his breathing under control.

Sanji saw everybody off in the morning. He had no company this time; for something so important as recruiting a new crewmate, it seemed necessary that everybody available should be present. So Sanji kept a watch on the ship, even if watching was pretty much the only thing he could do, tried not to spiral into depressive insanity, and waited.

“Oh my gosh, this is amazing! It’s the best kitchen I’ve ever seen!”

Franky rubbed at his nose with a grin. “Thanks, girlie. Made it myself. Fancy lock on the fridge’n everything!”

“Why would you need to lock the fridge?”

The question froze a smile on everybody’s faces as they turned towards Luffy, who was perched on a stool at the counter. He looked back, smiled more sincerely, and said, “’Cause I empty it out if you don’t!”

“Don’t say that so proudly,” Nami snapped before setting a sympathetic hand on the new cook’s shoulder. Her name was, apparently, Carrot – very fitting for someone who happened to be a rabbit. “You...really don’t know what you’re in for here. I’m so sorry.”

Carrot’s eternal smile was starting to wilt, more out of confusion than anything. “But this is such a wonderful opportunity for me, I should be thanking you for considering me the best candidate out of anybody else!”

“No. You really don’t know what you’re in for. Please. Brace yourself.”

By the wall, Brook leaned down to whisper at Sanji. “Rather cute, is she not?”

“As long as she can do the job,” he answered, shrugging. Brook fixed one of his hollow stares at him.

“In truth, I expected a more effusive reaction out of you.”

“I’m pretty sure being dead also killed my libido, Brook.”

“Who’s he talking to?” Carrot asked, pointing over to where Brook was.

Only Robin could speak up. “Ah, we haven’t mentioned it to you, but this ship happens to be haunted.”

Carrot stared, round-eyed, at Robin. Then pointed at Brook again. “Yeah, by him, right?”

“Excuse me, I do not haunt the ship, I live on it! Even though I’m dead.”

“Yeah...uh, well, it might be a little awkward, but...there’s a ghost here. And.”

“He’s Sanji!” Luffy blurted out with one of his huge smiles, and Usopp tried to wave away his interruption.

“He’s harmless. Really. So don’t be scared or anything, he’s just...around.”

Carrot looked at each visible face in turn, without a smile for the first time. She considered everybody’s expressions, and then nodded. “Okay.”

“Anyways, we gotta do a welcome party! A welcome feast!”

“Oh, for me? Gosh, who’s cooking it?”

“Uh. You. The cook.”

“I’m...making my own welcoming feast?! That’s not very welcoming!”

Nami set another sympathetic hand on Carrot’s shoulder. She was probably going to be doling those out for several days. “That’s the life of a cook here.”

“On the bright side, you can get used to this super kitchen!”

“Yeah. Okay. Okay! My first feast for you! I’ll do my best!”

“So the code is – “ Nami covered Luffy’s ears and leaned over to whisper it. Carrot’s ear twitched, receiving the message, and she started to shoo everybody out, because a feast is no fun if you watch it being made! It’s gonna be a surprise! And she closed the door and stepped into the kitchen, looked through the drawers, the pantry, everything, just taking stock.

Sometime in the middle of settling in, she froze, fur bristling. It was with a calm, strong voice that she said, “I’ll make sure they won’t go hungry.” And Sanji passed the kitchen over to her.

Zoro appeared again a little bit before the feast started, unannounced. It was almost like he’d never been gone in the first place, and everybody acted like that had been so, except for a few short seconds when Nami punched him into the ground for pulling that stunt and if he did that again, he could expect to owe her a debt long after he was dead. Then he was introduced to Carrot, unconscious. She had to be assured that this was a mostly normal thing that happened regularly.

The feast was how a feast should be. A wild celebration. Laughing. Drinking. Just spending this one night not thinking about what had come before or what had led them to this point. Just celebrating that someone else was here with them and doing their damn best to keep it a celebration. It looked like everybody was enjoying the food too, though there was entirely too much carrots for Luffy’s liking (“It’s my feast for me, and I like carrots, so that’s that! You can get what you like to eat every day after this, okay?”), and the new cook was really fitting in well. She was energetic. Nice. Kinda spunky. Almost killed Luffy when he snatched something off her plate.

Sanji stood off to the side, making sure that he wasn’t in the way. It was wonderful to watch after seeing all the shit before this. His friends having a party. His friends having fun. Just. His friends.

Brook picked his way through the plates and people until he could get to a spot to sit next to Sanji. He was holding a bowl of carrot cake. They must have run out of plates a while ago. “How are you feeling?”

He could feel his own smile fading, just a little, as he kept his eyes on the beaming faces out of his reach. Here comes the chopstick trick, like an initiation ceremony, and Carrot was trying her best to go through with it, everybody cheering her on or laughing at the way she struggled to even get the chopsticks stuck in her nose.

“I regret it,” he shuddered out, the words thick and painful. “I shouldn’t have died, Brook. I just threw all of this away, and I regret it, so much. I hate being like this. I kept lying to myself, but every time I think about my death...I lose myself. I think I could forget who I am, just wander around, wailing and shaking chains. I regret everything.”

Brook lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Well.” With his usual ease, Sanji slipped a cigarette out of his pocket, flipped open his lighter, and blew non-existent smoke into the air. “I’m happy that I’ve got you all to ground me.”

Chapter Text

The first thing he had to do as a waiter was take a bath. This was a fancy establishment, see? So nobody would want to get served by a filthy mudball piece of shit.

Owner Zeff almost stayed by the bath with him, but Sanji flustered around a bit and shouted out, “I can wash myself, old shit!” and though he glared at him, he did leave. Sanji locked the door behind him and was securely alone.

Warm water. And soap! He soaked himself in this rare luxury, let himself slow down and un-tense, but only for this moment. Once he got out again, he had left behind a thin film of himself floating on top. His outer skin of dirt and dried blood and who knew what else. In the mirror, he looked red and raw, but fresh, at least, but he had to put his clothes back on and it was like the dirt never left at all. Owner Zeff’s stupid mustache bristled when Sanji opened the door. “You didn’t even brush your hair, you little shit.”

Sanji stood with his shoulders squared and tried to look as tall as he could. “How much’m I getting paid?” This was probably something he should’ve asked earlier. But Owner Zeff had immediately taken him around back, and the bath had beckoned.

“You get free meals and a place to sleep,” said Owner Zeff, reaching down to grab his arm. Sanji dodged and backed away.

“Don’t give me that shit, old man! You pay those crap cooks of yours with coin, you better pay me too!”

“Snotty brats like you don’t need money. You wanna buy something, you tell me and I’ll decide if you get it or not.”

Oh. Like an allowance. Like he was his dad or something. Sanji spat sparks of saliva, right on the floor. “Don’t treat me like a fuckin’ kid.”

Owner Zeff grabbed at his arm again, and this time it stayed grabbed. Sanji had to muffle a yelp. “You spout that language in front of the customers, I’ll kick your ass so hard you won’t see it again until you’re seventy. If you can’t see a good fucking deal when it’s right there in your face, you might as well get the hell outta here. Got it?”

It was a pretty good deal, and Sanji hated it, but he nodded. Nodded with as sullen a glare as he could, just so that he knew this wasn’t over yet, asshole.

Owner Zeff started pulling him along down the hall, but Sanji managed to squirm enough for him to let go, let him walk himself.

“So I start tomorrow?”

He grunted. “No. Tomorrow you learn the menu and dishes so you can tell the shitheads out there what each dish actually is. Today, you’re getting new clothes, ‘cause oddly enough, I don’t got any shitty uniforms for bratty eggplants.”

“Eggplant?” He marched as fast as he could to keep pace with Owner Zeff’s longer strides. But the other part of the sentence caught up to him and his affront became wary. “New clothes? You’re taking me to a shop?”

“No, I’m gonna grab a cook and tell him to sow you up a frilly dress. Are you an idiot?”

Owner Zeff was definitely not meant to be a dad. He didn’t even try to be. It was infuriating as it was refreshing, after a year of false comfort and too-high voices. It was almost honest, but he couldn’t think like that, wouldn’t let this stupid mustache man grab his heart that he had worked so hard to kill, and so he said, “Piss off.”

If Owner Zeff was a terrible dad, his employees were just plain terrible.

“Shit, look at that hair! Kid, you keeping a bird in there or something?”

“What the fuck is that eyebrow? Hey, lemme see the other one.”

“A goddamn kid as a waiter. Hell, why not a baby as a cook? Fuckin’ Zeff...”

“Hey, don’t curse around the fucking kid!”

“I fucking know every fucking curse already, shithead!” Sanji bellowed back. This didn’t impress the cooks at all, and one of them dragged him over to a seat and started raking a brush through his tangled mop of hair. Or, tried to. A few seconds in and the cook resorted to yanking it, prompting an emphatic “Ow! Fuck!” from Sanji. The brush now hung from his head like an ensnared bug. Sanji tugged on it, surrounded by cooks, all staring at him like a puzzle.

“Let’s dunk him in water, maybe?”

Every time his head got pulled up, spluttering and coughing, he’d take the chance to blindly shout out how much he hated these pieces of shits, how they could all fuck off and die, how he hoped their corpses would bloat and fester because they were so shitty not even the worms would take them, and once they were gone the entire world could finally live in peace without their malodorous presence.

“Big words for a kid,” was the only acknowledgment he got before water filled his ears again and he shut his eyes and thought, I’m not even lying, I hate all of you so much I don’t even have to try, and I’m going to make you all hate me too by the time I leave and we won’t ever miss each other. I’ll disappear one day and find someone else to hate, someone else to hate me back, and all of you will breathe a sigh of relief and move on with your lives. I hate you and you and you and you…

Eventually, his hair got to a state of manageability. They snipped off all of his split ends, evened it out a little, though they let him keep the asymmetrical fringe after he threatened to shave their balls off. They got to see his other eyebrow and got a laugh out of that and he hated them so much.

And that worked out fine.

Sanji walked up to the table, pad of paper in hand, and said, “What the fuck d’ya want.”

Owner Zeff very slowly collapsed his face into his hands as all the spying cooks hooted with laughter. He rubbed against his face, briefly pulled back his leathery skin, and then looked down at Sanji.

“Care to make a guess what you did wrong there?”

Sanji stood, leaning carelessly on one leg. He was in work clothes, which admittedly felt better than anything he had ever worn, but it was so straight and tight and clean, two rows of buttons lined up all military on his chest, and it was white, which he hated. He wiped his nose with a hand and then wiped that on the shirt. Owner Zeff’s face crinkled hard. “You tell me, monsieur baguette.”

The laughing began anew as Owner Zeff snapped to his feet, ridiculous mustache quivering, but Sanji ducked under the table before his leg was even in the air and the cooks all cackled harder, clapping their knees, not quite able to see under the table cloth where he crouched with wide eyes, as far away from those legs as he could get.

It was a good place to be, under the table. Any adult would have to get on all fours to get under here, and he could kick their face freely, or stomp on their hands, bite their fingers, pull on their hair until they figured out it was way too much trouble. It was a little complicated with so many people, but as long as he paid attention, he could avoid being surrounded.

There was the table cloth getting pulled away, and Sanji got ready, but Owner Zeff never stuck any part of him under the table. He was squatting, staring, working his jaw in thought. “Just so you know, hiding under the table isn’t professional either.”

“Fuck off.”

“Try again, shitty eggplant.”

“Go jump off the ship and die.”

“Better,” Owner Zeff said, and as Sanji squinted, he retreated, stood up with a grunt. “It’s a pain in the ass to teach like this. Get out here already.”

This was different. It was new, it was confusing, and he didn’t like it. He watched those legs carefully when they appeared again, sitting on the chair, but they didn’t move his way, even though they could probably manage to hit him by chance if the guy just kicked out or something, but he wasn’t doing that, and Sanji hated this. It would have been fine if Owner Zeff shouted, stomped around, jabbed at him with a broom, eventually gave up and went to bed, but he did none of that and that just felt wrong.

The one working foot tapped once, twice. “Hey, shithead, take my order already.”

Sanji waited a little longer, but nothing changed, and so he had no choice but to chance it and crawl out again. Out the opposite side of the table, of course, away from those legs, he wasn’t stupid, but even when he jumped up and tensed his feet, Owner Zeff didn’t get up. None of the cooks were really doing anything either, silent for once, like whatever was funny just disappeared somewhere, and Sanji picked up the notepad from where he dropped it in his rush, and stepped a little closer to Owner Zeff.

For a while, Sanji just stood, held fast in the stillness of the atmosphere, buried by this oddly grave ceremony. But then Owner Zeff cleared his throat and said, a little louder, “I’m ready to order.”

Sanji wrinkled his nose at the prompt and snapped out a defiant, “Yeah?” Owner Zeff scrutinized him a few seconds more, but accepted the response.

“I’ll have the ratatouille, followed by linguine alfredo with shrimp scampi, delmonico steak, medium rare, put the sauce on the side – “

“Slow the fuck down, I can’t write that fast!” The scrawl his pencil made was halfway illegible, even to him, and didn’t get any better when Owner Zeff reached out and pulled on his cheek. “Ow ow ow,” he complained, even though it didn’t really hurt much, only when he tried to break away, so he just let himself be pulled.

“Watch the fucking mouth, little shit,” was the growled warning before Sanji found his cheek freed and he stepped back, far out of range.

“Oh, apologies,” Sanji replied, taking a bow. “Please, sir, as this humble waiter has some difficulty keeping up with the speed at which you are delivering your order, would you kindly consider slowing the fuck down?”

He thought it was pretty clever, and the other cooks thought it was funny, but Owner Zeff didn’t quite see it that way and Sanji tasted nothing but soap for three days.

He caught sight of those military whites and swallowed the urge to bolt. Instead, he finished setting the plates down for a lady who cooed over him and walked back to the kitchen with as much speed as was safe. He kept the tray under his arm as much as he wanted it over his face. Didn’t even take half a month and the goddamn marines were already here, and as soon as he was through the kitchen door, one of the line cooks barked out, “Oi, Sanji! Tables four and ten needs their entrees, you little bastard!”

Sanji took a deep breath, didn’t move from the door. He was straining his ears but the kitchen was the worst place to eavesdrop, all sizzles and pops and insults. But he couldn’t risk peering out because if he could see them, then they could see him; and there was something to the idea of ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ he thought. Maybe if he stayed out of sight, they would just forget him and leave.

It was childish naivety, though, and even as he indulged himself in wishful thinking, he looked around for an escape.

“Sanji,” said Owner Zeff, and it was so unfortunate that the damn geezer was expediting today. Sanji peeled away from the door.

“Just gotta take a piss real quick,” he muttered, making for the back exit, but Owner Zeff’s hand was too fucking fast for his age, too fucking strong, able to fucking pick him up by the collar and dangle him there.

“Who said you could take a break, shitty eggplant?” But there wasn’t any time for this now, couldn’t he see? Sanji wheeled his legs in the air, trying to kick back, but his reach was just too short.

“Lemme go!” he roared with that usual, familiar disdain, and some of the cooks laughed and turned to watch another fight, but Sanji’s eyes kept flicking to the door and Owner Zeff was just a piece of shit because he turned his head to follow his gaze and looked back with that ugly stupid face and said, “Alright assholes, think you can handle shit without me for once?”

“We’ll handle better without your nagging ass around,” was the sneering reply, and Owner Zeff kicked the offending joker harshly in the leg as he walked out the back door, still holding up Sanji like a cat.

“What’re you doing,” Sanji hissed, his heart jumping when he saw the flag of the Navy ship fluttering above. Owner Zeff kicked open the hatch that led below deck and eased his way down as best as he could with one leg a peg and one hand with a kid.

No, no, this was bad, this was enclosed, this was a trap, and he wanted to scream but he couldn’t so he tried to swing wildly until he was discouraged with a knock to the head. “Shitty moron, get in here and don’t come out until I tell you.”

Owner Zeff pulled aside a hidden panel and tossed him in before shutting it again, and this time Sanji screamed, short and clipped because he couldn’t afford unnecessary noise, but it was enough for Owner Zeff to open the panel again and look him over.

After a moment, the two of them scrutinizing each other, Owner Zeff retreated again, said in a too-soft, not-Zeff voice, “I’ll take care of it,” and closed up the space Sanji was in once more.

His breath started to hitch. Take care of what? Take care of him? And Sanji scrabbled at the panel for a few seconds before his brain supplied that there was actually a positive meaning to the phrase ‘take care of.’ Though of course, it could be that the geezer had tried to comfort him so that he would let his guard down and then would get ‘taken care of’ in the real way, so he needed to calm down and figure out an escape already.

The space he was in was oddly shaped, and there was an actual seat in here. Two actual seats, and foot pedals at the bottom, and now that he was looking, was this the freaking figurehead…? The figurehead was a ship? Was it really that easy?

No, no. It needed two people. The marines would notice it immediately. He couldn’t out-pedal their sails. No. Of course not.

The hidden panel was easy to remove when he wasn’t panicking. He set it to the side and stuck his head out, cocking an ear up.

“Look here sir, we’re searching for a criminal, and if you impede us any longer, I could have you arrested for obstruction of justice!” An unfamiliar, military voice. Decidedly sounding unprofessional at the moment, but Patty had that effect on people. Who the hell knows how he keeps getting assigned to man the front. Given that every day he seemed to push the boundaries of courtesy and belligerence in increasingly creative ways, Sanji felt like Patty didn’t know either.

“Well, ya officer bastard,” and there was Patty’s nauseating voice now, “in case you didn’t know, customer is king! You’re not a customer, so you can fuck off.”

Someone whistled loud, urging the fight on. But then there was Owner Zeff’s irregular thump-clunk, thump-clunk…

“You stupid piece of shit, don’t harass the law. I ain’t gonna bail you out if you get arrested.”

The commanding officer cut in before anybody else. “You are the owner? I’d suggest firing this employee this instant – “

“None of your business. What’re you disturbing my customers for.”

“Eh? Oh. We’re here to question everybody if they’ve seen this girl.” He couldn’t hear it, but he could imagine the sound of unfurling paper, imagine his picture of a time when he had long hair and a hunted look, imagine the bounty, imagine the words…

“We would also like to search your establishment. There is reason to believe that this person has been around this area.”

A long silence. Was it the bounty? Or the words ‘only alive’ that intrigued him? He would take them down here, open up the panel, reveal that, yes, here he is, all packaged up for you...only they weren’t gonna find him here because he was going to move now, and he took one step and heard an even, low, “No.”

“Excuse me?” said the marine. Patty was probably pushing his ingratiating smile to a smug one.

“No,” Owner Zeff repeated. “My customers are here to enjoy a meal, not get interrogated. Once they pay and leave, you can question them as long as you like. Search their ships, if you want. But my cooks are busy with food that needs to be served, and if you want to stay here, you better get a table and buy something or wait until lunch hour is over.”

Sanji had to strain his ears for what came next and worried that it was too quiet to hear, but then the marine started to reply, cold and low, “And what makes you think you can order me around?”

“I can’t. But you can order your men to surround the Baratie and watch for anybody sneaking out. Nice thing about a floating restaurant, no back alleys. Don’t you think?”

Another long pause. The sort of pause that sounded like a fight was brewing, a war, outright bloodshed.

“...Surround the ship, men. Question anybody leaving and search their ship before they sail off. Don’t overlook a single person.” And then the march of boots, getting fainter…

He almost collapsed on his knees, but that thump-clunk and Patty’s “Excuse us for the disruption, everybody! Feel free to enjoy your meal!” reminded him that the ship was surrounded, and he scrabbled back into the figurehead-ship and fitted the panel back into place.

Lunch usually ended generously at two, but that was two hours away. Sanji curled up in his seat and watched the panel, but his own traitorous mind wandered off and he soon fell asleep…

He was a light sleeper by necessity, and so the clomp of boots down the ladder woke him up, got his heart beating as he instinctively looked for an escape route. But. Oh yeah. He was trapped.

“Just ropes and boxes here,” Owner Zeff introduced over the entwined clomp-clomps. “A bit of rat poison, just in case. Far away from the food. Bit of munitions to protect ourselves too.”

“Open the crates. You two, make sure there’s no one hiding in the corners.”

“Not many places to hide,” Owner Zeff drawled, and this stupid shithead, they were going to find him, did you think they’d never dealt with hidden rooms before? They’d check the walls carefully and then, and then.

The sounds of footsteps, coming closer. Sanji clapped his hands over his mouth, trying to keep from barfing up his heart. Closer. Closer. Running his fingertips on the boards, the floor. The marine was loud but Sanji was louder, with his whimpering breath and watering eyes and shivering hands, his bones knocking against his skin, his brain whirring so hard it would liquefy, his stomach bubbling like a volcano, even his hair had to be too loud, the way it prickled and stood, brushing against everything around it, wood, clothes, air…

The boots went by.

He was probably dead now, his heart hanging from his teeth and his brain from his ears, but the boots passed and he could feel his breath over his hands and the boots reported nothing and they were going above deck once more and he was still here, not captured, not chained, not anything, and it took him a while to even remember how to move, but he pressed his ear against the panel, just in case, and then opened it up, crept his way out.

Empty. A little messier, and he ought to be prepared for someone hiding somewhere, but empty.

Voices above, but they were rough and familiar. Too loud. He stepped on the ladder and pushed the hatch open a crack, scanning what ocean he could for the tell-tale sails.

There was the back end of one, moving away but still in sight. Not great. But he could stick by the walls and be in the kitchen in a flash, it was possible, they wouldn’t see him, so he pushed himself the rest of the way up and crouched to make sure the hatch didn’t slam.

Nobody in the kitchen quite yet. It sounded like the marines had dragged every employee out into the restaurant proper in their investigation, and now they were lounging around and complaining about it. Owner Zeff was...ah. There, shouting at them to clean the tables before the dinner shift. Not much time.

He found a potato sack and shook the remaining potatoes out on the floor. Fridge was huge, well-stocked. Not many things ready to eat, but there were some fruits; apples, oranges, things that could keep for a few days until he got on land or another ship.

He had just drawn a knife from the rack when from behind: “That’s not a weapon, shitty eggplant.”

Ah. Owner Zeff. Sanji whirled around, knife pointed at the ready, but now his back was against the cabinets. Owner Zeff kept his arms crossed. Didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Like Sanji was just embarrassing himself.

Sanji tried to sneer. “Anything can be a weapon, old man.”

“Not that,” he said, nodding over to the knife. “Take a gun. You know how to shoot?”

“Yeah,” Sanji said, more out of shock than anything else. And then: “Why’d you do that?”

“Dunno what the fuck you’re talking ‘bout.” And it really looked like that, his face as humorless as it ever was. Like Sanji was turning in his resignation instead of stealing everything he could for the road. Like...he was someone who deserved to be treated like an actual employee.

This feeling was familiar, dangerously so, even though Owner Zeff was so, so different, hard lines and harder wrinkles, even though he was sure he had never seen a genuine smile here at all, it was treacherously familiar, and he felt his heart welling against his ribs, pushing against his lungs, and it was so hard to breathe and dammit, why, why again, couldn’t he see that he was nothing but trouble and bad luck? And Sanji hated him because he was so stupid, just seeing this scrappy runt and accepting him so openly, but mostly he hated himself because he was falling for it again, falling so hard, and he would readily give up his heart, his life, just to stay here, he would dole out his devotion for the rent and sell his soul to cover anything else. He should know better. He had to know better, because if he didn’t learn from his mistakes then he’d just repeat the same tragedy, over and over, he knew all of this, and yet.

And yet.

His heart squeezed and pumped the tears out of his eyes, clogged his throat with so much air, and he knelt to the floor and curled up around the knife and cried and cried, clung on to Owner Zeff when he tugged the knife away, and cried and cried and cried, maybe the other cooks started crowding the door, hearing all the noise he was making, but for once they didn’t comment, just watched as he melted into a puddle on the floor and, dammit, he was tamed.

“You call that cooking?”

“Ow! Fuck! Lay off, shitty gramps!”

“I’d disown the kid who gave birth to you.”

Sanji pushed at the calloused hand pinching his ear and backed away. “Fucking, how would you do it, then!”

Well, first, by holding the spatula more like a tennis racket than a dagger, so that he wasn’t fucking stabbing the pan. Also folding the eggs gently, instead of scraping them around until it was all in little pieces. Cooking the tomatoes and eggs separate first, before mixing them. Adding garlic along with salt. And then plate it gracefully, a nice even circle, and then…

“Taste,” Zeff said, and he did and fuck, it was a lot better. Goddamn. He fucking hated it. But Zeff laughed at the way his eyes sparked, and then he couldn’t even make a smartass retort because he was too busy trying not to look embarrassed, and all he could do was memorize everything Zeff had done out of spite.

But in the end, the old man was a cook. Sanji could live with him knowing a lot about food. But...

“You fight like a goddamn animal. Why the fuck did you bite him?”

Sanji was leaning forward, a tissue blooming red around his nose. His other hand held a pack of ice to his cheek. He didn’t get to see what happened to the other guy, but he did manage to hear what sounded like someone raising hell for a few short minutes outside. “Biting hurts ‘em,” he maintained, swallowing down the thick taste of blood.

“Yeah? How much did it hurt when he fuckin’ walloped your head, huh?”

Zeff clunked his way from the sink and held out a damp towel to replace the tissue. Sanji held the ice pack up with a shoulder and made the switch as quickly as he could, before anything could drip on the kitchen floor. He stared sullenly at its unmarred surface.

“First of all, no kid can take out a grown man, so don’t fucking do that again until your balls drop. Second, if you’re gonna fight someone, don’t put your goddamn head in their reach, shithead. All you’re doing is letting them get in a punch in the most vital spot. You fucking moron.”

“It worked before,” Sanji bit back, which was mostly true. Zeff snorted.

“Sure, against other shitty brats. There’s a reason nobody actually fights like a savage idiot, kid. You wanna fight, you gotta work against your shitty instincts.”

Sanji started to rub flakes of dried blood out of his nose. It throbbed in complaint, but he continued on anyways, just to get the smell out at least. “Yeah?” he threw out, like throwing down a glove.

“Yeah,” Zeff answered back, and suddenly Sanji found another chore added to his day, only it was kicking, over and over, one leg and then the other, until both of them wobbled at the knees, and it was stupid, just the same exact move, but then he’d watch Zeff do the same thing and he’d look so big and powerful that it hurt just looking, and when could he do that, without effort, with barely a thought? And he kicked and kicked and kicked, imagining that it was Zeff’s face in front of him so he could kick all the harder.

But Zeff knowing more about fighting was okay too. He’d had more time to get stronger. Sanji could live with that, as long as he could catch up and maybe beat his ass.

And then came the one thing he couldn’t just ignore.

“All Blue.”

Zeff looked up, eyes immediately snapping to the book Sanji held in his hands. He flicked the stove off and pulled at his mustache. “Who the fuck said you could stick your grubby hands in my room?”

“You were looking for All Blue,” Sanji accused, and something in his eyes must have sparked, because Zeff didn’t immediately snatch his journal back. Just stood, looking down at him, and looking far into someplace else. “What do you know about it? Did you…?”

Zeff closed his eyes. “No. But it exists.”

Something thrummed through Sanji’s body and settled in his guts, a squirmy thing that couldn’t keep still. “How?”

Zeff reached out for the book now, and it was easily slipped out of Sanji’s grasp. He set it on the counter and went back to the stove. “When you ever go to the Grand Line, you’ll see it’s not so impossible to believe after all.”

He believed in All Blue. And he set sail to look for it and came back, unsuccessful but undeterred, and all of a sudden Zeff resonated with him, or maybe he was resonating with Zeff, and he stared up at him with the same sort of childish loathing, but now he knew that it was the sort of loathing that came with absolute longing, a desperate desire to have, or to be. To grow into his shoes and inhabit his life and experience his knowledge and strength and capability and just feel fulfilled.

Zeff was his ideal. And he fucking hated it, really felt his insides broil in contempt, because this was love and he was stuck fast, too far in to even possibly escape.

The bathroom door banged against its hinges, and it sounded like Zeff was probably going to break it down soon. “Oi, shithead! How long a break you even need?! Customers are waiting!”

It felt like he had been lying down on the floor for years, curled up and trying not to panic but failing because he was pretty sure he was actually dying, because what else could buckets of blood mean? Everything ached all over, his back and stomach and head, and he wasn’t sure why his first reaction was to lock himself in and wait for it to maybe stop because now he might be actually dying and he should have just asked for help.

Sanji managed to cut in between the banging to shout back, “I’m opening the door, but don’t come in!” He took the sudden silence as an affirmative answer and pushed himself up on his feet to unbar the latch.

Zeff’s face looked as craggy as ever through the small crack he peeked through, but the pinch in his brow exposed something under the rock. Sanji made sure that all that could be seen was a sliver of his face, that there wasn’t someone else in the hall. With a stiff breath, he mumbled, “I’m...bleeding...”

“What!” Zeff pushed against the door, but when Sanji pushed back, he laid off. But he didn’t take his hand off the doorknob. He squared his jaw and said, “Where?”

It was a hard question to answer. But Sanji’s hesitance seemed to be good enough, because Zeff’s face suddenly had an expression that was absolutely foreign to him, one of absolute and unmitigated terror. It was like watching a rock slide, and seeing that was almost as bad as dying. Zeff pulled the door closed and said, “Wait here.”

After latching the door again, Sanji tried to clean himself up because even if he died, he didn’t want to look like shit with all this dried blood. It would probably be good to put his pants on as well, but the thing was too uncomfortable to wear, and so he tried to clean up the floor and just sat in the tub.

The knock came a few minutes later, politely this time, waited for him as he opened the door a few inches. But instead of Zeff, there was a woman, a stranger, and Sanji shut the door again.

“It’s alright, I’m here to help!” said the woman, knocking on the door again. Then there was an uneven step and then a more familiar banging, and Zeff bellowed, “Open the door, jackass, she’s not gonna hurt you!” After that, there was a muttered admonition and the sound of a smack, and then Zeff added, “Uh. She knows what to do. So just listen to her, shi – kid.” Sanji heard him step away again, listened for how many steps he took and exhaled when the number was small.

“I’m just going to give you a few things, okay?” said the woman, softly. “And then I’ll just talk you through it. I’m not going to come in. I’ll just put my hand through so you can take them. Okay? You’ll be fine.”

The way she talked, like coaxing a wild animal, was inherently untrustworthy. Her voice too high and too gentle to be taken at face value. But Zeff was still there, and he could stop her if she tried to do something, so Sanji hid behind the door and turned the knob.

A slender arm made its way inside, holding some neatly-folded pants and underwear, and something that looked like a rag on top. He took it all and latched the door shut again. The clothes had come from his room, but the rag he’d never seen before. It was a bit thick and soft, looked like it had been stuffed with cotton and then sown up. There were also some safety pins underneath it.

“Pin the rag to your underwear. Make sure that it covers from front to back, okay? I have another one here too for when you need to change it.” Sanji was already working to follow her instructions, but she was still talking. He tried to listen. “You’ll have to wash them clean with cold water and boil them. The blood will flow for perhaps a week, and it’ll happen every month, understand? For the cramps, you can drink tea or put something warm over it.”

The rag pressed against him, something foreign between his legs, and suddenly he wasn’t sure how he should walk. He pulled at it, first down, then up, tugged it until it felt something akin to comfortable. And this would happen every month? It was an inconceivable idea.

“What else...oh, when you clean them, you’ll have to replace the cotton. On the inside. I can also teach you how to make some...”

“Why is this happening,” he finally whispered back, clasping his arms around his stomach just so he’d stop picking at his pants. The woman outside hesitated.

“It’s womanhood, dear. You’re growing up.”

That wasn’t the end of it either. His chest was growing, though not as big as he’d seen, but still noticeable under his suits. They were like odd pustules and they hurt and he wouldn’t mind cutting them off if he could, but all he could do was wrap them up tight and ignore how short of breath he was. It felt like he was growing out of his clothes daily. His voice wasn’t getting any lower. It still sounded like a child’s compared to the other cooks’. Which was just unfair, because if he had to grow up, shouldn’t he sound like it? But the solution came to him serendipitously when he caught sight of a smoking customer, and he invested in cigarettes despite the complaints of every single staff on board. And it was awful. Fucking revolting. But it made his voice sound more like it should, and he kept it up until he couldn’t stop even if he tried.

And then there was the blood.

Nobody really knew how to help him, not even Zeff, so he had to deal with all this himself. But it just felt like he was growing into some disgusting creature, something too gangly and too thin and too sweaty and too graceless, and nobody else seemed to have as much trouble as him. Everything just hurt, all the time. He didn’t understand how anybody could live through this. He hated that everybody else was able to live through this. Every time he looked into a woman’s eyes, they betrayed nothing about the absolute horror of life, and he just loathed the way they smiled, the way they walked, no slouching or shuffled plodding, the way they spoke with melody, the way they could be happy when he just felt miserable, and women were magical creatures, they had to be. Something miraculous, terrifyingly so, and he couldn’t look at them anymore without choking up and mumbling.

This, the staff knew well enough, and they gave him hell for it, called him lover boy, little Romeo, a shy little artichoke. He was at the point where he could comfortably kick their asses though, so it was no big deal.

But in the end, the feeling of his body in pain, working against him, all of it was familiar, even if it came in odd forms now. And he got used to it as he had done before. And so it was, for years and years.

At least, until a cannonball hit Zeff’s office.

In all the commotion (a combination of a cannonball crashing through the Baratie, him pissing off a marine and beating the shit out of him and also threatening to kill him, a staff-wide argument, some sort of demon man coming in, Patty beating the shit out of him and then throwing him out, the resulting cheers from the audience…), Sanji snuck back into the kitchen and drew out a wok. None of the cooks would have missed a fight for anything, so he was alone; but it wouldn’t stay that way for long and so he fried some rice real quick and slunk out the back door.

