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Chapter Text

Sanji staggers back from the swipe, unable to restrain his instinct to reach for his cheek. He hisses as the stinging blade cuts his skin and his sweat drips into the shallow wound just an inch from his eye. 

“Too slow,” Yonji sneers, the blade whistling violently as his brother swipes the sword back to his side. 

Sanji grits his teeth and pulls bloodied fingers from his cheek, adjusting his other hand on his own sword. He learned a decade ago not to retort or wail, not even when the blows hurt more than just a graze. His palm is sweaty on the leather-wrapped hilt of the broadsword. No matter how many years he’s spent learning to wield it, it’s never felt at home in his hand. 

Not slow. Niji is to his right and just behind his peripheral vision, swiping his own sword against the sheathe to make annoying, distracting, ringing noises. The sun is too high in the sky to cast Niji’s shadow far enough for Sanji to read it. 

“What are you waiting for, boy? The enemy has killed you by now. Strike back!” The instructor orders from the sidelines. 

Sanji already knows the outcome, but he tightens his grip on his sword anyway, rolls it in his hand to mirror Yonji as he locks eyes with his brother. Yonji sneers, beckoning for Sanji to take the next swing.  

It's not like he could make his father proud. The sword just doesn't fit in his hand, and he’s stopped trying to make it. Try as he might though, he can’t get himself out of these lessons, so he might as well try not to get flattened so badly. He tries to remember the attacks their teacher has only spent the last decade teaching them. 

Yonji gets bored, sneering and lunging forward, snapping his blade upwards in a deadly backhand swipe. Sanji jumps back and lifts his sword urgently to block the second lightning-fast strike, his arm vibrating with the force of it. Yonji puts his weight and strength into his swings, prowling forward in an attempt to break down the defenses of his opponent. 

Sanji side-steps swing after swing, blocking his brother’s blows where necessary. Niji has gone silent, but Sanji knows better than to forget his onlooking brothers entirely.

“Too scared?” Yonji goads. 

Switching from wooden swords to real ones for training was always a bad idea, Sanji thought. Someone is going to get gutted one of these days, and it’s most likely going to be him. 

Somewhere in the barrage, Yonji’s gleeful smile drops away, his taunting eyes burning with cold flame. The next strike is sharper, closer. The instructor is calling him to retaliate, and his other brothers are goading, but he has to shut them away. Sanji puts both hands on the sword, his muscles trembling from blocking so many hard hits. 

The faintest smile curls his brother’s lips. Yonji strikes down, pushing the tip of Sanji’s sword deep into the trampled grass. The second whips across, and Sanji lets go and leaps back as Yonji’s sword clashes with his own still upright in the soil. It barely misses his fingers, and Sanji instinctively pulls his hands into his body to protect them.

Yonji stalks around the abandoned sword, lifting his own. Sanji backs up, keeping light on his feet as he decides whether to dart around his brother and retrieve his sword, or if he should just surrender and save himself another grueling round of blocking attacks. 

Sometimes they get bored of him. Sanji can tell by the look in Yonji’s eyes that today is not the case. It’s not like waving the white flag ever worked anyway... Sanji shifts his weight and keeps his fists near his body, but raises them to protect his face like Zeff taught him – you choose your head and face over your hands every time. Sanji slides one leg back to prepare a kick. If he can aim right, he can kick straight past his brother’s sword swing and strike him in the face. 

It would surprise everyone, that’s for sure.  

Yonji lifts his sword, and Sanji bunches his muscles, eyes briefly caught on the sharpness of the sword about to swing for him. It doesn’t matter anyway: a boot jams into his knee from behind and he loses his balance, falling into the grass. Yonji comes to a halt beside him, the tip of his sword falling into the grass as if in disappointment. 

“If you’re going to waste so much time and lose anyway, you might as well just give up,” Ichiji says. “Save us all the trouble. Teacher, is this really the best he can do? This is boring.” 

Sanji plants his hands and climbs to his feet, dusting grass from his pants. At least the grass stains can't get any worse. 

“Go again,” the instructor orders. “One more try, and then we move on to the next lesson.” 

Sanji avoids making eye-contact with his brothers – he doesn't want to see just yet if the coldness has died away. He grabs his sword and pulls it out of the grass, turning back around. Niji and Ichiji return to the sidelines and Yonji steps up to try one last time. 

“Fight back this time,” the instructor orders. 

It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? As much as he knows that he wouldn’t get off as cleanly as his brothers do if he managed to land a physical blow during training, it would be satisfying to return the favor. Sanji obliges the invitation, slowly crossing his arm over his body and stalking a few paces forward. Then he leaps and swipes as hard as he can, using the added weight of the sword to increase the speed of his twist. He spins his body and aims for a kick, dodging the swing Yonji makes to deflect the false sword attack. His foot flies toward Yonji’s exposed shoulder. 

Ichiji swings his sword down into Sanji’s airborne body, smashing him in the waist. If the blade weren't sheathed, it would have cut him in half. Sanji thumps onto the grass on his side and drops his own sword, Niji quickly kicking it beyond reach, and Yonji resting the flat of his blade on Sanji’s shoulder, the tip grazing his jaw. 

Winded, Sanji shuts his eyes to catch his breath. 

The sword lifts off, and a boot stomps into his shoulder, rolling him onto his back. Ichiji stares down at him, the sun directly above casting his face in shadow. “What the fuck was that, huh?” He plants his feet either side of Sanji’s ribs as the other two laugh. “Maybe if you stuck to the lesson plan like the rest of us, you wouldn’t suck so much.” 

“Nice one,” Yonji laughs from a few feet away, steel ringing on steel as he sheathes his sword. “He just sucks. Nothin’ anyone can do about that.” 

“Yeah, well, he could at least make a bit more fun for us.” Ichiji stares out of the shadows cast on his face, eyes glinting in the ambient light that strikes them. His hand flexes briefly on his sheathed sword, and Sanji can’t help but flinch. Ichiji’s menacing stare breaks apart as he laughs, lifting his face to let the sun hit it. “Fucking pathetic.” He steps over Sanji, callously kicking his boot into his brother's bruised side as he does. 

“Training isn’t finished!” the instructor calls. “Get up!” 

Sanji winces and sits up, rubbing his bruised side and reaching for his sword. Niji walks by, swinging his foot into Sanji’s hand and kicking away the sword as he does. 

“Keep up,” Niji scolds, striding after the others for the next round. 

Sanji keeps his mouth shut, climbing to his feet and reluctantly picking up his sword. He looks up at the hot noon sun and hopes that his brothers will get bored soon. 

-- 

Eventually, their voices grow more distant, and the instructor stops calling his name. It’s more interesting to fight each other, fight the instructor, and train as the warriors they’re supposed to become. Eventually they lose all interest in him, and it’s easy to slip away. Sanji sheathes his sword and abandons it with the rest of their training gear. When all backs are turned, Sanji ducks behind the rack of spears and runs off. 

It’s tax collection day, so he can’t visit Zeff, much as he wants to take refuge at the inn in the center of town, serve up a few meals in the kitchen to hungry guests and the usual stream of local customers. Sanji leaves the training grounds and joins the common people mingling in the inner city, ducking his head down. The people know what their royal family looks like, but if he keeps his head down nobody pays him any notice. They’re used to his brothers storming loudly through the streets making a fuss. It certainly works to Sanji’s favor: he makes his way to the walls of the castle in no time, glancing behind him one last time. 

The castle stares down at him from the top of the incline, outlined in bright sunlight as the sun sets behind it, but dark from the front as its shadow starts to lengthen and darken the city below. Sanji looks away and hurries through the gates to the outer city, content that nobody is following him. They never do. 

Father will punish him for this, but it doesn’t really matter when his brothers beat him all day long anyway. There are only so many hours in the day. Sanji slows his pace as he walks the streets, wishing that he could nurse his bruises in the back of Zeff’s kitchen, but knowing he can't risk for either of their sakes being caught on the premises when his family stops by. 

Sanji moves through the bustling streets and finds a convenient spot to slip between the buildings, making his way toward the outskirts where the forest touches the boundary. He dodges guards on patrol, maneuvers past a few more people who either don’t notice him or don’t care, and finally flees into the forest. The safety of the foliage swallows him, and he runs off again. 

Being in the forest means peace. The castle is as invisible as it’s ever going to be, its spires just visible through the trees. Sanji keeps his back to it, focusing instead on the shrubbery as he makes his way to his secret camp. 

In this climate, there are plenty of fruits and vegetables that grow most months of the year. Sanji plucks berries as he finds them, until his cupped hands are full. Between him and the local birds, there’s more than enough to go around. When he makes it to the river, he follows it downstream until he spots a familiar knurled tree on the other bank. Carefully cradling his berries, Sanji nimbly hops across a few protruding stones and leaps over the deepest part to reach the other side without losing a single berry. Sanji smiles and walks past the tree amidst the bushes. 

The camp is far enough from the river that nobody would spot him if they happened to walk by. Not many people come through this part of the forest though. Sanji sets his handful of berries in the grass and goes to collect some sticks from the area. 

The fire will be too small for the smoke to be visible above the trees. Even if someone were to wander by, Sanji already has a few good hiding spots mapped within a few feet. 

Sanji makes a small pyramid of sticks and lights the kindling like Zeff taught him. With the small fire burning healthily, Sanji rolls a fallen log off a patch of soft soil and uses a flat rock to dig up a bundle wrapped in linens. He unwraps the sheet and lays out his small iron pan, a piece of metal decor he stole from the dining table, a few utensils, and a pouch of spices taken from the kitchens, plus a few herbs he gathered himself. 

The metal decor makes the perfect rest for his pan. Sanji puts it over the fire and sets his pan on top, leaving it to heat while he looks for something to cook. 

There are often eggs in the area, sometimes an abandoned nest or two. The alternative is to catch a fish from the river, which is harder but more filling. Sanji likes the taste of fish much more than eggs. Removing the scales and filleting the fish takes more work than cracking an egg, but it’s worth it. If he minded, he would wait to eat in the dining hall with everyone else. 

Sanji finds a worm in the soil and unwinds his fishing line, baiting the hook and sitting cross-legged on the bank to fish. He leans back and watches the line cut through the gentle river current. The salmon aren’t due for another couple of months, but when they come they’ll turn the river bright red from one side to the other for miles. Bears will already be on their way in anticipation for the feast. 

Salmon come from the ocean, Zeff explained, bringing rich nutrients inland where they die and feed the entire ecosystem. Empty as it may sometimes seem, the ocean is churning with life. Look at it from above and the water looks black, but plunge below the surface to find that it is brilliant blue. 

“The brightest blue, Eggplant,” Zeff explains. “Blues that shine green. And when you look up, the sky is blue too. There is nothing but blue as far as the eye can see, and there is nothing more beautiful than that.”  

Sanji kicks off his boots and dips his toes into the river, trying to imagine what it might be like to see only blue, what ocean creatures there are to discover out there. The city is too far inland to trade for ocean fish, but they wouldn’t look the same on the chopping board anyway. These trout will lose some of their brilliant shine as soon as he pulls them from the water. 

The line goes taut. Sanji pulls on the thick stick his line is wrapped around and starts to wind in his catch. He gets onto one knee and tugs, ignoring the tightness in his bruised muscles. The trout fights, but it’s a medium size and he overpowers it without much trouble, lifting its thrashing body out of the water. Sanji lays the fish in the grass and kills it swiftly, easing the hook from its mouth. He goes to get his knife. The handle fits in his palm like it was made for him, carved from wood. The design is simplistic, but the materials are sturdy. Zeff took good care of it before giving it to him, and Sanji intends to do the same. He sharpens the blade with the stone it took from the kitchens and prepares the blade like Zeff taught him. 

Fish bones are soft, and the knife cuts right through the head. Sanji doesn’t bother gutting the fish, slicing the fillets from the carcass in a couple of clean swipes. The fish meat is perfectly edible raw, but Sanji opts to cook it. He tosses the fish remains into the river and washes his knife and hands, taking the fillets back through the bushes to his fire. 

The fish sizzles in the hot pan, releasing oils from the skin and flesh. Sanji lightly salts the flesh and watches as the heat cooks the bright pink into a softer color. 

When the skin is crispy and the flesh fully cooked, Sanji takes the pan off the heat and takes it back to the riverbank with his handful of berries, leaving the fire to slowly die. He sits down in the grass and takes off his shirt to inspect his bruises while the fish cools. 

Sanji dips his hands into the river and wipes blood from his cheek. The cut isn’t very deep, but after fighting and sweating so much, the blood is smeared all over his face. Sanji rubs it off carefully so not to reopen it. It should heal in a couple of days. 

The bruises, on the other hand, will stick around for a while longer. Having inherited his mother’s pale skin, the dark blotches stand out more viciously. Sanji lays his cooled hands over his side, grateful at least that Ichiji didn’t strike him in the ribs. His brothers are stronger than he is, and this is going to make bending and twisting hurt for a while. 

It’s not the worst he’s ever had. Sanji dips his fingers into the pan, testing the temperature before picking up one of the fillets to eat. The skin holds the flaky fish together, and it tastes delicious. Less is more, Zeff has always taught him, and fish on its own doesn’t need the salt to be tasty. The fresh berries and a few sips of river water wash down the meal. It’s not exactly a five-course dinner in the royal palace, but it tastes better than anything served at that table. 

Sanji sighs and flops down on the grass, kicking his toes in the water and watching the clouds roll by. The trees lean over the river, their foliage almost touching. Birds flock overhead in plentiful numbers, making use of the daylight to breed. 

Soon, the sky will start to grow dark, and it will be time to return to the castle. If he’s lucky, his father and brothers will be too busy to care that he left training early. Best-case, his father denies him supper, and keeps his brothers too busy to bother him later in the evening.  

Sanji doesn’t like eating with his family, anyway. He gets to his feet and cleans up his supplies, bundling them into the sheet, scraping the dirt over top, and rolling the log back into place. He scuffs out the embers of his fire and pats dirt over top. If he walks at a leisurely pace, he’ll reach the castle before the dinner bell rings. Sanji dries his feet in the grass and puts his boots back on, crossing the river the way he came and following it back upstream. 

A strange noise cuts through the forest sounds. Instinctively, Sanji stops walking and ducks down, looking around for the source, heart lurching in his chest. It’s very rare for him to encounter other people in this part of the forest, but not impossible. Don’t find me. Don’t see me. Sanji takes a few more cautious steps toward the noise, moving away from the river bank as he continues to follow it, so that the bushes better conceal him. 

It sounds like panting. Sanji steps even more carefully as the sounds get louder. It sounds like only one person, breathing in short, controlled huffs. The closer he gets, the more audible the pants become. He can hear the whistle of air along with the panting. 

Movement draws his eye. Sanji crouches lower and steps carefully up the bank until he can clearly see the person on the other side of the river. 

It’s just one man, legs spread to form a strong stance and his bare toes gripping the grass. His torso glistens with sweat, tan skin covered in scars. His body faces sideways to Sanji, looking upstream as he punches the air one fist at a time. With each punch, his fist snaps firmly in front with practices precision, and the other returns to his hip, huffing through his mouth and nose with each strike. The sun sits low in the sky, highlighting each curve and groove of muscle, every raised or dipped scar. 

The clear area the man has chosen is surrounded with chopped firewood, an axe resting next to it. The man’s clothes are draped over the pile. 

If he weren’t so out in the open, his bright green hair would blend right in with the forest. It’s green like Yonji’s, but the man’s eyes are focused resolutely forward, completely dedicated to his training routine. Mesmerized, Sanji watches as the man finishes his routine and turns his body to face the river. Three gold earrings catch the fading sunlight – more than that, the giant scar bisecting his chest from left shoulder to right hip, thick and deep and still pink with healing. 

Sanji stops breathing. The wound doesn’t look fully healed, but the man is moving as if it hardly bothers him, stretching with a wince and a yawn, but moving straight into a set of push-ups. Sanji backs away from the river. 

His foot catches on a tree root. Sanji stumbles into the tree behind, and the man stops mid push-up, flicking up his head to stare through the bushes directly at Sanji.  

Sanji rolls around the tree and runs, not caring to find out if the man can even make him out through the shadows. 

Sanji runs as fast as he can. He runs all the way to the edge of the forest, slowing only to slip back between the buildings and into the city. Sanji risks a glance behind him as he merges with the crowd, staring into the shadows between the houses. The man didn't follow him, as far as he can tell. At least not fast enough to have caught up yet. Sanji hurries one street over and puts his head down, dodging the evening guard rotation and crossing through the gates into the castle walls. 

The guard uniform doesn’t look like that. Sanji walks through the inner city toward the castle, thinking back to the man’s clothes draped over that firewood. The guards don’t look like that. The soldiers of Germa endure harsh training regiments, but they just don’t look like that .  

It doesn’t matter. Travellers pass through the Germa kingdom quite often, and the forest is a beautiful place to take refuge. 

What kind of trouble do you have to get yourself into to get a scar like that?  

Trouble Sanji needs to make sure to stay away from. Next time, he’ll remember to keep his eyes peeled, maybe move his camp a mile or so farther downriver. Just to be safe.  

Sanji walks up the steps to the courtyard and strides across the intricate stone, shivering as the shadows cast by the deep evening sun steal away the day’s warmth and swallow him. He walks up the front steps and passes by the guards. The main doors will be shut for the evening soon, and not even moonlight will make its way into the main hall. 

As it is, what remains of the ambient daylight fades into the main hall, casting faint shadows of the pillars across the open space. There is barely enough light to reach the empty throne at the end of the hall. Sanji walks off the red carpet and onto the polished floor. The guard lets him through the side door and into the vast corridors of the castle. 

A few attendants and dignitaries walk among the guards on patrol, giving their Prince little bows as he passes. Sanji can already hear the bustle of dinner being served. 

“Hey! ” 

Sanji pauses and looks behind as footsteps thump down the corridor after him, followed by the clatter of armor as guards pursue. 

“Hey, stop! ” The guards shout.  

A door bangs open, and a man runs through. The dignitaries move out of the way, and the patrolling soldiers turn to respond, readying their spears, but the man is already racing by. Sanji steps out of the way, watching as a man in leather armor runs by, fear in his eyes. 

A strange look for someone running into the castle. The guards follow, shouting, but the man ignores them as if they don’t exist. Curious, Sanji follows the commotion. 

The chase passes by the dining room doors. Sanji jogs after the group, frowning as the man runs in the direction of the armory – not just the armory, but his father’s collection. Sanji picks up his pace, but by the time he reaches the room, the guards have already chased the man through the double doors and down the steps into the large torch-lit room. 

The stone walls are lined with shelves and boxes displaying any number of items retrieved from conquests; rare items put on display as trophies taken from foes defeated by the Vinsmoke family. Entire cities razed to the ground, leaving nothing but a collection of precious gems and the kingdom’s flag. Decorative weapons, vases, paintings, carvings, and other unique items symbolizing the kingdom, village, or person who used to own it. 

The soldier in charge of dusting the shelves is lying on the ground, and the man is rushing to the far wall, reaching up and wrenching an object from its display before the rest of the guards can tackle him. One swipes of a guard’s sword cuts into the back of the man’s leg, severing the tendon in his knee and felling him. The man goes down with a cry, but keeps his arms wrapped tightly around the object. 

Sanji moves through the guards and they step aside to let him through. 

Blood pools on the stone as the man sobs and clutches the white katana as the guards try to wrest it away from him. Sanji has no doubt that there are people who would be willing to kill to retrieve some of these items, and Sanji wouldn’t blame them for it. But the look in that man’s eyes is one of fear, not of rage. 

The sword doesn’t belong to him. 

It must be a new addition to the collection, because Sanji doesn’t recognize it since his father last brought the princes down here a few weeks ago. 

“No! ” the man shrieks as the guards manage to tear the katana out of his hands, reaching with desperately to try to snatch it back. One of the guards stomps on his hand, crushing it into the ground. The man cries out in pain, but it doesn’t stop him from reaching. “No , I made a mistake! Please, let me speak to the king!” 

“You made a mistake by breaking into the royal vault,” the guard explains. “To take what belongs to the king is an offense punishable to the highest order. Beg for your life and hope he takes pity on you by leaving you to live in eternal servitude instead.” 

“Please!” the man wails, fighting to get his legs under him. The guard kicks him to the ground before his injured leg has a chance to collapse under him. He goes down in a sobbing heap, blubbering pleas that fall on uncaring ears. 

Nobody in their right mind would charge into the king’s private collection. And to know about it in the first place... Sanji opens his mouth. 

“What’s going on down here?” Judge descends the staircase, the other three princes just behind. 

“This man attempted to steal this from your collection, Highness.” The other guards make way so the one holding the sword can offer it up with a bow.  

Judge glances as Sanji as he lifts the sword to inspect it. He runs his hand along the sheath in search of damage.  

“Please...” the man moans, crawling on the ground and reaching for Judge’s boot. His leg trails behind, leaving a bloody streak. “Please! You must listen!” 

Judge makes no move to move his foot – a guard spears through the man’s hand and pins it to the rock before he has to. The king stares down at the man and hands the sword off to another guard. “You bring me this gift, and then you try to steal it back?” he asks coldly. 

“No!” he man wails. “No, I made a mistake! The sword isn't mine to give!” 

“You had no problem with that when you gave it to me. You are a thief, are you not?” 

“I didn’t know!” the man screams. “I didn’t know! He’ll come for you!” 

Yonji laughs. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Judge replies calmly. “I would worry about your own skin. You tried to steal from your king, and whoever tries to steal this sword from me will meet the same fate that you are about to meet.” 

The guard pulls the spear from the thief’s hand, and Judge steps back. His three sons waiting behind him are already moving in with anticipation, grabbing the thief off the floor and wrenching him to his feet. Sanji backs out of their way, but Judge’s hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes tightly. 

“Go with them,” he orders. 

Sanji looks up. His mother was tall, but his father is taller still, towering over everyone in the room. The only warmth present in his eyes is the torch flame flickering in them. Sanji finds himself stuck in place. 

Ichiji grabs his other arm, tightening around his bicep and dragging him away from their father and after the other two. 

Sanji knows very well where they’re headed, and he wants no part of it. He wants to dig in his heels, beg and plead to be left out of this. Instead, he stumbles along beside Ichiji, watching as the thief is dragged in front of him, blood dripping from his ruined leg and his pierced hand. 

The hallways grow darker, the torches placed at less frequency intervals. The smell of blood grows only stronger. Sanji coughs as it starts to settle in his throat, his brothers’ laughter echoing down the long hallways. The thief screams when he recovers the breath, whimpering in between. He struggles fruitlessly between the Vinsmoke princes. 

Ichiji takes a torch from the wall, dragging Sanji with him. The other two hang back to let them pass, Ichiji leading them down the staircase and lighting the torches as he goes. 

The dungeons are much deeper than the vault. The air is cold and musty, and the smell of blood is wretched. Sanji holds his hand over his mouth, and Ichiji sneers at him in the darkness, tightening his grip so hard Sanji winces as fingers dig into his bicep. The thief continues to shriek and moan as he’s dragged along behind. 

If Sanji were a braver man, he would grab the spear from the nearest guard they pass by, turn around, and kill the thief himself. 

The cells are mostly empty. Ichiji takes a set of keys from the guard and bangs them on the cell bars as he passes. The occupants flinch, all except one, whose slumped form doesn’t stir. 

“Shame.” Ichiji gestures the guard but doesn’t linger, walking right by. Sanji is glad he doesn’t have time to get a good look at the body before it’s out of sight.  

The brothers have their sights set on something much more interesting than wasting prisoners. Ichiji doesn’t stop until they reach the final cell. He unlocks it and lights the torch on the wall, shoving Sanji into the corner. 

The floor is splattered with many layers of blood dried over each other. Sanji doesn’t even dare touch the walls because he knows it’s splattered there too. The thief is dragged in, the brothers lining him up in the center of the room and shoving him to his knees. Niji and Yonji grab an arm each, locking thick shackles to his wrists and looping the connected chains through rings on either wall. 

The brothers pull hard, straining the thief until his arms are stretched out on either side of him, muscles straining. The brothers lock the chains links to the rings on the floor, and Ichiji lifts the coiled whips from the hook on the wall. He lets the leather uncoil, and it smacks to the floor, dragging along as he steps up. Niji draws a knife and slices off the thief’s clothes without caring much about cutting skin, too. Sanji glances at the exit, but Yonji is already on his way over, standing in the way of escape. 

“Perhaps if you’d begged for forgiveness, you could have saved yourself this fate.” Ichiji grabs the thief by the throat and lifts his head. 

“Please...” the thief splutters, but that fear in his eyes was there long before the Vinsmokes got their hands on him. 

“Beg.” Ichiji growls, loosening his grip just enough for the man to speak. 

“Please...” the thief coughs again. “Please! He’ll come for you!” 

Ichiji smiles cruelly. “I’d like to meet any man who think he can stand a chance alone against the Germa kingdom and the Vinsmoke family. Such doubt in the strength of your king is almost enough to call treason.” 

The thief chokes out a crazed laugh. The fear never leaves his eyes, but his bloodied lips curl into a smile. “When he comes, your strength will be tested. Are you prepared, Warrior Princes of the Vinsmoke Family?” 

Ichiji’s eyebrow twitched and his jaw flexes, his hands tightening on the whip and the thief’s throat both. “Evidently his strength isn’t formidable enough for his name to reach us.” 

The thief opens his mouth, his eyes glazing over as he stares past Ichiji, past the cell, and into a world that only he can see. If he was going to say something though, Ichiji cuts him off, hopping over the thief’s strung-up arms and raising the whip. Sanji looks away, but he hears the leather split flesh, and the chains rattle as the man strains them and screams. 

Ichiji grunts as he brings down the whip over and over again. The whip cracks with each strike, and the man screams over and over again. Now, he begs for mercy, but it’s too late. 

“My turn.” Yonji pushes off the wall and grabs greedily for the whip. Ichiji is reluctant to give it up, but he lets his brother have a turn, joining the others by the cell door to watch. Yonji is just as forceful. Sanji can cover his eyes at least, but he can’t block out the screaming, rattling of chains, or the smell of blood and sweat. 

Splatters of blood fly off the whip and cover his arms. They dot his shirt, incriminating him. All he would have to do to end this man’s suffering is deliver a strong kick to the throat, break his neck. End it. Niji swaps with Yonji, and the man’s screams grow hoarse, forced out of him though his body grows weary. Blood rolls off his body and drips into the puddle forming around his knees – Sanji can hear it dripping. 

“Hey Sanji,” Ichiji whispers in his ear, making him flinch. His brother’s hand grips tighter, digging into the forming bruises. “Want a turn?” 

“Yeah, it’s your turn.” Niji holds out the whip and Yonji takes it, offering the handle out to Sanji. 

The leather is smeared with blood, and the whip leaves trails of it on the floor as Yonji brings it over. Sanji stares at it, not daring to look up in case he gets too good of a look at the thief slumped and moaning from his chains. 

He could take the whip, walk behind the man and wrap the coils around his neck. Pull hard enough, and death would be quick. He can’t make his arm lift up to take the whip. Yonji sighs with frustration and grabs his wrist, shoving the whip into his hand, but Sanji’s fingers are too limp and the handle slips out of them. The whip falls to the floor. 

“Fine.” Yonji picks up the whip. “I’ll take your turn then.” 

“Good thing you don’t run the kingdom,” Ichiji laughs, shaking Sanji by his arm. “You’d let the whole place get overrun.” 

“Sanji is weak. What’s new?” Yonji lifts the whip. Sanji turns away again. The whip comes down, striking wetly as it cuts through the torn flesh. 

The man lurches his head upright with a scream. “He’ll come for you! ” 

Sanji flinches as Yonji strikes again. “Shut up!” Yonji growls. 

The whip cracks and the man screams again, blood gurgling in his throat and his voice hoarse. “The Demon of the East will come for you! ” 

“Let him come!” Yonji howls. “I’ll kill him myself and dump his corpse on top of yours! ” 

Ichiji’s grip loosens for just a moment, and Sanji takes his chance, wrenching his arm free and stumbling backwards, running out of the cell. 

“Scared of some thief’s nightmare?” Ichiji calls after him, but nobody follows. The brothers just laugh, their laughter chasing him down the dim hallways chased shortly by a sickening scream. Sanji doesn’t stop. 

The laughter echos, and the screams continue even after the whip cracks stop. Sanji lunges up the dungeon steps two at a time, clutching his ears. Even after the sounds are no longer audible, he can still hear them ringing in his head. Sanji runs all the way through the castle, into his room, and shuts the door. 

Chapter Text

Breakfast is served early every morning. Sanji rolls out of bed before the first chirp of birdsong and cracks open his wardrobe. At this time of year, the sun is up even before he is, and there are a few weeks left before it starts to lower again. 

His brothers should be busy attending diplomatic meetings today, ones that he never gets invited to. Fine by me. Sanji reaches to the back for his food-stained work shirt, putting a clean white one over top. He stuffs his bandana into his pocket, drapes his red cloak around his shoulders, and hurries out the door. 

Only the guards and the kitchen staff are up at this hour. Everyone else in the castle is still asleep. Sanji avoids the morning guards, leaving the castle through the armory and stables. The training grounds are still empty, but he walks around them in case anyone is watching through the windows above. 

The castle sleeps, but regular people have work to do. Sanji leaves the castle boundary and passes into the early morning bustle of the outer city. He slips between some buildings and sheds his cloak and shirt, rolling them up and stuffing them into a hole in the brick. He tugs the bandana out of his pocket and pushes up his bangs, tying them back. He tugs the hem low and runs his fingers along it to make sure it covers his eyebrows. 

Sanji emerges from the alleyway and joins the common folk, putting one hand into his pocket and squinting into the rising sun warming his face. The sky is bright blue, pushing away the night’s darkness. Birds chirp and flutter from rooftop to rooftop, occasionally swooping down to pick fallen berries off the street. The smell of fresh bread is already wafting from the baker’s house. Sanji picks some coins from his pocket and counts them into his palm. 

With two fresh loaves of bread under his arm, Sanji hurries the rest of the way to Zeff’s inn. He enters through the back door that leads straight into the kitchen and puts the loaves on a serving dish. 

A fresh pile of logs is stacked up by the door, the axe driven into the top log. 

“Eggplant.” Zeff limps into the kitchen, his wooden leg clomping on the floorboards. He’s holding a dead chicken in each hand. “Stoke that fire and get started on the potatoes. Guests will be up soon. You got the bread?” 

Sanji points at the loaves as he walks over to the sack of potatoes in the corner of the room. “Yeah, old man. I wouldn’t forget.” 

“Hmp. Well, slice it up when you’re finished with the potatoes.” 

“Got it.” Sanji chooses the big cleaver and whacks through a small potato to check the sharpness. He knows it’s precisely sharpened – Zeff never lets his knives go dull. 

Sanji scrubs dirt from a few potatoes and stands at the counter to cut them while Zeff butchers the chickens. The old man is slow on his feet, but his hands move as fast as ever. Sanji slices the potatoes into even bite-sized pieces, making a small pile. Zeff glances his way every now and then, but he has no pointers to offer for this particular task. 

“Get that fire going,” Zeff orders as soon as the last potato is cut. “Then you can prepare the spices.” 

“Really?” Sanji looks up. 

Zeff bats his hand. “Don’t make that face at me, boy. I said you could mix them, I didn't say I’d use them.” 

“We’ll see about that.” Sanji picks a few logs from the pile and slides them into the furnace. He lights the flame and stokes it until it’s roaring, then he closes the grate and slides the cooking rack into the heat chamber. “Got any paper?” 

“Not enough kindling?” 

“No, so I can write down my spice blend for you to use later,” Sanji smirks over his shoulder. 

Zeff scowls at him and points at the clay bowl sitting atop the furnace. “Don’t forget that, boy. I’ll give you paper when your recipes are worth writing down.” 

“Like yours are?” Sanji pours water into the bowl from the pitcher and puts it into the bottom of the oven. The water will evaporate as the furnace heats up, filling the cooking chamber with steam and helping to keep the roasting chickens moist. 

“Watch your mouth, or you’ll be grating carrots from this day forward.” 

I would. I’d stay every day and grate carrots if I could. Grate them till my hands bled.  

Zeff wouldn’t let him do that.  

The old man stuffs butter and rosemary under the chicken skins and holds them up for Sanji to hook them through the carcass. Sanji hangs them up in the furnace to cook and shuts the door over them. Zeff scrapes some pig fat into a big pan and sets it over the stove next to the furnace fed from its heat. 

Zeff’s spice collection is superseded only by the royal kitchen’s. The old man can’t compete with royal resources, but even so, Zeff is more selective of the rarer spices that he does purchase from travelers. Sanji starts with salt, tipping a small portion into the stone mortar. A little rosemary will complement what Zeff added to the chicken. How about some chili powder? Sanji sprinkles some in and grinds them. He adds a small dash of a couple of other spices and tastes with his finger, putting the mortar on the countertop when satisfied. 

Zeff comes over to taste. “Needs garlic,” he says, but Sanji has already chosen a clove from the bundle hanging on the wall. 

Sanji glances at Zeff as he cuts off the base of the clove with the cleaver, squeezing out the individual cloves and crushing them with the flat of the blade. He slices them up and scrapes them off the counter with the knife, scraping the garlic into the pan of melting fat. 

Zeff leaves the mortar where it is and goes to wash his hands. “Needs work,” he says gruffly.  

Sanji tries not to grin too widely. 

Zeff dries his hands and pulls over a stool sets it down beside Sanji, pointing at it. “Sit,” he orders. 

Sanji frowns. “Old man, it’s fine –” 

“I said sit, Eggplant.” 

Sanji sighs and sits down. 

“Shirt up.” 

“It’s fine –” 

“Then you’ll have no problem showing me.” 

Sanji bites his lip and looks away, lifting up his shirt to show off the deep bruising from yesterday’s training. 

Zeff gets to his knee with a grunt, his joints creaking as he does. The skin of his hand is rough when it lands on Sanji’s waist to gently press on the bruise, rougher even than his brothers'. The touch feels especially cool on the hot bruise. The muscles are tight and swollen.

Zeff looks especially displeased, his other hand tightly gripping his knee and his lips tight. But the old man has already said what Sanji knows he wants to say. Sanji can’t even think of anything to reassure him with. 

“No bleeding?” Zeff asks gruffly. 

Sanji shakes his head. 

“Make sure to stretch.” Zeff pushes to his feet with a grunt of stiffness, gripping the counter as he straightens out. 

“I know.” Sanji tugs down his shirt. 

“Just making sure you’re fit for the job before I put you to work,” Zeff growls. 

“I am.” Sanji stands up, drawing himself to his full height even though it hurts. A few bruises won’t stop him. 

The anger in Zeff’s eyes makes Sanji wish he had something else to say, but he has nothing. They can shout and scream all day about what should or shouldn’t be done, but at the end of the day, there’s nothing much either of them can do about the situation. 

The best Zeff can do is pick up the cleaver by the blade and hand it over. Sanji takes the handle, needing nothing more than this. 

-- 

Together, they assemble breakfast for the inn’s customers. Sanji tosses the potatoes in hot fat until they’re crisp, then he tosses them in his spice blend. Zeff takes apart the chickens and shreds the meat. A slice of bread toasted in the pan and a handful of fresh berries, and the meal is done. Sanji plates the food, and Zeff brings it through the door, down the hall past reception, and into the dining area. 

There’s just enough left for the two of them. Zeff distributes some of the food from his plate to Sanji’s. “Take a break,” he says before Sanji can protest. “Lunch begins in an hour.” Then he limps off to eat his breakfast, fraternize with customers, and man the counter. 

Sanji takes his plate out the back door of the kitchen and sits down on the step in a patch of sun. The chicken is as tender as ever, infused with the butter and rosemary. The potatoes have a stronger flavor, but they mix well with the chicken. Sanji dabs up chicken juice and spiced oil with the bread. 

A pigeon flies from the rooftops across from him and hops across the path, cocking its head hopefully. 

Sanji smiles and picks a berry off his plate, tossing it onto a small patch of grass. The pigeon hops over and plucks up the berry. 

The familiar cackle of one of his brothers sends a shiver up his spine. Sanji shuffles into the shade, and the pigeon flies away. It’s hard to tell straight away where the sound is coming from. Sanji reaches for the door and poises to get up in case they walk by. 

“This is stupid.” Yonji’s voice becomes audible as they brothers pass by the front of the inn, their conversation carrying down the alleyway to the back side where Sanji is sitting. Sanji sits back down and leans over to listen, his fingers trembling on the plate. 

They can’t have found me. I was careful. He hopes Zeff will lie if the brothers ask – for Zeff’s own safety. Sanji will happily endure punishment for the old cook’s safety, he just hopes the ancient bastard would let him –  

“Nobody’s heard of this guy,” Niji agrees. “Even if he is real, who cares? We’ll just kill him if he shows up.” 

Sanji stares at his food, trying not to think too hard about last night. The Demon of the East is real, at least to that man. But perhaps the legend died with the thief. 

“Dad wanted us to look into it,” Ichiji interjects. “No harm in asking around.” 

Their footsteps transition from dirt to wood, and Sanji realizes they’re walking into the inn. He grips his plate and strains to listen, but he can’t hear the conversation without going back into the kitchen. 

The back door opens behind him, and he freezes solid, almost dropping his plate as his muscles go rigid. If he holds still, they might not notice it’s him. His hair is mostly concealed by the bandana, and they might not recognize him from behind – 

A pair of boots steps over the threshold, and the door shuts. The man walks past Sanji, swinging the axe over his shoulder and licking a piece of potato from his lips. He’s wearing a bandana too, a black one that covers his hair. The man sidesteps Sanji, glancing down briefly before walking on. 

Sanji opens his mouth to demand why a stranger is waltzing through Zeff’s kitchen, but it might start an argument, and he can’t risk causing a commotion while his brothers are here. So he sits frozen and watches as the man walks away, the axe resting on strong shoulders. 

The man walks off into the bustle and is out of sight by the time Sanji realizes he’s seen that face before. 

Sanji almost forgets his breakfast, staring off into the city streets where the man walked off. The sound of his brothers’ footsteps leaving the inn and their dismissive conversation snaps him out of it. Sanji finishes the last few mouthfuls and hurries inside, shutting the back door behind him. 

Zeff limps into the kitchen with an armful of empty plates, taking instant notice of Sanji’s expression. 

“Don’t worry, Eggplant, they weren’t here for you.” Zeff puts the plates in a pile and tosses Sanji an onion. “Asking about a rumor of some sort, that’s all.” 

“The Demon of the East?” Sanji asks, slicing off the top and bottom of the onion and peeling off the dry outer skin. “Did you know?” 

“One thing I’ve learned with age and experience, Eggplant, is to never freely give up information,” Zeff replies, putting a crate of fresh vegetables on the countertop and choosing a knife of his own.  

“So you’ve heard the name?” Sanji asks, cleaving the onion in half as he looks over to examine Zeff’s expression. 

The old man calmly begins cutting tomatoes. “I haven’t been out of this city in a long time,” he says. 

Sanji looks back at his onion, folding his fingers and resting the blade against his knuckles. “Well if somebody does have a title like that, somebody died for it last night.” 

Zeff solemnly scrapes up the tomatoes and puts them in a bowl, seasoning them lightly with salt and basil.  

Sanji cuts into the onion, dicing it rapidly. Zeff limps by him for some more ingredients, adjusting Sanji’s cutting arm as he goes by. 

“Oh.” Sanji finishes the onion and looks over. “Some guy took your axe and went through the back. Sorry, I’d have stopped him, but –” 

Zeff waves his knife nonchalantly. “He’s staying at the inn,” he explains, handing Sanji a bunch of radishes. “Gave me whatever money he had, but it won’t be enough to cover how long he plans to stay, so I put him to work. He’s harmless, don’t worry about him.” 

Harmless? The scars Sanji saw on him yesterday say otherwise. “Old man –” 

“Hurry up with those, because I need some ingredients prepped for tomorrow.” Zeff tosses him a cucumber. “The butcher will be by soon with the cuts I asked for. Put the stove back on while I wait for him?” 

Zeff hasn’t lived this long without learning how to take care of himself. I’ll keep my eyes peeled, that’s all.  

Some commotion is kicking up outside. Zeff puts down his knife, but when Sanji goes to follow, the old cook puts his hand on Sanji’s shoulder and holds him back. Sanji obeys, and Zeff slips out of the kitchen to check. 

Most of the breakfast crowd have probably already left, but Sanji hears a few chairs scrape on the floor as the last few morning guests stand up. He can hear Zeff’s wooden leg clomping on the floorboards all the way to the open door, the street sounds gushing in. People are murmuring and clamoring, and hoofbeats clomp down the street. Sanji slips out from the kitchen and down the hall to reception, peering cautiously around the corner and out the door. 

People have paused their work and moved to clear a path as a small group of soldiers trot down the street. The smell of blood wafts through the air. It’s faint, but Sanji can still pick it out. Dust flies up under the horses’ hooves, the ropes tied to their saddles pulled taut. Something drags. 

There isn’t much of the thief left. The horses drag his corpse face-down, his shredded back exposed for all to see. The blood has mostly dried, covering his back and splattered into his hair and soaked into his pants. The ropes are tied to his legs and his arms stretch out in front. The lashes cover his entire back, reaching his neck and down both arms. Sanji grips the wall as his knees weaken. 

Much as he’s desperate to tear his eyes away, it takes effort to do so. Sanji staggers back into the kitchen and sinks onto the stool in the corner, gripping his head. He doesn’t look up as Zeff limps in shortly after. Water trickles into a cup, and Zeff arrives at his side, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. 

-- 

Much as he would like to stay at the inn all day, Zeff sends him off with a bundle of food and tells him to rest. 

A nap might not be such a bad idea. Sanji bundles up the food and walks in the direction of the forest. 

Harmless . Sanji scoffs to himself, slipping between the buildings and into the shade. He keeps his eyes open for the man; harmless or not, Sanji would rather the stranger not spot him out here. 

Zeff probably doesn’t know about the scars. He couldn’t possibly. 

Tortured? Innocent people get tortured all the time, and the ones that survive come out with hideous scars. No, tortured doesn’t seem right; Sanji isn't sure why. Best to keep my distance, whatever Zeff says. Sanji clutches his lunch, keeping his head down and his eyes open as he makes his way to the river. 

As he approaches that same spot by the river, he hears the sounds of movement. Sanji winces at the sound of the axe splitting wood. 

He wants to sneak by, but curiosity captivates him again. Sanji crouches down in the bushes to watch as the man lifts a stack of logs into a pile. He pulls the bandana off his head, revealing tufts of sweaty green hair underneath. The man wipes sweat from his face and tosses his bandana aside, loosening his clothes and stripping to the waist. Dark green robes fall away to reveal his muscles, scar-torn body once more. 

That big scar covering his torso takes Sanji’s breath away again. The man scratches it idly and pulls the axe from the wood, testing its weight in his hand. Sanji ducks down farther, clenched tightly. 

The man settles into his stance and lifts the axe over his head, swinging it down cleanly to chest height and exhaling. He lifts and swings again, his body flexing as he wields the heavy weapon with ease. 

It seems like the wrong implement, a stand-in. Sanji has no doubt that the man could still do some serious damage with it, though. 

No wonder Zeff has this guy doing chores. Sanji looks at the pile of wood and tries to think how long ago the man left the kitchen. 

Sanji’s stomach grumbles, and he swears he sees a muscle in the man’s jaw flex and his ear perk up. Sanji backs away from the river, keeping his eyes pinned on the man until the bushes fully separate him from view. He hurries downstream toward his camp, not feeling totally at ease until he’s crossed over and passed by the knurled tree to his usual hideout. Sanji heaves a sigh and plops down on the log to open his packed lunch. 

The meal Zeff packed him consists of leftovers from today’s lunch, and a few other additions, including tea leaves and a sweet bread roll. Sanji smiles and leans back on the log to eat. 

A crow flies down from the treetops to land on the log. It cocks its head at Sanji, side-steps up the log toward him, and looks at the food. Sanji breaks his apple slice in half and offers it over. The crow snatches it from his fingers with its beak and grabs it with its foot, pecking off smaller pieces. A couple of friends fly down from the trees to join them. Sanji breaks up the last of his apple slices and tosses them into the grass for the crows to eat. 

Sanji picks apart his roll and savors it. It’s been baked with dried fruit and nuts and makes the perfect dessert for his meal. Sanji watches the crows eat. The fly off to look for more food when the apple is all gone, but soon return with berries. Sanji wonders what the man upriver is eating. 

Sanji stands up and pushes the bandana up his forehead. He takes off his boots and grabs the grass with his toes, trying to mimic the stance. His brothers got Father’s strength and size, while Sanji got his Mother’s long limbs and graceful stance. How strong could he get if he really tried? If he were out here all alone with nobody to interfere or distract? 

“There is more to fighting than raw strength,” Zeff explains. “If you can’t win with strength, then win with speed and precision.”  

It’s been a while since Sanji kept up with the exercises Zeff taught him. Sanji takes off his shirt and picks a patch of moss on a nearby tree to focus on. Getting better is a waste of time – even if he started winning fights, his brothers wouldn’t leave him alone. Sanji shuffles sideways and kicks with his heel, wincing at his bruised flank tugs. His aim is off and his stance is weak. Sanji squares up again. 

The second kick is faster, stronger, more precise, and hurts more. Sanji drops his foot and turns to try with the other leg. He’s already a lost cause, isn’t he? 

He wonders what else the man upriver does to train his body. Sanji rubs his bruised side and bends down to stretch his torso, touching his toes with ease. If he got just a bit stronger, he might be able to endure his brothers’ blows better. He might not be able to beat them in a contest of strength, but a contest of speed? Sanji hops onto the fallen log and grips it with his bare feet. 

The log rolls under him as he walks cautiously across it. The last thing he needs is a broken ankle. Sanji balances carefully, but loses his footing a few steps from the end of the log. He turns to land on his shoulders, and the log rolls away as he lands, scattering the crows. 

Sanji rolls onto his back and looks up at the sky. The crows fly back, gathering in the nearby treetops to watch. Sanji sits up and retrieves the log, rolling it back into place to try again. 

-- 

The man upriver has already packed up his woodcutting and left by the time Sanji passes by. Sanji still stays alert as he walks back into the city. He retrieves his clothes from the hole in the brick and avoids the street they dragged the dead man through. Most of the blood will have been scuffed over, but Sanji doesn’t want to look at even a single splatter. He pulls his clean shirt over his dirty one, stuffs the bandana back into his pocket, and pulls the cloak around his body. Then he strides into the inner city and back up to the castle. 

A servant has water boiled for him when he gets back to his room. Sanji washes up and puts on some clean clothes, going back downstairs to join his family for dinner. 

Sanji takes his place at the large circular table, ignoring his brothers and staring into his glass as a servant fills it with mild drinking wine.  

“We did as you asked today, Father.” Ichiji says. “Nobody we talked to has heard of the Demon of the East.” 

“Hmm.” Judge sips his wine. He doesn’t bother to move his arm when the servant arrives with the first course. They serve the king first, playing food in front of him before serving the brothers. Judge picks up a slice of bread and dips it into the herbed butter. 

“You don’t really think this is worth worrying about, is it?” Niji asks. 

“Whether the name bears any worth or not, the former owner of the sword exists somewhere,” Judge reasons, calmly picking over his food. “Perhaps I’d like to meet him, if he answers my invitation. I can dispose of him then, if I feel necessary.” 

“An invitation?” Yonji asks curiously. 

“Indeed,” Judge replies. “And if the man is worth any kind of title, then he will make himself known. If not, then it will simply be entertainment.” 

Sanji glances up at the grins on his brothers’ faces. He can only guess what sort of plan his father is putting together, but he doesn’t like the idea of it. He tries to block out the image of the thief’s corpse dragged down the city streets, his screams still fresh in Sanji’s ears. 

“Scared?” Yonji leans over and gives him a shove. “Maybe the Demon of the East could beat you, but he won’t beat the rest of us.” 

It isn’t meant as a reassurance, and Sanji doesn’t take it as one. He bats his brother’s hand away from him. Yonji laughs and yanks his hand away. 

“Nonetheless,” Judge interrupts. “The trials are quickly approaching. Forget about those trivial things and focus on training hard. I expect all of you to succeed in the mission given to you.” 

Sanji looks up from his meal to find his father looking right across at him. 

“You all know what will happen if you fail, but I have faith that you won’t.” Judge sips his wine. 

Sanji isn’t worried about the trials – a chance to set off alone to complete a quest set for him? No-doubt all four of their trials will be difficult, but on his own Sanji is confident he could achieve whatever is set for him. 

“I expect more regular and rigorous training from all four of you,” Judge says. “And I expect success. I have already informed the instructors to intensify the training regiment.” 

Sanji’s heart sinks as his brothers readily agree. He can tell that their eyes are on him without even looking.

Chapter Text

The man upriver trains with the axe. He must be gathering wood for other people, because Zeff can’t possibly need this much wood. Sanji wonders how many strikes it takes the moss-haired man to cleave through a tree and render it into logs. The axe looks light in his hands, muscles flexing and pulling all over his body. Big hands reflexively scratch the scar between swings. The scar stretches and puckers as skin pulls over extending and contracting muscle. When the light hits just right, Sanji can make out where thick stitches tied the gashed flesh together. 

The wound must be in the late stages of healing to be itching like that. Sanji tries to imagine what sort of weapon would create a wound like that. More than that, what sort of man could survive it. 

A man who has weathered many wounds throughout his life, that much is obvious. A man who faces his battles head-on – his back is a near-clean canvas, tarnished only by blows that have passed from one side to the other. 

The man throws down the axe and it buries deep into the dirt. Then he picks up a coil of rope and sizes up the trees nearby. Curiously, Sanji watches the man choose a tree and wrap the rope around the trunk. The rope loops round and round, each loop laying neatly against the last until the coil runs out. The man ties it off and takes a step back, settling in his haunches and holding up his fists. 

No. Sanji frowns from the shadows. 

The man strikes the rope-wrapped tree with his bare fist, and Sanji winces.  

The skin over the knuckles is very thin. Still, the rope splits before the moss-man's skin does. Sanji can’t take his eyes off the patch of rope where the fists strike over and over again, watching the fibers start to break. The rope is already frayed when the first spot of blood dots it. The man pauses and looks at his hand, muttering and shaking his head as if berating himself. He looks around but he has nothing to wrap his hands with. 

The rope is spared, at least for today. The man slides a few inches closer to the tree and strikes it with his inner forearm instead. The blow isn’t pinpointed enough to damage the rope, but it does shake the tree, rustling the leaves above. Sanji backs away. 

His aging bruises are layered with new ones. At least the new ones aren't as severe. Sanji digs up his cooking supplies and catches himself a fish, rummaging in his pocket for the pouch of spices he stole from the kitchen this morning. While the fish cooks, he sits back to inspect his bruises. 

There are no cuts to be dealt with, at least. Training today consisted of fist fighting – or rather his brothers fist-fighting him while he tried to at least protect his face. Mission successful, in Sanji’s opinion. A few bruises to his chest and arms is a clean exit as far as he’s concerned. 

By now his brothers have forgotten all about him (he hopes), and are sword-training with the instructor. Sanji watches the fish cook and leans over the steam to smell the spices, wishing a lemon and a slice of bread could fit in his pockets and survive the morning’s training. The fish is delicious nonetheless.  

Training lasted longer than usual before Sanji was able to slip away. So long as everything goes back to normal after the trials. The trials are an honor among the Vinsmoke family, notoriously challenging. The specifics of any individual trial are known only by their distributor, however, and not to be shared with anyone before or after the trial is complete. 

So, no tips from Reiju. All Sanji is aware of is that she returned successful, bringing whatever Judge tasked her to retrieve. 

Sanji hopes his sister is doing well. Their brothers never dared lay a finger on her – whether or not they wanted to, they never looked at her the way they look at Sanji. But then, Reiju could take them on. 

Sanji takes his fish from the fire and sits down at the riverbank to eat it, wishing he could spend more time at Zeff’s inn. Or, that he could set up more equipment for cooking out here. And if Zeff weren’t so old, he could probably teach Sanji more about fighting. Training with his brothers is one thing, but what if something goes wrong during the trials? Sanji does his best to stay out of trouble, but that is trouble he simply cannot avoid. There is no telling what sort of place his father will send him, what proof of success he will be asked to retrieve. 

If only he weren’t so fucking weak. Sanji washes out his pan in the river and walks back between the bushes to his camp, setting the pan in a patch of sun to dry. The trees surrounding the small clearing vary in size and species. Sanji runs his hand up the trunk of one, but the bark is too rough. Unfortunately, he has no rope to make himself a more forgiving patch to strike. 

He could just put his boots back on... No, Sanji thinks back to the man upriver striking with his bare skin, and looks at his own hands. His palms are rough from training and working in Zeff’s kitchen, scarred from a handful of accidents while learning. There’s no way a punch of any usable strength wouldn’t instantly split his knuckles, though. They just aren’t tough enough. 

There's a tree about the right size, its lowest branches jutting out ten feet up the trunk. Thick moss grows on the bark. Sanji scuffs some sticks out of the way and runs his hand along the moss. He takes a step back, lifts his leg to measure the distance, adjusts. Reflexively, he glances over his shoulder, but there is nobody here to watch but the crows lined up on the fallen log. 

There is nobody here to interfere. Sanji holds up his arms and pivots, swinging the top of his foot into the moss-covered tree trunk as hard as he can. 

Sanji stumbles back in shock as leaves rain down on him, grabbing his foot and leaning on the tree, heating up with embarrassment. “Fuck, that hurt,” he growls under his breath. 

You start slow, Zeff always said. Zeff will be disappointed if he asks about the exercises he recommended. Sanji has never been much of a liar. I asked you to help me get stronger, didn’t I? That was so many years ago. He was just a kid then, and his brothers are even bigger and stronger compared to him than they were even back then. Sanji grits his teeth and puts down his foot. He hears the flap of wings as the crows return to the log to watch. 

What’s the point of getting stronger if he’s going to lose no matter what?  

It would make Zeff happy.  

The moss won’t stop the arch of his foot from bruising. There is no meat to cushion the blow. Each strike hurts, but he kicks anyway, swapping sides until his feet hurt too much to keep going. And when that happens, he strikes with his shins instead, over and over again until he can’t do it anymore. 

Sweat drips down his face and sticks his shirt to his body. Sanji stumbles back from the tree and peels off his shirt, limping through the bushes and hopping into the river. He wades to the deeper section where the water reaches his hips and plunges under the surface. 

Don’t forget to stretch. Sanji climbs out of the river and stands in a patch of sun, bending forward and planting his palms flat on the ground. He hangs there for a moment, enjoying the heat of the sun drying his back, and the burn of tugging muscles. His legs are covered in bruises, worse than what his brothers gave him today. Not the worst he’s ever had, though. They don’t hurt that much, either. 

Sanji straightens and looks over at the crows lined up on the log. They watch him walk over and carefully balance himself on the log, feet spread. They sidestep out of his way, but he doesn’t make it even halfway along before losing his balance and falling off again. The crows scatter into the branches. Sanji groans out an apology as he gets to his feet and rolls the log back into place to try again. 

-- 

The flutter of wings rouses him the next morning. Sanji blinks open his eyes and rolls his head on the pillow, staring into the morning sunlight at the silhouette of his pigeon standing on the windowsill. Sanji throws off the blankets and slides out of bed, hurrying over and holding out his hands. 

Herbert hops into Sanji’s palms and starts cleaning his wing. Sanji gently grasps the pigeon and unties the rolled letter from the bird’s leg. 

Sanji – Reiju’s handwriting is clear and elegant on the parchment. Sanji puts Herbert on his shoulder and leans against the windowsill to read his older sister’s letter. 

The king is as disinterested in me as ever, she writes. However, this suits me just fine. I prefer the company of my attendant, anyway. Like most men, the king has no time for the interests of women, and so the attendant and I do as we please with each other. His Highness’ company is not missed.  

In short, I am well.  

Sanji smiles fondly. Trust his sister to carve out a pleasant life for herself despite the marriage Judge orchestrated for her. 

Father has invited me to the ceremony of the trials. I have already prepared your gift. I look forward to seeing you. Keep well, stay out of trouble.  

Reiju  

Sanji sighs and puts Herbert back on the windowsill while he goes to his desk drawer. I stay out of trouble just fine. It just doesn’t stay away from me. He puts Reiju’s letter away and takes out a pouch of seeds, tipping some into his hand. 

When he straightens and turns back to the window, there are two pigeons on his windowsill. 

The newcomer is already close and personal with Herbert, cleaning the other pigeon’s wing. Herbert looks entirely content. 

“Made a friend?” Sanji asks, approaching slowly. 

Herbert seems to agree, fluffing out his feathers and preening. 

The newcomer is missing a leg, and a letter is tied to the other. Sanji approaches curiously, offering out the seeds. The newcomer spots him and takes off into the morning sky, presumably to finish delivering that message. Sanji leans next to Herbert and offers the seeds. Herbert hops over to eat them. 

“Meet a lady on the job, huh?” Sanji pets Herbert’s head with his finger. “You scoundrel.” 

Herbert looks quite pleased with himself, finishing up his seeds and flying into the tree just outside the window. He hops into his nest and settles down the rest in the shade. 

Much as he would rather not, Sanji has to get ready for training. Stay out of trouble? I sure as hell try. He gets dressed, lacing his boots over his bruised feet and looking forward to when he can slip away and get back to the river. 

-- 

Training is blissfully uneventful. The instructor brings them to the shooting range, and gives them each a bow, a handful of arrows, and a target. 

Round one is just thirty feet from the target. Sanji mirrors his brothers and sets the arrow, raising the bow and drawing back the string apprehensively. In his hesitation, his brothers fire off first, their arrows striking their targets and driving through the wood with ease. Sanji doesn’t care to glance at their precision – at this distance, it isn’t much of a feat. He can feel their eyes turn on him, one of them opening their mouth to shout something. 

The bow is stiff, but he can draw it all the way back, his arms trembling but strengthened by training and working for Zeff. Kitchen work is no easy job. Sanji aims down the shaft of the arrow and lets it fly. It pierces the target damn near close to dead center. Not that impressive from this distance, but it’s enough to keep his brothers quiet, at least for today. 

Sanji couldn't ask for much more, in-turn ignoring them as the four of them fire off a few more warm-up shots. Zeff taught him precision long before the instructor ever tried to. 

It’s too bad Judge doesn’t want archers for sons. After several rounds of gradually moving farther away from the target, the instructor sends them for laps around the training grounds. Sanji starts off at a slow pace, allowing his brothers to push past and leave him in the dust before speeding up a bit. 

The training grounds are huge and filled with groups of soldiers practicing their swordplay, spear fighting or running laps in their armor. Sanji easily slips away behind a rack of weapons and escapes the grounds, taking his usual path out of the castle walls and into the forest. The shade is blissful relief. Sanji swings his arms and pulls them across his body one at a time to stretch them. It’s long past noon, but there’s time to cook himself something to eat., unwind, and think about his reply to Reiju. 

Nothing has changed since he last wrote to her. There’s no point in trying to explain the situation to her either: things got significantly worse after she got married and left to a kingdom miles away. Additionally, his brothers mostly leave him alone when she comes to visit. Sanji supposes he can’t entirely blame Reiju for not being fully aware of his situation. 

Besides, he has Zeff, and a sliver of a life he’s tried to make for himself. Things could be a lot worse. He wonders what Reiju’s gift will be. 

That moss-haired man is at the riverbank again. Sanji forgets all about Reiju as he approaches his hiding place, curious as to what Moss-man will be up to today. It would be easy to avoid this area and join with the river closer to his camp, but intrigue wins out. Sanji tip-toes over the branches and crouches in the bushes to watch. 

The usual pile of firewood is stacked at the edge of the clearing, the axe nearby. The man himself is sitting on the riverbank with his feet in the water, kicking softly as he rummages in his pocket for a pouch of supplies. His body is slick with sweat, his arms bruised and his knuckles scabbed over from yesterday’s training. Sanji wonders what the regiment was for today. 

Moss-man picks some leaves out the pouch and tucks it back into his pocket, putting the leaves into his mouth. He chews on them and scoops a handful of water out of the river, splashing it onto his chest and cleaning off the sweat and dirt from his front. He puts extra attention into the scar, running his hand along it to clean the area, but applying no particular delicacy to the healing wound. He spits the chewed leaves into his palm and starts to rub the pulpy mess into the scar tissue, grumbling as he does. 

There’s too much distance between them and the river is too loud to hear what the man is grumbling about. But Sanji can read his lips a little bit.  

“Can’t believe I have to do this stupid shit,” or something to that effect. Aftercare isn’t much this guy’s style, then. Did Zeff catch you without a shirt on and convince you to take care of yourself? It seems like the sort of thing Zeff would do. There isn’t much left to be done to make the scar any less vibrant. Maybe the plant is meant to help the itching, or heal deeper under the skin. Sanji would quite like to know if Zeff has seen the scars, and if he’ll stick by his previous opinion of the guy. 

Moss-man finishes up with the pulp, washing the last of it off his fingers and standing up. He's brought with him a new coil of rope. Sanji watches as the man lays it out on the ground and starts to move his stack of logs on top. 

That mossy green hair blends in perfectly with the surroundings, Sanji thinks. He’s heard of people keeping moss balls as pets. If it weren’t for the scar-torn, suntanned skin and broad, muscular body, it would almost be cute. Sanji scowls. 

Satisfied with his pile, the man loops his rope over the logs and ties a tight knot, rolling the heavy bundle to wrap a few more loops. He ties another knot and dusts splinters from his hands. Then he grabs the bundle and hoists it over his head. 

The logs are as long as an armlength – the man hasn’t finished splitting them into more manageable pieces that would fit inside a fireplace. The bundle can’t weigh any less than the average adult. Sanji can’t tell how heavy it must be, certainly not when the man is so strong he makes carrying it look easy. Moss-man squats, thighs bulging against the fabric of his trousers and his triceps popping as he pushes the weight above his head. Muscles Sanji never knew existed ripple over his upper body. He straightens up and lowers the bundle down, then squats and lifts it again. If his wound impedes him in any way, Sanji can’t tell. 

People shouldn’t be able to do that. Sanji keeps his eyes locked on the man and backs away, escaping undetected. 

Sanji jogs down the river, glancing over his shoulder nervously. The man seems too invested in his workout to be bothered with anyone who might walk by, but Sanji would rather not test his chances against a man that strong, never mind the axe. One swing would surely cleave him in half. 

Where did you come from? The Germa army is known for their strong and well-trained army, and their even stronger royal family. Strict training regiments have been passed down through a long line of kings. Sanji isn’t sure that any one of their soldiers, or even his brothers, are strong enough to do repeated reps lifting a weight that heavy. 

Perhaps there are faraway lands that train their soldiers even harder, though the moss man wore no insignia of allegiance. Those three golden earrings, perhaps. Or he’s a rogue, an assassin. Sanji shivers and hurries across the river, hustling between the bushes to his little camp. 

I shouldn’t be out here. Sanji touches the curl of his exposed eyebrow, wondering if he should wear his bandana from now on if he strays from the castle. An assassin wouldn’t be able to distinguish him as a Vinsmoke prince without the eyebrows, not Sanji anyway. Of the four, he was lucky enough to be born with his mother’s blonde hair instead of the bright colors his siblings inherited from the Vinsmoke lineage. 

He should express his concerns to Zeff, at least. The old man will know what to do. Right now, Sanji won’t let thoughts of assassins disrupt today’s good mood. Sanji gets out his cooking equipment and tries to put the thoughts aside. They aren’t easy thoughts to push aside – it’s not an easy body to get out of his head.  

His legs are too bruised to continue kicking that tree, but maybe he can try something else with that log. The crows are lined up on it, watching again. They fly onto the grass as Sanji approaches. The log is hollow and rotting. It’s too long to hook his hands on either end, at least twice his arm span. Sanji scoops under it instead, straining but succeeding to lift the whole thing off the ground. The soil clinging to the bottom is damp and the wood is peeling off in soggy strips. Strands of moss and young bushes dangle off of it, and a mushroom protrudes from one side. Sanji huffs and drops the log, and it makes a splintering sound. 

His arms are too tired from hours of archery anyway. Sanji clears a patch of grass with his foot and lies down, pushing his feet under the log. He hooks it onto his legs and reaches up to steady it as he slowly raises his legs. 

Dirt rains on him as he lifts it up. Sanji plants his forearms into the grass and clenches his core muscles. His legs and abs burn as he slowly bends his knees, lowering the log and raising it again. Its circumference rests perfectly against his shins and feet. Sanji breathes in and out, counting his reps. His hips dig into the soil as his muscles clench to lift the weight. 

One. Two. Three. His whole body is trembling, blood pumping in his ears. He can feel that his face is turning red from effort. Four. Five. Six. Sanji grins. 

A piece of dirt lands in his eye. Sanji blinks it and rubs his eye, lowering his feet to the ground until it’s gone. Seven. Sanji grits his teeth and lifts, determined to reach ten. 

The crows squawk a warning but it’s already too late. As he raises up the log, Sanji spots a pair of legs from between his own. 

Human legs. In a panic, Sanji flings his legs toward himself, throwing his log over his head and into the trees behind him. It strikes them and the rotten wood splits, showering dirt, moss, and mushrooms as Sanji scrambles in the same direction. His feet churn into the grass and his hands grasp what remains of the log, but there isn’t anywhere to go. 

The moss-haired man shakes his wet hair, his head a momentary green blur as water droplets fly everywhere. Water trails down his bare torso and drips from the axe slung over his shoulder. The blade catches the light, as sharp and pristine as any of Zeff’s cutting implements. 

There are no weapons nearby to grab. Sanji isn’t sure he could get to his feet and run fast enough to escape a thrown axe, or the man himself grabbing him. He watches paralyzed in fear as the moss man scratches behind his ear, making his earrings jangle. And if the end does not come swiftly, Sanji is going to pass out – but when those eyes meet his, take stock of the defenceless prey, the look Sanji gets is curiosity not unlike the crows watching from the tree branches. 

The moss man peers down at him and cocks his head with confusion, flicking between Sanji’s body, his face, the crumbled log under him. Finally, the man looks down at himself, at the scar Sanji is unable not to look at, then at the axe in his hand. Realization spreads across his face. 

“Oh.” He says simply, throwing down the axe. Sanji flinches as it buries deep into the earth. “Forgot.” 

“F-forgot?!” Sanji shrieks, releasing his held breath. The crows startle and fly to another branch to watch. Don’t yell at the axe-wielding man. Do not yell at him, you idiot. Much too late. “How the fuck did you forget that?” He can’t stop himself from pointing at the scar, either. 

“Hey!” the moss man snaps back, and Sanji flinches again. Moss-man growls and gestures frustratedly with his hands, visibly mulling over his words. “I uh...” he glances at the axe, at Sanji’s defensive posture, and sidesteps awkwardly away from the weapon. He raises his hand to touch his scar, and if not for the axe, Sanji might have felt bad for being so rude. 

“Haven’t you ever looked in a fuckin’ mirror, moss-head?” Sanji growls, gripping the dirt in a trembling fist. His whole body is shaking so badly he isn’t sure he could run if he wanted to. 

Moss-man scowls and shows teeth. “Have-have you?” 

He thinks I’m calling him ugly. Which would be a lie. It’s too late to backtrack though, because Moss-man is pointing an accusatory finger at his face. “Hah?” Sanji demands. 

“What’s wrong with your eyebrow?” Moss-man rudely demands. 

Which, Sanji supposes, is fair. His hand flies to it and he scowls right back. I’m a prince, you ass. And if you touch me you’ll face the wrath of the Germa kingdom. Which is formidable, by the way, since you must not know about it.  

Guess you’re not an assassin, then. Or you’re a supremely incompetent one. Sanji has half a mind to inform the moss-man that he is a prince, just to see what the response would be. Moss-man is pawing awkwardly at his hip, coming to the slow realization that whatever he’s looking for is absent before putting his hand on his hip, then folding it over his chest, then finally letting it dangle at his side. Imagine how badly this would end for you if I were a different Vinsmoke.  

Sanji shivers; on second thought, he would rather not imagine. He doesn’t have to. “What do you want,” he snaps. Go away. Leave me alone, mind your own business, and never speak of this to anyone. Or what? Well... How long would it take for any threat to fall apart? 

Moss-man points at the fire. “You’re a cook, right?” 

Fuck. Sanji scrambles to his feet and stumbles over to his fire, shielding his hand from the hot handle with his sleeve and hastily moving the pan to the grass. The fish is overcooked, but not unsalvageable. He waves away the steam and lifts up the fish to inspect the skin, but parts of it are stuck and the filet crumbles. Sanji glares up at the moss-man, who looks away sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m a cook,” Sanji replies. “What about it.” 

Moss-man's hand drifts toward the axe, but he thinks better of it. “Just wanted to ask if you wanted some wood. Cuttin’ it for the old man inn-keeper and some other people and thought you might want some too.” 

“Well, I don’t.” Sanji stands up and is surprised to find that he’s the taller man. The sun casts their shadows long across the clearing and lights the clouds a fiery array of colors. Sanji gives the pan a shake to dislodge the fish as best he can. “I work for the old man, and I don’t need anything.” 

“Oh, okay.” Moss-man glances at the axe, then back at Sanji. Slowly, he reaches for it, tugging it from the ground and holding it by his side. He looks over at the crumbled log. “Uh, sorry.” 

Sanji stares at him. When the moss-man gets no response, he turns around and swings the axe back over his shoulder, walking back toward the river. Sanji can hardly believe he’s still alive. Stealth, he supposes, must not be one of his strong suits.  

His arms are prickling; Sanji looks at the hairs raised along his forearm and rubs his skin with annoyance. It doesn’t help the tingling, and it certainly doesn't help the trembling. 

Chapter Text

The training yard is especially busy as soldiers saddle horses and set off to prepare the arena. 

"I hope this tournament idea will be worth the time," Yonji sneers from the front of the group. "All kinds of losers could show up."  

"Worth more than a fucking worthless thief's life," Niji snorts.  

Ichiji grabs Sanji by the back of the neck and ropes him close. "It'll be fun anyway, even if all we get are losers. Right Sanji?"  

Sanji winces as his brother's thick fingers dig uncomfortably into his muscle. "Sure."  

"Worried someone might get killed?" Niji laughs, turning around and walking backwards to sneer at him.  

"Maybe we should make beating Sanji in a fight a qualifier for entry," Yonji suggests. "Though, that might not weed out the average person."  

"Aw, I think Sanji could win a sword-fight," Ichiji says, swinging his arm around Sanji's shoulders. "Granted the other guy doesn't have a sword. Either way, we'll get enough crazies confident they can win that sword that it'll be worth watching. Besides, it's not like Dad is passing around flyers. The people worth telling will find out."  

"Saddle up!" the instructor orders.  

Ichiji lets go and pats Sanji roughly on the back. They pass into the shade of the stables, walking down the stalls to pick their horses.  

"Why don't we get someone else to saddle them, save us the trouble?" Niji grumbles, picking a horse. 

"You have to learn," the instructor counters. "And it builds trust with the animal."  

Niji rolls his eyes and enters the stall.  

Many of the horses have been taken out today, leaving the stables largely empty. Ichiji stops by one of the stalls and reaches out his hand for the horse to sniff, but it pulls its head back with a start. Ichiji reaches out further, and the horse tries to bite him. It catches his sleeve, and Ichiji yanks his arm away in alarm, hurrying on to the next occupied stall.  

Sanji lets his brother walk off and stops by the stall, reading the name written on the wooden plaque. Rose. Rose's coat is a gorgeous speckled grey. Her posture is stiff and her ears are upright and angled backwards, the whites of her eyes visible as she paws nervously in her hay. Sanji opens his hand and rests it on the gate, wishing he had a snack for her. Looking closer, he can spot scars on her nose. Sanji frowns at them.  

"Have fun losing your fingers," Ichiji says, leaning out from the stall of the horse he's chosen. 

Sanji ignores him. Rose is already taking a tentative step forward, watching him carefully as she approaches. Sanji doesn't move other than to roll his wrist and hold his palm upright. The mare stretches out her neck, snorting hot air from flared nostrils. She contemplates it, and Sanji waits for her to decide to close the distance. He can already hear the pull of leather as his brothers gear their horses.  

Rose takes her sweet time, but eventually rubs her upper lip into Sanji's palm, just grazing it. Her ears flop forward and her eyes relax, stepping softly backwards. Sanji opens the gate and walks slowly inside, shutting it behind him.  

The stable boys take care of the horses, but Sanji picks up a brush anyway. Rose keeps her eye on him, turning her ear in his direction. Sanji holds up the brush and approaches with it, gently laying against her neck when she doesn't pull back. He brushes along her fur in slow and even strokes.  

"Prickly like a rose, but just as beautiful," Sanji murmurs. "Hmm?"  

Rose flicks her ear and snorts.  

Sanji smiles, moving the brush to her shoulder. She doesn't seem to mind, still watching but allowing him to brush her flank.  

He can hear stomping hooves as his brothers mount and ride out of the stable. Sanji walks around to brush Rose's other side. Already, her posture has relaxed significantly. Sanji hangs up the brush and reaches for the bridle. He hangs the reins over his shoulder and holds up the bridle for Rose to inspect.  

Her posture tenses and her ears stiffen again. Sanji hooks his arm through the bridle and holds up his hand. She isn't happy, pawing backwards as if she would run if she could. Some of the scars line up with where the bridle will sit, but don't look like the bridle caused them. Sanji frowns and reaches for one of the scars on her nose. Rose pulls her head away as soon as she notices where his fingers are going.  

Sanji hangs up the bridle.  

He doesn't expect it, but when he comes to Rose with open hands, she puts her nose into his palm again. He rubs with his knuckles, and no higher than that. She lets him saddle her. When he opens the gate and walks out, she follows.  

The brothers are already mounted and waiting on the grass for him. The instructor, too, has saddled himself a horse. Sanji puts his hand on Rose's neck and guides her out of the stable and into the sun. Then he puts his foot into the stirrup and climbs into the saddle, swinging his long leg over her back and settling. There are no reins to grab, so he sits back and holds the saddle horn. Rose paws the grass to adjust as he gets comfortable too. One ear is turned toward his brothers, the other toward him.  

"Okay, let's go," the instructor says, riding over and handing Sanji a sword. Sanji slings the strap over his shoulder and gives Rose's neck a rub, rubbing her side with his heels. She follows after the instructor, shaking her mane.  

If there were more hours in the day, Sanji would spend more time in the stables. Training would be a lot better if they got to ride every time. At least the horses don't sneer and goad. Being up in the saddle makes him feel less vulnerable. He's a much better rider than his brothers, too. They never seem to learn how to loosen the hips and let their bodies move with the animal underneath them. It doesn't help that neither his brothers nor the horses seem to like each other.  

"We'll practice precision and sword fighting on horseback today," the instructor explains as they approach the training grounds.  

The grounds are more empty than usual, leaving plenty of room for target practice with a running start. The rings have already been hung from the polls, and the track is empty. The instructor leads them across the grounds to the rack of lances and gestures for the brothers to take one.  

Yonji is eager, spurring his horse and charging ahead of the group. His horse canters past the racks and Yonji swipes a lance, spurring it into a gallop. Dust flies up as he gallops toward the hoops, lowering the lance to aim. He raises up in the saddle and leans forward, spearing the hoop clean through with the lance and ripping it from the pole. He banks hard and gallops back around, swinging the hoop smugly on the lance.  

"Your turn, Sanji," Niji more than suggests.  

"Yeah, your turn." Yonji rides past and whacks Rose on the ass with the lance.  

Rose starts and bolts forward. Sanji grips the saddle and shifts his weight to stay in it. Here we go.  

Steering without any reins might be tough. Sanji doesn't care. Whether he hits the mark or not, it won't change anything. He squeezes Rose's flanks for more speed, and she's happy to run. Sanji guides her with a press of his foot, but she doesn't respond fast enough to get him close enough to the racks to grab a lance. Sanji doesn't bother trying to slow down and circle back, steering her instead toward the poles lined up.   

Rose tears across the training grounds, and Sanji lowers his body in the saddle. They streak past the empty pole toward the next ring, and Sanji draws his sword. It's much shorter than the lance, but Rose is quite close to the poles. Sanji lifts out of the saddle and reaches out, and Rose holds a steady course. Sanji spears the ring. It slides down the sword, brass ringing against steel. It strikes the hilt and Rose slows her pace to a trot. Sanji steers her back toward the group, tossing the ring to the instructor and sheathing the sword. He leans back in the saddle, but Rose stops well out of reach of his brothers without the need for instruction. Sanji devotes his attention to her, ignoring his brothers and rubbing her neck. 

These horses have been trained for war. As such, they’re used to the sounds of clashing steel. They respond sharply to the pull of the bit, turning left or right, slowing down or speeding up. Not many have battle scars, though; Germa hasn’t fought a war in quite some time. Not one where the cavalry was necessary, anyway. Rose drops her head to nibble some grass, and Sanji rubs the tufts of mane at the base of her neck, wondering where the scars came from. 

Hoofbeats thunder off as Ichiji takes his turn. Sanji runs his fingers through the parts of Rose’s mane he can reach, keeping his fingers away from her scars and watching her ears. She flicks them if he gets too close, but otherwise keeps grazing. A scar on his own arm catches his eye. It’s faded now, but the memory of Niji throwing tableware at him is just as vivid. Sanji flicks his eyes up to his brothers – they're watching him. Perhaps sensing his tension in the saddle, Rose lifts her head, ears alert. 

Now that each brother has taken a turn, the instructor hangs the collected rings back up and invites them to go again. Rose is already dancing on the spot, ready to get moving again. It’s a beautiful day to run, isn’t it. Sanji doesn’t bother waiting for Yonji to take his turn; he gives Rose a small nudge in the flanks, inviting her to move. 

She does. Sanji doesn’t bother correcting her speed, he just lets her go as fast as she wants. She canters toward the rack, and Sanji manages to lean over and snatch a lance. He barely gets a chance to adjust his grip on it before she breaks into a gallop and takes off along the track. 

His brothers’ horses are bigger, more muscular, but Rose is much faster. Nimbler, too. Sanji leans forward in the saddle, readying the lance. He lets her run past the first, the second, the third ring. He lets her run all the way to the end of the track before he lowers the lance and aims at the final ring. His lifts up in the saddle again, keeping his upper body steady while his legs take the impact. Rose is a smooth ride, though. Sanji leans over to spear the ring. 

Rose is farther from the pole than before. The ring comes free and slides down the shaft of the lance, but as Rose banks hard at the end of the track, Sanji is too far out of the saddle. He grips with his legs, but the force throws him out of the saddle. Sanji tumbles hard, the lance getting caught under him as he does his best to roll. The impact knocks the wind out of him all the same. 

Ow. Sanji catches his breath and plants his hand in the grass to sit, rubbing his shoulder. He gasps for breath, but it doesn’t feel like the impact did any damage. 

A velvety nose rubs his hand. Sanji looks up at Rose’s big brown eyes staring down at him. He rubs her nose and she pads closer. 

Rose lurches her head upright and dances sideways toward him as Yonji gallops by. Sanji covers his eyes as dust flies into them. 

“Guess that’s what fuckin’ reins are for, dumbass!” Yonji calls as he runs by, another brass ring successfully caught on his lance. 

Sanji scowls. Rose’s leg bumps his shoulder as the horse shifts her body against his. One ear is turned toward him, but her posture is alert and facing after Yonji, tail flicking and her hooves pawing nervously. Sanji picks up his lance and grabs the girth strap of the saddle. Rose turns to look at him as he uses it to pull himself to his feet.  

“No harm done,” he murmurs, offering her his hand. She blinks at him and he rubs his knuckles into her nose. She pushes past his hand and snorts in his face, blowing his bangs out of his eye and nibbling his ear with her lips. 

Sanji climbs back into the saddle. Rose turns back toward the group, but when Sanji invites her to trot with a squeeze of his heels, she refuses, staying at a walking pace. Sanji smiles and rests the lance against his shoulder, relaxing in the saddle. 

Rose walks him back to the group, still keeping well out of reach of his brothers. Niji takes off next, followed closely by Ichiji. Rose keeps her head up and her ears pointed forward. Sanji can feel how tense she is. 

Ichiji’s horse runs a little too close to the poles, starting and lurching sideways to avoid the brass ring. It rears up, alarmed, and Ichiji slides out of the saddle, landing in the dust with a shout. The brass ring falls off the pole and lands on his head, and Ichiji throws it after his horse in frustration. The animal keeps running. 

“Fucking stupid animal!” Ichiji shouts, getting to his feet. His face is red with embarrassment. 

The instructor kicks his horse to ride after the startled animal, but Ichiji’s horse is already slowing down and turning around, trotting back toward the group. 

It has no intention of going back to its rider, however, trotting instead over to Sanji and standing next to Rose. 

The instructor rides over. “Okay, now’s a good time to move on.” He reaches for the reins and guides the horse back to its rider. Ichiji grabs them angrily and climbs into the saddle, aggressively tensioning the reins. His horse grinds the bit, trying to get comfortable but unable to relax with the pressure on its mouth. Ichiji is stiff in the saddle, still red with embarrassment and his jaw clenched. He looks up to Sanji, and glares at him. 

Sanji stiffens in the saddle, and Rose tenses with him. 

“Being able to fight on horseback means using the horse as an extension of yourself,” the instructor starts. “The animal is your legs and your strength.” 

His brothers draw their blades eagerly. 

“So you just cut down the rider’s legs,” Niji suggests. “No big deal.” 

“If you can get close enough without the other rider cutting down yours,” the instructor interjects. “And for the purposes of training, targeting the horses is forbidden. Aim for the rider.” 

“What if I hit the horse by accident because the rider can’t control his horse properly?” Niji raises his hand, looking at Sanji. 

Sanji glares back, placing his hand on Rose’s neck. You wouldn’t.  

You already have, though, haven’t you. Sanji’s eyes are drawn to the scars. He reaches to his back and draws the sword, gripping it tightly. 

“Try to aim at the rider,” the instructor reiterates. “Practice in pairs as a warm-up, then we’ll move to armored soldiers.” 

Ichiji has his eyes set on Sanji, but Niji is closer and already trotting over. 

“It’s not my fault if you lose because you don’t know how to tack a horse properly,” Niji warns, one hand on his sword and the other on the reins. 

As his horse walks over, Rose takes a step back, turning to let it walk by. Niji turns his horse to face her again, rolling the sword in his hand. He kicks his horse in the flanks and it rears up, jumping forward. Rose dances sideways and Sanji tosses the sword to his other hand so he can deflect the swing. 

Niji rides around him and swings again from behind, but Rose is on the defensive, leaping forward and turning around so Sanji can defend. Her ears swivel constantly to follow Niji as he tries to get into her blind spot, but she’s too nimble. Sanji doesn’t have to do a thing but focus on Niji’s sword swipes, blocking where necessary. 

“Oh come on, Sanji!” Njii growls. “Can’t you do more than block?” 

“Attack!” the instructor agrees. “Don’t let him keep you on the back foot!” 

Rose has no intention of getting close enough to Niji for Sanji to attack, and Sanji doesn’t intend on persuading her otherwise. Sanji doesn’t even bother trying to steer her – she's doing just fine on her own keeping Niji in his sights for him. Niji’s horse is obedient to his commands, but his grip on the reins is too tight for it to move its head fluidly and maneuver correctly. 

As such, Sanji is easily defending Niji’s attacks, and his brother is getting frustrated. Niji growls and tightens his grip on the sword, pulling harder on the reins and kicking vigorously to get his horse to circle again. Rose leaps sideways and turns to keep him from getting behind her, snorting nervously. 

Rose is on edge, and the other horse can tell. Its eyes are wide and darting, ears flattening. It jumps again and kicks, jostling Niji in the saddle. 

“Stupid fucking-” Niji loses his grip on his sword and drops it, his horse nearly stepping on the blade as it dances over it. 

“Now’s your chance!” the instructor encourages. 

Niji looks up in alarm at the sword still in Sanji’s hand, then at his brother. 

