Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This is not the first time that Sanji has been coughed up by the ocean on some desolate island, the sound of waves roaring in his ears and his water-filled lungs screaming for air. How is he even awake, alive? He didn’t swim here, or he wouldn't be drowning. 

Those scorching rocks are sand instead. An arm pulls him through the waves just far enough to dump his torso onto the sand. Just a couple of pumps to his chest makes the water start to come up, and his eyes fly open. 

Sanji has dreamed about waking up on that rock many times before, but this time the clear blue sky is punctuated with lush green. A twinkle of gold burns his eyes, so he shuts them and keeps hacking. A hand on his shoulder rolls him onto his side so the water comes up better. The pain of coughing is excruciating, but he has to get the water out. He splutters up the last dribble and sucks in a desperate breath. His mouth is full of sand and salt, but he doesn't care. The rush of sweet oxygen is enough to distract, if only briefly, from the pain gripping his battered body. 

“Cook?” Someone has been calling out to him for a long time. 

Their bodies are still splashing in the water, gentle waves lapping up to his hips. Sanji tries to move his legs. 

An arm scoops up his shoulders and head, a piece of cloth swiping over his lips and cheek to wash away the sand. “We gotta go. Am I carrying you?” 

God, no. Sanji reaches out with his arm to grab at the person holding him. Once he gets his feet under him, everything else will come back. Maybe the dream will even end. Wouldn’t that be nice... Moving his arm pulls on the muscles down his side, sending a sharp pain through his chest. Well, fuck. He closes his fingers around a soaked shirt, and that hurts too. Broken.  

“I got you.” Unaware of the pain it causes, the arm scoops him up and puts him on his feet, dragging him out of the water and onto the beach. 

His head feels heavy. Sanji tries to get his feet under him, but his legs wobble like jelly. Whoever is holding him up is strong enough to support him though. Easily. Sanji just has to try to put his feet one in front of the other. His body feels like lead and aches like it’s falling apart. He’s dragging down, hanging off his support and tripping over his own feet. The bright colors of what might be a very beautiful vista blur together through the small crack he can see through. He can't seem to open his eyes more than that. A bush-like blob of green is moving closer than the rest, passing in front of his vision and filling almost all of it, as his slumping body is picked up effortlessly. 

It’s just like being a little boy again. He isn’t little anymore though... Has he already wasted away so much that his body is that light? The sound of the ocean grows distant, and the blazing sun is suddenly blocked by shadow. Something jangles near his ear, and when he forces his eyes a bit further open he spots that gold again. 

Zoro’s earrings shine faintly in the sunlight that permeates the thick forest coverage. Sanji’s heart just about stops, because why would he ever dream about Zoro ? Still, real or not, Zoro’s presence fills his tired brain with a sense of safety and relief. He shuts his eyes. 

-- 

Sanji is almost grateful for the vivid experience of being thrown to the ocean and almost drowning, then waking up on that tiny rock island with Zeff. It created a much-needed barrier between his childhood and now. The trauma of slowly dying is very different to the trauma of being beaten and discarded by his own family day after day. The weakness of a starving body is much preferred to the weight of the helmet and the darkness of the cell in the bottom of the Germa kingdom, waiting for his brothers’ next visit. 

A river trickles to his right, and leaves rustle above him. His lips taste of salt. Sanji cracks open his eyes and winces as his vision fills with lush forest greens and bright sunlight. 

Boots crunch closer and a shadow falls over his body. A hand slides under his jaw and something wet touches his face, washing the sand and salt from his eyes. Rough fingers stroke his bangs out of his face to wash thoroughly. His face must be covered in cuts and bruises, because even the more careful dabs sting. 

The boots walk away. Sanji licks his lips. It’s a strangely peaceful way to wake up, surrounded by the sounds of nature, shaded from the hot sun, comfortably lying on his back. His head is pillowed on something he can’t identify. Sanji blinks and his vision is much clearer now that his eyes aren’t full of sand and glued together with ocean minerals and probably tears. Maybe blood. Sanji waits for his vision to clear, but the shape crouched by the river is immediately recognizable. 

Sanji would know Zoro’s muscular shoulders and mossy hair from any distance, no matter how blurry his vision. The swordsman is knelt by the river, washing his bandana in the water and wringing it out. He isn’t wearing his shirt or his haramaki for that matter, and Sanji can guess what his pillow might be. In fact, his own clothes are gone. He’s sitting in the grass in nothing but his underwear. At least the sun is warm... 

Zoro puts down his bandana and sits heavily on the riverbank, pulling off his boots and tipping water and sand out of them. He lays them in a patch of sun to dry and stands up, pushing down the waistband of his pants as he mutters to himself. 

Sanji can’t look away. The swordsman’s legs are as toned as the rest of his body. Scarred, too. Zoro dips his trousers in the river to wash off the seawater, wringing them out. He hangs them on the branch next to the rest of their clothes in a beam of sunlight streaking through the foliage. Sanji’s dress shirt, jacket, pants, and tie are all meticulously spread out to dry. His socks and shoes are on the ground next to Zoro’s boots. His pack of cigarettes and lighter are arranged there too. Nearby, Zoro’s sword leans against a tree. 

Just one, oddly. Sanji frowns, looking around for the other two. Only the white one seems to have made it wherever this is. 

Maybe he should get up and try to figure out what happened, where they are. Why Zoro is here with him. Zoro, of all people... Zoro carried him here from the beach. Sanji can’t find the energy to be angry about it, but he can muster a little bit of embarrassment. It’s probably his fault they’re here anyway. It’s about time he got a good look at himself. Sanji looks down at his naked body. 

Canon fire rocks the ship as the storm hits. The navy ship is easy to fend off, but the storm persists. They just have to weather it.  

Luffy wraps one arm around the mast and stretches out the other to help his crew steer the ship, catch flying lawn chairs, or steady his friends. Sanji pulls as hard as he can on the ropes, and the wind fights him. Poor Chopper is sliding around on the grass with his hooves. He grows into Heavy Point to get a better grip with his toes, just as a wave rocks the ship and dips it violently to one side. Chopper goes flying, and Sanji lets go of the rope to catch him. Chopper smacks into him, throwing him backwards.  

The ship wrenches the other way as they fly toward the railing. Chopper’s body smashes Sanji into it. Sanji wraps his arms tightly around the reindeer to stop him from flying into the ocean, wincing under impact. Chopper quickly shrinks as they fly back across the deck in the other direction. Luffy’s hand reaches out to grab them, and Sanji spins on the grass like a skater to put Chopper into Luffy’s grip. He spins again to grab the railing, but the ship is wrenched sideways and he loses his balance. Sanji tumbles into the other railing, and it knocks the wind out of him. He scrambles to his feet, but the next wave throws up the side of the ship and launches him high enough that he sails over the railing and into the ocean.  

The crew calls for him. Sanji quickly orients himself, fighting to keep his head above the water. He’s the best swimmer in the crew, and all he has to do is keep himself above the surface so Luffy can stretch and grab him. He reaches out his hand, and Luffy’s rubber arm stretches over the railing toward him. The next wave lifts him up before the hand can grab him. The wave breaks and throws him down as the boat tips again, smashing him into the hull. His head bounces off, and the waves suck him under the ship. If the Thousand Sunny weren’t such a new ship, his body might have been torn to shreds by barnacles. It still hurts though, and the impact knocks any remaining air from his lungs. The turbulence briefly pulls him to surface, only long enough to spot a shape dive over the railing. Sunny is already so far away and the waves tug him under again before he has the chance to cough up the water he swallowed and breathe. The cold ocean claws his body downward, away from what little light remains within the storm.  

Not again.  

This is very much not like the last time. A jungle island is a much nicer place to be stranded than a barren rock. There might be things to eat here, and a constant supply of fresh water is a blessing. 

Zoro’s presence is... Well, it’s better than one of the ladies. At least Zoro can take care of himself, and Sanji won’t feel too bad about whatever help he may need to rely on the swordsman for. I’ll be alright. A battering isn’t enough to finish him off. It might be enough to stop him from contributing much to the survival effort though. Sanji can tell that moving around is going to hurt. But since he’s quite comfortable propped up on this log, he might as well enjoy the view. 

Zoro takes up a readied stance by the river, the sun caressing the curves of his muscled body. Usually they’re fighting enemies or fighting each other, so Sanji doesn’t get much of a chance to watch. Not up close, anyway. Sometimes he can catch a glimpse through the kitchen window of Zoro working out on the deck. 

This is different from a weight-lifting routine. Zoro turns his foot to shift his weight, making a fist and stretching out his arm for a slow punch. 

It looks like a dance. Sanji frowns as he watches Zoro move through patterns, each muscle deliberately recruited and each movement precise. Despite the insults, Sanji knows there’s more to Zoro’s skill than swinging three swords around. It takes a lot of work to perfect each swipe, just as it takes mastering twenty separate skills just to perfect a single kick. Balance, focus, strength, flexibility, speed, stamina, aim... 

Zoro’s face is rigid with focus, even as his body moves fluidly. His eyes are troubled, his lips tight. The routine ends with the sun at his back, his body facing Sanji. Their eyes meet. 

Sanji isn’t sure if he can move, and Zoro is temporarily frozen, his turmoil changing to surprise, relief, and finally anger. Zoro’s face contorts into a growl even as he gallops over urgently. “You were awake?” he accuses. 

“Sorry, already wrote my eulogy?” Sanji snaps back. A rib shifts and he stills himself. Zoro’s hand reaches out to do the same, steadying him by the shoulder. Sanji looks away. “Put some pants on. I don’t want to look at your disgusting body,” he mutters. A cough works its way up, and he spits the last teaspoon of seawater into his hand. 

Zoro holds onto him until he’s finished coughing. “You were looking just fine earlier,” he grumbles, standing up and walking over to their hanging clothes. 

“Hard not to stare at a trainwreck. And you were in my line of sight.” 

Zoro huffs, putting on his pants first. “Happy now?” He looks over his shoulder. 

“Much.” The sooner Zoro puts his shirt back on too, the better.  

Zoro takes their clothes over and kneels down, unfurling Sanji’s trousers. “At least I don’t have to ask if you remember who you are.” 

Sanji lifts his heel so Zoro can slide the trouser leg on. “I’m fine.” 

Zoro looks at him flatly, Sanji’s ankle held in a firm hand. Sanji resists the urge to flick his leg free, wrap it around Zoro’s neck, and strangle him to death. He realizes just where Zoro’s face would end up if he did such a thing and looks away from Zoro’s concerned face. The embarrassment is unbearable. 

At least Zoro isn’t one to fuss. The fact that he’s even doing this, carefully feeding on Sanji’s trousers, without any hesitation, is a sign that the ‘I’m fine’ claims will work less than they usually do. 

“Where are we?” Sanji asks. 

Zoro shrugs, predictably. “The waves took us a long way, and I couldn’t see the storm from the beach.” 

Why are you here? Sanji nearly asks, but it’s a stupid question. If Zoro weren’t here, Sanji would be dead. If someone has to take care of me, I would much rather Nami. Sanji scowls vengefully at Zoro’s warm, calloused hands maneuvering his legs to get the trousers on. But if Nami were here, he would feel bad about not being able to protect her. I’m alright. Just need to get my bearings, that’s all.  

At least he won't have to worry about Zoro’s safety, even if it means having to endure the swordsman’s company and the humiliation of yet again being the burden. And to burden Zoro of all people, the person he considers his equal, who can’t possibly think the same of him after this- 

“You’re thinkin’ too much,” Zoro says, snapping his fingers in front of Sanji’s glazed eye. “We just gotta lay low and watch for the ship. There’s food and water. Nami will find us in no time.” 

Sanji bats Zoro’s hand out of his face. “Of course Nami will find us. Might have been easier if you’d stayed on the beach and made a smoke signal, moss-for-brains.” 

Zoro takes Sanji's wrist and wraps the arm around his neck, lifting Sanji off the grass to pull up the waistband. “I don’t think we’re alone,” he says grimly. “If I made a smoke signal, our friends might not have been the first to find us.” 

“So fight them.” Sanji shrugs, wincing as Zoro puts him back down. “Some nobodies on a random island couldn’t beat you.” 

“You passed out on me,” Zoro replies evenly, holding up his shirt. 

Sanji feels the dread settle in his stomach as he contemplates the implication. He’s not sure why. It’s a perfectly reasonable, sensible decision from the swordsman not to risk a fight against an enemy of unknown size and strength under these circumstances. Zoro could be entirely wrong that there are any other humans on this island, but Zoro’s instincts are, from Sanji’s experience, flawless. Just leave me here and go build a smoke signal somewhere, you green asshole. I’ll just sleep until they find us, and you can fight off whatever tries to kill you.  

“Your arm is broken.” Zoro says, holding up his shirt. “And you’re drifting off again.” 

Sanji looks at his arm that has been so carefully laid over his belly. It’s very bruised. 

It might be the first time that Zoro has ever touched him in such a gentle manner. Zoro holds Sanji’s arm by the elbow and uses his shirt to make a sling. Sanji flexes his fingers and is glad to find that he can still feel them. His arm is fixable, then. He must have thrown it up to protect his head at some point while tumbling under the ship, because he doesn’t remember breaking it. 

Zoro drapes Sanji’s shirt and jacket around the cook’s shoulders. He even goes to the trouble of lifting the shirt collar and arranging the tie under it. He folds down the collar and leaves the tie undone. He probably doesn’t know how to tie a tie, that green idiot... Sanji holds his clothes around himself and lies back with a sigh, feeling a bit more like himself, though still in a daze. Zoro seems to have done some due diligence in making sure that Sanji won’t die, in propping him up so he can breathe more easily. Obviously the swordsman isn’t nearly as careful with his own body. Sanji can’t imagine Zoro doing anything other than staggering up the beach in a lost daze, dripping with blood, and scrounging for food without sparing a moment to triage himself. The crew would have been lucky to find the swordsman before he hurt himself just by walking around and straining his injured body. 

Obviously Sanji would have jumped in after Zoro if their positions were reversed. He wonders if he could have made Zoro sit still and rest. Sanji is having a hard time making himself do that, especially as the need to reassure both Zoro and himself that he’s alright grows stronger. If top agents of the world government can’t take him down, then a storm and his own ship can’t either. 

Zoro stands up. “There are fish in this river. Worst comes to worst, I’ll catch something from the ocean. Or a bird or something. We won’t starve at least.” 

Sanji huffs, wondering if he’s going to prefer starving to eating whatever Zoro cooks for him.  

“Relax, cook,” Zoro says, putting his boots back on. “You may have grown up in a bougie restaurant, but this is a normal day for me before I joined this crew. We’ll be fine.” 

You have no idea. Sanji scowls, gripping his shirt in a tight fist. “I’m so relaxed,” he snaps. “Forgive my lack of faith in your survival skills, moss. You get lost on straight paths, and if you wander off I may never see you again.” 

“It’s a small island,” Zoro snaps back. It’s a relieving change from the concern putting Sanji on edge. The swordsman stomps to the riverbank and fishes out some larger stones. “It’s not like I’ll get on a boat and leave you or anything.” 

I won’t leave you.  

You should.  

Zoro should be safe on the ship. Instead, he’s here, making a small fire pit in the middle of the little area that he’s made into their camp. And he seems... relaxed. More-so now that they’re arguing again. He seems to have a plan, anyway. 

“Where are your other swords?” Sanji asks. 

Zoro shrugs as he finishes the small circle of rocks. “Thrown overboard, maybe. I was cleaning this one so it was already in my hand when the marines attacked. I reached out to grab Robin when the boat rocked, and when I turned around they were gone.” 

“I’m sorry,” Sanji offers sincerely. 

“They’re just swords.” Zoro turns his back to Sanji as he deliberates over the rock arrangement. He packs down a layer of dirt to make the base. 

“Well, they’re expensive, at least. And you’re already in debt.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” 

Sanji chuckles and looks up at the patches of sky visible through the foliage. The sun is starting to set, lighting the blue on fire with orange-stained clouds. All this trouble for a little slip-up... “Zoro...?” 

Zoro looks over his shoulder and pauses his firepit building. 

“Sorry,” Sanji whispers. “Sorry you’re here...” 

“I’d jump in after any crew member,” Zoro says. “You’re no different.” 

I should be. Zoro should have focused on keeping the rest of the crew safe, and Sanji should have been able to swim his way back. 

“Nami will find us,” Zoro says, and this time it sounds much more like a reassurance than simply a statement of fact. He stands up and snaps some branches from the trees around them. “Luffy won’t let them go on without us. We can’t have gone far. You trust Nami, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do.” If anyone can find them it’s Nami. She’ll be able to follow the currents and map the ocean to find them. And nobody would leave without them, certainly not without Zoro. Luffy would never leave Zoro behind. 

“Then we’ll be fine, so stop fretting so much.” Zoro lays out the kindling. 

Easy for you to say. Not so easy for Sanji to agree with, though, even if he knows the circumstances for rescue are ideal. Nami is a spectacular navigator, Luffy is as stubborn and loyal as any captain could be, the island will have food and water to sustain them as long as necessary, and Zoro is a strong and reliable companion. Sanji has no doubt that Zoro will keep him safe from any danger that could be lurking. 

Zoro’s reassurances don’t help, and Sanji feels even more ashamed that they don’t. 

Chapter Text

It could have happened to anyone.  

Sanji prods the side of his head where it struck Sunny’s hull. The cut is sealed and Zoro cleaned away all the blood, but the bruising has spread down the side of his face and around his eye. At least his bangs cover most of it. He must look awful. His whole body is bruised from being smashed under the ship, but his left side took the worst damage by far. It’s fortunate that his ribs didn’t push into his lungs, or out through his skin. And Zoro is right that his arm is broken. Maybe his collarbone too.  

It’s lucky he didn’t break his leg or his hip, not that Sanji feels much like walking around. He pulls the edge of Zoro’s shirt more under his hand. The bruising has spread to his fingers, but they don’t feel broken. Sanji hopes, at least. So long as Chopper can fix him up. If he lies here and doesn’t move, nothing can get worse.  

It hurts to breathe, though Sanji tries to breathe as deeply as he can. A cigarette would be nice. He could chain smoke himself into a haze until the crew finds them. Would Zoro toss them over if he asked? If Zoro were off making signals instead of hanging around here wasting time, the crew might be able to find them faster.  

Zoro is perched by the river, staring into the water with his sword at the ready. He holds perfectly still, the muscles in his back flexing to keep himself balanced. Suddenly his arm shoots out and he spears a fish with his sword, flicking it over his shoulder onto the grass. It’s rather amusing to watch. Katana are not meant to be used like this, but Zoro manages anyway. He looks cute hunched by the water like a cat, staring unblinking with his sword at the ready.  

Huh. Brain damage is definite, then. Sanji rubs his forehead and hopes it isn’t permanent.  

Satisfied with his catch, Zoro stands up and flicks water from his sword, sheathing it. He picks up Sanji’s lighter and kneels beside the fire pit, lighting the stack of wood from underneath and blowing gently to coax the flame. Zoro uses his sword to pierce a fish, holding it over the fire. The metal will heat up and help to cook the fish evenly, but Sanji is surprised to see the swordsman use his most prized possession for this. He remembers Zoro complaining when Sanji told him to use his swords to heat that giant stew he cooked on Skypeia. The day before everything went to hell...  

Zoro turns the fish over the fire and glances over. They make brief eye-contact, and the swordsman goes back to focusing on his work. Sanji doesn’t exactly have the energy to bicker right now, but it’s disconcerting for Zoro to be so quiet. Zoro isn’t exactly ignoring him, but his suspicious silence betrays his worry. Shouldn't worry about me.  

“You should go make that signal.” Sanji breaks the silence. “I won’t drop dead while you’re gone. I’m not bleeding.”  

“In a bit,” Zoro replies casually. “I’m pretty hungry.”  

Right, the Navy attacked in the middle of the night, and the storm right after. Sanji looks up at the midday sun. Neither of them has eaten since dinner yesterday.  

The sun shines through a gap in the trees, lighting up Zoro’s shoulder and cheek as he cooks. The stark lighting of the forest highlights the scar and muscle of Zoro’s shirtless upper-body. The muscles of his thighs are visible where his crouched position pulls the fabric of his pants tight around them.  

“You’ll get a sunburn,” Sanji says.  

“No I won’t,” Zoro retorts, turning the fish one last time. It’s Sanji’s job to cook for them. And what an excellent job I’m doing at that.  

Can Zoro even get sunburned? His tan skin shines golden in the sunbeam. He rests his sword on his shoulder, the fish steaming as he walks over to a tree and peels off a chunk of bark. He dusts off some dirt and slides the fish onto the smooth inner surface.  

Zoro stabs his sword into the grass and kneels down to give Sanji his food. “Can you survive without cutlery?” he asks dryly, but the way his eyes dart to Sanji’s broken arm betrays the concern behind the question.  