The demon man was still sprawled out on the deck like a murder scene. Patty had made sure to toss him off to the side, out of sight from the front door. It was a convenient place to deliver an impromptu meal.

The man turned at the sound of his steps, tensed at the smell of food. Didn’t move, even when Sanji set the plate down by his head and leaned back against the railing.

Sanji took this chance to slip out a cigarette. “It’ll get cold, y’know.”

The man moved, then, but only to lean on his shaking arms. He managed to get on his knees. “Why?”

“I know what it’s like to be called a demon.”

He spat at that, a phlegm of blood, right on the deck. He wasn’t quite looking at him, but Sanji felt that sunken glare. “What, you think you know me? That we’re the same?” He tagged a harsh laugh at the end of that word, the sort of sound that accompanied broken kneecaps and snapping necks, a supercilious sort of sound despite his current position.

Sanji glanced at the spot of blood with a grimace and turned back to the sea. “Nah. I would’ve kicked your ass if Patty didn’t beat me to it. Fucking, threatening to shoot the guy you’re asking food from? Are you a moron?”

The man took long, shaky breaths. Wiped something off his face.

“Why?”

Sanji shrugged. “If you’re hungry, then you should eat.”

And, as though he had been waiting for permission all along, the man fell upon the plate, almost forgoing the fork. Anything that he dropped, he snatched it up again with animalistic dexterity. It was only a quarter of the way in that he stopped, clutching the plate like a life boat, trying to keep food in his mouth while just crying, unrestrained, almost poking his eye with the fork when he tried to physically hold the tears back. He looked unattractive, on the verge of gagging, rice hanging off his lips and getting drowned in snot and tears, but he mumbled out, “’S good...it’s so good...” and Sanji couldn’t keep his smile in.

“Hey! Looks like I found a good cook!”

Sanji’s smile dropped as he looked up, seeing a straw hat and an idiot grin. It was a boy he only vaguely recognized as the face behind the cannonball, swinging his legs over the deck above them. “Wanna join my crew?”

“I’m gonna be the pirate king,” said the chore boy, looking really stupid with his big dumb grin and shit.

“Well, pirate king. You’ve managed to piss off every single cook on this ship and now they’ve dumped you on me. So. What’s something you can actually do competently that doesn’t involve breaking everything you touch and eating anything in reach?”

The idiot frowned for a moment. “I can fight, and I can stretch!”

“Okay. You’re scrubbing the deck. Here’s the mop, here’s the bucket. See you in a month.”

“Wait! You know that old guy, right?”

Sanji hissed out a stream of smoke with a dull expression.

“D’ya know what he likes? I really can’t stay for that long and I’m thinking, if I give him something he really really wants, then he’d let me go!”

This time, Sanji spewed the smoke straight into the idiot’s face. He coughed and squinted his eyes shut, but didn’t seem to be too bothered by it. “Joke’s on you, that old shit hates everything.”

“What? Why? That’s dumb. Does he got trouble pooping?” Sanji almost spat his cigarette overboard and only managed to save it with creative use of his tongue, unfortunately swallowing it instead. “Maybe if I help him poop he’d let me go?”

“No,” Sanji forced out between hacking coughs. He could feel the burns all the way down his throat, saw the world blur as he tried to regain the little breath he had nowadays. He leaned hard against the railing to cover up the world going black for a second and finally managed to wheeze, “What the fuck. Just clean the deck and don’t break anything.”

By the end of the day, the idiot broke the mop and the bucket, and Sanji was slightly impressed underneath all the fury.

The idiot had friends. Or crewmates, more accurately. They came in every day to order the cheapest items on the menu and they stayed docked after closing time. They were, without fail, the rowdiest customers, and they somehow managed to make Luffy act even worse whenever they were around, something entirely unwelcome. One of them hated mushrooms. One of them kept ordering beer, even after being told every time that they didn’t have his filthy grog on the fucking menu. One of them, well...she made him stammer, could get him to flinch with a touch, sent him reeling whenever she focused her voice on him with that come hither tone, the total confidence in her eyes, the bold way she wore her skirts...he had to avoid her as much as he could, or risk giving away the entire Baratie to her.

The first one he named ‘Idiot One,’ because his nose actually fucking looked like the actual fucking number. The second would have been ‘Idiot Two’ if it weren’t for his green fucking hair; Sanji had no choice but to dub him ‘Green Idiot.’ The third, he couldn’t name. He knew how dangerous naming her would be. Like naming stray animals, but having no room at home to keep them.

He met them properly when he tried to drag Luffy back to work, and Idiot One clapped an arm around his shoulder and said, “So I heard you’re our new cook!”

Sanji leveled a glare at Luffy before sending it towards the miraculous nose. “You heard wrong.” With that, he unhooked the arm and took Luffy by the ear. “Enjoy your meal.”

Despite what clearly should have been the end of the conversation, they kept drawing him over to their table. And, dammit, he had to go there because the other cooks were too goddamn lazy to help outside the kitchen and his only co-worker kept slacking off with his idiot friends. Whenever he strode over to grab Luffy to do something else, they’d start up a conversation, tease him, ask him prodding questions that he evaded with all the professionalism he was taught.

“C’mon, where’s your spirit of adventure?” Idiot One asked, clinging on his arm in a way that was probably supposed to be charming. “You’ve got a young man’s heart, right? Do you really wanna just stay in this place the rest of your life?”

“Yes,”Sanji gritted out, slipping his arm away. He was getting quite good at that. “And even if I went traipsing off to do whatever the hell, I wouldn’t go join idiots like you.”

“Aww...you think I’m an idiot?” said the lady, pouting exaggeratedly, and Sanji tried to apologize while clamping a hand over his mouth at the same time and tripped on a chair in his rush to get away.

After a sudden attack, a lot of broken ribs, a few burns, almost dying from poison gas, watching someone else almost die of poison gas, and then a whole bunch of other shit, Sanji went and joined the idiots. He told Luffy as soon as he woke up, and the kid went and smiled at him, a sight that went sour in his mind. “But if I want to leave at any point, you let me leave,” he added, and Luffy frowned a bit at that.

“Why would you wanna leave?”

“It’s not like I will,” he lied. “But I want the option open.”

Luffy hummed and nodded his head. “Let’s get going, then!”

It wasn’t as easy talking to Zeff.

The old man couldn’t stand, not with his peg leg broken, and so he sat with his typical countenance; which just made talking all the harder, considering that his typical countenance was a constant fuck-off. Sanji pulled a seat across from him, set his hands on his knees.

“I’m leaving. Just letting you know. Think you can keep this place floating without me?”

Zeff grunted. “We’ve been floating since before you came here. Honestly, without your dumb ass around to start shitty fights, we’ll probably be better off.”

His mouth stiffened. “Sorry.”

At that, Zeff’s eyebrows curved up a little, and he reached over, clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Come back whenever you want, shitty eggplant.” Sanji squirmed, fiddled with his fingers, but Zeff added a solemn, “I mean it,” and he could just about shrivel up and die.

“Yeah,” he choked out, already crying, even as he knew he would never return. Not unless he wanted to bring another Don Krieg to a place that didn’t deserve his own bad luck.

His first job as a pirate was to get back the lady who defected.

“Why? Sounds like she took your money and ran off. I get if you want your shit back, but she betrayed you, y’know?”

Luffy looked childishly stern. “Nami’s my friend! Friends don’t run off!”

“Uh. Exactly.”

But Luffy didn’t seem to see the inherent contradiction in his own words and they just kept barreling forward until they tripped their way into an entire island-based criminal operation manned by fish. And in the middle of it all, he ended up fighting for the very person he had advocated against.

He had never really fought in a team, honestly. He was on his own as a kid and at the Baratie he mostly fought with the cooks rather than with the cooks. His new crew obviously had some history. Enough to understand each other. And he was left stumbling along, trying to catch up. And it probably wasn’t worth fighting, not knowing any of these people, not willing to die for anybody. And he would rather just leave the crew than struggle for a cause he didn’t have his whole heart in, even if the history of the island left it bleeding vigorously on the ground.

But. Here he was, with battle scars, broken ribs, collapsed lungs; here he was, absorbing all the relief, all the joy, all the unbridled jubilation of the island’s people, getting thanked by gracious tears, getting honored with a feast, getting showered with a euphoria that he couldn’t resist.

As he recovered in bed, Nami sat by him and said, “You didn’t even know me.”

“Yeah.” He had the quilt pulled up to his shoulders, to cover up the fact that the doctor had confiscated his bindings and left nothing but lectures in return. Asshole also took his cigarettes, but he tried not to think about that now, tried to focus on this face radiant with the atmosphere of the whole island. The look she gave him was beautiful for its rarity.

She interlaced her fingers together and rested her chin there, letting her hair fall in front of her face. “Thanks. Really.”

Sanji very slowly turned his back on her and covered his face. “Okay,” he said, and then, “Oh my god. I mean. Thanks. Wait. Uh. You’re welcome? Shit.”

“Hey, don’t I get a thanks too?” Usopp complained from the door, and Nami rolled her eyes but smiled and thanked him too, and then Luffy was suddenly climbing through the window with food bulging in his cheeks and more food in his hands which all promptly fell everywhere when he accidentally knocked a hand against a bedpost and he screamed a muffled protest which just made the food in his mouth also fall everywhere and Nami hit him for messing up someone’s house and Usopp said that it was probably okay since Luffy was the hero anyways which just started an argument on basic human decency, none of which Luffy participated in because he was too busy eating everything he dropped off the floor and Zoro, who had been sleeping off his recent surgery, woke up and announced that he had to start working out and were there any weights around? And the doctor appeared, as if summoned by the klaxon call of extremely poor health decisions, and ended up strapping Zoro to the bed while everybody else laughed.

And this was so strange, so very different. So open and carefree and just plain weird, like the kids he saw back home, except he was part of it now and he tried to hate it but couldn’t think of any reasons why.

He was going to feel bad when he left.

Chapter Text

“I just want to try painting! At least once, just to see if I can do it!”

“But in my dining room?” And Usopp at least had the awareness to look abashed, but he still aimed his imploring stare, the sort that Sanji was pretty sure he had learned from Chopper. Sanji redirected his head and sent the cleaver through the pork harder than was necessary.

“I’ll cover the floor and table with newspapers. And I’ll be super careful, you’ll forget I’m even here!”

“What about the fumes?”

A brief look shot across Usopp’s face, lips pulled up too taut, eyes a bit too large, and then he laughed and said, “No, of course not, it’s fine, it doesn’t smell...” He examined Sanji’s face a bit for any sort of disbelief. “...bad,” he decided.

Sanji would have sunk his head into his hands, but they were currently covered in blood. He sliced another chunk of meat. “Most paints are toxic, just so you know. That’s why artists die young.”

Usopp’s eyes went wide and round again. “Nobody told me that.”

“It’s fine if you’re in a ventilated place. What kinda paints you got?”

“Well...” There was a white sort of tray on the table in front of him, cheap plastic. It had a covering that was held in place with a tab, and Usopp fiddled with it now, revealing several colorful circles. “The lady said watercolors are good for beginners...”

“Oh, those aren’t toxic.”

Usopp collapsed on the table. “Oh thank god. I thought I’d have to throw these away.” Then, snapping up straight again, “You coulda told me that first!”

“I didn’t know you had watercolors.”

Usopp opened his mouth automatically, but had nothing to say. There was no arguing against a perfectly aggravatingly simple answer and Sanji’s smirk didn’t help any, and so instead Usopp said, “Can I paint here?”

Sanji slid the sliced meat into a bowl and started cleaning off the knife. “Yeah. No fumes. But just so you know, if you use any of my good cups for your shitty paint water, I’ll bake your arms like breadsticks and force them down your mouth.”

“Okay, okay, just give me a crummy one.”

The mug was the sort of off-white that came with age, and whatever image that had been on it was long flaked away. It was chipped at the top, and inside was a stubborn brown ring that remained no matter how much Sanji scrubbed. It certainly wouldn’t be missed.

The sketch looked like it went as well as it always did, done with just a few sweeps of the pencil on the page. Sanji watched as he performed his own form of art, starting with the stir fry. Usopp was most at home with babbling, lying, chattering, just acting like a kid, but when he focused, it felt like a sight to be treasured. The look of a sharpshooter preparing a perfect shot, sniping unerringly from the sidelines, perforating holes in his targets and forcing them to fall or to retreat, bleeding. Though in this case, the only blood here was the paint bleeding the paper. Which happened often, judging from the occasional dark mutters and huffs, the gnarled way his fingers rushed through his hair.

Still, his muttering was like the calculations he mumbled under his breath before letting a particularly difficult shot fly, those unknowable numbers and factors that went into a bullet; and if Usopp could master the science of shooting, then he could certainly figure this out. At the moment, he was applying paint on some scrap paper, mumbling something about shading.

Usopp didn’t look up when rain started to pitter patter outside, nor when the rest of the crew burst in for the warm, dry comforts of the kitchen. As Sanji put the soup on hold to whip up some warm drinks real quick, Franky came up behind Usopp and said, “Lookin’ super, bro!”

Usopp jumped and threw his arms over the paper, lifted them to check if he had smeared the paint, thew them back down again. “Nooooo, don’t look! I’m not done!”

“Yeah? Well it looks super great already.”

“It doesn’t, it’s terrible, shut up, nooooo,” Usopp said into his arms and didn’t stop until Sanji came around and nudged him.

“Oi. Got cocoa. You want one or what?”

“COCOA!” Luffy cheered, snapping a mug off the tray and gulping it down before dribbling it back out in the cup with a disappointed look.

“Oh, that one’s tea.”

“Mmmgh…Zoro, here.”

“Ah, thanks – like hell I’m drinking that!”

As Zoro started to drown Luffy in his own backwash, Usopp raised a hand. “Yeah, cocoa’s good...uhhh, wait...” He glanced towards the paint mug and then back to the array of mugs on the tray. “Uhhh, give me that green one.”

Sanji scanned his tray, hand hovering above. His cigarette rolled around between his lips. “Uh.”

“That one right there. The one that’s striped. That one. That – Sanji,” Usopp broke off, sounding a bit frustrated, but he took a deep breath and the cup he wanted, and said, with genuine curiosity, “are you colorblind?”

“No,” Sanji said, and abruptly turned to hand the other mugs out. But, unfortunately, the Strawhat crew was not one to forget about an embarrassment.

“That explains a lot,” Zoro mumbled into his cup and Sanji took back his drink, set it flat on the table, and then kicked his chair out from under him.

“Yeah, like his weird sense of fashion,” said Nami above the sounds of crashes and cursing, and Sanji paused everything to turn towards her.

“What does that mean,” he whimpered.

(“Hey, what’s colorblindness?” Luffy asked.

“It’s when someone is unable to see certain colors,” Robin replied, and smiled while Luffy crossed his arms and mulled the concept over.)

“Well I didn’t want to say it, but some of your shirts are pretty ugly.”

“They look ugly even if you’re colorblind,” Chopper muttered, and the two betrayals sent Sanji reeling into a chair.

Franky tisked and set a wide arm over Sanji’s shoulder. “I like your shirts, bro.”

For some reason, this did not make Sanji feel better. He threw Franky off and gathered enough strength for a last defense. “I’m not colorblind,” he insisted. “Red and green are just hard to tell apart!”

“Uh, you’re supposed to be able to tell them apart.” The wildly bewildered look that Sanji sent to Usopp was heartbreaking, and if only this news could’ve been broken to him in a different way, and, wait a minute, “You didn’t know you were colorblind? For nineteen years?”

“Wait, why the hell do you call me mosshead if you can’t see green?”

“It looks the same as grass!”

“But you can’t fucking see green.”

“Nineteen years?”

“Wait, if he can’t tell red from green, does that mean green looks like red or red looks like green?”

“We can’t really answer that question since we don’t know what red or green looks like, Nami.”

“Oh, right...”

“Nineteen years.”

“Shut up! I just thought everybody else was more discerning!”

“For nineteen years.”

“I’d believe it. He’s just that dense.”

“You piece of,” Sanji managed to get out, but then Luffy popped up in front of him, dangling an apple in his face.

“Oi, Sanji. Can you see this?”

The impromptu questions was enough to silence all current conflict. Sanji could only stare, caught in a whirl of thoughts, several of which were about the recent revelation and one of them about how Luffy snuck into the goddamn pantry. He almost considered that this was a trick question, but it was Luffy. “Yeah?” he answered. “It’s an apple.”

He was having a hard time deciding whether he was angry or not when Luffy pouted and looked back at Robin. “Hey, he can see it!”

“It’s not that all things red and green are invisible to him, Luffy. It’s just that from our point of view, he sees red and green hues as a color we would consider wrong.”

Luffy considered this. Turned back to Sanji. “Hey, what color is this?”

Okay. Yup. Definitely angry. “It’s red,” he gritted out.

“Hey, he knew the color!”

“Everybody knows apples are red.”

“Usually red,” Zoro said, smirking like an asshole, absolutely beaming with pride over those two fucking words like he had just gave birth to twins or something. Sanji snatched the apple from Luffy’s hand , tossed it back in the pantry, parked himself in front of the stove, and fumed like the soup he was stirring.

“It’s okay, it’s not so bad to be colorblind,” Usopp threw out, finally taking a sip from his drink. He immediately spat out the paint water before he could swallow any, managing to catch Zoro in the crossfire, which Sanji appreciated.

Usopp lingered long after the others moved on to other things, sitting across the bar while Sanji washed dishes.

Everybody had the decency to drop the subject during dinner, even Zoro, for a while. Chopper asked if there was anything he needed, if he felt alright, and Sanji said, “Who the fuck cares about red and green anyways,” leaving it at that.

Right now, he was stubbing out a cigarette in the ashtray he had moved to the sink. “What the shit’re you still around for?”

“Oh, well,” Usopp said, arms curling around a dry piece of paper. “Just wanted to say, thanks, for letting me, paint here?”

“Eh. You cleaned up after yourself. Doesn’t matter.”

“Well, thanks anyways.”

Sanji continued to wash dishes. Usopp still sat there, glancing around. Eventually, he started to cough, like he was starting up his engines. “So. Like. I actually, wanted to give you this? Since, you let me experiment and all. And also, I was kinda trying to paint you? So, here.”

Sanji turned to see Usopp holding out the result of his watercolor test, looking somewhere at the floor. He dried his hands on his shirt and lifted it by the edges, pinching the corners where none of the paint was. The painting was exactly what Usopp would have seen, sitting where he had been, of Sanji in the kitchen. There was not much detail. Everything sort of blended together, and Sanji was pretty sure he didn’t have a face. But it lent itself to this light, ethereal, watery sort of atmosphere, like the sun shining through the ocean, or the sleepy haze of the morning. Sanji held it up to the light and examined it further. The blue of his shirt was rather striking.

Usopp was coughing again, a little anxiously this time. “So, I guess, like, it might be kinda mean of me? To give you a painting, but I didn’t know you were colorblind when I started and I kinda was planning to give it to you anyways, but now it seems a bit sad, or I mean, silly? Since like you can’t see it the way I can, and I guess that means...it loses? Something? So you don’t have to keep it – “

Sanji lazily glanced back at him. “Looks fine to me. Not like I can tell the difference.” Usopp laughed at that, a bit high and ending in a sort of question, but Sanji smiled back and he relaxed a little at that – still a little fidgety, picking at his hair, his fingers, kicking a little against his stool.

“I think I’ll even put it on the fridge.”

Usopp held out his hand. “I changed my mind. Give it back.”

“I thought art was meant to be seen!”

“Sanji.”

“Maybe the next time Luffy tries to raid the fridge, he’ll get distracted by such a glorious painting – “

“Sanji.”

Chapter Text

His first step on dry land was more of a stumble.

After an entire life on the sea, having the ground stand still was disorienting, nauseating even. It felt like everything was tipped at an angle, including him, but his mind was still stuck upright, and so the fall had that sense of inevitability about it. And it made sense, really, for his escape to be a bumbling one.

C’mon, can’t you even walk? Or are you lousy at that too?

Makes sense for the baby of the family to crawl! It’s a good look for you!

His knees weren’t that skinned, at least. It should be fine to leave it alone. But he should take it slow. There’s no rush, now that he was in another ocean.

The dock he was on was the one that was closest to the North Blue. If he squinted, he could probably see the sheer wall of the Red Line looming above. It would have been nicer to get further in, settle down somewhere in the middle of the East, but the ship he had stowed away on didn’t appreciate stowaways, and he didn’t want to think about what they would do if they ever figured out he wasn’t just some passenger’s kid.

They could keelhaul you. Beat you up and toss you in the sea. Oh, oh! Maybe they’ll make you their slave for life and work you to death!

Ha, no way. They wouldn’t find a use for him.

The port town was as odd as the feeling under his feet. There was stone, yes, but there was also wood. Shingles. Greenery. People milling about with no purpose, no uniform, talking freely, and it was noisy and weird and colorful and crowded, and he trailed along one side of the street, pressing himself against walls when he could.

He’ll have to find shelter. No, maybe food first and then shelter. And clothes. And then, well...then he would have to survive.

Survive? Really? Might as well give up here, then.

There was a marketplace by the docks and he was able to quietly pick up an apple and pay, digging out a coin from a pouch tied to his side. The woman behind the stall raised an eyebrow at the currency, but accepted it. “All by yourself today, hun?”

He took an instinctual step back. She rose her eyebrow a bit further.

You know how you look right now? Like a weakling. Like a target.

Relaxing his legs, he looked down and stuttered out, “Where...is a good place to stay…?”

“Y’mean like an inn? Hun...a kid like you shouldn’t be going off on your own. Your parents – “

“He’s at the inn!” And then, a little quieter, “They. They’re at the inn.”

A terrible liar to boot. So, so many holes to pick through...you’re such an idiot, you always were.

“I, just, forgot. The way. Back.” The woman was still staring at him, he could feel it on the top of his head. He rubbed the apple with his thumb, around and around, until surely one of them would go raw. “To the inn,” he supplied.

The woman raised a hand to her cheek and sighed, heavy and hard. She leaned back. Pinched the bridge of her nose. “Hun...I don’t really think…”

Use the knife. Do it. What the hell did you bring it for?

I woulda pulled the knife long ago! If you want anything, force it out! Make her bargain for her life!

Do it, you coward. Do it! You want to impress us? You want respect? We won’t bother you if you do this one simple thing.

He bolted.

The woman shouted after him, but he didn’t parse the words, their meanings just slid right off, and he ran and he ran and he ran.

Ha. Well, we never expected anything different from you, Sanji.

The apple had been too sour, too soft. Nothing like home, where the food was only the best of the best and there was always enough of it, even if the others would tease him, steal the food off his plate, make him wait until they all left so he could finally eat unharrassed. He finished the apple anyways, let it drip down his chin, tossed the core down a drain.

The good news was, nothing seemed to cost too much here. The money he brought would last him quite a while.

And then after that? Did you even think at all?

He managed to find the inn on his own, a squat little homey place that smelled like...like...too much. Too much people, too much smoke, too much drinking, too much dirt, just too much, and the world was simply nothing he expected.

That’s right, cry. Just lie down and cry like the useless runt you are.

Go ahead and panic! Give all these rats a show!

Since the man behind the bar was clearly an employee, he went over to him first. He had to knock on the side of the bar a few times for the bartender to even see him, and even then he only got noticed because a patron helpfully pointed him out.

“I want a room,” he mumbled, and the helpful patron translated for him, and he flushed.

See how helpless you are? And you’ve went and gone into the real world now! You’re going to die, you’re a prince and you’re going to die like an animal and you’ll finally be able to do something and feed the scum of the earth.

The bartender looked him up and down, a familiar sort of expression. “Kid – “

“I’ve got money,” he cut in, this time loud enough to be understood, and he raised his pouch as high as he could, which was not very high at all, and so he shook it a little to get it clinking. “How much is a room?”

The bartender leaned back out of sight for a moment, but he could still hear his sigh. He leaned over again. “Kid, look. This isn’t a daycare or anything. Where’re your parents?”

“They’re coming later,” he said, having mumbled various responses to himself before. No hesitation. The right tone. Eye contact.

He’ll still find you out, you know. Just because you’re you.

“How about you sit here and I get you a drink? I’ve got milk here, you like that?”

Well. Could he put something in it? Alcohol, he could probably taste. But there could be things other than alcohol behind there. But he surely couldn’t have pre-drugged drinks. He’d accidentally drug someone unrelated and then the game was up. So if he just watched his hands really carefully…

He managed to climb up on the seat and settled, keeping his eyes wide, trying not to blink.

You’ll miss something, you know.

He only picked it up when he was sure the white was just milk white specifically. And after that he dug around in his pouch for some coins.

“Uh, no, you don’t need to give me that. Wait here.”

That was suspicious, wasn’t it? But he could use all the help he could get. But.

The bartender went around back somewhere. Sanji gave the patron next to him a glance. She gave him a half-lidded glance back and acknowledged him with her glass, the way he imagined heroic and mysterious strangers did. He opened his mouth and immediately said nothing. He couldn’t.

She gave him one last lingering glance and continued her relationship with her drink.

He could still see the bartender, leaning over a Den Den Mushi.

He bolted. He tried to. The stool was too tall and he immediately fell on his chin and everything rang around him, once, twice. The patron next to him was leaning over, picking him up, asking some questions with that cool look in her eyes and he wanted to say, “Help me,” he wanted to say, “I can’t get caught,” he wanted to say, but he could hear the bartender’s voice raise from behind the bar, a very belligerent “Hey!” and he got his feet under him and ran, straight into someone’s legs, around them, out the door.

Brilliant job, genius. I can’t wait for you to die in the streets.

The alleys squelched and smelled like nothing he knew. It was night and he was cold, and he kept thinking about his bed and the fireplaces and every bit of comfort he used to have. He wanted to tear his own head off, throw it away, just stop, stop. But he didn’t even know how to punch.

So you finally figured it out, there’s nothing better for you than what you had at home. And you left it all, you weakling, you coward. You ran away because that’s what you do best, and even then you’re a screw up because here you are and are you happy now? You think you won?

Think about how much we let you hang around! We tolerated you, you know, a pitiful guy like you, but you didn’t get how nice you had it. And you know we won’t let you back in after this.

There were unwanted people here too, with the same sort of face and the same sort of clothes, breathing out the same sort of miasma that lent to the same sort of atmosphere. He knew all of this so well, but there were more men here, less women, less children. Less amputees.

This particular alleyway seemed to be prime real estate around these parts. The unwanted all lined up against the walls, under ratty mats, sitting on dissolved cardboard. One of the buildings had tossed out some garbage, and he could see some shadows in the distance digging through it.

He found some space and sat down, curled his legs up, buried his face in his arms. There had to be other towns on this island, right? He could keep moving, try again, figure out the right things to say and the right things to do until he got it and then, and then.

(There was something else though, an undercurrent to that thought, asking, is this alright? Was this okay for me to do? Is this my punishment? That was the part of his mind that was crying, surely. That small little crybaby part, the childish part that always got him beat up, the part that nobody liked. He had to kill it, someday soon, if he really wanted to survive.)

He heard someone squelch in front of him and looked up.

“Hey, bucko. What’s that you got there?”

The person in front of him was covered in a thin veneer of dirt and the passing of time, and his smile was very incomplete, like he’d had his fair share of punches. He was standing, pointing casually at the pouch. Sanji flitted his hand over it.

“Now now, shouldn’t be any secrets here, right? ‘Sides, I could hear the clinking a mile away. Got lucky pickpocketing, eh? You wouldn’t mind spreading the wealth around a little, right?”

He scrabbled to his feet and tried to back away but only hit the wall. Had one hand over his pouch, the other suddenly wielding a knife. But looking at it now, it seemed more like a thumbtack than anything, and the guy acted like it was too, chuckling, leaning his arm against the wall above him, leaning over so that the sky disappeared, and Sanji tried to shrink down further while still standing.

The knife was so easy to hide, but it was so small, he was so close, at least a sword had some distance, kept anybody away as long as you were swinging it. A knife was nothing like a sword.

He knows you got a weapon now, moron. Haven’t you heard of a surprise attack?

He’s gonna kill you now. He could pluck that knife right out of your hand. He could slit your throat and you’ll bleed and bleed, so much more than you’ve bled before.

Remember all those children games before? This will be so much worse. We were nice to you, y’know, and here’s where you learn it the hard way.

His eyes glanced to the side and his feet followed soon after, but the man noticed his tell and grabbed him by the leg and he yelped and let go of the knife (you failure, you utter incompetent) and he felt himself slammed against a wall, a heavy hand on his face and another one grabbing at his side and he couldn’t even scream out, not with that hand in the way, and even if his blind kicks connected with something he ended up hurting his own legs instead, and this was it, this was as far as he could go all alone. This is what happened to runts separated from their families, it was so clear, so simple, why did he think he was different.

“Fuck, leave the kid alone, Ran. Don’t be an ass.”

“When the hell did you become a saint? Go suck a dick.”

There was a thick sort of sound, one that reverberated right into his head and down to his toes, and he dropped to the floor and bounced in the muck alongside the one who had so recently held him up. There was a woman now, looking the same as the others but the only one offering her hand to him, and she said, “C’mon.”

All along the alley, the unwanted were stirring, like the brewing sea, like a tsunami about to come, and he took her hand and they sprinted out, into the streets, into the light, barreling through anybody unfortunate enough to be nearby, and if anybody else poured out of the alley, then they certainly weren’t following them. She bled into the crowd, tugged him into the flow, moved up and down so smoothly that nobody could complain, and they ended up in the shadow of a warehouse by the docks, their panting covered up by the slap of waves.

He didn’t have his knife. He lost it so quickly. He was just so...so…

“Thank you,” he mumbled out as his wheezing slowed.

“Thanks don’t pay the bills, buddy.”

He didn’t want to look up. He wanted to run again, but there was a hand on his shoulder and he ended up looking anyways, traveling up that arm, all the way to her face. Her expression wasn’t nasty. It was unfair how calm she was. No jeers or anything he could recognize. Just a cold, hard reality.

“I don’t wanna get messy, kid,” she said as his breathing started to speed up, as he closed his hands around the pouch again. “I really put out my neck here for you, don’t you think? I deserve a little something.”

She was clutching his hands now, prying them apart like opening an oyster as he cried and said, “No, no,” but his own hands were never really strong to begin with and it cost nothing to take the pouch from him. She picked through it, counting everything in there. He just stared at his hands, sniffling.

“You...you can’t...that’s all I have, please...”

She glanced down, tossed a couple coins on the ground. “Go find a family to take you in or something. Cute kid like you, that’ll be no problem.”

But she was wrong. There was nothing about him that anybody would want, not really. Even she didn’t help him for him. But as she slunk away he picked up the coins, one by one, and squeezed them in his hands until they burned against his skin.

Wake up. Dig for scraps. Dig for money. Look for work. Fail. Sleep. Rinse and repeat.

He was a veritable local at this point. Nobody knew his name, but they certainly knew his face, that small, rounded face that peered from behind corners and stared from a safe distance away. Like a ghost, really, if ghosts needed to beg for leftovers from restaurants.

He couldn’t keep going like this, not for long, not when he curled up outside and remembered a mattress, a pillow; warm food and a warm belly; a certain sort of stability that didn’t exist here, the knowledge of where he stood in the world. He needed to get out. He needed to be on a ship.

Of course, when it gets tough, you just give up and run. That’s why nobody likes you, they can all see how rotten and useless you are. You don’t have to be family to see that.

There were loads of people at the docks, and he pestered all of them, just please, take him, get him out.

“So what can you do?”

“I can – “

Go on. Say it. What can you do, Sanji?

He tried to stand straight. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

It wasn’t a lie, and yet it was a falsity. He meant his words. He just couldn’t make them true.

Cargo was too heavy for him to move. He couldn’t pull up nets, pull up anchors, pull down sails, nothing like that. Working cannons was out of the question. He had no stamina for cleaning them either. He couldn’t even swab the decks for long periods of time. And none of them said it, but he knew the reason they turned him away. He was just useless.

The strong survive and the weak die, and you know who you are.

How did you even have the gall to think you could survive! You should’ve known, we told you, over and over!

Maybe if he trained, somehow. If he could do, push-ups? The things that everybody else did. If he just had the energy. If he could eat more. If only he had the money. But he needed to work to have money, and he needed to be useful to work, and there was no exit for him, was there. Either live like this. Or.

You were never worth anything in the first place.

All the times we kicked you? All the times dad punished you? We were telling you to die.

The one useful thing you could ever do in your miserable life. Just die.

Quietly. Out of the way. Bothering nobody ever again.

He was sitting at the docks, feet kicking out over the ocean. If it was high tide, the water would be lapping his toes.

The sun was so orange, resting on the horizon like that, dull enough to stare at, at least for a while. The clouds around it, lit up so brilliantly, could have been a soft duvet settling itself all over the world. There was something kind about it, as though something without sentience could be kind. Or maybe it was because it had no sentience, it was kind, unconditionally, unequivocally.

If it got dark, he would lose his nerve, and so he got to his feet and looked down, and he shuffled his feet, and there’s nothing to be afraid of, it’s just like falling. Only, not pushing himself back up again.

He breathed in. Breathed out, because what would holding his breath matter anyways. Breathed in again, out.

And when he swung a foot out over that ledge, someone grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around, a woman, it was a woman in a nice uniform and she had her face close to his, she was kneeling, her hands were gripping his arms so tight, he forgot to breathe for a moment, he couldn’t figure out what she was shouting because he kept seeing waves, the waves that were still lapping behind him, he turned his head to look like he might see something else there but the woman pulled his head back.

