Archive of Our Own

1.

Sanji had never meant to hide anything.

Well, that’s not quite right, because he didn’t want them to know either.

It had never felt relevant to bring up. He was supposed to be dead. The world knew it, the Vinsmoke’s knew it, all of Germa 66 knew it.

The Strawhats? They didn’t need to know it.

Zeff is Sanji’s father, as far as anyone else is concerned. And that will remain true forever, despite what biology tells him. The Baratie is his home. Where he was before then doesn’t matter to anyone else.

It’s not even that he’d never expected it to come up either. As they’d started to build a name for themselves among East Blue pirates, slowly climbing the ranks to become respected and feared, he had begun to consider that his past may come back to bite him in a large number of uncomfortable or painful ways.

But not like this. Never like this.

Nefertari Vivi is glaring daggers at him, her blue hair whipping in the wind behind her. It’s just the two of them standing on the deck, everyone else retreating inside for sleep as the moon rises over the abyssal ocean stretching for miles around them. She hasn’t drawn her weapon, but her body is tense, and he can tell she’s just waiting for a sign. He takes a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke over the railing, relishing the burn in his throat as he exhales. There are a thousand things he wants to say, and a thousand more stopping him. He doesn’t want to fight Vivi – respects her far too much for that – and is certain he would allow her to beat him bloody without even lifting a finger to stop her. Sanji relaxes his body language, forcing himself to look as non-threatening as possible. He doesn’t want this to escalate any more than it needs to.

He’d recognised Vivi upon meeting, but hadn’t realised who she was until she’d revealed her identity. Since then, he’s been expecting her to corner him like this. He takes a moment to be thankful that everyone else is sleeping now. He should be the one to handle this; nobody else needs to know.

“What do you want to know?” He asks her, tone clear and voice level despite the trembling in his hands.

“What business does Germa have with Alabasta?” Sanji is used to Vivi’s warm smile and energetic vibrancy to her, so the cold, calculating look she is giving him is almost enough to send shivers down his spine.

“I’m not one of them,” He tells her honestly, “I haven’t been for years.”

“But you were?” Vivi, despite being a princess of her country, is a fearsome enemy. Sanji finds himself regretting ending up on her bad side and wonders if someone with as much loyalty to her people as she has can understand abandoning your people completely.

“I was born there, yes,” He swallows, takes another drag, focuses his eyes on the lone twinkling star in the sky, “I was born Vinsmoke Sanji, the third son of Vinsmoke Judge. Or, I used to be. Now I’m just Sanji, and my father is Zeff, head chef at the Baratie in the East Blue.”

“The third Vinsmoke son is dead,” Vivi shakes her head, “I remember that announcement, I remember the fear of what your people would do in retaliation.” She drags a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. Her expression has relaxed somewhat, but Sanji doesn’t feel his own anxieties ease.

“They wanted me dead. It was easier to pretend I died than I escaped.” Sanji scoffs, stubs his cigarette out against the railing, and pockets the litter to discard later. The sky overhead is clear, and the air is warm. There is not a single island in sight. Sanji thinks about a cruise ship, a storm, and telling a random pirate about the all blue. A series of events that happened so quickly but shaped his whole life into something he could be proud of.

Vivi relaxes beside him, content with his answers, and joins him leaning over board. Apologises for accusing him. Sanji thinks she is too kind to him, knows firsthand the damage just one Germa assassin can do, and wonders what he must have said to convince her he is not a threat.

“Was that you at the Reverie that time?” She asks after a brief silence.

Sanji doesn’t need to ask which time; he has only been once and got so thoroughly beaten up after that he has tried very hard to repress that memory ever since. Seeing the princess, with her unmistakably striking blue hair, has unfortunately brought those memories right back up.

He had only been around five; his mother was still alive, and it was upon her insistence that Vinsmoke Judge had agreed to not only attend the reverie, but to bring along their children too. Sanji had been so excited. The chance to see the world outside of Germa 66 had gripped him strongly, a deep fascination about other countries and their people that he just couldn’t satisfy by asking his mother or reading the books they had in the library. For once, his siblings had mostly left him alone. Judge’s instructions to not leave him bruised for the public had done wonders, and for once he could enjoy something without his body aching.

The journey had been long, but Sanji had spent the whole time staring out into the ocean and dreaming of the things he might see. He was picturing huge parties with elegant ballrooms, strong and noble leaders, and accents and languages from all over the world.

He only spoke North Blue and a bit of universal at this time, but it didn’t stop him dreaming about how others might sound.

When they had arrived, Sanji had been almost disappointed by how boring the whole thing had seemed. Instead of the fancy dinners and ballgowns and princesses he had been picturing, it was mostly a room of old men arguing about stuff he didn’t care about in a language he could barely speak.

He had, however, spotted the young girl across the room from him. Long blue hair tied up in a ponytail with a soft pink dress. Her arms were crossed, and she pouted while the man beside her laughed about something and ruffled her hair. She had grinned back at the man, sulking long forgotten, and hugged him. Sanji had watched intensely, wondering if that was how fathers are supposed to be.

If that was true, why didn’t he get a father like that? What was so wrong with him to deserve the father he had? One who didn’t care if he lived or died?

The girl had caught him looking eventually, and waved. She had gestured for him to come over, and Sanji had been almost tempted. The beating he would endure later might have been worth it, after all. Until the man beside her had noticed and told her off. The girl had looked at him apologetically as her father said something to her, and then her face had hardened into a cold glare.

Sanji didn’t know how, but he knew it was directed at him. He had shrunk back, hidden away from view, and wished he was back home with his mother.

He hadn’t seen her again after that, and when they eventually made it home, Sanji had been beaten so hard he had struggled to walk for weeks.

“We only went the once, it was my mother’s idea.” He says, fingers itching to light another cigarette.

“I remember seeing you, I think. You looked lonely, I wanted to talk to you, and then my dad stopped me. Said you were dangerous, that Germa 66 was a terrible country.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” Sanji laughs, “I was always the least favourite child. The failed experiment, if you will. The only one who had emotions, and that made me weak. Eventually they decided to stop acknowledging I existed, and locked me in a dungeon. Told the world I was dead. My sister helped me escape, and I found myself on a cruise ship where I met Zeff.”

It doesn’t feel great to talk about it all, but it does feel nice to not feel like he’s hiding anything, even if he does leave out all the gritty details. Vivi is silent for a few moments.

“At least you found some place better,” She says eventually, eyes never leaving the horizon as she ponders the information. “Do the others know?”

This is where Sanji thinks about coming clean, revealing everything to the rest of their crew. He pictures Luffy’s big, brown eyes, Zoro’s mess of green hair, Nami’s fearsome scowl, Usopp’s cowardice and bravery rolled into one. Chopper's furry body and total dedication to medicine. How could he tell them this? How could he ruin the image they have of him?

“No,” He says, “Please don’t tell them either.”

He knows then that if they were to find out the truth and hate him for it, he would never survive.

Vivi, who is as well-versed in painful secrets as he is, doesn’t say another word, but her eyes look kinder as she regards him.

**

2.

True to her word, Vivi does not spill his secret. Sanji had spent many nights with his insides twisting painfully, thinking about the possibility of them finding out, but his worries had been unnecessary in the end. They had fought Crocodile and Baroque Works, and beaten them. Vivi had returned to her home country and vowed to restore it to what it once was.

King Cobra had eyed Sanji with that same cold stare Vivi had levelled him with, once upon a time, but after a quick whisper in his ear, Cobra had softened his gaze and welcomed them all into the castle. The feast had been tremendous, leaving Sanji itching with the urge to try out some of the new recipes he had picked up. It was only as it wound down and his stomach was so full he couldn’t physically eat anything else that he had found himself craving some solitude.

The balcony he finds himself on is larger than the entire bunkroom on the Going Merry, decorated with lavish gold accents and a beautiful, ornate tiled floor. From here, he can see the rest of the party going on downstairs – he watches Luffy stretch his arms out with a laugh and lift Chopper high into the air. Their youngest crew member kicks his feet and wiggles in protest but has a big grin on his face and his cheeks are dusted pink. Zoro is deep in conversation with some locals, a cup of sake clutched in his hand and a soft flush to his skin. Nami is haggling with a separate group of royal staff, though Sanji is unsure what for from this angle. Usopp is clearly telling a rather extravagant story to a small group of children who are sitting giggling as they watch his actions. Sanji likes being up here, seeing them all clearly and being able to assess for any threats coming. He lights a cigarette and is halfway through taking a drag when a voice disturbs his peace.

“If I had not watched the way you fought for my country, I’d kick you out myself.” King Cobra stands behind him, bathed in a golden halo of light from the sun. Sanji thinks he looks anything but inviting.

Sanji turns his head and nods, “I’m sure Vivi has told you that I have no association with them.” His face is steely, and he takes another drag of nicotine before his heart can betray how nervous he feels. He doesn’t want to ruin this party by getting himself kicked out for reasons he couldn’t even explain to everyone else.

“You don’t need to defend yourself, my boy,” Cobra says, eyes twinkling as he smiles kindly at Sanji, “Any enemy of Vinsmoke Judge is a friend of mine.”

