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Chapter Text

Usopp is sure of it—something is about to go terribly wrong. It’s just the way of things for the Straw Hat Pirates. Luffy and his crew have a knack for stumbling into ground zero of every major modern crisis. And then the situation always goes from bad to worse to rock-bottom awful before it gets better.

With a fleet of marines—lead by Admiral Kizaru no less—on their tail, and no more cola in the Sunny’s tank, and Luffy running behind on his way to help Sabo on Yukiryu island to save the revolutionaries from extinction, things are looking bad.

So while Usopp fires cannon balls at the tailing ships to keep the marines distanced enough for the Sunny to make her escape, he keeps his eyes peeled for new and horrible developments to pop out of the woodwork.

Because things are bad, but they’re not soil-his-pants bad, so obviously they’re not done getting worse.

The marines chase them for over an hour while Usopp waits for the other shoe to drop. But their escape plan is not only working (a first in Straw Hat history), but it’s working perfectly . Nami and Jinbei are nailing the currents, pushing the Sunny forward at incredible speeds, and between Zoro, Sanji, and Luffy, the Sunny hasn’t been so much as scratched by enemy fire. The marines are quickly falling behind.

Usopp pauses, hands hovering over his cannon as he squints at the fleet. They’re falling way behind.

Sure, Usopp is doing a fantastic job of maiming the most enemy ships with the fewest cannonballs, but it’s only cover fire. He’s barely made a scratch in their forces, so there’s no reason for them to be hitting the breaks like they are.

Surprised, he turns to look ahead, wondering what it was that scared them off. There’s nothing there but wide, empty ocean.

“Oi,” he shouts to Nami, “are you sure about this shortcut, because the marines seem pretty skittish about it.”

Nami looks at him over her logpose, and Usopp notices that the needles are all vibrating in sync—almost like they’re trembling, he thinks.

“It’s the only way we’re going to reach Yukiryu in time,” Nami says.

Usopp is about to ask a follow up question, but gets distracted when Jinbei glances at Nami over his shoulder. His face is pinched and his eyes are wide, and he looks concerned.

No, worse than that. Their built-like-a-brick-wall, ex-Shichibukai, legendary fishman crewmate looks nervous .

Dread pools in Usopp’s stomach, and his knees knock together. Now things are soil-his-pants bad, because Jinbei, who barely blinks in the face of excruciating pain and gruesome death, is looking at their present heading the same way Chopper once looked at Sanji and Luffy when they called him emergency food supplies.

Usopp can’t imagine anything terrible enough to give Jinbei that kind of dread and trepidation, but as Kizaru and the marine ships turn-tail and shrink in the distance, he has a feeling he’ll find out soon enough.

Chapter Text

Jinbei stares grimly at the open ocean ahead of them.

He isn’t used to being afraid. He faced Impel Down, Marine Ford, and a Yonko without faltering. Pain and death hold little power over him. But the destruction of his nakama is more difficult to swallow, and even Yonkos avoided the Siren Sea.

He hadn’t paid attention, didn’t realize this was the direction they were headed. There were plenty of other concerns to deal with—the fleet of marines on their tail, for one, the life-or-death appointment to keep with Sabo for another. Jinbei hadn’t even realized what water they were treading until Usopp pointed out that the marines had abruptly stopped chasing.

Personally, Jinbei is in favor of turning around to face the fleets and their admiral, where death is possibly avoidable. But a detour would slow the ship down, and they would certainly be late meeting Sabo.

Still, as unhappy as it would be to let Sabo down by being late, it’s preferable to letting him down by being dead. Perhaps Luffy would understand that line of reasoning. Perhaps he could be convinced to turn back.

Perhaps the stars would fall out of the sky.

Still, it is Jinbei’s duty to try.

They’ve only been sailing these waters long enough for the fleet to disappear when Jinbei suggests taking a detour. Immediately, he has the attention of everyone on deck. (It seems no one else is used to Jinbei being afraid, either.)

“What’s going on?” Luffy asks, climbing down from his perch on the Thousand Sunny’s figurehead. “Is something wrong?”

No point in beating around the bush. Blunt honesty has always been Jinbei’s style, anyway. “Captain, it seems we have strayed into the Siren Sea.”

Luffy, Usopp, Chopper, and Brook all look at him blankly.

“The deadliest sea in the world,” Jinbei nudges. “Surely, you must have heard of it.”

In sync, they cock their heads at him.

Jinbei sighs.

Robin chuckles, turning a page in her book. “The Siren Sea is named after a more violent class of mermaids. Sirens are supposedly great, seductive beauties who, by singing, lure sailors off boats to drown them.”

“Great seductive beauties, huh?” Nami says, sounding deeply unamused. “Better tie Sanji up inside, then.”

Jinbei shakes his head. “My friends, you are somewhat mistaken. While often confused for each other, Sirens and mermaids are nothing alike,” he explains. “Mermaids are regular half-fish women who are no more typically nefarious than anyone else, and it’s certainly not their fault if a few brick-headed sailors throw themselves overboard chasing pretty girls that merely want time in the sun.”

Jinbei’s hands tighten around the helm. “Sirens, on the other hand, are certain death. Their territory is to be avoided at all costs.”

Whether from the intrigue of being wrong or simply roused by the words ‘certain death,’ Robin’s interest is piqued. She sets her tome aside and sits up on her lounge chair. “I thought sirens were a myth—a superstition of old sailors. I’ve never seen any records of real siren attacks.”

Jinbei angles his body to look at her while still keeping both hands on the helm (the ship is sailing fine on its own, but it helps ground him). “It is true that most talk surrounding sirens is pure speculation, but the rumors are based on a very real phenomenon. For hundreds of years, all ships have vanished in these waters. Tsyruhn is an old fishman word meaning ‘mouth’ or ‘eat’ and ancient fishmen called this place the Siren Sea because nothing that entered was ever seen again, as though it were swallowed up by the ocean itself. It was only a little over two decades ago, when a ship actually survived the voyage, and rumors about sirens as living creatures began to circulate.”

Brook reaches into his afro to scratch his skull, “But if they’re really nothing like mermaids, then why does everyone seem to believe they are?”

“There was briefly, some years ago, a band of mermaids who attacked and sunk slave-trader ships and, like the Siren Sea, they left no trace of their victims. They were referred to as the Siren Raiders…” Jinbei closes his eyes, “before they were caught, publicly branded, privately auctioned, and never seen again.”

Nobody has any response to that.

It’s Luffy who cuts through the quiet, “Okay, so they aren’t mermaids, but what are they?”

Jinbei shakes his head. “I can’t say for sure. The full story of the lone survivors’ voyage has been lost, diluted by time and hundreds of retellings. Each version of the tale depicts sirens completely differently. It’s impossible to say which ones, if any, are true.”

Jinbei expects the conversation to end there, since anything else he could say would only be conjecture, but Nami, looking torn between morbid curiosity and regret about asking, nudges him on. “And? What are the stories?”

With everyone (minus Zoro, who’s asleep in the crow’s nest, and Franky, who stepped below deck to scrounge together a last resort Coup-de-Burst cola supply from his personal stock) looking at him expectantly, Jinbei clears his throat and goes on.

“Some rumors depict female spirits, born of love. They sing beautiful serenades and live to grant your heart’s desires in the hopes that you’ll agree to follow them into the water and live together forever.”

Sanji perches one foot on the Sunny’s railing. Wind tossing his hair, he stretches his hands out to the sea and declares, “Any lady who dreams—”

Jinbei interrupts Sanji’s crooning with, “In less romantic tellings, they are faceless parasites who worm into your mind, praying on your weakness until you throw yourself into the sea. There, they suck your flesh out from under your skin and devour you alive.”

Sanji freezes, still posing.

“Crawl into our minds?!” Nami shrieks

“Prey on weakness?!” Usopp screeches.

“Eat us alive?!” Chopper weeps.

“Suck out our fle—” Brook pauses. “Oh, wait, I don’t have any flesh. Yohoho hgh! ”

His laugh cuts off as Chopper, suddenly in heavy point, grabs and shakes him.

“It’s not fair! I wish I didn’t have flesh, either!”

Usopp faces the sea, falling to his knees with clasped hands. “Take Chopper’s flesh, he doesn’t want it, just don’t take mine plea— ”

He also cuts off as Chopper whirls to grab and shake him, too.

“Traitor!”

Jinbei, unsure how to respond to the pandemonium he accidentally caused, continues, “Er… others call sirens witches, saying they cast spells to drive you mad or do their bidding. They lie in wait until you throw yourself overboard, intent on dragging you into the depths where they absorb your life force and imprison your soul.”

“My soul?! That’s too far, it’s crossing a line! That’s all I have left! I can’t be Soul King without a soul! It’s disgusting, how dare she!”

Brook is certainly more upset, but with Chopper and Usopp suddenly more intent on consoling him than lamenting their own gruesome deaths, Jinbei considers it an improvement.

“In any case,” he finishes, “the end result is the same—as soon as you touch the water they spirit you away, never to be seen again.”

“So,” Sanji says, “sweet love spirits, powerful sorceresses, or man-eating monsters.” Considering, he pauses, blowing a puff of smoke. “Sounds to me like there’s a two out of three chance that they’re beautiful women.”

Nami knocks him upside the head.

Jinbei frowns at Luffy, who has been abnormally quiet. Absently rolling the string of his straw hat between his fingers, Luffy is just watching everyone, soaking in all their remarks and reactions.

“Captain,” Jinbei says, drawing Luffy’s attention and locking eyes. “Should we chart another course?”

Forehead furrowed, Luffy gnaws on his lip. “Sabo’s in a lot of trouble,” he says, quietly, uncertainly. “We promised we’d help.”

“Luffy.” The rest of the crew goes quiet as Jinbei infuses every once of gravity he has into the words, “Even the Pirate King feared this place. Roger led the only surviving voyage twenty-five years ago, but lost over a third of his crew. He never spoke about what happened except to say ‘Only dead men speak of Sirens.’”

From his peripheral, Jinbei sees Nami shiver, her arms breaking out in goosebumps. He can hear Usopp and Chopper’s teeth chattering from across the deck. Robin and Brook are staring at him in mute shock, and (judging by the way his lips are crushing his cigarette) even Sanji seems to have finally got the message.

Luffy’s face is unreadable. “Will we still get there in time if we go around?”

Nami and Jinbei glance at each other, saying nothing.

“I see.” Luffy touches the brim of his hat, pondering.

At length, he turns to Brook, “You’re dead, can you tell us what sirens are like?”

The rest of the conversation takes a nosedive as the tension over the entire crew bursts and everyone talks and shouts over each other.

Brook and Nami tackle the thankless job of getting the facts through Luffy’s skull, Usopp and Chopper are pleading to go another way as their imaginations run wild, spinning up horrific monsters with horrific powers, and upon Zoro’s arrival to check on the commotion, he and Sanji immediately devolve into bickering and name calling.

“Oh,” Luffy says over the noise, “So they’re mystery fish.”

Nami throws her hands in the air.

“Well, yes,” Robin smiles. “That about sums it up.” 

“Then I guess we’ll have to figure them out for ourselves when we sail through.”

“WHAT?” Chopper screams.

Luffy nods to himself, determined. “We can’t be late. We need to be there in time.” 

Jinbei should push back, he should argue. But. The shadows crossing Luffy’s face are all too familiar.

(Luffy lost one brother, and if there is anyone alive that can ask him to abandon the other, it will not be Jinbei.)

“You can’t be serious, Luffy!” Usopp cries. “There’s no way we’ll survive a monster like that, and we won’t be any help to Sabo when we’re dead!”

Robin sets her book aside, looking out at the water wistfully. “I’m afraid, Longnose, that we’ve already entered the Siren Sea. So, if the rumors are to be believed, it won’t make any difference what course we take now.” She hums, low in her throat. “We’re already dead.”

Blood drains from Usopp’s face so fast he collapses.

That makes Luffy cackle, but the mirth immediately turns into a yelp when Usopp yanks Luffy down to pummel him.

“That idiot,” Nami growls. “We’re going to die.”

Zoro, watching Usopp tie Luffy’s arms and legs into a bundle of knots, simply says, “It’s for his brother.”

Nami shoots him a glare, but she can’t seem to make it as harsh as usual. Scrubbing a hand down her face, muttering something under her breath about paying fines forever, she says, “Fine. Since we’re already doomed, we might as well stay on course, and if anyone’s actually alive by the end of this, then they can help save the revolutionaries. Satisfied?”

Sanji sighs. “I guess there’s no other choice. We’ll have to endure the sirens,” Sanji says calmly, but the line of smoke rings trailing from his lips are shaped like hearts.

The trail ends abruptly when a climatact speedily meets Sanji’s cranium. “Stop being horny for the monsters that are going to kill us!”

“We won’t die here,” Zoro says.

Robin raises her eyebrows at him. “You sound oddly sure of that.”

“Because the only reason we’d die…” Zoro smirks “…is if we can’t survive.”

Nami buries her face in her hands with a groan.