“I’m gonna take you inside, okay?” she said, and he might have nodded because she was tugging him along by the hand towards the largest ship he ever saw, or, pretty large anyways. There should have been all sorts of thoughts running through his head. But there was nothing at all, or nothing much, and he marveled at how quiet it seemed.

He didn’t remember much about the ship. It felt like he had just blinked and he was in the captain’s quarters, huddled in the corner, pressing himself in as much as he was able. The woman kept asking him things but he shook his head until she stepped away and sat behind her desk, reading over papers and counting something on an abacus.

Eventually, he stopped rocking, he stopped counting the clack clack clack of the beads, he found enough pieces of himself to put together and he covered his face and cried.

The woman didn’t look at him for a while, let him sit. But a few minutes later, she approached with a handkerchief at arm’s length in a gentle enough grip that he was able to snatch it easily and she crouched there, in front of him, until he got tired of crying and just sat.

“Do you have parents?” she asked and he shook his head with his hands still over his eyes.

The next question came after a long, tentative pause. “Would you like to work here?”

“I c-can’t, I’m,” and his breath hitched a step, his words almost dissolved into a whine, “I’m useless. I’m useless, I’m useless, I’m sorry, I can’t do anything.”

“What’s your favorite thing to do?”

He looked up at that, and through his red-rimmed eyes he saw some sort of expression he had never seen before, a weird sort of tranquility, but with intent, all of it directed towards him, and it drew the words out of him like a fishing rod. “I...like cooking...”

“There’s a lot of cooks in my kitchen. You can learn from them, if you want.”

His hands were still over his mouth. He looked everywhere but at her. “Is, would that...really be, alright…?”

She smiled and held out an open hand. “Welcome to the Orbit.”

Chapter Text

Pipi pipi pipi pipipipipipipi –

The explosion rang in his ears long after it had happened, and only after the lingering echoes died out in his skull did he hear the screaming. His. His screaming. He was the one screaming.

His knees clattered to the floor as he forced his screams down to whimpers and trailed his eyes down his arms, and they were still there, the cuffs, looking untouched, clinging to his wrists, and he reached for them again, he had to, he needed to, just get them off before he could threaten to use them (even though there was no danger anymore just because the danger had already been done), but the odd weight at the end of his arm, the tug of flesh as it flopped freely, his hands, his hands his hands his hands, and then he heard, “Don’t do unnecessary things!” before a boot connected with his side and he rolled once, twice, choked on his own spit as his wrists hit the floor once, twice, and he was aware of more screaming but it wasn’t his, someone else’s, a mad and feral scream that ended in a boom and a crash and a lot of broken wall.

Chopper ran up to him now, all snot and tears but still bellowing out something medicinal back at Nami, who lagged behind but was trying urgently to put one unsteady foot in front of the other, and Sanji said, “Don’t shout at her,” or he might’ve said so (he didn’t really say so), but he didn’t protest when Chopper turned him on his back and cupped his arms carefully until they were both resting on top of his chest.

“I need you to take even breaths, Sanji! Can you do that? Can you keep still?”

He couldn’t do anything except cry and grind his feet against the floor, he wanted to grab something and wring it out, tear it apart, do anything to, to, he wasn’t even sure what, but that wasn’t an option anymore and he shut his eyes and tried to get his throat under control, but he only managed two short, clipped babbles before he went back to crying again. Because, because.

There was a burnt smell, like fat popping in the pan; one of his arms ended in dead skin, exposed bone, a little spidery thing with its legs all backwards. The other was much of the same, only the wrist was more like a string of flesh and muscle keeping something useless connected to him and every time that arm moved, that hand swung, and it hurt hurt hurt and Chopper tried to hold that one gently, tried to carry that hand so it didn’t move so much while he examined it but it was no use, gravity, entropy, inertia, whatever, all the forces of nature were conspiring against that one bit of wrist to make it snap, just finish it, no point in holding the suspense, get it over with.

“I need anesthesia! Nami!”

“Oh god oh god oh god,” Nami said in between her gags and gasps, but she was able to pull her hands away from her mouth and dug around in Chopper’s bag for anything he needed.

Chopper flicked his hoof against the needle and took hold of Sanji’s arm. “I know it hurts, I know, but you need to relax your arm, Sanji. I’m sorry, just for this quick shot, and then it’ll stop hurting, so please relax your arm, just try as much as you can and I’ll handle the rest.”

Focus. Focus, focus, on Chopper, focus on what he’s saying, flood your mind so it pushes everything else out and just stop, and he felt something slide into his skin and he held out as long as he could before dissolving again, into pain and tears and screams and his arms, his hands, but it was starting to fade now, he was starting to fade, he breathed, his throat aching from the friction, and he watched Nami and Chopper watching him.

“I didn’t,” he started, because it seemed important to say, to let them understand, just so they could make an informed decision, “I couldn’t, let him; use me again, I couldn’t, not against you, not against you.”

He couldn’t tell if they heard. He couldn’t tell if he had even spoke. But he repeated it because it was important, so important to say before everything simply faded.

Luffy greeted him with blood on his hands and a serene sort of look that always came after bloodlust. The world didn’t quite feel all there yet and how much of his blood was made up of painkillers?

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and the only sound he made was a croak, but Luffy said, very quietly, “You won’t see him ever again.”

Something lifted, an invisible thing that he had never let anybody notice. Never again. Really, truly never again? Once and for all, never again? But Luffy was never one who could lie and he was the sort who made reality match his words (not like Sanji, the complete opposite really) and Sanji exhaled and felt his lips pull into a smile, felt his smile pull at some bandages, and he raised a hand to feel out his face only to find that he hadn’t at all.

He had imagined this happening before. He always imagined the worst case scenarios, so of course he did. But the stump surprised him anyways; so blunt, so rounded, so alien, it looked more like an eraser or a handle or something, not at all like an appendage attached to his own body. He could control its movements but its movements were not his. He lowered it out of sight before shock could overcome the painkillers.

Luffy was moving towards the door now and Sanji whined, but he was calling Chopper in and he heard way more feet than just two rushing the door and oh, how did he ever deserve this.

“No, I have to check up on him! You shouldn’t hover – “

“Stay,” he croaked, or at least a facsimile of the word, and when Chopper asked him if he was sure, he whispered out a pleading sigh that Chopper couldn’t ignore.

Luffy, sitting on the table. Brook, standing politely at the back. Nami, oh Nami, that lovely beacon up front, Chopper right at his side, pulling him slowly upright, the faces of his friends, none of them ugly clones of his own, and Carrot and Pedro were here as well?

Upright was a challenge, gravity same as always but his body not putting up enough of a fight, and though Chopper only scooted him up enough to barely call him sitting up, he wheezed and closed his eyes for a moment.

“...Others…?”

“Fine!” Nami replied, though there was a bit of a lilt at the end that doubted that word. “We, had to split up. Before coming here.”

“The situation had become quite...complicated, and we had to split our attentions for a while,” Brook added.

“...Sorry.”

“No, no don’t!” Carrot’s voice was significantly wetter than the others. It was hard to tell, but she was jogging a leg – silently, for politeness’ sake.

“The blast ruptured your eardrums but they’ll heal. Your lungs held out a little better, though you’ll be short of breath for a while – no smoking, by the way – and there was no shrapnel damage since the...cuffs, didn’t blow apart or anything...so most of the injuries ended up being internal. There’s only the burns and...well...I saved one, but...”

He glanced down the length of his other arm and found a heavily bandaged but perfectly recognizable hand. It was one more than he had expected. He couldn’t quite move it, that is, he couldn’t move it at all, but the fact that it was there was good news and he wasn’t about to waste his breath complaining.

He took in everybody’s faces once more. “Others...”

Nobody looked eager to answer, and maybe that had been too obtuse, and he wondered if he could work his tongue for more than two syllables at a time when Luffy finally answered. “We’re catching up to them at the samurai place. That Kaido guy’s doing stuff and I’m gonna beat him up and then we’ll steal a rock.”

“Road Poneglyph,” Nami muttered.

His eyes were getting heavy. It felt like they would roll to either side, like a shitty chameleon or something, and he had to shut them for now. “...Gonna...fight...”

“Please don’t tell me he’s trying to say what I think he’s trying to say...”

“You’ve done enough, Sanji, just rest, okay? Just, don’t worry about anything else.”

“...Please.”

He flung out the word, burdening it with every bit of his being; this is exactly where I want to be, you are exactly the ones I didn’t know I loved, please take me with you, please let me make it up to you, please don’t leave me, not here, not where I can’t see you. His breath was starting to speed a little with the effort it was taking to keep conscious, he was sweating even though he felt so cold, but this was important, he needed a promise, he needed Luffy to promise, he needed his recovery to become a truth.

“Okay,” said Luffy, “but you gotta get better first.”

Brook hummed and Nami sighed and Chopper looked to the heavens as though praying for a divine entity to descend and change Luffy’s words (though Luffy wouldn’t even let a god boss him around) but he said, “I won’t do a rush job, but if you recover enough, then...”

Whatever else went on in the infirmary, he didn’t know because he huffed a laugh and let everything in him drop, into the mattress, into the floor, into the sea. There would probably be a time in the future when he would mourn – or rejoice, or maybe reflect – but for the moment, he would sink.

Waking up without the shield of anesthesia was. It was;

His left hand was completely gone. When he glanced away and back, it was still gone. His arm tensed in the particular way that would have moved fingers, but there were no fingers to move and his arm ended, it came up short, a swath of bandages all over a fine, chiseled point, like someone had pinched his wrist and simply twisted it off and he had nothing but the remains, and his hand was completely gone.

Chopper had been by his bedside and hopped over as soon as he heard Sanji’s breath hitch. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Can you tell me how you’re feeling? Does anything hurt? Are you in pain?”

My hand is gone, he didn’t scream. And he didn’t thrash against Chopper’s hooves, and he didn’t curl up and turn towards the wall, he didn’t throw up, absolutely didn’t. Instead he dug a hole from his brain to his guts, buried everything there to rot, and sweated out, “It’s fine, I’m fine.”

Chopper gave him the sort of look he usually reserved for Zoro, and Sanji added, “Okay, actually. I’m not fine.”

“Medically speaking, I can confirm that.” Despite his tone, his hold was tentative as he shifted Sanji into a sitting position and moved his IV out of the way. Perching himself on his chair, Chopper rolled towards Sanji’s side and carried over a tray with soup that smelled distinctly sterile, somehow. Sanji could see there wasn’t much in it but herbs and he tried not to grimace. But then again, there was a lot to grimace about.

“Okay, this is important. How does your head feel?” Chopper started, preparing a spoonful.

It was hard to sit up without leaning back, draping over the headboard and letting himself just melt. Sanji just succumbed to fate and a future of aching necks. “Mmrrgh...fuzzy and gross...”

“No migraines though? That’s good...I was worried about any brain damage you might’ve had...”

“No more than usual.” Sanji tried to chuckle, but the angle of his throat made it sound like a wheeze instead. Chopper raised his head and aimed the spoon at Sanji’s lips. The soup tasted medicinal. That might have been a compliment from a doctor, but from a chef, not so much. But it also tasted like the first thing he’s had for days, and it slid down his throat with a pleasant sort of painful, like it was melting off the crusty, dead walls of his throat and leaving it smooth.

Chopper continued interrogating him in between scoops of soup, and after that, started listing off the various ways his organs went to shit, and then after that, a list of restrictions and regulations on his diet and his movements and his habits and it must have been a millenniumbeforethe post-procedural lecture was through. Sanji focused on the soup.

“Right. So, now that you’re awake...I’m gonna take your bandages off, okay?”

Sanji nodded absently, for about half a second. And then, “Oh.”

“I left them on to, just so you didn’t have to, see everything. Right off the bat. I’ll start with your chest…?”

Sanji had to raise his arms for this, but could at least rest them on the railings. The bandages came off smoothly, painlessly. The sight under that was less so. Dark red splatters on his skin, blisters that had been peeled and now simply flaked at the edges, a significant patch of stitches that made him glad he didn’t know what it looked like before. Right. Tugging on the cuffs, he had curled around them instead of extending them out. This was just natural. Looking like he’d had his stomach scooped out and then put in backwards. He tried to control his breathing, then closed his eyes.

Chopper, beautiful soul that he was, set his hooves on his arm. “Sanji...you don’t have to look, but your injuries have to breathe. I can’t keep these bandaged. Sorry...”

“Do it.”

It took a moment for Chopper to start, but he reached over for Sanji’s right arm and peeled the gauze off. Sanji tried to follow suit and peeled an eye open, and there it was, or there was part of it, getting revealed wrap by wrap, and he could see his normal lily-white skin like everything was okay, like it was all a joke, but then Chopper got closer to his hand and there was that ugly red look again, and the harsh silver of stitches again, but this time looking all the larger against the narrow space of his wrist. And there was his thumb, his palm…

There were stitches on the tips of his fingers, and he didn’t want to think about what that meant but his mind supplied the image, his hand hanging on at an angle, his fingers bent backwards, the tips of them shredded, or even blown off entirely, and how could he ever move this hand again when it would clearly fall apart?

Chopper was saying something. About nerves, about growth, about sensory information. And, “I’m gonna do the other one.”

He stopped breathing and he hated it. He couldn’t do this, he didn’t have the time, not for this shit, and he said “Okay.”

The nub where his hand used to be looked like skin stretched over bone, stitched together at the end, like leather. But there was nothing there – and yes, that was the problem, but there was nothing there, no ugly burns, no uneven skin, and between the two, he couldn’t help but feel better about this one. Looking at his right, there was something that belonged to a monster. But here on the left, it was more like. His hand had gone on vacation. And it was fine, looked perfectly normal, it just wasn’t here, and all he had to do was wait for it to come back.

Chopper was looking at him looking at his lack of hand, and so Sanji just leaned his head back and sighed. “Alright. How do we start?”

It would take maybe ten days to get to Wano, and Chopper was kind enough to allow him outside after one. Sanji stretched and flexed and kicked out on the soft grass of the deck, jabbing at the air – swift one-twos, roundhouse, smoothly from one foot to the other, jump, flip, land, spin – until he felt something ache or Chopper ordered him to stop; then he’d sit and stare out at the sea, trying to curl his fingers one by one, grinding an unlit cigarette between his teeth, and it was back to kicking and thinking about nothing else.

Nami would stand by him once in a while and glare for a bit, tap her fingers against the railing like she was trying to hammer her nails in. A few days in, she said, “You could sit this one out.”

“It’s an important fight, Nami-san. I have to do my part.”

“You don’t have to do anything. You’ve been through a lot of shit, you really could take a break.”

Sanji clasped his hands together and found his fingers clasping smooth skin instead. He tried not to flinch. “It’s one of the goddamn Four Emperors, I can’t just sit here doing nothing. And I have to make up for – “

“We don’t keep you around because you’re useful, y’know.”

Nami was crossing her arms, her eyes still harsh, but not like she was angry at him specifically. Just, angry. Her sister’s bracelet glinted a bit when he looked up at her words, and when she caught his eye she continued, “You’re here because you’re you. Not just because you cook or kick or anything like that. We value you because you have worth, Sanji-kun.”

And sitting down the way he was, her standing the way she was, it’s like being a kid again but in an alternate world, hearing something so foreign that it would have been an entirely different language to him if he was still eight, and who knew what would have been if he had grown up speaking that dialect. But then those words would have never been special, and he pushed himself to his feet, stood as straight as he could, and smiled back. “Isn’t that all the more reason to fight?”

Nami rubbed at her forehead as he went back to his kicks.

Wano was a mountainous country, with neat slopes and chiseled peaks that lent an unreal air to the whole island. It looked like a nice, meditative sort of place, if it weren’t for the fleet of ships, all with grotesque animalistic figureheads, surrounding the whole thing.

Chopper had admitted that he hadn’t needed medical supervision for a while now, though Sanji was still watched, and Sanji was confident in his capabilities (enough to ruin a sea king’s day on the way here) and yet, Luffy said, “No.”

Sanji looked down at him, smoking without the help of a cigarette. “What the fuck do you mean ‘no,’” he asked, but his pure belligerence pushed him on without an answer. “You said I could fight!”

“If you got better,” Luffy added, arms akimbo like he was a shitty parent or something, some mature goddamn adult, and that was just all the more insulting for multiple reasons that Sanji could barely parse at the moment.

“Yes. And if you haven’t noticed, I’m the picture of perfect fucking health! Signed off by the doc and everything!” Seeing Chopper flinch and edge behind Pedro’s legs was enough to give him pause, but only that, and he strode up to Luffy, practically stepping on his toes, making full use of his six centimeter advantage. “There’s no reason to leave me behind!”

“You haven’t gone in the kitchen yet,” Luffy said, and it felt like everything Sanji had buried was about to come up again. He opened his mouth, closed it. Felt everybody’s stares crawling up his back.

“I was busy,” he said, clutching his arm, and it was amazing how six centimeters could disappear so fast.

“But you never even went through it to go to the infirmary,” Chopper piped up, nose still firmly behind Pedro’s leg. “You always went through the other door.”

“And you don’t even go to get food, we had to keep sending meals to wherever you were,” Nami added, her mouth a thin line, juxtaposed with her heavy voice.

“Ever since...that incident, you have not spoke about...” Brook gestured vaguely towards Sanji’s direction, pointing with his whole hand, as though the word itself would have been too offensive, and somehow that just made it worse.

Sanji whirled towards Brook and spat, “Because it doesn’t matter!” and the way everybody faltered gave him a slimy sort of pleasure.

Nami stepped forward with a fist raised, but she managed to untangle it instead and shout back, “It doesn’t matter? You fucking blowing up your own hand doesn’t fucking matter?! Are you even hearing yourself?!”

“Not when we’re fighting fucking Kaidou!” Sanji snapped back, throwing his arms out wide. “I don’t have time to get distracted,” but the swelling feeling in his gut was already reaching critical mass, he could feel it, clawing up his throat to pour out of his mouth, his own traitorous brain didn’t even believe what it should, everything that he had wrapped up tight was getting unraveled and he clutched at his own head only to recoil when the stub of his wrist knocked into his left temple instead and he made a gurgled sort of yelp and just collapsed.

It’s gone, it’s just gone, abandoned in the dust and rubble of his childhood prison, as though he could never fully escape the place of his birth, and if it had to happen, why there? Why did the one place he hated the most have to claim a piece of him, after he had spent most of his life escaping it, and why did it have to be, out of anything it could have been, why, why, why couldn’t he just forget and focus on the actual important thing, why couldn’t he just be dependable for once, and suddenly there was something on his head and Sanji turned around and Luffy was still there, sans hat, and he brought a hand up and felt the brim.

“Oh fuck no,” he breathed out, “you’re not doing the fucking hat thing with me. You’re not.” He tore the goddamn hat off but couldn’t bring himself to throw it against the ground and just clutched it as hard as he could without damaging the straw. Luffy just patted him on the shoulder.

“We’ll be back, so just take care of Sunny and my hat for me, ‘kay?”

The hat was still in his hand but he was having a hard time seeing it clearly at this point because he was fucking crying, his nose burning with disgusting mucus, and he still wasn’t letting it go or giving it back, he was fucking putting it on to pull over his eyes and he said, “You little shit.”

Chapter Text

It was the library that told him his dream.

There weren’t that many words. There was a picture, a name, and a brief description. But that was enough for him to fall in love, to trace his fingers over the contours of the image, swirl by swirl, to have his thoughts occupied by his one and only, day and night. Eventually, looking over his shoulder, he held the page as straight as he could and just teased it off, bit by bit, as little noise as possible, as little tears as possible, and then it was all his. To take out and look at and dream and wish and hope until his heart ached with how it swelled and he had to remind himself of his reality.

At first, he fantasized about how useful he’d be. Think of the sneak attacks he could do! Or the perfect heist! He could even hide weapons from security checks! But in the end, he just wanted to disappear. Wipe his existence away. Just, have everybody forget about him so they wouldn’t be reminded of how much of a failure he was.

And then, miracles of miracles, it happened.

It was the library that told him his dream; a bit ironically, his dad was the one to realize it.

He had never seen a devil fruit before – not in the flesh, at least – and comparing it to the old, faded, torn page he kept, it looked much too colorful, too uneven, too rough. And it looked absolutely perfect.

The taste was indescribably horrible, but he ate the whole thing down to the stem so that there was no trace of it left. And, trying not to throw up, he crawled towards a corner and curled around his knees and waited to disappear.

The book said nothing about how to use a fruit’s power. And, looking at his highly visible hands, he wondered if it involved saying something, like a spell, or maybe just a simple statement of intention or something, but then he heard the hard footfalls of his father outside and he caught his gasp in his throat and, quite suddenly, he disappeared.

It had been a false alarm – the footsteps paced past the door – but that didn’t matter because finally, finally, there was absolutely no trace of Sanji left.

He had been lucky in his timing. Some soldier had defected, ran away, and so the fruit’s disappearance was blamed on him instead. Sanji felt a little bad that someone he didn’t know would likely be punished for something he did, but at the same time, the soldier would have gotten punished anyways after getting caught. And he couldn’t help but feel more bad about how this soldier’s disappearance was getting more attention than his.

It wasn’t surprising or anything, and it had been exactly what he had wanted (right?), it just. Felt bad. For a lucky break, anyways. When the kingdom broke formation to chase down the soldier, he sat in his room and counted the days until someone would come in to see where he was, only going out for necessities and books.

It took ten days. Which was seven more than it took to find the soldier and kill him out in the training grounds, under his window. And even then, he was sure that Reiju hadn’t actually been looking for him, but coming in to find the books he had taken. But she at least mentioned that she hadn’t seen him in a while to the others, almost an afterthought.

“He’s prolly just sniveling somewhere,” Yonji snickered, and it was a little embarrassing that he wasn’t too far off the mark.

“Maybe he’s makin’ those stupid cakes. Hey, if we catch him, let’s beat him up again!” Niji nudged Ichiji with his elbow, his grin turning compelling. Ichiji shoved his arm away and rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything to the contrary, and Niji just laughed and was already running off to begin the hunt. It took Sanji his all to not throw out a taunt to say, you idiot, I’m right here, can the oh-so-mighty warriors not even find someone standing in front of them?

“When was the last time anybody has seen him?” Reiju asked, and the brothers could only shrug, unconcerned. Their sister raised her nails to her lips, but stopped herself from chewing right before. “I wonder if he’s finally run away.”

That was honestly the nicest thing Reiju ever said about him, that he had the conviction to run away, and it was an overestimation. Even now, he was a disappointment, huh?

“Does it really matter?” Yonji said, already following behind Niji.

Reiju’s mouth twitched downwards. “I’ll tell father. If you find him, be sure to let me know, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ichiji responded, given that he was the only one left at this point. And the siblings separated, leaving Sanji in the hallway, and after a long moment, he allowed himself a laugh.

Sanji’s disappearance disrupted absolutely nothing. The only change in the kingdom were those that affected him alone – he didn’t get beat up and he didn’t get locked away. Not that there was nobody to beat up or lock away – his brothers could always find punching bags and his father could always find displeasure. Sometimes he’d come across victims of both and he’d freeze, staring at the scene until he got sick and risked running through the halls.

Well, there was one other change. Sanji didn’t hear his name said ever again. He wondered if they forgot.

But that seemed too ridiculous to be true, and nothing that he needed to be concerned about. So Sanji put that aside for now and slept all morning and went about his business at night, still wearing his invisible skin. He cooked his meals quickly, edged by the walls quickly, even took his showers quickly – too fast to even get a good look at himself when the water painted his skin back. He could try getting revenge, pull pranks on his siblings, but what if he got caught? Or they figured him out and went on a manhunt? Nothing before would even compare to what they would do if they ever found him. And despite that, he could not think about living anywhere else. And so he stayed.

The air was thick with the smell of confectionery, and it was too bad he couldn’t go out or risk getting stranded in a land of strangers or being revealed by his own footprints. But those visiting the fairy tale land outside often came back with samples, and he nibbled at them whenever he had the chance, not enough to be noticeable. How could a town ever be made of chocolate? How would it stay solid on a hot day, how would your shoes not scuff the walkways or sink into the surface, and what if a hungry sea king came by? He stared out his window, kicking his legs over the edge and wondering at the people who called this normal.

Well, they’d probably be amazed at him too.

This seemed like a land for vacation, but his father was here for business, of course. Something about an arranged marriage. Something about prolonged debate. Something about Big Mom.

“Reiju could do it, there’s probably plenty of guys there!”

Reiju shot one of her sickeningly soft glares at Yonji and said, “I don’t. Do. Guys.”

Yonji almost waved a hand dismissively, but took one of those rare moments to think better of it. “I just don’t get why it’s gotta be me!”

“You’re the youngest,” Ichiji said, standing askance, back to everybody else, the image of a man who had dusted his hands of the matter long ago.

“By seconds. Seconds! And I’m too young to tie myself down to some broad!”

“Then we’re too young too,” Niji pointed out with an unnerving laugh.

“Exactly, we’re all too young, so it should be Reiju – “

“Just how old are you implying me to be?” The smile on her face was as soft as her glare and twice as dangerous. Yonji managed to have one of his rare moments twice in a row and shut up.

“It should be our useless brother,” Ichiji cut in, eyes briefly meeting Sanji’s for a moment, long enough for Sanji to almost scream. “If his sorry face ever turns up, then we’d have no problem. Even when he’s missing he’s a pain...”

Yonji’s sigh grated out his throat, obnoxiously loud. “He’s probably dead. Fuckin’, the one time he’d actually be useful...”

“That’s just how dependable he is!”

Both Reiju and Ichiji shared a private, blank look as their other two siblings shared a long laugh over the joke. Or, it might have been a joke. It was definitely supposed to be a joke at his expense, but he was sure a joke was supposed to have some level of unexpected surprise. Nobody would be surprised at his lack of dependability, if they knew him.

Sanji continued sitting curled up in the corner until everybody finally left.

The wedding ceremony was to be at Whole Cake Island and Sanji was legitimately considering whether or not to attend. His only younger brother was getting married, after all, and it seemed wrong to not go. But he had never actually traversed outside before (not invisible at least), and definitely not in a town populated with crowds, all of them going to the exact same event, and he would surely get caught; but, well, it was his brother’s wedding.

The plan was to leave long before the wedding started, sneak into the venue, and find an out-of-the-way area that wouldn’t have any people to bump into. The ground was soft between his toes, and warm, and he couldn’t help but dig his feet in every few meters. He even managed to buy a suit that fit him – or, grab a suit and leave some money behind. Not that anybody would see, but his current clothes were starting to feel uncomfortably tight anyways, so he was due for a change. He even dared to pluck a cherry off a windowsill and spat the pit into a bush, and if he ever made a cake like this, he’d probably be over the moon with pride. As much as the stories painted Big Mom a monstrous creature, someone who created a kingdom like this had to be lovely in some way.

It was easy to find the wedding venue, given the decorations, and Sanji deliberated for a moment before deciding that nobody would likely watch from a tree, and he climbed into the branches as quietly as he could and waited.

The ceremony was rather beautiful, up until some kid crashed the wedding by literally crashing into the altar.

Standing on the priest, the kid held on to his hat and said, “Where’s that rock!”

In all the confusion that followed, Sanji found himself back in a castle. Not his castle, though, which was unfortunate, and worst of all, when he tried to find the exit again, he instead ran into that hat kid. Not literally – he’d had enough practice avoiding physical touch that avoiding one kid was a piece of not-island-sized cake – but his arm got grabbed anyways and the kid hollered back, “Hey! There’s a guy here!”

“Uh. Really?” and with a start he noticed that the kid had friends, one of which was huge and obviously more metal that human.

“I don’t see anything,” said another, his nose too long to be a human’s either. The kid looked like an idiot, and maybe if he just stayed completely silent, they’d just think the kid was crazy and dismiss the idea.

Or the kid could literally pick him up and fling him towards his friends, that too.

The long nose screeched and fell over once they collided, and both of them hit a corner of the robot’s arm and they lay on the floor, hissing.

“See?” said the kid.

“Luffy,” the long nose whined, halfway on his feet again, “you can’t just throw invisible guys at – holy shit it’s an invisible guy what the hell.”

Despite the headache, he scrabbled to his feet and ran, only to be grabbed again by the floor and he hit his increasingly unfortunate face on the ground.

A woman he hadn’t noticed before stepped in front of the giant, hulking robot and wait a second the floor just grabbed him, what, that’s??

He grabbed at the hands around his ankles, only for more arms to grow and wrench his grasp off. “It’s not so easy to make me let go, so you might as well show yourself.”

“I, uh,” his voice rasped, and he tried swallowing a few times. Did he ever bother figuring out how to be visible? Ha, definitely not. But the arms were starting to twist his feet so he had to say something. “W-wait, I’m not anybody, I just wanted to see the wedding!”

“Eh? Wedding?”

“There was a wedding in process when we intruded, captain.”

“Oh. Then there’s cake, right?”

“Luffy...the whole island is a cake.”

“Back to the invisibro,” said the robot, “you okay? You sound a little...dry.”

“I’m...not used to talking.”

“A useful trait for a spy,” said the woman, and he tried to backtrack only to start a coughing fit. “What is your name? Why are you here? What is your purpose?”

“Jeez Robin, lay easy, wouldja?” But the woman grew several other arms and forcibly felt out his face.

She paused. “He has a curly eyebrow.

While the other faces went grim, the boy called Luffy guffawed. “Oh yeah! The curly guys! Wait, does that mean we gotta beat him up?”

Oh fuck. “No, no no no, I, I’m not here to do anything! You can let me go, really, I’ll just leave you alone!”

Luffy started laughing again. “He’s more of a coward than Usopp!”

“Hey,” both him and presumably Usopp said, only one of them ending in another coughing fit. Usopp hummed, thumb to his chin. “If he’s one of the curly brows...maybe that means...are you Sanji?”

He paused at the sound; Sanji. As a name it was familiar, but he could only hear it as a word first, two syllables, San, ji, one after another, definition, him.

“Huh? How’dja figure?”

“Well, there was a one guy, a two guy, and a four guy, so I was wondering where the three guy was. I guess this might be him?” Usopp gestured vaguely at Robin’s arms rather than at Sanji himself.

“Oh. So I should beat him up?”

“Actually, I kinda feel sorry for him...”

“You can’t even see his face,” said Robin, her tone flat.

“But he sounds super,” the robot raised a hand, had another hand come out of that hand, and wavered it side to side, “sad.”

Robin very visibly rolled her eyes and started patting Sanji down, ignoring the shy ‘eeps’ that’d pop up once in a while. “No weapons. Physique is...” She bit her lip. “Lacking. I suppose he poses little risk.”

“So you’ll let me go?” Sanji asked, like a fool.

They didn’t let him go, instead misusing him as a hostage despite his protests. They thought it would give them an advantage. Funny thing, that.

Didn’t seem half as funny two ruined kingdoms later, sailing away on a ship full of people he barely knew, two of which threatened violence on their first meeting. Or maybe it was a little funny, just how life worked sometimes, funny how he kept feeling awful even though everybody kept telling him it wasn’t worth it to keep thinking about his family, funny how eight people was still too much for his socially stunted brain, funny how he could see the kingdom being dispersed in fire and snails and he still felt like he should be there instead.

“So you gonna stay with us? Or do you wanna drop you off somewhere?”

Looking out at the sea, smelling the salt much more strongly than he ever had before, he said, “You should probably...drop me off. Somewhere.”

Luffy frowned at that but didn’t get to say anything more because Usopp suddenly broke in to the conversation and managed to swing around Sanji’s invisible shoulders. “Hey, we just beat one of the Four Emperors! Let’s throw a party already or something! You said you could cook, right?”

“Oh. Yeah, a little.”

“Could you at least try being visible? It feels stupid talking to nothing,” said Zoro, who had laughed in his face when they were first introduced, so Sanji didn’t quite have a great impression of him.

“It’ll be easier if we don’t keep stepping on your toes or something,” Nami agreed. She was the one who got the first shot on all of his siblings, her voice crackling low and dark, a wrathful sort of kindness. He might be in love.

But letting them see him when he didn’t even know what he looked like anymore seemed much too private a thing to share, and so he excused himself and locked himself in the bathroom and gripped the sink, staring into the mirror. Once his face was visible he almost flinched back, because even if he knew he wasn’t a kid anymore, to have his previous image of himself contrast so much was just too jolting. Frightening? His face was longer. His skin was sallow. His eyes sunken, from what he could see behind his curtain of hair, which forced closed no matter how he tried to part it. His hair curled and knotted at the ends and his entire head could really use a trim, and perhaps his legs as well. He looked around for a razor and immediately cut almost every spot on his chin.

“How did you not even notice your hair covering your eyes?”

“It was invisible,” Sanji said miserably under the snip snip of the scissors. Nami was apparently a good barber, but that didn’t stop him from twitching whenever the scissors came close.

“But you could feel it, couldn’t you?”

Sanji shrugged. “I just didn’t notice I guess.”

Nami pulled back his bangs and snipped a little off the ends, then flicked at his head to get him to sit still. “Well, long hair’s not a bad look for you.”

“Oh.” Oh boy. Ohhhh fuck. “Okay.”

Nami whacked him on the head again. “I can’t cut your hair if you go invisible again!”

“Sorry.”

Smack. “And don’t apologize!”

“Sorry.”

Apparently, the crew had lasted this long on the Grand Line without a cook somehow. And apparently, Sanji was a damn good cook. And apparently, they liked him being a good cook, and apparently every time he got embarrassed he would go invisible again and that was sort of embarrassing in its own right and god these people would be the death of him.

“Did something happen to your arm as a kid?” Chopper would say, turning it this way and that with a touch that barely was one, eyes so wide and genuine. “Was it broken a lot and not set right? Tell me everything and I’ll help you, okay?”

“You don’t have to ask permission,” Robin would say, and he could see concern in the way she smiled. “The library is open to everybody. Normally, that’s the very definition of what a library is, so don’t worry.”