Sanji just sits there. What am I supposed to do? Fucking kill you? Cut you? That means he wins, right? It seems pointless to attack now – his brother has already dropped his means of blocking. It’s not a real fight. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter –  

“Wake up!” Ichiji yells, and Rose starts just as he does. 

His brother is already galloping over, sword brandished, and swings. Rose sidesteps, but not far enough to escape Ichiji’s blade. It severs the saddle strap and cuts into her shoulder. Rose rears with pain and surprise, and the saddle slides off her back, bringing Sanji down with it. He falls into the grass, and Rose bolts. 

Sanji forgets his sword and scrambles to his feet, but Rose is already out of reach, galloping across the training grounds toward the gate – he won’t catch her on foot, and probably not on horseback either. Her blood is splattered on the ground and trailing after her. Sanji kicks the saddle out of his way, seeing red. He turns. 

Niji is sliding hurriedly out of the saddle to pick up his sword, and Ichiji is riding back over, dismounting too and sheathing his sword smugly. 

“Pay attention to the battlefield,” Ichiji patronizes, sneering triumphantly at Sanji. 

“Yeah,” Niji agrees. “You lose again, failure.” 

Sanji isn’t interested. The instructor is talking, Niji is saying something else condescending, and Yonji is coming over to join, but Sanji ignores them, stalking toward Ichiji. His brother opens his mouth as Sanji approaches, perhaps to goad or laugh. Sanji doesn’t stop to think, too enraged to bear the usual taunts. He balls his fist. 

Ichiji doesn’t suspect it for a second, and the fist comes too fast for him to change his expression. Sanji cracks him in the nose as hard as he can. Blood spurts out and Ichiji falls backward, grabbing his face. 

Niji shouts, he and Yonji closing the distance. The instructor is shouting too. Sanji draws back his fist and stares down at Ichiji’s face, blood gushing out of his nose, smearing all over his cheek and oozing between his fingers. 

“You fucking worthless— ” Niji growls, grabbing Sanji’s arm and wrestling him away. Sanji fights back, but Yonji grabs his other arm. 

Rose. Sanji looks up from his brother, but Rose is already out of sight. He fights his brothers, but they hold him tighter. His fist aches. Sorry, Zeff. He can’t make himself regret it, but fear starts to claw at his heart as his brothers restrain him. He's not strong enough to break free. 

The instructor rides over and dismounts. “Alright,” he warns. “Alright, that’s enough—” 

The brothers loosen their grip just enough for Sanji to rips his arms free. They grab for his clothes and Ichiji struggles to sit up so he can defend, but Sanji has no interest in him anymore, jumping over him. 

They call after him. Sanji shrugs the empty sheath off his back and drops it, breaking into a sprint. They start to follow, but the instructor calls them back. He can hear Ichiji coughing and spitting blood, cursing as the others come to help him. Sanji doesn’t look back. 

Rose. She trusted him, and she got her hurt. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. She was clearly unhappy to be there. His chest hurts. Sanji swallows roughly and runs out of the training grounds. I’m so sorry. They hurt you before, and I gave them the chance to hurt you again.  

He might never find her. Even if he does, she might not let him close enough to bring her home. I won’t blame you. Just let me get you home so someone can take care of you.  

Would the stable boys listen to him if he ordered them to keep Rose from being ridden? At least she was able to run away. Sanji hopes that means the sword didn’t cut her too deeply. 

His chest burns. Sanji slows to a jog and leaves the inner city. Fuck. He pulls his fist into his chest. The skin is split and his knuckles are smeared with blood. Worth it. He doesn’t even care if Zeff gets mad. Sanji rubs his shoulder where he fell the second time, hoping his weight on the saddle as it slid off didn’t give Rose a rash. 

The streets are dotted with blood here and there. It looks like the bleeding is slowing. Other than that, he sees no signs of Rose. Sanji stops to look and listen, hoping to hear hoofbeats or see her head somewhere. 

She’s gone. Sanji sighs and rubs his face. The inn isn’t far. He shields his face with his hand to hide his eyebrows and slumps in defeat, turning down a side road. 

The guilt hurts way more than the pain, even as the stinging of his bleeding hand increases. Sanji grits his teeth and tries to relax his fingers, holding his fist against his chest. Rose can’t berate him for putting her in harm’s way, but Zeff can berate him in her place for using his hands like that. He opens the back door of the kitchen and steps into the shade, shutting the door behind him. 

Zeff can be heard in the dining area talking with customers. The smell of lunch already cooked lingers in the kitchen. Sanji grips his fist and walks carefully inside, keeping his bloody hand away from the countertops. His heart is still beating a furious rhythm even though he’s already caught his breath. 

For a moment he considers leaving, but when Zeff’s wooden leg clunks across the dining area toward the front desk and down the corridor, Sanji freezes. 

Zeff appears in the doorway. “Eggplant, come to help with dinner – ?” He frowns, eyes quickly drawn to Sanji’s bleeding hand. He limps over, pointing at the stool. 

Sanji sighs and picks it up from the corner, bringing it over to Zeff and sitting down. 

The old man goes to get his supplies, and Sanji looks at his feet, wondering if he should have stayed and let his brothers release their anger on him. Just don’t take it out on the horses.  

Zeff pours fresh river water from a jug into a bowl and brings over a chair, sitting down in front of him and reaching out. “Give it here, boy.” 

Sanji offers his hand, biting his lip as Zeff dips a cloth in the water and dabs at his knuckles. His fingers twitch and the blood wells up. 

“Gonna tell me what they did?” Zeff asks calmly. 

Sanji grips his knee with his other hand. “I started it,” he mumbles. 

“I doubt that.” 

Sanji grits his teeth. “I didn’t have to punch him, and I did.” 

“Punched pretty hard, from the looks of it.” Zeff wipes between Sanji’s fingers. “Looks like a whole-hearted punch.” 

Sanji bites his lip harder. 

Zeff gently grasps his fingers one at a time and bends them. “No broken bones,” he concludes. “But his one is swollen.” He ends with Sanji’s index, and Sanji winces in agreement. “Not a bad punch, kid.” 

Sanji trembles in his seat, his chest tightening. Zeff holds his hand and lays the bandage over his knuckles, looping around his palm and wrist. Sanji watches Zeff patiently bandage his hand, wrapping a couple of times around his index and middle fingers. 

“Just try to keep the dirt out,” Zeff suggests, tucking the end of the bandage against Sanji’s palm. And be gentle with your hand so the wounds don’t open. Let the swelling go down, and don’t even think about using your hand until it does. It should feel better tomorrow. Now get that shirt off.” 

“Old man –” Sanji swallows, looking at the bandages covering the evidence of what he did. He licks his lips. “I’m sorry –” 

“Sorry for what, boy?” 

Sanji looks up, forcing himself to look Zeff in the eyes. But the old man is just looking calmly back. The anger hidden underneath is something Sanji has seen many times before. “I broke my promise.” 

Zeff stands up, his joints popping as he limps across the kitchen for a cup. He fills it with water and comes back, putting it into Sanji’s hand. “You broke no such promise. I told you to take care of yourself. Seems to me like you did what you had to do.” 

“You don’t even know what happened.” Sanji growls and takes a sip of water. He starts to make a fist with his other hand, but his fingers are too sore. 

“I don’t need to.” Zeff lays out a plate from the clean stack and starts to arrange food onto it. “But if you want to tell me what happened and prove me wrong, then by all means.” 

“I punched my brother in the fuckin’ face, that’s what happened.” 

“Sounds like the fucker deserved it.” 

He did. “Shoulda kicked him.” 

“Listen here, boy.” Zeff cuts an apple into slices in a matter of seconds. He arranges them on the plate with leftover bread and chicken. “I’m not going to berate you, if that’s what you want. I’ll teach you how to take care of your hands, and make damn well sure that you do as long as you’re here working for me. But out there, you do what you have to do, and I’m in no position to ask you not to defend yourself. If you need to throw a punch to protect yourself, then that's what you do. And I'll be nothing but proud of you for doing that.” 

Sanji looks back down at his hand. It’s going to bruise. His chest feels tight again. He takes a sip of water and tries to unwind. 

Zeff picks up the plate and walks over. “Now get that shirt off and let me look, Eggplant.” 

Sanji isn’t sure what to do other than to obey. He reaches over and tugs his shirt over his head, dropping it between his legs in defeat. Zeff offers him the plate. 

“Jesus.” Zeff puts the plate in his lap and reaches for the cloth again, touching Sanji’s shoulder with it. 

“Ow.” Sanji winces in surprise. His shirt is dotted with blood. He looks back at this shoulder to see that the skin is scraped from his fall. He looks up at Zeff’s raised eyebrow. “Fell off a horse,” Sanji mumbles, stuffing bread into his mouth. 

“And the other one?” 

Sanji glances at his other shoulder to see that it’s bruising too. “Fell off the horse again.” 

Zeff shakes his head, dabbing the dirt and grass out of the scrapes. Cold water runs down Sanji’s back and drips onto the floor. Sanji bows his head and eats, wincing as the cuts sting. He was so focused on his hand that he totally forgot about the hard landing. Now that he thinks about it, his hip is probably scraped up too. 

Had worse. Way worse. Rose is probably hurting more than he is. 

Zeff cleans him up, washing the scrapes on his shoulder, back and arm, and handing him the cloth for his hip. Sanji stands up and pushes down his belt to wash it. 

“They’re shallow,” Zeff says. “Don’t soak them until the scabs dry, or they’ll soften and you’ll wash them off.” 

“I know.” Sanji puts the empty plate on the counter and wrings out the cloth into the bowl. The water is dark with blood and dirt. 

“I know you know.” Zeff washes Sanji’s blood from his hands and puts his supplies away. “Now go rest. You look like shit.” 

Sanji holds up his other hand. “I can help –” 

“Go rest,” Zeff orders. “I have everything prepped that needs prepping. Are you full?” 

Sanji nods. 

“Then go rest. I won’t have you moping in my kitchen looking for punishment.” 

Sanji looks at the floor guiltily, scooping up his shirt. It’ll need washing and mending, the fabric torn in some places and stained from his falls. Zeff tosses an apple at him.  

Sanji puts it in his pocket. “Thanks, old man.” 

Zeff waves him off. 

Sanji puts his shirt back on, reluctantly leaving the kitchen. His body aches from the day’s training, and he could use a rest on the riverbank. A dip in the cold water would help, too, just up to his legs. I should look for Rose.  

Sanji shields his eyes again as he leaves through the back door, keeping his head low and heading for the forest. He has no idea where to look for Rose, but his camp isn’t a bad place to clear his head and make a start. 

It’s a perfect day. Sanji takes off his shirt once he reaches the shade of the trees, wincing as the fabric sticks to the scrapes. He takes off his boots and rolls up his trousers as high as they’ll go, following the riverbank until the water is shallow enough from one bank to the other to walk across. Sanji steps into the cold water and wades through it, scooping a handful up to drink. Fish swim around his calves, glinting in the sunlight. 

Sanji climbs out of the river and sits on the bank, leaning back and putting his clothes beside him. He takes the apple out of his pocket and rubs it on his shirt. He hesitates – if he does find Rose, she might like a snack. He puts it away again and kicks his feet. I’m sorry. They hurt you because of me. You gave me your trust, and I broke that by not keeping you safe from them.  

I should have known they’d be capable of hurting you like that. Why would they have drawn the line with animals? 

What did they do to you? Those scars were indicative of something. Sanji looks at the scar on his wrist now covered by the bandage, but there are more to be found on his body; accidents during training, brawls fought and lost, objects thrown his direction, all leaving nicks and cuts and a couple of deeper gashes on his body. Bones have been broken, too, but none that have left scars. Sanji wonders what holds them back from doing more. Retribution? He doesn’t remember his brothers ever getting in trouble for hurting him, so if they ever get punished it’s not when he’s present. 

They’ll be angry when he gets back. He probably broke his brother’s nose. Sanji is certain he’d have broken it with a kick. He rubs his hand. I really wasn’t thinking. Rose’s dark eyes comes back to his mind. 

Splashing upriver catch his attention. Sanji looks up to see tufts of familiar green hair. The man is wading down the river, a log slung over his shoulders. Sanji tenses, sliding backwards and putting his feet on the grass to dry. 

Moss-man looks up and spots him. “Oh. Hey.” 

Sanji rubs his feet on the grass and pulls his shirt back on. He puts his hand on his boots, watching warily as the mosshead approaches. There is no axe in-sight, at least. Just the log, balanced over broad shoulders like it weighs no more than a twig. 

“Thought I’d find you here.” Moss-man throws the log onto the bank and climbs out of the river. He’s shirtless again, his body on display along with that monstrous scar. Sanji can’t help but stare at it again. “Yours was hollow, so I had to find a smaller one so it would weigh the same.” 

“Huh?” 

“Your log.” Mosshead points past Sanji in the general direction of his camp. “The one you broke yesterday. I found you a new one.” He points at the log on the bank by his feet. 

Sanji looks at it. Indeed, it’s smaller in diameter to compensate for the hollowness of his previous log. He frowns at it, then up at the man. 

“If you don’t want it, I’ll just leave it here.” 

“I want it.” Sanji blurts. He liked the larger diameter, but this works too. Those cuts at either end look fresh. “Did-did you cut that down just now?” 

“Yeah.” Mosshead scratches his head. “If it’s too big or too small, I’ll cut it up or find you something else –” 

“No.” Sanji interject. “No, that’s fine. Uh... thanks.” 

Mosshead’s eyes drift to Sanji’s bandaged hand and he cocks his head. “You want me to, uh, carry it over for you?” He thumbs in the direction of the camp. 

The urge to snap that he can carry it himself bubbles up, but Sanji clamps down on it; if he carries it himself, his hands will be too full to defend himself. So he nods. “Uh... sure. Go for it.” 

The log does look like a reasonable substitute for the lifting he attempted yesterday, though not as useful for the balancing exercise. I’ll find something else. The man scoops up the log and rests it on his shoulder, and Sanji gets up to lead him to the camp. He brushes aside some bushes and walks across the clearing, pointing at the spot where his old log once lay. Mosshead walks over and deposits the log, brushing moss and dirt from his palms. 

It would be rude to brush the guy off, but Sanji really doesn’t want this guy poking around in his business, in the only space he can truly call his own. But when he hears the familiar grumbling of a stomach, the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. 

“You want food?” he asks. 

Mosshead perks up. 

Sanji rolls his eyes and nudges the log aside, digging up his supplies. He opens up the cloth bundle and digs out his fishing line. “I assume you can fish.” 

“’Course I can,” the man scoffs, holding out his hand for the line tied around the stick. 

Sanji hands it over. “Good, ‘cus you don’t know how to make a first impression,” he grumbles under his breath, picking up his pan and grilling rack and going to make a fire. 

Mosshead walks through the bushes and plops down on the bank to fish. Sanji stokes the fire and puts his pan over it to heat, picking at his bandage as he watches the flame lick up the side of the cast iron. Zeff can forgive using his hands to fight, but he would be disappointed if Sanji turned down a hungry person – or any creature, even that creature fishing just through the bushes. 

Sanji looks back at his new log. The crows are already lined up on it, cleaning their wings and watching. Well, so long as you approve.  

Now, if I could convince that guy to leave and never come back, that would be great. Go back to your own spot, and leave me to mine. Sanji sits down heavily and crosses his legs, leaning his cheek on his fist. The guy was just trying to be considerate. He doesn’t seem to want anything. 

“Hey Cook, got one!” Mosshead calls amidst the sound of splashing. Sanji picks up his fileting knife and leaves the fire. 

Mosshead lands the flapping fish on the bank and delivers a swift punch to its head, instantly killing it. A man strong enough to hoist bundles of logs over his head is strong enough to render a fish to paste, but the blow does no such thing, perfectly measured. He’s controlled, at least. And he’s handled a fish before. Mosshead works the hook from the fish’s mouth, then moves out of the way so Sanji can filet it like he usually does; he scrapes off the scales and cuts off the filets, leaving the head and guts intact. His right hand is still sore, so he does as Zeff ordered and uses his left instead. The result isn't as clean as usual, but he does a good enough job that even Zeff wouldn’t criticize him for it. Sanji throws the carcass into the river and stands up with the filets. 

Mosshead is watching, impressed. 

Sanji spins around and stomps back to the fire, laying the filets skin-down in the pan. The drips of water sizzle in the heat. Sanji gives them a shake to loosen them as the fat starts to render out. He sprinkles seasoning over the flesh and sits back to watch it cook. 

To his displeasure, Mosshead walks to the other side of the fire and sits down to watch too, his eyes fixed on his cooking meal. The fire dances in his eyes and reflects off his features. His eyebrows are furrowed with focus. In this light, Sanji can spot a couple of faint scars on his face. 

“You’re good with a knife,” Mosshead remarks, looking up. 

Sanji looks away and shakes the pan again, unsure of how to respond to such a direct complement. When he glances up again, he can tell that Mosshead is looking at his hand and the bloodstains on his shirt. I bet I look like real shit. He’s lucky his brothers didn’t run after him, or he’d look worse. He’ll be lucky if they don’t take a crack at him tomorrow. Can’t wait for training.  

It won’t be much different than usual. He doesn’t regret socking Ichiji in the nose, anyway. He stares darkly at the fire, thinking about the sword wound on Rose’s shoulder and the fear in her eyes as she bolted away. 

Mosshead is still watching him. Evidently, he can't think of anything to say, even though his expression is curious. Concerned, even. Sanji clenches his jaw and focuses on the cooking fish. Maybe the man will leave after he’s had his meal, and maybe this brewing silence will be enough to keep him from coming here again. 

Sanji tests the fish with a finger. Satisfied, he pulls the pan from the heat and offers it over. “Careful, it’s hot,” he warns gruffly. 

Mosshead reaches eagerly for the pan, instantly plucking at the fish with his fingers. He pulls them back and blows on them, digs in again and pulls back again. Sanji watches, mystified, as the man repeatedly puts his fingers into the hot pan. 

“Blow on it, musclehead,” Sanji growls. 

Mosshead scowls, but he does bend down to blow on his food. His stomach rumbles again, and he glances up at Sanji as if looking for permission. Finaly, the food is cool enough to touch. Mosshead scoops up one of the filets and takes a big bite. 

Huh. Sanji leans back to watch, something stirring in his chest as he watches Mosshead eat with obvious contentment. Something that only Zeff has ever stirred in him. This is different than the silent seal of approval Zeff gives him, though. 

It’s been a long time since Sanji ever got to watch someone sit down and enjoy a meal he cooked. Actually, he can’t think of a single time. Zeff has taste-tested his cooking, of course, but Sanji can’t remember ever serving someone a full meal. He never ventures into the dining area of the inn to eliminate any risk of being recognized, and he stays away from the castle kitchens. 

Mosshead licks fish fat and spices from his fingers, reaching for the second filet before stopping himself. He looks back at Sanji and offers the pan across the fire. “You ate?” 

“Y-yeah.” Sanji waves his hand. “Finish it.” 

“If you’re sure.” Mosshead doesn’t hesitate, digging eagerly into the rest of his meal. The second fillet disappears faster than the first. Sanji watches enraptured as the other man wipes the pan with his thumb and licks it. If only he had some bread to offer to the man could mop up the remains in a more dignified manner. Mosshead puts down the pan and sighs with satisfaction. He puts his hands together and gives Sanji a small bow. “ Itadakimasu. ” 

“Y-you’re welcome.” Sanji doesn’t understand what the man just said to him, but he can take a good guess. 

“Reminded me of home. And the ocean.” 

“You’ve been to the ocean?” Sanji asks, perking up. 

“Yeah, I was sailing it. And the village I grew up in was by the ocean.” Mosshead licks his lips contentedly. “You wouldn’t happen to have rice, would you?” 

“Not on me. Why?” Sanji is pretty sure they keep rice in the castle kitchens. It isn’t a common ingredient in this region, but they stock up when merchants come through. It keeps well and can be used in a number of recipes. 

“I just haven’t had onigiri in a long time.” 

“ Onigiri?” Sanji cocks his head. If I could make that for you, would you leave me alone?  

“Yeah, rice balls.” Mosshead explains. “Fish fillings are my favorite. My rice has almost run out, and I’m not really a cook. I always ruin them when I try to make them, and the old man doesn’t let anybody else into his kitchen. His food’s better than mine though, so I’m not complaining.” 

Sanji snorts. Zeff is a better cook than the royal cooks. 

Mosshead turns away from the fire and stands up, taking the pan with him. “I’ll clean this. Thanks, Cook.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Sanji gets to his feet and follows Mosshead to the river. 

Mosshead brushes through the bushes, and Sanji follows, but they both stop when the river comes into view. 

Rose is standing on the opposite bank, flicking her tail as she watches them. Her ears are pointed forward, her body tense as if she could bolt at any moment. Trails of blood are dried on her leg, but the wound still glistens with fresh blood. Sanji puts his hand on Mosshead’s shoulder and walks past him, wading cautiously into the water to approach her. 

“Rose,” he murmurs, holding up his hands. She keeps still and lets him approach, warily watching him and the stranger on the bank. 

He can hardly contain his relief. Mosshead stays right where he is and watches, much to Sanji's appreciation. He closes the distance and comes to a stop within her reach, holding up his palm. Rose shifts her weight, favoring her injured leg. She can walk, at least. The wound must hurt, but it won’t be the end of her. God, I’m sorry.  

If she bolted, he wouldn’t blame her. But her ears flop forward and she presses her nose into his hand. Sanji could cry. He climbs out of the river and comes to her side to inspect her wound. Rose paws nervously but holds still. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” Sanji steps back into the river and scoops up some water, rubbing it into her leg fur. Rose snorts, lifting it off the ground so he can rub all the way down to her hoof. The blood is caked with dust, but it comes off with minimal effort. He bends down to scoop up more water, and she dips her head to drink. 

Rose gulps up eager mouthfuls of water, and Sanji waits for her to finish. Her ears flick and she stops drinking, lifting her head suddenly. Sanji hears the splash and turns around to see Mosshead wading towards them, leaving the pan on the bank. 

Sanji growls and holds up his hand. “Watch it.” 

Mosshead stops in the river and holds up his hands, his eyes on the blood. “I’m not – I wasn’t --” He reaches into his pockets and pulls out a pouch, offering it out. 

Rose is watching. Her eyes are glued on Mosshead, but her ears are focused on both him and Sanji, attentive but not as tense as Sanji expected. Still, he keeps protectively close and reaches out his hand. “Slowly,” he warns. 

To his credit, Mosshead seems fully aware of the situation, carefully wading close and putting the pouch in Sanji’s open hand. He comes to a stop, staring at the cut. His eyes darken the longer he looks at it. 

Sanji pulls open the pouch and looks at the herbs inside. He looks up as Rose snorts softly. She rubs her nose on his forehead. Sanji sighs. He reaches out and grabs Mosshead’s wrist, pulling it over and straightening out his fingers. “Flat,” he orders, turning Mosshead’s palm upright. “Don’t move.” 

Mosshead obeys, holding his hand exactly how Sanji positioned it and watching patiently as Rose decides. Sanji half hopes she’ll try to bite him, because it might deter this man from bothering him again. She turns her ears toward the stranger and brings her nose close, snorting hot air onto it. Mosshead doesn’t move. 

Rose makes her decision, giving Mosshead’s palm the faintest rub with her lip before pulling her head back. 

Mosshead is still frozen solid. Sanji has to look away, rubbing Rose’s neck to soothe both her and himself. 

“She yours?” Mosshead asks softly. 

“I guess.” Sanji puts the herbs in his pocket and bends down to scoop up more water. He goes back to cleaning Rose’s leg. 

“Who did that to her?” Mosshead’s hand paws at his hip for a brief moment, but there’s still nothing there. 

“Not someone you want to mess with.” 

“Can I –” 

“I’ve got it.” Sanji cuts him off, and for once he doesn’t mean to be sharp. He straightens and looks back at the other man, trying to soften. It’s been a long day, and he doesn’t manage as well as he hoped. “I need to take care of her.” It’s my fault anyway. “Thank you.” 

“Go generous with that stuff.” Mosshead points to the pocket Sanji put the herbs in. “It’ll keep out an infection.” 

Sanji nods. “Thanks.” 

Mosshead steps backward, taking a lingering look at Rose’s bleeding shoulder. He turns. 

“Hey, Mosshead.” Sanji blurts. The man stops and turns back. “I’ll see about that Onigiri . If it turns out alright, I’ll bring you some tomorrow.” 

Mosshead smiles. It’s oddly bright on a face so stern. “Okay. See ya, Cook.” He waves at the horse, too, and turns upriver again. 

Sanji watches him go and touches his pocket. He turns back to Rose, and she nuzzles his other pocket. Sanji fumbles in it for the apple and lays it flat in his palm for her to eat. She crunches the whole thing down contentedly. Sanji lets out a long sigh and sinks back down to finish cleaning her leg. “You’ll be okay,” he murmurs. 

Rose lets him clean her wound, turning more to face him so she can graze. Her muscles twitch and she stamps once he gets to the opening, but she doesn’t move away. Sanji winces as he cleans up the blood and dust. The wound looks deep, but it tapers off quickly, and he can see only muscle; no fat pockets or bone have been exposed. Sanji uses his shirt to staunch the bleeding and chews up the plants the man gave him, pressing them into the wound. It’ll keep the dust out, at least.  

Sanji washes his hands and puts his shoes back on. When he moves away from the bank, Rose turns to follow. She walks beside him, and he puts his hand on her neck. 

Chapter Text

Sanji keeps his hand on Rose’s neck, and she follows him all the way home. He leads her out of the forest, through the city streets, and into the castle walls. He leads her across the training grounds, and the groups of soldiers still training pause to watch as he passes by. They pass back under the shade of the stables, where most of the horses have been returned to their stalls. Sanji opens the gate and leads Rose into her stall, where she promptly lies down in her hay with a big sigh. 

Sanji smiles. “Long day, huh?” 

She flicks her ear at him and flops onto her side, her flanks heaving. The sword slash has started to bleed again, leaving thin tracks of blood in her fur. Sanji leaves the stall, shutting the gate behind him and going to find water. 

Sanji fills two buckets and carries them back to her stall. The moment he returns, Rose lifts her head. Noticing the water, she stands up. Sanji puts both buckets in front of her, and she plunges her nose into one to drink eagerly. Sanji dips his hand into the other bucket and cleans up the blood again. When the blood is gone, he takes the brush off the hook and starts to clean her coat. 

Rose is covered in dust. He does his best to brush it all out, but when she finishes drinking and lies down to rest, he hangs the brush back up. 

It’s dinner time for both of them. The stable boys will be by soon with hay, and Sanji is due at the dining table. Sanji sits down next to Rose and rubs the fingers of his bandaged hand. His swollen index finger already feels better, his split knuckles less raw. Rose rubs his cheek with her nose, and he reaches up to scratch behind her ears. 

“Not the face, huh?” Sanji moves his hand to her forehead. “How about this?” 

She dips her head away from his hand, so he moves it away and holds it near her cheek. Rose moves back in, resting his fingers against her jaw. Sanji gives her a scratch, moving his hand under her head. She doesn’t mind that either, closing her eyes as he scratches all the way to her chin. Sanji wonders if the memories alone are pain enough, or if the scars still hurt. 

Rose seems content, exploring Sanji’s shoulder with her nose. Her lips are gentle enough not to aggravate his bruises. It doesn’t seem like her shoulder wound will leave lasting damage, other than a scar. 

The clomp of boots signals the arrival of the stable hands. Sanji reluctantly gets to his feet and leaves her stall, closing the gate behind him. The stable hands stop their work as soon as they spot him approaching, bowing their heads 

“Spare me a minute?” He gestures back the way he came, and of course they follow. He leads them to Rose’s stall. “Take care of her for me.” 

“Of course, Your Highness,” one of the boys replies with a bow. 

“Leave that stuff on there.” Sanji points at the herb-covered wound. “Make sure she gets regular exercise and drinks lots of water.” They know how to take care of her, he knows that. If he didn’t have other duties, he would take care of her himself. At the very least, he can stop by to check on her. He owes her that much. 

The stable boys feed her first, bring her some more water. Rose doesn’t seem to mind their company, at least. That puts Sanji’s mind to rest that they’ll take good care of her. 

Sanji leaves the stables and walks back into the castle. The guards have been doubled, flanking every doorway with spears raised. Sanji shivers as he passes by them. Stupid sword... Worse than the bloodbath his father’s tournament is going to be, will be his brothers’ revelry during the whole event. 

By now, dinner is already being served, but the closer Sanji gets to the dining hall, the more apprehensive he feels about joining his family at the table. His stomach grumbles, but his legs are trembling harder. Mercifully, the dining room doors are closed, enabling Sanji to hurry by unseen. He can hear his family talking but doesn’t stray close enough to hear any of the conversation. 

They’re probably talking about today’s training incident or the upcoming tournament, neither of which Sanji is interested in talking about – he's much more interested in Onigiri .  

Rice balls. Shouldn’t be difficult to make on a technical level. Sanji turns down the hallways and makes his way to the library. 

Whatever Mosshead’s native language is, Sanji won’t be able to read it even if they have any books written in it. Still, it’s worth a look. Even if the only recipes he finds are from other lands near the sea, it’ll be a start. The most important part of this recipe will be the flavor mixtures, which Sanji knows he won't be able to get right the first time. You liked the fish. Mosshead said the fish reminded him of the ocean, and of home, but Sanji only added some mild seasoning. So, nothing too complicated. Keep it simple.  

The royal library is a mighty collection assembled over centuries of Vinsmoke conquest. Some have been given as gifts from delegates of nations ruled over by Germa, or allied nations. Most are stolen.  

Training no longer includes trips to the library, much to Sanji’s dismay. Sanji walks down the rows of shelves stacked high with books. His brothers would probably learn more if they weren’t saddled training with him every day. If you let me spend my time doing anything else, I’d never hold you back again.  

Maybe there is still hope that he’ll get strong like his brothers. Sanji can’t see that happening. He brushes his fingers along the bookshelf in search of something useful – long fingers, like his mother’s. Nothing can change that he inherited her slender body, while his brothers got their father’s bulk and muscle. 

Sanji pulls out a few books that look useful. Food is a common subject of documentation for most cultures. Sanji hopes the nations his family stole these books from have robust oral traditions. He carries his stack of books to one of the reading tables between the shelves and sits down to peruse them. 

The only language his father ever insisted his sons learn was the language of the blade. Anything not in his native language, Sanji skims through in the hopes of finding drawings or a handful of familiar words. I should ask the librarian for help. The royal bookkeeper and the scholars working under his supervision would be able to help locate the origins of each book and translate their contents. 

Not worth the risk. Sanji shakes his head. Father is disappointed enough in him. 

Sanji spends as much time in the library as he dares, taking mental notes of whatever relevant information he manages to skim over. He doesn’t find anything specific about rice balls, but he does find a couple of rice and seafood dishes that he can experiment with techniques from. If the rice needs to form a ball, then it needs to glue together; when the kitchen cooks rice, the grains are loose and served on a plate. Sanji puts the books away, leaving their spines protruding just enough to help him find them again when he next gets the chance to come back to the library. 

Dinner should be over by now. Sanji leaves the library, keeping an ear out for his brothers as he makes his way back toward the dining room. 

When he arrives, the door is open, and he can hear the servants cleaning up. Sanji ducks into the kitchen entrance. The cooks are cleaning up, but they pause to bow as he passes. 

The head cook approaches. “Your Highness, you missed dinner.” He bows his head. “Let me prepare something for you.” 

“That would be great, thank you.” Sanji smiles. 

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” 

“Do you still have rice in storage?” Sanji asks. 

“Yes, we have plenty,” the chef replies. “I would be happy to cook a rice dish for you, if you don’t mind waiting--” 

“No no, that’s alright,” Sanji reassures gratefully. “I just wondered what type it is.” 

“It is a long grain rice,” the chef explains. “Is there a dish you would like for tomorrow’s dinner?” 

“Is it sticky enough to form into balls?” 

“Perhaps if cooked with enough water and stirred enough,” the chef theorizes. 

Sanji nods. It’s worth a try. He did specify to Mosshead that he’ll bring rice balls if they turn out well. If not, well, Sanji will just try again. Would be nice to get them right, though. Or close. Tasty, at least. He’ll satisfy for tasty. He thinks back to Mosshead’s look of satisfaction when enjoying the meal Sanji cooked for him. The image of the idiot trying to pick up his too-hot food follows shortly, and Sanji scowls to himself. What a moron.  

“Is everything alright, Your Highness?” the chef asks nervously. 

Sanji wipes the scowl from his face and smiles. “Everything is fine. I’ll eat whatever you have around, thank you.” 

The chef nods and rushes off to prepare a meal. Sanji looks around the kitchen. He doesn’t come back here often, usually only to steal supplies. The other cooks and servants bow their heads and make way for him as he walks by them. The formalities are unnecessary; Sanji wishes he could tell them to do away with it, but he knows that even if they obeyed his request, and if his father or brothers ever found out, the servants would be punished. 

Sanji finds the rice with the stores of flour and other dry ingredients. He peruses the spices, taking the lids off jars to smell them. Better to keep the flavors simple than try to be ambitious and replicate something I’ve never eaten before. Salt and garlic will be prudent. He has no fish from the sea, but trout should do. Was Mosshead’s fish filling a paste of some kind? I’ll just make something simple. See what the grassy idiot thinks and tweak the recipe.  

Sanji smiles to himself, leaving the storage area. He can hardly wait for tomorrow. Ideally, he would skip training entirely. His brothers will be angry with him no matter what, so why not delay their anger until later and gain himself a day free of uselessly swinging a sword around for hours? 

“Your Highness,” the chef approaches with a plate covered in fresh food. “Is this to your tastes?” 

“That’s perfect, thank you.” Sanji takes the plate. 

The chef pours him a glass of water. “Please let me know if you need anything else.” He bows and turns away to finish cleaning up. 

Sanji takes a sip of water and picks up the bread. He pauses when he hears his brothers approaching down the hallway. Sanji hurriedly backs away from the counter, ducking into the dry storage room. His fingers tremble on the plate, and the sound of Ichiji’s congested voice makes his heart beat even faster. The brothers are grumbling to each other, but they pass by the kitchen entrance and walk off into the castle. Sanji breathes shakily through his mouth. He sits down on a sack of grain to eat. The sooner I get it over with, the better... He can’t evade them long enough for them to forget. He finishes his food with urgency. 

Sanji leaves the empty plate in the kitchen and hurries through the hallways. He listens for his brothers, but they’re probably in their rooms relaxing by now. Sanji doesn’t want to be anywhere near the sleeping quarters. The castle halls are wide and cold, and his back feels especially exposed. 

He can think of only one place to go. The stable boys have almost finished their day’s work; all the horses are fed, watered, and groomed. They’re polishing the last few saddles out on the grass, and they don’t even notice him come in. 

Sanji walks between the stalls and quietly opens Rose’s gate. She lifts her head to look at him, nuzzling his hand when he offers it. Sanji sits down and leans against her neck, draping her saddle blanket over himself. Rose lays her head back down and shuts her eyes, pushing her nose into his knee. 

-- 

Sanji wakes up before the sun. A cool morning breeze sweeps through the stables. He lifts his head off of Rose, and she stirs beside him. She snorts contentedly and shifts her legs. Sanji hangs up the saddle blankets and brushes himself off. Rose stands up and noses his pockets. 

“I’ll bring you something,” Sanji promises, turning around and rubbing under her head. She noses at his bangs impatiently, nibbling on his hair. “Yeah yeah, I’m hungry too.” He puts his hand on her nose to push her out of his face. 

She follows him to the gate and watches him walk away. 

I’d let you follow me all over the place if I could. To the dining room, the library, all the way up to his bedroom. There’s plenty of room up there. He feels vulnerable without her as he hurries through the castle and upstairs to his room for clean clothes. 

A servant brings him breakfast, leaving the plate by his bed and saying nothing of yesterday’s scrapes and bruises all over his back and shoulders. Sanji looks at them in the mirror, but they’re already healing nicely. Likewise, his hand is sore and bruised, but the splits are sealed and no longer inflamed. Sanji wraps his knuckles back up, flexing his fingers to test their mobility. They’re sore, but it won’t hold him back from today’s training. 

Avoiding training altogether is tempting; Sanji is itching to get his hands on that rice. Thinking about that mossy idiot’s face crammed full of fish makes him scowl, but the image just won’t shake. His fingers twitch with anticipation. 

His brothers are already waiting in the field, a servant helping them to put on a suit of armor each. A fourth servant waits by a pile of equipment. Sanji jogs over. 

The brothers turn to look at him icily. Sanji flinches, momentarily frozen on Ichiji’s bruised face. The bridge of his nose is swollen, the swelling spreading under his eyes. The purple makes his stare especially frightening. Sanji ducks his head and picks up the leather chest plate, sliding it over his head with the servant’s help. 

“We’re running laps today,” the instructor explains.  

Sanji sighs, but it’s cut off by a wince as the servant tightens the straps, pushing the leather hard against his bruises. He can only hope that Ichiji is just as bruised from falling off his horse, too. At least they aren’t sparring or sword fighting today. 

The leather underlayer exchanges the extra protection chain mail offers in favor of mobility. Metal attachments are layered over top with special attention to the arms and throat. It’s still heavy, not to mention hot. Sanji is already wilting inside his suit, but at least his brothers are shimmering with sweat just as much as he is – they can bear the weight better than he can, but they aren't impervious to the sun. Sanji tightens the straps on his arms while the servant finishes armoring his legs. 

“Don’t worry Sanji, the rest of the army would leave you in their dust if we ever go to battle,” Niji taunts, running on the stop while the servant finishes the last buckle. “The fight would be over before you even got there.” 

Sanji scowls. 

Yonji’s hand claps him on the shoulder, his armored hand clinking on Sanji's armored shoulder. “You’re too pitiful to bring to war anyway.” 

“Come on, whoever laps you the most is the winner.” Niji turns around and starts to run. The other two run after him, Ichiji’s dark glare lingering on Sanji a moment longer. 

“Pace yourself!” the instructor calls after them. 

Sanji sighs and tests his mobility. The armor is snug enough not to rattle. It’s not exactly comfortable, but at least the pieces fit. He follows his brothers at a slow jog to the edge of the training grounds. They speed up, but he stays at a steady jog – that’ll put some distance between them and him, and hopefully they’ll burn themselves out. 

Most of the track around the grounds is shaded by some trees, racks of stored equipment, or the castle walls. It provides minor relief from the heat. Sanji moves to the side to let another group of armored soldiers pass. 

The summer heat is starting to fade. Sanji shields his face with his hand and looks beyond the castle walls. Far in the distance, dark clouds are gathering. It’s unclear if the wind will bring them here, but Sanji can feel a faint breeze on his cheeks. 

Sanji slows to a walk to catch his breath, loosening the straps on the chest plate and pulling it away from his body to let some air circulate. His brothers are out of sight, but the perimeter of the training grounds is large enough that it’ll take them a while to lap him. 

More groups of soldiers ride into the middle of the grounds to train on horseback. Sanji searches among the riders to make sure that Rose isn’t among them. He breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn’t spot her, tightening his armor back up and starting to jog again. 

After a couple of laps, the instructor hands out swords for extra weight. Sanji takes his as he jogs by, slinging it to his back and carrying on. His brothers must not be that far ahead, because they haven’t lapped him once. Sanji looks up at the sky, wondering if he should have gone back into the stables and brought Rose along with him for some easy exercise. If you could run forever, where would you go? Sanji looks the other way at Germa’s domineering towers and the flag flying from the topmost peak. 

His foot catches on something, and he goes down with a clash of steel armor. Before he can roll over and look at what he tripped over, someone grabs the sword on his back and pulls him to his feet by the strap. Sanji is spun around and gripped by the shoulders, Ichiji’s face very close to his. 

Ichiji lets go, and Sanji starts to duck back, but his brother winds up for a swing. His armored fist cracks Sanji in the right side of his face. Sanji staggers sideways, losing balance as his vision swarms with stars. 

Before Sanji can recover his balance, Ichiji grabs the straps of his leather breastplate and throws him into castle wall with a grunt of effort. Sanji’s head bounces off and he falls on his side into the bushes, gasping for air. 

The stars quickly turn to black. Sanji lays dazed in the bushes, temporarily blinded, listening to his brother’s boots jog off. 

-- 

It feels like much longer, but the sun hasn't moved far in the sky when he can see again. His face is still wet with fresh blood. Sanji feels it roll over his lip and reaches up to touch his face. 

He turns onto his back and pushes up his bangs, wincing as his fingers touch his cheekbone where the punch broke skin. His nose is bleeding too. Sanji squeezes it and sits up, immediately feeling nauseous. He leans forward and takes some deep breaths, listening to the blood pump in his ears. Shutting his eyes, Sanji counts until his heartbeat slows. 

“F-fuck...” Sanji pulls his hand away and looks at it. 

His eye hurts to open. It’s going to bruise like hell, but his bangs cover it. Sanji wonders if that was intentional, or if Ichiji didn’t bother to aim in his rage. Either way, Sanji counts himself lucky he didn't get his nose broken in return. Maybe something else, though. His face already feels hot and swollen. 

There’s nobody nearby to see him struggle to his feet, at least. In this shaded area under the trees by the wall, he’s relatively obscured from the rest of the grounds. Sanji pulls in his legs and adjusts the sword on his back, slowly getting up. His head swims and he pauses on his knee, holding his eye until everything stabilizes again. 

Sanji stumbles backwards and leans on the wall to stay fully upright long enough for things to stop spinning. The blood starts up again. Sanji fumbles with the straps on his armor, shaking it off his arm and using his bandaged hand to mop up the new blood. The armor feels like it weighs a thousand times more. 

Nothing wants to stick, except for that contented face full of food. 

Onigiri. Sanji stumbles down the path, following it all the way around the training grounds until he gets to the stables. Fortunately, his brothers are nowhere to be seen, carrying on with their laps. Sanji ducks into the shade of the stables, loosening the straps on his armor with unsteady fingers. 

Deep breaths. A cook needs steady hands. Sanji huffs resolutely and tries to loosen his clenched jaw to ease the pain in his eye socket. He sheds his armor one piece at a time, shaking it off his body. The top and arms come off with relative ease, but he struggles with the leg pieces, leaning against a stall door and lifting his leg to remove them.  

The rattle of a stall door makes him jump. Sanji looks down the rows of horses to see Rose’s head leaning out as far as she can, her legs knocking on the gate as she strains on it. Sanji kicks off the last of the armor and goes to her as fast as he can manage without falling over. 

Rose can smell the blood. She noses his cheek, and he flinches away with a wince. She noses his chin where the blood is smeared, and that at least doesn’t hurt. 

Sanji gets himself some fresh water and stands by her stall to clean himself up. The barest pressure is almost blinding, but he perseveres. All the while, Rose continues to nose him. She strains to maintain contact when he bends down to scoop up more water, bending her head to keep her nose on his shoulder. 

The contact is a point of continuous reference when the waves of dizziness roll over him. He leans on her gate for balance, dabbing his wet fingers around his eye socket and down his cheek. He scrubs more vigorously into his chin and under his nose, using his bandaged hand to wipe up the last few dribbles of blood. He brushes his bangs over his eye, making sure they cover it as usual. 

Rose noses his pockets again. “I gotta go,” Sanji mumbles. “Stuff to do.” Otherwise, he’d stay with her all day. Or, at least until the pounding stops. 

Who knows how long that will take. Rose lifts her head and Sanji kisses her nose gratefully. She watches him go. 

Sanji straightens up, trying to pull what he learned last night back into his scrambled brain. He does his best to exude confidence. 

The kitchen is mostly empty, aside from a couple of servants putting away barrels of food and preparing some ingredients for tonight’s dinner. They look up and bow, and Sanji raises his hand before they can address him. 

They leave him be, glancing nervously as they continue to work. Sanji keeps his distance for their sake, finding a clean area to cook. 

Sanji pours fresh water from a jug into a big pot and sets it on the hot plate. He slides fresh logs from the pile into the stove and stokes the flame. His head spins as the heat wafts into his face. Sanji closes the door over the fire and stumbles over to the knife block. He flexes his fingers and chooses a knife, rolling it in his hand to test his control. When he turns around, the servants are watching him. They quickly get back to work. 

Sanji measures rice into the pot. While it cooks, he picks a small fish from this morning’s catch and a few chives. He dices the chives before going anywhere near the fish, working up the speed as his head clears. When he feels confident enough in his steadiness, he guts and cleans the fish. 

The servants are trying not to watch – Sanji can see them in his peripheral vision. He does his best to ignore them. As much as he would like to work to his fullest capacity, he forces himself to slow down; working in the kitchen is a risk enough on its own. 

Sanji can’t force the knife to fit any less naturally in his hand. He lays the fish fillets in a pan to cook with some salt, and reaches over to stir the rice. 

The rice doesn’t take long to cook. Sanji stirs until the water is evaporated, adding a little more from the jug and continuing to stir. The rice expands massively, and the more he stirs the more it glues together. Sanji keeps stirring, adding a little salt and letting the last of the water evaporate. 

The result is too gloopy to form into balls. Sanji takes the pot off the heat and finds a clay bowl to hold it. He spoons the rice into it and tastes with a spoon. The grains are sticking together and the result is still edible, but it’s not the outcome he wanted. Try something different next time. Sanji takes the fish off the heat and breaks it apart with a wooden spoon, mixing in the chives and a dash more salt. 

It’s nothing spectacular, and it’s certainly not a rice ball , but it tastes fine all the same. Sanji covers the bowl with a small plate and puts a spoon in his pocket. He wraps the bowl in a dish towel and ties it tightly. 

Sanji avoids the training grounds altogether, risking a glance into the main hall. Fortunately, his father isn't there, and the hall is largely empty. He hurries down the side and leaves through the main doors, jogging down the steps and across the courtyard. He passes by the guards and enters the inner city. 

His head hurts a bit less, settling to a gentle throb so long as he doesn't move his face. Sanji glances over his shoulder, but as usual, nobody is following him. He clutches his bundle tighter and slips through the alleyways until he reaches the forest, escaping into its shadowed safety. 

Sanji relaxes somewhat, but doesn’t slow his pace, very much looking forward to sitting down and resting. You’d better show up, Mosshead. Sanji glowers through the trees as he approaches the green idiot’s usual spot. The rope is still tied around the tree, but the man is nowhere to be seen. Sanji is almost relieved. 

His body aches after today’s and yesterday’s incidents. Sanji slows to a walk, hoping the leather cinched tightly against his sweaty back didn’t rip open the scabs. His shirt clings to his skin, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s just sweat or blood mixed in. Granted that they don't sting, Sanji decides to ignore yesterday’s ailments and concentrate on this splitting headache. 

Sanji is extra careful crossing the river, measuring his steps so not to slip on the rocks and stepping carefully onto the bank. He climbs up and sits down in the grass with a weary sigh, putting the food beside him. 

Hurry up so you can eat it hot. Sanji bends down to take off his boots, sliding his feet into the cool river. He lies back with a wince and shuts his eyes. 

Sanji pulls his feet out of the water and pushes himself backward, putting his hands behind his head. The crows fly down around him, their chatter fading into the background as he drifts off to sleep. 

Feet splashing in the river pulls him awake. Sanji blinks, squinting in the afternoon sun. He sits up with a jolt, but of course it’s just Mosshead wading across the river toward him. Sanji tries not to wince as his head pounds harder, rubbing his face to shield the expression. 

Mosshead climbs onto the bank and sits down next to Sanji, keeping a couple of feet distance between them. He plops his boots down next to him, eying the bundle of food with anticipation. Topless as usual, he pulls his clothes off his shoulder and folds them up next to his boots. Sanji unties the dish towel and takes the spoon from his pocket, offering it and the bowl. 

“Not exactly a rice ball,” Sanji mumbles. His head pounds harder as Mosshead grabs the bowl and eagerly lifts off the plate. “I haven’t cooked rice before, and it didn’t stick together right, so if you don’t like it –” 

Instead of disappointment, Mosshead’s eyes light up at the sight of his food. He digs in his spoon and scoops up a huge mouthful, stuffing it unceremoniously into his mouth. 

Disgusting. Mosshead hums like a cat as he chews, kicking his feet in the water. He swallows and spoons up more, rice clinging to his lips. If it weren’t for the scars, it would almost be cute. 

Mosshead glances over, catching Sanji’s eye. The other man’s grey eyes sweep across Sanji's face and land on the right side where his bangs cover. He frowns, but his mouth is too full to speak. Sanji self-consciously rests his cheek in his hand to cover what his bangs don’t. 

Sanji can feel how hot and sore the right side of his face is. The bruising may be visible beyond what his bangs cover, but if it is, Mosshead doesn’t mention it. Sanji watches the other man finish his food, and for at least a few minutes, he forgets how much his head hurts. 

Mosshead puts down the empty bowl and licks rice from his lips, flopping onto his back with a happy sigh. Sanji feels a smile start to pull on his face, too. Mosshead looks over at him. “Hey Cook, thanks –” The words catch in his mouth as his eyes lock onto something behind Sanji. He frowns and sits up, pushing aside the bowl and moving closer. 

Sanji flinches and lurches back, throwing up his hand and digging his heels into the grass to push away. The grass is too damp for purchase, but Mosshead has already stopped his approach and is frozen in place, his muscles taut as he holds himself still. Sanji feels like he’s going to be sick. Everything is swaying again, and the man is staring at him so calmly, out of reach but poised as if he could pounce at any moment. 

Mosshead doesn’t move any closer. “You’re bleeding,” he says simply. 

Sanji reaches back with dread and touches the back of his head where Mosshead’s eyes were drawn. His hair is glued to his skull, tacky with blood. His fingers come away with bloody flakes stuck to them. 

Mosshead moves and Sanji flinches again, but the other man is moving away, pulling the bandana from his arm and dipping it into the river to soak. Sanji tests his traction again, but he’s shaking too badly to get much purchase. Even if he tried to stand, he feels like he’d topple straight over. Mosshead sits up and gently lobs the soaked cloth Sanji’s way. Sanji fumbles to catch it. 

Mosshead stands up, and Sanji flinches again, squeezing the cloth in his fist. But the other man moves away from him, tugging his trouser legs back up and sliding into the river. His fingers search the bank as he walks downriver away from Sanji, searching the bushes. 

Water drips into his lap. Sanji loosens his grip on the cloth and raises it to the back of his head, dabbing carefully at the dried blood. He wrings the water into his hair and rubs at the bloody clumps to loosen them. The fragile scab breaks away and the cut stings. Sanji winces as he dabs at it, but the bruising is more painful than the open wound itself. Sanji leans over the bank and dips the cloth into the river, wringing out the bloody water. A trail of red sweeps off down the river, quickly dispersed by the gentle current. Sanji holds the cloth against the back of his head, slumping down and watching Mosshead climb out of the river to search the underbrush. 

The cold water is bliss. Sanji rinses the cloth again and lifts up his bangs, pressing the cloth carefully over his eye. The water stings his split cheek, but the cool soothes the bruising. 

“Somebody do that to you?” 

Sanji jumps and looks up. Mosshead is back, palms cupped around a small collection of plants. Sanji ignored the question. 

Mosshead sits in front of him and wets his fingers, using his palms to crush the plants to a paste. “If somebody in town is bothering you, I can go have a word.” 

Sanji grits his teeth, watching Mosshead’s hands easily reduce the plants to a homogenous mixture. “You shouldn’t cause trouble.” 

“Looks someone already has.” Mosshead wipes the mixture from one hand into the other and holds it out.  

Sanji throws down the cloth and reaches hesitantly out to scoop up some of the mixture with his finger. He dabs it onto his cheeks, despite having no idea what its purpose is, or if the man even knows what he’s doing. He survived this long looking like that, so he must know a thing or two. Sanji glances at the scars, gritting his teeth tighter as the mixture stings badly. He risks making eye-contact. 

Mosshead is looking right at him, calm and serious. His eyes are burning. 

Sanji looks away. “You shouldn’t meddle,” he warns. “You’re new here, so I wouldn’t expect you to know what they do to trouble-makers.” 

“It didn’t stop the troublemakers who did that to you,” Mosshead replies. “So I’m sure it won't stop me.” 

Sanji scoffs. No, the outcome would be very much different for his brothers than the average citizen. The image of his brothers stringing Mosshead up to whip his back into a bloody pulp makes him shiver. “Just... it’s fine,” he pleads, looking back up at the other man’s stare. “For your sake and mine, leave it.” 

For a moment, Mosshead looks like he wants to argue. To Sanji’s relief, he doesn’t, though the other man doesn’t look happy about it. He eyes Sanji’s bruised face. “Can I at least get the back?” he asks. “You missed a bit.” 

It seems like such a bad idea. Sanji hands the cloth back over and wipes his fingers on his pants. “F-fine,” he croaks. 

He doesn’t bother moving. Mosshead rinses the cloth again and gets up, padding around and kneeling behind Sanji. Sanji grips his knees and holds as still as possible, ready to jerk away if the touch is too rough. But Mosshead threads his fingers through Sanji’s wet hair and carefully lifts it out of the way, dabbing up the blood Sanji missed. 

Cleaning up the semi-dried blood requires at least some pressure, but Mosshead is being gentle about it. Sanji shuts his eyes and tries to slow his heart rate with deliberate breaths. 

The rest of the work is over in a matter of minutes. Mosshead dabs the last of the plant paste into the wound and wipes up the bloody trails from Sanji’s neck. “You got a name, curly-brows?” 

Sanji huffs. “Cook is fine.” 

Mosshead doesn’t ask, rinsing his cloth one last time and leaving it to dry with the rest of his clothes. “If you don’t want me to cause trouble, I can at least teach you a few moves. In return for the food.” 

“I don’t need you to teach me shit,” Sanji grumbles. “And that won’t work. Trust me, I’ve got it under control.” 

Mosshead frowns unhappily. “If you’re sure –” 

“Yeah, pretty sure,” Sanji snaps. “What could you teach me anyway?” 

Mosshead grins. “I’m a swordsman.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m not.” Sanji brushes his bangs back over his eye. “Besides, where’s your sword?” 

“Hey! I'm working on that,” Mosshead protests, visibly upset. 

Sanji resists the urge to smirk, but he thinks better of it. He leans back in the grass. “Ok, Mr. Swordsman. What about you, you got a name?” 

Mosshead scratches his head in frustration, pawing at his hip again. It always takes him a couple of paws at the air before putting his hand on his hip instead. “Yeah, it’s Zoro.” 

“Okay, Mosshead. I offered you rice balls, and I haven’t exactly made them yet.” Forget about everything else. Please, fuck, just forget about it.  

Zoro doesn’t exactly look like he can forget, but he perks up at the mention of rice balls, fiddling with his earrings. “That was pretty delicious...” 

The trembling subsides, but his legs still feel weak. Sanji manages to keep his balance. “You’d better tell me more about rice balls, then.” 

Zoro plops back down on the bank beside him with an intoxicating grin. A soft autumn breeze rustles the trees. Perhaps the storm will pass over Germa after all. 

Chapter Text

Zoro has never been a morning person. The sounds of the outer city waking up help wake up him up, at least. He rolls out of bed in a daze and drops into some push-ups until the fog clears from his eyes. 

The other guests leave their rooms and head downstairs for breakfast. Zoro spreads out his clothes and gives his chest a strong smack with his hand. The muscles are solid under his hand, and the pain is almost gone. Only took a year. Zoro dresses and sits down to put on his boots. He ties his bandana around his head and tucks his earrings under it. His hand naturally goes to his waist, but his sword is as absent as it’s been for the last year. 

Zoro hops down the steps to the main floor of the inn, waiting by an empty table while Zeff serves breakfast to the other guests. The old man limps around with an armful of plates. The cook said he works here; Zoro wonders why the younger man is never the one distributing the meals, but then again, maybe the old man doesn’t want his cook serving customers with those bruises. 

The city is already bustling at this early hour. Zoro waits patiently for Zeff to come to him. The old man serves him a plate of breakfast and digs a list out of his apron pocket. 

“Stop by the butcher first,” Zeff says, limping away to the next table. 

Zoro scoops egg into his mouth and nods as he reads over today’s list. He stuffs the fruit in his mouth and takes the bread roll with him, leaving through the kitchen to collect the axe. 

It seems the cook isn’t here this morning, either. Resting, I hope. Zoro puts the list in his pocket and picks up the extra bundle of wood he chopped yesterday. 

The sun is getting lower in the sky day by day. Zoro shuts the back door behind him and walks down the alley to the main street. Firewood is as good a currency as the King’s coins in the lower city. Most people trade for their goods in this area, and most people have goods to trade. Zoro deposits most of the wood at the butchers, saving the last of it for fish. He crosses the first two items and walks off to find the blacksmith. For a new soup pot, the blacksmith wants more than firewood. Zoro is happy to offer his labor, striking a deal for firewood and a few days of hard work. He pumps well water for an old woman in return for a crate of fresh fruit, and some fresh fruit for a few cloves of garlic.  

Zoro delivers the items to Zeff’s kitchen and leaves with the packed lunch left for him on the counter. Still, the blonde cook isn’t here; for someone who claims to work here, he doesn't seem to work many hours. Not here specifically, at least. Zoro takes the axe with him as usual and walks across the street toward the forest.  

What do they do to trouble-makers? Nothing he can’t handle, Zoro snorts to himself, tightening his grip on the axe. Send the whole army after me, if you want. I’m taking back what’s mine.  

The cook seemed shaken at the idea. It doesn’t seem like the threat is enough to deter whoever hurt him – is and has been hurting him, if the layers of bruises are anything to judge by. The old man might know. Convincing him would be another story though; the old man is tight-lipped, and Zoro has never been a smooth-talker. 

Zoro walks in the general direction of the river, veering toward the rush of water. He follows the river until he spots his training area and crosses, throwing down the axe. Zoro strips from the waist up. 

His hands yearn for Wado Ichimonji , even as they begin to wear at the axe handle. Zoro spreads his legs for balance and holds the axe in one hand as he would a katana. The handle is thicker and the weapon heavier, most of the weight concentrated away from his hand; the axe has offered him a chance to practice his control, at the very least. A swordsman grows stronger through each failure. Zoro focuses his mind and starts the kata , swinging his arm in a wide circle. His honed muscles bring the swing to a sharp stop. 

Zoro finishes the kata , swapping the axe to his other hand. He repeats the kata mirrored and puts down the axe. He rolls up his trouser legs and sits on the riverbank, taking the last of the medicine Chopper gave him out of his pocket. 

The medicine seems to have helped, but the scar has barely faded. That’s fine by Zoro. He chews up the leaves and rubs the pulp into his skin along the length of the scar. He hopes his crew isn’t too worried about him, especially Chopper. 

His heartbeat faintly increases. Zoro stops himself from looking up, knowing already that the sense of a person in the bushes across the river is the cook, watching. Zoro listens intently, and if he focuses, he can pick out faint breathing. 

Now that they’ve met, he has half a mind to invite the cook to join him with the food Zoro hopes he brought. Zoro has to swallow the increase of saliva that rises from the very thought of the meals the blonde cook prepared for him. The only thing stopping him from inviting the other man out of hiding is that persistent burn of fear that only ever dies to embers, never quite extinguished, reignited with a breath. Zoro stares darkly into the crystal clear water.  

For your sake and mine, leave it.  

Once Zoro retrieves his sword, nothing will keep him in this city. If the cook is so worried about any harm coming to him by helping, then Zoro can make it his last act in this city before leaving. All you’d have to do is point.  

The cook moves on from the bushes. Zoro continues to rub until he’s alone again. He washes his hands and drinks from the river, then he stands up to finish his routine. 

Zoro puts the axe in his mouth, blade facing away from him, and squares up to his rope-wrapped tree. His body has already surpassed its strength before Mihawk cut him down. Zoro strikes the tree with his inner arm. The tree creaks, shedding a handful of leaves already browning. Summer is sliding into Fall. I should be able to get back to port long before Winter. His sword is somewhere in this city, it’s only a matter of finding it. Should have brought Nami, she’s have found it by now, along with every precious gem worth stealing. Zoro glares up at the castle towers looming over the whole forest.  

The faint smell of garlic floats upriver. Zoro takes the axe out of his mouth and gathers up his clothes, hopping into the river and following it toward the cook’s camp. 

It’s not far. Zoro slows his pace as soon as he can hear the crackle of fire and the creaking of wood being struck. Curiously, he climbs out of the river and peers through the trees. He can see smoke, but the foliage is too dense to see the cook through it. That might be the point. Zoro puts down his clothes and the axe and approaches cautiously until he can see the cook through a sliver of foliage. 

Slices of bread are cooking in the fire, their crusts browning in what looks like butter with a few other ingredients sprinkled in. It smells delicious, but Zoro is much more interested in the cook standing by tree, striking the bark repeatedly with his shins. 

The man’s face is stern with focus, his hair pushed back from his face with a bandana. His bruised eye faces Zoro, showing the full extent of the bruising. Someone didn’t hold back. The cook’s eye is swollen and ringed with dark purples, the edges turning yellow. Four splits show where the knuckles struck. 

More than that, Zoro can already spot new bruises, particularly the hand-shaped bruise around one wrist in the process of developing. 

All you have to do is say the word. Zoro hasn’t been here long, but he’s already done chores for people all through the outer city. He would be more than happy to trade for the food the cook has given him. Zoro can see a bundle resting near the fire. 

The cook kicks the tree with all his might, layering new bruises onto his feet and shins. It obviously hurts, but Zoro knows as well as anyone that it's not worth doing otherwise. The cook has good form, his other foot planted firmly and his body twisting consistently to deliver those strong kicks with both legs. His pant legs are rolled up, revealing well-defined calf muscles. Zoro admired the crease down the side of the cook’s legs, a crease that will only become more defined as he repeats these exercises. 

Zoro could stand and watch for ages, but he thinks better of it. The cook is dripping with sweat and deep in focus. A small flock of crows are lined up on the new log Zoro brought, so he backs up as quietly as he can so avoid disturbing them. He backs up all the way to the river and jumps in to make a loud splash. 

By the time he walks through the bushes, the cook has pulled the bandana from his head and swept his bangs back over his right eye as they always are. He’s crouched by the fire, watching and waiting for Zoro’s approach. The crows are still on the log, watching him with cocked heads. The cook’s eyes are immediately drawn to the scar. Zoro doesn’t blame him. 

“Hey, Cook,” Zoro smiles. 

The cook slides the bread slices out of the pan and onto a plate, handing it up. 

Zoro does not hesitate, shoving as much of the slice as he can fit into his mouth and handing back the plate. The cook opens up the bundle to reveal his stash of ingredients. He spoons more butter into the pan and cuts another thick slice from the loaf of bread. He presses the bread into the bubbling butter with his fingers and spreads it around to mix with the flavorings. 

It tastes amazing. Zoro pushes the rest of his slice into his mouth. The bread is perfectly browned on either side, crispy on the outside, but moist with butter on the inside. The pockets of air are full of melted and flavorful butter, so much so that it drips down his chin. Zoro wipes butter from his chin with his hand, licking it from his palm between chewing. 

The cook is watching him. His eyes flick back to the pan the moment Zoro looks at him. 

Zoro points at the red things in the pan. “What are those?” he asks around a full mouth. 

“Sundried tomatoes,” Cook answers. “We slice tomatoes and dry them in the sun.” He fishes one out of the butter and hands it up. 

Zoro puts it in his mouth. The tomato has obviously imparted its flavor into the butter, and on its own the flavor is much stronger. It tastes like a very concentrated tomato. It’s delicious. The cook hands him another. Zoro sits down on the other side of the fire and crosses his legs. 

The cook grabs the handle of the pan with a folded cloth to guard against the heat, though undeterred by how close the flames lap toward his fingers. He tosses the pan to flip the bread without losing a drop of butter. His bruised hand looks better. Zoro points at the bruises on his wrist. 

“What’s that?” 

The cook follows Zoro’s finger to his wrist and grits his teeth. He swaps hands on the pan and leans back on it so Zoro can’t see it. “Nothing. Training accident.” 

Training? Training where? For what? With who?   It must have been with someone else to make a grip-shaped bruise like that. But as far as Zoro knows, the cook trains here alone. 

Seemingly realizing he made a mistake, the cook fixates on the fire for a moment, choosing his words. “Forget I said that.” He moves his cooking supplies out of the way and offers Zoro the bowl. “Please?” 

Much as he wants to protest, Zoro can see in the other man's eyes that he’s scared.  

That particular expression reminds him a lot of Nami. She’d pleaded with the crew to leave it alone, too. Luffy hadn’t, of course – none of them had, because by then they were friends enough to know that she was in serious trouble. Even so, Luffy would have helped her no matter what. He’s risked his life to help strangers, and the rest of the crew has always followed. 

Zoro takes the bowl and removes the plate covering it, almost dreading that it will be rice balls. Inside is another rice dish with a fish topping, similar to yesterday’s presentation, but the rice is considerably less gloopy. It’s definitely not a ball.  

Of course it’s delicious. Zoro plunges in with his spoon to eat, wishing only that he had soy sauce to provide the cook for his next attempt. The flavors are subtly different than yesterday’s variation. 

His eyes want to linger on those bruises, but he forces himself to look at the fire instead, wondering what Luffy would do. Luffy wouldn’t take no for an answer. If only his crew were here to help, to reassure that whatever problem the cook is facing, it’s not too much to handle. Maybe the situation is too complicated and dangerous to get involved with. But if you explained, I’d know.  

Luffy would know what to do. Zoro tries to focus on his meal and forget about how much he misses his crew. The food does help. Not long, and I can go home.  

“Mosshead?” 

Zoro looks up, mouth stuffed with rice. The cook is looking at him with fear again, his voice quieted as if someone might overhear. 

“Don’t... don’t tell anyone about me, okay?” 

Zoro swallows his rice. “How could I? I don’t even know your name.” 

The cook’s eyebrow twitches. “ Please. Just promise me. If you rat me out, there’ll be no more rice for you.” 

Zoro cocks his head. “Sure thing, Cook. Lips are sealed. You have my word as a swordsman.” 

The cook unwinds somewhat, pulling nervously at the grass but laughing sharply. “As far as I know, you’re just a woodcutter.” 

That spot at his hip feels especially empty. Zoro scowls and shoves the last spoonful of rice into his mouth, wishing he had Wado to prove that he is at least a swordsman, never mind his skill. Oh, I could show you a few things... Maybe if I had her I could convince you that I can help.  

The cook does laugh, though. It’s a boisterous thing, pressurized by nervousness but so sonorous that Zoro can't help but scowl a bit deeper in the hopes that the laugh might last a bit longer. 

-- 

The cook walks home. Zoro wants to follow, but suffices himself just to gather up his logs and get the cook as far as Zeff’s inn. The cook follows him through the back door as if to herd him inside. 

“See ya, Mr. Woodcutter.” The cook waves goodbye and shuts the door before Zoro has a chance to retort. 

Zoro sighs and puts down the logs and axe, staring at the door wondering if he should open it and try to figure out which direction the cook is headed. No, I promised. He turns away, much as he hates knowing something is wrong and not being able to do anything about it. Complicated just isn’t my style. Most things don’t need to be complicated, certainly not when his sword is sharp enough to slice off any irritating protrusions of a problem. If he someday hopes to claim the title of greatest swordsman, if he holds himself to any principles as a warrior, he can’t turn away from someone who needs help. Luffy wouldn’t. 

Perhaps it’s not a swordsman the cook needs help from. That’s about all Zoro can offer. He turns toward the wood pile and sets a log upright, splitting it into smaller pieces and carrying them to the wood furnace. Zoro adds the wood to the pile. 

Something square covered in a folded blanket catches his eye, a few stacked pots resting on top. Zoro reaches past the wood pile and lifts the blanket. He stares at the steel box held shut with a heavy lock, the sort of lock that would instantly draw Nami's attention. 

A knife flies across the kitchen and buries into the wall beside his head. 

“Hands to yourself, Broccoli Boy, or you’ll lose them.”  

Zoro drops the blanket and turns around to face Zeff’s scowl. “Just curious, old man. I’m not interested in your treasure or whatever.” 

Zeff limps over and pulls the knife from the wall. “Well you can save your curiosity. Dinner is served if you’re hungry.” The old cook points to the door leading into reception. 

“Is it treasure?” Zoro asks. 

Zeff grunts something of an acknowledgement and goes to sharpen the knife on the sharpening stone. He flicks the blade across the stone with practiced skill and care. “You got everything I asked for?” 

“Everything I could. I need a couple of days to trade the blacksmith for the pot.” 

“Hm.” Zeff slides the knife into the block with the others and pulls out another, sharpening that one too. 

“You were a pirate, weren’t you.” 

Zeff stops sharpening. “A long time ago. I’m too old for that sort of life now. Any more questions?” 

Zoro shakes his head. “I don’t have any interest in your treasure, old man. Swordsman’s word.” 

Zeff scoffs and waves him off. “Then go eat, and keep your hands to yourself.” 

Zoro dips his head and turns away. He slips through the doorframe. 

“Boy.” Zeff lowers the knife and turns to look at him. Zoro stops to listen. “You saw Eggplant today?” 

Zoro nods. “He went home, I guess. Do you know –” 

“Listen here.” Zeff points the knife at Zoro and stares at him down the blade. “You keep your nose out of trouble, and don’t go meddling in things you don't understand.” 

You know. The swordsman’s code is something Zoro has spent his whole life learning to build for himself, learning to follow. It’s changed a lot since meeting Luffy. He has a feeling that anything other than agreement is going to get that knife thrown at him. It doesn’t have to be complicated. “What about you?” Zoro asks. “Can’t you help him?” 

Zeff’s grip tightens on the knife. He drives it into the counter and looks away. “I do what I can,” he says quietly. “Even if I knew what to do, I’m not as young as I was. And sometimes getting involved can make things worse.” 

Zoro just wishes he knew what to say. “Old man...” 

Zeff looks back at him, brows furrowed deeper than their usual scowl. “Don’t be reckless, boy. If you fuck up and take from him what he’s tried to make for himself, it’ll be the last thing you do.” 

Perhaps there is nothing to say. Zoro’s fingers sweep at the air by his hip, and he longs for the texture of wrapped cord, leather, and steel. All he can do is let his arm hang uselessly at his side. 

Zeff pulls the knife out of the counter. “Just get out.” He shoos Zoro away. “Eat your dinner.” 

Zoro obeys.  

Dinner has been laid out for him in his room. Zoro gets undressed and sits on the bed to eat. He pulls over the bedside table and spreads out a sheet of paper. 

Luffy (Nami),  

Almost found it. There’s a port near here. Should make it there by mid-Fall. Can’t be sure, will update.  

The ship can’t stay in port waiting for him for too long, of course. 

Don’t remember what the port is called, or the exact route, will check. He seems to remember seeing a map somewhere on his way here and seeing a port city in some direction or another. Nami will know. 

Doing good. Used all of Chopper’s medicine just like he said.  

Zoro taps his charcoal on the table and eats a handful of cherry tomatoes from the plate. If the letter didn’t take so long to get to the ship, he would ask for advice. Regardless, he has no information to provide his crew so that they could advise him. 

The best option might just be to move on and let these near strangers handle their own problems. Zoro knows he wouldn’t want someone else butting in, even if he owes Luffy his life for doing exactly that. Battles that require anything other than a sword are much harder to fight. Zoro clenches his fist and releases it with a sigh, finishing his letter. 

Eating good, sleeping good. See you soon.  

He signs it with three tapering lines and draws a fourth across them – three swords. 

Nami never kept her pigeon in a cage, so neither will he. Zoro carefully rolls up the paper and goes to the window to call Nami’s carrier pigeon. “Hey Pigeon!” 

The bird sails in through the window and comes to a screeching halt on Zoro’s dinner plate, her one remaining leg scraping on the clay surface. She scatters some cheese and tomatoes and rights herself, immediately pecking at some breadcrumbs. 

Zoro grabs her from his plate and holds her firmly. She stares blankly at him and munches her bread contentedly, leg dangling. He sighs and puts her on the windowsill, cutting up a couple of cherry tomatoes for her to eat. He leaves her be so she can finish her meal, leaning out to watch the late summer wind whip at the flag mounted to the highest peak of the castle. 

Another pigeon flies out of some flower boxes and joins them on the sill, cocking his head at Pigeon’s snack. She hops closer to him, and he puffs out his chest. 

“Don’t go starting a family now,” Zoro warns, noticing the letter tied to the other pigeon’s leg. “Or someone might miss out on important mail.” 

Pigeon finishes her snack, and Zoro gently scoops her up to attach the letter. He puts her back on the sill so she can enjoy the other pigeon fluffing up his chest feathers, and she in turn feeds him some tomato. Zoro leans on his hand to watch as they take off into the sky together, doing a brief midair courtship dance before parting ways to deliver to their secondary locations. All Zoro can think about is that he hopes that Cook has somewhere safe to sleep at night. 

Chapter Text

The walls are rapidly closing in. The sun fades in the sky, casting a shadow of prison bars across the bloodstained floor. The sunset grows redder, until it glows like hellfire. Sanji scrambles on his hands and knees to escape the squeezing prison walls, but there is no escape. His palms scratch across layers of dried and drying blood. It sticks to his palms and the flakes cling to his arms. It gets under his fingernails, and he can even taste it.  

The smell clings to his throat and makes him gag. Sanji coughs and moans, trying to climb to his feet so he can find some way out before the walls crush him.  

A shriek bounces down the prison corridors to his cell, and his legs give out. He feels exposed despite the walls pressing on him. Someone is screaming in agony, and Sanji hears the crack of a whip. He stares through the bars at the red sky. He tries to cry out for help, but he’s already screaming.  

Sanji jolts awake, staring out the window at the rising morning sun, chest heaving. His blankets cling to him with sweat and his hand is tightly gripping his pillow. 

The air is fresh and cool. Sanji sits up and takes a few deep breaths before padding over to the window. He leans on the sill and looks up at the fading stars. 

There are only a few days left before his father’s tournament takes place. If only there were some way to avoid having to go, but Sanji can’t think of any way other than to goad his brothers into hurting him too badly to leave his room. Perhaps nobody will notice if he just shuts his eyes, and he won't have to watch the slaughter. 

Too distressed to go back to bed, Sanji leaves the window and gets dressed. He picks up an early breakfast from the kitchen and takes it with him to the stables to eat. 

Most of the horses are still sleeping. Sanji quietly lifts the latch on Rose’s stall and her ears prick. She opens her eyes and lifts her head, reaching for his plate. Sanji sits beside her and lets her nose the apple slices into her mouth. She crunches happily on the apple, and when she’s finished, Sanji pulls a whole one from his pocket. 

Rose snorts onto his forehead as she chews. Sanji wraps his arm under her head and scratches behind her ear, letting her finish the last few mouthfuls of vegetables from his plate. 

Much as he loathes to be anywhere but with her if he must be at the castle at all, the sunset colors fade to clear blue, and the instructor walks onto the grass to prepare for training. Sanji sighs and leans his head against Rose’s, giving her nose one last rub before leaving her. She stands up and leans her head over the stall door to watch him leave the stable. 

The instructor hands out swords. Sanji tightens the belt around his waist and grabs the hilt, trying to make his fingers fit into the leather grip.  

I wonder what you could have taught me. Sanji looks over at Yonji’s green hair and can't help but think of Zoro. Anyone can call themselves a swordsman. Anyone can run into a fight and get hurt. He still doesn’t know what to make of that scar. 

His brothers are itching to spar with each other, but the instructor sets up a series of targets to practice on first. 

They start with wooden shields mounted solidly on poles, with the goal to split the wood with one strike. The deeper the sword cuts, the better. They try one at a time so the instructor can correct their posture. Sanji watches his brothers and uses the instructor’s corrections to adjust his own stance. When it comes time for his turn, Sanji spreads his legs a bit and puts his back into it, imagining slicing a giant salmon. It’s not the right type of blade for that sort of thing, but it helps. The sword buries at least deep enough to splinter the wood. The instructor corrects his stance, but not his arms or grip. 

The training grounds fills up. The brothers cycle through a few more rounds of wooden shields, swapping swing trajectory until the instructor changes out the shields for metal ones. 

The aim this time is only to dent the metal. His brothers are stronger, so their dents are much deeper than his own, but he manages one deep enough to avoid derision. 

His brothers are watching him more than usual. It makes ignoring them especially difficult. Sanji can feel his stance wavering the more the exercises go on. 

They take a small break while some soldiers are beckoned to clear the area for sparring. Sanji fiddles with the adornments on his sword handle. He glances over at his brothers standing nearby, and makes brief eye contact with Ichiji. Both of their bruises are in their final stages of healing, but Sanji can still tell where his punch split skin. His cheek itches where his own scabs are healing too. 

The sun has risen over the training grounds, almost to its full height. It casts his brothers’ brows over their eyes and their shadows short. Sanji’s grip trembles on the sword. 

His body is worn out already. Sanji clambers to his feet, stumbling a couple of steps when his legs wobble. More than ever, he wishes his training opponent could be a soldier, or the instructor. Ichiji is already drawing his blade and approaching, before the instructor can suggest pairings. Sanji lowers his stance for balance and slides one foot backward. His palm is slick with sweat, sliding on the sword handle. Sanji grips it tighter and takes a wary step backwards, hesitant to draw his sword. 

His brother prowls closer and circles. The sword looks light in his hand. Sanji is light on his feet, at least. He keeps his hand on the blade and slinks away from his brother. Ichiji swings a couple of test swings, which Sanji evades sharply. 

“You’re a fucking disgrace,” Ichiji growls under his breath, reversing his swing with a snap of his wrist.  

Leave me alone, then. Sanji keeps his arm poised to draw the sword and his stance low. He drops lower and leans back to avoid a sweep that gets too close. If I disgust you so much, then let me stay out of your way, and you’ll never have to see my face again.  

Ichiji only wants to get closer, his eyes burning for revenge. You already got it. You got me back. Worse, Sanji might add, but it doesn't appear to be enough. Ichiji lunges, and Sanji draws the sword as fast as he can, pivoting on his foot so that his brother’s sword clangs down on the blade. 

Sanji isn’t ready. The blow knocks the sword out of his sweaty hand. Ichiji grins and swipes again, even lower this time. Sanji lunges forward and rolls on his shoulder, fumbling his sword out of the grass. He gets to his knee and lifts his sword. 

Ichiji bats Sanji’s sword aside with his own and pivots, kicking him squarely in the chest. Sanji coughs and collapses on the grass, breathless. The tip of a sword lands against his cheeks, and his eyes follow the blade to his brother’s smug grin. 

“Get up,” Ichiji spits. “I can’t believe we’re related.” 

He just needs a moment to get his breath back. Sanji puts his palm on the flat of the blade and moves it out of his face, taking a few deep breaths. He isn’t eager to get up; the longer he spends on the ground, the less time he has to spend getting swiped at. 

Ichiji grabs him by the arms and yanks him to his feet. “The kingdom is watching,” he growls, gesturing to the soldiers training nearby. “Put in some fucking effort.” 

Sanji clenches his jaw and struggles in his brother’s vice-like grip. “Get off me.” 

He gasps in pain as Ichiji briefly tightens his grip before pushing Sanji away. “Pick it up.” Ichiji snarls, pointing at Sanji’s fallen sword. “ Pick it up! ” 

Sanji flinches. He stumbles for it, and Ichiji stalks toward him before he even gets a chance to bend down for it. Ichiji shouts at him and bears down on him. 

Someone else shouts from elsewhere on the training grounds, loud enough to draw Ichiji’s attention. His brother’s eyes widen and he takes an alarmed step backwards as hooves thunder across the grass. 

Sanji turns around. The soldier shouts again, pulling hard on Rose’s reins in an attempt to control her. Rose neighs angrily, the whites of her eyes visible as she rears up, her head pulled down by the reins. The soldier leans forward and grips the saddle, but Rose turns in a tight circle on her back legs, twisting him in the saddle. The soldier is already sliding when she drops down again, but her kick throws him out of the saddle. He lands in the grass in a heap and Rose tosses her head, leaping forward and galloping toward them. 

Ichiji stumbles away from the charging horse. Her eyes are set on him, but she slows long before reaching him – Rose comes to a stop next to Sanji and swishes her tail, dancing sideways to tighten the gap between them. Her leg bumps his shoulder and she snorts at Ichiji, reaching her head for him and baring her teeth. 

Ichiji scrambles away from her. Sanji puts his hand on Rose’s shoulder. 

His brothers and the instructor are watching. The soldier sits up in a daze and watches too as Sanji stands up and reaches for the bridle. 

Rose rubs his shoulder as Sanji loops the reins over her head and slides the bit out of her mouth. She grinds her teeth when it comes out, and her ears flick. He slides the bridle off her face and throws it into the grass. Sanji looks behind him at the entourage, at Ichiji’s vitriolic glare. 

The instructor takes a step forward and opens his mouth to speak, but Rose snaps at him, too, stamping her hooves and standing straight. Her neck bumps Sanji’s head as she pulls her head more in front of his body. 

She can’t shield him from the fierce glares of his brothers. Sanji could cry. 

He doesn’t. He lays his trembling hand on her shoulder and she relaxes, lowering her head and following him back toward the stables. Her ears swivel as they walk, never leaving the direction of his brothers. 

The stable is blissfully shaded. Sanji wipes his brow and fumbles with the saddle straps. Rose waits patiently for him to remove the saddle, and he throws it down without bothering to put it away. Rose follows him to her stall. It’s a beautiful day, but she’s going to hurt someone. 

Sanji lets out a shaky breath and slumps against her flank, enjoying the rise and fall of her strong breaths. He can feel her heartbeat against his chest. “Causing trouble, hm?” he mumbles. “Can’t be doin’ that. They’ll hurt you.” 

Rose has nothing to say for herself, reaching her head around to nose at his back pocket. 

I need to get out of here. He supposes he hasn’t snuck off. Maybe today it doesn’t matter. He hopes it won’t. He hopes they won’t hurt Rose. Being ridden didn’t seem to hurt her, at least – Rose rubs her wound with her teeth to scratch it; the skin is pink and scarring nicely. Sanji waits for her to finish scratching before taking her chin and kissing her nose. In return, she rubs her lips all over his face. 

He can’t help but smile. It steadies him a little. 

Sanji can’t help but wonder what his brothers would do if he just moved in with Rose. How adamant would they be to hurt him? It seems like Rose would happily hurt them if they get too close. And if she did hurt them, his brothers might just kill her. Sanji can’t risk that. He gets her fresh food and water and leaves for the kitchens. 

The castle he grew up in is starting to feel bigger than it has since he was small. Sanji shivers and picks up the pace, hurrying into the bustling kitchen. 

Holding a cooking pan feels so much more reassuring than a sword. Sanji moves around the cooks and sets up his station, sprinkling slices yellow onion into the pan. They taste much better caramelized, while the chives are better fresh and added right before eating. Sanji adds the eggs and stirs them. 

He read about omelets served over rice in some countries. Sanji tries a little less water on the rice this time, but he doubts it’ll form balls. It’s just not the ideal variety. 

It won’t stop him from trying. There must be an optimal amount of water that will soften the rice enough without turning it into soup. Sanji prepares the bowl. Watching everything come together at once fills him with satisfaction that a hundred rings speared on a lance or a thousand split shields could never provide. Now that he knows roughly how long the rice takes, everything finishes cooking almost at once. Sanji scrapes the pot clean and mixes in some light salt. 

The book said that omelets are sometimes cut into strips and mixed into the rice, or rolled up and placed on top. Sanji opts to roll it, sliding it out of the pan and onto the steaming rice. He sprinkles the chives on top and packs up the meal. 

The kitchen staff nod to him as he passes. Sanji appreciates their silence. He holds the bundle close to his chest and wraps his arms around it, slipping out of the castle as fast as he can. Sanji makes his way around the training grounds and into the courtyard, glancing behind him for pursuers. His back feels exposed. His hands tremble, so he grips the bundle tighter. 

Rose would be so happy to trot along beside him. He hates to leave her in the stables like that, but she hates that bridle, and someone is going to get hurt riding her. 

