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With great effort, Sanji opened his bleary eyes, and promptly regretted his choices.
Light was painful to look at. His eyes hurt. His head hurt. His bones hurt. His skin hurt — the frostbite, most likely. To put it short, all of Sanji hurt.
Well, wasn't that shitty.
Except… in a way, the pain felt good. The pain meant that Sanji was still alive after all, somehow, mi-fucking-raculously, after that shitty avalanche and the stinky rabbits, and that — yeah, that was sweet.
From what he could see with his blurry eyesight, it looked like he was in some kind of a castle. The gray, gloomy stone walls, the stupidly high ceiling with that pretentious chandelier, the telling architecture… the place felt a bit like the Vinsmoke castle.
It gave Sanji the creeps, so he shivered.
…Now that he thought of it, he distinctly felt like he was on a bed. No covers, thank fuck, because everywhere his skin touched cloth, it hurt.
But that mattered fuck all, because if he was in a castle, on a bed, and distinctly bandaged all over his arms and torso… that meant Luffy did manage to get them to that doctor witch Dalton spoke of.
And that meant Luffy did make it to the top of that tall-ass Mount Drum Rock.
That stubborn fucker…
With a smile, Sanji closed his eyes again. Ah, blessed darkness.
If Luffy made it all the way up to the doctor, he mused, that meant his dumbass captain, too, was still alive. He was too fucking stubborn to die after he braved all that mad climb up a vertical, five-kilometer-high mountain.
Shit, wasn't his captain a monster, to do something this crazy…
Well, wasn't that why Sanji called him captain in the first place? Like hell he'd have left his old fart for anyone less mad than Luffy, heh.
Damn, Sanji was woozy. Thinking hurt. Smiling hurt. Breathing hurt. Did he have a broken rib or what?
"Fuck," he slurred, feeble but very heartfelt, "I need a smoke."
Then there was rustling, and the unmistakable sound of a cig pack being opened, and the familiar snick of his lighter — and a cig was shoved into his mouth.
"Thank you," Sanji fervently breathed around his cig, his eyes still closed to save himself from the nausea, "whoever you are."
There was a low, smooth chuckle. Not a lady, then. Well, he couldn't always get lucky.
"No problem," the low smooth voice drawled. "I figured you must smoke a lot, by the smell."
"Oi, are you sayin' I stink?" Sanji grinned around his cig, as well as he could in his steamrolled state.
There was a brief silence. Then the smooth voice said, nostalgic and distant:
"My old man smells the same. He smokes like a chimney. He's — far away."
Then, there was a pause — like a sigh that never was — and the voice went on:
"You smell nice."
He said nothing more.
"'S why you've been sittin' by my side like a creep? Sniffin' me?" Sanji sniggered. (Shit, even snickering hurt. Well, at least he had a cig now, thank fuck. Cigs were life.)
The voice said nothing, which meant yes.
Then, the voice spoke again:
"Your two nakama you came with — they're both safe. Badly beaten and frostbitten, but safe. You're lucky the old hag who owns the place knows how to treat Kestia fever — otherwise, the girl would be dead in two days. By the way, your guy friend here snores an awful lot."
"Right! Nami!!! Where is she?!"
"Stay down, you fool, I told you she's fine. She'll make a speedy recovery, don't you worry."
"Your fool just now sounded awfully fond, heh."
Well, the mysterious voice sounded only very slightly fond, but Sanji couldn't help but take a jab.
"Even in this," the voice chuckled, "you're just like my old man. When he first brought me here to this place, he just about had a heart attack over my simple case of bronchitis."
"Bronchitis, eh? When I left my old man's place to travel with these guys, the only thing he told me before we parted was… Don't catch a cold."
"Heh. Your old man sounds like a good guy."
"That he is," Sanji agreed. Over his closed eyes, his eyelashes felt wet. "That he is."