Despite the hot weather, Sanji feels a chill run down his spine at the mention of his name. Instead, he is driven by curiosity as he asks his next question, “Enemy?”

It’s not a full question, not really, but the words fail him. Even just hearing his father’s name after all these years is enough to make him nauseous. He feels eight years old and scared again, and finds himself reaching a hand up into his hair as if to check for the absence of heavy metal.

“I have only met him a handful of times, but I can say with confidence that he is a ruthless leader and a nasty man. I am not surprised you escaped there. I am only sorry you had to suffer so much at such a young age. Had I known all those years ago what I know now, I would have encouraged my Vivi to talk to you at the Reverie.” King Cobra sounds sincere – more sincere than Sanji was expecting. He is overwhelmed suddenly by the words and finds himself choking on a lump in his throat.

He coughs, clears it away. “It would not have helped for long. In fact,” He chuckles humourlessly, “It probably would have made it worse for a while.”

Cobra’s lips twist into a knowing grimace, “I see.”

Sanji feels awkward standing here: a man he has only ever heard stories about judging the harshest reality of the past he has tried so hard to run from. It’s enough to make his head spin. He came up here for solitude, but all of a sudden the crowded party downstairs seems like a much more appetising location. His eyes search around looking for someone familiar, but come up blank. The faces seem to merge into one endless colourful blur. Sanji is vaguely aware that he might be panicking, but there is very little he can do about that right now. He takes a shaky breath and feels his lungs spasm.

There’s a noise next to him. Cobra is still talking. Sanji focuses on his breathing and strains his ears to listen to whatever the king is saying.

“For what it is worth, Sanji, I think you have grown to be a fine young man despite the circumstances of your birth, and I would like to thank you for your bravery and services towards both my country and my daughter.”

Sanji swallows and chokes on the air. His hands are trembling.

“I have a dad,” He says, suddenly desperate to make this distinction to Cobra, “He lives in the East Blue. We met when I was 8. He raised me properly, showed me kindness I didn’t deserve. I owe my life to him.”

Cobra just nods, “You do not need to explain yourself. I just urge you to take care out there. Vivi mentioned that your crew is unaware of your past?”

Sanji can only grunt in response, words failing him. Cobra continues undeterred.

“Germa have made many enemies across the Grand Line. By hiding this part of yourself from the people you sail with, you put them in danger too. I cannot force you to come clean, but if you continue to build a name for yourself, it is only a matter of time until someone makes the connection.”

This is not new information to Sanji – he had been pondering it to some degree every waking moment since Vivi had first recognised him. He is aware of the danger he could be putting the rest of his crew in. His eyes find Nami down below; she’s taking a drink from a glass filled with a murky liquid and looks up as he looks down, waving when they make eye contact. Sanji waves back and feels guilty at what he already knows he is going to do.

“I’ll tell them if it becomes necessary,” He says.

“Be careful,” Cobra’s face is serious now, eyebrows pulled tight, “Don’t let this secret control you.”

It already does, Sanji wants to scream, but is interrupted by someone stepping out onto the balcony behind them. Sanji spins around and comes face to face with Zoro.

“Is everything alright here?” The green-haired fool asks. Sanji swallows; he falters as he struggles to work out what to say.

“Yes, I was just heading back down to check on something anyway,” King Cobra turns and walks back towards the stairs, “I was just having a little chat with Sanji here.” Cobra puts his pointer finger against his nose and winks in a way that would be comical if Sanji didn’t feel nauseous.

With the king gone, he relaxes significantly, sagging against the balcony railing. Zoro steps forward and joins him.

“What was that about?” Zoro asks, a hand resting on his three swords.

Sanji swallows the nausea he had felt. “Oh, nothing. I was just asking about some recipes.”

Zoro narrows his eyes, clearly not believing Sanji, but lets the matter drop anyway. “Come on,” He says, “We gotta head off soon. Luffy asked me to get you.”

Sanji just turns and follows, letting silence overtake them while he ponders the last few weeks.

**

3.

“You’re an interesting one, Monkey D. Luffy,” Nico Robin drawled from her perch on the railing, looking down at them, “What is someone like you doing hanging out with someone like him?” She points a long finger towards Sanji and his insides freeze. She’s watching him with curiosity, studying him like a specimen under a microscope. Sanji has never been more confident that she knows who he is and where he came from. A mysterious assassin from a corrupt criminal organisation has surely heard of Germa 66, even if she’s suddenly decided she wants to join their crew or whatever. Sanji has only just stopped shaking after his conversation with King Cobra – he is not in the mood to do this again.

Luffy looks back and forth between the two of them, confused, “Eh? Sanji? He’s my cook. The best damn cook on the Grand Line.”

“Sanji?” Robin sounds out the syllables of his name slowly, as if tasting them, “I recognise that name.”

She’s teasing him. She has to be. Sanji feels anxiety creeping up his throat, and he feels frozen to the deck. His palms are sweaty, and his hands shake as he flicks his lighter, desperate for something to stop the trembling in his body.

“Must be someone else.” He says weakly, breathing out smoke as he speaks.

“I was sent on a mission once,” She continues, either oblivious to or unperturbed by his stress, “Discover what really happened to the third son of Vinsmoke Judge.”

“What language was that? That’s not fair! Don’t keep secrets from me on my ship!” Luffy protests. Sanji blinks; he had understood just fine?

Oh – she had spoken in North. Well, he shudders; two can play at that game.

“The third son of Vinsmoke Judge died at 8 years old.” The syllables feel foreign in his mouth, too much time spent speaking East or Common in recent years for it to flow naturally. He wonders briefly whether he should feel sad about losing that connection to his home – to his mother. He can feel the stares of his crewmates burning holes in his back, but Sanji tries not to react.

“Yes,” Robin nods, speaking in Common again, “That is all I could find out. Tell me, Sanji, how does a dead prince from the North end up on a pirate ship on the Grand Line eleven years later?” The switch to North again in the middle almost catches Sanji off guard. He had relaxed when she had switched to a tongue the others could understand too. When they speak privately, he feels like he’s been dissected not just by Robin, but by his crew members too.

“I escaped,” Sanji whispers, pointedly avoiding looking at anyone other than Robin, “They wanted me dead, so I ran, and I never looked back.”

Robin nods, satisfied with his answer. “I understand. I assume the rest of them do not know of your Germa background?”

“Germy what?” Luffy grumbles, scratching the side of his head, trying to decipher what the two of them are talking about. Nami is watching them both intensely. Zoro is sitting closely, leaning against the wall to the galley with his eyes closed. He could be asleep if not for the hand tensed near his swords, ready for an attack any minute. Chopper is hiding behind a barrel with Usopp, watching like Sanji is a puzzle they could solve between them.

“No,” Sanji replies in Northern again, “And I plan to keep it that way. It was a condition of me leaving, to never speak about being from there again. As far as Germa is concerned, I am dead. That is all they need to know.”

“I have spent 20 years hiding myself from the world, too,” She says with a level of honesty Sanji is both not prepared for, and honoured she would trust him with, “I wish that one day we can both be free from our pasts.”

“Yeah,” Sanji switches back to Common – he is done with this conversation, “That would be nice.”

Robin pushes herself down to stand. Grows another arm to tickle Chopper with and uses another arm to make Luffy laugh. Before Sanji can blink, the conversation has moved on, and although still uncertain about their newest member, the conversation settles into something much calmer without anybody asking him any questions. Sanji takes a moment to be grateful to their newest member for her distraction techniques, and if he makes her a special drink later on, nobody even thinks to question it.

**

4.

“Look at this,” Nami says, eyes shining with curiosity as she holds something out in front of her, “It’s a picture book. A pretty old one, at that.”

Usopp steps around the log separating them, curiosity pushing him to see the book Nami is holding. It’s a thick brown book, with some pictures on the front Sanji can't decipher from his current position. While Sanji is also curious, he figures he will get his own chance to look at this eventually.

“It’s titled ‘Noland the Liar’,” Nami continues, fingers running along the pages.

Usopp laughs, crosses his arms and grins proudly, “Wow, that’s a cool title. Nice idea for a book!”

Sanji feels like the ground has been swept out from under him, and in a way it has – he hasn’t heard even a mention of this book since he was young enough to be read to by his mother, and even just hearing the name has left him reeling.

“Noland the Liar?” He finds himself repeating, voice pitching higher in the end like it is a question but he already knows the answer.

“Do you know it, Sanji?” Nami asks, lifting her gaze from the front cover of the book to regard him curiously, “But it says this book was published in the North Blue?”

“Yeah, I was born in the North Blue,” Sanji says before his mind can fully catch up. His eyes are still focused on the glances he is getting of the front cover. His mind is filled with images that make his chest ache with grief – a soft warm bed, a hospital gown, and the kindest eyes he’s ever seen. “Didn’t I tell you guys?” He continues, before the anxiety can set in. Didn’t I tell you – like this is casual and something that would come up in the mundane conversations rather than his biggest secret and worst fear. He blows out cigarette smoke and prays his face is not betraying the internal dilemma occurring.

“It’s news to me,” Usopp shrugs, “I thought you were from the East like the rest of us.”

“That’s where I grew up,” Sanji blinks. Zeff, the Baratie. They know that. They know that already. Don’t ask any more, he thinks; don’t make me lie to you.

