Chapter Text
This was probably the last phone call Sanji had ever wanted to receive.
Or maybe not. Maybe, if he was honest, there was relief buried somewhere in the mess of it - because now it could never happen again.
What was the proper reaction, anyway, when some lawyer told you your family had been assassinated overseas? Horror? Grief? Laughter? Especially when you haven't seen them since nine years old, hadn’t even heard their voices outside of nightmares.
Was it wrong to be relieved?
Wrong to think they deserved it?
Wrong to remember the cold nights locked in that cellar and feel - finally - untouchable?
If it was wrong, then only he would know. Only he could judge himself for that.
He forced his foot down on the accelerator harder than necessary as he drove his shitbox through the winding country roads. With any luck, he'd get into a crash and die before he ever had the chance to arrive.
But, as always, the universe was uninterested in giving him what he damn wanted.
The trees blurred past in a flurry of green and gold, the few pedestrians about walking in ignorant bliss that the people who kept him awake at night had been obliterated. Whether it was by gunshot, or stabbing, or defenestration, he had no idea. The lawyer had been intentionally vague, citing 'tragic and unexpected circumstances.' He hadn't given details, and Sanji hadn't bothered to ask.
In fact, he was in his right mind to get up and leave, telling him to stick his sob story where the sun don't shine. Until he was told that his 'father' - Judge - had left something, one of his estates in the middle of nowhere, to him.
What a sick joke.
He should've expected the cruel bastard would try to torture him one last time.
How he'd even managed to find him, he dreaded to think. He'd long since discarded the Vinsmoke name, and he'd never so much as uttered a word about his old life to anyone. But Judge had more influence in his damn pinky than Sanji could even dream of, so he shouldn't be too surprised.
But it made him feel no better.
He switched gears and pulled into the long gravel driveway, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the path. If he refused to look at the house as it got closer, perhaps it would just disappear and he could drive right past it.
But he couldn't avoid it forever.
He stopped the car and sat holding the wheel for a long while, his jaw clenched painfully, the house reminding him too much of Judge. Looming. Imposing. He forced himself not to sink back into his seat, the way he always had as a child.
The building was bigger and grander than it had any reason to be - three stories and twelve thousand square feet of pure spectacle. Spectacle that was never even lived in, only built to impress the newest diplomat or VIP he probably didn't even bother to remember the names of.
The mansard roof, large arched windows and elaborate, and unnecessary ornamentation, made the second empire style influences unquestionable. Pretentious, over-designed, and dead inside, just like he was.
Though, the style was ironic. Judge had worshiped every new advancement in technology, but when it came to appearances, he'd chosen something centuries past it's prime - a mausoleum dressed up as a palace. It was unsurprisingly impersonal, and Sanji wasn't sure if that made him feel better or not.
He killed the engine. The silence pressed in, too heavy, too expectant for somewhere so isolated. He shoved the door open, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket before his feet even hit the gravel. It was his second pack of that day and it was already almost empty. They didn't do much to make that thick feeling in the back of his throat go away. At least they gave his hands something to do.
The porch decking creaked loudly as he climbed the stairs, the keys heavy in his hand. He turned the lock and stared at the door handle, swallowing hard.
He could turn around. He could go home and sell the house and pretend none of this ever happened. Hell, he could save himself the headache of finding a buyer and just disclaim the inheritance. No one would care. He'd never have to see this place again.
But...the thought of his mother kept him from turning back.
That some of her belongings could be inside - stuffed carelessly into a cardboard box. Hidden away like some kind of forbidden history.
He had to look. He needed to check.
Fuck it.
He swung the door open, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it. He exhaled sharply, eyes darting around the halls like he expected his family to be there, ready to ambush him for daring to step foot inside.
But there was no one. No noise at all.
He took a shaky breath and dropped the keys back into his pocket. He didn't bother to shut the door.
The foyer was cold and stale, thick in his throat, like fresh air hadn't circulated in a while. Bright shafts of sunlight streaming in through the windows revealed nothing but dust floating like ghosts.
Wooden detailing decorated the room, panelling and dado rails littered the walls. Plasterwork highlighted the ceiling around an obnoxious glass chandelier. Normally, he'd have admired the craftsmanship
But it only felt hollow. A stage set missing it's cast.
Even in the entryway of the house, it was unsettling just how empty it was. No coats or shoes by the door. No family photos on the wall. What few pieces of furniture he could see - like golden candle holders polished for show and an antique grandfather clock - made it clear someone had been hired to furnish the place. It almost made him sad, the pathetic display of empty wealth clearly done for the opinion of others.
He stubbed out his spent cigarette into a glass dish on a dresser by the base of the stairs, his tapping footsteps echoing across the wooden floor as he went. Almost immediately, he itched for another.
