Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A frantic man ran in as soon as they docked. The town was small, houses far apart, dotting the hills and fields. They only stopped because the little hamlet had the best lamb this side of the grand line.

The elderly man fell to his knees, head bowed to the floor.

“Please help us! We can pay, I swear!”

Sanji stepped forward, abandoning the table he’d been setting.

“Are you hungry? We’ll feed you whether you can pay or not.”

Patty shouted,

“That’s not how restaurants work!”

Zeff came out at the commotion as the weeping, kowtowing man begged,

“We don’t have any buildings large enough. Our meat, the sheep were sick. We didn’t realize till it was too late. Half the town is sick or dying. We have a good doctor, but he can’t tend to everyone at once. We can’t just gather everyone outside, they’re in enough danger as it is.” tears wet the dining room floor. “Please, my daughter has already died. I can’t send my grandchildren to her arms so soon.”

Zeff nodded once and headed into the kitchen.

Sanji shouted,

“What are you waiting for!? Clear the tables and set ‘em to the side, like a storm is blowing in!” Carne shrugged and added,

“Half of us ought to help Chef in the kitchen. Even if it’s just broth it’ll take a lot to feed so many sick people.”

The old man was stunned, looking at the organized chaos with wide, watery eyes. 

“How...?”

Patty pointed at him and said,

“Hey, you are paying right?”

“Yes! Yes, you can take everything I have!”

“Then it’s only right for us to go this far. After all, the customer is king! Now go tell the others you old gas bag!”

The man rushed out, fumbling over his steps.

The dining room was packed. Pallets were rolled out only two feet from each other and every makeshift bed was occupied by a sick person. Ages and the severity of their condition varied.

Sanji really didn’t like being around this many pale, wane faces. They made Sanji’s heart beat too fast and his throat feel too tight. 

The doctor and her assistant moved from bed roll to bed roll, checking on the patients and the family members that tended to them. Every few hours, someone would almost die. By the end of the day, two beds were empty.

Sanji focused on making food. Broth for the ill, bread and fruit for their families, a veritable feast for all the other cooks spending endless hours on their feet to keep everyone full.

Zeff didn’t make him take the food out. It was strange, because that was usually a big part of his job. He was relieved, though. Until Patty had to go and mess everything up.

“Brat, fourth pallet from the back wall, second in.” He shoved the dish in his direction without looking his way. Even Patty was getting tired.

Sanji took the soup with some trepidation. He really didn’t want to go back out there. But someone was hungry, and Sanji couldn't bear to leave them that way. 

The air was thick with sweat and mint and that stale sour smell of sickness. Sanji tried not to breathe. He brought the soup to a boy, a few years older than himself. Maybe, thirteen. His hair was brown and his eyes a shocking green. Given their matching features, Sanji had to assume the woman laying at his feet was his mother.

Thanks.” The boy whispered, taking the bowl and lifting the spoon to his mother’s mouth.

“Come on Mom, it’s good. It’s not too hot, but it’ll warm you up inside. You-you said you were cold?” 

The woman shook her head weakly.

“M sorry, baby.” She still tried to smile for him. 

The boy’s shoulders shook from how hard he cried.

Sanji put his hands in his pockets and said,

“Hey, follow me.”

He turned away quickly, not sure if the teen was following him and kind of hoping he wasn’t.

Sanji was having very bad luck today.

The teenager sniffed behind him through the bodies of moaning patients and into the kitchen. Sanji got a pot out of the pile of freshly cleaned dishes.

“She like seafood?”

“What?”

Sanji looked at the boy like he was stupid and repeated,

“Your mom. Does she like seafood?”

“Yeah, she does. We can’t crab or lobster much, mostly just little fish, but she’s always really happy when we get some.”

“You know how to boil water?” Sajni asked while he pulled a few seasonings over to his station.

The other boy’s cheeks heated.

“Yes I can boil water! You think I’m stupid?!”

“How would I know? Just fill the pot and get it on the stove.”

Sanji headed for the freezer. They kept the shells they’d already shucked in there, saved for when they wanted to make broth. 

Too many eyes followed him out, but nobody asked.

Sanji checked the pot and scoffed.

“So you don’t know how to boil water.”

Dumb kid had filled it almost to the top. They didn’t need that much water and it would just boil over. He dumped out half of it into a separate pot for later and handed the teen the shells he’d selected.

“Why are you giving me garbage?” He asked. 

Sanji looked at him incredulously.

“Garbage?! Don’t you know how stock works? You know what, never mind. Just put them in the water. Add salt. I said salt, not onion powder!”