But, no matter how much she grumbles and curses and bids her life goodbye under her breath, she never charts a change of course and lets the Sunny sail on as her captain directed—full speed ahead toward Sabo and Yukiryu Island.

White knuckles wrapped around the helm, Jinbei hopes that against all odds that he isn’t piloting the Straw Hats to certain death.

Chapter Text

Nami grits her teeth as she checks their course and hopes she’s not guiding them all into certain death. Well, maybe not certain death for Luffy. If he can survive Boa Hancock, then the sirens have nothing on him.

But it’s probably certain death for the rest of them.

If Jinbei is worried about this place, then they’re doomed for sure. Nami should probably be freaking out about that, but all she feels so far is wary .

Here they are, fifteen hours into Siren territory, and The Sunny is steady as she goes and making great time.

Nami had kind of been expecting the weather to turn volatile or to become suspiciously calm, but there’s no noticeable change from the rest of the Grand Line, even to her. Between Jinbei’s trepidation, and the fact that all other New World sailors (the toughest sailors in the world) avoid the whole area like the plague, she assumed that Sirens would command god-like power over the entire region.

Apparently not. Maybe it was silly to think that sirens would control the ocean and weather. The wind is normal—well, Grand Line ‘normal’ at least. The sky is fairly clear, the air is balmy, and the water acts like any other ocean.

She keeps her guard up anyway. Just in case.

Two days go by.

There are a few small storms. There’s a random dump of snow followed minutes later by a heat wave. But it’s nothing they haven’t dealt with before. It’s actually somewhat tame for the New World.

Luffy pops up to the second deck to ask her and Jinbei where the Sirens are. Nami checks and double checks the logpose and her other instruments, but she’s certain they’re sailing directly through the Siren Sea.

“Maybe they don’t know we’re here. Parasites, witches, and spirits aren’t all powerful and omnipotent, after all,” Nami answers.

She tries to ignore the way Jinbei’s lips purse doubtfully.

Usopp perks up from where he’s tending his pop green garden. “Maybe somebody made up the stories about Sirens to scare people off,” he suggests hopefully.

“This is a nice patch of ocean,” Robin muses, an arm sprouting from the soil to pluck a weed from her flowerbed. “But there’s nothing out here to hide or protect. What purpose would lies serve?”

Days go by without a peep. 

Nami is trying to remain vigilant, but there’s nothing to remain vigilant about.

Besides, Jinbei and Zoro are guarded, Robin has eyes everywhere (literally), and Usopp is paranoid enough for ten people. If there’s any hint of danger, they’ll be ready. So, she figures there’s no point wearing herself out with worry. Might as well take advantage of the clear ocean and nice weather and relax a little.

Half the crew follows her example.

Nami is playing cards with Brook, Chopper, Usopp, and Luffy, racking up three months’ worth of allowance from each of them, when Franky makes an entrance, bursting out of the door to the lower deck and striking a pose on the lawn. “I’ve got a super idea!”

Luffy jumps to his feet grinning bigger than he has in days. A few hours of boredom can drive him crazy. So it’s no wonder that, after five long days of doing nothing but waiting for a monster attack on top of waiting to help his brother defy death, Luffy is practically vibrating out of his skin.

Nami looks at Franky in a silent warning not to give Luffy any ideas about being even more of a reckless or destructive force than he already is.

Franky doesn’t notice, beaming obliviously at Luffy while Nami’s glare burns holes in the side of his thick, metal head. “I bet there’s something hidden under the water,” Franky says.

“Like treasure?” Nami perks up. Maybe this was a good idea after all.

“Sure! Hundreds of years worth of sunken ships are down there. Some of them had to have carried treasure, right?”

Nami’s mind is moving a mile a minute. How had she not considered that? There’s hundreds of years worth of treasure right under her feet!

Usopp squints at Nami over the top of his cards. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” she asks.

“Scheming. With the creepy smile and everything. Besides,” he says, discarding a jack of clubs, “it’s not like you can get the treasure without touching the water.”

“But if we’re inside the Shark Submerge, we won’t exactly be touching the water, will we?”

Usopp shudders. “Stop smiling like that, Nami.”

Chopper’s ears flatten. “Jinbei says… he says you’ll disappear if you go underwater.”

Nami bats his hat down over his eyes, startling a laugh out of him. “Don’t worry, Chopper. I’m not going to disappear. Somebody else is going to pilot the sub. Obviously.”

Usopp glares at her. “Nobody’s going anywhere near the water, because nobody here is crazy enough to—”

“I’ve gotcha covered, Nami!” Franky sends her an enthusiastic thumbs up, oblivious to Usopp burning holes in his skull right where Nami left off. “I souped up the Shark Submerge III’s depth control tank system, so we should be able to go down 7,000 meters now. After dinner I’ll take it for a spin and have a look around underwater.”

Usopp throws his arms in the air, and Nami makes a mental note of his cards as he carelessly waves his hand around. “Seriously? You want to go poking around in a tiny sub surrounded by mind-warping parasites?”

“Ooh, I wanna come, too!” Luffy hops over the second deck railing, making Franky yelp as Luffy lands directly on his shoulders. “Sounds like fun!”

“An underwater excursion does sound interesting,” Brook says. “And if sirens do turn out to be ladies—”

The kitchen window flies open. “Take me with you!”

Nami briefly wonders how in the world Sanji heard Brook, but decides she’s better off not knowing.

Franky hums, deep in thought, “That might not be a good idea, bro.”

Usopp chucks his cards at Franky’s head. “Taking Sanji straight to the sirens? Of course it’s a bad idea!”

Blonde hair and smoke poke a little further out the window. “If there’s a chance that sirens really are beautiful love-spirits, I have to take it.”

“Well…” There’s a grating scraping sound as Franky’s metal hand scratches his metal chin. “The Shark Submerge III is pretty small, and we’ve already got three passengers, and I take up lots of space. But you can come, as long as everyone’s okay with a tight fit.”

“Oi! Is anyone listening to me?”

“Usopp is right,” Chopper pipes up. “We shouldn’t go looking for danger or bother the water.”

“Thank you, Chopper.”

“But there’s nothing else to do,” Luffy whines, and the way his limbs stretch as he droops over Franky’s shoulders makes him look like he’s melting.

Franky absently pushes Luffy’s elongating neck out of his face. “I know it’s risky, but in this case I think it’s worth it to go looking for answers about what the sirens are before they come looking for us. That way, we’ll have a better chance of surviving an attack later on.”

Usopp knocks the draw-pile over as he gets to his feet and continues arguing, “Assuming there is a later on, and you don’t just immediately disappear.”

“I appreciate the concern, bro, but I’m betting the sirens are the problem, not the water.”

“So your plan is to go looking for sirens.”

Franky smiles and shrugs. “That’s the long and short of it.”

“Shishishishi, sounds like an adventure!”

Usopp groans. “Looks like you and I are the only reasonable ones here, Chopper.”

“Looks like it,” Chopper agrees, copying the way Usopp shakes his head at everyone.

Nami rolls her eyes, starting to clean up the game since everyone else seems to have forgotten about it.

“I admit, I’m curious about what lies under the water as well,” Brook says, bending down to help gather scattered cards (and to prevent some of the loose beri from finding a permanent home in Nami’s pockets). “Robin and I discussed several interesting theories about the nature of sirens. If we were to find evidence proving any of those theories correct, we may be able to create and launch countermeasures, rather than just waiting for the sirens to strike in their own time.”

“Then let’s go,” Luffy cheers.

Usopp groans. “You guys are asking to disappear.”

“So, you want to come with us?” Franky teases.

Usopp waves his arms frantically. “No way! I for one actually wanna survive this place—” He stops abruptly, stiffening. “Do you guys hear anything?”

Everyone pauses, listening.

“Hear what?” Chopper asks at the same time Luffy says, “I don’t hear anything at all.”

“They’re right,” Nami realizes, anxiety twisting in her gut. “There’s nothing to hear. No birds or insects or anything at all. Even the wind and the waves seem muted.”

Nami takes a few more seconds to clock the weather, but… she can’t seem to get a read on it. The clouds are fluffy, and the sun is bright. The currents are a tangled mess, as they often are in the Grand Line, but Jinbei is at his post, handling the helm, so there’s no reason to worry.

Which only worries Nami more.

“Nothing there…” Usopp mutters to himself. He gulps audibly. “This place is bad news. We should leave the sirens alone and focus on getting out of here.”

Luffy grins. “I like Franky’s plan better. Let’s go exploring after dinner.”

So, after dinner, Franky activates Channel Three and he, Sanji, Brook, and Luffy cram themselves into the Shark Submerge for a peek underwater, leaving the rest of the crew (barring Jinbei who immediately resumes his position at the helm) to crowd around the Den-Den Mushi.

The snail has a newly installed metal tower on its back that Franky built to boost its signal so the poor thing wouldn’t have to strain to pick up and send out underwater signals. Nami still thinks the tower is bulky and ugly, but the boys get starry-eyed about everything Franky makes, and even Robin remarks that she thinks it looks cute—like a little witch hat. 

Nami might like the tower better if it actually did its job.

When Franky installed it, he promised that the signal would be clear whether the Shark Submerge was at the bottom of the ocean or even in space, but it’s worse now than ever. The sub barely makes it a hundred meters down before the Den Den Mushi’s eyes are stuck fluttering somewhere between open and closed, and the volume fades until even Franky and Luffy are barely audible.

Usopp has to rig up a make-shift megaphone before the setup is serviceable.

“You don’t see any sirens, do you?” Usopp asks the moment the cone is in place.

“Not a lady in sight,” Sanji mopes.

“Aw,” Luffy pouts, “It’s just as boring down here as it is up there.”

“Nothing as far as the eye can see… although I don’t actually have eyes. Yohohoho!”

“They’re right,” Franky says, and Nami takes comfort in the fact that at least someone is taking this seriously. “There’s nothing down here at all. No fish, no rocks, and no end in sight in any direction. You’d think there’d at least be debris from some of the ships that got lost out here, but there’s nothing at all. Just empty space.

“Creepy!” Chopper squeaks.

“Super creepy, bro. But there aren't any monsters, either, so that’s good.”

Usopp is biting his nails down to their beds. “What if the sirens made all of it disappear? You guys should get out of there before the Shark Submerge vanishes, too.”

“Not until we see at least one singing beauty.”

“And her panties.”

Nami groans. She can’t remember what possessed her to let all the crew’s perverts go out unsupervised in siren infested waters.

“Guess there’s no treasure down here, after all.”

Oh yeah. Money. 

“Look harder,” she orders. “With so many ships sunk here throughout the ages, there has to be something. ”

“Nami is right as always,” Sanji says solemnly. “We can’t give up yet. Those sweet love-spirits have to be down here somewhere.”

“Maybe the Sirens are all asleep?” Chopper offers. “Lots of animals hibernate.”

Sanji makes a furious noise. “Animals? ”

Nami ignores him. “Dive deeper. If any of those ships had treasure, it would’ve sunk to the bottom.”

“ Animals? They’re ladies , Chopper! ”

“Or man-eating parasites,” Usopp reminds them.

Zoro (apparently not asleep where he’s resting against the wall) smirks. “Same thing.”

“Nami’s right about diving deeper,” Luffy says, cooling Sanji’s outrage, and saving Zoro in the nick of time from Nami’s fists. “If the sirens are asleep they’ll be at the bottom.” 

“If the sirens are asleep,” Usopp snaps, “leave them be. Do I have to remind you that we don’t want to run into any sirens?”

“Yeah we do,” Luffy, Franky, and Sanji say in unison.

Usopp’s head thumps defeatedly on the table.

The rest of the mission goes about the same. Nami tries to keep them focused on the treasure, Sanji and Brook giggle stupidly to each other about beautiful women, Usopp—certain that they’ll disappear any second—starts writing their eulogies, and Zoro trades off between dozing and slipping in comments that set Sanji off.

The Den Den Mushi never totally loses contact, but there are a few times when it goes too quiet to hear and Usopp frantically fiddles with his megaphone before the sound comes back.

After a while of seeing nothing, Luffy gets antsy and Franky decides to fire the sub’s new torpedoes (to Usopp’s absolute horror) just so the whole trip won’t feel like a boring waste of time. They’re too far down for the blasts to show on the surface, and all Nami hears over the Den Den Mushi are appreciative oohs and ahhs, an occasional 'YOW' from Franky, and Luffy’s laugh. The torpedoes explode on a timer, since there's nothing to hit, but the light show still seems to cheer Luffy up substantially.

And that’s it, that’s all that happens. A few hours after diving, they surface, no harm done.

It makes Nami uneasy.

She’s not the only one. When the divers return, Jinbei’s constant frown deepens. “It’s strange that we haven’t made contact with any sirens by now. But remain cautious. If anything unusual happens, report it immediately. If you begin feeling unwell, or notice anyone else acting strange, do not dismiss it. It’s better to be wary over nothing than to be caught unguarded.”

Nami agrees, but… she doesn’t know what to make of all this. Everything is too normal.

Gol D. Roger himself nearly died here.

But it’s been five days and nothing in any way, shape, or form has gone wrong.