Sanji keeps his head down to better merge with the bustle. The guards pay him no notice as he leaves the castle walls and enters the lower city. Much as he would like to take refuge with Zeff for a while, he diverts down the streets and enters the forest instead.  

Ichiji didn’t kick him too hard, at least. Sanji sighs and loosens a bit. He can’t help but wonder how that fight would have gone if it had ended naturally. 

It’s the first time anyone has stepped in like that. Sanji grips the bundle, his chest tightening. 

Twigs crack up ahead. Sanji comes to a swift halt and looks up. He clenches the bundle so tightly into his chest that the edge of the plate digs painfully into his sternum. Yonji emerges from the bushes up ahead and smiles at him, a sword slung over his shoulder by the strap. 

“Found you.” 

Sanji whirls around. Niji walks out and leans against a tree. He points, and Sanji turns again. 

Ichiji smacks the bundle out of his hands. The dish towel comes loose and the plate slides off, spilling rice and egg into the grass. Ichiji shoves Sanji back and draws his sword. 

Yonji grabs the back of Sanji’s shirt and thrusts the extra sword into his grip, pushing him forward again. Sanji clutches the sheathed blade against his chest and stares wide-eyed as Ichiji walks closer, dragging the tip of his sword through the dirt. 

“You think you can just do whatever you want while the rest of us sweat all day,” Ichiji growls. “I’ve had enough.” 

Niji leans against the tree and crosses his legs, folding his hands behind his head to watch. Yonji moves away to watch too. 

The area isn’t very big, just a small gap in the trees. There isn’t anywhere to run. Sanji ducks his brother’s swing, and the blade gashes the tree nearby. He stumbles away, and Niji grabs him by the arm to throw him back towards Ichiji. 

“Put your back into it for once,” Niji scoffs. “You’re so goddamn embarrassing.” 

“Hard to believe you’ve got the same blood as the rest of us,” Yonji agrees. “At least act like it. Fight for once in your fuckin’ life!” 

Zoro. The camp isn’t far. Sanji can hear the river if he listens intently. He has to find a way to get his brothers to leave without making too much noise. If he’s lucky, Zoro isn’t here today. Please. Sanji stifles a gasp of surprise as he ducks a swing. He scampers around his brother and slides in some leaves, adjusting his grip on the sword. 

“Nobody to intervene now,” Ichiji growls. “Fight like you mean it.” 

Sanji knocks his fingers on the hilt as he grabs for it. 

“ Fight! ” Ichiji shouts, and lunges. 

His brother is fast. Sanji draws the sword. He manages to raise it with some force and block his brother’s swing. If he got between the other two and made a run for it, how far would he make it before they caught him? If he made it to the city streets, would they dare make a scene? What about the inner city, the castle grounds, all the way to the main hall?  

His brothers wouldn’t want to make a scene in front of the public and risk undermining the royal family with infighting. Or maybe it doesn’t matter. 

Ichiji is good with the sword. It fits naturally in his hand, and his grip is sure. It acts as the extension of his arm that their instructor has always taught. The other two are good too, of course, but they seem content to watch this time around. 

If he crumbled to the ground and curled into a ball, they might get bored more quickly. They could kick and punch and maybe even cut, but eventually they would tire of having nothing to fight against. They can’t make him hold the sword. 

Ichiji keeps close, corralling him like an animal. He swings a wide strike, and Sanji makes the mistake of rushing to block. Ichiji swings his other arm after his sword and makes a fist, punching Sanji in the shoulder hard enough to unbalance him. Sanji stumbles but manages to stay upright, backtracking all the way to a tree. He leans against it and ducks, but Ichiji is smart enough not to swing wildly and get the sword stuck, cutting low instead. His blade cuts into the soft earth and is easily pulled free. 

If Sanji can last long enough to wear his brother out, will the other two step in? Sanji dives sideways to avoid a low cut that would have gouged his shoulder. 

The other brothers aren’t interfering, at least. It doesn’t do anything to help him swallow the fear making his grip less stable. He can’t find his footing in the dirt or the grass, his boots rolling on fallen twigs. Ichiji has no such issue, bearing down on him. Sanji spreads his stance and moves back, raising his sword as fast as he can over and over again. 

The blows ring down the blade and into his arm, weakening his trembling fingers. Sanji bears his brother’s onslaught as it drives him backward, searching for a break, anything to get himself away or to disarm his brother. 

Ichiji finds his break instead, delivering two quick and powerful strikes that throw Sanji’s sword arm to the side, and cut deep into his thigh. Sanji gasps in shock more than anything, dropping to his knee. The sword is already sliding out of his sweaty palm, and Ichiji’s final strike knocks it flying. The blade lands well out of reach. 

Before Sanji can even look to see how badly his brother cut him, Ichiji kicks him in the stomach. Sanji doubles over, and Ichiji stomps him into the dirt, stabbing his sword into the ground beside Sanji’s head. Ichiji grabs his arm and twists it behind his back, digging in his knee into the other. 

Sanji struggles weakly, staring dazedly at the blade glinting in the sun just inches from his face. His pant leg feels wet as blood spills out. 

“You’re fuckin’ lucky your life is worth anything,” Ichiji spits, twisting harder. 

Sanji stifles a cry, managing to pull his other arm from under Ichiji’s knee so he can clamp his hand over his mouth. Ichiji growls and twists harder, and Sanji shuts his eyes, pressing his teeth together to restrain his groan. 

“You’re gonna break it,” Yonji warns. “Dad wouldn’t be too happy.” 

Ichiji leans over and brings his face closer to Sanji’s ear. “You thought you could get away with slacking off for so long,” he hisses. “You think being fucking pathetic is an excuse for being lazy. We’ve all got the same responsibilities. Act like a fucking prince.” 

Ichiji’s weight presses down on him. Sanji fights just so he doesn’t get crushed into the ground so hard it restricts his breathing. It already hurts to breathe, to move. It feels like the slightest twitch will rip his arm out of its socket. 

His brother lifts him up a few inches just to slam him down again. Sanji can’t even cry out in pain before the wind is knocked out of him, his face pressed into the dirt and that sword so very close. 

A soft breeze drifts through the forest. Sanji shuts his eye as the breeze hits it. He shivers as it carries the heat from his sweat-drenched body, raising the hairs on his neck. 

Ichiji’s hand is hot on his wrist, so tight that Sanji’s fingers are starting to go numb. 

“I think he gets it,” Niji suggests. “Come on, I’m hungry.” 

Ichiji lets go. He stands up and rolls Sanji onto his back with his boot, stomping into Sanji’s chest and looming over him. Ichiji pulls the sword from the ground and lays the tip against Sanji’s forehead, right in the middle of the curl of his left eyebrow. 

Sanji lays completely still, dirt stuck to one side of his face and his other eye swimming with tears. Ichiji’s boot presses on his ribs, and he holds his breath. 

The tip of the sword breaks the first layer of skin. Sanji is so sure that his brother is going to slice into his eyebrow and scar that prestigious Vinsmoke curl, but the blade is lifted away. Ichiji raises the sword, and Sanji raises his arms to protect himself. 

Nothing comes. Yonji scoops up the fallen sword, and Ichiji sheathes his own. Sanji peers through his arms and watches them walk away. 

The evening sun burns through the treetops. The forest shadows swallow his brothers. They don’t give him so much as a second glance as they walk away. 

Sanji grips his chest and lays down in the grass, too scared to take his eyes away from the direction they went in case they change their minds and come back. He can’t make himself stop shaking. Looking at the bloody patch on his leg doesn’t help. It looks deep. Sanji makes an effort to sit up, propping himself up on one arm and reaching to grip his leg with the other. His palm instantly smears with blood. 

He can’t get his legs under him enough to test if he can even walk home. Sanji slumps into the grass and half-heartedly brushes dirt from his cheek. His shoulder and wrist hurt from Ichiji’s twisting, but it’ll probably just bruise like everything else. 

Not everything... Sanji looks back at his leg, knowing he should try to stop the bleeding, but struggling to find the energy and coordination. 

Twigs snap behind him. His heart pounds so fast it steals his breath again, and he whirls around to face the noise, scrambling backwards as fast as he can in a flurry of limbs. 

Zoro emerges from the forest, the axe held at his hip, calm but alert. His fingers brush against a gash Ichiji made in a nearby tree, and he turns. His eyes quickly sweep around and land on Sanji. The swordsman tosses aside the axe and races over. 

Sanji holds up his hands, shaking in fear even as Zoro comes to a stop and stares at him. Zoro’s eyes move from Sanji’s fearful eyes to his bloody, trembling hands, and finally down to the bloody mess of his trouser leg. Zoro pulls the bandana loose from his arm, itching to approach but holding himself back. 

It feels like the only strength he has left is that fearful tension. Sanji manages to loosen just enough to let his hands drop. They flop weakly into the grass, and Zoro bolts to him. He gets to his knee and reaches for Sanji’s leg, scooping his hand under Sanji’s knee. Sanji flinches at the moment of contact, and Zoro looks at him. 

“Takin’ a nap out here?” Zoro asks. 

“None of your business,” Sanji grumbles. “What are you doing out here?” If you had to show up, at least you came when you did and not a second before. Sanji can’t imagine what this patch of forest might look like if Zoro had walked in on the brothers. He wonders if they’d have bothered bringing him back to the castle to torture him, or sliced him to pieces right here. 

“Sorry, didn't know you owned these woods,” Zoro scoffs, eyeing the wound and lifting his hand to touch again but waiting. 

I do. Sanji scowls deeply, but doesn’t try to stop Zoro from touching him again. He can't help but flinch as Zoro slides a hand under his back to help him sit up. It’s not like he needs the help, he just won't stop fucking shaking . Zoro moves carefully, inspecting the wound enough to make sure he ties the bandana in the right place. He pulls the knot tight, and Sanji lets out a gasp as the pain finally hits him. 

Ichiji got him good. 

“Troublemakers, huh.” Zoro looks at him. 

“I fell,” Sanji grumbles, avoiding Zoro’s perceptive eyes in case the other man reads too deep into his own. 

“Right.” Zoro stands up. “It’s getting dark.” He bends down and holds out his hands. 

The way the sun strikes Zoro’s hair reminds him of a grassy field, lacking only the wildflowers. Sanji looks down at Zoro outstretched hands. They’re bruised, scarred, and calloused from work, and probably from fighting. Definitely from fighting. They hang patiently. Sanji slides his fingers into Zoro’s, hesitating to touch with his bloodied hand. Zoro is undeterred by the blood, making contact. He wraps his fingers around Sanji’s hands and pulls him to his feet. That grip is full of untapped and carefully moderated strength, perfectly proportioned to pull Sanji smoothly up. It’s an oddly comfortable grip. 

Sanji gets his feet under himself, briefly deceived of his own strength by how effortlessly Zoro righted him. “I don’t need –” Pain and fatigue buckle his leg, and he pitches. 

Zoro catches him, snapping out to grab him. Somehow with that speed he manages to be gentle, sliding his hand under Sanji’s armpit to support him. He’s not going to be able to walk home like this. Sanji shivers and stares at his feet, trying to decide what the best outcome is from here, but struggling to think. 

Zoro helps him a couple of steps over and leans him against a tree, drawing cautiously away to make sure Sanji is stable. Then he jogs back to his axe and scoops it up. Sanji smears the blood from his hand onto his pants and watches Zoro head for the spilled rice next. Zoro puts the axe back down and gets to his knee, carefully scooping the rice and egg back into the bowl. 

“Oh, that’s... don't worry about that...” Sanji trails off as Zoro picks every last chunk of egg off the ground and puts it all back into the bowl, leaving only a few grains of rice behind. He slides the plate back over the top and reties the bundle, holding it and the axe in one hand. 

Zoro smiles at him and holds out his arm. “Looks good,” he says. “Can’t wait to eat it. I love omelet.” 

Dumbfounded, Sanji can only allow Zoro to duck under his arm and help him off toward the river. 

Sanji can’t make himself stop shaking. Zoro is comfortingly warm against his trembling body, easily supporting him as he limps painfully. 

The river really isn’t far. Sanji wonders if Zoro heard the clashing of blades, or if he just wandered into the area. Sanji hangs his head, focusing on his footfalls so he doesn’t trip and bring them both crashing down. Before he knows it, they’ve come to a stop. Sanji looks up at the river, Zoro’s small camp just across. 

Zoro slides the axe into the sash around his waist and hands Sanji the food bundle. Then he bends down and scoops Sanji right off his feet, hopping into the river. 

Sanji loops his arms around Zoro’s neck in shock, digging in his fingers. It doesn’t even feel as if Zoro is exerting himself as the other man wades across the river. If he weren't so tightly wound, he might be tempted to doze off and rest his tired body. He hopes Zoro can’t feel how badly he’s still shaking. 

Zoro reaches the opposite bank and puts Sanji down on the grass before climbing out. He pulls the axe from the sash and puts it down with today’s pile of chopped wood. He starts to loosen his soaked boots, pulling them off as he rummages through his stuff. Sanji looks down at his leg. The bleeding hasn’t completely stopped, but it hasn’t had the chance. Zoro’s bandana helped, though. Sanji pulls at the cut edges of his trouser leg, trying to inspect the length of wound. 

Bare-footed, trousers rolled up, Zoro hops back into the river and hands Sanji a roll of bandages. Then he loosens the bandana and wets his hand to clean away the blood. 

New blood quickly dribbles out. Zoro guides Sanji’s hand to press the bandages hard over the wound. “Seen worse.” Zoro washes the blood from his hands. 

“Obviously.” Sanji doesn’t mean to snap. He looks away and grips the other side of his leg, squeezing as hard as he can and gritting his teeth. 

Zoro doesn’t seem bothered. In fact, he laughs. “Yeah, I guess.” He nudges Sanji's hand aside to wash again, splashing water over the wound and rubbing carefully to clean some of the thicker smears of blood. 

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Sanji asks doubtfully. 

“I didn’t survive this long without learning a thing or two,” Zoro reassures. 

“All that proves is that you’re stubborn,” Sanji replies flatly. 

Zoro shrugs. “And I have a good doctor. He taught me some stuff, made sure I knew what I needed to take care of myself until I get back to the crew.” He rips the hole in the fabric wider for a better view of the wound, washing off more blood. 

“You have a crew?” 

"Yeah. I’ll be back with them soon.” Zoro puts his hand over Sanji’s and applies pressure. “Hang on right here.” 

Sanji sits still and keeps the pressure, watching as Zoro climbs out of the river and goes back to his stuff. The swordsman rummages around and returns with another mixture of leaves. 

“These are good for keeping stuff clean,” Zoro explains, holding up one of the leaves. “Not sure how he knows, but he’s smart. Here, he said saliva helps too.” He holds up the handful. 

Sanji is in no position to argue. He picks the leaves out of Zoro’s hands and puts them in his mouth, chewing tentatively. They taste horribly bitter. He crinkles his nose as he chews them, wondering if they would taste good in any sort of cooking. Perhaps diluted in sweet apple juice, they would be enjoyable. He chews until the mixture is a paste in his mouth, looking down at Zoro’s waiting hand. He spits out the mixture, glancing up apprehensively. 

Unbothered, Zoro scoops the mixture out of his palm and smears it along the length of the wound. It stings, and badly, much worse than when Zoro rubbed his mystery mixture into his head wound not too long ago. Sanji grits his teeth. 

Zoro pries the bandage out of Sanji’s hand and lays the end against his leg. He holds Sanji's leg off the ground enough to wrap, pulling the bandage snug. Sanji watches with interest as Zoro covers up the length of the wound, hiding away most of the blood except for the stains above and below. 

“I don’t think it needs stitches,” Zoro says, tying the knot. He slips his finger under it to test the tightness. “Keep an eye on it. Keep it clean.” 

Sanji nods dazedly. It doesn’t look so bad now that it’s covered. He never did get a good look at how deep it was, but he’s not going to be able to walk home if he wants to get there before midnight. 

Zoro plops down beside him, the dish towel bundle in one hand and another package in the other. He folds his legs and hands Sanji the second bundle before eagerly unwrapping the meal Sanji brought for him. 

It’s ruined, all the rice and egg mixed in with a couple of fallen leaves. Sanji opens his mouth to protest, but Zoro picks out the leaves and plunges the spoon right in, scooping up a big mouthful. Sanji winces as he spots grass stuck to the rice. 

“Mm.” Zoro chews contentedly, either not noticing or not bothered by the grass. Sanji just hopes there isn’t too much dirt in the food, because there’s no stopping Zoro from going in for another bite before he’s even fully swallowed the first. 

Sanji looks at his lap and unties the knot, letting the fabric fall away from one of Zeff’s reed baskets full of a packed lunch. Sanji grips the basket and stares at the arrangement of food. The shredded beef stuffed into a sliced bun blurs with the fresh fruit as his eyes well up with tears. He can hear Zoro chomping away happily beside him, spoon knocking against the bowl as he scrapes up every last mouthful. Sanji drops his face into his hands to stop his tears from dripping onto the food. 

Zoro’s big hand claps him on the back. “Hey, you don’t like beef?” 

“No!” Sanji barks, stifling a laugh. “I mean yes – I mean I like beef just fine! Just eat your damn omelet, you damn oaf!” 

He never ate lunch, he realizes. The sun is setting rapidly. Sanji wipes his eyes and picks up the bun, stuffing it into his mouth with no attempt at delicacy. It tastes as good as Zeff’s cooking always does. 

Zoro runs the spoon around the bowl for every last grain of rice and blade of grass that he can salvage, licking his lips clean. He puts down the bowl and pats his stomach with a sigh. “So good.” 

Sanji swallows and looks over for a glimpse of Zoro’s happy expression, a look that only a full belly can provide. His hands are trembling again. 

Zoro lies back and puts his hands behind his head, crossing his legs. “You got a place to go, Cook?” 

Sanji looks up at castle towers still faintly backlit by the last sunset glow. The moon isn’t full enough to provide much light from the front. Sanji sighs and looks back down at his food, picking out the last few berries.  

“I promise not to cause trouble if you let me carry you home.” 

Sanji looks down at Zoro. The moonlight shines much better off his eyes and earrings. He wonders if Zoro could be convinced to leave him somewhere in the inner city. 

Zoro shrugs. “Or we can just stay out here. Nice night to sleep under the stars.” 

A few stars are flickering into sight. A soft breeze sweeps through the forest, and Sanji shivers as it buffets his thin shirt. 

Zoro gets up with a grunt and rolls down his pant legs, tightening his boots over top. He offers his hands again. “Why don’t we go to the inn for tonight, huh? I’m sure the old man would let you stay the night. You can sleep in my bed.” 

“Zoro...” Sanji frowns. “I really don’t need...” 

“You got a better idea?” Zoro challenges. “You don’t want me to take you home, and we don’t have to stay out here. A bed’s a luxury I don’t really care about anyway, and I can’t get too used to it. Seeing as I’ll be back on my ship eventually.” 

Zeff will have questions. Sanji bites his lip, hating the idea of worrying the old man. Spending the night at the inn does sound appealing though. And he can fight Zoro about who gets the bed once they arrive. Sanji takes the hands. 

Stiffness is setting in. Sanji does his best not to bend his leg and lets Zoro hold his weight just to keep the wound from opening up and bleeding through the bandages Zoro so carefully wrapped for him. The forest shadows deepen, and the night bugs chirp loudly all around them. There isn't a soul here but the two of them. 

The city is quiet at this time of evening, but a few people are still moving about. Nobody pays them any attention as Zoro helps him limp through the streets to the inn. They walk around the back and Zoro opens the back door. Sanji takes one last look up at the castle towers looming almost black against the stars, barely visible but creating a void of stars where they block the sky. Zoro guides him inside and bolts the door shut behind them. 

The kitchen is empty, and the dining area is quiet. Dinner is long over, and the other guests have probably retired to their rooms by now. Zoro puts down the axe and their empty dishes, and adjusts his grip on Sanji to better support his deepening limp. Zoro helps him out of the kitchen, through reception, and along the wall to the staircase that leads to the handful of rooms on the second floor. Sanji looks up them. 

“I can carry you,” Zoro whispers, already moving to scoop Sanji up. The stairway is just wide enough to fit Sanji dangling in Zoro’s arms like before. 

“No,” Sanji whispers aggressively back, smacking away Zoro’s hand reaching down to pick him up under the knees. “I can walk, you brute.” He puts his foot on the first step. 

“You’ll wake the old man with your lopsided clomping.” 

“Shh! You’ll wake up him up!” Sanji hisses, taking a step with his injured leg. 

Zoro hoists him up, replacing the need for Sanji to use any strength to lift himself up. And Zoro is, somehow, very light on his feet. He keeps up, holding Sanji’s entire weight on every second step without the slightest falter. They reach the top much faster than Sanji would have anticipated. 

Zoro’s room is in the middle of the hallway. They walk the short distance, and Zoro opens the door, guiding Sanji into the small room and over to the bed. He eases Sanji down to sit, and Sanji bends down to take off his boots. 

Zoro strips off his top and boots, putting his boots on the windowsill to dry and folding his clothes onto a small shelf in the corner. It’s a small room, the remainder of Zoro’s belongings taking up very little space even within it. 

“Mind the window open?” Zoro whispers. 

“Nah, I always keep mine open.” Sanji stands up, keeping his weight off his injured leg and leaning on the bedpost, wondering if he can convince Zoro to sleep in his own bed and leave him to the floor. It shouldn’t be that hard, despite Zoro’s earlier claims. “Hey, uh...” 

Zoro approaches him and reaches past, drawing down the blankets and pushing him back sitting. Sanji finds himself turned gently around and pushed firmly down onto the pillow. 

“Zoro –” Sanji begins to protest, but Zoro just brings over his folded clothes and tucks them under Sanji’s legs. 

“Comfortable?” Zoro stands over him, hands on hips, grinning down at him like he’s won some kind of fight. Sanji has never seen a grin of victory quite as cheerful as that, even as the moonlight shines shadows on Zoro’s stern face and scarred body. 

“Y-yeah.” 

“Okay, sleep then.” Zoro draws the blanket over him.

Sanji is tired, and sore. His leg throbs and the herbs sting, but it’s nice to be lying down. He can hear the last of the city bustle fading away through the window, the stars shining brighter as the sky grows darker. The wooden walls are thinner than the castle stone, and the bed smells like Zoro. Zoro smells like sweat and rice and tree sap, and the faint smell of some sort of oil Sanji has never smelled before. 

It’s nice. He closes his eyes. 

-- 

Birds chirp near the window. Sanji blinks open his eyes and stares at the faintest blues just starting to melt the edges of the night sky. He can hear the rustle of a couple other guests, and faint conversation at the bottom of the staircase. 

Sanji turns onto his other side to face the door and listen, rubbing his eyes clear. The room is empty. 

“Did he tell you what happened?” Zeff asks quietly. 

Silence – Zoro must have shaken his head. 

“Hmm. He alright?” 

“He’ll heal. I did what I could.” 

“Go fetch some water for the day,” Zeff orders. Zoro must have obeyed, because one pair of footsteps walks away from the steps, and another clomps up them. 

Zeff’s limping steps approach the door. The wood creaks as the old man carefully pushes it open, a tray in his hands. 

Sanji sits up in bed. “Old man...” 

Zeff clomps across the floor and sits on the edge of the bed with a groan and offers out the tray. On it is tea and a breakfast spread. Sanji turns himself in bed and sits down beside Zeff, putting the tray in his lap to eat. Zeff’s eyes are drawn to the bandages, and Sanji looks down at them too. The bloodstain shows where the cut is hidden, but the stain has already dried brown. 

Zeff sighs and crosses his arms, keeping his voice down. “They do that?” he asks gruffly. 

Sanji nods and eats some buttered bread. 

“Stay for the day.” 

Sanji looks up and frowns. 

“Don’t argue with me, boy. Just stay in the kitchen and put my old heart at ease for just one damn day.” 

Sanji can’t say he likes the idea of going home. His brothers left him out in the forest anyway, and it’s not like he could train with them. 

They're not going to let him slip away so easily anymore. Sanji shivers and nods. “Okay,” he agrees in a whisper. “Thank you.” 

Zeff’s hand pats him heavily on the back and lingers. “Eat up, and wait for the broccoli boy. I’d help you if I could, but if I tried to get you down those stairs, we’d both end up in a heap at the bottom.” 

Sanji cracks a smile. “How about I help you down instead, old man?” 

“Watch your mouth, boy.” Zeff stands up and points in Sanji’s face, clomping back across the room. “And behave.” He looks back to scowl as he shuts the door. 

Sanji smiles and finishes his breakfast. 

Zoro returns shortly, dressed in a spare shirt that hangs loosely on his body, the collar barely hiding the top edge of his scar. The short sleeves billow around his biceps, which flex and ripple as he reaches out to help Sanji to his feet. 

A good night’s rest has done his wound some good. The pain is deep-set and the cut muscle is stiff, but it doesn’t string so badly, and he feels steadier. Zoro helps him back down the steps and all the way to the kitchen where Zeff is preparing breakfast for the other guests. 

“Alright boy, get to work.” Zeff hands him the cleaver handle-first and a bowl of potatoes Sanji flips the blade in his hand, glad to find that his grip is steady. 

Zoro wanders into the corner by the back door and slumps against the wall, crossing his legs and leaning back, folding his hands behind his head. He shuts his eyes and is snoring loudly within seconds. Sanji smiles and looks away, getting quickly to work.

The day goes by far too quickly. When the sun sets, Zoro takes him home.

Takes him to the inner city, at least. They part ways before the guards can spot them together, just in case. Sanji draws away from Zoro's supportive arm and limps up the street to the castle walls. He walks through them, and once the guards are behind him, looks back. Zoro is standing there watching, his bandana hiding his bright green hair, staring after Sanji, hand pawing at his hip as it so often does.

Sanji turns away, hoping that whatever happens next, he can still find a way to see Zeff and Zoro again.

Chapter Text

It’s not that Sanji doesn’t feel the buzz – just that it’s giving him anxiety rather than causing excitement. He dresses in a clean white shirt and drapes his royal red cape over his shoulders. He combs his hair and inspects himself in the mirror. 

Training has intensified since he stayed the night with Zoro one week ago, leaving little room for rest. His bruises aren’t visible, but his face looks especially tired. The instructor doesn’t know what his brothers did to him. Fortunately, Sanji has done a fine job of hiding the wound, even though his brothers haven’t eased up on him. Whatever Zoro put on it seems to have helped. 

His hand itches for a kitchen knife, but he hasn't had the chance to sneak into the kitchen even to make himself a small snack. 

Zeff will understand. Sanji doesn’t know Zoro well, but he hopes the other man will understand too. He owes Zoro those rice balls more than ever. He hopes Zoro doesn’t return to his crew before Sanji gets the chance. 

It seems unlikely he’ll even see the man again. 

The only good thing to come of this tournament is that there will be no training today. Sanji leaves his room and joins his family on the front steps of the castle where their horses are waiting. There’s barely time for him to offer his hand for his horse to inspect before his brothers are hustling him to hurry up. Sanji climbs into the saddle, and the horse follows the others across the courtyard and into the inner city. 

The packed streets have been parted by the guards long ahead of time to allow for the royal family to pass. It’s been a long time since the arena was used, but not long enough for the people to forget the excitement of tournaments and bloody battles that have taken place here. 

They ride past lineups of contestants being escorted under the stadium by guards. Sanji can already see the gold-tipped hilt of the white katana poking up over the walls of the stadium, mounted on top of a pole in the middle of the arena. He looks back down at the throngs of men eager to enter the competition. He wonders how far Judge spread the invitation. There is certainly a variety of weapons being carried. The competitors are already eyeing each other up, adjusting grips on weapons and shuffling feet. Sanji can’t help but wonder which man will be the last one standing. 

A guard takes their horses at the royal entrance. Judge leads the way, and Sanji is herded in after. The family climbs several flights of stone steps all the way to the booth. Judge sits on his throne, and the brothers take their seats in a line just in front. Sanji nervously adjusts his cape as his brothers lean back. The box just below is full of delegates, and the rest of the stadium is packed to the brim with as many citizens as can fit. The arena is empty, but Sanji can see people milling about the shadows through the open gates leading in. 

Sanji looks back up at the sky to the top of the pole where the prize is mounted. The sunshine bouncing off the polished gold is almost blinding. Clouds drift gently across the blue sky, but those persistent storm clouds are still visible in the distance. 

“I don’t know why anyone would do this.” Niji yawns. “Good fun to watch.” 

Sanji agrees at least with the first part. 

Yonji laughs. “When you’re a stateless rogue, honor is the only thing you have to fight for. Either way, it cleans up the area of these scoundrels.” 

“At least the ones stupid enough to enter something like this,” Ichiji adds. “I just hope enough of them are good enough to make this worth the ride over.” 

His brothers glance at him, but Sanji refuses to join in with the conversation. Ichiji looks at him smugly and looks back down at the open gate on the opposite side of the arena. 

Judge stands up, and the king’s voice booms across the stadium. 

“The winner of this rare sword shall be the absolute winner of this championship!” Judge declares. “And with it, I will grant the winner a position of great power within this great nation.” 

The raising of his hands is the only sign he needs to give: the guards at the gates invite the warriors to pass, and the arena begins to fill. 

Men stream into the arena from all four gates, and the fight begins before the last one is through. First there is near silence, then the storming of feet. Then, the deafening sound of clashing steel, roaring crowds, and the inevitable screams of pain as the first men fall. The chaos whips up in a matter of seconds, vibrating their seats. Sanji perches on his, refusing to even try to get comfortable. 

The chaos is too much to focus on. Sanji lets his eyes drift apart so he doesn’t have to observe the details, but even from this high up he can see the splatters of red starting to form in the dirt. The steady clink of chain on gears is barely audible as the guards lower the steel-barred gates. No backing out now, I guess. All he can hope for is that everybody here knew what they signed up for, because most of them aren't going to get out alive. 

He can’t imagine why anyone would risk their lives for something like this. The weakest fighters have already been culled, their bodies strewn about the outer edges of the arena for the others to step over. The first gate thumps shut.  

Something moves suddenly from his right. Sanji snaps his eyes onto it as two more gates thump closed. A figure slides under the last gate just as it closes behind him, pops to his feet, and runs into the throng. 

Zoro. Sanji has to stop himself from lurching to his feet, but he grips his knees instead. His brothers murmur to each other. 

Despite the bandana covering his green hair and the vast distance between them, that is so clearly Zoro’s outfit covering strong shoulders. 

What are you doing here?  

Zoro’s eyes are locked onto the sword at the top of the pole, but he drops his head back down to lock onto the battling warriors the second he needs to – the second one of them notices and takes a swing. Zoro drops under the sword without the slightest hint of hesitation, sliding on his knees far enough to get under the sword before getting to his feet and running onward. 

He’s heading straight for that pole. 

Zoro is treating the fight like background noise, effortlessly weaving his way deeper into the fight without any interest in fighting anyone who sets their sights on him. 

But the fighting is getting more dense, and the spaces to duck and weave between are getting smaller. One of the men finishes off his opponent and throws the hemorrhaging corpse aside, baring his blade at Zoro. Zoro slows his pursuit and comes to a stop. 

Sanji can’t take his eyes away. He can already see Zoro’s body being torn to pieces in a thousand different ways, and it might make him sick if he has to watch. 

What are you doing here? I promised you Onigiri. You’re going to die! Sanji follows the direction Zoro it pointed and turns his head back up to the top of the pole where the sword is waiting. It can’t be worth this. What could possibly be worth this kind of risk?  

Zoro moves. Sanji’s eyes flick down to watch as Zoro faces off against the swordsman with his bare hands raised as if that’s comparable, as if that in any way can fend off against a weapon like that, as if – 

The swordsman manages one swing. Zoro deflects it with his palm against the flat of the broadsword, guiding it away from his body and reaching inward. He grabs the swordman’s wrist and yanks, throwing the man in a circle and down into the dust. The sword falls from the man’s hand, and the man himself does not get up. Zoro scoops the toe of his boot under the hilt of the sword and tosses it into his hand. He doesn’t even care to check if the man he threw down is dead, he just steps over the body and walks calmly further toward the center of the ring, the sword held ready by his side. 

Some of the other fighters are paying attention now – Zoro has their interest. Zoro is a threat. 

One man tosses his throwing axes and catches them again, spreading one leg back and wielding them at Zoro to make a challenge.  

It’s difficult to see facial expression from so far away. Zoro returns no such flourish, but his mouth does move. Sanji watches as the axe-wielding man listens, retorts, and laughs. Mirth becomes vitriol, and the man rushes. Sanji flinches. 

Those axes come swiping one after the other, over and over again. Zoro lifts the sword to defend, somehow managing to block both axes with a single weapon, though he is being pushed back. 

Not pushed... It’s as if Zoro has fought this exact pattern a thousand times before, easily defending himself while taking small steps back to maintain distance. He even manages to sidestep a wild attack from someone behind him, and even that doesn’t make him falter. When the moment is perfect, Zoro executes the most precise strike that Sanji has ever seen. He sidesteps to avoid the dropped axes, the man’s arms cleanly cut deep enough to force him to drop the weapons. 

It’s not that Zoro seems opposed to killing anyone, he just doesn’t seem that interested. Zoro shoves the bleeding man out of his way and resumes course to the middle of the arena. Sanji tries to remember to breathe. He risks glancing beside him. 

His brothers are watching, mildly interested in the proceedings, clenching fists excitedly when someone gets done in especially satisfyingly. Ichiji’s face is starting to frown with interest though as his eyes scan across the chaos. The others are catching on too. Sanji looks back at the fight. 

The air is full of dust, even as blood splatters stick down more and more of the area. Zoro can’t just run the rest of the way to the center, forced to fight the people in his way. Zoro’s ringing blade blends right in with the rest of the fighting, even though the numbers are down to about half by now. The other swordsman spins the sword so fast that it blurs, advancing on Zoro. That spinning sword creates enough of a barrier that Zoro is going to have trouble breaking through what is acting both as an attack and a defense. Zoro's stolen blade rings off of it as he defends himself, slowly backing up once more as he looks for that opening. Sanji can’t fathom what kind of opening could be found. He wants nothing more than to avert his eyes and stare at the clouds in case he has to watch Zoro get his arms cut off. 

It’s a good thing he doesn’t look away. There isn't much space to maneuver in this part of the arena, but Zoro manages to find a spot where he has enough room to take a couple of running steps, leap off the back of another fighter, and vault himself over his opponent, over that spinning blade. Zoro grabs the man around the throat and pulls him down. He lands, and hurls the other man into the fighting like a sack of potatoes. Then he kicks the sword into his other hand. 

Competitors are paying attention now. Zoro turns his attention back onto that pole, but he still has the tightest ring of opponents to get through. Sanji is going to pass out. 

Of the men advancing, Zoro takes quick stock of them, choosing which one he wants to fight first. He aims for the man with the broadsword, but the others aren’t keen to wait in line, and they spread around him to form a circle. Only two swords to block six men swinging their weapons at him at once seems like a recipe for near-instant death, but Zoro is completely undeterred. 

He wields those two swords like six. His focus is still set on that man with the broadsword. Sanji frowns. 

Zoro’s earrings slip free of his bandana, his earlobe popping out from under the tied edge and the sun catching on the three gold piercings.  

Zoro makes use of a gap so small and brief, Sanji would never have spotted it; the swordsman jumps over a low sword swing and under a high mace swing, exiting the circle as effortlessly as opening the door to a room and walking out. He lands and cuts down the swordsman. The sword falls from his dead hand, throwing up dust alongside the corpse. Zoro walks up to the fallen blade. 

What Zoro could possibly want with a third sword, Sanji has no idea – 

Zoro kicks this one up too, with more force than the others, high enough to get it into his mouth. His teeth clamp around the leather handle, jaw flexing as he rolls the blade to face outward. 

Oh. I see.  

The other five men take a run at him, but if six men wasn't enough for two-sword Zoro, then five isn't enough to handle three-sword Zoro. There isn’t much swinging range in the head and neck, but Zoro somehow manages to match the leverage of his arm swings by using the rest of his body. Sanji can see the muscles in his neck and jaw flexing as Zoro uses the third blade just as dexterously as the ones in his hands. 

Those five men don’t last long, disarmed and dispatched with efficient attacks. And Zoro doesn’t stick around to enjoy his victory, squaring up to the pole again and charging toward it. He cuts himself a path through the last of the fighters. In the final stretch, he drops all three swords and sprints at the pole. Zoro diverts, jumps off the back of another occupied fighter, and grabs the pole. Someone swipes at his legs, but Zoro is already too high up. 

It’s a long way up. Zoro pulls himself up with his hands and pushes with his boots, maintaining an impressive climbing speed. Some of the other fighters have noticed, but he’s much too high for them to reach. 

The crowds are watching. Sanji can’t hear the creak of a bow over the excitement, but the movement of a guard at the edge of the arena across from them drawing back an arrow does catch his eye. The guard hesitates. Sanji risks a glance over his shoulder at his father. Judge makes eye contact with the waiting guard and nods at him. 

The arrow flies loose. Sanji raises his hand to block his vision, but Zoro lets go of the pole and grips it with his thighs, spinning as he drops to keep himself from falling to the ground. The arrow flies overhead, and Zoro grabs the pole with his hands again. 

His momentum is slowed, but Zoro keeps climbing. The higher he gets to the top, the more the pole sways, but it’s sturdy enough to bear his weight. The guard draws back another arrow, but Zoro doesn’t bother evading this one; the wind catches it and diverts it off course, missing him easily. Zoro stretches his arm and wraps his fingers around the katana. 

From this height, Zoro is well above them. He finally takes in the rest of the arena, and his eyes catch the booth. 

Sanji’s heart comes to a lurching stop as Zoro picks him out from the lineup almost instantly. They stare at each other for a brief moment, familiarity overcoming Zoro’s expression. He raises two fingers in the faintest, smallest gesture, one that Sanji almost miss. What he definitely doesn’t miss, however, is the way that Zoro flicks his eyes to the other three brothers, and to Judge. And the distance is not so great that Sanji can’t see a flicker of rage briefly etch into Zoro’s stern brow. 

Zoro crosses his legs and grips the pole with his thighs, letting go with his other hand and sliding the sword into his sash. His body starts to slide slowly down the pole, twisting as he descends. Zoro’s eyes scan the other brothers, getting one good look at each of them and Judge before grabbing the pole and dropping. 

Zoro drops too fast for the archer to hit him. Twenty feet from the bottom he grabs the pole tightly with his hands and comes to a stop. He lets go with his legs, pushing them away and swinging back. Then he lets go with his hands and pushes off, leaping backwards over what remains of the fighting. Zoro completes the arc and lands on his feet in cloud of dust, bending his knees and resting his hand softly over the hilt of his katana. 

His.  

The other fighters are having their prize stolen from them. What’s left of them disperse. Sanji can’t help but wonder if their best chance is just to play dead. 

Zoro pulls the bandana off his head and ties it around his arm. He slides his foot back and tightens his grip on his sword one finger at a time, as if savoring its feeling in his hand. Sanji can see him take a deep breath and release it. 

That storm is coming. Sanji looks up at the dark clouds struggling to make their way over the kingdom. They’re close enough to dim the sky at least a little and cool the air. The dust clouds are billowing across the arena, the wind carrying them past Zoro and toward what remains of the competitors. The breeze billows Sanji’s bangs and settles. 

The rest of the chaos fades out, and for a moment he’s certain that all he can hear is the soft ring of metal against metal as Zoro draws his sword. 

Lightning flashes in the sky far, far away. So far, that it takes many, many seconds for the distant rumble to reach them. It’s almost too faint to hear, but Sanji listens for it. He wonders if the rest of the spectators are even aware, if his own brothers can feel how badly that storm wants to blow over the Germa kingdom. It’s about time for storm season to begin. 

Perhaps even overdue. 

The competitors seem to agree that killing Zoro is their best bet at any one of them getting out alive. They charge at him. Zoro takes his sweet time pulling his sword all the way out of its sheath, letting them come to him. The tip slides free. His breathing has slowed. 

Whatever energy Zoro exerted up until now has been fully recovered. The men have already weakened themselves by running so fast toward him, but perhaps they think they can win with sheer numbers. That would be a reasonable strategy in any other situation, but it seems so foolish here. Somehow, this seems like a worse idea than lining up one at a time. 

Zoro coils his body as the wave meets him. He’s no less deadly with one sword compared to three. The openings seem to form around his body as he ducks and weaves through gaps of swinging and stabbing weapons. Someone makes the mistake of throwing a knife at him, and his dodge is so fast it makes it look like the thrower was aiming at another competitor all along. Not a single motion is wasted – Zoro makes good use of the swarms of attackers to land a blow with every movement. 

Zoro cuts his way through the best fifth of the competitors faster than the first half fell. 

The crowd roars. Sanji is perched on the edge of his seat to watch, looking back at Judge as his father nods at the guard again. The guard passes on the message, and the gates start to lift open. 

Catch or kill, Sanji has no idea what his father’s plan is as guards stream in through the open gates. Either way, Zoro is having none of it. The moment he hears those gates opening, he turns toward the nearest one and runs for it. He meets the wave of Germa soldiers like an arrow through a silk curtain, tearing himself a hole to escape. 

Sanji holds his breath as Zoro effortlessly breaks through the ranks of soldiers and disappears into the shadows. The clashing and yelling becomes more distant, but the crowd is dying down in shock and apprehension as Zoro leaves dead and dying soldiers in his wake. 

Judge is on his feet. The brothers stand up and Sanji does too, but he can’t see over the high walls of the arena to see if Zoro has made it out. The sounds of fighting haven’t stopped though, joined by hoofbeats as soldiers outside the arena mount up for the chase. Judge’s face is hard and his eyes burn with rage, but the crowds are too far away to see that. So when the king throws up his hands in false triumph, the crowds kick up and cheer again. 

Sanji stares at the top of the pole gently swaying. I guess you weren’t lying when you said you were a swordsman...  

The Demon of the East has just humiliated the Germa kingdom in a most public display. Run for your life, and don’t stop running.  

-- 

The ride back to the castle is very quiet. For once, his brothers are just as tense. Sanji rubs the base of his horse’s neck, thinking about Zoro on top of that pole, the sun shining on him, looking down at the booth, looking at Sanji. 

The fight is long over, but his heartbeat is still pounding. His legs are shaking when the family dismounts in the courtyard and climb the steps. 

Run. He hopes Zoro takes what’s his and runs back to his crew. Don’t look back. Zoro was so adamant about helping, and now that he knows... Well, now you know why I didn't want you to know.  

It was nice while it lasted. Thank you for eating my food and for helping me the way you did.  

Judge storms through the throne room and across the castle toward the dining room. The brothers follow, their gazes fixed firmly ahead rather than eying Sanji. Somehow it makes everything feel more tense. Judge bursts into the dining room, and for a moment Sanji sees Zoro’s bloodied corpse atop the table instead of the roast sitting in the center of the celebratory feast. 

Sanji wonders what rank Judge was planning to grant the champion, or if it was just a lie to drive excitement. 

The cooks wait nervously by the door. Judge approaches the table and reaches for a glass of wine laid at the nearest place. He draws back his hand and touches the chair, and the other brothers flinch. 

“Sanji,” Judge says gruffly, peering over his shoulder. His finger traces the wood grain of ornately carved chair. His eyes are still burning. “Go and get the delegates.” 

Sanji nods jerkily and turns around. His brothers don't even look at him, their stares locked firmly forward. Sanji strides out of the dining room and shuts the doors behind him. 

He barely makes it to the end of the hall before the first crash. The guards have already dispersed. Sanji runs down the empty hallways as fast as he can as the sounds get louder. He hears his father shouting even as he turns corners and climbs stairs. 

The delegates are waiting in the library. They pause their discussion and bow when the prince enters. “The king has asked for you in the dining room.” They nod and walks past, and Sanji steps back to allow them to leave, gripping the nearest bookshelf. 

He hasn’t eaten since before the tournament, but he isn’t sure he could manage a full meal. Sanji smooths out his cloak and takes a few deep breaths in the silence of a library. It would be a shame to waste that feast. He’ll eat what he can when the delegates are finished receiving orders. Sanji leaves the library and walks down the corridor to the steps, walking slowly down them. If the shouting and banging have already stopped, then his brothers have probably already left the dining room. Sanji doesn’t fancy running into them. 

If he keeps his head down, stays out of their way – 

He turns the corner toward the kitchen and dining room, and there they are, leaving the open doors just as the delegates arrive. The larger group makes room for the princes, dropping their heads respectfully. Sanji stops in his tracks and takes a slow step backward as his brothers’ eyes immediately catch him. 

Niji wipes gravy from his jaw and flicks it onto the floor, revealing the forming bruise underneath. Yonji adjusts his cloak to hide the big grease stain on his shoulder. Ichiji smooths out his shirt, and the three of them spread out to fill the hallway, fists clenching and unclenching, jaws grinding. Eyes cold. Sanji turns on his heel and runs. Three pairs of boots stomp after him. 

The corridors are strangely empty. Sanji runs as fast as he can, cape billowing out behind him as his brothers pursue. 

His legs are longer. Fear propels him. Sanji takes the corner as fast as he can, grabbing the stone to help him pivot. His own heartbeat drowns out his brothers’ aggressive panting. It almost drowns out their footsteps, too.  

What if it’s better just to let them catch him and do what they want? All this ever does is delay the inevitable. There never is a way to make it stop. It never does stop. Sanji grits his teeth. 

He can't make his legs stop. He finds himself at a small side staircase and leaps up the steps three at a time, trying not to think too much about his steps in case he loses focus and trips over himself. He can already see himself being grabbed by the collar and thrown to the bottom. Sanji pushes aside the image, almost tripping but recovering his balance. His brothers follow him up the steps, briefly fighting for who gets to go first. Sanji runs down the hallway toward the empty library. 

Sanji weaves between the shelves so they don't have a straight line of sight. He can hear them enter the library and split up to look for him, their low pants and growls echoing through the empty shelves like animals hunting in the forest. Sanji slows to a fast walk, his footfalls masked by the thick rug. He grabs his cloak to stop it from billowing and rushes into the shadows at the back of the library where a few artifacts are displayed on shelves. He grabs a decorative curtain and pulls it around himself, pushing himself tightly into the corner. The curtain reaches the floor, hiding his feet, and is heavy enough not to ripple that much after he stops moving it. 

The heavy fabric falls still, and Sanji holds his breath. 

He wonders if his heartbeat is audible. If so, he hopes the curtain is thick enough to mask it. Sanji tries to regulate his breathing and lower his heartbeat as he listens intently. A sudden rush of lightheadedness almost makes him topple, but he wedges tighter into the corner. 

One of his brothers walks past, fingers tapping on the embossed brass vase on the shelf just a couple of feet away. He can hear another brother running his fingers across the spines of some books on a nearby shelf. Footsteps thump above as the third brother climbs the steps to the balcony that runs around the wall of the library. 

They’re going to find him eventually. The closest brother is getting so goddamned close to the curtain that Sanji can hear him swallow. There can't be much more than a foot of distance between them.

Just as the lack of oxygen starts to eat away at his vision, his brother moves away. Sanji waits until the footsteps are far enough away to start breathing again, letting air back into his burning lungs. He doesn’t dare move from his hiding place even when it sounds like they’ve left. For all he knows, they’re waiting in silence by the library entrance. Sanji holds perfectly still, clenched muscles burning, until his body can’t sustain the tension anymore. Then he relaxes and sinks to the ground, keeping the curtain covering his body. He doesn't dare leave the library for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

The trials couldn’t be timed better – for two days, the brothers have been granted rest. Sanji climbs out of bed early out of habit and goes to stand by the window, watching the late summer sun rise above the kingdom. He pushes his bangs out of his face and watches the birds court each other in the sky.  

The summer heat has cooled down a lot. That storm is still brewing, working its way around the edges of the kingdom as if looking for an entrance through an invisible wall. Sanji shuts his eyes and enjoys the cool breeze on his face. The mild weather will make traveling more enjoyable, so long as it doesn't become a monsoon on top of him, or it could seriously impede his trial.  

Sanji looks at his hands, but they’re steady; he knows he should feel apprehensive about what is sure to be a daunting task. Maybe it’ll hit me when I get there. More than anything, the prospect of four to six weeks on his own sounds like a blessing. He wonders if he could manage to sneak out and see Zeff before leaving.  

Tears well up. Sanji quickly wipes them away. He’s so fucking lucky he chose to go to the forest that day, instead of visiting Zeff. He wonders what would be left of the inn, and more importantly Zeff, if his brothers had followed him there instead. He doesn’t even want to imagine what would have come of the old man.  

Trying to sneak out isn't worth the risk. Sanji scratches his leg and leans against the window to get a look at how the wound is healing. Whatever Zoro’s doctor taught him certainly worked. The wound has healed to a smooth pink line that will fade more and more over time. The muscle is sore, but so is the rest of his body.  

Sanji turns away from the window and pulls on some pants. The castle has been strangely quiet since the tournament. When the hoards of Germa soldiers Judge sent after Zoro eventually hunt and catch the swordsman, that silence will be ruptured. Sanji almost wishes he could skip the trials somehow, just to make sure that if Zoro does get dragged back, he’ll know about it. Sanji knows he’s going to spend the next few weeks wondering if the swordsman managed to escape or not. Zoro is clearly strong enough to take care of himself, but it only takes one lucky arrow. Maybe more than one, if the first hits an arm or a leg. No-one can outrun Judge’s wrath forever. No-one humiliates the Vinsmoke family and gets away with it.  

Run, and never stop running. Get to the other side of the Earth if you can. But even then, Judge would still hunt you. Fake your death, if you have to. Even if Judge died without fulfilling vengeance on Zoro, there is no guaranteeing that his brothers would forget. Sanji wonders if he would have any authority to call off a hunt. It makes him wonder what his brothers will do with him altogether when Judge is dead.  

If I’m lucky, Dad will marry me off like Reiju and I won’t have to deal with that particular issue anymore.  

He’s managed only in making himself feel anxious. Sanji stands in front of the mirror and looks at the bruises on his upper body. His ribs slide under his skin as he raises his arms and takes position. His shoulder bones jut out, and his eyes are dull. Sanji shivers and turns the mirror around. He takes up his stance again and delivers a solid kick into the air. Sanji puts his foot down and looks around the room for something to strike, but he can’t spot anything that would make a good target. His bedposts are tall and stiff enough, but would make too much noise – the last thing he wants is someone coming to investigate.  

A knock comes at the door and he jumps. Sanji opens the door cautiously. His heartbeat slows at the sight of the servant.  

She bows. “The ceremony is beginning,” she says. “Your supplies have already been packed, and your horse is prepared.”  

Sanji finishes dressing, lastly pulling his cloak around his shoulders. He follows the servant through the corridors and down to the main hall.  

The trials have provided something to distract the public from the outcome of the tournament. The throne room is lined with members of the court, bowing as the princes enter and the ceremony begins.  

The brothers walk the red carpet toward Judge and kneel before him. Sanji watches from under his bangs as his father rises from the throne and holds out his hand. The head librarian opens a thick leather case to reveal four rolled maps inside. The king starts with Ichiji, handing his sons a map one at a time. Sanji carefully clasps the rolled paper and waits patiently.  

“Rise.” Judge orders. All four of them do. “You leave this kingdom as boys, but you will return as men. You will return having proven yourselves worthy to rule, each of your own merit. This trial will serve as proof that your strength is your own, that you are strong enough to rule this empire as all your predecessors have been. Your success will be honored by every kingdom that flies the Germa flag, and feared by those that do not.”  

Sanji looks up to meet his father’s eye. Judge looks down on all four of them. His gaze feels especially long and burning on Sanji. Sanji can’t wait to be out from under it.  

Do you doubt me?  

Sanji isn’t even sure what happens if he fails. He doesn’t remember any stories ever being told of royal family members leaving for their quest and never returning, or coming back empty-handed. There are only ever promises of glory for success; never threats of punishment for failure.  

“Only you and I know what those maps contain,” Judge iterates. “Go forth, and succeed.”  

Sanji puts his map in his pocket and turns around. The court parts to leave plenty of room for the brothers to walk down the red carpet, following it between the columns all the way to the wide-open throne room doors. They step into the sun and down the steps to where soldiers are waiting with horses at the ready, tacked and loaded with gear. They’ve been given a sword each, already bundled up with the gear.  

Rose spots him before he spots her. She stamps on the stone and pulls the reins out of the soldier’s hand, trotting over to the steps to greet him. Sanji can’t help but grin. She holds still so he can slide the bridle off her. He throws it onto the steps and climbs easily into the saddle.  

Ichiji leads the way. His horse walks across the courtyard and down the main path that leads through the inner city.  

The streets are lined with people. Guards on horseback lead the way to keep the path clear for the princes. Sanji sits tall in the saddle to match his brothers’ postures. Rose, too, has her head raised, ears pricked. She looks proud and majestic, but Sanji can feel how anxious she is to break free of the path, of the crowds, of the horses in front of her, and just run.  

His brothers say nothing to him, but people are cheering too loudly to hear anything anyway.  

They reached the outer city, and the noise only grows. Every person must be out to watch, either filling the streets or leaning out of window to catch a glimpse of the royal family. It’s not everyday that the princes pass by.  

Sanji scans the crowds for Zeff. He can just make out the roof of the inn from this distance, but there is no sign of the old man amidst the people. Sanji’s heart sinks as he searches, desperate even just to make eye-contact so that Zeff knows he’s okay.  

There is no sign of him. Sanji can only hope that the old man at least caught a glimpse of him. If only I could have left a day early just to say goodbye.  

I’ll be back. Things will be back to normal after this. When the trial is passed and the previous events are forgotten, training will resume and things will settle down again. Somewhere amidst that, Sanji will find a way to get to Zeff’s inn without endangering the old man.  

He just wishes he could have seen the old man’s face one more time before leaving for so long.  

At least he has Rose. The houses start to thin and the path widens, giving way to vast stretches of farmland. The cross-roads isn’t far. Rose is already tossing her head, dancing sideways on the path in an attempt to overtake the horses in her way. Sanji lays his hand on her neck and she holds her position.  

“Soon,” he murmurs. “Then you can go as fast and as far as you want.”  

The guards hang back. Ichiji takes off at a trot and Rose speeds up even before Niji’s horse does. The group approaches the crossroads, and the brothers reach for their maps. Sanji barely has time to note the direction written on his and lean in the saddle to turn Rose in the correct direction before she jumps forward and breaks into a gallop. Sanji lowers himself in the saddle, and the brothers part ways North, East, South, and West.  

Yonji briefly follows him down the Southway path. His horse is unable to match Rose’s speed, but Sanji can hear the hoofbeats. Then his brother veers away to loop around the outer edge of the castle and head West. Sanji only catches a brief glimpse of his brother in his peripheral, not bothering even to turn his head.  

Rose’s hooves churn up dirt as she gallops down the well-worn path. Cows lift their heads to watch her streak by. Sanji hangs onto the saddle and looks between her flattened ears at the mountains laid out before him.  

The wind streaks Rose’s mane out behind her, and flings Sanji’s bangs out of his face. Her ribs swell between his legs with breath and her powerful heart beats under his hand when he lays it on her neck. He isn’t sure he’s ever travelled this fast before. Rose is already nearing the edges of the farmland, where the forest begins to swallow the path. Rose slows to a canter, to a trot, to a walk, her body heaving. Sanji relaxes in the saddle and leans back, looking over his shoulder.  

The crossroads are barely visible, but the castle towers still are, the flag still flying high. Sanji looks away and pulls out his map as the first few trees cast shadows over them.  

It’s been a long time since he ventured beyond the castle walls, even just to visit another part of the kingdom. Germa’s territory is vast, but usually any lords that reside over certain parts come to the Vinsmoke castle, rather than the other way around. Sanji kicks his feet out of the stirrups and lets his legs dangle. The river bends East, then back South around the farmland and into the mountains where it splits away from a much larger river. His father has marked somewhere on the other side of the larger river, and from the way the river narrows in places, that’s where it will run especially deep and fast.  

It should be easy to meet up with the river and follow it all the way upstream to the location marked on the map. He can cross somewhere safe and convenient. It looks like he has to get through a section of the mountain pass before it bends far enough South to meet him.  

For supposedly the most important moment of his life as a prince, he feels very at peace. The forest is shaded but spilling daylight through the swaying foliage. Birds are singing, that distance storm is still blowing its cool breezes, and Rose is swishing her tail happily. Sanji couldn’t ask for better company.  

Sanji guides Rose off the path and continues deeper into the forest. There isn’t enough room to gallop, but when she gets her energy back she suffices with a gentle trot. Sanji rests his feet in the stirrups so they don't flap against her sides and pockets his map.  

Rose makes her way at her own pace, and Sanji is content to allow her that freedom. She stops to drink from a puddle, and Sanji drinks too. He rummages in his bag for lunch for both of them, tossing down a couple of apples for her, and taking out some bread for himself. Rose starts up again, and Sanji pulls out the map to make sure she’s pointed in the right direction. The ground is already starting to slope upwards. The slope starts shallow, but quickly gets steeper. Rose picks her way around fallen logs and small drop-offs, taking a small run-up at a portion of the slope that makes Sanji lurch backwards. He quickly corrects, leaning forward to make it easier for her to find her footing.  

The forest briefly thins, letting through the first taste of cool mountain air. Sanji pulls his cloak tighter around himself and looks up at the snowy peaks far in the distance as Rose trots into a small open patch of grass.  

They’ve made good progress today. Sanji leans back in the saddle and she comes to stop, turning her head to greet him as he dismounts. She pushes her nose under his cloak to explore his pockets as he loosens the straps and slides his gear and the saddle from her back. Her fur is damp with sweat. Sanji dumps his gear at the edge of the clearing and digs inside the bag, pleased to find that whoever packed had the foresight to include a brush. He just wishes there were water nearby to wash her down properly. Even a bit of rain would do.  

Rose is content, watching him move some underbrush out of the way and roll out his bed for the night. If only he could have retrieved his cooking supplies from his secret hole, but at least he’s been packed some basic cookware. Sanji hangs the small pot over the fire and fills it with water. With the river less than a day’s travel away, he doesn’t worry too much about conserving his water. There is more than enough to spare some to tip over Rose’s coat. Sanji lays the brush on her back and sweeps smooth strokes. The water runs down her sides, taking dirt and sweat with it. Rose bends down to eat grass, perfectly at ease.  

She looks happy. I’d be happy to get out of those stables too. Sanji brushes her flanks, crouching under her neck to walk to her other side.  

Rose continues to graze while Sanji cooks. Despite the cool air, her coat dries quickly in the direct sunshine. Sanji is happy to let her do as she pleases but when he lies down to sleep, she trots into the bushes to join him. She lays down beside him and folds in her legs, pressing her neck against his body. Sanji wishes he’d brought a bigger blanket, because all he has to offer her is his cloak. He spreads it over her back and lies back down, tucking his own blanket around himself. He lays his hand on her neck, and she lets out a long sigh. The nighttime air is already quite cold at this elevation, but Rose’s body heat easily fends it off. Sanji hasn’t felt this safe and comfortable since that night in Zoro’s bed.  

--  

Waking up in the forest is such a strange feeling. Sunlight wakes him up, and the all-surrounding greenery is a pleasant change from the narrow view he usually gets through his bedroom window. Rose is already awake beside him, her head raised and her big brown eyes peering at him. He sits up and she greets him by exploring his face with her nose.  

There is no training, no royal duties, no castle to hide in. Sanji smiles and kisses Rose’s nose. He throws off his blanket and gets up to rummage for more apples. Rose climbs to her feet and stretches her legs, following him to his bag. She puts her head on his shoulder and strains for the apple, eating it out of his hand the moment he holds it up for her.  

Rose can barely stand still as Sanji cinches up the saddle and packs his gear onto her back. He climbs into the saddle and points her in the correct direction, and she takes a couple of running leaps across the clearing before being forced to traverse more slowly amidst the trees. Sanji can see faint pinks and purples of the fading sunrise through the treetops.  

It takes a couple of hours for the sun to rise above the mountains and shine directly down on them. The forest shadows are cool, broken up by patches of warm sun.  

Rose’s ears prick and Sanji follows her wary gaze, but it’s just a herd of deer passing through. They have no interest in the pair, nibbling lichen from the trees.  

The path veers upwards again. Rose is full of energy, racing up the incline and bursting out of the forest at the top where the ground flattens out. There are rocks on either side, climbing high on their right, and jutting off to the left where they drop into the valley below. Rose keeps a steady pace, picking her way more carefully when the path becomes rocky and slopes down again. Sanji almost stops her to get out of the saddle and make the path easier for her, but she manages just fine, taking her time so she doesn’t bring them both crashing down.  

The path levels out again. There’s a small gap in the jutting rocks. A small hill leads down into the valley. Sanji slides out of the saddle and stands at the top to look out over it. The river snakes through the middle, bending around and disappearing into the forest at the far end. Sanji can spot traces of white of a waterfall through the forested mountainside. Wildflowers bloom all across the valley, and another herd of deer grazing on the opposite side are barely visible as small brown blotches. Despite the cool breeze that sweeps down from the mountains, the sun is pleasantly warm. Sanji turns to Rose, and she’s gazing out across the valley too.  

Sanji loosens the saddle. Rose paws the ground and dances on the spot, swishing her tail eagerly. Sanji slides the gear off her back, and she takes off.  

Rose jumps down the hill in a single leap, recovers in a couple of strides, and breaks into a gallop. It’s hard to tell how fast she’s going, but Sanji has to guess it’s faster than she could run with him on her back. She sun shines off her coat and her mane flows out behind her. She doesn’t slow down, doesn’t stop until she’s a small grey dot against the green. Sanji just wishes he could briefly become the golden eagle flying circles over the valley so he could follow and watch her run.  

She’s reached the river. Sanji sits down at the top of the hill and opens his bag for some food and water, chewing died meat and watching as she bends down to drink.  

Rose whips her head up from the river and tosses it, dancing away from the bank and kicking her legs. She dances in circles and flops down in the grass, putting her legs in the air as she rolls in the wildflowers. Sanji smiles and leans back on his hand to watch, wishing he could run as fast as her so he could roll around with her.  

Rose rolls to her feet to find another variety of flower to roll in. She chases some birds that fly down to eat the seeds, coming to a sliding stop when they escape into the sky. She whips around and runs back toward the river, leaping straight in.  

Would his father just assume he was dead if he never returned? There are probably lots of good places to build a camp along the edge of the valley, and no shortage of running water. There’s probably lots of food around here, too. Any trade routes follow the main path, which they diverged from ages ago. As far as the map shows, there are no settlements nearby either. How far would his family travel to look for him, if at all? The castle is less than a day away, but there must be other valleys like this one beyond the mountains all around him.  

Sanji looks over his shoulder and up the incline. They haven’t gotten deep enough into the mountains for them to fully block the Germa flag from visibility. He looks away.  

Rose climbs out of the river and shakes herself dry. She turns and spots him, galloping back the way she came at full speed. Sanji watches enamored as she demolishes the distance.  

He hates to saddle her again. At least she seems not to mind. Sanji feeds her some vegetables and climbs back into the saddle. Rose follows the ridge along the edge of the valley, keeping in the sunshine as much as possible as it rises overhead.  

The ridge continues to climb. Sanji checks the map, comparing the mountains on either side to their location on the map. The valley and the river weaving through it is soon hidden from view by more forest.  

At this pace, they’ll join with the river by early evening. Sanji can tell that Rose is getting tired, her head drooping and her pace slowing significantly. Sanji climbs off her back and puts his hand on her neck to lead her to the riverbank. She bends down to drink, and he takes off the saddle before doing the same.  

Sanji carries the bags away from the river and makes their camp for the night. Rose walks over to where he makes his bed and lies down in the grass with a sigh. Sanji unrolls his bedding and drapes it over her. He pulls off his cloak and spreads it over her shoulders.  

Sanji kneels down to scratch behind her ears and rummages in his bag for more food. “Get some rest, and I’ll be right back, okay?” She rubs her lips against his forehead.  

She watches him walk away. Sanji digs another shirt out of his bag and puts it on. He unstraps the sword from the saddle and tightens the belt around his waist, then he jumps across the river and walks off to find food.  

He has to wonder how his brothers are holding up. Of course all four of them learned some basic survival skills, but his siblings know almost nothing compared to what Zeff taught him about foraging and cooking. Sanji leaves the river, looking around at the varieties of trees and plants for some clues as to what edible plants grow in this area.  

There are plenty of edible herbs. Sanji gathers a few and puts them in his pockets.  

Just up ahead is what looks like an apple tree sapling. Sanji smiles and kneels down beside it, inspecting the leaves. If there are saplings, there must be seeds, and if there are seeds, there must be apples. Sanji looks around.  

The crunch of boots on the underbrush makes his muscles tense. Sanji turns and fumbles for his sword, hurriedly scrambles backwards away from the man who emerges from the forest beside him. The man holds up a coil of rope and starts to unwind the loops, letting them fall into the grass. Sanji draws his sword.  

The blade is only a few inches long, the edge jagged and broken. Sanji stares at his broken sword.  

Someone grabs him from behind, hooking an arm around his throat. Another hand clamps over his mouth and nose. Sanji struggles, reaching back to stab with what’s left of his sword, but the other man knocks it out of his hand and grabs his wrists.  

His vision starts to tunnel as his lungs scream for air. More men emerge from the forest to surround him, looming over his body as the other two men hold him down. He passes out without managing to make a single sound.  

--  

The last rays of daylight are shining on his back. Sanji blinks open his eyes to find himself face down in the grass, people moving around him, talking, gathering supplies. A boot lands on his back, and the ropes tighten as the last knot is tied.  

His forearms are bound tightly behind his back, more loops of rope wrapped around his chest and arms. His fingers are already tingling. Sanji blinks away the dark spots and tries to get his bearings, but his bangs are flopped over his face, so he can’t see much. The man finishes tying and steps off, walking away.  

“Is he awake yet?”  

“Nah, still out cold.”  

“Huh. You know there are stories about the Vinsmoke princes, right? You sure he’s one?”  

“He’s got the eyebrows.”  

“Dud of the bloodline, maybe. Oh well, the cash we could get for him will be worth it. Lots of people that’ll pay good for a prince.”  

“Yeah. We should make the most of it while we have him, though. Have some fun with him. Nobody to hear us out here.”  

The other men laugh. Sanji stares through his bangs at the forest beyond. The ropes are much too tight to wriggle out of. I have to get out of here.  

“We can have our fun later,” another man suggests. “Come on, we need to pack up and put some distance between us and the kingdom.”  

“What’s the rush? Nobody will be missing him for a while.”  

“I still want to get moving.”  

The men finish packing up. Sanji takes some slow, deep breaths. If he can call Rose, all he has to do is throw himself into the saddle, and she can outrun these men. Even if they’ve brought horses of their own, Sanji is certain that Rose could outrun them, too. He just has to get to her, and he can deal with these ropes later. Sanji grits his teeth and shuts his eyes for a moment, trying to place the location of the men as they move around him.  

If he waits too long, there won’t be another chance. Sanji moves his legs in the grass. There isn’t much forest debris under him to make noise, and his movements are masked by the sounds of men packing up. Sanji gets his legs under himself and stands up. His jaws hurt where the man dug his fingers in. Sanji licks his lips.  

The men spot him, of course. They stop what they’re doing and turn to face him. One of the men reaches for another coil of rope tied to the bag he’s packing.  

The closest man starts to approach. “Hey-”  

“ Rose! ” Sanji screams as loud as he can, hoping she’ll be able to discern his voice. He hopes he’s still close enough to their camp for her to hear him.  

The men look around with alarm, and lunge for him. Sanji takes a step back and lowers his body for balance, glancing behind him. No sign of Rose, but the men have spread out and circled him.  

One approaches him with a knife, moving sideways so his friend with the rope can get closer. “Come on now,” he warns. “We’d rather not hurt’cha, but we will if you make us trouble.”  

“Damaged goods are still worth something,” another man agrees.  

His options become even more limited if they manage to hurt him. Come on, Rose. He opens his mouth to shout again, but the man with the knife attacks, and Sanji gasps to avoid the blade, stumbling backwards.  

Sanji quickly finds his balance and sidesteps an attack from behind. The man with the rope tries to make use of Sanji’s unsteadiness and rushes in, but Sanji manages to lunge sidesways and roll out of the way. He rolls on his shoulder and gets to his feet again, flipping his bangs out of his face.  

“If you kneel down and play nice, Little Prince, I’ll put this away,” the man with the knife promises. “But if you make this complicated, I’ll make sure those legs don’t work so good anymore.”  

Zeff always tried to teach him how to fight without using his hands. The old man could fight with his hands in his pockets when he first showed Sanji a few moves in the kitchen. Sanji was still too small to reach the counters, then.  

The Vinsmoke name means at least something, because the men seem wary of him. That, or they just don't want to risk damaging their catch and be paid less by an interested buyer. Sanji gives no indication of standing down, spreading his legs again.  

“Well, have it your way,” the man with the knife warns. “If you change your mind, let us know. I may or may not change mine.”  

If they get their hands on him, he won't be able to wrestle free. The man with the knife comes for him, herding him toward the other men so they can grab him. Sanji moves as tightly as he can without his arms for balance, staying close to the knife man and trying not to let himself be corralled.  

A hand grabs the ropes against his back and pulls backwards. But that grip provides some additional steadiness, so Sanji leans into it and kicks upwards. His boot smacks the knife-wielding man in the wrist, and the knife flies out of his grip. The man yelps in pain and clutches his arm.  

Another hand grabs Sanji by the belt and picks him up, lifting the prince over his head. Sanji twists at the hips and throws his legs forward. Top-heavy, the man holding him stumbles and starts to drop him, but doesn't let go. Sanji’s legs are totally unrestricted, so he uses them to fling himself in a circle, pulling the man down with him. He lands on his shoulders and throws one leg around the other man’s ankle, yanking him to the ground.  

The big man goes down, and Sanji untangles himself, scrambling urgently to his feet.  

A rope lassoes him around the chest and tightens. The man with the rope pulls and Sanji doesn't think – he just moves. He takes a couple of running steps and uses the force of the pull to add power to a vengeful side kick. Sanji turns his body and blasts the lassoer in the stomach with his boot. The man doubles over and drops the rope, sinking to his knees with a breathless gasp.  

He can hear hoofbeats. Sanji hooks his foot under the dropped loops of rope and drops them over the kneeling man. He steps back to pull the loops tight, ducking as a man with a sword rushes him. Sanji leans back and the lasso rope pulls taut. The sword slices right through it, and Sanji stumbles backwards, the cut rope hanging down his front.  

The rest of the men are drawing their blades too. There are at least twenty of them, the ones he felled staggering to their feet and drawing their weapons too. Sanji takes a cautious step back. He just has to give Rose a few more seconds and run by these men to get to her. Sanji ducks a swipe and backs up, keeping an eye on the men circling him. Most of them are standing between him and the river, the direction Rose will come from.  

Sanji dodges a low swipe and jumps backward over a fallen log. His foot gets caught in a bush and rolls, and the swordsman rushes him.  

Rain spits on his cheeks and a cool breeze gushes from behind. The ropes fall away.  

Sanji throws out his arms to catch himself as the ropes fall in pieces around his feet. He’s barely steady again before a much stronger wind rushes past him; a person flies out from the underbrush, and a sword goes flying.  

Zoro’s earrings clink against each other as the swordsman delivers one clean swipe that disarms and fells the closest attacker at once. He comes to rest with his sword at his hip, and the man falls without so much as a groan.  

The other men falter, staring at their fallen friend, then back up at Sanji and Zoro with mounting anger.  

“H-hey!” Sanji cries, jumping back over the log.  

Zoro shrugs and flicks up his sword to block an attack. He grabs the attacker by the wrist, stopping the swing. The man tries to yank his arm free, but it won’t budge.  

“You’re not supposed to be here!” Sanji growls. “I’m supposed to do this without help!”  

Zoro looks at the arm held in his unbreakable grip, then back at Sanji. Then he gestures invitingly at the man’s unprotected body. Sanji grits his teeth angrily and runs up for a jumping kick, cracking the man in the jaw with his heel. Zoro lets go and nods with approval as the man drops.  

Rose bursts out of the forest, running around the armed men to get to him, kicking her legs as she goes. Her aggressive posture is enough to make the armed men back away from her. She completely ignores Zoro, running up to Sanji and rubbing his shoulder with her nose.  

Well, he doesn’t need to escape anymore. Sanji steps in front of her as the men attack with much more fervor. They seem to understand that it’s no longer about capturing a valuable prize, but about surviving. Sanji flexing his fingers as the circulation rushes back, and follows angrily after Zoro into the fight.  

“I coulda used the hand a bit earlier!” Sanji growls. “Anyway, I’ve got it now!”  

“I just got here!” Zoro protests. He flings his arm sideways to knock a blade out of a swinging hand. Then he steps back to make room for Sanji to kick the man to the ground.  

“And now you can leave!” Sanji protests frustratedly as Zoro takes it upon himself to disarm the men before Sanji can get to them.  

He has to admit, it’s a lot easier to warm up to the fight when he doesn't have to worry about slashing blades. Zoro breaks away to take down anyone getting too close, but always returns to Sanji’s side. It’s much easier to fight one person at a time, too. Sanji takes a run at the man Zoro has just disarmed and uses the opportunity to try out a jump-turn kick. It misses, but Sanji lands and ducks a punch, sweeping the man’s legs out from under him. Sanji stands up and helps the man fall down by axe-kicking him in the throat.  

It’s been a long time since his kicks landed on anything but the moss-covered tree back at his forest camp. Actually, it might be the first time ever since kicking at Zeff’s palms.  

The last man runs toward them in a panicked frenzy, swinging his sword wildly. Zoro calmly steps up to protect him, but Sanji pushes him out of the way and stalks forward. Ready to intervene, Zoro watches politely as Sanji dodges a couple of swings.  

Sanji chooses his moment. When the man swings down, Sanji jumps and hooks his foot under the man’s arm, catching the sword hilt on his shin. He’s been kicking that tree so much that it doesn’t even hurt, and the man’s arm is flung upwards. He maintains his grip on the sword, but his body is exposed. Sanji attacks sideways, kicking him in the chest. The man chokes for breath, the sword falling from his hand. Sanji finishes with a second swift kick, bending his shoulders down so he can kick even higher and strike the man in the face.  

The man crumples to his knees and slumps backwards on his heels, unconscious and dripping blood from his nose and mouth. Sanji shoves the body sideways and swivels to point his finger Zoro. The blood is still roaring in his ears and his heartbeat is racing. He feels like he could kick his way through a hundred more men.  

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Sanji demands.  

Zoro wipes his sword clean on some grass and sheathes it. He reaches for his hip and rests his hand on the gold hilt, scratching behind his ear nonchalantly. “The old man sent me.”  

Zeff. Sanji gapes and stares as he watches Zoro nudge the closest body with his boot.  

“I hid from the army in the forest, then I went back to the inn, and Zeff told me about –”  

Sanji storms over and grabs Zoro by the front of his clothes, hauling the other man to his feet. “You went back to the inn?” He demands. “You were being followed, and you put Zeff in danger? ”  

“ Listen. ” Zoro insists frustratedly, but he makes no attempt to remove Sanji’s grip. “The old man asked me to do something for him, and I didn’t expect to find my sword that soon. So I had to go back and get the rest of the information he had. Then I left the same night and hid in the forest for the last week. I stopped by early in the morning on the day you left, and I reached the city limits before anyone else was awake.”  

Sanji stares into Zoro’s grey eyes. Rose’s nose nudges his shoulder, hot air blowing on his neck as she breathes on him. Sanji pushes away from Zoro and turns toward her. He slumps against her neck as the fatigue and stress of what just happened catches up to him. She wraps her head around him and rubs her chin on his back.  

“Are you okay?” Zoro asks cautiously.  

“I’m fine.” Sanji sighs and strokes Rose’s neck to calm himself. “How did you find me? What did Zeff tell you?” He turns his head and leans against Rose wearily, watching as Zoro bends back down to continue his search of the bodies.  

“Zeff told me he was worried about you,” Zoro explains, rummaging in pockets. “He wouldn’t tell me anything, just that he wanted me to keep an eye on you when I could. Then after the tournament, he explained something about a trial. I waited outside the city and followed you. But then I lost you so I just followed the river.”  

He has so many questions. Did you fucking walk?  

Zoro moves onto another body and continues his search. “The old man explained it was some kind of initiation. He was concerned about your safety.”  

“It’s supposed to be hard,” Sanji grumbles.  

Zoro stops rummaging and looks up at him, holding out a small pouch jingling with coins. “It’s supposed to be fair.”  

Sanji stares blankly at the purse, thinking back to his broken sword. Whatever remains of the serenity of the forest dissipates.  

Zoro tosses aside the pouch and stands up. “Come on. Zeff gave me some stuff for you, and I dug up your pans and shit from the forest. We should get away from here and make a camp.”  

Sanji nods faintly and leads Rose toward the river, carefully making his way over the strewn bodies and dropped weapons. Zoro keeps his hand on his sword and follows close behind, his earrings jingling faintly. The sky is quickly growing dark as the sun sets and those storm clouds push against the bright moon, threatening to cover it.  

Chapter Text

The fire roars to life, filling their camp with a warm orange glow and fighting away the nighttime cold. Rose lays down to watch the flames while Zoro unpacks, and Sanji prepares food for a quick meal. The package Zeff gave Zoro is full of food and spices. Zoro has stuffed the contents of Sanji’s small stash on top. 

Zoro grunts. Sanji turns around to watch as the shirtless swordsman starts to do push-ups. 

“What are you doing?” Sanji asks, rolling an apple in Rose’s direction. 

“Push-ups.” 

“Aren’t you tired?” 

“Kinda.” Zoro admits, lowering down again. “I ran most of the way.” 

Sanji shakes his head and slices some bread into the pan to brown. He nudges the pieces around with his knife and straightens, watching the embers rise from the flames and burn brightly against the twinkling stars before burning out. He wonders how far those men would have taken him by now, and where he would have ended up. He doesn’t want to think about what they planned to do to him along the journey. 

That threat was so short lived it bears almost no thought. Other than how those men knew where he would be, at least. 

Satisfied with his exercise, Zoro gets up and walks over to a tree, sitting against it and cupping his hands behind his head with a yawn. “So what’s this trial all about, anyway?” 

Sanji looks back down at the bread and takes the pan off the fire. “It’s a family tradition.” He slices some cheese and tomato onto the slices and walks over, offering Zoro the pan. “Every member is given a quest on their twentieth birthday. The king decides what the quest is, and we aren’t supposed to talk about the details to anyone.” 

Zoro slides a slice out of the pan. “Which is why somebody talked about the details to those guys and tried to get you kidnapped. Right.” He stuffs the food into his mouth. 

Sanji glares at him. “You don’t know that.” 

“I know this is a pretty weird place to run into people who seem pretty prepared for a kidnapping.” Zoro mumbles around his stuffed mouth. 

Sanji thinks back to the brief conversation he overheard from his attempted kidnappers. He thinks about his broken sword. Not like I need a sword anyway. A proper sword wouldn't be much good in his hands. It’s one less thing to carry. Sanji sits down to eat his slice, staring blankly at the fire. Something in his brain feels blocked, and he doesn’t want to try to overcome that. 

He still can’t get over the fact that Zoro is here .  

Why are you here? Don’t you have a crew to get back to? Didn’t you get what you came for?  

Sanji licks his lips and looks across the fire at Zoro. “I’m supposed to do this by myself, you know. You can’t help me. If they find out... If they find out, it’ll be a disgrace.” 

Zoro licks crumbs from his fingers and meets Sanji’s stare. “I won’t help you, then.” 

“Good. Don’t.” 

“I won’t. Unless people try to kidnap you again.” 

Sanji glowers. “I can handle myself.” 

“Sure, if the fight is fair.” Zoro yawns, reaching into his bag and pulling out a small flask. He takes a swig and looks at the flask, then at Sanji. He sems to hesitate, but eventually offers it. “Want some?” 

Sanji frowns, getting up and awkwardly walking over to take the flask out of Zoro’s hand. “What is it?” He mistakenly puts his lips to the rim and sips before waiting for the reply. He coughs and splutters, thrusting the flask back at Zoro. “ God , what is that?” The alcohol burns his throat and chest as it goes down. 

Zoro looks actively offended, taking back his flask. “Fine, more for me.” 

Sanji drinks from his water to rinse his mouth. “How do you drink that shit?” 

“It’s nice.” 

“It’s rank.” 

Zoro sulks and takes another swig, capping the flask. 

The burn is so severe that Sanji almost forgets Zoro basically agreed that Sanji is at least somewhat capable. Flashes of the tournament keep appearing in his mind, of Zoro effortlessly fighting his way through impossible numbers of opponents. How much weaker is he compared to Zoro, rather than his brothers? 

Sanji unrolls his bed and sits on it, pulling in his legs to watch the fire start to die. “Guess you know what I am now.” 

“Explains the eyebrows.” Zoro makes a swirl with his finger. 

Sanji touches the inner swirl. “Yeah... Runs in the family.” 

Zoro yawns again, either out of questions or too tired to ask any more. It’s no surprise why he would be tired. Zoro stands up and stretches with a groan. He hangs his clothes on a tree branch and unpacks his own bed, coming over to spread it out beside Sanji. 

“Don’t worry,” Zoro says, laying down on his bed and resting his sword beside him. “I’m a light sleeper.” He drags his bag closer and rests back onto it, resting his sword against his shoulder and pulling the blanket over himself. 

Zoro shuts his eyes. Sanji takes off his jacket and rolls it up under his head. He spreads his blanket over his legs and listens for anything out of place, but the forest is just as peaceful as before. Cicadas chirp loudly and the breeze rustles the trees. Something moves in the bushes, but it’s much too low down to be a person – probably a bird or a squirrel. 

Rose gets up and walks around the fire, padding in between the two men and laying down at Sanji’s side with a huff. She folds in her legs and lays her head down in the grass. Sanji looks over her flank at Zoro, but the other man is already asleep. The first loud snore rips from his open mouth. Light sleeper... Right. Sanji lies down and pulls the blanket around his chest. Rose lifts her head and brings it closer, nibbling his shoulder with her lips. She rolls more onto her side and Zoro snorts as she pushes into him, but doesn’t wake up. Sanji smiles and pulls Rose’s leg into his arms.  

For a moment he considers tossing a stick at the swordsman to get him to be quiet. Sanji stops himself, his eyelids drooping, and thinks about how tired Zoro must be. As he drifts off, the snoring serves as a reassurance that he’s at least not alone. 

-- 

Sanji doesn’t sleep well. Dreams of his brothers dragging him kicking to the ground and tying him down under Judge’s watchful eye wake him up over and over again. He gives up trying in the early morning hours and sits up, rubbing his face. 

The sky has only just started to lighten. Zoro is on his side, his back pressed tightly against Rose. Rose lifts her head to greet Sanji, standing up when he does. Zoro snorts in his sleep as he flops onto his back. Sanji hopes the swordsman won’t miss the body heat. 

Zoro doesn’t seem to, rolling over and hugging his sword into his body as he continues to sleep and snore through his nose and open mouth. Despite the nighttime shadows, Sanji can still make out the thick scar on his naked torso. 

I owe you my life.  

Sanji picks up his blanket and spreads it over Zoro’s body. Then he goes to make some breakfast. Rose follows him. She bends her head to graze, and he unpacks some food as quietly as he can. 

Why are you here? Don’t you have somewhere to be? What did Zeff threaten to convince you to come?  

Sanji tries to imagine what sort of threat would work on Zoro. Promise of Germa’s wrath certainly don't seem to even interest him. 

The soldiers are one thing. You haven’t met my family. If you knew what they’d do to you, you’d sprint all the way to port and not stop until you were on board your ship.  

Sanji rekindles last night’s fire and heats his little cast-iron pan. It was smart of Zoro to collect it. Kind. Sanji dribbles water onto a potato and scrubs it clean on his shirt. He sits down beside the fire and shaves potato into the hot pan with his knife. The herbs he put in his pocket yesterday are wilted, but edible, so he rips them up and throws them in with some salt. The thin potato shavings cook quickly over the fire. Sanji tosses them in the pan to mix them, looking back over his shoulder at Zoro contentedly asleep. 

