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Zoro wakes up.
It’s strange. Everything hurts, every part of his body is screaming. His hands are stiff, his legs ache, his chest feels like its constricting and not a single whisper of breath is ever going to be able to settle in his lungs.
“Zoro?”
He hears Chopper’s soft voice somewhere beside him. He sounds panicked, a true deep panic. Zoro doesn’t like it when Chopper sounds like that. It means something is wrong, painfully wrong… like it’s never going to be right again.
He opens his eye, blinking at the sudden bright light. It takes a moment for the world to settle around him, for his eyesight to grow sharp and the blurriness to fade away. He’s outside, that much he knows. He sees rubble and smells ash, hears the dead silence telltale of a battle ended, feels the hard ground beneath him, bits of rock pressing against his legs.
Chopper appears above him. He looks distraught, tired, and Zoro frowns.
“Chopper?”
There’s a weak cry, and it takes Zoro a moment to realise it comes from the little reindeer. Chopper’s face contorts into something ugly and broken before he manages to force whatever he’s feeling away, smoothing his expression as a sense of deep seriousness settles over him.
“How are you feeling?” he manages to say, and Zoro pause before he answers.
Agony, is how he would describe it. He’s not felt this way since Thriller Bark, since Kuma. It’s been a long time since then but Zoro will never forget the pain he felt. This might not be the same, he’s unsure, but as he forces himself to sit up… he thinks it’s a damn near thing.
Chopper lets out a small yelp and his hooves come to press against Zoro’s chest. “No,” he says, but there’s no pressure and Zoro easily pushes past his attempts to get him to stop. “Zoro, no. We don’t know what condition your body is in!”
It’s fine, Zoro thinks through gritted teeth. He glances around as soon as he’s upright, taking in the area around them. The crew is mostly nearby, sitting or standing amongst rubble. He spots Nami, Usopp, and Brook in deep conversation, Franky and Robin leaning against one another where they’re perched on something that once resembled a wall, and he sees an unconscious Luffy lying only a small distance away with Jinbe and, surprisingly, Trafalgar Law hovering over him.
But someone is missing, and whatever fog had settled over Zoro is immediately cleared as he snaps his head around.
“Where’s the cook?” he demands, not expecting his voice to be so rough it makes Chopper jump, and Chopper’s eyes go wide as he glances behind him.
“I…” he trails off, a small frown marring his face. “Sanji?”
It’s not reassuring. Zoro grits his teeth as he starts to push himself to his feet, ignoring the way his body screams at him. Chopper starts protesting, his words growing more desperate as Zoro pushes away from him, but Zoro doesn’t falter once. He keeps looking, eye darting around the area in a bid to find even a hint of blond hair or curly brows, yet he comes up short.
Frustrated, he finally gets to his feet, staggering a few steps until strong hooves catch him. He glances over to see Chopper has shifted into one of his larger forms, but he barely stays in his grip long enough to get his bearings before he’s breaking away from him.
“We need to find him,” Zoro grits out through clenched teeth, each step sending shards of pain up his legs and chest. He ignores it, pushes past it as he sets out into the rubble towards the crew.
“Zoro!” Chopper protests one more time, but it falls on deaf ears.
Somehow the ground is deeply unsteady beneath his feet, and Zoro has to reach out to catch himself on large pieces of rubble as he moves. The crew’s attention has turned to him, conversations stopping and Franky rises from his seat in concern. They’re calling out to him, a mixture of surprised and angry, but Zoro just brushes past them all as he heads toward the somehow still standing castle.
There’s others around them. Pirates, non-pirates. Zoro doesn’t care. They’re not who he’s looking for. He keeps going, moving through the pain and the rubble, aching as he searches and searches.
All that plays through his mind are Sanji’s last words to him.
If… if I’m no longer myself.
Zoro can’t bear to finish thinking of the rest, to be reminded of the promise he made. It makes him sick, burns bile in the back of his throat. He knew what he was saying when he agreed, his fight with King be damned, but now that he has time to think about it?