“Quiet, Chopper!” Nami shouts, making Sanji jump slightly and causing the reindeer just behind her to yell back as he is interrupted from the digging for gold Nami had told him to do. Sanji hopes he had played that off, but Usopp is watching him carefully when he looks back around, studying his face for something. Sanji ignores him, reaching out a hand to take the picture book from Nami.

It’s a different version to the one his mom owned; this one has a green-tinted cover and a tiny cartoon on the front of a man sailing on the ocean. His mom’s version had been dark brown; weathered, old, and covered in an ornate pattern using shiny amber foil. It had always been his favourite of the stories she had read to him. Sanji had listened and dreamt of a life where he could be free and sail away, even if the idea of that in his future felt like a lie. The book feels heavy in his hands, like it is dragging him to the ground. He runs a hand down the front cover, only vaguely aware that everyone else is watching him.

“It’s a famous story in the North,” He starts, “It’s a fairy tale, but I’ve heard that this Noland guy actually existed long ago.” His voice cracks, and he stops talking. He had wanted to read the book too – to turn the pages and share the story he remembers so fondly with his crew, but his voice feels weak, and the front cover feels far too heavy for him to lift.

Nami takes the book from him then, hand brushing his gently and he meets her eyes. It’s okay, she seems to be telling him; let us help you. Sanji tries not to feel guilty as he relinquishes his grip on the book and steps away.

Suddenly, he can’t bear to hear the story read out loud, not in the voice of someone who isn’t his mother – as much as he loves Nami. Sanji backs away, face drawn tight and shoulders rigid in fear. He cannot stay for this; he cannot lose these last memories of his mother like that. By having them overwritten by other stuff, not when his remaining memories are already so fuzzy and faint through the passage of time.

He smokes through four cigarettes until his hands stop shaking, and another two before someone comes to find him. Usopp is watching him with kind, knowing eyes – like he can read what’s going through Sanji’s mind at that minute. Knowing how incredibly perceptive their sniper can be, Sanji wouldn’t be surprised if Usopp had at least some idea of what he is thinking.

His suspicions are confirmed when Usopp starts talking.

“Someone used to read it to you, right?” Usopp’s voice is soft and calm, but his eyes are shining with something bright. “Someone you cared about?”

Sanji, for once, doesn’t want to lie about this. Not to Usopp – the man he is certain will understand this better than most.

“My mother.” Is all he manages to choke out, but Usopp nods knowingly.

“My mom died when I was a kid,” Usopp whispers like a confession, “It took me years after to be able to even think about the stuff we used to do together.”

Sanji understands then – this is a peace offering. An invitation to share if he wants to. Or an opportunity to listen if he doesn’t. He feels oddly appreciated and looked after, knowing he gets a choice in the matter.

“Mine died too,” He settles on saying, “I ended up in the East Blue not long after.”

It was long after. It was far too long. Sanji remembers metal masks and the sick feeling of hunger and a cold, damp basement dungeon with no end in sight. He remembers being scared and alone, and then scared and not alone and not knowing which was worse. He shudders.

Luckily, he is pulled from the conversation by Luffy, causing a commotion. A strange man appears on the land as Luffy disappears into the ocean. Their captain does not reappear, dragged down by the power of his devil fruit.

“Go get Luffy,” He yells at Usopp, and the moment is lost.

**

5.

Sanji was halfway through trussing a pork joint when the first explosion rocked the Sunny. He was working on autopilot, nimble fingers twisting the twine around the joint of meat, ready to be cooked later on for dinner. It was a large joint – requiring a large amount of dexterity, and it was taking much more effort than normal in an attempt to feed the bottomless pit which was Luffy’s stomach.

So, when the ocean outside exploded, and the thin twine was knocked from his fingers as he reached out to steady himself on the countertop, Sanji was not happy. He slammed the door to the galley open, annoyed at the interruption to his precious preparation time.

Outside, Zoro grins at him and draws a sword. Nami is wielding her clima-tact and glaring fiercely at the marines daring to attack them; Usopp fires an exploding star into someone’s eye, and they drop to the ground groaning. Sanji feels the attack coming behind him before he can see it, senses the marine sneaking up, and spins quicker than should be possible – extending a foot out to kick the offending marine over the railing. It’s only a small cohort of soldiers, probably trying their luck with the empty sea around them to see if they can defeat the Strawhats.

Sanji almost feels bad for how quickly they take them down. He barely even works up a sweat, glances over at Zoro beside him and realises the other man hasn’t even drawn all three swords. It’s a pathetic attempt from the Marines really; they should have known better by now. The Strawhat Pirates have long since established themselves as solid fighters, strategists, and just downright fierce enemies to have on the oceans – why these small groups of under-armed and underprepared marines insist on attempting to subdue them will always perplex Sanji. Either way, Sanji has finished dispatching the ones attempting to charge him, and he spins around to check on how his crewmates are doing.

Luffy has stretched himself over to their ship and appears to be causing havoc over there; Zoro appears to be pretty much done too – chest heaving as he takes in their surroundings, Nami and Usopp are holding their own, fighting side by side. Chopper has shifted into heavy point and charged a few marines over the side, but even their youngest member isn’t having any difficulties with these guys.

Which is why Sanji is surprised when one of them manages to cut him. A sharp pain throbs in his bicep and he reflexively jerks to the side, cursing under his breath. A marine stands there alone, looking barely older than Sanji is and clutching a knife coated red with his blood. It’s not a deep wound – Sanji has had worse just cooking – but it stings in a way that seems to make his whole body tremble. A trail of blood drips down his arm, onto his hand, and then onto the floor. Sanji tracks it with his eyes like it is the most fascinating thing he has ever seen.

“I got him,” The marine cheers, turning around to face his comrades, “I got Black-Leg.”

Sanji blinks in shock and reaches a hand up to touch the injury. The marine is talking like Sanji is gravely injured, not just slightly cut up. It’s nothing a bandage won’t fix. His fingers are sticky with blood, but the flow is already slowing down. Sanji goes to attack, and then blinks because the marine is gone. Zoro is standing several feet closer to him, panting and wiping blood off his sword. He touches his sticky fingers together, rubbing the blood across them. Something feels wrong, but he can’t place what.

Sanji opens his mouth to ask what just happened, but the world is going awfully fuzzy around the edges, and the black spots dancing in his vision seem to be telling him a tempting story. The ground swims up to meet him, and Sanji drops down like a puppet with its strings cut, unconscious before he even hits the ground.

When he wakes, it is clear several hours have passed. Where the sun had risen high in a mid-afternoon haze, it is now lower and casting long shadows over the infirmary. He’s lying in the bed in there, still dressed in the clothes he had been wearing in the morning, so he clearly can’t have been that injured. His memories of what happened are still blurry, but he is saved from wondering by Chopper looking up from the book he had been reading at the desk and noticing Sanji is awake.

“Sanji,” The little reindeer beams at him, “You’re awake! How are you feeling?”

Sanji grins, easy and practised, “Like I’ve had the best doctor ever fixing me up.”

Chopper blushes bright red and dances, “That doesn’t make me happy, you idiot!”

“What happened?” Sanji asks after a second, flexing his fingers and feeling a stubborn ache in his injured arm.

“The marine managed to cut you, and uh-” Chopper cuts himself off, suddenly looking sheepish, “You fainted.” He finishes after a brief pause.

Sanji is stunned into silence. He fainted? He has never fainted, not without obtaining much worse injuries first. Something doesn’t sound right, and he wants to challenge the doctor, to stand up for himself, but there’s something heavy settling in his chest, and he feels himself agree monotonously and make up something about how he hadn’t felt well all day. It’s a lie Chopper can probably read right through, but he feels hazy still, like he is watching everything happen around him on a broadcast screen rather than living it himself. He is distant, detached from the world around him in a way that feels like he is missing something important.

A glance down reveals that a thick bandage has been placed over his arm. Sanji has the feeling like he should feel better about that than he does. Something isn’t right; his brain is yelling, but Sanji is powerless to fight it.

He pushes himself out of bed to stand, and the room swims around him. A chill runs down his spine despite the heat he can sense inside the ship. He makes an excuse to Chopper, something nondescript and believable, and then makes his exit from the infirmary despite the protests. His crew are sitting around on the deck, clearly concerned, and several heads snap up to regard him as he steps outside. Sanji feels another chill run down his body, sending goosebumps running up his arms and forcing him to resist the urge to shiver. The evening is dry, and the warmth is there, but distant – unreachable for Sanji, yet the ladies seemed to be basking in bikinis on the deck to soak up the last remaining drops of sun for the day.

Sanji reaches into his pocket, pulls out his packet of cigarettes and places one between his lips. He holds the lighter in his hand, but doesn’t light the cigarette – content instead to chew the filter between his teeth while considering his options. Someone is talking to him, but Sanji is feeling very detached suddenly. The voices are millions of miles away.

Someone grabs his elbow, gently enough, but Sanji jerks away like he has been electrocuted.

“It’s not enough to faint, now you’ve got to ignore us too, cook?” Zoro asks. His tone is sharp like one of his three swords, but the single visible stormy grey eye is betraying the true concern he feels. Sanji feels faint again, feels like the deck of the Sunny is going to crumble underneath him, and he will be sent spinning down forever and ever.