For a moment he considers throwing the saddle back onto Rose and leaving the swordsman behind. Take what you risked your life for and go. That sword must mean something to him, clasped so tightly even in his sleep. Get away from here, as fast and as far as you can, or they’ll take that sword as well as your life.  

And I’ll have to watch you die.  

More times than he can count, Sanji has seen what tortures befall those who wrong the kingdom, and the shock of it never dulls. To watch Zoro endure that would be so much more visceral; someone who has been so adamant to help. 

Even now that you know I’m a prince, someone with power and wealth and comfort and servants to see to my every want and need. Even then.  

Sanji’s hand trembles on the pan handle. If only he had the strength to repay Zoro for his help by leaving the swordsman before the journey continues too far. He tries to make himself look away, but Zoro’s peaceful face hanging wide open to snore is too enrapturing.  

Zoro snorts and blinks his eyes open, waking up as quickly as he fell asleep, and any thought of leaving altogether leaves him. Zoro sits up and shakes his head. He grins and climbs to his feet, scrambling over to the fire to inspect the food. He yawns loudly, sticking his tongue out like a cat. “What’s that stuff?” He points at the potato. 

Sanji blinks up at him. Naturally, his eyes drift down to Zoro’s naked torso to land on that scar, even though he’s seen it plenty of times by now. He quickly turns back to the pan, removing it from the fire. “Potato,” he replies. “Zeff taught me. You cut it thin so it cooks quickly.” 

Zoro reaches over to pick some out with his fingers, and Sanji bats the hand away. He spoons some into a bowl and turns to offer it up. Zoro’s pout dissipates immediately, and Sanji almost forgets about the tournament. 

There isn’t a mark on Zoro’s body; no cuts, no scrapes, no bruises. Just the scars that were already there, long-healed. Zoro sits down right where he is and brings the bowl to his mouth so he can shovel potato into it with better efficiency. The pan almost tips out of Sanji’s hand as he watches. 

Sanji recovers and sits down next to Zoro to eat. Much as he wants to stare, he stops himself. 

Zoro smacks his lips and puts down the empty bowl. “Gochisosama deshita.” He bows faintly at the fire. 

“What is that?” Sanji asks. 

“Japanese.” Zoro stands up and tips some water into the bowl to clean it, holding it upside-down over the fire to evaporate the water. “It means I enjoyed the meal.” 

“Is that where you’re from?” 

Zoro shrugs, putting the clean bowl back into the bag where Sanji got it from. “Dunno. It’s what I grew up speaking. Hey, how’d your leg turn out?” 

You don’t know where you’re from. “F-fine.” Sanji stumbles over his reply as Zoro flips the subject.  

“Old man was pretty worried about you,” Zoro remarks, going back to his bed to roll it up. The sun shines off his tanned back, illuminating what few scars that are there.  

Sanji looks back at the fire, awaiting more questions, but none come. He wonders if Zoro has already put the pieces together. Who would dare hurt a prince? He hopes Zoro will stop thinking about this and not make any rash decisions, but given Zoro is already here, following a man he just learned is a prince on an unknown journey, Sanji has little faith. 

Zoro gets dressed and helps him pack. Sanji saddles Rose, and she stands still so that Zoro can throw his bag onto her back alongside Sanji’s. The swordsman scuffs dirt over the remains of the fire, and they set off. Sanji takes the lead, and Rose follows. Zoro flanks him, hand draped comfortably on his sword, nonchalant as if he has nowhere to be but right here. 

-- 

“So what is the trial? You gotta fight some guy?” Zoro asks late into the morning 

Sanji scowls. “I’ll find out when I get there. And even if I did have to fight someone, you aren’t allowed to intervene. You’re already pushing the rules by coming with me.” 

“Who’s gonna find out?” 

“Somehow, my father would.” 

“How?” 

“I don’t know,” Sanji grumbles. “He just would. We haven’t even left Germa territory yet. Just promise me you’ll let me deal with this myself, okay?” He looks over at Zoro. 

Zoro shrugs. “I’ll play fair if everyone else does. I’m pretty sure Zeff would cook me into a year’s worth of jerky if I let something happen to you.” 

“He’d get over it.” Sanji grumbles, looking away. 

Zoro is silent for a moment, long enough for Sanji to regret blurting that out. 

Zeff would surely be sad if Sanji never returned from his trial, but it would save the old man some trouble. It’s not as if Sanji is around that much anyway. It would be a good opportunity to replace him with a kid who could help out more. 

“I’m not just going to stand back and watch someone hurt you to satisfy some stupid rule, if that’s what you’re hoping for,” Zoro says. 

Sanji dares to look back at the swordsman. Zoro stares calmly at him with resolve unlike any Sanji has ever seen before. It holds him more than his guilt can draw his eyes away. He can’t look away in shame, so he curls his lip angrily instead. “I don’t need you to fucking hold my hand through this,” Sanji growls. “I spent my whole life learning to fight. I’m not weak.” 

If anyone could laugh at him for that, it would be Zoro. Zoro does no such thing. “Never said you were. I’m just saying that if someone is cheating, you don’t prove anything by letting them hurt you.” 

“I don’t prove anything if you follow me around and fight all my fights!” 

“You don’t need me for that,” Zoro retorts with a growl so strong it makes Sanji flinch. Zoro’s hand flies up to point aggressively at Sanji’s chest, and Sanji takes a couple of steps back, bumping his shoulder into Rose. “And the only person you should need to prove anything to is yourself.” 

“Sucks for me then.” Sanji puts his hand on Rose’s neck. “Cus I don’t live in your world. In my world, the only thing that matters is meeting standards I’ve never been able to fucking meet for my whole goddamned life. Your world sounds great though.” 

Zoro’s expression contorts with rage and he whips back his finger, clenching his fists. It’s the angriest Sanji has ever seen him, and the anger is growing. Sanji tangles his fingers in Rose’s mane, trying to hide his fear by holding on tight to his own boiling frustration. Sensing his distress, Rose pulls her head around as she walks and rubs her face against his cheek. 

How could Zoro possibly understand? How could Sanji possibly explain –  

Zoro looks away, exploring the ground before he finds what he wants: a long-ish straight-ish stick. He picks it up and stops walking, offering it. “There’s nobody here to prove anything to right now.” 

Sanji stops and turns to face Zoro. “What do you want me to do with that?” he snarls. 

“Fight me.” 

“And try to prove myself to you instead? No-fucking-thank you.” 

“Not to me.” Zoro snaps back. “What the fuck do you have to prove to me?” 

“That I’m not a fucking failure!” Sanji cries. “What do I not have to prove? I’m a disappointment to everyone else, and I won’t be one to you, too.” He smacks the stick aside. 

“Then let me prove to you that’s not the case.” Zoro thrusts the stick back at Sanji. “Fight me.” 

A fight against Zoro would be over before it could begin. And unlike his brothers who seem to take pleasure in drawing things out, Zoro won that tournament as efficiently as he could. Sanji glowers. “The sword’s just not my style.” 

The oaf just won’t listen; Zoro opens his mouth to argue, and Sanji snaps. He steps away from Rose and lifts his leg, kicking his heel into Zoro’s wrist. Zoro’s arm flings aside, but he keeps his grip on the makeshift sword. Sanji puts his foot down and squares off, ready to argue. But Zoro’s rage is twisting into curiosity. 

Zoro doesn’t draw his sword. He tosses the stick in his hand to test its weight and makes a half-hearted swing. Sanji sidesteps it easily. Zoro spreads his legs, and Sanji does the same. 

Zoro does Sanji the benefit of attacking first, swinging inward. Sanji raises his leg to block with his shin, throwing the swordsman’s arm away again. So Zoro tries again, faster this time, stronger. He swipes down, and Sanji stomps down on the stick, pulling Zoro’s arm downward with it. He lifts his foot off and does a swift jump-kick, forcing Zoro to quickly lean backwards to avoid a heel in the face. 

Zoro smiles with eagerness, and for a moment, Sanji freezes. 

The next attack is still slow enough for him to recover and dodge in time – Zoro is taunting him. No, warming up. Testing the waters. 

Sanji feels himself start to wake up. The sun is bright in the sky, lighting up Zoro dark grin. But Zoro isn’t hungry – he's enticed. Sanji side-steps the swing and drops fast, sweeping his leg across the grass toward Zoro’s ankles. 

It’s no surprise that Zoro manages to evade such a move; the swordsman hops over the sweeping leg and drops down to meet Sanji, sweeping his stick across the ground. 

Sanji is too low down to jump over it, but he manages to throw himself nimbly over the stick and rolls on his shoulders, putting his hands on the ground and kicking at Zoro’s shoulder. Zoro grabs his ankle with his free hand and pulls. Sanji rolls onto his back, acting on pure instinct. Zoro drags him closer, and Sanji flips over, pushing up with his arms and wrapping his other leg around Zoro’s neck. 

He squeezes just enough to get the swordsman to let go of his ankle. Then Sanji rolls off and gets to his feet, stumbling back far enough to let Zoro do the same. 

Zoro gets to his feet and brandishes his sword. The instant he’s up, Sanji rushes in and kicks him in the hips. 

Zoro’s eyes bulge with surprise and he drops the stick, doubling over and stumbling backwards. Sanji stops dead and sets his foot in the grass as Zoro topples onto his back breathlessly. He puts his foot down, his heart seizing in his chest. 

It’s too late to take it back. He expected Zoro to dodge, even though he was trying to catch the swordsman off-guard. Sanji holds his breath as Zoro groans and sits up. 

Zoro is the least mad he’s been since their argument began, leaves stuck in his hair, and his expression mystified. Then he grins darkly, but somehow, that grin is one of pleasure. The best thing Sanji can think to do is hook his boot under Zoro’s dropped stick. The swordsman lies back and lifts his legs, flipping himself standing from the hips. Sanji kicks up the stick, and Zoro catches it. 

Sanji rushes to meet him. Zoro swings more fiercely this time, and Sanji jumps. He turns, kicking away the stick and swinging his other leg around to catch Zoro in the shoulder. He lands and jumps straight into another kick. 

Zoro recovers quickly and raises the stick in both hands to defend himself. Sanji’s heel kicks up through it, snapping the wood in two. Zoro grins at him and tosses aside the broken stick, reaching out with his hands. 

It’s almost terrifying. Sanji forces down any thoughts other than that he likes this. For once in his life, he’s enjoying himself. Zoro reaches for him, and Sanji jumps, grabbing a branch above his head and pulling his hips up. He wraps his legs around Zoro’s neck and lets go. Both of them topple, Sanji managing to guide their fall so that he can land on his shoulders and roll. Zoro rolls too, grabbing Sanji’s ankles. 

Zoro is too strong to overpower, prying Sanji’s legs from around his neck. Sanji doesn’t even fight it, instead sitting up and lunging into a forward roll over Zoro’s sprawled body. Zoro grunts as Sanji lands on him. 

They’re a tangle of limbs now, kicking and grabbing for each other to get the upper hand as they roll around in the grass. Somehow, Sanji manages to end up on top. He isn’t even sure how it happens, but here he is, sitting on Zoro’s chest, the swordsman laid out beneath him, his spiky green hair especially disheveled, panting. 

Zoro stares up at him, his lips parted. Sanji is panting too. He sits back and blows some hair out of his face. “The sword just isn’t my thing, I guess,” he huffs. 

It feels like a win, even though he knows Zoro could have eviscerated him in a matter of seconds. He wishes he knew how to explain the satisfaction on Zoro’s face, but he can’t exactly explain his own, either. 

“Join my crew.” Zoro pants, licks his lips, stares up. 

“H-huh?” Sanji stammers.  

Zoro catches his breath. “Join my crew.” 

“What-” 

“We need a cook,” Zoro says. “Captain’s been looking for one for ages.” 

“Zoro, I’m a prince --” 

“Captain doesn't give a shit about that,” Zoro scoffs, waving his hand as if that’s the issue. “You’d like him. He’d definitely like you.” 

“Zoro!” Sanji pleads. “Zoro.” 

Zoro cocks his head and his hair drags through the grass. 

Sanji slumps. Join my crew. “I can’t, I—” It should be easy to brush off such a sudden request. Zoro can’t have possibly thought this through. And doesn’t the captain decide who joins the crew? What kind of crew is this anyway? He never bothered asking. Whatever they are, they’d turn him down if they knew what Zoro knows – it would be the smart thing to do, even if Zoro doesn’t seem smart enough to. 

It should be simple to smack down the proposal. I’m a prince. I’m a prince. It should be as reflexive to turn down the offer as it was for Zoro to make it in the first place. Join my crew.  

Sanji sighs. “My family already wants you dead. Don’t test their wrath more than you have to, please.” 

Zoro doesn’t even blink. He shrugs, rustling the grass. 

“Zeff...” Sanji swallows. “I can’t just leave the old man.” 

“Trust me, I think he’d be okay with it.” 

“Zoro...” He should have more to offer, but his hands are empty. 

“Think about it.” Zoro insists. “You’ve got time.” 

There’s plenty of time. Sanji licks his lips. Zoro looks so comfortable lying underneath him, no complaints to be had. Sanji tries to swap Zoro for his green-haired brother, but he just can’t do it. 

His brothers would never allow for his shadow to fall across them. And for all those times that their shadows have been cast across him, he knows that they have never felt the way he feels right now on top of Zoro. 

It feels good to get up and to offer his hand. It feels good when Zoro takes it. Once more, Zoro’s untapped strength seeps through their contact. Zoro doesn’t need the help, but he lets Sanji pull him up, and they stare at each other. 

Rose trots across the grass and walks between them, shoving Zoro out of the way and nosing Sanji’s face. He scrunches his nose and smiles as her whiskers tickle his nose. “It’s okay,” he reassures. 

Rose flickers her ear and swishes her head around to inspect Zoro too. Sanji raises his hand, but she isn’t on the defensive. Rose shows some caution, but she remembers Zoro, inspecting him. Sanji leans down to peer under her neck as Zoro remembers too: the swordsman calmly raises his hand for her to inspect. Rose moves her nose toward it and changes her mind, lifting her head to nibble at his hair. 

“Hey!” Zoro protests, but he doesn’t pull away. 

Sanji feels like he could keep going for another few rounds. He straightens and peers over Rose’s shoulders as she tries to eat Zoro’s hair. Eventually she gives up when she discovers it’s not delicious grass raised to mouth-height. Zoro reaches up to ruffle his hair, shaking out the leaves. He looks over Rose’s shoulders and meets Sanji’s eye. 

Whatever Zoro is thinking, it must be similar. Sanji takes out the map and glances at the sun to make sure they’re still pointed in the right direction. Then he grins at Zoro, and Zoro grins back. 

They have a lot of ground to cover. Sanji starts to jog, and Zoro does the same. Rose stamps her hooves and trots after them, easily keeping up. Sanji speeds up, and his companions do the same, until he and Zoro are running and Rose is cantering between them. 

The forest is too dense for Rose to gallop, anyway. Sanji jumps over a fallen log, and Rose takes a running leap over it, landing on the other side and slowing to a walk so her human companions can catch up. 

They run until neither of them can run anymore, slowing back down to a walk as they catch their breath. Rose paces in front of them, eager to keep going but staying close. Sanji wipes sweat from his forehead and opens his hand to call her to him. She waits for him to rummage food and water from their supplies, and he tosses some to Zoro before feeding Rose from his hand. They don’t bother stopping, walking until they finish their food and recover their energy before running again. 

Join my crew.  

Sanji has a few weeks to think about it, at least. There are other things to focus on, anyway, like how the air is getting even cooler, and that he thinks he can see the mountain where his trial awaits through gaps in the trees. 

They keep moving into the night, stopping when they’re too tired to go on. Rose is easily managing, but she’s happy to lay down by the fire that Zoro helps to build and warm herself. Sanji drapes his blanket, cape, and bedding over her. He sits down to cook, and Zoro helps by keeping the fire going. 

His body aches, but Zoro starts to stretch, so he copies the other man. The fire slowly dies, and Zoro stokes it back to life one last time before going to bed. Then he loosens his sash and tugs off the top layer. Zoro tosses Sanji his coat. 

Sanji catches it, watching as Zoro makes his own bed on the other side of the fire and lies down. The swordsman wraps himself in his blanket and grasps his sword. Once more, he starts to snore almost immediately. 

Sanji sits down next to Rose and wraps Zoro’s coat around his shoulders, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. The material is a different texture from his shirt, warm from Zoro’s body heat. It smells like pine and metal. Sanji huddles into it and lays against Rose’s flank. She curls around him, and the fire dies, but there is more than enough heat to keep away the midnight cold. Sanji shuts his eyes and wonders if he cheated by letting Zoro intervene, if his father would somehow find out. 

Chapter Text

Zoro can’t seem to sit still unless it’s bedtime. Sanji stirs the fish stew absent-mindedly as he watches Zoro’s arms and torso ripple. The swordsman pulls himself up on the tree branch, tendons straining in his arms and his abs bunching up as he lifts his hips and holds his legs out straight. He holds until his body starts to tremble, then he slowly lowers his legs and hangs to catch his breath, his raised arms pulling his pecs flatter. The muscles bulge out again as he lifts himself up.  

Sanji tastes the soup and mixes in some salt. “Lunch is ready, Mossball.”  

Zoro lets go of the branch and drops, his boots crunching in the frosted grass. He scuffs his hands clean and bounds over, looking curiously into the pot.  

Sanji uses his jacket to lift the pot off the fire. He sets it down and separates the soup between two bowls. Zoro unrolls his bed and spreads it across a fallen log, sitting down and leaving plenty of space beside him. Sanji brings over the bowls and sits down, handing Zoro his food.  

Zoro radiates heat. Sanji is briefly distracted from his meal by the ripple of muscle as Zoro moves his arm to eat. His earrings shine in the sun, softly jingling against each other as Zoro chews. Despite the numerous injuries the swordsman has clearly suffered throughout his life, some of which were obviously severe, Zoro is in excellent shape. None of his marks seem to bother him, not even the largest one. Sanji has to wonder if the wound healed that completely, or if Zoro is just that tough to conceal any lingering pain.  

It’s so rude to stare. Sanji looks back down at his food and eats a spoonful. The bruises from the ropes are almost gone, and they’ll be the last to go.  

“What is this?” Zoro asks.  

Sanji looks up, frowning at the glob of soup at the corner of Zoro’s mouth. “It’s fish and potato soup,” he explains. “Usually I would add flour and milk to the broth, but I don't have any, so I used extra potato. If I had any corn and beans, I’d add those too.” It’s not bad. It could have used the flour to thicken the broth, though.  

Zoro licks his lips and wipes his hand across his mouth, licking off the drops of broth. “It’s good.”  

Sanji looks at his feet, shuffling them in the grass. He opens his mouth to remark about how low Zoro’s standards must be, but the man has been bunking with Zeff for the last few weeks and has been eating the old man’s cooking, and there is no higher standard in all of Germa.  

Join my crew.  

I just can’t. You can understand that, can’t you? All I’d bring is trouble and disappointment. You came here to keep me safe. How long would I spend on your crew before you got tired of doing that?  

Sanji stirs his soup. The past week on the road with Zoro has been pretty peaceful despite the kidnapping attempt. Sanji takes a bite of soup and looks back over at Zoro’s scarred body. What kind of crew sails around with a guy like Zoro? The image of a boat full of green-haired, sword-wielding Zoros pops into his head. Unsure of how that makes him feel, Sanji cocks his head and frowns at the grass.  

“Ah.” Zoro pats his belly and puts his empty bowl in his lap. He stands up and collects Sanji’s empty bowl, walking a few paces to wash them in the river.  

Sanji pulls in his leg and rests his cheek on his knee, watching Zoro’s back muscles ripple as he washes the bowls. “What’s the ocean like?” he asks.  

“You never been?” Zoro looks over his shoulder.  

“Nah. Castle’s too far away. Farthest I ever remember going is a city North of here. I was just a kid. I think Father was organizing a trade deal or something.”  

“North?”  

Sanji smirks. “Yeah, that way.” He points back toward the castle, behind him. “Sun rose on our left, so North is back the way we came.”  

“I thought we were going North.” Zoro stands up and shakes the bowls dry, putting them away with their stuff.  

“We’re going South.”  

“Then why is it getting colder?”  

Sanji stares at him. “Zoro... We’re going up.”  

“I thought that was North. People always point up when they say North.”  

Sanji can’t help but smile, but he manages to stifle his laugh as Zoro starts to scowl and turn red. “North is usually ‘up’ when looking at a map, relatively.” No wonder you have no idea where you come from. How did you make it all the way to Germa? “Anyway. You were telling me about the sea.”  

Zoro pouts, but he comes back over to sit beside Sanji again, folding his arms. It pushes his pecs together, giving him some cleavage not unlike the women in the castle. The muscles look soft when they aren’t flexed. “It’s big,” Zoro explains.  

“That’s it?”  

Zoro shrugs. “I dunno. What do you want to know? It’s big, it's wet, fish live in it.”  

“What kinds of fish?”  

“A lot. I don't know what they’re all called.”  

“Not even one? What’s the biggest?”  

“Probably a whale.”  

“What’s that? How big?”  

Zoro stretches out his arms. “A lot bigger than this. A lot. ”  

That’s so unhelpful. Sanji laughs. “Can you eat it?”  

“You can eat anything, but it might not taste good.”  

“What’s the second-biggest thing, then?”  

“Uh...” Zoro scratches his head.  

“Don’t hurt yourself.”  

“I haven’t measured every fish,” Zoro grumbles. “Not like I can remember the exact size of everything I’ve ever seen.”  

“Okay, just pick something big, then.”  

“Swordfish,” Zoro explains. “I remember that one. Because of the sword.”  

Sanji laughs. “Is that real?”  

“Of course it’s real!” Zoro puts his hand to his forehead and juts it out. “They have a big sword thing on their face, like this. They taste pretty good, too, if you can catch one.” He spread out his arms again. “They can be as tall as you.”  

That’s a lot bigger than even the biggest salmon caught in the river. How big are whales, then? He wonders if Zeff has ever seen a whale.  

“There are flying fish,” Zoro adds. “They jump out of the water and glide. I don’t think we managed to catch any to eat.”  

Fish that fly? Fish with swords? “What about sharks?” Sanji asks. “Zeff said he used to see them swimming around shipwrecks off the shallows. He said sometimes he ran into them out at sea, too.”  

“I’ve seen great-whites and hammerheads,” Zoro agrees. He puts his hands either side of his head. “Their heads go out sideways like that, and their eyes are here.” He wiggles his fingers.  

Weird. Sanji frowns, trying to imagine such a creature. “How about dolphins?”  

“Sure, lots. Big grey ones, colored ones, we even saw a big white one once when we sailed somewhere cold.”  

“Somewhere cold?” Sanji raises his eyebrow.  

“I don’t remember where we went, okay?” Zoro exclaims. “I just saw a big white dolphin-y thing. You’d have like it, it was friendly.”  

Sanji wishes he had some charcoal and parchment to ask Zoro to draw these creatures, but he has a bad feeling that a drawing by Zoro may not help. He’ll have to suffice with just imagining it. Big white dolphins that are friendly? Sharks with wide heads? Huge whales so large they can’t even be measured? Surely there are stranger creatures than those, too, ones Zoro hasn’t seen yet. It would be impossible to sail the entire ocean, or to swim deep enough to find creatures that never rise to the surface.  

“There are lots of colorful fish, too." Zoro adds. “Nami made me dive for treasure in a reef once, and there were so many kinds of fish there. They were pretty small, but some of them were big.”  

“What colors?”  

“Every color.” Zoro assures.  

Sanji thinks of the bright red salmon and tries to imagine swarms of multicolored fish that are just as bright.  

Zoro’s crew must be missing him. Zoro must miss them too. The swordsman’s expression is fading into the distance. Sanji can’t help but feel guilty; if only he weren’t so weak, then Zeff never would have felt the need to ask Zoro to ensure his safety. Zoro might have even reached the ocean by now if he’d run straight East after retrieving his sword. Instead, he’s here playing bodyguard.  

“How long has it been since you saw them?” Sanji asks quietly.  

“About a year.” Zoro touches his chest.  

“They didn’t want to come with you?”  

“They did. I convinced them not to.”  

“Why?”  

Zoro lays his hand on his sword. “Because I made a mistake that I had to make right, and I didn’t want them to drop everything to help me fix it. I admit it took a bit longer than I expected...” He looks away bashfully.  

Sanji smiles fondly at the red climbing up the back of Zoro’s neck. Then he looks at the sword, at Zoro’s thumb carefully tracing the wrapped hilt. He looks at the deep scar, Zoro’s hand resting over it, remembering. Sanji remembers that thief’s hands wrenching that same sword from the wall of his Father’s vault, eyes wide with fear for something not in the room even as the whip came down.  

It’s hard to imagine anyone being able to defeat Zoro badly enough to take that sword from him. Sanji can’t even imagine the thief lasting more than a few seconds against Zoro’s strength and skill, unless he stole it while Zoro was sleeping. “Who did that to you?” he points at the scar.  

“Oh, that.” Zoro straightens up with pride and pats his chest. “Fought the greatest swordsman. Lost.” He smiles.  

“Looks like he just about killed you.”  

“Oh yeah.” Zoro agrees. “But I have a good doctor.”  

“Right...” Sanji stares at the scar. “Why did you try to fight the greatest swordsman...?”  

“Because someday I’ll beat him.” Zoro grabs his sword and sits up straight. “I made a promise with a friend that one day one of us would become the greatest. She can’t fulfil that anymore, so it’s up to me.” He grips his sword tight.  

The greatest swordsman in the world. Zoro is serious, his eyes filled with that same calm resolve unlike any Sanji has ever seen; not in his brothers, not in his father, not even in the thief as he begged for his life. Not in the eyes of the men who were lined up to die that day at the arena. Not in Sanji’s own eyes when he looks at himself in the mirror.  

Who could build a man like that, Sanji wonders. He tries to imagine what he could want so badly to instill that sort of resolve in himself. What even is there to strive for? When his father dies, what becomes of him? Perhaps his brothers would become too busy with rule to bother with their failure of a brother and forget about him. Perhaps he would eventually end up in the throne if Ichiji and Niji both died before him and Yonji didn't try to kill him for it.  

And then what? Sanji can’t even imagine himself sitting on that throne, ordering the delegates and meeting with lords from all over the kingdom, ordering attacks on other nations and managing the kingdom’s affairs year by year.  

Maybe he should have just let those men kidnap him and sell him off somewhere. Maybe he would be better off goading his brothers into fighting him again when he gets back, and just letting them kill him.  

Join my crew.  

It’s not that simple. The Vinsmoke name can’t just be cast off like a cloak and forgotten. Even if he could forget it, the Germa kingdom stretches far, and the Vinsmoke name is known across the world. Zoro doesn’t seem to have heard it until now, but the man doesn’t even know North from up, so Sanji won’t take that to mean much.  

“Hey Cook.” Zoro pulls him out of his thoughts, looking over inquisitively and with a little bit of worry. “What would you be? If you could be anything.”  

Anything? Sanji wishes he knew what all the options were. The proposition has never been worth thinking about, though he's never been able to fight back daydreams of going to cook for Zeff and never having to leave the inn. Life would be good enough if his brothers just ignored him. Sanji shrugs. “I dunno... Just a cook, I guess.”  

“That’s what you’d be, if you joined my crew.” Zoro looks at him as if the only possible response could be acceptance, like it’s a math problem with one solution.  

“Lots of better cooks out there than me.”  

“Maybe.”  

“Lots of stronger cooks.”  

“I guess.”  

“Cooks that wouldn’t bring down the wrath of an empire on your crew for joining.”  

Zoro shrugs. “Who knows.”  

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t settle.” Sanji grits his teeth frustratedly.  

“Settle for you?”  

“...Yeah.” The extra baggage isn’t worth it.  

Zoro frowns, gears visibly turning in his head. His expression grows more frustrated too as he tries to figure out how to reply. Sanji feels an odd sense of satisfaction in watching Zoro fight to come up with a rebuttal.  

I’m a failure. Do you really want the failure of the Vinsmoke family on your crew? I can offer you all of the baggage and none of the benefits. You know if you asked one of my brothers, at least you’d get somebody more capable. Even if his brothers aren't as good at cooking, at least they would be less of a burden.  

Zoro growls. “You’re so complicated. And stupid.”  

“Huh?” Sanji demands.  

Zoro points at him. “ And your eyebrows are stupid.”  

“Oh yeah?” Sanji’s eyebrow twitches. He can feel his heartbeat start to increase, hear it beating in his ears. A tightness is growing in his body, coiling his muscles tight and tingling in his nervous system.  

Zoro’s hand grips his sword before the swordsman pulls it forcefully away. “Yeah.”  

“Maybe if you thought for one goddamned second you’d put the pieces together,” Sanji growls. “Don’t you understand what you brought upon yourself? Don’t you understand what my family is already going to do to you?” He stands up so he can point back.  

Zoro stands up too. “Only if they fucking catch me,” he growls. “And it can’t be worse than what they already did to you.”  

There are so many layers of blood on that cell floor, so many screams that have been absorbed by the blood-splattered brick. And Zoro has no goddamned idea – “What the fuck did you just say?” Sanji snarls, jamming his finger into Zoro’s chest.  

“I say what I see.”  

“You haven’t seen everything.”  

“No.” Zoro agrees. “But I’ve seen enough.”  

You arrogant, assuming – Sanji kicks Zoro in the shins.  

Zoro tackles him, wrapping his arms around Sanji’s chest and taking him to the ground. He rolls and lands on his shoulder, grunting as Sanji’s weight presses on top of him. He keeps rolling, and Sanji wrestles free.  

Zoro’s body is warm. His grip is easily loosened – he isn’t trying to hurt Sanji. They break apart, keeping low to the ground. Zoro touches his sword but thinks better of drawing it, running back for another tackle instead. Sanji springs to his feet and puts his hands on Zoro’s shoulders and front-flipping over the lunging swordsman. Zoro falls flat in the grass and Sanji lands on his back with a grunt.  

They scramble back to face each other. Sanji rushes Zoro and throws himself into the swordsman's gut, wrapping his arms around Zoro's waist and taking him down. Rose sidesteps them and walks to the other side of the camp to continue grazing.  

Zoro could crush him easily. Zoro could break bones with his bare hands. He doesn’t. It’s a wonder that Zoro doesn’t do so accidentally with how strong he is. Sanji finds himself on the bottom this time, chest-down, Zoro’s weight pressing him into the grass. The swordsman grabs a wrist and twists Sanji's arm behind his back, but the grip is light and the twist doesn’t even hurt.  

It won’t even bruise. Sanji stares through his bangs and catches his breath, Zoro’s heat radiating onto his back. The swordsman’s hand is oddly gentle despite the prone position he has Sanji in; Sanji could pull free if he wanted to.  

Zoro lets go. “Not too bad, for a cook.” He climbs off.  

Sanji can see the swordsman’s boots through his bangs. His arm is still folded over his back; the angle isn't even uncomfortable. Zoro never came close to stretching its natural range of motion, put no pressure on his joints.  

“Hey Cook...?” Zoro kneels down beside him. “You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I...?”  

Not at all. Pain isn’t coming, either.  

“Cook...” Zoro sounds genuinely worried, unfolding Sanji's arm from his back and rolling him over with a hand on his shoulder. Sanji flops onto his back and stares up at Zoro, at a complete loss for words.  

The future greatest swordsman offers a hand, and Sanji doesn’t know what to say or what to think as he’s helped to his feet. For a man seeking such a great victory he seems not to care about this one. Zoro brushes some frost from Sanji’s shirt, and Sanji watches that scar bend and ripple, hypnotized.  

Zoro claps him on the back, and it’s harder than the half-assed arm-bar he put Sanji in as the finishing blow. “Next time,” Zoro grins.  

Next time? Sanji certainly hopes there will be one.  

--  

The mountains don’t rise much higher than this, just high enough that snow starts to appear on the ground. Sanji leaves his cloak draped over Rose most of the time, but the saddle and gear help to insulate her. Plus, running for as much of the journey as possible is helping to keep her warm. Sanji keeps a close eye on her, but she isn’t having any trouble with the cold.  

They keep to the river as it bends through the mountains, widening in some places, and deepening in others. They run across whatever terrain they can to make better time, and to keep warm. Rose is always ready to run, and Zoro seems just as desperate to burn energy. Sanji is feeling especially energetic, too, spurred on by his travel companions.  

He feels alive. He feels ready. He hopes that feeling will keep up once he reaches the trial, whatever it may be.  

Having Zoro at his side as a distraction feels like cheating in itself. Zoro is so warm, and he never strays far, even when they stop to gather firewood and forage for nearby food when it’s time to make camp. Rose is much the same. She’s grown accustomed to Zoro (even though she isn't yet convinced that his hair isn't edible), but she still prefers to be in the middle when they walk. Sanji doesn’t mind her protectiveness at all, especially at night when she’s most needing to be close.  

Ice starts to form in sheets over the river on either side, in thicker and wider layers where the river is wider and slower.  

The point where the river splits is getting close. Even the narrower parts are too wide to jump across, so they choose a wider section and wade through, stopping to make camp so they can dry their clothes by the fire before continuing. Not long later, they reach the split.  

The other fork is much bigger than the one they’ve been following.  

“I’ll go first,” Zoro says.  

“No.” Sanji grabs his arm. The water is fast and deep, but not too deep for Rose. She’ll be strong enough to cross, and she can help them pick a safe path. Zoro waits back and lets Sanji guide Rose to the river’s edge. He puts his hand on her neck and steps in with her.  

Rose follows him without hesitation, splashing into the water. Sanji stays upriver of her, and the flow pushes him into her flank. He grabs the saddle, shivering at the icy water soaks all the way up to his waist. Rose pushes through the current and climbs up the bank on the other side. Sanji grabs the saddle, and she helps pull him up the bank and onto the ground. They both turn to watch as Zoro steps in after them.  

Sanji shivers, hanging close to Rose. He reaches out his hand as Zoro gets close. Zoro takes it, and Sanji pulls him out. They build a fire as quickly as they can, huddling together beside it with Rose in the middle.  

“Must be close, now,” Zoro murmurs.  

Sanji nods, leaning against Rose’s flank. She rubs her nose into his chest, breathing hot air down his shirt. “Warm enough?”  

“Yup.” Zoro is pressed up against Rose too, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders as the fire dries his legs. Rose turns her head to inspect him, too, rubbing her lips on his ear. Sanji looks over Rose’s shoulders as she plays with Zoro’s earrings.  

It’s earlier than they usually sit down to rest, but there’s no travelling when they’re this wet. Sanji turns to his other side to rummage for food in their bags, getting up on his knees to put his pan over the fire. He cooks an easy meal, passing a portion under Rose’s neck to Zoro. He fills the pot with water and warms it, filling their flasks and giving the rest to Rose.  

The air is crisp and clear. The sun sets and the moon shines brightly, stars twinkling across the sky as the night grows dark. Sanji lays his head on Rose’s shoulder, his eyelids drooping, wishing that the trial was much, much farther away.  

--  

The two forks join into a much larger river. It churns at a great speed, rolling with small white caps. The trio continues upriver until they reach a waterfall. Sanji looks up through the thick forest, but he can’t tell where it spills from. He can see the peaks of the mountain marked on the map, though. They just have to find a way to the top of that waterfall. The drop-off is too steep, so they look for a way around.  

The map paper vibrates in his trembling hand. Rose is pressed especially tightly against him, and Zoro is quite close on his other side.  

They manage to find a shallower slope after a bit of searching. Sanji leads the way and Rose follows, Zoro taking up the back. Sanji waits for them to catch up, taking one last look at his map.  

They follow the forest along the drop-off. Sanji keeps a small lead, trying to fill himself with the confidence he’s felt up until now.  

If they can do it, so can I. He wonders if his father has underestimated him and given him an easier trial than his brothers. This is the perfect time to prove himself, isn’t it? He wishes the only person he had to satisfy was himself. I guess I just wasn’t born with that privilege, Mosshead...  

The drop-off bends around, and a cave emerges from the trees. Sanji stops and stares into the darkness.  

Zoro stops beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I guess this is it.”  

“Guess so.”  

“What, just a cave?”  

“There’s probably something in the cave.”  

“Like what, a dragon or something?”  

Sanji snorts. “Guess I’ll find out.”  

“You want me to come? Just to look, you know, in case of dragons.”  

“If dragons were real, I’d take you up on that.” Sanji takes the map out of his pocket and turns toward Zoro, shoving the rolled parchment into the swordsman’s hands. He pats his pockets to make sure there isn’t anything left inside.  

“We could just rest here, and you could go tomorrow morning,” Zoro suggests, pocketing the map and returning a steadying hand to Sanji’s arm.  

“I want to get this over with.” His hands are sweaty. It’s just a cave.  

Zoro’s grip tightens. “Cook...”  

Craving just a taste of that unbreakable resolve, Sanji looks over. Zoro looks like he wants to say more, but they’ve had this conversation already. “I have to do it.”  

“Says who?”  

“Only the King of Germa. I have to.”  

“You don’t.”  

Join my crew. Sanji swallows. “I have to. I’ve been a disappointment my whole life, and I can’t be one this time.”  

“Nobody here to disappoint.”  

They came all this way. It can't be for nothing. “Look after Rose. I shouldn't be long.” I hope. The sooner he’s sitting around the fire cooking dinner with his companions either side of him, the happier he’ll be. Sanji finds his resolve somewhere and tries his best to fill himself up with it. There’s no use worrying about unknowns.  

“If you need help, call for me,” Zoro says. “I’ll come. No shame in that.”  

“O-okay.” He shouldn’t need help. Shouldn’t. None of his brothers will get any. If he needs help and they don’t, then it makes them right.  

“We’ll wait right here for you.” Zoro smiles, and it fills Sanji with courage.  

Sanji kisses Rose’s nose. She wants to follow, pawing anxiously at Zoro’s side. He can hear her hooves churning up cold earth as he walks away.  

“Good luck in there, or whatever.” Zoro calls after him.  

Sanji smiles.  

Chapter Text

Sanji vividly remembers the jewel-encrusted double-headed axe that his sister brought back from her trial. The blood on its blade and on her face told the story she wasn't allowed to tell. She’d strode through the main gates all the way to the dining room, interrupting the meal to drive the axe into the middle of the table. The celebration afterwards was legendary. Sanji well remembers the pride in his father’s eyes when his sister returned victorious. Sanji never asked what she had to fight or how many people she had to kill. 

Unless this cave leads to a secret village under the mountains, Sanji is glad that his trial appears not to involve conquest. 

He tries not to think of his brothers as the shadows swallow him. 

The light of the forest doesn’t reach very far into the cave. Sanji walks cautiously forward, listening to the drip-drop of distant water. His toe passes into nothing, and he stops abruptly, sliding back a pace. He can’t see the drop-off, but he can feel the cool air sinking into it. Sanji turns slowly until a soft breeze brushes his cheeks. He walks into it, and the ground slopes downward. 

The instructor relays information to the King about training. Sanji wonders how much. He finds the cavern wall with his fingers and follows it warily. Has his father set him something to challenge his strengths, or to weed out his weaknesses? Take your pick of those... If only there weren’t so much secrecy around the trials, but then again, a strong and capable ruler should be able to face any challenge regardless of pre-existing information. Keeping the trials so secret probably helps prevent meddling, too. Even the strongest of any Vinsmoke could be taken by surprise and overpowered by a large enough mob. 

A shiver runs through him, prickling his spine. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself. If anyone were to ambush him, the tunnels of a pitch-black cavern would be the perfect spot. At least Zoro is out there to stop anyone new from entering. 

Maybe word got out. His father had to prepare the information with the librarian’s help, so maybe somebody overheard the details and passed them on. Maybe somebody watched the brothers separate at the crossroads and followed like Zoro did. Sanji doesn’t know how his father finds these hidden locations, so it might even be possible that someone else knows about whatever secrets this cavern holds and has come looking for it too. 

It doesn’t matter – can't matter. He’s already cheated by having help from Zoro, whether the ambush was fair to him or not. No Vinsmoke throughout history would get a pass, so neither can he; he has more to prove than they ever have, whether or not Zoro agrees. 

What does that idiot moss know anyway? Moss for brains... Sanji smacks the cavern wall with his fist. Frustrating as that idiot is, Sanji can’t wait to emerge from the cave with victory in his hands, and to sit by a warm fire over a meal. The tale of his victory might even be worth listening to. 

The darkness is nearly absolute, but there is just enough light that his eyes can pick out the faint outline of the cavern wall as his pupils fully dilate. 

How long would Zoro wait out there for him if he fell down a crevice and got stuck? You wouldn’t look too hard, I hope.  

Sanji scolds himself with a little shake of his head: he won’t fail. 

The light is getting brighter as he gets lower, shimmering faintly blue. The tunnel splits, but only one direction is lit. Sanji watches blurry bright waves dance and flicker on the walls. The drips are getting louder, and the air colder. Sanji rubs his arms, weaving around stalagmites and under stalactites as they grow in size. He splashes through puddles, shivering as drips of water land on his neck. Sanji turns up the collar of his jacket. 

Water is rushing very close by, and the light is growing bluer. The cave widens out and briefly dips to create a thigh-high pond. The water glitters with minerals. Sanji wades in, careful to look for any holes he could fall into. 

This would be a great place for a dragon to hoard treasure, Sanji thinks idly. He shivers as the cold mountain water seeps through his clothes and into his skin. He climbs out of the water and shakes his legs dry as air dissipates his body heat. The cavern slopes downward again, and he keeps following the blue glow. The rushing water grows louder. 

It’s coming from all around. The cavern starts to narrow, and Sanji squeezes through the gap, ducking under a particularly large stalagtite.  

The cavern opens up again, the shelf he’s standing on stretching out either side and a huge crevice dropping down into darkness just a few feet away. Across from it, the cavern wall juts, a small tunnel boring through the face. Sanji looks across the gap at the rock wall, then down the plunge into a rushing river below. It must be a subterranean branch of the river they’ve been following, because it’s must larger than the one above-ground, and headed in a different direction; the source of the waterfall outside of the cavern is probably up there somewhere, up toward the hole in the rock. Sanji looks down at the river, then back up at the ledge. 

There isn’t much room for a running start. He ponders briefly if he should have brought rope, but there isn’t anything to anchor it to, anyway.  The best he could do is tie himself to a stalagmite so that if he missed the jump, at least he could pull himself out of the river. 

I have to do it.  

Says who? Sanji backs up as far as he can, resting his heel against a small rock formation and crouching down, bunching his muscles. He wonders how much of this place his father explored. He wonders if this jump is even possible. 

Sanji puts his hands on the ground and looks down at them for a moment, turning his heel to test his traction. I can do it. Probably.  

Sanji thrusts off at full speed near instantly, sprinting what short distance he has and pushing off the very edge of the drop-off. Rocks break off and fall into the river, and he flies across the gap toward the ledge.  

Sanji reaches out and grabs it, his fingers clutching and almost losing grip on the wet rock as his body smacks into the wall. He digs in his feet and pushes himself up as his fingers slip away, managing to find purchase and pull himself over the edge, gasping. Sanji crawls away from the edge and lays on his stomach to catch his breath, giddy. His knees throb where they bounced, but he made it. 

Made it. Sanji sits up on his knees and staggers to his feet, stumbling into the short tunnel and out into a crystal cavern. 

The rock stretches before him, shimmering with shallow pools of water formed by dribbles from the ceiling and shelved in layers like a scattered staircase. Bright blue crystals erupt out of the rock, growing in size and quantity the farther up the rocks go. Light refracts through the crystals and bounces off their facets, lighting up the way in brilliant blue. 

The light must be coming from somewhere. Sanji walks across the rock and climbs up the first ledge. He steps up some shorter ones and jumps up another. He reaches out to touch a crystal, running his fingers along the perfectly smooth facets. He brushes the edges, and they’re so sharp that they instantly cut into his fingers. Sanji pulls his hand away and stares at his reflection in the crystal. 

His eyes look bluer than they ever have. The reflection is making his skin look especially pale, too, but he can see that the dark circles under his eyes are gone. So are the bruises, the weariness. Sanji draws away from the crystals and walks deeper. 

In the distance, water pours in from a hole in the ceiling, splashing over the crystals that break the flow into little rivers that gather together again. Sanji climbs the rock, the light growing brighter as the crystals take up more and more space, reflecting more and more copies of himself like a room full of mirrors. Some crystals are easily large enough to project his entire body, some small enough only to hold his eye. Sanji pulls the sleeves of his jacket over his hands to protect them as the rock runs out and there is only crystal to grab onto as he hauls himself up another ledge. He climbs higher, deeper into the cavern toward the water. 

It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Sanji looks around, but there’s nothing but crystals. Those crystals are only getting bigger the deeper he goes; Sanji picks a smaller one jutting out and grasps it with his hands, careful to touch the facets. He pulls, but of course it’s stuck solid. 

There must be a way to dislodge even a piece of it. How big of a shard would be sufficient? Sanji looks back over his shoulder and searches the ground for anything he could use as a chisel. If only he’d brought his broken sword, and he might have been able to create a crack. 

Sanji backtracks and finds a couple of small rocks, approaching a crystal jutting out of a sheet of rock. He kneels down and chips at it with the rock, but it’s not sharp enough to break the crystal. 

He could spend all day down here striking away for nothing. Sanji stands up and looks around. Perhaps the only material strong enough to break the crystal is another piece of crystal. Sanji looks around for a piece, but there are no shards lying around. Sanji runs his fingers along the cavern wall, wiggling the smaller pieces to see if he can break one off. 

A small piece comes away in his fingers, instantly smearing with his blood. The cuts aren’t deep, at least. Sorry, Zeff. He hopes the old man will forgive him. Sanji cradles the shard, looking around for a larger one – something big enough to drop onto the dining table and make it shake. 

It’s a shame to disturb the landscape, but at least there is no shortage of crystals. Sanji carefully holds the shard in his jacket sleeve and chips away experimentally at a large growth jutting out from the ground. It leaves lines of imperfection in the surface, but it doesn’t exactly cut through. Sanji scores the crystal and lays a small stone against the marks. Then he stands back and takes a deep breath. 

Sanji delivers the strongest, most precise kick that he can, driving his heel into the stone. The crystal splits with a resounding crack, the scores splitting through to the other side and the crystal flying off. It lands on a flat crystal sheet and spins across the smooth surface. 

The cavern trembles, rumbling like thunder. Sanji ducks as pebbles fall onto his head, scampering over to his crystal specimen and looking over his shoulder as the cave trembles again. It sounds like tumbling boulders. 

The ledge is damp with a thin sheen of water from the waterfall. The ground shakes again, and he slips, legs flying out from under him. Sanji cracks into the ground and slides, snatching his crystal on the way by. His back gently bumps a huge crystal pillar, and he comes to a stop. 

Sanji grasps his crystal and slowly gets to his feet with a wince, looking back the way he came. Debris is falling from the cavern rooftops, distant cracks rumbling deep through the earth. Sanji stands still and listens until they stop. He looks deeper into the cavern, at the waterfall. It must lead outside and flow into the river, but he has no idea where he is, or how high he is now that he’s travelled down and back up again. 

The trembling comes to a stop. Sanji turns around and takes a step. His foot falls into thin air, and he drops. 

There is no more rock to ground himself, only sheets of crystals under his feet, pillars all around, smaller crystals growing out of the larger ones reflecting the light even more. Sanji hits a sheet of crystal and rolls, grasping his specimen tightly into his chest. 

He rolls over another edge and drops again, bounding off another surface that’s almost flat – the faint edge is still sharp enough to cut into his jacket as he lands on it, hard. Sanji gasps as he keeps rolling, briefly losing his grip on his specimen. It spins away from his body as he continues to roll. The wind is knocked out of him as he strikes a pillar at the bottom. Sanji comes to a stop, panting, his eyes watering as his side stings from impact. 

Sanji pushes himself upright and looks up at where he fell. It’s hard to tell where one crystal ends and another begins because of the reflected and refracted light, but the smears of bright red blood make it clear which surface he tumbled down. Sanji looks down at the smears leading all the way up to him. 

His hands are bleeding. The specimen must be close. Sanji turns around and touches the smooth facet of the crystal pillar, leaning on it for balance. He climbs to his feet unsteadily. The light is disorienting him, but the smears of blood his hands leave on the crystal he’s leaning on ground him at least a little. Sanji lays his palms on it and straightens up. 

The Germa castle shines right back at him, just an inch from his nose, the flag flying high in the clear skies, dark storm clouds still mulling around the border. Sanji loses his breath again, and stares. 

How... His chest tightens, constricting his lungs. Sanji stares at the distorted but clearly discernible building, at the blurred emblem on the flag. The angle is slightly off, the image bouncing off a facet inside the crystal and hitting his eye. Sanji looks over and follows the beams of light as they streak into the cave. 

He walks across the crystal sheet, carefully picking his way across the splits streams of water toward the far wall where an especially bright light is streaking through. 

Heart pounding, Sanji pushes up on his toes and stares into the sunbeam, putting his face as close to the hole as he can. 

It’s just a small crack, but he can see daylight through it. He’s a lot higher up than he thought, much of the visible ground nearby covered in thick snow. Sanji strains to see further, blinking as cold air hits his eye. Far, far in the distance, he can see the storm clouds brewing around a dark  blob. It’s barely visible, but there is a straight line of sight from his kingdom to here. Sanji moves away from the hole and looks back. Sure enough, the image splits inside the crystal and shines on its facets. 

The cavern trembles again. Sanji shivers and scampers across the crystal surface toward his specimen, following his own bloody smears back to his prize. He shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around the crystal, tying the sleeves tightly around it. He looks up the way he came, but there’s no way of climbing it. Sanji looks down at the waterfall’s path. 

It’s the only way. Sanji slides down a short crystal slope and peers down into the hole. 

He’s going to have to jump. Sanji takes a step back and grips his specimen, breathing deeply. Almost over. All he has to do is let the river carry him outside, and climb onto the shore. 

That water is going to be so cold. He can see what looks like an opening through the splashing water, confirming at least that he won’t be plunging into crystal spears. Sanji takes a deep breath, and dives over the edge. He holds the crystal against his chest with one arm and reaches out with the other, and holds his breath. 

The water is so fucking cold. Sanji almost lets go of his breath when he hits it. The water sweeps him away instantly, tossing him around in the turbulence. Sanji fights to maintain control, pointing himself forward. The river gurgles under the crystals and into a tunnel still lit with reflected light. Sanji twists in the water to avoid the jutting shards as best he can, glad at least that he can see them. 

It’s a long way down – it certainly feels long as his lungs burn for air. 

The tunnel drops, and the light ends, plunging everything into darkness. The river bashes him against the edge, and he opens his mouth. Water rushes in, and the river throws him into the open air. 

Sanji coughs and splutters, wincing as the sunlight hits his eyes again. He has no time to catch his breath before he’s falling down into the river again. 

The water pushes him down. Sanji fights the current, but his muscles are already so tired and frozen that he has almost no strength. 

He has just enough to fight his way out of the turbulence, and the current whisks him away. Sanji bobs to the surface, clinging to his prize as hard as he can. The forest is so green it makes him feel giddy. Sanji splutters and grasps for the bank, his vision too blurry with water to pick out the details. His fingers grasp the bank, and he scrabbles for more purchase. 

Now would be the perfect time to call for help, but his mouth is too full of water. Sanji claws at the bank, but his arm is so tired that his muscles are failing to respond to his commands. 

A hand grabs the back of his shirt and hauls him out of the water. Sanji coughs with relief as another hand grabs too, dropping him in a wet heap in the snow. 

Sanji lays on his chest heaving, spitting up water. I did it. He smiles. Did it. He can’t wait to get dry and warm by a roaring fire, eat a hot meal, and rest his tired body. His skin is too cold for his cuts to sting, but the sunlight is already warming him up despite the cold mountain air brushing over his soaked clothes. 

“Zoro...” he mumbles into the snow, giddy. 

A shadow falls over him, and the crystal slips out of his arm. “Looks like we really do get a two-for-one deal,” a gruff voice says above him. Sanji stops breathing, staring into the snow and freezing solid. “A rare crystal and a prince.” 

The laughs of many men echo around the riverbank, the underbrush crunching with many pairs of boots. 

A pair of hands grab an arm each, hoisting his sopping body upright and setting him on his feet. Sanji stares up through his bangs plastered to his face at the hoard of men gathering from the forest. The man in front of him unties the jacket and lifts up the crystal to inspect it, turning it to watch how the light shines off his surfaces. Sanji hangs in the grip of the men holding him, swallowing the last bits of water that come up from his lungs. 

The man holds out the crystal and another man runs over with a bag. Sanji’s heart drops as the leader of the gang slides the crystal into the bag. The leader turns his sights on Sanji, looming over him. 

Sanji flinches. His muscles are warm enough to do that, at least. 

The man reaches out and pushes up Sanji’s soaked bangs to inspect his curled eyebrows. “Got ourselves a prince all the way out here, gathering treasure for us. It’s like free money.” 

Sanji looks around the hoard of men, at their weapons and gear. A couple of them lingering nearby are holding coils of rope at the ready. 

The leader grabs Sanji by the jaw to inspect him, grinning down at him with missing teeth, his lip cut with a deep scar and more scars marring his face. He’s huge, almost as tall as Judge and easily as muscular. Sanji stares into the man’s eager eyes, and all he can see is that reflection of his castle in the crystal. 

“I could hardly believe my ears,” the man says, letting go and stepping back from the river. “A Vinsmoke headed my direction? About to complete the infamous trials each prince must complete without aid?” 

The other two men push Sanji away from the river, after their leader. There is so much heat in this little clearing as the group of men swarm. There are too many to count. Sanji twitches his fingers. His skin itches as the heat slowly returns to his body as his muscles start to wake up. 

“Do you know how many people would kill to be in my shoes right now?” the man asks. “To be offered a chance to have their way with a Vinsmoke?” 

Sanji swallows and opens his mouth, pushing his leg into the snow to test his strength and traction. His body is shivering with cold. No. Please no...  

“You are smart to be afraid,” the man says. “You know the crimes of your bloodline. I know them well, which is why I came prepared to take on a Vinsmoke prince just in case the trials was not enough to drain your strength and make you manageable.” 

The man is readying his stance. Sanji glances at the ropes held in waiting grips. 

“Don’t worry, we won’t kill you,” the man reassures. “We just want our crack at you before we sell you off to someone else who wants a turn with you, too.” 

Sanji isn’t reassured. His boots slide in the wet grass packed under the snow. There are so many men here, and he’s so cold, and so, so tired. 

He can see rage and hunger in that man’s eyes, and he knows that they won’t hold back. A fist flies at him, and he manages to scrape together what little strength has returned. The men on his arms don’t let go, so Sanji leans into them, kicking up to block the punch with his leg as fast as he can. 

The punch skims his shin, and his leg pushes it outward, well away from his face. Sanji puts his leg down and flings up his other leg, cracking the man under the chin. 

His muscles are still warming up, so the kick has less impact than desired. It’s enough to get the man to stumble away from him, though. Sanji pulls his arms free and lunges away. If only there weren’t so many legends about the strength of the Vinsmoke family, or he might be facing off against fewer men. As it is, they’re going to overpower him a lot easier than they might be expecting. 

He wonders how many men his brothers would be able to deal with on their own, soaked to the bone and exhausted. 

Maybe this is part of the trial.  

Maybe this is part of the secrecy, fighting aggrieved victims of Vinsmoke conquest. Sanji staggers and whips around to face the men as they swarm him vengefully. His heart spikes with fear. 

There is nowhere to run: they have him surrounded. His best hope would be to skirt around the men and dive into the river, but he can’t leave without his trophy. He can’t leave without Rose. 

He can’t leave without Zoro, either. Sanji looks up through the trees. If Zoro were smart, he would have taken this chance to move on. 

It’s supposed to be fair.  

Well, life isn’t fair. If a prince can't overcome unfairness, then what sort of king would he make? Sanji fights for footing, sliding on the grass but finding a protruding tree root to brace against. He ducks a swing from behind, almost losing balance from dizziness. He pushes off and rolls between the nearest men that swarm him, sweeping their legs from under them as fast as he can. These men are big, tough, covered in scars and armed. Nobody draws a weapon, but he can tell that they want to by the way their hands stray toward where swords and knives and axes are holstered. The men with ropes push to the front of the swarm. Sanji can already picture himself tied down, unable to dodge kicks and punches as they rain down on him. 

He wonders if they’ll break him. What do they care more about; dealing blows that heal well enough not to decrease his sale value, or satisfying their need for vengeance? 

Sanji doesn’t want to find out. 

He wonders if his brothers are facing this, too. The trials are meant to be challenging, and it was never specified in what way. Sanji dodges an angry punch, but his body is still too sluggish to dodge the next, and he takes that punch to the head. 

It knocks him down. The sensation of knuckles cracking into his skull is familiar enough, but his body is so tired that any lack of shock has no benefit. He stumbles back, seeing stars. Someone grabs him by his shirt and throws him down. 

Head spinning, Sanji falls in the snow. He manages to roll over, despite the pain and dizziness, and dodge a kick to his stomach. Sanji rolls again and gets to his feet, but another pair of hands grabs his arm and throws him again. 

The leader shoves him onto his back with his boot and grabs Sanji by the shirt, hauling him to his feet and dragging him backwards. His lip is split and bleeding. Sanji stares at the blood as the man drags him all the way to the cliffside and throws him against a tree, scattering supplies. Sanji gasps as his bruised back hits the tree. 

“It’ll be less fun, but I’ll tie you down so we can get this over with,” the man growls, grabbing Sanji’s arm and throwing him down. Sanji lands on his chest, and the man pounces on him, grabbing an arm and twisting it behind his back. 

It’s meant to be fair.  

Sanji isn’t sure he knows what fair is. All that matters is his father’s opinion when his sons return with their trophies; it doesn’t matter in the end what Sanji's assessment is. 

The men bustle around him as the leader gestures for the rope to be brought over. Sanji struggles, and for that his wrist is pushed higher up his back, bending his shoulder so far he can feel his joint threatening to pop. The hand is tight on his wrist. He kicks wildly, and a boot stomps on his leg. 

It’s a position he’s been in before. Sanji struggles to breathe as he remembers Ichiji’s weight pressing on him, twisting his arm to near breaking point. 

Surely his brothers could handle themselves in his situation. He’s weaker than them in every way. And if he can't do this by himself, then everything they’ve ever said to him is correct. 

The men with the rope approach, coils dropping into the snow by Sanji’s face as the ropes are unravelled. The leader can hardly help himself, twisting Sanji’s arm just a bit further. 

Sanji screams. Call for me. I’ll come. He opens his lungs as far as he can and summons whatever breath he’s recovered to scream. “ Aaaaggghh - ZORO-!”  

A hand reaches around to clamp his mouth shut, fingers digging into his jaw. 

“Shut up,” someone growls. 

The rope drops over his back, and another coil falls over his legs, hands grabbing his ankles. Sanji struggles, fighting to maneuver his head free of the grabbing hand. The bag containing his crystal has been placed nearby, the cloth bag sliding down to reveal the smooth facets. Sunlight streaks through the trees from above, and the crystal glows green and white to reflect the snow-covered forest. His blood is still smeared over its surface. The hand slides up his face and clamps over his nose. 

The trees sway in the reflection of the crystal, and for a brief moment, he swears he sees Zoro’s grey eyes meet his. Green and gold streaks across the reflections. 

Zoro drops through the foliage in a shower of leaves and branches. He lands on his feet, and the ground shakes like distant thunder. 

The sky seems to darken. Sanji squints as a breeze rushes across the ground and into his eyes. Zoro grabs the nearest man and flings him around, knocking the leader off of Sanji’s back. The rage in Zoro’s eyes burns hotter than anything Sanji has ever seen before, but when Zoro looks down at him, it dissipates. 

Zoro draws his sword and smacks away an attack as he maintains eye contact. He smiles, and offers his hand. “Ready, Cook?” 

Sanji doesn’t see much choice other than to shake the ropes off his back and push to his feet, grabbing Zoro’s hand. 

Zoro pulls him up and swings him around. Sanji’s eyes widen as Zoro flings him toward the descending mob. He has the presence of mind to swing out his leg and use the speed Zoro has given him to deliver a powerful kick that throws the closest attacker into his friends. 

“W-warning?!” Sanji shrieks, turning to look at the swordsman. 

Zoro rushes past him to block a drawn sword. “I asked if you were ready! Are you?” 

“I am now!” 

Zoro grins at him, and suddenly his body feels warm again. 

The men are drawing their weapons apprehensively. Sanji sticks close, and follows Zoro’s lead. 

The fairness has greatly shifted now, despite the significant handicap Sanji must pose to Zoro. Still, Zoro makes room for him, using his massive strength to disarm anyone who gets too close and providing Sanji some space to deal finishing blows. 

The cold and exhaustion are melting away somehow, sidelined for a much greater force that puts the power back into his kicks. His whole body hurts, but it doesn’t matter anymore. The men quickly encircle them, and Zoro presses into his back so they can guard each other. 

It should be too much for two people to handle. Sanji already knows that Zoro can handle much worse than this. It’s surreal to be in the middle of it, watching as blades coming down on them are suddenly flung aside as if bouncing off an impenetrable dome. 

Someone rushes in close. Sanji leans back on instinct, and Zoro leans forward, letting Sanji rolls over his back and knee the man in the stomach. Sanji sets down his foot and pivots, kicking the man to the ground. Someone swings a sword at him, and he leans onto Zoro again, lifting his hips upward and wrapping his arm around the man’s wrist. He rolls off Zoro’s back and yanks the man down by his sword arm. Zoro spins around and grabs the man by his clothes, throwing him into the rest of the pack. 

His hand appears again. Sanji takes it without hesitation and gets back to his feet, stumbling a little; no matter how energized he feels, his body is running out of strength to keep going. He can get through this, though. Zoro is here. 

Zoro came. 

Sanji can forget everything else. They make a good team in these close quarters, not that Zoro needs him at all to win. Still, it works well for Zoro to deal with the blades and let Sanji finish off the disarmed men. They make short work of the group. Sanji doesn't even bother to count the men as they fall. There’s just one left, the leader wiping blood from his lip, unsteady but determined as he stalks across the bodies of his fallen men. 

Zoro sheathes his sword. He turns his back on the man and crouches down, cupping his palms and raising his eyebrows at Sanji with an inviting grin. 

Sanji takes a run at it and jumps into Zoro’s hands. Zoro throws him up and over, and Sanji turns in the air, kicking out his heel. His flying kick strikes the leader in the face so hard the man is knocked out too quickly to cry out as his nose breaks under Sanji’s boot. The man flies backward, and Sanji drops to the ground, rolling on his shoulder and landing in a crouch in the snow. 

He pants, staring out across the sea of scattered bodies and weapons. Zoro smiles at him. 

Sanji smiles back, breaking out in a rough laugh. 

Zoro walks toward him, stepping over bodies. “Not so bad, huh?” 

“I guess.” Sanji gets to his feet. 

His legs buckle. He drops back to his knee with surprise as pain cut across his ribs, his hand flying up to grab them. His shirt should be cold with river water, but instead it’s hot and sticky. 

Zoro’s smile drops and he runs the final distance. Sanji pulls his hand away from his ribs, and his palm is covered in a sheet of blood. Red drips into the snow beside him. Sanji looks down at the blood covering his entire left side, soaked through his shirt and dripping readily now that his body is warmer. 

Each breath hurts. Zoro grabs him by the shoulder and kneels beside him, putting his hand over the wound. “You got hit?” 

Sanji shakes his head – no, he doesn’t remember a sword coming close enough to hurt him. His vision is swimming and the strength is leaving him. 

“Keep your eyes open,” Zoro orders, pressing Sanji’s arm over the wound and pulling the other around his shoulders. He carefully lifts Sanji to his feet. 

Sanji slumps. His strength is gone, and he can't seem to get his feet under him no matter how much Zoro helps him. His vision tunnels as Zoro lifts him up, and a sigh of pain gushes out of his mouth, punctuated with a soft moan he can’t contain. 

“Cook.” Zoro sets him down again. “Cook, can you walk?” 

It would appear not. His legs won’t move. He’s of no help. 

“I got you, okay?” Zoro gets to his knee and tucks himself under Sanji’s chest. “Hang on. I got you.” 

Sanji moans as Zoro hoists him onto his back and stands up. Gettin’ blood on your clothes... he thinks idly. He’s so tired, and Zoro is so warm... It’s been a long time since anyone carried him. The sensation of moving while his body is so lax is a strange one, especially as his eyes slip closed. He decides he would much rather think about Zoro’s warmth and strength than anything else that’s happened today, and deal with everything else later. 

Chapter Text

The crystals are bluer than anything he’s ever seen in his whole life. Sanji walks through them, looking around at the reflections of himself. Some are tall and thin, others short and compressed. Some are complete, others fragmented as the crystal lean and overlap, their facets slicing him into pieces.  

Dark shapes move amidst the crystals, following him like shadows, though their movements are too delayed to be his.  

The bouncing light is so bright, and yet there is no sun. His legs are leaden, and he’s so cold. Sanji stumbles between the crystal pillars for a way out, but there is none.  

Sanji comes to a stop by a full-length reflection of himself, looking back into his own eyes. Something is off about himself, but he can’t figure out what it is.  

The cavern shivers, raining shards of crystal down on him. Sanji throws his arms over his head and cowers, falling backwards as the crystal in front of him erupts, and the castle spires burst through. Sanji scrambles backwards as Germa breaks through the crystal, and it shatters to slivers around him.  

Space inside the cavern is running out, fast. There isn’t room for the castle either, but it fills up what little room there is anyway, blasting effortlessly through crystal until the whole structure looms. Sanji stares up at it, watching the flag billow in an absent wind.  

Call for me, and I’ll come.  

Who could fight this? Sanji thinks he can see his father’s shadow in one of the highest towers, staring down at him.  

It doesn’t make sense.  

Hands grab him from behind. Sanji jolts and wrestles, but they already have him held tight. Ropes are already snaking around his body to restrain him. He struggles, but they wrap around his chest and snake down his body to tie his legs tightly together.  

Call for me.  

His brothers spread out from behind, their teeth shining brighter than they should in the shadows of the castle. They grin. Sanji screams.  

He barely gets out the first sound before they coil around him and clamp their hands over his mouth, strangling him.  

Help me.  

It’s too late. The restraints are too tight. His mouth is clamped shut, and he can’t even reach out to gesture for help.  

Someone help me!  

No-one can come if they can’t be called. No-one is coming. He still tries to scream though, still fights even though it hurts. He’s going to run out of energy to fight for much longer. He missed his chance to shout, and now it’s too late.  

“Cook!”  

The hands are too strong.  

“Hey, Cook, you gotta stop moving!”  

Sanji shivers. He opens his mouth, but it’s already open, crying out. Hands press tightly over his side, and he tries to fight them off. It’s just one pair.  

He’s too weak. The hands are too strong. One lifts away to fight him off.  

“Cook, I gotta – Horse! ”  

There’s some scuffling, and the hand stops fighting him to fight something else. Sanji takes that opportunity to try to win. His vision is shadowed by the figures moving around him, but the scenery is very visibly green.  

He’s freezing.  

“Other side! I’m trying to – Okay! Look, I can’t do this if you – There! ”  

Something soft and velvety rubs his cheek. Sanji blinks, squinting as Rose snorts hot air into his face. He reaches for her, his hand landing somewhere on her neck. She huffs and lays down beside him, her warmth fending off some of the mountain air blowing across his naked torso.  

Zoro blocks him from the other side, sleeves rolled up, his hands smeared with blood. He presses both hands over the wound, and Sanji cries out in pain.  

Rose flicks her ears in distress and snorts, exploring his face with more urgency.  

“I can't stop the fucking bleeding if you won’t stop moving –” Zoro pushes harder.  

It fucking hurts. Sanji can’t help it. He turns his face into Rose’s to muffle his cries somewhat, but he can’t hold it all in.  

Blacking out is sweet release, probably as much for Rose and Zoro as it is for him. He drifts in and out, Rose’s fur under his hand and her constant nosing reminds him where he is. And most importantly, who he’s with.  

There is no need to call – Zoro is already here.  

It’s over.  

Fabric pulls over his skin. Zoro wraps him in his own clothes and hoists him onto his back. Rose’s nose never leaves him, resting on the back of his shoulder as she follows.  

“Just a bit further,” Zoro murmurs, his low tone vibrating through their contact. Sanji shuts his eyes and goes back to sleep.  

--  

A fire crackles nearby. Sanji wakes with a jolt, but a warm weight holds him firmly down.  

He feels much more aware than before, but groggy and heavy and sore. Sanji blinks his eyes open and turns his head to look at what’s holding him down. Hair brushes his face, and an ear flicks against his forehead. Rose is curled up beside him, her head resting on his shoulder and her face pressed along his ribs. Her nose is nestled in his hand, her lips held around a couple of fingers. Sanji rubs her chin with his thumb. He turns his face into hers and kisses it.  

The fire flickers on his blanketed legs, and midnight stars twinkle through the foliage above. Zoro stands by the fire with his back to him, the fire lighting up his stern expression as he stares into the flames. His arms are folded tightly, flexing the muscles down his bare back. Sanji looks down at himself. Zoro’s clothes are still wrapped around him, bandages poking out from where they’re folded over his chest. Sanji slips his hand from under them to feel along his chest. The bandages cover his ribs and loop over his shoulder. Zoro has wrapped the deeper cuts on his arms, too.  

It’s over.  

Sanji reaches across himself with a wince to stroke Rose’s forehead. His hand is shaking.  

Rose flicks her ears and lifts her head, looking down at him. Her nose is smeared with dried blood – his, probably. Sanji rubs it with his knuckles to try to get it off, but she pushes past his hand before he can get much off and rubs her lips all over his face. Sanji smiles as her whiskers tickle the inside of his ear. She lays her head across his chest, pushing under his chin. Sanji hugs her face and scratches under her jaw.  

“Cook?”  

Sanji looks up. Zoro turns away from the fire and rushes over to him, kneeling down beside him and reaching out his hand.  

Rose lifts her head and puts her nose into Zoro’s palm, diverting the hand before it can touch. Zoro’s expression turns from concern into frustration as he tries to get his hands past Rose’s defenses. She blocks him, turning her head and lowering it between his hands and Sanji’s face.  

“Hey, I’m tryin’a –” Zoro tries to get his hand around her.  

“Rose,” Sanji croaks, lifting his palm. She goes to his hand immediately, peeling up her lip to capture his fingers and rubs her lips around them. Sanji lowers his hand, and she flops her head across his body. Sanji grunts in pain as her weight presses down on him, but the pressure does help.  

Zoro shuffles closer and brushes aside Sanji’s bangs so he can press his fingers into the prince’s forehead. The swordsman’s eyes shine in the starlight, and he looks genuinely worried, eyebrows furrowed as he checks for fever.  

Sanji wishes he knew what to say. Despite feeling more present than before, he’s much too tired to put into words how relieved he is, how warm. If he were more alert, their fussing might overwhelm him entirely.  

Zoro stares at Rose, awkwardly sliding his hands under her head to lift her off. She stubbornly goes limp, and Zoro grumbles as he tries to lift her high enough to inspect the bandages. In the end, he drapes her head over his shoulder and leans under her neck to open up his clothes and check the bandages. Rose lifts her head to nibble at the back of Zoro’s head, attempting to eat his hair again.  

“Your horse is fucking annoying,” Zoro grumbles, even as he gently lifts her head off his shoulder. She goes for his forehead this time, chewing on short tufts of forelock. He scowls but makes no attempt to stop her, reaching down instead to take Sanji’s arm.  

Sanji smiles. It quickly turns into a wince as Zoro scoops an arm under his back and helps him sit up. Pain lances through his chest and he sees stars. He can feel the wound stinging where it cuts across his ribs.  

Zoro drags their bags closer and lays him back against them, tucking his clothes back around Sanji’s chest and pulling up the blankets. Rose moves her head into Sanji’s lap instead, resting it between his legs. Sanji lays his hand between her ears and rubs softly.  

The swordsman draws away, going back to the fire to tend the pots boiling over the fire. He lifts them off, spooning rice into one bowl, and pouring hot water into a cup.  

“This’ll warm you up.” Zoro offers the cup first. It smells faintly of herbs. Sanji doesn’t bother asking what they are, taking the cup and sipping.  

The flavor is mild, and the heat is very welcome. Sanji takes another sip.  

Zoro stirs the rice with two small sticks held between his fingers. A spoon would seem necessary, but the rice sticks together well enough that Zoro can scoop some up with the little wooden sticks. Sanji is too intrigued to protest as Zoro feeds him the mouthful.  

No wonder the rice he was using wouldn’t form balls: this variety has a different texture, stickier without needing to be cooked to the point of mush. Sanji explores it with his tongue. Even though the grains are different, Sanji has cooked enough rice now to tell that it needs a bit more water and time over the heat, but it still tastes good. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast before the trial.  

“Warm enough?” Zoro asks, offering another bite.  

Sanji nods. “What are those?” he asks before eating it.  

“Chopsticks,” Zoro explains. “Cutlery where I’m from. Takes a bit of practice.”  

His other arm hurts to move, pulling on the sliced muscle down his side. Sanji passes the cup into his other hand and holds out for the chopsticks. Zoro offers them, positioning them into Sanji’s fingers.  

“It might take a few tries...” Zoro trails off, watching Sanji confidently grip the polished wooden chopsticks in his long fingers. The swordsman offers the bowl and holds it steady, so Sanji can scoop the sticks into the rice.  

The trick seems to be to hold the rice more from underneath, than to try to grip it from the sides. It takes some control, but Sanji manages to scoop up the rice and get it into his mouth without any trouble. Rather than the starch dragging on a spoon, the rice comes off the chopsticks much better in his mouth. Zoro’s stunned approval makes him feel a bit more alive.  

“Did you eat?” Sanji asks.  

Zoro averts his eyes. “I ate while waiting for you outside the cave.”  

“Zoro...” Sanji holds the next bite up towards him, brushing the rice against Zoro’s lips.  

Zoro sighs and succumbs, eating the mouthful but refusing the next. He pushes Sanji’s hand down. “Finish it,” he insists. “I’ll eat when you’re done. You need it a lot more than I do.”  

“You fought too.”  

“Cook, please.” Zoro looks down at him, gripping the bowl tightly. “Worry about yourself for one goddamn minute, alright? You’re really hurt.”  

I failed. His fall on the crystal edge must have broken his ribs. He must be covered in bruises after falling so far. Getting thrown around by those bandits will have bruised him more. Guess I couldn’t do it on my own after all. He lowers his hand, and Zoro takes the chopsticks from his fingers.  

Zoro’s rough hand grabs his and tucks it back under his clothes. “Shut the fuck up and rest, stupid cook. I saved this rice for you.” His eyebrow twitches angrily.  

Sanji opens his mouth to reply, and Zoro takes that opportunity to stuff another mouthful into it.  

Saved me again. Sanji chews and swallows. It’s hard to see in this darkness, but there’s enough moonlight and fire glow to tell that Zoro’s face has reddened somewhat. The swordsman’s growl of frustration is directed into the bowl as he scoops up another bite.  

“You saved it for me?” Sanji asks quietly.  

“Couldn’t figure out how to explain how it was different form the rice you were bringin’ me, so I thought I’d better just give you some,” Zoro mumbles, focusing hard on stirring the rice. “Wanted to save it for a celebratory meal, but it’s about all I know how to cook, and you were, well...”  

Out cold. “Celebrate...?”  

“Yeah, you did the trial, didn’t you?” Zoro cocks his head.  

“Zoro, the crystal!” Sanji jolts upright so fast he almost blacks out. Rose lifts her head out of his lap in alarm. If he goes home without it, all of this is worth nothing. His injuries won’t prove anything.  

Zoro grabs his shoulder to stabilize him. “It’s right here, cook.” He points.  

Sanji follows the swordsman’s finger. When the blurriness clears, he spots the bag, the tip of the crystal poking out the top, shining bright orange in the firelight. He sighs with relief and slumps.  

Zoro eases him down again and picks up the bowl of rice. Rose flops her head back into Sanji's lap with a huff and her breathing evens out again.  

If only Sanji had had the foresight to put an extra shard in his pocket, and he could have given Zoro a gift as payment for his help. The crystal must be rare enough to eliminate the possibility of finding it at a market and faking the trial altogether.  

“What is it?” Zoro asks. “What’d you have to do, anyway?”  

It’s highly reflective, that much Sanji knows for certain. The image of his castle was blurred by distance, but clearly visible. He shivers and eats another spoonful of rice. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone,” he mumbles.  

“Pretty sure the king is set on killing me anyway,” Zoro shrugs. “I don’t think it matters if I break any other rules.”  

And what about my crimes? Oh well, if Judge finds out Sanji shared information about the sacred trials, he’d know about the help Zoro has already provided. “It was just a cave,” he explains quietly. “A big fucking cave. Crystals everywhere. Sharp fuckers.” He looks at the bandages on his arm.  

“Was all that just from the crystals?”  

You mean did a bunch of crystals get the better of me? Yeah, I lost a fight to a shiny rock. Zoro’s tone is anything but taunting. He looks upset, gripping the bowl of rice so tightly that Sanji worries it might break. Sanji nods. “Just the crystals.” He doesn’t remember any of those men getting close enough to cut him, seeing as Zoro disarmed them before they could.  

Zoro heaves a sigh of relief and scrapes up the last mouthful of rice from the bowl.  

“Zoro...”  

“If I’d been paying better attention, you might not have had to call.” Zoro growls. “Something felt wrong. I should have looked around. Then those guys would have never gotten the jump on you.”  

Sanji wishes they were standing up so he could kick Zoro in the shins for being so stupid. “Don’t be an idiot,” he growls back. “It was my trial. I was supposed to do it alone, and I...” I was too weak.  

“Wait, you think that was part of the trial?” Zoro demands. “Don’t tell me you think those other guys were part of it too.”  

“What else would it be?” Sanji retorts.  

“I think it’s fucking low, that’s what I think.” Zoro glowers down at him, the fire in his eyes outshining the fire beside them. “Whether it was part of the trial or not, somebody tipped those guys off, and I think that’s despicable. What did they say to you?”  

Sanji cowers, and hesitates. I could hardly believe my ears. A Vinsmoke headed my direction?  

“What did they say.” Zoro demands.  

“They knew!” Sanji snaps. “Okay? Somebody fucking told them.”  

“And for what, this stupid trial? Do you really think it’s fair to expect someone to fight all those men and win like that?”  

Fair? Sanji isn’t convinced the trials were ever meant to be fair. They’re supposed to be hard, a test to set the royal family apart from any other soldier. “Yes,” Sanji challenges. “You don't know fuck all about anything, about my family, or about what I’m supposed to be able to do.”  

“And I don’t care,” Zoro agrees. “Anyone who sets a challenge and sets you up to fail isn’t worth the energy trying to satisfy.”  

I wasn’t supposed to fail. The others wouldn’t have. They could have handled it. His brothers would have slashed their way through – Right, somebody packed him a broken sword. Sanji remembers the broken sword, wishing he had never drawn it.  

“Besides, you didn’t fail,” Zoro reasons. “You got your crystal, and you fought those guys off.”  

“ You did,” Sanji corrects.  

“Nah,” Zoro scoffs. “You took down as many guys as I did.”  

“Only with your help.”  

“So what?”  

“So I’d be dead without you.”  

Zoro shrugs and yawns, lying down on the grass beside Sanji and folding his hands behind his head. “Whatever. I’d be dead too if my friends hadn't helped me. Don’t see what that’s got to do with anything.”  

That's because you’re an idiot.  

“Shut up and get some rest, stupid Cook.”  

Sanji shuts his mouth.  

“Oh, one more thing,” Zoro sits up. “Thanks for calling me.”  

“Y-you’re welcome...?”  

Zoro smiles proudly. “Now shut up.”  

You make no sense. Sanji is too tired and hurting to try to unravel Zoro’s strange philosophy right now. He wishes he could think of something to say so that Zoro doesn't get the impression he won the argument. He wishes he could kick that smug grin right off the swordsman’s face, but a cool wind blows through the forest and wipes it away for him. Zoro shivers.  

Sanji untucks the blankets and pulls them. Rose lifts her head so he can make room beside him. Sanji lifts the blankets invitingly. Zoro doesn’t hesitate, shifting under them and squeezing up against Sanji’s side. Rose huffs and lays her head back into his lap.  

--  

The sun rises over the forest, shining light through the treetops and into their little camp, directly into Sanji’s face. Sanji winces and shuts his eyes, turning his face away from the light. His cheek brushes something soft.  

Zoro is sprawled half over him, face-down on the prince’s shoulder, his snores muffled, drooling. One arm is thrown over Sanji’s chest, the other flopped out from under the blankets. The swordsman’s green hair is surprisingly soft. Sanji debates wriggling his arm from where it’s pinned under Zoro’s body so he can give that hair a ruffle, but decides against it.  

Rose is still at his other side. She lifts her head out of his lap and snorts the bangs out of his eyes so she can sniff his forehead. She’s obviously worried about him. He wishes he could explain to her that he’s okay. She must be able to smell his blood, perhaps even sense how hurt he is by his painful, labored breathing.  

She notices Zoro’s arm thrown over him and noses at the swordsman’s hand. Zoro grunts in his sleep and mumbles into Sanji’s shoulder, moving his fingers and accidentally putting them into Rose’s nostril. She wraps her lips around his fingers and nudges his hand down the blankets. She seems to be trying to get Zoro’s arm off. Zoro is moving his hand, sleepily patting her nose as she tries to throw him off. In the end, she gives up and reaches her head across Sanji’s shoulders to nibble on Zoro’s hair again.  

Crushed under the two of them, there’s no way of sitting up. Sanji watches the birds fly overhead. The first of the orange leaves are rustled free, floating down to the ground. There are only a couple of deciduous trees up this high, but they’ll soon shed their foliage.  

I need to get back. His family will be expecting his return.  

Sanji wishes he could stay like this for a lot longer. What if he just never went home? They would assume he’d failed, that he got trapped in the crystal caverns, or that either of the kidnapping attempts were successful.  

Join my crew.  

How long could you put up with me? Zoro has managed to endure his company for the better part of three weeks already, though it was at Zeff’s request.  

How could I ask for anything else from you?  

Zoro snorts and lifts his head off of Sanji’s shoulder. The blankets slide off his body as he pushes himself up. He yawns loudly, arching his back like a cat and shaking himself awake.  

“You look better.” Zoro smiles at him.  

“I feel better.” Sanji admires the morning sun on Zoro’s broad shoulders.  

“I’ll make some breakfast.” Zoro gets to his feet and slides his katana back into his belt, scampering over to their supplies. Rose stands up and watches him, clearly eager for food, but unwilling to walk away from Sanji.  

“We should get going after this,” Sanji suggests, folding the blankets off himself. He opens up Zoro’s shirt and coat and pats himself down. There are faint spots where his bandages bled through, showing the length and breadth of his wound.  

“We can rest here for a few days,” Zoro shakes his head, rolling an apple in Rose’s direction. “Give yourself a day or two.”  

“It’s a long way home.”  

“Then a couple of days won’t hurt,” Zoro reasons. “If you really want to keep moving, I’ll carry you.”  

“H-huh?”  

Zoro shrugs and carries over an armful of food. “Why not?” He sits down and slices into an apple, handing over a piece.  

“I think I can manage.”  

“You don’t have to.”  

Maybe not. Sanji doesn’t want to sit around in the same spot for days, though. Zoro gives him some water, and holds out his hand. Determined, Sanji takes it.  

Perhaps he was over-zealous – Sanji bites his lip to keep his noise of pain on the inside. Rose paws nervously beside him as Zoro scoops an arm under his back and lifts him to his feet. It takes a moment for the stars to clear a moment Zoro patiently affords him.  

“The first steps are always the hardest,” Zoro says wisely. “But then it gets easier.”  

