Chapter Text
Zoro’s having a bad day. He hurriedly scans the streets of Dressrosa City, following the sounds of fighting. The colorful buildings seem to peer down laughing at him, mocking him for not being able to find his way sooner. He only hopes that he’ll make it on time.
He doesn’t know how he knows. Maybe it’s a sixth sense, or he’s picked up some superhuman ability. But he always knows when Luffy has got himself into trouble. And it’s his job as the man’s best friend to get him out of it. Zoro clenches his fists hard, pressing his blunt nails into the palms of his rough hands. He’ll find him. He has to.
He takes a left at an intersection, immediately realizing that he’s made the wrong decision. The fighting sounds are getting quieter. He turns around, and sprints down the street, willing his instincts to get him there.
A few deserted streets later and he finds him. Luffy is laying face down on the pavement, his straw hat crumpled in his fist. He’s bleeding from every orifice Zoro can see, and there’s a man—a kid?—standing over him, holding a knife in his hand.
Zoro lunges, training kicking into full gear. He winds up his fist and knocks the lights out of the man-kid, sending blood splattering from his mouth and an ache forming on Zoro’s knuckles. He stalks over to the prone form, picking the person up by his gaudy shirt. He’s wearing tiny shorts and a ridiculous looking hat over a mop of blonde hair. He really can’t tell if he’s a kid or an adult, but he trusts that Luffy wouldn’t go around picking fights with kids. Satisfied with the thought, he drops the unconscious man to the floor and spits in his face.
“Prick,” he says, snatching the knife out of his hand. This thing might come in handy, he thinks, pocketing the shiny weapon.
Zoro moves over to Luffy, who’s starting to stir. He places a hand on the man’s shoulder. Luffy flips over with a burst of energy.
“Zoro!” He says with a jubilant smile. “You came!”
“I always do, Luffy.”
Luffy claps his bloodied hands together, seemingly unaware of the state he’s in. He hops to his feet, bouncing from toe to toe like he’s ready for another fight. Zoro sighs exasperatedly, picking the straw hat off the floor and plopping it on the man’s head.
“Let’s go home,” Zoro says, motioning for Luffy to lead the way.
After all these years, Zoro remains cursed with the inability to navigate through Dressrosa City. He can follow his ears, to be sure, but their apartment doesn’t exactly sing its location. He thanks whatever deity watches over them that Luffy was awake this time. Zoro shudders, remembering the occasion a few months ago where Zoro carried Luffy’s unconscious body through the streets for hours only to end up a street over from where they started. Zoro’s lucky to have Luffy. And Luffy is lucky to have Zoro, for that matter. He knows Luffy would’ve survived. His borderline superhuman strength all but guarantees his bouncing back, like his body’s made of rubber or something. But Zoro cannot risk it. He never wants to come across the day where he’s too late.
Luffy guides them through the alleys, dripping blood as he walks. Luffy is spinning tales about the fight, calling his opponent a “boner fide shark-man” and describing in detail how he ended up on the floor. Zoro can feel a pair of eyes watching them, the hairs on his arms perked up in alarm. He knows he should suss out the stalker, but he needs to conserve his energy for his upcoming fight, and Luffy’s in no state to be starting a new one. He sighs and hopes that this doesn’t come back to bite him. With his luck, it definitely will.
They arrive at their fifth story walk-up after about thirty minutes of walking, Luffy trailing his dramatic retelling off in the last few minutes to concentrate on the directions. The smaller man takes the steps two at a time, bounding up with an inhuman speed. Zoro takes his time, marveling at the patterns left behind by Luffy’s blood loss. The man is going to need stitches. He’s sure they have a kit somewhere in the apartment.
When Zoro makes it up the stairs, Luffy is slumped against the door with a smile on his face. Shit. Zoro rushes into action, hauling the man over his shoulder and fumbling with the keys to their shitty apartment. The key gets jammed in the lock for a minute and Zoro swears, kicking the door with his boots. The door swings open easily, to no one’s surprise. “Shitty door,” Zoro mutters, grabbing the key and racing inside.
He sets Luffy down on their moldy couch and runs to the bathroom to find the first aid kit. He searches the cabinets in a stupor, sorting through piles of junk and shit they’ve stolen recently. He could’ve sworn they used the blasted thing more recently. After a few more minutes of searching, he leaves the bathroom, moving to his bedroom. The first aid kit sits open on his bed. Right, he was using that for himself before he left. Grabbing the red plastic box he returns to the couch to find Luffy sitting upright, on the verge of tears.
