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Why is this happening?
He's been beat up before. At the hands of his father, his brothers, lowlife pirates, and total scum.
Survived years under the foot of them. The Vinsmokes. Reminded constantly of how different he was, why he would never belong. Isolated and tortured for daring to be born less than "perfect".
Nearly starved to death. Too big in his own dwindling body as bones protruded from his papery thin skin and his heart sluggishly tripped along.
Faced down insurmountable odds and barely scraped by with his rag tag group of idiots at his side.
Sanji knew pain.
Has known it like an addict with their vice. Something that would forever haunt him but he just couldn't quite escape. Would never be able to put it down. It's like he was a glutton for it choosing the life he has.
Has known every flavor of it starting from as far back as he could remember. Young and so desperate to escape them, only to fall into a life filled with it.
He hid behind his strength, his drive, and fuck- chain smoking like some shoddy shield. And it held up. Mostly.
But it couldn't hide how intimately he knew despair upon his flesh. The slow agonizing kind that stripped you of your sanity or the brutal kind that made your knees give and teeth crack.
Everything in between.
Now was different. Wrong.
Just hours ago he all but signed his own death sentence, facing down an attack directly from Enel. When was he not at deaths door, following Luffy across the world was a risk in itself.
But the others were there, he had to protect them. Even at his detriment. And that's just how it was because how could he be useful if he couldn't contribute. Their lives mattered more. He'd always protect them.
The lightning had ripped through him so savagely his nerves almost didn't perceive it. Beyond his body's comprehension leaving him in shock. Hopped up on the adrenaline and his last cigarette before finally crashing.
And as he woke, consciousness slowly piecing back together, he didn't even want to look at himself.
The evidence of his pain would be on his flesh. Maybe in dark, spider webbing fingers poisoning his fair skin. Or white lashes, raw and jagged as if they're trying to rip out of him. A colorful array of bruises and absolute agony that would make his day to day miserable for a while.
It was to his utter horror when he finally found the courage to open his eyes that there was nothing.
Not a single scar from the self proclaimed god's wrath. Not even a discolored bump or scrape.
What?
Sanji sat there stunned. It didn't even hurt to sit up. His organs should be cooked along with the rest of his insides. Boiled within his blood from the sheer voltage that coursed through him not too long ago.
Chopper couldn't have done this. There's no amount of medical care that could simply wipe it all away. Make it seem like the attack hadn't even touched his skin.
No.
Why wasn't he in debilitating pain?
No. No. No.
Pure agony and riddled with the aftermath.
I can't…
Fear so sudden gripped his heart, he couldn't breathe. His hands claw at the few bandages wrapped around his arms like he'd find what he was missing under them only to find more of his own unblemished flesh.
Sanji could take a beating and walk away from it. He knew that.
But not one like this.
There would be reminders for weeks to come. Years even.
Should be.
A numbness spread from his spine all too quickly and oozed along his nerves. Making all his senses fuzzy and light. Like he might blow away on the next breeze.
Consciousness detached from the situation because this couldn't be happening.
He'd rather have the ugliest scars marring his body for the rest of his life than the alternative.
To be like them. Unfeeling science experiments without hearts. Monsters.
Was he more like them than he thought? Why wasn't he aching? Did he imagine getting struck by Enel? But he remembers how raw his skin felt just hours ago. Why was this happening now? Where was the pain? Would he also become a heartless killer? Why was this happening?
Fuck.
He had to get out. Away from everyone else before he could hurt anyone. Turn into some disgusting, inhuman thing. Then he'd burn through a pack of cigarettes, maybe a second one, and figure out what to do next.
Sanji sat up in a blur. Tossed the light sheet thrown on top of him to the side and stood on shaky legs.
He wasn't on the Going Merry, and rather in the jungle. They were still on the sky island then. There was still a little bit of daylight shining through the looming trees and the crackle of a fire was nearby. Alright. As he took in more of his surroundings he saw Usopp was also on the ground under a blanket a few feet away. Chopper's work. Everything must've gone well while he was unconscious.
That was all great but the growing tightness in Sanji's chest urged him forward. Frantically so.
Away. Away.
He didn't know where to go but anywhere else would do. Distant conversation graces his ears but he cant quite make out the sounds. In fact he changes course to go further from it.
Fallen leaves and twigs snap under his dress shoes as he stumbles through the growing darkness. Unfamiliar birds croak and sing overhead as Sanji's mind free falls.
His chest constricts painfully and he almost welcomes it if it weren't for the fact he couldn't take a full breath.
Shit. I can't-
When did he start breathing so hard?
His head felt dangerously light. He brought a hand up to his chest and clutched the fabric of his button up.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His heart was still there, but it was racing like it'd jump right out of his body any second leaving him with a crater in his chest.