It does hurt a lot. It feels like his muscles are pulling in on themselves, stretching painfully when he tries to use them. Never mind his broken ribs, fighting with frozen muscles didn’t do him any good. Zoro helps him a few paces to the ashes of the fire and eases him down, then he goes to their stuff to dig out some spare clothes.  

Rose stands still so that Zoro can throw the saddle over her back. He secures their bags to the saddle and brings over the clothes. Sanji shrugs off Zoro’s clothes and takes the shirt given to him.  

It’s a shame to watch Zoro put his clothes back on. Sanji shrugs on his jacket and watches mournfully as Zoro folds his clothes over his body and wraps the sash around his waist.  

“We’ll go as far as you can manage,” Zoro says, bending down to help him again. “Then I’ll carry you.” He smiles confidently, and it makes Sanji’s heart feel warm.  

Sanji tucks his jacket around himself and lets Zoro slip under his arm. Zoro pulses with warmth, wrapping an arm around his waist. Being upright is a lot worse than lying down, but doable. This is going to be slow going. Sanji debates asking Zoro just to sling him over his shoulder and run. There might even be room on the saddle to drape him over Rose’s back.  

Rose walks up beside him and bumps his shoulder with hers. They squeeze him between them, blocking out the mountain air.  

Sanji doesn’t make it far at all before it starts to hurt too much to continue. Zoro doesn’t say a word, ducking down and hoisting Sanji onto his back. Rose grabs the collar of Sanji’s jacket in her mouth, and they carry on. Sanji shuts his eyes to rest, feeling Rose breathe on his neck, and listening to Zoro’s heartbeat as it thumps through the swordsman’s back and into his chest.  

--  

The river crossing is more complicated. Zoro removes one of the bags to make room for Sanji to mount Rose. Climbing into the saddle would be impossible without Zoro’s help to boost him up, and he almost blacks out. He gets as comfortable as he can, hanging on tight to the saddle and gripping his chest with the other arm.  

Zoro lifts the bag over his head, and Sanji leans forward to keep his legs from dangling in the river. They cross as they did before, Rose fighting the current and helping Zoro to stay balanced as it buffets him into her side. They stop to make camp and dry off, Zoro making a quick fire and Sanji preparing some steamed potatoes.  

While the potatoes cook, Sanji sits with his back to the fire, and Zoro kneels in front of him to inspect his ribs.  

The cut is a clean line, but the surrounding bruising is deep and ugly, covering his chest and side in thick blossoms of color. The barest touch hurts. Zoro is as gentle as he can be as he cleans the cut with river water.  

Despite not having walked far himself, Sanji is exhausted. Zoro spreads out their bed and helps him to lie down. Rose joins him on one side, and Zoro tucks up beside him on the other.  

They lie shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the clear night sky. “Hey Mosshead?” Sanji asks.  

“Huh?”  

“What’s your crew like?”  

“They’re great.”  

“That doesn’t help.”  

“Uh...”  

Idiot. “Just tell me about one of your members. You said you had a doctor?”  

“Oh yeah, Chopper.” Zoro audibly smiles. “He wants to cure every disease someday. Saved my life more than I can count. He’s always mad at me.”  

“Seems like you learned a lot from him.”  

“I tried.”  

“Tell him thanks for me, then.”  

“Tell him yourself.” Zoro sits up on his elbow and looks down at him. “Join my crew.”  

Sanji looks away. He combs his fingers through Rose’s forelock, working out the knots. He wishes he could blurt out an answer and be done with it, but it’s not so simple.  

“They’d love you,” Zoro goes on. “Chopper would love you. Luffy would love you. They all would.”  

“That’s your opinion. And you’re an idiot.”  

“Hey!” Zoro protests. “Look. You don’t have to take my word for it. But I promise they would.”  

Sanji shrugs, unconvinced.  

“We all trust the captain's judgement, and he’d like you. So we all would.”  

“He’s not even here to decide.”  

“He would. I know him. Some of us gave him no reason to like us at first, but he still did.”  

“Did you?” Sanji looks back curiously.  

Zoro shrugs. “I’m not sure, honestly. I don’t know what makes a kid trying to be a pirate want to recruit a bounty hunter.”  

“You were a bounty hunter?”  

“For a while. I left my village to find Mihawk, and I collected bounties to feed myself. Then one day I slipped up, and Luffy saved me. So I joined his crew. I’d never have met Mihawk if it wasn’t for him.”  

The greatest swordsman? Sanji hasn't ever heard the name Mihawk before. He wonders if his father has, if Zeff has.  

“We all have our own dreams,” Zoro goes on. “But Luffy has brought all of us a little closer to achieving them. Just like we’ve tried to do the same for him.”  

Sanji looks back up at the stars. If he could be anything, do anything... If he could cut all ties, throw away his name and start again, maybe he would just say yes and follow Zoro all the way to port. Maybe he could find a dream of his own along the way. It’s not that simple though. He wishes he could make Zoro understand.  

“Tell me more.” It's not wise to temp himself, but he has to know.  

“I guess I should start with Luffy.” Zoro lies back down. “Skinny kid with a mean punch on him. Wants to be king of the pirates someday, and he’ll do it.”  

Sanji shuts his eyes to listen, struggling to picture each crew member as Zoro describes them in sparse detail. Despite the lack of description, Sanji can tell how much Zoro misses them. Even Nami, whom he describes as a money-hungry witch, the swordsman smiles when mentioning her. Usopp the compulsive liar sharpshooter, Robin the mysterious and morbid historian, Franky the loud and crude shipwright; they must all miss their blunt idiot swordsman. Sanji knows he’s going to miss Zoro when they have to part ways.  

To saddle Zoro’s crew with the burden of a prince would be unfathomable.  

--  

The air warms as they descend from the mountains. The closer to home they get, the farther away he wishes it was.  

At least the distance is sufficient for his wounds to heal before he gets home. He walks as far as he can each day, and Zoro carries him for the rest, until the sun begins to set.  

Their crew must be desperately missing their tireless swordsman. Sanji wishes he could fully appreciate how lucky he is to have a companion this devoted, this strong in every fight and during every moment between. He must be a pillar of the crew. Sanji hopes they won’t mind that he borrowed their pillar to prop himself up for a little while. He supposes he’ll never know.  

It gets easier to move and breathe day by day. The air warms to a pleasant early fall temperature, and the leaves grow ever more orange as the coniferous trees become sparse. The valley below is just as green, dotted with wildflowers in full bloom and a herd of wild horses.  

They come to a stop on the ridge and look down, Sanji laying his hand on Rose’s neck as they stare down in the valley they stopped at together just weeks before. The green grass fades into yellows and oranges as trees dot the slopes and become more dense, different varieties changing in different shades.  

Rose adjusts her stance, gazing down the slope at the wild horses grazing peacefully under a fading sun. Sanji curls his fingers against her fur.  

His chest tightens. Sanji turns toward her and scrambles with the saddle straps.  

“Cook –” Zoro murmurs.  

Sanji shakes his head, biting his lip as he loosens the straps. His hands are shaking almost so badly that he can’t manage. He pulls their bags from the saddle and slides it from her back, throwing it to the ground. Rose dances on the spot, but she turns to look at him.  

“Go!” he points down into the valley.  

Rose looks down at the open expanse, swishing her tail. She hesitates, turning back to look at him.  

There’s no way to explain to her that there is nothing at the castle for her. Nothing but a life of training exercises in small fields, and perhaps death in war if Germa ever rides into battle again.  

She can run as fast and as far as she wants to out there. And nobody will scar her again, ride her too harshly, give her cause for stress and fear. He wishes he could explain. All he can do is pat her side and point.  

She lowers her head to give him one last kiss, and he throws his arms around her neck to embrace her. More than anything, he wishes he could explain to her how happy she made him. Rose kisses his forehead, and Sanji kisses her nose.  

“Please,” he begs.  

She turns around. God, she’s beautiful. The sun hits her coat as she takes a few steps down the slope and starts to run. Her mane flows out behind her as she picks up speed, muscles flexing and grass flying up under her hooves.  

The nearby horses stop grazing and lift their heads as she gallops toward them. She slows down and trots closer, flicking her ears warily. Sanji clenches his fists and watches as she stretches out her head to make brief contact with a chestnut-colored horse. Rose pulls back her head, but walks closer all the same. The other nearby horses come closer to inspect, and she seems overwhelmed but curious.  

Sanji waits with bated breath, but they seem not to mind the newcomer. He clenches his hands so tightly that his nails cut into his palms.  

Fingers nudge at his clenched fist and coax it open. Zoro slips his hand into Sanji’s and squeezes tightly. Sanji squeezes back.  

They stand on the ridge to watch as the sun falls slowly behind the mountains, setting the sky on fire. Rose wanders into the herd, stopping to communicate with the other horses as they acknowledge her. She seems interested, at least. Sanji dreads that the herd won't accept her, as much as he’s desperate for her to run back to him as she did before.  

The herd starts to move, and it travels like a wave through the group. The first few horses begin to walk, and the others follow until the whole herd is picking up to move North toward the end of the mountain range. Sanji can feel the ground gently tremble as a thousand horses start to move at increasing speed together toward the valley’s opening.  

He can still pick Rose out from the crowd, her speckled coat standing out amidst the many varieties of colors and patterns. She pauses to look back at him for a brief moment. Then she turns to follow the herd, picking up speed to keep up.  

Hot tears roll down his face as he grips Zoro’s hand. The horses thunder across the valley and off into the distance, slowly becoming a blob until they disappear behind the mountains and are gone from sight.  

The valley is empty again, and the sun falls below the mountain range, taking the last rays of daylight with it.  

It’s the most broken he’s ever felt, and yet he is at peace.  

Chapter Text

The pain in his heart is worse than the lingering pain in his body. Sanji watches the distant Germa flag be buffeted by the dark storm clouds still circling the kingdom, threatening rain.  

It’s not far, now.  

Zoro drops a blanket around his shoulders and sits beside him, crossing his legs and tapping them with his fingers awkwardly. Sanji draws in his knees and watches the fire crackle. His vision blurs as the tears start up again.  

His brothers always called him a crybaby for getting worked up about silly things. He can’t help it, despite trying his hardest.  

Zoro’s hand nudges his leg. Sanji looks down at the flask being offered to him. He scoffs wetly and wipes his face, taking the flask and sipping. The strong liquor almost makes his gag, but the burn through his chest and the buzz in his brain are very welcome. He hands it back.  

Zoro’s fist lightly bumps his shoulder. “Stupid cook,” he says softly.  

He’s trying to start a fight. Much as it might make him feel better to roll around in the autumn leaves with Zoro, he just doesn’t have the energy for it right now. It’s a shame, since he’s been too hurt to brawl Zoro until a few days ago. He grips his legs tighter and looks away.  

Zoro’s boot nudges under his legs and pulls them open, hooking under his ankles and turning him around.  

Sanji lets go. “Hey --” he rasps, but Zoro isn’t trying to instigate a fight, he’s just holding out his arms. Sanji frowns and stares.  

“It’s a hug, idiot.” Zoro pulls himself closer. “You want it or not?”  

Zoro burns like a furnace. Sanji lets the warmth draw him in, scooting across the ground and into Zoro’s waiting arms. The swordsman draws him in and squeezes tightly.   

This, he could get used to. Zoro forms a shield against the world, and Sanji lets himself go. All the stress and uncertainty of the last few weeks boils into a writhing concoction. He already failed every other part of this trial, so why bother trying to succeed at holding all of this inside? It’s already coming out.  

Sanji lifts his arms and wraps them faintly around Zoro’s back, grabbing handfuls of fabric and squeezing. Zoro grasps the back of Sanji’s shoulder and tightens his grip, encouraging Sanji to do the same.  

It’s the last chance he’ll have – why not succumb? Sanji slides his hands around Zoro’s back and reciprocates. He wishes he never had to let go, and that Zoro never had to let go of him.  

Zoro lets go only to tug the bandana off his arm and tip some water into it. He eases Sanji upright and cleans the tears from his face. Zoro’s battle-worn fingers brush strands of hair aside and cup his face to scrub off the tear streaks. Sanji shuts his eyes as Zoro rubs his cheeks, and when he opens his eyes, he’s taken by the admiration shining clearly in Zoro’s.  

They have to separate briefly, but only so that Zoro can spread out their bed. Sanji crawls in first, and Zoro lies down beside him. They begin pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, but Zoro steadily moves closer in his sleep. Each time Sanji wakes fitfully, the swordsman is a little closer, until he’s entirely sprawled over Sanji, snoring and drooling.  

Sanji looks up at the stars and lays his hand on Zoro’s head, rubbing the soft hair with his fingers, savoring the last few nights of this he’ll get to enjoy.  

--  

Zoro insists on carrying most of their stuff. He hoists his bag and Rose’s saddle over his shoulder, and lets Sanji set the pace.  

The prince’s injuries are mostly healed, enough that he can forcibly shove aside the pain. It would be the perfect excuse to pause for a rest and extend their time together by every precious minute that he can scrape together, but he can’t make himself slow down.  

The mountains slope downward, and he can see the cattle grazing across the farmland through the receding trees. Zoro puts a hand on his shoulder, and they come to a stop. The castle’s shadow grows long across the land as the sun sets behind it.  

“We should split up,” Zoro suggests.  

“Meet at the inn?” More than anything, Sanji needs to see Zeff. It’s been months, and there is no way of knowing how difficult it will be to slip away from the castle to visit in the future.  

Zoro nods. “I’ll go around. Don’t wait for me.”  

Sanji adjusts his bag over his shoulder and makes sure the crystal is fully covered. Zoro waits at the edge of the forest, and Sanji sets off across the farmland on his own.  

It’s a long walk. The castle’s shadows are cold. Zoro’s warmth at his side is instantly missed. Sanji tugs his jacket around himself and hurries down the path toward the crossroads where he parted ways with his brothers.  

Are they all home now? They must be, seeing as they probably rode most of the way there and back, while Sanji walked for most of his.  

His back feels especially unguarded. Sanji tries not to think about Rose’s joyful sprint when she first tore off down this very path.  

The sun is long-set by the time he makes it to the edge of the outer city. Most people are inside by now, or too busy finishing up their day’s work to notice their prince scurrying through the streets. Sanji keeps his head down, grateful for the darkness that shields him from being recognized. They’re probably expecting his return on horseback, too. Sanji bites his lip and fights back another wave of tears.  

There are no lights in any of the guest room windows, and the inn is especially quiet as he slips around to the back door and pushes it open. The familiar creak of the floorboards welcomes him. Sanji carefully pads inside, his eyes drawn to the candlelight where Zeff is standing, peeling carrots into a big bowl.  

The old man puts down the knife and turns at the sound of footsteps. Sanji drops his bag and the crystal onto the floor and runs across the kitchen. Zeff has just enough time to flick a couple of carrot peels off his hands before Sanji barrels into him. He grunts and lands a hand on top of Sanji’s head.  

“Easy on the old bones, boy,” Zeff grunts, wrapping his other arm around Sanji’s back to pat him.  

Sanji eases up. “Sorry,” he mumbles into Zeff’s apron.  

“Where’s Broccoli Boy?”  

“Coming.”  

“Hmm. Well, let’s get a look at you, Eggplant.” Zeff pulls away and grasps Sanji by the shoulders to inspect him. “You’re a man now.”  

Sanji smiles. “I guess.” He tries to stand up straight, but his ribs are still sore enough to bend him in their favor.  

He can’t escape Zeff’s keen eye. "Are you hurt?”  

“It’s healing,” Sanji admits.  

“Do I need to have a word with Broccoli Boy?” Zeff’s stare darkens.  

“No!” Sanji holds up his hands in appeasement. “It’s okay, old man. It’d be a lot worse if not for him.” As in, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.  

Zeff grunts reluctantly and points at the stool in the corner. “Sit down, then. Give me a minute to put some food together. You ate properly out there?”  

Sanji nods and goes to get the stool, bringing it over to the counter. He sits and leans his elbows on the surface to watch as Zeff gathers ingredients from around the kitchen.  

Footsteps crunch on the dirt outside, and they both pause to watch the door crack open, and Zoro step inside. Zoro slides the bag and saddle off his shoulder and sets them down, shutting the door behind him and coming over to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Sanji. Zeff grunts at him and goes back to preparing the meal.  

“You’re in trouble,” Sanji murmurs.  

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Zoro pleads.  

Sanji shrugs apologetically. “I couldn’t hide it! It’s not my fault.”  

“What are you boys whispering about?” Zeff demands, glaring over his shoulder as he lays pieces of chicken into a pan to cook.  

They look over at each other, Zoro’s earrings shining in the candlelight. Zoro’s smile is greedily flooding into the empty space left by Rose. The only thing that could make his little world complete inside this kitchen would be to have her here too, but he knows he did the right thing. Zoro forces his way into the gap much as he has with every other encounter.  

Zeff sets a plate in front of both of them. “Clean those plates. Not a crumb left, or no desert.”  

There is no arguing with Zeff. Zoro dives in with his usual vigor, and Sanji almost does the same. He takes a moment to appreciate the plate set out for him, hoping it won't be the last of Zeff’s food he ever gets to eat. After months away, it tastes especially delicious. Zeff sets the candle by them, its tiny flame somehow warming the entire room.  

Zeff replaces their empty plates with sweet bread served with fresh cream and berries.  

“Finish that, then bed,” Zeff orders. “We can discuss more over breakfast tomorrow.”  

“Old man...” Sanji licks cream from his lips. He looks over at the crystal in the bag. The sharp edges have worn away parts of the fabric, shining through the cloth. “The trial’s not over.”  

Zeff stares at him. “Eggplant...”  

“I gotta.” He wishes he didn’t have to.  

Zeff sighs and watches as Sanji scrapes his plate clean. Zoro finishes quietly and gets up from his chair, going over to their bags to rummage.  

“I’ll be back,” Sanji promises. “I’ll tell you all about it.”  

“Spare my old heart the details,” Zeff replies. “All I care about is that you’re safe.”  

That might be for the best. What’s done is done.  

If only the celebration could have lasted a little longer, but he has a duty to attend to, one that he cannot allow his emotions to impede. He’s a man now, and as his father declared, he will return as one.  

Zoro pulls the cape out of the bag and shakes it out, drawing it around Sanji’s shoulders and fastening it.  

Join my crew. As a man, he can’t. He has to put his desires aside and do what’s best for the people he cares about most. The best way he can repay Zoro is to decline the offer – he can tell that Zoro wants to say something, but Sanji shakes his head before the swordsman can open his mouth. Thank you very much for asking, even after everything that’s happened.  

Sanji leaves the rest of the gear, having no need for it. He slings the crystal over his shoulder and opens the door. Zeff and Zoro watch him go. They stand there for a moment, contemplating what to say. It won’t be the last he sees of Zeff, but perhaps of Zoro. If the man is smart, he’ll pack up and leave for his crew immediately. Sanji shuts the door behind him, shutting away the warmth. A cool autumn breeze sweeps down the street and billows his cloak as he strides purposefully toward the castle.  

Sanji walks through the gates into the inner city, and the guards posted stares at him. The fastening rings bang against the flagpole as the wind whips harder at the flag. A few drops of rain brush his face, threatening deluge as it has for weeks.  

The steps of the castle are lit only by torches, though they provide no warmth to the deep shadows. Sanji resists the urge to cower into his cloak, instead walking tall through more posted guards. They rush to open the main gates for him, and he walks inside.  

His footsteps echo through the main hall. Sanji walks between the pillars and into the castle halls. Sounds of celebration bounce down the stone corridors, the walls lighting up with bright fire as it leaks through the cracks of the dining room doors. He can hear his brothers laughing, and his father’s booming voice. Cutlery clinks together amidst the ruckus.  

The guards at the dining room doors hesitate, but he stands his ground until the doors are opened. The smell and heat of fresh food spill out into the corridor, and his family pauses to stare at him as he enters the room. Sanji pads inside and comes to a stop, staring between the four of them.  

His brothers are covered in old cuts and bruises where their clothes don’t cover. Three pedestals hold their trophies by the dining room wall, the items proudly displayed; a broadsword with an ornately decorated gold hilt, a set of decorative knifes engraved in another language, and a spear with a white marble spearhead wrapped in red silk. There is no fourth pedestal.  

Sanji walks over to the table and pulls out his empty chair. There is no place laid for him, and he has no intention of joining them. They don’t say a word to him as he slides the bag off his shoulder and sets it in his chair. The cloth falls away and the crystal shimmers in the candlelight.  

Sanji doesn't bother warning them about the sharp edges; he doesn’t bother speaking, or waiting for them to speak to him. He doesn’t even want to look at them, pivoting and walking away from the table. The guards close the door between himself and his family, blocking away the light and heat of the celebration.  

“Your Highness?” One of the cooks scurries up to him. “Can I make you –”  

“No, it’s alright,” Sanji shakes his head, managing a smile. “Thank you.”  

He only manages a few strides before another servant runs up, looking him over from top to bottom.  

“Can I take your bag, Your Highness?”  

“No bags to take.” He left everything at Zeff’s.  

“Shall I have someone tend to your horse –”  

Sanji quickly shakes his head and looks away, quickening his pace and trying not to think about Rose’s empty stall.  

“Your Highness –”  

Sanji stops and turns to look at the servant. The man cowers and Sanji tries to loosen. He slumps wearily and nods to invite the inquiry.  

The servant bows low. “They thought you were dead,” he says softly, as if the walls themselves might punish him for admitting it.  

Six to eight weeks was the expectation. It was only gone for seven.  

“I will give the good news so that everything can be prepared for the crowning ceremony in a couple of days,” the servant explains hastily. “Do you need to see the doctor?”  

“N-no. No, I’m fine,” Sanji assures. The only medicine that could help him at this stage would be a strong pull of liquor from Zoro’s flask to slow the turmoil in his brain.  

“I’ll have a hot bath prepared for you, then.” The servant bows again and scampers off.  

Sanji watches the servant go and stands in the empty hallways for a moment or two. He can hear the wind whistling through the brick, a faint breeze slipping under the doors and swirling by his ankles. The celebrations have already started up again, and he doesn’t want to listen to them.  

They thought I was dead. Sanji stares blankly ahead as he walks up the steps toward his room. They thought I’d fail.  

I’d think I’d fail too.  

If not for Zoro, he’d be tied up in the forest somewhere, being dragged off to be sold, and then... And then endless suffering. The promises made in those mens’ eyes were more than enough to speak of what was in store for him.  

His family should be right. They don't know how right they are.  

Sanji wonders if he should tell them. If he admitted quietly to his father that he received help, would his father cut him loose? Cast him from the family and strip his titles?  

Things might change. Sanji opens the door and walks into his room, shutting the door behind him.  

Sanji throws off his cape and opens the window to let the fresh air in. He goes to the mirror, squaring up in front of it to examine himself. He pulls off his shirt and lifts his arm to find the edges of the bruise, and to count his new scars.  

The scars from the crystals have healed into smooth white lines, so white that when the redness clears up, they won’t stand out much against his pale skin. It’s mainly the bruises that will plague him, but Sanji takes relief in the fact that his brothers looked pretty beat up, too. Whoever they had to fight for their trinkets must not have been easy.  

Or perhaps they got a round of kidnappers set on them, too.  

Those heated conversations with Zoro are difficult not to think about. He’s going to miss having someone to curl up with at night.  

“Your Highness...?” Someone taps at the door.  

Sanji turns around and steps out of the way as a pair of servants carry the basin of steaming water into the room. Sanji nods his thanks, and they bow, their eyes lingering on his fading wounds as they turn to leave. They shut the door behind them.  

It’s very dark outside. Sanji strips out of his pants and leans out the window to look at the stars, but they’re covered in storm clouds. Sanji shivers and hurries over to the bath, climbing into the hot water and lowering himself to his chin.  

He tries to let his muscles unwind. Sanji sighs and splashes water over his head, scrubbing his hair.  

Herbert flutters to the windowsill. Sanji lifts his head and smiles, wiping his hands dry on his discarded shirt and holding them out. The pigeon flies into the room and lands in Sanji’s palm. He preens his feathers as Sanji flips him over and unwraps the letter from his leg.  

Sanji leans over the bath and unrolls the letter to read.  

Dear Sanji,  

I will already be on my way by the time you get this. I’m so excited to see you. I know you’ve grown up so much since we last saw each other. When I see you, you will have become a man, but you will always be my little brother.  

Reiju  

Sanji rubs the worn edges of the paper, wondering how long Herbert was waiting for his return. From the looks of things, Herbert was chewing on the paper.  

The pigeon flutters up to Sanji’s shoulder and squats down, perhaps enjoying the steam from the bath and some refuge from the wind outside. Sanji tosses the letter onto his bed and reaches up to rub Herbert’s head. The wind whips in through the open window, but Sanji doesn’t mind listening to the trees billowing outside. He sinks lower into the bath, and watches the branches sway.  

He’s glad at least to have returned when he did, or else his father would have been breaking the news of his death to Reiju. Sanji looks forward to seeing her. She’s probably almost at the castle by now.  

Another pigeon lands on the windowsill, and Herbert perks up, flying off Sanji’s shoulder to greet the one-legged female. He puffs out his chest, and she lets him waddle up to her. Sanji leans on the edge of the bathtub to watch as they court each other. An especially frigid wind bangs at the windows, and Herbert puts on his best moves, opening his wing to shield his lover.  

Sanji holds out his palms invitingly. Herbert looks over at him, tentative to pull away. But he does, flying into Sanji’s cupped hands. The female is hesitant, but she follows after Herbert, and they both settle into his hands. Sanji sits back down in the bath and holds the birds to his chest. Herbert fluffs up and nudges closer to the female, reaching over to smooth her wind-ruffled feathers. She does the same for him.  

A drop of water sprays his cheek, blown in from the storm. Sanji looks for rain, but the sky is only spitting out the odd drop. He debates closing the window, but the stirring winds are pleasant replacement for any unwelcome sounds to be heard throughout the otherwise silent castle.  

A peculiar sound draws Sanji’s attention, one that does not belong with the storm. At first it sounds like the groaning of tree branches, but it’s getting closer. He sits up in the bath and looks out the window, holding the pigeons closer. There is nothing but swaying tree branches and churning clouds. He looks back down at the pigeons and sighs, leaning back in the bath and propping his hands on his knee to keep them dry. Sanji sighs and shuts his eyes, cool air brushing his face.  

Someone grunts at the window, and his eyes fly open. Sanji turns his head, and the sight of the shadow lifting into the window frame almost makes him drop the birds.  

Zoro hauls himself up, his eyes shining in the light of the candle by the bed. Herbert flies onto Sanji’s shoulder and buries under his hair against his neck. The other pigeon flies across the room and lands on the sill next to Zoro’s hand.  

Sanji catches his breath. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he demands, wanting to shout but keeping his voice down. “How did you...”  

Zoro leans into the room so that the candlelight illuminates his face, smiling. He folds his arms on the windowsill and leans on them. “Hey, Cook.”  

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” Sanji stutters, lifting out of the bath gripping the sides, hanging low. “Don’t look.”  

“Hm.” Zoro leans on his hand and stares.  

Sanji scowls and turns his back, climbing out of the water and hurrying to his bed to wrap a blanket around himself before Zoro can ogle him too much. Herbert leaves his shoulder and flies to the windowsill, hopping over to his lady. Sanji wraps the blanket around himself and glances over his shoulder. Zoro has made no effort to look away, staring blatantly at him. Sanji flushes and walks up to the window, folding his arms.  

“What are you doing here.” he demands.  

“Looking for you. Turns out your pigeon seduced my pigeon. I was looking for you, and I saw them fly into your window.” Zoro rubs his bird on the head, and she hops away from his hand to be closer to Herbert. The wind ruffles their feathers. Zoro scoops her up and gathers her into his chest, holding out his hand for Herbert next. The other pigeon accepts Zoro’s invitation and cuddles back up with his girlfriend, shielded from the wind. Zoro pulls open his coat, and both birds nestle into his clothing.  

“Your pigeon seduced my pigeon!” Sanji retorts. “You didn’t answer my question. You know if someone sees you you’re dead, right?”  

Zoro shrugs. “I had no trouble getting here.”  

“You didn’t kill anyone, did you?” Sanji asks desperately.  

“Nah. Nobody got in my way.”  

Sanji sighs, wondering if Zoro is perched on a crack in the castle wall, or if his legs are dangling and his body is held up by arm strength alone.  

“So, you coming?” Zoro asks.  

“Huh?”  

“With me.” Zoro pulls a letter out from the folds of his coat and waves it. “Crew’s on the way. I still have to write back, so I can tell them to take the long way if you need a day or two.”  

Sanji stares at him.  

“Come on, I’ll carry you down,” Zoro offers. “I won’t drop you, I promise.”  

Sanji wonders if Zoro has thought about this rationally, or if the complications are simply inconsequential to him. You can’t cut your way through everything. Zoro seems to be pretty good at cutting down any obstacles that get in his way. He’s succeeded thus far.  

“Zoro...” Once more, he struggles to find a way to explain so that the green idiot can understand. The words just won’t come.  

“Oh, I guess you gotta get dressed first,” Zoro reasons wisely. “You got stuff to get? I can meet you at the gates when you’re ready.”  

The wind blows harder. Sanji watches the two pigeons huddle closer into Zoro’s chest and into each other. The blanket wrapped around him tickles his ankles as the wind whips at it and he walks closer.  

He can’t even form the word ‘no’ in his mind with any firmness. He wishes he could at least lie. Any lie would do, just to encourage Zoro to leave and return to his crew before it’s too late. Zoro risks his life and freedom every moment he remains in this kingdom. Sanji slides his hand along Zoro’s square jaw, reaching for his ear. He touches Zoro’s earrings and thinks back to that day in the arena.  

Three brothers, three swords. His brothers are probably still feasting. Sanji wonders how the scales would balance.  

Zoro stares at him. Sanji has gotten to know that face very well over the past few weeks. The swordsman’s stern eyebrows look black from a distance, but on inspection they’re closer to a deep fir green. Sanji rubs his thumb along a faint scar on Zoro’s cheek. If he could guarantee no visitors, he would pull Zoro into the room and invite him into bed with him to ward off the coldness of the castle.  

“Zoro?” Sanji whispers.  

Zoro gazes at him, and for a moment Sanji debates forgoing clothes altogether just so that Zoro can carry him away that much sooner.  

“Can you give me a couple of days?” Sanji asks. “The crowning ceremony is two days, and my sister is coming.”  

It might as well have been a yes for how big Zoro grins. His lips curl to show teeth and his eyes darken the way they do when they brawl.  

“I didn’t say yes!” Sanji warns. “I just need to think.” About what, he isn’t sure.  

Zoro plants his hands on the ledge and pushes himself up a bit higher. “Sure, Cook. Just be ready.”  

Sanji is about to protest, but before he can say another word, Zoro pushes off with his feet and throws himself away from the wall and into the tree by the window. He grabs a branch to slow himself and drops the rest of the way, landing on his feet. Sanji leans out the window, and Zoro looks back up at him. The wind whips at both of them, flinging Sanji’s bangs from his face and rustling Zoro’s like grass.  

Lightning strikes far away, flashing briefly in the dark sky. They stare at each other for the long seconds that pass until the thunder rumbles faintly. Zoro takes a few paces back and turns. Sanji grips the blanket and watches, remembering moments too late that his carrier pigeon is still tucked into Zoro’s coat. He stumbles back from the window and sits heavily on the bed, watching the tree bend and sway in the unrelenting wind.  

Chapter Text

His bed is too big, and the room is too cold. Shutting the window might help, but not by enough that he would trade away the comforting sounds of rustling trees. Sanji climbs out of bed and rubs his eyes, going to the window to look at the morning sky shrouded in grey clouds swollen with unshed rain. 

There is nowhere to go; no training, no way of slipping out to see Zeff, no Rose to visit. Sanji leans on the windowsill and watches the trees continue to sway, orange and red leaves whisked free and whipped up by the wind. It would be a nice day to take shelter in the kitchen and cook something, but he doesn’t dare risk getting caught by his family. 

The look they gave him when he entered the dining hall is fixed in his mind. Much as he wishes he could stop thinking about it, he just can’t. The pieces are lining up, but he can’t make himself put them together. 

A knock at the door makes him jump. Sanji turns around as the servant peers inside. 

“Breakfast is prepared, Your Highness,” she offers timidly. 

He stares at her for a moment, realization sinking in that she isn’t delivering him room service, but rather summoning him to the dining hall. 

“O-okay,” he replies. “I’m coming, thank you.” 

She bows and slips out, and Sanji shuts the window. 

Sanji dresses in clean clothes. He smooths out his shirt and takes a deep breath, pulling his cloak around his shoulders. His trembling fingers struggle with the clasps. Stop that. He shakes his hands frustratedly. 

Whatever turmoil he cannot suppress in his mind, he must remain outwardly composed. I finished the trial. The crystal is proof that he did it. How could they possibly know about Zoro’s help? If they had, surely his father would have had soldiers waiting to apprehend him upon their return. Sanji leaves the room and shuts his bedroom door behind him. 

It could all change. He proved himself, didn’t he? Sanji looks at the fading scars on his arms, the ones that Zoro took care of. 

Zoro took such good care of him. Zoro isn’t here to help him now.  

Sanji holds his head high, and strides confidently through the castle. He strides all the way up to the open dining room doors and walks in. 

“Sanji!” Reiju stands up from her chair to greet him, walking around the table with open arms. 

Ignoring his father and brothers, Sanji opens his arms to greet her, breaking into a grin. His older sister embraces him, lifting him off his feet and spinning him in a circle. She’s taller than him, muscular like the other brothers. The folds of her dress don’t hide her broad shoulders, and he can feel how strong she still is under the pleated fabric of her sleeves. 

“Hey!” he protests insincerely. 

Reiju sets him down and grabs his face to kiss his forehead. She takes his hand and pulls him toward the table, taking his empty chair along the way and forcing it between her own and Ichiji’s. None of the family protests, Ichiji’s lip twitching though he quickly scoots his chair aside to make room. Reiju’s husband sits on her other side, briefly pausing his conversation with Judge while everyone settles. 

Sanji sits down and avoids eye-contact with his family, focusing on Reiju’s beaming smile. Conversation starts up again, and she rubs his shoulder. 

She leans in and pulls him close. “You did it,” she says quietly. 

“Yeah,” he smiles faintly back, wondering what she’d say if he admitted to her that he wasn’t able to complete it alone. 

He tries to make himself feel like he deserves the pride in her eyes, but he would rather soak it up, no matter how underserved, than look around at the rest of the table. 

Reiju points at the array of trinkets, and Sanji looks over to see that his crystal has been added to the lineup. The family is reflected at many angles within the facets, which shine dots of light on the walls and ceiling of the dining hall. “Which one is yours?” she asks. 

“The crystal.” 

“It’s beautiful.” 

“You should have seen the place I got it from.” 

“I wish you could tell me all about it.” 

He wishes that too. 

-- 

Lunch is uneventful. Reiju leaves her husband to talk with Judge, and he barely acknowledges her departure. She puts her hand on Sanji's shoulder and guides him out of the room, unknowingly shielding him from his brothers’ ire. Her close presence blocks out the castle chill all the way up to her guest bedroom. 

Sanji waits nervously outside the door while she changes into a new outfit. She and her assistant are giggling inside. Sanji stares down the hallway and tries not to listen too closely. 

Reiju emerges dressed in leather pants and a white shirt, a cloth-wrapped package tucked under her arm. The heels of her boots give her another inch on Sanji. She smiles and takes his hand, leading him back through the castle. On their way, they walk past the dining room. Judge and Reiju’s husband are still talking, but the brothers have gone. Sanji clutches his sister’s hand. 

Autumn leaves swirl at their feet as Reiju leads him across the castle grounds, up through a small patch of forest, and up to the cemetery. The rising sun is to their backs now, blocked by the castle and casting them in shadow. Sanji pulls his jacket tighter around himself and comes to a stop beside Reiju at their mother’s grave. 

Reiju lets go of his hand and gets to her knee, laying her hand on the headstone to say a prayer. Sanji bows his head in respect. 

“I really missed you,” Reiju says, standing up and turning to face him. “Letters just aren’t the same.” 

“No,” Sanji smiles remorsefully. “I missed you too.” 

Reiju threads her fingers through his bangs and pushes them back, holding his face to inspect him. Her thumb rubs the faint scar on his cheekbone from Ichiji’s vindictive punch. “You look so much like her,” she says. 

There are no paintings of their mother that Sanji is aware of, moved perhaps after her death if there ever were any. I’m sorry, he wants to say, but he isn't sure what for; his brothers are as responsible for their mother’s death as he would be. None of them ever asked to be born. 

“What was she like?” Sanji asks. 

“Kind, calm. Stern, though, when she wanted to be.” Reiju looks down at the headstone. The stone is worn from twenty years of aging, moss climbing up the sides. The land has long settled over the coffin buried deep beneath their feet. 

Reiju’s own ceremony is the last time he saw her, six years ago now. She looks just as good as she did then, strong and healthy. Her body is just as muscular as the other brothers’. Sanji can’t help but wish he could look more like his father like the rest of his siblings. Maybe then, he could have truly earned that trophy. 

“Anyway, I wanted to give you your present.” Reiju searches in her pocket and pulls out a small box. “I’ve been dying to give this to you.” 

Curiously, Sanji takes it from her. He rubs the navy velvet and thumbs the lid. “You didn’t have to —” 

“You’re a man now.” She smiles proudly. “Why shouldn’t I celebrate?” 

I can think of a few reasons. Nonetheless, he pushes open the box. Inside are a pair of stud earrings made with strange white orbs polished pristinely. He inspects them curiously, rubbing the smooth surface of the opaque rock-like objects set into the gold studs. 

“Pearls,” Reiju answers his confused expression proudly. “I found them in Mother’s collection. You know pearls are formed by oysters?” 

“Oysters?” 

Reiju cups her hands and places them together, opening them up like a mouth. “They live in the sea,” she explains. “If you open up an oyster, you can sometimes find a pearl inside. They’re very rare.” 

Sanji carefully plucks one of the earrings from the box and holds it up to the sunlight. “Reiju —” 

“She’d want you to have them. I want you to have them. You like the sea, don’t you?” 

“How did you—” 

She beams at him. “Of course I remembered. It’s hardly all you ever talked about when we were young.” 

Sanji puts the earring back with its pair and closes the box, smiling to himself. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.” Even just to keep and admire, not necessarily to wear, he loves them. Pearls... The ocean truly is filled with many mysteries. How could a creature that lives in a shell create such a beautiful object? Zeff will know.  

God, I hope I get to see him again.  

The space for him in the family feels half-heartedly dug out. And if he left with Zoro, how easily would that hole be filled in? 

“Sanji?” Reiju asks quietly. “Are you alright?” 

Sanji sighs. If he could put his thoughts into words, at least he could begin picking out which ones he wants to share with his sister. He isn't sure how to explain the last six years since he saw her, least of all these past few months. Having to omit Zoro and Zeff makes it even harder to string together key pieces of the story, and he isn’t even sure what sort of story he would be trying to tell. He isn't even sure what she’d say if he rolled up his trouser leg and showed her the scar where his brother cut his leg. 

Even if he could explain, she can’t do anything for him. There is no changing how he was born, and what he has become. 

“I’m just tired,” he admits. “And I really missed you.” 

“Aw,” she gathers him into a tight hug, and he winces as she squeezes his bruised ribs. But he doesn’t complain, hanging in her grip and wishing she was never sent away. 

-- 

“How’s life as a queen?” Sanji asks as they stroll through the castle grounds. 

“ So boring.” Reiju groans. “But otherwise? Great.” 

“So... you and attendant.” 

“Oh Sanji, she’s a darling. She’s a horrible clutz, but marvelous with a blade. And excellent in bed.” 

“Okay,” Sanji laughs, flushing. “I don’t need those details!” The description reminds him somewhat of Zoro, though he would pick idiot rather than clutz. As for skill in bed... Sanji wishes he hadn’t thought about such a thing, because images are forming in his mind that are turning his face quite red. 

“The king thinks himself good at sex,” Reiju scoffs. “But he hardly lasts a round, so I don’t mind indulging him. Someday if he gets too much on my nerves I may slip something poisonous in his drink, but for now he is a tolerable nuisance.” She winks. 

She seems at least semi-serious. 

They stop to watch a troupe of soldiers enter the castle to begin setup for the celebration. On the other side of the field, their brothers are sparring with each other. 

“How is training?” Reiju asks, nudging his arm. “You must have gotten so strong since I saw you.” 

Sanji laughs nervously. 

“Oh come on,” she teases. “There’s no need to be modest.” 

Sanji scuffs the grass with his boot, unsure how to justify how far behind his brothers he lags. 

“Why don’t I get a couple of swords?” Reiju suggests, taking his hand to lead him toward the area of the training grounds where weaponry is kept. “And you can show me instead.” 

Sanji jolts, digging in his heels and shaking his head, tugging his hand. She’s too strong for him to slip free, but she stops. 

“Why not? I bet you’re so strong.” She smiles at him with such confidence, pulling on his arm again. 

Sanji holds his ground. “N-no,” he protests. “Please, Reiju, I can’t...” The last thing he wants right now is to pick up a sword. He can already feel himself start to tremble and his chest tighten, his breaths coming shorter. “Please... I’m just too tired right now. It... it was a rough one.” 

She acquiesces with a soft smile, sympathetic but still mildly disappointed. Sanji wishes he didn’t have to let her down. At the very least, she has no way to compare the difficulty and strain of his trial versus their other brothers’. 

“Maybe some other time, little brother,” she says. “You can show off for me another time.” 

Not with a sword.  

If only he could recreate the flying kick he executed with a strong launch from Zoro. Thinking back, he can still conjure the giddiness he felt being thrown into the air and his heel striking hard. Weilding the power Zoro loaned him was a feeling he may never experience again. 

What if I said yes.  

Zoro is going to ask again, if he hasn't been smart and left already. Selfishly, Sanji hopes not. 

What if I said yes?  

Even if Zoro eventually got tired of him, Sanji craves another taste of the swordsman’s heat and strength. Guarding from behind or in front, that heat felt so good. But it’s nothing compared to having that heat at his side, a hand dragging him up to a place he doesn’t belong, inviting him to stand on equal footing with a man so unfathomably strong. Why a man like Zoro would reach down his hand to pull up a man like Sanji must be an act of madness. 

-- 

Outside, the wind blows relentlessly and the sky refuses to clear. But the castle swells with music, light, and the smells of a feast. People dance around the hall, making the flames dance too as they sweep by the sconces in pairs. 

Sanji rubs his finger on the ornate pressed bronze goblet, tracing the patterned symbols of an extinct language. He sips his wine and adjusts the snug collar of his yellow uniform. The gold adornments clink together, and he can't help but think of Zoro’s earrings. His brothers dance around the room in their own outfits, taking any girl they please for partners. 

“May I dance with you?” 

Sanji turns to look up at Reiju as she approaches, admiring the layered reds and pinks of her dress. “A queen dancing with a mere prince?” he scoffs. 

“I would bend my knee just this once,” she smiles, taking his hand and waiting patiently for the other. Sanji finishes his wine and hands off his cup to a servant, taking her waiting hand. 

She sweeps him onto the dance floor, and people make room. The music does nothing to help his nerves, and his hands are slick in her grip. 

“It’s only ceremonial, all of this,” Reiju reassures. “The hard work is done.” She beams at him proudly, and he tries to smile confidently in return. 

He and his brothers learned to dance a long time ago, but those lessons were quickly abandoned for fighting lessons. Still, Sanji remembers enough that it starts to come back to him. Training his strength and balance have certainly helped, and he follows his sister’s lead around the hall without too much trouble once he finds his rhythm. The jolly music fills the hall, blocking out conversation and his own thoughts, though the steady beat echoes his pounding heart. 

Members of the court and enough people from the inner city to fill the hall filter on and off the dance floor. The tables slowly fill with food brought from the kitchens by the staff. Judge stands by his throne observing the party. Sanji makes eye contact with his father. 

The stare is brief but agonizing, his father’s expression unchanging. Sanji almost trips over his sister’s feet. 

He gasps as she dips him and pulls him back up, turning him in a tight circle and wrenching his eyes away from their father. She laughs, spinning him under her arm. All he can really do is go along with it. 

He wishes they could dance into the night and skip the ceremony. He wishes the ceremony never had to happen. He wishes he were anywhere but here. He wishes the warmth of the party would reach him, but he can't stop shivering. 

Sadly, the horns blow and the dancing comes to a stop. Judge summons his sons to the throne, and Reiju nudges him forward. He stumbles, recovers, and lifts his head. Reiju joins her husband at the sidelines to watch as the four brothers line up before their father, and the head librarian brings forth the crowns. Sanji sinks ungracefully to his knee alongside his brothers, and tries to breathe evenly. 

He can feel his brothers vibrating on either side of him, but they ignore him. Fine – Sanji has no interest in their attention. He stares at his father’s boots as Judge walks down the line of brothers much as he did when the trials began. The head librarian offers up the ceremonial crowns, and Judge places them on the heads of his sons. 

The crown is too heavy, but at least it fits.  

“By your triumphs, you have proven yourselves worthy to carry this great bloodline into a new generation of victories!” Judge’s booming voice fills the hall, and the people cheer. 

Judge raises his hands for his sons to stand and face their people, at least the ones gathered inside the room. Sanji doesn’t know what to do with his hands as he stares out across his people. 

He wonders how many members of the court were told that he was dead. 

Judge’s hand lands on his shoulder, and he jumps. His father squeezes. “It is my pleasure to announce that on this day, my third son has proven himself worthy of entering a marriage of allegiance with another kingdom.” 

Sanji stops breathing and stands rigid, sweeping his eyes across the crowds to find his sister. She smiles at him proudly, and he stares numbly back. His father’s hand is too tight. 

“He shall depart for their land as soon as these celebrations are over.” 

The people cheer in congratulations, and it washes over him. 

It should feel like a great relief to be separated from his brothers and sent somewhere else, but it doesn’t. Zeff. If given the chance, he could offer the old man a position as royal cook. Zoro...  

He’s going to have to say no, and it’ll be the best reason to decline the offer he’s ever been able to put together. Join my crew...  

I wish I could have. I wish I could have just said yes, and that everyone who ever knew me here could just forget about me like I never existed to begin with.  

It’s too late now. 

Sanji stares blankly at the double doors shut tight to keep out the storm. At the very least, he’ll get to say goodbye to Zoro. He hopes his father doesn’t send him away before the swordsman has a chance to stop by. At least if he doesn't get to see Zeff in time to explain, he can ask Zoro to pass on the message, or send a letter. 

Judge withdraws his hand, and the party swells again. The feast is fully laid out, people eager to eat but leaving room for the royal family to serve themselves first. His brothers move away from the throne, and Sanji staggers after them, feeling dizzy. Reiju comes to meet him, grabbing his arm excitedly. 

“See? Everyone is proud of you!” She pushes a cup of wine into his hand. “It’s a great honor!” 

Sanji takes a sip, nodding blankly. His father never mentioned the name of the kingdom he would be marrying into, he realizes. Sanji takes another swig. 

-- 

The party is all too short. Sanji can hardly stand it, and yet he dreads its end. His body feels tight and cold, and he doesn’t sleep well despite being mildly drunk on wine.  

The family gathers at the main gates to say goodbye to the guests, including Reiju. Sanji stands on the steps and waves goodbye as she mounts her horse. Her attendant rides beside her, and the rest of her court follows. He watches her go, feeling vulnerable before she’s even out of sight. 

“Write to me!” she calls. 

“I will!” he promises. 

His father’s hand lands on his shoulder again, anchoring him in place. His other brothers turn away, making brief eye contact before walking back into the castle. Their expressions are unreadable. 

Judge pulls Sanji around and leads him back inside the castle. The soldiers close the doors, shutting out the incessant wind. Sanji shivers as the last gust blows through the main hall, rustling the flags mounted on the walls. 

He wants to speak, but his throat feels tight. The other brothers have already dispersed, and the hallways are eerily empty. Judge leads him through the corridors, his hand never loosening. 

It’s not clear where they’re going until they start up the staircase. The pit in his stomach grows, and he feels ill. Judge opens the bedroom door, and there are already soldiers inside. One is on his knee, tugging on the chain secured to the floor to test its strength. He strains and it doesn’t budge. 

The soldiers bow to Judge as the king leads his son inside. The window is still closed, and for a brief moment he wonders if he could make it there before his father caught him, open it, and throw himself out of it. Maybe he could catch the branch like Zoro did, and get to the ground safely. 

Before he can even think about acting on any impulses, the soldier locks the cuff around his ankle. He stands up and hands the key to Judge, and both soldiers walk out to guard the door. 

Sanji stares at the wall ahead of him. His father’s grip remains on his shoulder, and the autumn wind rattles the windows. 

“You are unfit to rule any land,” Judge says calmly. “And I wonder who must have helped you to have succeeded against odds I know you could not have surmounted. Either way, you have failed the trial for taking aid.” 

You were right. You were fucking right. From Zoro slicing those ropes free, to saying goodbye at Zeff’s inn, memories of the trial race through his brain one after the other. Memories of fear and pain are prominent, but most of all confusion. He wonders how he could have let himself complicate any of this when Zoro cut so cleanly to the truth.

“I gave you twenty years to prove yourself as strong as your brothers, and you let me down time and time again, no matter how many chances you had to work as hard as they did. If you do not have the spirit to gain their strength, nor the ability, then I have no more use for you.” 

Set me free and I’ll never speak of this kingdom ever again.  

“You will wait here until I decide what to do with you so that you no longer cause shame to this kingdom by your weakness.” Judge’s hand slides away.  

Sanji stands stock still, his legs weak but his knees locked tightly. His father walks out of the room and shuts the door. Only one pair of footsteps leaves, the soldiers remaining outside the room. 

Sanji sinks to his knees and slumps against the bed. The cuff on his ankle is loose enough to knock against his ankle bone. He stares at the coils of chain pooled by his feet, following them to the ring secured to the floor. 

You were right.  

He should have listened. He should have said goodbye to Zeff upon return and left the city with Zoro. He should have let his family think he was dead, because by all odds he should be. 

He’s supposed to be dead. Removed. No longer a nuisance, cleanly cut out of the family without any fuss or scandal. Unworthy to live, unworthy to rule. Easily erased from the family ledger. His hastily-dug hole filled in and packed over. 

Sanji stares at the ring bolted to the floor, unable to make himself move, the last few months jumbled up inside his mind. Zoro’s voice is clearest, though. And Sanji wonders how he could have allowed himself to brush aside what was right in front of him. 

It makes too much sense.

Call for me. I’ll come.  

The soldiers are still waiting outside. Even if they were to briefly leave, nobody is going to hear him over this wind. 

A tap comes at the window. Sanji doesn’t know how long he’s spent curled up, but his joints pop as he gets up urgently. 

Zoro is at the window, threading a twig under the latch to open it. Sanji stands still and watches as the swordsman opens the window and perches on the ledge, smiling into the room. He opens his mouth and Sanji hurriedly puts a finger to his lips. 

Zoro frowns. “Cook...” he whispers so quietly he’s barely audible over the wind outside. His face is shadowed, peering into the room and searching for what he can sense is wrong. 

Sanji walks around the bed, and the chain drags after him, slowly unwinding across the floor. Zoro spots the cuff immediately, and his eyes flash like lightning. Sanji walks toward the window, and the chain pulls taut on the corner of his bed, forcing him to stop just out of arms’ reach of each other. 

“Zoro?” Sanji croaks. “I made a mistake, I...” 

“You want to come?” Zoro asks. 

“What about—” 

“What about nothin’.” Zoro grins. “You comin’ or what?” 

Sanji’s lower lip trembles. Zoro makes everything sound so simple, so easy. Maybe just this once, it can be. “Please help me,” he whispers. “Get me out of here.” 

The last of the meager daylight outlines Zoro’s body, his clothes billowing in the wind. Drops of rain splatter on the windowsill and onto the floor inside. Zoro ducks into the room and drops noiselessly to the floor. He straightens up, and the room crackles with static. 

Chapter Text

Zoro makes no sound as he pads across the floor. He takes Sanji by the shoulder and moves him aside, sitting him on the bed. The swordsman gets to his knee and inspects the chain, following it from the cuff all the way to the ring bolted to the floor. He stands up. 

Zoro points at the door and raises his eyebrow. 

“ Two, ” Sanji mouth, lifting up two fingers. 

Zoro faces the door, his hand briefly touching his sword before letting it fall to his side. Despite the layers of fabric covering his body, Sanji can still see muscles flexing with precision. He holds his breath. Zoro opens the door and lets it swing open. Lightning strikes outside the window, casting his shadow through the door and into the hall. 

The guards look at the shape and turn, but Zoro is already reaching out and grabbing them by the throat. Their bodies crumple almost instantly. Zoro reaches out with his foot to catch a dropped spear before it clatters to the ground. He drags the bodies inside and sets them down, shutting the door behind him. Then he turns back around and walks up to the chain, scooping it off the floor. 

The links of chain softly clink together as Zoro gets a good grip on it, wrapping it once around his hand. He gives himself a couple of feet from the ring bolted to the floor. Then he spreads his legs and digs in his heels. 

The muscles in his jaw clench. Zoro pulls the chain taut, leaning his whole body into it. Wind and rain blow into the room, the trees thrash, and something creaks in the floor. Zoro’s knuckles are white. He grabs the chain lower down with his other hand and growls. Just as doubt starts to form, the bolts in the floor squeak against the wood and start to lift loose.  

Zoro hooks his foot under the chain and wraps it around his leg. Then he tugs, and the bolts go flying, the ring popping off the floor. 

Sanji stands up. 

“We can deal with this later,” Zoro promises, coiling up the chain and handing it to Sanji. He grabs the prince’s jacket off the bedpost and throws it to him. “Come on.” He holds out his hand. 

Sanji puts on his jacket and loops the chain over his shoulder. He grabs Zoro’s hand tightly. 

Zoro runs to the window and climbs out, grabbing the sill. “Get on,” he nods at his back. “Carefully.” 

Sanji grabs the earrings his sister gave him off his bedside table on the way. He stuffs the box in his pocket and kneels on the ledge, pushing his head into the rainstorm. 

Zoro has carried him before. Sanji tries not to look down, turning around and lowering himself as gracefully as he can onto Zoro’s back. He looks over the swordsman’s shoulder into the room one last time, at the soldiers slumped on the ground. 

“Hang on.” Zoro uses his feet to push his body away from the wall so Sanji can wrap his legs around Zoro’s waist. Then the swordsman throws himself away from the window just like before. Sanji shuts his eyes and squeezes tighter as they plummet briefly before Zoro grabs the nearest branch. They hang there for a moment, swinging, before Zoro scoots toward the trunk to reach a lower branch with his feet. He jumps, catching another branch and dropping the rest of the way. He lands firmly on his feet. 

Sanji slides off and opens his eyes, squinting through the wind and worsening rain. 

Zoro grabs his hand again, and pulls him deeper into the trees. The clank of the chain is almost inaudible over the sounds of the storm. The sky is finally unloading, but Sanji couldn't be warmer even as the rain and wind wick away his body heat. Zoro wraps an arm around his back, spiky hair plastered to his head, and starts to run. 

Sanji puts his head down and holds the chain tightly. It slaps against his leg and back as he runs along beside Zoro, the cuff knocking against his ankle bone. How Zoro is going to get it off hardly matters – even if he can’t, it doesn’t matter. Nothing behind him matters. Any moment now, he’s going to wake up, but the raucous thrashing of trees and blinding lightning assure him that it’s real. The thunder is almost deafening, shaking the ground beneath their feet as it follows less than a second behind the lightning that gives them enough light to see their way. 

They cross into the training grounds, following the wall around the edge. The grounds are completely empty, everyone taking shelter from the storm except for a couple of guards by the gates. Zoro touches his sword. 

Lightning flashes all around, lightning up the training grounds. The shadows of three figures stretch across the grounds. Sanji grips Zoro’s arm.  

Zoro moves in front of him and grips his sword. Sanji can already feel his muscles locking up, gripping Zoro’s arm tightly for balance as his legs start to go. Lightning strikes again, illuminating three drawn blades. Zoro pulls Sanji along the wall, picking up the pace and sliding his sword out of its sheathe. 

Sanji has to move to keep up, but his feet are slipping on the soaked grass, his legs are shaking, and the chain is getting heavier. His brothers stalk across the training grounds, spotting the pair and approaching faster. And Sanji doesn't have the presence of mind to be ashamed about cowering behind Zoro, clutching the swordsman’s arm so hard that it has to hurt. He can't make his hand let go. Zoro’s muscles flex under his grip, his eyes piercing out from the shadow cast by his brow. 

Sanji wishes he could at least usher a warning as his brothers get closer, but he isn’t sure he could stop Zoro. 

They aren't going to make the castle gates. They aren't going to make the inner city, not without a fight. Sanji looks from his brothers to the gates and his eyes widen as the shadows of soldiers swarm at the entrance. Heavy chain clinks as the gates start to lower. 

Zoro looks over and spots it. He flicks his head back toward the brothers, their shadows crawling closer and closer, their blades catching in the moonlight and rain dripping off in thick rivulets. Zoro frees his arm from Sanji’s grip and pushes him against the wall. Lightning strikes again, and Zoro’s face is calmer and more determined than Sanji has ever seen it. His grey eyes shine, and he turns his body toward the brothers and the soldiers pouring into the training grounds. 

His empty hand flexes. Zoro flicks water off his sword, and Sanji swears he can feel heat radiating off the swordsman for a brief moment before they separate. 

The brothers spread out. Zoro picks Niji in the middle and drops his body low, approaching so fast that the prince barely dodges in time to avoid his stomach being sliced open. Niji draws his blade to block and pivots, his blade clashing with Zoro’s. The force of the blow shoves the prince back a pace, and he nearly loses his balance on the wet grass. 

Zoro turns, but Ichiji blocks him, sliding in to keep his brother from almost being disemboweled again. Yonji stalks around them, setting his eyes on Sanji. 

Sanji clutches the chain and stumbles backwards. Years of training won't matter. They’ve never mattered. He knows he has to try, but his body is frozen. The castle looms over him, the flag flapping violently in the wind and his brother glaring down at him. 

For a moment he wonders if Yonji will just kill him. 

I don’t want to die.  

Sanji adjusts the coils of chain over his shoulder and holds up his fists, much as he knows he won’t be able to do much against a sword. With the weight of the chain he might not even be able to land a good kick. The ground is too wet, and his footing is too unsteady.  

Zoro is effortlessly keeping his other two brothers at bay. Yonji looks at him like a wolf looks at trapped deer. 

They’ll kill Zoro. God knows what they’ll do to Sanji, but there will be no good ending for Zoro if Sanji doesn’t at least try.  

Yonji attacks him, snatching out his hand to grab the chain. Sanji stumbles away from his brother, pivoting away from the sword and kicking his brother in the shin as hard as he can. 

He doesn’t have the balance to deliver a proper blow, but Yonji snarls in pain and lunges at him. Sanji yelps and ducks away from a sword swipe. Yonji grabs the chain and yanks him close, swinging a punch across his face. 

Blood starts to flow, Sanji raises a hand to protect himself as he stumbles away from his brother, but Yonji grabs the chain and yanks. Sanji’s fingers slip on the wet metal, and the coils slip off his shoulder. Yonji tugs harder, pulling Sanji’s leg out from under him. He goes down, and his brother drives the sword through the links and stamps a boot into his chest. 

Hot blood and tears mix with the cold rain on his face. Sanji stares past his brother’s cold glare at the domineering shadow of the castle. He struggles, trying to push his brother’s boot off his chest and tugging his leg against the chain. The metal scrapes on the sword, which bends in the soft grass but doesn't come loose. Yonji digs his boot in harder and draws the sword from the grass, swinging it around and resting the tip against the base of Sanji’s throat. 

Zoro glances over his shoulder. It’s only a brief moment, but he spots Sanji’s form pinned to the ground, the sword pressing faintly on his skin. 

The lightning seems to last for a whole minute as Zoro turns his head back around at the brothers swinging their swords at him. Sparks fly off the flagpole as the lightning strikes it, and the flag bursts into flame. Zoro’s stare is deathly calm as the swords come down on him. The fire spreads faint but warm light across the training grounds. Embers are whisked away by the wind and quickly extinguished by the rain. 

Zoro’s movement is almost imperceptible. Niji’s sword misses, but Ichiji’s disarms him. Zoro’s hand stays open as his sword falls into the grass. 

“ No! ” Sanji shouts. 

Zoro’s eyes flick briefly up, and Sanji follows to spot the array of archers perched on the surrounding wall, bows drawn. 

His brothers’ dark grins glow brightly. Yonji sheathes his sword and grabs Sanji by the arm, wrenching him to his feet and picking up the chain as he goes. Sanji fights. 

He knows how strong Zoro is, and yet somehow the swordsman can't escape Ichiji’s grip on his wrist. Ichiji bends Zoro’s arm behind his back and grabs him by the neck, squeezing tightly. 

Niji picks up Zoro’s sword and slides the sheathe from his belt. He slides the sword into it and holds onto it, grabbing Zoro’s other arm. The soldiers gather close with their spears at the ready, but make way so Zoro can be marched toward the castle. 

No. Sanji resists, but Yonji drags him along too. No, no!  

Zoro is calm, eying Niji’s grip on his sword but allowing the princes to push him into the stables. 

Fucking forget about me! If Zoro breaks free and runs, he might be able to make it to the gates before they close. Even if an archer got lucky, it would be a better end than what awaits him. 

The horses stamp and snort nervously, rearing back as the convoy passes between the stalls. It’s too late now: they’re inside the castle. The rain and wind are blocked out, but Sanji shivers more fiercely. The only benefit of Yonji’s strong grip is that it’s keeping him from falling over his own feet. 

His lungs are seizing. If Yonji loosens his grip just briefly, maybe Sanji can move fast enough to put Zoro out of his misery before the torture can begin. 

Sanji has never been able to compel himself to do such a thing. Years and years of being forced to follow his brothers into the dungeon and watch the whip come down, to be splattered with blood and deafened by screams, and he’s never once had the courage to do the right thing and end the suffering. Now of all times, it should matter more than ever, and yet he feels the weakest he’s ever felt. All the turmoil of the last twenty-four hours is rising into a wave so insurmountable it just feels like nothing. 

Zoro doesn’t know. Zoro is so calm, the torchlight shining off his eyes as he walks down the corridors, deeper and deeper into the castle. 

He doesn’t know. He’s going to. 

Why didn’t you leave when you had the chance!  

Why didn’t you fucking run?  

Why didn't you listen to me when I warned you? I told you so.  

Zoro’s crew is on their way to port. There won’t be anyone to send a letter and let them know that their friend isn’t coming. And it’s my fucking fault.  

They descend the steps. Sanji almost trips and falls down them, but his brother is basically carrying him at his point, his feet dragging. He tries to get them under himself and at least walk with some dignity. 

He should have said yes at the inn. 

Zoro is breathing evenly. The brothers loom over him and leer, growing more agitated with anticipation as they lead him to the far end of the dungeons. Niji kicks open the final cell, and he and Ichiji throw Zoro to his knees in the center of the cell. 

He should have said no at the window. 

“You know how long I looked forward to this?” Ichiji growls, yanking Zoro’s arm out sideways. Niji does the same on the other side, and they lock the cuffs to Zoro’s wrists.  

Zoro breathes a long, deep breath. The corner of his mouth twitches as the brothers drop the chains through the rings on the walls and pull tight, locking the chains in place to the rings on the floor. 

Ichiji draws a knife and comes to kneel in front of Zoro. Sanji whimpers, and Yonji tightens his grip. 

Zoro flicks up his eyes, and Sanji meets them. For a moment he imagines anger, but Zoro is still so calm and sure, even as Ichiji starts to slice off his clothes. 

Ichiji grabs the back of Zoro’s hair and yanks up his head to force eye contact. “You must not know what we do to people who humiliate and steal from this kingdom,” he sneers. “You’ll learn. Maybe if you beg we’ll make sure you’re mostly dead before you get dragged through the streets. Then again, I want you to hear the horrified murmurs as your dying body is dragged through the dirt. Beg for your worthless life.” 

Zoro lifts his eyes up and fixes them onto Ichiji, his stare devoid of fear. He makes no intent of speaking. The torchlight in his eyes burns as if it’s his own. 

Ichiji is briefly silent as he looks back at Zoro’s unwavering stare, waiting. Instead, Ichiji is the one to break, scrambling to his feet and yanking the whip out of Niji’s hand. He’s clearly shaken as he hops over the chain and hastily positions himself behind Zoro, raising his arm. 

“ No!” Sanji shrieks. The crack of the whip cuts over him and slices into Zoro’s bare back. 

The muscles across his chest and shoulders flex, and Zoro breathes out smoothly. A dribble of blood trails over his ribs and travels to his waist, rolling over his hip bone and soaking into the hem of his trousers. They all wait for a few agonizing seconds for a scream, but for once, nothing comes. 

Ichiji growls angrily and raises the whip again. Blood flies off the leather as it cracks again, splattering on Sanji’s cheek. He flinches, restraining a gag as he hears Zoro’s flesh tear. If he screams, he’ll be sick, so he swallows it as hard as he can. 

New blood drips onto the old stains dried beneath Zoro’s knees. The chains creak as Zoro flexes involuntarily with each strike, but the swordsman doesn’t make a sound – just that deep exhale as the whip splits open his skin. Sanji’s mouth hangs open, his previously too-fast breath locked in his throat. Ichiji is making more noise than Zoro, growling and panting and seething as each strike fails to drag out that scream he so desperately wants. 

Fake it! He wants to yell. God, fuck, just cry and scream for a little bit. Let it die, let them think they’ve won.  

“Give it,” Niji growls, snatching the whip out of Ichiji’s hand. Blood from the handle instantly smears on him, and Ichiji shakes droplets from his fingers. He storms away frustratedly and rolls his shoulder, turning back to watch. 

Zoro flicks his gaze up briefly, and his eyes are just as clear as ever. The blood is running down his arms, dripping off his elbows. Forming puddles glisten around him. Niji raises the whip, and Sanji wishes that once they’re done with Zoro, that his brothers will just kill him too. 

The smell of blood is thick in his throat, but still Zoro bears the blows in silence as the whip cracks especially high and cuts over his shoulder. The blood dribbles over his shoulder and down his chest, pooling on the raised parts of his chest scar before overflowing and traveling to the crease in his belly where it collects. 

Yonji’s grip trembles on Sanji’s arm, but Sanji doesn’t even know where he’d go even if he managed to run away like the last time. There is no bedroom to go to, and the gates are closed. There’s no way he would make it to Zeff’s, and no way he could look the old man in the eyes if he did. 

He deserves to die here with Zoro. 

Zoro doesn’t look like he’s dying, despite the blood. His eyes remain calm, while Niji’s burn with rage above him. The strikes are coming more hastily now as the prince’s arm grows tired and his patience wanes. Zoro lets out a controlled breath, and his lips tremble faintly. 

Niji ducks under Zoro’s taut arm and stomps over, thrusting out the whip to Yonji. “Your turn,” he growls. 

“I think we should give Sanji his turn,” Ichiji suggests. 

Sanji’s muscles lock tight, and he hears Zoro suck in a breath. He looks up, and the swordsman is staring at him. 

“Yeah,” Yonji agrees. He pulls Sanji’s arm out and Niji presses the whip into his hand. Yonji folds Sanji's hand around it. Zoro’s blood smears all over it, and Sanji refuses to hold on, shaking his head. Yonji tightens his grip. “It’s your turn,” he threatens lowly. 

“We said it’s your fuckin’ turn,” Ichiji agrees, pushing between the other two. He squeezes Sanji’s hand around the whip and glares down at him. “What, you can’t do something as easy as punish someone for dishonoring the kingdom?” 

“Of course he can’t,” Niji sneers. “He’s just as much of a worthless traitor.” 

“This is pathetic, even for a failure like you,” Ichiji spits. “After everything, you had to go and collude with a wanted criminal? You’re worse than nothing.” 

The chains clink faintly. Sanji cowers and looks past his brothers at Zoro’s stare. 

It’s not so calm anymore. Pain is seeping in, but mostly rage. And god, it burns. Sanji isn’t sure he could hold the whip if he wanted to, let alone find the strength to bring it down over Zoro’s back. He doesn’t even want to see what a mess his brothers have already made of it. There were so few marks on Zoro’s back before this. Sanji won’t be part of marking it. 

It’s already my fault anyway, so what does it matter if I wield the whip myself?  

“This’ll sort it out for you,” Ichiji growls. “Do it, or you’re next.” 

Sanji looks up at his brother. Ichiji’s glare burns into him – he isn’t joking. The other two don’t even flinch at the proposal. Sanji would rather let his brothers beat him than take that whip and bring it down on Zoro. 

Ichiji’s threatening glare holds his gaze, and he can't make himself answer or move. The torches flicker on the walls and Zoro’s eyes rise over his brother’s shoulder as the swordsman lifts his head. 

Zoro’s dark glare steals Sanji’s attention, and the brothers follow Sanji’s stare, briefly frozen too. Their grips loosen, and the whip slides out of Sanji’s lax fingers. 

His knees go weak. Zoro relaxes with a long breath, muscles that were taut this whole time going loose. The chains fall faintly slack. 

The calmness burns away. Zoro lurches upward, forcing his knees off the ground and pulling his arms inward. Muscles bulge across his body and the chains pull taut again, clanking against the fastening rings. Blood streams out more readily as Zoro leans forward and strains at the chains. Metal groans, and cracking echoes through the stone. 

The brothers recover, scrambling to spread out. 

The bolts pull free of the stone, the floor rings popping free first. The chains slide through the wall rings, and the torches outside the cell extinguish. 

Sanji slumps against the bars. He can make out Zoro’s pulsing shadow. He can hear drops of blood dripping to the floor, and he can hear his brothers panting. 

The brothers descend on Zoro. Zoro spins, pivoting smoothly in his own spilled blood and flinging the chains around. Ichiji grunts as the chain catches him in the stomach. The chain is pulled through the wall rings, but the attachments at the ends are too big to slip through. The chain gets caught, and the rings rip out of the wall too, sending bits of stone and the loose bolts flying. Sanji cowers and covers his face to avoid the chain as it whips around and clangs on the cell bars. 

Zoro pulls the chains toward him. He ducks under Niji’s swinging sword and grabs the ends as they slide across the floor toward him. Torchlight from down the hall shines in pinpricks in his eyes and makes the blood glisten. Zoro whips around a loop of chain and catches Niji’s sword in one of the links, ripping it out of the prince’s hand and throwing the blade clattering to the floor. Niji stumbles away, and Ichiji takes his place. 

The chains whistle as Zoro whips them around, using them to block Ichiji’s sword. They wrap around the blade, and Ichiji only just manages to pull it straight back before he gets disarmed too. The lights catches his eyes too, very briefly. 

Sanji can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen his brothers look afraid. 

Blood flicks around the room, flung off the chains and Zoro’s body as he throws himself in a tight circle. Sanji can feel the droplets soaking through his shirt and hitting his face, but he can't take his eyes away from Zoro’s dark shape. 

Zoro runs at the back wall and jumps off it, throwing his body into Ichiji. His blood leaves thick stains on the prince’s smattered shirt, and the chain whips into the floor with a heavy clang. The other brothers pounce on him, and Zoro rolls off, swinging his arm wildly. The rings sliding around on the chain add force to the blow, enough to chip the stone. 

Zoro roars, and the princes visibly flinch in the darkness. They're struggling to get close, ducking the chain as it spins by them. Zoro gets the chain around Niji’s arm and throws him aside, lashing out with the other arm and cracking Yonji across the face with the metal ring. 

Yonji is flung sideways, slumping stunned against the wall as he clutches his jaw. 

The chains slide across the ground as Zoro spins around. His body is swaying now, and when the light catches his face again, his eyes are wild with uncontrolled rage. The other two stalk him, eying their fallen weapons. Zoro spins to block them, and they give him a wide berth. Sanji tries to get his feet under him. The brothers flank him warily. Sanji holds his breath. 

Zoro’s arms fall loose at his sides and his legs start to buckle. The brothers watch as Zoro slowly topples, falling to his knees and then forward onto his face with a wet thump and a clatter of chain. 

Sanji scrambles to his feet. He can still hear Zoro’s heartbeat alongside his own. It’s too dark to get a good look at Zoro’s back, and the blood is too thick to make out how bad it is anyway. 

Niji jumps over Zoro’s body and runs over to Yonji moaning and clutching his face in the corner. Ichiji glances after him before fixing his eyes on Sanji. He doesn’t say a word, stalking over. Sanji trembles, and Ichiji grabs him by the throat. 

Just end it. Leave me here to rot, if you want. He looks down at Zoro’s motionless body. Still, heat radiates from it. It’s no use thinking back to how things could have gone differently had he made a better decision, but he does anyway. 

Hope felt so good. It was just a small handful, but it felt like... It felt... 

What is there now? Sanji wishes he’d said no one last time. Just one more time.  

Niji helps Yonji to his feet. Ichiji picks up the chain and grabs Sanji by the arm, dragging him out of the cell. Sanji strains, looking back frantically at Zoro’s body sprawled in the shadows, still bleeding. 

Ichiji growls and yanks him along, thrusting him up the steps. He shouts, and a handful of guards come running. Sanji fights harder, even though he knows he can’t overpower his brother but trying anyway. He strains to look down the steps after the guards, catching a glimpse of Yonji’s bleeding mouth, hand clamped over it, bruising already forming where the steel ring struck him. Sanji shivers and looks away, digging his heels into the ground. 

More soldiers come running. Sanji wrestles against Ichiji, watching as the soldiers drag Zoro up the steps by his legs, and past them. Sanji fights, tearing up helplessly as Zoro’s body leaves bloody trails on the floors and his arms drag limply behind. 

They follow the soldiers through the castle to the stable doors. The sky is still grey, but starting to lighten with the first dawn light, and the storm has settled to a steady downpour. The soldiers drag Zoro between the stalls and out onto the grass, dumping his body in the rain. Water pools with the blood on Zoro’s bare back, running off his sides in dark streams and soaking into the grass. A couple of soldiers mount and ride over, more coming with rope to tie Zoro’s legs to the saddle. 

Sanji squirms, reaching up to pry at Ichiji’s fingers. 

His brother glares down at him and grabs his fingers, wrenching them away and squeezing tighter. 

“Watch,” he orders. “That’s what traitors get.” 

It’s what I should get.  

What was the fucking point, all this time? What have I done?  

I should have never cooked for you. Their time together brought him more warmth than he could have ever asked for, but none of it is worth this.

Chapter Text

You were right.  

You tried to explain, and I didn’t listen.  

You gave me one chance too many. Any chance at all was more than I deserved.  

Ichiji shoves him to his knees at the foot of the throne, and Sanji’s legs buckle without resistance. His brother’s hand is tight on the base of his neck. Sanji stares at the floor and listens to his father’s boots as they echo down the corridor toward the room. He looks at his hands resting on the floor beside him, smeared in Zoro’s blood. 

Judge’s presence fills the room. Sanji shivers as his father’s boots pad across the carpet and come to a stop in front of him. 

Ichiji tightens his grip. “The demon of the east is dealt with,” he sneers, and Sanji can hear his brother’s smug smile. “Gave him the beating he deserved.”

The smugness is undeserved. Strike after strike, they never did break Zoro. Not in any meaningful way. 

“He’ll be dead by noon, if he’s not dead already.” 

“Guys like that are desperate to die in battle,” Niji adds, equally smug. “Guess he doesn’t get his honorable death.” 

Yonji says nothing. Sanji can hear his brother’s wet and painful breathing, punctuated by the odd moan of pain. Sanji might feel sympathy for his brother if he could feel anything at all. Punishment is imminent, and yet all he can see is Zoro’s unwavering calm as the swordsman endured relentless torture. Calm that ended the moment the brothers turned the whip to Sanji, and threatened the same. 

Sanji wonders if the whip is bound to strike him next anyway. He wonders if his father would risk bringing shame to the kingdom by having his own son dragged through the streets. There are worse ways to die. He wonders if enduring what he just put Zoro through would bring him at least some peace before his eventual passing. 

The warmth Zoro gave him throughout their time together lingers in his chest, and he clutches at it, shutting his eyes to remember better: Zoro’s rough hands containing strength unlike Sanji has ever seen before, touching with gentleness he’s never felt. Zoro, reaching down that hand to pull him out of the dirt. Zoro, coming to help when called. And for a short while, Sanji felt safe. Maybe if he hadn’t cowered when it mattered, things would be different. Maybe if he’d fought harder, he could have helped their escape rather than hindered it. 

What a worthless disgrace.  

It’s too bad it cost Zoro his life to learn the hard truth, that no matter how much faith Zoro had, it was misplaced. How worthless must he be, to have dragged down a man like Zoro. 

A hand threads through his bangs and pushes them up, grabbing at the roots and yanking his head upright. Sanji stares up at his father, and fear starts to take precedent again, ozzing out of the nothingness. The room is empty except for the royal family – no delegates, no guards. The door opens, and the librarian enters with a box. 

“I have only one last ceremony to perform,” Judge says calmly. “You conspired with a criminal to disobey me. And for that, I have no more patience left for you.” 

His father’s grip on his hair and his brother’s on his shoulder keep his head locked in place. Sanji stares into his father’s eyes to find the coldness joined by contempt. Judge holds out his hand, and the librarian opens the box. 

There’s a steel blade inside. There are no gemstones or precious metals incorporated into the design, just a few simple designs etched into the steel, and the handle wrapped in leather. The blade is short, only a couple of inches long. Sanji stares at it as the librarian guides it under Judge’s hand, and his father’s fingers wrap around the handle. 

If this is the end, Sanji hopes it won’t take too long. 

The librarian shuts the box and turns away. Judge looms over him, flipping the blade in his hand and gripping it in a tight fist. 

Sanji eyes widen as the blade comes down on his face. “Father, please–! ” The beginning of his hasty plea is cut off as the tip of the blade cuts deep into his forehead, and his father slices through the curl of his left eyebrow. 

He screams. The blade cuts in deep, and it takes him by surprise more than anything. Blood immediate pours out, flowing into his eye and down his cheek. It drips down the middle of his face and over the bridge of his nose, running all the way to his chin. 

Judge pulls away the knife, and Sanji reaches up to clutch his father’s wrist as it comes toward the other eyebrow. 

Ichiji’s hand flinches as Sanji screams again. Blood runs into his open mouth as Judge scores his other eyebrow swirl. 

The cuts are deep. Sanji blinks blood out of his eyes, but it’s quickly collecting in his eyelashes. He can feel it running down the sides of his face and into his hair, his ears, dribbling down his neck and soaking into the collar of his shirt. The knife drips with it as Judge pulls it away and wipes it clean on a handkerchief, handing it back off to the librarian. Then he hooks his hand under Sanji’s arm and pulls his son to his feet, picking up the chain still secured to Sanji’s ankle. 

The pain is as blinding as the blood. Sanji already feels light-headed as his father tugs him out of the throne room and back into the castle. His whole face is wet and sticky, and the deep wounds pulse. He can’t find the strength to walk properly and give himself some dignity. It hurts so much that tears are mixing with the blood. There is no dignity to be retained, so he doesn’t bother trying to stop them. 

He doesn’t even know how to begin explaining himself – he's been conspiring with Zoro for months now, fraternizing with an enemy of the kingdom, receiving help from him. He’s a traitor, plain and simple – there is no way he could have beaten those odds by himself, and so no way of lying his way out of it. 

Why did you send those men after me? Why would you tip off people who hate us so much?  

Vinsmoke conquest stretches far. He can’t blame anyone for being angry about the suffering his family has caused for generations. 

It hurts so much. He wishes he were as tough as Zoro, tough enough to endure his suffering in silence. Sanji can’t help but whimper as his father takes him down the steps and into the dungeon. He tries to breathe deeply, but he can’t seem to catch his breath. Blood runs down his throat, and he chokes on it, spluttering it onto his chin as he coughs it out. Coughing only makes the pain worse. 

The dungeon is silent. The prisoners cower as their king marches past. It’s very rare for Judge to come down here. Sanji wonders if his father is going to use the whip himself. 

Do you despise me that much?  

The blood is drying on thick. If you can’t stand me, let me go.  

Please let me go. I won’t speak of this kingdom ever again. Please, just...  

They walk all the way to the end of the hallway, all the way to the darkest corner. Judge comes to a stop by the empty cell across from the torture cell. The bars are already open, flanked by two guards. One of them is holding what looks like a helmet. Sanji stares at it, stumbling as his father drags him into the cell and the guard hands it over. Judge grabs him by the shoulder and spins him around. 

Sanji faces Judge, squinting through the blood into his father’s cold stare. His legs tremble faintly and his body sways. It feels like he’s about to collapse, but the guards enter the room and hold his arms, keeping him upright and unable to escape as his father holds up the iron helmet. 

It’s unsightly for a prince to beg, but he opens his mouth to try again. Judge slides the bottom piece of the mask under his jaw and pushes Sanji’s mouth closed. The metal is freezing cold against his skin, pressing under his chin and along his jaw. The grating obscures his mouth and nose. Judge lowers the top part over it and fits them together, taking a key from the guard and locking them in place. 

The fit is loose in the sides, but tight enough under his jaw that he can’t open his mouth the whole way. It’s heavy, too, dragging his head down. His dizziness only adds to the weight. Sanji fights to lift his head and looks up through the gap at his father. 

Judge doesn’t say a word, pocketing the key. The guards let go, one of them taking the chain still attached to Sanji’s ankle and locking it to a ring on the wall.  

His hair is sticking to the inside of the helmet. The guards walk out of the cell and stand to attention, waiting for their king. 

Judge looks away. He turns toward the exit and grabs the cell door. 

“Father—” Sanji starts, flinching as Judge slams the bars shut between them. 

“You are lucky that I allow you to live after committing such a crime,” Judge says lowly, eyes fixed firmly on the lock as he turns the key. “And unless I think of something better to do with you, you will not see the light of day again.” 

Sanji slumps to his knees, the helmet dragging him forwards. He plants his hands on the dirty stone, blood from his face forming small puddles between them. Death would have been kinder. Perhaps this is a better punishment for what his mistakes cost Zoro. 

Judge’s boots turn to walk away. 

“Father,” Sanji croaks. “Please.” 

He should at least send Zoro’s crew a letter. If he can make it to Zeff’s inn, maybe Zoro’s pigeon will be there, and he can send one. Sanji swallows roughly. 

“Please.” He can’t explain his plan. His voice is hoarse and trembling from pain, blood thick on his lips. “Please. Let me out, and... and I’ll dispose of myself.” 

Get to Zeff, write a letter, say goodbye. Then find somewhere quiet in the forest and end it. He knows enough about poisonous plants to find something fast-acting. It wouldn’t be the most dignified death, but a swift one leaving little mess. If he did it by the river, when he slumps over and dies, his body will be carried out to sea. 

I don’t want to die.  

He’s going to die here. He would rather die by the river than trapped in this cell, if given the choice. Judge says nothing, walking away and taking the guards with him. Sanji slumps until the helmet bangs the stone floor. “Please...” 

They’ve already gone. The dungeon falls silent. Sanji topples sideways, panting and shaking. It’s cold down here, and he’s still bleeding. The helmet bends his neck uncomfortably, the rim pressing on his throat. Sanji rolls onto his back with a whimper, but that doesn’t help. Sanji rolls back onto his side and tries to curl his arm under his head. It helps a little. 

His eyelashes are so sticky with blood that it’s difficult to open his eyes all the way. His arm feels too heavy to lift and try to clean them. There’s not much to see, anyway. Sanji stares through the cell bars into the hallway, at the trails of blood made by Zoro’s dragging body. 

It hurts a lot. It hurts more than it ever has. Memories of Zoro aren't even enough to warm him.

I had fun while it lasted. Thank you.  

And I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. At least there are no screams to haunt him. 

If I were stronger, maybe we could have gotten out of there together.  

Why didn’t you just go? Zoro could have made it out of there alone. He could have saved himself, at least.  

Why did you stop fighting them? Why did you let them do that to you?  

