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Sanji trudged through the rain, biting back a curse at the mud squelching noisily against his shoes as he sunk deeper with each step, delaying him from reaching his destination. No amount of urgency could go against nature.
While they seemed like ordinary dress shoes to the untrained eye, the reinforcements made to aid his kicks while simultaneously offering protection to his feet were anything but.
Which meant they were going to be an absolute pain to clean out by the time they dried, but he had bigger problems currently occupying his mind.
He distantly remembered working on them back when he outgrew his last pair, barely on the cusp of seventeen, with Zeff instructing him over his shoulder on how to mend and fortify them, unknowingly (to him, at least) preparing him for the day he would have to do it by himself.
While it didn't seem very apparent at the time, looking back on all of it with clearer eyes, there were a lot of things that Zeff was teaching him that would eventually enable him to survive by himself if it came to it. The ability to defend himself, to feed himself, to think quickly on his feet, to be considerate.
He owed it all to Zeff.
And he absolutely squandered it.
Would he ever get the chance to see him again? To apologise for keeping such a hefty secret from him? For putting his life in danger with that very secret? To hug him and allow himself to feel like a kid again? To feel safe wrapped tightly in his arms, shielded away from everything bad the world had to offer? To hear his gruff voice roughly whispering assurances?
Tears prickled his eyes.
How he longed to be at the Baratie in that very moment. Arguing with the other cooks, starting fights with disrespectful customers, grinding hard from dawn till dusk, but ultimately feeling satisfyingly worn out as he slumped in his bed at the end of the day, knowing he did tangible work that day no matter how much they tried convincing him otherwise.
He knew they were full of shit anyways.
Did they find out about him by now? Did they get tipped off by the assassins Judge sent? Did they know how badly he’d fucked everything up for them? Did they hate him now?
He clutched the picnic basket tighter to his chest as he took a steadying breath, his cloak thrown over it in a poor attempt at preserving the food that was being waterboarded inside, the basket boasting a bigger feast than the mediocre sandwich residing within it.
He would never dream of bringing subpar food to his former captain, but he wasn't given many options otherwise, his ingredients already a luxury in the sparse kitchen he'd been given access to. He was lucky enough to make a measly sandwich.
That’s what his life ran on apparently. Luck.
Until eventually he ran out of it too.
His fingers ached for more, ached for the rhythmic chopping and kneading and marinating and frying, lists of recipes flipping through his head like a roulette, the techniques seared into his subconsciousness.
He was meant for so much more than this.
Sanji's heart clenched as he eyed the faint outline of the cuffs beneath his sleeves, the sparse meal he forced down earlier dangerously turning in his stomach. He clamped his jaw even tighter, focusing on the pain that erupted to ground himself.
No.
No wasting food.
Sanji wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not, but with each passing day he felt as if they were tightening, closing in on him further and further. He wasn't one to be claustrophobic, but on some days, they made it hard to breath.
Even when be tried his best to hide them underneath long sleeves, the chafing of metal against skin was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. He was constantly resisting the urge to rip the offending pieces off.
He knew he had to be careful; his destination dangerously toed the line of the limits he was allowed to reach. But that was okay, his goal would make it all worth it in the end.
He was just going to drop off Luffy's food, and then go back to the castle, and they would be none the wiser. Not like they were focusing too much on him anyways, only choosing to come to him when they were sorely in need of entertainment. And a punching bag.
He was surely stronger than when he was a kid, but so were they. At the end of the day, years of training did little in the face of skin of steel. He could fight back now at least, or attempt to but…
Sanji eyed his wrists again.
It was both a blessing and a curse.
He shook his head.
He needed to stay focused on his mission.
If his plan worked out (and it will) he would have achieved Luffy's wish of eating his food before finding a new cook, then he can let Luffy and the crew go without any unfinished business between them.
He would have fulfilled his final duty and would be able to rest easier.
Not that he deserves it, for all the trouble he caused everyone, but it was always easier to start fresh when there were no lingering debts in the balance.
He owes Luffy that much. For seeing him, for believing in his dream, for giving him hope again, for helping him to learn to see the good in people again.
Sanji stood still, eyeing the tree in front of him.
His eyes roamed the terrain, straining against the dark of the evening as he attempted to make out the two lone figures he was searching for.
He winced as his eyes caught the faint patch of red staining the grass.
What was wrong with him?
He did what he had to do.
Sanji took a deep breath, forcing himself to turn away from the damning evidence of his greatest sin and strained to project his voice over the pelting of the rain.
"Luffy?"
He was supposed to be here; he was sure of it.
He had to be, he wasn't one to get lost on a straight path like that stupid moss headed-
"Luffy, I have your food! You can eat it, and then you can find a new cook for the crew-"
No one was there.
The idea implanted itself uncomfortably in his brain, shifting slowly through his thoughts, rolling and collecting more of his attention until it completely permeated them.
His stomach started to turn to lead at its implications.
The longer he waited, the more the desperation clawed within him as he slowly slid down to his knees.
Everything was fine, he was just taking a break to sit.
Everything was fine.
Did they leave already?
The tears mixed with the rain as his head lowered, the basket tumbling to the muddy ground, its contents miserably spread out on the grass.
"Luffy?"
It couldn't be.
He was alone.
"Nami?"
A whine escaped his throat pitifully. He clamped his jaw shut as his teeth painfully ground against each other. His chest imploded as he dug his fingers into the grass, his breathing growing more laboured as the walls closed in on him.
He didn't want to go back to the castle.
He wasn't ready yet.
He wanted to see Luffy one last time. They still had unfinished business.
They still...
...
Sanji choked down a sob.
He just wanted his crew one last time.
He wanted his dad.
He wanted to take a warm bath, even if it meant taking ages because he kept getting splashed by the more uncivilised members of the crew.
He wanted to cook a proper dinner for his crew in his kitchen with his utensils, where everything had its place and he knew it like the back of his hand.
He wanted to wear his pyjamas and sleep in his bunk that has his indentation in the mattress. He wanted to hear the chainsaw snoring lulling him to sleep.
He wanted to feel the sway of the ship, the rippling of the sails, the creaking of the mast. The smell of salt and fish overpowering the early morning air. The warm rays on his skin.
He wanted to feel safe amongst his crew, even during their most vulnerable, knowing someone would always watching over them, one shout away from waking them up for a fight if need be.
He wanted the constant company, the never-ending jokes, the chaos.
The comfort of never being alone.
But most of all, he just wanted to go home.