He could hear a subtle draft coming in from upstairs - the slight whistle carrying through the spacious halls. The thin layer of dust on the banister told him the maid hadn't been around since the assassination. Why Judge even bothered to clean a house he never stayed at - well, that was Judge. Appearances over everything.
He set his foot on the first step - then froze. His hand hovered on the banister, gripping tightly.
No.
No, no, no.
The breath caught sharp in his throat. There it was. Hanging at the top of the staircase like a sentry: gold frame, gaudy as hell, swallowing the wall. And inside it - those eyes.
Judge’s eyes.
They pinned him where he stood. Cold. Small. Drilling right through him, the way they had when he was a child, in every goddamn room the man ever entered. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t even blink. One inch, and the thing would leap down off the wall and have him by the collar, staff raised-
His fists clenched tight. His palms were slick. Sweat itched at his hairline like he’d sprinted a mile, though his body wouldn’t move an inch. The nausea rolled up hard, bitter.
Judge in his stiff robes. The stupid mask, never cracked. That scowl - Christ, that scowl - that said you are nothing, and I own you.
The chandelier ticked faintly as it was swayed by the draught. Or maybe that was the clock. Or maybe it was just his heart, hammering so loud it swallowed the silence whole.
This was a mistake, what the hell was he thinking?
The shrill ring of his phone rang out from his pocket. He flinched so hard it hurt, stumbling back a step.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, quickly retreating back out onto the porch like the air inside were poison and accepted the call, his hands still trembling. "Hello?" He internally cursed as his voice cracked.
"Finally, man!" Usopp's familiar voice chuckled, warm and careless through the speaker. "I've been tryna text you. You sound like you've just ran a marathon."
Ssnji dragged a hand over his face, trying to steady his breath. His throat still felt raw. He forced a laugh that came out thin. "Yeah. Something like that."
"You free tonight? Thought we could grab a drink. I've been stuck at L's all weekend 'cause of some house repairs, and I am desperate."
Sanji stared out past the porch. The hill fell away into sprawling moorland and woods that went on for miles. "Uh, I would, but I can't. I'm... out of town."
"Out of town?" Usopp's tone shifted suspiciously. "Since when do you go anywhere besides the restaurant?"
"Since today," Sanji muttered. He lit another cigarette with shaky hands before he'd even thought about it, letting the smoke fill the silence.
He heard Usopp hum over the line. "Wait a minute," he said suddenly. "Sanji... are you with someone?"
His suggestive tone almost made Sanji laugh. Almost. He considered lying for a small moment, but he'd definitely end up with more questions if he did. There was no point. "No, it's just me. I've just got... some stuff to deal with."
"Stuff," Usopp repeated flatly. "Mysterious as always. What kind of stuff? Just general secret activity?"
Sanji hesitated. Again, his first instinct was to lie, invent some excuse about a work errand or car trouble. But who was he kidding? It was impossible to lie to Usopp. His sense for that was impeccable. He loosened the collar of his shirt- it felt too tight, strangling. "I've... Inherited a house."
There was a beat of stunned silence, then Usopp let out a laugh. "You? A homeowner? Bet Zeff's glad you won't be stealing his spare room anymore."
The mention of his adoptive father brought a lump to his throat. He hadn't told him about the house. He hadn't told him about Judge. Not yet. Maybe never. "Don't get ahead of yourself - I don't know if I'm gonna keep it."
"Oh, come on, this is huge! You can't get rid of it! Where is it? When do I get a grand tour?"
"You don't," Sanji snapped, more harshly than he'd meant to. He closed his eyes, raking a hand through his hair. "...it's complicated, that's all."
Usopp was quiet for a moment. Then softer, "look, if it's complicated, surely you'll need some help with it, right? And you know me, I'm the world's leading expert in house exploration and emotional support for traumatised homeowners."
Sanji stared through the gaping doorway, the stale air still spilling from inside. He could feel the weight of that portrait pressing down on him, even from here.
He clenched his fist, pressing crescents into his palm. He really shouldn't. But he considered the way Usopp lifted him up, ever a rock when he didn't always feel so strong. Even if Usopp did have the anxiety level of a startled rodent.
"...Yeah. Okay," the words left him on a breath. "But maybe not tonight. Can you make it tomorrow? And- can we keep this between us for now? Just until I've figured a few things out."
Sanji could hear Usopp's smile through the line. "Absolutely! My lips are sealed - just text me the address, and I gotchu. And I'll bring some holy water - Y'know, in case the place is haunted."
He managed a weak smile. "Alright. Thanks, Usopp."
He hung up, arm dropping limp down to his side. He stayed standing on the porch for a while, chewing the filter of his spent cigarette.
Shit that was probably a terrible idea.
He couldn't even make it up the stairs - how the hell was he going to explain that?
But then again...
He flicked his cigarette onto the ground, watching as it fell through a gap in the porch decking, and stepped back through the front door.
He wasn't that weak nine year old. Not anymore.
He stepped back inside.