Nami chews the inside of her cheek, looking out at the ocean. It’s getting calmer by the day. The surface is so clear and smooth that it could be mistaken for glass.

There’s no sign of it yet, but she feels in her bones that a storm is brewing.

Until it hits, all they can do is wait.

Chapter Text

Ever appreciative of beautiful things, Sanji watches the sunset through the open kitchen window. It’s foggy, so the last rays of twilight shimmer before fading into dark grey mist. 

He taps ash off his cigarette and pulls his head back inside

The dishes are washed, dried, and put away, the table and counters are clean, the floor is spotless, the freezer has been reorganized and spot cleaned, and meat—fifteen kilograms of it—is already marinating for tomorrow’s meals.

Sanji just needs to finish his final inventory before closing up for the night.

The cigarette migrates from one corner of his mouth to the other as he considers his supplies. There’s still plenty of food for two more weeks of sailing, but the kitchen is starting to look sparse—walls and floor showing in both the fridge and pantry where there used to be baskets upon baskets of fresh fruits and vegetables and a literal ton of fresh-caught fish. 

Sanji has already prepared and stored up a variety of frozen fruits and vegetables, as well as cured meats, so there’s no worry about their diets becoming lopsided and undernourished, but he’ll have to get more creative to compensate for taste once their fresh foods come to an end.

Locking the fridge and pantry, Sanji mutters his seven-millionth thank you under his breath to Franky. Since Luffy still hasn’t been able to crack the kitchen locks (without help from accomplices like Usopp or Robin), then he probably never will. Which means that Sanji always goes to bed safe in the knowledge that he won’t wake up to the nightmare of an empty kitchen and a starving crew.

He turns out the lights and rolls the kinks out of his neck and back from a long work day. Speaking of bed, sleep sounds fantastic.

Sanji’s nearly to his locker to grab his pajamas when he hears a commotion on deck.

He finds the rest of the crew already there, gathered tensely near the Sunny’s figure-head.

Sanji only hears the tail end of Nami’s question as he joins the crowd.

“—standing on the water?”

Sanji’s eyes have to adjust before he can make out Nami’s lovely form. Though the fog isn’t all that thick, it seems to make the night twice as dark.

“Well, yeah, I guess so,” Usopp answers, distractedly. He’s leaning over the railing, scanning the horizon for something through his red-tinted goggles. “I didn’t see what she was doing—it was only a glimpse.”

Sanji is immediately at Usopp’s side, squinting through the fog. “You saw a siren?”

He knows logically that if sirens were love-spirits, they probably would’ve shown their faces by now to talk, flirt, and grant wishes the way Jinbei said.

But he can’t quite squash the hope that maybe they’re just shy…

Usopp turns, looking surprised to see so many people accumulated behind him. “Well, like I said, it was only a glimpse, and she was pretty far away, but it looked like a woman.”

Zoro doesn’t look convinced. “Describe what you saw.”

“I just said it was a woman.”

Zoro’s eyes narrow.

“S-she had dark hair, maybe? Kind of looked like Robin?”

Luffy eyes Robin suspiciously. “Oi, are you pranking Usopp?”

Robin’s lips twitch upward in amusement at the accusation, but she schools her features before answering. “No, Luffy. I’m afraid I don’t know how to clone myself so far away on nothing but an open body of seawater.”

“Huh.” Luffy’s brow furrows as he turns to Usopp. “You’re sure you saw a girl all the way out there?”

“I mean… I think so?”

“Usopp, are you sure of what you saw?” Zoro presses, folding his arms over his chest,

Usopp swallows. “Maybe. Y-yeah.”

“Which is it? Yes, or maybe?”

Usopp shrivels a little under the intensity of Zoro’s gaze and Sanji purses his lips. He has half a mind to tell the crappy swordsman to back off, but Mosshead isn’t out of line.

In the last couple days, Usopp set off two false alarms from paranoia alone—once when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nami  grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen after dark, and once when he heard Brook humming to himself in the early morning.

Under the weight of all their eyes on him, Usopp falters. “I-I… I don’t know. I think it was a woman, but…” He trails off.

“I see.” Hands on his hips, Luffy looks around at the crew like he’s solved a grand mystery or like he’s about to share a nugget of wisdom. “Usopp thinks he saw a woman. Now we know that sirens aren’t fish.”

Franky and Brook share a look, and Nami presses her palms into her eyes grumbling something about ‘the dumbest captain in the world’ under her breath.

“What’s the next step?” Luffy asks.

Somehow, Jinbei looks more solemn than usual. “I think it would be best to remain awake for the duration of the night. A lone siren could mark the beginning of a larger attack.”

“That’s if Usopp saw a siren,” Zoro argues. “If he’s not just being affected by stress and sleep deprivation.”

Sanji thinks it’s probably true that between stress and paranoia, Usopp hasn’t been sleeping much in the last week.

And it shows. He looks haggard and harried, somehow sagging with exhaustion and tense as a spring. He’s pale, with dark smears of exhaustion under his eyes, and his ponytail is lopsided and falling out of its tie from how often Usopp nervously combs his fingers through it.

He’s not exactly the picture of a trustworthy witness.

Still, Usopp has the sharpest eyes on the crew, and Sanji thinks there’s a good chance that he really saw something. 

Sanji flicks the butt of his cigarette over the Sunny’s side. “Don’t listen to that idiot swordsman, Luffy. It’s better to think there’s a siren and be prepared for the worst, than brush it off and get attacked while we’re asleep.”

“You just want to gawk at pretty girls,” Zoro snaps.

“You nap half the day! What do you need a full night’s sleep for?”

“Luffy,” Jinbei says, cutting their argument off before it escalates, “I fear it could spell disaster if we ignore the signs of danger. Though I’m sure we’re capable of efficiently leaping from sleep into battle, I don’t like the idea of testing ourselves tonight. It’ll likely be too late to handle the sirens once they’re upon us.”

Luffy’s eyes flick to Brook when the skeleton politely butts in, “Excuse me, Jinbei, but isn’t it more likely that the solo siren was a scout or spy with no intention of attacking? Especially now that she’s lost the element of surprise, I’m sure she’ll bide her time. I think it’s wiser to conserve our energy, and not waste it all, before our enemies have even made a move.”

“Unless that siren was their move,” Franky points out. “The rumors said that sirens get into your noggin to drive you crazy, so they must be great at playing mind games. I’d guess that they’re trying to trick us into thinking something’s coming, and then waiting ‘till we’re worn out to strike.”

“What difference does it make if we sleep now or tomorrow during the day? We’re vulnerable either way.” Nami closes her eyes, rubbing her temples. “We should just do what we always do, keep watch in shifts and make plans in the morning. It’ll be easier to deal with this after some sleep.”

Robin hums in disagreement. “I think we’re underestimating how dangerous our opponents are. They are apparently capable of defeating the most powerful forces in the world—Kings, Marines, and Yonkos alike. If there is a chance they’ll attack tonight, would leaving only one or two of us alone on watch against such a threat really be prudent? I suggest we do the opposite, taking shifts to allow one or two to sleep at a time. There’s more safety in numbers.”

Robin is as brilliant as she is beautiful, and Sanji is about to say so, but Zoro cuts him off.

“ If Usopp saw a siren. If the sirens attack tonight. If they’re what the rumors say. We can’t keep making decisions based on blind guesswork and we can’t afford to be divided about our next move.  Before we act, we need to know something.”

Sanji scoffs. “You want to twiddle your thumbs until the sirens pop out? Or are you hoping they’ll explain exactly what they are and how they made everyone else vanish before they do the same to us?”

Zoro’s eye locks on him seriously, and the fact that muscle-for-brains doesn’t rise to the bait and snarl back tells Sanji that this isn’t just a matter of opinion, it’s a matter of principle.

“I expect us not to make decisions based entirely on fear and assumption,” Zoro replies evenly.  “This is the deadliest sea in the world. Without conviction we won’t survive.”

Sanji scowls, but says nothing more. On this singular occasion, he doesn’t entirely disagree.

Luffy nods to himself slowly. “Alright, then. Usopp are you completely sure you saw a siren?”

“I-I… w-well…” Usopp bites his lip.

Luffy waits patiently for an answer.

Eventually, Usopp decides on one. Straightening up, he says. “Yes, Luffy. I saw a siren.”

Luffy turns to the rest of the crew with a grin. “Then let’s stay up.”

Nami groans, rubbing her temples again, and Luffy giggles elbowing her, “Come on, It’ll be fun!”

Sanji heads back into the kitchen. If they’re going to be awake all night, then they’re going to need plenty of fuel.

And after he whips up some snacks, he’ll see if he can do anything for Nami’s headache. Sanji smiles cheerfully to himself—he can think of worse ways to spend a night than massaging a beautiful woman’s head.

It only takes Sanji a few minutes to get back with snacks, but by then, everyone else has already been paired off to patrol sections of the ship. Sanji doesn’t get a chance to massage Nami’s headache away before she shoos him up to the mini-deck on top of the observation room to watch the rear of the ship with Usopp.

Usopp spares Sanji a glance and a faint smile before returning intently to his lookout. Sanji stands guard on the other side, and waits for a beautiful woman to ping on his radar.

They’re only twenty minutes into the watch when Usopp abruptly whips around, darting to the left and pulling his goggles over his eyes as he searches the ocean.

Sanji is immediately at his side, eyes scanning for the threat.

Even as his jaw clenches, Sanji’s heart flutters. Maybe there weren’t any love-spirits out here, but gorgeous sorceresses were still a possibility.

Sanji squints, wondering if Usopp’s having any more luck than he is, seeing anything through the dark and the fog.

Hearing Usopp’s knees knock together, it occurs to Sanji that Longnose expects Sanji to protect him. So, not only is he half-blind out here, but he’ll also have to have to fight without laying a foot on the ladies (beautiful or not).

Sanji’s cigarette gets crushed between his teeth—this is bound to get complicated.

His breath catches when Usopp gasps and leans forward. Long seconds drag by as Usopp holds his position, eyes piercing through the fog, hand twitching over his ammo bag.

Still as a statue, whole body tense, Usopp’s eyes slide slowly to look at him, and Sanji feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“False alarm.”

Sanji punts Usopp six meters straight up. “Don’t do that!”

Usopp lands on the railing with an “Oof,” and his legs flail madly before he pulls himself to safety, tumbling heels-over-head back onto the deck. “Oi! I could’ve fallen overboard! The sirens would’ve eaten me for sure!”

“Then don’t—”

Sanji freezes mid-comeback when Usopp goes rigid. His eyes are wide, fastened on something just over Sanji’s shoulder.

Jaw clenched, Sanji turns to look.

“False alarm.”

Sanji wallops Usopp over the head.

* * *

Luffy was wrong. This is not fun.

Sanji rubs his still-aching neck, and lights another cigarette.

Tonight alone, Sanji has burned through a week’s worth of cigarettes. He also thinks he’s burned through a month of his lifespan.

Usopp squeaks, spinning suddenly to the portside and firing a pop-green into the fog. A second passes, two, and he swallows. “False alarm.”

Sanji has to remind himself that his hands are for cooking, not for violence, so no matter how much he feels like it, he’s not going to strangle Usopp. But if there’s one more false alarm, he’ll flay Usopp alive and serve him with a butternut squash drizzle.

Usopp’s twitchiness must be contagious because Sanji tenses at the ‘Yohohoho’ carrying over the sound of the waves. And then Usopp jolts at the laugh a fraction of a second later, making Sanji flinch a second time.

Sanji closes his eyes, taking a deep drag of smoke. It does little for his nerves. Ash drops in little heaps on the railing, and in a matter of seconds Sanji’s left with nothing but the butt. Tossing it overboard he pulls another cigarette from his breast pocket.

Usopp jumps when Sanji’s lighter clicks.

Sanji racks his brain, trying to figure out what atrocity he committed against Nami to make her punish him like this, stuck on watch for eight hours with paranoia-incarnate.

Rolling the new cigarette between his lips, Sanji turns his face to the sky. A wave of relief washes over him as the first beams of light peek over the horizon. Just a little longer, and the night will be over.

A gust of wind spooks Usopp, who elbows Sanji in the ribs, nearly making Sanji drop his lighter overboard. It’s the last straw.

Sanji grabs Usopp by the scruff of the neck and shoves him roughly into the ground. “Sit down and hold still. If there are any women out there I’ll know.”

(There aren’t. Not a single sweet spirit or seductive sorceress. At this point, Sanji would even welcome the disgusting parasites, because at least they’d give him something to kick.)

(But there’s nothing except water and fog for miles.)

Usopp has the decency to look contrite as he sits quietly, pulling his knees into his chest.

Nothing moves for the next hour, and Sanji remembers how to breathe again. His neck pops as he rolls it, and he feels his shoulders finally unclench. He looks out at the ocean. The water is calm, nearly waveless except where it’s gently rippling in the Sunny’s wake.

The sun breaks over the horizon in a glorious blaze of yellows and pinks that shimmer and catch in the morning mist and are mirrored perfectly in the smooth water. Sanji thinks that it might be the most beautiful sunrise he’s ever seen. Except for the fact that he’s standing next to the stupid sniper instead of a lovely lady.