Zoro rushes to his side, getting to work on disinfecting the worst gashes and prepping the areas for stitches. As he threads the needle, a cold hand grips his forearm. He looks up, meeting Luffy’s washed out face.
“Zoro…” Luffy croaks, tears spilling down his cheeks. The older man ties the knot on the thread, putting the needle in position.
“This is gonna hurt,” Zoro says, holding his breath. He pushes the needle through the thick skin, sewing the jagged line shut. Luffy doesn’t make a peep, but he continues to cry, fat tears dripping all over his shirt and snot running out of his nose. Finished, Zoro ties off the suture, putting ointment and gauze over the wound and taping the edges down.
“Meat…” Luffy groans, his vacuous stomach growling for good measure. “Need meat.”
Zoro rolls his eyes, moving onto the next gash. He sews this one up quickly, admiring his handiwork. He’s no doctor, but he’s pretty competent with a needle and thread. Satisfied, he bandages up the rest of Luffy’s cuts, chuckling as the man continues to moan for meat.
Once he’s all wrapped up, Luffy lays back on the disgusting couch, sprawling his limbs all over the place. Zoro heads to the kitchen, hoping to find something to satisfy the man. There’s a three day old meatloaf from the restaurant around the corner. He sniffs it. It doesn’t reek, so it must be good.
He puts the meat in the microwave, making sure not to press the sparking button. He doesn’t know what’ll happen if he does, but he has enough self-preservation to know it’s not good. The microwave beeps off-key when it’s done. Zoro brings the piping hot plate to Luffy, watching in awe as the man picks up the meat with his bare hands and bites into it, swallowing without chewing. Half the meatloaf is gone in a flash. It never gets old, watching Luffy eat. The man is an utter enigma.
Color floods Luffy’s previously sallow cheeks, and the tears stop in their tracks. He swallows the last bit of the meatloaf, licking his finger and belching loudly for good measure. Zoro smiles.
“I’ve got a fight lined up for tomorrow. You coming?” he says, running a hand through his green hair. His hand aches a little. He curses, heading to the freezer and grabbing an ice pack. He looks down at his knuckles. Just a light bruise, thankfully. He heard his opponent for tomorrow is an absolute joke, some scrawny guy called Bart. Hopefully the rumors are true. He ices his hand, relishing in the pain signals that flood his brain. He’s nothing if not a masochist. He wouldn’t be a professional fighter if he wasn’t.
“Ace and Sabo said they’re taking me out to dinner. They managed to steal this really rich lady’s purse and she was flooded with cash!” Luffy says, eyes sparkling. Zoro smiles, trying not to let his disappointment show.
“It’s supposed to be a write-off anyway, the guy’s not even in the same weight class as me.”
Truth is, Zoro performs better when he knows Luffy is in the crowd. Something about the man’s presence makes him feel secure and powerful. Another part of the man’s mystique.
He thinks back to when they met. Zoro was fighting some retired Navy guy, a real nasty piece of work named Morgan something-or-other. Zoro had been on a losing streak, which meant that he didn’t have the money to pay for any food. He was starving, and weak, and his opponent could tell. The sharp man kept directing punches at his core, and Zoro had just about had enough.
“You can do it, Green Guy!” sounded from the crowd in front of him. There was Luffy, straw hat on his head and a beaming smile on his face. Zoro felt power flooding through his veins. He turned the tables on Morgan, slamming the man into the mat so hard they had to call the medics. He stood victorious, the roars of the crowd echoing through his eardrums. Once declared the victor, he rushed through the crowd to find his savior. Luffy was gone.
It wasn’t until after the third fight that Luffy attended that Zoro was able to track him down. He cornered the fleeing man just outside of the building, grabbing the back of his shirt. Luffy turned around with a cheeky smile.
“You finally caught me,” Luffy said, bouncing on his toes.
“What’s your name?” Zoro asked, eyes searching the mystery man.
“I’m Luffy, and I’m gonna be King of the Streets!”
Zoro busted out in laughter, throwing his head back in delight. He just met this man and he already never wanted to let him go. “I’m Zoro. Not ‘Green Guy.’”
“Wanna be friends, Zoro?” Luffy asked sincerely. Zoro’s heart felt full. He’d never been asking such an endearing question so plainly before. But he knew his answer, knew it from the moment Luffy cheered in that first match.
“Yeah. Yeah I’d like that.”
The rest was history. Now, Zoro and Luffy live in the world’s shittiest apartment, paying rent through Zoro’s winnings and whatever Luffy stumbles across in the streets. He likes to fight people for money too, though his methods are more akin to mugging than Zoro’s professionally arranged fights. But Luffy never seeks out innocent people. He looks for the dredges of society, the ones seeking to start fights of their own accord. He pickpockets them as payment after he’s finished.