He reaches a shaking hand to light the cigarette and takes a drag.

“I didn’t faint,” He mutters, throat tightening as the nicotine catches the back of it.

“That’s what it looked like to me.”

The world is spinning dangerously. Sanji’s stomach is churning, and bile rises in his throat. He shivers again, and Zoro seems to detect it.

“Curly?” Zoro questions, grabbing Sanji by the elbow again and spinning him so they are face to face. Zoro stares into Sanji’s face for far too long before pressing his palm to Sanji’s forehead. His palm is cool; Sanji leans into the touch as it eases the pounding in his head he hadn’t even noticed yet. Zoro smells of gunmetal and sweat and something sharp and green, like pine needles. Sanji’s head spins deliriously and dangerously.

“Chopper!” Zoro yells – Sanji resists the urge to flinch away. His cigarette burns out, all but forgotten as his ears ring.

All of a sudden, there are too many people around him – poking and prodding and pushing him around, and Sanji feels crowded. His head is hurting something awful now, and the world is still fading in and out, and he really does feel sick. He says as much out loud and hears someone curse above him.

Sanji is sat on the deck of the Thousand Sunny now, and the rest of his crew are looking concerned as Chopper pokes him and prods him. It’s okay, he wants to tell them, I’ll be fine. But the words don’t come, and the voices of his friends are feeling too far away, and it’s much easier to give in to the blackness swirling around his vision than anything else.

When Sanji closes his eyes, he is on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, and when he opens them, he is eight years old, and the slit in the iron mask isn’t large enough for him to rub his eyes through, so he claws his fingers against it instead like all the strength in his eight year old body is enough to tear through the strongest Germa iron. His fingers bleed, and his eyes itch where he has cried, and the tears have dried, and his nose burns like he has been held underwater, which is funny because he has never felt further away from the ocean he has spent his whole life on.

Sanji might be crying; he’s definitely bleeding. Someone is holding his wrists while he fights against it. He just wants the mask off. Why won’t they help him? The hand holding him is strong and firm, but not painful. That has to mean something. These days people only touch Sanji when they want to hurt him. Why is it different now?

It has been thirteen years and four months since Sanji last spent a night in that dungeon. It has been three minutes since he visited it in his dreams.

Three minutes? Three like Sanji. Three like the third son. Three has never felt like a good number. Sanji thinks all numbers might be cursed; he says as much out loud, and someone laughs sadly next to him. He knows that voice, knows the person attached to it. Something akin to love burns within him, and Sanji feels warmer as he drifts again, aimless in the wandering of his own psyche and powerless to control the destination or the journey.

A soft hand strokes the side of his face, and Sanji finds himself leaning into it, seeking the touch. His mother had touched him like that once. After Yonji had hit him particularly hard and he had a nasty bruise that stubbornly refused to fade for several weeks after. His mom was kind; she helped. Sanji wishes he could see her one more time. Show her the kind of chef he became. Mom, he wants to say, don’t leave me here, mom. I’ll be good, Mom. I’ll be better. Please stay. Don’t leave me again.

Words, garbled and mangled, drip from his mouth like blood. Sanji enters a feverish flow state, unsure of what exactly is real and what isn’t as the images dance around in front of him. He’s seven years old, sitting with his mother. He’s nine years old and running. He’s ten years old and starving; oh god, he’s so hungry he’s going to die can’t that old geezer give him some more food to eat it’s been so long he’s –

Sanji shuts his eyes in his own personal hell, and when he opens them the world is so bright it burns, and the colours are swirling together in a large nauseating blur. He thinks he might have thrown up. He can’t be sure though. He feels guilty anyway for wasting food.

Sanji dreams, and he sleeps, and he dreams some more. Each one more twisted than the last, each one more confusing than the last. He sees flashes of colour – bright orange, greens, blues, reds, vibrant purples, and a yellow so warm it makes the sun feel cold. There are voices around him, but they may as well be speaking gibberish to Sanji, who struggles to make any sense of the syllables, even going as far as repeating some out loud to try and attach meaning.

He dreams of Germa. He dreams he is eight years old and tasked with killing a soldier for the first time. The sword is heavy in his hands, and the shiny metal makes his stomach churn just to look at. He can’t do it; he knows this already. He will refuse to raise the sword to kill, and he will suffer the consequences as a result. He will disappoint Vinsmoke Judge for the last time, and he will be locked away in the morning. Sanji knows this – lived these moments himself and remembers it vividly even all these years later – but it doesn’t stop him begging to be saved. Begging to not have to kill. Begging his own father for forgiveness.

Someone is touching his face, and something cold is placed on his forehead.

It is heavy and solid and so so cold, just like that mask in that dungeon when it was winter, and the snow would fall outside, and the small cell would get so icy it was difficult to breathe, and his fingers would turn blue and purple, and Sanji would tuck his hands into his armpits and pray for forgiveness and freedom and a million other things. He finds himself reaching aimlessly upward, pleading for the mask to go.

Someone swears around him, and the pressure is gone. Sanji is only somewhat aware of someone sniffling as they rub the back of his hand gently. The touch is soothing, reminds him of the way his mother used to rub his back when he hugged her. The smell of cherry blossoms hits his nose in a way that is wrong – his mother smelt of sweet lemons and something acrid that used to catch in his throat like disinfectant – but not altogether unpleasant. The scent tells him he is safe there, and so he sinks back into the bed underneath him and drifts back to sleep.

Three days later, Sanji blinks his eyes open to see the white walls of the ship infirmary feeling an awful lot like he has missed something important. His body feels dirty, skin tacky with dried sweat and aching raw where the fever had racked him with chills. He runs a tired hand through his hair and is surprised at how greasy it feels, and the strands he had pushed through flop limply in front of his eyes. Sanji pushes them back with a groan before continuing to take inventory of his surroundings.

He’s sat in the infirmary bed, wearing some of his pyjamas that he hadn’t touched for a while. He didn’t remember changing and cringes at the thought of one of his crewmates undressing and redressing him. The fabric is soft though – cotton shorts with a plaid pattern and a plain light blue top adorned with some small embroidered fish around the sleeves. A soft blanket is draped half over him, with the other half pushed down so his whole left leg is exposed to the draught in the room. A chill runs across his body, but for the first time in days it is not a sign for concern and simply a human response to the cool air floating into the room through the open door.

It’s mid-day, if Sanji had to guess based on the height of the sun in the sliver of sky he can see, and he’s alone except for the sleeping reindeer curled at the edge of his bed. A blue nose twitches in his sleep as Chopper snores softly, dark circles present under his eyes. Through the open door, Sanji can just about see the rest of his crew lounging around on the deck.

He contemplates going back to sleep as a bone-deep exhaustion sneaks up on him, but before the thoughts can fully form, Chopper is blinking awake. There’s a long moment of silence where Sanji holds his breath, hoping the little reindeer just goes back to sleep, but Chopper’s eyes fix on him as awareness sneaks back into his body.

“Sanji!” Chopper exclaims excitedly, “You’re awake!”

Sanji – resigned to his fate – just nods, wincing slightly as the aftershocks of a headache hit at the movement. He feels faint, like one wrong move will have him crumbling into a million unwell pieces, but he feels better than he thinks he has for days, which has to count for something.

Chopper takes his time checking Sanji’s vitals, and by the time he’s measured his temperature enough to confirm that, yes, Sanji is no longer feverish as all hell and is back to having cognitive functions again, his whole crew has come in to see how he’s doing. Sanji would feel very flattered and loved, but he still doesn’t feel massively well, and all the noise is suddenly incredibly overwhelming. He doesn’t respond to any of the questions people ask, choosing to stare at a loose thread on his shorts and debate kicking them all out so he can have some quiet.

It’s only when his own stomach rumbles that he remembers his own role on the ship and jolts straight upright in a panic.

He’s halfway out of the bed before Chopper has transformed into his heavy point form to push Sanji back.

“Let me go, someone needs to make lunch.” Sanji insists, stretching his leg out to soothe the tired muscles and gain some more mobility.

Chopper bristles, years of navigating the difficult patients that made up the Strawhat crew preparing him for this, “You are not going anywhere! You got poisoned, idiot, you need to rest!”

Sanji flashes a tired smile, “I feel much better now though! I’ll be fine to prepare lunch! I’ll even keep it simple – just some fried rice or a basic pasta dish.”

“You are not going anywhere until I say so. Doctor's orders!” Chopper, back in his regular, small form, pushes Sanji back so he’s now lying against the pillows which have been propped up behind him to support his back.

A deep sigh escapes Sanji’s mouth as he settles back down. A glance around the room reveals his crew watching the interaction with barely concealed laughter at his predicament.

“I will sort food out for today, Cook-san,” Robin says through a soft smile, “You focus on resting and feeling better.”

And that – that goes against almost all of Sanji’s personal beliefs. It should be him cooking for the beautiful women aboard the ship, not them cooking for him, goddammit. Robin is, however, one of only two people he would trust to use his kitchen, so it could be worse. She is tough enough to protect his fridge from Luffy and smart enough to know how to treat his equipment.