Sanji glances at Usopp, curled up with his face pressing into his knees.

(Maybe he feels a little bad for snapping.)

He clears his throat. “Breakfast will be ready in an hour.”

Usopp nods, rubbing his bloodshot eyes, and Sanji puts his hands in his pockets to keep himself from doing the same. As the stress of the watch dies with the night, the stinging of his eyes and the exhaustion sinking into his bones is nearly impossible to ignore.

But it’s a new day, and there’s work to do.

Sanji turns to head for the kitchen, but the way Usopp’s draped miserably over his knees makes him pause.

He can’t leave Usopp out here like this, alone. Not in good conscience.

“Come on inside, idiot. I’ll make you some tea.”

“What about watch?” Usopp asks, then immediately thinks better of the question, grimacing to himself. “Never mind. Tea’s good.”

Sanji reaches a hand out, helping the sniper to his feet, and they make their way to the kitchen.

Rolling up his sleeves, Sanji briefly debates whether the state of his rumpled blue dress-shirt is bad enough to demand a change before he starts cooking. Normally, it wouldn’t even be a question—Sanji would never start work in such bad shape. But it was a long night. Now that they’re inside and the adrenaline is wearing off, weariness is sinking deep into his bones and stiffening his muscles. He feels as though he’s been in a days-long battle.

(How does Usopp live like this—tense and nervous all the time? It’s exhausting.)

Sanji pulls out the kettle as Usopp takes a seat at the far corner of the dining table. The sniper doesn’t say a word the whole time it takes for the leaves to steep.

Come to think of it, Usopp never so much as alluded to a story about his ‘grand exploits’ in days. And other than ‘false alarm,’ he’s hardly made a peep all night.

Sanji side-eyes Usopp as he anxiously combs dark beads of fog-water out of his hair with his hands. He should probably stop Usopp before he spirals too deep into his head.

But Sanji’s brain feels like mush and, when he brings Usopp his favorite mug, all that rolls off his tongue is, “You’re sure you saw a siren?”

Usopp withers. 

Sanji feels betrayed. Why’d his foot jam itself into his mouth like that? He’s the suave one—he’s always been the suave one!

He’s still smooth enough to salvage the moment, at least.

“Dumb luck. If anyone’s going to watch beautiful women in the middle of the night next, it’ll be me.”

“You do know how pervy that sounds, right?”

Sanji shoves Usopp’s head, and Usopp huffs a laugh, shoulders relaxing a fraction.

“You’ll still have to drink that when it’s cold, you know,” Sanji growls, mildly.

Usopp rolls his eyes, taking an obnoxious slurp of his tea.

Sanji pinches his cigarette between his lips, covering a smirk as he lightly cuffs Usopp’s head again.

With the silence feeling more comfortable, Sanji turns and gets to work.

The exhaustion turns out to be quite the handicap. He was planning to try a new recipe—one that might save a few ingredients, but he can hardly keep his thoughts straight, so instead he falls back on muscle memory.

Even then, his body won’t keep up with his hands. Sanji’s never made a Straw Hat meal so slowly before, and he can feel Usopp’s eyes on him when he nearly burns the bacon while checking Chopper’s pancakes.

Luffy and Chopper come tromping into the dining room and on top of crisping Robin’s hashbrowns to perfection, he also has to keep an eye out for hands stretching behind his back.

“If you’re hungry, make yourselves useful and set the table,” he orders, smacking  fingers away  with his spatula. (Was Luffy seriously going to eat that plain stick of butter?)

Thankfully, Chopper’s the one to handle most of the plates and glassware, so Luffy only has the silverware to fumble. Luffy launches a fork into the wall somehow, but it misses Usopp’s head by a few inches, and it keeps the next few incomers (Franky, Nami, Brook, and Jinbei) busy trying to pull it out from where it’s stubbornly entrenched itself in the wood while Sanji finishes plating the food. Robin and Zoro arrive just as Sanji is finishing pouring drinks.

(He’s mortified for being so slow, but nobody says a word about it as they dig in.)

Normally, Sanji can join everyone for a few minutes\ to sneak a bite or two before his own meal later, but today he’s on his feet the entire time, refilling glasses, replacing empty plates with heaping platters, and mopping up messes.

There’s quite an appetite this morning. Maybe that’s why it’s so quiet. Because, other than the clinking of dishes and the occasional waspish comment from Nami as she snaps at somebody to stop chewing so loudly or to stop hogging the jam, breakfast is nearly silent.

(When have the Straw Hats ever been anything but rowdy?)

The room is even quieter after Nami threatens to take Luffy’s head off when he steals a scone from her plate, and Robin kindly steers her to the lounge in the aquarium bar to relax for a while. As the pair shuffles out, Sanji’s hopes of helping Nami-swan himself are dashed once again as hands bloom out of Nami’s shoulders to massage her headache away .

Soon after, Chopper falls asleep, face-down in his pancakes and Jinbei, who looks truly awful—like he’s aged a year overnight—gently excuses himself to clean the doctor up and carry him to bed.

It’s hard to tell how Brook is faring, since he doesn’t have eye-lids, but either he’s deeply contemplating his glass of milk or he’s drifted off, too.

Zoro seems more-or-less normal (probably since the idiot usually stays up all night and naps all day anyway), and Franky just replaces a couple cola bottles and he’s ready to go.

Luffy started out a little sluggish, taking long, lethargic blinks in the midst of chewing, but he perks up while snapping up every crumb on his half of the table. As soon as the eats are gone, he’s bounding away, dragging Zoro with him while Franky follows in hot pursuit.

Gathering dishes, Sanji turns to tell Usopp to pass his plate, but the only person left at the table is the (probably) sleeping Brook, because Usopp is nearly halfway to the door, leaving his plate clean. As in never-dirty-to-begin-with clean.

“Oi. Where do you think you’re going?”

Usopp freezes. He turns to look at Sanji with the expression of a kid caught out past curfew.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Nah,” Usopp says with a little, uneasy chuckle. “I’m still fit to burst from all the snacks I had on watch last night.”

Sanji stares at Usopp, baffled. They were together all night. Usopp and Sanji were nowhere near the spread of crackers and dips and crab-cakes that Sanji had laid out on the lower deck. Why make excuses that he knows Sanji won’t believe?

But that’s Usopp—always telling lies too obvious for anyone to buy. (And yet, so often, people buy them anyway.)

Usopp doesn’t take his eyes off Sanji, but he’s slowly inching backwards.

Sanji should do something. He should drag the idiot back to the table by his ridiculous nose, heap food on his plate, and stand menacingly over him until every last crumb is gone.

On any other day, he would.

But today Sanji can barely keep his eyes open and he’s still got a kitchen to clean, and dishes to do, and midmorning smoothies to make for the ladies, and lunch to get started, and he desperately needs a shower and to get out of these rumpled clothes, and he’s starting to feel a headache coming on, and he’s just…

Tired.

Sanji sighs, rubbing the aching muscles of his neck. “Don’t make me hunt you down for lunch.”

“I’ll be there."

It might be another lie, but Usopp has already scuttled out the door.

Sanji lets him go.

Chapter Text

The sound of fluttering pages trickles to a stop as Robin turns over the cover on the last of the dozen books she was skimming.

She dismisses the reading eyes planted around the room while her arms—sticking out of book-cases, walls, windows, and furniture—begin to replace the books on their shelves.

Remembering the cup of coffee sitting by her elbow, she takes a sip, watching as the last book slides into place.

Luffy was right. Sirens are quite the mystery.

Robin searched every book on the ship for any mention of the Siren Sea and found virtually nothing. 

The few existing maps of the New World (filled with guesswork and inaccurate sketches, mostly) left the region completely untouched.

Most of the textual mentions were entirely unhelpful, alluding solely to mermaids. (The most notable of which was a manifesto on the innate evils of fishwomen that was published by a celestial dragon. It was so wildly offensive that Robin actually defiled a book and tore it out).

The other handful of mentions were in poems and folk stories and offered only vague depictions of black-magic and ships vanishing—nothing Jinbei hadn’t already explained in greater detail.

The only new tid-bits come from an ancient fishman nursery rhyme.

Robin loves nursery rhymes.

Not just because of their strange tonal blend between gruesome and whimsical, but because they’re history. They are hints about the past that are smuggled into the present, hidden from oppressive authority under silly rhymes that children sing. (Other than the poneglyphs, the only remnants of the void century are contained in a handful of nursery rhymes that the World Government didn’t realize needed blotting out.)

But, much as Robin loves them, nursery rhymes are a chore to understand.

This one is no exception, creating more questions than answers. If Robin’s translation is correct, it goes something like:

The mouth of the sea is hungry, hungry

Sinking in white teeth to bleed out black

Topsy-turvy, ocean sandwich

I’ll jump in when she asks

Because I never learned to stop my own heart.

Robin folds her hands under her chin in thought. Is ‘stop my own heart’ some sort of play on words about falling in love with a siren, or is it simply a reference to suicide? Who bleeds black? The sirens? Do they bite themselves, or is that interpretation of blood and teeth too literal? Did Robin mistranslate the topsy-turvy part, or is there really going to be some sort of ‘ocean sandwich?’

Her coffee goes from luke-warm to cold as she mulls over the rhyme. Eventually, she stands, smoothing wrinkles from her lap.

Perhaps it will be easier to make sense of it after she’s cleared her mind.

She pushes the library doors open and strolls out to the deck, met by a salty breeze and the lilting sound of Brook’s violin. She steps over Luffy, who’s sprawled on the grass, to seat herself on the tree-swing and takes in the fresh air and the sounds of her nakama.

It’s strangely quiet.

(Topsy-turvy…)

Her eyes drift toward the water.

Nine days on the Siren Sea.

Robin wonders if sirens simply drive sailors mad with waiting.

Worrying for such a prolonged amount of time is unsustainable—Jinbei and Usopp are proof enough of that. Neither of them look like they’ve slept at all in the time they’ve been out here.

Jinbei gets quieter every day as the shadows of exhaustion lengthen under his eyes. Still, he remains vigilant, keeping a sharp lookout for the smallest flicker of trouble. He insists it’s better to be too cautious than too lax, but Robin has to wonder if that’s true, considering the toll it’s taking on him.

Usopp was already wound tight enough to snap two days ago, but now, on top of that, he’s drenched in shame for keeping everyone awake for nothing. There had been a few grumbles of annoyance here and there about the all-night watch and the fact that nothing came of it, but nobody blames him. Only Usopp does that, withdrawing into himself and hiding away in his workshop.

When Usopp comes out to fish on deck, he tiptoes like he’s somehow trespassing.

Robin watches him, lips pinched, as he quietly seats himself on the railing. But he smiles genuinely when he’s cheerfully greeted by Brook and Chopper, so Robin thinks his mood has mostly run its course.

If not, then Brook’s kooky one-man-band is sure to help lift his spirits. 

Robin rocks gently on the tree swing, listening idly to Brook play. She thinks she’s starting to understand why Luffy was so insistent about recruiting a musician, once upon a time. Brook and his music are the only things keeping everyone sane. A week and a half into the most deadly region in the world with nothing but smooth sailing would fray anyone’s nerves, but as long as they can laugh and sing, she thinks they’ll be alright.

Brook is brilliant at both.

“You’re a wonderful audience,” he says, bowing deeply as Chopper cheers and applauds.

Straightening up, Brook playfully tosses the bow of his violin. It spins once, twice, and he sticks a hand out for it to fall into. “Now, this next song is—”

He stops, stares at his still-empty hand, and looks up.

Defying everything Robin has read about physics, the bow continues spinning up and up and out of sight.

Brook watches it go forlornly.

“Apparently, this next song will require my guitar.”

Robin beams. Brook is a wonder. A spectacular anomaly amidst all the known rules of nature—two parts delightful, one part horrifying, and always entertaining.

He even elicits occasional snorts from Nami, though she and Zoro are being very serious, reviewing the plans to meet Sabo and drawing up battle strategies for Yukiryu Island.

As Brook loops the strap of his guitar up and over his hair, he angles his head slightly toward the others, surreptitiously studying their faces.

Robin can tell that he’s determined to get a laugh from Zoro and Jinbei, too, though he has yet to see a smirk for all his efforts.

Zoro is always a challenge, but Brook has earned his share of chuckles from Jinbei before. Robin’s sure that Jinbei is only straight-faced now because he’s completely missing Brook’s performance—full attention always on the sea.

Robin peers at the fishman, troubled. She’s not sure that she’s seen him step away from the helm for any time greater than it takes to eat a meal. Jinbei’s gaze may still be sharp and focused, but he pauses frequently, rubbing the deep bags under his eyes—a toll of constant vigilance.

“Master Helmsman,” Robin calls, “why don’t you come sit down with me for a moment and rest.”

Jinbei looks at her and hesitates. That hesitation, more than anything, proves that their wise, sure-footed friend is nearly at his wits’ end.

She beckons him again, more firmly. “Come. You have done more than enough worrying for the journey. Let’s switch places—you can relax and enjoy Brook’s show, and I’ll stand alert for any threats.”