“You are not them,” Brook would say, soft and firm. He put every bit of emotion he couldn’t show on his skull in his words, and they hit Sanji with the same power as his singing did. “You are connected by blood alone, and that is a small thing indeed. I hope you understand that. It will be hard, forgetting them, but we all want to give you something else to remember. But also, we simply like you, Sanji-san. That is the only reason we need.”

“Looks like the next island got a town,” Luffy said one day. “You getting off or what?”

And his heart felt like it had drunk it’s fill and then some, it felt like it would squeeze out of his ribs and melt on the floor, all of them had given him so much out of so little and he was addicted now and somehow they all tolerated him, even liked him, even wanted him and he hadn’t known this was possible for a person like him and somehow, somehow, miracles of miracles, he wasn’t hated yet and he could almost think he would never be hated and he didn’t know if any of them understood that feeling of relief and comfort and a pure joy, and he didn’t think he could ever express it, because how could he? How could anybody describe something that had to be celestial, inconceivable, a reality that

“Saaannnji, you’re doing that thing agaaaaain,” Luffy whined, flopping on the table and stretching an arm out to grab at Sanji’s cheeks. “Say something!”

Sanji managed a laugh even with fingers pressing at his cheeks, and he took the hand in his and said, “Of course I’m staying.”

Chapter Text

The bell rang for dinner and the next second, Luffy slammed into the door, opened it, and zoomed to the laden table. The rest of his crew had managed to squeeze themselves in and grab their own rations with a speed honed by experience, and the meal commenced like an eating contest until Luffy sat back with a sigh and a loud, “That’s good!”

Nobody answered, because there was nobody to accept the compliment.

Sure enough, Luffy flexed his fingers and trilled, “Thanks for the food~” and dug in once more. Like usual, any time his hands strayed too close to anybody’s plate, his head would snap back, like some invisible force had punched it, and he’d fall out of his chair, only to scrabble back up and at it again. Once the plates were empty, someone would volunteer to wash the dishes, only to find that the pots and pans were already dried and many of the dishes already in the sink. The process would repeat for every single meal, even for snacks.

Where the meals came from was one of the greatest mysteries of the Thousand Sunny. None of the crew actually cooked (and thank goodness for that), so none of them could really complain, but it was a question that came up regularly.

There were a few theories, of course. Usopp suggested a klabautermann, but Franky pointed out that they weren’t known for cooking, and besides, as much as the idea tickled him, he wasn’t sure the Sunny was old enough to grow one quite yet. Brook was afraid it was a ghost. Luffy just called it a mystery and left it at that.

The other mystery of the ship were the intermittent notes they would find, all of them displaying the message to kill Lithe Domina – an enemy they had encountered a while back. But the most disconcerting thing about the notes were that the handwriting was always recognizable as one crew member or the other, even though nobody remembered ever writing something like that. This was a less beneficial mystery, one that weighed a little heavy on the more superstitious members of the crew.

It was a subject that Robin had been researching for a while, given how little she liked being in the dark, and a subject that she was researching right now in the library.

The clatter of a book falling from a shelf sent her to her feet, arms already launching themselves at the sound, only to find nothing there.

Maybe there was a ghost. At least it hasn’t torn anybody asunder so far.

Robin allowed herself to chuckle as she stood up and checked what book had fallen. It was a book on North Blue mythology. The cover was well-worn, though she wasn’t sure by whom. Flipping through the pages, she settled on a bookmarked chapter of the All Blue.

Looking up, she saw Sanji patiently holding the other side of the book, but his expression turned to surprise when her eyes locked onto his and he let go. “R-Robin-chan?”

“Sanji,” she breathed out, her brow furrowing even as she felt a flutter of relief. Sanji was here! She thought he wasn’t – no, she had forgotten, and how could that even happen, how could she,

She didn’t realize she was turning towards the door until Sanji grabbed her wrist. “Wait,” he said, and that one word pricked Robin’s lips until all the questions just burst out.

“What’s going on? Why didn’t I remember you? How is it that none of us can see or sense you in any way? Are you alright?”

Sanji smiled at her, but the smile didn’t fit the situation and failed to reassure. He let go and raised his hands. “I’m fine. Why don’t we catch up?”

“’Catch up!’ How long has this been going on?” Robin demanded, and Sanji’s smile faltered before dropping completely. He sighed, looked away.

“Robin-chan, please. This is,” his shoulders fell a bit, “a rare occasion. You’ll...you’ll forget again, soon. I’d rather talk about...”

“Sanji,” she said, voice stern.

He sighed again, but in the end, it wasn’t like he could stand up to her. Still looking to the side, he said, “Some shithead with a devil fruit got me.”

One of the mysteries floated up to her mind. “Lithe Domina.”

Sanji nodded. “Something about forgetting. I thought it would make me forget something, but,” he chuckled, “actually it made everybody forget me.”

It didn’t make any sense. How could they not even see him, if that’s the case? Did the fruit just make them forget they ever saw him, second by second? Was it really that powerful? But most of all, “Why are you so calm about this?”

“It’s fine,” Sanji said, ridiculously. “I’m fine. It’ll wear off, eventually. If he dies...”

“I’ll kill him.”

This was a certainty, now. She had to. The book was still in her hands and she flipped to the publication page and pushed it towards Sanji. “Write a message. If I see your handwriting, perhaps I’ll remember – “

Sanji grabbed the book out of reflex but shook his head. “I don’t know what makes you guys see me again, but it’s never the same thing. I’m sorry, but...you can’t help me.”

She didn’t like the way he looked, not sad, not angry, not anything. Just tranquil acceptance in his eyes, soft determination to just live out his days as if this was a problem to wait out. Robin pushed a pen into his chest. “Write the date and time. It’s two-twenty. Write a message.”

Sanji sighed but did as she asked and chose a blank corner, scrawling with his long, spindly handwriting. She took it back when he was done and frowned at the sparse words. ‘Library. Book fell. Sanji.’ She strode back to the couch, Sanji trailing behind, and sat down and wrote a bit more, then underlined Sanji’s name for good measure.

She looked back up to Sanji to ask how long this usually lasted, but saw nobody. She looked back down. Someone had written in a book, and she frowned, only to frown deeper when she saw that at least part of the writing was her own. The cover told her it was a book on North Blue mythology, though she didn’t know why the ship would have one, given nobody on the crew was from there. She flipped back to the message.

One half of it was in an unrecognizable handwriting for some reason. It definitely didn’t look like her own. The message read the current time and predicted the book falling off the shelf. Then, ‘Sanji. Kill Lithe Domina.”

There it was again. The same message that kept turning up. What did ‘Sanji’ mean? Three o’clock? Was the message predicting something to happen at three?

Well, whether it would happen or not, she would be prepared. And she supposed she wouldn’t object to killing Lithe Domina, but it wasn’t like they would run into each other again any time soon. It’s been months, after all.

Robin put the book back on the shelf. At three o’clock, the bell rang for snacks.

Chapter Text

“Father! Help! Save me!”

He screamed and screamed until he was hoarse, but nobody came.

His hands kept clutching onto the bars, trying to shake them free. He was here because he was weak. If only he were stronger, if only he had worked harder, if only, if only. His fingers got blisters and they popped and ran down his hands, stinging, and so he sat right by the cell door where it was the brightest; someone had to feed him, someone had to come down and check, someone had to take this helmet off so he could talk properly, eat properly – but nobody came.

It was too dark to sleep. Too quiet, and yet too noisy. Rats skittered abound and when his stomach growled he managed to catch one and he held it under his hands as it bit and scratched but in the end, he couldn’t do it. He let it go and found a centipede instead, crushed it dead and strung it into his helmet, shivering at its touch all the way. He washed it down by licking the inside of his helmet, drinking the condensation of his breath.

He tried to listen to footsteps above, see if he could tell the time by the way people walked. No footsteps must have meant mealtime. Or maybe everybody was training. Or maybe someone had come and destroyed the kingdom and there was nobody left to let him out.

His stomach felt like it was crawling, eating him from the inside out. He caught a beetle. Maybe this was another one of his father’s tests. Maybe if he ever broke out, he would finally be strong enough. Maybe if he survived long enough, his father would be impressed. It’s possible, isn’t it? He would do his absolute best. Even when his nails were inches long and his hair threatened to strangle him, he had to prove himself.

But nobody came.

Vinsmoke Judge ordered the cell to be opened and the occupant brought to him.

The figure was unrecognizable, coated in dirt and scabs, covered only by rags and that helmet, too thin to be alive, but it had been years. That much was to be expected. When he dug out the key to unlatch the helmet, he couldn’t help but think that the face of his prodigal son left much to be desired. Lips marred by infection scars, hair left matted and greasy, ears flattened back against his head, skin rubbed raw and even torn in places when the helmet was removed...it was enough for him to consider putting the mask back on again. But Big Mom probably would object to such an obscured groom. He waved a doctor over.

“Can we get this face looking right?”

“Of course, your highness. I will prepare the operating room.”

Judge turned back. “Listen, boy. You will not speak of these past few years. You were lost in an accident at sea and we only just recently found you. Understood?”

The boy lowered his head, disgusting hair masking his face. Judge scowled. “I asked you a question.”

“Sir, if I may,” said a scientist, stepping forward. “Let’s assume that he hasn’t spoken to anyone during his confinement. I would suggest that his mental state is not equipped to talk properly at this moment. If you would allow me to analyze his behavior – “

Judge waved a hand. “Yes, yes. At least this whole thing’s taught him a lesson in impudence. Go and make him presentable.”

The boy padded silently alongside the soldiers that held him, tracking black prints – a mixture of blood and who knew what else. He wasn’t seen again for one frustrating month, which was as long as Judge held his patience before declaring that the boy was good enough to be seen and the whole kingdom held a day long celebration for the miracle return of the third son. After ten years, the family was complete again. His ears still lay flat against his head and there was still the faint red of old lacerations on his face, and as carefully as he was fed his bones still jutted out like odd gravestones. But he looked like a relative instead of a feral beast, and so it was good enough.

“So, where ya been all these years?”

“I was gonna say we thought you died, but you look pretty dead already!”

Sanji stared at them.

“Eh? No backtalk from ol’ Sanji? Ha!” Yonji slapped a hand on Sanji’s shoulder and he almost collapsed. “Guess the real world actually taught you something useful!”

“I don’t like the way he’s looking at us. It’s real creepy.”

“Yeah, well at least he’s shut up.”

“Think he ever got stronger?”

Niji barked out a laugh. “As if. He’s weaker than ever!” Shooting a glance back at Sanji, he leaned in closer to Yonji and whispered, “Wanna see something? Promise it’s funny.”

At Yonji’s wide grin and nod, Niji turned around, grabbed Sanji’s wrist, threw him into a nearby closet, and leaned a foot against the door. They watched the doorknob jiggle, then watched the door struggle against Niji’s shoe. And then the screaming started.

“He’s afraid of the dark!” Niji roared out, slapping Yonji’s back congenially. Yonji laughed out of sheer surprise and then grew to full-blown guffawing. “Isn’t that so lame?”

“You two!” Reiju bellowed from down the hallway before she appeared right in front of them and shoved them aside. The door flung open and Sanji fell to the floor, weeping so hard his snot was dripping into his mouth, and Reiju grabbed his hand and held it up.

“Look at this!” she shouted, flourishing the bloodied nails. “He’s supposed to be the groom! What’s wrong with you? Now I have to clean all this up!”

Despite the lecture, Yonji and Niji just laughed as she turned around and dragged Sanji away.

“What’s got you so afraid of the dark anyways?” Reiju spat out, scrubbing alcohol on his fingers. But all Sanji could vocalize was “S-so..r...sorr...s...” It was about as much as he could say nowadays.

Every time Sanji touched his food with his hands, he would get whipped. Or shocked or punched, but it didn’t really matter what negative reinforcement they used. He fell onto his food with the fervor of an animal and then moved on to swipe whatever he could from the others. His success depended on their mood.

“I always wanted a dog,” Niji commented as he held a slice of steak above Sanji’s head. Sanji jumped for it and fell short.

While Yonji and Reiju laughed, Ichiji sighed. “Don’t be vulgar.”

“He should stop being vulgar first. It’s not like he’s gotta worry about food, why’s he acting like this?” But Niji tossed the slice over and Sanji tore into it as fast as he could, practically growling.

Imperceptibly, Yonji flicked a smidge of mashed potatoes on the floor and Sanji knocked over his chair scooping it up. Ichiji wrinkled his nose before throwing his plate against the ground, food and all.

As soon as Sanji scrabbled towards it, Ichiji slammed his foot on his head. “How low has your dignity fallen?” he snarled.

“Ichiji...” Reiju warned.

“I didn’t think he could get any more disgusting, and yet here he is!” Ichiji gestured to Sanji, who was still trying to shovel food into his mouth.

“If you hurt his face, father will be upset.”

“Any bride would run away screaming already.” But with one last forceful stamp, Ichiji lifted his foot and everybody left Sanji to clean the floor with his tongue.

Reiju chattered whenever she had to bandage up Sanji, which was often. “Like the good old days,” she said, though there was a hint of wryness. Like she was wondering why her brothers couldn’t just be mature. Sometimes she tried to sound out words for him, encourage him to talk like a regular human being. She didn’t shout at him when he messed up, just laughed and tried again.

Sometimes she’d ask about what happened, and when he didn’t answer, she would say her theories out loud. “You were captured by a pirate ship and did forced labor. You were found floating in the water and taken to an orphanage. You ended up on the streets and fought for your life – oh, wait. You still can’t fight, can you.” And then she’d laugh.

When he had collected the words he needed, all the ten years came spilling out like they were just waiting for the right time. Helmet. Cell. Isolation. Convenience. Surgery. Father.

It’s because of father. I’m like this because of father. It’s so bright out here and it’s almost blinding, but I can’t go back into the dark again, can’t even close my eyes because I’ll start to see bricks and corners and bars. I’ve been down there so long it’s hard to care anymore, about anything, except to never be there ever again, but I do care, I care about people knowing what has happened to me, what has been done to me, I want to be acknowledged as a victim, I want someone to tell me that it wasn’t my fault, I just want someone to help me hate my dad by hating him with me. Please listen to me, please believe me. Please.

Reiju laughed.

“We were wondering where you were, and the whole time you were under our noses?” Seeing his face, she said, “Oh come on. You have to admit, that’s a little funny.”

Sanji said nothing. Stared ahead as Reiju tied off the last bandage.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell father that you told me. And on the bright side, once you get married, you don’t even have to live here anymore! Just think about that when you’re sad or something.”

In the end, Sanji could do only one thing.

He withdrew.

Chapter Text

“And he’s off!”

Sanji hefted the first egg and ran straight into the pan, and again, until he could feel the cracks spread on the other side and then, hopping onto the pan, balancing on strips of oven mitts, he kneed it open and let it drip out on the sizzling oil.

The background of running commentary continued on: “He runs back for two, no three, four, five, this is amazing folks, he’s going for a whole six eggs at once! Watch those shells fly! Now for the spatula lift...”

The spatula was like a log, but he lifted it up like he was planting a tree and skittered back to the pan. The head of the spatula fell forward and he let it pull him up to the edge of the pan again. The eggs all mingled together like a soup with yellow zits, and he hefted the spatula under his arms and made a quick stab under the mass of eggs and flipped.

“A beautiful landing folks, never seen one like it, he’s lapping the pan, trying for an even sear, and here comes the dismount, right in the middle of the plate! But he’s still got dozens of eggs to go – “

“Usopp,” Sanji called out as he attempted to cradle two eggs at once. “Shut the hell up.”

“It’s going to get real cold tonight, just so everybody knows,” Nami said over breakfast.

“I shall remember to bring a blanket when I take watch, then.”

“...Do skelebros even feel cold…?”

“You are the last person in the world who should ask that,” Sanji groaned out as he lay face down on the table. Usopp was pressing a pinky lightly on his back and rubbing it in tiny circles as he ate. As much as Sanji refused to step down as the cook, every meal had certainly turned into a workout.

Usopp’s pinky managed to squeeze into the space between his shoulder blades and carefully unwound the knot in his spine. “Y’know, I could cook. Instead of just moving stuff around for you.”

Sanji raised a limp arm. “Argue later. Massage now.”

Chopper looked up from his plate. “Won’t you be cold, Sanji? Maybe we should make you a coat.”

“Out of what, a glove?” Sanji snorted, but Franky was getting a thoughtful glint in his eye, which could somehow be seen from behind his sunglasses. Franky was the one who kept making Sanji’s new wardrobe with a surprising dexterity, but there had been certain artistic differences between the two, mostly around the lack of pants. They had compromised with long skirts, which had the bonus of being significantly easier to sow. But they were often made of scraps of Sanji’s old shirts, which though admittedly useless at his size, still had sentimental value and it absolutely hurt to see them in pieces. Sanji tried to save his gloves. “I could just warm up by curling up in someone’s hands.”

He waggled his eyebrows at Nami, but she was reading the newspaper. Usopp noticed this and pinned Sanji down with his whole hand. “Massage over. C’mon and eat already.”

The temperature dropped, as Nami had predicted, and the only reason Sanji knew this was because Usopp started hogging the blankets, leaving him completely uncovered.

That wasn’t the actual reason Sanji woke up; he didn’t really feel that cold in the first place. The real reason was that it felt like his pajamas were strangling him, and as he ripped off his shirt, he couldn’t help but notice that his pants were looking more like shorts.

The walls of the bed were leaning in now, the fabric under his hands contracting, the ceiling approaching, and Sanji kicked off his pants before they could rip and jumped out of Usopp’s bed as soon as he reached the one foot mark. It was hard to walk while the floor felt like it was moving, but he tottered his way to his locker and pulled on loose-fitting clothes that got more snug with every passing second (thank god he kept them intact) and only when he grew back every single inch, he bellowed out, “I’M BACK!” and possibly woke up everybody in a twelve mile radius.

It was shit o’clock in the morning, not even light out, but Sanji ran right to the kitchen and ran his hands over all the normal-sized handles, normal-sized pots, normal-sized utensils. He could hear everybody talking, chattering meaninglessly behind, not sitting at the table but leaning against the bar, as close to the kitchen as they dared.

He was gonna make a cake. He was gonna grill meat. He was gonna make every damn thing in the book. But as the stove warmed up, as he stood over it, he suddenly felt a downward jolt.

“Sanji?” Chopper yelped as he flicked off the stove and ran out the door back into the night air.

Sanji felt himself shoot back up those few inches and he turned to the others; they piled up in the doorway, shivering in the cold.

“It’s not over,” he said.

It was weird, telescoping in and out as Chopper modulated the temperature in the infirmary. Like he was falling slowly, down and up and down and up again.

“And you don’t feel warmer or colder?” Chopper asked. “That’s weird...it’s almost like your body’s way of regulating its own temperature just completely changed.”

Sanji was no doctor, but he could put two and two together. “So it’s like when water freezes, it expands.”

“No. It’s nothing like that.”

“Like the water in my body lowered its freezing temperature?”

“That’s not how bodies work.”

Though really, an explanation wouldn’t change the fact that at room temperature, Sanji was three inches tall.

“I could install a fridge in your stomach,” Franky said. Sanji carefully tried not to look absolutely horrified.

“If it fails and he shrinks, it wouldn’t shrink with him. He would rupture from the inside.”

Sanji looked horrified.

Luffy leaned into him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Well, whatever! All we gotta do is just go to cold places!”

“Easier said than done, captain,” and Nami sighed, though fondly.

Sanji shoved Luffy off before his body heat could suck away any of his inches. “We can still have a party, though. As long as nobody minds cold dishes.”

“But,” Usopp said, and he pressed his lips together for a moment. “You’re still...”

Sanji smiled, genuinely. “At least now we know how it works. That’s still a reason to celebrate, isn’t it?”

The party was mostly salads and wraps, much to Luffy’s disappointment, but it was still as lively a party as ever, especially when the snow started. As the snow piled on the deck, Sanji found himself running around and pelting the others (mostly Zoro) with snowballs, rolling around even as his dress shirt got damp and hung sadly from his frame.

Chopper was the only other one without winter gear – even Luffy had to go back in and grab a coat after a while – and the two of them became the target of a concerted effort to cover them in snow and possibly make them feel as cold as everybody else. As Sanji dug his way out of a pile, Brook said aloud, “I wonder if Sanji-san could turn into a giant if it is cold enough?”

He pulled a face. “Please don’t say that.”

“But that’d be so cool! You gotta turn into a giant, Sanji!”

“My clothes’ll rip off!”

Usopp made a choking sort of sound and then slammed a hand across his mouth and turned around.

“Are you laughing? Again?” Sanji demanded, but Usopp shook his head, hair bobbing wildly. Sanji marched up to him, taking the time to revel in the full length of his legs, and spun Usopp around.

He really didn’t look like he was holding in laughter, more like he was holding something far more embarrassing in, eyes crinkled up with heat instead of mirth, and when Sanji said, “What?” Usopp said, “I just imagined you naked I’m sorry.”

Sanji flushed hard enough for the both of them, perhaps for the entire crew combined. Except for Chopper, who said, “I’ve seen him naked, it’s not a big deal.”

Sanji opened his mouth to say something but screamed instead and then threw a snowball right at Chopper’s face.

“And he’s off!”

Sanji bolted out of the freezer with all of his inches intact and scrambled for the prepared ingredients, a blur of knives and slicing and pans and stirring and flipping and who even knew what else, and before Usopp could even get a word in, he was done.

Usopp’s face fell. “C’mon, I didn’t even get to commentate anything!”

“How about, ‘now we’ll wait an hour for the soup to finish before adding in salt?’” Sanji held onto his pants, which were already pooling around his bare feet. He hopped up to sit on the counter while he was still able to and dug around in his pockets for his three-inch clothes. Everything shifted around him. Usopp’s voice sounded like it was getting deeper and further away.

Usopp looked away as Sanji retreated into his suit putting a hand up to cover his peripheral. “Maybe I’ll time you.”

“Cooking shouldn’t be rushed.”

Somehow, Usopp managed to give Sanji a Look without actually looking at him.

“Except in very extenuating circumstances. Now pick me up.”

Usopp lowered his hand, palm flat, and Sanji set his feet into the plush skin. It curled underneath him and he plopped down, using the thumb as an armrest. “Don’t forget my clothes,” Sanji added.

“I’m not your slave,” Usopp grumbled, but he gathered up the suit anyways. “You could’ve run to your locker yourself instead of just sitting there.”

“I like being carried.”

“I’ll drop you,” though Usopp chuckled as he said it, bouncing Sanji a little in his hand. He cut off his own laugh and walked quietly for a moment before adding, “I wish we could do something for you.”

Sanji looked down at his long strides and then pointedly nestled further into Usopp’s hand. “You’re doing more than enough.”

“No, I mean,” Usopp waved the hand holding his clothes around, “like, what if we could make the whole ship cold? Like if Nami could make it winter all the time somehow, or Franky could somehow make some sort of machine. Or...”

“I don’t want to make everybody else cold just so I can be tall.”

“But – “

“I’ll adapt,” Sanji said, patting Usopp’s thumb tenderly, then a little harder in case he didn’t feel it. “Besides,” he added with a grin, “there’s plenty of advantages to being small.”

Usopp glanced quizzically at him, then slowly fell into exasperation. “Sanji.”

Sanji’s face fell as well. “I was talking about using up less food!”

“Mm-hm.”

“No, seriously!”

“Alright.”

“Oh fuck you.”

“That might be impossible.”

“Stop.”

Chapter Text

With their new crew member being a literal child, there had been a few adjustments lately. Mostly it was the more childish members doing their weird shit, but sometimes Vivi and Carue joined in as well and so there must be something rational behind it, if Vivi was doing it too. But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why Vivi and Carue were huddled in his pantry.

“Close the door,” Vivi hissed, and then remembered, “please.”

Sanji opened his mouth, thought for a long while, and settled weakly on, “Could you pass the carrots, Vivi-chan?”

She did so with grace. Sanji closed the door. Kept his hand on the knob. Opened again. “Sorry, why are you in here?”

“We’re hiding.” Vivi spoke softly, the urgency in her voice not muted. Carue nodded beside her, a feather to his beak.

“What? From who?” Sanji whispered back, quick and strained. Was there something happening on the ship? Had they been boarded? Could they have been boarded? Was it pirates or marines? Or, wait, none of that would explain why Vivi was hiding.

Vivi gave him an odd look and said, “We’re playing hide and seek.”

“You’re what?” Sanji said, and Vivi stared at his face like he was joking, only to widen her eyes when it was clear he wasn’t.

Before she could say anything else, Chopper slid in between Sanji’s legs and shouted, “Found you!” and in his surprise, Sanji almost stepped on him.

Luffy bounded up from behind and jumped up on Sanji’s back. “Man, you guys weren’t even trying. We found you right away!” he said, and then laughed right in Sanji’s ear. Carue quacked indignantly and started to flail at Luffy with his wings, which meant he was also flailing at Sanji, and now there were feathers all over the carrots and all in his hair and goddammit, he needed to sneeze.

“Luffy, you hid behind the mast.”

“Yeah?”

“I was counting at the mast.”

“Woulda worked if you didn’t turn around.”

“Boys, wait,” interrupted Vivi, and she calmed Carue down by simply pulling him back. “Sanji-san doesn’t know what hide and seek is!”

The look everybody gave was either pitying or incredulous, and he wasn’t sure which one he hated more. Until Luffy said, “What are you, stupid?” Then he came to a quick decision and Luffy got a dropkick to the floor.

Usopp very dramatically pushed the door gently open (Sanji would have kicked his teeth out if he slammed it) and strode in, nose shaking with rare affront. “I know I’m a good hider, but you didn’t have to stop looking for me!”

“Sanji doesn’t know what hide and seek is,” Luffy blurted out, and that was enough for Usopp to completely slam to a halt, both in stride and in his rant.

“I. What?”

“When we asked him what ‘game’ meant, he said,” and here Vivi did her best tobacco-filled throat impression, “’that’s meat you hunt or some shit, right?’”

Vivi stuttered over the curse, but it was enough to throw this situation into further surreality. Usopp fell into a chair. “Like. No games at all? You don’t know Tag?”

“No,” Sanji growled, curling into his hand as the interrogation started all over again.

“Red Rover? Musical Chairs? Jump rope? Floor is Lava?”

“Floor is what?”

“Duck Duck Goose?”

“That’s a bit of a reach,” Vivi cut in. “Duck Duck Goose is hardly a game.”

“Better than Catch.”

“I like Catch,” Chopper mumbled.

“Okay, now you’re just saying nouns, right?” Sanji said, beseechingly, looking at each face so panicked that Luffy burst out laughing again.

“He really doesn’t know,” Chopper said with the worry this was due. “Not even sports.”

“Not even soccer?”

Vivi and Carue shook their heads solemnly. Sanji looked absolutely mortified.

Usopp waved his hands around his head, like he was trying to grab Sanji’s lost childhood right out of the air. “Then...what did you do for fun?”

“I cooked,” said Sanji.

“He cooked,” everybody else droned in chorus, both drowning out and amplifying Sanji’s words, and Sanji blushed a little harder.

“I like cooking!” he insisted.

Usopp waved a hand. “But that’s work. What about fun? What did you do when you weren’t working?”

The longer Sanji thought, the more Usopp collapsed on the table under the weight of how sad this was. “Sanji. Sanji, please tell me you’ve done anything else besides cooking in your life.”

“I was living in a restaurant! What else was I supposed to do?!”

“Iunno, play with your dad?” Luffy said, and grinned triumphantly when Sanji blushed and shouted back, “He’s not my dad.”

“That’s a good point, what about the other cooks? They must’ve had fun, right? Didn’t they teach you any games?”

“Those bastards?” Sanji laughed instinctively, then looked serious. “Actually...”

Vivi perked up. “What?”

“Does anybody have a pocketknife? Wait, hang on...” With that worrying prologue, Sanji dug out a switchblade from his pocket and flipped it open. Spreading his hand out on the table, he aligned the knife over it, sang out an “Ohhhhhhh,” and swung the knife downward.

Usopp screamed and Chopper fell over and Carue gurgled and Vivi grabbed his arm.

“That didn’t look fun,” Luffy said, frowning.

Sanji gently shook his wrist out of Vivi’s grasp. “Vivi-chan, that’s dangerous.”

Vivi stood up, spluttered for a moment, and threw her arms towards the knife with a non-regal sort of attitude. “You were going to stab your hand!”

Sanji looked appalled. “No I wasn’t! It’s the game I was taught!”

“To stab yourself?” Usopp leaned over and tried to grab for the knife as well, but Sanji scooted backwards and held it closer to himself.

“No! Look, it’ll make sense if you just let me do it!”

Vivi and Usopp stared at him for a long while before stiffly sitting back down. Chopper got back into his seat. Carue had already fainted and wasn’t getting up any time soon. Satisfied that nobody was going to grab for his knife again, Sanji scooted forward and set his hand on the table again.

The knife came down by his thumb, then in the space between his thumb and finger, and so on across his entire hand in a rhythm, all the while singing:

“Oh I have all my fingers, the knife goes chop chop chop, if I miss the spaces in between my fingers will come off!”

Vivi caught Sanji’s wrist again. Usopp had his face sunk into his hands. Chopper was outright crying. Luffy laughed and said, “You sure had a weird childhood!”

Vivi, on the verge of tears, managed to wrest the knife from his hand and then set her hands on his shoulders and spun him towards her. “I’ll teach you some real games, Sanji-san! It’ll be okay! You’ll learn what fun is!”

“Yeah!” Chopper sobbed from the other side of the table

It was a nice sentiment, he thought as he learned arbitrary rules for an arbitrary win state, but Sanji couldn’t help but think that he’d rather be cooking dinner.

Chapter Text

Of course there had always been a back-up plan, in case Judge didn’t find Sanji in time. There absolutely had to be a groom, and it absolutely couldn’t be any of his children.

If anything, Sanji was surprised that his DNA had been kept even after he had been confirmed a failure. And how was Judge going to stall the minimum five years for the clone to actually grow into an adult? Or had he planned not to wait at all?

Either way, Sanji stood there, staring at a face he remembered so well. A face yet to be marred by welts and bruises and lumps, a face floating serenely in the pod, and Sanji wanted to kick the pod apart, destroy the whole place because what a terrible way to create life, what a mockery to make people as a means to an end, he had never asked to be born and to be born twice was too much, too much.

Behind him, Chopper patted his leg.

“Hey,” Sanji said back, eyes stinging. “Do you think, maybe, we could give him a good life?”

The kid woke up hours later, after everything was said and done. His peaceful face disappeared and his brow instantly knotted as he looked around the infirmary, scrutinizing the bed, the desk, the walls. Sanji set a hand on his and he didn’t pull away.

It really was like looking into a mirror, and did this kid even know what he looked like? Did he even know words?

Chopper approached the bed with halting steps and said, “Hello? Good morning.”

The kid nodded back. “Good morning.”

Sanji let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and squeezed his hand. Chopper waited for a further reaction that didn’t come, and then said, “I’m Chopper. I’m a doctor. Is it okay if I give you a check-up?”

He nodded again, and Sanji finally let go. During the examination, even as Chopper’s fur tickled his arms, his face, the kid put up no fuss. He kept that solemn look, like he was prepared to go to war. Sanji resisted the urge to grab him again.

After obediently opening up himself for examination, after getting a confirmation that he was a regular, healthy eight-year-old, he asked, “Who am I?” and Chopper looked at Sanji, eyes uncomfortable, and Sanji looked down at the kid and he looked back and shit, he was actually doing this, wasn’t he? He was committing to this, and why had he allowed responsibility over himself? How had the world allowed this?

His mind flew to the obvious and reeled back in distaste. After throwing off the mantle of Vinsmoke, he wasn’t about to continue their legacy.

His second thought he discarded immediately because if Zeff ever found out he’d named a kid after him, Sanji was sure he’d get an earful even while halfway around the world.

He approached his third thought with trepidation, as though it would disappear, and it was with a little hesitation that he said, “You are Gin.”

Usopp gasped, long and loud. “You had a kid?!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sanji grumbled back. Gin stared out from behind his legs and he ruffled his hair encouragingly.

There was a lot to celebrate. Reuniting the crew (again), defeating Kaido, getting Sanji back, Jinbei and Carrot joining, stealing the Road Poneglyph, and now a kid. Sanji made the menu every bit as overwhelming as the list and the party spilled out over the deck, on the crisp grass he never knew he would miss so much. He received many hugs and reprimands from the half of the crew that missed the first go-around and joined in on welcoming Jinbei and Carrot with all his heart (especially Carrot-chan, that wonderful cutie, how lovely of her to go out of her way to save a guy like him) and laughed along with everybody else once Luffy got the party going in his own special way, but in the end, all he could do was sit and eat and watch Gin.

Luffy was showing him the chopstick trick and Usopp was egging him on to do it. He was holding his hands up and shaking his head, eyes wide, but he couldn’t hide his laughter and this was what happiness looked like, so foreign on that face.

Zoro was also watching. “We don’t have time to deal with a kid,” he said into a bottle of alcohol, and Nami tugged on his ear.

“Says the guy who sleeps all morning,” she shot back.

But he was right. Was he right? Was a life constantly on the run from the marines really such a good environment for a kid? And did Sanji even have an idea what a good childhood was even made up of? If he was really honest with himself, Zeff’s style of parenting left much to be desired. And life on the Orbit was mostly washing dishes. There was his mom, but how could he ever be her? He was wholly unqualified for this. Completely out of his depth.

Gin wailed sharply when Jinbei lifted him to the sky, but there was an excited look in his eye and he kicked his legs like he was paddling through the air.

Hopefully, everybody’s help would be enough.