He doesn’t. He can’t. Emotions boil up inside him he doesn’t want to address, feelings he’s felt for far too long. Now isn’t the time, not when his swords are humming at his side and the twisted realisation of what he’s promised is sitting low in his stomach. Instead he keeps pushing forward. Whatever Sanji was going on about, whatever was happening to him when he called, Zoro doesn’t care. He just needs to find him.
And then he does.
Zoro staggers to a stop when he finally catches sight of Sanji, nearly thinking he’s another straggler amongst the wreckage. He’s just up ahead, alone, sitting on some rubble and staring out towards the sea, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips, smoke curling in the air above him.
He’s different, Zoro knows immediately, his heart thudding to a painful halt. He’s not the… the Sanji that he knows.
He holds himself wrong. The usual slouching bow to his back from years over a stove has gone, now ramrod straight, his chin held high. His suit hangs off him in rags, but Zoro can see he’s not even attempted to fix it. His legs are extended to their full length in front of him instead of tucked away, taking up more space than he has ever done before.
His hair is a deep black, only the very tips still his usual blond.
Zoro hates it.
“Oi, cook,” he calls out, and he takes a step forward only for his knees to buckle. He swears as he catches himself, bruised hand scratching against a rebar as he wraps his fingers around it. His jaw hurts from how tightly he’s clenching it, refusing to slip to the ground as he snaps his head up to find Sanji once again.
Slowly, languidly, Sanji’s head lolls on his shoulders, and Zoro feels his breath hitch in his throat.
No. It’s not the Sanji he knows looking back at him.
His face is expressionless, completely devoid of any sort of emotion, eyes a piercing ice blue, his mouth turned down at the edges as his cigarette seems to hang merely from habit than actual need. Zoro stares back, unable to pair the cook in front of him now to the one he knows.
This Sanji is not their Sanji.
There’s a scuffling behind him and Zoro realises belatedly that his crew has followed him. He doesn’t look back, his observation haki enough to know its them, they’re friendly, but when it flares out in front of him… the cook doesn’t feel the same.
He feels like a predator, like an enemy, and Zoro lets go of the rebar as his hands stray to his swords at his side, Wado calling out under his fingers.
The cook stares at him for a long time, his eyes flickering behind him over the crew before they meet Zoro’s again. He doesn’t move at first, staying seated as casually as if their world hasn’t just been earth-shatteringly blown apart, before he reaches up to pull the cigarette from his lips.
“Marimo,” he calls, voice flat and empty. It sends a shiver down Zoro’s spine. “Come to fulfil your promise?”
Zoro hears the crew chittering behind him, but he pays them no mind. Their presence is frustrating, but it’s nothing he not been able to ignore before as he takes a hesitant step forward.
“That depends,” he growls out, narrowing his eye.
He’s expecting a snort, a huff of derision, some witty snap back… anything but the stone silence he’s given. The cook watches him for a moment more before he flicks the cigarette away. It lands in the dirt, and one scuffed dress shoe grinds it into the ground.
When the cook gets up, it’s with a rigidity that Zoro didn’t know he possessed. Used to an effortless relaxed movement, Zoro’s hand tightens even more on Wado’s hilt as he sees the sheer power in the cook’s movements. His hands don’t find his pockets like normal, staying stiff at his sides, and he no longer saunters as he walks, instead taking sharp long strides.
The cook’s face hasn’t changed once this entire time, but when he’s only just outside of sword range, he stops and his lips curve into a nasty smirk.
“Go on, Moss-head,” he sneers, his hands finally finding his pockets. They don’t sit easily. “Do your worst.”
Zoro grits his teeth. Too many things are racing through his head, too many thoughts of who this man is in front of him and wondering where the hell his cook has gone. He wants to know what’s happened, what has changed, but he also needs to keep his nakama safe where they stand behind him.
Or stood.
“Sanji?” Usopp calls as he shuffles forward, and Zoro’s eye widens as he sees Usopp isn’t alone. Nami is beside him, her hands gripping Usopp’s arm with white knuckles “What… what’s going on?”