At length, Jinbei shakes his head. “I’m alright. There will be time to rest once we’re free of this place.”

An incredulous chuckle bubbles out of her. “Jinbei, you can’t wait until then—Nami said the trip would take more than two weeks.”

Nami’s head lifts at the mention of her name, and she stands up from where she was bent over Sabo’s maps, instructions, and plans. “It would’ ve been weeks, but Jinbei’s a miracle-worker . He’s practically cut our time in half. At this rate we’ll be out of the Siren Sea in two days.”

Robin turns, raising her eyebrows at him.

Jinbei’s face tinges purple in a blush. “Luffy employed the best shipwright and navigator alive. It takes little effort on my part for the Thousand Sunny to perform so astoundingly.”

Nami gives him a dry look. “Sure. Such little effort that you’re about to keel over.”

Jinbei ducks his head, turning a darker shade of purple.

“You’re a treasure, Jinbei . Now, take the compliment and go sit down.”

“If you’re sure—”

“Yes. Sit down. ”

“Of course. Thank you, Nami.”

Nami waves her hands at him in a vague swatting motion before returning her attention to the mess of papers.

Suitably chided, Jinbei moves to trade Robin places.  

Robin stops him on the stairs. “I hope you don’t feel obligated to carry us out of danger faster than you’re comfortable. I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say that, much as we appreciate the speed, we’d rather see you take care of yourself.”

“Thank you, Robin, but that’s not the problem.”

She tilts her head at him in a wordless question.

Sighing deeply, he admits, “The sirens already have so many advantages on their side. I hate the idea of letting my guard down and giving them the element of surprise as well, but if I continue this way, I won’t be in any shape to fight when they finally show themselves.” He offers Robin a tired, grateful smile. “But knowing there are keener eyes than mine on watch, I’d love a few moments of peace.”

Robin returns his smile with a brighter, warmer version. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to give you peace of mind, Master Helmsman.” She leaves him with a squeeze of his arm and climbs the stairs to take his place.

As Robin situates herself on the second deck, she hears Brook cheerfully ask Jinbei for song recommendations. She can’t make out Jinbei’s answer, but her heart warms as Brook begins a sweet and silly ballad about a school of minnows that adopts a baby orca.

Jinbei sits on the grass, one arm resting on his knee, eyes drooping closed even as Chopper wriggles into his side.

Robin smiles, feeling a little of her own worry melt, even as she tries to steel herself, turning a flock of eyes onto the sea.

But she struggles to remain vigilant. Jinbei is falling asleep on Chopper, and the reindeer, half-crushed under Jinbei’s weight, is struggling to get free without waking Jinbei up. That, and Brook’s playful suspension of the laws of physics while he dances, is very diverting.

Robin has years of experience being cautious and alert. But she has also picked up a habit of relaxing around her nakama, and the further into Siren territory they get, the less danger there seems to be. The ocean has been gentle as a lamb for nearly two days straight. And each of her nakama seems normal enough.

Well, perhaps they were all a little more sluggish than usual, but only because they were still tired from the all-night watch.

She’s glad to see them relaxed and enjoying the peace.

Especially since they might not have much peace left to enjoy.

(Sinking in white teeth…)

Death could strike them at any moment.

She tries to refocus herself, turning her attention to the sea. The water is so calm, it’s practically a mirror. The Sunny looks like it’s sailing through the sky, rippling great fluffy clouds in its wake. The Sunny isn’t going as fast as it had been when Jinbei was at the helm, but it’s still cutting quite a pace.

A thought strikes Robin—the Sunny had been going extremely fast for days on end. Was it possible that the lack of attack wasn’t because the sirens were planning something, but because Jinbei had outrun them? After all, mermaids are the fastest swimmers in the ocean, and sirens aren’t mermaids, so perhaps…

No. That was hoping too much. If speed was all it took to beat the sirens, then surely there would be more survivors.

At least the water is calm. In that sense, the journey has been a welcome break from the rest of the New World.

For everyone but Luffy, that is.

“Are the Sirens gonna bore us to death?” Luffy’s voice is muffled by the grass that he’s lying face-down in.

Brook cocks his head at Luffy as he absently finishes his over-the-top rock solo (which had escalated out of a children’s tune about a wombat wearing magic galoshes). “Well, I can’t think of anything more maddening for our Captain than sitting idle while our meat stocks dwindle,” he notes.

Luffy’s head snaps up, “They’re waiting for us to run out of meat? Or maybe they steal it when we’re not looking!” He jumps to his feet, stretching his arms to hurl himself into the kitchen, “Sanji, the food isn’t safe! We need—”

Sanji catches Luffy’s face with his foot, perfectly balancing a tray piled sky high with sandwiches as he comes through the kitchen door. “Calm down, idiot. The food is fine. I’ve been careful about rations ever since we started sailing through the Siren Sea, so there’s still plenty of meat. Besides,” Sanji gestures to the fishing sniper, “We’ll catch something eventually, right Usopp?”

Sitting on the railing, staring into the water, Usopp doesn’t give any indication of hearing Sanji.

“Usopp?” Chopper nudges.

Usopp startles. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Have you caught dinner yet?” Luffy repeats.

“Oh. Um,” Usopp blinks at his pole like he’s surprised to be holding it in the first place. “No. Not yet.”

Chopper frowns. “Is something wrong?”

Usopp hesitates for a beat. “Well, maybe I’m just seeing things again, but… does the water look darker than usual to you?”

Nami sets her pen down and pokes her head over the Sunny’s side. Robin sprouts an eye on the ship’s hull. Sure enough, instead of clear blue, the water looks murky. Like somebody dumped tar overboard.

“He’s right,” Nami says. “Something’s happening to the water.”

Zoro moves abruptly away from the table, to the side of the ship. He cracks his neck and smiles. “Finally.”

Robin expects Usopp to shout at Zoro for being way too happy about this, but he doesn’t.

He twists the fishing pole around and around in his hands and says, “You know how there weren’t any fish in the water when you went exploring? Well, I’d guess that there aren’t any fish in this sea at all. I haven’t caught so much as a guppy since we started sailing through here.”

“Now that you mention it,” Robin adds, “I haven’t seen any birds or insects or even barnacles on our ship since then either.”

Nami shakes her head at the dark water. “It doesn’t make any sense. This is the ocean, and it’s much tamer than the rest of the New World, so it should be teaming with life.”

“Maybe the water’s poison.” Usopp says, more to himself than anyone else. “Maybe touching the black water makes you go crazy or hallucinate or something.”

Jinbei stiffens, dragging his eyes open to peer warily at Usopp. “Have you touched the water?”

“What? No!” he waves his arms emphatically. “Why would I do that?”

“Then, you haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary?”

Usopp deflates a little. “R-right.”

Jinbei’s look is not as piercing as usual, but it’s plenty sharp to make Usopp fold.

“I mean, sorta. But I don’t know if it’s real, it’s nothing I’m sure about.”

Luffy frowns. “What is it, Usopp?”

He hesitates again. Then, setting his fishing pole aside, he turns to straddle the railing, one foot on deck, the other dangling over the water. “Sometimes, when it’s quiet, like last night, and just now when I was fishing… I think I can hear the ocean?”

“Because we’re on a boat,” Zoro says flatly.

“No, not like that! I think the ocean, or something, is trying to talk to me, although right now, it’s mostly a jumble of impressions and feelings.”

Robin’s eyes narrow. The ocean—or, more likely, a siren—communicating via emotions? Normally, that sort of suggestion would thrill her.

But all Robin feels is cold.

(I’ll jump in when she asks…)  

“What is it saying?”

The long nose scrunches up in thought. “There’s sadness and worry, but also hope and… and a hug that feels familiar somehow. And something that feels urgent. Like a warning.”

“You think the sirens are threatening us?”

“Maybe. But it feels more like the ocean is alerting us about something that’s coming. It’s telling us to be strong when we face it.” 

Chopper, who is slowly, unconsciously drawing closer to Usopp, pipes up, “You’re sure there’s nothing else?”

“Well…” Usopp bites his lip, picking at the striped sweatband on his arm.“I’ve been having really vivid dreams about the Merry. About her death and… and all the events leading up to it. When I woke up, I got the distinct feeling she was near.” 

For some reason, Usopp’s eyes slide to Jinbei, and the rest of the crew turns to look at him too. “That certainly is strange,” he says, “though I don’t know what to make of it.”

Brook thoughtfully plucks the g-string on his guitar. “Why would a siren warn us?”

Nami bites her lip, looking back at the water. “It couldn’t be Merry talking to you… could it?”

Chopper grips Usopp’s leg, digging his hooves into the sniper’s yellow pants. “After all this time, you think Merry’s still watching out for us?”

Franky must have heard the tail end of the conversation as he came up from the workshop for lunch. “Hold on, did I miss something, or are you guys saying that Usopp’s bond is so strong with Merry that even when she’s gone, he can still hear her?” A grin spreads over his face, and he gives Usopp a noogie, “That’s super!”

Usopp squawks, trying to bat the big red hands away, but accidentally gives Franky a new, doughnut-shaped hairdo instead.

“Are you sure it’s Merry?” Sanji asks, automatically slapping Luffy’s stretching hands away from the sandwich platter as he offers Robin first picks for lunch.

She politely accepts a sandwich, but doesn’t take a bite.

(Ocean sandwich…?)

Franky stops his touseling, giving Usopp time to think.

“It could be Merry. It feels—” Usopp shakes his head, helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Jinbei sighs, pushing himself to his feet, and Robin feels a spark of exasperation as her and Nami’s efforts to make him relax are undone.

“I hope this is indeed your old friend. However, this presence may yet turn out to be a foe. Until we know for sure, I think it would be best not to leave Usopp alone.”

Usopp’s shoulders curl inward. “Sorry.”

Franky gives Usopp a clap on the back that nearly sends him pinwheeling off the Sunny’s side. “I was actually just about to suggest that we get a buddy system going for everyone.”

“Ooh, good idea!” Luffy chirps through a face full of sandwiches.

“Alright,” Nami says, pulling herself up and taking charge. “Then let’s pair off.”

“I’ll stick with Chopper,” Zoro announces.

Chopper lights up, but quickly tries to smother the expression. “Yeah,” he says in as deep a voice as he can manage, folding his hooves over his chest. “I’ll go with Zoro.”

Robin covers her mouth with a hand, overwhelmed with cuteness.

Sanji spins down the stairs, somehow maintaining the balance of the mountain of sandwiches he’s carrying. “I’ll be right by your side, Nami-swan!”

(We never learned to stop our own hearts…)

“You’ll be with Brook,” is her flat reply. 

“What?” Sanji is so perplexed that he doesn’t notice as rubbery hands significantly lighten his load. “You don’t want to be with me?”

“No.”

“Then can’t I be with Robin?”

“Luffy and Robin will be a team, I’ll go with Jinbei, and Usopp and Franky can partner up. That sound good to everyone?”

Sanji glances at the skeleton, wrinkling his nose.

Brook strums his electric guitar with a dramatic, whole-armed motion, and (despite his lack of facial skin and hair) Robin gets the impression that he’s wiggling his eyebrows at Sanji.

“Please, Nami, can’t I—”

Nami claps her hands together. “Great, then it’s settled!”

Robin forces herself to tune out the rest—she’s supposed to be vigilantly watching for sirens. She can’t keep letting herself get distracted, no matter how amusing her nakama are.

Sprouting more eyes on the circumference of the ship, she watches for any hint of danger.

Dark splotches are growing in the water, collecting slowly under the surface and diffusing like drops of ink.

(Bleed out black…)

Two days.

Two more days and they’ll either be out of the Siren Sea, or they’ll be dead.

Robin has a theory about which way it’ll turn out.

(The mouth of the sea is hungry, hungry…)

She hopes she’s just being morbid.

Chapter Text

Franky and Usopp make an unstoppable inventing team.

Franky’s got the best building skill on the Grand Line (barring Vegapunk and maybe Iceberg—not that Franky would ever admit that out loud), and while Usopp’s pretty handy with a tool-box himself, it’s his crazy ideas that really make their work shine. Whatever technical stuff Usopp doesn’t know how to do, Franky’s happy to teach him, and whatever bugs Franky can’t figure out, Usopp finds a creative solution. That’s why their work is the best in the world—and Franky’s pretty sure he’s underselling them when he says that.

So Franky has no complaints about being buddied with Usopp for the rest of the trip. Usopp seems to have reservations though. He’s gotten sucked into one of his funks again.

The kid can be pretty high-maintenance, but Franky doesn’t really mind. The Thousand Sunny, Franky’s greatest creation, requires constant maintenance day in and day out to survive the Straw Hat crew. Usopp’s just as important, so it makes sense that he’d need plenty of Franky’s time and attention, too.

And after practically raising a whole house of rough-n’-tumble punks by himself, one big-hearted kid with self-worth issues is a walk in the park.

That said, today’s park-walk has a hefty uphill incline.

Usopp is already in the workshop when Franky shows up after breakfast.