Sanji wishes he’d have given Zoro more details when he had the chance. Maybe then, the swordsman would have made a different calculation than whatever one he made. Sanji rolls onto his other side to face the back wall. He curls up tighter to block out the cold, damp breeze drifting down between the cells. The smell of blood is thick, most of it his own, but some certainly from the recent aftermath of Zoro’s torture. 

Why did he have to be born like this? Weak, small... Why is it just him of the five that was born like this? 

Why was he born at all? 

What did I do? What did I ever do?  

--  

Reiju has only been gone for a few months. It already feels like forever. Ever since she left, training has only gotten more brutal. He spends a lot of time by himself. Reiju was always the strongest of the five.  

Without her, there’s only one place he can go. Sanji escapes the training grounds while the others are occupied, and escapes the castle, keeping his head down to hide the blood on his face.  

Breakfast will have already been served, but maybe Zeff will let him help prepare lunch. Sanji finds his bandana in the wall and ties it over his eyebrows, merging with the city bustle. It’s a lovely Spring day, the common people busy trading goods and running errands.  

Sanji scampers through the city and around to the back of the inn, nudging open the back door and stepping inside.  

Zeff is chopping onions at lightning speed. “Just in time, Eggplant, I was about to slice that roast over there—” The old man turns and spots Sanji’s bloody face, putting down his knife. He points at the stool, but Sanji is already slumping over to it.  

Zeff gets clean water, and Sanji carries the stool to the counter, sitting on it and drawing in his legs. He perches his heels on the edge and covers his face with his knees, hugging his legs in tight. His brothers already made fun of him for crying. He tries to hold it in so that he act like a man at least in front of Zeff, but fresh tears are coming no matter how much he begs them not to.  

“Open up, Eggplant,” Zeff says quietly, gently tapping his knuckles on the top of Sanji’s head. “You can’t be bleeding on the food now. Let me take a look.”  

Slowly, Sanji lets go of his legs. Zeff’s hand hooks under his ankles and pulls them open. He tips Sanji’s face into the light. “They sure did a number on you today.”  

Sanji nods shamefully.  

Zeff dips a cloth in some water and dabs it on the graze on his cheek. “What about those kicks I taught you?”  

Sanji grips the edges of the stool in frustration and pain, hissing as the cold water stings the wound. “They didn’t work.” he mumbles. “Never got to try them. Too slow.”  

“You gotta keep up with that practicing,” Zeff berates gently.  

“They’re too strong!” Sanji wails. “I can’t do it, old man! They don't even let me try!”  

Zeff dunks the cloth in the water and wrings out the blood. He sighs and puts his hand on top of Sanji’s head. Sanji can feel it trembling faintly as the old man mulls over his words for a long time. “You just have to keep trying.”  

Sanji sniffs. “What’s the point? I always lose.”  

“Not every time—”  

“Every time!” Sanji protests. “They gang up on me! They’re all bigger than me! It’s not fair!”  

“Life ain’t fair, boy.” Zeff dabs gently down Sanji's cheek to clean up the trail of blood. “I wish it was, but it ain’t.”  

“Wish it was, too...” Sanji murmurs. “Wish they’d just leave me alone...”  

Zeff rinses the cloth again and cleans up the bloody scrape along Sanji’s jaw. His hands are rough from age and work, but Sanji has yet to meet anyone with steadier hands.  

Sanji winces as Zeff washes the dirt out of his jaw. “Ow, that hurts.”  

“Of course it does, you won’t stop cryin’,” Zeff chastises. “Deep breaths, Eggplant. And for god’s sake, sit still.”  

“Sorry,” Sanji mumbles, swallowing his tears and holding still. He reaches up to wipe his face and stop the tears from running into the open wound.  

Zeff finishes up. He gently takes Sanji’s hand and moves it down, dabbing away the tears with the cloth. “Now how steady are your hands, boy? You hurt anywhere else?”  

Sanji shakes his head and holds up his hands to show that they’re steady.  

Zeff inspects them, satisfied but eying Sanji suspiciously. “Sure you're not hurt anywhere else?”  

Sanji averts his eyes.  

“Come on, boy,” the old man coaxes. “I told you not to lie in my kitchen unless you can pull it off.”  

Sanji looks sheepishly at the floor and tugs his shirt to the side to show his bruised right shoulder.  

Zeff pulls the shirt collar as far over as he can, laying his hand on the hot bruising. He lifts Sanji’s arm by the elbow to rotate his shoulder in a slow circle. “That doesn’t look so bad,” he says. “Take it easy with that arm though, okay? Best way to hurt yourself is to keep pushing.”  

Sanji nods obediently, wishing he had the luxury to obey. Come training tomorrow, he might not have a choice.  

“We’ll see how your other hand handles a knife,” Zeff orders, nudging Sanji out of the stool and straightening out the shirt. He guides Sanji over to the work station and hands him a knife. “A good cook can use both hands just as well.  

Sanji takes the knife in his left hand and holds onto the half onion Zeff puts in front of him. It’s been a while since he practiced cutting with his non-dominant hand, but the knife is still steady in his grip. Sanji does a few tentative chops, gaining speed and confidence as Zeff supervises.  

“Hmp. Needs work.” Zeff picks up a slice of onion to inspect. “Usable.”  

Sanji smiles with weak pride. “I’d like to see you try, old man.” He wipes his eyes dry with his free hand.  

Zeff obliges, taking the knife from Sanji’s hand and another from the knife block. He cleaves a whole onion in half and sets the halves flat, spinning the knives in his fingers. He chops both halves into perfect slices in a matter of seconds, his hands a blur. Sanji watches in awe, forgetting all about his cuts and bruises as he admires the two perfect piles of sliced onion.  

Zeff looks over to him, eyes catching on Sanji’s wide eyes. He falters briefly, looking away and flipping one knife in his hand. He catches it by the blade and offers the handle to Sanji.  

“Your turn, Eggplant.”  

Sanji eagerly grabs back the knife and sets upon the next onion. His left hand lacks the precision of his right, but already the second onion looks more even than the first. Zeff doesn’t speak his approval so much as he stares with it. It’s more than enough to get Sanji by.  

-- 

It’s so cold down here. There is nowhere to take shelter from it. His face is still hurting, bleeding, blood dribbling out of the visor and running along the inside of the helmet. Someone throws a folded blanket into the cell at some point, but he can’t make himself even roll over to reach for it. 

There is no-one to call for help. 

Call me, and I’ll come.  

Zoro must be dead by now, his body left by the outskirts of the city for the crows to pick at. How could anyone hear Sanji, anyway? Even if Zoro were alive, there is no way to shout through these thick prison walls. And the helmet is too tight under his jaw to allow him to open his mouth and scream. Reiju is long gone, and she won’t catch wind that he needs her help. Even then, what could she do to help him? 

At least Zeff is alright. Word will eventually reach the old man that Judge’s third son is set to be married. Zeff won’t even know to look for him. Sanji wonders how far into the castle the old man would be able to get if he figured out something was wrong.  

How many strikes of the whip would the old man be able to handle? 

His brothers never went easy on anyone, no matter their age. Sanji tries to banish the thought, but he can picture it all too clearly. There’s still blood on his hands. It’s dried now, stuck in the grooves of his skin. It’s the last thing he has left of Zoro, and it’s starting to rub off in flakes. 

Footsteps approach down the hallway – three pairs. For a moment Sanji wonders if it’s his father and the two guards, but he can already hear Yonji’s raspy breathing. He tenses and stares at the back wall, watching as their shadows pass over the bars and stretch across him, flickering in the torchlight. 

What else they could possibly want, other than to gloat, he has no idea. 

A key slides into the lock, and the door swings open. Sanji watches Ichiji’s shadow enter first, the other two close behind. 

The heel of a boot digs into his shoulder and rolls him onto his back. Sanji moans as his head knocks inside the helmet, disturbing the deep cuts in his forehead. He stares up through the blood clumped in his eyelashes at his brothers. They’re washed and dressed in clean clothes. Yonji’s jaw is wrapped to brace his mouth closed – Zoro must have broken it. It’s bruised and swollen all along the jawbone. 

Ichiji gets to his knee and looms over Sanji, peering in through the visor. “I guess you should have listened and trained harder,” he says. “Then you wouldn’t have had to cheat.” 

“I didn’t think you could go even that low,” Niji agrees. “But I guess we should have known.” 

If only Zoro had landed a jaw-breaking strike on the other two, and maybe Sanji wouldn't have to listen to the same chorus. He has as much to say in reply as ever: nothing. 

Ichiji grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him to his feet. Sanji’s head flops backwards, then forwards as Ichiji pushes him further into the cell and throws him against the back wall. The helmet bounces off and his head rattled inside it. Sanji sees stars, his legs immediately liquefying. Sanji slides down the wall and crumples in a heap, slumping sideways and toppling. 

“I can’t believe you cheated,” Ichiji spits. “We worked hard, and you conspired with a goddamned criminal.” 

Do they know? Sanji wonders what their father told the other brothers. 

I’m supposed to be dead. He wanted me dead.  

Do you want me dead, too?  

They don't seem to care. Sanji shivers as his brother grabs him by the shirt and hauls him upright again, scraping the helmet along the wall. He wonders what more he could possibly give them – surely they have everything they could have ever wanted. Surely they can just forget about him down here and move on, unburdened from his weakness. 

Surely they can't want more. 

They can try to take, but Sanji has nothing more to give. He doesn't even try to fight, letting his head flop under the weight of the helmet and his body drag as Ichiji tries to force him to stand up. There’s no point in fighting, no winning, no escape. He’s so dizzy anyway, that he wouldn't be able to aim even if he tried to defend himself. His eyes are so glued with blood that he can barely make out his brother’s shape filling what remains of his field of vision. 

He wishes he knew how to explain that he already understands how worthless he is. He wishes there were a way to trade his life for Zoro’s. Perhaps all he can do now is just lie down and take whatever comes. 

Chapter Text

Rain smatters against a window somewhere to his right. Zoro blinks open his eyes. They’re stuck closed with sleep. He blinks them a few times to clear his vision, but it’s still quite blurry. Zoro stares for a while, waiting for things to sharpen up. 

It takes a while to realize that he’s on his stomach, pillows pushed under his chest. Footsteps clomp across the wood floor, lopsided and familiar. 

Right. The inn.  

Zoro yawns and pulls his arms across the sheets, pushing his hands into the straw-stuffed mattress. He doesn’t manage to lift himself at all – the flex of muscle alone sends pain shooting through his back, and he remembers. 

Cook.  

His gamble paid off: he is still very much alive. 

Cook, fuck... Zoro grits his teeth and tries again. There isn’t a moment to waste, and he’s certain that once he gets up, he’ll be alright. He just has to get out of bed, shake out the stiffness, and take a few swigs of something strong to numb whatever pain can’t be merely pushed through. 

The footsteps clomp closer, and a weathered hand lands on the back of his neck to still him. “Easy does it, Broccoli boy,” Zeff orders gruffly. “I won’t have you rip open all my hard work just yet.” 

Zoro turns his head on the pillow with a groan, and Zeff leans down to make eye-contact. 

“Hungry?” 

Starving, now that the old man mentions it. Zoro nods weakly. 

Zeff pats Zoro on the head and straightens up. “I’ll bet. You’ve been asleep for a couple of days.” He walks out of the room. “Don’t move.” 

Days. Zoro stares at the chair beside the bed, a candle just out of the sight flickering softly in the dim daylight. 

Please help me. Zoro can see the cook’s lost expression so clearly. Get me out of here.  

Sorry, Cook. Fucked up. Gimme one more chance. Swordsman’s honor.  

Right, Wado ; he’s let down Kuina, too. But most of all, he let down himself. He can still feel the cook’s terrified grip on his arm as the other three princes bore down on them. 

They’ll hurt him. He knows what it looks like when people want to cause hurt. He remembers what the Arlong pirates did to Nami all too well. Every moment spent resting is a moment more that the cook’s family has with him. Zoro clenches his fists, wincing as it tugs on his scraped palms. 

His arms and face are covered in scrapes. He can feel some on his chest, too, covered by the bandages wrapped around his torso and over his shoulders. The whip lashes will scar, that much is unavoidable. Zoro doesn't regret his decision for a moment. 

Scars on the back are a swordsman’s greatest shame.  

Zoro doesn't regret it even when Zeff enters the room again, deposits a tray of food on the bedside table, and comes to help him. The old cook pushes Zoro onto his side and wraps an arm around his neck. 

Had worse. Zoro tries not to grip onto the old man too tightly, but even with the help he can feel stitches tearing across his back and the wounds starting to leak. Zeff groans and strains as he lifts Zoro sitting. Zoro pushes the blanket off his legs and drags them around, planting his bare feet on the floor. He pushes his legs under him. 

“Woah woah. All that weight in your skull, boy?” Zeff growls, putting his hand on top of Zoro’s head and pushing down. “If you fall down, you can sleep on the floor. Almost threw my back out gettin’ you into bed.” 

Chopper has frequently remarked how heavy Zoro is. Chopper’s gonna kill me... Zoro holds out his hands for the bowl Zeff hands him. 

“Got that?” Zeff grunts, lingering his grip. 

The spoon clinks against the edge as Zoro carefully picks it up. His vision is still fuzzy round the edges, and the muscles required to hold the spoon burn furiously, but he’s not about to drop it. He nods and mumbles a thank-you, spooning soup into his mouth.  

Zeff sits heavily in the chair and folds his arms with a grunt, watching sternly. The old man doesn’t say a word, supervising as Zoro forces himself to eat slowly. 

There’s no time.  

More than anything, he remembers the fear in the cook’s eyes as his brother pressed him into a corner and threatened to whip him, too, if he did not take part in the torture. It would have been nothing personal. If it could have spared harm, Zoro would have happily endured it, but he knows being forced to bear that whip would have hurt the cook in ways that couldn’t be healed with any medicine. 

He scrapes the bowl clean. Zeff stands up. “Let me get you some more.” 

Zoro offers up the bowl and wipes his mouth on his hand. He waits until he hears the old man fill the bowl in the kitchen down the hallways before trying to stand up again. 

Slow. He knows he lost a lot of blood. It doesn’t feel like his ribs are broken, but the force of the whip probably bruised them. Zoro keeps his hand pressed into the mattress and tentatively pushes himself standing. He feels the blood drain from his face and his joints pop painfully, his muscles trembling. It reminds him of those first excruciating days of getting back on his feet after Mihawk cut him. 

Even more-so than that time, there is no time to waste lying around – he has something important to do. 

I’m coming, Cook.  

His legs give out. Zoro sinks to his knees and slumps against the bed, breathing deeply. I have to get stronger. Someone needs him. I made a promise.  

“No wonder Eggplant likes you...” Zeff sighs. He limps into the room and puts down the food, coming over to hook his hand under Zoro’s arm and hoist him off the floor. “Stubborn, the both of you.”  

Zoro can't argue with that. He groans in pain, and Zeff groans with age, and Zoro sits back on the edge of the bed. Zeff thrusts the soup at Zoro and sits down again. If only there weren’t something vital he should be focusing on, or he might feel guilty for overworking himself. Zoro eats his second portion more quickly. 

“I take it the plan didn’t go so well.” 

Zoro shakes his head. “I underestimated them,” he admits between mouthfuls. “How much they want to hurt him.” 

Zeff nods slowly, staring at his feet. 

After everything, he should have known; the bruises and other injuries a constant presence on the cook’s body, the fear, the insistence that somehow he has something to prove to people who can never be satisfied. People who want to tear him down. And yet, when Zoro ran as fast as he could toward the shout of ‘Rose!’ , what he saw through the bushes was a man who has not yet fallen. What he saw was fire. Arm bound, legs still flying. Strong legs he had the pleasure of being pinned under. 

“Thanks old man.” Zoro gulps down the last mouthful and wipes his mouth, handing back the bowl. “But I gotta go.” 

Getting that fire going takes a bit of stoking, but once the spark is lit, it roars without need for much else. It roars so big that it seems impossible to put out. And yet, one look from his brothers is enough to extinguish the cook. 

Zoro plants his feet, but Zeff is already pushing down on his head again. 

“What’d I say, Broccoli boy,” the old cook growls. 

Zoro grabs the old man by the wrist, gritting his teeth as his back tugs painfully. He glares up at Zeff. “You know we don't have the time.” 

Zeff pushes harder. His eyes are burning, and his hand is trembling. “You think I don't know that?” he snarls. “You think I wouldn’t storm in there and kill everyone in my path if I were a few decades younger? You’re half dead, boy, and if you go in there without a plan or a weapon, you’ll be dead at the gates.” 

A few days of rest aren’t enough, but they’ll have to be. 

He wishes he had the time to send for help and wait for his crew to arrive, but any extra time the cook has to spend with his family is too long. 

“We don’t have time to wait.” Zoro restates firmly. “ He doesn't have time.” 

Zeff’s jaw flexes. His eyes flick to the window, then back to Zoro. The old cook’s eyes are as full of turmoil as Zoro feels. 

“You have until sundown,” Zeff says. “Rest. I’ll wake you when it’s dark out. If you can walk, we’ll make do.” 

Zoro wants to argue, barter for a shorter amount of time, but waiting until dark is a smarter plan. He concedes, lifting his hand from Zeff’s wrist. The old man doesn't remove his hand from Zoro’s head, pushing the swordsman sideways. Zoro fights the urge to resist and lets Zeff put him back to bed. He lies down on his chest and pulls his legs onto the bed. The old man helps him get comfortable and draws the blanket to his hips. Already, his eyelids are pulling closed. Zeff gently lays his hand on Zoro’s head and walks away with the bowl, and Zoro goes back to sleep. 

-- 

Please help me.  

Sorry, Cook. Shit plan. Hang on a bit longer. Zoro blinks open his eyes as a hand gently shakes his shoulder. The rain pummels the window. 

“Rise and shine.” 

Zoro blinks up at Zeff. 

The old man helps him get up. It hurts less than the first time, but it’s by no means easy. Zeff gets him sitting first, then with a warning glare, he helps Zoro slowly stand up. 

I’m coming.  

The extra rest made the difference. If he was half-dead before, he feels about a quarter-dead now. It’ll be more than enough. It has to be. He doesn’t even stop to think about the shape he must be in – it’s hard to think about anything other than the cook’s fearful, blood-splattered face as his brothers threatened to strike him with the whip they were trying to force him to use. 

Zoro lets go of Zeff. He grips the bedpost and shakes himself out. His hand naturally paws at his hip, but it’s bare. 

“You look like shit.” Zeff appraises. 

“Had worse.” Zoro grunts, twisting experimentally. He winces as more stitches tear, but his wounds are going to rip open anyway, so he might as well do it right now. 

Zeff snorts and throws him a food-stained shirt. He leads the way out of the room. Zoro looks out the window, moonlight shining on the droplets splashing on the glass. Otherwise, it’s pitch black. He puts on the shirt and follows the old man down the hall and into the kitchen, rolling his shoulders. 

The wood pile is empty. Zeff picks up the axe from there the pile used to be stored and holds it by the blade, handing it over. It’s not his preferred weapon, but he can do some damage with it until he gets his sword back. Zoro grabs the handle. 

Zeff hangs on. “I’ll come.” 

Zoro tugs the axe. “No offense, old man, but you’ll slow me down. Stay here.” 

Zeff snorts angrily and maintains his grip, touching his peg leg. He sighs, and it sounds tight in his chest. “Found him out in the rain,” Zeff says roughly. “Sopping wet, only this big.” He holds out his hand to hip height. “Just about fit in my mushroom basket.” The old man huffs to himself. “Grew like a radish.” 

Zoro keeps a steady grip on the axe. He can feel Zeff’s tremor from the other end. “I won’t come back without him.” 

“You’d better not.” Zeff glares at him. “And you’d better come back. Or I’ll kick the shit out of you forever when I meet you in Hell.” 

Zoro snorts. “You got it, old man.” 

“We leave as soon as you get back,” Zeff says. “You got a plan?” 

Zoro tightens his grip on the axe and stares back at Zeff. Lightning flashes in the kitchen window. He feels steady. He wonders how weak he should really feel, but there’s no time for that. “Walk in, walk out.” he says calmly. “And I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way.” 

Zeff lets go of the axe head, and opens the back door for him. 

The storm has picked up again, wind rushing down the empty streets. The rain soaks through his shirt in an instant, and bleeds through his bandages to his burning skin. His body strikes a dark shape alone in the street as lightning strikes again. It’s so close he can almost feel its heat. 

The castle is almost invisible against the black sky, but Zoro can make out the faint shine of the flagpole in the moonlight, the charred remains of the flag torn at by the wind. Zoro lets the axe hang at his side and stalks toward the castle. 

He should have anticipated that the cook would struggle to fight under those conditions. The memory of the cook’s flying kick was too fresh in his mind. He should have remembered. 

The gates of the inner city appear ahead, guarded by a soldier on either side. The men are huddled against the wall to shield themselves from the storm. Zoro rolls the axe in his hand. It’s always good to work up to it when recovering from serious injury. 

The soldiers don’t hear him approach until it’s too late. The axe slices into the armor of the first soldier, and the second rushes in with the spear. Zoro flings around the corpse and dislodges his axe. The soldier flies free and collides with his colleague so hard it sends them both flying into the wall. The second soldier’s head bounces off the stone and he slumps dead. 

Zoro kicks their bodies into the bushes growing against the wall. The rain quickly washes blood from the axe. Zoro keeps walking, tossing it in his hand. The exercise has livened him up. 

The inner city is just as quiet. Zoro walks through the streets undeterred. The castle is so close. For a moment he considers trying to retrace his steps to the cook’s bedroom window, but climbing up the side of the castle in this rain, with his back as torn up as it is, will only waste strength. No, going in through the front door is much more efficient. 

It’s no surprise that the main doors are guarded. Zoro leaves the clusters of buildings and walks in through the main castle gates, following the cobblestones toward the doors. The soldiers have already spotted him, standing to attention. 

“Hey!” one shouts. “Stop right there!” 

If only Zoro hadn’t broken his other two swords against Mihawk, or he could have done much more damage from the start. Maybe he could have convinced the cook he was a swordsman long before now, and the prince would have asked for help much sooner. Or perhaps it wouldn't have mattered. 

Zoro walks up the steps one at a time. The guards draw their swords on him. 

“Hey, I said stop!” 

Zoro adjusts his grip on the axe. 

“Hey, can you hear me? Another step, and you’re dead!” 

It takes a moment, and a few steps closer for them to start to recognize him. It might be too dark to see his green hair, but his earrings catch the lightning. He can see in their eyes that they’re scared. 

They freeze. Zoro doesn’t, leaping up the last step. He spins and throws the axe as hard as he can, burying it into the reinforced main doors of the castle. The axe drives in deep, splitting the wood and metal trim. Zoro doesn't give the soldiers a chance to recover, rushing them. Their sword swings are too sloppy to pose much threat. Zoro dodges them easily, ducking down and grabbing them by their armor straps. He spins and throws them into the doors, one, two. The first one splinters the door inward, and the second tears the door all the way open. The locks break and the doors fly open. The soldiers lie in a heap in the entrance to the main hall, and Zoro steps over their bodies. 

The throne room is empty, its only occupant Zoro’s long shadow as lightning casts it so far up the red rug it almost reaches the throne. Everyone is probably asleep. The storm provides a blanket to the commotion, though it may not be sufficient to completely mask his entrance. 

It’s a shame the room is empty. Zoro slides his boot under the axe and kicks it into his hand. For the cook’s sake he hopes nobody else gets in his way. For his own sake, he hopes that they do. Zoro stomps open the little door that leads into the rest of the castle. 

The hallway is lit with torches from one end to the other. Wind from the main doors sweeps through the throne room and through his legs, gently caressing the torch flame. The thick tapestries hanging from the walls ripple faintly. Zoro doesn’t bother closing the door behind him, letting it bang softly against the frame as he paces into the corridor. The cook’s room will be upstairs somewhere. He wonders where his sword is being kept, presuming it wasn’t tossed out with his body. 

They'd keep a trophy.  

Zoro flips the axe in his hand and walks down the corridor. He turns the corner warily, listening to the sounds of clattering and conversation coming from the open doorway spilling out light. Zoro pads closer, but he can already smell food. He peers around the open doors into a dining room. 

Servants are clearing up empty dishes, talking amongst themselves as they do so. Zoro hurries quietly past the open doorway and off toward the kitchen, watching to make sure nobody spots him. They don’t: they’re too busy. Zoro turns back around, and almost bumps into one of the kitchen staff. 

The servant stops in her tracks and drops the clean folded tablecloth, staring between his fierce glare and the axe in his hand, at the bandages visible under the loose collar of his borrowed shirt. 

For a moment he thinks she’s going to scream, but she doesn’t, locked in place and trembling. Zoro lifts a finger to his lips, unable to let go of the rage and tension holding his torn body together even if he tried. She looks at his earrings, up to his hair, then back to his eyes. She points, her finger shaking. 

Zoro scoops up the tablecloth with his boot and hands it to her. She grips it tightly and squeaks as he moves past her. Zoro passes the kitchen and carries on in the direction she pointed. 

The castle seems much larger on the inside. Zoro storms down the corridor, keeping his eyes open for more soldiers. There aren’t many people around at this hour – Zeff was right to have him wait. He turns another corner, and finally spots a soldier. 

The man is standing guard outside of a closed, lock door. He perks up and spots Zoro as the swordsman prowls toward him. He reaches for his sword and draws it, stumbling backwards against the door, rattling the lock. Zoro starts to sprint despite the distance – the faster he arrives, the less time the soldier has to figure out that he should call for backup. 

The soldier opens his mouth and starts to shout, swiping his sword at Zoro. Zoro swings the axe and knocks the sword aside with such force that the blade buries itself into the door. The soldier tries to yank it free, but the blade is stuck. The force of the blunt end of the axe smashing into his temple is enough to kill him, cutting off the cry for help. 

Zoro kicks the soldier’s body aside and drives the axe into the door near the lock. He kicks it open, and the lock rips away, leaving a hole in the door as it slams open. Beyond is a flight of stairs twisting down into complete darkness. Curiously, Zoro takes a torch from the wall and ducks under the sword still lodged in the door, hopping down the steps and lighting the torches as he goes. He holds his axe ready, but when he reaches the bottom and the light floods into the room, there are no people here. 

No cook, either. Just display cases, stands, and rows of shelves covered in rare artifacts. The room is full of weapons, shields, vases, crowns, ornate tapestries, and collections of rare jewels. Something in the room is splitting the torchlight and bouncing it across the polished surfaces of the trinkets and the stone walls. Zoro turns and spots the crystal tucked in the corner of a lower shelf at the far end of the room. 

Zoro hangs the torch on the wall and walks over to the crystal. It’s beautiful. The cook nearly died retrieving it. It’s obviously been shoved wherever it fit and been forgotten, and yet it lights up the whole room. The torchlight reflects in its many facets, bouncing the light so it reaches every corner. Zoro grips the axe very tightly. There’s no way he’d manage to carry it out of here with him and the cook. He’s tempted at least to shatter it, since the people who set the cook on his quest to begin with don't care to admire the treasure so plainly in front of them. But Zoro has better quests to put his strength to, and he can hear footsteps approaching down the corridor towards the open door. Zoro moves away from the crystal and looks around the room. 

Wado Ichimonji stands out plainly, hung on the back wall surrounded by other weapons. It’s been polished, at least, though Zoro will inspect it as soon as he has the chance. He rests the axe against a nearby shelf and reaches up for his sword. 

“Hey, stop right there!” Footsteps echo down the staircase, blades sliding out of their sheathes as soldier pour into the room. 

Zoro gently cups his hands under his sword and lifts it off the wall. No damage has come to it that he can tell. 

“I said stop—! ” 

Zoro pivots away from the wall, and a thrown spear clatters against it where he was just standing. He slides the sword into his belt and grabs the handle, drawing it slowly from the sheathe as he turns to face the soldiers crowding around him but keeping their distance. He glances at the spear on the floor. 

“Hand over the sword,” one of the guards warns. “Thieves aren’t punished lightly, but if you resist, it can always be made worse.” 

Already had worse. The room is almost full. It’s bad news for the soldiers, but a perfect set-up for Zoro. He hooks his foot under the spear and tosses it into his hand, gripping it nearer the middle for better balance. 

A few of the guards are frowning at him, recognizing him. “Hey, aren’t you--” 

Zoro slides Wado all the way out of its sheathe and puts the sword in his mouth. He grabs the axe along the way. The men flinch, but there is no room to move backwards. 

So they lower their spears and fan out, thrusting inward in a semi-circle. Zoro drops to his knee, spinning in a tight circle. It’s not exactly three- sword -style, but it’ll do: the heads of the spears clatter to the ground, slices clean from their wooden shafts. The gust from the slash puts out the torch, and plunges the room into darkness. Zoro closes his eyes. 

He can feel the tension in the room. He can hear steel on steel as the last of the weapons are drawn. Zoro leads with the axe and cleans up with the spear. It’s too difficult for the tightly-packed soldier to aim at him with nothing to aim at , not without risking hurting each other. Zoro can hear yelling unrelated to his own path of destruction. Shelves topple, scattering rare artifacts all across the floor. Zoro pulls them down as he goes, sends soldiers flying into the walls and knocking down trophies hung there. He rips his way to the other side of the room and feels the draft coming from the staircase. He opens his eyes and follows it, his eyes adjusting to the light as he approaches the torches that were high enough up the steps to remain lit. 

Zoro climbs the staircase. He can hear groaning and cries of pain as the remaining soldiers struggle to claw their way after him. When he reaches the top of the stairs and walks out into the corridor, backup is arriving. 

A second wave of soldiers charges him from the other end of the hallway, the front two rows lowering their spears to form a spiked wall. Zoro pushes into a run to build up enough speed in time. He jumps against the wall and pushes off for just enough height to avoid getting speared. He smashes down in the middle of the group, crushing a couple of soldiers unlucky enough to be directly under him. 

The soldiers behind draw their weapons and the soldiers in front turn as hastily as they can. Zoro doesn’t give them a chance to pile on top of him, instead sweeping another tight circle and throwing the nearest men backwards into the other. 

Three-blade-style. The force of the attack makes the rest of the group stagger away from him, a vortex spiraling down the corridor in either direction and flapping at the tapestries. The nearest torches blow out, only the farthest ones surviving as the gust dies. 

The tapestries settle. Zoro swipes out with the axe in front again, using its weight to deal the biggest hits and the spear to finish off survivors that come at him from the sides. He slides his hand further back from the spear head for extra reach and power on the swings, cutting down the soldiers a few at a time until only one remains. 

The last soldier, bleeding and struggling toward any weapon he can reach, panics as Zoro’s shadow spreads across, and the swordsman looms like the spirit of death. 

The man starts to plead, but Zoro rests the spear at his throat to silence him. He reaches up and pulls Wado from his mouth with his axe hand, sheathing the sword. Then he tosses the spear and gets to his knee, grabbing the soldier by the front of his armor and lifting him off the floor. Zoro thrusts the soldier against the wall. 

“Cook,” Zoro growls. “Where is he.” This castle is too big to be wandering around all night, especially now since his presence is known. 

“C-cook?” the soldier mumbles, pointing down the hallway toward the kitchen. 

Zoro shakes his head frustratedly. “Prince,” he corrects himself. “Blonde hair. Fucking stupid eyebrows.” 

The soldier is hesitant to point, shaking his head. “I d-don't-” 

“I’ll do far worse to you than they will if you don’t tell me where he is,” Zoro growls again. “ Now. ” 

The soldier points down the corridor, glancing at the axe still in Zoro’s other hand. “The King said he was sent to be married, b-but I overheard...” 

Zoro pulls the soldier away from the wall and clamps a hand over the man’s shoulder. “Lead the way,” he orders. 

He almost threatens the man to be silent, but the soldier is looking fearfully at the axe, so Zoro doesn’t bother. He gives the soldier a solid push of encouragement, and the man stumbles forward, leading the way down the corridor. 

Zoro maintains his grip, listening for sounds of more soldiers over the sound of his prisoner’s panicked breathing. The weight of Wado Ichimonji at his hip once more is a comfort, but it’s not enough to make him relax. Not until the cook is at his hip, too. 

He expects the soldier to lead him upstairs to higher floors, but they remain on the main floor, weaving down corridors that smell more familiar than they look. Then, they reach a staircase that leads down rather than up, and Zoro feels dread start to boil in his stomach. 

If he lets it take hold, he might lose the rage that keeps him moving. Zoro fights away his growing dread as the soldier leads him down the steps, and the smell of blood gets stronger. 

He’s been here before. Zoro really hopes the soldier is lying, trying to lure Zoro into the dungeons and lock him into a cell to wait until reinforcements arrive. Zoro tightens his grip and the soldier whines in pain but keeps moving, leading past other prisoners. Some aren’t moving. None of them are the cook. 

They walk all the way to the end of the dungeon. There are just two cells left; one on the left where the princes carried out their torture, where his blood still covers the floor and is smeared on the floor in long-tried tracks. 

And one on the right. Despite the big metal helmet covering the prisoner’s head, Zoro recognizes the cook’s slender body sprawled motionless on the stone, back to the bars, fingers curled limply. If it weren’t for the faint rise and fall of his ribs, he looks dead. 

His clothes are torn and bloody. His pants legs ride up, showing thick bruising and deep chafing on his ankle where the cuff is still attached, the chain snaking across the room to a ring on the wall. 

Zoro almost forgets about the soldier until he tries to wriggle free. Zoro throws him into the back wall of the dungeon, and the soldier bounces off, landing in a motionless heap. Zoro lurches toward the bars and grabs them. 

“Cook!” he gives the bars a rattle, but they’re secured tight. He looks around for keys, but there are none. He can spot a key hole in the back of the helmet, too. The cook’s neck is bleeding where the edge of the helmet has rubbed. 

How long has he been down here? Since Zoro was dragged out? There’s a bucket of clean water in the corner next to an empty plate and a folded blanket. 

The helmet makes the cook look especially thin and small. “Cook.” There is no response, not even a twitch. Zoro puts down the axe. 

There’s no time to go looking for keys. Zoro grits his teeth and grabs a bar with both hands, leaning back and pulling with all his strength. He can feel his back splitting open further as he bends the metal. It doesn’t matter. It’s not difficult to hold onto his rage. Zoro forces himself into the gap he made for himself, lining his back up with one bar and pressing his boot into the other. He gathers his full strength and forces the bars apart. 

Who did this to you.  

Zoro can guess. He bends the bars as far apart as they’ll go, then he scoops up the axe and runs into the cell, falling to his knees at the cook’s side and reaching out to roll him over. 

The moment his hands touch, the cook flinches and he cries out, hands flying up to protect himself. 

His skin is cold. His arms are covered in bruises. Zoro carefully rolls the cook onto his back and looks down at him. The cook stares back, shaking and panting through the grate that obscures his mouth and nose. His blue eyes are barely visible through the blood gluing them almost completely shut. What little of his face is visible is covered in blood. His hair is stuck to his face, dried trails smeared on the sides of the helmet, more running down his neck and staining his shirt. Wherever the blood came from is covered by the helmet, perhaps even caused by it. 

Maybe the cook can’t see it’s him. “Cook, it’s me.” Zoro grabs his weak flailing wrists and holds them, wrapping his fingers gently. “Cook!” 

The cook whimpers, utterly broken. Maybe he isn’t even fully awake. 

We gotta go.  

Zoro glances at the chain. He looks back down at the cook’s eyes and lays down his hands. Zoro slides up the cook’s shirt to inspect him, hoping he’s not too hurt. I’ll carry you if I have to. He really hopes the cook can walk. Zoro stares at the bruises covering the cook’s chest. A couple of them are boot-shaped. 

Dead. They’re dead.  

He has to hang onto this rage, but there is nobody to fight right this instant, and the cook is shivering beneath him, making little noises of fear and pain and flinching each time Zoro touches him. 

“You gotta wake up,” Zoro says, standing up and dragging over the bucket of water. “I’m gonna get you out of here, but I could use the help.” He kneels over the cook’s body and dips the corner of the blanket into the water, reaching through the visor of the helmet to dab up the blood. 

The cook shivers miserably. It’s cold down here. Zoro wrings out the water into the cook’s eyes so it can soak into the thick clumps of blood dries in his eyelashes and eyebrows. Zoro uses his fingers to carefully pull the blood from the cook’s eyelashes, using the blanket to wipe up the crumbs. He does enough for the cook to get his eyes all the way open. 

The cook blinks, and Zoro slips a hand under his neck, lifting his head carefully off the floor and sliding the blanket under it. He stares down, and the cook stares up, and finally some recognition bleeds through. 

“Zoro?” the cook’s voice is rough, barely above a whisper. 

Zoro smiles. “Hey, Cook.” 

Tears start to well up, running down the sides of the cook’s face, lips trembling through the grating of the helmet. If there were anyone here to fight, Zoro would put his fist right through them. 

He has the urge to make light, but there’s no time. “I’m getting you out of here. Can you walk?” 

The cook whimpers. “I don’t know.” 

“Let’s find out.” Zoro stands up and walks toward the bars for his axe. He picks it up and glances back at the helmet – the gap he made is wide enough to fit it. He walks past the cook and uses his boot to straighten out the chain. He counts a few links away from the cook’s ankle cuff, and raises the axe over his head. 

Zoro swings it down with all his strength, and the chain snaps. The cook yelps at the loud noise, curling into himself protectively. The impact travels up Zoro’s arms, and the stone chips.  

Anyone who gets near you is dead.  

Zoro puts down the axe and comes back to the cook, helping him roll further onto his side and inspecting the back of the helmet. He grips the edges with his fingers, and the cook moans as his head moves inside the metal prison wrapped around it. His head must have been bashed around inside this thing. Zoro grits his teeth, cursing to himself – if he tries to rip this off, he risks crushing the cook’s skull or breaking his jaw. 

Zeff will know what to do.  

They can figure out how to get the helmet off later. Zoro rolls the cook onto his back again and scoops an arm under him to help him sit up. The cook's head flops under the weight of the helmet. Zoro pulls the cook’s arm around his head and rests his head on his shoulder. That should do it. He tucks the axe into his belt on the opposite hip. 

“I’ll carry you if I have to,” Zoro promises. “But just try.” 

The cook lets out a shaky breath and gets to his feet. His whole body is trembling, and Zoro hopes he's just scared and cold, and not too hurt. There's no time to do a proper assessment. Zoro helps him limp across the cell toward the bars, sliding through first and guiding the cook through the gap after him.

Sometimes Zoro forgets that the cook is taller than him. Even now, slumped and struggling to support the weight of his own body, he looks small. Feels small. Zoro keeps his hand on the cook’s waist and hopes his body heat will help. For now, they just have to get moving. The cook hangs on tight, fingers curling into Zoro's shirt. His head slumps with the weight of the helmet, and it obviously hurts to walk as the cuff rubs open the scab and the blood runs fresh from his ankle.

They have to run. The sooner they get back to Zeff’s, the sooner they can get that helmet off and get the fuck out of here. Zoro hangs onto the cook’s arm, ready to reach for the axe at any moment. For now, the path is cleared. Selfishly, Zoro hopes to run into at least one brother on his way out. More than one puts the cook at risk of harm, but one... 

They’re dead.  

Zoro stops thinking about which moves he would use on the princes, and focuses on the cook's breathing beside him. The cook is stumbling along beside him, clearly struggling but managing to move his feet. Going back out into that storm is going to suck. 

“Goin’ the wrong way...” the cook mumbles, lifting his arm to point. “Go through the main hall.” 

Zoro turns on his heel and heads the other way. He can hear how tight the helmet is under the cook’s jaw. He wonders if the cook has been made to eat through the slots in the mask, or if the helmet was removed. He wonders if the cook ate much at all. He’s so weak, already tiring. Zoro is reluctant to put the cook on his back, more-so because he wouldn’t be able to block attacks from behind than because it would be incredibly painful for his shredded back. 

The cook points, and Zoro follows the last few turns. The servants have finished cleaning up the kitchen and the lights are out in the kitchen and dining room. Zoro runs a bit faster as the door he already kicked open comes into view. He nudges it open with his boot and drags the cook through, hurrying across the carpet toward the main doors hanging open. 

Storm rain has poured in, soaking into the red carpet. The cook's teeth chatter as the cold wind blasts them both. Zoro holds on tighter, hoisting him over the dead soldiers and outside into the storm. 

The path is clear. Zoro squints into the rain and looks up at the walls within sight, but there are no archers perched there this time. Zoro hops down the steps. The cook can't move his feet fast enough to keep up, so Zoro hoists him down them a few at a time. They set off across the cobblestones toward the main gate, and pass through. 

The inner city is just as empty. Zoro has already dispatched the guards out here, and so no more have been called. He starts to run, but the cook is tripping over his feet, so Zoro ducks down and hoists him onto his back. 

It hurts. Zoro grits his teeth and bares it, running as fast as he can through the wind and rain toward the walls that lead to the outer city. Lightning is still crackling, dying slowly as the storm starts to die. The helmet feels like it weighs more than the cook himself. Soft grunts come from over his shoulder as he runs.  

If only his crew were here. If only they could have stayed with the cook to keep him safe, so that Zoro could have hunted through the castle to kill those that remain. 

The inn is just up ahead. Zoro glances behind him, but the streets are still empty. He ducks down a side street just in case and weaves between the houses, running up to the front door of the inn and bursting inside. 

Zeff gets to his feet, abandoning the knife he was sharpening with the others arranged on the table and running over. Zoro kicks the door shut. Zeff puts his hand on the cook’s shoulder and ushers them over to the table, pulling out a chair. 

“Followed?” Zeff’s eyes are glued to the helmet, dark. 

“I will be. I made a mess.” Zoro slides the cook off his back and into the chair turning around to hold up the cook's head as he slumps forward. Zeff pulls up another chair and Zoro sits down, scooting closer and laying the cook's head on his shoulder. 

Zeff stares at the helmet, then he meets Zoro’s stare. “Transport is on the way. I’ll try to get it off now, but we might have to do it on the road.” 

Zoro nods, wrapping his arm around the cook’s shaking back and rubbing through his soaked shirt to warm him up. Zoro is shivering too, bleeding through his bandages, but he barely feels it. The cook is weak in his arms, tense and shaking. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you this time. It won’t happen again. They’ll never hurt you again.  

If only the hurt that’s already been inflicted could be stopped from causing any more damage. Zoro slides forward on the chair, wedging himself as close as he can against the cook and holding on tight while he waits for Zeff to gather the supplies he needs. 

Chapter Text

More and more, he’s been feeling his age. The feeling has been especially strong since sending Zoro off to keep Sanji safe on his trial. Zeff isn’t sure he’s ever felt so anxious as he did during those few weeks. His training exercises kept him busy, at least. With no customers at the inn, there wasn't much else to do anyway but prepare. 

Shoulda run off to sea with you a long time ago, Eggplant. Zeff spreads his knives over the dining table and sits down to sharpen and polish them.  

He wishes he knew how Zoro is doing. He wishes he’d insisted on tagging along, but he knows he wouldn’t be able to keep up, even if Zoro is slightly less than half dead. You’ll take good care of him, at least. Wouldn’t trust my Eggplant with anyone less than you.  

As soon as Sanji returned from that trial, he should have insisted that Zoro take the prince away, and ignored all protest. 

Just please let it not be too late. One more chance, Eggplant, and I’ll make it count. Sanji is capable, but he needs someone to smack some sense into him. Zoro seems more than capable, and where he falls short, it sounds like he has a good crew to pick up the slack. Sanji will make a good ship’s cook. Any crew would be glad to have him. Zeff wishes he could have taught the boy a little bit more. He’ll figure it out. They’ll give him more than Zeff was able. 

It’s been almost twenty years since he settled down in this city and left behind his pirate life. If he can make it back to sea, perhaps he can find a boat that’ll allow a crippled old cook to tag along for a while. 

Memories are starting to blur at this age, but not his memory of clear skies and calm ocean meeting in the middle and stretching in every direction. He’ll make sure Sanji gets to see it, even if it kills him. To watch Sanji sail over the horizon is a good last dream for an old man to hang onto. He hopes Zoro is doing alright. 

Even if he would have slowed down the entire operation, Zeff is disappointed not to get the chance to run into a Vinsmoke himself. Zeff sharps his knife with more vigor. Talking a Vinsmoke with him to the grave would be an excellent way to die. Vinsmoke Judge would be the most desirable, but he would happily settle for one of his brats. 

There’s not much to do to pass the time. He could use a nap, but there’s no time for that. His friend should be here soon with the cart. Sooner the better.  

Rain is still pelting hard enough that he doesn’t hear the footsteps until they’re on his doorstep. Zeff gets to his feet as the door swings open, and Zoro drags Sanji inside. Zeff puts down his knife. 

Sanji is slumped over Zoro’s back, his limbs dangling, rain dripping off his limp fingers and a chain hanging from his bruised, bloodied ankle. His clothes are torn and filthy, and his head is locked inside an iron helmet. Zeff grabs Sanji’s shoulder and guides the pair to the table, pulling out a chair. Zoro gets to his knee so Sanji can slide right off his back and onto the chair. 

There’s so much blood. Only some of it belongs to Zoro, seeping in thick patches through the shirt and thick bandages and onto Sanji’s shirt. Zoro turns around and stands up high enough for Zeff to push a chair under him. Then the swordsman scoots his chair as close as he can and lowers Sanji’s head onto his shoulder. 

Goddammit. Zeff squeezes Sanji’s shoulder, and the kid visibly tenses under the touch. I’m gonna kill them.  

Both boys aren’t in the best shape, but Zeff can't spot anything immediately life-threatening. He makes brief eye-contact with Zoro and gives him the barest nod before limping as fast as he can to the kitchen. 

Sanji looks like he’s been thrown around like a plaything. Zeff grits his teeth and digs through his drawers of supplies, but he doesn’t have much of use for picking locks. He digs out all his serving forks and bends their prongs on the countertop. That will have to do. Zeff stuffs them in his pocket. He grabs the blanket off his bed and fills a wide-rimmed mixing bowl with water, limping back into the dining area.

Zeff eyes the helmet. If it weren’t Sanji’s head trapped inside, he’s probably still strong enough to kick the metal open. 

Zoro looks pale, but any pain or fatigue is squashed by concern. 

"Something to drink,” Zeff offers, holding up the bucket. If Sanji’s family are willing to do this to him, he has no faith that they’d provide him with sufficient food and water. Did the helmet come off to eat? Some sliced foods would fit through the grate covering Sanji’s mouth and nose. How long has this thing been stuck on him? 

Zoro pushes Sanji off his chest and supports the helmet so that Sanji can comfortably lean forward and submerge his mouth into the bowl. It’s not the most dignified, but Sanji drinks eagerly, blood flaking off and mixing with the water. 

Zeff holds steady until Sanji pauses to cough. He stands up and takes his tools from his pocket, spreading them out on the table. It’s a pathetic assortment, but he has to at least try before the cart arrives. Zoro eases Sanji onto his shoulder again, and Zeff gets a good look at the lock. 

The back of Sanji’s neck is rubbed raw and bleeding from constant rubbing on the rim of the helmet. Zeff dampens a cloth, folding it up and tucking it against Sanji’s neck to protect the wound. Sanji shivers as cold water dribbles down his back and soaks into his shirt. Zeff dreads the state of the boy under that shirt, but he can’t do much about it. This helmet needs to come off, and the kid needs rest – both of them do. 

Could use a long nap myself. Zeff picks up a fork and prods the bent prong into the key hole, wiggling it around. Who made this thing?  

“Shit...” Zeff grumbles, picking his biggest fork and bending the other prongs backwards to try to reach the furthest pin. He digs it around inside the lock and feels one pin slide upwards, but there are three more to go, and he won’t fit three more forks in that hole. 

“Don’t worry.” Zoro gently rubs his fingers into Sanji's neck. “If you can’t get it off, Nami can.” 

“Pain is the ass to get him to port like this,” Zeff grunts. “I’m worried about what’s underneath.” Sanji is going to get sick if they can’t get this helmet off and clean him up. Zeff dreads where all this blood came from, especially with how dazed Sanji looks. Kid needs a hot meal in him, Zoro too. They need a few weeks of rest and peaceful recovery, but there’s a long way yet to port, and no time to wait around. 

Curses. Zeff pulls out the tools and tries to put another bend in the prong. If he can be precise enough, he might be able to bend it into the correct shape to hit all four pins. 

“Can we at least do something about his leg before we go?” Zoro asks. “It looks really bad.” 

The kid is right. Desperate as Sanji must be to have his head released, the best thing they can do for him in what little time they have is deal with the smaller stuff, try to make him more comfortable. Zeff throws down his tools and calms himself before he touches Sanji. He slips his hands under the kid’s arms to ease him back, cradling the helmet as it flops back. Zoro scoots his chair back and lifts Sanji’s leg into his lap. He pushes the cuff up Sanji’s leg and dumps water from the bowl over the wound. 

Blood and dirt wash off, revealing the deep abrasions. Zeff tucks himself under Sanji’s shoulders and lays the kid’s head onto his shoulder. He grabs Sanji’s hand and squeezes it. Poor kid’s arms are covered in bruises. 

It would have been less cruel to just kill him. Zeff can’t imagine what has to be wrong with someone to do this to their kid, but he can imagine exactly what he would do to the Vinsmokes if given the chance. He almost asks if Zoro got the chance to finish any of them off during his rescue mission, but he decides against it. 

His hearing may not be as sharp as it used to be, but he swears he hears something whistle through the air and land on the roof. Zeff looks across as Zoro. The swordsman has stopped his work and is meeting his stare. The air smells of smoke. Zoro puts Sanji’s leg back on the floor and grabs his sword and the axe still hanging from his belt. Boots are already stomping up to the door. 

Sorry kid. Zeff grabs Sanji under the arms and hauls him out of the chair as the door bursts open. Zeff throws the kid further into the room, grabbing his cleaver off the table. The movement is too sudden, and Sanji collapses to the floor. 

Zoro stomps on the edge of the table, flipping it upright. The rest of the supplies and tools slide to the floor, the table blocking Judge’s view from Sanji’s sprawled body. Zoro draws both weapons, taking a step forward. 

The Vinsmoke brats slip into the inn behind their father, tossing torches onto the floor. The flames catch the walls and spread rapidly. 

Judge is an imposing figure. The brats, too, are tall and muscular like their father, as bold as ever until their eyes catch Zoro. The sight of the swordsman gives them pause, the green one with the broken jaw looking particularly stricken with dread. Zeff glances over to enjoy just a brief glimpse of Zoro’s dark, promising glare. Despite his blood-soaked back, Zoro’s body is coiled to strike. 

“Give me my son.” Judge orders. 

Zeff looks over at Zoro. Neither of them are at their prime. Still, the fire reflected in Zoro’s eyes looks like hellfire. The curl of his mouth into a tooth-bared grin is enough to make the brats recoil, and Zeff forgets his aches and pains. I pity the devil who has to share Hell with you.

“I hope you stretched, old man.” Zoro snorts like an animal, fixing his eyes on the green one – it's smart to take out the easy prey first. 

“Mind your own business,” Zeff growls. Unbeknownst to the swordsman, he’s spent more effort than usual these past few weeks to stay in good shape. 

Judge glares. “Obey your king—” 

Zeff ducks as Zoro picks up the table and throws it like a discus at the king. Judge throws up his arms, and the table knocks him back. He shouts an order, and his sons attack. Zoro moves faster than a man in his state should be able to, parrying Blue with the axe and body-slamming Green. The green brat is thrown into the wall of the inn, splintering the wood. He collapses, making horrible moaning noises as he rolls out of the fire in a disoriented panic. Blue jumps in to intervene, and Zoro pivots to counter. 

He’s fine.  

“Pay attention, old man.” Red saunters up from behind his father, drawing his sword and rolling it loosely in his hand. “Move or I’ll decorate this shit-hole with your corpse.” 

His old body won’t be able to take much. Zeff glances back at Sanji panting and shivering on the floor, still lying on his side where he fell, staring out through the visor with fear. Sore joints and old bones be damned, Zeff tightens his grip on the cleaver. 

“Don’t say I didn't warn you,” Red smirks. 

Cocky brat. It takes the brat a second to tighten his grip on the sword to swing it. Zeff jumps and kicks the brat in the wrist with his peg leg, knocking the sword free. It flies into the ceiling and buries in deep, wobbling back and forth between them. Zeff closes the distance between them, taking advantage of the red brat’s shock to kick him in the stomach and send him flying. If not for those stretches he’s been doing lately, he’d have surely torn something. Zeff puts his foot down and cracks his back as the red brat struggles back to his feet. Still got it.  

Zeff steals a glance over at Zoro, who is holding his own against Blue. Zoro’s back is bleeding from neck the waist, shoulder to shoulder, but Blue is already bleeding from wounds the swordsman is landing. 

Judge is brushing splinters off himself, stalking across the room and drawing his sword to deal with Zoro. Zeff glowers back at Red. Better hurry this up.  

Red runs for his sword still dangling between them, and Zeff takes a few hasty steps forward to block access. Red swings an angry punch, and Zeff flicks his wrist to deflect it with the flat side of his cleaver. 

To the brat's credit, he pulls himself together rather quickly, realizing that this old man isn’t going to be an easy target. He’s fast, too – much faster than Zeff. Experience can only do so much against youthful strength and stamina, but Zeff will be damned if he doesn’t give it his best shot. Red tightens up his punches and cleans up his stance, and Zeff does his best to keep up. 

One hit might be enough to take the old man down. Zeff puts a fierce spin on the cleaver and swipes it up, Red’s fist skipping off the metal. One hit might be enough to floor the red brat too, though, if he can land a good one. 

His last fight was almost twenty years ago. It’s been a long time since he fought with his legs, but his body remembers. He feels more invigorated than he has since he lost his leg. His hand is more practiced with the blade these days, and his wooden leg compromises his balance and stability, but it won't stop him from teaching this brat a goddamned lesson. 

The red brat can’t get his punches through, but manages to force Zeff back far enough for the sword to dangle between them again. Red grins and jumps up, grabbing the handle and pulling it free with his body weight. It’s the ideal moment: Zeff sees it coming and slides back, giving himself enough space to take a couple of running steps and jump with all his strength. The old man spins and smashes Red’s exposed stomach with his boot. 

The prince goes flying. Zeff lands on shaky feet, his peg leg sliding out from under him. He drops to his knee, and the sword clatters on the floor in front of him. Red is doubled over, coughing and struggling to breathe as he grips his stomach. 

Zeff pushes to his feet, his knees popping painfully. He grips his back and steals a quick look behind him. 

It hurts more than any wound could to see his boy curled up on the ground like that, fire crawling across the floor toward him, his face mostly obscured by that cursed helmet. 

Someone shouts. Zeff whips his head around to watch as Zoro used his sword to block Judge, and the axe to whack down Blue’s sword. The strike is so powerful that Blue’s sword digs deep into the floorboards, and the axe puts a bend in the blade. Zoro spins to duck a second attack from Judge, whipping his sword across the blue brat’s body. Blue leans back just fast enough to avoid losing an eye to the axe swing. It cuts across his face, the long gash instantly pouring blood. Zoro body-slams the prince, throwing him across the room. 

Zeff has to wonder what the Broccoli boy is like on a good day. His heart skips a beat as Judge bears down on Zoro. Blood drips off Zoro’s arms and back as his wounds continue to bleed vigorously, but the kid manages to move in time to protect himself. 

The inn is going to come down soon. Zeff can hear it creaking and swaying in the wind as the fire burns through the dry interior. The smoke is already quite thick. Zeff covers his mouth and nose with his hand, limping hurriedly across the dining area to help. 

Judge is only winning because Zoro is already so worn down, the king beating back the swordsman with skilled and powerful sword strikes that Zoro is shockingly managing to keep up with despite the blood flying off him. Zeff spins the knife in his hand. Kitchen knives aren’t mean for fighting. You’re not even fit to be fish food, but I’ll butcher you like a steak anyway. Zeff stalks around the tables, stifling a cough as the smoke irritates his lungs. 

It only takes one falter. A blow strikes at the wrong angle and Zoro drops the axe, leaving himself open. He’s only just fast enough to block the next with his sword. Judge cuts again, and Zoro leans back as he prepares a retaliatory strike. The sword grazes his cheek, and as soon as the blade has swung past Zoro shoots forward. The swordsman gathers his massive strength to knock the sword from Judge’s grip and gouge the king’s hand in the process. 

Zoro’s dark grin as blood flies off his sword is a beautiful thing. It only lasts a moment as Judge reaches out and grabs Zoro by the throat. 

Oh fuck. Curse these old bones. Zeff limps closer and tosses the knife in his hand, testing its weight to make sure he can aim confidently. 

Judge flings Zoro around and throws him against the reception desk, making a wet crunch as Zoro’s bloody back squelches against the wood. Judge reaches to his belt for a knife, his bloody, ruined hand slipping on the handle as he squeezes tighter on Zoro’s throat with the other. Zeff throws his cleaver as hard as he can at Judge’s back. 

The knife buries deep into the back of Judge's shoulder, and the king roars in rage, loosening his grip on Zoro’s throat. 

Poor boy is too dazed to stand up, sliding to the floor and leaving a streak of blood behind. Fine, Zeff is happy to rain down Hell in the swordsman’s stead, and he’ll even throw a punch if he has to. Zeff shoves a table out of his way and closes the distance as Judge staggers toward his dropped sword while fumbling over his shoulder for the cleaver sticking out of his back. 

The ceiling splinters loudly overhead. Zeff rolls up his sleeves and takes the best running start that he can. Judge spots him and glares, snatching up his sword. 

With more time and less imminent danger, Zeff would much prefer to thoroughly butcher Judge into a solstice feast, but he’ll suffice himself with one good kick. Zeff puts his hands on the nearby table for a bit of extra height, whipping around his hips and cracking Judge between the eyes with his peg leg. 

He doesn’t exactly stick the landing, but the blow itself is enough to stun that Vinsmoke fuck. That’s all they really need. The second floor is coming down through the ceiling. Zeff limps over and grabs Zoro under the arm, tugging him out of the way as the ceiling gives way and a bed topples through. Zeff pulls the swordsman to his feet, picking up his fallen sword and sheathing it. There’s so much blood it’s amazing the lad is still awake, but he’s clearly used up whatever fight is left in him for the day. Zeff drags Zoro’s arm around his shoulders to pull him back into the dining room as more furniture falls through the ceiling. 

All the doors are blocked off. Zeff looks through the fire at the shadows of the Vinsmoke brothers trying to get to their feet. The fire is roaring too much now to get down the corridor, into the kitchen, and out through the back door. 

Sanji is still on the floor. Zoro tugs away from Zeff, swaying on his feet but managing to stay upright. His face is dripping with sweat and blood. The swordsman lowers his body and stares darkly at the back wall. Undeterred by the fire, he takes a run at it, throwing himself shoulder-first into it. 

The wood splits, and Zoro erupts through it into the rainstorm outside, letting in the storm and the clamor of gathered townspeople. Zeff crouches down beside Sanji and scoops his arm under the boy’s neck, tearing himself away from his admiration to focus on his boy. Sanji is weak and shaking, and it takes him a few seconds before he starts trying to get his legs under him as Zeff tries to help him.

“Come on, Eggplant,” he insists. “Up you get. No time for a nap, now.” He can see the cart just outside. 

Zeff pulls Sanji to his feet, hoping he doesn't have to carry his boy, but at least it’s not far if he has to. To his relief, Sanji manages to get his feet under him, his head banging on Zeff’s shoulder as the helmet drags it down. Much as Zeff wants to stomp back across the room and through the fire so he can cave in Judge’s skull, he focuses on the cart just visible through the rain and hurries Sanji as quickly as either of them can move. 

Zoro is struggling to his feet in the pile of broken wood. Zeff grabs him under the arm and hauls him up. “Help an old man out,” he grunts, dragging them stumbling away from the inn and through the crowds of people. 

People move out of the way. Zeff pushes through them toward the cart, dragging the boys to the back and opening up the back flap. He shoves Zoro in first, and the swordsman climbs into the cart with a poorly-stifled moan. Still, he turns around and offers his hands to help pull Sanji up next. Then he reaches down to help Zeff up too, and the flap falls shut behind them. Zoro collapses sitting on the floor of the cart in some space between the stacked supplies, managing to lower Sanji somewhat gently into his lap and wrapping him in a protective hug. Zeff taps his fist on the back wall of the cart, and the wheels start to turn. 

His treasure chest is packed into the corner just as requested. Zeff slides the blanket off of it and tosses it to Zoro before sitting down heavily onto it. Zoro wraps the blanket around Sanji and holds on tightly. The inn burns against the storming sky through a gap in the canvas, fading behind the buildings as the horses pick up speed and the cart carries them toward the city limits. 

Chapter Text

The crackle and roar of the inn burning to the ground still rings inside the helmet, even though the flame’s heat has died. Still, he feels hot. Sanji shivers and coughs, shooting pain through his head and chest. He can hear Zeff’s peg leg crunching on the ground near him, and it takes a moment to realize that Zeff is piggy-backing him. 

Shouldn’t have to carry me... Sanji thinks idly. He wishes he could make himself move so the old man could set him down. 

Another hand squeezes his shoulder, and Sanji recognizes Zoro’s firm grip. Don’t worry about me... he wants to say. You guys should rest.  

Shade falls over them. Sanji looks down at the floor through his blurry, cornered vision. 

“Here, do you need help?” a third person, a stranger, asks. 

“No.” Zeff and Zoro snap almost in unison, tightening their grips on him. 

Sanji smiles faintly and shuts his eyes again. 

He’s barely conscious as he slides off Zeff’s back. The old man lays him down in bed, rolling him onto his side and keeping a protective hand on his shoulder. Zoro’s hand slips under his leg, lifting it up and sliding a pillow under his chained ankle. 

The helmet holds in the smell of blood and ash. The blood is especially pungent. With his eyes glued almost completely shut again, some of that blood is probably his. 

Metal clinks on metal as something slides into the lock at the back of his head. Sanji flinches instinctively, and Zoro moves up the bed to take his hand while Zeff audibly grinds his jaw from behind and works the lock. 

Where are we? It doesn’t matter. Both Zeff and Zoro are here, alive. How are you alive? It’s striking, he thinks. Impossible. Still, he’s grateful that they’re here. 

“Hang on, kid,” Zeff grunts more to himself than Sanji. “This thing’s a real bitch...” 

“Need a hand?” Zoro murmurs. 

“Sit down and shut up,” Zeff growls. “If you pass out, I’m not helping you.” 

“I don’t need your help,” Zoro retorts, but his weight does settle on the bed. The swordsman makes a small sound of pain that’s so well restrained Sanji hardly hears it. 

The stranger is moving around in the background, but keeps his distance. Zeff murmurs continuously to himself while he picks the lock, Zoro’s hand rubbing softly into the meat of Sanji’s calf. It’s quite soothing. Sanji lets his eyes slip closed again. 

He has no idea how much time passes, but the grumbling and touching never cease. Sanji feels the lock click open through his skull, the muzzle instantly loosening under his jaw. The tools clatter as Zeff abandons them so he can roll Sanji over and lift him up a bit. Zoro scrambles around and lifts apart the helmet, sliding away the muzzle and throwing both parts onto the floor. 

Sanji’s head feels like it’s floating as Zeff lays him back down onto the pillow. It’s blissfully soft, despite how sore his head is. The old cook puts his hand on top of Sanji’s head. 

“Jesus Christ.” Zeff snarls. “Jesus fucking Christ.” 

There’s undeniably a lot of blood. Sanji dreads how awful he must look. 

“Water,” Zoro offers quietly. 

Sanji blinks his eyes apart as far as he can get them. 

Zeff wets his fingers and carefully rubs some blood from Sanji’s eyes. The unfamiliar setting comes a bit more into focus, but most of his vision is taken up by Zeff’s face, and Zoro hanging over his shoulder. 

“Hey, kid, you awake?” Zeff puts his hand back on top of Sanji’s head. 

Regrettably, Sanji realizes. But he nods faintly. Zeff lifts Sanji’s head and puts a cup of water to his lips to drink. 

“Something to eat a bit later, boy,” Zeff promises calmly. “First we gotta get you cleaned up.” 

His stomach grumbles, but Sanji nods. Whatever he ate might come back up again. 

“This is gonna hurt a lot, kid, but it’s gotta be done, so try not to move around too much and I’ll do my best to make it quick.” 

Sanji nods again, and Zeff pats him on the head, getting up to get some supplies. The agonizing work hasn’t even begun yet, and already Sanji can see guilt in the old man’s eyes. Sanji starts to breathe as deeply as he can, hoping he can maintain his composure. He doesn't feel entirely present, like it could still be a dream if not for the visceral pain in his head. 

Zoro approaches to fill the space at his side, crouching beside the bed and gently raking his fingers through Sanji’s hair. Now that he can take in the swordsman, it’s clear how bloody and pale he is. Sanji stares at the scrapes and cuts from being dragged through the streets and fighting the Vinsmoke brothers covering Zoro’s face. The swordsman’s strong fingers rake through clumps of blood, dusting off dried flakes. Sanji winces as a few strands full free from the deep wounds in his forehead. Zoro dabs water across them to loosen the scabs, but he leaves the clumps that are stuck in so deep that only digging out the wound will free them. 

They don't speak, for which Sanji is grateful; he's too tired, and it would seem that Zoro is too. 

Zeff enters the room with some supplies, eyeing Zoro. “You should rest, kid,” he says gruffly. “I can handle this. Get some sleep, and I’ll take care of you next.” 

“Nah.” Zoro moves around to the corner of the bed to make room for Zeff, scooping his arm under Sanji’s head to stabilize it. He takes the cloth Zeff hands him and lays it over Sanji’s eyes, pressing his hand over top. 

It’ll keep the blood out. Sanji digs his heels into the sheets in anticipation. He twists his hands into his shirt and tries to regulate his breathing, but a whimper escapes the moment Zeff’s hand touches his forehead. Zoro is hot pressed against him, lungs breathing deeply and heart pumping strongly. The swordsman wraps his arm under Sanji’s jaw and grasps his cheek, rubbing soothingly. The grip starts gentle, but firms when Zeff starts to work, and Sanji naturally resists. 

Blood instantly dribbles out, running down his forehead in a hot stream and soaking into the cloth. Zeff works out half-formed scabs, pulling free locks of hair trapped within them and brushing them away from Sanji’s forehead. It feels like being stabbed in the skull. Sanji writhes, but Zoro holds his head still. 

Worse than that is the burn of alcohol in his wound. Zeff doesn’t give any warning, he just pours it liberally into the opening. The smell hits Sanji's throat as he screams. One of Zoro’s hands comes away to put another folded cloth into his mouth, and Sanji happily screams into that. 

The least painful process is the stitches. Zeff lays the thread in deep, pulling the wound closed one agonizing knot at a time and dabbing up the blood in between each. Zoro holds him tight, and Sanji doesn’t exactly mind as his head is squeezed into Zoro’s pectoral. He couldn’t wrestle free if he tried, and his body is desperate to escape no matter how much he knows this needs to be done. 

By the time one side is cared for, his whole face feels like it’s burning. Zeff cleans his hands and they all take a breather. Zoro pulls the cloth out of Sanji’s mouth and offers water, and Sanji drinks to clean the taste of blood from his mouth. Zoro replaces the cloth and takes position, and Zeff gets back to work. The first round is quite enough – Sanji doesn’t last much into the second before passing out. 

It’s absolute bliss. 

-- 

A soft breeze drifts in through an open window. A cow moos somewhere in the nearby distance. The breeze sweeps over his face, the pillows stacked under him making direct contact with his head. It felt like that helmet was on for weeks. 

He was dreaming of hellfire. Sanji opens his eyes, but the cloth is still pressed over them, so he reaches up to slide it off. Sunlight pierces his eyes. Sanji winces and shuts them again, trying to relax his face to ease the pain. 

His forehead is covered in thick bandages, wrapped snug. The wounds are sore and disturbed, but the pressure helps. Sanji blinks his eyes open again, slowly allowing them to adjust to the light. His eyes feel hot and swollen. It’s been days since he saw daylight, but it feels like years. Sanji turns his head on the pillow and shields his face with his hand, watching cows graze in the open field stretching away from the window. The sun is setting over the distant mountains. 

How long has he been resting? Sanji pushes his hands into the sheets and tries to sit up, shocked to find how weak he is. Moving his head causes instant nausea, stars clouding his vision. Sanji breathes out a low gasp and slumps back down, trying to piece together his blurry memories since Zoro rescued him. 

Where are we? Not in Germa, that’s for sure. Sanji coughs and braces his head with his hand as his headache flares up. His chest and lungs ache, and his throat tastes of smoke. Sanji looks down at the blankets tucked around him. His shirt is gone, showing how badly bruised he is – his ribs feel like they might be broken again. The cuff has been removed, his bandaged ankle propped up on some folded linens. His neck is bandaged too. 

A muffled snore rips out from beside him. Sanji looks down at the floor beside him. Zoro is asleep on his belly, propped up on folded blankets and a couple of leftover pillows, snoring into the rugs spread out under him. His back is wrapped in clean bandages, dotted red where his wounds have bled through. Most of the blood is cleaned up, but a few scuffs remain in his hair and down his arms. His skin is pale and flushed with fever. 

How are you still alive. Sanji watches Zoro’s back rise and fall as the swordsman breathes peacefully, sword clutched in one hand, and the other resting limp beside him. How did you get to me? How did you keep going for so long?  

Call for me. I’ll come.  

Sanji stares. Zoro’s face and arms are covered in scrapes from being dragged through the streets, overlaid with fresher cuts from fighting Sanji’s family. Now that his vision is sharper, it’s clear how much damage Zoro has accumulated. 

I’m so sorry. If only he could go back in time and accept Zoro’s offer as soon as it was made. 

We’ve got to get out of here. We’ve got to get to port. Sanji watches Zoro drool onto the rug. We’re out.  

I’m out.  

Judge won’t let it go. Not after being humiliated by Zoro and Zeff both. Sanji tries sitting up again. Zoro is too hurt to carry him all the way to port, and even if he could, there’s no time. Sanji isn’t even the one who should have gotten the bed, no matter how comfortable Zoro looks down on the floor, snoring peacefully. If only the bed were big enough to share... 

Zeff’s familiar limp clomps toward the door. Sanji relaxes to catch his breath, watching as the old man opens the door and limps into the room with a tray of hot food. They make eye-contact, and Zeff’s relief is palpable. 

The old man is worn with exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes and his posture stiff. He looks sore but unhurt, the bloodstains on his clothes undoubtedly from Sanji and Zoro. 

It’s no wonder Zeff is so sore. Sanji remembers the look of shock on Ichiji’s face as the old man's kick threw him across the inn. Judge, too, faced the old man’s wrath. You need to get out of here too. For personal injury inflicted, Sanji has no idea what Judge will do to Zeff, but he knows it’ll be worse than anything Sanji has seen. 

Zeff pulls up a chair and sits down, handing over the cup first, making sure Sanji has a good grip on it before letting go. The warm mint tea purges the smell of blood and smoke still clinging to his sinuses. Zeff’s hand reaches out to touch his cheek, lingering briefly. 

“Bit of a fever,” Zeff murmurs. “Hungry?” 

Starving. Sanji gulps down the tea and reaches out for the bowl, desperate for a proper meal. His jaw is still sore, but he can open his mouth all the way to fit the spoon. Zeff’s cooking is as delicious as always. Sanji spoons fresh chicken soup eagerly into his mouth, closing eyes to rest them as he eats. 

He opens them again when he hears the snap of something opening. Sanji looks over at the little box in Zeff’s hand, the pearl earrings safe inside. 

“Found it in your pocket,” Zeff explains. 

“Reiju gave them to me.” Sanji abandons the soon to drink up the broth, mumbling around the rim of the bowl. “Said they were pearls.” 

Zeff rubs them with his thumb and grunts in agreement. “Found in shellfish. Very rare, especially the round ones. Not sure how they form, or what they’re made of. Found one myself once. Sold for a hefty sum that kept the crew fed for weeks.” 

Sanji licks his lips and puts the bowl in his lap. “You should have them.” 

Zeff scoffs, shutting the lid. “Got no need for treasure, Eggplant.” He swaps out the bowl and puts the box into Sanji’s hand, folding his fingers around it. The old man puts his hand on Sanji’s head. “Keep them.” 

Sanji squeezes the box, wishing he had something to give, something to say. The old man’s inn is gone. Zeff’s life, uprooted, and for what? Sanji can’t even offer any riches from his kingdom – the earrings are all he has. 

Zeff’s hand threads into Sanji’s hair, his grip trembling faintly. “I did my best, boy,” he says quietly. “But it’s not gonna heal well.” 

There’s no fixing that. Even if the wounds had been treated immediately, they’d have scarred badly anyway. Sanji can't think of anything Zeff could have done otherwise. Not even a doctor could have done much better. No medicine will erase the scars. “It’s okay,” Sanji whispers back, doing his best to offer the old man a reassuring smile. “Thanks for...” For everything. “Thanks. It’s okay.” 

“Who did it?” Zeff asks, clearly trying to keep the vitriol from his voice but failing. 

“... My father.” 

Zeff pats Sanji on the head, his jaw flexing angrily. The old man looks on the brink of flying into a rage, rolling his shoulder with an angry wince. 

“You okay...?” 

“Shut your mouth,” Zeff growls. “Wishing I’d hit the fucker in the head, that’s all.” 

Sanji wonders when the last time his father took a hit in battle was. He wonders if Judge is even still alive – he didn't see exactly where the cleaver struck, nor how deep. The damage will be permanent, though, as will the damage Zoro has already done to two of his brothers. 

The damage done to Sanji and Zoro is equally permanent. Sanji looks over at Zoro asleep on the floor, wishing he could somehow have traded places and taken the whip lashes too. At least then one of them would be in good condition. 

Zeff lets out a short breath. “Get a couple more hours of rest, okay Eggplant?” he tugs up the blanket. “Then you and Broccoli boy need to get moving. The horses will be ready.” 

“Me and Zoro...?” Sanji grasps the blanket, staring up at Zeff. He tries not to frown, because it hurts, but he can’t help it. 

Zeff nods once, solemn and calm, through Sanji can see turmoil through a thin crack. 

“What about you?” 

“Only two horses,” Zeff replies, touching his leg. “I’d slow you down.” 

“But—” 

“There’s no ‘but’s, Eggplant. I’ll get to port my own way. Don’t worry about this old pirate. You don't survive this long without learning a few tricks and making a few friends.” 

And a few enemies.  

Zeff picks up the cloth and folds it up again, laying it back over Sanji’s eyes. “Rest.” 

Sanji shuts his eyes. Zeff is right: he needs to rest. Trying to think is only making his head spin worse. It doesn’t take much for his body to carry him back to sleep. 

-- 

Luckily, Sanji is too tired to dream much. The smell of food pulls him awake before he has to be woken. Sanji slides the cloth off his eyes with a groan and sits up before Zeff arrives to wake him. 

It’s midnight outside, stars twinkling brightly through a few drifting clouds. Sanji shivers and wraps the blanket around himself, looking down at Zoro still deeply asleep, unmoved from his position a few hours ago. 

Both of them need more rest. There's no time. 

Zeff opens the door, wafting a gust of aroma into the room. “Eggplant.” He walks over and holds out his hand to help. 

Sanji feels like he could benefit from at least a week of bedrest – his head pounds as Zeff helps his stand up, and his ribs throb terribly. Sanji leans in favor of them, grasping Zeff for balance as he adjusts. The rest of his aching body doesn’t help. But he can stand, walk, and that’s good enough. It has to be good enough. 

Zeff nudges Zoro in the shin with his peg leg. “Up you get, Broccoli boy. Nap time’s over.” 

To Sanji’s shock, Zoro stops snoring abruptly and snorts, opening his eyes and staring up at them. 

Zeff hands Sanji a pile of clean clothes. “Get dressed. Plan and dinner in the kitchen in five. Horses are being saddled.” He squeezes Sanji’s shoulder and limps out of the room, shutting the door behind him. 

Sanji throws on a shirt and drapes the other over his shoulder, hurrying over to help get Zoro off the floor. Bending down makes his head spin. Sanji grabs Zoro’s arm and waits for the stars to clear as Zoro groans and starts to push himself upright. 

They’re both in pathetic shape. Sanji wishes he had the strength to be Zoro’s stable pillar as the swordsman has already been for him. Zoro visibly pales as he sits up. Sanji puts a hand against his chest to help. 

“You look like shit.” Zoro's chuckle has a drunk quality. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Sanji scowls, slinging Zoro’s arm around his shoulders. 

“What? It’s true.” 

“Look in a goddamned mirror.” 

“Can’t see my back in a mirror.” Zoro retorts proudly. 

“You can see your fuckin’ face.” 

“No worse than yours.” 

Zoro is probably right on that one. Sanji grits his teeth and makes sure his balance is solid before helping Zoro get to his feet. The swordsman shouldn’t be able to get up in his state, after how much blood he lost on multiple occasions, and yet he still feels strong once he gets his feet under him. It obviously hurts, but already Sanji is struggling to imagine what could possibly knock him down. 

It makes him feel, stronger, too. Sanji distances himself only as much as necessary to pull the shirt off his shoulder and helps Zoro put it on. 

Zoro smiles at him. His face is a mess. The cuts are shallow and will heal, but they’re all over, even on his lips. “Ready to go?” Zoro asks. 

“Yeah.” Sanji doesn’t hesitate this time. 

Zoro’s smile widens. He cocks his head and runs his fingers through Sanji’s hair, picking out the last bits of blood. Sanji can’t help but admire, and to his surprise, Zoro is admiring him right back. He can't imagine why. 

“Come on.” Zoro scoops his sword off the floor with his boot and slides it into his belt. Then he grabs Sanji’s hand. 

Five minutes wouldn’t be enough to say everything he wants to say to Zoro, so it’ll have to wait for the road. Sanji follows, sticking close for Zoro’s stability and his own. They walk out of the room and into the kitchen of the farmhouse. The table is laid with a small feast, a map spread on the table, and Zeff’s treasure chest waiting closed to one side. Sanji looks outside the window to see a man brushing his horses, saddles waiting nearby. 

“Listen up,” Zeff says, passing them each a plate and pushing between them to point at the map. 

Sanji barely takes in what’s on his plate, only that it tastes good, and he’s hungry. He stuffs potato into his mouth and follows Zeff’s finger. Zoro does the same, cocking his head in confusion. Sanji makes sure to pay extra attention. 

“We’re here.” Zeff draws from Germa and follows the main path, diverting at the crossroads down the Eastern path and following the road to the outskirts of the nearest city. He taps near some farmland and keeps drawing. “You’ll leave here and keep going East. Keep the sun rising straight in front of you, and don’t stop until you reach port.” 

There isn’t much in their way aside from a couple of towns. Most of it is forest, with the trees thinning as they approach the small port town that wraps along the shoreline. And then, open ocean. Sanji stares at the blue stretching toward the edge of the paper. 

He feels hazy. He should have taken up Zoro’s offer ages ago, and yet it feels too soon to say goodbye. Sanji looks at Zeff’s stern expression fixed firmly on the map, the old man’s eyes glinting in the candlelight. 

“Horses are ready.” The stranger enters the house and shuts the door. 

“Good. Ride as fast as you and the horses can handle.” Zeff walks over to his chest, digging in his pocket for a key and fumbling with the lock, his hands uncharacteristically unsteady. Zoro slides close again, bumping his shoulder into Sanji’s. 

“They’re old,” the stranger warns, walking over to the table and sitting down to eat. “You asked me to hang onto them ten years ago, Red Leg.” 

“It’ll do.” Zeff pulls off the lock and tosses it, opening his chest and removing the items inside. He tosses a bag of coins to the stranger, and thrusts the other to Sanji. “Enough for food and shelter the next town over. Don’t stay long.” 

Sanji fumbles the bag, staring at Zeff. 

“Food and water, some medicine.” Zeff picks a backpack off the floor and puts it on a chair, opening the flap and beckoning Sanji close. 

Sanji stumbles over and drops the money inside, catching a glimpse of the supplies packed. He can spot some cookware inside. Sanji takes the earrings out of his pocket and puts the box inside. 

Zeff puts a leather bundle on the table and undoes the ties, unrolling the pristine knife set. “Take care of them, like I showed you.” He rolls them back up and puts them away before Sanji has much chance to admire them, or say anything. He doesn’t know what to say anyway, stunned. 

Finally, Zeff offers Sanji a book bound in leather. There are a few designs pressed into the cover, but the design is a simplistic and robust. Carefully, Sanji peels open the cover. 

It’s a well-worn book, but it’s been taken care of. There is some sparse water damage on a couple of pages, but Zeff has clearly tried to minimize damage. The first page is marked with Zeff’s scrawl, listing ingredients and a few brief instructions. 

Beef and root vegetable soup. Sanji reads down the ingredients, remembering helping the old man cook this very dish at the inn on cold winter days. He flips through the pages, skimming recipes. Some are familiar, some not. Some are fish recipes he’s never tasted: bass coated in flour and cooked in pig fat, salmon filleted and served with a sweet glaze and hot peppers, mackerel cooked whole with herbs and lemon. 

Sanji flips through the pages until he reaches a blank one. The rest are blank from then-on. He looks up. 

Zeff grabs him by the shoulders and stares at him. “Promise me you’ll come find me again once that book is filled. Not before.” 

Wait. Sanji stares at the empty pages. They make up about half the book. Wait, I can’t--  

Zeff slides the book from Sanji's hands and closes it, putting it inside the bag. He secures the flap and picks it up, holding up the straps so Sanji can slide it onto his back. “Time to go, boy.” 

I’m not ready.  

Zoro takes his hand to lead him away from the table. Sanji glances at the empty chest and turns away, Zeff’s guiding hand on his other shoulder. He stumbles along after his friends, through the door and into the moonlit night. Zeff lets go, and Zoro tugs him on to the horses ready and waiting. 

Zoro glances at Sanji for direction but holds out his hand as he learned with Rose. The horse lowers its head to sniff, rubbing his palm in greeting. 

“Ever ridden before?” Sanji asks, pulling himself out of his haze enough to remember that Zoro probably hasn’t. 

“I’ll figure it out.” Zoro grunts with determination, putting his foot in the stirrup bravely. Sanji jumps to help, turning it the right way around and offering his shoulder for support. The horse stands still so Zoro can mount, and Sanji cups his hands to help boost his friend into the saddle. Zoro groans as he lifts his arms and drags himself up, but he manages. Zoro slumps in the saddle and adjusts, wiping sweat from his forehead. 

Sanji turns to his horse, greeting it the same. He misses Rose. These horses are calmer, though. Tired, maybe. He hopes they’re up for the job. He looks up at the moon far above. 

In the distance, but not far enough, the towers of Germa still loom. Sanji stares at the flag pole glinting faintly, whatever is left of the flag no longer visible from this distance, if any strands remain at all. A cool wind blows through the land, sweeping at his bangs and billowing his shirt. It feels like the storm could pick up again at any moment. Sanji wonders where his family is, if they’ve already resumed pursuit. They will be. Germa never lets a grudge go unpunished. Sanji wonders if he would survive very long this time if they caught him. 

It’s not worth thinking about, because they won’t. He’s going to port with Zoro, and that’s that. 

No more.  

“Don’t catch a cold.” 

Sanji looks back at Zeff, and the old man looks back. There's just enough moonlight to catch the tears in the old man’s eyes. His chest tightens. 

I could never give you what you deserve. I wish I had time to try.  

Sanji lets the bag slip off his back and runs across the dirt ground, his vision blurring with tears until he’s almost blind. He throws himself at Zeff, and the old man opens his arms, grunting as they collide. Zeff stumbles back a step, but he grabs Sanji tight, gripping the back of his head. 

It feels like a lifetime ago that he met Zeff in the forest and the old man grumpily cooked him the most delicious meal he’d ever eaten, barely said a word, and booted him out the door when the rain stopped. 