Zoro wants to reach out and push them back, to warn them that the cook in front of them is all wrong, but as he turns a sharp twinge of pain rips up his back causing small black and white dots to explode in front of his eye. He swears under his breath, gripping Wado tightly as if that will help, and when he’s managed to gather himself its to look up and see the cook has moved even closer.
The other’s don’t seem to notice, too busy staring at him with slack jaws, but Zoro knows the cook well enough to see his entire body is coiled, ready to strike.
And strike he does.
Nami’s scream mixes with the clash of sword and shoe as they crack out across the area, ricocheting off the rubble around them. Zoro pants as he holds Wado out, barely an inch from Nami’s face where it’s only just managing to hold Sanji’s foot at bay.
Cold eyes turn to Zoro, a dark grin spreads over the cook’s face, eyes lighting up with a bloodthirst that Zoro didn’t think the cook was capable of feeling.
Something in his chest squeezes painfully, and Zoro feels a dread he’s never known settle over his shoulders.
“Oh Marimo,” the cook purrs, all wrong. “You do care.”
What strength Zoro has is used to push against the cook, letting out a heaving shout as he does so. The cook falls back, skidding slightly over the ground, and Zoro moves to step between him and Nami.
Nami, who’s cries make Zoro’s jaw twitch and eyes narrow. “Go,” he hisses to her and Usopp, and Usopp doesn’t waste a moment in hauling her back to the others.
The cook’s eyes follow her though, and when he glances back at Zoro it’s with that horrendous grin still over his face. “Did that make you sit up and pay attention?” he asks, all taunt with no real feeling behind it. It makes Zoro’s skin crawl.
He doesn’t answer though. Instead, he slowly reaches down and draws Kitetsu from her scabbard. She lets out a whine under his hold, seeming resistant… as if she knows who their opponent is to be, and Zoro swallows thickly as he and his swords realise just what is about to happen.
There’s no warning for the cook’s next attack. One moment he’s standing still, one leg cocked behind him, then the next he’s charging forward. Zoro’s slow off the mark, his wounds and body nearly betraying him, but the motions of fighting with the cook feel almost familiar as deflects the first heel that comes angling down towards his chest.
The second one though, comes out of nowhere, and Zoro can’t bring Wado around in time to catch it before it rams into his side, knocking what little breath he’s managed to gather right back out of him.
Where Sanji would usually pause though, concern maybe on his face as he’d spit out a jab, this cook doesn’t. Zoro’s eye widens as the cook lunges forward again, heel arching down in a powerful strike aimed straight for his head.
The shouts of his crew behind him spur him though, and somehow he manages to dodge the cook’s attack. He throws himself to the side, skidding over the rubble with shaking legs, glancing back to see the crater that the cook’s attack has left behind.
It hits Zoro then, with a sudden and powerful fury, that the cook means to kill.
Unsure of using her so soon after the battle, but knowing he has no choice, Zoro slips Wado between his teeth and draws Enma. She’s different to the other two, practically humming with excitement, and it makes Zoro sick at the thought of feeling that towards the cook. He doesn’t want to do this, but he knows there’s no other option.
The cook’s head cocks to the side for a brief moment, a solitary pause as he takes in the third sword, before a sharp humourless laugh drops from his mouth and he charges once more.
Their dance now is different to normal. Where there used to be friendly competition, a need to outdo one another, a desire to push the challenge to their limits… it’s now replaced with a primal and feral bloodlust.
The cook doesn’t hold back. His hits are powerful and painful, and Zoro feels the lag of his body as he pushes through its protests. His knees aren’t as strong as normal, his arms shake with the force of the cook’s attacks, and his haki has all but run dry. He’s slower than usual, and the cook seems to pick up on it easily enough.
He’s not slack though by any means. He charges forward, his bandana sloping down to cover his closed eye, and he skids across the ground to swipe up. The cook meets his swing with a shoe, mouth twisted into something akin to a sharks leer, but Zoro uses the opportunity to yank his head forward and Wado’s blade sinks into the cook’s calf.