Franky pushes his sunglasses off his eyes with a thumb and appraises Usopp where he’s curled up, pasted against the far wall of the shared workshop, tinkering mindlessly with another prototype of Nami’s climatact.

Usopp’s hair is wild and matted, sticking out at strange angles. Most of it isn’t even in the hair-tie anymore, dangling in loose clumps over his face or around his shoulders. He’s still in his pajama pants (having taken his shirt off to work), and Franky grimaces because those grease stains on his knees are never going to come out. There’s pop-green paste smeared in places up to his elbows, and in a section of his hair where he anxiously runs his fingers, and under his nose where he rubs whenever he’s lying or working up the courage for something. Usopp usually makes noise when he’s thinking—under-the-breath mutters and goofy little sound effects while he works through a problem, but today he’s silent.

Like everything else on this damn sea.

Even the ocean is noiseless without any wind or waves to stir it up.

(It’s like sailing through a graveyard.)

(They are sailing through a graveyard.)

Franky has been trying to fill the void for days. He talks at the top of his voice and laughs loudly and reaches for his power tools any time he can’t think of anything to say.

But no matter how much Franky welds and drills and bandsaws, it’s never enough.

He can’t even hear the clinking of metal as Usopp fiddles with the climatact.

Franky drops his sunglasses back onto his nose, and breaks the silence with as much gusto as he can. “Goooooooood morning, Usopp!”

The floor is showered with a hundred tiny pieces as Usopp jumps a foot and reflexively throws the prototype at Franky’s head.

Franky catches it—or what’s left of it.

“Jeez, Franky!” Usopp wheezes. “What’re you doing sneaking up on me like that?”

“First time anyone’s accused me of sneaking, bro,” Franky says, bending down to help pick up rogue climatact bits.

Usopp hastily stops him. “Don’t worry about it—it’s my mess, I’ll get it.”

Franky pauses, watching Usopp scrambling on hands and knees to pick up the pieces alone, leaving pop-green smudges all over the floor.

“Have you been here all night?”

“Only a few—” 

‘Hours’ turns into ‘ow ow ow ow!’ when Usopp headbutts Franky’s work-bench while chasing a spring. 

“I didn’t see you at breakfast.”

Usopp doesn’t reply, sitting back on his heels. He hisses a curse to himself, gingerly rubbing the lump above his eye, smearing that with grime, too.

“Bro, did you eat anything?”

Usopp pauses. There’s a beat.

Then, Usopp’s chest puffs out, and his thumb adds another layer of gunk under his nose. “Ha! Ate is an understatement! You should’ve seen me—I was neck and neck with Luffy, licking clean every bowl, plate, and cabinet in the kitchen! Sanji begged, but nothing could stop Luffy and the Great Captain Usopp!”

Franky snorts, but doesn’t interrupt.

Usopp deposits the climatact pieces on Franky’s bench, freeing his hands to gesture as he gains steam. “It was the contest of a lifetime! We wolfed down ten—no, fifty—no  two hundred courses, each one fit to fill an army. Just as I was pulling ahead, Sanji’s arms fell off, right into the meringue he was whipping—his body just couldn’t handle the strain of our gargantuan appetites. We had to stop and get Chopper to sew Sanji’s arms back on, which gave Luffy just enough time to digest and make room for dessert.”

Usopp looks like a lunatic—one leg planted on Franky’s workbench, hair askew, arms waving, voice rising.

Franky smiles.

(Usopp’s a great liar.)

“So there I was, tied with Luffy after a hundred bowls of sorbet. Sanji was down for the count and there wasn’t a crumb on the entire ship except a single sprinkle—one last morsel to determine the victor of the greatest eating competition in history.

“I wasn’t sure I could eat it, but I couldn’t let it end with a tie and I knew by the look of him that Luffy was far too…” Usopp blinks, deflating slightly. “That Luffy was…”

He trails off. A crease grows between his brows as he sinks into thought like quicksand.

“Luffy was too…?” Franky nudges.

“Tired,” Usopp answers distractedly, green fingers running through his hair and absently pulling another clump free from his hair tie.

He lapses deeper into silence. 

There’s a few long seconds of nothing—absolutely nothing.

(Is this how sirens drive sailors mad? Drown them in silence?)

Franky decides he’s had enough.

He takes three long strides across the room and picks Usopp up, tucking him under an arm.

Usopp is so blindsighted that he doesn’t start struggling to get free until they’re halfway down the hall. “Wha—Franky! A little warning would—! You can’t just—!”

Franky switches the flailing kid to the other armpit and barges into the storage room. He grabs five small barrels, stacks them on his shoulder, and slams the door behind them with a foot.

“W-what’s going on? Put me down!” Usopp’s voice shakes as Franky speeds up, sprinting up the stairs to the deck. “Franky, what’s—?”

Franky kicks open the door, loud enough to make everyone topside flinch.

“LUFFY!”

Zoro’s eyes are still closed where he’s leaning against the mast, but his thumb is hovering over one of his swords, and there’s a glint of metal peeking out from the sheath.

Chopper is clinging to Zoro, hiding with his face obscured by Zoro’s arm and the rest of his body sticking out.

Robin’s hands are rising, and Franky can almost feel the army of limbs prepared to shoot out of the wood.

Luffy’s neck stretches, twisting all the way around so he can blink at Franky with wide eyes.

Franky drops the barrels of gunpowder on deck with a manic grin. “Whaddya say we blow something up?”

Usopp sags in relief, dangling limply over Franky’s elbow. It’s only a second before  he starts swinging punches and kicks at Franky’s torso. “Oi! Are you trying to give me a heart attack? I thought you were—”

A kick makes contact with his back, and Franky involuntarily drops Usopp on his face.

“Sorry, bro,” he says, lifting the dazed kid up and setting him back on his feet. “But when a man gets the urge, he’s just gotta make something explode.”

Luffy slides down from Sunny’s figurehead with a whoop. “Yeah! Let’s explode some stuff!”

Chopper’s body pokes out a little further, though his face is still hidden behind Zoro’s elbow. “So we’re not under attack? Nothing’s wrong?”

“Of course something’s wrong—we haven’t had a party in weeks! ”

Maybe it’s Luffy’s grin, or maybe it’s the word ‘party,’ (or maybe it’s just desperation for an excuse to do something) but everyone on deck flies to action.

Zoro stands, letting his sword drop back into its sheath, and walks away. “I’ll get the booze.”

“To the cannons!” Luffy cries, grabbing poor Usopp by the nose and slingshotting them to the back of the Sunny.

Robin sets her pen and journal aside, moving to stand. “I’ll invite the others.”

There’s a crash followed by a burst of shouting (and giggling) as Usopp and Luffy land right on top of Jinbei and Nami.

The kitchen door swings open almost as soon as it closed. Shouldering a keg the size of Kuma, Zoro reappears, ducking a few kicks as Sanji barrels out after him. Half a second later, Brook pokes his head out, looking quizzically at the commotion.

“Ah,” Robin smiles, reclaiming her seat. “Nevermind.”

Franky smiles, too. 

(Straw Hat Pirates always find their way to the heart of the chaos. It’s just the way they are.)

(Of course, Straw Hats are usually the reason for the chaos in the first place.)

Pulling the stop out of a gunpowder barrel, Franky turns to Chopper. “You ever wanted to know how to make a bomb?”

Franky can’t actually make out whatever it is Chopper’s saying through the pure glee.

Not that he’d be able to hear Chopper anyway, with the ruckus everyone else is making.

Franky beams.

Super!

***

The party only lasts a little over an hour.

It almost ends before it begins.

They use up all five gunpowder kegs in the first ten minutes—with Luffy shot-putting them as far as he can and Usopp manning the cannon to shoot them down before they hit the water.

Franky fires a radical beam, Chopper gets to light up his bomb, and that’s it for the explosives, because they shouldn’t waste all their ammo.

By then, Zoro has already downed the massive keg himself, and Nami nearly throttles him when she finds out that it was their entire supply of alcohol.

Thankfully, Sanji comes to the rescue, pulling a feast out of thin air.

(Franky still has no clue how Sanji does it. Sure, Franky can throw a bridge together in a couple minutes, but bread takes time to rise and meat takes time to cook, so how does Sanji whip out enough food for a small country in ten minutes flat?)

(And where does he get it all? Franky made the Sunny’s fridge big, but not that big.)

There’s singing and dancing and story-telling and games—which consist mostly of Usopp, Chopper, and Luffy throwing random nicknacks through the hole in Franky’s doughnut hairdo—and there’s more laughter in one hour than in the last ten days put together. Nami even convinces Jinbei to leave his post and join the fun for a little while.

It’s really only a little while.

The gravitational pull of the helm wins out eventually, and Jinbei sucks Nami back with him.

And when Sanji has to leave to clean up the kitchen and start the prep work for dinner, Brook is reluctantly forced to follow—as per the buddy arrangement.

And in the middle of Chopper’s party-dance, Luffy does an impression of Jinbei that makes Chopper laugh so hard he snorts a chopstick up his nose. Zoro has to take the poor kid to his own doctor’s office to get it removed, and since Robin can be handy for that sort of thing, she and Luffy go, too.

Which only leaves Usopp and Franky on deck.

Normally, they’d be more than enough for a party. But after everyone else clears out, Franky can feel Usopp’s good mood withering.

The crease between Usopp’s eyebrows returns, and he’s curling in on himself again, inching to the furthest corner of the deck like he’s in self-imposed time-out or something.

Franky scratches the back of his neck.

What’s it gonna take to beat this funk? No matter what Franky does, it just keeps coming back. It’s almost unnatur—

Franky freezes.

Sirens crawl into sailors’ minds.

Maybe it’s just stress. Maybe it’s sleep-deprivation. Maybe it’s a guilt spiral.

Or maybe, Usopp’s under attack.

Well.

Franky cracks his neck.

It’d be real hard to mess with Usopp’s thoughts if Franky takes up all the room to think.

Franky throws Usopp over his shoulder, holding him by his ankles.

“Wha— Franky!” Usopp’s exasperation is palpable. “Would you stop —!”

“Shark Submerge has an oil leak,” Franky grunts, ignoring Usopp’s flailing as he kicks the deck door open and clomps down the stairs towards the Soldier Dock System. “And I can’t tell where it’s coming from.”

Usopp’s brow crease is left behind and he twists awkwardly to look at Franky from where he’s hanging. “It’s not the hydraulics?”

“Nope. Already checked the planes, the rudder, the shaft, the turbines, the gearbox, the diaphragm pumps, and the steering, bro.”

Usopp rubs his chin with stained-green fingers. “That is weird.”

They’ve barely made it to Channel Three before Usopp is wriggling out of Franky’s grip, to investigate the problem for himself. 

Franky grins.

Usopp climbs up and boosts himself off Franky’s shoulders into the sub, where it’s suspended in the air by chains. He spends a minute or two looking the whole thing over, scuttling inside and out, before prying up one of the plates under the left fin and squeezing his head in for a closer look at the steady drip of black. Muttering something about a flooded compressor to himself, he absently hands the plate to Franky, and wriggles in further.

It’s super, the way Usopp can just fit into tiny spaces. The gap only looks big enough to fit Franky’s smaller hands, but somehow, Usopp crams his entire body up there and turns around inside until all that’s visible is the crown of his head and a poof of black ponytail peaking through the opening.

Usopp makes a few other hums and grunts and half-finished words that echo inside the shark sub as he tinkers.

“Got it!”

Sure enough, a valve comes loose, and Franky gets a face-full of oil.

Poking his torso out, Usopp frowns. “I still don’t get it. This whole space is soaked in oil, but the hydraulic valve looks fine. It’s not cracked or misaligned or anything. So how’d it leak?”

Ignoring Franky’s coughing and sputtering, he drums his fingers on the Shark Submerge’s outer shell, once, twice, and then sighs, squeezing out and swinging down to stand by Franky.

Franky spits out a glob of oil, wiping his sunglasses on the collar of his ruined shirt.

“There must be some explanation. Or maybe a design flaw I’m missing.”

“A flaw? In my designs?” Franky flicks oil in Usopp’s face as he jabs a finger into the long nose. “Take that back!”

“Look, Franky, no inventions are perfect, not even your—” Usopp earns himself a shove that nearly makes him lose his balance.

“You’re telling me you don’t think The Thousand Sunny is perfect?”

“Sunny’s got the best craftsmanship to ever sail, but there’s no such thing as a perfect —”

Franky shoves Usopp again.

Usopp turns the fall into a grand, fumbling backwards somersault, and growls, “Oi!”

“Can’t let you insult my lady like that, bro,” he fights to keep his face serious. “She’s super, down to every plank and nail.”

“Well, obviously— ”

“If you think you can douse me in oil, ruin my favorite shirt, and insult my work, then you’d better be ready for the consequences.” Franky cracks his knuckles grinning.

“Yeah? Well, I’m armed and dangerous,” Usopp challenges, pulling out an oil star pellet.

(Who just keeps that sort of thing in their pajama pockets?)

(Franky loves this kid.)

“You think you can win this fight?” He asks, stepping forward and making Usopp scramble backwards.