Begrudgingly, Sanji relaxes back. Lets himself be looked after with all the enthusiasm of a tired Zoro or hungry Luffy, and listens to the idle chatter of his crew around him. The room feels pretty loud, and he’s feeling awfully tired all of a sudden, and he finds his eyes blinking shut for increasingly long periods of time as sleep draws him in.

“Oi,” Zoro pushes his leg slightly with the hand not resting on his swords and gives Sanji an odd look that the blond cannot decipher, “Who did your father make you kill?”

Sanji blinks, bewildered. “Zeff never made me kill anyone?”

“Well, someone did.” Zoro raises an eyebrow, all gruff anger and vague passive aggression that usually Sanji would bite at, but there’s an edge to it today. If Sanji didn’t know any better, he would think it was concern.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Sanji questions. His brain is foggy, but he’s fairly certain he was poisoned and hasn’t seen Zeff for at least two years. He reaches for the glass of water next to him and drains half in one gulp.

“While you were asleep, you kept mumbling some stuff. Whole bunch of begging to be let out of somewhere and not wanting to hurt anyone.” Zoro’s voice is quiet and steady, calm in ways Sanji hates. The shoe drops; the hazy dreams come flooding back in sickening quality.

The glass drops from his hand and shatters on the floor. Sanji doesn’t move a muscle, hand outstretched, and fingers curled like the glass is still held between them. He shakes his head, willing the static panic to leave. His crew seems to be flicking their attention between Zoro and Sanji like this is the most entertaining thing ever.

“Must have been a bad dream,” He says. His voice shakes; the shards of glass scattered around the bed betray his lie, but nobody dares say anything. The infirmary is silent as Sanji takes a shaky breath in.

Zoro watches him carefully for several long moments. Sanji doesn’t dare move for fear of the swordsman seeing right through him.

Eventually, satisfied with whatever he found, Zoro nods. “Just don’t let whatever it is affect the crew, waiter.”

Sanji takes the insult as a peace offering, and relaxes back into the bed. His hands are trembling, and a masochistic part of him wants to know exactly what he was mumbling while feverish, but a much bigger part of him wants to sleep this off and deal with it when he’s feeling better.

They will be at Punk Hazard soon anyway. Sanji will have plenty of time to unpack it all later on.

**

6.

“My name is Vinsmoke Sanji. I’m a prince of the Germa Kingdom! I’m sorry for keeping it a secret; I thought that it would make you miserable. The difference between our standings couldn’t be clearer. If I stay here, I can spend money and use soldiers and servants as I like. Going back to that crappy ship with you and your friends… or staying here and marrying Big Mom’s beautiful daughter? It’s pretty obvious which is a happier life.”

Sanji remembers the crunch of Luffy’s face underneath his dress shoe and hears the laughter of his brothers echoing in his ears and cries harder than he has for years. A deep emptiness settles into his heart and sits low in his stomach. Suddenly, his years of running and hiding seem as distant as the Sky Island. He never escaped, not really.

The gold bracelets sit heavy on his wrist as he stares out of the carriage.

**

+1

Sanji had so foolishly thought that going straight from the shock of the events at Whole Cake Island into the chaos of Wano would be enough to encourage his crewmates to drop everything they had seen.

Unfortunately, he was very wrong.

Nobody had dared say anything to him, not past a whispered “Are you okay?” or some subtle physical contact, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t sense their concern or even downright frustration.

Guilt still licked at his insides, leaving him restless and eager to earn his place back on the crew. He found himself doing all the odd jobs nobody else wanted to do, putting more and more effort into the already elaborate meals and snacks he prepared, and straight up avoiding those who had seen the worst of him – which was pretty much everyone at this point.

He couldn’t look at Luffy without remembering the feeling of his shoe against the rubber man’s head as he kicked down with all his might. He couldn’t look at Nami without feeling the phantom ache on his cheek where she had slapped him just after. I will never forgive you, she had told him. His heart aches at the memory. He knew Chopper looked up to him, and he couldn’t bear to look over and see the disappointment and distrust he knew would be written over the reindeer's face after the way he had betrayed them. He could barely stand to be around Robin, remembering how devastated he had been when she had pulled a similar stunt at Enies Lobby, and they had barely known each other at the time. Everyone else either didn’t have enough context to understand anything or knew far more than he was comfortable with them knowing.

It left Sanji in an awkward state of not quite knowing where he fit in anymore.

Especially following his use of the raid suit, and the genetic modifications he had unlocked since. He couldn’t even look at Zoro without remembering the panicked promise he made the other man make in a fit of desperation.

Which is how he found himself in his current predicament.

Sanji is braced against the sink in the galley, with the tension exuding from Zoro being so intense Sanji feels like it is tearing him inside out. The green-haired man is sitting casually enough, but his shoulders are stiff, and his hands are resting just on his swords. Innocent enough that it could be overlooked, subtle enough for Sanji to get the hint.

Zoro doesn’t trust him.

He’s keeping an eye on Sanji. Seeing whether he can be trusted or whether Zoro needs to do his job as first mate and cut the problem down. Sanji shrugs the weight of it off; he knows he hasn’t changed yet. If they hate him that much, he will disembark at the next island and leave the crew. It would break his heart, but he would never want to hold any of them back from their dreams.

Sanji finishes stirring the pan. Turns off the heat. Plates it up. A classic sea king paella. Luffy’s favourite meat combined with a rich saffron broth, blistered vegetables, and fluffy short-grain rice.

“Shout the others in for their dinner,” Sanji instructs, loading his arms up with plates to be carried over to the table. Zoro does as he is told with little complaint – another indicator that something is wrong in their relationship. Usually they could not resist the urge to snark at each other aggressively in a way that confused everyone else but made perfect sense to them.

The galley gradually fills up from then on; Sanji busies himself with making sure everyone is happy, preparing drinks, and starting to work on a dessert for later. There’s one good mikan left in the fridge. Maybe he could make orange tarts? Something sweet enough to satisfy the ones with a sweet tooth, but bitter enough for Zoro to enjoy too.

“Are you not eating with us?” Zoro asks. It’s casual, innocent. Sanji freezes where he is, busy pouring a second cup of tea for Robin. He is aware of the feeling of several pairs of eyes watching his back. Nobody else had commented so far.

It’s not that Sanji wasn’t eating – it’s that he didn’t think he deserved to eat with them, but that is not something you can just confess over dinner.

“I’ve already eaten,” he lies through gritted teeth instead.

“No, you haven’t,” Zoro challenges, “I’ve been sat in here the whole time. You didn’t even taste your cooking. If you’re not careful, there will be none left for you.”

Sanji doesn’t understand the angle Zoro is working at. Is this a test? To see if he is still human enough to be worthy of a place on the crew? Is it a trick? Let him sit with them and then cruelly cast him out? To let him get a taste of the life he craves back only to coldly rip it away from him? Sanji can’t think of anything worse.

“I’ll grab something later,” Sanji tries again, honest this time.

“You don’t eat with us anymore.” It’s not a question. Zoro is resolute in his observations. For all Sanji may tease Zoro for being stupid, he is prone to forgetting just how perceptive their swordsman is.

Sanji bristles; he is still on edge, and the way he can’t make sense of his position on the crew anymore is eating him up inside. He used to know how it all made sense, how they all fit together and complemented each other. Now he doesn’t even know where to begin.

“Do you actually want me sitting with you all?” Sanji asks, voice bitter and heart aching as he lets his demons rise to the surface in a moment of pure greed. He wants them to beg for him, wants to feel like they care. Wants to know that they have all seen the worst of him and still love him anyway. He is undeniably and unbelievably selfish. How rude of him to demand love and attention from the same people he pushed away; the same captain he attacked brutally. Vinsmoke Judge was right: Sanji is weak and pathetic, and he ruins everything he touches.

He sucks in a deep breath. Nobody dares to speak. Sanji watches everyone else’s eyes flicker between him and Zoro, waiting for Zoro to make the next move anxiously.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Zoro asks, eyebrows scrunched together in a way Sanji would consider almost cute if the eye regarding him wasn’t filled with such anger.

“Because you don't trust me anymore,” Sanji whispers now, an admission of guilt. An acknowledgement of the void growing between them all. When he looks around, Luffy’s eyes look dark. Something ice cold grips his insides; this is it, his brain tells him, they’re going to kick you out.

“What am I supposed to do?” Zoro explodes now, standing up and pushing his chair back so violently it scrapes across the floor. He braces himself on the table, food all but forgotten as he levels Sanji with a glare, “You disappear to go get married, and you come back different. You came back as someone I struggle to trust, not just because you left and you attacked Luffy. Because you left and you never told any of us why. Never gave us the full context. And that’s what pisses me off. You left to get fucking married, have a fucking family reunion – because, what? You’re a prince now or whatever – and come back trying to act as though nothing has changed. It has changed, Sanji. Things can’t go back to how they were before, not when I’ve heard how you treated Luffy. Not when you asked me to literally kill you.”

Sanji sags against the counter like a puppet whose strings have been cut. His knees buckle. He knew the others had probably all had similar thoughts, but it cuts deep to his core to hear them verbalised. A series of gasps ring out around him. Sanji doesn’t dare lift his head to face any of them, shame flushing his cheeks red. If nobody else had known about his request of Zoro, then they do now.