Or it’s supposed too,
It bounces off, flinging back and pulling Zoro’s neck with it. It sends sharp licks of pain down his spine, and spots break out in front of his eyes again. It’s nothing though, nothing compared to the horror Zoro feels as he sees completely unmarred flesh beneath the cook’s torn pant leg.
A sick feeling fills Zoro’s stomach, a niggling in the back of his head that while he knows this isn’t right, there’s something else here at play.
The cook doesn’t even break his stride. “What’s wrong, Marimo?” he calls out, raining down blow after blow onto Zoro’s parried swords, beating him down into the dirt. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown weak.”
The cook taunts, but there’s no edge to his words. They’re flat, empty, like he’s going through the motions but doesn’t care either way.
It causes all retorts to die in Zoro’s throat before they come out. Instead he grits his teeth and keeps fighting. He stays on the defensive, his body barely able to put up with that let alone an offensive attempt. Even if he could, Zoro knows he wouldn’t… couldn’t.
Despite it all, it’s still Sanji. Still their cook. It may be someone else wearing his face, but the glaring golden tips of his hair are a reminder that the cook he knows has to be in there somewhere.
Zoro’s thoughts pause for a moment though as the cook’s latest twirl flicks his hair up, drawing Zoro’s attention to it. He’s willing to admit he’s not the smartest of people, but his observational skills leave little to be desired. If Zoro isn’t wrong, then there’s a little less blond to the cook’s hair then there was when he found him.
That’s all it takes for an idea to appear in Zoro’s mind.
“Robin!” he bellows, knowing his crew is still behind them. He pushes back from the cook, forcing distance between them. He doesn’t want to get too close, doesn’t want to lead the cook to them, but he needs Robin’s attention now.
He doesn’t have to get much closer though. Clearly she’s heard him, and a mouth and ear sprout on his arm as he holds it up to catch the tip of the cook’s shoe.
“Zoro,” she says, and Zoro lets out a grunt as he pushes the cook back once more. “How can-”
Zoro cuts her off, not interested in anything the crew can say right now as he dodges another strong kick that soars just over his head, falling short of removing it from his shoulders.
“The raid suit,” he pants, hands sweating and barely holding his swords as they thrum in his hands. “What kind of effect could it have on the cook?”
Robin doesn’t answer immediately, and for a fateful moment Zoro thinks that maybe he’s gotten this wrong. He can’t help but feel he hasn’t though. They know now about Germa, about the experiments, about the cook’s youth.
Zoro doesn’t know much about their technology, but something about the cook donning the raid suit, the promise he made Zoro make, and the creature standing in front of him now that may wear Sanji’s face but bares no resemblance to him… it has to be connected.
“Of course,” Robin suddenly says, and Zoro struggles to hear her voice as he’s pushed further into the chaotic rubble around them, the cook not breaking his advancing stride. “The raid suit is from Germa. I don’t… I can’t be sure, but potentially it’s awoken something in Sanji.”
“Like what?”
Zoro growls and throws himself up onto a large piece of wall, glaring down at the cook. He pauses and looks up, a lazy uncaring smile on his face. It’s then that Zoro notices the cook’s eyebrow… the curl has switched direction, pointing the same way as his siblings ones.
“Something might have been sitting latent in him that the raid suit could have triggered,” Robin continues to say, and Zoro heaves in deep breaths as he stares down at the cook, both waiting for the other to make the next move. “A delayed mutation that reacted with the Germa technology and has caused him to mutate like his siblings.”
“No shit,” Zoro huffs, thinking of impenetrable skin. The cook quirks his head to the side, narrow eyes calculating. “How do we fix it?”
The silence is deafening, and Zoro chances a look to his crew. They’re gathered together in a huddle, all watching with horrified expressions. Robin is stepped out ahead of them, Franky protective at her side, and Zoro can see the grim look on her face
“Zoro…” she murmurs, her voice soft and pained. “Germa tech… I don’t know a way to reverse it. I don’t know if there is a way.”