I don’t need help. “Fuck off,” Sanji grumbles, putting his food in his lap and waving Zoro away.  

Zoro is reluctant to turn away, but he does and goes back to the fire to make his own dinner.  

Sanji bites his lip while the swordsman’s back is turned and tries to readjust his position as quietly as he can. He won’t have that goddamn swordsman fussing over him. He angrily digs his heel into the grass and hooks his elbow over the log to sit up higher. The sooner Zoro stops lingering and goes to make that signal, the sooner they can go home. And if Zoro walks off, he’ll get lost, allowing Sanji to suffer in peace until the crew gets here. Sanji takes an angry bite out of his fish. It could use some seasoning, but the natural fatty flavor is tasty enough. Zoro managed to cook it thoroughly.  

Zoro cooks for himself and eats the fish off his sword as he walks around the camp looking into the foliage. He seems to be hunting for something. Or maybe just pretending to so he doesn’t have to make conversation. Look me in the eyes, fucker. Time might pass faster if Zoro just treats him like normal.  

“Aha,” Zoro remarks to himself, putting down his sword and wading through some bushes. He bunches his legs and leaps into the branches, scrambling out of sight.  

Don’t hide from me. Sanji watches the leaves rustle as Zoro does whatever he’s pretending to do.  

A barrage of coconuts falls from above, pelting the underbrush. Shortly after, Zoro drops from the branches with a grin on his face. He bends down and disappears for a moment, popping back up with an armful of coconuts.  

Oh.  

Zoro drops his haul by the fire and picks up his sword, sliding the remains of his dinner from the blade and finishing what’s left of it. He wipes his sword in some moss and chooses a coconut, weighing it in his hand. He takes up a stance, sword at the ready, and tosses the coconut into the air.  

The blade slices through the coconut so smoothly that it doesn’t interfere with its trajectory at all. Zoro catches the coconut, and the small slice he took off the top falls to the ground. The gush of air gently ruffles Sanji’s hair.  

If Zoro can cut metal with his sword, then he can certainly cut coconuts. Sanji admires the clean cut as Zoro walks over and presents him with the coconut. Enough has been sliced from the top to make a substantial hole for drinking. Sanji puts down his dinner and takes a sip.  

Zoro cuts another and comes over, sitting down beside him and leaning against the log. He sighs and puts one hand behind his head, sipping out of his own coconut and looking up at the sky. The swordsman’s casual demeanor makes this whole thing feel normal for one small moment. A small smile works onto the cook’s lips as he drinks the refreshing coconut water.  

“You should get some sleep,” Zoro says, ruining the moment.  

Sanji scowls. “Mind your own business.”  

“It is my business,” Zoro snaps back, bristling and sitting up to loom over Sanji angrily.  

“Just go for your walk and make that signal,” Sanji growls, gripping his coconut and wishing Zoro were a bit closer so he could kick the bastard.  

“I will ,” Zoro growls back. “In a minute .”  

“I already told you, I’m fine. You ate your lunch, so go. You’re not doing either of us any good by just sitting here.” Sanji shoos Zoro with his coconut.  

Zoro drains the rest of his coconut in one long gulp. “Well fuck me for making sure you won’t die if I walk away.” He stands up and throws down the empty coconut so hard it bounces. “Fuck me for giving a shit if you live or die.”  

“Pardon me for having enough sense to know we need to make a signal now. The longer we wait, the farther the crew might get from us!” Sanji barks. “Just-” He finishes his drink and pulls in his legs, reaching back to grab the log and shove himself to his feet. Nami might have already found them by now if Zoro had just stuck around and made that goddamn smoke signal.  

Zoro’s rage cools to a simmer as he realizes Sanji is trying to stand up. He reaches out, and Sanji whacks the hand out of his face, getting up on shaky legs.  

God it hurts, but he does it. Sanji masks his dizzy stumble by aiming for Zoro and pushing a finger into the swordsman’s chest. It’s enough support to keep him from toppling over while the world spins. “In fact, I'm so alright I’ll just come with you. Don't have to worry about me dying in my sleep if I’m with you.”  

Despite the wonderful display of physical health Sanji managed to pull off, Zoro still hooks his hand under Sanji’s armpit to hold him up. His touch is gentle, and the concern on his face is contorting with that anger boiling over again. “Listen to me, fuck-head, there’s something out there and I’d rather you not be there if they follow me to the smoke signal. Just lie down and stay down, got it? Can’t you think about anything other than your stupid pride at a time like this?”  

“I don’t want to hear that from you of all people,” Sanji snarls, smacking the giant scar bisecting Zoro’s chest. He’s running out of breath to yell as much as usual. He grabs Zoro’s wrist and yanks the swordsman’s supportive hand away from him. All this movement hurts his chest the most, but he’s so angry that the pain just makes his lip curl further.  

“ Cook – ” Zoro starts, but he cuts himself off as the whole island starts to shake.  

The disturbance is enough to knock Sanji off balance. His knees give out and he goes down almost instantly, collapsing backwards. The impact knocks the air from his lungs and the pain sends stars across his vision. The trees rustle and shake leaves down over them. Zoro lunges for him, crouching over Sanji’s prone body in case anything more destructive than leaves shower down. Birds flee in flocks from the treetops, flying in distressed clouds across the sky and cawing loudly.  

They wait like that, Sanji gripping his ribs and trying to breathe through the pain as his body is jostled continuously, and Zoro crouched over him like a wary animal, his muscles tense and his eyes wary.  

Finally it ends. They hang there for a moment before Zoro turns his body off of Sanji’s and kneels beside him, scooping an arm under the cook to help him sit up while still looking around.  

What kind of monster could make an island shake like that? It’s certainly possible, with all the monsters they’ve met on the Grand Line. Sanji pants against Zoro’s flank. They can handle the worst Grand Line monsters – well, Zoro can.  

Zoro doesn’t even chastise him. He just helps Sanji get to his feet and walks him slowly back over to the log to sit him back against it. “You’re right,” he says, kicking their empty coconut shells into his hands and walking over to the river. “I’ll go make that smoke signal.” He dips the coconuts into the river and fills them with water, bringing them back over. “You just stay here, okay? I’ll be back.”  

It’s an awful plan. If Zoro walks off alone, as much as Sanji likes the idea of suffering without being scrutinized, that stupid moss ball will get lost and might never make his way back. But if he makes that smoke signal, then all danger will likely be drawn towards him, and the swordsman can take care of himself. Sanji knows he would rather not need Zoro to protect him and risk either of them getting hurt. Hurt worse, anyway... If only his ribs weren’t so badly broken, and he could move a lot better.  

There’s no helping it. It’s a terrible plan. Sanji bites his lip and watches as Zoro drenches his bandana in the river, bringing it over and folding it up. “Here, should help,” the swordsman mumbles, offering it over.  

Sanji takes the cloth and pushes it under his bangs to hold over his eye. It does help. We’re stupid, aren’t we. Maybe they would have an alright time together if he hadn’t gotten crushed by Sunny . Then they could have made a signal together, exploring and bickering as usual, and the experience would have been relatively normal. The idea of Zoro wandering off and leaving him alone is growing less and less desirable. Sanji looks down at the coconuts full of fresh water that Zoro prepared for him, at the last of his dinner. The last time he had to fend for himself was when he escaped Germa.  

Zoro will be back. Even if he can’t find his way back to me, the crew will see the signal and will find me here. I’m right by the river, and I’m sure I can walk to the beach.  

Zoro is a deeply stupid man, but at least he got strength in exchange for brains. The moss ball won’t die out there, and Sanji just has to not die here. He isn’t bleeding, and so long as he keeps breathing deeply then a lung infection won’t have time to set in. A dose of painkillers and a long nap in Chopper’s brand-new infirmary sounds like absolute bliss.  

“Hey, Cook.” Zoro is standing over him, trying to get his attention. He kneels down and offers the pack of cigarettes. “I gotta take the lighter for the signal. I’ll light one up for you before I go.” He pushes out a cigarette with his thumb.  

Sanji takes it in his lips and Zoro slides away the box, holding up the lighter and thumbing the wheel a few times until it sparks. Sanji takes a grateful puff of nicotine and flops his head against Zoro’s haramaki. It makes a nice pillow. He blows smoke through his nostrils.  

“I’ll be back in time to light you another one,” Zoro promises, sliding the pack into Sanji’s breast pocket. “So stay put so I can find you again.”  

Sanji takes the cigarette out of his mouth. “Don’t get lost, moss-head. Follow the river back to me.”  

“It’s a small island,” Zoro scowls. “I never get lost. Just... don’t move around too much, okay?”  

Sanji grits his teeth and snorts smoke. “Fuck off and make the signal, mossy.” Zoro is right though. Sanji doesn't intend on moving that much anyway. He can make his cigarette last a while, Zoro gave him plenty of water, and the forest is quiet enough without the rumbling.  

Without hesitation, Zoro lays Wado against the log within reach and stands up. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  

“Zoro – ” Sanji frowns at the sword, then at its owner.  

“Keep it safe.”  

“I don’t need it.”  

“Then don’t use it,” Zoro replies calmly.  

The sun is lower in the sky now, the beams backlighting Zoro’s body. His stance is strong and steady. There isn’t a single bruise on him.  

Sanji reaches over for Wado and pulls it closer, resting it against his shoulder and wrapping his arm around it. The wrappings on the hilt are kept clean despite the number of times the weapon has been splattered with blood. The sheath is polished and spotless. Zoro takes care of it better than he takes care of his own body. If only Zoro washed himself as much as he washes his swords...  

“I’ll be back,” Zoro promises again, turning slowly away. His gaze lingers as he wanders toward the river.  

The prospect of being alone on an unknown island with unknown threats sets in, but Sanji can't think of a better plan than this. He grips the sword and watches Zoro leap over the river. The swordsman pushes into the bushes and looks back one last time, waving.  

Sanji waves back. It’ll all be okay.  

Zoro smiles a little, lowering his hand and turning away reluctantly to press further into the forest. His tanned back is swallowed into the greenery. At least his hair provides him a bit of camouflage. Green idiot... Sanji raises his shaking hand puts his cigarette back into his mouth. The rustling leaves, bubbling river, and cheerful birdsong are suddenly much louder. They aren’t such peaceful sounds as when he woke up.  

Wado is heavy against his shoulder. Sanji chews his cigarette and rubs the hilt with his thumb. If something happens to Zoro out there, he’ll have no way of knowing. He would never forgive himself if Zoro got hurt or killed. At least if the crew never finds them he would only have himself to live with.  

Sanji wonders how much he remembers from his sword-fighting lessons as a child. He blocked out those memories as best he could, especially after committing to protecting his hands in battle. He can use a blade, but a katana isn’t exactly a cooking knife. I can do it if I have to. Sanji pulls in his leg and sits up a bit higher, stifling his moan even though he’s alone.  

--  

Night draws closer and closer, until the sky falls black. The moon is only half full, so there isn’t much light to see by. Sanji doesn’t dare move, slowly puffing on his cigarette until it burns to his fingers. He scuffs it out and puts his leftover fish in his lap to pick over. It’s something to do at least.  

Zoro’s bandana dries quickly in the warm air, losing its cooling properties. Sanji ties the cloth around his arm so he doesn’t lose it and drinks some water.  

Resting in a quiet forest should be peaceful. It isn’t. If only his rampaging thoughts didn’t make him feel so restless, or they might distract him from the pain somewhat. That stupid moss ball won’t be back for ages unless luck favors them. And they’ll need a lot of luck to compensate for Zoro’s sense of direction. It’ll take Zoro some time to gather enough wood to build a substantial pile, and then to get the fire roaring. What if the wood is too dry to smoke? Sanji hopes Zoro knows what he’s doing and doesn’t burn down the entire island.  

His poor ladies, having to eat whatever concoction the crew cooks up in his absence... He’ll have to make it up to them somehow. Fresh tangerine tarts and tiramisu should do it. They must be worried about him. Worry not, my flowers. A little mishap like this won't be enough to finish me off. Chopper will patch me right up.  

I’ve had worse. Most of us have. Zoro certainly has.  

Ugh, he walked himself around in a circle and landed back on Zoro. Sanji scowls in the darkness and tries to conjure Nami’s gorgeous body in his mind. Flawless, stunning, magnificent.  

Zoro had better be back soon. Sanji grips Wado until his hand hurts. The pain fits right in with the rest of his aching body. The bruising has probably fully developed by now. His legs are stiff, and it hurts to raise his other arm. He must have bruised his ribs on the other side, then. His broken arm is swollen, but it’s too dark to look at it anyway. Sanji lets go of Wado to feel his forehead. At least he doesn’t have a fever, so chances are that if he goes to sleep, he’ll wake up again.  

Nerves want him to stay awake until Zoro comes back, but his injured body is screaming for rest. Maybe if he rests, he’ll feel a little better. At this stage, the best outcome is anything that doesn't involve Zoro having to carry him to the ship when they’re finally rescued. Sanji puts Wado on his lap and rests his hand on in, leaning back and shutting his eyes. If anything attacks him, he just has to hope that he can wake up and draw the blade in time to protect himself.  

Be safe out there, moss. And come back soon.  

Chapter Text

Sanji wakes up with a start, clutching Wado as the ground rumbles beneath him. It feels like the ground is about to split open. Sanji grits his teeth as his broken body is violently shaken, looking around in the dark for Zoro. He can’t spot the swordsman anywhere.  

The shaking stops. Sanji lets go of Wado and rubs his eyes. So much for a long, healing rest. He feels about as bad as he did when he went to sleep, but his forehead is a little warmer when he touches it.  

That stupid swordsman had better get back soon. Where is the idiot anyway? Lost, no doubt. Sanji picks up a coconut and sips the water Zoro left him. A faint hint of orange glows through the trees as the sun begins to rise. There is a hint of rain on the warm island breeze. Something doesn’t feel right, and not just with his body. The river is strangely quiet.  

Maybe they should have waited another day, and Sanji could have tagged along with Zoro instead of letting the moron wander off by himself. Stupid plan. Sanji leans Wado against the log and sits with a wince, bracing his crushed chest with his arm. He reaches behind himself for Zoro’s haramaki and slips it over his head, tugging it down around his waist. It’s very comfortable... No wonder Zoro always wears it, though it is a little loose on Sanji’s thinner body.  

Zoro is anything but subtle, so it shouldn't be hard to find that green gorilla. Sanji slides his arm out of the sling. It’s still too dark to see what shape it’s in, and he doesn’t focus too much on it, feeding it into the arm of his shirt and jacket with as little movement as possible. He doesn’t bother with the buttons, buttoning just one to keep his jacket closed. He keeps the sling around his neck and tucks it under the lapel.  

Sanji picks up Wado and digs the end into the grass, ushering a silent apology as he uses it to lever himself standing. He could really use a cigarette right now. Why did he let Zoro go off on his own? Sanji limps toward the river and throws Wado to the opposite shore.  

It isn’t a very wide river, but too wide to step across. Sanji frowns into it when he notices that its level is lower than yesterday. The erosion high up the banks shows that it should be much fuller.  

The only thing that could quell his nerves is if Zoro emerged from the forest. Sanji steps a few paces back from the bank and scowls just thinking about how easy this should be. I feel great. This is going to hurt a lot, but at least there’s nobody here to see.  

Zoro picked him up very easily, didn’t he? Sanji lowers his stance. Jumping will be easy, but landing? Zoro would have scooped him up and leapt over effortlessly. Wouldn’t it be great to have a nice nap and let Zoro carry him through the forest? If that asshole is so intent on doing all the work, he might as well carry Sanji around. It would probably be comfortable to lie on Zoro’s back, head on that shitty swordsman’s shoulder. Shut his eyes, take a nap, wake up when the ordeal is over...  

Sanji takes a couple of running steps and jumps over the river, rolling on his good shoulder just as neatly as always. He rolls to his feet and almost immediately sinks to his knee as dizziness makes the whole world sway.  

It lasts only a few moments. Sanji catches his breath and braces his chest, reaching for Wado beside him. He stands up slowly.  

“Stupid moss-brained fuck...” Sanji grumbles, not sure yet what he wants to blame Zoro for. It’s probably not that idiot’s fault he has no sense of direction, so there isn’t anything else to blame him for. Poor green bastard probably got dropped on his head as a baby. Maybe that’s what made him so impossibly stubborn, too. Able to keep fighting even when the wound Mihawk gave him was still fresh.  

Well, if Zoro can do it, then so can Sanji. He won't let the shitty swordsman upstage him. Sanji slides Wado into his belt and sets off into the forest at an easy pace, resting his hand on nearby trees for stability but otherwise leaving his hand on Wado’s hilt.  

You’d better be alright, moss.  

There's something out here, besides the animals. Sanji looks up through the trees. He can see a forest-covered mountain, but there don’t seem to be signs of a volcano. If there really is a monster making those earthquakes, then Zoro can deal with it bare-handed. Unless is spits poison or something.  

If only that bastard’s hair weren’t green, he might be easier to spot. Sanji grits his teeth as he scans for any sign of Zoro, wondering if he should call out. Better to look, first. The expression on Zoro’s face when the swordsman explained they weren’t alone keeps him from calling out.  

Does Zoro stop for breaks when he’s hurt and thinks nobody is watching? Sanji stumbles against a tree and leans on it to catch his breath. It’s going to take forever to find the moss ball at this pace. Sanji has no idea how big the island is, so Zoro could literally be anywhere. He could have looped around by now and by chance stumbled back to their little camp. What if they wander the island in search of each other, forever circling without ever crossing paths?  

Should have stayed put. Should have gone with him. Sanji pushes off the tree and keeps walking. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The sun hasn’t even risen above the horizon yet, and he already feels hot. His head is pounding and his ribs ache sharply with every breath, every step. If only Zoro were beside him, and he could at least use the moron as a support. He thinks back to Zoro picking himself up at Arlong Park, bleeding and swaying but finding his footing all the same.  

Tenacious fuck. Sanji grits his teeth. If Zoro can keep going in that sort of state, then Sanji can certainly keep going with a few broken ribs. It’s not the first time he’s broken them. Bougie restaurant... how dare you. Sanji grumbles and swipes foliage out of his way with his arm. Zoro doesn’t know anything about him. You really think that’s what my life was like, all comfy and shit?  

Why would Zoro think anything else? Sanji isn’t sure he wants to explain, though, explain that he was too weak to defend himself against his own siblings. Too weak to stand up for himself. How do you explain that to a man like Zoro? Zoro would have never stopped fighting back. Maybe he would have won, even against Sanji’s genetically-superior brothers.  

Zoro is a monster. Zoro is the monster that keeps them safe. It would have been nice to be a monster like that, too. Maybe then he wouldn’t be staggering through the forest on his own, panting and wheezing and pathetic. And if Zoro had been there when they were children, when Sanji was too pathetic to put up a fight against his brothers, would Zoro have lunged in to protect him like he did when the ground shuddered and knocked him down yesterday? Would Zoro have fought back, thrown himself over Sanji to protect him from the onslaught?  

More than a decade ago, it’s all he wanted, for just one person to step in and help him. I don't need that anymore.  

Sanji grips Wado tightly and grits his teeth. I don’t need that anymore. You’re too late. Too late, bastard moss. I got stronger. I don’t need you anymore.  

The sword feels wrong in his hand. It belongs with its owner, not him. Zoro doesn’t go anywhere without it, not even the bathroom. Yet here it is on his hip, the hilt well-maintained but worn where Zoro’s hand has gripped it. His mouth, too. Zoro has faced every fight with his hands raised, the only scars on his back ones that have gone through his body and out the other side. He has surely never cowered and curled up to protect himself. No, Zoro arms himself with all the weapons he can hold and runs into fights without apprehension.  

The ground starts to shake again. Sanji slides his legs apart for balance and reaches out for the nearest tree. If only he could pass out and wake up on Sunny, when the incident is far enough behind him that the embarrassment and shame won't weigh him down so much. When he and Zoro can go back to bickering and fighting like usual. Nothing makes him happier than pitting his strength against Zoro, the reminder that he is strong enough to keep the swordsman on his toes, but human enough to be kept on his own.  

The shaking stops, and he lies in the bushes for a few minutes to catch his breath. Maybe the best outcome is for him to die out here, spared of his misery, and for Zoro to die too so he can't recount to the crew how pathetic their cook really is.  

Zoro’s hands are so big and warm. No matter how strong that monster gets, his touch was measured and warm when he helped Sanji get to his feet. It would be a shame for a monster like that to be lost to the Grand Line without any fanfare. Sanji gets to his feet and stares straight ahead, determined to make a monster out of himself, too.  

The ground shakes again, but not like the last time. This time it sounds like heavy, thumping steps rather than the island itself shuddering. Sanji pads cautiously through the underbrush and listens carefully as the thumping gets closer.  

People are talking. Sanji lays his hand on Wado’s hilt and ducks behind a tree, crouching down and peering through the thick foliage.  