An hour later he directed the boy, Miles, to drain the shells. Half the stock ended up on the floor and Sanji did not lose his temper. He didn’t. He definitely didn’t make Miles jump and question how someone younger than him knew curse words he’d never heard of.

The remaining broth, too watery, seasoning settled at the bottom, was carefully carried out to Miles’ mom. Miles knelt by her side and prompted, 

“Mom? Wake up, I-I made you this.” The woman opened her green eyes and smiled weakly.

“You cooked for me? All by yourself?”

Miles nodded frantically before stopping and looking back at Sanji. Sanji cleared his throat and said,

“He did it all. He worked really hard to get it right too. Took more than an hour.”

Wonder and love filled her feverish gaze. She cupped Miles’ cheek with a shaky hand. 

“Well what do you know? My son, a cook.” She pushed herself up on her pillow and said, “Let’s try some of this grand meal, hm?”

Miles’ face crumpled and he lifted the first spoonful for his mom to eat. The first food she’d had since her fever rose. Madaline, as Sanji would later learn her name is, grinned from ear to ear after swallowing. 

“That’s the best broth I’ve ever had.” She lied.

Miles fed her the rest, spoonful by spoonful, and Sanji left. He didn’t go back to the kitchen he needed air.

Almost as soon as he stepped out of the dining room a salty breeze ruffled his hair. The sun warmed his skin. But it still followed him. The stench of death.

“Neat trick you pulled off, there.” Zeff said, holding a cup of juice.

“Not really.” Normally he’d protest being given juice like he was a needy child, but today he took the offered drink without a fight and sipped it. He wanted an excuse to stay outside a while longer. “She just seemed like a good mom.”

Good moms love their sons, even when they’re hurting, so they eat, even when they'd rather die.

Sanji's mom had been the best.

Zeff was looking at the small market they’d docked by when he mused,

“We need to restock. There’s still plenty people manning the market. Let’s find some good produce.”

Sanji perked up at the invitation, the excuse to run away from the memories that were weighing him down.

“I’ll grab the wagon!”

He ran off before Zeff could change his mind.

Chapter Text

The market had good produce and iffy seafood. Zeff took the chance to subtly educate Sanji on how to tell fresh caught fish from nearly spoiled product.

The variety of pasta was astounding, though Zeff insisted this was a normal spread. Sanji’d never seen a noodle shaped like a butterfly before, even in the cook books he collected. 

But the best part of the market had to be the meat stalls. Spices and savory scents filled the air.

Sanji’s eye caught on one stall’s kabobs. He hadn’t asked to try them, but somehow Zeff knew. Somehow, Zeff always knew. Sanji glanced a second too long at a bookstore window and the next second zeff was pushing his way into the shop and demanding Sanji pick out at least three things before they could leave. It usually happened with books, nice clothes, or new ingredients. Today it was skewered meat, glistening over a coal bucket that sat in the counter of the stall. He could smell garlic and chili and another aromatic he couldn’t place by smell alone. He bet it was cloves.

“Isn’t this lamb?” Zeff asked once he got closer, bushy eyebrows raised.

“It is, but it was from a different herd.” The vendor said, waving his hands. “My sheep graze on the other side of the island. I just come here to sell them.” The vendor's clothes were worn and faded, fraying at the edges.

Zeff hmphed and tossed the man a few coins, probably more than he was charging. Zeff’s kindness was quiet like that. A thick hand covered with thin white knicks and a constellation of oil burns from a lifetime cooking, passed the kabob to Sanji.

Sanji took a bite and his eyes widened.

“What spice is this? It’s Cloves isn’t it?! Was it in a dry rub or a marinade? How much-”

“Slow down and let him answer.” Zeff chided, though his tone wasn’t as harsh as it usually was. 

Every once and a while, the light would fade from Sanji’s eyes. He’d go from all passion and spitfire, to quiet, despondent, and utterly empty. He’d go days sometimes, not saying a word. Zeff hated those days. He was always on high alert, always aware of where Sanji was and what he was doing. Always afraid. Zeff wasn’t used to being helpless, even after all that time stuck on a rock with nothing to do but starve. He was relieved a skewer was all it took to reignite his Eggplant’s fire this time.

“My wife does most of the cooking, I just sell the things. I’m glad you appreciate it though.” The vendor said with a weary smile. 

Sanji happily chomped his food as the supply wagon filled. Fresh vegetables, Sugar Beets, three Herring that needed to be cooked within twelve hours, and slightly wilted Mint.

They were back at the Baratie by nightfall. 

Seeing home coming into view, Sanji felt his stomach flip.