Zoro stares. Robin hangs her head.
“We… we may have lost him.”
If… if I’m no longer myself.
The words land like a strong blow to Zoro’s chest, all air rushing out of him in one fell swoop. No, he thinks. No, that can’t be it. They can’t have lost the cook. That… it’s not possible.
Not their cook. Not Sanji. Zoro looks down at him, sees a stranger looking back, and his chest seizes. He’s so familiar and yet not at all. There are maybe hints, tiny traces, but the man that looks back at Zoro holds not a single drop of emotion behind those cold dead eyes.
No, Zoro thinks. No, he can’t lose Sanji. He won’t. There’s too much unsaid between them, too many things that Zoro has never had the courage to tell him… too many things Sanji has never said to him. He can’t leave it like that.
He won’t kill him, no matter what he promised.
“No,” Zoro says, voice firm. He’s still there, the cook they know is still there. Blond hair tips, still blue eyes… Sanji is in there somewhere. He just needs some help to come out. “We just need to remind him to come back.”
Robin starts to speak but Zoro doesn’t care. Let them give up. Let them start to mourn. Zoro will bring the cook back kicking and screaming if he has too.
He leaps from his perch, flying down to meet the cook’s impassive figure. He knows what he has to do, what he has to try. From what the others told him, the other Vinsmoke’s don’t have feelings, don’t have emotions but Sanji does.
Zoro just needs to remind him.
“Your name is Black Leg Sanji,” he says as swords clash against heel, and Zoro makes sure to meet those ice cold eyes. “You’re the cook of the Strawhat pirates.”
The cook’s eyes narrow again, but he doesn’t say anything as Zoro throws himself against him, determined to stay as close to the cook as their fight will allow.
“Your father,” he grunts as the cook’s leg hits his side, but he manages to absorb the impact, “your real father, is Red-Leg Zeff, the head chef of the Baratie in the East Blue.”
“What is this?” the cook hisses, but Zoro ignores him.
“Your dream is to one day-”
“Do you think this is a game?” the cook snarls, and Zoro’s mouth clamps shut as the cook’s foot catches his shoulder, sending him stumbling to the side. “You think this will fix things?”
Zoro takes a steadying breath before standing up straight, rolling his aching shoulder back as he lifts his chin. The cook watches him, and for the first time he looks almost uncertain.
“Your dream,” Zoro starts again, raising his voice with each word, “is to one day find All Blue. The legendary ocean where the North, South, East, and West blue meet.”
The cook snarls and flies forward. “Enough,” he roars, the first hint of emotion yet spat in his words, and Zoro catches sight of the cook’s hair as he gets nearer.
The glimpse of more blond than before makes something in Zoro’s chest unclench.
With a renewed vigour, something that comes from a place deep inside him, Zoro raises his swords to meet the cook with a sharp clash, the violence of their collision causing the rubble around them to crumble, dust building in the air.
“Your family-” Zoro swears as the cook aims for his head once more. “Your family is this crew. Each and every one of us.” He ducks again, swinging back for only a moment before he slams back into the cook again, his face barely an inch from the cook’s own. “It’s Nami and Robin.” He twists his sword, catching the cook’s knee and sending it buckling. “Usopp and Chopper.” Zoro goes down with him, the cook’s other knee jamming into his stomach as they fall. “Franky and Brook.” He barely catches his breath. “It’s Luffy and me.”
The cook lets out a yell as Zoro wrestles him to the ground, his legs pinned beneath him. Zoro keeps going, using his body weight to restrain the cook as much as he can, wary as the cook starts to throw his hands up at him.
It makes something in his gut twist at the thought that whatever this thing is, it will not sully Sanji’s hands.
“You are loyal,” he straddles the cook’s legs, forcing them down as he avoids the cook’s punches with a grunt. “And brave and kind.” Another swipe, and Zoro drops Enma to catch the cook’s fist in one hand. “You would give your life to protect your nakama.”