Before Franky can follow up, he nearly trips over the oil-drip bucket. He just manages to save it from tipping over, but leaves himself open to attack, and an oil star flies through the doughnut-hole.

“That was a warning shot.” Usopp’s eyes glitter, as he juggles another pellet between his fingers. “And if you don’t want another face-full, then—”

Franky dumps the oil-drip bucket over Usopp’s head, and runs.

Not fast enough.

Oil Star!

***

Jinbei looks concerned when Franky and Usopp go sprinting down the hall toward the showers, shouting and shoving and tearing off dripping black clothes to wind into makeshift whips.

Nami doesn’t even ask.

She catches them as they pass, slamming them both into the ground by their heads, and snaps at them not to take their pants off until after they’re behind closed doors. Huffing, she steps over their bodies and resumes her walk to the dining hall for dinner.

Jinbei follows, looking deeply unsettled.

Franky can’t blame him.

Nami’s the scariest pirate alive.

***

It’s their turn for watch, but when Franky’s built-in alarm goes off and he reaches a hand over to Usopp’s hammock to wake him up, all he feels are blankets. Usopp’s not there.

Franky wonders if Usopp had a bout of insomnia and ended up in his workshop for late night tinkering again. It only happens when Usopp’s particularly stressed, but here on the Siren Sea, with the water turning black and the Merry warning them to be on their guard, Usopp’s in his workshop every night.

Franky’s stressed, too. They’ve been sailing far too smoothly for far too long. And now with the warnings and the changing color, things feel ominous.

But that’s all it is. Ominous. No real, tangible danger. Nothing to shoot, nothing to punch. Nothing to do.

The anticipation of danger is under everyone’s skin—even Luffy’s tense. So Usopp, with all his catastrophizing, probably feels ten times worse.

Franky raps quietly on the private Usopp Factory door, but nobody answers.

Pushing the door open, he finds the room empty and untouched.

Franky climbs back up to the main deck, trying to soothe the anxiety twisting in his gut. Usopp better not have gotten snatched in the dead of night.

To his surprise, Usopp is standing on the deck, gripping the railing, staring into the water. Franky doesn’t catch what he’s muttering under his breath.

“Hey, Usopp! You okay? You’re not lookin’ so super.”

Usopp whips around to look at Franky. He’s breathing hard, like he’s been running. Or like he’s on the verge of a panic attack.

“Woah, bro! What’s going on?”

For a moment, Usopp just stares at Franky with a look in his eyes that Franky can’t decipher.

Eventually, Usopp swallows audibly and says, “The water is still getting darker.” He sounds shaky.

Franky purses his lips, glancing over the side. Sure enough, the water is darker, and not just in color. The moon is nearly full, but there’s hardly any light reflecting off the surface. Like the waves are sinking even the moonbeams that touch it.

Franky shudders. “Yeah. It’s pretty freaky, huh?”

He shoots a sidelong look at Usopp who is staring into the depths again and breathing just a little too fast. “Anything else?”

Usopp wets his lips. “You know how Jinbei said that sirens prey on weakness? She says that all of us need to be strong or the sirens will find and kill us. She keeps telling me to be brave.”

Franky doesn’t have to ask who ‘she’ is. He still can’t believe Usopp forged a connection so strong with The Going Merry that not only caused her klabautermann to manifest but still allows her to stay with them, even when the ship itself is gone. 

(Or most of it is gone. After all, the Mini-Merry was made from salvaged wood. Maybe her spirit remains with the paddle boat.)

Either that, or Jinbei is right and it’s a siren. Franky isn’t sure why a siren would warn them about danger and encourage them to be brave. Doesn’t it seem more likely for Merry to say that stuff, trying to calm Usopp down and keep him from going crazy with stress? But maybe the confusion and guessing games are all part of the drive-sailors-mad scheme.

It’s sure driving Franky crazy—the feeling that something terrible is already underway but not knowing what it is or what to do about it.

Franky shakes himself out of his thoughts. Usopp is panic-breathing again.

“Cheer up, bro, Nami says we’ll be out of here tomorrow. As long as we don’t touch the water like Jinbei said, we’ll be fine.”

“R-right.” Usopp squeezes his eyes shut.

Teasingly, Franky pokes him. “You’re not scared, are you?”

Usopp huffs. “The Brave Captain Usopp? Never.” It’s a little weak compared to usual, but close enough.

Franky gives him a slap on the back making Usopp stumble and he turns toward the crow’s nest to relieve Brook and Sanji from watch.

But when Usopp grabs Franky’s arm, he stops.

“Sorry you got stuck with me. But thanks for being so nice about it anyway.”

Franky lifts his sunglasses to look at Usopp, his metal eyebrows shooting up into his doughnut-shaped hair. “Where’s this coming from, bro?”

(Maybe Usopp is under attack.)

Usopp picks at the sweatband on his arm. “I mean, we’re in dangerous waters and we need to be at our best, so who wouldn’t be annoyed that I wasted everyone’s sleep the other day over nothing.”

“Oh, is that all?” Franky grabs Usopp and tosses him up onto his shoulder, startling a laugh out of the kid. “That’s nothin’. Can’t tucker ol’ Franky out with an all night party—I’m cola powered, you know, and I’ll dance till the sun comes up! Yow!”

Usopp grins, making himself comfortable on top of the giant metal joint as Franky tromps off toward the crow’s nest. “You’re the coolest, Franky.”

Why would anyone want to throw you away?

Franky stumbles.

Where… where did that thought come from?

(Was that—)

Usopp is immediately back on high alert. “Woah, you okay?”

He tries to wave his nakama’s worry away, but Franky feels a bit shaky himself. “Yeah, just… got a funny feeling.”

Usopp doesn’t say anything.

Although he can’t see Usopp’s face, angled behind big blue hair, Franky doesn’t get the impression that Usopp’s mulling over anything good.

(Distraction, distraction, distraction—)

“Hey,” Franky shrugs his shoulder, trying to jostle Usopp out of his thoughts, “you’re not gonna get all broody again, are you?”

“Sorry. ‘M kind of a party-pooper, huh?”

“Nah,” Franky grunts, resuming his trek to the crow’s nest, hauling himself hand-over-hand up the rope ladder. “I just haven’t figured out how to build myself any mind-reading upgrades, yet. ‘Till then you’ll have to tell me what you’re brooding about the old fashioned way.”

“‘S nothing. Just another nightmare.”

“Lay it on me, bro.”

“It’s nothing new. It’s the same one I had yesterday. About Merry dying.” Under his breath, Usopp adds, “And when I messed everything up three times over.”

Franky winces.

It’s easily one of his biggest regrets—the way he and Usopp met. Two years later and it still makes Franky’s cola go sour, thinking about what he did. He’s apologized a thousand different times—once with words and tears and an acoustic guitar riff, other times with gifts (the Mini Merry being his first and most outspoken apology).

The apologies don’t make any difference to Usopp. He had forgiven Franky long ago—only hours after Franky kidnapped him and tore a hole in his beloved Merry, and even before Franky had stopped tormenting the poor kid.

But, while Usopp insists that it’s all water under the bridge between them, it’s obvious that Usopp never quite healed. All that mockery about being weak and worthless was still there, tucked just under the surface. Franky knows, despite whatever Usopp believes, that he can’t really be forgiven until the wounds start healing—until after Usopp forgives himself.

In the meantime, Franky will keep trying to make things right. He isn’t sure how to fix it, but Usopp is smart and creative and Franky is patient and good at repairs, so Franky is confident that together, given time, they’ll work it out.

“I really made a mess of things back then. But hey,” Usopp says, with far more levity in his voice, “I’ve come a long way. I mean, just look at these muscles! I’m not as weak and useless as I was when we met, right?”

It’s the ‘right’ that gives him away under all his bravado.

Franky opens his mouth to give Usopp a definitive, “Bro, even if we could do this without you, we don’t want to,” that Franky hopes will kill and bury some of Usopp’s doubts, at least for today.

But Franky is surprised when his jaw just keeps lowering, wedging the words behind a gigantic yawn instead.

“You sure you’re okay, Franky?” Usopp asks before Franky can stop and salvage the moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you yawn.”

“Guess I’m—” he yawns again, “—low on cola.”

He shouldn’t be. He fueled up just this morning. He shouldn’t need a refill for at least two more days. But maybe he put a little more umph into the radical beam at the party than he thought.

When Franky pushes open the crow’s nest hatch, Brook’s playing something soft and gentle.

Ah. That’s probably it. Brook’s lullabies never fail to put Franky to sleep.

“Usopp, Franky,” Brook beams, greeting them with a flourish of his bow, “A beautiful evening, is it not?”

Franky squints at him. Didn’t that bow fly away yesterday?

“About time,” Sanji grumps, before Franky has a chance to ask. “What happened? Did you catch Mosshead’s brain fungus and get lost on the way here?”

“Psh,” Usopp scoffs, his long nose exaggerating the gesture of lifting his chin. “Franky was just having a hard time carrying me and all my super big muscles.” Usopp folds his arms, flexing his biceps.

Sanji reaches a hand out to help pull Franky up, “Then I guess it’s my fault you’re late since I’m the one who made Usopp fat.”

Usopp squawks indignantly over Brook’s chortling, and Franky stifles another yawn.

Sanji’s curly brow dips low over his eye. “You feeling alright, Franky?”

“Super, as always!”

Usopp moves his elbow from where it was flattening Franky’s doughnut hair, and offers, “I probably wore him out. I kinda made a huge mess, and getting oil-stains out of wood is a nightmare.”

Franky bounces his shoulder, making Usopp flail to keep his seat. “Keeping up with this mad genius is hard work, you know.”

The last two words are muffled with a yawn

Packing up his violin and slinging the case over his shoulder, Brook remarks, “I didn’t think it was possible to show exhaustion with gusto, but I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you, Franky.”

There isn’t a ton of room for posing in the crow’s nest, but Franky makes do.

“Whatever.” Sanji says, hands casually in his pockets as he holds the hatch open with a foot  to let Brook climb down. He shoots Usopp a pointed look. “Just don’t wear yourselves out anymore tonight, huh?”

Usopp looks chagrined, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.”

“A minimum? Nah, bro, we’re gonna turn this party to the max! Yow!”

Sanji rolls his eyes at the way Franky fist-bumps Usopp, flashing his nipple lights, and follows Brook down.

“Seriously, Franky, you gotta put those lights somewhere else.” Usopp crawls down from Franky’s shoulder and plops on the bench seats next to him.

Franky just folds his arms behind his head, crosses a leg over his knee, and grins. “Why? It’s not like they’re doing anything else important.”

“It’s gross.”

“Nah. It’s super.”

Usopp grumbles something in response, but Franky doesn’t hear it.

He’s too busy yawning.

Chapter Text

The view from the crow’s nest has always made Chopper’s heart pound—it feels like he can see the whole, endless ocean from up here.

His heart is pounding especially hard right now.

The ocean is so dark. The shine of sunlight bouncing off water is missing. It looks like there’s a hole where the ocean should be—like the Sunny is dangling over a gigantic bottomless pit.

“Didn’t Jinbei say that ‘Tsyruhn’ means mouth? Or eat? ” Chopper didn’t mean to say it out loud, but the thought squeaked out without his permission.

Zoro’s weight-lifting rhythm grinds to a halt. There’s a significant thud as Zoro sets the room-sized weight down. He stands behind Chopper, wiping sweat off his neck with a towel.

Chopper cranes his neck backwards to look up at him.

Zoro looks serious.

Chopper doesn’t know if it’s a good serious, or a bad serious, or just the usual serious (Zoro is hard to read). But whatever the case, Zoro, standing solid and grounded at his back, makes Chopper feel a little less scared.

Zoro’s so tough. He’s as strong as a giant, and he can cut mountains like butter, and he can beat any opponent in the world!

Besides, he promised Luffy that he’d never lose a fight, so he won’t. Not even to the sirens.

(If Zoro and Luffy can’t beat them, nobody can.)

Zoro frowns, “Where is everyone?”

Chopper’s eyes wander down to the deck. 

It’s still empty. Chopper’s been watching for a glimpse of somebody all day. Luffy, Robin, Usopp, Franky, Sanji, Brook—there’s no sign of anyone .

“Last I saw, Jinbei and Nami were on the second deck, but…” Chopper swallows. His eyes flash up to Zoro again, and he tries to puff himself up a bit. “Everyone can take care of themselves. I’m sure they’re all fine and just… just busy.”

(But what if they’re not fine? What if the sirens got them? What if they were dragged overboard? What if Chopper and Zoro are the only ones left? Whatifwhatifwhatifwhatif—)

Zoro turns and lifts the hatch. “We should find the others. There’s only four hours left, so the sirens have to attack soon.”

Zoro is hard to read, but Chopper knows what worry smells like. It’s very strange, sticking out like a sore thumb on top of Zoro’s usual musk. But, as anxious as it makes Chopper, maybe it makes him feel a little relieved, too. (It’s a lot scarier worrying alone.)

Chopper hops down from the bench seats and follows Zoro through the hatch and down the rope ladder. He tries to be serious and calm like Zoro (although he waves at Nami and Jinbei when they climb the stairs to the second deck) and he mimics Zoro’s tough walk as they push into the kitchen.