Zoro continues, undeterred by Sanji’s emotional turmoil, “You didn’t even tell us any of this. We could have helped. We may not have understood everything, but you didn’t let us try. Why didn’t you let us help?”

Robin reaches a tender hand out towards Zoro’s shoulder, and he shrugs it off. She looks apologetically at Sanji. Robin, who has known all along, from the first second she laid eyes on Sanji, Robin who is intimately familiar with the North Blue and the legacy of the kingdom he was born in. Robin, who spoke to him in his language sometimes, on late nights when the nightmares were too brutal to even pretend to sleep. His heart swells with affection for her, and for the solace her company brought. Knowing he was not alone in running and hiding from his past all these years had made his struggles seem so much smaller until they had literally kidnapped him from his life.

Sanji returns his attention back to the tea he was making for her. Spiced apple with vanilla, comforting, warm, homely. A blend he had found in Alabasta years ago and kept stock of ever since after he found out how much both him and Robin enjoyed it. He adds a drop of honey to Robin’s. Makes it sweet and calming. Places the mug down in front of her and busies himself with pouring a second cup for himself. He holds it in his hands, letting the warmth of the tea give him something to ground himself to. He pulls out a chair at the table next to Robin and Chopper, lets eight pairs of eyes follow his every movement, and resigns himself to his fate.

Sanji owes them the truth. He can tell them everything, let them decide what to do with him after. Zeff would probably let him come back to the Baratie if it goes badly. Oh god – Zeff – Sanji had been avoiding his calls ever since they had got back to the Thousand Sunny and set sail again after Wano. The guilt knocks him sick, but if there is one rejection he could not handle, it is from Zeff.

“It was a condition of me leaving,” Sanji starts. His voice trembles and he feels his stomach churn with anxiety. He has never spoken most of this aloud, but he knows the secret of his birth is out in the world now. It is branded on his wanted poster forever. There is no putting this skeleton back in the closet. “I was to never speak of where I came from. To never refer to him as my father.”

Nami, from where she sits opposite him, looks pale, “How old were you when you left?”

She knows the answer to this. Sanji knows she knows, but he answers anyway, “Eight.” He mutters, takes a sip of tea, and lets the sweetness tether him to the ground. He feels the sway of the ocean underneath the Sunny – a feeling he has never really lived without for any length of time. Around the room, his crewmates look shocked, all except Robin, who is smiling encouragingly at him as she nurses her own cup of tea.

“The third son of Vinsmoke Judge died at eight years old, and it was a tragedy for the Germa Kingdom,” Sanji laughs bitterly, humourlessly, “That is what the world was told.”

Two voices speak at once.

“What kind of a father does that to their own child?” Chopper cries out, face twisting in sadness.

“What really happened?” Asks Robin. A question she had asked him all that time ago on the deck of the Going Merry, an answer she had chased but never received.

Sanji laughs again, bitter and twisted as he feels the energy drain out of him, “Vinsmoke Judge was a lot of things, but he was not ever a father. Not even to my siblings. Zeff is my father. The Baratie is my home.”

He slumps back in his seat, anxiety replaced by a deep urge for them to understand. I didn’t mean to put you all in danger. I didn’t mean to hide anything. I didn’t mean to hurt you.

“As for what happened,” Sanji sighs, his leg bounces anxiously under the table, “I-”

Luffy cuts him off, “Sanji was born Sanji, in the way we all love. What happened before doesn’t matter if he doesn’t want to share.” Luffy is looking at him, eyes wide and a smile like sunshine. Sanji wants this life, wants to spend the rest of his days cooking meals for the captain he would follow to the ends of the earth and back.

Sanji nods, understanding the option to drop it if he wants to. Knows there will be no more pressure to share if he chooses not to.

But, against his best judgement, he continues. He owes them the truth – both the ones who followed him to Whole Cake Island, and the ones who waited at Wano. They deserved to know the full story.

“I was born different to my siblings,” He begins, eyes Luffy curiously, who just nods subtly, “I was slower, weaker, softer. I struggled with the idea of killing, and wanted to make things. I wanted to cook and explore and play, not fight.”

“What kind of psychopath makes his children kill?” Usopp asks, eyes wide and soft.

“Do you know what my name means in Northern?” Sanji asks instead of an answer.

Several heads shake; Robin chimes in, “Three.”

Sanji nods. “My older sister is called Reiju.”

“Zero,” Robin translates again.

“And my brothers, Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji”

Robin swallows, eyes wide as she pieces together the puzzle. “One, two, four. Sanji makes three. You were the third son. Your father named you in the order you were born in?”

Sanji nods, “You know who does that? Do you know what kind of children are named after numbers?”

Robin’s face has set in a grim clarity; she knows the answer but shakes her head anyway, lets him be the one to confess his deepest secrets to all of them.

“Test subjects,” Sanji answers his own question, “Genetic experiments. Germa is a land of science; why should the royal family be any different? Judge wanted perfect soldiers to lead Germa 66 in the future, and he wanted them to be his own flesh and blood.”

Chopper gasps, shudders, eyes wide and shaking with tears. Sanji extends an arm, and the little reindeer takes the invite and clambers up into his lap. Sanji runs a gentle hand down the reindeer’s back as he sniffles into Sanji’s shirt.

“What does that mean?” Nami questions, “Because I have an idea, but I really don’t like that idea. So, if I’m right, Sanji, I am going to be so angry at you for making us save his life.”

Sanji smiles sadly, feels his throat close, and tears burn in his eyes. If he holds Chopper a little tighter, nobody comments on it. He also avoids answering Nami’s question, certain they have all understood exactly what he meant.

“My mom took poison when she was pregnant with me and my brothers. An antidote to the experiments, it was supposed to stop the genetic modifications ever activating, to make us normal children,” Sanji swallows. His hands shake, and he feels exposed in ways he never wanted to be.

“Supposed to?” Questions Brook, their resident skeleton, is watching intensely. Sanji wonders if he can understand the feeling of being completely different to everyone around you. He wonders if it compares to how it must feel to have all that is left of your body be bones and an afro.

“I was the only one it worked on. I was born human. I was born weak.” Sanji doesn’t want to continue. Wants these words to remain unspoken and hide in his body like an evil curse, but he knows he has to continue – to let them make their own choices about him even if it breaks his heart.

“It’s never weak to care,” Luffy’s face is neutral, but his eyes are shining with fury, “It’s why I want you on my crew and not anyone else. Nobody else cares like Sanji does. Who else would make me meat whenever I want? Or make everyone special drinks, or make Zoro special desserts because he doesn’t like sweet stuff? Who else would take care of this crew like you do?”

Sanji feels warm inside; Luffy’s words have restored a new kind of energy within him. A warmth that is spreading down every limb and into his very core. Luffy smiles softly at Sanji, encouraging and kind as he eats the last of his paella.

“My mom died not long before my eighth birthday,” Sanji’s voice breaks, and he runs a hand through his hair. Chopper holds on tighter, “After that things got worse.”

“Worse how?” Robin asks, her eyes shining with a fury Sanji had only seen reserved for their enemies. He prays it isn’t directed at him; he couldn’t handle that right now.

“My siblings got worse, more violent.” He flinches in memory of phantom fists and kicks on the small body of an eight-year-old, “Reiju tried to help, but she was programmed just the same. Unable to defy her father’s orders.”

Sanji hopes the distinction of her father is missed by the table, but he doubts it.

“One day, Judge decided he had had enough of me. I was declared dead when I was eight. I escaped six months later, ended up on a cruise ship that was attacked by pirates two years later. There was a storm; I ended up stranded with Zeff on a rock for months. The rest you all know.”

“What happened in that six months between them declaring you dead and you escaping?” Robin questions; her voice is soft, but she is probably the best person to have asked that question. Anyone else except Nami or Chopper might have received a kick to the face for even making him think about that time in his life. As it is, Sanji leans back in the chair and twirls a strand of Chopper’s fur absent-mindedly, aware of the reindeer curling closer into him.

“I became very well acquainted with the castle dungeon,” Sanji shakes, feels like a million volts of electricity are buzzing underneath his skin, waiting to electrocute him down, “They used a -” His voice cracks and he folds his arms on the table and buries his head in them, “They used a mask to hide who I was, until my brothers found me a few months in, I was completely alone.”

Sanji doesn’t want to say anymore. Don’t ask for any more information, please, he begs internally.

There’s a series of shocked gasps around the room. Half of his crew looks downright murderous, and the other half look close to tears or are already crying. Sanji never wanted this – he isn’t sure whether the cold hatred directed at him is worse than the pity or not.

Zoro is watching him with a careful eye, studying his face for something. “That’s why you asked me to kill you? The experiments?”

He says the word ‘experiments’ like it is a great sin, or a nasty taste he is trying to get out of his mouth. Sanji nods anyway, “After I used the raid suit they gave me, my skin was hard like iron. Like theirs. I can’t risk becoming someone – something – like that and being a danger to you all. I had to trust that someone would stop me if I turned into one of them.”