It isn’t Zoro. He would know Zoro’s sonorous baritone anywhere. There’s more than one voice, and Zoro’s is not among them. Panic rips through Sanji’s body as he catches glimpses of movement and a flash of sunlight on metal. If he really focuses, he can probably pull off diable jambe without collapsing from dizziness. His body might not be able to handle the impact of his own attacks, but it’s better than being killed. He’s not about to lie down and take it if a fight breaks out.  

Sanji carefully moves aside a bush to get a better look, swallowing his rising dread. He can sense danger already.  

The forest gently slopes downward. Men with rifles guard men with machetes who are hacking away at the underbrush to clear a path, talking to each other. They seem to be surveying the area. Saws are spinning nearby.  

Twigs crack underfoot, and Sanji looks down to check. but it’s not his own step to blame. He looks up and sees it, the man with the gun coming down through the forest towards him, looking around. Sanji holds still, but he’s already been spotted. His hand freezes on the sword as they make eye-contact, wondering perhaps if he should just run. It’s better than being shot dead.  

“Who are you?” the man demands, tightening his grip on his gun but not raising it.  

Sanji has no answer, backing up slowly from the threat. The sense of danger grows deeper inside him. He thumbs Wado out of the hilt, exposing the blade. He’s the fastest of the crew, short of Luffy’s brand new second gear, faster than Zoro. But not today.  

“I asked you a question,” the man growls, teasing the trigger and adjusting his grip on the gun.  

Sanji backs up. Run, or fight? Against one man, he’s still strong enough to protect himself. And he would rather get shot in the chest fighting than in the back running away. Zoro would never run away. Even if the swordsman should, he never turns down a fight. Sanji won’t either. He steps back, searching for good footing and taking some deep breaths. He moves his injured arm away from his chest for balance, contemplating the fastest move he can use to get rid of this guy before bullets go flying.  

It would be such a shame to die here.  

Sanji stumbles out of the bushes and into a somewhat-open strip of forest. He looks up, and the men look down the incline at him. They stop their scouring, stop hacking at the underbrush. Behind them three gigantic machines walking on machine legs stop moving. God, those machines are big, at least twenty feet tall and manned by a person inside the chest, double saws spinning at the end of each arm, no-doubt for clearing trees. Thick hoses snake off into the forest from the direction Sanji came from. The river. They’re using the water for cooling.  

There’s no time to gawk. The men on-foot stare at him, looking at the sword on his hip. Those saws won’t be a problem because the machines are too slow to chase after him. But Sanji can't outrun the men on-foot in this state.  

That looming danger travels up his spine. Something is here. Someone else is here, and it’s making the hairs on his neck stand up. Sanji slides his feet apart and draws Wado like it’s his. He can make good with himself later about the feeling of wrongness holding the blade gives him.  

The men charge at him. Sanji finds himself. He flips Wado into a backhand grip and puts his whole body into a spin so hard it sends flying the man who rushes at him first, clashing with his machete and shooting him into the underbrush.  

Oh, he’s going to suffer so much after this. Sanji flips the sword again to parry, pivoting to put the next attacker between himself and the first shooter. He moves again as the other men with guns figure out that he’s not some random guy with a sword, but an actual threat. Catch me on a better day, and you’d all be flambéed by now. Will Zeff forgive him for swinging a sword around like this?  

Sanji remembers how Zoro holds himself, how he holds the blade. The men are trying to surround him. They're hesitant to shoot him, aiming the barrels at his legs. Sanji ignores the crunch of his chest as he moves, and the near-blinding pain up his left side as he lands a kick and the force travels through his body. He uses the sword to block a machete swing and makes an opening to kick the man into one of his colleagues.  

He can’t go forever. His forehead is dripping with sweat, and his lungs scream for rest.  

That stupid swordsman would have won by now.  

Those machines are firing up, the hoses flexing as more water is pumped into them and the mechanical limbs move. Huge metal feet vibrate the forest floor as they stomp toward him, slicing down trees in their path. They're coming, and much faster than Sanji anticipated.  

Okay, maybe that's a problem.  

A man swings at him, and Sanji raises Wado to block. The attack has a fraction of Zoro’s strength, but fatigue is already setting in, and the katana is smacked aside, throwing his arm away from his body. Sanji tightens his grip on the blade and stumbles backward to avoid being sliced by a second swing of the machete.  

He trips over a fallen branch and topples backward, shooting stars across his vision and pushing any remaining air from his lungs.  

He can’t move. He can hardly see. All he can do is tighten his grip on Wado’s hilt, hold on, try desperately to get his feet under him. Those men are looming over him. Whether they kill him or question him first, it’s over.  

Never over. Sanji grits his teeth and pushes his heel into the dirt, pushing himself away from them to earn just a few more seconds to stand back up. He won't let go of Zoro’s sword. Not for anything. He won’t surrender. Those days are long gone. If he dies, Zoro will find his corpse clutching Wado as tightly as he grips it in life.  

The blanket of dread settles over him heavier, sending sparks across his skin. His body is trembling from weakness and fear and regret. It isn’t time to die, not like this. The bushes are rustling, almost entirely drowning out by the stomping machine and spinning blades and his own pounding heart. The men loom over his vision as they get closer, mirroring old memories he would purge if he could. If only he could get up, he could protect himself like he never did all those years ago. The hairs on his arms raise with static.  

Zoro flies out of the trees and lands on all fours like a cat, bringing with him that blanket of dread, the aura of a monster. His back muscles ripple as he pounces out of his crouch, dark shadows curling off his body. He deflects a machete swing with the palm of his hand and punches with the other, sending the wielder flying so hard he strikes a tree and splinters it.  

Sanji blinks. His vision is blurring so badly that Zoro is shimmering, bringing a cool breeze with him, blocking out those approaching shapes with his body.  

Thunder cracks and for a moment Sanji thinks it’s a roar from the swordsman’s poised body.  

It’s all in his head. Zoro doesn’t turn around, not even to collect his sword. The sky grows dark like a warning of the death about to befall the men looking down the hill upon them. They should take it as an omen and run.  

They don’t. Zoro throws himself into them, glowing darkly like a deathly apparition, and Sanji knows he’s seeing things. He swears the air is rippling purple. He tries to sit up, clear his vision.  

The blanket of dread doesn't feel so dreadful anymore, but it’s still here, moving with Zoro as the empty-handed swordsman plows into the enemies.  

Thunder cracks again and rain starts to fall, the storm covering the rising sun with black clouds almost as quickly as Zoro arrived. Zoro ducks a machete swipe and picks up the wielder, throwing him into a gunman with bone-crunching force. The machines are coming for him, the leading one swinging its saw arms toward him. Zoro runs up the incline and jumps against a tree, up and across to its neighbor to gain more height, and launching himself off. He tucks in his arms and spins between the rotating blades as they swipe for him. He emerges inside the machine’s defenses and unfurls his body, smashing into the machine so hard the metal dents.  

And then that graceful green fuck scales the machine all the way to the top, grabbing onto the shoulder plating and flinging himself around. With his monstrous strength, he pulls the machine in a circle, its saw arms whipping into the machine behind it.  

Zoro drops to the ground between the clashing machines, sparks showering onto him as he dashes between its legs and slides on the wet grass.  

He’s coming. So are the gunmen. The two of them can’t fight so many gunmen without getting shot, not if Zoro has to protect Sanji. Sanji grips Wado tighter and pushes himself sitting. His strength has left him. Those men look like they’ve made up their minds to kill, raising their weapons.  

Zoro is coming, and his back is to the fight like Sanji has never seen before. No, not for me. Not for me! Sanji struggles to get his feet under him.  

Zoro has made up his mind. His eyes shine brightly in the dark storm and his face is grim. He ducks down, moving sharply sideways just before a gunshot throws up dirt inches away from his heels. The swordsman holds out his arms, crouching lower, his fingers curling to beckon.  

Oh god. There isn’t time to argue. Sanji turns himself sideways and sits up, bending his knees. He grits his teeth and braces himself. Gunshots ring out through the forest as Zoro jumps over a fallen log, slides a few feet, and scoops Sanji into his arms without breaking his stride.  

“Hold on tight,” he growls, and opens his mouth.  

Sanji wraps his broken arm around Zoro’s neck, then he puts Wado into Zoro’s open mouth. Where it belongs. Then he just holds on.  

Zoro’s teeth are bared around the hilt like an animal, his eyes fixed ahead and dark with a promise of violence Sanji has caught glimpses of before. Never when fighting each other though. The swordsman’s heart is pounding a steady rhythm, the veins in his neck pulsing in time. A reflection of light from the katana blade glints in Zoro’s eye.  

The forest slopes downward toward the ocean. The gunshots aren’t getting any further away, bullets showering them with tree splinters. Sure-footed despite the terrain, Zoro’s body pulses with power, breathing through his nose and open mouth, his hair plastered to his head and rainwater flying off his earrings. The blanket of dread follows, but the dread isn’t meant for them, for Sanji. Sanji can’t feel anything but relief.  

Zoro is still radiating Hell purple, darting from side to side as if he knows where the bullets are aiming. Sanji peeks over Zoro’s shoulder, and he can see the men still coming, more arriving to replace the ones killed. The machines are stomping after them, saw blades swiping trees down left and right, their bodies damaged from what Zoro did to them but still moving.  

“Zoro!” Sanji coughs urgently. “Behind!” Zoro is fast, and Sanji probably weighs nothing to him, but if Zoro gets shot, in the back no-less, then Sanji will just let himself die.  

It would have been easier just to throw Sanji over his shoulder rather than carrying him like this. Then Zoro would have had a hand free –  

Zoro crouches as he runs, and jumps. He jumps off a tree trunk and turns around in the air, flinging his legs for leverage to twist at the hips. He spins fast enough to send a flying slash up the incline and into their pursuers. He lands facing forward on his heels and slides a few feet, bending his legs to absorb the impact, though Sanji still gasps as the landing travels through Zoro’s body into his own damaged one. But Zoro’s grip never falters.  

That grunt around the sword might be an apology. The gunfire eases as the slash keeps cutting and men fall with cries. Zoro keeps running. Sanji blinks water from his eyes and looks over Zoro’s shoulder. Many men have fallen, some struggling to get up while others lie dead. The machines are still coming, and a man is loading up a very big gun.  

They break out of the forest and into the open, completely unshielded from the storm. The grass turns to rock, and there is no beach up ahead, just a straight drop. They’re loading up that gun.  

“Zoro-”  

Zoro growls his acknowledgement, aiming straight for the rocky cliff. He does not slow down, especially not when the cannon goes off in a burst of fiery orange. The payload flies toward them, toward Zoro’s open back, his perfect back dripping with water, a back that never faces a fight –  

The ground gives way and they sail into open air, the shot sailing over their heads as they fall toward the sea. Zoro lets go, taking the sword from his mouth. Sanji slides the sheath from his belt and Zoro slides the blade into it. Then he wraps his arm around Sanji’s chest, and they plunge into the waves.  

Chapter Text

The cold ocean water hits him like a brick. Zoro doesn’t let go, propelling both of them under the waves with his legs and free arm. The undercurrent pulls on them, but Zoro fights it, keeping under the surface for as long as they both can manage. Sanji kicks as hard as he can, at least to keep himself from dragging Zoro down. 

Bullets streak through the water behind them, but nobody jumps in after them. When they surface, the cliff they jumped from is far behind. Sanji takes a gulp of air, accidentally inhaling water as the waves churn into his mouth. His legs are already weak from effort and cold. Lightning flashes near the peak of the island. Zoro rolls Sanji onto his back and drags him along toward the shore. The swordsman fights the stormy waters, and all Sanji can do is weakly kick his legs while trying to gulp in air. Water keeps splashing into his mouth, no matter how hard Zoro tries to hold him up. The waves are just too rough. 

Even though Zoro is doing almost all the work, it feels like ages before they reach land. Sanji’s shoulders brush rock. Zoro hauls himself out of the water, looping his arm under Sanji’s and pulling him up. Sanji coughs up the water he swallowed, shivering as the strong winds instantly whip the heat from his body and cold rain blasts him. 

Zoro gets up and pulls Sanji to his feet, hurrying them under a small overhang of rock. There is no sand, no foliage visible from inside their small shelter. All that’s visible is rock, sky, and ocean. The wind still blows the rain inside. The sea churns, the black clouds flash repeatedly, and close thunder shakes the ground beneath their feet. Zoro brings them as far under the overhang as he can, easing Sanji down and crouching beside him, shielding him from the wind. He pulls open Sanji’s clothes and peels them off, searching for new wounds. 

Sanji looks down at himself, then up at Zoro looming over him, his face shadowed and the lightning flashes outlining his shoulders. Neither of them got shot, it seems, at least not in the front. Sanji wraps his arm around Zoro’s neck and grits his teeth as he pulls himself up. The whole ordeal has sapped him of all the strength he managed to muster, but he has to sit up. He has to look at Zoro’s back. 

Zoro frowns with concern and scoops his arm under Sanji’s shoulders to help him. Warmth seeps out of his skin and into Sanji’s, but they’re both shivering. Sanji slides his arm off Zoro’s shoulder and wraps it around the swordsman’s back, hooking his chin over Zoro’s shoulder to look. The swordsman’s back is smattered with splinters, but otherwise unharmed. It won’t scar. Sanji slumps with relief. 

Zoro’s other arm reaches up to hold him, and Sanji finds himself wrapped in a warm hug. Zoro’s skin is cold but quickly warms from contact.  

The wind howls, clawing Sanji’s bangs from his face and stinging his eyes. He shuts them and turns his face into Zoro’s neck, the swordsman’s earrings dangling against his head. 

There’s nobody to see them huddled into a tight ball, not even the sun. Zoro adjusts his position to put Sanji more in his lap. He works his haramaki off Sanji’s bruised body and throws it into their pile of wet clothes. He rests his sword on the ground beside them and reaches into his pocket, pulling out the lighter. 

Zoro hunts for the cigarettes in Sanji’s jacket pocket and shakes off the water. He pulls one out of the box and puts it in Sanji’s mouth, holding up the lighter. 

By some miracle, the cigarette lights. Hot smoke fills Sanji’s lungs and warms them. Zoro curls around him, breathing in the mouthful of smoke that Sanji exhales. The glowing embers of the cigarette isn't much of a fire, but they wrap themselves around it anyway. Sanji rests his head on Zoro’s shoulder, unable to process the sensation of Zoro’s big, muscular, warm body pressed up against his, shielding him from the storm. Keeping him safe. He’s too tired to care, in too much pain to protest or even say anything. Then Zoro’s hand folds over his head, threads into his soaked hair, and Sanji is too weak to protest in any fashion. 

This is nice. Lightning cracks nearby, reflecting off the back wall of the shelter and casting a shadow of their huddled forms. Zoro envelops him so completely that the only distinguishable shapes are the swordsman’s hulking shoulders and his spiky hair. The shadow is somewhat looming, stretching Zoro’s form into a larger, bulkier creature. Sanji smiles and shuts his eyes. 

-- 

The lapping waves are so close, it’s almost like waking up on the ship. For a moment he wonders if that’s where he is, but the ground is too hard and there is no sway of the ship gently rocking him. 

Sanji opens his eyes, squinting immediately and turning away as the sun shines into the overhang and pierces his retina. He’s on his back, Zoro’s haramaki once more serving as a pillow, and their dried clothes spread over him. 

The storm has passed, taking the cold wind and rain with it. The sea is calm, the air is warm again, and Sanji is boiling despite Zoro’s long shadow casting over him. Sanji lays his hand over his forehead and looks over at the shelter entrance. 

Zoro is standing at the edge of it, looking out across the ocean with his arms folded, his bandana tied around his bare arm, and  Wado on his hip where it belongs. A soft breeze ruffles his hair and his earrings shine bright in the midday sun. The dark shadows that curled off his body aren’t there anymore. 

The sleep-loving moss hasn’t slept at all, Sanji surmises. He folds the clothes off his body and pushes himself up slowly to combat the wave of nausea and dizziness that rushes over him. His body is badly bruised, dark purple and red splotches stark against his pale skin. The altercation didn't do his injuries any good, but his ribs didn’t get knocked out of place, at least. The sight of Zoro launching out of the forest and throwing himself in front of Sanji flashes in front of his vision, but he shakes it away and makes to stand up.  

Zoro is a good fighter with his bare hands. It reminds him of their team-up against the Foxy pirates when they had to play that stupid ball game. 

His lighter and cigarettes have been carefully left beside him. The package is wrinkled from rain water, but the cardboard is dry. Sanji lights up a cigarette and stands up with the rock wall for support, tucking his jacket around his shoulders and limping over to the entrance. 

“So much for that smoke signal, huh.” Sanji blows out smoke and comes to stand next to Zoro. He looks out at the ocean, hoping to spot the Straw-Hat flag flapping on the horizon, but the ocean is void of travelers. 

Zoro glances at him. “You look like shit.” His grey eyes shine blue off the ocean and the sky. 

“At least I don’t look like shit all the time,” Sanji grumbles, nudging Zoro in the ribs.  

Zoro huffs grumpily. “We should go,” he suggests. “I don’t think anyone will find us here, but we need food and water, and to make another signal.”  

Sanji is glad that Zoro said ‘we’, because as safe as it seems to be here, Sanji isn’t keen on letting Zoro wander off on his own again. “Did you manage to start a fire before the rain came?” Sanji asks. 

“It didn’t last long,” Zoro admits. “I started to head back as soon as I heard thunder. The rain put it out.” 

“And you went in the right direction first-try?” Sanji scoffs. “This is unheard of. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” 

“My sense of direction is perfect,” Zoro grumbles. “Anyway, I heard those saws and followed the noise.” 

Ah, so the moss followed the sounds of machinery rather than remembering the correct direction. Sanji smiles to himself and decides to let Zoro have this one, seeing as the damned house plant kept him from getting riddled with bullets or cut up with a machete. “Speaking of saws...” Sanji takes a thoughtful puff of cigarette and starts to sit. 

Zoro’s hand threads under his shoulder to help him, and Zoro sits down beside him. His hand lingers but withdraws slowly. Zoro leans back on his hand and looks out at the ocean. “I don’t think they were pirates.” 

“They were more than happy to attack.” Sanji stretches out his legs and cradles his arm, wondering what Zoro would do if he tipped over a little bit and rested his weary body against the swordsman’s unwavering support. 

“Those machines were pretty big,” Zoro remarks wisely. “I wonder what they needed wood for. They sure were cutting down a lot of trees.” 

“Trade, perhaps,” Sanji suggests. “But probably not that legal if they’re walking around with that many gunmen. The trees here look pretty normal though. It’s not like it’s Adam’s wood.” 

“Hmm.” Zoro shrugs. He seems to have used his brain cells to capacity. “Well, we need food anyway. Think you can handle another swim?” He looks over. 

Sanji meets the swordsman’s eyes and blows out a long breath of smoke. He tries not to hunch so much into his jacket, but his body is so beaten that he struggles. He can’t keep his pain from his posture or his expression, but it’s probably too late to try anyway. “Nice day for it,” he says. “They’ll be on the lookout for us, though.” 

“They might get a lot of rain here,” Zoro says. “Might be worth trying to make a different sort of signal.” 

Sanji’s lips curl into a smile. “What sort of signal.” 

“Blow the shit out of whatever machinery we can find?” 

Now that sounds like a plan. Why waste time with a puny fire when they can send a mushroom cloud into the heavens? “That’s a plan I can get behind, moss.” Sanji finishes his cigarette and puts it out on the rocks. The smoke is hard on his lungs, but the withdrawal would be much worse to deal with on top of everything else. The sooner they get this plan over with, the better. He wonders if Zoro knows about the fever already. They’re in this together, but Sanji can’t bring himself to open his mouth and be honest. I feel like shit, moss, so keep close to me. Just... stay close. “I bet they have other machines, too,” Sanji says instead. “Some sort of base. I bet they have some big machines that will go up real nice.” 

Zoro’s smile is dark and foreboding. It’s a reassuring expression to see the swordsman wear instead of concern. You crazy fuck, you insatiable green monster. You adorable house plant... This could be a normal day if not for the sense of isolation provided by their shelter, allowing fondness to fully blossom. 

Who would feel fond of such a classless, filthy man? The farthest thing from a woman Sanji has ever met? No-one of sound-mind, that’s for sure. 

“We should go,” Zoro says, reaching out to help. “If you feel up to it--” 

“I feel fine,” Sanji growls out as Zoro helps him stand up, immediately feeling guilty about his tone. Would the swordsman accept pain as an excuse for the rude outburst? His hastily-spat lie crumbles as the dizziness makes his head spin. 

Zoro holds him up, snaking his other hand around Sanji’s waist. “Cook...?” 

Sanji grits his teeth and grabs Zoro’s shoulder, squeezing as hard as he needs to until everything stops spinning. His pride is demolished as it is. He might as well save Zoro some trouble and come clean. “Don’t let go,” he whispers. 