Luffy was hanging from the yard of the main mast by his legs, swinging Gin up and down and Sanji almost tripped down the stairs on his way out the kitchen.

“Luffy you fucking maniac put him down!”

“Huh?” Luffy shouted down from above, still swinging the goddamn kid like a hundred feet in the air. They were almost going a full revolution around the yard as well, and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. “We’re not done yet!”

“I don’t give a shit if you don’t come down right now I’m feeding all the goddamn meat to the fish!”

That got his attention. A little too well, as Luffy unhooked his legs from the yard and dropped for the ten longest seconds of Sanji’s life, carrying Gin along the way, and as soon as the both of them landed, Sanji pulled Gin out of Luffy’s reach.

“We were just swinging,” Luffy said, arms akimbo.

“There’s a perfectly good swing on the deck!”

“We wanted to go higher,” Gin said quietly, and looking at his own guilty face was almost enough to stop Sanji’s lecture right then and there. But foolishness was foolishness and Sanji pointed his spatula at Luffy’s chest.

“You shitty moron, don’t you at least know better than this!?”

“Yeah,” Carrot piped in, coming up behind Gin and threading her arms under his arms. “If you really wanted to go higher, you should just ask me!” Before Sanji could say a word or even scream, Carrot shot up into the air with Gin, high, high, much too high, a million miles too high until he couldn’t see them anymore and holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

Sanji found that he was still screaming when Carrot landed with a heavy thud, Gin still in her hands. “Wasn’t that fun?”

Gin, now with wildly windswept hair, nodded. “I could see everything!”

Sanji collapsed onto his knees and planted his face on the floor. “Carrot-chan...please...don’t do that again.”

“Aah, c’mon Sanji, it’s fine, it’s fine!” Luffy said, circling around in front of him. “Don’t you trust us?”

That carefree voice was enough to surge Sanji back to his feet and he grabbed Luffy’s vest and hoisted him up. “It’s not about trust it’s about not giving me a heart attack!”

“Hey Sanji,” Usopp called, leaning out the kitchen door. “Something smells weird here...”

“Fuck!” Sanji made it halfway up the stairs before going back for Gin and shooting a glare at Luffy’s way. “We’ll talk about this later.” And then he zoomed back to the kitchen, plopped Gin at the table, and slammed the door.

“But I wanna play outside,” Gin mumbled.

There were things that definitely were the same, between him and Gin. Uncanny similarities that Sanji couldn’t help but wonder whether it was just in his genetic makeup, something intrinsic that defined Sanji in his entirety; or, well, defined Sanji and Gin, now. It was eerie, watching himself press his face against the aquarium glass, or seeing himself read with the same voracity of years past. It brought up things he had hoped he’d left behind. But no, some things stick, don’t they?

And then there was the way that he clung to people, hugging their leg or dragging them by the hand outside, trusting, unafraid. There was the way he took everybody at their word, securely believing that everything they did was the best for him. The way he laughed off teases and taunts, the way he could go to sleep furious and wake up forgiving, the way he could assume the best of the world despite the world never quite living up to expectation. And all Sanji could think was, am I not a naturally angry and bitter person? Is this what it’s supposed to be like? Will he grow up to be a better, more likeable me?

There was another thought, that Gin would love childhood more than adulthood, and it made Sanji’s mind reel. Circle around. The concept was just so unfathomable, and yet his insides boiled with, with, revulsion, maybe. Discontent? Jealousy. Why am I me?

He clamped the thought and dug it deep with everything else before it could broil into something he couldn’t control.

“Hey Sanji, he’s talking to you.”

“Hm?” Sanji looked up. Gin was gazing down at the table, picking at his fingernails. Usopp was staring straight at him, arms crossed.

“He wants to play outside,” Usopp repeated.

His first instinct was to just give him what he wanted. Because why wouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he bend to the will of a child after having been a child who was denied so much? But at the same time, he had to be a figure of authority, and what sort of authority just went back on his decisions so easily? Sanji took a deep breath. Nothing could have prepared himself for all this.

“Wait ‘til I finish cooking, alright? Then we can go out again.”

He tried not to feel Gin’s sigh weigh down in his gut.

Usopp scooted back a seat and plopped down in it. “Hey Gin, wanna draw?” Somewhere from his bag he unearthed sheaves of paper and a rainbow’s worth of crayons that all clattered and rolled on the table. Gin leaned over to pull a few materials closer to him.

The result, after a few minutes of the sound of waxy scribbling, looked like blobby shit. Which he shouldn’t be thinking, what was wrong with him? But Usopp clapped his hands together and cooed, “Wow, that looks great! What’s the story?”

“That’s me,” Gin started, pointing at some sort of yellow thing in the middle of a circle-y bit, “in the Shark Submerge. And it’s got wings so it’s flying, and I’m gonna see everything.”

“You know, I actually flew, once.”

That tone of voice was unmistakable. Gin leaned on his elbows and settled down. “Really? How?”

“I was fishing for the monster of the sea that was terrorizing the shore of a distant island when I caught this huge pufferfish! It was so mad that it puffed out, like – “ Usopp filled his cheeks up and gestured out a round shape at the same time, something that could fill the room, possibly, “ – and it was about to get away! But I grabbed it – “

“What about the spikes?” Gin interrupted, brow furrowed.

“I grabbed it by the tail, of course! And I dug my heels in and held on tight. It wriggled and thrashed in my arms, a mighty enemy indeed! But I tired it out, and it had to take another breath. What neither of us expected was when it deflated, all that air rushing out pushed me off my feet and we were zooming across the sky! We must’ve flown about halfway around the world before we landed, and then...”

Usopp was so fucking good at this. Why was he so fucking good at this?

“What? Uh, I kinda watched over this group of kids for most of my life, I guess?” Usopp answered some time after dinner, as they were cleaning up. He scratched at his hair and ended up getting suds all over it. “Maybe not ‘watched over,’ more like ‘hung out.’ Or ‘goofed off,’ really. It wasn’t like I was a responsible adult or anything, they already had their own parents?” He bit his lip, looked away. Mumbled, “I don’t know much about raising kids either.”

Sanji drowned the dishes, scrubbing at them under the water. He hoped the faucet drowned him out when he said, “More qualified than me.”

Maybe it was normal to have that sort of experience under your belt. Maybe he was just naturally unfit.

“Surrender, or the kid gets it!”

Sanji froze, and someone with a sword managed to jab it through his side. He turned around. Gin usually was inside. Gin was supposed to be inside. Gin wasn’t inside, but being held up by the neck, held up by a filthy rotten piece of shit bastard, knife pointed at his face, and the sword ripped out of Sanji’s side but he stayed standing and he could hear all the fighting stop, or, almost all the fighting, because Luffy, bullheaded idiot he was, still kept going, and that was to be expected, but.

The damn bastard, seeing someone not quite getting the memo, hoisted Gin and shouted, “Oi! Didn’t you hear me?! Stop fighting or else I’m gonna – “

His side splurted with pain every time he moved his leg, but he kicked at the air, pushed himself forward, past all the inconvenient idiots in the way, up the stairs, and was in front of the shithead before he even started his next word. Sanji’s foot came a second later, and in an instant, the man was gone, skipping across the ocean twice before sinking out of sight.

There was a pause as the past few seconds caught up to everybody else, and then the fight started anew, with one side now slightly more frazzled than the other. Sanji knelt down to pick Gin back up to his feet. “Are you okay?”

Gin didn’t answer. He didn’t even look up at him, simply stared forward, stared at the spreading dark stain on his shirt with eyes that wavered but didn’t veer away.

Blood was inevitable, with the occupation they were in. And this wasn’t the first time Gin had witnessed a skirmish. But it never got any easier, did it? “Get inside,” Sanji barked, but he ended up ushering Gin anyways, and there was that all too contemplative look on his face and he had to talk to him, this was a conversation that needed to happen, but he wasn’t going to start it, was he.

“Just wait here.” And he ran back out into the fray, kicking off every invader he could and generally opening his wound all the more until he required, and this Chopper said with a disapproving tone that almost beat out Zeff’s, eleven stitches.

“I’m sorry,” Gin whispered, when all was said and done. He curled up against Sanji’s side, the one without the stitches, as they settled into bed.

Sanji wrapped an arm around Gin’s shoulders and rubbed them with a weary hand, like he could press a message through his palm; it’s alright, it’s alright.

“Here you go.” Nami handed the newspaper comics over the table, already skimming the front pages. Gin grabbed at it, crinkling the page, and spread it out on top, taking up an inordinate amount of space.

It was cute, the way he mimicked Nami in intensity, running his eyes over the panels with as much seriousness as was apparently warranted. Sanji never took too close a look, though. He wasn’t sure if the fall of the Germa led to the cessation of that one particular comic, but he wasn’t about to find out. Sora, warrior of the sea, could just rot forever in whatever hell published comics went to.

That was probably too harsh.

“Dad,” Gin piped up, and Sanji looked away from the stove only to see him tapping on Franky’s arm. Franky tipped his bottle of cola away from his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Can you make this?” Gin held up the comic page and pointed.

Franky only had to peer at it for a moment. “Hell yeah. Usopp actually made one of those, basically. Just put it in a gun and – “

“A gun.” Sanji set down his spatula. “You’re giving a gun to an eight-year-old.”

Franky straightened up, as though his extra height would give him more protection from the death glare Sanji was sending his way. “It’s a grappling hook gun! I didn’t say I was gonna actually make it!”

“You aren’t?” Gin’s voice quavered, high-pitched. Franky turned his head back and forth between the two of them, hands raised and stuck deciding between whether to ward off one or comfort the other. He ended up spluttering to an inelegant halt.

“He could make a toy gun,” Nami said, turning a page. She sounded chipper. Maybe prices were down.

Franky chugged the rest of his cola and slammed the bottle on the table in a single, impressive motion. “Yup. Toy grappling hook gun. That’s exactly what I’ll make. Right now.”

There were a few objectionable qualities about the toys that Franky made, in that they usually had additional, non-toy-like features and quirks. Like the toy robot that shot actual missiles. Or the toy ship that could transform into a robot and also shot actual missiles. Or the rocking horse that could, amazingly, shoot actual missiles. But before Sanji could remind Franky about this, Franky had already sidled out the door at a clipped pace. Well. He’ll have time to inspect the thing later.

“He didn’t have to run away,” Sanji muttered as he sautéed the onions.

“He can’t help it,” Nami said, a laugh in her voice. She was looking at him now, rather than the newspaper, and her smile was as radiant as it was wry. “You’re the killjoy dad.”

“The what.” But Nami only beamed at him and straightened out her newspaper. Sanji turned to Gin, who sat up and then hunched, glancing all over the room.

“You do it to keep me safe,” Gin offered, which wasn’t reassuring at all.

“Am I the killjoy dad?” Sanji demanded, and was grateful that Jinbei actually looked like he was thinking about it.

“You are...very protective.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Jinbei’s down-turned mouth strained a little at the ends and his eyes flitted towards Brook, who coughed needlessly and made a florid gesture with his spidery hand. “It is a thankless job, but one parent has to be the one to say ‘no.’ Especially considering certain individuals on board. Being the killjoy isn’t necessarily bad.”

At the cursed word, Sanji groaned and leaned his face into his hands.

“I believe Nami was just teasing you, if that makes you feel better,” Robin added, leaning back into the sofa. Sanji hadn’t intended on her joining the conversation as well, but she always had a way of worming her way into whatever serious discussion. ‘Worming’ was a bad word. What suited her better? Not burrowing. Craning? Cranes were elegant.

“But Brook just said I’m a killjoy too.”

“I was merely defending the role of the killjoy!”

“To make me feel better about being one!”

Brook turned and studied the fish, humming a too-quick, too-loud tune.

“Teasing does have a bit of truth in it, otherwise it wouldn’t be teasing. But it is not meant to be a critique of your character.”

“But I’m doing something wrong!” Sanji practically shouted, and then winced back. “Sorry.”

Jinbei frowned. “Do you...want a critique?”

Sanji sighed loudly into his hands. It almost sounded like a scream. “I’m just, I have to make sure he’s not as fucked up as I am, which...isn’t that hard, but what am I doing? Like, shit, how am I supposed to know what’s good and what’ll screw him over?”

“You don’t,” Robin said.

“Nobody knows; you’re not alone, Sanji. But between the eleven of us,” Jinbei clapped a hand around Sanji’s shoulders and it felt like a cannon blast to the back, “I’m sure we can figure out how to raise a child.”

Brook stopped humming abruptly and looked back down. “If you make your decisions based on what you purely wish for him, then surely you could not do wrong?”

What he wished, huh? Sanji said to his hands, “I just want him to be happy. I don’t want him to have to do anything dangerous.”

Robin made a worryingly contemplative ‘hmm’ and closed her eyes. “Then you probably do not want to see what’s happening on deck.”

Sanji snapped his head up, then snapped his whole body to its feet, throwing off Jinbei’s arm with a surprising ease, and almost ran through the door on his way out.

Gin was standing by Zoro and holding a sword, and sure, the sword was sheathed, but he was holding a fucking sword and the grass smoldered under Sanji’s feet as he skidded up behind Zoro, hooked a leg on his shoulder and tried to push him to his knees. It didn’t quite work out. He had at least surprised Zoro and gotten some height over him, but the brute did squats with a million tons on his back until his thighs had pecs so he wasn’t about to collapse under a foot. Both of them strained against each other anyways.

Sanji leaned down to breathe smoke down Zoro’s neck. “Why,” he hissed, “does Gin have a sword in his hands.”

Zoro turned his head slightly so that they could just barely match eyes. “Was showing him how heavy it was,” he hissed back. “Get. Off.”

“I wanna learn how to fight,” Gin cut in, trying to heft the sword. Its end stayed firmly on the grass. Gin looked helplessly down the hilt and back up again. “I don’t wanna be weak, I wanna be useful.”

Sanji hesitated, just enough for Zoro to throw his foot off and he was forced to step back and regain his balance. There was something about Gin’s face, a hard determination and yet on the brink of tears, that turned Sanji’s stomach upside-down. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he rasped out, curt.

“Everybody else fights! Even Chopper, and all I do is hide and, and people get h-hurt ‘cause of me! I don’t want that to happen. So. Marimo says anybody can swordfight if they train, and that’s what I’m gonna do, and I don’t care if you don’t like it because, because,” he took a deep breath and stared back down at the hilt, hands shaking. “Don’t you get it, dad?”

No, no no no no no. He did get it, all too well, the guilt, the sense of being a failure, everything, and maybe this wasn’t exactly the same but it was same enough and he wanted to say, no, stop, you cannot become me, I cannot become him – but the way Gin kept holding onto the sword even as it pulled him down, the way he pressed his mouth into a grim, stubborn line, what could he do? Sanji glanced at Zoro, but he just stared back placidly, arms crossed.

When Sanji found his voice again he said, “If that’s what you really want.”

Gin was unsurprisingly weak.

With weight-lifting, his arms got sore after three minutes. Practicing katas, he got sloppy after five. He could barely run for one full minute before collapsing, and Sanji would come around with drinks and quietly awkward encouragements. It was pathetic. He was pathetic. I was pathetic.

But there was a difference between training and testing. Tests only measured, observing whatever number was the output and forming conclusions based on that. Zoro trained. It was odd to watch, those slight adjustments of Gin’s stance, the quiet reminders to lift the weights fully, the warm-up stretches in between. Zoro apparently kept a record in his head and announced every little improvement, because even weaklings could improve.

(And what would have happened if Sanji had been trained rather than tested? If he hadn’t just been thrown against his siblings over and over again? If Judge had decided that a genetic mistake like him could at least be useful in something else?)

“Hey brat, careful where you swing that thing. Don’t you know that’s dangerous?”

“Look, I’m bleeding. You might’ve seriously wounded me.”

His mind filled with the instinct to jump over and kick the assholes off the ship, but Sanji clamped it down and kept an eye on Gin. He was trained. He had a sword. It would be insulting. This was the point, wasn’t it?

Gin’s first slice had nicked one of the men’s hand, leaving a thin trickle of blood down his finger. The two pirates were holding their knives lazily, over their shoulders or by their sides, while Gin faced them with a practiced stance. The scene felt almost scripted. Sanji could remember the next line (Shut up! Like I’m gonna just let you kill me!) but reality suddenly diverged from memory as Gin stepped forward and sliced his sword up through a man’s shirt, through skin, and a little bit more than that. The man stepped back, hand over his chest, and his friend dropped his smile and started to loom in a way that was probably illegal. “You really wanna play rough, huh?”

The pirate approached. Gin stepped back. There was something wrong, now. Gin’s expression dropped into something completely different. As the blood ran down his blade, his hands started to shake and his breathing hitched, and that was no stance Sanji had ever seen before.

Sanji was there even before Gin actually dropped his sword, kicking the shit out of the assholes threatening his boy, and he wordlessly picked Gin up and bustled him inside.

In the dark of the kitchen, out of the fray, it was easy to hear Gin’s keening wails, a wet sound of frustration. Gin clung to Sanji’s shirt and curled into his chest. “I couldn’t, I couldn’t d-do it! I couldn’t! I’m a failure, I just couldn’t, he was bleed, bleeding, and, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”

The sound of clashing metal and cannon fire kept tapping against the walls, reminding him that they were there, but Sanji just stood and held Gin up against him, ran a hand through his hair, let him drip all over his shoulder, whispered into his neck. “You’re just a kid. You’re just a kid, Gin. Children shouldn’t have to fight. You’re just a kid.”

And it hit him, in the chest, so hard that he almost let out a sob himself, because I was just a kid, and what would have happened if he had never needed to learn how to fight? To claw and scratch and struggle against what the world threw his way? He had thrown on the mantle of a warrior, but maybe it had never fit him until he forced himself to fit, hammered himself out and pushed each broken limb into place. Maybe he was a grotesque facsimile of what he was supposed to be, the alternate to the real person that existed somewhere else, all because he had only been a kid, a kid. And maybe he was never meant to be a fighter.

But, looking at where he was now, that was all stupid. He was a fighter. He had to fight. Someone has to, so Gin wouldn’t, and he was always willing to be that person, and he kept whispering: “Franky will melt down the sword. Zoro won’t think any less of you. You’re just a kid. You haven’t even figured yourself out yet. You’re young. You have your whole life to figure things out. You’re just a kid, you’re just a kid.”

“You named a kid after me?”

The question was innocuous, but there was something about Gin (the first) saying it that made Sanji duck his head and scowl. “Yeah? What about it?”

He heard Gin wheeze out a short, clipped laugh, like he wasn’t used to laughing any longer than that, and said, “Nothing.” The two of them leaned on the railing, staring out over the deck where two crews mingled. And then, “It’s just, I’m not even dead.”

“Give me a break, last time I saw you, you were bleeding out of every goddamn hole on your face.”

Gin’s thin lips twitched a smile. “I guess I was.”

The two fell into silence. Sanji fidgeted and took out a cigarette.

To be honest, he hadn’t thought much about what he would do if he met Gin again; he had thought even less about what he would do if he met Gin again while having a kid named after him. It was. Well.

Little Gin was hanging around Luffy’s neck as he bounded from person to person introducing himself at full volume. Sanji could see Gin looking at the kid, then looking back at him, brow knotted, doing the mental math and coming up with a nonsensical answer. “How exactly…?”

“It’s complicated,” Sanji blurted out, and the question just dropped off Gin’s face like it was never there. It was a little unnerving, the way he just tossed aside curiosity as soon as it wasn’t wanted. But that did seem like a quality Gin would have, just not questioning things. Or, Sanji supposed it was. He had to suppose a lot about Gin, especially since he knew his tonfas a lot more than he knew him. “Your captain seems nice.”

“Yeah,” Gin said, and stopped there. It took a few seconds before he seemed to realize that he ought to add more, and then a few more seconds to figure out what to say. “She’s a hardass.”

“Don’t talk that way about a lady,” Sanji snapped, and Gin recoiled a little, stared at him with a bewildered sort of uncertainty. Like he had just stepped on something unexpected. It was a look more for strangers than for friends, and Sanji glanced away. “What happened to Krieg?”

Gin latched onto the new topic quickly. “He couldn’t handle it.”

“Oh,” said Sanji, and nothing else, because as much as Krieg was a bastard it seemed rude to make a snide comment. And then there was nothing else to say. It hurt to realize this, but Krieg was just about the only thing he could think about when he thought about Gin. The smoke churned uncomfortably in his lungs. Maybe this meeting shouldn’t have happened.

Luffy’s hands appeared on the railing in front of them, followed shortly by Luffy himself. He didn’t pull himself up and over, instead just hung in front of them with little Gin on his shoulders. “Yo! Whacha guys doing over here?”

“Getting bothered by you.” Sanji reached over and ruffled little Gin’s hair. “Hey Gin. Meet Gin.”

Gin startled when he jabbed a thumb towards him and waved stiffly. (Finally, someone who was as bad with kids as him.)

Gin waved back, and then turned to Sanji. “He’s ugly.”

“Sure is. But he’s a good guy.”

Luffy laughed. “Sanji, don’t be mean!”

“I don’t mind,” Gin said, shrugging. He really didn’t. Maybe insults stuck as long as questions for him.

“Is he strong?”

Luffy glanced up. “Iunno. Hey, Gin. You strong yet?”

Gin snorted. “What do you mean ‘yet?’” Looking straight at little Gin, he continued, “Back when we first met, I almost killed your dad.”

Okay, holy shit, Gin was even worse with kids than him. Sanji stood up straight and clapped once, trying to knock that wide-eyed stare off of little Gin’s face. “Alllright, haha, maybe let’s reminisce later!”

“He still beat me without having to fight,” Gin continued, inappropriate conversations apparently the one thing that he held on to. Was kicking an option here? Kicking might actually not be an option here.

“Excuse me, I fought,” Sanji muttered. “What do you call having my foot in your ass, huh?”

“It turned out,” Gin said, leaning on a hand to gaze at Sanji, “that as soon as he fed me when I was starving, I lost.”

Both Gins were looking at him now, one much too fond, the other wide-eyed in a different sort of way, and Sanji covered his mouth and the sudden heat he was feeling was from the cigarette, definitely. “What the fuck, you’re still on about that?” he mumbled.

“It’s sort of a big deal to me when someone saves my life.” Gin raised an arm, paused for a moment, and then just threw it around Sanji’s shoulder. It hung like it was too afraid to touch him too much and Gin kept standing a bit too far. With a sigh, Sanji leaned in until they fitted against each other and wrapped an arm around his side before he could run away. They probably looked like two drunks exiting a bar.

The smile on little Gin’s face stretched almost as wide as Luffy’s, full of some parts awe and some parts pride, and maybe Gin was actually better with kids than him.

Fucking Gin.

“Hey dad? My tooth fell out.”

“Yeah? That’s normal. You’ll grow new ones.”

“Hey dad…? My teeth keep falling out...”

Clones weren’t built to last long.

A soldier in the Germa army probably didn’t last longer than a few months, if that. So why bother making sure that a disposable army was a healthy one?

“He’s just...decaying,” Chopper said, his voice breaking up into shards that cut into Sanji’s skin. “I, I should’ve noticed...why didn’t I notice he was dying?”

“Can you do anything?” Luffy asked, sitting straight in his chair like a normal person for once. His tone stopped Chopper’s tears, for a little bit.

“I mean...maybe organ transplants, if we had any organs his body wouldn’t just reject – “

“Like mine?”

Everybody turned to Sanji. Chopper’s lip wavered. “B-but, all his organs are just, failing, you can’t replace all of that!”

He could, technically, replace all of it. If Chopper just scooped everything of him out, left his body a void. But nobody would allow it, probably not even himself, and so Sanji pushed his chair back with a too harsh noise and stalked his way to the infirmary.

Gin was lying down, unnaturally stiff, and if it wasn’t for his wheezing breath rattling out his throat, Sanji would have thought he was dead already. His skin was too pallid. His hair too thin. There was a bucket by the bed filled with the blood he coughed up. He was so thin, so small, getting thinner and smaller, and what if he just simply collapsed away into nothingness, leaving no trace, not even an ion as proof he was ever there?

Sanji eased into the chair at the bedside and leaned on his knees. The wood creaked under his weight and the weight of his thoughts, and Gin opened his eyes.

“Dad,” he croaked. He slid his hand out from under the covers and reached over to him. Sanji stared. His own hands wouldn’t move, couldn’t touch those bony fingers, those peeling nails, couldn’t bear to handle a hand so foreign, and his throat burned with disgust, not with Gin, but with himself, how could he, how dare he, and he raised a hand to shadow his eyes as his shoulders started to shake, fuck, fuck.

“Dad, don’t cry...it’ll be okay.” Gin’s mouth shook into an imperfect smile, broken up by gaps and his own snot and tears. “I’ll be, I’ll be fine.”

Sanji reached out and wrapped his fingers around Gin’s wrist. Lightly, so he wouldn’t pierce holes through his skin. “I’m staying right here. I won’t leave you.”

Gin’s smile closed. The ends of his mouth quivered, like they were holding up the weight of the world. “I’m scared, dad.”

“I’m here, I’m here.”

They gave him a traditional viking funeral. Sanji couldn’t bear to simply bury him. He watched the little boat burn, watched the ashes fall to the sky where they belonged, watched the whole thing fall apart, kept watching even when there was nothing more to watch and everybody else had turned in for their own mourning. Brook stayed the longest, his hand something solid on Sanji’s shoulder.

“It was a mistake.”

He kept wandering out to the head of the ship, looking out at the ocean, even though they had left the site long behind, even though he wasn’t even facing where it had happened. Their actual location didn’t matter. The ocean looked the same everywhere.

This time it was Chopper standing by him. The reindeer sat on the railing, holding on to his elbow.

“If I had known...if I just...I should’ve just destroyed the fucking place. I should’ve...”

Chopper replied, low and quiet, “Aren’t you saying he didn’t deserve to live?”

His hand was twisted up in his hair. He dug his fingers into his scalp. “Shut the – shut up. I killed him, Chopper. As soon as I took him out of that fucking pod, his body just, all I did was give him a painful death!”

“And he could’ve died from something else.” Chopper was too calm. Why couldn’t he just yell at him? Just list the ways he screwed up? “I don’t think life is a mistake, Sanji. I’m sorry he didn’t live longer. But he was happy. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Sanji leaned heavily on the railing and wracked out a choked chuckle. “I don’t know.”

Chapter Text

“I want to be a cook!”

Through the bars, he saw Reiju blink, and then throw her head back and laugh. That didn’t bother him so much. Reiju laughed at many things. It did nothing to dampen this burning feeling in his gut, this absolute universal certainty of his place in the world. He wanted to be a cook!

Reiju took a few deep breaths and managed to bring herself back down to a smile. “I would’ve figured that they’d have beaten that out of you by now. You’re pretty stubborn.”

“I don’t care what you think! I don’t care what any of you think anymore! None of you care about me anyways, right? So I’m just gonna leave and do what I want!”

“How?”

Reiju’s light smile didn’t even twitch, but it still looked like she was holding another laugh in while Sanji struggled for an answer. “I’ll...I’ll...” After everything, he didn’t want to cry. He already knew that crying wouldn’t help, and besides, the helmet made it impossible to wipe the snot and tears away, so they crusted on his face instead. But he could feel his eyes stinging already, not with fear or sadness but with frustration, because there was so much he wanted to do, but this weak body had no power to do anything, and what was the point of ambition for someone like him? What kind of joke was this? “I’ll, I’ll trick the guards,” he mumbled, more to hash out his own plans to himself than to have Reiju listen in. “I’ll pretend to be sick and they’ll get the doctor – “

“You think daddy’ll give you medical treatment?”

Sanji paused. It shouldn’t even be a question, and yet it was. Because on the one hand, he was fed. But on the other hand, he was...here.

He clunked his helmet on the bars and scrunched his eyes shut, letting the tears slip and overflow. When he opened them again, Reiju and her smile were right in front of him, and he yelped and fell backwards, and his helmet clunked against the floor in a different, more painful way.

“Hang on,” she said, and with a grunt, she bent the bars of the cell like they were made of clay and then backed away. The new gap was wide enough for Sanji to step through.

This was too nice, way too nice. Sanji stayed on the floor. “Why did you do that?” he asked, slowly, deliberately.

Reiju’s smile dropped to a neutral line. “I can bend them back if you want.”

“No!” Sanji scrabbled out, threaded his helmet through the bars, threw himself out the other side. Distantly, he heard Reiju laugh. Or maybe that was the ringing in his head from knocking it against the helmet again. Or both. He sat up. Pushed himself to his knees. And then to his feet. Slowly, as though moving too fast would make the world notice its mistake and put him back where he belonged. “Why did you do that?” he asked again.

Reiju clasped her hands behind her back and shrugged, beaming at him. “You’re right. We don’t care about you. I dunno why daddy keeps you here at all. So it’s probably okay if you leave.”

That didn’t answer the question, not really, but the direct confirmation of everything he knew hit him in the heart and left it bleeding on the ground. Hearing it still hurt despite everything before this moment, like someone released a monster that couldn’t be put back. He tilted his helmet down, letting it hood his eyes. “Yeah. I don’t care about you either. So I’m leaving.”

“Sure,” said Reiju. “Bye.”

Sanji turned and ran, bare feet padding against the cold stone. He looked back for one brief moment and saw Reiju waving, the smile still on her face.

“Me, marrying that little punk? Never in a billion years!”

And Sanji’s heart broke.

On some level, he could hear everything being said. The taunts. The plan. The mocking. But at the same time, the rain was roaring in his ears, his blood was pumping much too loudly, the shards of his heart were still clinking on the ground, echoing, over and over. He remembered to take a breath. Another one. He dug his fingers into the gifts and found them digging into his palms instead.

“Geez, can’t you do anything other than smile?! You’re pissing me off here!”

“Oh? Should I be doing something else?”

“Keeping up a strong face sucks the fun out of all this. I wanna see your shocked face! Show me your despair, your anger!”

He could practically hear her smile. “I can’t show what I’m not feeling. Apparently, I’m not as good an actress as you.”

“Don’t screw around with me!”

“I was just thinking how sad it is that your mother places so much faith in such an idiot.”

“Hah?!”

“After all, shooting me out of nowhere...bringing me here at the risk of being spotted...detailing every bit of your scheme unprompted...have you thought the consequences of these actions through?”

“Listen here, you fucking small-time shit. I don’t think you’ve thought through the position you’re in! You’re injured and trapped, and guess what! Consequences don’t mean shit to me, ‘cause I can – “

There was a distinct ‘clonk’ sound, and then something thumped on the floor. Sanji took a peek around the corner and saw Pudding on the floor in front of Reiju, Reiju halfway on her feet. She shook her head as if shaking off some slight dizziness and then let herself fall back onto her chair again.

“Y-you, how dare you headbutt Lady Pudding!” the goop on her arms shouted, and Reiju glanced down.

“So tell me, this numbing sensation...are you, perhaps, a poisonous slime?”

Sanji chose this moment to edge back out of view. He would be pushing the sounds of screams and slurps out of his mind for some time to come.

“Ah...disgusting. You, rug. Get over here.”

There was the sound of whimpering, and then a sudden slam of the doors as something went careening out, screaming all the way. Reiju sighed.

“I guess I have to find some other support...or endure and walk.”

The clack clack of heels, an irregular pattern. And then a soft ‘oh’ of surprise as something hit something else and then fell to the ground, and Sanji glanced back in during the scuffle to see Pudding sitting on Reiju, with a roll of film that seemed to be coming out of Reiju’s head. She had a pair of scissors in her free hand, and though Sanji couldn’t see either of their faces, he could hear the seething in Pudding’s voice as she huffed and said, “As I was saying, consequences don’t mean shit to me. Because anything I do to you, I can just make you forget!”

“You – “ Reiju started, and made a move, but Pudding was faster and snipped off the end of the film, and Reiju was silent.

“Fucking troublemaker,” Pudding muttered, and Sanji walked away.

“So that’s what happened?” Reiju asked, some time later after she had been moved to the infirmary and after Sanji took the time to calm (cry). Despite being told that she would be killed tomorrow, Reiju smiled. “How sweet of you to tell me.”

Sanji grunted, lighting a cigarette. There wasn’t any doctor here to scold him, so might as well take advantage. “I just need you to tell Judge so he can forget about the fucking wedding and stop hanging my old man’s life over my head and we can all go home. It’ll sound like a lie from me, and also, I’m not sure if I’m in the mood to tell him his shitty life’s in danger.”

“Well,” said Reiju, her smile staying the same but her eyes sliding to the right. “I wonder if I should tell him.”

“Quit fucking around. I don’t want to get killed with all of you shitheads and I don’t want all these fucking pointless threats hanging over my head. I just want to leave everything here behind, go back to my crew and fucking apologize because every shitty thing I did here was useless. I never see any of you assholes again, so.”

“I wonder,” Reiju repeated, “what it would sound like if I told him that I was taken down by a pampered princess with nothing much besides a gun. I wonder how he would react.”

Sanji almost bit his cigarette in half as his guts churned, twisted harshly, because how dare she? How dare she be afraid, when this whole time he thought of her grouped together with the rest, a tormentor under a slightly different mask? He almost jumped to his feet, but instead clamped his hands on his knees. “As if he would ever harm his perfect child.”

“You were his perfect child!” Reiju snapped, her smile now a strained line ready to collapse, and Sanji found himself leaning back. Her eyes were filled with something, something underneath the usual brightness, ravenous and dark, and had that always been there? “I was the prototype,” she continued, quieter, dull. “I simply...continued to meet his expectations.”

A muted pause. Sanji exhaled, letting out the build-up of smoke and shock. Still, he muttered, “Who was the one who got locked up for six months?”

That smile was back again. Reiju tilted her head at him. “Who was the one who continued to live with him for thirteen more years?”