Zeff saw the way his boy paled and redirected him, nudging his shoulder till he was facing the outer staircase.

“Go on up to bed, Eggplant. I’ll have Miso put away the ingredients.”

The fact Sanji didn’t argue confirmed what it was that upset him in the first place.

Zeff knew Sanji came into his care without parents, dead to him in one way or another. His mother, at least, must have died of sickness. Sanji was always gentle with ladies, even when they were cold or rude to him. The way he knew a mother would choke down food for the sake of a son, the way Sanji almost held his breath in the dining room made triage center, the heartbreaking longing on his face when Madeline first tried the broth, it all pointed in the direction of a recent grave.

As for Sanji’s father... Well, Zeff was doing his best to fill those shoes and if anyone ever came to try and take them back, Zeff would gladly plant one in their deadbeat skull.

Zeff took one last deep breath of fresh air before reentering his restaurant.

Patty, Carne, and Sanji were up making breakfast for the other chefs while Zeff, Miso, and Mayo cleared away the dishes from the night shift’s broth.

Zeff paid careful attention to the young man Sanji had helped and his mother. Her condition was the same. Zeff hoped, if nothing else, she would recover. 

Five more people died in the night. 

The doctor said they could expect at least ten more fatalities. Even with the antibiotic. 

Zeff was callused to white sheets over still bodies and the wailing of loved ones. He’d been a pirate for most of his life after all. He was well acquainted with death. Most of his staff seemed more impacted by the long hours than the losses around them. But Sanji... Zeff didn’t want Sanji to ever be so used to devastation that it couldn’t touch him anymore.

Zeff stooped and picked up an empty bowl. He straightened and his back ached. He stepped over a body under a white sheet and his heart didn’t ache at all.

I’m getting too old for this.

Red-foot Zeff had died years ago, and the chef that remained lived in a world that was cold and unfeeling. Awfully poetic for a retired pirate, but he might occasionally buy himself a book or two when he gets some for Sanji.

Suddenly there was a commotion from the kitchen, shouting and shattering dishes.

“Chef Zeff!” 

Patty burst out of the kitchen face more distressed and horrified than Zeff had ever seen. In his arms, Sanji was curled in on himself, grey and gasping.

Zeff felt the world fall out from under him.

Chapter Text

Zeff crossed the dining room faster than a riptide and cupped Sanji’s cheek. He was burning.

“Sanji, hey, look at me, little Eggplant.”

Sanji’s expression was twisted in agony, sweat dotting his forehead and a red flush on his cheeks contrasting his ashy complexion. Zeff was well acquainted with death and it looked far too much like this.

Sanji pried his eyes open. They were hazy with fever and full of pain. His little lips parted and he rasped,

“Sorry. Skewer.”

Zeff was an angry man once. Some would argue he was still angry. But the kind of apoplectic fury that burned inside of him at that moment boiled his blood.

That vendor . He’d poisoned Sanji. He sold them meat he knew was contaminated. Zeff was going to kick his head clean off his skull. He was going to feel his skull buckle under his heel.

“He was making eggs and just, he just fell over. Chef, what do we do?” Patty asked anxiously.

Sanji’s face went lax and his head flopped back against Patty’s chest. The sound the large man made was almost a whimper and almost a shriek. Sanji had never been so small.

“Lay him down and get the doctor. I’ll watch him.” Zeff ordered.

There were several open places for Sanji. Knowing why made Zeff’s stomach twist. Yesterday there had barely been room to walk.

Patty hurried to the nearest pallet and laid the little chef down gently. He even kept a hand under his head, lowering it slowly. 

Zeff sat down next to him and immediately rested two fingers on his boy’s wrist. His heartbeat was rapid and thready. His breaths came in erratic gasps. Zeff pushed back his bangs out of his face. They were already wet with sweat. Whatever had contaminated the food, it had come on fast and strong as a seatrain.

Patty was literally hualing the doctor to them, the women thrown over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Zeff couldn’t find it in him to scold the man.

The doctor, for her part, maintained her composure. She fixed her glasses, which were slightly askew, and reached for the same wrist Zeff was holding.

He hadn’t meant to growl at her, but he must have looked fierce because the Doctor’s hand froze mid-air. She looked at Zeff and said, seriously,

“I am going to do everything I can to treat your son. I know you’re angry, I don’t blame you. You opened your home to us and someone hurt your kid. I can’t imagine how anyone could do something so heartless to anyone, let alone a child. He needs to be treated immediately for him to have a fighting chance.”

A fighting chance. A fighting chance .