Zeff holds him by the face to get a good look at him, tears spilling down his cheeks. He wipes away Sanji’s with a rough hand that has tended his wounds so many times before. The old man spins him around and pushes him back toward the horses. “ Go! ” 

It hurts. Sanji wants to beg and plead, but he knows the old man is right, that Germa will be on their trail, and every moment is precious. He has to trust that the old pirate can take care of himself. Zeff has already fought against the Vinsmokes and come out on top. The least Sanji can do is trust him. He wipes his eyes despite the futility and picks up the backpack, shouldering it and climbing into the saddle. 

Zeff stands to watch them leave. Sanji turns his horse around, and Zoro’s follows. Sanji gives his horse a small nudge in the flanks with his heels for a slow canter. He can hear Zoro panting beside him, but the swordsman is doing fine, balancing himself in the saddle like a natural, keeping his hips loose. Both of them are too hurt for the ride to be totally comfortable, but it’s better than walking. 

Sanji forces himself not to look back, to sit tall in the saddle until the forest swallows them, and Zeff can’t see him anymore. 

Chapter Text

The cold, damp winds tease more rain. The forest is dry enough for the horses to navigate through the trees with enough ease. It’s tough to see, but the horses can see just fine by starlight alone. Sanji makes no attempt to correct his horse, barely holding the reins so the animal can weave its own way through the forest. He lets it slow to a walking pace when he feels it grow tired, and coaxes it back into a gallop when it’s recovered. Zoro’s horse follows just behind, matching pace. 

They don’t speak. The wind rushing through their ears and the crunch of hooves is too loud to hear anyway. Sanji feels like he could fall asleep in the saddle, and Zoro looks it too when he glances repeatedly to check on the swordsman. 

Zoro’s hand has consistently been kept on his sword, the other resting on the saddle horn and his body hunched. Even in the darkness, Sanji can see enough of Zoro to know that the swordsman’s senses are alert, his eyes gleaming in the darkness as they fix intently forward. There isn’t much to see but trees. 

The bouncing of his body in the saddle is jostling his brain, and there’s only so much Sanji can cushion it with his hips. Despite the persistent throbbing in his head and the burning in his forehead, he does his best to stay alert too. 

Get out of there.  

He has to trust that Zeff will find a way to get to port safely, and in good time. Judge will come, and he won’t stop until he tracks down Zeff, Zoro, and Sanji too. Sanji tightens his grip on the reins, not daring to look back – he knows what he’ll see. He can feel Germa’s shadow on his back. 

The horses feel slow compared to Rose. Sanji wonders how fast she could have run with both him and Zoro on her back. 

The horses are sweating and panting. Sanji pulls gently on the reins, and his own stumbles to a weary walk. Zoro’s horse follows suit and slows down beside his. The first crack of blue appears through the trees as the sun starts to rise.  

Sanji’s body is screaming for rest, but his mind is keeping him awake. Zoro looks to be in much the same state. There are already bloodstains on the back of his shirt. 

The forest thins out. They join the main path as the sun rises over the small town just ahead. Sanji halts his horse and slides out of the saddle. Zoro catches on and follows suit, kicking his feet free of the stirrups and struggling down. Sanji runs over to help his descent. Zoro stumbles into him, pale in the dim daylight and shivering faintly. But he regains his balance and grabs the reins to lead his horse. Sanji does the same, taking the lead.  

The streets are almost empty, but they keep their heads down anyway. Sanji’s distinguishing eyebrows are covered at least. They stop outside a small tavern. Sanji leaves Zoro with the horses, digging in his bag for the money Zeff gave him and pocketing a handful. 

The man running the tavern is barely awake. He eyes Sanji with suspicion, but his demeanor lightens up when offered a fistful of coins. He gives Sanji a room key and comes outside to show them to the spare stalls where the horses can rest for the day. 

The innkeeper eyes Zoro suspiciously. “Traveling at night, huh. You boys are pretty roughed up.” 

Sanji shoulders his bag and leads his horse after the man. “Some bandits found us in the night and we had to keep moving,” he lies, moving more in front of Zoro to block the swordsman’s death stare. 

“Where you headed?” 

Sanji almost says to port, but Zoro cuts him off. “None of your business,” the swordsman growls. 

“We just need to let the horses rest,” Sanji pleads. “We don't want trouble. We’ll be gone by sundown.” 

The innkeeper raises his hands. “Just wonderin’.” 

Sanji can hear Zoro start to growl. He raises his hand to still the swordsman. 

The innkeeper shows them the stalls and leaves them to it, taking one last glance at the two of them before trekking back up to the tavern. Sanji watches him go, ushering Zoro inside a stall as soon as he spots a couple of other people coming to take care of their own horses. 

Sanji ties up the horses and starts on his own. Zoro moves in to help, but Sanji pulls him into the corner and flips over a bucket, pushing him to sit. Zoro sinks down with a heavy sigh and grips his shoulder. The wound reaching over it has split open again, as have many others down his back. If only there was time to rest and heal properly. Sanji tears his focus away and fiddles with the girth strap. 

“Can I help?” Zoro asks. 

“No.” Sanji grumbles, loosening the strap and sliding the saddle off the horse’s back with a grunt of pain. His bruised chest almost makes him drop it, but Sanji manages to carry the saddle over to the hook on the wall and rest it on top. The fur beneath is slick with sweat. He looks around for a brush. 

“You’re limping.” 

“I’m tired.” And his ankle is sore. All of him is sore. Lifting the saddle made his head swim. Sanji leans on the horse’s shoulder for balance while his vision clears up. 

“Let me help, then.” 

You’ve helped me enough. Zoro is already on his way over, taking the brush from Sanji’s hand. He lays it on the horse’s flank and starts to brush in gentle sweeps, looking over at Sanji for confirmation. 

Sanji sighs and gives in. If Zoro helps, they can get up to their room as rest that much faster. Sanji feels like he could collapse, and Zoro looks like he could too. “Follow the direction of his fur,” Sanji instructs, wondering if Zoro can lift his arms high enough to reach the horse’s back. 

It’ll have to do. Sanji goes to tend to the other horse, removing the saddle and hanging it up. Food and water are nearby, so Sanji brings the horses a bucket of water each and some hay to eat, reminding himself to bring them vegetables from their supplies before they leave later today. He helps Zoro brush the other horse, then they leave the animals to rest. 

The towers of Germa are pale against the sky, shadowed by the rain still chasing them. Sanji stares at the tallest spire. It’s so far away, and yet it looms, bending over the sky toward him. The ground rushes toward him and the tallest spire bends toward his face, its point gleaming in the sun— 

Zoro’s hand grabs his arm to stop him from falling over. Sanji averts his eyes and grasps the swordsman’s hand, leaning in close. They brace each other for strength and make the long slog back up to the inn. 

By now the other guests have gotten up, so nobody interrupts them as they drag each other up the stairs. Sanji unlocks their room and shuts the door behind them, letting the bag slip off his shoulders. He wants to collapse, but he manages to get Zoro over to the small bed in the corner. Zoro sinks down, and Sanji sinks beside him. 

Zoro’s stomach growls in harmony with Sanji’s. Sanji pulls away from Zoro’s grip and gets to his feet, gripping his head to stabilize himself as the dizziness flares up again. 

“You okay?” Zoro asks quietly. 

Sanji grits his teeth, kneeling down by the bag to open it. Hurriedly, he moves aside the gifts Zeff gave him and rummages for food. Zoro’s monstrous resilience has kept him out of the grave, kept him fighting – winning . But Sanji can hear the swordsman’s labored breathing alongside his own. The sound of snapping chains and a cracking whip ring inside his head, and every time his eyes start to drag closed, he sees his brothers in the darkness. He sees his father looming over everything, driving the knife toward his face. 

“Cook--” 

“I’m sorry.” Sanji chokes. “God, I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

Sanji stands up with the food and turns around, forcing himself to look Zoro in the eyes. Zoro’s head is flopped curiously to one side. You’re such an idiot. Sanji really hopes those scrapes on his face won't leave scars. 

Zoro blinks at him. “Cook--” 

“Why didn’t you listen to me!” Sanji sobs. “Why didn’t you just go!” 

The curiosity drains, and Zoro’s eyebrows furrow. Zoro rises to his feet, tightening his grip on his sword. “Are you stupid?” he growls. 

“Are you?” Sanji snarls back, grief and rage boiling into one hell of a concoction. “You should have run and left me. They almost fucking killed you!” 

Zoro’s expression darkens, his knuckles white on the hilt of his sword. The scrapes on his face and dark rings under his eyes only make him look scarier. “I made a bet, and it paid off,” Zoro says darkly. “If I’d made a better plan, if I’d been stronger, I could have gotten you out without you getting hurt too.” 

Sanji barely processes what Zoro is saying. “You bet your own life? ” His fingers itch to grab Zoro by the throat and shake some sense into him. 

“I bet that your brothers wouldn’t kill me,” Zoro replies.  

“ They nearly did! ” 

“ And they didn’t! ” Zoro roars, and Sanji flinches back. “If I’d tried to escape, with or without you, someone would have died. And I wasn’t going to risk that. Better let them have their way with me, and come back to try again!” 

Zoro was winning, even against two Vinsmokes. But if he’d hurt or killed the princes, the archers would have simply shot the swordsman dead. 

“If I’d planned better, those bastards wouldn’t have done that to you.” Zoro points rudely at Sanji’s forehead.  

Sanji grips his forehead and grits his teeth angrily, wishing that he could go back in time and accept Zoro’s first offer. You tried to warn me. Everything about that trial was wrong from the start, and you knew. You knew, and I didn’t listen. For that, he’s received his punishment. But Zoro didn’t deserve to be punished too. 

It just doesn’t make sense. Why would anyone take that kind of torture, then come back and risk more pain? 

Don’t you have something better to do? What about your dreams, your crew? What could the aspiring greatest swordsman possibly want with a prince who has lost every fight he’s ever fought, who can't even compete amidst his own family? 

Sanji wants to throw Zoro out the window. He wants to scream and wail and kick Zoro in his stupid face until the green idiot understands. “How can you become the greatest swordsman if you’re dead?” He can't make it much simpler than that. 

Evidently, it’s not simple enough. Zoro slides his hand off his sword and clenches his fists, stalking closer. “I made you a promise.” He points, and Sanji flinches back from Zoro's hand involuntarily. Zoro notices, growling with frustration and yanking his hand back. He struggles with what to do with them, before settling on cross them over his chest and squeezing his hands under his armpits. “If I abandoned a promise, I’d be breaking my swordsman’s code. And I'd rather die.” 

Call for me. I’ll come.  

You tried your best. You came. You didn’t have to circle back and try again. You didn’t have to risk your life... It seems such a boastful thing to make that bet, that the vindictive princes of an empire would beat Zoro within an inch of his life but not quite cross that line. And yet, even while he was under their boot, Zoro somehow still was the winner.  

In a fair fight, with nobody to protect, Sanji is starting to wonder how easily Zoro could have beaten his brothers in a swordfight. His brothers don’t burn like Zoro does. Never have they held themselves with the strength and dignity as Zoro – not even his brothers at their best, and Zoro hunched and pale and bleeding. 

Zoro makes him feel like he’s on fire, too. He just wishes he could figure out what to burn for . 

Call for me. I’ll come.  

And Zoro has never let him down, only in his stupidity for not getting the fuck out of here—  

His brothers are right – he is a crybaby. If only Sanji could think of a way to explain, but the best he can do is stare, tears gathering in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. There's just no way to distill everything down into one simple sentence that Zoro’s simple mind could understand. I can't be worth all this. I can’t be... What has he ever done to deserve what Zoro has given him? What Zoro has repeatedly offered, and he has refused? 

He feels weak. Any strength he’s managed to cling to dissolves, and he feels himself start to slump. It shouldn’t be Zoro coming to his aid once again, and yet as his head spins and his knees crumple, Zoro lunges toward him. Zoro is close, but it takes him a moment to unfold his arms, so they both end up on the floor, on their knees, leaning into each other. Zoro grabs him and squeezes him into a tight hug. 

There’s nowhere to put his hands. Sanji lets his head flop onto Zoro’s shoulder and his arms dangle onto the floor. 

His head hurts. Why did you do this to me? What did I ever do? Am I that abhorrent to you? He remembers the spurt of blood from the wound Zoro dealt Judge. How helpless he felt on the floor, the helmet pinning his head and the rest of his body down as his only two friends in the whole world risked their lives to keep him safe, despite how little he’d earned it. 

Ten years. Ten years, Zeff has been planning this escape, saving money to make sure they could make it to port. Sanji tries to remember the first time the old man figured out something was wrong. Ten years ago, Zeff figured it out. Zoro did so instantly. What’s wrong with me? It should never have taken it this long. Both of his friends have been waiting for him to figure it out, too. 

Get me out of here.  

The ocean is going to be beautiful, he knows it. Blue, he thinks. Top to bottom, left to right, as far as the eye can see, just as Zeff described. He can hardly wait. If he hadn't declined Zoro’s offer, he would already be out there, his family none the wiser, Zeff uninvolved in this whole ordeal, and Zoro’s back unblemished.  

How unlucky are you to have met me? Zoro’s back is bleeding, his wounds jostled open by riding on horseback for hours and moving around in general. He deserves long, uninterrupted rest. Zoro is as much a pillar as he's ever been, hampered by his wounds but strong and sure. The wounds to his body have done nothing to shake his spirit. Sanji wishes he could say the same for himself. 

How lucky am I to have met you.  

What would it take to make himself into something even close to what Zoro has made himself into? Why could his father simply not have kicked him out of the castle and banished him from the kingdom? Sanji would never have spoken of Germa or uttered the Vinsmoke name. 

Why? If you wanted to be rid of me all along, why?  

None of it makes sense. Zoro seems to have figured it out though, despite the evident problems with his brain. And if Zoro can put the pieces together, then how stupid must Sanji be? 

Stupid, weak...  

“Zoro?” Sanji croaks. 

“Hmm?” Zoro squeezes him tighter. His thumb rubs into Sanji’s back. 

“Why... why...” Sanji swallows. Zoro knows about honor, about promises. He may not know North from up, but he’s seen more of the world than Sanji has. Zoro is too simplistic to complicate this. If anyone can cut to the truth, he can. Sanji squeezes his eyes shut, his tears dripping off his face and soaking into Zoro’s shirt. His face is already burning with shame – the answer should be obvious. “Why did they do this to me?” he whispers. 

A simple answer is all he needs. Even a one-word answer will do. Is it as simple as disobeying his father? Of dishonoring the kingdom? 

Zoro grabs him tighter, wrapping a hand around the back of his head and clutching his hair. Zoro envelops him. “I don’t know.” he says gruffly. “Because you’re good, and they aren’t. Because they couldn’t bring you down to their level.” 

Join my crew.  

Sanji never wanted to be like them anyway. What does it mean that the strongest man he's ever met sees that as a virtue rather than a detriment? 

Join my family, and leave yours behind.  

Sanji wonders what Zoro's family is made of. From Zoro’s sparse descriptions, they sounded kind, odd. It's hard to stand out when everyone is the odd one out. Sanji has a hard time imagining a crew where Zoro fits in with anyone else. How could the rest of them be different? 

“I’m sorry,” Zoro murmurs. “If I’d made a better plan, they wouldn’t have done that to you. If I were stronger, we’d be at sea by now.” 

Sanji struggles to see how Zoro could be at fault for any of this. He blinks open his eyes, though the tears make it difficult to see much at all. He wishes he knew what to say. If only he could lay out all his questions, maybe Zoro could answer them and clear everything up. 

“Planning isn’t really my thing...” 

Sanji huffs out a weak, weary laugh. Yeah, he could have guessed that. Battle strategy, however? Zoro probably made the right call not to try to escape with Sanji. The archers above would have killed him. And here they are, alive. 

The best days of his life were spent in Zeff’s kitchen, and in the forest with Zoro – days spent away from his family. 

For a man of such strength, Zoro’s touch is the gentlest touch Sanji has ever experienced. The swordsman’s fingers thread into his hair and rub soothingly. Sanji tries to imagine his brothers touching anyone or anything as gently as Zoro manages, despite losing repeatedly to the swordsman. 

The greatest swordsman in the world.  

“I’m not going to hurt you...” Zoro says. 

“I know.” Sanji wishes he hadn’t flinched, but he can’t help it. Even wrestling out in the mountains together, Zoro never once hurt him. 

“You’re really stupid,” Zoro murmurs. 

At that, Sanji barks out a short laugh. “Says the man who thinks North is up .”  

Zoro growls at that. “ Hey .” 

Sanji can't do much but smile faintly. He feels weak. He wishes he could hang here in Zoro’s arms forever, but both of them are in desperate need of proper rest. Sanji lifts his head off Zoro’s shoulder and wipes his eyes dry, grasping Zoro’s scraped face with one hand and resting the other against his forehead for a temperature. 

Of course Zoro has a fever. He’s been fighting with severe injuries, with little rest. He’s already torn his wounds open at least twice. 

Enough time has been wasted. Sanji pushes his legs under himself, and Zoro hangs on. They stand up together. 

“I’ll keep watch,” Zoro murmurs as they stumble toward the bed. 

“Nah. I will.” Sanji sits on the bed and drags Zoro down with him. 

He ends up on his back, Zoro flopping on top of him. It’s too comfortable of an arrangement to disturb. Sanji pulls his legs onto the bed and helps Zoro get comfortable. It’s a small bed, but they manage to fit, legs tangled up and chests pressed together. Zoro pulls his arms free so he can rest one hand on his sword, but his eyes are already closed. 

Zoro weights the same as a cow. Sanji couldn’t be happier. He wraps his hand around the back of Zoro's head, rubbing with his fingers. 

“What’re’you doin’?” Zoro mumbles. 

“Stroking your hair...?” Sanji pauses. 

“Oh, okay... Keep goin’.” Zoro huffs. In an instant, his breathing levels out, and he’s asleep. Sanji keeps rubbing, reaching up with his other hand to hang onto Zoro’s arm. He closes his eyes too. 

-- 

When Sanji drifts awake, the sun is starting to set. Zoro’s weight is still pressed over him, the swordsman’s snores vibrating through both of them. What does an overgrown moss dream about? Sanji rubs his fingers into Zoro's hair, hoping the other man’s mind is peacefully empty. 

Sanji slides his hand down to Zoro’s neck. The skin is hot with fever, but it feels the same as it did this morning. Sanji hopes it’s just from exertion and not from infection. 

He's just about to shake Zoro awake, but Zoro groans and stirs, dragging his arms under himself. Sanji hurriedly shoves his hands against Zoro’s chest to help him get up. They stare at each other wearily, Zoro's eyes still ringed with grey but his face curling into a soft smile. 

Zoro looks awful. Sanji knows he probably looks like shit, too. 

There’s no time for it to matter. They sit up, Sanji pushing and Zoro pulling, helping each other to right themselves. Sanji puts his feet on the floor and stands up first, draping Zoro’s arm around his shoulders with determination. 

They eat a swift meal. Sanji pockets some apples for the horses and shoulders the backpack. He returns the key to the owner, and they set off back to the stables. Sanji can’t help but glance up at the Germa spires before ducking inside. 

The horses wake up, getting to their feet as the men approach. Zoro reaches for the saddle to help, but his body visibly strains under the weight. He doesn’t resist when Sanji takes the saddle from him.  

Sanji saddles both horses and leads them into the field. He cups his hands to give Zoro a boost, and the swordsman heaves himself into the saddle with a low groan. He straightens up, red with effort. It’s obvious that he’s in pain. Sanji takes a moment to admire him up on that horse, as resilient and determined as ever. Merely being in Zoro’s vicinity makes him feel stronger. Sanji mounts his horse and leads the way, trying not to focus too hard on the fresh bloodstains on Zoro’s back. 

The sun dips behind the castle, darkening the lands stretching East of it. The horses trot into the street, between the last few residents getting ready for bed. Some stare, especially at Zoro. The path bends, so they leave it and enter the forest again, following the rising moon. A cool wind rushes through the forest, threatening rain again. 

A few drops splatter on his cheek. Sanji spurs his horse, and both break into a gallop. They’ve gained some speed after a good rest. 

Cloud cover blows over the stars. Sanji shivers as the wind buffets his clothes and the rain starts to pick up. Night falls quickly, and the sky only grows darker the storm covers the stars and the forest shadows them. The town quickly falls into the distance and out of sight. 

The wind roars in his ears, but he can still hear another set of hoofbeats. Zoro is hunched in the saddle, eyes darting around the forest and his hand ready to draw his sword. Sanji scans the forest, and a flash of red almost stops his heart. 

Ichiji’s horse gains rapidly, flanking him. Sanji spurs his horse, but it can’t go any faster, and it’s already too tired to keep up this pace much longer. Sanji snaps his head around and catches his brothers’ hair easily in the darkness; Niji flanking Zoro, and Yonji taking up the back. 

The warhorses keep pace easily, herding inward. Ichiji already has his hand on his sword. They can't win the race – they're going to have to fight. Sanji meets his brother’s eye. 

I’m not going back.  

Niji draws his sword and makes a swing at Zoro. Zoro manages to duck, but his horse is startled by the attack and lurches away from it, almost tripping over its own legs. The brothers pull inward, and Niji grins, swinging again. There’s not much Zoro can do as his horse veers into Sanji’s, eyes wide. It rears up in a panic, and throws Zoro out of the saddle. 

The underbrush crunches as Zoro lands hard and rolls to a stop. He does not get up. His horse has already run off, and the princes pull to a stop to encircle him. Sanji pulls hard on the reins to turn his horse around. 

Zoro is breathing but otherwise motionless. Even then, the brothers are wary of him, dismounting and approaching cautiously. Yonji especially, but when it’s obvious Zoro isn't getting up, he’s the first to lunge in for the kill. Sanji’s shout is a mix of fear and rage as he kicks his horse in the sides. 

The animal jumps forward, rearing its head away from the brothers to divert away from the danger. That’s fine – all Sanji needs is the speed. It’s enough to get Yonji’s attention. His brothers and the other horses scatter, and Sanji jumps out of the saddle. 

Wet leaves stick to him as he rolls and gets up, shrugging the bag off his shoulders and scrambling over to Zoro’s limp body to protect him. Sanji rises to his feet. His head is spinning, and his heart is racing, but despite his fear as his brothers circle like predators, he can feel something snap inside him. 

You just don’t give up, do you.  

At least this time, it seems his brothers have nothing to say to him.  

I shouldn’t give up either. Zoro never did. Whether Sanji is able or not, it’s his turn to handle this. 

Niji comes in first. Sanji snaps like a bowstring to dodge, and attacks Yonji first instead. His brother has already been bested by Zoro twice, and he looks it, bruised and hunched and too slow to dodge as Sanji rockets toward him. Sanji jumps and spins, kicking his brother in the chest with enough force to send him flying. Yonji goes down, and stays down. 

The rain starts to pour. Sanji pivots so fast he almost sprains his ankle. His two remaining brothers move away from Zoro to flank him, and for once in his life, Sanji is happy to take their attention. 

Blood dribbles down Niji’s face as he growls and it opens up the wound Zoro gave him. He’s bleeding through his shirt, too, thanks again to Zoro. Sanji sidesteps Ichiji and ducks Niji’s sword. He grabs Ichiji by the wrist as his brother swings again, and uses it to anchor himself so he can spin his heel into Niji’s fingers.  

His head is spinning badly. Sanji spins away from Ichiji and stomps Niji’s arm away from his body, creating himself an opening. Niji stumbles backwards, bringing up his other arm to protect himself. Sanji takes a short run at it and stomps his foot into Niji’s arm hard enough that he feels the bone break. Sanji jumps, and kicks his brother under the chin. 

Niji staggers back, coughing. Sanji hears the whistle of a sword from behind and ducks Ichiji’s attack. He puts his hands on the ground and thrusts sideways, kicking Niji in the shins to topple him. 

A hand grabs the back of his shirt. Ichiji grabs him and flings him around, throwing him into some bushes. Sanji wheezes as his bruised body makes impact, his head spinning badly. He scrambles out of the bushes, and Ichiji stalks slowly toward him, sword in-hand, allowing him at least enough time to get back up. 

Zoro is awake at least, struggling in the leaves as he tries to get his arms under himself. The splotches of blood on his back are bigger and wetter, spreading as the rain mixes with the blood. Sanji snaps his glare onto Ichiji. 

For the first time in his whole life, he gives his brother pause. 

It doesn’t last long. Despite the bruises from Zeff’s kicks, Ichiji is in the best shape of all three brothers, better shape than Sanji. And yet, when Ichiji flies toward him, Sanji finds the strength to match pace. 

He’s angry, hot. Sanji bends his body to dodge the sword and get behind his brother. Ichiji spins around to attack again, water flying off his sword as he swipes repeatedly. 

All Sanji has to do is endure and wait for an opening. Sanji stays light on his feet, circling his brother to stay in the same place, to stay away from Zoro. Ichiji is aiming for arms and legs, looking to incapacitate rather than kill. I’m not going back. Sanji finds himself that opening, rushing in low and kicking under his brother’s sword swipe, kicking him in the hips. Sanji turns over and puts his hands on the ground, flipping at the hips and hooking his foot around Ichiji’s hand, kicking the sword from his grip. 

Ichiji abandons his sword, stalking at Sanji and raising his hands. He lunges, and Sanji lets him come. He jumps as Ichiji’s hands claw toward him, throwing up his leg as high as it will go. Ichiji leans sideways to dodge, pulling back his hand and grabbing Sanji’s ankle. He digs his fingers into the bandages. Sanji growls and throws his torso backwards, putting his hands on the ground and wrapping his other leg around Ichiji’s throat. He squeezes tight and lets his body drop, pulling Ichiji down with him. 

They land in a heap, Ichiji scrambling to grab hold of him, and Sanji squirming to get free so he can deliver one last kick. They roll, Ichiji managing to squeeze his head free at some point during the scuffle. 

Ichiji is stronger, and he knows where Sanji is hurting most. He elbows Sanji in the chest as they roll, and Sanji coughs painfully, though he doesn't stop wrestling. Sanji tries to work his leg back up so he can get it around Ichiji’s neck, but his brother grabs him by the ankle again and squeezes harder. Sanji reaches up to grab his brother by the wrist, and Ichiji punches him in the head. 

It’s a floundering punch, lacking some force because of how close they are. But it’s enough to tear the stitches, and Sanji gasps breathlessly as his vision goes black and stars flicker behind his eyes. The cuts split open, hot blood quickly soaking through the bandages. 

Sanji flounders desperately in the darkness as Ichiji’s hands slide around his neck, squeezing. The darkness clears, and his brother slowly comes into focus, looming over him and staring down with rage and vengeance. Sanji chokes and writhes, blood dripping down his face and into his eye. Ichiji grits his teeth and squeezes tighter. Sanji flails his arms, smacking his brother in the face, but it’s not enough. Ichiji growls and tightens his grip, loosening one hand to pin Sanji’s arm to the ground. 

His vision closes in. Sanji flounders a punch, which his brother blocks easily. He fights to force his his legs between them, but Ichiji lowers his body to block. 

Moments remain. Sanji meets his brother’s eyes and glares up at him. 

Eyes glint in the midnight storm. Zoro appears over Ichiji’s shoulder like a vengeful spirit summoned from Hell. He looms over Ichiji and grabs him by the shoulder, clamping tight. 

Ichiji jolts with surprise, starting to cry out but his mouth locked open as Zoro squeezes. Zoro grabs Ichiji’s arm and rips it away from Sanji’s throat, squeezing Ichiji’s wrist and pulling his arm backward. Sanji coughs and clutches his throat, pulling his other hand free as Ichiji reaches up to paw at Zoro’s fingers. 

Zoro’s hand is locked tight. Sanji struggles to scramble backwards as Zoro pushes Ichiji down by the shoulder and pulls up on his arm. The swordsman’s clothes are soaked with blood, but his grip is unbreakable, squeezing so hard that Sanji can hear his brother’s bones start to break. Unforgiving, Zoro tugs harder. 

Ichiji’s face contorts with pain and panic as he realizes that he’s at Zoro’s mercy. Blood dripping down his arms, Zoro is in no mood to be granting any. 

Zoro tugs sharply, pulling Ichiji’s shoulder from the socket. The prince screams sharply, and Zoro lets go, reaching for his sword. Sanji can see in the swordsman’s eyes that it’s going to be a killing blow. 

Just leave us be. Why can’t you just let me go? Sanji scrambles backwards and digs his elbows into the dirt, pulling in his knee and kicking Ichiji in the face, breaking his nose once more. Blood gushes out, and Ichiji slumps forward. Zoro reaches down and grabs the prince off the ground, hoisting him up and over his head. Sanji stares as Zoro throws his brother onto the ground, where he lands in a heap and does not get up.

Zoro staggers and drops to his knee. Sanji gets to his feet and hurries over to Zoro. His brothers don’t deserve to die. Sanji wouldn’t wish it on them. Maybe this time, they’ll get the picture. Sanji drapes the swordsman's arm around his shoulder and tugs him away from the fight. All three brothers are still, rain soaking into their clothes, bested. The horses have long scattered. 

Sanji scoops up the bag and tightens his grip on Zoro. He coaxes as much speed as either of them can manage. Somehow, both of them manage a running pace.  

Chapter Text

His head is spinning, but the horizon keeps him upright. Sanji focuses intently on it as the sun rises, keeping a tight hold on Zoro and listening for the sound of horses. So far, none have followed. 

Don’t follow. Please... Please just leave me be.  

They’re barely running anymore, slowing down minute by minute until they’re tripping over their feet, shivering in the rain. It runs down Sanji’s face, washing the blood from his head into his mouth. Zoro’s back is drenched, the rain washing the blood into his pants and down his arms. If Sanji's brothers catch up somehow, he knows Zoro would still fight – it's clear there’s not much fight left in Zoro's body no matter how persistent his spirit. 

Zoro coughs and trips, almost bringing them both down. Sanji hurries to stabilize him and slows to a stop. “S-sorry...” Zoro whispers. “Gimme a minute. Don’t need long...” 

Sanji shakes his head, looking around the forest for somewhere to sit down. He spots a fallen log and ushers Zoro over toward it. “No. We should rest. If they catch up, I’ll take care of it.”  

They sit down together, huddling close for warmth. Zoro is smiling wearily, keeping his arm slung around Sanji’s neck. 

“You won.” 

Sanji smiles wearily back. “I guess.” 

“You won.” Zoro says more firmly. “I saw.” 

“Only because you beat them first.” Sanji has no doubt that if his brothers hadn’t been put through Zoro first, Sanji wouldn’t have been able to win. He still lost to Ichiji, the only one who had yet to face Zoro’s wrath. If anyone deserves to claim victory, it’s Zoro. 

Zoro shakes his head, swallowing his apple. “They beat you down first.” 

Perhaps that’s true. Sanji touches his forehead, and his fingers come away stained with blood. The stitches Zeff carefully tied for him are definitely torn. The cold rain is freezing on his body, but refreshing on his overheating face. He holds Zoro tighter. 

All that matters is getting to port. Don’t follow. Give up. It can’t be worth it. But if his brothers do catch up, Sanji will fight them. 

“We should rest,” Sanji suggests. “Can you walk? If we can find shelter, I’ll start a fire and we can catch our breath.” 

Zoro tightens his grip on Sanji and starts to push bravely to his feet. “Briefly,” he rasps. 

Sanji nods in agreement, propping himself firmly under Zoro’s dragging body. Some rest will do both of them some good. He doesn’t know how far away they are from port, and they need to pace themselves to make it there if Germa is still in pursuit. Sanji glares at the sky, willing his family to just give up. Alternatively, they may be too hurt to catch up. He finds himself regretfully hoping for that option, too. 

Just a few hours of rest, and they would both be better for it. It won’t be enough, but it only has to get them to port. After that, they can rest all they need. Sanji keeps them moving forward, scanning around for a place to take shelter. 

The ground is mostly flat, but he spots a small slope and a grassy overhang that will at least partially shield them from the rain and wind. Sanji veers them towards it, feeling how heavy Zoro is in his grip and wishing they still had the horses. Sanji kicks some debris out of the way and ducks under the overhang, letting Zoro down as gently as he can but faltering himself. Zoro lands on his ass with a grunt, and Sanji plops down on his knee, wheezing an apology. He drops the bag and drags it close so Zoro can lie forward onto it. 

The meager daylight isn’t much to see by. Sanji shields his eyes from the rain and hunts for the dryest sticks he can find, rushing the small bundle back to the shelter and gathering them into a pile. It seems hopeless to try to light it. The wood is too damp, but he tries anyway. Sanji sighs and slumps in defeat, shuffling back over so they can share body heat instead. 

Falling off the horse has layered new scrapes over Zoro’s existing ones, bruises forming around the worst of them. Zoro’s clothes are scuffed with dirt and torn in places. 

“Break anything?” Sanji asks. 

Zoro shrugs. “Don’t think so.” 

If he has, it didn’t stop him from running. It didn't stop him from getting up and breaking Ichiji’s arm with raw strength alone. Sanji shivers. 

“They hurt you?” Zoro asks. 

“Nah.” The bruises on Sanji’s throat are barely noticeable compared to the incessant pounding in his head and the throb of his bruised ribs. His brothers have already done their damage. Never again. Sanji can’t even imagine what he’d do if they catch up again. Fight. Fight as hard as I can. And if he can’t win? Sanji thinks he would rather die. 

“Good,” Zoro sighs.  

Sanji lifts Zoro more off the bag and into himself, resting Zoro’s head onto his shoulder. He reaches up and rubs his fingers into the back of Zoro’s head. Zoro’s shirt is completely soaked with blood again. There’s only so much blood a person can lose before they can't go on anymore. Sanji would have set that point after the first round, nevermind the second and third. How much more can Zoro go before his body collapses and doesn’t get up again? 

Sanji reaches into the bag and rummages for food, digging out an apple and pushing it into Zoro’s hand. Zoro turns his head sideways, reaching around Sanji’s back to bite into the apple. Sanji finds some bread and eats while he looks for supplies. 

There's not much he can do about Zoro’s injuries. If they were indoors and out of the rain, with clear daylight to illuminate his work, he still doesn’t have the supplies to fix all the broken stitches. He has no thread, no needle, no clean water to wash up the blood. He can’t even make use of the medicine Zeff packed them. The best he can do is use up the bandages Zeff packed them and try to keep some of Zoro’s blood inside his body. Sanji lifts up the hem of Zoro’s shirt and works it up, pushing Zoro off him enough to lift it over Zoro’s head. Zoro groans as he’s moved, but lets Sanji do the work, continuing to eat wearily the moment Sanji eases him back against him. 

Chopper, Zoro said his doctor’s name was. Sanji tries to pick the spots where the wounds are the deepest and starts to wrap. Always mad at me, Zoro had said. Sanji hopes the doctor won’t be too mad this time. It’s not exactly Zoro’s fault. It’s mine. Sanji will make sure to let the doctor know that Zoro isn’t to blame for these injuries. 

They’re going to scar so badly. Sanji sniffs and swallows forcefully, pulling himself together. 

Zoro’s other hand drags up to pat him clumsily on the back. “Don’t worry,” Zoro mumbles around his apple. “I’ll be fine.” 

Sanji smiles sadly. “You said you had a good doctor.” 

“Yeah.” 

“He can't erase scars like these...” 

“Wouldn’t want him to.” Zoro finishes his apple and presses up closer, gently wrapping his arms around Sanji and getting comfortable. He turns his head into Sanji’s neck and breathes hotly into it as he yawns. 

What’s the point of hard work if you have nothing to show for it? Sanji pulls the bandage snug and tucks in the end, reaching for more. The bleeding seems to have stopped now. He starts on the next thickest patches, covering them in a fresh layer. Sanji’s own scars won't heal well either. The pain can’t be undone, nor the intent of his father as the wounds were dealt. Having the scars erased wouldn’t change much. 

I don’t want the Vinsmoke name, anyway.  

Sanji does what he can, covering up Zoro’s back with the supplies he has. Somewhere in the process, Zoro falls asleep. His arms remain wrapped gently around Sanji’s sore body, and he breathes deeply through his nose and mouth, snoring faintly. Sanji eats some more bread and wraps one hand around Zoro’s head, resting the other on the swordsman’s belt, safely away from his wounds. 

It’s nice to have someone to hold. If life at sea is going to be like this, he can handle it. Zoro seems to hold no resentment for what he endured. Sanji rests his head on top of Zoro’s, wondering what the rest of Zoro’s crew will think of him. 

Zoro seems confident they’ll like him, but that was before everything suddenly went very badly. Even if the rest of the crew is dismissive of Sanji, he won’t care. Even if Zoro grows distant eventually, even comes to resent him, Sanji won’t mind. 

I just can’t go back.  

He’s going to be a cook. Sanji smiles and watches the sky continue to lighten and the night recede. The grey clouds are ever persistent, but he can see a bit of blue between them. He hopes the crew won't be disappointed.  

It’s not worth worrying about right now anyway. Sanji listens to Zoro’s breathing, his own aches and pains helping to keep him awake despite his own nagging fatigue. All that matters right now is getting to port. Sanji stares at the sky and tightens his grip on Zoro, promising himself in that moment to get them there no matter what. I trust you, he resolves. And if he can trust anyone, it’s Zoro. Zoro is a man of his word. I’ll be a man of my word, too.  

If his brothers attack again, he’ll fight them with everything he’s got. Kicking Ichiji in the face gave him no pleasure, but if his brothers attack again, Sanji will hurt them. For Zoro, he’ll do it. Sanji still isn't sure what his all is , but it’s more than he ever thought himself capable. 

Sanji relaxes the muscles in his forehead and takes some deep breaths, focusing on the sights and sounds of the forest. Zoro’s breathing and heartrate have slowed to a restful pace, and the rain seems to have helped with his fever, if nothing else. If only I had the strength to carry you like you carried me. Sanji knows he’d drop the swordsman if he tried in his sorry state.  

Zoro sleeps peacefully, and Sanji watches the dull light of the sun moving overhead to keep track of how long they’ve spent resting. 

He wishes he could give Zoro more, but they have to move. Sanji gives Zoro a gentle shake. 

Zoro groans and shifts in Sanji’s arms. There are no new patches of blood seeping through the layers Sanji added, which is a good sign. There’s a good chance to bleeding will start again once they get moving, but they have to go. Sanji helps Zoro sit up and offers him a snack, pressing a hand to his forehead. Zoro’s skin is still hot with fever, but his eyes are clear and he’s moving better than a few hours ago. 

Sanji doesn’t relinquish his grip, and Zoro doesn’t pull away, keeping his arm wrapped around Sanji’s neck for stability. Standing up drains the blood from the swordsman’s face, but Sanji keeps him steady. They walk back into the cold rain, and their proximity provides some warmth. 

Neither of them has the energy to run, but they can manage a brisk walk. 

Every sound makes Sanji jump, Zoro clench his sword, and both of them to scan for danger. Even if the brothers manage to find their horses and catch up, Sanji can take them on. I’ll have to. And he’ll do it without Zoro’s help. If Zoro keeps this up, he’s going to die either from blood loss or a fatal injury because he’s too hurt to protect himself. I won’t let that happen. I won’t let them hurt you any more.  

His brothers are going to hurt themselves more if they keep up the pursuit. Please just go home. Aren’t you tired? Aren’t you hurting?  

They must be. Sanji knows that he is. The pace is manageable, but as the day stretches on, he can feel the strain on wounds he refuses to take stock of. 

“You should rest,” Zoro offers toward the end of the day. “It’s your turn. I’ll keep watch.” 

They’ve been walking almost nonstop for the whole day, and it’s still raining. He’s exhausted, and his feet hurt. Sanji nods wearily. 

The ocean can’t be far now. Sanji wishes there were some more landmarks to guess how many days there are left to go, but he can barely make out the mountain ranges through the trees and the grey clouds, and none of them stand out. 

The only place to take shelter is a tightly-packed cluster of trees. The ground is still damp, but there’s at least a little shelter. Sanji eases them both sitting, and Zoro folds his legs, patting his lap. 

“I’ll wake you,” Zoro promises. 

“Don’t give me too much,” Sanji orders, maneuvering in front of Zoro and lying down with a wince. “I’m doing fine.” 

Zoro slides his hands under Sanji’s back and head, helping to lowering him comfortably down. Sanji rests his head in Zoro’s lap and looks up. 

Zoro cups Sanji’s face and smiles at him. He looks so tired and worn down, but his eyes are bright with undying strength. “Just go to sleep, okay? I’ll keep an eye out.” 

Sanji hasn’t slept since leaving Zeff’s house. He shuts his eyes, and it instantly relieves the pressure on his eyes. His head is comfortably nestled in Zoro’s lap, cushioning his bruised skull. It’s almost too comfortable. Sanji’s body is already leaden and drifting off to sleep. Lying out here in the middle of woods in a rainstorm is more comfortable than his bed in the castle has ever been. Sanji drifts easily off to sleep, Zoro’s thumbs rubbing gently to remind him that the helmet is gone, and he’s free. He doesn’t dream. 

It feels like his eyes have only been closed for a moment, but when Zoro shakes him awake, it’s dawn. 

The ground is trembling faintly. Sanji grips his head, and Zoro helps him sit up. They look at each other, and Zoro’s expression is grim. 

Sanji shrugs the bag onto his shoulders and helps Zoro to his feet. The air smells of salt. Sanji wraps Zoro’s arm around his neck once again, and they both start to run. 

The rain eases gradually. Sanji is already out of breath, but he locks eyes on the faint blue of morning. The air wafting from in front is warmer, and the trees are starting to thin. Sanji focuses straight ahead, forgetting the aches of his body as a surge of determination renews his strength. 

They're almost there. The rumbling is getting closer, but it sounds like much more than three horses. Sanji looks back just in case, but can't make out anything through the trees. 

Zoro slings his arm off of Sanji’s shoulder so he can run a bit faster. Sanji lets Zoro set the pace and keeps up, holding on tight to the backpack. 

The storm breaks as the trees continue to thin. The last rays of autumn warmth shine down through parting white clouds. They burst out of the forest into a bright morning, and stare down the valley. Nestled at the bottom is the small portside town, boats of every size moored in the harbor. Beyond, the sea stretches into infinity, the morning sun blazing brightly off the waves. They come to a halt at the top of the slope, and Sanji stares in awe. 

Zoro shields his eyes and squints into the sun at the ships. “They’re here.” He points. Sanji follows Zoro’s finger, but with the sun in his eyes, it's hard to figure out which ship Zoro is pointing at. 

It doesn’t matter. Sanji stares down the grassy green slope covered in the last blooming flowers of the season. It’s a long way down, and there’s no cover on either side. The slope is long and wide, and the rumbling is getting closer. There’s only one thing that could make that sort of noise, and Sanji dreads the inevitability of it. He looks behind them, and over the trees, he can still just make out the faint outline of Germa’s tallest tower. 

They're coming. He’s coming, and he’s not going to stop.  

Zoro grabs his hand and tugs it, breaking him out of his trance. They leave the forest behind, stepping over the slope and gaining speed again. 

It’s hard to run on this incline, but at least the grass is dry. The added impact of running downhill is hurting both of them, but they’re so close that neither of them have time to care. Sanji hangs on tight to Zoro’s hand, aiming straight for the little town and shielding his eyes from the sun. 

The rumbling is only getting louder. The ground is trembling so badly that Sanji almost trips. They slow their pace and turn around, stumbling down the slope as they stare back up at the wide ridge stretching above them. Sanji clenches Zoro’s hand and stares wide-eyed as the sound of hundreds of hoofbeats approach. 

No.  

The Germa army is arriving. Sanji watches in horror as the horses start to appear along the ridge. Zoro tugs on his hand urgently, and Sanji follows, craning his neck to watch. 

The horses have no riders. They spill over the ridge and thunder into the valley. It gives Sanji no relief – the wild herd is thundering towards them, and over the rumbling he can make out the clash of steel as the army chases the horses into the valley. 

They’re going to be trampled to death. Sanji turns around urgently and starts to run again, instantly spotting a small rock jutting out from the hillside. It’s not much, but it’ll keep them from being crushed. Sanji tugs Zoro in its direction, glancing over his shoulder at the approaching herd. 

The wild herd gallops frantically into the valley toward them in a wave. Sanji runs faster than his body should be able to handle, keeping a tight grip on Zoro’s hand. He can feel them getting closer, shaking the ground beneath his feet. Zoro almost trips, but Sanji grabs him by the arm and yanks him close, throwing both of them behind the small rock. Sanji throws Zoro behind it, and the swordsman tumbles to the ground. Sanji scrambles after him as the first horse bumps into him. He helps Zoro back to his feet and holds on. 

Grass and dirt fly up as the horses leap over the rock and divert around it, spilling past them and down the valley, obscuring the grass completely. Sanji clutches Zoro tightly, risking a glance around their hiding spot to the top of the ridge. 

A flagpole rises into view, the Germa flag flapping in the wind as the riders approach. The spears of the front row of riders appear, followed shortly by the Germa horses and their soldiers. At the front of the herd, Sanji instantly picks out his brothers and father. 

The royal family comes to a stop at the top of the ridge, and the rest of the army flows past them, chasing the herd into the valley and approaching rapidly. 

If they try to run, they’ll be trampled. Sanji ducks back behind the rock, hanging on tight to Zoro. If they wait, the soldiers will catch them. Sanji knows which option he prefers. 

Fight.  

He’s not going back. His father can continue to pour out resources, but he's not going back. Sanji stares out at the herd racing down the valley, and pulls away from Zoro. He walks to the edge of the small space the rock provides them. 

“ Rose! ” Sanji screams. There are so many horses, so much clanging armor that he can hardly hear himself. “ ROSE! ” He screams so hard it hurts and his voice cracks, screams again, searching the herd for her and hoping she hasn’t already passed, that she’s still with the herd, begging — 

There she is. He could pick her out from any crowd. The moment she comes into view, he sees her, fighting her way through the stampede to get to him, tossing her head above the rest. Sanji stretches out his hands for her. The sun catches her coat as she breaks through the herd, nudged between the other horses passing by. She looks better than ever, her coat shining in the sun, urgently pawing at the grass and snorting as she catches her breath. 

She bends her nose to greet him, drawn to his bleeding forehead. Sanji wishes he could greet her properly, but there’s no time – the soldiers are almost upon them. Sanji kisses Rose’s nose and pulls Zoro closer, wiping away his tears. 

Rose drops her back legs. Clever girl. Sanji leaps onto her back and hauls Zoro up after him. He barely has time to shuffle forward to make more space before Rose lifts back up and throws Zoro into him. Rose launches straight into a gallop, bursting away from the overhang and diving straight back into the stampede. Sanji leans forward and wraps Zoro’s arm around his waist, hanging on tight as Rose hits full speed almost instantly. He glances back at the soldiers gaining – they aren’t gaining anymore. 

Rose churns up the ground with the eagerness he knows her for, gaining on the other horses as she cuts her way between them. Sanji watches as she overtakes them, feeling her muscles pumping beneath him with all her strength. 

The herd bends away from the town, diverting around it toward the sandy beach stretching along the coastline. Sanji nudges Rose’s flank with his foot, and she turns toward the town, fighting the current. 

It slows her down somewhat. Sanji looks back at the army pursuing them, drawing their weapons and some loading up bows. Zoro is looking back too, sweat dripping down his face but his sword already partially drawn. 

Rose breaks free of the herd and leaps onto the main road leading into the town. People just starting to wake up lunge out of the way as she thunders into the streets. 

Zoro’s sword slides from the sheathe, and the swordsman yells something unintelligible as he raises his sword into the air. The blade catches the sun. Sanji looks ahead and sees it. 

There’s a ship pulling away from the docks, sails still furled but the pirate flag flying free. It looks like some sort of straw hat drawn on a skull and crossbones, flapping in a gentle breeze. 

It's happening.

People scatter, abandoning boxes of goods as Rose approaches at a deadly pace. She doesn’t slow down even a little, leaping over the boxes and landing with a brain-rattling thump. Her hooves throw up clouds of dust as she tears through the streets. Sanji looks back as the soldiers funnel into the city streets and pursue, bows drawn. There isn’t much room to aim. They get only a brief moment with direct line of sight, firing off a round. Zoro twists in the saddle and swipes his sword with so much speed and force that the arrows never reach them. Zoro lowers his sword but holds it ready at his side, lowering his body as they approach an intersection. 

Rose slides in the dirt as she takes the hard corner and carries on down the street, nimbly avoiding obstacles while the soldiers just plow through anything in their way. Sanji guides her toward port, but she doesn’t need much instruction. 

The ship pulls up alongside the docks that run parallel to the shore. People are climbing in the rigging to loosen the ropes, more on the main deck talking urgently to each other. Someone throws a rope ladder over the side in preparation. Rose turns down one last street and onto the docks, her hooves thumping from dirt to wooden planks. 

Fishermen jump out of the way, diving into boats or up the banks where the dock is anchored. Zoro sheathes his sword and loosens his grip on Sanji’s waist. The ship runs up alongside them, gaining speed as the first sail unfurls and catches the wind. Hooves thump behind them as soldiers follow them down the dock. 

Rose is sure-footed despite the water-soaked planks. Zoro sits loose in the saddle. Sanji veers Rose as close to the edge of the docks as he can. 

“ Jump! ” Sanji yells, and Zoro doesn’t hesitate, throwing himself out of the saddle toward the ship, grabbing the rope ladder on the side. People quickly reach down to pull him up. 

In an instant, the hands extend for him next. The dock is running out. Sanji shrugs off his backpack and throws it as hard as he can, managing to land it over the railing. Rose matches pace with the ship and holds steady for him as he lifts off her back. 

Sanji throws himself off with all his strength, managing to grab the rope ladder. His body smacks into the hull and tugs on his arms so hard he loses his grip. 

Many pairs of hands grab onto him before he can fall, hauling him over the side and onto the deck.  

People are shouting from every direction. Sanji pulls away from the hands that helped him and staggers to the railing just in time to watch as Rose leaps off the end of the dock and lands safely in the water. The soldiers come to a stop on the deck. A few arrows fly loose, but the ship is already steering away from the dock and aiming for the open ocean. The arrows bounce off and plop into the ocean. 

Sanji stumbles against the railing, his balance offset by injuries, fatigue, and the sway of the ship. But he follows the railing, running alongside it to keep up as Rose swims to shore and climbs out, shaking water from her fur. She looks back, and he smiles. 

She looks so beautiful. Rose tosses her mane and starts to run along the shoreline, picking up pace as she gallops to rejoin with the herd. The ship is speeding up too as the wind catches the sail. The land bends away from them, and the ship is turning toward the open ocean. Goodbye. For good this time.  

He can still hear shouting from the docks. He can hear his father’s booming voice as it carries down the valley. He forcefully ignores it. Sanji turns away from the shore and clambers up a couple of short steps to reach the upper deck, stumbling toward the bow. He can hear the clanging of weapons and the snort of horses, even the yell of men. Already, the sounds of lapping waves and flapping canvas are blocking out the sounds. The second sail drops, rustling even closer to his ears and muffling everything else behind it. 

Ocean spray flies off the hull as the ship breaks through the gentle harbor waves. Sanji rushes as far front as he can, refusing to look behind him. 

There’s nothing to see back there. 

People are calling out to him, but Sanji ignores them. His muscles are screaming for rest and his head is spinning so badly he feels like he’s about to collapse, but he pushes forward, climbing onto the figurehead. The wind smacks into the hull, strong enough to hold him up as he leans into it. Sanji leans far enough that the railings are no longer visible in his peripheral vision. 

The land formations fade away. Even the clouds are dissipating, leaving nothing but the blue sea and the blue sky stretching in every direction before him, meeting in the middle. Sanji throws out his arms and lets the wind hold him up, listening to the splash of waves and the roar of wind in his ears as the ship cuts through the ocean. 

The wind is cold, but the direct sunlight warms him. There are no trees, no mountains, no towns, no castles. It’s just as Zeff described: top to bottom, left to right, as far as the eye can see, it’s all blue. 

Chapter Text

Water sloshes against the hull by his left ear, his body rocking gently. Sanji lets himself drift peacefully awake. His lips taste of citrus. 

Someone is murmuring and shuffling about somewhere to his right. Sanji cracks open his eyes, blinking away the sleep. The room is dimly lit, aside from a bright streak of sunlight streaming through a porthole, lighting the wood where it touches golden. The room is cool, but layers of blankets keep him warm. 

It’s been a long time since he felt this well-rested, despite the lingering soreness in his muscles and the ache of his accumulated injuries when he tries to move. Sanji goes still again and enjoys the rocking of the boat. The bed is positioned it the corner of the room, his body comfortably propped up. And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, there’s no need to get up straight away. 

We made it.  

A loud snore rips out from his right. Sanji turns his head on the pillow and immediately spots Zoro, smiling at his companion. 

Zoro is on his stomach, face turned on the pillow to face Sanji, deeply asleep and snoring through his open mouth. The blankets are drawn to his shoulders, clean bandages covering his back and the deepest scrapes on his arms. Despite the toll those injuries have taken, Zoro looks like he could yawn and groan and roll out of bed at any moment, grab his sword propped against the wall within reach, and jump into a fight. 

You don’t have to. You got me here. You can rest – we both can.   

A familiar yellow hat catches his attention. Sanji looks down at the figure draped over Zoro’s legs, face obscured by the straw hat, snoring softly into Zoro’s blanketed thigh. It’s the same straw hat from the flag. 

Captain. My captain.  

The captain is going to be upset when he finds out that his beloved Zoro got hurt because of Sanji. 

No. Sanji chastises himself. I haven’t even met them yet. Nor have they met him. What if they hate him? For what he brought on Zoro, they should. He kept their friend away from them, got him hurt, almost got him killed. Sanji grits his teeth, but it hurts his head so he forces his face to relax. He takes some slow, deep breaths. 

Another occupant is still shuffling around across from Zoro’s bed. Sanji squints across the room at the large man in a big white coat hunched over open books and jars of herbs, writing notes as he mixes them. The man turns away from his work and walks over to Zoro’s bed, reaching over to feel Zoro’s cheek for a temperature. A pair of round glasses make his brown eyes look especially large, giving him an amenable appearance despite his towering height and muscular body. His big hands maneuver Zoro with care and concern, lifting the blankets to inspect the bandages down his back, then laying an ear against Zoro’s upper back to listen to his heart. 

Sanji rubs his eyes, wondering how long he’s been in bed. His muscles strain when he tries to push himself sitting, and the change in elevation makes his head spin. Sanji sighs and lies back down. 

The doctor perks up at the sound of motion and catches Sanji’s gaze. His eyes go wide and he squeaks, ducking behind Zoro as a shield and peering over the swordsman’s shoulders. Sanji jumps too, and the straw hat lifts up as the captain snorts himself awake. 

The lanky kid yawns loudly, stretching and adjusting his hat. He peers across the room and notices Sanji’s open eyes. He grins and clambers off Zoro’s legs, galloping over to the other bed. Sanji scrambles backwards and draws up the blanket as the captain perches on the chair by the bed and leans over to inspect him. 

“Hey, you’re awake!” the kid exclaims. “Chopper! Can I show him around already?” 

Chopper straightens up. “ N-no! ” he scrambles around Zoro and pounces on the captain, swatting him on the head. “He just woke up!” 

“Aw.” The Captain pouts and readjusts his hat. 

Chopper picks up the captain by the back of his shirt and lifts him out of the chair. “Go find Robin and ask her to bring down some food. And no yelling!”   

Sanji winces and lets go of the blankets to clutch his head. The kid’s sandals flap as he scampers off and runs up the steps to the upper deck. 

“ Rooooobiiiiin! ” He calls excitedly as his footsteps patter over their heads.  

Chopped sighs and shakes his head, sitting down in the chair. He reaches over and pours what looks like cloudy water into a cup from a jug, handing it over. 

Sanji takes the cup and sips, wetting his lips and frowning at the contents. It’s refreshing, but it has a strange taste he can’t pinpoint. 

“It’s coconut water,” Chopper explains. “It’s good for you!” 

Sanji tries to remember if he’s ever eaten a coconut before. Nonetheless, the water tastes good. 

“How are you feeling?” Chopper asks with a kind smile. 

Sanji can’t even begin explaining how he feels to the doctor. “I’m fine,” he mumbles around the cup.  

“Hpm.” Chopper pouts. “You’re as bad as Zoro!” 

Sanji splutters a nervous laugh into his cup. That's as good a complement as anyone could hope for. He wipes his mouth on his hand and smiles. “Sorry.” 

That seems to appease the doctor a little. Chopper’s adorable frown wavers. “Are you in pain?” he asks. 

“A little.” Sanji admits. 

“I’ll make you something to help when you’ve eaten,” Chopper offers, his pout entirely dissolving and quickly becoming a smile again. “Sorry about Luffy, he’s been excited. You’ve been asleep for a couple of days. You must be hungry!” 

Sanji nods and holds out the cup for Chopper to refill. He hasn't eaten a proper meal since the farmhouse. Zeff... He really hopes the old man got out okay. The only thing that could make everything even better is if the cook were here to see him safe and free. 

“We sailed for a while to get away from those people chasing you, but we docked so you can rest.” Chopper beams. “We’ll leave when you feel better.” 

Sanji is tempted to insist that nobody wait on his behalf, but it’s not just about him; he looks past Chopper at Zoro’s sleeping face. “Is Zoro gonna be okay?” he asks quietly. 

Chopper glances back. “He’ll be fine,” the doctor reassures. “Don’t worry, okay? He lost a lot of blood, but now that his wounds have a chance to heal, he’ll be back on his feet in no time.” 

Sanji believes it. 

“You need to get lots of rest, too,” Chopper insists. “It’s the best medicine you can get right now.” 

Sanji won’t argue with that. He already feels better since waking up, and he hopes to heal quickly so he can get to work and the crew can set sail again. He hopes he isn’t holding them up from more important things. 

Footsteps scamper about on the deck, accompanied by a more measured set. Shadows appear at the top of the staircase as a woman descends from the upper deck, Luffy on her heels. Sanji readjusts himself in bed to sit against the pillows, pulling up the blankets over his brightly bruised chest. 

A gorgeous woman descends the steps, a plate of food balanced in one hand as the other trails down the railing, a soft smile on her face as Luffy scampers ahead. She’s tall like Reiju. Robin fondly brushes her fingers on Zoro’s ankle as she passes by. Luffy hops onto the back of the chair and perches on Chopper’s shoulder, and Robin comes up beside the doctor. Zoro continues to snore. 

Robin hands Sanji the plate with a warm smile. “Good morning, Mr. Cook. It’s good to see you awake.” 

He wonders what Zoro told them about him in his letters. Sanji shyly takes the plate and looks down at the arrangement of bread, fresh sliced fruit, and crab legs. It looks delicious. He picks up a slice of pineapple and takes a bite. It’s sweet with an acidic undertone that bites his tongue. Exotic fruits were imported to the castle once a year when the merchants delivered them inland from port, pineapples a common commodity. The crab is good too, cooked simply in butter and light herbs. 

“Leftovers from our trip back from the equator,” Robin explains. “But the crab is fresh.” 

“Is there any left?” Luffy asks, eying Sanji’s plate. 

“Why don't you go help Franky and Long-Nose catch some more?” Robin suggests. “See if you can catch some red snapper for dinner.” 

“Okay!” Luffy climbs over Chopper’s shoulder and into his lap, bouncing onto the bed and around the chair to the floor, scampering off again. Sanji watches him go, licking pineapple juice from his finger. 

Robin sits on the edge of the bed and smiles. “Don't mind our captain,” she says. “He’ll calm down a little. He’s just excited to have Mr. Swordsman home, and to meet our new crew member.” 

It’s too much excitement to live up to. “Sorry.” Sanji croaks. 

Robin’s smile is so calm and reassuring. “Not to worry, Mr. Cook. Our captain is quite a handful, but you’ll get used to him.” 

Will I? He’s staying. Nobody has contested that, and he hasn’t even cooked them anything yet. How could they be that brash? Unless they simply trust Zoro that much. Which they shouldn’t, at least not for stuff like this. A man who doesn’t know his directions shouldn’t be trusted in matters such as recommending crew members. 

“Ah, are you sick?” Chopper asks, frantically filling up the cup again. “I told Luffy to be quiet!” 

Sanji quickly corrects his distant expression and shakes his head. “It’s okay, Doctor.” He takes the cup and drinks anyway. Chopper hangs close with fretting hands as if Sanji could collapse at any second. 

Robin chuckles. “Why don’t I take you for a little tour, Mr. Cook,” she suggests. “Would that be alright, Doctor? I think some fresh air would do him good.” 

“Hmmmm...” Chopper strains, frowning deeply. “Okay! But you have to take it easy, okay? Sit down if you feel nauseous! And don't walk too fast! And don’t move if it hurts!” 

“I think he’ll be alright,” Robin reassures, offering her hands for Sanji’s plate. “Do you feel up to it, Mr. Cook? It’s a lovely day.” 

Sanji slides the last scoop of crab into his mouth and looks over at Zoro. The swordsman isn’t about to drop dead any time soon, sleeping peacefully through the commotion with no sign at all of waking. Despite everything, he looks content. Light sleeper my ass...   

As much as he wants Zoro to be with him, Robin is right that a walk in the sunshine would feel good. He hands her his plate. Chopper seems hesitant, but he unfolds a clean shirt. Robin politely turns away, and Sanji drops the blanket. 

He dresses, wincing at the tug on his muscles and bruised ribs. Chopper helps him out of bed, standing to his full height. He keeps a supportive grip as Sanji gets to his feet, and the dizziness clears. 

The gentle sway of the boat under him is strange. Sanji finds his balance, ruffling his hair and stretching his legs while the doctor still has hold of him. His joints pop and his bandaged ankle is still sore enough to induce a limp, but the wound feels much better. 

“Here,” Chopper pulls away once he's steady and rushes to his workbench, scooping up a concoction in a cup and rushing back. He tips it into Sanji’s coconut water and swirls the cup, mixing the green pulp into the cloudy water. “Drink this!” he insists. “It’ll help with the pain.” 

The pain’s not so bad. Sanji has certainly endured worse. He resists the urge to itch at his forehead and downs the rest of the water. 

Chopper beams down at him proudly. “Ask me if you need something, okay? Pain, nausea, fatigue, I can help!” 

Sanji can’t help but be charmed by the doctor’s round cheeks and bright smile. He should be alright now, but it would be a shame to let the doctor down. “Thanks,” he replies sincerely. 

Chopper looks like he might explode with happiness. Robin waits patiently, and Sanji turns after her, walking cautiously and reaching for the railing to steady himself. He pauses on the steps and looks back at Zoro. 

Wake up soon. Not too soon, though... You need your rest more than I do. Zoro never stopped. The only thing that brought him down were the limits of the body, and even those were stretched beyond what Sanji thought possible. The crew is obviously concerned about him, missed him, but they don’t seem shocked. Sanji remembers the giant scar across Zoro’s chest, the disparate tale of how it was dealt, of how his crew helped him get back on his feet. 

Robin leads him up the steps and into the bright morning sunshine, maintaining a leisurely pace that he can match. They shield their eyes, and Sanji stares up at the sun. Summer is over, but the air is warmer here than the port they left from. Sanji steps onto the deck and stares up at the masts and rigging swaying gently against the clouds, trees rustling across the island they’ve anchored at. 

A pigeon flies out of the forest and into the rigging, landing on the mast and hopping a few inches sideways to the nest built in the shade against the crow’s nest. Herbert leans over the nest and offers his lady pigeon the berries in his beak. Sanji smiles and watches them huddle together inside their nest, preening each other happily. So that’s where you got to...  

I need to write to Reiju.   

It can wait. He knows she’s alright. He just hopes that his father won’t write to her that Sanji is dead. I should write.   

Robin is waiting for him by the railing. Sanji looks around the deck as he walks over, taking in the supplies neatly stored and tied down. The skull and cross-bones ripples proudly over their heads. It’s a strange flag. Sanji isn’t sure what it's supposed to invoke. The captain in the straw hat depicted certainly doesn't invoke fear. Germa is too far inland for pirates to be a concern, and certainly no threat for the mighty nation, so Sanji isn’t sure what to expect. 

“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it.” Robin’s smile is unassuming. “We are pirates, if you were wondering. We’re an odd group, I grant you.” 

Sanji smiles. Zeff is a pirate. So is Zoro. He’s never felt safer than with them. He walks up to the railing beside Robin and leans over, staring down into the clear blue water. 

The water is deep, but so clear he can see to the bottom. The waves lap at the hull, schools of tiny fish darting in the shadow of the railing. Sanji stares into the water at the bigger fish swimming along the rocks on the bottom, their scales shimmering as the waves shimmer and cast light in a silky pattern. Something strange and spider-like catches his eye, only because it starts to move, scuttling sideways. Sanji leans over further and stares as it climbs over the rocks and snips its pincers at passing fish. 

“That’s a crab,” Robin remarks, sliding closer. “It’s what I cooked for you earlier. They’re a common kind of crab in this area.” 

Sanji watches it move, intrigued by its sideways scuttle toward the ship. Amazingly, it starts to swim, managing to lift itself off the bottom and propel through the calm waters. Sanji watches it latch onto the seaweed growing on the bottom of the hull, its front legs briefly breaking the surface as the ship rocks. Its eye stalks retract, small bubbles forming from its mouth. 

“How do you catch it?” Sanji asks. “Doesn’t it pinch?” 

“With a crab pot,” Robin explains. “It’s a wire cage with bait left on the bottom. There are some tied off the stern. I’ll make sure Usopp comes to get you when he pulls them up so you can see. If you hold the crabs by the shell, they can’t pinch you.” 

“What’s that?” Sanji points into the water, wishing they were closer so he could indicate the object of interest. “The... goopy thing.” It’s purple, bulbous, clinging to the rocks. It has a round opening, tendrils coming out of it. 

“That’s a sea anemone.” 

“What’s that?” 

“One of the stranger creatures,” Robin says. “They catch small fish that swim by and get stuck in their tentacles, drawing it into their mouth to slowly consume.” 

Horrid, but fascinating. Sanji watches it sway. The more he looks, the more of them he sees. The longer he stares, the more things he can see moving down there. There are little crabs, crabs smaller than his palm. There are long fish that ripple, seeming to hover in the water before darting away to linger somewhere else. There are small bug things darting on the surface and swimming near the bottom, taking shelter in the algae from the little fish hunting them. Small shells are scuttling along the bottom, too. 

“What’s that!” Sanji points at the pale blobby creature floating near the boat. It’s body ripples, a couple of small tentacles trailing behind it and its body contracting strangely. It seems to have no eyes, no fins, no mouth. 

“That’s a jellyfish,” Robin chuckles. “One of the oddest creatures to find this close to the surface. It has no brain that I can tell. Some sting with their tentacles. This kind is quite common near harbors and shorelines. Aren’t they strange?” 

Sanji nods. She’s so much more knowledgeable than Zoro. He can only dread to imagine what insights Zoro could offer. He almost wants to ask Robin is swordfish are really real, just to make sure Zoro didn't dream it in a state of severe blood loss. 

“It is magnificent, isn’t it.” Robin gazes into the water with him. “Perhaps the boys can catch you a hermit crab.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Those little shells down there.” She points at an especially large one. “Little crabs crawl inside those shells and live inside them. They’re rather cute to have crawling on your hand.” 

Sanji wants to plunge over the side and dive straight to the bottom to explore. He looks up to shore where some of the crew members are fishing, Luffy included and two others who must be Usopp and Franky. They’re managing an array of fishing rods, reeling and casting to tempt the larger fish lurking where the beach slopes rapidly downward. Sanji looks into the shadows, wondering what sorts of creatures are swimming down there. 

Luffy looks up and spots them, waving with a wide grin and shouting something. The others look up and wave too, and Sanji waves timidly back. 

Robin hums. “They’ve been eager to meet you,” she says. “Perhaps a bit too eager. Mr. Swordsman spoke well of you, brief as he was.” 

Sanji flushes. “Really?” He tries to imagine what Zoro could have possibly said about him. 

“Indeed.” She stares into the water. 

“He spoke well of your guys, too.” Sanji smiles fondly. Their time in the forest together feels like forever ago now. “He really seemed like he missed you.” 

“I’m glad he had good company.” 

Sanji looks her in the eyes, and he can tell that she means it. He has no idea how she could. What could she possibly know? Is Zoro’s word simply that respected? She doesn’t know who he is, what he is, what he’s not , what he’s done – 

“Would you like to see the kitchen?” Robin suggests. “Just to get your bearings. The space will be yours when you feel up to it. Until then, the rest of us will help.” 

Sanji lifts away from the railing. He supposes he should prove himself sooner rather than later. “Okay.” 

“Don’t worry, you’ll have time to get used to everything,” Robin reassures, turning from the railing to lead him across the deck toward the staircase. “We’ll teach you how to sail when you’ve rested. We’ve already plotted a course over calm waters near land to give you lots of time to learn and get used to everything. It must all be very new.” 

Time? He lurches to insist that he’s a fast learner, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. In twenty years, the only lesson he ever learned is that he’s going to fall short of expectations. “I can’t sail,” he says, shaking his head almost instantly. “I mean... I don’t know how. I’m not...” I’m not that strong. I’m not like Zoro. “I’ll do what I’m told, but I...” 

Robin pauses on the steps and looks back at him. He half expects her to scold him, but she’s as calm as ever. “One thing at a time, Mr. Cook,” she reassures. “We all help each other on this ship, and we do our part. Worry about recovering first. Everything else can follow.” 

Sanji swallows roughly. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to explain it to himself, let alone to a stranger. Fortunately, she doesn’t ask, continuing to lead him up the steps to the second deck. Sanji follows, staring out across the waters that spread toward other nearby islands. The farther he rises, the more he can see. Sanji stops at the top and turns. The entire horizon is unfamiliar; the Germa towers are nowhere to be seen. 

It’s over.   

No more training with his brothers every morning. No more hiding in the castle when Father takes his rage out on his brothers and they come looking for an outlet. No more sword fighting, no more of his father’s coldness or his brothers’ scorn. 

Germa doesn’t have any ships. The best they could do is send an ally near the coast to chase them. They’ll cut their losses, he hopes, return to the castle to lick their wounds. After all, wasn’t it his father’s wish to get rid of him? I’m gone, now. Leave me alone, and you’ll never hear of me again. Take that as a victory. You got what you wanted.   

The crow’s nest is a kinder sight than the reaching spires. The constant creak and sway of the boat underfoot is going to take some getting used to, but already he feels steadier.  

Sanji follows Robin across the deck. She leads him past some cabin doors, waving through the window as she passes by. “The captain’s quarters,” she explains. “Nami and I sleep here. The boys’ room is across the deck, when Chopper is happy to let you move there.” 

Sanji glances in at the other woman as they walk past the door toward the kitchen. She's drawing on a large spread of paper that looks like a map, long orange hair cascading down her shoulders. She looks up as they pass and waves back. 

“That’s almost everyone,” Robin explains, pushing open the door to the kitchen. “Brook is probably playing his violin in the boys’ quarters, and Jimbe must be out swimming, but you’ll meet everyone eventually.” She gestures inside. 

Sanji steps past her and crosses the threshold, walking cautiously into the room. It’s larger and more open than Zeff’s kitchen, most of the supplies stored out of sight, and a long table on one side where the crew must eat. His backpack is waiting for him on the countertop, undisturbed. Sanji strides over to it and flips open the flap. He peers inside at his meager belongings. The gifts Zeff gave him are safe inside. Sanji picks up the notebook and inspects it for water damage, but the pages are still intact.  

“Shall I leave you be for a while?” Robin suggests. “I’m sure it’s a lot to take in.” 

She’s been kind enough to show him around. He wishes he could offer her something to eat, but he doesn't even know what foods are stored here. “Thank you.” It’ll have to do. “I just need a minute.” 

She smiles understandingly. “Of course,” she says. “Take your time. Explore and rearrange things as you please. The space is yours.” 

“But-” 

“Captain's orders.” she winks and turns away, shutting the door behind her. 

Sanji lets out a sigh. “- I haven’t even cooked anything yet.” 

They seem not to care. Sanji puts his backpack on the floor and takes out Zeff’s gifts. The earrings, too are still inside. Sanji pops open the lid to admire them again. Perhaps he’ll be lucky enough to find a pearl someday. 

I really need to write to you. Sanji puts the earrings in his pocket and tucks the book under his arm. He rests his fingers on the counter and feels along the edge of the smooth carved wood. What would he even tell his sister? You know that wedding Father said he arranged...? What would Reiju say if he told her? Sanji isn’t sure if he could manage writing it all if he tried to explain what happened after she left. It’s difficult even to walk himself through the events. Some of them blur together, but others are sickly vivid. 

The smell of the ocean is strong enough to wash away the memory of acrid blood. Sanji traces the countertop all the way around and walks between it and the workspace against the wall. The furnace is connected to ducts made of metal sheets bents into cylinders that lead outside, or back into the room if a handle is turned. It’s an ingenious contraption, built by a skilled craftsman. The metal has been rolled more smoothly and evenly than any armor plating Sanji has ever seen. 

The cupboard doors are carved with rams’ heads. Sanji traces their curved horns, admiring the artistry. He opens the cupboards to explore their contents. The crew keeps it organized, at least. He explores their pots and pans, an odd assortment that appears to have been added to over time. The other hardware is similarly assorted, the plates a mismatch of craftsmanship and design, some painted plainly, others more intricately decorated with distinct cultural artworks. The cups are a mix of brass and clay, many dented or chipped. Everything is maintained, taken care of but well-used by the crew. Sanji spots a couple of larger tankards near the back and smiles, imagining Zoro drinking some foul liquor out of them. 

Many tools Zeff has in his collection are here, aside from a couple of rarer ones. Sanji makes a mental note to write himself a list of equipment to look for if he gets a chance in the future. 

Amidst the supplies is a small collection of books. Most are recipe books from places the crew must have visited. Sanji flips through curiously, noting many fish recipes, and a few pages explaining cooking and preparing techniques for certain ingredients. The last book is more worn than the rest. Sanji flips it open and reads through the supply log the crew has been keeping, documenting what was purchased at each stop, for what price, and in what quantity. On land it was easy enough to stock the inn, even during droughts, but out at sea it’s going to be much harder to plan. Sanji is certain he’ll have lots to learn. He tucks the book away. 

He hasn’t cooked a proper meal in ages. Sanji opens the last few closets and looks through the spice racks, barrels of cured meats, and stocks of vegetables. He finds flour, sugar, oats, and plenty of rice, all stored in sacks and kept off the floor to protect from any rats that may sneak their way on board. The grains of rice are short like what Zoro cooked for him in the mountains. 

The rice you saved for me... I never did make you those rice balls, did I. A promise is a promise. And after the lengths Zoro went to keep his own, it's the least Sanji can do. 

The furnace is full of charred wood left-over from the last meal cooked. Sanji finds the pile in the pantry and slides a small fresh piece inside, lighting the fire. He scoops fresh water from a storage barrel into a pot and leaves it on the hot plate to boil while he hunts for some supplies. It’s not a recipe he would expect to find in Zeff’s book. Sanji flips through the recipe books in the cabinet, but there’s no recipe there, either. Not a problem. Sanji already has the general idea from his previous attempts, it's just a matter of cooking the rice so it forms a ball shape.  

Sunlight streaks in through the windows, lighting the kitchen in a homey light. Sanji forgets his aches and pours rice into the hot water, digging around for more supplies while it cooks. He manages to find soy sauce, sesame seeds, and some chili flakes, and to his surprise, sheets of dried seaweed. Sanji tears off a corner to taste. The seaweed melts on his tongue, releasing a fresh salty flavor. 

“Hey Cook!” 

Sanji whirls around to see Luffy entering the kitchen with fish in-hand, dangling from their lines. He scampers over to Sanji and leans over his shoulder excitedly. 

“What you making? It looks good.” 

It’s not anything at the moment, but Luffy is drooling at the seaweed sheets in his hand. Sanji slides one off the top and feeds it into his captain’s mouth. Luffy chomps happily. “Rice balls,” Sanji explains. 

“Zoro’s favorite!” Luffy exclaims, grinning widely and showing off the green bits stuck to his teeth. “Zoro loves rice balls. I bet he missed eating them. He was gone for so long.” 

Sanji can’t help but smile with endearment at how happy Luffy looks to have his friend home. His smile starts to fall. “Captain...” 

“You brought my Zoro home,” Luffy beams. 

“I-” I nearly got him killed.   

Before he can elaborate, Luffy wraps his lanky arms around him and hugs tight. Sanji groans as the kid squeezes him around his bruised ribs, but allows it. 

“Will you cook me meat?” Luffy asks, pulling away and staring hopefully up at Sanji with big wanting eyes.  

What a strange man to call captain... But all of the crew so far have. There is no doubt amongst them. “If you find me some meat, I’ll cook it for you,” Sanji promises. “Do you like roast fish?” 

Luffy is already drooling. “Yeah.” 

Sanji holds out his hand. “Okay. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll cook these for you.” 

Luffy whoops and thrusts out the fish so Sanji can take the lines. “Can I watch?” 

“I suppose...” Sanji holds up the fish and picks a small one, setting it aside for Zoro’s rice balls and laying down the rest to process. He moves around Luffy and picks a knife from the set Zeff gave him, flipping it in his hand and rubbing his thumb against the blade to test its sharpness. Of course, it's pristine. Sanji puts another pan on the hotplate and starts to remove the scales. 

Luffy perches on the other side of the counter to watch, staring up from under his hat as Sanji expertly handles the fish and tries not to think too hard about his audience. 

The fish are about as long as his forearm, perfect for an early crew lunch if the captain feels like sharing. Sanji guts the fish and finds onions in the pantry, cutting them into thick rings and stuffing the fish. He slices lemons and does the same, finishing with a sprinkling of salt. He lays the fish whole into the pan to cook, laying a lid over to top to steam the flesh while the skin cooks crispy. Meanwhile, the rice is almost done, having tripled in size in the pot. Sanji digs around in the cutlery and finds a pair of chopsticks. He gives the rice a stir. 

Sanji smiles. The texture is damn near perfect. He adjusts the chopsticks in his fingers like Zoro showed him and scoops up a mouthful to taste. It’s almost exactly the way Zoro prepared it for him, and certainly a jump up from his own previous attempts. The rice is soft, but perfectly sticky. 

The fish cook quickly. Sanji flips them to crisp up the other side. He slides the first two onto a plate and adds more to the pan to cook while he serves Luffy. 

It’s a basic meal any cook could make, no testament of skill. Still Luffy’s hands grab greedily for the plate as it’s brought to him. He doesn’t even wait for Sanji to bring him a fork, pulling flesh from the fish and stuffing it steaming straight into his mouth. 

“Hot.” he mumbles, but it doesn’t stop him. Sanji watches mesmerized as Luffy chews with his mouth open to cool the mouthful, and wonders if he’s ever met anyone happier. The second bite is cool enough for Luffy to close his mouth around it at least, but he continues to hum as he eats. 

It seems a shame to break this moment of bliss. Sanji nervously traces the wood grain of the countertop. “Captain...” 

Luffy’s stuffed cheeks and cocked head almost break him, but he forces himself to maintain eye-contact and remain serious. 

It's hard to know where to start. “Captain. I don’t know what Zoro told you, but I... Those people chasing us, they...” I’m a prince. Was a prince. If they come for me, they won’t spare the rest of you. Sanji swallows his tears, but he has to be honest. He warned Zoro, and he’ll warn them too. “Those people were after me, and there’s a chance they’ll keep following,” he croaks.  

Luffy blinks at him. It takes agonizingly long for him to finish chewing his gigantic mouthful and swallow it. He shrugs. “No big deal.” 

“W-what? How!” Sanji blurts. “That was the king of Germa!” 

Luffy puts his finger in his nose and digs around. “Who’s that?” 

Perhaps Luffy and Zoro studied in the same history classes. Sanji gapes. “Vinsmoke Judge? The Germa empire?” 

The name clearly doesn’t ring a bell. Luffy shrugs again. “So what? Most of us made some people mad. If they come after you, we’ll just fight them. But our ship is really fast, so they probably wouldn’t catch us anyway.” 

Sanji stares stunned as Luffy crams more fish into his mouth, crunching down pieces of onion. “You...” 

“We’re really strong,” Luffy says around his mouthful, crumbs of fish falling onto the counter. “If someone catches up, Zoro will be better by then and he can help fight too. I have a good crew!” 

Luffy is as nonchalant as Zoro was. Zoro paid for it. “Captain...” Sanji pleads, feeling as helpless as he did when trying to convince the swordsman of the same dangers. At least now, the evidence is clearly in his favor. “Those people hurt Zoro. They did that to him, and they did it because he... because he helped me. They’ll hurt you guys too.” 

At that, Luffy’s expression becomes more serious. He swallows, licking fish from his fingers. “If they catch up and try to hurt us, then I’ll beat them up myself.” 

Oh no. Reason has once again failed. Sanji is running out of ideas. Maybe Luffy didn’t get a good look at the mess the Vinsmoke princes made of Zoro’s back. “Please...” 

“They hurt you too,” Luffy states. It’s funny how even with the food on his face and hands, the sudden seriousness has wiped away all the goofiness and totally captured Sanji with its sincerity. “They hurt my Zoro, and they hurt you, and if they try again, I’ll hurt them back.” 

Sanji clenches his fists. It should be simple, but not that simple. Is the rest of the crew like this, too? They’ve been nothing but kind. 

“We take care of each other.” Luffy’s face breaks into that charming smile again. He pushes up on the counter and leans over to pat Sanji on the shoulder with a fishy hand. “Don’t worry, okay? We’re gonna sail even farther away from here when you and Zoro feel better, and those people won’t hurt you anymore.” 

Strange. Sanji stares at the straw hat, at the wearer’s wide grin and big eyes unwavering. He wonders just what this kid is like in a fight, but if it’s anything worth Zoro’s praise, then it must be noteworthy. He can’t explain why that grin inspires confidence. 

“Can I eat those too?” Luffy points at the pan where the other fish are still cooking. 

Just like that, the matter is resolved, seemingly removed from Luffy’s thoughts and replaced with much more important ones. He moves onto the second fish on his plate, stuffing handfuls into his mouth even as he watches Sanji finish cooking the next batch. Sanji adds them to plate and cooks the last few while Luffy continues to eat. 

For a skinny kid, he sure eats a lot. Sanji slides the last of the fish onto the plate. Luffy has eaten half of them, and he’s eying the rest as if trying to decide if he’s still hungry. 

“Why don’t you bring that to the others?” Sanji suggests. 

“Mmm... Okay.” Luffy ponders for a moment before agreeing. “Will you make me some more later?” 

How could he say no? “Of course.” 

Luffy is suddenly much more willing to leave the remaining fish, picking up the plate and running toward the door. “Yay, thank you!” He’s gone as quickly as he arrived, sandals slapping on the deck as he hurries off to deliver the leftovers. 

Sanji brushes some fish flakes from his shoulder and stares out the window at the blue sky, listening to the distant cheers of his new crewmates. They’re going to eat his food, and know that it was him who cooked it. It’s not often he gets to watch someone eat what he cooked. 

I just hope it’s good enough.  

It was good enough for Zoro. It seems to be good enough for Luffy, too. He’ll have to wait and see if it's good enough for everyone else. At least if they get sick of him, they can change their minds and leave him on an island somewhere. So long as they don’t send him back. I can’t go back.  

The familiarity of cooking helps fend off the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. The kitchen is so different from Zeff’s, but the knife feels at home in his hand as he prepares the fish for Zoro’s meal.  

Sanji chops up the fish fillets and stirs them in the pan with soy sauce and garlic and a dusting of chili powder. The chopped fish cooks quickly, flaking apart. Sanji stirs until the mixture is evenly cooked, setting the pan aside to cool while he forms the rice balls. Sanji lays out a sheet of seaweed and scoops some rice onto it, pressing it down and scooping filling inside next. The rice sticks to his fingers, but Sanji uses the seaweed to help press the rice around the filling and form a neat ball. Sanji folds the seaweed so the square fits around the round ball. He sprinkles some sesame seeds over top and presses them in, stepping back to admire his work. It’s damn near perfect. 