I'm like them.
Disgusting.
Monstrous.
Abomination.
"What the hell are you doing, cook?"
"Fuck!"
Sanji's foot caught on a root and he was sent falling. Until he wasn't.
Deep blue tank top. Firm muscle. Stench of sweat, sword oil, and sake. Sanji's already fogged senses were filled with him. Things couldn't get worse.
"Didn't take you for such a klutz. Don't you pride yourself on your coordination?" Zoro snickers in his ear.
Breath ghosts his skin and sends shivers down his spine. Warm hands hold his back and feel like they're branding his skin through his shirt.
The idiot caught him. Like he's some damsel. When did he even get in front of him?
Frustration, old and familiar, swells in Sanji's already constricting chest. There's barely any room for it. His hands find the bastard's large chest and shove.
"Screw off," he growls and shoulders past without another glance. Eyes straight ahead toward the dense trees.
He couldn't do their usual shit right now. The fighting and banter, or even the rare but genuine conversations. Zoro was the last person he wanted seeing him like this. Over his dead fucking body.
Sanji barely made it five steps before the idiot was calling after him. Like he couldn't help himself. Not an inch of self control.
"Shouldn't you be resting your dainty ass?"
He wasn't going to fall for it. Not tonight. Even if something in his gut longs to turn around. It would be so easy.
His hand grips his shirt tighter to ground himself. Though it doesn't ease the choke hold his ribs have on his lungs.
God, I can't breathe.
The once towering trees begin to press in on him. Like the oppressive shadow of Judge. His skin crawls, unnaturally unblemished, but still holding so many phantoms.
"Hey!"
A hand wraps around his arm and he chokes.
"Where are you going?" Zoro asks. A deep frown etches into his tan features.
As if he cares.
Sanji is frozen under his gaze all the same.
When he doesn't answer Zoro's eyes narrow more and he doesn't move. Waiting.
"What's it to you, mosshead?" he spits. But the words barely come out and he trembles under Zoro's strong grip. He knows Zoro can feel it too.
He could really use a cigarette right now.
For as dumb and annoying as Zoro is, he's far too observant at times.
Those dark eyes pin him to the spot. Strip him down in one unimpressed look and soften right after. If that's even possible for the meathead.
Maybe Sanji's eyes were playing tricks on him now.
The bane of his existence was seeing too much and he didn't know how much time he had before he lost control.
Would he lose control like some machine? Would he attack Zoro? Mow him down and then go after the others without so much as a scratch left on his body or trickle of remorse?
He couldn't do that. Would never even dream of hurting his crewmates.
But if he already wasn't even a little injured from a literal strike from the heavens, anything else was possible.
So he needs to leave.
And stupid Zoro is in his way, not giving him a moments peace. He's on the verge of ripping his own hair out- can't feel his fingertips, and he can't fucking breathe right, stupid body not listening-
"Cook!"
Sanji's eyes fly open. When did he close them? His knees ache. Why is he kneeling? His chest heaves and Zoro is right in front of him. Staring at him like he's a bomb he needs to diffuse.
"Take a fucking breath," Zoro grits out lowly. Like crushed gravel or the groan of the Merry. Those brutish hands hold Sanji's shoulders in a death grip and shake him lightly.
He wants to shove this idiot off, but his limbs feel like lead that could sink him to the bottom of the grand line.
His lips curl to spit another insult, anything to get him to go away, but a strangled grunt is all that comes out. Zoro's face screws up in an expression Sanji's never seen before, but makes his stomach sink anyway.
"Breathe," Zoro commands firmly. Calloused hands take Sanji's and pry them from his shirt and with that it's like the damn breaks. He gasps down a breath like he's just surfaced after nearly drowning. And each breath after burns as they fill his lungs. But it's a good burn because it hurts. It's real.
Sanji sits like that for a long time. In silence. Breathing while Zoro holds his hands. He didn't want to know how long he sat there staring blankly and gaping like a damn fish while Zoro sat there like he had all the time in the world. But the tightness in his chest gradually eases and the feeling returns to his hands. He's left feeling exhausted but his mind is already trying to spiral into a panic yet again. He still needed to get away.
"Leave me alone, you stupid mosshead," Sanji whispers and yanks his hands back. Zoro doesn't let go and his light brows draw together.
"No."
Sanji's at his limit. His ends fraying leaving nothing behind.
"Can't you listen to me for once?!" he tries to pull back again but fails. Too weak to put up much of a fight.
"You're acting weird, and it's my job to make sure the crew is alright. That includes your dumbass," Zoro rolls his eyes, but the concern is clear in the set of his shoulders. Tight and bunched up.
"I'm fine."