But he adored you, his mind screamed, he loved you as much as he hated me, and you dare come back to me with this sob story with barely any sob, just a story and nothing more? A story about how you succeeded and succeeded, over and over again? Fuck you and fuck off.

Instead, he looked away and said, “Why did you do that? Let me out, I mean.”

Reiju’s smile dropped, and she scrunched up her face as though she had to dredge up a barely used memory. “A childish whim, I suppose.”

“Ah.” A disappointing answer to an age-old question. But how else could it be? How else, considering this family, considering her, considering him?

“Or. Maybe it was because I hated you.”

Sanji let out a single, hollow laugh. “What else is new.”

Reiju scowled an actual scowl at him. “Not because of that. I didn’t care that you were weak, it was just funny.” With a sigh, she leaned back against the headboard and gazed at the wall behind him. “I hated you because of mom.”

Sanji felt his shoulders rankle. “What about her,” he said, terse and stiff.

Reiju slid her eyes back to his face. “You should hate her too, you know. She’s the reason you’re a mistake.”

This time, Sanji snatched the cigarette out of his mouth before he could grind it into shreds. “What do you mean,” he said, managing a controlled tone even as his hands tightened to fists.

Reiju chuckled softly. “She didn’t want her boys to be altered the way they were. Our father went ahead with the procedure anyways, and she retaliated by taking a drug to...maybe kill her and you, maybe try to reverse the surgery. Either way, three came out as planned. And you,” she smiled, bright, sarcastic, “came out a failure.”

A punch to the gut. Head whirling. Sanji leaned on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair, and then he looked up from the floor. “Is...is that why she was so sick?” At Reiju’s absent-minded nod, he stared back down again. “So...it’s because of me that she’s...”

“’Because of you?’ You weren’t even born, don’t be self-centered,” Reiju snapped. “It’s because of her that she’s dead and that you’re you.”

Sanji propped his cigarette back between his lips and took several deep breaths. It hadn’t simply been a trick of fate. There was an actual, concrete reason why everything had happened the way it had. Because of his mom. He let one last stream of smoke out of his nose and straightened up again. “That doesn’t explain why you hated her.”

Reiju glanced away towards the left. “Making you a failure was her biggest success. She loved you, Sanji, but what about the rest of us? If you’re the perfectly normal child she wanted, doesn’t that make me a monster? A failure?” Her hands started clenching the sheets, pulling at the seams. “All you had to do was say ‘get better soon’ and she’d gush all over you! Why? Anybody could do that! I could do that! What’s so special about the things you did? What’s so awful about me? She gave birth to me and hated me and died. And you were the only thing left of her, and I suppose I figured, why not let you disappear? So,” she looked up, smile too wan, “that’s the story. Mystery solved.”

Sanji swallowed, trying to clear his dry throat. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t the only one who visited her.”

“Well,” said Reiju, looking away again, “you weren’t the only one who cared.”

And what could he say to that? Sanji let her stew, let himself unscramble his brain. It was a long process, and he didn’t even finish it. But there were still more pressing matters at hand.

“So,” he started, huffed a groaning sigh. “If I’m not going to tell him and you’re not going to tell him, what do we do?”

“If we leave them behind, they’ll get killed and you don’t have to worry about that old man,” Reiju said. No hesitation, no time taken to mull it over. It was frightening, almost Robin-like, and Sanji had to recoil because he didn’t ever want to associate any Vinsmoke with any of his friends.

“We’ll just sneak off without saying anything, then?”

“I won’t say anything if you won’t say anything.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. Colluding with his biological sister to destroy his biological family. He didn’t think that this was the way he’d be dealing with the Vinsmokes. “Alright. But there’s still the matter of these,” he said, raising his wrists. “You put them on; mind helping me get them off?”

“Give me a ride afterwards and let me off with no trouble.”

Only a day before, he would have compared this to making a deal with the devil. But he held out his hand and she grabbed it in hers, the two fitting together awkwardly, and they shook on it.

“Alright,” Sanji said, standing up. “Let’s find my friends.”

Chapter Text

“Just a question. But do you guys usually go around saving villages?”

It wasn’t long after Cocoyashi. Their sails were pointed straight to the Grand Line, which was exciting and all, but Sanji couldn’t help but think, goddammit, that doctor didn’t give my fucking bindings back. Not that there was much to see, but he hunched anyways.

Luffy looked over from the sheep’s head, twisting his neck at an odd angle. “Hm?”

“It’s just, you’re calling yourselves pirates. But do you actually do what pirates usually do, is what I’m wondering. Like, what have you done, exactly?”

“Well,” Usopp started, scratching at his nose, “they did chase off Klahadore from my village for me.”

“And I guess we also chased off Buggy from that other place,” Nami added, barely looking up from her newspaper.

“Zoro and I beat up a marine!” Luffy called back, demonstrating with a punch.

“Except everybody in town wanted him gone anyways. The other marines saluted us for that.” After saying his piece, Zoro laid his head back and continued his nap.

Sanji leaned back against the wall. So. It was just a regular thing, then. “I just wanna make things clear, here; I’m not interested in doing charity work. That’s not what you hired me for.”

“’Hired?’” Usopp muttered over his bubbling beakers of myriad colors.

“You can count on me to feed you and help out around the ship, but I’m not about to stick out my neck for any random yokel we come across.”

Luffy just smiled, like he knew something Sanji didn’t. “You stuck your neck out for Nami, though!”

“Yeah, and I broke all my fucking ribs.” Sanji almost gestured at his chest, but thought better of it and instead crossed his arms. “It’s not fun.”

Zoro opened an eye, expression mild but tone judgmental. “So you’re not gonna fight?”

Sanji matched his stare and blew out smoke. “I’m just the cook.”

This time, Nami looked up with a perfectly bright smile. “Wait, is that an option? ‘Cause like, I’m just the navigator, so I’d like to stay out of fights too.”

“And I’m just the sniper, so – oh.” Usopp lowered his hand, fretfully glancing towards Luffy. “Um, can I be something else?”

“Nobody’s getting out of fights,” Zoro’s voice boomed, like a sword thumping a rhythm against the ground. “If we’re in trouble, everybody has to pull their own weight. That’s what you signed up for.” The glare he sent Sanji was particularly sharp. He could probably use his eyes as swords. Sanji just held his cigarette to his mouth and looked out to sea.

“Eh, it’s fine,” Luffy said, and he rolled backwards off the figurehead and on the deck with a dull thud. It sounded somewhat painful, but he just crossed his legs underneath him and swiveled to smile at everybody else. “I can fight enough for everyone! No problem.”

Zoro opened his mouth to retort, but Usopp cut in with a frenetic, “Good! Sounds great! I’ll be counting on you, Luffy – not that I can’t do it myself, I totally can, it’s just if I use my full power then I gotta recharge for like twenty days and nights, which is just inconvenient, I know, but we should probably just save me for the really important stuff, is what I’m saying,”

“I’m also not planning on sticking around, really,” Sanji added. “This is just a temporary arrangement. Just so that there’s no misunderstandings or anything.”

Zoro stared at Sanji for a while, and then turned towards Luffy. “Why did you pick this guy up again?”

“He’s a good guy!”

And then, quite suddenly, before Zoro could say some sort of snide remark, Nami jumped out of her chair and shouted, “Luffy has a bounty!” and everything was forgotten in favor of this landmark news. It was a pretty good bounty, for such a recent criminal, but Sanji couldn’t bring himself to match Luffy’s pride or Usopp’s excitement or even Nami’s worry. Thirty million was only a fraction of his current bounty. Not even half of it.

He didn’t mention this, though. After all, he was just the cook.

“I’m just the cook,” he complained, but he struggled and kicked his way to the execution stand anyways, and why was the fucking captain fucking in this mess in the first place? How did he even get in this fucking mess in the first place? Sanji had the feeling that he was going to be babysitting Luffy (the fucking captain) and he didn’t sign up for this at all, didn’t sign up for running after a moron, getting him out of the trouble that he probably caused – and then lightning struck, and he had to wonder if maybe the universe itself was babysitting Luffy, maybe this kid had a higher power by his side; who even knows why, but maybe this charmed child could cancel out even his own bad luck. But that led to dangerous thoughts, stupid thoughts, and he shoved them aside.

“I’m just a cook,” he declared and walked away from all the speculation. Who really cared about some old man in a whale, what he was doing to the whale, what the fate of the whale even was? The important part was that they were in a whale, and he would like to get out, get back under a real sky, sail over a real sea. The artificiality of the world around him made him feel itchy and the irony of being inside a goddamn stomach was pissing him off, so let’s just get outta here already. (He ended up learning the whale’s tragic backstory anyways, sympathized with him over waiting and waiting and waiting for someone, got angry that he was sympathizing with a whale. Fuck.)

“I’m just a cook,” he hissed at Luffy. And furthermore, they were all just pirates, and who were they to get all wrapped up in a goddamn conspiracy plot involving some kingdom? How was it in any way a good idea to become targets of an assassin group for a, for an admittedly pretty princess, but still practically a stranger? At least the majority was on his side: Nami was kneeling, hands clasped together, whispering, ‘think of the money, think of the money,’ while Usopp had simply shut down in a miserable puddle on the floor. Luffy just laughed and said, “It’ll work out!” and in his despair, Sanji turned to Zoro for some level-headed support only to find him already training for the future. Still, when it came to drinks, he made Vivi the same elaborate ones he gave Nami. (And then when she thanked him with that modest smile, he scrambled backwards and tripped down the stairs, and fuck.)

“I’m just the cook,” he explained slowly to the dull-headed, moss-covered rock down on shore. Cooks didn’t hunt, except when hunting for deals – the actual tracking down of ingredients was someone else’s job. But the way the shitty moron gave that supercilious smirk, the way he turned and waved lazily behind him like he was saying “Just leave it to me,” left Sanji jumping off the ship because no, he wasn’t going to leave it to him, fuck off with that bullshit, he didn’t come all this way to get looked down on. One snail call later and he had to sit back and wonder at how his life decisions had led him to talking to one of the Warlords, lying outrageously to one of the Warlords, and fighting off an otter and a vulture, one of which had a gun (and it wasn’t the one with actual hands), when all he wanted was to kill some fucking huge thing to shove it in Zoro’s obnoxious face. And, sitting back further, hadn’t he just let a good opportunity slip through his fingers? Didn’t he just lose the chance to get himself out of this ridiculous situation? “Hey, Crocodile. Let’s make a deal.” And then no more worrying about assassins coming after him, no more worrying about a country he had never seen before, none of that. It would have even been a step up, considering the way this current crew was. But he hadn’t even considered it until now, when it was too late. As though it hadn’t even been an option at the time. And when he walked out of the woods and saw everybody burned, and some sort of giant, ugly, melted thing in the middle of the clearing, and fucking giants, he felt. Ashamed? That he missed everything again. But he shouldn’t care. And he shouldn’t have cared when Vivi ran and hugged him when he showed the Eternal Pose he picked up, or the way Usopp slapped his back or anything. He shouldn’t care. (And for the record, his catch was bigger.)

“I’m just the cook,” he mumbled, head bowed down as he gazed at the feverish Nami, surely the first victim of his bad luck, and she was going to die, and he had seen people die before but never slow, never prolonged, he had never had to see death...happening, and of all people, why Nami? Why the one with near supernatural skill when it came to the weather, to reading the ocean? Why the one who had only just recently gotten her freedom, hadn’t even enjoyed it to the fullest yet? “I can make sure everybody eats healthy, but...I’m useless here,” Sanji admitted. Which hurt most of all, being useless. Like he was just a kid again and all he could do was get shuffled around from place to place, unanchored. In the end, their only plan of action was to sail around randomly and hope, which was hardly a plan at all, couldn’t even be called a scheme, and Sanji shut himself in the kitchen, preparing himself for what was to come.

“I’m just the cook,” he said and smiled, right before kicking Luffy up and over, right before a metric ton of snow slammed into him like a fucking sea king, right before he simply blacked out.

“You didn’t have to come back for me.”

“Huh? Why?”

“It couldn’t have been easy to find me. Nami-san really needed to get here as fast as possible. You were wasting valuable time.”

“Looking for you wasn’t a waste!”

“I’m just saying, it was reckless and risky – “

“But now both of you are okay! It was worth it!”

“I’m saying she could’ve died.”

“But she didn’t.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible...”

“Yup!”

He wanted to say that it had been his fault in the first place, even if he wasn’t the direct cause, that he had been trying so hard to make up for it and getting dug out hadn’t been part of his plan. He almost said that you’re doing something to me, Luffy, I don’t know how, but it must be you (it can’t be me, I have never been like this before, surely not) and I need to get away from you before you think I’m someone I’m not.

“Thanks.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Back when someone’s life was literally at stake, a doctor seemed like a brilliant idea. Standing here now, in the newly-minted infirmary, he wondered if it was possible to jump ship and find some other crew to hide out in.

“Do you mind putting out your cigarette?” Chopper asked, stethoscope swinging around his neck.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“And sit on the bed, please.”

“So, uh, what do you need to see exactly?” he asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the bed in a way that he was almost, but not quite, committed to sitting on it.

Chopper pushed a chair closer to the bedside and hopped on, giving him the perfect elevation to send him a soft look. “Sanji, I already know your biological sex.”

Sanji stopped breathing for a moment, partly because he knew and partly because this tiny-ass raccoon just said ‘sex.’ “Uh.”

“I’m sorry to speak so frankly about it, but I thought it would be best to not dance around the issue. I assure you, I won’t tell anybody without your permission, and I certainly don’t want to make you uncomfortable; I’m here to help!”

Sanji managed to work his mouth and said, “How did you know?”

“Oh, um! It’s not your fault!” Chopper said, looking like he was trying to wave his arms reassuringly but really just flailing around. “You look very, um, manly! Or, I mean, androgynous, if that’s what you’re going for! Oh shoot, I shouldn’t have said, I messed up, I’m sorry!”

“Okay, okay.” Sanji set his hands on Chopper’s shoulders just so he would stop circling on the chair. What happened to him being the one freaking out? “I get it. It’s fine. But you didn’t answer my question.”

Chopper blinked. “Oh. Well, I can smell your hormones.”

Ah. Well, that wouldn’t be a common problem. Unless, do Zoan types also get super senses? Probably should avoid them. (As though he could just somehow do that.)

“What’s your blood type?”

Sanji looked back down at Chopper, who was now holding a clipboard. “Huh? I. Don’t know.”

“Any history of illness in the family?”

“I dunno...”

“What about allergies to any medication?”

“I, uh, don’t think so?”

Chopper paused in his scribbling to give him a look. And despite those ridiculously large, ridiculously sweet eyes, Sanji squirmed like he was under a hot light.

“I don’t know. Sorry,” he added helplessly.

“It’s alright,” Chopper replied, slipping the paper off the board and filing it away in a drawer. “Most of you didn’t really know either. The only ones who could answer were Vivi, Usopp, and Zoro.”

Zoro? “Wait. The mosshead? The one with the swords,” he clarified when he caught Chopper’s bewildered stare. “The idiot who only has muscles and booze on his mind? The moron who gets lost on a straight road? That guy?”

Chopper threw his hooves up and looked to the ceiling for support. “Can’t you just call him by his name?”

“No.”

Sanji sulked as Chopper went through the physical examination (it was better than feeling uncomfortably self-conscious), because it wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t fair for Zoro, of all people, Zoro, to have this knowledge of himself, this history, when he was so intent on killing himself every day. It just felt unfair that Zoro knew what he was doing and where he was going and where he was from when Sanji was so sure that they had been the same, wanderers with little ties to anything or anyone, but Zoro had been wandering with a purpose, with that dream, for a long time now, it was obvious. And Sanji had been simply wandering. It felt like he was losing, and who wanted to lose to a goddamn idiot? (And, if he thought deeper, wasn’t this less about Zoro and more about…)

“Um, Sanji?”

Sanji shook himself back down to reality and luckily did not have to acknowledge any sort of too-intimate touch whatsoever. Chopper was just measuring his pulse. “Yeah?

“So...I dunno if you’ve ever considered it, but...there are surgeries, you know? For, um, adjusting your body. Top surgery, for instance. It’ll be relatively simple even, since your, uh, breasts, aren’t that. Um.” Chopper stopped gesturing at his own chest and snapped his arms to his sides with military awkwardness.

Sanji was quiet for a moment, hands resting on his legs. “You can?”

“You’ll have to stop smoking for two weeks first – don’t make that face! You shouldn’t be smoking anyways!”

Sanji turned away and tisked in the sourest way possible. “Not worth it.” He was considering it.

There was an instinctual reluctance, a mental step back in disgust, and not just because of the smoking ban. The idea of modifying his body was just, it seemed, uncomfortably strange. Unnatural. Like he would be rejecting something given to him, or giving up. Giving up on what? Giving up on...his identity? (As if he didn’t make and throw away identities all the time.) Giving up on ever being himself again? (The thought made him gag – who would ever want to be who he was?) Giving up on...something.

But still.

“It’s your decision.” Chopper shrugged and pulled away to hop back to the floor. “I just wanted you to know the option is there.”

“The others,” he started, his voice sounding too dry, too raspy, “the others don’t have to know, right?”

Chopper stopped and looked up at him, tugged at his hat’s brim. “Well, they’ll know about the surgery, no real way around that. Even if we did it at night, you’ll have to take a break from strenuous activities for about two weeks, and there’s not really a way to explain that away. But they don’t have to know what the surgery is for. I could say...it’s for your ribs? Or lungs?”

Sanji leaned down and ruffled Chopper’s head. “You’re surprisingly devious, aren’t you.”

“Shut up~! I’m – I...is that good or bad…?”

“Let’s do it. No smoking for two weeks, right?” He tossed over his pack of cigarettes, and Chopper fumbled with it before managing to clap the box firmly between his hooves. He was running low, anyways; hadn’t had much chance picking any up since Loguetown. Was hoping to find some in Alabasta, but for now, he’d have to avoid the temptation. Just two weeks. So he could get rid of some ugly, painful lumps? That’s fine.

Alabasta was a fucking miserable place and he fucking hated everything about it (sorry, Vivi) but mostly he fucking hated himself.

“You really don’t have to torture yourself or anything, we’re all used to the smoke now,” Usopp said as they set up camp in the godforsaken sand under the cover of another cold-ass night. The freezing air reminded Sanji of cigarettes and this conversation wasn’t helping.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Usopp frowned and backed away. “You’d be way more attractive if it weren’t for your bad attitude.”

Sanji stiffened. The haze of withdrawal shifted and turned into a different sort of haze, and he dropped his bedroll and turned to Usopp. “You find me attractive?”

Usopp had frozen as well, and all Sanji could see was the back of his head. Several long seconds passed. And then Usopp scooped up his blankets and tripped his way out, hollering, “Luffy! You better have room for me!”

Usopp’s ability to run away was well-known to everybody in the crew, it’s just that Sanji didn’t realize this applied to the figurative application of running away as well. Not that a race against outright war was a good time to have a conversation about interpersonal relationships, but at the same time, maybe it was? Just to clarify things. That he wasn’t, couldn’t be, available; relationships weren’t an option to someone on the run who was planning on bailing this group any time now.

But whenever he approached Usopp, whether privately or in public, the boy would start laughing much too loud and announce, “If it isn’t my good friend, Sanji! What can I do for my buddy, who I am best pals with, as it has been and will ever be in the future we have as friends together!” And the resulting conversation would pelt him with so many ‘pals’ and ‘buds’ and ‘buckos’ and ‘friendaroos’ that Sanji could only mumble vaguely and bow out before the stares of the others threatened to force him to bury himself in the sand.

Well, that was probably good enough, probably.

“Oh, okay. You can join, then.”

Sanji joined in the chorus of “LUFFY!” and he wasn’t quite sure whether he was scolding along with the rest or plain exuding all the nervous energy he had just looking at, at her, and oh god, the last time he saw her he had been pointing a gun at her head, he hoped that didn’t ruin her first impression of him, and wait, no, this was gonna be hell, because he was going to go through the clumsy and awkward shit all over again and he may have gotten used to Nami and then gotten used to Vivi, but, no offense to them, this was a whole ‘nother level. This was.

A mature woman.

Robin was quiet. Robin asked for nothing. But it was her presence that was the problem, the knowledge that she was there, so much smarter than him, thinking about something, and how in the world could he ever impress her? There was a dangerous aura about her that was beautiful all the same, and while Usopp interrogated her he delivered a snack. She waited until Usopp ate one before picking it up and when she smiled at him and said, “What a good cook we have,” as though she was already settled in, part of the whole, Sanji turned around, took one step, and fell through the open hatch into the bedroom.

Oh boy.

After a few more days at sea, Chopper did the surgery.

Draining the fluids wasn’t fun. Weeks of lugging around bags on his chest, which replaced what he had just gotten rid of and more. Slouching didn’t hide anything this time and Zoro spluttered at the sight and Luffy guffawed and Nami pounded the two of them to the deck.

“Don’t make fun of someone recovering from surgery, guys,” was Usopp’s less violent contribution, which was the most natural he had been after all the belligerent normality these past few days. Robin gave a smile, which was her common reaction (so common it was meaningless), but Sanji chose to interpret it as encouraging.

Eventually, the bags came off and eventually, he was allowed to cook and fight and smoke.

His chest looked. Odd. A little warped. Dead. The scars weren’t too apparent, but they glowed the red of recently removed stitches, like blood. Maybe this wasn’t right, maybe he made the wrong choice, shouldn’t it look healthier? More natural?

And yet his clothes fit much better. And yet he didn’t have to layer himself with jackets all the time. And yet when he picked Chopper up and held him close, he really did feel close, like there wasn’t anything stuck between them, getting in the way, and wasn’t that fucking wonderful?

“You’re way too happy.”

Sanji turned to Zoro and didn’t immediately scowl. “Hm?”

“You don’t slouch and you’re way too happy,” Zoro repeated and paused for a retort that never came. Sanji watched as he shifted from one leg to the other, scratched the back of his head. “It’s weirding me out,” he added, and when Sanji continued to say nothing, plodded a retreat.

And wasn’t it all worth it just to make Zoro uncomfortable?

He woke up suddenly in the embrace of clouds, and for a moment he wondered how the hell he could ever possibly be in Heaven before he remembered.

The skies were clear above. He sat up, wincing as the burns on his skin brushed up against fabric, against air, and then ended up back down again when Usopp noticed his movement and immediately tackled him, full of tears and snot.

“Holy freaking shit you’re alive, Sanji, Sanji, oh my god, thank you thank you thank you!”

His whole world was clouds and Usopp for a few seconds, his arms automatically wrapping around Usopp’s back, before they were wrenched away from each other and Nami’s face appeared in Usopp’s place, looking distinctly displeased.

“What the fuck were you thinking, you, you, idiot!” she screamed, pounding at his chest. “That was so stupid, you could’ve died, and you’re so lucky you aren’t because I would’ve killed you!”

It sort of felt that she was killing him already, to be honest, but Chopper hurried over and pushed Nami out of the way. Sanji tried to tell him off, but could only wheeze. “Stop that! I’ve gotta treat him!”

Usopp, still kneeling nearby, bawled out, “J-just so you know, Sanji, you, you looked, so freaking cool!”

“Don’t encourage him!” both Chopper and Nami snarled back.

Sanji tried to sit up again, but was pushed back down by Chopper. “How did I get here?” he murmured.

Nami looked towards Usopp, who was trying to wipe his nose clean. “He just...stayed behind and managed to fall back down with you,” she explained.

Sanji tilted his head to look at Usopp again and smiled. “That must’ve been really fucking cool. Wish I coulda seen that,” he breathed out, and then chuckled when Usopp fidgeted and coughed.

“W-well, I can always tell you the story of Usopp’s Epic Battle Against God to Save Sanji’s Life! There’s drama and suspense and action and – “

Despite agitating his burns, having Usopp pressed up against him had been, pleasant. In a way. Not just as an expression of gratitude, but the sensation of it, the intimate closeness, the brush of skin, the beat of his pulse, the smell of his hair. Sanji wanted to reciprocate, to let him know how amazing it was that he went back for him, just for him, and while he was at it, all the other amazing things about him, his inventiveness, his tenacity, everything, but for now, he gestured, waited until Usopp scooted closer, and set a hand on his knee. “Thanks,” he said with forceful sincerity, smiling as wide as he could.

He could tell his feelings came across when Usopp immediately shut up, covered his face, and nodded.

“Didn’t expect to see one of those rocks all the way up here,” Sanji commented. He had opted out of the ‘go inside a giant snake and steal all the gold shit’ expedition in favor of following Robin around. And suddenly, here he was, in a confrontation with the past.

Robin turned her face to him, eyes wide. “You know about the Poneglyphs?”

The sudden intensity of her words made him duck his head. “Uh, well...I’ve seen one before, yeah. But I never studied them or anything though...I don’t even know what they’re for.”

Robin kept her sharp gaze on him, considering his uncomfortable expression, the way he shuffled his feet against the dirt that had been so treasured up in the clouds. And finally, to his relief, smiled. “I’m curious as to how you had access to such dangerous knowledge, but I suppose this is a topic you would like to avoid.”

He hunched his shoulders and grimaced helplessly. “Sorry.”

“It is quite alright, Cook-san. It would be hypocritical of me to forcefully interrogate you on the details.” Her smile stayed, but the word ‘forcefully’ brought to mind certain uncomfortable thoughts about her power and the potential uses thereof. Sanji carefully squashed the resulting mental images.

“So, what are they for? If it’s okay to ask,” he added hastily.

Robin seemed to consider him for several long seconds, seemed to look him up and down and inside-out, look into his mind, look into his motivation, look into his past. It was only when she looked back to the chiseled rock that he could relax.

“They are the recorded history of a lost century,” she began. And with a low, hushed voice that threatened to be swallowed by the forest around them, Robin spoke of the fall of an unknown kingdom, the rise of the World Government, weapons that could destroy the world, secrets that the current regime would kill to keep secret.

Sanji shivered. What had Clover said? “It’s our All Blue?” How kind of him, how generous. To liken pure revolution, the pursuit of knowledge, to such a selfish desire.

“Thanks,” his voice rattled out, causing Robin to shoot him a look of concern. But he meant it. This was closure, wasn’t it? After a decade, he finally understood. Not that anything was any better; but there was a sick sort of melancholic pride to the memories now, rather than bitter frustration. They could have never done anything different. They had been locked in ever since they chose their devotion. Rebelled until the end.

And now, as if they had been drawn together, he stood by the side of the embodiment of their legacy, whether Robin knew it or not.

“If I may, do you happen to know what was written on your Poneglyph?”

Still. If only someone else had survived, just for this. “Nobody told me or wrote it down or anything. I was sorta studying something else, to be honest.”

“Then could you tell me where it is?”

He winced at that, slouched and slowed his steps. Robin fell into place beside him seconds later, and he felt her stare, felt her determination prying at him, not letting go.

“It’s gone,” he mumbled tersely. “Got blown up.”

“The material is quite indestructible. Perhaps if you told me the island it was on...”

“The name means nothing anymore. It’s...gone.”

Robin’s lips pressed tight at that. “Couldn’t you point out the area it would be on a map?”

“I was eight, nine,” he whispered, and boy was he getting close to spilling his life story anyways. “I...don’t remember anymore.”

“Then the ocean it was in,” Robin continued, and her voice was as mild as ever but it was hounding, biting at him.

“West. I don’t know how that would help, though,” he couldn’t help but add. “It’ll probably be at the bottom of the sea.”

Robin smiled. “Let me worry about that.”

“And,” he added, slowly, carefully, “you might not want to ask around too much. They – we, we’re only known as monsters, now.”

“I am a monster as well.” At Sanji’s spluttering protests, she waved a hand and said, “Oh, it’s no insult. Not anymore. People may give me whatever moniker they will; I am content to be a monster so long as I succeed in my goals.”

And oh, how badly he wanted her to succeed, how badly he wished he wasn’t useless. She was so important now, in a different way than she had been before, and he would ensure her success somehow, one way or another.

“CP9.”

His feet froze, stuck fast to the cobblestone. The murmurs of pedestrians slowed until they were incomprehensible and the water that served as roads seemed to roar in his ears, trapping him in a typhoon. He almost dropped the groceries – but tightened his fists instead, spun on his heel, and followed the cloaked man into the crowd.

“Just follow our instructions and no drastic measures will be needed.”

The man was stoic, calm, but in a blank sort of way; like it was trained into him rather than it being natural. He was hard to read, but he couldn’t be telling anything other than the truth. Sanji’s head rang with the words ‘Buster Call,’ over and over, a hypnotizing noise.

“You will assist us in obtaining the plans for Pluton. And then you will be used as a hostage in negotiations with the Vinsmoke family. After which, you will be allowed to live with them once more, with your crimes absolved.”

Vinsmoke. Another word that kept repeating. The daughter of a king, they said. The daughter of a genetic engineer. A daughter built to be a weapon. And no wonder he brought destruction.

“It’s a good deal,” another man added, his nose remarkably like Usopp’s. Uncomfortably like Usopp’s. “Royalty’s not a bad thing to happen to be. Better than being on the run, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he felt himself say. “As long as you keep your promise.”

Everything blurred. He was led to a room above a bar, but he couldn’t recall anything about it despite never leaving it all day. Time seemed to keep skipping, sometimes forward, sometimes back, and he didn’t know how many nights had passed before they came back again, costume in hand.

Someone’s stomach churned at the anticipation of tonight’s affair. It should have been his, but it didn’t feel like it. When he stood up and joined them, he felt himself separate and lag a few feet behind himself. The cloak made him unrecognizable and he wondered if he would lose himself, wander the streets as a ghost forever more.

But he was tied to his body, and the two of them made it to the destination with their macabre escort, and there was a man there, in bed, and Sanji did what he had been born to do.

He only pulled back into himself when he set out to say his goodbyes and set his eyes on Nami and Chopper.

It was disorienting. How long had it been since he’d last eaten? How long had it been since he last slept? How long had it been since they last saw him, and why did they look so relieved at the sight of them when he…

Nami moved to find a way across the canal and Sanji barked, “Wait!”

“Stay right there,” he added, voice low but still carrying over to the opposite side. Nami hesitated. Chopper kept shuffling his hooves, like he was ready to just jump for him. Instead, he threw his own voice across the distance.

“Sanji, why’d you disappear? What’s going on? They say you attacked someone! Do you need help?”

The last one hit him hard and it took a moment for him to compose himself and compose an answer.

“I’m leaving the crew.”

Those words visibly hit them, perhaps even harder. He closed his eyes to shield himself from his own violence. “Why?” he heard Chopper yell. “Did we do something? Sanji, please!”

“Let’s talk about this,” Nami started, calmer than Chopper, but he could hear a weary, strained tone in her voice. “At least talk to Luffy – “

“Luffy made me a promise back when I joined. I’m just cashing in,” he replied. “Tell him. He should know what I’m talking about. Here are the groceries I bought.” The bags rustled against the stone as he set them down by his feet. They weren’t quite as fresh, but he had stored them properly for this. “Take care.”

He heard Chopper’s screams behind him, futile, fearful. He half expected Nami to forget about finding a bridge and just swim the canal, but she seemed frozen herself, and he managed to disappear into the dark.

He remembered thinking that the sea train looked like an impressive piece of machinery when he first saw it. Actually riding it felt like a miracle of invention. Would have felt. Under different circumstances, maybe.

“Don’t move from this car,” said some government agent, a forgettable face in a suit.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said tonelessly back.

Once the island of Water 7 disappeared behind them with a whistle and a scream of smoke, it started to sink in. He was in the hands of the World Government now. The World Government. Habitual panic settled, and a ten-year-old instinct drove him to look for an escape – what was he doing? Why was he here? He didn’t want this, he had been running for a decade exactly because he didn’t want this! Another force clamped down his pounding heart and hissed at him, it isn’t about what you want, not this time. And to save himself the pain, he let everything blur again. Maybe he could keep this up for the rest of his life.

His head lolled backwards and he simply stared straight.

Nami would have appreciated the elegance of this car, the satin drapes, the crystal lights, the embroidered patterns of the seats. She had always adored the finer things in life.

There didn’t seem to be much here to interest Robin, on the other hand, which just seemed unfortunate. Would she have liked the engine car? Despite her specialization in history, she always seemed like she enjoyed all sorts of knowledge. He could hear her hounding the engineer for the schematics.

The marimo would’ve just enjoyed the seats as a damn bed. Fucking asshole.

The idiot trio would be enthralled by the sight from the window. They were just so simple like that, not that wonder and awe were bad things or anything. Sometimes that childish sort of perspective was enviable, and –

Someone was outside his window, hanging onto the side of the fucking train, just waving at him.

Sanji opened his mouth to scream, but considered that it would be more considerate to open the window and pull the guy in, and now that he got a good look at the mask, he could see that damn nose.

“Usopp, what the fuck are you wearing?!”

He had meant to say, ‘what the fuck are you doing here,’ but it was a legitimate question.

“You are mistaken, I am not Usopp-kun,” said the man who clearly was Usopp, speaking in a distinctly Usopp voice that was pitched slightly lower than usual. “But I am friends with him! I am the hero known as Sogeking!”

Someone was going crazy here. Sanji just wasn’t sure who it was.

“Why are you here? Didn’t Luffy get my fucking message?”

“From what I understand of the situation,” Usopp began, posing with a hand to his chin, “Luffy-kun has not yet arrived, but is making his way here for you. Meanwhile, Robin-kun and Franky-kun are coming this way, but I thought it would be better if we could move without having to go past the ones in the car behind us. If you use these Octo-shoes, we may make our escape from this car and wait for the rest to arrive!”

“Who the fuck is Franky?!” Sanji blurted as Usopp dumped what he really hoped weren’t real octopodes in his hands. “Wait, no, I’m not leaving!” He moved to pull away, but Usopp snatched his wrist with surprising strength.