Sanji adjusts his technique, quickly perfecting it. He fills a plate with rice balls and wipes his hands clean. The recipe will surely need further refining once Zoro lets him know how they taste, but it’s a good start. Sanji cleans up his supplies and flips open Zeff’s notebook to the first empty page. It’s too soon to commit too much to the recipe, but he finds a charcoal pencil in the cabinet and fills in the header – Onigiri . Sanji writes a list of ingredients, leaving room for quantities, and the space at the bottom for preparation notes. He’ll add those later when he’s certain. Sanji closes the book and puts it back into his backpack. He shoulders the strap and picks up the plate of onigiri. It’s a nice kitchen, but he has places to be; Sanji leaves and closes the door behind him. 

A glance toward shore finds his crewmates chomping on the fish Luffy was kind enough to share with them as they fish for more. Full mouths and hands reaching for more is a sight he could get used to seeing every day. Sanji turns away and smiles to himself, walking across deck to the hatch. 

He takes the stairs cautiously, gripping the railing as the boat sways. Zoro is still asleep in bed, still snoring.  

Chopper is nowhere to be seen. He must have stepped out. Sanji puts down his bag and walks over to the bed, putting the plate of rice balls on the little table by Zoro’s bed. He pulls the chair away from his own in the corner and pulls it close, sitting wearily into it. Sanji slumps and lays his hand on Zoro’s head, stroking his mussed hair. 

Zoro’s snore stops short in his mouth and his eyes snap open. Sanji pulls his hand away and leans over to look at him. “Zoro.” 

Zoro blinks and yawns, licking his lips and looking briefly around the room to discern his surroundings before meeting Sanji’s gaze. He smiles. “Cook,” he croaks. 

Sanji smiles back. “Me.” 

“We made it.” 

“Sure did.” 

Zoro slides his arm from under the blanket and points. “Hey, is that onigiri?” 

Sanji laughs. “Sure is.” 

Zoro moves with far more strength and speed than he should be able to, even though his movements are restricted. He pushes himself up, and Sanji reaches down to help him sit up. Zoro does his best not to move his arms or bend his spine, dragging his legs with Sanji’s help and sitting on the edge of the bed with a labored groan. Sanji props himself under one arm and sits next to him, offering the plate. Zoro grabs a rice ball and shoves it in his mouth with his usual decorum, though to his credit, he must be starving. 

Sanji smiles and watches the swordsman devour the rice ball, the last mouthful barely in his mouth before his empty hand grabs another. 

Zoro finishes his second rice ball and picks up a third, pausing to sigh contentedly and lick crumbs from his lips. “Mmm.” He looks over, inspecting Sanji from top to bottom. “You look good.” 

Sanji laughs, flushing. “You look like shit.” 

Zoro sulks and stuffs the rice ball into his mouth and mumbles something unintelligible. He looks much better than he has for days, but it’s going to take weeks for his wounds to fully heal. A couple of days of uninterrupted rest have cleared up most of the fatigue and pallor from his face, but he still looks sick and tired. Still, there’s light in his eyes despite the pain. Sanji admires it. He hopes all this hardship was worth it to Zoro. 

Zoro offers the plate, and Sanji takes a rice ball, biting it tentatively. The ship rocks gently beneath them, rocking them into each other. Sanji happily presses against the swordsman, enjoying the heat and stability. So much has changed, but this at least feels familiar. 

Sanji finishes his rice ball. “Hey Zoro?” 

Zoro looks curiously at him, mouth stuffed with his fourth rice ball. 

“Thank you.” Sanji offers sincerely. “I don't know what else to say. It’s not enough. I don’t think it ever could be.” 

Zoro finishes chewing and squeezes Sanji’s shoulders. He swallows. “A swordman always keeps his promises,” he says proudly. “And you did promise me that onigiri...” 

“Well, now you’ve got it.” 

“Could use some work...” 

“Hey! You never gave me a recipe, you know.” 

Zoro shrugs. “Not like you need one.” He stuffs another into his mouth. 

Maybe everything is going to be okay. Sanji scratches at his face as heat rises in his cheeks. Zoro’s simple tastes will be easy to cater to. Luffy, too, seems easy to please. The rest, Sanji will figure out. Zeff taught him enough to set him on his way. Thank you. I wouldn’t be here without you.  

“One more thing to get rid of,” Zoro says, reaching up to his ear. 

“Huh?” 

“Not a prince anymore,” Zoro remarks wisely, pointing at Sanji's bandaged forehead hiding his gashed eyebrows. “Might as well lose the name, too.” 

Sanji stares, confused. “You-you... Do you even know what my name is?” 

Zoro shrugs. “You didn’t want to tell me. Whatever it is, I figured you might not want it anymore.” He pulls out his earring and hands it over. 

Sanji stares at the golden teardrop in Zoro’s hand. What would he call himself, anyway? He looks up at Zoro, as confused as ever. 

“Your prince name.” Zoro explains. “You want to get rid of it?” 

The Vinsmoke name. Sanji would remove it as quickly as he could, but it’s not a chain that Zoro can just cut off. Still, he nods, open to the plan, whatever it is— 

Oh. His heart is beating dangerously fast.  

“Okay, have mine then.” Zoro says, pushing his hand into Sanji’s chest. “I’m the only one, so nobody else to worry sharing it with but me.” 

Oh. Sanji cups his hand and Zoro drops the earring into it. It lays there, shining brightly, small and almost weightless. “Zoro...” 

“You want it?” 

He wants it. He would choose Zoro’s name over his own any day. It would be a name to be proud of. Sanji grasps the earring and looks up at Zoro’s calm grey eyes that haven’t regretted anything ever. “Are you sure?” he asks anyway. “Zoro... are you sure you want to give this to me?” 

“Why not you?” Zoro replies. “You fight good, and you make my favorite food. Wouldn’t give you my name if I didn’t want you to have it.” 

Sanji stares at Zoro’s empty ear hole. He doesn’t even know what Zoro’s family name is , but it doesn’t matter, so long as is slices away the name of Vinsmoke. Sanji swallows roughly and digs in his pocket for the box, popping open the lid with his thumb. He offers out the pearl earrings.  

Zoro plucks one off the velvet cushion and grins. It’s such a strange grin of pleasure, dark and victorious. It’s a smile Sanji has seen before when they wrestled in the forest together, a smile of burning want that Sanji has trouble believing is still aimed at him. 

But it is. Zoro looks pleased with himself, giving Sanji the pearl and turning his head so Sanji can fit it into the empty hole. Sanji puts the gold earring into the box with the other pearl and closes the lid, holding the box tight. 

“Guess I gotta get my ears pierced.” 

“Chopper can do it for you,” Zoro assures. 

“Now what?” 

Zoro shrugs. “You’re a Roronoa now, I think.” 

Sanji frowns. I don’t think it works like that. Zoro looks too chuffed to bother correcting him. “ Roronoa Sanji... ” All that matters is to say it, anyway. All that matters is that Zoro has given this to him. 

“Sanji...?” Zoro cocks his head, gears turning. “Three...?” 

“I’m three of four.” Sanji agrees. “Was.” 

“Three’s the best number.” Zoro yawns, fiddling with the pearl in his ear. 

For some things, it is. Sanji would quite like to see Zoro wield three swords again. 

He feels strangely light. It’s only a formality, and not even that. Sanji rubs his thumb on the box lid, anticipating being able to wear the earrings. Roronoa Sanji... He could have lied and told Zoro any name. This is a fine name. It’s not how he imagined his marriage would go; in the infirmary of a ship, with no elaborate ceremony and no audience. This is fine. Ideal, perhaps. Personal. 

It’s all gone. All but the scars, but those will heal. Sanji will endeavor to bear them as bravely as Zoro does his own, and to do his best with his fresh start, a fresh flag to fly, and a new name to do it under. 

Chapter Text

The ropes are barely tied down before footsteps thump across the deck. Robin leans on the railing beside the wheel and watches Zoro run from one side of the ship to the other, drop his shoulders low, and throw Sanji over his shoulder. Sanji shrieks as Zoro hops over the railing and plunges them both into the sea. 

The anchor splashes down on the other side. Soft white sand stretches for miles in either direction. The water quickly becomes shallow. It looks warm enough that Robin will consider taking a swim herself. 

“I’ll never figure out what's wrong with them.” Nami lets go of the wheel and scowls at the splashing, flailing limbs. 

Robin smiles and rests her elbow on the railing, leaning on her hand. “It’s something quite incurable.” 

Nami’s reply is cut off as Luffy’s sandals slap across the deck in hot pursuit. The captain grabs Usopp along the way, tugging the sniper screaming along with him. Luffy throws his hat onto the deck and flings both of them over the side with an excited yell. All four men disappear under the surface as Luffy smacks into them. Nami sighs. 

Chopper is the last to join, tangling himself up in his clothes as he struggles to get them off, shouting over the railing. “ Somebody’s gonna drown! ” He struggles out of his shirt and jumps in after them belly-first, pushing everyone back under the water and making the problem worse. Robin chuckles. 

It’s been a few months since Zoro returned to the crew and brought Sanji with him. Robin isn't sure the excitement ever died. 

The writhing mass of crewmembers in the water disentangles, Sanji vanishing and resurfacing a few feet away to swim to shore. Zoro notices quickly, paddling after him. Jimbe jumps overboard to help, retrieving Chopper and Usopp coughing and spluttering. He turns onto his back and paddles them to shore, Luffy climbing onto his belly to ride. 

Franky lowers the dingy over the side and helps the rest of the crew load supplies into it. Nami brings her map supplies, grumbling to herself as she picks up the stuff the others dropped. She puts on Luffy’s hat, drapes Chopper’s clothes and Usopp’s bag over her shoulder, and gathers up Zoro’s sword. Franky carries down the cooking supplies Sanji was preparing to take to shore, and Brook brings his violin. Robin picks a book from her shelf and puts on her sun hat, climbing down the ladder to join them. Franky picks up the oars to row them to shore. 

The sun has risen almost directly above them. The crew will be very hungry for lunch soon. Robin looks to shore where the others are already climbing out of the water. Jimbe drags Chopper and Usopp up the beach and leaves them to catch their breath, and Luffy scampers over to wait for the dingy. Zoro is shaking water out of his hair. He barely has time to pull off his wet clothes before Sanji runs and tackles him to the ground, and they start to roll down the beach. 

It’s quite something. Robin dangles her fingers in the water and leans on the edge of the boat to watch them. The shouting quickly dies as the brawl becomes more serious. Zoro has gotten a lot faster than she remembers, and Sanji certainly has gotten stronger. They can barely keep their hands off each other. 

Luffy wades into the water and drags the boat up the shore, holding it steady so Nami can disembark first. She puts the hat back on his head. “Go get those idiots, will you?” she points down the beach. 

Luffy whoops and spins around, spraying Nami with sand as he runs off. “ Saaaaanjiiiii! I’m huuuuungryyyy! ” 

Nami sighs and dusts herself off, shaking her head. But she’s smiling faintly too. 

“Ah, the energy of youth.” Brook proclaims. “One would think they would run out, but they never do.” 

The pair would surely wrestle all day long if there were nothing else to be done. Robin takes the hand Franky offers her and wades up the bank while the shipwright drags the dingy high onto the shore. 

The sky is blue, the air is warm, and the seas are calm. The forest is lush and surely full of resources to top up their stores before sailing to the next island. Robin looks forward to exploring. 

The crew reassembles up the beach on some flat, grassy ground at the edge of the forest, depositing their supplies and setting up for lunch. Luffy races up the beach, Sanji and Zoro on his heels. All three of them are covered in sand. Luffy gets there first, grabbing the fishing rods and running back down the beach, leaving Nami to organize the rest of them as usual. Robin sits down in the shade of a palm tree and opens her book in her lap. Usopp and Chopper run after Luffy, and Jimbe hurries after them to babysit. 

“Sanji-bro! What are you cooking for lunch?” Franky asks, putting down the crate of cooking supplies.  

Sanji smooths out his sand-covered shirt. “Whatever you guys can find in the forest, and whatever they catch.” He thumbs over his shoulder at the crew casting their rods into the ocean. 

“Alright, you heard him.” Nami points at Franky. “Go with Brook to chop firewood. And as for you— ” she marches up to Zoro before the swordsman has a chance to lie down and drop off to sleep like he usually does, grabbing him by the ear. “You’re coming with me to forage.” 

Zoro scowls, his eyebrow twitching. He rubs his ear when she lets go of it, but stalks after her obediently, brushing sand out of his hair. He abandons his shirt in the grass to dry and picks up his sword as he goes. 

Sanji plays with the golden earring in his left ear, eyes briefly lingering on the whip scars boldly crisscrossing Zoro’s back. The scars are stretched and poorly-healed from being ripped open repeatedly. They don't seem to bother the swordsman as far as anyone can tell, other than the odd itch or twinge of discomfort. Then again, Zoro is notoriously stubborn and prideful, so it’s likely he would keep any serious pain to himself. Robin has to wonder if he knows what the wounds look like, though she suspects it wouldn't make a difference to him. 

The scars that cut through the swirls of Sanji’s eyebrows aren’t any better. Sanji looks away and scratches absently at them before getting back to work setting up the area. How Zoro managed to befriend a prince and steal him away, Robin is desperate to know. Given the state the two of them were in when they returned to the ship, an entire army on their tail, it’s no surprise that neither man seems willing to share the story. Robin can’t blame them. 

She won’t blame Sanji for not telling them he’s a prince, either – or, that he was one. Robin has travelled plenty, read enough books, and talked with enough people to confidently guess what those scars symbolize. She wonders if the others have made their own guesses. The younger crew members are unlikely to have heard of the Vinsmoke royal family and the Germa empire; large as it is, it only reaches so far. Robin only knows about the eyebrows from disparate information gathered throughout her life, an overheard conversation here or there. Somebody someday will find out, but Sanji has a habit of tying Zoro’s bandana over his forehead to hide what little remains of those distinctive swirls when they land anywhere near civilization. 

Sanji is staring at the horizon, a faraway look in his eyes as he stares down the beach and across the ocean stretching far away from them, out at the birds diving below the surface to catch fish and popping up again. A few months of sailing has tanned his naturally pale skin. It was obvious when he healed enough to start learning how to sail that he didn’t spend his days being pampered, but he’s certainly gained muscle since then. 

“Would you like some help preparing, Mr. Cook?” Robin asks. 

Sanji turns to smile at her. “Not at all,” he says. “Would you like something to drink with your book?” 

“That would be lovely.” She smiles back. 

Sanji picks her a ripe coconut and scrapes the fur from a patch on the top. He pokes a large drinking hole and passes it to her. The water inside is the perfect ripeness. Robin leans back to sip and watch Sanji get to work. 

Cooking used to be a shared effort, mostly between herself and Usopp. Sanji picked up everything faster than they expected, including inventory, and things have never been the same. 

Where does a prince learn to cook like this? It must be in some part natural intuition. Robin can’t help but watch him unload the supplies Franky brought ashore for him, arrange his cookware and some spices, and spread out his knives. He builds a pile of kindling where the fire will be built, then he sits down on the crate to sharpen his knives with a sure hand. Any minute now, the rest of the crew will return with firewood, fresh fish, and whatever fruits and vegetables could be found in the forest, and Sanji is going to cook them a meal more delicious than the last. 

It doesn’t matter what they find, what they catch – it's going to taste good. 

In an instant, their little camp is teaming again. 

“We caught sea bream!” Usopp announces, holding up his rod. 

“I caught a bass!” Chopper cheers. “Mine’s the biggest! Sanji, look how big it is!” 

Sanji barely has a chance to respond to the fish being dangled in his face before the others return too. 

“Yo, Sanji-bro! I found a shit-ton of potato things!” Franky does a spin to show off his full backpack, almost clocking Zoro in the head with the logs on his shoulder. 

Zoro calmly tips to the side and holds up a fistful of green fronds. “I found chives.” 

“No, I found chives,” Nami corrects. “That’s grass.” 

Zoro stares at his palm, tossing the greens over his shoulder and glaring at Sanji’s smirk. 

“I found delicious citrus fruits!” Brook chimes in. 

Robin can already see Sanji mentally cataloguing everything the crew has brought for him as they wave it in his face and fight each other for his attention. The hardest part of these island adventures is always keeping the crew busy so that Sanji actually has the space to cook, and to finish cooking before someone tries to eat it (Luffy, mainly, but Chopper and Usopp are the next worst culprits). Robin sips her coconut and sits back to watch. 

Nami comes to Sanji’s rescue as is routine, directing the crew to organize their supplies and build the fire. Jimbe rounds up the fishing rods and corals the younger members of the crew back onto the beach for a game of tag. The fire comes to life. Zoro brings over a chopped log and sets it down upright in front of Sanji, resting a flat piece of board on top. Then he finds his own spot in the shade and lies down with a yawn. The swordsman stretches out his legs and folds his hands behind his head, but he doesn't go to sleep. Instead, he keeps his eyes fixed on Sanji. 

Sanji flops down the first fish on the surface Zoro prepared for him, and all that restrained confidence bursts free. The cook’s knife skills are enough to make the swordsman blush. 

The rest of them try to keep themselves busy, but it’s impossible not to watch. It’s no wonder Sanji never asks for their help – they would just get in his way. Sanji dices the yams Franky brought and puts them in a pot to boil over the fire, adding in coconut water and herbs. The potatoes begin to boil, and Sanji adds a couple of pans over the fire to heat while he finishes preparing the sea breams. He sets aside the guts for crab fishing, and lays the fillets in the pans to cook. 

There’s plenty of food for everyone. The air smells of fish, lemon, and sage. 

The crew waits as patiently as they’re able. Luffy is practically climbing on Sanji and has to be grabbed by the collar by Jimbe to be dislodged. Sanji’s jaw is tight with frustration, but his lips are tugging into a smile and his face is bright red. 

It’s going to take a while longer to get used to this. Perhaps you never will. Robin hopes that the novelty never wares off. For herself, it never did. 

Their crew eats better than kings. Robin accepts her plate with a grateful smile and inspects the mashed yam with grilled fish and sliced avocado. The yam is sweet and soft, only lightly herbed to not compete with the herbed fish. The acid of the lemon complements the buttery fish, and the avocado is refreshingly light. 

Sanji picks up the last plate and finally serves himself, going to sit next to Zoro to eat. 

“This is better than regular mashed potato!” Chopper cheers. “It’s so sweet!" 

The crew agrees in a loud chorus and voices their compliments for the meal all-round, and the cook looks like he might explode. Robin smiles fondly at Sanji’s beet-red face as he shoves food into his mouth in lieu of a reply. Zoro smiles smugly and pats his knee. 

There’s plenty for seconds. Sanji puts down his half-finished meal to serve them, but Jimbe waves him away and gets up to help instead. Robin scrapes her plate clean. 

“What you reading?” Nami asks. 

“A journal I found in some ruins a few islands ago,” Robin says. “It explains some traditions of the cultures that live there, including some fascinating wedding traditions. Many islands in this area celebrate with fruit-cake soaked in rum.” 

Nobody else notices, but in her peripheral vision she can see Zoro nudge Sanji in the ribs. 

“There are traditions of exchanging gifts under archways of flowers, of course,” she continues. “After the ceremony, often there is dancing. And food, of course.” 

“I went to a wedding once,” Nami says, handing her plate to Jimbe for another portion. “I got engaged to a pirate lord. I ran away and stole all the wedding presents, and a little bit of treasure, too.” She gloats. “One or two pieces of jewelry was worth keeping.” 

“Once, I fought off an entire pirate fleet, and the king offered me his seventeen daughters to marry, but I humbly declined.” Usopp stands up proudly. “They wept after me as I sailed into the sunset, but I’m not a man who can be tied down, and my heart is already spoken for.” 

“You’re so noble!” Chopper admires. 

“You’d have to put all those wedding rings on your fingers and your toes!” Luffy adds helpfully. 

Robin smiles to herself, looking over at Sanji’s little smile as the crew finishes his food and starts to banter. Zoro puts down his empty plate and slides his arm under Sanji’s, whispering in his ear. They start to get up. Robin looks away. 

The fire starts to die, ready to be stoked in the evening for dinner. Franky and Usopp head back down the beach to the ship to work on maintenance, and Jimbe follows to help. Luffy and Chopper go off to set up crab pots, and Nami sets up her map-drawing equipment. Brook sits down to play the violin, and Robin stands up with her book and the rest of her coconut water. 

“I’m going to explore for a while,” she says. 

“Bring back treasure if you find some!” Nami waves. 

“Will do.” Robin smiles.  

The sounds of Brook’s violin recede as Robin walks into the jungle. The trees aren’t so dense to cast too much shadow, keeping her path well-lit in warm sunshine. The air is pleasantly hot, and the humidity is manageable. The island is probably too small to host any large beasts, mostly birds and insects, and probably snakes. Robin takes her notebook from her pocket to record the parrots and other brilliant birds flying about the treetops. The toucan perched in a tree eating a mango is especially cute. 

If she’s lucky, she may spot a monkey or an anteater. 

The forest is covered in little lizards that dart out of her path as she passes, sunbathing on rocks or clinging to trees. Robin reminds herself to bring Usopp with her to illustrate the catalogue of creatures they’ve been working on together. Some of these plants may be of interest to Chopper, and worth illustrating in the doctor’s herbology catalogue. Robin bends down to pluck a few medicinal herbs, and sketch a flower she’s never seen before. 

There is evidence that people have visited before. Robin finds a plank of wood buried under some moss. A little further on, she finds a broken clay pot filled with dirt and almost completely subsumed in the ground, new flowers growing out of it. 

People probably stop by this island fairly often. It’s large enough to sustain plenty of food for re-stocking, and the seas surrounding it are calm. Robin stops to listen to the sound of running water. She looks up at the sun to mark her position. 

Something else is making noise. Robin smiles and steps carefully through the underbrush, following the sounds of arguing. 

“Robin said flowers!” 

“So what! This kind of looks like one!” 

“ That’s a mushroom! ” 

“Then why does it have frills?” 

The forest thins. Robin brushes aside some hanging vines and large leaves, looking through to the scarce stone ruins shining in the sun. Zoro and Sanji are standing under a broken archway, pointing fingers and arguing about the frilly red mushroom in Zoro’s hand. Robin leans on a tree ad hides in the shade to watch. 

“You seriously can't find a single normal flower?” Sanji accuses. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Does it matter?” Zoro demands, tossing the mushroom angrily. “It’s just a ceremony! All that matters is that it looks like a flower!” 

“That mushroom didn't even look like one! And this was your idea!”  

“Okay fine, how about this!” Zoro rips a vine off the stone beside him. “I mostly wanted you to make me a rum cake...” 

The leaves on the vine are hardly ornate, but they’re pretty. Robin looks down at the hibiscus flowers in full bloom beside her. 

“You oaf.” Sanji grabs the vine out of Zoro’s hand and shakes it frustratedly. “You seriously couldn’t find any flowers on your way here?” 

“We’re halfway there,” Zoro grumbles. “We got the arch. Can’t I just kiss you? We’re already married.” 

Both of them are bright red in the blazing sunlight. Oh no. Robin watches, fascinated, at this strange courtship. Sanji fumbles nervously with the vine, all of his steadiness lost. The sun shines through the broken arch onto their matching earrings. 

Zoro loses patience, grabbing Sanji by the front of his shirt and yanking them together. Robin turns away from the private moment, much as she would enjoy watching them. She’ll come back to explore the ruins another time. One day she’ll let them know that the captain has the ability to marry them, though neither of them seems to care about formalities. 

Congratulations. She leaves them to their moment. The rest of the crew would be delighted to find out, but she has a feeling they may want to keep this between them for a little while longer. Take all the time you need. There are many years of adventuring ahead of them, and plenty of time for Sanji to gain confidence. 

He’s going to get there. He’s made strides since joining, though he still jumps at loud noises and flinches when touched. He doesn't shy away from the crew’s affection though. The crew’s love did wonders to heal Robin, and she knows it’ll heal at least a little of Sanji’s wounds. Zoro, too, has healed; Robin has never seen him happier. 

Boots crunch through the forest. Robin comes to a stop and watches a man with a weathered face slide his way through the jungle. He meets her eye and grins with missing teeth, the rest of his crew emerging from the greenery. 

“Good afternoon, lady,” he says. “Out here all by yourself?” 

Robin smiles calmly. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. The rest of my crew is nearby. May I help you?” Pirates. They must have landed on the other side of the island. 

“We weren’t expectin’ to come across a lovely lady all by herself in the forest,” the captain says. “Maybe you can help us.” 

It’s always the same. Robin can outrun all of these men and lose them effortlessly in the ruins. That’s not going to be necessary though – she can already feel it. Robin smiles and steps back a pace, sitting on a tree stump and crossing one leg over the other. It’s just a feeling, like a coming storm, but a familiar one: tension in the air, a crackle, a breeze swept up by what’s coming. 

The pirates look at her strangely, put off by her calmness. The captain snarls at her, and his crew brandishes their weapons. She can’t see all of them through the trees, but she guesses their group is more than twenty strong. 

“I do hope you find that help,” she offers helpfully. 

It’s too late. Here they come. Robin smiles as the boys streak past on either side, ruffling her hair. 

I don’t think anyone can help you now.  

Zoro’s blade swipes down half of the front row and a nearby tree, and Sanji’s leaping kick sends a man flying through his crewmates and into a tree, splintering it. Robin pockets her notebook and leans her chin in her hand to watch. 

The crew doesn’t know how to swordfight someone like Sanji, nor do they have the skill or strength to contend with Zoro. Sanji uses the trees to his advantage, jumping off them and kicking people into them, while using them for cover against sword swings that come from all sides. Zoro moves back into the open area in front of Robin to give himself more space to swing his sword. 

It’s hard to tell how many crew members there are when they’re toppling over each other in heaps. The survivors are herding together and pushing into the small clearing, trying to overwhelm their two adversaries and get through to Robin. 

It’s not the first time she’s seen Zoro and Sanji fight together. They’re even more coordinated fighting together than fighting each other. Sanji’s feet are just as deadly as Zoro’s blade. Sanji sidesteps a stabbing sword and jumps over the outstretched arm, wrapping one leg around it and twisting so hard at the hips that the arm breaks between his thighs. The man's scream is broken by Sanji’s follow-up kick to the chest. It’s a strange style of fighting, but one that suits the cook well. 

The pair regroup and move together without need for a word. The two of them are a good match. Robin watches Zoro grab a man and throw him Sanji’s direction, and Sanji kick the flying man into the crowd to knock a few more down. They’ve gotten stronger, and not just since healing from their injuries. Even since before fighting and losing to Mihawk, Zoro is stronger than he was then. Even with just one blade rather than his usual three. 

Robin watches them. They seem so happy. Determined, focuses, yes. Healthy. 

The captain has the sense to gather up what’s left of his crew and retreat the way he came. Sanji flicks some hair out of his face and rolls up the sleeve that came loose. There’s a bruise on his neck, but it’s not from fighting. Zoro sheathes his sword and smirks at Sanji. 

A fitting dance to conclude the ceremony. Robin stands up. 

“Are you okay?” Sanji turns around to check on her, while Zoro flicks blood off his sword and gives her a quick once-over. He does the same for Sanji. 

Nobody is hurt. Other than the pirate, but they’re dead, which is a different category. 

“Just fine.” Robin reassures gratefully, walking between them and bending down to slide the gold rings off the hand of one of the fallen pirates. They aren’t Nami's style, but they’ll sell for something. “Did you enjoy exploring?” She pockets the rings and stands up to smile at them. 

They look at each other, Zoro’s smug smile remaining and Sanji's face turning red. “Y-yeah. We found some ruins and a big snake.” The cook replies. 

“And a mushroom.” Zoro adds. 

“Oh?” Robin inquires, pulling out her notebook. “Was it especially unique? I would like to document it.” 

“It was big and red,” Zoro explains. “And it looked like a flower.” 

“No it didn’t.” Sanji retorts. 

Robin chuckles and puts her book away. It’s worth investigating tomorrow. “Come on.” She turns back in the direction of the ship. “I’m sure the others have caught some more fish to cook for dinner.”  

She starts to walk, and they follow on her heels. The pair bicker about mushrooms all the way back, and Robin listens with amusement – neither of them knows what they’re talking about. At least both of them were smart enough not to try to eat the mystery mushroom. 

There’s plenty of time still until dinner, but Sanji gets to work preparing nonetheless, walking down the beach to the ship to collect the crab pots. Zoro follows to help, and to maintain the topic of argument they’ve ended up on next. 

“What were they even doing out there?” Nami asks, looking up from her map. 

“Enjoying each other’s company, perhaps,” Robin suggest, taking the rings out of her pocket and putting them into Nami’s hand.  

Her eyes light up. “You found treasure!” She rolls them around in her fingers to admire the gemstones set into the gold bands. 

“Some. If I go back to look, I may find some more.” There are plenty of bodies left to search for jewelry and coins. Robin will pick up some more treasure tomorrow on her way back from exploring the ruins properly. 

The boys return with the crabs, with Franky, Jimbe, and Usopp on their heels. Luffy and Chopper are quick to catch on that more food is on the way, reeling in their lines and racing to join the group. Just like that, everyone is together again, gathering around Sanji at the center of the chaos. Zoro keeps especially close, obeying orders as Sanji prepares the crabs and hands off legs on skewers for the swordsman to put on the fire. 

The rest of the vegetables and fruits collected earlier in the day are added into the meal. Sanji peels fruits of every variety; bananas, mangoes, pineapples, starfruit, and more. The variety of fish caught on the rods is more diverse this time, but Sanji cooks all of them with slight changes to the herbs added to complement the texture and flavor. The result is a huge spread of food to pick and choose from. Sanji makes a sweet glaze from soy sauce and pineapple juice, pouring it over the fish and some chopped vegetables. 

Franky brings a crate full of booze. Between him and Sanji, they pass around cups of juice and beer, with slices of lemon to garnish. 

Luffy raises his cup of juice, shouting around a mouth stuffed with crab legs. “I’ve got the best crew!” He slings his free arm around Sanji’s neck, reaching around to feed himself more crab legs and nearly strangling Sanji in the process. “And now I’ve got a cook, it couldn’t be more perfect!” 

Nobody has any complaints. Robin raises her glass too, and the chorus drowns out Luffy’s cheer. Zoro slides up beside Sanji and wraps an arm around his waist. 

They’ve come a long way, and faced many challenges to get here. It’s been smooth sailing since Sanji joined. She hopes he’s ready to face the sorts of hardships their crew has run into before, and certainly will again. The cook is smiling too, throwing up his glass to join in. No matter what reassurances have been given, he’ll have to learn through experience that everyone in this crew will stick with him through the hardships to come. He’s going to do the same for them, Robin is sure of it. 

Chapter Text

The stars shining over the lagoon start to blink out as the rising sun out-shines them. Zeff baits his line and sits down on end of the dock with a grunt. The port is half empty, a few travelers' ships bobbing in the calm sea, and the fishing boats already sailing toward the horizon. Pirate flags are bundled against the flagpoles, and the masts are full of seagulls watching the water for an easy catch.  

The equatorial heat is good for his old bones. Zeff doesn’t miss the full four seasons of Germa. Today will be a beautiful, hot spring day. In a few hours, the docks will be bustling with travelers coming and going, and the fishing boats will unload their catch for sale. The seals and otters are already waking up on the rocks, the early risers sliding into the water to hunt for breakfast. When the sun comes up, they’ll be back on the rocks basking, fighting sea birds for their catch. God, he missed the ocean. It was tempting to stay aboard the merchant ship he managed to catch a ride on out of Germa, or to find a pirate crew in need of a cook, but he made a promise.  

His only complaint is that he wished he had a way to send a letter to Sanji, make sure the kid is at least alive after all these years.  

At least his little eggplant made it to sea. Zeff smiles to himself and looks off toward the faint blue pushing at the night sky. While the boys had fled through the forest, Zeff had taken an alternate route, hitching cattle to the cart and riding straight through the cities. It was slow going, but fast enough to bargain his way onto a ship before the King’s army flooded the valley.  

Fast enough to watch his boy, a spec against the hillside, escape his father’s cruelty and board a ship with Zoro, the ship Zoro had been insisting for months would arrive in time.  

Are they good to you? Zoro, at least, Zeff can trust. He has to hope the others are just as trustworthy. He has to hope Zoro hasn’t gotten himself killed in all this time. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t think about them.  

If only there were a way to know that they’re alright. At the very least, his friend has been sending him letters to keep him up to date with the state of Germa. No allies have been summoned to sail after the disgraced prince, and that’s all Zeff cares to know about the situation there.  

Zeff reels in the line and rests the rod on his shoulder, gathering up the lines tied to the railing and carrying the fish down the dock. His wooden leg clomps on the boards as he makes his way all the way back toward his little floating restaurant moored amidst the smaller fishing boats. He pushes open the door and steps inside, clomping between chairs and tables. He walks through the hinged doors and into the kitchen, depositing the fish on the countertop and going to start the fire.  

It’s a small restaurant, no bigger than the first floor of his inn in Germa. The money is good, too. Most of his funds go to improving the restaurant. It’s a shame money can't buy a good name for the place.  

Smoke puffs out the top of the restaurant as the wood starts to burn. By the time the oiled pan is sizzling on the hot plate and the fish are cut, the kitchen boys are arriving.  

Business has been so good that getting help was inevitable. And, his body is showing its age. He just doesn't have the patience or the agility to run after customers anymore. That’s fine – he would much rather do more cooking and let his helpers handle the customers. They’re eager, he’ll give them that.  

They aren’t Sanji. He tries not to punish them for that – it's not their fault – but it’s hard not to miss his Eggplant when one of the boys fumbles with an onion or struggles to manage more than one sizzling pan at a time.  

The boys arrive in a flurry, energetic as usual. Zeff sends them out to prepare the dining room while he finishes breakfast. He rolls the fish in flour and puts them in the pan to fry with a bit of salt, thyme, and lemongrass.  

By now, the sun has risen above the sea. Zeff steps into the dining area to check on the boys and look out the window. The wooden covers have been bolted open, and the door propped open to welcome guests inside. The harbor is coming to life as the crews of the larger docked ships start to wake up, the fishing boats sail in, and people come down from the city to check crab pots or cast out a line. A few larger ships are headed their way, pirate flags stored away, following the fishing boats into the harbor.  

Most of the visitors who stop in this city are pirates. As far as customers go, Zeff has always preferred pirates to royal soldiers or tradesmen. Besides, any port that welcomes pirates is a relatively safe place, since there aren’t many ports that allow them. It would be foolish for pirates to pillage such a rare haven.  

This city would have been a good place to raise a boy. Zeff leans on the windowsill and looks back at the boys laughing as they help each other straighten out all the chairs and tables. Every type of sea creature caught and brought back to port, he could have taught Sanji how to fillet and cook.  

I should have taken the risk and run away with you the moment I knew things weren’t right. It’s not worth thinking about. Still, he thinks it every morning. He wonders what sort of man Sanji might have become had he grown up in a place like this, away from his family. Zeff doesn’t know anything about raising kids, and he would be delusional to think he would do a good job. But it’d have been a better job than that scum Vinsmoke.  

The harbor fills with the sounds of creaking ropes, flapping canvas, and people calling to each other. The first customers are making their way toward the restaurant, so Zeff turns away from the window and goes back to the kitchen, beckoning the boys to follow with a grunt. They scamper on his heels as he limps over to the counter and turns around.  

Zeff checks them over, and they stand sharply to attention so he can inspect their aprons. They stare up at him, trying to stretch themselves taller while they wait for his approval.  

Sanji always hunched. He had trouble making eye-contact, flinched away from touch until he learned Zeff wasn’t going to hurt him. It took years, and Zeff spent those years stopping himself from hitting the kid like he would have his own crew. Easier to withhold touch altogether than to worry about hurting the boy – god knows the kid got enough of that on a daily basis. Zeff doesn't remember seeing the boy without bruises.  

These two boys show none of what Zeff eventually learned were signs of abuse. If someone was hurting them, Zeff isn’t sure he could stop himself from stomping into the city and killing the perpetrator. To his relief, the boys run around cheerily, wrestle each other, laugh and smile, and sometimes lose focus on their work as they daydream. Their only wounds are bruises and scrapes from roughhousing or running too fast through the streets.  

“Hey old man, you alive back there?” One of the fishermen calls.  

“Hang on.” Zeff growls, and the boys giggle.  

Zeff scowls and beckons the boys to follow, laying out some plates and handing them a serving spoon each. He slices up some bread and watches them carefully spoon fish onto the plates. Zeff slides thick slices of bread onto each plate, drizzling hot spiced oil over the meal. He hands the boys a serving tray each and helps load them, then he watches the boys scamper out to serve the guests.  

It’ll be lunch time before he knows it. Zeff cooks up a few more portions for the rest of the morning guests. The boys collect payment and deliver the coins and some fresh produce to the kitchen. The fishermen deliver a portion of their day’s catch for the lunch menu, and today they’ve brought prawns and a big tuna.  

Zeff wonders what his Eggplant is cooking out at sea. He hopes the notes he gave Sanji are sufficient. He’s smart. He’ll figure it out. Zeff puts the prawns in water to keep cool while he shells them. It would be a good chance to teach the boys how, but they’re clearly bursting with energy, so he ushers them out of the dining room so they can let off some steam before lunch time. They throw off their aprons and race down the dock, barely managing to kick off their shoes before plunging straight into the ocean.  

Zeff bends down with a groan to collect their aprons, hanging them on the hook in the kitchen. He rolls up his sleeves, and prepares his surfaces.   

Nothing compares to fresh seafood. He had almost forgotten the taste of fried calamari in garlic sauce, or a fresh bass with roasted potatoes. The mangoes and hot peppers traded to him yesterday will make a nice dipping sauce for the prawns. Zeff dices a couple of mangoes and puts them in a pan with water to render down, chopping up a few more for a salad. Fresh fruit tossed with greens and drizzled with spiced oil will pair well with the tuna. He’ll cut the fish into palm-sized portions and sear the edges over high heat.  

The mangoes bubble. Zeff dices the hot peppers with his cleaver until they’re a paste, adding them into the sauce and stirring briefly before rubbing a bit of milk over his hands to wash the stinging oils from his skin; rough as it is, the heat can still penetrate his pores. In another pan, he puts the shelled prawns to cook in butter with a dash of lemon to not overpower the natural flavor of the prawns.  

He misses having Sanji at his elbow, peering over to learn before trying it out for himself. The boys do as they’re told, but they have other interests in life than cooking. For most people, cooking is just a necessary step that comes before eating. For some, it’s an art. Sanji had that spark, even if it was dulled in his eyes.  

So long as people keep coming to his restaurant to enjoy his cooking, then that’s all that matters. Not many pirates can be as proud of their legacy as Zeff is. Zeff would have changed a thousand things about his life between meeting Sanji and now, but at least the kid is out there doing what he loves, building on what little Zeff was able to pass on – or, so he hopes.  

A ruckus breaks out in the dining area. Zeff frowns and pulls all his pans off the heat to cool, wiping his hands on his apron and making his way to the kitchen door.  

The boys rush before he makes it, swarming his heels.  

“Old man, old man! There’s a fight!” one boy clamors. “A scary lady is wrestling a man in a hat!”  

“Is that so.” Zeff rolls up his sleeves. “Start preparing plates for the lunch customers. I’ll handle this.”  

The boys nod, scrambling around him but lingering in the doorway to watch as he stomps out.  

It’s been ages since he fought anyone properly. The last time he laid a good kick on someone was a drunk sailor accosting a woman on the docks, whom he kicked straight into the ocean. Sometimes he feels so pent up that it’s tempting to catch a ship back to Germa and finish off Vinsmoke Judge with his brand-new cleaver. He hopes the wound he dealt in Germa plagues the king every moment of his worthless life.  

Zeff storms into the dining room and through the tables toward the open door, passing by a few early lunch customers staring at the commotion outside.  

“You just ate breakfast!” A woman growls from the pier. “We have things to get on this island, we can stop by later!”  

“But it smells so good!” A man whines. Zeff glares onto the pier at the cluster of people blocking the entrance, watching as a woman with long orange hair wrestles a man in a straw hat desperate to fight his way into the restaurant. The other crew members are gathered close by, those he can see wearing mixed expressions of amusement and weariness. A couple of them are eying the restaurant with intrigue, but don't dare argue.  

“It’s no use fighting him.” A man yawns. His voice is gruff and familiar, his body obscured by the doorframe. “Just let him inside. He’ll sulk for the rest of the day if you don’t.”  

“Ugh, fine, but this is coming out of your meat allowance.”  

“Yay!” Straw-Hat wriggles free, and scampers into the restaurant.  

Zeff stands and watches as the rest of the group follows inside. It’s quite the odd mix of people, too odd to be anything but a pirate crew. His warning dies in his throat as the crew spills in off the docks and starts to move tables together so they can sit down as a group.  

Blonde hair catches his eye from the middle of the group. All those years come rushing back, and if Zeff were holding anything, he’d have surely dropped it.   

Sanji looks so different, and yet rare as it was, Zeff would recognize that bright smile anywhere.  

Was he always so tall? He looks like he’s grown, and yet he never drew himself up as he does now, talking with his friends in a cheerful tone. His face is turned away to talk to one of his crew members, well-kept stubble growing on his chin. His bangs are pushed back from his face with a bandana that hides his eyebrows. He looks better dressed than he ever did as a prince, his clothes clean and well-fitting. The dark navy jacket suits him much better than his red cape ever did.  

A gold earrings dangles from his left ear. Zeff tears his eyes away and easily picks out Zoro from the group. One of the swordsman’s gold earrings is missing, replaced with one of the pearl earrings Sanji tried to give him before parting ways.  

Zeff can feel the boys lingering behind him, waiting for instruction as the old cook stares at the crew, stares at Sanji. His bones ache in his dreams, too, but he knows he’s awake. It’s been years, plenty of time to figure out what to say, and yet he has no idea.  

Zoro sits down, leaving room for Sanji beside him. The swordsman catches Zeff and looks up, recognition dawning. He cracks a grin and reaches for Sanji’s arm.  

“ Eggplant! ” Zeff bellows.   

The shout catches everyone’s attention, the other customers looking confused and the crew peering around to see what the fuss is about. Sanji stops in his tracks and slowly turns around. Zoro leans back in his seat with a smirk and nudges Sanji in the ass with his boot.  

Sanji stumbles away from the swordsman, knocking aside a table and brushing one of his crewmembers out of the way.   

Whatever this feeling is, its name is unfamiliar. It grips Zeff so completely that he stands rigid for a moment while Sanji rushes toward him. The kid is halfway to him before he realizes what he wants more than anything is to squeeze that kid tight, and he can't wait a moment more. Zeff lunges to meet him as fast as his leg will allow, grunting as they collide. For the third time in his whole life, he hugs Sanji tight.  

How did Sanji get so big? He’s grown a few inches, his arms farther up Zeff’s back than when they last hugged all those years ago. Sanji was so hunched, then, bent with pain and grey from suffering that seemed like it would never end. He’d been limping, bloody, worn down but still going, still fighting. Zeff grips the back of Sanji’s neck with a weathered hand and feels the scar left by the helmet.  

Sanji is sturdy in his arms. His unsteadiness and hitched breathing are probably caused by whatever is causing Zeff to feel the same. If his heart were to stutter to a stop, Zeff feels like he could die happy. He hasn’t cried since they said goodbye, but whatever this feeling is, it’s so powerful it’s forcing its way out through his eyeballs. The commotion of the restaurant blurs into the background. It seems pointless to fight whatever is washing over him. All he can really do is blink away his tears, growl frustratedly, and grip Sanji tighter.  

Sanji erupts into a giddy laugh, drawing away and wiping his eyes dry. He grips Zeff by the shoulders with steady hands, breaking into a huge, wet grin. “Hey, old man.” The other pearl earring is in Sanji’s right ear, matching Zoro’s.  

“You got married?” Zeff growls, glaring Sanji in the eyes.  

Sanji blinks at him, his face starting to flush. From his seat with the crew, Zoro’s smirk curls further. The rest of the crew is staring.  

“Sanji!” Straw-Hat scampers over and latches himself to Sanji’s arm, shaking it vigorously. “You’re married?!”  

“Sanji’s married?” Another kid with a long nose shrieks, bolting his way over and grabbing Sanji’s other arm. “Sanji, who are you married to!”  

“Ah! Sanji, you never told us!” A tall man with big brown eyes and round glasses joins them, grabbing Sanji from behind. All three of his friends jostle him for answers as Sanji grinds his jaw and grows increasingly red.  

“Sanji! I didn’t know you and Zoro were married! I thought you were just fucking!” Straw-Hat whines.  

If Sanji gets any redder, he’s going to pass out. “ L-Luffy! ” He shrieks in chorus with other shrieks of surprise from the crew.  

The orange-haired woman rises to her feet and storms over, grabbing Sanji by the arm and whipping him around, pointing a finger in his face. “You were married this whole time?” she accuses, looking between him and Zoro. She points her finger at Zoro next. “We could have been getting wedding gifts on these islands for... for... for how long? ”  

Zoro shrugs and yawns. “Five years?”  

“ Five years?! ” the orange-haired woman is about to burst into flames, storming back over to do god-knows-what to the swordsman.  

Zeff watches as the crew puts the pieces together, and Sanji boils. The old cook folds his arms. “Looks like we need a wedding feast.”  

Sanji gapes. The woman stops throttling Zoro, and the swordsman’s smirk returns.  

“A feast!” Straw-Hat cheers, throwing his arms around Sanji’s neck and hanging off the taller man. “Yeah! Let’s have a wedding!”  

Everyone cheers, abandoning their tables to accost the couple in their excitement, cheering and shouting so loud the other guests decide wisely it might be best to return tomorrow. Zeff meets eyes with a raven-haired woman watching calmly from within the group. She catches his eye and smiles at him before joining in to place her hand on Sanji’s shoulder.  

Zeff watches Sanji be swallowed by his friends, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.  

--  

They never really talked. There wasn’t much to talk about, and hearing too many details about the latest training incident just made Zeff angry there was nothing he could do but clean whatever wounds had resulted.  

The old cook leans back in his chair and tugs another close with his boot, resting his peg leg onto it and stretching out his muscles. He watches the crew laugh and talk over their lunch, fighting the straw-hat boy’s hands away from their plates.  

“Glad to see you haven't lost it.” Sanji pulls up a chair and sits down beside him.  

“Watch that lip, boy,” Zeff grumbles. “I can still show your ass a thing or two.”  

Sanji laughs. “I hope so.”  

Why does that make him so happy to hear? Zeff looks away from Sanji’s smile and down at the kid’s hands resting on the table. He holds out his own and beckons. “Well, let’s see them.”  

Sanji holds them up, front and back, and flexes his fingers. “Been taking care of them, promise. Not a punch thrown.”  

The young cook’s hands are in good shape, that much is obvious. Zeff wasn’t about to berate him about any scars – there isn't always a choice not to punch. Still, Zeff expected more scars than are visible. Life as a pirate isn’t easy, especially not if the rest of the crew is as good at finding trouble as Zoro. It’s clear that Sanji has been taking care of his hands.  

Zeff waves his hand, and Sanji puts his hands down. “Taking care of the rest of you too, I hope.”  

Sanji smiles and rubs his side. “I try.”  

“You hurt?”  

“We ran into some trouble a few weeks ago.” Sanji pats his side gently. “Chopper took care of it, don’t worry. It’s almost healed.”  

Protectiveness grips his heart. Zeff fights the urge to pry. Sanji is moving fine. His skin is a healthy color, and he doesn’t seem to be in pain. There’s nothing to worry about, even though he can't stop himself from worrying just a little. Zeff huffs and looks over at the crew. Zoro has pushed away his empty plate and leaned back to nap, snoring as the long-nose boy – Usopp – leans over him to tell a story with exuberant gestures. The big man with the glasses – Chopper –is listening intently, almost in Zoro’s lap. Straw-Hat – Luffy, the Captain – is enraptured too, perched on the table like a monkey. The others are clustered nearby to listen, entertained though perhaps not taking the story so literally.  

“They take care of you?” Zeff looks at Sanji’s face, looks at his eyes for the truth.  

Sanji’s smile tells it all. “Yeah, they do,” he says softly. “I still don’t think I’ve gotten used to it. Not sure if I ever will.”  

After what the Vinsmokes did to him, Zeff isn't surprised. He grips the table tightly. What’s done is done. Whatever the case, Sanji isn’t lying to him. Not only is the situation an improvement, these people seem genuinely good. They care about Sanji, that much is clear.  

“Hey Sanji!” Luffy bounds over, his mouth stuffed with food. “Can you make this?” He points at his stuffed mouth.  

“Sure I can, Captain,” Sanji assures confidently.  

“In a million years,” Zeff scoffs.  

Luffy cocks his head, chewing his enormous bite a bit more. “Hey old man, did you teach Sanji how to cook?”  

“Taught him everything he knows.” Zeff replies. “Chew with your mouth closed, brat.”  

Luffy swallows his enormous mouthful and licks oil and spices from his lips. “Sanji’s food is sooo good. I was waiting for a cook for so long, and I thought I was never gonna find one, but then Zoro found me one, and he's the best!”  

Despite his gentle flattered blush, Sanji manages a smirk. “Who’s a better cook, me or the old man?”  

“Hmm....” Luffy struggles over the question, squinting and rubbing his chin. “ Hmm ....”  

“It you say it’s me, I’ll cook your favorite steak for a week.”  

“ Hmmm.... ” Luffy ponders even harder, daydreaming briefly before eying Zeff.  

Zeff shoos the kid away. “Off you go, boy.”  

Luffy throws up his hands and runs back to the crew. “Sanji said he can cook this for us later!” he cheers, interrupting Usopp's story.  

Sanji hasn’t lost any of his natural skill – quite the opposite. He was already learning quickly despite how little time he got to spend at the inn. Now that he gets to cook every day, multiple times a day, Zeff imagines the improvement has been exponential.  

“Seems I’ve still got it,” Zeff says.  

“Don't let it go to your head,” Sanji scoffs. “Luffy will eat anything.”  

Hard to believe that’s the captain. Still, Sanji’s fond expression is all that matters. Zeff puts his leg down and stands up with a grunt. “Leave it up to the rest of the crew to decide the winner, then. I’ve got a wedding meal to prepare.”  

“Nah. I’m helping.” Sanji stands up too.  

“You’re not cooking your own wedding feast,” Zeff growls.  

“I sure as fuck am. You’ve never fed Luffy before.”  

Won't you let me do this for you? Then again, it’s been years since they cooked together. There’s only one way to find out just how good at cooking Sanji has gotten. “Fine, but I won’t go easy on you just because you have your own crew now.”  

“Wouldn’t want you to,” Sanji grins. “So long as you can keep up.”  

“Keep that snark to yourself,” Zeff warns.   

The kid can definitely keep up. Zeff is old, and Sanji is in better shape than he’s ever seen. Nonetheless, he won't let the kid put him to shame.  

“We should get some supplies.” Sanji looks over at his friends. “The ship needs restocking anyway.” He walks between his crew members and gives Zoro’s leg a nudge to wake him up.   

Zeff stretches with a groan. “I’ll give you a list.”  

“Yeow! Let’s split into groups!” The one with no trousers on – Franky – suggests. “Give us a list, and we can help. I need to get some lumber for the ship anyway. Say, I could fix up this shack while we wait.”  

Zeff scowls, but is cut off before he can protest.  

“Yeah, exploring!” Luffy agrees. “I want to explore the island!”  

“If you give me the list, I’ll give everyone a budget,” Nami says, taking a coin purse out of her bag. “We found a good haul on the last island, so we can spare some on a wedding.”  

“I would quite like to explore the traditions of the island,” Robin agrees quietly, almost inaudible under her louder crewmates fantasizing about all the delicious foods they’re going to eat, and what supplies they want to buy. “I read that a common wedding practice in this area is to go for a walk and purchase each other a gift.”  

Perhaps nobody is paying attention, other than Zoro who nudges Sanji with his elbow.  

--  

Sanji’s kitchen is as kempt as Zeff’s own, not a speck of dust on any shelf, the utensils arranged precisely, and the pantry organized just as Zeff instructed to keep vermin out of the flour.   

That recipe book must be around here somewhere. Zeff resists the urge to look for it, focusing instead on the wedding cake. It’s been a while since he baked a cake. Pastries often require fewer ingredients. He finds a big mixing bowl and scoops sugar into it. He cleaves off the top and tail of a pineapple, shaving away the outer skin and cutting out the core. Zeff cuts off a couple of slices and chops them as finely as possible, scraping the fruit and juice into the bowl. The acid from the juice seems to help the cake rise a little. Zeff mixes in some butter and a couple of eggs, gently stirring in flour last.  

Back in Germa, he always wondered what Sanji’s fate eventually would be. He always dreaded that one-day Sanji would just stop visiting, sent away by his father to marry into another kingdom. Maybe it would have been easier to escape with the kid had that actually happened.  

If not for Zoro, Sanji would still be chained up in his room, and Zeff would be none the wiser. If not for Zoro, Sanji would be long gone, kidnapped during the trials by the men sent after him by his father. Zoro explained as much, bluntly describing what transpired after Sanji had left the inn to bring the crystal to a father whose approval was unwinnable.  

Zeff lights the fire and sets all the round pans he can find on the countertop, greasing them and pouring in the cake batter. By the time the cake is cooked and cooled enough to assemble, the wedding meal should be complete.  

If only those Vinsmoke brats and their bastard father were here to see the man Sanji has become. Zeff puts the pans on the hot plate to cook and looks down through the porthole at the deck where Sanji and Zoro are returning with the goods they bought. Judge wouldn’t care, couldn’t be made to care. The brats, too, may be too far gone, but perhaps something would have shifted in their hearts if they could see how much Sanji has sprung up with their boots lifted from him. Whatever the case, their approval would be meaningless, anyway. Zeff wipes up a splash of flour and watches the crew gather on the main deck, Nami ordering them around to set up for the feast and ceremony. Chopper comes around to scold a few of them, including Sanji, for straining wounds still healing; wounds that cause no overt discomfort, but that the doctor is dutiful enough to still care for. Sanji is reluctant, but lets the doctor carry the stack of boxes for him nonetheless, bickering with him and Zoro as he leads the way up the steps.  

“I told you, Chopper! I'm fine!” Sanji protests as he opens the door and the others follow him inside the kitchen.  

“And you’ll feel even better if you stop trying to carry everything like I told you!” Chopper retorts, setting the crates on the floor.   

“You took the stitches out ages ago!”  

“And I’ll put them back in if I have to!” Chopper growls, while Zoro puts down his own boxes and slinks over to the sofa in the corner. Chopper points angrily. “You’re as bad as Zoro!”  

Zoro yawns and flops down on the sofa. “Don't bring me into this.” He shuts his eyes and leans back.  

Chopper’s frown lingers. The larger man stuffs it away and his bottom lip starts to tremble as he stares down at Sanji with big brown eyes. “Please, Sanji. Just another day, okay?”  

“Okay,” Sanji agrees, patting Chopper’s giant arm. “I’ll get Zoro to carry it for me. I feel fine, I promise. You took good care of me.”  

“ Flattery doesn’t work on me! ” Chopper roars, flushing bright red and whirling on his heel, marching out of the kitchen. He shuts the door behind him and runs down the steps to shout at Usopp who is also hauling crates.  

Sanji smiles fondly and takes off his jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small wooden carving of a horse. The animal is rearing up, mane and tail streaming out behind. Sanji reaches up with a wince and puts it on a shelf between some supplies to keep it safe, looking back fondly at Zoro.  

Zoro is watching, pleased with himself. He looks away and reaches into his pocket for a small bottle of what looks like sake, unscrewing the top to take appraising sip. Content, he shuts his eyes and takes another sip.  

Sanji goes back to the door and bends down to open the supplies. He picks out a handful of vegetables and sets them on the countertop by Zeff, rolling up his sleeves. “You’d think I got cut in half the way Chopper acts.”  

Zoro cracks open an eye as if debating what to say, but shuts it again and keeps quiet.  

“And I’m not as bad as Zoro,” Sanji protests, picking out some knives and setting down a bowl for ingredients.  

Zeff waves his hand. “You weren’t that different.”  

Zoro cracks open one eye again. “Can’t judge a man by his worst moments.”  

Arguably, those moments were some of the bravest Zeff has ever seen in any man. In all his time alive, he’s never seen a man push through the way Zoro did. Sanji, too, pushed through the trauma.  

“Chopper said you were just as bad after you fought Mihawk,” Sanji retorts, spinning the cleaver in his fingers before bringing it down and chopping off the head of an onion. “ And he told me you tried to cut your feet off once.”  

Zoro growls. “That was necessary!”  

“You’re unbelievable.”  

“And I’m yours.” Zoro smirks smugly.  

“Good.” Sanji flushes, taking to the onion with the knife. “I hope you’ll take better care of yourself, then.”  

Zeff hasn't seen a grin so smug on any man in his whole life. It’s about what he’d expect from someone who tried to fight the greatest swordsman in the world.    

“See, I’m not nearly as bad as he is,” Sanji pleads, scooping up the onion and putting it into the bowl.  

“Stubborn, is what I was thinking,” Zeff suggests, spinning around his own knife and taking to the pile of bell peppers.  

Zoro cackles.   

Stubbornness has certainly gotten both of them this far. Zeff won't say he’s any better. At least the other crew members care enough to reign them in and look after them. At least they have an actual doctor, who is certainly more skilled than Zeff ever was.  

Sanji pulls the bandana from around his head, tying it around his arm for safe-keeping. His bangs flop over his right eye as usual, and he goes over to the supplies to picks out some fish. Zeff tries not to stare at the scars, but he can’t help himself. The scars are wide and stretched, jagged in places where deep stitches were repeatedly torn. The scar tissue is white, creating thick breaks in the swirls of Sanji’s eyebrows. Not much of the swirls even remain. It’s not the worst damage Judge dealt to his son, but it summarizes all of it so clearly, all the pain and hurt, and all the ways Zeff failed to protect his boy from suffering any of it.  

Sanji catches Zeff’s eye and smiles at him, reaching up to rub at the scars. “Bad, huh,” he whispers. “Sometimes I forget.”  

Zeff won't ever forget what they looked like when the helmet first came off. Even when the last stitch was tied, they looked bad, swollen and still oozing blood. Even when the wounds themselves were covered under clean bandages, Sanji was so pale, his eyes bruised and his face tight with pain even after passing out.  

“They hurt?” Zeff asks.  

“Sometimes,” Sanji admits. He picks up a fish and hands it over. “Come on, old man, am I gonna put your cooking to shame, or what?”  

The kid is right – it's time to let go of those days. Zeff snatches the fish out of Sanji’s hand and slaps it down on the countertop, brandishing his knife and spinning it around. “You’re a hundred years too early to put me to shame, Eggplant.”  

“We’ll see about that.” Sanji matches Zeff’s knife flip with hands just as dexterous.  

Aches and pains start to fade away. Zeff spins a bit faster, determined to put this kid in his place. Sanji grins at him and matches, flipping the blade into the other hand to do the same.   

“Nice party tricks, boy, but let’s see about that form.” Zeff challenges.  

Sanji puts down the knife and lays out two onions, holding out his hand for Zeff’s knife. The old man holds it up and watches with a scowl as Sanji perfectly dices both onions at once.  

The kid hands Zeff back his knife and looks for approval. Those slices are damn near perfect. Zeff can see a faint tremor of nervousness in the kid’s hand as the knife is handed back. Zeff takes the knife. “Come on, Eggplant, we’ve got a feast to cook.”  

--  

The fires don't go out for hours. The whole kitchen fills with crackling, roaring flames and the smell of cooking food. It’s almost like being back on his ship again, cooking with his first mate and sous-chef.  

The kid is going to surpass him in a year or two, if he hasn’t already. Cooking for a whole crew with different tastes while sailing the world has honed Sanji’s natural skill. The kid flies around the kitchen, assembling dishes Zeff has never heard of, yet still glances to Zeff for guidance – in his own goddamned kitchen.  

A sense of taste is hard to teach. Teaching someone to care as much about their crew as Sanji does is downright impossible. There’s not much more Zeff could ever teach, other than a few techniques of preparation, maybe a handful more recipes. Zeff would kill to know what Sanji has added to that recipe book.  

Zeff can’t move around the kitchen as fast as Sanji can, but his arms work just as well. The boy’s knives are kept as well as Zeff keeps his own, slicing through fish flesh like butter.  

Between them today, they must have cooked just about every type of edible sea creature that can be caught in the area, some caught off the ship by the crew, and the rest purchased in the city market. Usopp bursts in with an armful of fresh bread rolls, putting them on the dining table where there’s space and running off again.  

Sanji cleans his knife and sharpens it with a few quick flicks on the sharpening stone. He gathers up the rolls and slices them in half, folding them open and laying them down in the pan Zeff just pulled scallops out of.  

“What are you making?”  

“Lobster rolls,” Sanji explains, moving the bread around in the pan to toast in the oils and spices. He lifts them out and lays down a few more. “We went to an island a couple years ago and the locals make this. Usually they toast the bread over an open fire. You?”  

“Pasta with scallops.” Zeff rolls the sheet of smoothly-kneaded flour and egg yolk and folds it lightly into a few layers, cutting off thin strips with the cleaver. He scoops up the noodles and puts them in boiling water. “I always preferred the simpler pasta recipes.” He stirs the noodles and adds a bit more salt to the water.  

“Nami loves a light pasta,” Sanji remarks, taking out the rest of the bread and adding in the lobster tails with a bit more spice. “And this is the kind of thing Franky likes.” He splits open the bread rolls and takes the bowl of Zeff’s egg whites, adding oil and spices. He puts a fork into the mixture and whisks the ingredients.  

A thick white mixture starts to form. Sanji’s hand whips at incredible speed, and the mixture grows in the bowl as the motion aerates it.  

Sanji catches him staring. He keeps whipping until the mixture is finishes, scooping some out with a fork and stabbing a few morsels of lobster. He offers the fork.  

Zeff takes the fork and eats the mouthful off the end. Whatever it is, it’s good. “Hm. Needs salt. And paprika.”  

Sanji rolls his eyes and sprinkles in more of both, mixing. Zeff takes a mental note of the ingredients and technique, glancing over as Sanji spreads the sauce generously onto both sides of the rolls. Sanji fishes out the lobster tails and adds the next batch, cutting the cooked tailed while the next ones cook. He scoops the chopped lobster into the rolls and squeezes them gently, oozing white sauce and spiced oils onto the serving plate. It looks and smells absolutely delicious. Zeff hopes to get the chance to try at least a mouthful of every dish Sanji is cooking today.  

They’ve just about run out of plates. Zeff is going to have to serve his pasta in a cooking bowl. He scoops the cooked noodles into a bowl and adds the cooked scallops, mixing gently and sprinkling in a bit of finely-chopped parsley. The flavor from the scallops coats the pasta just enough, clinging to the noodles with a help of a drizzle of pasta water. Zeff twirls up a bite onto a fork and waves it at Sanji.  

Sanji eats off the fork and savors the mouthful. He finishes squeezing lemon over the lobster rolls and hands over the unused segments.  

Cocky brat. He might be right. Zeff snatches the lemon segments and squeezes them into the pasta. He folds the noodles to mix in the lemon, twisting up another mouthful to taste. The kid’s right, and trying not to look like he knows it as he focuses on slicing up an orange.  

“Makin’ those glazed orange slices?” Zeff asks, noting the thinner cut.  

“Yeah. Thought I’d try with the rest of that pineapple, too.” Sanji points the knife at the pineapple Zeff started cutting. “These are one of Chopper’s favorites. And Usopp likes it when I add hot peppers.”  

“It might work.” Zeff passes Sanji a metal pot of the appropriate size and measures in some water for him. “Pineapple might fall apart easier without a peel to hold them together.”  

“I’ll try.” Sanji sets aside the oranges and measures some sugar into the pot of water, putting it on the stove to boil. He picks up the pineapple and lays the knife against the fruit. “How thick do you think I should cut?”  

“Cut it thick,” Zeff suggests, nudging Sanji’s hand further up. “Cut the rings into segments. Eight or nine should be a good size.”  

Sanji chops off a slice and lays it flat, halving it thrice and holding up the pieces. “Hmm. Shouldn’t need as long as the orange. It’s thicker, but the sugar will infuse the fruit much easier than the orange rind.” He glances over for approval.  

The kid’s probably right. Zeff shrugs. “Find out.”  

Zoro pops open an eye again. He’s been quiet for a while now, seemingly napping in the corner. Sometimes Zeff catches one eye open a crack to watch, but otherwise it’s hard to tell when the man is truly asleep or awake. “Hey Cook. Make some oranges with rum.”  

“You got any?” Sanji asks, scooping the pineapple into a bowl and wiping up the last smears of juice.  

“Somewhere.” Zoro shrugs, closing his eyes and waving his hand. “Usual place.” He smacks his lips, and somewhere in there is a mumbled thank-you.  

Sanji turns around, grumbling around a hidden smile as he rummages in the cupboards for Zoro’s alcohol stash. He picks out a brown bottle and cracks the top, taking a sip. His face scrunches up and he caps the bottle again, making a small pile of oranges and setting the bottle next to it.  

Zeff looks out at the deck where the rest of the crew has been preparing. They've pushed together crates to make a long table, draping an assortment of tablecloths to cover them. Usopp, Chopper, and Jimbe are arranging seating made from whatever objects they can find around the ship. Luffy is clambering up the mast to tuck flowers into the rigging while Nami directs him from the deck. Brook is sitting in the corner plucking away at the strings of his vielle while Franky joins in with a cittern; composing some kind of wedding dance, presumably. Zeff can catch a few notes from here, and the tune is up-beat, despite how much Franky is sobbing. Robin is decorating an arch made of old barrels, hiding the metal pieces riveted to the wood. She beckons Chopper over, and he ducks down so she can climb onto his shoulders and reach the top of the arch.  

They're an odd bunch. They care about Sanji, that much is obvious. It’s going to be a haphazard wedding, the complete opposite of the organized, bureaucratic affair of a royal wedding. There are no rings to exchange, and perhaps no gifts to give at such short notice, other than what the couple purchased for each other. There are no relatives to invite.  

Everyone, and everything that needs to be here already is.  

There’s no use delaying: setup is complete, and the feast is prepared, growing colder by the minute. Sanji opens the door and picks up the first dish, whistling. Zoro’s eyes snap open and the swordsman hops to his feet, striding over to help deliver the food to the main deck.   

The ship is buzzing, and the summer sun blazes down. Zeff limps down the steps to the main deck and helps spread out the dishes as they arrive, keeping an eye on those who are tempted to sample before the table is laid. Luffy climbs excitedly down from the rigging and scrambles over to the table, reaching out an eager hand for a prawn sticking out of some rice. Zeff bats the boy’s hand away and shoos him off.  

“Luffy!” Robin calls. “Why don't you come over here and I’ll explain the marriage ceremony?”  

“Good luck,” Nami bemoans, taking a handful of cutlery from Sanji and helping him lay the table.  

Zoro plops down in a random seat, adjusting the swords at his hip. “Does it matter? We’re married already.”  

“Not officially,” Nami corrects.  

Zoro shrugs. “Nothing’s official. We’re pirates.”  

“We can at least try.”  

“When should we perform the ceremony?” Brook asks.  

“As soon as possible,” Nami suggests, grabbing Sanji before he can sit down and pulling him along the table. She grabs Zoro on her way and tugs him out of his chair, leading both men over to the arch. “You two stand over here, and everyone else can sit down.” She shoves them under the arch and turns them to face each other.  

Zeff takes a seat at the end of the table and leans on his hand to watch. Zoro’s smug smirk is back, and Sanji is trying hard to maintain his cool even though his whole face is growing redder. Nobody seems surprised at their relationship – Zeff isn't sure what else there is to be embarrassed about. The rest of the crew comes over to sit down, trying their hardest to ignore the food and wait patiently. Luffy is already drooling, staring between his friends and the steaming food.  

“Should we pour drinks?” Robin suggests. “Franky, why don’t you pour everyone that wine?” She points at a crate set aside.  

Franky pries it open and lifts out bottles of untouched wine. “When-”  

“Some time ago,” Robin explains casually. “Luffy, you remember the procedure?”  

The boy scratches his chin, looking up at his friends. “That’s boring. We already take care of each other in sickness and in health. Why can't they just kiss?”  

“W-wait...” Sanji stammers. “In front of everyone--?”  

Zoro pounces on him, yanking the cook into his arms and kissing him.  

Someone at the table yelps. Franky bursts into tears. Nami scowls, but her mouth is fighting her no matter how hard she tries to downturn it. Usopp throws flowers into the air, and Robin smiles softly at the couple as the table erupts with cheers.  

Luffy whoops, wrapping his arms around his friends and pulling them tighter together than they already are. Zoro isn’t holding back, gripping the back of Sanji’s head and kissing deeply. It’s most inappropriate for a kiss meant to punctuate the officiation. Sanji is scrambling with Zoro’s shirt, but with no real urge to push him away.  

It is disgusting. Some things are better shared in private. Luffy shoves himself between them and lunges for the table. “That was easy! Let’s eat now!”  

The formalities themselves are a triviality. Zoro finally releases Sanji’s mouth and grabs his hand, tugging him to the table. Dazed, Sanji wipes his mouth and stumbles along, his face still simmering and his hair disheveled.  

Once Luffy dives in, the rest have the sense to start eating too, to make sure they get a mouthful of every dish onto their plates before it’s gone. Zeff spoons a bit of everything onto his plate as the dishes get passed around, wondering if the crew will be able to tell the difference between his and Sanji’s cooking. Zeff certainly put more than his usual care into the food, and it seems Sanji did the same.  

“This is so good!” Luffy announces with a raised chicken leg. Pineapple glaze oozes onto his hand and he licks it off before stuffing the food into his mouth. Zoro’s mouth is already full of rice balls. He doesn’t seem interested in much of anything else but that and a few swigs of wine in between to wash it down.  

Sanji isn’t eating as readily as everyone else, though like Zeff he’s been sampling their meals all day long. There’s a smile on his face as he watches his friends eat. How long that boy was denied the pleasure of watching people enjoy his food is a crime. Zeff hopes that during Sanji’s limited time cooking at the inn, that at least some of the complements made their way from the dining room to the kitchen, and to Sanji’s ear. Zeff hopes that not a day goes by where the crew doesn't tell Sanji to his face how much they enjoyed eating what he cooked for them.  

Or, perhaps Sanji doesn’t need them to. He seems happy, twirling pasta onto his fork as he watches his crew go back for seconds from the dishes made with their preferences in mind. The enjoyment in their faces speaks for itself.  

Franky licks bread crumbs and lobster from his lips, picking up the cittern. He puts his foot on the table and rests the instrument on his leg. He strums a chord, and Brook stands up to join him with the vielle.  

“Yo, first dance!” Franky points at the couple.  

Sanji stares at the finger aimed in his face and swallows his food. He looks over at Zoro. “Do you even know how to dance?”  

Zoro smacks his chest with his fist to clear a bubble, gurgling out a burp. “Nope.”  

“I’m not teaching you in front of everyone,” Sanji protests, red from wine.  

Zoro shrugs and stands up, gulping down his wine with one big swig. His own professed lack of skill is no deterrent, and the music is already playing. It’s not a slow song, either. Zoro bats the fork out of Sanji's hand, and it clatters onto the empty plate. The swordsman grabs it and yanks Sanji to his feet, pulling him away from the table and onto the empty deck space.  

Sanji knows how to dance, but Zeff doubts Judge had his sons learn to dance to music like this. Unsteady and pink-faced as he is, Sanji might be too drunk on wine to display any dancing he may have learned. Zoro is holding his liquor much better despite having drunk more, though as he spins Sanji around and dips down, he almost drops the cook entirely. Sanji yelps as he’s flung back up.  

By some miracle, there’s some food left. Luffy leaps over the table, ripping a piece of bread out of Usopp’s fingers so he can grab the hand and pull his friend up with him. Nami is next, going up with Chopper.  

“Would you like to dance?” Robin strides up beside him, offering her hand.  

“Can’t.” Zeff pats his leg. Putting aside that he doesn’t know how...  

Robin sits down in the vacant chair beside him and follows his eye to where the crew is dancing in a lump, avoiding each other’s flailing limbs.   

“Ow, that’s my toe you brute!” Sanji growls.  

“I warned you!” Zoro retorts.  

Robin chuckles. “They’re quite something, aren’t they.”  

Drunk as he is, Sanji’s tackle doesn’t surprise the rest of the crew. The couple tumbles to the deck, rolling around as Zoro bats away Sanji’s long legs trying to entangle him. The crew pays them no mind, sidestepping and continuing to dance to lively music.  

“He keeps Mr. Swordsman on his toes, you know.” Robin informs. “They’re a good match for each other.”  

If only his body were younger, and he could challenge Sanji to a fight just to see how strong his Eggplant has gotten. Strong enough to take care of himself.    

“We’re very lucky to have him,” Robin adds. “You must be proud.”  

Zeff is nothing but. “Glad to have him out of the house,” he replies gruffly, taking a swig of wine.  

Robin laughs.  

“Hey, can we have cake?” Luffy shouts from the middle of the dancing. “Weddings have cake, right?”  

Come to think of it, the cake should be ready to assemble. After a bit of dancing, the crew might have some room to enjoy it. Zeff sighs and stands up, putting down his empty wine glass.  

“Okay, kid.” Zeff grunts. “I’ll bring it down. And make sure Eggplant stays down here.” If not the wedding meal, then Zeff can at least handle the cake himself. “Somebody will have to help me carry it.”  

"Got it,” Zoro offers, spinning Sanji into Luffy’s grasp and striding over.  

“I’ll make room on the table,” Robin offers, standing up to slide the contents of mostly-eaten dishes onto the same platter and stack up the empty ones.  

Zeff turns away from the festivities and makes his way across the deck to the steps. It’s a big ship, bigger than his own was. The merchant ship he sailed here on crossed over mostly-calm waters. He wonders what it would be like to sail through a rough storm; even without his peg leg, his old bones might not be able to handle it anymore. He limps up the steps, and Zoro follows leisurely behind, matching the old man’s hampered pace.  

It’s as if the torture never happened, though Zeff can spot the tapered end of a scar that wraps over Zoro’s shoulder from behind, not quite covered by the wide collar of his shirt. There are scars all over him, of course.   

And, three swords at the hip, the white one joined by two others. It reminds Zeff of that day in the arena – the day he knew he’d found someone strong and brave enough to fight the Vinsmokes.  

If only it hadn’t come to what it did. Though, Zeff will admit, the feeling of guilt is losing its grip watching Sanji dance happily with his friends on the main deck, and to have Zoro standing in good health before him. His memories of the state they were in won’t be forgotten, but to see them healthy puts his mind at ease.  

Zoro waits patiently by the counter, one hand resting loosely on his swords. His head is cocked as he watches Zeff slide the first thin piece of cake onto a large round dish. The slices of fruit have air-dried somewhat, making them easier to lay between the slices of cake without making it soggy.  

The urge overtakes him before reason can stop himself: “Taking care of him?” Zeff flicks his eyes up at the swordsman.  

Zoro is too relaxed to take offense. “When he lets me. And when he doesn’t.”  

If it’s anyone Zeff can trust to take care of Sanji, it’s Zoro. He tries to a grumble an apology, but the word doesn’t come out. He lays down another slice of pineapple and adds the next slice of cake.  

“Don’t worry about it, old man. Whole crew loves him. They’d line up for a turn to hurt anyone that tried to hurt him.” Zoro yawns and scratches his hair. “Keep the fucker alive longer so they all get a turn. Robin would have to go last though. She has this neck-breaking move that would definitely kill the guy.”  

That does make him feel better. “And you?”  

Zoro shrugs. “Take an arm, or a leg. Maybe some fingers to leave the others more options. Or do a good kick in the balls in your honor.”  

Zeff nods slowly as he spreads out another layer of fruit. “Heard word?”  

“Nah. Nobody came after us that we know of. Left the trail cold, it seems. If they showed up, I’d deal with them myself.”  

Zeff nods again, adding another cake layer. The Vinsmokes were lucky to escape with their lives from the inn that day. Zeff wouldn't share either if he ran into them again. They wouldn’t be so lucky a second time.  

But if Zoro were the one to have that run-in? Zeff would sell his restaurant to watch that fight go down, short as he suspects the fight would be.   

A man can dream. Zeff finishes the next layer and loosens the final layer of cake from the pan. “Steady hands?”  

“As ever.”  

Zeff lays the final slice on top and pulls out a bowl of boiled fruit sauce, drizzling it over the cake. He decorates the bottom with the last few slices of fruit. It’s a towering creation. Zeff slides a big skewer through the top to help stabilize it. He picks up the platter and carefully lays it in Zoro’s waiting hands, shuffling over to open the kitchen door.  

He watches cautiously as Zoro takes measured steps across the kitchen and out onto the deck, keeping the platter level in his hands and moving smoothly. The swordsman doesn’t lose his balance once, gracefully ushering the cake down the steps and safely to the table where he sets it down. Zeff limps after him and turns to call the crew, but they’ve already arrived, salivating around the cake.  

Who’s supposed to cut the cake at a wedding again? Zeff can't exactly remember, but the crew is looking at him with plates held out expectantly, so he takes the knife and decides not to worry about it too much.  

--  

Dancing carries on late into the night. The crew grazes on lunch leftovers and cake until the food is gone, the festivities ebbing as they lose energy. Most of the crew ends up sprawled on the deck. Nami and Zoro pass out part way into a drinking contest, Sanji already deeply asleep in Zoro’s lap. Luffy is draped over a nearby barrel, hanging face-down with his limbs brushing the deck. Chopper is flat on his back, Usopp curled up beside him, using the doctor’s arm as a pillow. Robin is gracefully slumped on the table, head rested on her folded arms. Franky has already draped a blanket over her and slumped on the floor beside her, his cittern loosely held in his lap as he snores into her calf. Brook isn’t far, huddled around his vielle.  

Jimbe arrives from the sleeping quarters with a handful of blankets. Zeff gets up, and the other man hands him half.  

Cool ocean air blows across the deck, but out in these parts, there’s no risk of catching a chill at night no matter what time of year. Zeff spreads a blanket over Nami first, freeing the empty glass from her death grip. She mumbles something and pulls her arms under her head, sighing and going quiet again. Zoro is in a more difficult position, bent sideways, half leaning on the barrel used as a table, and half presses against the railing. Zeff grabs the swordsman’s shirt and pulls him forward just enough to drop the blanket behind his back without knocking Sanji out of his lap. He pulls the blanket around them both.  

A brief groan and light thump, and Luffy appears beside him, digging under the hem of the blanket and crawling into Sanji’s lap. In an instant, he’s curled up and fast asleep. Zeff readjusts the blanket and rests his hand on Sanji’s head.  

The last blanket is for him, though his aging joints and sore muscles won't thank him for sleeping draped haphazardly over something like these kids are able.  

Jimbe taps him on the arm, leading him across the deck to the sleeping quarters and offering him one of the many beds. Too tired to protest or work his way back to the restaurant, Zeff gratefully accepts. He’s out almost immediately.  

--  

A good night’s sleep in a nice bed isn’t enough to ward off morning muscle stiffness, though. Zeff groans as he rises at his usual hour. He rises cautiously, rubbing his eyes as they adjust to the low dawn light. Zeff limps out of the sleeping quarters and onto the main deck, joints popping and creaking as the stiffness works itself out. The crew is asleep right where he left them. He can't help but smile.  

Quietly as he can, Zeff gathers up as many empty dishes from yesterday’s feast as he can carry, limping up the steps to the kitchen. He puts the plates down on the counter and pours out some clean water to wash them. He cleans as many as necessary to serve breakfast, and leaves the rest to soak. There’s plenty of scraps from yesterday’s cooking spree to cook a mismatched but delicious breakfast.  

Movement catches his eye. Zeff moves away from the big pan of cooking eggs and looks out the window at the main deck.  

The first rays of fiery orange sunlight cast long shadows of the railing across the deck. A few members of the crew are stirring. Zoro is slumped on his side, he and Luffy completely entangled in each other and the blanket. Sanji is leaning on the railing, playing with the gold earring in his left ear and gazing out to sea as the sun lights the waves on fire.  

A spray of water shoots out against the horizon – it’s too big to come from a dolphin. Just beside it, a whale breaches the surface, turning sideways and flopping back into the water with a colossal splash. Humpback, Zeff thinks. They pass through here this season, heading south to feed for the summer. It’s so big that it appears to be moving in slow motion. Zeff watches as the splashes catch the sun, the tail vanishing under the water as another whale starts to breach.  

The rest of the crew starts to pull themselves off the deck, stretching and wincing as they do so. Sanji turns around to help them off the floor, halfway done hoisting Usopp off the deck when he notices Zeff in the window. By now the smell has probably made its way all the way down the steps. Zeff moves away from the window. Footsteps are soon to follow, thumping across the deck and up the steps in little clusters. Zeff lays out some clean plates and starts to dish out portions of food.  

The door burst open, Luffy leaping-frogging over Usopp’s shoulders to get inside first, holding his hat onto his head as he runs over to the countertop and salivates at the food.  

“Take this,” Zeff says, giving over the first plate to the Captain. He wags the spoon in the kid’s face. “But don’t start until everyone is served.”  

Luffy sulks, eying the food as if contemplating gobbling it down straight away. He manages to restrain himself, running to sit at the table and kicking his legs impatiently. Zeff serves the rest of the crew, and they at least have some patience, thanking him and hurrying to the table to sit. The crew digs in eagerly. Some of them are clearly hungover and sore, but the food livens them up.  

Sanji stays behind, leaning on the counter beside him to eat. “Cooking in a cook’s kitchen without permission?” Sanji says, looking over.  

Zeff snorts. “I made a list of what I used. Thought you’d be too hungover to cook.”  

“I was not that drunk.”  

Zeff says nothing of that. “I’ll help restock. I have to get things for the restaurant anyway.”  

Sanji waves a hand. “No big deal. Leave it to the crew. They can pick up your stuff too.”  

The only person he could trust to pick out ripe produce is Sanji. Maybe – maybe – half the crew at best could be instructed.  

“You could come with us for a while,” Sanji says. “Luf wouldn’t mind. Twice the cooks to cook for him. We have a spare bed.”  

The offer is tempting. It’s not an easy one to turn down. There’s a strip of dock visible from this vantage, the two boys running across it on their way to swim while they wait for him to show up and open the restaurant.  

“Too many cooks in the kitchen,” Zeff replies. The crew doesn't need another cook, and Sanji doesn’t need his help anymore.   

Sanji has everything he needs right there at that table. The last thing this crew needs is an old man limping around like a ghost dragging them back to times long gone.  

Zeff stretches his back and turns around to put on a few more eggs. “Not sure I could keep up with sea life anymore,” he says, cracking the eggs one-handed as he tosses the pan with the other. Besides, he has a bit of his own life here, and it’s not half-bad. He could stand dying next to the sea rather than on it.  

Sanji’s hand lands on his shoulder. It’s a heavy hand, but the kid’s face is understanding. “We’re staying for a few more days. Maybe you can show us around the best spots to explore and buy supplies.”  

“Sure, but I can't teach you how to bargain.”  

Sanji smiles and shrugs. “Nami’s good at it. And Zoro stands behind looking scary. That helps.”  

Zeff has no doubt that it does.  

“The book you gave me isn't full yet.”  

Zeff looks up.  

It’s strange: Sanji has grown up so much since then, grown more facial hair and put on some muscle. But the harsh lines of torment are gone from his face, at the same time making him look much younger.  

I’m going to miss you.  

But Sanji belongs out there on the ocean, and Zeff belongs here. The time they’ve spent needing each other has come to an end. Those boys are waiting for him.  

“Come visit when it’s full.” That was the promise.  

Sanji smiles. “Of course. Keep the place up and running.”  

“Not goin’ anywhere.”  

Sanji’s grin is absolutely radiant, and it almost cracks a smile out of Zeff, too. If his Eggplant can be happy, then so can he. He opens his arms, and Sanji hugs him back. It’s a softer, looser hug, rather than a desperate one, but warm all the same.