“Sorry Zoro, I really want to eat at this place. It’s shaped like a fish!” Luffy says, interrupting Zoro’s reverie.
Zoro pats Luffy on the head. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Like I said, it’s a write-off.”
Luffy smiles, wrapping his arms around Zoro’s waist. The green-haired man accepts the cuddles gracefully, kicking off his boots and throwing an arm around Luffy’s shoulder. They both fall asleep in this fashion, each snoring louder than the other, like they’re in a sleep competition.
The next day, Luffy and Zoro are playing a game of Gin Rummy when their front door bursts open. Zoro’s cards go flying in surprise, making Luffy laugh, seemingly unbothered by the intrusion. Two heads, one black and one blond, peek through the doorway, grins on their mischievous faces.
“Ace! Sabo!” Luffy cries, sprinting towards the door and jumping onto the men. The three fly backwards, hitting the ground in a pile, with laughter pealing out from their prone forms.
Zoro stands, leaving the mess of cards on their grimy floor without issue. He walks up to the cuddle puddle, a small smile gracing his face. “Don’t kick our door in, assholes.”
“It’s more fun than knocking though,” Sabo whines from the bottom of the pile. Luffy is unmoving on the top, his surprisingly heavy weight clearly taking a toll on his brothers. Ace is the first to move, the black-haired pyromaniac pushing against Luffy’s limp body with all his strength, freeing his leg to get leverage. Using his free leg he wraps it around Luffy and turns them over with a grunt, freeing both brothers from Luffy’s grasp. Luffy pouts from his position on the floor, groaning as Ace steps on his back to keep him pinned.
“Perfect,” Ace says, dusting off his hands. “It’s nice to see you, Zoro! Got any fights lined up?”
“Tonight actually. I was just finishing up a card game with Luf and then I was gonna head out,” Zoro explains, scratching his head. He’s dressed in his fight gear, a white t-shirt, green haramaki, and black shorts. The haramaki is his signature, gifted to him by the man who recruited him off the streets. Mihawk is a former fighter himself, boasting the record for the longest undefeated streak. Zoro aims to crush that record into dust.
“Sorry we have to miss it, man! We got reservations at the Baratie, which books out ages in advance. If we had known we totally would’ve been there!” Ace says apologetically.
Zoro waves him off. “Go have fun at the fish-place. I’ve got enough fans to keep me going,” he says. And he does have fans. Mossheads, they call themselves. Zoro cringes when he remembers the name. He can’t help his green hair. He may not have been born with powers, but the deities in charge thought it’d be fun to grace him with hair the color of fresh grass. He’s thought about dying it black before, but he’s honestly too lazy. The regrowth would be a nightmare. So he suffers, green and bright, and will continue to suffer until he’s finally old and grey. If he lives that long.
The three brothers beam at him, which is all the warning he gets before he’s tackled to the ground in a hug. His head bangs against the carpeted floor, sending swirling stars into his vision.
“Get the fuck off me!” Zoro complains, head spinning. If this keeps up, he’s not going to be fit to fight. He growls, a deep guttural thing, and the three men back away, apologetic smiles on their faces.
“Nice to see you, Ace, Sabo. Take Luffy and go, before I throttle all three of you,” Zoro warns, getting to his feet. Luffy yelps and starts running, sending a wave behind himself as he goes. Ace and Sabo laugh heartily, following suit. When the men leave he slams the door, leaning against the thing as his vision fades in and out. This better be an easy fucking fight.
The backstage of the fighting arena is in about the same condition as Zoro’s apartment. Leaky ceilings, suspicious black spots on the walls, a floor that’s more squishy than solid. He sits down in the locker room, wrapping his sore knuckles. His head pounds, and he curses the ground that the three brothers walk on. He takes a swig from his water bottle, glancing around the room. Posters advertising this and previous fights line the walls. Their details are unspecific, so as not to draw attention to the fact that this is essentially a gambling ring. The location is written in code, so that those who know are free to come and those who don’t wander the streets of Dressrosa City searching for something that doesn’t exist. The Colosseum is a prestigious underground fighting ring, known in the business as The Call. Zoro doesn’t know how much money is actually thrown around on the spectator side of things, only that he gets a flat fee for every fight he wins. He sometimes wonders what the highest ticket was for one of his victories, but he shelves that thought every time, too upset at the thought of making other people rich.