Zeff’s hand fell away and gripped his crossed knee. There were so many empty spaces in the dining room now. Behind him he could hear two of his chef’s helping to carry out another pallet covered in a white sheet.

The doctor felt Sanji’s pulse and lifted an eyelid to check his Sclera, but Sanji jerked away from her hand and gasped, eyes open and terrified.

Zeff rested a hand on his head and said,

“Sanji, hey, it’s alright. The it’s just the doctor-”

Sanji screamed. 

“No!”

He rolled away off his pallet and tried to pull himself away on shaky arms. His lungs seized as he hyperventilated and he coughed and-and Zeff’s heart seized too. There was a spray of blood on the floor.

Zeff scrambled over to Sanji, pulling him into his arms, chest constricting at how trembling little limbs tried to fight him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay Eggplant. I’ve got you. Just breathe. Seas, please just breathe.” Zeff closed his eyes when they started to water. He hadn’t cried in decades and he wasn’t going to now. Crying would mean Sanji was already lost.

Hitched, wet breaths continued to come too rapidly, but now Sanji was clinging to Zeff rather than trying to run away.

“P’ease. Don let ‘em. Hurts .” He begged. Sanji had never begged anyone for anything.

“I’d sooner cut off my other leg than let anyone hurt you, you know that. She just wants to see how sick you are so she can help.” 

Sanji shook his head and sobbed.

“No. g’nna cut me open.”

Zeff recoiled.

“Why would- No, Sanji, no. She’s just going to take your temperature and check your breathing.”

The doctor added,

“And feel his throat. I need to make sure it’s not in danger of closing.”

“Ya hear that, Eggplant? She’s only going to touch you twice, and I’ll be here the whole time. If anyone came close to cutting you open I’d put my foot through their skull before you could say stop it.”

“ He didn’t.” Sanji rasped, feverish eyes suddenly far away. Zeff held Sanji closer, like if he loosened his grip at all Sanji might drift too far to come back.

“Then I’ll kill him too.” Whoever he was. “Now, are you going to let the nice lady help or not?”

Sanji’s tense body went limp. It was answer enough for the Doctor.

“Hello Sanji, My name is Dr. Pressor. Could you look at me, please?”

Sanji looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Thank you.” The veins of his eyes were pronounced and watery. “We’ve had a hectic few days, you and I. Trying to take care of all these people. I try to be very gentle with my patients. I’ll be very gentle with you too, young man. Would you open your mouth for me? I’m just going to put in the thermometer.” 

Sanji complied hesitantly.

“Good man, Eggplant.” Zeff praised. He was trying not to think about how exhausted his boy looked, how small Sanji’s head was pressed against his shoulder.

“I’m going to feel the sides of your neck now, just with my fingertips.” Sanji was shaking again, eye squoze shut, but he didn’t flinch away. “Thank you, Sanji. I’ll take back that thermometer now.”

She checked the temperature, her expression never changing. 

Patty was hovering a few feet away, wringing his bandana in his meaty hands. Carne and a few others were waiting closer to the kitchen, giving the illusion of privacy of nothing else. 

Dr. Pressor smiled at Sanji and asked, 

“Would it be alright if the gentleman who brought me over stays with you while I talk to your dad? It'll only take a minute.”

Sanji was as reluctant to let go of Zeff as Zeff was to let go of Sanji. Still, Zeff didn't want Sanji to hear himself be talked about and not to, so he carefully set his boy back on his bedroll and motioned for Patty to come closer. 

Sanji didn’t look at Patty, his pride making a sudden and unexpected reappearance, but when the older cook sat down next to him, a shaky hand reached out and grabbed hold of his pant leg.

Zeff followed the doctor out onto the patio. 

“How is he?”

“Young. Whether or not that'll be an advantage…  When was he exposed to the tainted meat?”

“Yesterday afternoon. A vendor in the market. He swore the lamb was from a heerd on the other side of the island.”

Pressor nodded and tactfully ignored the bloodlust radiating from the head chef.

“With the speed and severity the symptoms came, I'm guessing he's always had a weak immune system?”

Zeff scoffed, 

“Kid has never taken a sick day in his life.” His expression sobered. “He did, however, spend far too long marooned when he was younger. Stuck for eighty days and without any food for sixty of them. He was in rough shape for a long time after that.”

The doctor’s expression finally changed. She was shocked, looking back at the entrance to the restaurant with something like wonder on her face.

“That, it's a miracle he survived that at all.” She shook her head and regained her professional demeanor. “Your son- is he your son?”