“Shut up!” the cook screeches, piercing Zoro’s ears. His attacks are crude now, his other fist swinging wildly for Zoro’s face. There’s power there but no finesse, the cook’s usual control gone in place of a heavy-handed roughness, and Zoro leans away as he struggles to keep back the cook’s other fist as it strains against his hold.
“Your crew would do the same for you.” The cook’s knuckles glance off his chin and rattle his teeth. “I will do the same for you.” He squares his jaw, stares down at the cook as he tries to fight Zoro off, legs starting to beat past Zoro’s weight. “Promise be damned, Twirls, you’re still you.”
The cook growls deep and raw in the back of his throat as his legs buck under Zoro’s weight, and Zoro’s eye widens as he feels himself start to be thrown off.
But then he hears the sound of racing steps from behind him, and suddenly Zoro isn’t alone as his crew surrounds him. Usopp is there first, his eyes terrified but jaw set as he and Nami grab the cook’s flailing arm. Chopper and Brook pull the other from Zoro’s grip with a rare strength, and Zoro feels rather than sees Robin and Franky behind him as they reach for a leg each, Robin’s hundreds of hands sprouting up to cover whatever else she can of the cook’s body.
The cook lets out a guttural scream, wrenching his body around with a feral strength that has the crew crying out as they struggle to hold him. Zoro clings on, moving himself up from the cook’s legs as he brackets the cook’s hips with his own, dropping Kitetsu to the ground beside them.
With a swift move, Zoro pulls Wado from his mouth and leans forward, pressing her sharp edge to the cook’s throat. The cook stills, his body rigid as his chest heaves with ragged breaths, blond tipped hair pushed back and damp with sweat, his pale cold eyes wide with a twisted fury as he meets Zoro’s gaze.
It’s an emotion… it’s something, Zoro thinks as he leans forward, his other hand coming up to cup the cook’s cheek gently.
“Come back,” Zoro says quietly, well aware his crew is listening to his words and not caring one bit. “Curls, you need to come back. We need you. I need you.”
The laugh that rips from the cook is biting and cruel. “He’s not here,” he snaps, teeth gnashing over the words, blackened hair starting to fall back over his face. “He’s dead. He’s not coming back.”
Zoro smirks though, watching the black in the cooks hair slowly recede, blond tips starting to lengthen. He caresses his thumb over the cook’s cheekbone. “Then why do you look so scared?”
The scream that the cook lets out sends just a sliver of fear down Zoro’s spine. Around him, his crew whimpers, Chopper’s cries painful to hear, and the cook once again begins to arch and kick, lashing out against his crew.
But they hold strong, none more so than Zoro who hates the way Wado cuts into the cook’s throat, blood beading at the blade… but he doesn’t move her as the cook strains against him.
It’s different though. His movements feel… are different.
The cook isn’t trying to get away, Zoro realises with a snap. There’s a fight happening, but it’s not with this crew.
Black hair continues to recede, the cook’s eyebrow starts to unfurl in a fascinating movement, but Zoro doesn’t stop to watch as he leans forward, bending at the waist as he presses his forehead to the cook’s.
“Fight back, Sanji,” he whispers, the cook’s name feeling right to say. “You can do this. Fight back.”
Another scream, this one worse than the one before as it tears from the cook’s throat. It sounds like the screams of the damned, of those Zoro has cut down over and over again with barely a thought. It’s the scream of a dying man and Zoro grits his teeth as he slides his hand up to bury in the cook’s hair, holding their foreheads tightly together.
He won’t leave him alone in this fight. He won’t.
“Zoro!” Usopp calls out, panicked voice cutting through the air beside him, but Zoro pays him no mind as he focuses on the cook, staying exactly where he is. The cook’s movements are becoming more violent, more wild, and Zoro hears his crew’s cries as they struggle to hold him down.
The cook’s arm manages to break out of Nami and Usopp’s grip, and Zoro grunts as a fist slams into his side. It’s painful but bearable, the cook’s punches not as powerful as his kicks, and Zoro breathes through the throb radiating up his flank as the cook’s hand melts from a fist into a desperate hand gripping his haramaki. His fingers dig into Zoro’s skin, nails scratching, but Zoro doesn’t shake him off. He will be Sanji’s anchor if that’s what he needs.