“I won’t,” Zoro promises quietly. “We’ll go slow, okay?” 

Sanji nods, refusing to look up even as his vision stabilizes. 

Zoro’s soft side is softer than Sanji could have imagined, too soft to belong to a man who can project an aura of hellish wrath. It must have been an apparition conjured by his damaged brain. Zoro guides him over to their pile of clothes and puts on his haramaki first. Then he picks up his shirt and draws his sword. 

“What hurts most?” he asks. 

Everything , he almost grumbles out, but he sighs instead and pats his ribs in defeat.  

The swordsman cuts his shirt in half, and then slices the loops into strips. He brings them over and lifts the jacket from Sanji’s shoulders, draping it over his own and tying the strips of shirt one at a time around Sanji’s chest. Sanji winces as Zoro ties the knots snug, but the pressure is stabilizing.  

“Better?” Zoro asks. 

“A little,” Sanji admits. What he needs is bedrest, but this will do. 

Once again, Zoro is dressing him, helping him get his arms through the sleeves of his shirt and jacket. The swordsman does up a few shirt buttons, once more folding up the collar to slide the tie under it. He folds down the collar and lays the tie flat, then he tucks Sanji’s lighter and cigarettes into his jacket pocket. 

There’s nothing else to do but carry on. Despite the verbal request to do so, Zoro hesitates briefly before lifting Sanji’s arm and securing himself under it. Now that he’s upright, it’s not so bad to walk, but Sanji has to admit that Zoro’s support eases the strain and cushions the blow each step deals to his body. He’ll be able to keep going for a lot longer with Zoro’s help. 

He can no longer keep a distance from those uncomfortable thoughts. They wade into the ocean and Zoro gently lowers Sanji onto his back to pull him along. Sanji kicks gently and stares up at the sky. He shouldn’t feel this peaceful, but it’s hard not to with fluffy white clouds and a bright blue sky all around them. The water is actually tolerable without a storm churning it up around them, and the current is weak enough that Zoro doesn’t have to work so hard to fight it. The buoyancy of the water relieves the pressure on his broken bones, too.  

Zoro swims around the island until the rocks turn to sand. He swims inland and lifts Sanji to his feet, wrapping the cook’s arm back around his shoulders and hurrying them up the bank toward the trees. In this heat, they’ll dry off quickly. Sanji licks parched lips and tries to ignore his fever, hoping he only mostly feels hot because of the sun. 

Zoro guides them into the forest, looking around all the while for danger. Both of them relax as soon as the trees cover them. They set off at an easy pace, Zoro matching the speed Sanji sets. 

“So uh...” Zoro starts, his chest vibrating against Sanji’s ribs as he talks. “You used a sword before?” 

Something about his tone is difficult to pick out. Sanji wonders for a moment if he’s in trouble for using it. Shouldn’t’a given it to me then. “A long time ago,” he answers stiffly. 

“Did that old man chef teach – ?” 

“No.” Sanji cuts him off. “No. He taught me how to use a knife, not a sword. My hands aren’t for that.” 

“Oh.” Zoro goes quiet, seemingly contemplating whether he should keep asking questions, but obviously curious. He must have arrived at the correct decision, because he doesn’t say anything else. 

There are some questions Sanji doesn’t mind answering, but if they head down that path then he’ll inevitably land on the topic of his childhood, and most of it Zoro can absolutely never learn about. Besides, he swore to keep the Vinsmoke name out of his mouth. 

Zoro brings them to a stop and lets Sanji sit down on a big moss-covered stone while he hunts for coconuts. Having a swordsman as a companion sure is useful. Sanji can’t imagine trying to crack those coconuts open himself without losing a lot of the water inside. Zoro’s technique is both graceful and practical, wasting almost nothing. 

Sanji accepts his drink, wetting parched lips and gulping down the rest. Zoro offers him the second coconut and slices open a third for himself. 

If it weren’t for the other inhabitants, this wouldn’t be such a bad island to get stranded on. He and Zoro could probably survive here for a long time, as long as necessary until their crew or another ship passed by. It would be nothing like that barren rock, and maybe a little bit like a vacation. If I don’t die that is... Would rest alone fix him? Zoro is resourceful, but he isn’t a doctor. He may have already done all he can to help. If things get bad enough, he’ll need a doctor to make it through. Sanji pushes the thought from his mind, and finds it replaced with the image of him and Zoro making a life on this island. They would be at each other’s throats, but it wouldn’t be so bad... There are worse lives to live. 

“You’re really red,” Zoro says, standing over him suddenly. “You sure you’re okay?” 

“Fuck off,” Sanji growls, lifting his second coconut to hide his face. “Just the light. You’re red too.” 

Zoro’s tan face is shockingly red, and it isn’t from sunburn. The swordsman tenses and scowls. “The light then,” he grumbles. “Listen...” 

Oh, Sanji is curious now. “What.” 

“I was just going to say... you’re good with a sword.” 

“Hah!” Sanji scoffs loudly before he has a chance to think. “Of course I am. I’m a cook. I know how to use a sharp object.” 

Zoro wasn’t angry with him at all. Zoro is... blushing.  

At least now both of them are blushing, so both of them can blame it on the lighting and the heat of the midday sun. 

“Well, whatever!” Zoro growls, throwing down his empty coconut, though this time he seems more flustered than angry. 

After everything that’s happened, Zoro is getting flustered about swords. What an absolute animal.  

Zoro is getting flustered about the sword in Sanji’s hand. And at a time like this, no-less, when Sanji couldn’t imagine anyone getting flustered about anything to do with him. Sanji didn’t think Zoro could even get flustered. 

That fucking moss ball has lost his cool entirely, practically steaming. He spins on his heel and plops down next to Sanji, kicking some grass with his boot and folding his arms tightly around his chest. No wonder Zoro never gives straight complements, if it makes him short-circuit this badly. 

“You'd make a good swordsman,” Zoro mumbles. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Sanji snaps back. “But I would, and I’d take your title of Greatest Swordsman after finding the All-Blue.” 

“Hah! You weren’t that good, cook! You’d never beat me.” 

“Too bad you need your swords to beat me ,” Sanji retorts. “I could teach your sorry ass a move or two.” 

Zoro mutters something under his breath, and Sanji risks looking over. The swordsman is still bright red, looking pointedly at the ground with one leg folded over the other. You sword freak... He hides the monster well, sometimes.  

“Here,” Sanji shoves his coconut into Zoro’s chest. “Cut it into segments. They should be ripe.” 

It’s nice not to be the one on the back-foot for once. And Zoro is quite cute when he’s flustered, even though it’s making Sanji think thoughts he would rather not mull on. For once the pain comes in handy, stealing his focus away from Zoro’s muscled body moving with grace and precision to slice their coconuts into even segments. 

Chapter Text

Zoro isn’t much of a conversationalist. It probably takes all his brain power just to keep himself breathing. The consequence is that Sanji has to listen to his own labored breathing as they traverse through the forest. 

The sun beats down on them, heating up the shaded forest. Both of them are sweating. Sanji can feel how wet Zoro’s bare back is where his arm is slung over it. If it weren’t for the fact that Zoro makes them rest every time he spots a coconut to drink from, Sanji knows he would have passed out by now. Hydration aside, the regular breaks are sweet relief. 

Zoro is very gentle with him, and Sanji can’t decide if he’s more grateful or ashamed. 

Zoro is giving him more of the coconuts. If he finds three, he gives Sanji two. He finds some mango trees too, and those make a good snack after suffering Zoro’s neat blade-work. The swordsman is almost as good at cutting up a fruit as Sanji. Put a proper blade in the man’s hand, and Sanji could fix that. 

Insufferable and oafish as Zoro is, he’s an attentive and selfless caretaker. At the very least, he seems to be handling the heat well. Well enough that Sanji can't bring himself to berate the swordsman for giving him more of the coconuts. 

The ground starts to shake again. If it weren’t for Zoro’s support, Sanji would be toppling face-first into the underbrush. The shaking is getting stronger, jostling his body so badly he has to grit his teeth against making any embarrassing noises of pain.  

It probably doesn’t matter at this point. Still, Sanji gasps in surprise as Zoro bends down and scoops him up under the knees. The swordsman spreads his feet and bends his knees, keeping loose in the hips to dampen the shaking. Sanji is going to absolutely throttle him, because a little bit of bone-shaking pain is better than the indignity of what Zoro is putting him through. He’s been carried quite enough by Zoro throughout this ordeal. He hasn't been carried since he was a child, certainly not like this – not by Zoro . He isn’t so weak that he needs Zoro to protect him from the most minor inconveniences. 

He feels truly weightless in Zoro’s arms. Sanji glares up at Zoro’s face with rage and gritted teeth. 

Zoro’s grey eyes dart around, shining green from the forest reflected in them. Their safety seems to be the only thing on his mind. 

The shaking stops. Zoro slowly lowers Sanji to his feet, still looking around for danger. He doesn't say a word, adjusting his grip on Sanji and resting his hand over his sword. They set off again, following the incline toward the island peak. 

Insults boil in his chest, but Sanji can't bring himself to hurl them. They walk for a while more, in silence. Zoro is keeping his eye on their surroundings, and Sanji is watching his feet, trying to place them more evenly. The upwards incline is rough on his lungs, even though Zoro is taking so much of his weight that he doesn’t have to work that hard. 

“Zoro...” Sanji coughs out. 

They stop walking. Curled into himself, he has to look up. Zoro looks back, wearing that concern that Sanji wants to kick off his face. 

Sanji can't stop himself from glaring. “I have to sit down.” He looks away. “Just for a minute, moss.” 

Zoro takes a moment to react, either taken aback by the request or looking for a place to rest. He starts to move, guiding them at a slower pace than before. Sanji stumbles along beside him and sits down gratefully on the moss-covered log Zoro finds for a seat. Zoro stands beside him, one hand rested on his sword and the other hanging anxiously at his side. His fingers are twitching. Sanji doesn’t dare look up, not wanting to face Zoro’s concern again. He shuts his eyes and wraps his arm around his chest, applying gentle pressure over the strips of shirt Zoro tied around it. He tries to breathe as deeply as he can. His ribs are grinding and stinging as if threatening to push through his skin. Better out than in. If they push into his lung, he doesn't like his chances.  

Zoro’s boots crunch on the underbrush as he steps closer. Rough knuckles press against Sanji’s forehead and his eyes fly open. He ought to smack that hand away and grill Zoro’s hand for such an audacious thing, but instead he just stares at Zoro’s boots until the hand retracts. 

“I think you have a fever,” Zoro announces helpfully. 

“What the fuck do you want me to do about it?” Sanji growls. “It’s hot out.” 

Zoro’s posture tightens. “You’re fuckin’ impossible,” he growls back, his hand clenching around his sword and the other curling into a fist. Sanji doesn’t dare look up. “If you keel over I can’t fix you.” 

“You can put me out of my misery,” Sanji bites out without thinking. 

He can practically feel the fuming heat of Zoro’s anger radiating off the man. “Why would I do that?” he demands. “You want me to dump you back in the ocean? Fuck off, cook.” 

Zoro’s fist looks like it wants to fly away from Zoro’s hip and sock Sanji in the face. It would be blissful release. Zoro is so strong that it might even kill him. In this state, it would at least knock him out.  

All the things he wants to say don’t apply here. I’m fine. I don’t need your help. I don’t want you to touch me, and I certainly don’t need you to protect me. Try as he might, there’s nothing to be mad at Zoro for. Not as it pertains to this situation, at least. Sanji closes his eyes and puts his face in his hand to hide his angry scowl, but all he can see in his mind is Zoro flying out of the forest, bringing that aura of death with him. Like the thunderstorm had blocked out the blue sky, Zoro had blocked out the enemies. Zoro had turned his back on a fight, scooping Sanji up in his arms and protecting him from gunfire with his own body. 

Zoro offered up the clean palette of his back and his honor as a swordsman in exchange for Sanji’s safety. 

Zoro put his most precious possession in Sanji’s hand and trusted him to look after it. Not just to guard it, but to use it.  

Don’t give this to me. I don’t deserve it. It’s not a fair trade, and Sanji would rather not bear that guilt. What if Zoro had been shot in the back? What if Sanji had lost or broken Wado ? 

“Cook.” Zoro’s stern voice interrupts the guilt Sanji is already feeling for things that haven’t happened. “You’re not seriously thinking I shouldn’t have jumped in after you, are you?” 

Maybe I am...  

“God, you’re so stupid,” Zoro scoffs, filling in the silence. “You’d jump in after me.” 

“Hah. Unlike me, you have no brains inside your skull, so you’d be fine if you hit your head.” Sanji sneers at Zoro’s boots. He just wishes he never had to receive such protection from Zoro – from anyone . Least of all Zoro. 

Zoro sighs and sits next to him. “You just look like shit, that’s all,” he offers quietly. 

“You already told me that,” Sanji grumbles, but he can’t make it come out with any ire. “I’d be better if it weren’t so goddamn hot.” The sweat is dripping down his forehead and sticking his suit to his body. 

“Maybe there’s water wherever those guys’ worksite is,” Zoro suggests. “We can find the river. It must be somewhere around here.” 

“I think we’re too far from the river,” Sanji replies. “Besides, those machines were pumping the river water for cooling. Makes me wonder if they’re dumping shit into the river, too. Might be best to stick to coconuts.” 

“Sun is falling,” Zoro says. “Should start to cool down soon.” 

That would be bliss. Sanji lifts his head and looks through the trees at the sky. Dark clouds are forming in the distance, but it’s impossible to tell if they’ll blow this way. This seems like a stormy area of sea. Sanji wonders if he would rather the bone-deep cold of a thunderstorm, or the inescapable blazing heat. At least the rainstorm cooled his fever and washed away the sweat. He has to admit that having Zoro curled around him was comfortable. 

“We should get going,” Sanji says, planting his feet firmly on the ground. “And we need a plan.” 

Zoro is on his feet in an instant, wrapping Sanji’s arm around his neck to help him stand up. “We’ll see what we find. I’ll deal with whatever threats there are, and then you help me rig up a bigass explosion. How’s that for a plan?” 

“I like that plan.” It wouldn’t be a bad show to hide and watch Zoro cut down whoever gets in their way. Be it gunmen, machetes, or giant tree-cutting machines, none of it can stand in Zoro’s way. The only thing that could make the plan better is if Sanji could run into battle right next to him. Maybe if he can, if he gets a chance to catch his breath once they reach their destination. 

“Let’s go, then. Luffy is probably hungry by now.” Zoro manages a conversational tone, creating a sense of normalcy even though his arm is wrapped tightly around Sanji’s waist, keeping the cook on a steady footing. He must be able to feel Sanji’s faint tremble of pain and effort through their pressed bodies. 

Zoro feels just as sturdy as ever. His chest swells with smooth breath, muscles flexing with undampened strength. Sanji has to smile, moaning regretfully. “Don't make me imagine what they’ve done to my kitchen.” 

“Nami won’t let them fuck with your kitchen,” Zoro reassures. “And we have Franky now. He could fix it if necessary.” 

“The fridge , moss...” 

“At least Luffy doesn’t really like booze. My stash should be fine.” 

“Good for you.” Sanji mourns the image of his fridge and pantry gutted for all their contents 

-- 

The sun starts to set, easing back the heat. Fever kept at bay, Sanji carries on with Zoro at his side. They continue to take regular breaks, and it helps. Still, their journey is taking far too long. 

The island continues to shake periodically. They must be getting close, because the vibrations are getting stronger. Every time they occur, Zoro picks him up, protecting him from enduring unnecessary jostling. As embarrassing as it is to hang in Zoro’s arms waiting desperately for the shaking to end, he has to admit that the reduced strain on his body is helping him to keep up for longer. Zoro is doing his body and his pride a favor. 

At last, the sounds of machinery and talking become audible, and they slow their pace. Zoro’s hand tightens around the hilt of his sword, and he lowers himself as they approach. 

They're very near the peak of the island. Sanji hangs onto Zoro and bites his lip, trying to quieten his breathing. He can spot people moving around, and as they get closer, a handful of tents come into view. Zoro crouches down and Sanji does the same, leaning hard against Zoro’s shoulder for balance. Zoro brushes some bushes out of the way, and they peer out at the small camp milling with workers. 

There are machines off to the side being serviced by mechanics, the ones Zoro broke among them. Two men are trying to beat out the dent Zoro put into the plating of one. Nearby, the saw blades are being sharpened. 

Sliced logs are being pulled up on a chain-driven conveyor and thrown in bundles into a giant furnace. The sounds of drilling resonate from the hole. 

“They must have some big machines down there,” Sanji whispers. 

“Yeah, and they’ll blow up real good.” Zoro is smirking.  

Too bad they can’t just waltz in. Some of the men will recognize the green-haired swordsman who broke their machines and killed their men, while others may know them by their wanted posters. The name of Pirate Hunter Zoro is spreading into the Grand Line, and Sanji hopes that Black-Leg Sanji will catch right up once given the time for his poster to spread too. If they could steal hard hats and shirts from the workers climbing into the hole, they could sneak into the worksite and find a way to sabotage the machinery. More tents extend into the forest, some of which look like barracks. They could find outfits there, and a blanket to wrap around Zoro’s sword. 

“What do you think they’re mining?” Zoro asks. 

Sanji shrugs. “We need a better plan, though.” 

The men with guns are standing around. They got lucky last time. If Sanji gets shot, he’ll be even more useless. If Zoro gets shot, they’re both done-for. 

“Hmm.” Zoro frowns and looks around the camp. 

Sanji does the same. Once again, his injuries are hindering their options. If they have to make a quick getaway, he’ll need Zoro to carry him. Let’s try to avoid that happening again, shall we?  

The men start to shout at each other, a few gathering around the hole as orders come from below. A crane arm secured to the forest floor swings around and the hook lowers into the hole on a thick chain. 

Sanji watches curiously as the chain is lowered, swaying as the empty hook travels down. The moment a weight is loaded on, the chain stops swaying. Beside him, Zoro goes completely still and his breathing slows to a stop. 

They watch as the chain starts to raise much slower than it was lowered, the men guiding the load upwards. The chain reels in, and a chunk of rock strapped to a palette is lifted out of the hole. The crane arm swings around, and the palette is deposited on the ground. The hook is undone, and the workers rush around to attach ropes. 

The air smells of ocean minerals. 

“I think we have to destroy this place,” Zoro says grimly. 

Sanji nods. They won’t stop until all the trees are burned for fuel, and the island is plundered for all its resources. He doesn’t really care what they’re mining for.  

“Trust me?” Zoro asks, looking over. 

“Of course,” Sanji replies without thinking. 

Zoro’s eyes fill with pride, and Sanji feels guilty for ever making the swordsman doubt that.  

Zoro helps him stand up, shuffling them around the perimeter of the camp. There are enough loud noises to mask their movements, but Sanji tries to be quiet all the same. He knows Zoro is smart enough not to throw them into battle without thinking. Maybe he’s heading for some disguises. 

They steer clear of people walking back and forth, but everyone is busy working. They duck down when someone passes a little too close and carry on when the danger passes. Zoro pops his head from behind the bushes to watch, then he straightens and hurries them into the camp between two supply tents. Nobody spots them. 

The pace is too quick for Sanji to maintain, but it doesn’t last long. Zoro ushers him into a tent and shuts the flap behind them. 

Zoro ducks behind some boxes to scope out the tent, but it’s empty. He stands back up and hurries Sanji down the middle, past a few empty beds to the one in the back corner. He lowers Sanji sitting onto the bed on the floor, then he rushes out to move a few boxes closer. Sanji wraps both arms around his chest to catch his breath, watching as Zoro pulls the curtain around them. The boxes hide their feet visible under the gap of the curtain. 

It’s a simple first-aid station, a shelf with some supplies to one side and an empty IV hook by the bed. “Uh, what’s the plan...?” Sanji asks. 

Zoro backs away from the curtain, listening to the shuffling of feet outside. They pass on, and he turns around, rushing to the shelves to rummage through their supplies. “Patch you up a bit?” Zoro shrugs, throwing a box of alcohol wipes over his shoulder. 

“With what?” Sanji asks flatly. “Unless you find the heal-heal fruit in there, I don't know what you can do.” 

“You’re so negative.” 

“Forgive my lack of faith in the man who almost cut his own feet off.” 

“I thought you said you trusted me.” Zoro throws out a packet of syringes and moves onto the next drawer. 

“For things that don’t involve doctoring? Yes.” Sanji loosens his jacket all the same. His bones are broken, but they don’t need to be set. There isn’t much Zoro can do for him in this situation. He needs painkillers, and his arm might need a cast, but Sanji doesn’t like the idea of being drugged right now, and Zoro probably doesn’t know how to administer injections or apply a cast. 

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t see Chopper anywhere around here, so shut up.” Zoro inspects a box of cotton swabs and chucks it. “Besides, you already said you trusted me. No takesies-backsies.” 