"No. You're not."
"Since when did you become a therapist?"
Zoro scoffs and jostles their joined hands. "What's got your fuckin' panties in a twist?"
"I don't have to tell you shit-"
"Tell me!"
Sanji groans and looks up at the trees overhead. Like something would come to his rescue any second and spare him from this conversation. Maybe Luffy, and he'd cause enough of a distraction he could slip away. But there's only a canopy of leaves rustling with the breeze above in some synchronized dance.
That tightness threatens to encroach on his ribs again. He feels trapped. A cornered animal.
Like hell was Sanji going to say a damn thing about his upbringing and why that was causing all of this right now.
But Sanji's mouth starts moving before he can stop it. Something about Zoro right now made him want to spill. Alleviate some of the burden on him. "Enel… he- how did Chopper just make everything go away?" he huffs in desperation. He'd throw his hands up in exasperation if Zoro wasn't holding them stubbornly.
The swordsman tilts his head in confusion at his cryptic words and gives him an exasperated look back.
"He's a damn good doctor, that's why?"
"You don't get it," Sanji sighs, "I should- there should be… there's nothing!" he looks down at himself like that’s explanation enough.
Zoro just raises one of his brows at his desperate stuttering. Not following at all.
"There's nothing," Sanji repeats and finally frees his hands from Zoro with one last tug and immediately rips at his loose bandages. The couple barely hanging off his arms fall away easily to reveal porcelain skin without so much as a bruise underneath. Then his hands grapple with the buttons of his shirt. It should be so easy, practiced muscle memory after years, but his hands shake slightly and he struggles.
Zoro grunts and raises his hands as if to help but Sanji growls and rips the last of the shirt open. And his hands claw at the tightly wrapped bandages around his chest.
"There's nothing, you dumb meathead," he mutters again, sounding like a broken record. And lets his hands fall defeated on the tops of his legs.
Zoro doesn't say a word as he looks at him. Taking in the damage, or lack there of. Eyes scanning his skin, taught over lithe muscle but unmarked.
"You're upset that you healed up good?" Zoro asks flatly, breaking their silence.
This utter idiot.
Just like that, any lingering ache in his chest was gone. With the aid of Zoro's stupidity at that. He didn't understand and Sanji wasn't going to explain it.
"You're impossible," Sanji growls and forces himself back onto his feet. His legs protest but he walks anyway, wiping the dirt from his pant legs as he goes. And tries his best to hide the tremors still in his hands.
"What? If you're that upset over it I can give you some bruises to worry about!" he shouts after him with an indignant huff.
"You couldn't put a bruise on me if you tried, dumbass!"
He stomps off into the brush, but feeling more centered in reality than he did before.
His knees hurt from collapsing and his hands tingled from where Zoro's held his. Sanji could still feel. The aches and warmth. He didn't have any murderous urges and he still had his emotions. Of that he was very sure. The usual annoyance was rolling over him in waves from Zoro's denseness. Typical.
Once he got far enough away did he stop and finally dig out his crumpled pack of cigarettes. His golden lighter was in his hand automatically like it fit there and he lit one before taking a deep drag.
"Fucking hell," he whispers on the exhale and smoke plumes before his lips. The smoke curls away to melt into the dark sky and he takes another pull off the cigarette.
Maybe today was a fluke. Something he didn't have to worry about. It didn't make sense to suddenly change into the very thing he wasn't his entire life now. Years later. That just wasn't possible. Or logical.
He was tough and strong by his own merit and hard work.
Sanji was more than that.
If it happens again… then he'd worry. Maybe even tell Chopper. Their doctor might be able to help him. But that was hinging on an "if". A hypothetical that didn't deserve his attention if it would only stress him out more than he already is.
The nicotine is good. Fills his lungs in an achingly familiar way before passing his lips in a cloud of light gray smoke.
He just needs a second to wind down a little more before joining the others. He's still jittery and raw like a live wire.
Yeah.
There's so many dishes he could whip together with all the ingredients available on this island. Make a real nice feast fitting their triumphs today.
Yeah.
Just in a few more minutes.
When he takes his next drag his hands still shake.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later that night once the partying winds down and everyone's had their fill, Sanji retires.
His feet are sore from the dancing and celebrating everyone got up to. And he's tired. Really fucking tired.
Any other night he'd love to dote on Nami or Robin some more. Indulge in some of Usopp's stories, chase off Luffy from the food, or play around with Chopper. Hell, even drink with Zoro.
But not tonight.
Plus he's only got a single cigarette left in his pocket, and only one more pack left back on the ship. Those would have to last him until the next time they dock somewhere with a decent market.
So despite his every urge to pull out another cigarette before he tucks in for the night, he resists.