“They know the truth, you know. They know why you’re doing this. Did you really think they’d just keep merrily going on?” Usopp’s voice was steadily growing harder, dropping whatever character it was he had been putting on. Somewhere behind his mask, Sanji could feel his eyes glaring righteously. “If there was something wrong, couldn’t you have just told them? Couldn’t you have just talked it out? That’s what friends are for! Don’t pretend that you have to do things alone!”

Sanji didn’t tug away immediately. He wanted to cry. He wanted to rip that damn mask off and press his face into Usopp’s hair, breathe deep that now-familiar smell of gunpowder. He lingered too long, and something about Usopp softened with hope, so it was a real shame when Sanji wrenched his hand away.

“I said from the very beginning I wasn’t going to stay, didn’t I?”

“And are you leaving willingly?”

“Yes!” Sanji shouted back, mostly out of spite. And that was when one of the suits walked through the door.

Impressively, it took only a few seconds for the government agent to react and draw his gun. More impressively, Sanji couldn’t even get the word ‘Wait!’ out before Usopp shot something explosive into the agent’s face, sending him flying back through the door and into the middle of the next car. Where CP9 was.

The CP9 agents collectively looked down at the unconscious man, then back through the open door. Usopp whimpered.

The door on the other side of the CP9 car busted down under the force of another flying human body, and then there was Robin and a ridiculous-looking man who was hard to look at because he wasn’t wearing any pants. This must have been Franky.

Several things happened at once. Usopp picked him up under his arm with surprising strength and ran for safety behind his allies. Two of the CP9 members stood up, only for all of them to have a sudden case of arms growing like branches from their bodies. Robin moved to break their spines, but their weird iron body technique managed to counter that and she was left straining. But at the same time, they couldn’t move, and as soon as everybody was in the next car over, Franky busted the link between them. Robin dismissed her arms a little too early and one of the CP9 gripped the car with a whip before they grew too far apart, but then Franky took down the entire wall and crashed into the car, allowing the train to zoom ahead while their car slowed to a stop.

And then they were alone.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wouldn’t count as breaking their deal, would it? Shit.

“Phew,” Usopp exhaled, finally letting Sanji down. Sanji wavered on his feet for a few moments, and then kicked Usopp across the length of the car.

Robin gave a sharp gasp and turned to check on Usopp. There was that haze in the air, the one that wrapped itself around Sanji’s mind and stuffed it with cotton. “You should’ve just let me go,” he said, causing Robin to look back at him with an expression of, distaste? Exasperation?

“I hope you didn’t expect me to quietly stand by while you engage in self-destructive activities.”

“You wouldn’t understand – “

“Then help me understand!” Robin shouted, shooting to her feet. He had never heard her raise her voice before, and it stunned him, left him wide open. She didn’t let off, her face creased with an unnatural anger. “I can’t help if I don’t have the knowledge required! And I refuse to stand by while another one disappears due to my ignorance!”

Her voice thrummed with hurt, resounded in him, and how could he refuse that request? And would it help, would they know enough to let him go? “It’s not like I’m being sent to my death! You’re the ones being self-destructive here! They’ll kill you if I go with you – they’ve already destroyed an entire island, Robin!” You’re so important, he tried to say. You’re all too important to die, because if you die, then a whole movement will die with you, entire ambitions, dreams. I need you to understand so you can explain to the others and they can realize what the important things are, please, please.

But Robin’s eyes were firm, her mouth a hard line as she replied, “They can try.”

Still, she couldn’t do anything when a door opened in the air and the bull-looking CP9 escorted him back to the train. He hoped that she would think it over, consider things logically, and when the entire crew regrouped, convince everybody about what was the best thing to do. Robin was smart. She could understand probability and odds, she could imagine the likeliest outcome. She had to.

Sanji got back to his seat. The car was the same, except Franky was also here, chained up. He frowned at the sight of him and said, “You should’ve stayed with them.”

“You don’t fucking know anything,” Sanji shot back, and for the rest of the ride, he enforced a strict silence.

“Synnøve,” they said, and it took him a moment to react. When he stood up, a soldier approached and cuffed his legs together; the chain was long enough to allow him to shuffle.

“So you won’t attempt to run or use your weapons of choice,” explained the only lady on the train.

“I won’t,” he insisted, but didn’t complain any further. The hands were next, and he lit up a cigarette before they were cuffed. He tripped over his first few steps, but was soon able to hit a rhythm that wasn’t too slow but didn’t risk him falling on his face.

Franky was less compliant, managing to be a nuisance even with the chains. And as Sanji watched him bite the hell out of some guy’s face, he sneered inwardly at his resistance and wondered, why try? (A part of him wondered at his feelings of superiority over giving up. This wasn’t him, it wasn’t, it wasn’t, but he kicked that part of him down.)

“I understand why he’s here,” Sanji nodded his head towards the rambunctious Franky (who was moments away from being subdued by the Usopp lookalike), “But why am I passing through? Doesn’t seem the right place to hold a negotiation to me.”

“Our boss wants to see you first,” said the bull-horns man, as the pigeon man took out a mini Den Den Mushi and announced, “She’s arrived.” Franky glanced askance at him, eyes asking the obvious question – ‘She?’

Sanji avoided his look.

“Before the negotiations, we would also like to interrogate you on a few things. Any secrets of the Germa Kingdom. The research of the Ohara scholars.”

That wasn’t in the deal, some part of him screamed, but he only bowed his head and said, “I don’t know anything, but fine.”

“Damn, you’re whipped,” Franky muttered.

“Follow her example and I wouldn’t have to keep twisting your arm like this,” the lady hissed, punctuating with a sharp pull that made him wince.

Sanji entered Enies Lobby.

And despite all odds, so did they.

They stood on the building across the bridge, across the hole to the center of the world, stood like they were claiming land (or claiming him), and their sheer defiance was blinding, burning even, flaying his own worthless flesh off. They were fearsome – maybe not to the CP9 behind him, but they invoked fear anyways, and thus he shouted, “Who asked you to come here!”

Spandam, the son of the man who had destroyed everything he had known, the son who would surely inherit his father’s legacy and wipe the slate clean again, laughed. “After so much trouble, they’re being turned away!”

Sanji tuned him out. It was hard to do. Everything was so clear, his mind sharp, and there was no pulling himself under the dead, blissful trances of before. Not with them there.

“I quit, didn’t I?!” he continued, his voice already hoarse. “I already told you to leave me alone! We don’t have any connection anymore!

“I’ve lied to you this whole time, don’t you realize? My real name isn’t Sanji! I had a bounty before I even met you! I was just using you as a cover, like all the other crews I’ve been on! I didn’t actually care about any of you, I was planning on leaving all along!

“I’m not even, I’m not...a man. I even lied about that. Everything you knew about me was fake! There’s nothing here for you!

“If you keep me, I’ll only be bad luck. Every single person I’ve been with gets caught up in some sort of attack. If you keep me, you’ll only get chased by the World Government itself! So that’s why...”

Whatever else he was about to say was swallowed up in flames along with the flag. His breath caught in his throat and stayed there, anticipating.

“If you really wanna quit, then say it to my face!”

And he looked at them, really looked at them, Nami, Robin, Zoro, Chopper, Usopp, Luffy, and he couldn’t.

The only thing he could say was,

“I’m sorry! Please! Take me back!”

They flew straight into his worst nightmares, grabbed his hand, and rode straight out with no casualties. He was stunned. But in the end, Merry slipped into the sea, long after the conflict. He hadn’t even known there had been any trouble with her at all, and what had he done, adding more stress on such a situation? He tried his best to apologize by mourning with the others.

There was always someone with him, as though they were watching in shifts. No, that wasn’t the right way to say it; more like, they were making up for lost time. As they waited for a new ship (and for Usopp to come back), he found himself dragged out to appreciate the city proper – despite its slightly ragged state. He rode the water roads with Chopper, admiring the way they sparkled, and couldn’t every city have this system? He tried on extravagant masks with Nami, and though the prices were equally extravagant, she offered to buy one. A souvenir. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted a memento of this particular place or not. They sampled the food stalls instead. He visited monuments with Robin and listened to her soft, quiet explanations of the whos and whys, and he started to realize just how fucking important the guy he had tried to kill was. “Think I’ll be in the history books?” he joked.

Robin patted his shoulder. “History books seldom have the whole picture.”

Zoro deigned to share a single moment with him, which consisted of them staring at each other warily and him giving a slight nod. (Though Sanji suspected that he had actually been nodding off.) Luffy was confined to strict bed rest, but he was enthusiastic even as a patient and made just sitting by his bedside feel exhilarating. Usopp was, unavailable. Which sucked, because now that Sanji was a bit freer, he wanted to talk about, things.

“Hey, wow, everybody’s got bounties now!”

It was a half celebration and half lament, an odd sort of combination, and Sanji wasn’t sure where he stood.

It wasn’t exactly a big deal, since he already was used to being wanted by the law. The bounty itself didn’t increase by much either – like the increase was only there to justify updating the poster. And on a certain level, it felt like a long time coming. It had been almost embarrassing how long the government held on to that decade-old picture, almost oafishly incompetent. But on the other hand…

Nami paused in her misery to peer over his shoulder and scrunched her nose. “Oh,” she said, catching the attention of the others, who moved to crowd around him. Chopper hopped a few times at his feet before remembering he could just change forms, and he added on to the silence.

Luffy laughed and clapped him on the back. “That’s a real good bounty! Pretty good for your first!”

“Not my first,” Sanji reminded in between the pounding his spine took.

“Luffy,” Nami hissed, snatching Luffy’s wrist out of the air and stopping him with that beautiful, miraculous strength of hers. “Be a little sensitive!”

Even Luffy couldn’t ignore that authoritative tone. “Uh? ‘S there something wrong?” Before anybody could explain anything to him, he shoved his head back in front of the poster and squinted for the answer. Everybody stayed silent, either encouraging Luffy to figure it out on his own or reluctant to tell Luffy the answer out loud. Eventually, surprisingly, Luffy leaned back and exclaimed, “Hey! That’s not how you spell Sanji! Are they idiots?”

“They weren’t spelling Sanji,” Zoro muttered in Luffy’s ear. Luffy recoiled and eyed Zoro with bewilderment.

“But he’s Sanji!”

With a sigh, Nami shoved Luffy away. “Look, I’ve actually been meaning to ask this...what do you want us to call you?”

“It’s not that I hate my name,” he quickly said. “It’s what my mom gave me. I can’t hate that.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” And damn, Robin was too smart, and if he was uncouth, he would have said it was a nuisance. “What are your honest feelings about your name?”

It was uncomfortable. Like wearing only a sweater, the wool rubbing against bare skin, aggravating, abhorrent. He wanted to say that he didn’t mind, that the only reason he would have minded (being in hiding) was now gone and he was free to go back to being Synnøve. He wanted to say that he didn’t have that gut reaction, the thrum of fear mixed with a tone of stress. He wanted to say that it had all just been a disguise, that he would be normal, natural, from now on.

“I prefer Sanji,” he said in a rushed exhale, eyes squeezed shut.

“Alright,” was the answer, and that was that. Nothing so painless, no strike of lightning, just the continuing force of time pushing gently along.

And so, he was Sanji.

Sanji had been a little worried there, for a moment, but it worked out in the end at the very last minute, and Usopp was getting flung back onto the new ship trailing tears and snot and Sanji could almost forget all the cannonballs being flung their way because Usopp was back and thus the ship was complete. He almost found himself joining the snotty pile on the floor, but managed to restrain himself to an ecstatic shout that lasted a minute or four.

And then there was the party, and maybe he should have saved his voice for that because a Strawhat party could only ever be unapologetically loud. And with the return of two members and the introduction of one new one, the party had to be thrice as loud as usual and as Sanji got swept up in the celebrations, he looked around, at Nami and Zoro chugging down drink after drink, at Chopper rolling around on the grass, at Luffy and Usopp hanging off each other like nothing had ever happened, Robin uncharacteristically letting loose and picking him up to dance, Franky somehow fitting in already as though the crew had had a cyborg-shaped hole all along, and told himself, this is here to stay.

What a concept, in a world of the temporary, after a life of the temporary! And when Robin spun him around into a dip, his laugh came out as freely as he felt in this moment of the rest of his life.

“Oi, Usopp.”

It might not be the best conversation to have while hungover, but at the same time, everybody else being hungover meant that it was the perfect time for the conversation. So even when Usopp glared blearily at him and set his head back down on his pillow, Sanji pulled him out of bed and slung him over his shoulder before walking to the kitchen. This was for the greater good, he reminded himself as Usopp managed a single punch to his back and then gave up. Or, it was for his personal good. It was a good.

Sanji was kind enough to place Usopp squarely in a chair, but decided that Usopp could pick himself up when he slid right out. He sat on the other side of the table and folded his hands together.

Usopp’s first attempt at words resulted in a “Bleeuuuugh.” Sanji interpreted it as something along the lines of ‘What is it,’ and accepted the invitation to start the conversation.

“Remember when you said I was attractive?”

That sobered Usopp up. He straightened so fast he almost fell out of his chair again. “N-n-now, I never said that, exactly, I mean, the word ‘attractive’ was certainly said, however – “

“Am I, um, still attractive? In the same way? As, as a, guy.”

Usopp went silent for a moment, and then, eyes matching his, said, “If you’re worried about what we think of you, there’s no way we think any different. There’s no way I could! You’re, like, one of my idols of manhood basically!”

Sanji let his face fall into his hands. “Oh my god you’re embarrassing.”

“Sh-shut up!”

“So, then, do you think, maybe, you would like to have,” Sanji pointed back and forth at himself and Usopp, “a thing?”

If there was a way to be more sober than sober, Usopp had just achieved it. He swallowed, his throat trembling, and said, “A thing.”

The way he said it was ambiguous, devoid of tone, and Sanji found himself ducking and looking away, knotting his fingers in his hair. “I mean, like, before, I just thought it was impossible, because, because of my whole, situation. But, now...you know, I’m...free. And, I think I might, like you?”

Usopp, leaning back in his chair and covering his mouth like he was afraid to release it, said, “Oh.”

“I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to have a thing, that’s fine! I don’t even know anything about what I’m supposed to do, so, I don’t really think I’ll be great at it, and, I dunno, maybe it’s best if we don’t, I mean, we all just got back together and all, maybe having a thing would make things weird, and,”

“When you say ‘thing,’ you’re talking about dating, right? Like a date? Relationships?”

To hear it so directly sent blushes up Sanji’s face and he almost stood up and left the room. Instead, he only pushed the chair back and looked carefully at the far corner. “Ye-es.”

“I, I just kinda thought, you’d rather go for...you know, girls?”

The thought bleached his blush away immediately. Be in close proximity to those confident, put-together, pinnacle of miraculous human beings? Hugging? Kissing?

“I’d die,” he said.

Usopp nodded absentmindedly. It was a little bit of a relief to see him with stiffened shoulders, looking uncomfortably at the floor. “Well, I. I guess, I kinda, also wanna. Date? If that’s okay?”

“If it’s okay with you,” Sanji said in one breath. Usopp nodded fervently, still not quite looking directly at him. And was that it? Were they now in a thing together?

Sanji tentatively stopped shaking his leg. “Do, do we do something now?”

“I dunno,” Usopp mumbled. “We could, hold hands?”

They fit together like gears, first just sliding over each other and then interlocking into a finely-tied unit. Usopp’s hand was soft and warm and Sanji wanted to sink into it, sink into all of him, but he settled for just leaning closer over the table and forcing himself to stare at Usopp’s face. It looked as awkward as he felt, but that was, pretty damn cute, and who knew that he could do this to a person? Who knew a simple boy could do this to him?

“Sorry for kicking you back on the train,” he said.

“The wolf guy was worse.”

“Thanks for making all those fucking amazing shots for me.”

“That was Sogeking actu – “ Usopp paused at Sanji’s look, a little bit of impatience, a little bit of sympathy, a little bit of soft fondness. He rubbed his nose. “I’d do it any time.”

Chapter Text

The plan went wrong, because of course it did. It always did.

It was easy enough to disarm Pudding, knowing what was coming. He could even bear to point the gun at her as long as he didn’t think about it too hard. And then it was a matter of revealing Big Mom’s ploy to the Vinsmokes, and then Luffy and the others jumping out of their hiding places and breaking hell loose right then and there.

In the confusion, Sanji would slip away from the altar and everybody would just run for it, into the convenient mirror world, out to the entrance hall, out the front door, away from the castle, away from the island, away from every bit of this miserable mess that he had let everybody get caught up in.

At least, that was the plan before he felt something slip into his head and pull…

“As if you’d shoot me, idiot!” Pudding spat, letting her cute facade drop. Out of the corner of his eye, Sanji could see the roll of his memory bunched up in her hand, a pair of scissors hovering threateningly near. To the audience, she bellowed, “Nobody move, or I’ll make this brain-dead moron really brain-dead!”

Seeing his friends freeze, Sanji followed suit. This was where his self-indulgence had led him, his greediness, his selfish impulse. Truthfully, he had somewhat expected this – but like hell he would drag everybody else down with him. “Forget it, just run!”

Nobody ran. He sort of expected that too. What he didn’t quite expect was for Judge Vinsmoke to stand up, cape flapping, and shout, “Men, to arms!”

Or, no, he sort of expected it. He just really hoped that none of the Vinsmokes would have been stupid enough to try.

Clones upon clones threw themselves forward, a ludicrous sight in the face of Big Mom and her own army – though Brook evened the field a little by somehow expelling the souls of the more inanimate soldiers. The clouds above roiled with purpose and threatened to pop with thunder, but as pockets of cold and warm air collided in the atmosphere, they recoiled and twisted in odd formations, like a creature in pain. And Big Mom’s various officers/offspring clashed to a standstill against the opposing masses.

A group of Vinsmoke soldiers collected themselves in front of the altar, weapons pointing at Pudding. She watched them approach, gazed across the mess of the ceremony, realized that she had failed; and when the soldiers took yet another step, she screamed, or maybe yelled, howled, really, and pulled the film in her hand taught and

Sanji couldn’t see it happen, but he could feel it, blades slashing, stabbing, sliding through something, a word, a taste, the face of a person – and then Pudding was gone (punched, kicked, simply blown away?) and he was gone as well, toppling over and drifting away in the middle of an outright war.

The first person Sanji sees by his bedside is Reiju.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he breathes out, sitting up.

Her mouth quirks upwards, lopsidedly. “Hello to you too.” Her eternally placid face makes him open his mouth to curse her out a little more, but then Chopper speaks up.

“You’re awake!” he chirps, and Sanji practically jumps. And maybe it was bad of him to notice Reiju over Chopper, but the kid could barely peer over the side of the bed without something to stand on. “Reiju, could you tell everybody? I gotta do a check-up now.”

Reiju nods and stands up, and there are no words for how surreal this feels. Sanji can’t even figure out why it’s surreal. As soon as she closes the door behind her, Sanji strains out, “Is she, are there, is there any more of them – “

“It’s just Reiju.” This is said softly, the feeling of a fireplace on a winter’s night. Chopper pushes his chair over and sits up on it. “Um, so. You don’t actually have a lot of injuries this time around...but, how does your head feel? What do you remember?”

That’s...certainly a question. (Two, technically.) The world is a little bleary, but that might be from being recently unconscious. He can move his limbs and accurately touch his nose and all the other stuff that implies a working brain. The real nail-biter was the memory.

“Pudding-chan got me,” Sanji says, kneading his forehead. The Vinsmokes. Outright war. The wedding. Every single piece of shit thing he did before. “How is everybody?”

Chopper shrugs. “We survived. The Vinsmokes survived. Do you know what you forgot?”

“Uh, no. I forgot it.”

Chopper gives him a look usually reserved for Zoro; the exasperated ‘I leave you for one second’ look, not the ‘aaaaaaaaaaaa’ look. “What about any holes in your memories you notice? Like, if you let it play in your head?”

It’s not exactly an exact science, but Sanji can’t say he knows any other way to do it, and so he leans back and runs through everything he can. But what does a hole in your memory even feel like? How can he recognize it from just plain old –

“Oh,” he says, and Chopper perks up. There’s a hole – except not the hole he expects, but an actual hole in his memory, as in, this dark hole just appears one second – not like there’s a hole in the sequence of events, see, but a hole in the actual scene itself where there’s obviously not supposed to be a hole, does that make sense?

Chopper frowns and tilts his head. “Um, I think so. Like someone just cut one part of it out? I mean, I guess that’s what she did, but...”

“I mean, I can just fill in the hole if I think about it,” Sanji adds. “It’s not like I forgot what’s there, it’s just...I can’t remember it automatically. Not a big deal.” It’s unnerving, though, looking back and seeing these imperfections, cuts and gashes littering past faces and places.

Chopper appraises him for a moment, then smiles. “Well, if that’s all there is, then okay! I’d like to monitor you some more, but I can’t see how – “

The infirmary door bursts open and Luffy reaches the bed in a single bound, followed by the others. Chopper shouts at Luffy to quiet down, stop crowding, starts explaining Sanji’s condition. But Sanji focuses immediately towards the back of the group, at the one lingering behind, and he points at Reiju and says, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

It’s odd how she looks more shocked than he is.

Anterograde amnesia, Sanji learns, is a special sort of amnesia where the patient can’t make new memories. He has no idea how many times he’s learned it, and that sort of thought came with a special kind of paranoia where the only person he’s afraid of is himself. His only solace is that he will forget the whole thing soon. Ignorance is certainly bliss.

“You can still learn things,” Chopper had said, and then dove into a full-blown explanation about cognition and memory storage and the different types of memory that Sanji didn’t need amnesia to forget. “And...it could be temporary? Not that I know how devil fruit-induced amnesia works, but...”

“Zoro! Sanji-kun!” Nami’s voice snaps in the air like a whip, and he spins to face it like a compass with its mind in the gutter. She’s standing on the upper deck, hands clutching the railing tight as she leans over it, a familiar sight, something he can recognize as pure frustration. Her expression is changing as he watches, however, and she opens her mouth like she’s going to scream, except nothing comes out – maybe because at the same time, her hands shoot up and covers it.

He must’ve done something, right? But thinking about it, he has no idea what even happened before Nami’s admonishing tone, and that’s odd, sorta freaking him out, and

There’s a sudden force of wind behind him, strong enough to make him take a steadying step forward. It was a localized gust, as though Nami had shot her artificial wind straight through him, except clearly this wasn’t the case at the moment. No, what really tips him off is the tickle of something through his jacket, against his spine, and he cranes his neck behind him to see, a sword. Tensed, not quite touching him, but resting on the threads of his jacket, in the way, perhaps, a hummingbird would rest on a twig. And, trailing up the sword, past the hilt, all the way up the arm, there’s Zoro, with an uncommonly un-Zoro expression on his face, the expression of someone who is not in total control.

The non-existent past manages to catch up with him anyways, and he steps away and turns around – too quickly, maybe. Only then does Zoro lower his sword, sheathing all three – also too quickly. Zoro stomps heavily to the mast and climbs for the crow’s nest before anybody could say anything.

Sanji brushes a hand against his own back as he watches Zoro climb, even though he’s sure there’s nothing wrong back there. But Nami notices and hops down to the first floor, stairs apparently forgotten in the moment. “What is it? Are you okay?” she demands, and turns him back around when he tries to face her. “Chopper! Get over here!” He feels her pat his back down, looking for tears, feeling for cuts (because maybe Zoro knows how to slice a body and leave clothes intact, who even knows with him) and Sanji finds himself focusing on her touch, the probing pressure here and there, pushing him a little every time because he can’t seem to stiffen himself against her prods.

“What just happened,” he almost asks, but when he tries to say it, it comes out as “Fuck,” instead. Because, holy fuck, Zoro attacked him from behind, Zoro snuck up on him, but Sanji knows that isn’t right because he knows there’s something wrong with him and he knows something happened before that, but no matter what he thinks, in his mind, all it looks like is Zoro backstabbing him. And something’s churning in his guts, his organs are spinning around like a blender because he doesn’t want this in his head. His own assurance that Zoro wouldn’t do that, ever, keeps clashing with the physical fucking evidence he has, and it’s terrifying.

Nami isn’t checking his back anymore, just keeping her hands around his waist, and she murmurs, “Maybe you should stay out of fights...”

Sanji feels the weight of a book in his jacket at all times, now. When he takes it out, it greets him with the comforting title, ‘You Have Amnesia. (Keep this on you at all times)’ And inside are pages and pages of things someone else did, or it feels like someone else did, someone who happened to do things that he did. One page is full of ‘I woke up.’ Over and over, with every previous one crossed out. That one he tears out.

“What are you doing?” says a too familiar voice, and Sanji startles and whirls around, and there’s Reiju.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he breathes out, but Reiju just strides over and grabs his wrist, pulls it up, and that’s when he realizes he was crumpling something in his fist. The wad of paper tips and falls as he uncurls his hand, only to be snatched out of the air by Reiju, who picks it carefully open and scans the page.

At her frown, Sanji tries to peer around her side, only for her to pull it to her chest. “Hey!” he blurts, and then almost flushes at how much of a kid he sounds. He straightens unconsciously, matches her gaze (what is that look? Distant? Horror?), and says, “Is that yours?”

He meant it as a pointed statement, but once the words left his mouth he realizes that he really didn’t know. Is it hers? Did he steal some note from her? Why the fuck is she here?

“Is this what it’s like?” she asks, turning her head to the side. She scratches at her arm absently, lips pressed tight. “Waking up over and over again?”

He opens his mouth to say, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” but instead he just clicks his teeth closed again, looks down at his shoes. And he doesn’t even need to be aware of the notebook tucked in his jacket to understand what’s going on.

“Whole Cake Island didn’t happen yesterday.”

Reiju says nothing, but stiffens. Like he just said something impossible.

“But it feels it did,” Sanji adds, and why does his voice sound so passive? “I know it didn’t because I’m here, but the last thing I remember is the shitty wedding, like it happened seconds ago, only I know, I know that something or some things happened between then and now, I just don’t know what – I’m just guessing, and I’m guessing that I’m guessing all the time, and guess what!” He throws his arms out wide. He’s shouting at this point, and he doesn’t know when he started. “Out of every single idiot on this ship, now I’m the one who’s last to know anything!”

And, and, oh man what a fucking riot, because he knows, in the same way he knows that Whole Cake Island must have been a long time past, he knows that he will have this breakdown again and again, this feeling of bitterness over and over, and Reiju is right to look on in horror upon the futility of his existence, though in actuality, she’s probably looking in horror as he throws his head back, hand over his eyes, and cackles. It’s so funny, his stomach is aching, it’s so funny, tears are pouring out his eyes, it’s just that funny.

He’s holding a clean pot by the sink.

It looks dark out the window, nothing like the rosy blush of morning, so in that case, it must be evening. He should be thinking about dinner dishes. Sanji fills the pot with water – rib soup? Maybe tomato with eggs? – and browses the fridge, reading the notes taped to each item with the date bought – what’s about to spoil? This octopus has been here a while – and after he starts the stir-fry, after he slices and boils the tomatoes, the lotus roots, chops up the octopus, mixes the sauce, after all that, his focus is broken by the sudden entrance of Usopp.

Usopp seems surprised to see him in the kitchen (about as surprised as Sanji is seeing him) and his hand sticks to the door as he bites his lip. “Uh, Sanji? Why’re you…?”

“Cooking?” he finishes incredulously. “It’s my job? Someone has to make your shitty dinner,” and Usopp flinches at that, and Sanji halts, looks out the window, looks at the laden stove, looks back at Usopp, who’s looking at the floor now. “Oh,” says Sanji, and in that word is more resignation than disappointment, and he turns off the stoves.

“Luffy’ll eat it.” Usopp smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach reassurance, instead wavering around plain tired.

Sanji looks at all the food, because it hurts less than looking at that face. His brain pushes against the idea of just chucking everything into that rubber stomach – as if Luffy needed more. But he couldn’t ask everybody to stuff themselves. He could put them in the fridge for later – it only would damage his pride. (Not leftovers, but close enough to bother him – when was the last time he ever got food back?)

Usopp leaves the doorway and helps him file all the unfinished dishes away in containers, helps him wash (re-wash) the pots and pans. And before they leave, he snaps his fingers and says, “Wait, you should write down what you were making, for later.”

Sanji stares at him with a look of wary surprise. “Making what?”

There are four drinks on the tray.

They’re definitely not for the guys. He refuses to believe he’d ever put this much care making something for them. And there’s not enough, anyways. Does that mean there are more girls than he knows about? (Does this mean Robin’s here?)

The prospect sends an automatic thrum through his whole body, but there’s also something else. He has no idea how long they’ve been on board.

Nami’s at the orchard, elbow deep in loam, but she wipes her brow and smiles, taking a drink in her dirt-clad hand, and she’s so fucking industrious he could cry (and the glasses had been so pristine, he could cry). He’s already on the move before he can think of asking her about the other recipients he doesn’t have a face to.

If two more women joined and he can’t remember them, does that mean he’s been acting like it’s the first time they’ve met? Every single time he sees them? He can imagine in great detail the way that scene would play out just because he’s played it out so many times that if it were a movie reel, it would have deteriorated long ago. And, the idea is fucking horrifying. These ladies are reliving their first impression of him every single day and god he wants to crawl in a hole and die, but also, if he sees them he would absolutely do it again.

There’s a white blur that lands heavily in front of him, and oh, it’s Carrot. That’s one relief. She catches sight of the tray and swipes a glass, downs the whole thing, and tosses it back on the tray in one movement. She’s definitely a sporty kind of cute, a type of energetic he’d definitely swoon over, but he’s not about to do the full works at the drop of, well, her. She blurts out a “Thanks!” and carries on her way.

So that leaves one more mystery woman. Sanji continues to the deck proper; judging by the sun, Robin would likely be enjoying its light with a book. Maybe he can ask her, since Carrot ran off before he got a chance to get a word in. Would it be okay to ask her? What should he ask? God, does this other woman hate him? Does she only ever know him as ‘the one who drops everything to run over and belt poetry about beauty and romance?’ Do the others have to keep apologizing for him?

There are two deck chairs, and Sanji grimaces. Then almost backs off and over the side of the Sunny once he actually sees who she is.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Reiju looks up from her conversation with Robin. Reiju is talking with Robin. Reiju and Robin are in deck chairs side by side, reclining in the sun together and chatting. His sister. Robin and his sister. What did she tell her? He thinks in a panic, but he doesn’t know which ‘she’ he’s worrying about. Both options are all sorts of uncomfortable, but most of all, Reiju is on the ship with his friends and on good terms somehow and he’s just having a hard time reconciling the fact that two different parts of his life collided in unexpected ways behind his back so much that he’s not actually sure what he’s feeling and also aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

“Discussing recent literature,” says Robin, her countenance as calm as ever like this is a normal thing that happens all the time, which, considering how things are, it probably is. “Are those drinks for us?”

The way she talks, the way that nobody comes running at his sudden outburst, throws Sanji off-balance enough to trick his brain into stopping the alarms. “Yeah,” he finds himself saying, finds himself hustling over to serve Robin. And his sister.

“It appears we share the same tastes in books,” Robin continues. She accepts the glass with a nod. “As such, we have been conversing about certain titles we have both read and sharing recommendations on titles we haven’t. I do hope to obtain a copy of the one about the man who was eaten alive by eels. Did you know, he was found only when his wife's sister's cousin brought over an excellent unagi dish to the family potluck? Someone bit into the prosthetic pinky he was known for.”

“Is that so,” Sanji hears himself say as he hands over another glass.

Reiju doesn’t look at him when she takes it. He sees that her mouth has flattened. “Yes. It is.”

“I’m not quite sure when we’d be able to find an area that specializes in North or West Blue literature, however. And Reiju understandably was too preoccupied at the time to recover her personal library.”

“That’s a shame,” he says. He’s still just standing there. The tray still has Carrot’s cup on it and he keeps holding it up instead of tucking it under his arm and now his wrist is feeling sore. He’s staring at Reiju.

“Excuse me,” Reiju says after a moment, then stands up with her drink and walks somewhere inside.

Sanji’s still staring at the door she goes through. Robin’s stopped talking for the moment, but it feels like she wants to say something more.

“Do I always, react like that? When I see her.”

The way Robin doesn’t answer is answer enough.

He’s not really sure he wants a sibling talk. He’s not sure how he even feels about Reiju. Despite Whole Cake Island. Because of Germa. He doesn’t know what he’ll say if he gets the chance, but he’s a fucking adult and he’s pretty sure a sibling talk is needed whether he wants it or not, and he goes to the kitchen to drop off his tray and forgets what he’s looking for.

He wakes up and almost tosses himself off his bed, because the last thing he knows is everybody warring against a fucking yonkou, over him, and what happened? Where is he? Did everybody make it?

Sanji glances around, and this is the Sunny he’s on, the familiar quarters he’s slept in, the usual quiet calm of snoring crewmates that he knows well. He hears sheets rustle behind him and from across the room, Luffy sets a hand on his head and mumbles, “You’re fine. ‘S fine,” before his arm goes limp and snaps back into place. There’s the sound of someone else rolling over and Sanji turns and jumps at the sight of Jinbei.

Jinbei, for his part, doesn’t look surprised, but leans up against an elbow and says, “Did you sleep well?”

He doesn’t know the answer. He feels well-rested though, so he says, “Yeah.” He can’t keep the guarded tone out of his voice, though, and coughs to get enough time to collect himself. Whole Cake is behind them. He can see Usopp drooling on his pillow, so it must be far behind him. But Jinbei is here, which means…

“I’ve joined the crew,” Jinbei says, and Sanji is sure he’s recited this before but the words don’t sound tired or pointed or anything. “Carrot and Reiju are new members as well.”