“Not officially. We were stuck on that rock together. I've been trying to look out for him ever since.” And yet he’d just stood there and watched Sanji eat poison. Had bought it for him.

“I see. I'll give him the shot he needs right away, though given his earlier reaction, it might be best to wait till he's sleeping so as not to cause any more distress.”

Zeff was saving his worries and anger in a carefully simmering pot in the back of his mind where it would stay until it was safe to let it boil over. 

“Will waiting make much difference in the outcome?”

“No. If we waited a full day that would be a different story, but an hour won't change his chances.” There was that word again. Chances .

“And what exactly are his chances?”

Pressor hated this part of her job. 

“With medication, his odds improve. Malnutrition might put him at disadvantage but you said he's never been sick before so-”

“Doc. What is the survival rate? 90%? 80?”

“Sixty. It's sixty percent.” She looked at the doors to the dining room helplessly. “Out of all those people in there, four in every ten will die. I'm sorry.”

Zeff remembered the way the last few days on the rock had felt. It had been hot, but he couldn’t feel it anymore. The world was a haze to his eyes. He had felt detached from his body, like he was dreaming. When the boy cried for him, when he screamed out to a ship, when many hands lifted him out of the sun and onto a bed, he hadn’t felt any of it. 

He thanked the doctor and headed back inside and the Baratie was muffled the same way.

He took Patty’s place and waved off his quiet questions. The panic in his voice didn’t register.

Zeff took Sanji’s hand in his own and kept two fingers over his thin wrist. 

Six out of ten didn’t sound so bad until someone you love might be one of the other four. There were about two-hundred people who had been diagnosed. Of those, forty-eight had already died. Another thirty-two would die before everything was over. If not more. 

Sanji was sleeping, but it hardly looked restful. Zeff took a cool cloth and wiped the boy’s burning forehead. Someone had left a bowl of broth next to them too. Probably Carne.

Zeff sighed and rubbed his eyes with two fingers. He should have talked to them. The Little Eggplant’s arm had a small bandage, which meant that at some point Pressor had come and given his boy a shot. Zeff took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He rubbed his thumb along Sanji’s forehead and muttered,

“Fool Doctor doesn't know what she's talking about. She doesn't know you. You survived a pirate raid and a ship wreck. You survived eighty days exposed to the elements and starving. You survived everything else that hurt you before that. No son of mine is getting taken out by bad meat.” He talked through the lump in his throat. “And no one would forget it either. Patty and Carne will crack jokes about you croaking on a shishkabob and bust a rib laughing at you. I know you hate it when they laugh at you. So you'll survive this, no problem. You'll show ‘em all, won't you, Eggplant?” Sanji didn’t answer.

Miso was walking around collecting empty dishes when Zeff waved him over.

“Yes, Sir?” Miso asked, eyes flicking between his boss and Sanji.

Zeff hefted himself up, his joints stiff and aching from sitting for...however long he’d been sitting.

“I need to go update the other idiots. Stay here and keep an eye on him. I won’t be long.”

Miso dropped to the floor immediately, expression as serious as when his brother Mayo had nearly cut his thumb off.

“I’ve got him, Chef.”

Zeff hobbled more than usual as he made his way into the kitchen. He felt every one of his years.

Patty was the first to notice him. He dropped the stack of clean dishes back into the dirty sink water and ran up to him.

“Chef Zeff!”

The other cooks left their stations, one not even bothering to turn off his stove.

“Is the kid okay?”

“He’s just got the flu, right? It isn’t what they’ve got?”

“How did he get so sick?”

“Shut up and let him talk!”

“Oh yeah cause you yelling is quieting things right down.”

“What did you say to me?!”

Zeff spoke softly, but everyone fell silent at his words.

“A vendor gave Sanji tainted meat yesterday.” Patty looked furious and Carne took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “His odds aren’t what I’d like them to be, but he’s beat the odds before. We’ll know in a day or two which way things are going to go. Once he’s in the clear, I’m trusting you all to watch the restaurant while I hunt down the scum that’s responsible.”

Patty shook his head, face red and fists clenched.

“I’m coming too. I’ll kill ‘em.” He insisted.

Zeff glared and stepped closer. Despite having to look up at Patty, the man felt like he was being stared down by a giant.

“I don’t think you realize what you just said. You think I’m leaving Sanji with any less than all of you to protect him?”

Patty flowdered, realizing what Zeff meant. Zeff was trusting them, trusting him, and Patty had smacked that trust away in favor of feeding his own anger.

Patty took a step back.

“Sorry, Chef.”

Miso burst into the room, eyes wide.

“Chef Zeff! Sanji is awake! He’s asking for you.”