The boy's quarters of the ship are empty so far. Everyone is still lingering out around the bonfire partying and drinking the night away. That's good.
Sanji goes through the motions of washing up. Strips down and folds his clothes away to be washed later. Takes a quick bath to get rid of the grime still sticking to his skin. A not so subtle reminder of how his flesh was charred not even hours ago and magically not anymore. Then he dresses again and hops into his hammock.
It isn't quite the same without everyone else in here or the gentle sway as the waves hit the hull, but it's enough. Quiet and familiar.
Familiar is good.
He rolls onto his side and lets his eyes close. Once he gets this day behind him he can forget it ever happened. Go on about their adventure and worry about the things that should be worried about. Like keeping his stupid captain out of his kitchen, if the pantry is stocked, and what this weeks meal plan would look like. On top of whatever crazy shit their crew would inevitably get into.
Sanji wouldn't trade it for the world.
Right when he's on the verge of finally succumbing to sleep his hammock dips and sways as more weight settles onto it. And a wall of heat presses against his back.
"Move over," comes Zoro's grumbled voice. Just slightly slurred but relaxed like the man had plenty to drink and was ready to sleep it off.
"This is my hammock, bitch. Get off," he hisses over his shoulder.
It was too late for this bullshit and he was too tired.
That seems to be the trend with the idiot lately.
Things have always been different between them and Sanji refuses to acknowledge it in any way, shape, or form. The topic was about as touchy as his past.
The watchful eyes across the deck or battlefield, the intentional arguments that weren't really arguments (haven't been for a long time), or the mutual trust.
Sanji is close to all of his crew of course. But Zoro was like a pesky weed that dug his way deeper and Sanji couldn't get rid of him.
Did he really want to?
"Nah. Too tired," Zoro mumbles and yawns loudly in his face. His breath stinks of booze. "Besides, I'm pretty sure this is my hammock."
Sanji scoffs and wrinkles his nose. "Stupid mosshead, stupid booze breath," he mutters and turns over to face his intruder fully. "Move," he grunts as he raises a leg and wedges it between them to kick Zoro off.
A scuffle ensues. A childish one at that. Somehow neither falls from the hammock, though it does swing precariously around as they wrestle. Zoro grabs his leg to stop any attempts to kick him to the floor and shoves his hand in Sanji's face. Meanwhile Sanji curses under his breath as he tries to wriggle his leg free from the other’s hold and rams his elbow into Zoro’s side.
"Let go!"
"No, you!"
"Fuckin- mosshead!"
"Curly brow!"
"This is my hammock!"
"I don't give a rats ass!"
In a huff they sag back into the hammock as it swings gently. Out of breath and worn out.
"I'm staying here for the night. Get over it," Zoro grunts. The bastard lets go of his leg but then drapes his arm over him as he makes himself comfortable. All cuddly and shit.
Sanji recoils but doesn't get far. Zoro squeezes him like a damn python and tangles their legs together. It was this or the floor- or he could just steal someone else's hammock. But he’s too prideful to move now. This is just like everything else they do.
"I hate you," he hisses as he settles down too. His forehead nearly presses against Zoro's and their breaths mingle in the small space. Bodies curled together like an almost cohesive puzzle.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Me too."
He almost laughs. How absurd. This man. Fucking things up all the time. Sanji’s things in particular.
It's quiet for a long moment. Like before when he was about to fall asleep. Peaceful in an odd way now that there's another person to share it with. He’s completely still and watches the swordsman.
Sanji starts to wonder if Zoro dozed off already. His eyes are closed, face relaxed, and breaths deep. The lazy bum never looks so calm during the day. Not even during his naps on the ship.
And he's so damn close and so damn warm right now.
He dares to wrap an arm around him in return.
"I know something scared you earlier," Zoro whispers out of the blue, almost making Sanji jump out of his skin.
He doesn't entertain him with an answer.
"I'm not your fucking keeper or whatever, but you can talk to me. Not as the first mate or anything, just- you know..." he whispers this time more gruffly. Like he wasn't so sure for once and whatever alcohol he drank earlier had left his system.
Sanji thinks the awkwardness is endearing. It reminds him that they're both still pretty young out on such an ambitious and unpredictable journey.
Though he'll take that sweet sentiment to the grave.
"I know."
It's truly quiet from there. No more fighting, no more useless arguing. Tangled up in too small of a hammock and sharing body heat with Zoro. The mosshead he'd no doubt be bickering with come sunrise.
Sanji can't recall when he falls asleep, but it's some of the best rest he's gotten in weeks.
No worries of Germa experiments or abuses long since left in the past.
Just the future lies ahead. Vast and uncertain like the sea, and exhilarating like a lighting strike.