Sanji groans and turns around on the mattress, lying down with a hiss of pain. It isn't very comfortable, and he could use a few more pillows to sit up and breathe better, but it feels good to be off his feet. He turns his head on the under-stuffed pillow and watches Zoro dig through supplies. A man who winds up injured as much as Zoro does should know his way around basic medical supplies, but Zoro’s brain is occupied primarily with swords and booze, so there might not be room. 

Still, his little frown of dissatisfaction as he hunts for the supplies he wants is quite... cute. He crouches down to look in the lower drawers, then stands back up to go down the next stack. He finds some pills, reading the bottles and putting some back, while tucking others into his haramaki. 

“Chopper will kill you if you fuck me up,” Sanji remarks. 

“I’m not going to fuck you up,” Zoro retorts. “Just wanted to see if there was anything that could help.” He pulls open a drawer and pulls out a roll of cloth bandages. “Ah.” 

Oh. His injuries are too severe for Zoro to fix, but a bit of pressure might actually help with the pain. Sanji pushes himself sitting back up and shrugs out of his jacket and shirt, peeling the damp fabric from his skin. Zoro kneels by the bed and deposits an armful of bandages onto the blanket. He reaches over to undo the strips of shirt he tied around Sanji’s chest earlier. 

“Just don’t do me how Chopper does you.” Sanji looks up from his bruised body at Zoro’s focused frown. 

“I don't think we have time for that.” Zoro smiles. His hand slides up Sanji’s side and feels his ribs as lightly as possible. Everything is still in place, and nothing has broken through skin. 

Both of them are hot from the summer sun. Zoro’s hands are as calloused as Sanji’s from work, and just as scarred as the rest of him. Some scars are big, some are small, some are smooth, and some are raised up. Sanji is overcome with the sudden urge to touch them, but he resists. 

Zoro opens up the first package and holds the end of the bandage against Sanji’s chest. Then he starts to wrap, covering the horrific bruising under clean white. He pulls tight, glancing up as Sanji huffs in pain. 

“Keep going,” Sanji nods. The tightness might not be so good for taking deep breaths, but it’ll brace his ribs and keep them from shifting around so much.  

Zoro is giving this more care than he seems to have given to himself over his entire life. Sanji can’t remember ever seeing the swordsman rest properly after a fight. Then again, Sanji gets restless too. He’s going to get restless when they get back to the ship and Chopper makes him rest for days on end. 

The expression of focus on Zoro’s face is much like the one he wears while training. His brow his furrowed, his eyes fixed on his work and his touch precise. He smells of sweat and sea water and coconut, his hair unusually spiky. A thick vein is pulsing in his neck from the heat and his shoulders are red from sun exposure. There are so many scars on his body, many of which are clearly visible against the tan. His neck is no exception, one cutting close to that pulsing vein. A faint scar cuts into his jaw, another across the bridge of his nose. There are a few small ones on his forehead, some that disappear under his hairline. Sanji never gave them proper attention, but he has no trouble imagining the events that caused some of them. He’s seen the aftermath of their tougher battles on the swordsman. 

“Okay.” Zoro tucks in the end of the bandage and opens another package. “I don’t think your shoulder is out of place.” 

It’s just as bruised as his chest, though. Zoro wraps a few times around Sanji’s chest, then over his shoulder. He starts to wrap down Sanji’s arm, supporting it with his hand to keep the weight off the cook’s broken shoulder. 

People move outside again. Sanji holds his breath and Zoro stops moving, his focus changing to something much darker as he listens. His hand drifts toward his sword as two people walk into the first-aid tent. 

“How many people did we lose?” a man asks. 

“Nearly a dozen,” a woman replies. “We patched up everybody we could and sent them back to work. We have to get as much seastone mined as possible.” 

“Those two can't escape. They have no ship.” The man groans, and a bed creaks as he sits down. “We shouldn't have to worry about them.” 

Drawers open and paper rustles as the woman gathers supplies. “They could phone for help. We need to hunt them down before they cause more trouble.” 

“We’re hunting them with as many men as we can spare,” the man replies. 

Zoro’s fingers slide around Wado , his whole body poised but his other hand still gentle as it supports Sanji’s broken arm at the elbow. The woman finishes treating the man, cleaning up her supplies and shooing him out. Her footsteps don't follow. 

Sanji watches Zoro’s dark stare, silently begging for the woman to leave. The hairs on his arms are standing up again, and he knows that if the woman walks back here and opens the curtain, she’s as good as dead. Zoro will kill her in an instant. 

The woman lingers a few moments more, and Sanji doesn’t dare breathe. Finally, she turns around and walks out. The tent flap rustles, and she’s gone. 

Both of them breathe out. Sanji slumps with relief, and Zoro gets straight back to work, speeding up his wrapping.  

“I can probably find a sling in here,” Zoro suggests, carefully bending Sanji’s elbow a little and wrapping over it. The joint is bruised and swollen, but it doesn’t feel broken. 

“No, that’s fine.” Sanji shakes his head. “Rather have my arm for balance.” 

“Okay,” Zoro agrees without a fight. “Might be stuff around here somewhere to splint your wrist, but I couldn’t find it.” 

“No time to look.” Sanji agrees. His wrist is too purple not to be broken, but it’s at worst a bad fracture. His bones aren't poking through his skin. 

Zoro wraps around his hand and moves back up to add another layer. “You can move your fingers?” he asks. 

Sanji makes a light fist and opens it. “Yup.” 

“Good.” Zoro nods and finishes his work. He seems relieved. “Chopper can fix it.” He gives a reassuring smile. 

“I know.” Zoro has a lovely smile. Sanji finds himself captivated by it. 

“Just... I know your hands are important to you.” Zoro shrugs, looking away. He picks up Sanji’s clothes and helps him get dressed. 

Sanji puts his arms through his shirt sleeves and lets Zoro button it closed. 

It’s a lot easier to move with Zoro’s handiwork bracing his broken bones, keeping everything in place, putting pressure on the bruising and lingering swelling. It’s much harder to think with Zoro so close, to be the sole focus of Zoro’s attention. 

Zoro is just trying to help. Sanji’s wellbeing serves both of them. As Zoro said, it’s his job to protect him. 

Sanji wishes he could think of something withering to throw at Zoro, but he can’t. 

Zoro buttons up Sanji’s jacket and digs in his haramaki for the pills. “Uh, I don’t know how many you should take.” He squints at the small print and gives up, shoving the bottle into Sanji’s hand and digging for another. 

They probably won’t help. And if they will, he’ll have to take far too many and risk other side-effects like drowsiness. Sanji trades bottles with Zoro and eventually settles on some strong-looking painkillers. Two should be fine. Or should he take three? He tips some into his hand and looks up at Zoro. 

Zoro shrugs. Has the swordsman ever taken painkillers in his life? Not willingly, Sanji guesses. Oh well, he pinches two pills between his fingers and tips the rest back into the bottle. He swallows the pills dry. Zoro caps the bottle and puts it into Sanji’s pocket with his cigarettes. 

Zoro stands up and offers his hand. Sanji takes it, and Zoro pulls him gently to his feet. Already, he feels better. His ribs aren’t shifting around so much, for one. 

“You look better,” Zoro remarks. 

Pity from Zoro would be devastating. Concern was mortifying. But pride... Pride isn’t something Sanji expects when he meets Zoro’s appraising stare. “So, that plan.” Right now, Zoro is of more sound mind between them, so Sanji can’t even blame that expression of pride on the swordsman’s insanity. 

“We’ll find somewhere for you to lay low while I deal with whoever is around. Then I just... make everything go boom.” 

“How?” Sanji frowns. “Machines don't just explode if you cut them.” 

“I’ll figure something out.” 

“I’d better come with you,” Sanji says.  

“Cook –” Zoro’s pride turns back into concern. 

“Zoro.” Sanji smooths down the collar of his suit jacket and puts his bandaged hand into his pocket. He never needed his hands to fight anyway. He pulls out his cigarettes and puts one in his mouth. 

“ Cook –” Zoro starts again. 

Sanji cuts him off, twisting at the hip to spin. The centripetal force pulls on his ribs, but he keeps at it until heat rises from his heel. He stops and grips Zoro’s shoulder as the dizziness catches up to him. But he makes steady eye-contact with the swordsman and lifts his foot, lighting his cigarette off the flames. He puts down his foot and stands as tall as he can, looking Zoro in the eyes. 

No, he won’t cower down somewhere while Zoro runs around dodging bullets. Knowing Zoro, he might just run off and lose this worksite altogether, never to be seen again. They’re better off sticking together. Both of them have fought with worse injuries. 

Zoro looks at him with an undecided expression, fixated on the fire curling up Sanji’s leg. It reflects in his eyes, turning them orange. The awe is evident. He looks up, fire in his eyes, and smiles. That smile curls with lust, a smile Sanji is more than familiar with. 

It’s just never been aimed directly at him before. Sanji puffs his cigarette. The painkillers must be kicking in. “Let’s blow something up already,” he says. 

“I’ll blow up more shit than you.” Zoro grips his sword and slides it out of the sheathe. The metal glints with the flames.

“Doubt it.” 

Zoro brushes aside the curtain. “After you.” 

“Stay close,” Sanji says, walking out. “I don't want to lose your dumbass out there.” 

“Let me know if you need me to save you.” Zoro grins. Distant thunder rumbles.

“Likewise.” Sanji only has one cigarette left, and he would quite like to smoke it on the beach watching the Sunny sail toward them while smoke and fire rage in the background. 

Chapter Text

Zoro gets that look in his eyes and Sanji feels new life flow through his battered body. With a couple of quick swipes, Zoro cuts away the tent flap, and they walk into the worksite. 

The flames catch the attention of everyone nearby. Sanji grits his teeth around the cigarette and blows smoke through his teeth, charging forward. Zoro waits for him, but quickly follows to match speed, sending a couple of flying slashes into the startled men before anyone else can draw a weapon. Fire glints off his blade and Sanji strikes the nearest man in the chest with his foot, sending him flying into some colleagues in a burst of flame.  

They don’t wait for anyone to react. Zoro takes the lead, focusing on long-distance attacks that will take down more distant gunmen before they can ready their weapons. Sanji follows, striking closer targets with his fastest hits. 

The painkillers must be kicking in, because he feels great. Sanji grins, using Zoro’s back as a springboard to leap over some men and land in the center of a small gathering hoard, dealing flaming kicks in rapid succession. When he turns, he catches a glimpse of Zoro’s lustful smile. They make eye-contact, and Zoro’s eyes catch with Sanji’s fire. Whatever suffering he incurs by fighting in this stage, it’s worth it to enjoy Zoro’s company like this. 

Forces are mustering near the hole in the ground. Zoro slices down a man charging at him with a machete without so much as glancing at him. He puts the sword in his mouth and turns toward the hole, running towards it as the men gather up. The men with guns poise to shoot, and the other men start to fan out. Sanji veers away from Zoro to take on some of the attackers. He steals a glance beside him Zoro’s back muscles clench and ripple under his skin, the swordsman folding his arms across his body and then swiping them outward. The no-sword-style flying slash isn’t sharp enough to cut, but the force of it throws the gunmen backwards. Sanji smirks and puts both hands into his jacket pockets. 

The men with weapons raise them. They’re nothing compared to Zoro, even playfighting. Sanji ducks a swipe, leans away from another, and works his way into the middle of the swarm as they move to surround him. A machete swings at his neck and he rolls away from it, hooking his leg around the man’s leg to fell him. The man falls backwards, and Sanji kicks him in the ribs before he can hit the ground, sending him flying into a friend in a plume of fire. 

Sanji takes his hand out of his pocket and bends away from another slash, putting his hand on the grass and swinging his legs around his head to deal a couple of deadly kicks. He twists himself at the hips, using the force to right himself. He drops to avoid a swipe at his head and sweeps out his leg to knock down the man, the fire instantly catching on his trouser leg. 

The man yelps and drops his machete, and Sanji puts his hand down, kicking upwards so hard the man goes flying into a tree, splintering the wood. Sanji straightens, using his leg to block a knife swing. His knee wraps around the man’s wrist. Sanji tightens his grip and spins, breaking the man’s arm and throwing him down by his arm. 

Fear glints in the eyes of the swarm. Sanji finishes them off, ready to handle the other swarm. Zoro has already dealt with it, slicing down the last man and running toward the saw machines being fired up. 

An alarm is blaring somewhere. The machines come to life, their arm attachments missing the saw blades but their movements still plenty fast. 

One each . Sanji runs around the hole and follows Zoro’s lead, the swordsman not picking up pace until Sanji is beside him. They run together. Sanji knows exactly what he’s going to do, and he’s curious to see how Zoro chooses to take down the big machine. A cut that slices it clean in two? A single punch? Zoro bench-presses more than this thing weighs. It might be too heavy to send flying, but Zoro can knock it down with no trouble. He’s responsible for the damage the machines already bear. 

Sanji aims for the dent Zoro put in the one he’s aiming for. He just needs to get some height into his attack. The move Zoro did should do plenty well, and there are lots of trees nearby. He jumps up and uses a tree to push off, gaining extra height and aiming his flaming leg straight into the dented body of the machine. Beside him, Zoro flies through the air too, throwing his massive body straight into the other machine. 

Shock waves rustle the foliage nearby. Both machines stumble backwards, the operators panicking inside the cockpits. The machines collapse with a horrendous boom, and Sanji lands beside Zoro. 

He stands up and brushes off his suit, looking over as leaves fall from above.  

Zoro looks at the fire, then at Sanji. He stands up and flicks his blade to his side. They appraise each other briefly. Sanji can’t say he’s upset about Zoro having sacrificed his shirt. 

The workers in the hole are shouting up, calling for the crane to be lowered. Nobody is left to lower it for them. Zoro walks over and grabs the foot of one of the toppled machines, dragging it toward the hole. There is nothing to hide the way his whole torso tenses, his monstrous body dragging that immense weight like it’s not several tons, fingers digging into the metal so hard it folds under the force. Zoro leans into it, straining but succeeding, his boots digging into the dirt. The man in the cockpit scrambles with the hatch, staggering out in a daze and collapsing just in time to avoid his near-coffin being dragged into the hole. Zoro puts his sword into his mouth and grips the plating with both hands, pushing the machine over the edge and dropping it into the hole. 

Zoro doesn’t wait, taking the sword from his mouth as he runs toward the edge. Sanji follows as the gigantic machine crashes below. The hole fills with the sound of chaos as people shout and scramble. Zoro jumps for the chain, and Sanji runs past the crane, disengaging the brake on the reel. Zoro grabs the hook, and the chain lowers freely. Sanji follows suit, aiming for Zoro’s outstretched arm. 

Sanji catches the chain with his good arm, and Zoro wraps his sword arm around him. The chain unwinds faster with the added weight, and they descend into the mining hole. 

It’s very well-lit, over a hundred feet deep, and filled with workers and digging equipment. Crates of supplies and empty palettes line the rock walls, tunnels disappearing under the earth where the seastone must be mined from. Men emerge from the tunnels while the rest regroup, grabbing weapons and anything nearby to use as one. A handful run over to stationary machines off to the side, clambering into the cockpits to start them. They’re smaller than the saw machines, but similar in design, walking on two legs with arm-like attachments. These ones wield drills though. The drills power up. 

Zoro holds Sanji around the chest and slides down the side of the fallen machine, landing on his feet and depositing Sanji next to him. He lets go of the chain and rushes in first. 

Sanji snorts smoke and follows, looking around for a good fuel for a massive explosion. Lighting it inside this pit would help send it vertical rather than outward. There are plenty of possible ignition sources around: the gas-powered lanterns disappearing into the mining tunnels, the roaring furnace beside the hole sending steam through pipes to power the equipment, and Sanji own flaming leg. 

Men swarm Zoro. Perhaps they favor their chances against a sword more than Sanji’s flaming kicks. Zoro doesn’t seem to mind. He seems to be moving much more lithely with just one sword, swinging his legs around too. They’re nowhere near as skilled as Sanji’s kicks, but Zoro is more than capable of sending men flying with even a glancing blow. 

The ground rumbles as the drilling machines stomp toward them, drill attachments spinning. Sanji appraises the closed space and the men filtering in from the tunnels. A few still have guns, but they can’t seem to get a clean shot. 

Best to keep it that way. Sanji kicks down a man swinging a pickaxe wildly in his direction, and runs toward the drilling machines. He can bring them down and keep them off Zoro’s back, let the swordsman deal with the mob. The swordsman doing just fine. 

Sanji trips a man at the edge of the swarm as he runs by, listening intently to the sound of Zoro’s blade singing in the air. Men try to get in his way, and he dodges their blows so their presence can protect him from gunfire. Someone yells for them to get clear so they can shoot, and the men fall back. Sanji is already dropping down, rolling on his shoulder as bullets sail overhead. He rolls by the first drilling machine and kicks it in the knee, buckling the leg and tipping the machine sideways. Sanji scrambles out of the way as it topples toward him, the drill digging into the rock and the metal frame crashing down in a shower of sparks. 

He isn't sure how long the adrenaline can last him. It has to last through the rest of this. Sanji spits out his cigarette and dodges a swing from another drilling machine, dropping under its reach and catching his breath. 

His breaths are coming rougher. Sanji locks his ears onto the sounds of carnage created by Zoro. He thinks he can hear thunder far in the distance. The trees far above them are rustling and the air feels cooler. The air pressure is changing. 

Sanji hurriedly rolls sideways as the machine swings its arm down on him. The hard rock on his crushed side stings, but he ignores it, lunging to his feet. The arm swings for him and he backflips over it in an arc of fire, landing on his palm and hand-springing to give himself a few feet of leeway for his retaliatory attack. He’s still in the air, about to land on his feet, and the other machine swings its arm around, the metal casing catching him in the stomach and throwing him backwards. 

Sanji hits a stack of crates stored against the sidewall, splintering wood and hitting the stone wall with his shoulders and back, head bouncing off a second later. He hears his bones break before he feels it. The impact knocks the air out of his lungs with a weak puff of what cigarette smoke remains. 

He collapses into the pile of boxes, metal canisters and coils of rope scattering on the rock and toppling onto him.  

He can’t breathe. The fire flickers and dies. He can’t move. Hot, wet blood seeps into his suit. He can feel it dribbling down the back of his neck, can taste it in his throat. 

Everyone is shouting. Machines are stomping. Footsteps rush over as men hurry for the kill. The first to arrive is a man with a gun, raising the barrel towards him warily. 

Sanji struggles in the debris. His legs will move, but his injured arm won’t. He has to move, he has to roll , he has to dodge . He can't get shot. He can’t die like this. 

Lightning flashes in the sky above. The hairs on his arms prickle again, and he feels it, that sense of dread. 

The gunman’s finger threatens the trigger, but before he can shoot, his arm falls off. It and the gun clatter to the ground. The man opens his mouth in shock and horror as the wound begins to bleed, but the cry never leaves his open mouth.  

The cave suddenly seems very dark, despite the lights. Sanji trembles with the dread not meant for him as a dark shadow rises over the falling corpse as if rising from the ground itself. Zoro is swarming in threes in front of Sanji’s vision, his eyes reflecting a red light that seems to come from nowhere, radiating that Hell purple again. The lightning strikes closer, illuminating Zoro’s shoulders white for a brief moment. 

Thunder shakes the cavern, showering them with pebbles and dirt from above and rattling the lanterns. Zoro turns toward the mob, his body shimmering in Sanji’s blurring vision. 

His vision is blurring much worse than last time, because he swears Zoro is holding three swords. He can see their shape and wonders for a moment if Zoro picked up some spares that he robbed from the miners. Sanji shakes his head, but that doesn’t help. Arms blossom out of Zoro’s body like petals. Zoro puts the sword in his mouth – all three swords, all three mouths – and raises his empty hands. The thunder rumbles again as soon as the lightning hits, much closer. 

Nobody has the sense for bad omens these days. The gathering mob has the good sense to flinch, at least. If they were smart they would run back into their tunnels like cockroaches and pray Zoro doesn’t follow them. 

The stuffy cavern air whips up, and Zoro meets the mob head-on.  

He moves like a windmill, slashing his empty hands as if holding his missing swords. He might as well be, for the damage he deals. He makes up for lacking his usual number of weapons – or perhaps more than usual. 

God, he hit his head bad. He can barely breathe, can’t even attempt to move as Zoro turns and looks at him with that lust for battle. No, no longer lust for battle – Zoro is lusting for vengeance . 

Zoro is angry. Zoro keeps turning, setting another pair of eyes onto Sanji, then another. 

Three heads. Six arms. Nine golden earrings.  

ASURA  

Sanji can hear Zoro’s heartbeat over the descending thunderstorm. It beats like a death drum, ringing in his ears, pounding in his skull. 

The men fall easily. Zoro cuts them down before they can think of how they want to attack. Maybe they all hit their heads too, because their eyes are filled with fear even at this distance. If only people were smart enough to run away... 