There’s a flash of movement; Sanji doesn’t even have time to blink before Zoro has drawn his Wado Ichimonji and levelled it at Sanji. Sanji bows his head, accepting his fate. Chopper squeals, buries into Sanji’s side, Nami gasps loudly. Usopp looks pale. Brook is glancing wildly between the two of them. Luffy’s eyes are dark, dangerous, unreadable. Sanji had hoped so dearly to be at least allowed to live for longer, but if they have decided he is a danger then he understands.

Something drips from Sanji’s face, deep red contrasting heavily with the vibrant white of his shirt. He reaches a timid finger up to his cheek, and they come away damp with blood from a shallow cut. He hadn’t even felt it.

“You bleed,” Zoro says, like that is an answer in and of itself, “You can’t be dangerous to us if you still bleed.”

And maybe it was an answer. Zoro sheaths the sword and sits back down like his duty is done for the day. Like he hasn’t just ripped Sanji’s heart out and left it vulnerable and bleeding for everyone to observe. Sanji’s hand shakes as he wipes the blood onto his trousers; he feels pale and lightheaded and tastes copper in his mouth. Chopper has pulled out a bandage and is now dressing the injury on his face after they have all settled down, but Sanji feels dissociated, like he is not in control of his own body. He feels hazy and panicked and like his breath is coming far too quickly – and maybe it is.

“It’s not,” He tries, “You can’t, I –”

The words don’t seem to come out; he can’t make them see. He can’t make them trust him. Sanji can’t bleed every time they doubt his intentions. He hyperventilates now, anxious and stretched thin with fragile hands clutching at his whole body. He’s vaguely aware of someone moving around him, someone talking to him in a soft voice, but Sanji can’t breathe, can’t focus, can’t think of anything past a cold dungeon, the cold feeling of the tables in the laboratory, and the sharp spikes of too many needles and the displeased look as he would wake up in a hostile, sterile environment just for them to realised they had failed over and over again.

It takes a while for him to come around again, and when he does, he is pleased to see that it is just Luffy and Robin in the room with him. Sanji feels nauseous, his cup of tea has long since gone cold, and his stomach rumbles faintly as he snaps back into coherency. He feels weightless and exhausted, the heightened emotion of only a few moments ago having drained out of him like the water drains out of the sink when he is done with it. He wonders if it is worth trying to explain anything or if they understand anyway.

“I’m sorry,” He says, weakly, watching his hands in his lap, raising one to run through his hair as if checking for the absence of a mask. Tries his best to ignore how it trembles against his blonde hair.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Sanji-kun,” Robin says gently. She’s watching him like he is a fragile piece of china, shattering to pieces at any moment. In a way, Sanji supposes, he is.

Sanji looks around at the table, several portions of food left half-eaten from the way their dinner was disturbed. He gathers the plates, scrapes food back into his pan, and begins the process of reheating. Attempt number two. If nobody wants the reheated food, he shall prep something else and freeze the remains for a later date. A midnight snack or a desperate last resort if they end up stuck without food.

Robin and Luffy just watch him work, without speaking or offering any assistance. It helps Sanji clear his mind to do the same chores he has been doing since he was 8, settles his anxieties, and lets his mind breathe as the monotony of the activity slows his thoughts down. He takes his cup of tea, sad and long since cold, and begins the process of reheating that too. When it’s reached an adequate temperature, he pours the liquid back into the mug he was drinking from and takes a sip. The food won’t be ready for another few minutes, but he has settled his mind enough to be able to finish what he started before.

“I want to finish telling them everything,” He pleads, eyes flicking between Robin and Luffy like either of them would stop him, “I owe them – I owe you – that much.”

“You don’t owe us anything,” Robin says, calm, logical, and affectionate. It only fuels Sanji’s determination.

“You all deserve to know why I left. Why I went back.” Sanji insists.

Luffy nods at him, “I know they hurt you, Sanji. That you left to protect us. That’s good enough for me.” Luffy grins, face partially obscured by his famous straw hat but blindingly bright despite that. Sanji breathes out; he could drop this now and never mention it again. Nobody would ask. It would still be enough for Luffy. Luffy still wants him here. Sanji stirs the pot of food again, keeping a careful eye on it to stop the rice from sticking to the bottom of the pan. It is tempting to avoid it, but this is a secret he has carried alone for far too long. He owes it to himself to try and seek comfort in the company of his crew, to reach a hand out for support and receive eight hands back reaching towards him.

Sanji kicks the door open with a leg stretched out behind him, and loudly declares that he has reheated the food. He spins out of the kick, narrowly missing Chopper, who shoots in as soon as the door is opened. So do Usopp, Nami, and Brook. Zoro and Jinbe are lounging just outside and raise their heads to look at him. Sanji feels naked again, vulnerable in ways he doesn’t want to think about, so he plasters a smile on his face and asks if anyone wants some more to eat; he serves it in the fancy little dinner bowls they had picked up a few islands ago, rather than the full-size plates he would usually use.

Nami turns her nose up, face etched with concern that Sanji feels honoured is directed at him, and he makes a mental note to make her something special tomorrow as a thank you. Sanji places the pot in the centre, lets them add more to their bowls if they want it, and then he takes a small bowl for himself and adds some.

Zoro tenses, watches him with that single grey eye, and Sanji feels self-conscious. Wishes he could undo everything and hide forever.

Sanji steels himself before his resolve can crumble completely, and speaks before he can talk himself out of it, “I refused the wedding initially. I told Bege to go fuck himself and leave me alone,” The crewmates who were there nodded resolutely, “But then Vito told me something, something I’m not sure if the rest of you ever found out.”

Nami’s eyes widen. “He whispered something to you at the time?” She says slowly, and Sanji nods to confirm.

“Germa 66 had Red Leg Zeff and the Baratie under their control,” Sanji runs a hand through his hair again, remembers the pure fear that had overcome him at the words, “That was their bargaining chip: Zeff.”

A shocked gasp goes around the group. Sanji continues before he can stop himself, “I went to tell them I wasn’t interested in being their pawn to gain power, that I wasn’t getting married for them, but before I could object and leave, they had put these handcuffs on me.” Sanji rubs his wrist absentmindedly, “Do you remember those collars the celestial dragons made slaves wear?”

“The ones that exploded?” Franky asks; he looks devastated – robotic eyes blown wide and brow furrowed in rage.

“Yes,” Sanji confirms, “These were the same. Rigged to explode if there was any indication of me leaving the island or refusing the wedding. I had to convince everyone I was going to get married, that I was renouncing my old life to marry Pudding, or they were going to explode my hands and kill everyone I have ever cared about.”

“Those gold bracelets?” Nami gasps, “I thought those were just some fancy royal jewellery in the North.”

“I didn’t find out until much later that Reiju had swapped them out for fakes,” Sanji continues.

“So the whole plan, from coming back for us in the field to the wedding itself, you did that while risking everything?” Nami asks quietly. Her eyes are shining with unshed tears. Sanji nods to confirm what she said is true, and she reaches a hand up to cover her mouth as the first tears begin to flow. “I didn’t know,” She pleads, “I was so angry at you.”

“I know,” Sanji nods, “You had every right to be.”

“I should have known. Luffy knew; it’s why he didn’t fight back, isn’t it? I should’ve known something wasn’t right.” Nami is crying fully now; Sanji resists the urge to get up and comfort her, choosing instead to sit and listen. The apology is soothing something inside of him, sanding a raw edge into something smoother and less cutting.

“Sanji was trapped,” Luffy says like it explains everything, “He had to protect the people he cares about, even if that meant hurting us physically.”

Sanji had never thought about it like that, had chosen instead to pick apart every second of his fight with Luffy in the late nights where nightmares racked his dreams and anxiety had him reaching for cigarette after cigarette and checking for the absence of golden handcuffs and iron masks. He had torn himself to shreds, dissecting every second like analysing his moves could undo every kick, only for Luffy’s words to cut through all of that with far more efficiency than any of Zoro’s swords could.

Zoro looks absolutely livid, “Please tell me these guys are all dead. And if not, can I hunt them down?”

Luffy shakes his head, lips pressed together in a line. “Sanji wanted them to live.” Zoro rolls his eyes at Sanji and scoffs out something about soft cooks, and then leans back in his chair, hand running along the handles of his swords absentmindedly. Sanji pays him no attention.

“After I found out the marriage was a plot to wipe out Germa 66, I had to do something, even if it meant risking everything. I told Reiju, and she told me to leave with you guys, to escape and let them all be wiped out, but I couldn’t do that, even if it would have been for the best.” Sanji takes a bite of food. These memories are painful and fresh in the worst way. A small part of him will always wonder whether he made the right choice there or not.

“She told me then that the cuffs were fake, and she said that my humanity was not a failure,” Sanji’s voice cracks, “It was a success of my mother’s attempt to stop Judge’s experiments. She poisoned herself. She died so I could be normal.”

Usopp offers a soft smile, “I’m sure she would be proud of the person you grew up to be.”

Sanji gives a watery smile back, “I hope so.” He mutters, mostly to himself but everyone else hears anyway, “I decided then that I was going to force you guys to leave, and just let Big Mom kill us all. I thought that would be the best thing to do, to protect you all and the world from Germa 66 and its technology.”