Come on, Zoro thinks. Come on, Sanji.
“Come back,” he breathes again, his voice only for the cook’s ears. “We’re… I’m waiting for you.”
Suddenly, Zoro is airborne.
He hits the ground a short distance away, the impact pushing out all the air from his lungs as he slams onto his back. His vision goes for one horrible moment, fading in and out of blackness as his head reels. His whole body screams at him, and Zoro lets out a ragged cough as he chokes around his body’s need to breathe.
It doesn’t take long for him to think of his crew though, and he forces himself to roll onto his side as he cracks open his eye, looking for them. They’re scattered around him, all in the same position as he is, all groaning and coughing, all having been thrown away from the cook at the same time.
They’re alive though, and Zoro’s eye quickly flits over to where the cook’s body lies nearby.
He’s still, too still, and a deep dread settles in Zoro’s gut as he forces himself to his hands and knees. He wants to call out, but his lungs seize and he’s coughing again, his body heaving with the force of them.
It doesn’t stop him though. He crawls through the dirt and rubble, past Wado where she lies between them with the cook’s blood still on her blade, past Enma and Kitetsu where they are discarded by the cook’s body, past his crew where they’re gathering themselves around them… past everything until he’s at the cook’s side.
“Cook?’ Zoro manages to gasp out when he reaches him. “Cook… Sanji?” He reaches out a shaking hand, laying it on the cook’s shoulder. “Are you…”
He trails off when he catches sight of the cook’s hair. There’s not a hint of black, not even a strand as the cook’s usual soft blond has returned. Zoro’s chest clenches as he glances down to see that the one visible curly brow has changed direction again, back the right way. He can’t help his hand moving from the cook’s shoulder, reaching out to brush the cook’s fringe from his face, desperate to make sure the other eyebrow is the same.
It is, and Zoro lets out a body-shuddering breath of relief.
And then Sanji’s eyebrows twitch, and Zoro feels his throat tighten as two warm grey-blue eyes slowly open and blink up at him.
“Hey Moss-head,” Sanji drawls, his eyes crinkling just slightly as a small smile curls onto his lips. “Miss me?”
Zoro can’t help it. A single choked sob rips from his throat, one caused by a deep exhaustion and even deeper pain. Sanji’s eyes widen, his mouth opening in surprise, but Zoro doesn’t care as he leans forward to press his face to Sanji’s chest.
He can’t find words, can’t find anything to put to whatever feelings are spinning around inside him. All he can focus on is the rise and fall of Sanji’s chest, of the hum inside it as Sanji says words lost to Zoro’s ears, of the fact that Sanji is alive and back.
He hears the sounds of his crew rallying again. He hears Usopp’s surprised yelling and Chopper’s excited squeaks, Nami’s already angry crescendo and Brook’s loud chortling. He hears them calling out to Sanji, to him, but Zoro can’t bring himself to pull away to respond.
He doesn’t have to though as a warm hand comes up to cup the back of his head, Sanji’s hand. Strong fingers bury in his hair, a gentle thumb swipes over the skin behind his ear, causing his earrings to jingle.
“It’s okay, Zoro,” Sanji says quietly, his voice calm and gentle yet completely exhausted. “I’m not going anywhere. Not anymore.”
He’s not. Zoro knows he not.
He lets out a shuddering sigh, feels Sanji beneath him, and the panic in his chest begins to ease.
…
Later, much later, when their captain wakes and they’re all on the Sunny, Zoro will find Sanji.
They will stand on the deck together, shoulders brushing, and Zoro will ignore Sanji’s protests as he reaches out to hold him close. He will look into those warm grey-blue eyes and he will grit his way through all the words that don’t come naturally.
He will wait for Sanji to reply with a terror he’s never felt before in his life.
And Sanji… Sanji will kiss those fears away.
...
Fin.