Sanji frowns at that, but somehow hearing Reiju’s name isn’t entirely surprising. Or maybe he’s learning to just roll with all this new-old information being thrown at him. Sanji asks, haltingly, “It’s morning...right?”

Jinbei nods, a gesture that seems odd without much in the way of a visible neck. Sanji hesitates before turning to his locker and changing into some clothes. “Would you like company?” Jinbei says from his bed.

Sounds more like ‘Do you want an attendant.’ Sanji tosses on a shirt and heads out without buttoning it. “I’m just gonna wash up and make breakfast, go back to sleep.” He doesn’t see the look on Jinbei’s face, but he also doesn’t hear the big lug follow him.

“I’m gonna wash up and make breakfast,” Sanji mutters once he closes the door behind him. “Wash up, breakfast. Wash up...”

“Good morning, Sanji-san.”

“Breakfast!” Sanji screams at Brook, and then covers his mouth. What the fuck was that?!

Brook doesn’t look at all confused by his sudden outburst (though there’s not many ways that Brook looks besides ‘dead’) and simply says, “Yes, that sounds nice. Be sure to wash up first.”

“Uh, sure...” And since when is Brook maternal??

Violin music accompanies him on the way up to the bathroom, matching his muttered rhythm of “Wash up, breakfast, wash up, breakfast.” When Sanji closes the door behind him, he glances around, and then down at himself.

He’s...not here to bathe. He’s pretty sure. Even if he can’t tell by his clothing or by the twilight/daybreak skies outside, the only sound is Brook playing the violin, and that must mean everybody else is asleep rather than staying up late, which means it’s morning, which means he’s here to wash up.

There’s a few sheets of paper taped to the mirror. Sanji stares at it for a few seconds and then grabs his toothbrush (or someone’s toothbrush – keeping a system was impossible with nine, now twelve people on board) and starts the morning hygiene routine.

The first sheet starts with, DO NOT REMOVE. And then, in equally urgent lettering, YOU HAVE AMNESIA!

1. Make sure you have your notebook!

Sanji pats himself down and only manages to wipe some water on his pajamas. Failed step one.

2. When you finish each thing on the list, check it off immediately!

‘The list’ is the second page, a run-down of his morning routines. Sanji squints. The boxes next to ‘brush teeth’ and ‘wash face’ are already crossed out? He can’t remember if they were that way before, but there’s a pen in his hand and he sets it down so he can shave.

There’s a third page, somewhat askew and bearing the marks of a typical Luffy masterpiece – anybody looking at it would see the multiple heads sitting on one large, round mass, rendered lovingly in joyful technicolor, and could only come to the conclusion that this was some eldritch beast. Sanji is able to recognize it as the whole crew in a group hug.

In handwriting that could be an eldritch horror all on its own, the page says, ‘REMMMBUR!! WE LOV YOU!’

There’s this jolt, like he’s missed a step down the stairs, whenever he sees Franky or Robin or Usopp or Zoro. And then this swell in his chest – they’re here! He didn’t actually think he’d see them again! And he’d smile, and their reactions would vary in their precariousness and then he’d realize, there is something wrong with him.

And then he’d realize, he’s had this realization before, who knows how many times, and it’s hard not to wonder if he’s just a nuisance, if he should just be put in an asylum and not bother anybody.

“That’s really what you want?”

Sanji blinks. He’s at the dining table. Everybody is, it looks like, including the somewhat surprising additions of Carrot and Jinbei, and there’s the heavy air of a Crew Discussion. Also, Reiju’s here.

He jumps a little at that, but if anybody notices, nobody says anything. Their attention is on her, and so is his. Her eyes flick over to him before she nods. “I don’t think I ever properly joined. I can take care of myself on my own, and there’s no reason for me to stay. This island seems amenable.”

Luffy hurms, tilting his head. “We’ve got men here too, though.”

“She wants to stay at this island,” Nami whispers.

“Oh! Um, I wasn’t gonna keep you here or anything, you can just go if you want to.” He’s got an easy smile on his lips, but it’s not as wide as it usually is. “I mean, you’re super cool even though you can’t cook, and I think I figured out how to tell you and Sanji apart finally!” (This time Sanji almost leaps to his feet because what?! But he controls himself for the sake of the atmosphere in the room.) “So it’d be cool if you stayed, but if you don’t wanna, that’s fine too!”

Reiju almost quirks a smile, but not quite, and it’s a little odd because somehow the image of her always includes a smile, even if it’s not a smile Sanji recalls in fondness. “I appreciate it,” she says, then picks up a small pack and just walks out the door.

Everybody stands up to follow her out, at least going to see her off. Sanji doesn’t get the idea until he’s the last one in his seat and ends up lagging behind as the others line up.

Reiju’s figure is small, consumed by the sand on the beach. If the sun was out, she might have blended in altogether and disappeared. Everybody’s waving, and he finds himself waving as well. Nobody’s looking at him. It feels like there’s a reason they should.

“How long was she here?” he asks. He can see the others turn to him at his voice, but he’s already pounding down the gangplank.

His feet are a little clumsy in the sand, but after getting enough momentum he manages to find a good balance and catches up to Reiju a minute later. She has the courtesy to stop once she hears his approach, but doesn’t really do anything except stare as he leans over to catch his breath.

“Hey, how long did you stay?”

It’s less a demand and more of a wheeze, but he straightens up once he hears her say, “It doesn’t matter.”

“A long time, right?”

She doesn’t answer that, preferring to look at the ground. Her face looks unnatural with that sort of expression.

“So why would you leave now?” When she still doesn’t speak, Sanji says, “Because of me?”

“It’s more because of me,” she replies, giving him a brief glance before staring back down. “They’re your friends. And it’s easier this way. You won’t notice a thing.”

“They’re not my friends,” he says, and at her disconcerted look he backtracks. “I mean, they are! But they don’t belong to me! Did you like staying there?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“But did you like it there?”

“I’m too much of a reminder for you.”

“Yeah, you are,” he says. “But did you like it there?”

She tightens her grasp on the strap of her bag. “They’re good people.”

“They’re really fuckin’ great people,” he says.

And then he says, “When I saw you at the table, it scared the fuck outta me. And imagining you on the Sunny is really fucking weird. But also, I’m a fucking asshole.” Reiju moves to speak but he raises a finger. “Don’t pull the kindness crap on me. You haven’t seen me since I was fucking eight, I’m really a complete asshole, and if you stayed as long as I think you have, I’m pretty sure you already know that. So first of all, don’t let one asshole ruin everything. There’s always gonna be that one asshole on any ship you go on, and – actually we’ve got at least two, but for some reason everybody else tolerates the other one so you’re probably fine with him.”

Reiju’s actively frowning now, which was a little better than the placid face from before. “I don’t think you’re as convincing as you think you are,” she cuts in, but Sanji’s still an asshole so he interrupts again.

“Second of all, I don’t give a fuck.”

Reiju’s face twists into an expression he’s actually never seen on her before, actual fury, and it actually scares the shit out of him but he’s not about to say so. “You can’t actually mean that! Do you really think I’m an idiot?!”

“No, but you’re a fucking hypocrite.”

“Excuse me? About what?”

“You fucking gave me a rousing speech about fucking friendship, you shithead,” he says, and Reiju gapes for a few seconds and flounders. “Yeah, didn’t think I remembered that? Jokes on you, I remember it like it was yesterday, because it literally was yesterday for me.”

It looks like she has to think for a moment to even recollect her exact words. He’s not even sure that she actually does when she says, “That’s an entirely different thing.”

“Yeah. We don’t have a genocide breathing down our backs. You’re still a hypocrite. Anyways, back to me not giving a fuck. Because I don’t. And the reason why is,” he adds a little louder, just to preemptively out-shout whatever it is Reiju’s about to shout back, “when I actually get over it and think about it a little, I don’t care, because I don’t hate you!”

Reiju gapes again, and stays like that. Her pack isn’t on her shoulder anymore but on the sand instead, strap loosely hanging from her hand. Sanji starts ticking off on his fingers. “So, in summary, I’m an asshole, you’re a hypocrite, I don’t give a fuck. And maybe I will give a fuck when I see you next time, but then I’ll go back to not giving a fuck. And you’re gonna have to remember what I just said because I’m not going to say it again, because I’ll forget it.”

Reiju is silent for a few moments. “I can write it down for you.”

“I’ll kill myself if I remember that I called the mosshead a fuckin’ great person,” Sanji says, in total seriousness. Reiju finally laughs, louder than he’s ever heard her, and he never thought he’d miss it.

The eggplant he’s holding in his hand is wonderfully smooth, a beautiful dark shade, and he presses his fingers against the skin, testing its give.

“Y’all buying that?” comes a voice across the booth. A woman stands behind baskets of produce, thick arms crossed. He can’t hear it, but he’s pretty sure she’s tapping a foot on the stone road. He smiles instinctively.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t, ma’am,” he replies, and his voice itself sounds like a bow. He holds up the eggplant. “How much are – “

She interrupts with a gritty sigh and snaps, “Five hundred per pound.” Sanji almost drops his smile.

“I’ve asked that before.” He’s answered with a roll of the eyes, and probably he’s said ‘I’ve asked that before’ before as well.

“You could stand to be a little more tactful.” Sanji jumps. That’s Reiju’s voice, standing right beside him, and when he looks around, he sees that Usopp and Zoro are milling around nearby – more specifically, Zoro is drifting vaguely in random directions and Usopp is dragging him back into place. He looks back to the produce stall as Reiju nudges him aside to directly face the stall’s owner, basket of goods swinging from her arm, and there’s something weird about having Reiju...stand up for him. It’s unnatural. “He’s a customer, isn’t he? Shouldn’t you treat him as one?”

“No, it’s fine, I’m sorry ma’am. I’ve got a – “

“ – memory problem,” the stall owner finishes with another heavy sigh. Sanji hears Reiju bristle beside him and quickly clamps a hand on her shoulder before she goes for the jugular. “And none of your friends can pick out produce because you’re the only one who knows about the good stuff, and then you’ll look at something else for five minutes and we’ll have the same goddamn conversation about three times.”

He can feel Reiju’s shoulder tense at the same time his arm goes limp, and it almost looks like someone’s going to get jumped right then and there. The stall owner glances at Reiju disinterestedly. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. He’s gonna forget in a sec.”

“You inconsiderate little – “

“Too true.” Sanji chuckles and tosses the eggplant into the basket Reiju’s holding, jostling her out of her fury. “What else do we need?”

Reiju hands over a list, her eyes glimmering with frustration on his behalf, and also in his direction. It’s a shopping list with several items already crossed out. He makes sure to take his pen and strikes through the word ‘eggplant.’

“You done here yet?” the stall owner cuts in before he can even look over the rest of the list. He’s holding up her business. He’s taking too much time. He’s being a nuisance, and the shame of it all sinks deep into the mire of his guts, and that’s when Reiju flips the stand over.

His shoes click against a cobbled road and he freezes for a moment, glances around – but the town smells of things other than suffocating sugar and he can see Reiju, Usopp, and Zoro as they stop a few steps ahead, and he relaxes.

His hand flits to his jacket before he even realizes it and he takes out a book and flips to the end. Mamigo Island, it says, and then a rough map that shows the general shape of a town (this town?), which isn’t really helpful as a map at all. There’s also a list tucked in the pages, with various ingredients running down the paper, most of them crossed out with numbers scribbled next to them. The price total doesn’t seem too exorbitant just yet. And fuck, they don’t have salt?

Sanji glances back up and around at the stalls around him and then starts towards a promising one, only for Usopp to hook him by the elbow and tug him back. “Hold on, don’t go off on your own.”

His instinct for sheer assholery tells Sanji to keep walking, because he can probably just pull Usopp along if he tries. (And hey, he wouldn’t be going off on his own either.) But instead, he grunts and huffs out, “What’re you, my babysitter?”

“Technically, yes. I currently have the hellish job of babysitting you and Zoro at the same time, so I’d like to end the day with nobody getting lost.”

Sanji waits for the sentence to continue, but he’s never been a patient person. “And?”

Usopp blinks. “And what?”

“You’d like to end the day with nobody getting lost, and…?”

It takes a moment of Usopp shuffling his eyes from Sanji to Zoro and back again, but then his face brightens, “Oh!” and then falls uncomfortably. “Oh.

“Look, Sanji. When I said ‘lost,’ I was, kinda, not just talking about Zoro.”

It doesn’t take as long for Sanji to catch the meaning and he splutters a little before jabbing a finger towards Zoro. “That shitty wandering moss is right behind you and you’re worried about me!”

There’s a dangerous-sounding “Hn?” and Usopp’s pushed backwards as the shitty wandering moss himself leans into Sanji’s face with an expression like murder. “Y’got something to say to me?”

Sanji stands his ground even when Zoro’s shitty breath manages to break through his cigarette’s smoke. He doesn’t bother hiding his disgust, sneering through his grimace. “Yeah, I’m saying if you were actually moss, you’d grow on the wrong side of a tree.”

Zoro snorts. “And you don’t even know where the ship is.”

“Zoro,” Reiju starts, frowning. She doesn’t laugh, as much as he expects it, and even odder, Zoro actually holds his hands up like he’s about to placate her.

But Sanji’s already opening his mouth for a retort. “I’d still find it faster than you! I have the fucking sense to fucking go to the ocean!”

Zoro abruptly turns and sneers, as expected. “You have sense? News to me.”

And that’s it, here it comes, Sanji taps his shoe on the road, ignores the way Usopp covers his face and moans “Oh god,” huffs out smoke like a threatening volcano, and bites back, “Sure I do, allow me to knock some into you!”

And god it feels so good to fucking aim a fucking foot straight at that fucking face, he doesn’t know how long it’s been, like literally he doesn’t, and out of the corner of his eye Reiju seems about to intervene but pauses too long to hand the groceries over to Usopp, it’s too late, the clash is inevitable and he’s waiting for that solid stop when his shoe connects with metal –

– except Zoro doesn’t. Doesn’t even draw a sword. Sidesteps and walks away like it’s over already. It’s like the world’s just a little off-balance and Sanji can’t even rouse himself to kick at Zoro’s stupid back because there’s something about Zoro just walking away that’s more chilling than condescending.

He jumps when Reiju sets a hand on his shoulder. “I understand your consternation. We’re just being cautious, considering your, condition.”

“What?” Sanji says, and, in a rare moment of recall, adds, “Oh.”

He almost says something else, but decides against it because he’s not about to tempt fate. But still, he can’t stop himself from thinking, what’s the worst that could happen?

The sound of his shoulder against the iron bars is a pathetic sort of noise, possibly not even a noise at all. It’s hard to tell through the noise of the bruise growing on his arm.

The bars are solid. Didn’t even shake against his weight. Sanji’s panting, so he must have been at this for a while. Might be a good time to stop and take stock, because he doesn’t know where the fuck he is.

Instinctively, he moves to reach into his jacket for something, but encounters the issue of his arms are shackled behind his back. His legs are chained as well, which explains why he hadn’t just kicked his way out. And he’s really fucking pissed, which seems natural, but he has the niggling feeling that he’s pissed for something other than the whole being locked up thing.

The cell is solidly made, professional; it looks like it’s built to say, ‘don’t bother.’ So it seems more likely to be Navy than anything. Meaning seastone is probably at play too. Fuck.

He’s repeating it in his head – seastone, seastone, seastone – though he knows he’ll blank out eventually and end up abusing his poor shoulder more. He shuffles, paces the length of the cell; the walls aren’t made of seastone, he could bust through those, if he could figure out how to break the chains on his ankles. Though first of all…

Like a reverse jump rope, Sanji hops right over the chain locking his wrists and lands neatly back on his feet. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s trapped, but at least he’s trapped with his arms in a comfortable position.

Before he could figure out a way to break his cuffs, Sanji hears marching feet approaching down the hall. He backs away from the bars just as some big shot marine comes into view with an entourage of mooks with rifles. They don’t aim at him. He almost feels offended.

The big shot marine stands there, stroking his impressively long and thin mustache so that it points down like clock hands before springing back into place. He’s silent, stiff as the bars of the cell, could probably even blend in if the marine uniform wasn’t pristine white.

The scene plays out like this for a while, marines with rifles standing by, the big shot tugging at his facial hair, Sanji leaning slightly against the back wall but with his legs tensed. And then the big shot stops in mid-tug and says, “...Aren’t you going to ask us why you’re here?”

Without many options in the way of gestures at the moment, Sanji rolls his eyes as exaggerated as possible. “I’m a shitty pirate, shithead. It’s not hard to figure out.”

There’s a moment where it looks like the big shot is ready to tear his tacky mustache right off, but he composes himself a second later and straightens his shoulders. “We’d like you to answer some questions about the Strawhat Pirates...”

“Well I’d like you and yours to kindly fuck off.”

One marine starts to raise their rifle – shitty training job, that – but the big shot holds out a hand, and it goes back down. There’s an authoritative pause, like the big shot is waiting for anybody else to dare insubordination, and then he turns back to Sanji. “You intend not to talk?”

Sanji raises his chin. “I’m not in the habit of betraying my friends.”

And without hesitation, “Even though they’ve betrayed you?”

It hits him harder than he wants to admit, but there’s no hiding his sudden silence or the way he sucks in his breath, and it is much too late when he finally says, “What the fuck are you talking about.”

The big shot raises an infuriating eyebrow, a gesture closely mirrored by his mustache. “How do you think you got locked up here?”

It’s ridiculous of course, says his brain, but his memory can’t give him the evidence he wants. There’s a void everywhere he looks, nothing that can definitively combat what this shithead’s saying and he wants to, he wants to, but the uncertainty is killing him, not the uncertainty in his friends, but the uncertainty of everything. Time. Place. His own fucking age. It’s enough to be paralyzing, enough to make him nauseous, he hates not knowing, and not knowing himself is the worst kind of uncertainty he had never imagined before.

But. Not his friends.

Sanji raises both hands, chains clinking against each other, and then further raises both middle fingers.

The mustache bristles upwards with indignation and the face it adorns turns a ripe shade of scarlet before he calms much too fast and rolls his shoulders. “I suppose that was the wrong angle to try. We’ll just have to start again.”

Sanji’s shit-eating grin drops. “What?”

The marines were already starting to march off, back to where they came from, and the big shot turns to leave as well, pausing enough to say, “It’s convenient, that condition of yours.”

He isn’t able to react, not before the asshole strides out of view, and it’s too late when he throws himself against the bars, hands shaking them as hard as they can, screaming as many insults as he can, anything provocative, bastard, coward, shit-sucking scum of the earth, anything to bring them back so he can keep staring them down, keep their faces existing in his mind, but nobody comes, not even when he runs out of words and just screams.

A loud noise startles him, and he almost bites his tongue off in surprise. For a moment, he stands there and considers whether the noise was just him talking and weighing how embarrassing that would be when a different sort of noise rattles the building, a boom that vibrates up his legs and into his head. It becomes an irregular beat throughout the cell he’s in, shaking bits of the ceiling down, and he hopes that the whole damn thing doesn’t collapse at this rate because then, honestly, he would be fucked.

The cannon blasts or collapsing walls or explosions or whatever stop before it gets that far, though, and the silence is all the more alienating for it. And then, Sanji hears footsteps coming his way.

He steps back as some sort of big shot marine steps into view, with a supercilious sort of mustache, hands behind his back. The mustache points up as he sneers at him. It would feel so good to kick that off his face.

“Well?” Sanji snaps when the big shot just stands and stares. “Spit it out. I don’t wanna see your shitty face longer than I have to.”

The big shot says nothing, but tosses an object into the cell.

It’s pretty busted and obviously burned, with bits and pieces missing, but it is very clearly a straw hat.

Sanji doesn’t see the asshole’s face but he can feel his sneer grow; he’s staring at the hat, noting how the red band is barely recognizable as red, the bright straw turned dusky, the smell of it curling into the air, the weave…

Sanji looks up again and sneers back. “Nice try, shithead.”

Ohhh it feels so good to see that sneer drop, even if it wasn’t kicked off. “What do you mean?”

“You just fuckin’ bought that at some market or some shit and wasted your money ruining a perfectly good hat like a stupid asshole. You fucking moron.”

The big shot presses his lips as thin as his mustache. “You don’t know that. You’re in denial.”

“We’re literally called the Strawhat pirates. That shithead’s been wearing the same goddamn hat for two years now. I see it fuckin’ every time I look at him, you think I can’t tell if it’s his hat or not?” Careful to not unbalance himself, Sanji crushes the sad little imposter and kicks it back to the bars. “Fuck off.”

The guy turns a ripe shade of red, but he calms much too fast, leaving his expression neutral. “We’ll just try something else, then.”

Sanji isn’t able to laugh at that.

He finds himself leaning his forehead against the impersonal bars of a cell, feeling like he hasn’t had a drink for ages. His breathing feels ragged against his throat, and when he grasps at anything on his mind, all he can really say is that he’s fucking pissed. Which seems natural, being trapped in a cell, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s pissed over something other than that.

Sanji hears marching feet coming down the hall and he readies his most sullen stare. The marines aren’t daunted.

He backs away when they point rifles at him, and with one smooth motion one of them swings open the door and throws another body in, slamming it shut before he can even think about charging. He tries glaring at them some more, but they don’t even look as they march off. Takes all the fun out of silent defiance.

His new roommate groans and manages to get his knees under him as he curls up, and Sanji can’t help but ask, “You okay?”

He looks like a kid, barely older than Luffy back when the crew started out, and his young eyes sparkle when they whip towards him. “Sanji! Thank goodness!” The kid tries to jump to his feet but stumbles onto his knees again, hissing at the impact. Sanji, with his arms conveniently locked in front of him, is able to at least help him up a little.

“Do I know you?” he asks, because it’s a legitimate question, and the kid doesn’t even look offended.

“I’m one of the newer crew members, Wren, just joined, pretty much a cabin boy,” he rattles off. Sanji quirks an eyebrow. Since when did they have cabin boys? “Man, I thought I was a goner, but you’re here! You can get us out, right?”

“Uh,” says Sanji, flicking his gaze back to the bars. “I’ll work on it. Where’re the others?”

Wren ducks his head, his round face scrunching up in worry. “I, well, I dunno, the marines came out of nowhere, and everything was all confusing and then I got caught, but I didn’t see what happened to everybody else...”

So, half-and-half on whether any of the others could come through and bust them out. Alright. “So, Wren, anything else I should know about you? Lock-picking skills, maybe? Would be useful to have my legs free.”

Wren shakes his head, and Sanji hisses through his teeth like he still has a cigarette clamped in them. “Well, shit,” he says, leaning his head up towards the ceiling. “Doesn’t exactly make a break-out easy.”

“Oh, but I do have something~” Wren trills, turning around and opening a fist to reveal a set of jangling keys. Sanji brightens, probably would’ve hugged the kid if it weren’t for his current handicap.

“Fuck yeah,” he says instead, and scoops the keys up to help unlock Wren’s wrists. After the kid rubs the feeling back into his hands, he takes the keys back and kneels for Sanji’s feet. “We’ll still need a good plan for getting outta here. I don’t even know the layout of the place...”

“It’s okay,” says Wren, and Sanji can see him smiling widely. “I believe you can get us back to the ship, after all, you’re a Vinsmoke!”

A second later and Sanji lowers his uncuffed leg, staring down a newly-made hole in the wall. Nothing moves beyond a bit of rubble. Wren – whoever he is – is unconscious. Impressively, he’s still clutching the keys. Must be marine training.

“New crew member my ass,” Sanji mutters, even as he starts tapping a foot on the floor rapidly, like he’s doing morse code. The marines know, they know, and they know how to take advantage of it, and fuck, but before he can dwell on it more he hears boots running towards the cells and he kicks down the back wall to start running, and yet –

Can he do this? Could he escape, even though he won’t know what he’s escaping from in a few seconds?

Well. All he can do is trust in himself.

Sanji bolts.

He’s running down an unfamiliar hall and he has no idea if he’s chasing someone or running away.

It’s a very important question seeing as there’s nobody in front of him, which is either good or bad depending on the context. But then a marine barrels down from a side hallway and immediately points a gun at him, so he thinks he’s running away. The bullet doesn’t even graze his suit as he hops to the side and then launches the poor guy down the rest of the hall.

So, running away. Where is he running to?

The Sunny, is his obvious answer. The problem is, the Sunny isn’t likely to be found in a building unless Franky’s made an extremely questionable update to a sea-faring vehicle. So, the exit. Which he doesn’t know where the hell it is, so he’s running blind, possibly in circles, and it’s a good thing nobody else is here because the fucking marimo would never let him hear the end of it.

There’s an easy solution to this, though, and Sanji looks right, left, chooses left, and then starts kicking down the damn walls. The upside is, this is a guaranteed way to exit a building. The downside is, he just stumbled into a nest of marines. It’s not that the marines are a problem, he’s pretty sure he’s got the reflexes to pound them down as long as he’s in motion. It’s just that, he doesn’t know if he’ll remember which way he was kicking to, or even that he was kicking his way out in the first place. He can’t trust that he will.

He just has to trust that he’ll get out regardless.

It’s impressive how he’s prepared to land on his feet without the knowledge of being in the air. There are marines lying face flat in a ring around him. It’s not an uncommon sight.

There’s the sound of a rifle loading and Sanji drops to the floor right as the shot sounds before running right to the gunman and relieving him of his weapon, and then his consciousness. There’s more men shouting and pouring in through a hole in the wall, on top of the men who aren’t already down, and he jumps backwards from a swinging sword, hooks it’s guard and launches the blade straight up, and as the man’s gaze follows it, he knocks him straight at the mob pushing in. Not enough to stop them, but enough to delay them. Leaning forward to duck another blade, he lets his leg swing back with his momentum and catches the guy in the chin, then swivels on his heel in a wide arc, not quite hitting anybody but driving them away from his range. There’s a long table in the middle of the room, sort of like a mess hall table, and although it’s abominably rude, he kicks it over and then kicks it again, sending it flying surface-first towards the recovering mob.

He would wonder why he’s knocking down a bunch of marines, but it’s probably for a good reason. By probably, he means definitely. As if he’s ever in the wrong. Some idiot struggles to his feet and Sanji turns and knees him in the solar plexus.

There’s a huge boom that leaves him stumbling, and then a lot of calls of “Fall back!” from one of the marines. As another boom rocks the floor, Sanji balances himself and catches sight of what looks like a fucking huge bazooka pointing its barrel straight at him, and the huge musclebrain holding it grunts and pulls the trigger,

The watermelon in his arms has quite a heft to it, and when he brings it to his ear and knocks, the sound reverberates in the juices beautifully. Tucking it under his arm, he asks, “How much for this one?”

The stall owner looks up blearily from another transaction and says, “You already paid, bud.”

Sanji keeps his polite smile fixed and nods a farewell. As he walks away with what will surely be an excellent dessert, he slips a hand into his jacket and finds nothing. He’s not sure what he was expecting, though.

Hopefully he already bought the necessary groceries earlier. Digging through his pockets turns up no loose change, and it looks like the cusp of evening. And carrying a whole watermelon around isn’t exactly effortless, so he better just go straight to the ship. The docks were easy enough to get to without even asking for directions. Follow a major road long enough, follow the smell of salt and brine, and it’ll just be there. At least town infrastructure everywhere was overall reliable.

The Sunny hadn’t been anchored right at the dock, which is to be expected. Finding a pirate ship that’s meant to be hidden is a little harder than finding the docks. A combination of asking locals about the area and trudging around the environment himself manages to pinpoint a small cove relatively nearby, and voila. There’s that familiar sunflower.

The watermelon’s getting pretty rough on the arms, but Sanji doesn’t speed up. Instead, he calls out, “Any shitheads on board? Could use some help!”

There’s no instant response as he gets closer to the gangplank. No rubber arms slingshotting a one hundred-forty pound stomach straight at him, or beautiful ladies to greet him, or any other asshole appearing over the railing. It’s only when he starts boarding that Franky skids into view, quite quick for someone so clunky.

“If you heard me, you coulda helped a guy out,” Sanji says, shifting the watermelon’s weight with a frown. But the way Franky looks stops any other gripes, the way his eyes are too wide and his hair not flashy enough – Franky is probably the only other guy who takes care of his hair as much as Sanji (besides Brook, but Sanji isn’t convinced a skeleton really needs proper hair care), but right now his ‘do is disheveled. Like someone ran fingers as thick as arms through it a few too many times.

Sanji barely manages an “Uh” before Franky fucking charges him with the typical bombastic wailing. He has the reflexes to curl around the watermelon and turn around before he gets swept up in a hug, and someone as feely as Franky probably should have thought about making his appendages most used for touching people with comfort in mind. Boxy edges are digging into his sides, and he thinks, at least it’s not the watermelon. (And then he thinks, the watermelon could handle this better than him.)

“B-bro! You’re safe!!” Franky blubbers out through his tears. “They, they said they’d – did they do anything to you? Are you okay?!”

“Franky,” Sanji grunts with the breath that hasn’t yet been crushed out of him, “stop the shitty waterworks, it’s getting in my clothes.”

As expected, Franky drops him and turns his face away as Sanji lands softly on his feet. The watermelon is fine. “What waterworks?! I ain’t cryin’!” And then, once Franky cleans his totally cry-free face and actually looks around, he snuffles and adds, “Where’re the others?”

“How should I know?” Sanji huffs before moving for the ship again.

Franky’s hand claps on his shoulder, almost digging him into the sand. “They went out to get you, though. Weren’t they the ones that rescued you?”

“From what, hiked-up prices?”

Franky’s hand seems to dig a little deeper in his shoulder. It’s only a fraction, but it’s much easier to tell with a hand made of metal. “From the marines.”

Sanji pauses, then slowly tilts his head back to meet Franky’s eyes. “Huh?”

Franky works his jaw for a while, expression uncomfortable. “You were captured by the marines. Like, yesterday, bro.”

“That’s dumb,” Sanji says, though his brain isn’t getting the message. “Whoever told you that’s full of shit. I was only shopping for a,” he looks down, “watermelon.”

“For a whole day?”

Sanji looks down at his watermelon again, then looks up. “Yes?”

Franky pinches his nose and sighs, but at the same time it sounds like a laugh. “Did you – did you just fuckin’ escape the marines by yourself and then go buy watermelon?”

Sanji recoils in offense. “What the fuck’s with the surprise? Why wouldn’t I be able to escape some shitty marines by myself?!” Though even as he says it he knows exactly why, he’s forever aware of why. But Franky claps his hand on his shoulder again and now sand’s getting into his shoes.

“You’re right, bro! My bad, my bad!” Franky’s hand engulfs the watermelon when he plucks it between his fingers like some dainty flower. As he bounds back to the ship he calls back, “I’m gonna call them! Where d’ya want this?”

“Put it on the table for now,” Sanji shouts back, jogging to keep pace. “And make sure it doesn’t fall!”

Entering the kitchen, Sanji just about catches Franky saying, “He’s here!”

“What?!” he can hear Nami shout back through the tell-tale filter of the den den mushi. “How can he be there?! We just got here! And security is through the roof, the marines are all on edge and it’s all we can do to keep these idiots from charging in!”

Sanji trots over to join Franky, never one to ignore the summons of Nami’s voice, and he asks, “Who’s here?”

Franky says, “See?” and there’s a long silence on the other end before the den den mushi droops into a sigh.

“When did he get back?” Nami says blankly.

“Just now!”

“Sanji, are you okay?! Did they hurt you?!”

“Did they send him back beaten to a pulp as a threatening message to the rest of us?”

“I’m, fine?” Sanji assures, though in Robin’s case, he thinks she’s joking. “Where the hell are you guys? Are you fucking with the marines or something?” And then, a thought. “Was I supposed to be there?” he adds, tense edging in.

“No, no, it’s quite alright. It’s better that you’re there.” The voice is familiar, and the den den mushi’s mimicked expression definitely cements it. That’s Jinbei. Maybe he joined?

“Jeez...don’t waste our time like this, idiot cook.”

“What did I do?!” he shouts back on instinct, though it’s a legitimate question, because what did he do?

There’s a little thwap and a grunt and then another voice takes over. “Nothing, don’t worry. Thanks for letting us know, Franky.”

Now this voice was too familiar. “Oh,” Sanji says. “It’s you.”

Reiju’s smile projects over the line. “Yes it is.”

“Oh, so he took care of it himself, huh?” Luffy laughs, and Sanji can hear him turn over his shoulder and say faintly, “See? No worries! We can count on him!”

“But he’s still – I mean, maybe we worry a little? A healthy amount of worry?” And then slightly louder, “I’m really sorry, Sanji, I shouldn’t have lost you, I don’t know what happened – “

“Hey, all’s well that ends well, right?” Franky laughs, but judging by the expression from the other line, Usopp’s not as amused.

“Anyways Sanji, dinner! I want meat when I get back!”

“Luffy, quiet, we’re still near – “

A bunch of gunshots, panicked screams, and then Luffy shouts, “Okaygottagoseeyasoon,” and then the line goes dead.

Sanji stares at the snail. “What?”

“Listen,” says Franky, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t even worry about it.”

The knife embeds in the watermelon about halfway, and Sanji eases it all the way down and carefully settles the halves on their ends. The smell of it is of a sweet summer and he can’t help but breathe it in. “When did we buy a watermelon? Someone picked out a really good one.”

“’Course!” Luffy calls back from the table, somehow managing to keep his food in his mouth at the same time. “You’re th’ besht at picking the good stuff!”

When Sanji looks at the rich pink, there’s no pride. The watermelon’s a stranger, and he can’t abide strange food showing up in his kitchen. But, he’s the cook. And they all trust him, even when he can’t recognize the stuff in his kitchen. So. Sanji trusts their trust.

“You’re damn right I am.”