Zoro leans forward to slap the back of his head. Sanji whirls around, angry in a way that feels familiar and comforting, “What the hell was that for, Mosshead?”

“For always being so self-sacrificing,” Zoro’s eye is looking at him so sharply that Sanji feels pinned to the wall behind him. There’s an edge to his reply that is missing from their usual dynamic, something rougher but more genuine, “Learn to rely on others for once, Dartbrow.”

“I changed my mind like ten minutes later,” Sanji defends indignantly.

“Only cause Luffy punched some sense into you,” Nami snaps back, “When will you learn that your life isn’t replaceable?”

Sanji blinks, “I couldn’t let them hurt Zeff.”

“And yet you haven’t called him once since?” Nami challenges, eyebrow raised in victory as she knows she has Sanji cornered.

“I owe him my life. I couldn’t bear to hear if anything has happened to him.” Sanji feels boneless again, weak and drained from this conversation. His eyes drift to the den den mushi sat in the corner. He has had the Baratie number stuck to the inside of his locker for months, but is yet to plug in the numbers and let it ring.

“What happened after?” Zoro asks, guiding the conversation away from Zeff but back to Whole Cake Island. Out of the frying pan into the fire. Sanji needs a smoke.

“We crashed a wedding,” Luffy grins, casting Sanji a knowing glance while the other sags back a little, allowing himself a moment to let others tell the story, “It was awesome.”

Sanji would not describe it as awesome, but the power he had felt rescuing his family had been enough to keep him going for a while – even if the mind-numbing anxiety that came with it had done some serious emotional damage.

“My wedding went to shit, Big Mom tried to kill us, Luffy fought a guy made of mochi, and I baked a wedding cake.” Sanji finds himself laughing despite it all. He doesn’t mention Pedro and his sacrifice, doesn’t want to bring that ache up again, but the situation itself feels hilarious. He spares Pudding a thought idly – those last few moments with her where he had seen under the facade and begun to enjoy the company of the woman underneath. He hopes she has not suffered the consequences of their escape.

Sanji looks around the room, at his friends watching him with nothing but care. Not an ounce of judgement visible – only thinly veiled concern and anger towards the mistreatment he experienced. Suddenly, Sanji is asking himself what he was ever worried about. Of course they wouldn’t judge the ugliest parts of him, not when they had also bared their deepest shames for him to witness over the years. Sanji finds himself laughing uncontrollably, lighter than he has felt for years as his secrets are out. Nobody else joins in for a few seconds, probably concerned about what Sanji could possibly find so funny, and then Nami’s face crinkles slightly. Her eyes are still puffy from crying, and her face is streaked red, but as she starts giggling with him, Sanji thinks it is the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. Luffy joins in next, and after that it is only inevitable that everyone else joins.

Sanji isn’t sure how long he keeps laughing for, but by the time he calms down, his side aches and his breath is coming in pants as he struggles to get air into his lungs. It’s not the first step to healing, not by a long shot, but it’s progress. For the first time in his life, Sanji does not feel the need to hide from anyone.

He remembers secret conversations on the ship, moments where he would run and hide from this – terrified that even thinking too hard about his past would manifest it into existence to hurt the people he cared about. But Sanji had tried ignoring it; he had tried running from it, and yet it had sought him out anyway. It had come knocking with threats and pain and brought up a whole host of memories he wishes he had never remembered, despite all of his best efforts. Everyone knew now – his bounty poster had his birth name blasted over it for the world to know. Queen had called him out on it; future enemies were sure to know of it.

Everyone knew. Everything had changed, but, simultaneously, nothing had changed. Sanji was still the cook for the Strawhat Pirates. He was Black-Leg Sanji, son of Zeff and ex-sous-chef of the Baratie. He was still surrounded by people who loved him for who he was, and accepted him in his entirety – faults and all. Sanji remembers the crippling anxiety that night when Vivi had recognised him – how he had stayed up until the early hours of the morning panicking about everything being revealed. He realises now that his worst fears had come true, and his crewmates had surprised him in every single way. Where he had expected raised fists and cutting anger, he received love and support and kindness he would never believe that he deserved. His friends were angry, yes, but angry on behalf of him, not directed at him. Sanji leans back in his chair, fingers wrapped around the mug of tea. He takes a sip, and for a moment he is back in Alabasta sharing a simpler moment with Vivi. Sanji settles down, lets the words of his crewmates wash over him, and enjoys the last of his tea.

The conversation fades out after that, drifts onto kinder and less sensitive topics, but Sanji notices how nobody makes any effort to leave the galley, even after the food is long since eaten and he is well into the process of cleaning up. He takes out his notebook, scrawling inventory notes into the margins of the next clean page, and adds a few notes for meals to make tomorrow. Adds mikan tarts in a bold font at the top. Underlines it twice for good measure, before tucking the pen away and the book back where it belonged.

“How do you feel now, Sanji?” Robin asks. It takes him a second to understand that she is talking in Northern, and he feels his heart soar at the privacy she offered him in a room full of caring but nosy individuals.

“Free,” He answers honestly, and she smiles back, “Thank you for keeping my secret, all of these years.”

“It’s nothing you wouldn’t do for any of us,” Robin’s eyes twinkle with something knowing. She’s right, of course; Sanji would have kept any secret they asked him to without asking twice. He knows the value of a secret, and the value of a promise.

Sanji doesn’t reply, only offers her a grin.

Eventually, after agreeing to undergo a full medical exam from Chopper and offering a million reassurances that he is okay, he makes it to bed. It’s late; usually he would have been long asleep by now, but his heart feels happy, and his mind is quiet from its usual anxiety, a nice change from the regular combination of emotion he feels at night. He settles into his hammock, hearing the sounds of his crew settling in around him, and truly relaxes for the first time in a long time.

It’s the best night's sleep he has had for a while.

When he wakes, the sun is burning lines onto his face through the window, and the bunkroom is empty. Sanji dresses quickly, panicked at the idea of sleeping in so late he missed breakfast, and opens the galley door.

The sight in front of him stops him in his tracks. Luffy and Zoro are covered in flour, their clothes speckled white, while Nami stirs a large mixing bowl. Usopp is dicing strawberries, slowly and carefully, and Chopper is mixing a pot of coffee, pouring some into a mug and adding in some sugar. Jinbe and Brook are seated at the table, watching with amusement in their eyes. Neither of them have escaped the flour disaster, with both of them having white smudges on their clothes too. Robin is reading a book, her hair tied back into a messy bun as she sips a mug of tea. She smiles at Sanji as he walks in and offers him an almost apologetic glance.

Sanji wants to flip out, looking around at his usually pristine kitchen. There’s mess everywhere; not a single surface has escaped the flour, there’s egg shell on the floor, and Usopp is using the wrong kind of knife for chopping fruit.

“Uh,” Sanji asks instead of committing mass murder, “What’s going on?”

They freeze, spinning around to look at him. Where he had previously been unnoticed, he is now the centre of attention.

“I told you we should have started sooner.” Usopp wheels around, pointing his knife in Nami’s direction and flicking strawberry juice at her accidentally.

“How was I supposed to know when he would wake up?” Nami stomps a foot in frustration, shaking her whisk and dropping batter on the floor.

“We’re making breakfast,” Luffy grins, “Sanji always cooks for us; we wanted to cook for him for a change.”

Sanji surveys the chaos around him, the state of his kitchen and the bashful stares of everyone involved in turning his place of comfort into a war zone.

“You,” He swallows, “You did this for me?”

“Yeah,” Usopp jumps into action, brandishing a kitchen towel over his arm like a waiter as he stands to attention, “May I show our guest to his seat?”

Sanji lets Usopp lead him around the table, seating him next to Robin, who has now folded her book shut and is watching the scene unfold with curiosity.

“If you make a mess of my kitchen, you’re cleaning it up.” Sanji levels Usopp with a glare, aiming to look intimidating but unable to stop the smile making its way onto his face.

Usopp salutes and offers him a big grin in return, “Of course, your honour.”

Sanji relaxes back into the seat, watching his crewmates cook him and themselves breakfast. He watches them use the wrong techniques and make simple mistakes and laughs as Robin starts pointing out the floury handprints scattered around the room. A cup of coffee is placed in front of him; it’s somehow both too bitter and too sweet, but it tastes perfect to him.

It turns out, they’re making pancakes. It takes five times longer than it would have taken Sanji to whip up a batch twice as big, but Sanji cannot resist the grin pulling his cheeks as the plate is placed in front of him. Two big pancakes, drizzled in a coating of syrup and topped with some chopped strawberries. The pancakes are burnt underneath, there’s far too much syrup for his tastes, and the strawberries are chopped in a way so uneven Zeff would have had his head for ever daring to serve something like that in the Baratie. There are parts where too much pressure has been applied, and the strawberry has bruised a deep red, and parts where the juice has run uncontrollably and soaked into the pancake below in a way sure to make it soggy. When he takes a bite, Sanji is fairly certain he gets a solid lump of flour in the middle of his pancake.

It’s the best damn breakfast he has ever eaten.

(And yes, he does make sure they clean his kitchen before he makes the most extravagant lunch he ever has, with something special for all of them. Sanji loves his crew, and as he cooks for them all, he realises just how much they love him too.)