Zoro fights at The Call because he’s good at it, and because he’s a masochist. And a sadist. He likes the feeling of blood on his hands, whether it be his own or someone else’s. The fact that he can use his fists to cause harm and make money off of it? It’s thrilling to him. So he continues, knowing very well the path he treads is a stupid one. He may not be smart, but he knows what he likes. So he fights.
The speakers crackle in the room, alerting Zoro that it’s go-time. He tunes out the announcer’s voice, entering the fight headspace as best he can while his headache blares. Throwing a few practice punches, he takes a deep breath, walking down the hall to the fight arena entrance.
“In the blue corner, we have Roronoa Zoro, the Demon of the East!”
Zoro kicks open the double doors, rolling his shoulders back and cracking his knuckles. The crowd goes wild, chanting, “Mosshead, Mosshead, Mosshead!” Zoro girns wolfishly, eyes focused on the ring in front of him. He slips under the ropes, pounding his fist into his palm as he enters the blue corner. Leaning back against the pole, he waits for his opponent to arrive.
“And as announced just moments ago, we have a brand new fighter entering the ring as replacement for Bartolomeo who is unfortunately hospitalized. Everyone put your hands together for Stealth Black himself, Vinsmoke Sanji!”
The crowd roars. Zoro’s eyes whip to the opposing doors, praying that this replacement is of similar ilk to Bart. A thin man walks out in a skin-tight black and red suit, the number 3 featured prominently on his literal fucking cape. A cape? What the fuck does this guy think this is, a costume parade? As Zoro rolls his eyes, his fans start booing the man, much to Zoro’s delight. He bends his knees, stretching himself in preparation. This pansy will go down fast.
Vinsmoke enters the ring, throwing off his cape with a flourish. Now that he’s closer, Zoro can see that his eyebrow ends in a literal swirl. What’s this clown’s deal? Zoro smirks, crossing his arms and looking over his shoulder. What a joke.
The bell rings, and the announcer yells, getting the crowd hyped up. Zoro drops into a fighting stance, knees bent and arms raised in front of his face. Vinsmoke just stands there, sizing him up.
Zoro takes a step forward, gaining no reaction from the costumed man. He takes another two steps, crossing the ring like a predator on the prowl. He throws a punch knocking the man across the face. Vinsmoke’s head turns to the side, but his body doesn’t move.
“Fight me, weirdo!” Zoro taunts, getting frustrated. The fuck is this man up to? He winds up another right hook, and it lands, glancing off the same spot on the man’s cheek. If Zoro were in a better state of mind, he might’ve noticed how his knuckles were already torn and bleeding, and the man’s face was unmarked. But he doesn’t notice that. He prepares to throw a right uppercut. The man vanishes from sight just as Zoro throws the punch, sending him off balance.
What the fuck? The crowd goes bonkers, screaming at the amazing turn of events. Zoro whips around, not seeing Vinsmoke anywhere in the ring.
“Fight me, coward!” He yells, agitated. Where the fuck did he run off to? Zoro turns around again, and a rock solid fist strikes his nose, fully breaking it, and sending him sprawling to the floor. Vinsmoke stands over him, looming, dripping Zoro’s own blood down on his already bleeding face. Zoro’s vision swims, and it looks like there are three Vinsmokes standing there. He blinks, and there are none.
Zoro scrambles to his feet, fear flooding through his chest. What on earth is going on? He’s knocked backwards by a punch to his unguarded stomach, flying into the ropes with a thud. Does Vinsmoke have powers? Like actual powers? He gasps for air, winded by the direct hit to his diaphragm. He’s glad Luffy isn’t here to see this.
Zoro panics, punching the air like a crazed person. As he swings wildly with his left, he feels a boot make contact with his tailbone. Zoro slides across the floor, humiliation creeping into his bones. Even if he was in top form, he wouldn’t be able to beat this monster. The same boot places pressure on his ribs and stamps down. Zoro can feel the bones snap. He yells in pain, trying to crawl towards his towel. He loathes the idea of giving up, but this is too much. He needs to live—Luffy needs him, he needs to get stronger to beat Mihawk’s record.
The boot lets up, and Zoro feels relief flood through his veins. He crawls towards the towel, pain radiating through his body and blood gushing down his face. His eyes are stinging with sweat and the barest hint of tears. His fingers graze the edge of the towel when he’s hoisted by the back of his shirt and raised over Vinsmoke’s head.
The last thing Zoro sees is a flicker of emotion on the blond’s face, the tiniest break in the mask he wears. Zoro hits the ground, and everything goes black.