The ground trembles as the drilling machines stomp forward, the supply hoses taught and pulsing. More emerge from the tunnels to join the attack. The closest machine stabs its drill toward Zoro. 

Zoro flips the sword in his mouth as easily as he does in his hand and deflects the drill with his blade. He throws up his hand to catch the arm at the joint, gripping it with his bare fingers. The weight of the machine pushes him back. Unable to pull its arm back from Zoro’s grip, the machine swings its other arm toward him. Zoro catches that too, bending his knees. His back muscles flex taut, and he stops sliding.  

Zoro jumps, twisting at the hips and flinging himself around, taking the machine with him. He throws it down, and it bounces, the hoses bursting. Steam and cooling river water burst out, instantly clouding the air as the steam hose flies around wildly under the pressure. Zoro picks up the machine, his body visibly straining. 

The haze tripling Sanji’s vision is somehow allowing him to see Zoro’s face from behind. Zoro’s two extra heads glare with deathly intent, his extra arms pulsing as if looking for weapons to hold. 

Sanji pushes himself up on a shaking arm, breathing as deeply as he can but finding it much more difficult than before. He pushes his hand under his shirt, and his fingers emerge bloody. He draws in his legs, looking around. A few more men are coming their way, waiting with guns poised. Rain starts to pour into the pit. Sanji spits blood and looks at the debris spread around him. His eyes are too blurry to read the small labels, but he knows the flammable warning symbol when he sees it. That’s all that matters. 

Sanji coughs in pain and tries to find purchase on the broken crates he fell into, but he can’t find solid footing. He gasps as his bones shift, scraping on skin.  

One of the machines blows up nearby. Sanji winces and guards his face, looking worriedly through his fingers at the canisters scattered around him. 

Framed in fire, Zoro rushes towards him, sheathing his sword and throwing broken crates out of his way to get to Sanji. He holds out his hands, his body covered in blood and dirt. He looks whole. The mirage of threes is fading, along with the hellfire in his eyes as they dart across Sanji’s torn suit and the dark blood patches shimmering against the black fabric. He grabs Sanji’s arm and hauls him out of the wreckage, hoisting him over some debris and placing him on solid ground. 

There’s only one way out, and that’s up. A few remaining drilling machines are trying to find a way around their destroyed companions, and the cave is filling with steam as the furnace above continues to pump steam through them. Zoro looks up, his eyes following the dangling chain then looking back at Sanji. 

Sanji can't climb the chain. He can’t find the breath to speak, but he manages to raise his broken arm enough to tug on Zoro’s haramaki, getting the swordsman’s attention. Sanji points at the canisters, at the piles of boxes all around the cavern. 

Zoro gets the picture. He swipes with the back of his blade at the last few boxes close by that didn't get broken, spilling their contents onto the rock. The last few men approach to attack, and Zoro cuts them down with a few flying slashes. He flips the blade in his hand and cuts with the dull side, blasting open the remaining boxes from a distance. 

There are a lot of canisters, maybe enough for an explosion that reaches above the treetops. Zoro Already seems to know what to do, sheathing his sword and helping Sanji stagger toward the chain. He throws Sanji over his shoulder and jumps up the saw machine they threw down early. Then he grabs the chain and starts to climb. 

Zoro scampers up the chain despite the rain. He reaches the top, hoisting them onto the crane arm and running down it to the ground. He pulls Sanji off his shoulder. 

A handful of men who must have returned from the forest have gathered, and they swarm toward them. Zoro lets go, favoring speed over gentleness this time and running off to finish the remaining enemies. Sanji slumps against the crane, gripping his chest and trying to breathe. He has a bad feeling that it’s only going to get worse. Bullets ring out, and he looks up sharply, but Zoro has already cut down the gunman. 

Sanji struggles to his feet. The furnace is close by, the fire roaring inside of it. Sanji grits his teeth and pushes away from the crane, stumbling forward. If he could muster one last kick, he could knock it into the pit. He stumbles against it, reeling back from the hot surface and falling to his knees. 

Goddammit. Sanji grits his teeth and gets up. 

Zoro’s hand lands on his shoulder. Sanji leans on his knee as Zoro walks past, the swordsman flicking blood from his sword and sheathing it. He gets to his knee and hooks his fingers under the back of the furnace. Once more, his body strains as he recruits his monstrous strength to lift up the gigantic furnace. It tips slowly, slowly, then finally falls forward, toppling into the pit. 

As soon as it starts to fall, Zoro pulls away and scoops Sanji into his arms. He starts to run. 

Perhaps Sanji should have expected this. He wasn’t in any shape to outrun an explosion beforehand anyway. He doesn’t especially hate Zoro’s arms under him like this... 

It feels like ages before the furnace crashes into the bottom of the pit, shaking the ground underfoot. A moment later, everything explodes. 

The flames erupt from the pit, setting the forest aglow. The explosions continue in rapid succession as the canisters and anything else down there lights up. Zoro focuses grimly forward, leaping over undergrowth and tree stumps. 

It doesn't matter where they go, so long as they get to the shore. Sanji can feel the heat of the flames on the arm thrown around Zoro’s neck. Even Zoro can’t get lost running in a straight line away from the fire, straight toward the beach. The deep pit is helping guide the explosion upward, keeping the heat off their heels. Sanji looks up at Zoro’s face, at his lips parted to breathe more air. The rain is washing away the blood splatters, and his eyes glow with the remains of that vengeful lust. 

Sanji doesn’t like that look so much on Zoro. Not that it doesn’t suit him, Sanji just much prefers that lustful battle-hungry smile. 

Zoro has a grumpy demeanor, but he doesn’t often look truly angry, enraged . Like he could burn down anything and everything in his path to clear it. Sanji feels loose in Zoro’s arms, his vision blurring badly and starting to darken at the edges. 

He’s really hurt. Zoro can’t fix him. 

Sanji would quite like one last look at that Hell purple. He can see wisps of it remaining, but it has mostly dissipated. He shuts his eyes and pictures it, smiling to himself as his head bounces off Zoro’s shoulder. 

“Cook?” 

“Hmm?” Sanji inquires, cracking open his eye. 

Zoro is looking at him, glancing ahead as he runs. “Don’t die.” 

“Didn’t plan on it. Just tired.” 

Zoro huffs in response, locking his stare ahead again. He doesn’t seem reassured. 

Stupid fucker. I won’t die from this. You’re here. Sanji shuts his eyes again and focuses on breathing. Zoro versus death wouldn’t be much of a fair fight. Dumbass is too stupid to die, too stupid not to pick up his three swords and fight some loser with a scythe. One scythe versus three swords? Sanji scoffs to himself. 

Boy, the Zoro-express sure is fast. This is a great way to travel. Great view, too. Sanji opens his eyes again to look up at Zoro’s jaw. He just wishes the expression were a bit more appealing. Zoro has a lovely smile. It probably looks nice from this low-down angle.  

They burst out of the forest and onto the beach. Zoro sticks to the grass for better traction, searching the horizon as he runs along the tree line. Sanji can just spot the glow of embers against the clouds. They did it. 

We did it.  

Zoro slows to a stop, panting. He stumbles to his knee but maintains his grip. Slowly, gently, he puts Sanji down in the grass and sits next to him, lowering Sanji against his chest. Zoro pants, his chest heaving against Sanji’s back. 

God, it hurts. The sky and the sea are blurring together, but he can see the edge of the storm. Bright patches of sky are pushing the dark clouds over them. 

Zoro gulps air and swallows, holding Sanji tightly. His hand cups Sanji’s hip, thumb rested in the dip of his waist. 

“I’m sorry,” Zoro rasps. 

Sanji frowns with confusion. “Huh?” He sounds as out-of-breath as Zoro. His head feels heavy on Zoro’s shoulder. 

“Just am.” 

“Fucker.” It’s all he has the breath for. There’s nothing to be sorry for. What would there be? Stupid moss. So stupid. The moss grew into his brain and made him stupid. What an idiot. 

“Don’t go to sleep.” 

Who would sleep on a view like this? It feels like a wasted opportunity to be lying in Zoro’s arms anyway. Zoro feels nice. He feels solid, warm. He has such a loud heartbeat. Was it always that loud? Maybe Chopper should look into it.  

“Keep breathing.” 

Like he would just stop willingly. Don’t pester me, bastard. Doin’ my best.  

This is a good way to die. Zoro isn’t such bad company. Maybe Sanji will get to see him one last time as the grim reaper tries to take him away. Zoro will fight anyone. 

“Cook?” Zoro says hastily. His hand reaches up to grip Sanji’s face. 

“Mm, fuck off,” Sanji grumbles. 

“Cook?” Zoro growls. “Sanji.” 

Hmm, maybe he didn't talk loud enough. 

“Sanji!” 

So annoying. Can’t a man die in peace? Of course he would die with Zoro nagging in his ear. His name sounds good in Zoro’s mouth. 

“Sanji.” Zoro’s frantic cry mixes with something else. “Sanji!” He starts to move, hoisting Sanji off the ground. 

Sanji opens his eyes with surprise as they start to move again. Zoro runs down the beach and splashes into the ocean, and Sanji turns his head to look.  

He spots it, then, a blob of color painted on the horizon. 

“ Luffy! ” Zoro bellows from deep in his chest, wading into the water to his thighs, screaming again. 

Sanji can't tell if the ship is turning toward them, but when Zoro goes silent he knows that it must be. 

A hand streaks across the surface of the water, stretching all the way toward them. Zoro sets Sanji down in the water and grabs it. He pulls Sanji close and wraps Luffy’s arm around them. 

“Hang on,” he says, and they’re yanked out of the water. 

They fly across the ocean, the wind stinging his eyes. He can't hold on much longer, but Zoro has a tight hold on him. Luffy’s arm is even tighter around them. The ship gets closer and closer until they fly over the railing. Luffy’s arm loosens, and Zoro wraps himself around Sanji to cushion the blow. They hit the deck and roll, but the impact is just too much.  

He was heading out anyway. Sanji blacks out on impact.

Chapter Text

The cell is dark, but there is enough light for his brothers to cast long shadows across the floor and up the walls.  

He’s grown up so much, but his brothers are still so much bigger than him. He got stronger, but they are stronger still. Now in this cell, there isn’t even anywhere to run – not that he could ever outrun them anyway. Nobody will hear him if he screams for help, because there isn't anyone else down here.  

Nowhere to go, nobody to help. Sanji digs his dress shoes into the floor and scrambles backwards from his brothers. His shoulders hit the back wall, and he strains against it in the hopes that it might give way. His brothers laugh at him, eager to get into the cell, almost tripping over each other in their excitement to hurt him. It seems the only emotion left inside them. The bars fade into a dark red sky. Far above, Judge looms over them, watching. Sanji has already learned that calling to his father for help isn’t going to save him. His brothers’ lesson is to crush the weak, and Sanji’s lesson is that he is the weak to be crushed. One way or another, these lessons will be learned. Sanji shivers as a cold, damp wind blows through the dungeons. His brothers fan out and grab for him, greedy to reach him first.  

The hairs on his arms stand on end, static crackling across his skin. Dread grips his stomach so hard he thinks he’s going to be sick. The air smells of embers. The static prickles.  

A dark hole bubbles out of the floor of the cell between himself and his approaching brothers, cutting them off from him as it grows, swirling red and purple like an inky puddle. Sanji freezes and watches as it grows wider, wider, almost reaching his shoes. The ground rumbles with thunder that sounds almost like a sleepy purr. The steady thump of a heartbeat shakes the cell.  

An arm reaches out of the hole, and a big hand stomps onto the cell floor with a heavy thump. Strong fingers crack the floor as they dig in. A head starts to emerge and another hand claws out, the creature pushing itself out of the darkness. Thunder rumbles again, and Zoro opens his jaws wide with something between a roar and a yawn. He looks down on Sanji with mild curiosity. Then he shakes himself like a cat and stretches, muscles flexing across his gigantic naked body.  

A third arm reaches out of the pit, a second head lifts up, another arm, more arms. Zoro rears out of the hole, staring down at Sanji and slowly turning away. His eyes grow dark as his head turns toward the brothers stalled at the cell entrance. Zoro is only growing bigger as he rises out of the hole, each head taking its turn to regard Sanji briefly before the eyes look away and their expressions fall dark. Nine golden earrings glint in the light of Judge’s disapproving stare dwarfing everything.  

His brothers attack. Surely even they should know better, but this is a nightmare, Sanji reasons. He cranes his neck as Zoro swells out of the pit, his empty hands waiting, his teeth parted. Nine swords rise out of the pit around his body, hilts first, the metal shining in the bright purple hellfire licking out from the darkness.  

The swords start to spin, dancing in dizzying synchronized patterns. Sanji covers his face as the wind whips up. The fire is warm, burning away the lonely cold of the dungeons. Zoro’s hands wait open. His body keeps twisting out of the hole, one by one the swords flying into his waiting hands, his open mouths grabbing them out of the air. Sanji’s brothers are spreading out, but Zoro is in all directions.  

Zoro is everything. Zoro is bigger than the cell. The brothers try to rush past, but Zoro’s three heads fix onto them, six arms raising up to cut them down.  

It hardly seems fair. One Zoro is a lot of Zoro as it is. Zoro crushes Sanji’s three brothers effortlessly into the cell floor before they can even get close to Sanji.  

The dark cell is burning away. And Zoro is still growing, one head looking down at Sanji with a strange look of calm as the other two glare death up at Judge. Judge is growing too, but Zoro’s body ripples and his teeth tighten around his swords, making himself grow faster to meet Judge’s size. Zoro grows so big that his monstrous, flaming body burns Judge away completely. Sanji slumps and watches as Zoro grows bigger, stronger, farther away from him. Zoro is up there, gigantic and indomitable; and Sanji is down here, small and weak and pathetic.  

Now it’s just the two of them. Zoro’s hell hole has grown so big that it has consumed the ground entirely. Sanji doesn’t much mind. Anywhere is better than that cell, and this fire is very warm. The monster looks down at him, unfathomably large, the rage fading from his grey eyes as each head regards him in turn. Sanji can’t even hear his own memories of the threats and jibes his brothers called him. Zoro’s heartbeat beats in his ears, shaking his brain empty.  

The flames lick higher, burning away the last of the nightmare. Bright blue burns through the inky blackness, and the last Sanji sees of his monstrous Zoro is the shine of gold earrings and an unblinking stare.  

Whatever he was lying on falls away. Sanji drops into the open sky. It’s a lovely day, fluffy white clouds drifting across a pure blue sky, a warm sun shining off a calm ocean far below.  

Freedom. Sanji smiles as the wind rushes through him. He twists in the sky to readily face the sea.  

Something smashes into him from above. He tumbles in the air, growling and wrestling with what just hit him. Zoro grins at him, his earrings shining in the sun. His eyes reflect the sea and the sky, full of that battle-hungry lust.  

There are no battles here.  

Sanji growls and rolls their tangled bodies so Zoro is on the bottom. Of course that green fuck can't leave him alone even in his dreams.  

Zoro grabs him and rolls again, putting himself on top. His skin is warm.  

They can't fall forever. They’re about to hit the water. The sensation of falling is suddenly very much real as he hears the waves get closer. Sanji looks over his shoulder wide-eyed as the sea rushes toward him.  

Sanji jolts awake. The room is pitch black and his body shivering as a cool breeze whips the heat from the sheen of sweat on his skin. 

He can’t move. He’s frozen solid. Sanji trembles. The dream feels a lot more vivid now. It’s even hard to breathe. 

A little light fades in from the window as his eyes adjust. The moon casts enough of a glow to make out the infirmary, even though it’s very blurry. It’s not a dream, he’s just too weak. 

Hot breath blows across his stomach. Somebody is drooling on him. Sanji looks down to spot Luffy’s dark hair, blankets pulled up to Luffy’s ear, face buried into Sanji’s belly, his rubber arms wrapped several times around Sanji’s waist. One leg is tied in knots around Sanji’s. A few feet away, Chopper is asleep at his desk, his feet dangling over the edge of his brand-new rolling chair, cheek squished into the pages of his open book. Someone draped a blanket over him. 

The moon faintly outlines a third shape in the corner. Sanji nearly misses it, but the shape is moving faintly – breathing deeply, slowly. 

Zoro is asleep on a makeshift bed in the corner by the door, covered in a blanket. If Sanji squints, he can make out tufts of the swordsman’s hair. An IV bag is hanging off the coat hook nearby, the line snaking under the blankets. All three swords are resting against the cabinet within reach. 

Zoro is more deeply asleep than Sanji has ever seen him. He looks almost dead, if not for that gentle rise and fall of his deep breathing. He isn't even snoring loudly as he often does. 

Luffy mumbles something wistful about meat, drooling into Sanji’s belly-button. Chopper must have him some powerful cocktail of drugs, because Sanji doesn’t much care. Sanji lifts his arm and pulls the IV with him, clumsily dropping his hand over Luffy’s head and pushing his fingers into his captain's unruly hair. If he listens closely, he can pick out the breathing of all three of his friends. Sanji smiles and goes back to sleep. 

-- 

Zoro’s dark shape looms over any dreams that try to manifest, extra limbs and heads rippling like mirages in the purple haze he brings with him. There is no dread. Zoro might be the monster that haunts many a defeated enemy, but not Sanji. That dread was never meant for him.  

A monster like Zoro cannot be made. Zoro made himself. He grabbed as many weapons as he could hold, and when he ran out of limbs, he simply manifested more. Judge could never make a man like Zoro. 

Sanji wonders if he can make himself into something monstrous too.  

He doesn't feel so monstrous right now. Sanji blinks open his eyes. The afternoon sun streaks into the infirmary. Luffy is no longer wrapped around him, Chopper’s chair is empty, and Zoro is gone from the bed in the corner. But his swords are resting on the pillow, tucked in as if put to sleep. Sanji rubs his eyes and looks around, but the room is empty. 

The gentle rocking of the ship that he so missed is back. It looks like a nice day outside. 

Chopper must have stolen every pillow from the ship, because Sanji is resting almost completely upright, sinking comfortably into them. His arm is propped off his chest to keep the cast from pressing on his ribs. A tube pokes out from between the bandages wrapped around his chest. His shoulder is wrapped up too, and his other arm is covered in patches covering the smaller nicks and cuts. 

Sanji gathers his strength and shoves his arm into the sheets. Instantly, he gives up and lets himself sink back with a gasp. No, that isn't going to work. Chopper must have him on some pretty strong painkillers, but the pain cuts through them when he tries to move. He feels hot and dizzy, the infirmary swaying dangerously as he catches his breath. If he had made it to his feet, he would have fallen over instantly. At least his body doesn't feel like it’s falling apart anymore. 

The door cracks open and Chopper pads inside. His eyes go wide, quickly filling with tears. “Sanji! ” The little reindeer bawls, running across the room with his arms outstretched. He clambers up the stepstool by the bed and wraps himself around Sanji’s arm. “ I was so worrieeed! ” Chopper sobs. 

Before Sanji can react, he hears his name yelled from a distance. The sound is rapidly getting closer. 

“Saaaaanjiiiii! ” Luffy yells, rocketing through the infirmary door. His arms snap back to regular length as he flies through the air. Sanji flinches, wide-eyed and helpless to move out of the way as Luffy crashes into his legs and hugs them tightly. 

The impact shakes the bed and his vision swims with blinding pain. He winces as Chopper rolls off of him to roar, growing into his giant humanoid form and raising his fists. 

“Luffy! ” he growls, grabbing the rubber boy by the collar of his shirt. “I told you to be careful! ” 

Luffy holds on tightly, rubbing his face against Sanji’s thigh. “Sanji, I was so hungry!” he sobs. “Usopp cooked me meat but it wasn’t the same! I missed you so much!” 

Chopper drags Luffy toward the door, Luffy’s arms still holding on. He starts to drag Sanji down the pillows and off the bed as Chopper pulls on him. Chopper roars and Luffy shrieks, his arms uncoiling. He scampers out of the room and Chopper chases him, shouting angrily. Robin’s lovely silhouette appears in the doorway, lifting a bowl out of the way as the two crew members run past her. She slips inside and chuckles, resting the door closed. 

“Mr. Doctor said you would be awake soon,” she says, putting the bowl on Chopper’s desk and coming over to help him. 

His heels are dangling over the edge of the bed, his shoulders sliding off the pillows and onto the mattress, his head pushed forward. His hand can’t find enough purchase to lift his torso up. 

Arms grow out of the bed to help Robin lift him back up against the pillows, adjusting them behind his back and under his arm. It hurts all the same. Sanji grits his teeth to stop himself from moaning in her presence. He feels the color drain from his face. 

Robin turns away to get the bowl, the last pair of hands pulling the blankets back over his belly before disappearing in a cloud of petals. She pulls up Chopper’s chair and smiles at him, reaching out to touch his cheek. 

Her skin is smooth and cool. Much nicer than Moss. Stupid moss ball has no class, no grace. Robin’s calm smile sends his heart a-flutter. 

“It's good to see you awake, Mr. Cook. We were all quite worried about you.” She smiles at him and stirs the bowl. It smells like soup. His grumbling stomach is nothing compared to the hollowness of starvation. 

Sanji clears his throat and smiles at her. He must look awfully disheveled. “No need to worry yourself over me, my flower.” He reaches for the bowl. The muscles down his side pull painfully enough to make him wonder if he broke the ribs on his right side, too. 

A hand grows out of the mattress and grabs his wrist, pulling his arm down. “Mr. Doctor was very explicit that you should not move,” she warns, spooning up some soup. 

He’ll have to suffer the indignity of having his friends help him, then. Not that Robin feeding him soup isn’t at least part of a dream come true. Maybe he can endure for a little while. 

Robin smiles and lets her extra arm dissolve. Sanji contemplates the risk of defying orders to find out what it would feel like to have Robin sprout more arms to hold him down. She’s stronger than she looks. The thought alone is almost enough to burst a blood vessel. 

If the thoughts show on his face, Robin says nothing of it. “Long-nose and I have been taking care of cooking until you are ready to relieve us,” she says, offering him the spoon. “I hope it will do for a little while.” 

Sanji takes a bite of fish chowder with corn and beans. It could use more cream, perhaps some potato to thicken the broth. He would have added more parsley and some stronger seasonings, but it tastes good. This will do just fine, though he looks forward to getting back into the kitchen, making himself useful again. 

Cooking for his crew is his one job. He hopes Chopper has good news for him, because he can’t stay here for too long. He could really use a cigarette right now. 

And where is that stupid Moss? Napping in the sun, probably. He must be tired. Sanji opens his mouth for another spoonful of soup. Maybe Zoro is making up for two days’ worth of missed drinking. 

“You must have experienced quite the ordeal with Mr. Swordsman,” Robin remarks. 

“Any time with Mr. Moss is an ordeal,” Sanji grumbles, eating another bite. 

“Hmm.” She holds up the spoon again. “Well I’m glad no monstrous creatures ate you.” 

Me too. The only monstrous creature on that island was Zoro. Zoro’s battle-hungry grin flashed his way in the midst of causing chaos intrudes on his thoughts, and he scowls to push it away, even though he remembers how he grinned right back. 

The door creaks open, and Chopper walks in, shutting it behind him with a sigh. He immediately perks up and hurries over. Robin makes room for the little doctor to scamper up his stool and put his hooves on the bed. 

Chopper beams at him. “Luffy didn’t hurt you, did he Sanji?” 

“No at all,” Sanji reassures with a smile. “I’m fine, Chopper, don't worry about me.” 

He didn't exactly mean it like that, but Chopper’s gasp is still warranted. “Sanji, no! You were really sick! I was so worried about you! You’ll be okay, but you have a lot of broken bones, and you need to rest!” His little hoof reaches out to feel Sanji’s cheek for a temperature. Sanji has no idea how the reindeer can feel anything with his hoof. “Your fever came down a lot... but you punctured your lung, Sanji. I know you’re tough, but even you need time to heal.” 

Is he tough? His injuries were caused by accident, and only exacerbated by fighting. Zoro came out clean. 

Chopper is already on a roll. “You broke so many ribs, Sanji! You have bruised vertebrae, a concussion – I still don’t know if you damaged your occipital lobe – and your lung! You almost stopped breathing!” 

Sanji glances at Robin, wishing she didn't have to hear the laundry list. 

“Not to worry, Mr. Cook,” she smiles reassuringly, picking up on his distress. “I am already aware of the details.” 

“Robin helped me with the surgery,” Chopper explains, hopping down from the stool to get some supplies. Robin grows arms to pass him things from the higher shelves, even though the doctor is more than capable of growing into his human form to reach them. 

Great, Robin has seen his insides. There goes any chance at retaining his dignity. Maybe he should have just let himself die in Zoro’s arms. It seemed a tranquil idea in the moment. 

“You can’t move around too much,” Chopper says, climbing back up and putting his supplies on the mattress. He puts a stethoscope in his ears and lays the probe against Sanji’s chest. 

“It was quite a puzzle in there,” Robin adds. 

Sanji would quite like to roll over and die. 

“I don’t think the impact damaged your heart,” Chopper, concludes, putting away the stethoscope and picking up a thermometer. He slides it into Sanji’s mouth. “How is your vision?” He brings his doe eyes up close to inspect. 

Sanji blinks. “Fine...?” he mumbles around the thermometer. “Little blurry...” 

“It can't be fine and blurry! ” Chopper hollers. 

Sanji winces and decides he deserves this. He waits for a steaming Chopper to pull out the thermometer. “Blurry...” he mumbles. 

Chopper sighs and reads the number before putting the glass tube down. “It could be the medicine I gave you,” he says. “Do you have a headache? Nausea?” 

“Yes, and no.” 

“I’ll keep assessing you. Sanji, you are not allowed to get up unless I say you can, okay?” 

Chopper is very difficult to defy. He’s just too cute, even glaring. And scary, when he grows into his monster form to yell. Sanji nods in agreement. 

“Good.” Chopper sighs, hugging Sanji’s arm. “I really was worried about you.” 

Sanji smiles. “Sorry, Chopper. Mossy did his best. He’s not much of a doctor, not that he could compare to you if he were.” 

“That doesn't make me feel better!” Chopper protests, but his little cheeks are turning pink. 

“Is the house plant okay...?” 

“You were both dehydrated. Not as bad as I thought it would be though. Zoro was worse than you, but I gave him IV fluids while he slept, so he’s okay now.” 

That’s a relief. That plant just needed to be watered. 

“You guys must have had a hard time,” Chopper adds. “He looked terrible, but he wouldn't go to sleep until he knew you were okay. Then he passed out and didn’t wake up for almost thirty hours.” 

Oh. Well. Sanji looks over at Zoro’s makeshift bed, at the swordsman’s swords tucked under the blanket. 

“Mr. Swordsman is much easier to deal with when he is asleep,” Robin chuckles. 

“Tell me about it...” Chopper mutters as he goes to put his stuff away. He starts to root through his medicine cabinets, consulting his notes as he gathers a few supplies. “How do you feel, Sanji? Are you in pain?” 

“A little.” It’s honest enough. The pain is only serious if he moves around, and Chopper has already told him not to do that. 

“Okay. I’ll give you some more painkillers. I put you on some strong anesthetics to get you through the surgery, and they should be almost wearing off, so the blurriness should clear up. Let me know if your vision doesn’t get better.” 

“Copy that, Doctor.” 

Chopper squeals with delight and reaches deeper into his cabinets to try to hide it. 

Sanji smiles and shuts his eyes, unable not to feel happy at Chopper’s adorable behavior even with the pit gnawing at his stomach. He didn’t expect to be Chopper’s first patient in his brand-new infirmary. There’s no going back. 

Chopper adds more painkillers to his IV and examines him further. Robin grows enough hands to comfortably prop him up high enough that Chopper can pull the bandages off his head to check the stitches at the back. 

“I’ll check everything else tomorrow,” Chopper says, finishing the clean bandage. “Finish your food, and then you need to get some more rest, okay? I can probably take the tube out tomorrow, and you’ll feel a bit better.” Chopper smiles brightly. 

It’s hard to remember that Chopper has also seen his insides. Sanji nods obediently. “Thank you, Doctor.” 

“Get better, Sanji.” Chopper hugs his shoulder. “Do you need anything else...?” 

“Honestly... I could really use a cigarette.” 

“Sanji, you can't smoke in here!” Chopper hollers. “You almost stopped breathing, you can’t smoke!” 

Sanji raises a placating hand, knowing straight away that he needs Zoro. 

“Don’t worry, Mr. Doctor,” Robin reassures, touching Chopper’s shoulder. “I don't think he’s in any shape to get any. I will keep him occupied for the time being. Why don’t you see how Long-nose is getting on with those sugar cookies?” 

The allure of sweets is enough to capture Chopper’s attention. The little reindeer clambers down from the bed, pausing by the door to make an I’m-watching-you gesture with narrowed eyes before racing off. 

Robin chuckles and resumes the soup. “Things were quite tame without the two of you around,” she says. “It put everyone on edge, but they are already in much better spirits now that you’re both home.” 

Sanji is relieved to be home too. 

“We’ll all be around to check on you, Mr. Cook, so please ask if you need something, alright?” She smiles kindly at him. 

“Cigarettes...?” Sanji tries. 

“I’m afraid that, having seen your lung, I am less inclined to fulfill that particular request.” 

“Hmm.” Zoro it is, then. Usopp could be bribed or threatened, but he would tattle. Nami would not be swayed and would tell Chopper instantly. Sanji has no idea if Franky would oblige, and he isn't about to test his luck. No, Zoro is a guaranteed safe enabler. Sanji finishes his soup and hopes the house plant gets lost and wanders in sooner rather than later. 

Robin scrapes the bowl empty. “Are you still hungry?” she asks. 

“No, my flower. That was delicious, thank you.” 

“My pleasure. We all miss your cooking, but it is a delight to cook for you for once.” She puts the bowl on Chopper’s counter. “You look tired. Perhaps you should go back to sleep. Would you like me to stay with you?” 

“There’s no need to bother over me – mph.” 

A pair of hands sprout from the pillow either side of his head and clamp over his mouth. “Nonsense,” Robin says, folding one leg over the other and handing herself the book left on Chopper’s desk. She opens her book and lets go of his mouth, smiling as if in warning to protest again. 

He doesn’t dare. 

-- 

He’s quite tired. This whole ordeal has taken it out of him, despite the regular naps Zoro allowed him to have by not resting himself. Sanji dozes off and tries not to think too hard about the situation – about anything .  

It’s difficult not to. The cigarette cravings are kept at bay for now by the strong dose of painkillers Chopper administered, making his brain foggy and his body feel heavy. But his thoughts are still trudging through the sludge at a surprising pace, contorted into horrible shapes by the drugs. 

Chopper eventually returns, relieving Robin of her watch. Sanji is just aware enough to feel Chopper’s hoof on his cheek before the doctor goes to study at his desk. The afternoon sets into the evening, darkening the infirmary. Someone pokes their head in to whisper to Chopper. 

“Is he awake?” Nami whispers. 

A pause. “I don’t think so.” 

“I brought you two something to eat. He can eat it later if he feels up to it.” 

It seems a shame to waste the chance to have the beautiful Nami deliver him some dinner, but he can’t make himself fully wake up. 

“Thank you, Nami.” 

“Do you want me to stay? You can go rest.” Yes, yes, Nami should stay. 

“No, it’s okay. I want to keep an eye on him.” Chopper steals that chance away from him. 

“Is he okay...?” 

“He’s doing better.” 

“That’s good to hear. You did a good job, Chopper.” 

Chopper manages to keep his sounds of joy to a minimum. Nami shuts the door and walks away. Chopper starts to eat the meal left for him, but Sanji doesn't feel hungry enough to fully wake up and ask for his portion. He’s too tired, too weak. 

Always too weak. God, some things just don’t change. A decade since he escaped, ten years of growing into his own man, of getting stronger, and he’s still so weak . He has to get better. Zoro only gets stronger by the day, and Sanji is already so far below. It’s been a long time since the memories of his brothers gripped him so badly, but their grinning faces are as clear as anything in his foggy brain. Zoro just can’t purge them once and for all like he did all the other enemies of that island. 

“Luffy...” A conversation just outside the door drifts to his ears. Sanji hears Zoro’s voice and blinks his eyes open. It’s hard to see in the dark, and the painkillers have really set in. He tries to lift his head to see out the window, and can barely make out dark shadows outside the room. 

“Zoro did his best,” Luffy replies calmly. 

“I almost failed my job. My one job. Captain –” 

“Zoro brought my Sanji home.” Luffy can be so stern when he wants to be. It’s rare. Even Sanji is grabbed by it, straining to hear. “Zoro did his job. Everyone is safe.” 

“Luffy –” 

“Go to sleep, Zoro.” 

The conversation ends. One pair of feet walk away. Sanji lets his eyelids droop closed again, unable to keep himself awake. So weak... 

Zoro slips into the room with his head hung. He rubs his eyes and glances at Chopper slumped over his books again, then up at Sanji. It’s too dark to make out the swordsman’s expression, but he looks tired even from here. They don’t say anything. Maybe Zoro can’t tell that Sanji is awake. 

“G’night,” Zoro mumbles, taking a couple of heavy steps over to his bed and scooping off the blanket with his foot. He doesn’t even bother taking off his boots, he just collapses down and wraps himself around his swords. In an instant, he’s asleep. 

Is that normal? Zoro’s brain is so empty that it must be easy to switch it off. Sanji shuts his eyes, jealous. 

Zoro could never fail. If only the others could see how dedicated Zoro was to keeping him safe. Zoro would never be weak enough to let anyone hurt him. 

Zoro would kill Sanji’s brothers. He would kill Judge. Sanji doesn’t find joy in picturing it, yet he can’t shake the image. 

Loathsome as it is to have Zoro haunting his dreams, he does miss the bastard when that six-armed monster is missing from the background of the Germa kingdom. Perhaps some levels of Hell are too deep for even Zoro to reach. 

It’s a sunny day full of bright color, his brothers’ bright hair at the forefront. They’re much faster than he is. If only Judge had fully succeeded in making them emotionless, because maybe their eyes wouldn't be filled with such hunger to prey on someone weaker than they are. He screams for help, but nobody is interested in helping him. 

His brothers catch him, grabbing him by his clothes and hoisting him up. He scrambles, but he can't shake free. They throw him down and descend like vultures. There isn’t any room between their fists and his cowering body for Zoro to manifest, no room for the pit of hell to open and Zoro to climb out. No room for Zoro to rise up and block out the approaching threat. 

He’s just a boy, too small to fend for himself. He won't ever be as strong as his brothers, so he's hardly worth the effort of helping. He’ll just need helping again, and again, and again. Isn't that a waste of time? Nobody has time for such an exhausting, repetitive task. He might as well just roll over and die. 

Sanji doesn't want to die. He wants to fight, but he can’t. He wants to run, but his legs won’t work. This is the one thing Zoro can’t save him from: past battles he lost a long time ago. He has to fight this himself. Isn't he worse than nothing if he doesn’t try? 

His brothers’ faces morph grotesquely, losing any youthful softness. Their eyes sink into their skulls and their bodies stretch unevenly. They lurch and bubble, grinning mouths stretching wide and growing horrible, jagged fangs. What point is there in fighting something like that? He just has to run. Sanji scrambles out from under them and runs .  

The grass is wet and his legs are heavy. His brothers fly after him, reaching out with clawed hands to grab him, piercing his body. He screams. All three brothers want a bite. Their faces fill his vision, their mouths warping as they gape to consume him like an ant. 

Sanji jolts himself awake. God, fuck, this shit Chopper gave him is messing with his brain. He feels shockingly lucid, though, panting and tense. His body is glistening with sweat, and his chest hurts. He has to relax, but he can’t make his muscles unwind. 

Zoro groans from the corner, making him jump. “You need to piss or somethin’, Cook?” he mumbles into his pillow. 

Oh, fuck. Sanji holds his breath and locks his muscles. Nevermind what Zoro is seemingly offering.  

The ruse doesn’t work. Zoro yawns and climbs off the floor, rubbing his eyes and shaking himself awake. He leans his swords against the cabinets and walks quietly over to the desk. Sanji watches as Zoro carefully scoops Chopper out of his chair. Zoro puts Chopper to sleep in the makeshift bed and tucks him in. He’s surprisingly light on his feet when he wants to be. 

Zoro rolls Chopper’s chair over to the bed and sits in it, fumbling for the lever to lower it. Then he folds his arms on the sheets and rests his head on them. “Go to sleep,” he mumbles. 

The moonlight highlights Zoro’s big shoulders. He doesn't exactly look small curled up like that. His head is close enough that Sanji could lay his hand on it if he reached out. It’s a shame the bed is too small to fit two people. Nothing could get to him if Zoro was already curled around him. Zoro is big enough as-is to shield him. 

“I can hear you thinkin’,” Zoro grumbles. 

“Shut up. Tryin’ to sleep.” 

“You shut up. I’m tryin’ to sleep.” 

“Go somewhere else then.” 

“Shut up or I’ll shut you up.” 

Sanji smiles and closes his eyes. Slowly, the sound of his own heartbeat settles, and he can hear Zoro's deep breathing right next to him, a soft snore half-muffled by the sheets. If the beast can sleep, then so can he.

Chapter Text

The screaming of crew members just outside the door is a strangely peaceful way to wake up. Judging by Luffy’s glee in chorus with Usopp and Chopper’s fear, they’ve caught a giant fish. 

If they put it in the tank and tell me what type of fish it is, I can tell Zoro how to cut it. Sanji smiles and blinks his eyelids apart. He raises his hand to rub them clear, and his arm brushes against something warm beside him. 

Alongisde the screaming, he can hear Zoro snoring. Sanji’s arm is partially blocked by Zoro’s giant shoulders half on the bed, the swordsman’s hair shoved deep into Sanji’s armpit. Zoro is sleeping face-down on the pillows Sanji is propped up on, his head craned back at an uncomfortable angle, his legs bunched up in the chair and his torso sprawled on the bed. One arm is curled under himself and the other is slung over Sanji’s belly. 

One wrong move and the chair is going to tip over, pulling Zoro with it. If Sanji lifts Zoro’s arm off of himself and kicks the chair, he could send Zoro straight to the floor. 

Zoro lets out a deep sigh and Sanji almost jumps out of his skin. He holds his breath in the short silence, letting it out shakily when Zoro starts to snore again. Sanji looks uneasily over at Zoro’s swords still propped against the cabinet, then down at the arm wrapped loosely around him. 

The makeshift bed is empty. Chopper is already up. How long have they been like this? Ohfuckohfuckohfuck... Sanji looks around the room, down at Zoro’s spiky hair. God the man needs a bath, but then again, Sanji certainly needs one too. And Zoro looks so content, even with his face completely buried in the sheets. How does he breathe like that? He needs to wake up before someone walks in on them, but Sanji doesn’t want to disturb Zoro from his much-needed rest. 

They aren’t supposed to get this close, because Sanji can’t stop his hand from sliding up Zoro’s back, feeling the muscles expand and contract as the swordsman breathes deeply. Sanji lays his hand on Zoro’s shoulder and holds him close. 

You’re not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be here, with you, like this. Those swords should be here instead. Sanji looks out the window, dreading the approach of any one of his friends. If they ask questions, he won't be able to answer them. He can't even answer his own. He never even let his questions rise up when he woke up on Zoro’s shoulder shortly after leaving Alabasta.

How can you even still see me from so far up there? Sanji holds on, even though he should know better. Zoro should know better. How can you hold me like there’s something to lose?  

“ Breakfast! ” Nami shouts from the upper deck, followed shortly by whoops of excitement. 

Sanji flinches, contemplating the fastest way to get Zoro off of him before someone opens the door, to save them both the embarrassment, but Zoro is already waking up. It’s too late.  

Sanji lets his arm slide off as Zoro lifts his head blearily, his face covered in red marks from the fabric creases. He yawns and pushes himself up, which slides the chair back and pulls his legs away. The precarious balance is offset, and Zoro topples off the bed in a glorious flailing of limbs, his eyes going comically wide as the drop jolts him fully awake. Sanji couldn’t have asked for a better outcome as he watches Zoro and the chair crash to the floor. He smirks down as Zoro struggles to untangle his leg from the chair arm. 

Zoro climbs back to his feet and rights the chair, his hair sticking up with his own sweat and Sanji’s, scowling deeply. He looks as unkept as usual, but there are no signs of dark circles under his eyes. A few fading cuts are visible on his face and arms, the final signs that he endured anything at all on that island. He’s fine. Conversely, Sanji doesn't even want to look at himself. 

Zoro spins around and staggers out of the infirmary without so much as a glance, shutting the door behind him.  

That’s that, then. Sanji sighs and rubs his face more thoroughly, but he can’t push away the disappointment. Zoro’s job is over, he supposes. Now that the threats are gone, Chopper is his caretaker. 

Somebody needs to bring him either some breakfast or a cigarette, because curse his broken body, he can't even sit up. His muscles are too torn, his chest too broken, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to pull himself up a bit. Sanji glares at the tube, desperate to tear it out and just get up anyway. Goddamned Zoro couldn’t even say a good-morning after ending up half in bed with him. And where’s Chopper? He’ll get his cigarettes one way or another, and if he has to bribe Chopper with infinite cake, he will. Stupid moss-brain, does he have no bedside manner? Of course not, that would be a subset of regular manners, which Zoro has none of. That inbred gorilla couldn’t even be bothered to-- 

“What are you doing?” Zoro stands in the doorway, a plate in each hand. 

Sanji stops trying to get himself sitting. “Breakfast,” he growls. He lets go of the sheets and lies down again, relaxing. 

Zoro holds up the plates and shuts the door with his foot. “What did you think I was doing?” 

“Was I supposed to read your mind?” Sanji grumbles.  

“You’re thick.” 

“Die.” 

“Fuck you.” Zoro sits down in Chopper’s chair and puts a plate in Sanji’s lap. Without pleasantries, Zoro starts to eat ravenously. 

Sanji looks down at the food in front of him, carefully prepared by what he hopes are Robin or Nami’s lovely hands. There are peeled tangerines, slices of fresh bread with jam and butter, and sausage links. It looks too carefully organized on the plate to have been laid there by Zoro.  

“You got your swords back.” Sanji nibbles some bread. 

Zoro has the decency at least to swallow before talking. He wipes crumbs from his mouth and looks back at them. “Yeah. I was cleaning Wado Ichimonji when the marines attacked, and I thought the other two fell overboard. Robin caught them.” 

“That’s good.” 

“ Yubashiri is dead anyway, but I should bury it properly.” 

Dead...? Right, some marine with rust powers destroyed Zoro’s sword at Enies Lobby. “I’ll buy you a new one.” Sanji offers. It seems only fair. 

Zoro puts his empty plate on Chopper’s desk and folds his arms across his chest, looking oddly serious. Sanji expected some level of suspicion, perhaps excitement at not having to go further in debt to Nami. “You don't owe me anything,” he says. 

“Can’t I just get you a gift?”  

“Why?” 

“Why not?” Sanji demands. 

“It’s your job to cook, right?” Sanji opens his mouth but Zoro cuts him off. “Well, it’s my job to keep the crew safe. You’re the crew, so that means you too.” 

“What does that have to do with gifts?” 

“Because you don't owe me anything!” Zoro growls. “That’s not how this works! Not on this crew. You need help, you get it. That’s that.” 

“You’re so ungrateful.” 

“You’re stupid.” Zoro snaps. He’s angry . This isn’t a game. “You said you were sorry that I was there. I didn’t jump in because of obligation. I jumped in because I’d jump in after anyone. You’d jump in after me. And if I'd done my job properly, you wouldn’t have almost died.” 

Zoro’s arms are folded so tightly it’s a wonder he doesn't crush himself with his own strength. The rage in his eye isn’t for Sanji, as always. 

Zoro doesn’t understand . Zoro can’t protect Sanji from everything, least of all from the cook’s own weakness. Zoro could never fail. 

“You’re so complicated.” Zoro grits out, ruffling his hair in frustration. “Look. If anyone has to be sorry, it’s me--” 

Sanji won’t have it. He slides his leg from under the blanket and throws it around Zoro’s neck, squeezing tightly and yanking downward. Zoro’s eyes bulge out of his head, his hands reaching up to scrabble at Sanji’s leg as he’s yanked face-first into the mattress. 

Serves him right. Sanji squeezes tighter, feeling Zoro’s neck veins pulse through the silk fabric of his pajama pants. Sanji eats a piece of toast to celebrate, licking jam from his lips as he watches Zoro struggle. Serves you right.  

The door creaks open, the daylight sun creating a strangely ominous silhouette of Chopper’s little body frozen in the doorway.  

“ Ah, Sanji! ” he roars, growing into his monster form and lunging for Zoro. He rips Zoro out of the headlock and throws him out of the infirmary. Sanji smiles and chews his toast as Zoro bowls across the deck and hits the railing, landing on his back with his legs in the air. Chopper shuts the door. 

-- 

“We docked last night while you were sleeping,” Chopper explains, washing his hooves and preparing his supplies while Robin sits nearby, waiting. “They had nicotine patches, so I bought you some. You can smoke again when I say.” 

It isn’t a request. Sanji nods regretfully, longing for the taste of smoke. 

“I hid your cigarettes anyway,” Chopper smiles proudly, hopping down from his chair and climbing onto the bed. He unties the bandages and pulls them away. 

Curses. Zoro won’t be able to find them, then. Sanji scowls. He’s going to go mad in here. 

“I’ll administer some local anesthetic, but this won’t feel pleasant,” Chopper admits. He bundles the bandages out of the way.  

The tube site is grotesque, framed by the neat surgical incisions made by Chopper, and the more jagged wounds where bone broke through. His shoulder is in much the same state. The bruising is stomach-churning. He doesn’t dare look Robin in the eyes. 

“Follow my instructions, and this will be over quickly!” Chopper promises cheerfully. Sanji nods apprehensively as the reindeer prepares the needle. 

Couldn’t this be done while asleep? Sanji turns his head away and winces as the needle pricks his skin and the cold fluid is injected. 

“Can you feel this?” 

“No?” He wasn’t away Chopper had done anything. 

“Good. Robin?” Chopper cuts out the stitches securing the tube and prepares some new ones. Robin’s hand sprouts out of the sheets and takes hold of the gauze Chopper offers it. Two more blossom either side of the tube and hold the stitches that Chopper presents. “Hold your breath,” Chopper orders. A fourth hand slides into Sanji’s open one, squeezing it tightly. Sanji holds his breath. 

Chopper pulls out the tube, and Robin pulls the stitches, sealing the hole. Her other hand presses the gauze over top, and the whole thing is over. 

Sanji hopes not to repeat the procedure again in the future. “Let me prepare you some tea,” Robin offers, standing up and walking out. Her disembodied hand slides out of his, his fingers grasping petals. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Chopper beams. “You’ll feel a lot better now. I think you can get up in a few days if you still feel better! You’re doing really good, Sanji! I’m so proud of you!” He lifts up the gauze to check the bleeding. 

Sanji has done less work than even Robin when it comes to getting better, so he doesn’t see what there is to be proud of. He still needs Chopper to help him sit up. The little reindeer grows into his monster form, sliding a big furry hand behind Sanji’s back. He starts to wrap clean bandages, his humanoid face frowning with focus. His eyebrows are furrowing tighter and tighter, his big eyes blinking furiously as tears gather. 

“Chopper...” 

Chopper sniffs and ties the bandage, reaching up to wipe his face. 

“Hey... I’m okay. You took care of me.” Sanji smiles. “Nothin’ to cry about. You did a great job.” 

Chopper hitches a sob and pulls Sanji into his giant body. “You saved me, Sanji! I’m so sorry! It’s my fault you got hurt!” 

Sanji blinks, half blinded by Chopper’s fur as the doctor hugs him tightly. 

“If I were stronger, you wouldn’t have had to help me!” Chopper bawls. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Sanji!” 

Dumbfounded, Sanji reaches up to pat Chopper’s arm. “It’s okay,” he offers weakly. “Chopper...” 

Chopper pulls away, grasping Sanji by the shoulders. His eyes are still so big and childlike even though his body is gigantic. “S-Sanji...” his lip wobbles. “Thank you for saving me, Sanji.” 

Sanji smiles. “Aw, Chopper, ‘course. We all gotta get used to this new ship. And we help each other out, right?” 

Chopper lays Sanji down on the pillows and wipes his eyes, nodding. “Y-yeah. Yeah.” He pulls the blankets up and shrinks to his usual size, plopping onto the bed to give Sanji one last hug. “Thanks, Sanji. I’ll make sure you get better super fast!” 

Sanji chuckles. “Thanks, Chopper. Sooner I can get up, the sooner I can make you a celebratory cake. Gotta celebrate your new doctor’s office, right?” 

“Yay!” That seems to cheer Chopper right up. He bounds off the bed and into his cabinets, pulling out a strip of paper. “Here you go Sanji, get some rest, okay? Then you’ll get better faster. This should help.” He peels the nicotine patch off the paper and holds it over. Sanji offers his arm and Chopper presses it down. 

It should help at least a little.  

Chopper goes off to get lunch, and Sanji pulls the blankets a bit higher. He does feel better without the tube... Sanji stares at the patch, willing it to work. How many could he convince Zoro to stick on him? He smirks, remembering Chopper angrily banishing the swordsman from the infirmary on the grounds of riling up his patient. 

Sanji could use a little medicinal riling right now. He chews his lip and rubs his cast. Chopper never said how long it should stay on, but he should be able to cook some simple dishes despite it. 

Poor Chopper. Sanji stares at the ceiling, mulling over Zoro’s adamant protests. Too complicated? Well you’re too simplistic, Moss. The idea that this is Zoro’s or Chopper’s fault is absurd. Maybe it’s nobody’s fault. Sanji wonders what Zoro told the crew; that Zoro was strong and resilient, and Sanji was weak and burdensome. Zoro isn’t much of a storyteller anyway, and is he even aware of the hellish aura he manifested?  

Why can’t his brain be as empty as Zoro’s for once? Sanji listens to the crew out on deck, wishing he were with them instead of trapped in here, alone. Maybe he shouldn’t have strangled Zoro, and Chopper might have let the swordsman stay. Zoro already witnessed the depth of his weakness, so what’s the harm in letting him help instead of Robin? Zoro has steady hands, a precise grip. 

You’re not supposed to help me, you’re supposed to either fight me, or fight beside me. Oh, but Zoro’s body felt so good right next to his. He wonders when the next chance will be to get that close. If he got drunk, how long would it take to stagger his way into Zoro’s arms, no longer chained by any rational thought keeping him out of them? Sanji looks over at Zoro’s swords still in the corner, as if left there to protect him, to promise him. They haven’t been forgotten. 

“Ah, Sanji!” The door bursts open and Usopp hurries inside in a panic, holding out an apple. “Sanji, the apples are going off, what do I do!” He thrusts the apple over in distress, as if it will rot in a matter of minutes. 

Sanji frowns and takes the apple, turning it in his hand to inspect it. It’s still good to eat, but when he takes a bite, the flesh is starting to go soft. Right... I was going to make apple pie. Nevermind that, then.  

Usopp hangs by the bed with baited breath. 

“Don’t worry, Usopp, they’re still good,” Sanji reassures. “I meant to use them, thanks for catching that.” 

Usopp blows out a long sigh of relief. “I knew that.” 

“Thanks for telling me,” Sanji smiles. “They might be too soft for pie, but you can still make apple sauce. Do you know how to make that?” 

“Of course,” Usopp scoffs. “I just might need a reminder... I know so many recipes, you know. Not as many as you, but I was the best cook on my island--” 

“Right, right.” He cuts Usopp’s nervous rambling short, though he has to admit he finds it somewhat comforting. “Wash them and check for bug bites. Chop them up and cook them in my big soup pot with lemon juice. They taste sweet enough that you shouldn’t have to add sugar, but you can add a little if you want.” 

“Okay, thanks Sanji!” Usopp whirls around and races out again. “I knew that!” 

Sanji smiles fondly and takes another bite of apple. He would love to go help, even just to coach from the kitchen table, but he promised Chopper. He trusts Usopp, anyway. 

The door cracks open and Usopp pops his head in again. “Y-you’re okay, right?” 

“Yeah, I’m good.” Sanji smiles. 

Usopp pauses for a moment before scrambling inside and giving Sanji a careful hug. Then he’s off again. “I wasn't worried!” he calls over his shoulder, shutting the door behind him. His boots thump on the grass and up the stairs to the kitchen. 

Sanji looks forward to gallons of apple sauce, maybe with pancakes and syrup. He should suggest fritters. Usopp should be able to make those. Sanji finishes his apple and tosses the core into Chopper’s garbage bin. At least nobody forgot about him down here. 

He should make use of the peace and try to rest. The small procedure wore him out, and he needs to recover his strength so he can get up and put his friends’ worries to ease. 

Sanji shuts his eyes and takes a nap. 

-- 

Sanji wakes up again in the evening for the hefty portion of stir-fry that Usopp serves him, followed by apple sauce for desert. He finds Usopp’s company a relieving break from Chopper and Zoro’s guilt. He finds himself swept into Usopp’s fantastical tales accompanied by exuberant reenactments of dragon-slaying and whirlpool-weathering. 

Chopper comes by to check on him before going to rest with the others downstairs, leaving Usopp to take up the spare bed in the corner. Sanji mourns anyone who has to sleep anywhere Zoro has recently occupied. 

“Wake up the Great Captain Usopp if you need something, okay?” Usopp mumbles, wrapping himself up in the blanket. 

“I will.” He won’t. He couldn’t possibly need anything that justifies waking anyone. Sanji looks at Zoro’s swords still against that wall, missing their owner. 

The last of the evening sun fades to midnight black, and Sanji doesn't dare close his eyes. Usopp is sleeping contentedly in the corner, comfortable at least. Sanji wonders if the sniper is a light enough sleeper to be woken by whatever woke Zoro last night. Did Sanji cry out, sleep-talk, move around too much? Or did Zoro just sense his distress and come to save him again? 

Sanji would give anything to see into Zoro’s brain for just a moment, just long enough to catch a glimpse of what Zoro thinks of him. Just to make sure that nothing has changed. 

How could it have not? Zoro is everything, and Sanji is n-- 

The door opens cautiously, and Zoro ducks inside, looking at Usopp before padding silently over to the bed. “Can’t sleep?” He whispers. 

There’s just enough starlight to bounce into Zoro’s eyes, glowing ever so faintly. Sanji is briefly captivated by it. “N-nah. You?” 

“Bored.” Zoro shrugs, holding up a shirt. It’s one of his, but Sanji can't make out the pattern. The one stolen from the Arlong pirates, he thinks. It’s a nice shirt, clean. “Come on.” 

“Help me up, then.” 

Zoro obliges, reaching out to help. Sanji holds up his arm so Zoro can rip out the IV, then he lets Zoro dress him. The swordsman buttons the shirt and ties a sling under Sanji’s broken arm. Then he folds off the blankets and grabs Sanji’s legs, pulling them around without waiting for Sanji to try to turn himself. Sanji plants his feet on the floor and gets his arm around Zoro’s shoulders, biting his lip as his injured body is forced to support itself. Zoro holds him up, helping him across the infirmary and out the door at an easy pace. Chopper is right that he belongs in bed resting. He can barely walk.

A refreshing night breeze rustles his shirt. The grass is cool between his toes. The ship bobs in a calm ocean, a small town silhouetted near the port. Zoro helps him over to the staircase. “I can carry--” 

“No. Just help me.” Sanji puts his foot on the first step and pushes himself up.

Zoro says nothing, adjusting his grip and lifting Sanji’s whole weight with each step. Still, the effort is a bit more than his lungs can handle at the moment. Chopper told him he needs a few more days in bed after all, and he’s already panting. The crew will wake up and catch them before they reach the top. 

He stops walking, his foot resting on the next step. Zoro waits patiently. Sanji catches his breath. “Ok, fine,” he grits out. “ Fine , you can--” 

Zoro grins in the darkness and scoops him up in an instant, bounding up the steps two at a time. Sanji almost yelps, but manages to stifle it. 

The night sky is clear and peaceful. It’s much easier to appreciate the landscape back home safe. Zoro races up the stairs to the top deck, carrying him the rest of the way to the stern. That grin is just asking to be strangled, but if Sanji throws his leg around Zoro's neck like he wants to, they’ll both go down, and Sanji would rather not injure himself further. Chopper might tie him to the bed this time – god knows the little doctor has threatened it plenty of times. So he lets Zoro carry him, though not without maintaining his glare of protest. Zoro had better not get any ideas. 

Zoro sets him down carefully by the railing and leans over it, staring out to sea. At this angle, the dock and the island are completely behind them, with only ocean and sky stretching in front. A faint strip of light appears on the horizon, shining over the ocean. Sanji smiles despite the company, leaning his good arm on the railing and looking down at the splashes of fish in the harbor catching early-morning bugs. Zoro’s shirt is comfortably loose on his body. It’s been recently washed, but it still smells like Zoro. And Zoro smells like sweat and sword oil. 

Zoro rummages in his haramaki and withdraws Sanji’s lighter and cigarette pack. The box is bent and flecked with blood, badly crinkled from water damage, but still in-tact. Zoro peels open the lid and slides out the last cigarette, putting it between Sanji’s eager lips. 

It takes a few flicks of the lighter for the spark to catch. Zoro flips down the lid and stores the lighter away for safe-keeping. Sanji draws in a deep breath of smoke, his nerves instantly eased. 

“You beautiful bastard,” Sanji moans. “I could kiss you right now.” 

Zoro quickly looks down, rubbing the back of his head with his hands. “Took it off you before Chopper could throw it away,” he mumbles. 

The cigarette is water-damaged, but it tastes good enough. Sanji blows a mouthful of smoke across the back of Zoro’s neck. “Think you can find’em?” 

Zoro shrugs. “I’ll try. I can buy more if I can’t.” 

“Trade you onigiri? And I’ll bring you booze when Chopper inevitably cuts you off.” 

“Deal.” 

Sanji smiles. Nevermind that he would make onigiri for Zoro anyway. It’s his job, for one. “Zoro?” He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and looks over at the swordsman. 

Zoro’s eyes are as dark as the night, lit with thin highlights from the rising sun. The faint red in his cheeks is barely visible in this minimal light. 

“Thank you. For this too --” he holds up the cigarette -- “but... thanks. You know.” 

Zoro smiles at him. “Anytime, Cook.” 

“I hope not,” Sanji protests. “As much as I enjoyed our vacation, I don’t want to repeat that.” 

“Yeah... me neither.” Zoro leans his head on his hand and stares out to sea. 

“So, uh...” Sanji gestures over his shoulder to the kitchen. “You want that onigiri?” 

Zoro perks up, glancing at Sanji’s arm. “You sure y--” 

“Help me, obviously.” 

Zoro doesn’t need any more invitation than that, hooking his arm under Sanji’s to escort him around to the kitchen door. Honestly, what sort of man has a favorite food that’s almost entirely rice? The simplest of men. Zoro kicks the door open, pulling them inside. 

The smoke is in his brain. He needs Zoro not to let go. 

Zoro obliges, grabbing Sanji’s belt at the hip and turning him around, staring at him with that hunger. The embers of Sanji's cigarette burn in his eyes with that lust for battle. 

No battles here.  

No battles...  

Zoro kicks the kitchen door shut and pulls Sanji into a rough kiss. Sanji spits out his cigarette. 

No battles...  

Zoro is strong and hungry. Sanji blocks Zoro’s hunting tongue with his teeth and growls a warning, but he doesn’t pull away. He wraps his hand around Zoro’s head and digs his fingers into the swordsman’s greasy hair. He opens his mouth just enough to let out the smoke, pulling Zoro’s mouth around his and blowing before the swordsman can get his tongue in. 

Zoro snorts smoke, poised to pounce. He licks his lips and moves his hand to the front of Sanji’s belt, lifting and pushing. He stalks toward the table, pushing Sanji toward it. Sanji wrestles in protest, stumbling backwards. He gasps when Zoro slides a hand between his legs, grabs his ass, and lifts him onto the table. 

“ Ow , you bastard, that hurt --” Sanji growls as his shoulders and back hit the table. The tablecloth bunches under him as Zoro pushes up further onto the table and pounces on top of him. The morning sun hasn't reached the kitchen window yet, leaving only faint starlight to illuminate the curves of Zoro’s sly grin and hungry eyes. Zoro lunges over him, scooping up the cook’s head to kiss him fiercely. 

Zoro presses his weight into Sanji’s hips. The wooden table creaks under both their weights. Sanji grabs a handful of Zoro’s shirt and pulls him further down. Zoro’s arm buckles and the swordsman falls to his elbow, arching his back and pushing harder with his hips to keep his weight off Sanji’s chest. There’s no explaining this to Chopper. Sanji fights Zoro’s tongue with his own, and wins. 

“Should we tell the crew?” Sanji huffs. 

“Nah.” 

“They might figure it out.” 

Zoro shrugs.  

“Just get me back to bed before Chopper catches us. He’ll ties me down, and he’ll kill you.” 

“I still can’t believe he blamed me for you putting me in a headlock.” 

“Serves you right,” Sanji smirks. “And I’d do it again. So don't be saying stupid shit like how it's your fault.”  

Zoro grits his teeth in annoyance, but his skin is hot and his face is reddening. He looks away as if contemplating it. 

Sanji grabs Zoro’s shirt and pulls him back down. “Don't even think about it,” he mumbles around Zoro’s mouth. If only Zoro weren’t sitting on his hips, and he would already have Zoro in a headlock again, to squeeze those thoughts right out of the stupid swordsman’s moss-infested brain. This will have to do for now. 

Zoro fills his field of vision entirely with his monstrous body, his heartbeat pounding away at a steady but elevated rhythm. That monster writhes over him like it climbed out from under someone else’s bed. Sanji can so easily picture those nine earrings, but when he reaches up to touch, there’s still only three – just one Zoro, still just as indominable as the six-armed, three-headed beast that grows out of him. His skin crackles with static. 

Zoro’s arms are planted either side of him, and the hairs are standing on end. They're so close that Sanji can see himself reflected in Zoro’s lustful eyes.