Sanji isn’t there. 

And the kitchen looks like it’s been ransacked. The fridge door is hanging open, and there’s a scattering of food and animal bones all across the floor.

They look in the library and observatory—but there’s no Robin to greet them with a smile. And Brook isn’t writing music between sips of his pint (of milk or tea) in the aquarium bar. The men’s quarters are empty, too.

They finally venture below decks. Franky’s been trying to conserve cola, since they’re already running on empty from the fight with Kizaru, so most of the lights are off.

It’s dark.

He can barely make out Zoro right in front of him.

Chopper forces himself not to cling to Zoro’s pant leg, and focuses on being fully alert, trying his best to imitate the way Zoro just senses danger.

The halls are silent. Except for Zoro’s purposeful stride, swords clinking gently with every step, and Chopper’s hoove-steps, which echo against the walls as he struggles to keep up.

Franky isn’t in the energy room, Usopp isn’t in his factory, and the only thing in the shared workshop is a lantern. The flame is low on its wick. Maybe it’s his imagination, but every time the light dips like it’s about to go out, Chopper thinks he sees the shadows creep out from their corners a little further.

A sharp noise makes Chopper’s ears stand up, but it’s gone in an instant, and Chopper’s not even sure he heard it at all. His ears swivel under his hat and he holds his breath as he strains to catch any other sound.

All he hears is the faint shik of Zoro’s black sword rising an inch above its sheath.

Eventually, Chopper can’t hold his breath anymore and the air bursts out of him in a rush.

The noise comes again, right in the middle of his breathless gasping, slightly longer this time.

It sounds like a shout—suddenly cut off.

Chopper’s breath hitches. Luffy.

Zoro’s shoulders loosen, his muscles rolling into something fluid and deadly. “Soldier Dock System,” is all the warning he gives before flying off down the hall, almost as quiet as the shadows themselves.

Chopper doesn’t have a Quiet Point—bare human feet are as close as he gets, so he flips into Heavy Point, and charges after.

They’re only steps away when Chopper sees dim light seeping out from under the doorway of the Soldier Dock Hub. The shadows shift—somebody’s moving around in there!

The door clatters to the floor in pieces, as Zoro bursts through, Kitetsu fully drawn. Chopper pounds through half a second behind him, nearly crashing when Zoro suddenly skids to a stop.

“Luffy! What is this?” Zoro demands.

It takes a moment for Chopper’s eyes to adjust to the dim light of Franky’s emergency work-lamp, but Chopper smells the mountain of meat before he sees it.

Luffy—sitting at the peak of the mountain with a whale-sized drumstick halfway down his gullet—gives them both a look of panic. He slurps his snack down, including the bone, and swallows hard. “Don’t tell Sanji.”

Chopper’s breath goes whooshing out of him again (he’s gotta stop forgetting to breathe) as he catches sight of Franky, Robin, and Usopp.

The Shark Sub is suspended in the air by chains, and Franky is elbow deep in oil and metal, tinkering with something on the bottom under the fin. Usopp is across the room, curled up on the Mini-Merry looking lost in thought. Robin is sitting with her back leaning against the central pillar of the hub, eyebrows arched in amusement as she watches Luffy tunneling down through his mountain. 

“You’re okay!”  Chopper cheers, slipping back into brain point. “Zoro and I didn’t see you for hours and we thought—”

A rubbery finger pokes Chopper’s snout. “Shh. We’re supposed to be hiding.”

Chopper finishes in a whisper, “We thought you were in trouble.”

Robin’s eyes glitter enigmatically. “We’re about to be.”

Luffy giggles, cheeks bulging, “We stole all the meat! It was Robin’s idea.”

Chopper’s eyes bug out at the diminishing mound. “ All of it? Sanji’ll kick you to death when he finds out!”

Luffy laughs, but abruptly cuts it off, slapping a hand over his own mouth. “I keep forgetting,” he admits, chortling a little softer, “Being quiet is hard.”

Oh, so that’s what it was. Not a shout, a laugh.

“Next time, you want to disappear in siren-infested waters, do it the right way and throw yourselves overboard,” Zoro growls, sheathing his sword.

Usopp flinches, even though there’s obviously no real heat behind the harsh words. Usopp’s been extra jumpy lately.

But it makes sense—after eleven long days of nothing to do but stress, Chopper’s pretty sure that everyone’s reaching the end of their rope. Even Zoro.

Zoro hides it better than everyone else, but Chopper can still smell worry. It’s not as strong now, and it’s even harder to catch under the mix of relief and disappointment about the lack of sirens to fight, but it’s still there. And Chopper can’t help feeling worried, too.

“Today’s the last day on the Siren Sea. There are only,” Chopper glances at Zoro to confirm his math, “three hours left. Shouldn’t we be getting ready to fight the sirens?”

“We are,” Luffy says around another massive hunk of meat.

“It occurred to me that, with the impending attack, it would be best if Luffy was fully fueled,” Robin explains. “So I convinced Brook to distract Sanji—perhaps getting ‘locked’ in the bathhouse for a few hours—while I relieved the fridge and freezer of its locks.”

“Oh,” Chopper says, “that makes lots of sense.”

He’s startled by a far-off door slam. Sanji and Brook must be loose.

“Of course Luffy should eat plenty,” Chopper squeaks, “but is it really worth it to make Sanji mad?”

“A good meal might make all the difference.” Robin’s head tilts to the side a fraction, and shadows cut strange, sharp shapes across her face. “If nothing else, Luffy deserves a spectacular last meal.”

Chopper screams, “THAT’S SO MORBID!”

He slaps his hooves over his mouth, but even if Sanji missed what Chopper said, he can’t miss Luffy’s belly-laugh.

Maybe Sanji hasn’t seen the kitchen yet?

No luck.

“LUFFY!” Another door slams hard enough to shake the ship, and the stomping and shouting gets louder every second. Chopper doesn’t pick out all the words, but he definitely hears Sanji say “kill” and “rubber” a lot.

Luffy shovels the meat into his mouth faster.

Reindeer instinct tells Chopper that if he wants to survive, he should become invisible before the cook finds his meat-thief. Even if Robin explained that the heist was all her doing, it wouldn’t save the rest of them from Sanji’s wrath.

Zoro sits down near Robin—probably still itching for a fight—while Chopper dives through channel two and into the bottom of the Mini-Merry.

He narrowly misses bowling Usopp over, but Usopp doesn’t even react as Chopper flies past him.

“Usopp,” Chopper whispers, tugging one of  Usopp’s suspender straps as angry footsteps grow closer, “hide!”

Usopp doesn’t move. He’s sitting with one knee tucked under his chin, the other dangling over the side while his thumb rubs back and forth under his nose.

Chopper pauses. It’s hard to see Usopp’s expression in the dark, but… he smells funny. The fear is normal, and the exhaustion makes sense, but there’s something on top of it that makes Chopper’s nose crinkle. It reminds him a little of Jinbei—but all inside out and wrong .

Anxiety gnaws at Chopper’s stomach. “Usopp?”

It’s only when Usopp tears his eyes away to look at him that Chopper realizes what he was staring at so intensely.

Franky’s tinkering has stopped. He’s nodding off, slumping forward and nearly falling over before jerking upright again.

Chopper stands up, forgetting all about Sanji’s approach. “Franky, what’s wrong?”

Franky turns, looking surprised, like he didn’t notice Zoro and Chopper at all—not even Zoro slashing a door to pieces and Chopper shrieking at Robin. And maybe it’s just the dim light shining at a funny angle, but the skin-like cover on Franky’s face looks weird. Shrunken. Chopper thinks he can even see metal bits moving underneath when Franky finally answers.

“There’s an oil leak. Thought we fixed it up yesterday, but it just keeps getting worse.” Franky stops abruptly, swaying. An arm blooms out of the wall to steady him.

“Franky!” Chopper cries.

Zoro’s on his feet again.

Luffy’s face has gone serious. He drops the wads of jerky and sausages that were halfway to his mouth and slides down the pile to Franky’s side. “You’re sick?

Franky grimaces, setting his tools down. He tries to straighten up, but he nearly falls over and ends up sitting down with them, looking dazed. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

“You told me you were fine,” Usopp says and it’s probably supposed to sound accusatory, but his voice is too quiet to sound anything but scared. “You said you were just low on cola.”

“I thought so but—”

Franky’s interrupted by an explosion of splinters as Sanji blows off whatever hanging chunks are left of the door with a kick. “LUFFY!”

Luffy whips around.

Sanji’s eye twitches at the mound of meat mashed into the floorboards. Looking fit to burst into flames, he opens his mouth.

But he doesn’t get a word out.

Franky makes a horrible gurgling sound. Gears grind in a heavy, drawn-out groan, and his entire torso jerks as the noise ends in an echoing crunch .

Luffy is on top of him in an instant, shaking him by his shoulders, “Oi, Franky!”

The artificial lights in his eyes flicker out.

“Wake up!”

Franky doesn’t respond. Something dark oozes through the cracks of his stomach compartment.

Chopper feels lightheaded. He can hardly think through the static of pure panic in his brain.

“—per! Chopper!” 

Chopper blinks. Luffy’s shaking him now. “How do we fix him?”

What’s Luffy asking Chopper for?

Oh right, he’s the doctor.

But he doesn’t know how to doctor robot parts!

(Franky might be dying and Chopper doesn’t know how to fix it and Chopper doesn’t even know what’s wrong or what happened and Franky’s never needed much doctoring because he’s always fixed himself but now he won’t wake up and Chopper can’t fix that and he can’t breathe and he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’tknowdoesn’tknowdoesn’tknow—)

Robin’s calm voice cuts through the static. “Should we take him upstairs, doctor? It’ll be easier to work where we can see.”

Chopper takes a deep breath, pulling himself more-or-less together, and croaks, “Yes.”

Instantly, Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, and Brook (Chopper hadn’t even noticed the skeleton follow Sanji in during the commotion) are there and lifting Franky up and out of the room.

A voice mutters something about paul-bearers in the back of Chopper’s mind, and he shakes his head to make it go away.

Shifting into Walk Point, Chopper runs ahead of the others to prepare the sick bay.

An arm blooms to hold the door open as they bring Franky in and lay him down on the cot. 

He’s too big to fit, and his arms dangle limply off both sides—or they would if his gears weren’t jammed, making his whole body stiff.

Is… is Franky even…?

Chopper puts an ear to Franky’s chest and blows out yet another breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “His heart’s beating and he’s breathing steady.”

There’s a collective exhale. Apparently, Chopper wasn’t the only one forgetting to breathe.

And then there’s a barrage of questions that Chopper can’t begin to answer, like “what happened?” and “he’ll be okay, right?” and “why didn’t he tell us sooner?” 

Bodies press in from every side—even Nami and Jinbei have rushed in to investigate the chaos—but Chopper is gratefully rescued by a legion of arms, gently pulling everyone away to give him room to work.

“Chopper will fix it,” Luffy says, stepping back. The captain’s confidence fills Chopper with equal parts pride and panic.

He tries to ground himself. There’s sunlight coming through the doorway and this is his office, he’s in charge here. This is his element. And he’s determined not to waste another second being scared when he should be helping Franky.

As soon as he has his head on straight, he climbs up the bed next to Franky, slips on some disposable gloves and opens the stomach compartment…

He wastes several seconds, gaping.

The cola bottles aren’t empty at all. Thick, dark sludge is spilling over the rims, seeping through chinks in the metal and oozing out into the rest of Franky’s body, coating everything in black.

It smells like seawater and blood.

Bile rises in the back of Chopper’s throat, but he swallows it down. He can’t afford to be squeamish right now. Chopper doesn’t say a word as he thrusts his arms in, prying the bottles out and handing them off to Brook who rushes away to throw them overboard.

“I need four bottles of cola, stat,” Chopper orders, bailing the ooze out into the sick-bucket and soaking up the rest with rags, which are also quickly disposed of.

“There’s nothing left,” Usopp rasps. “Franky used the rest of his stock to give us an emergency Coup de Burst. Everything we have is already in the Sunny.”

Horror dawns over Nami’s face. “Franky doesn’t need cola to live, does he?”

The scent of fear in the room spikes so much that Chopper’s forced to take shallow breaths through his mouth to keep from losing his head as he continues bailing goop out of Franky’s stomach.

If Franky survives this, Chopper’s gonna smother him with questions, learning where every screw goes and what every wire does and how every gear turns. Chopper’s never gonna get caught unprepared for the mechanical stuff again.

A doctor worth their salt, wouldn’t have been caught unprepared in the first place.

Chopper’s stares at his shaking hooves, gloves stained with black, and he fights back a sudden wave of panicked tears.

He forces himself to keep cleaning up sludge. It’s not the time to panic. He needs to figure something out to help Franky. But without cola…

“The bar!” Sanji gasps, and Chopper’s head snaps up in time to see the chef’s eye go wide. “I might have…” Sanji doesn’t finish, already sprinting full tilt to the aquarium bar.

Chopper doesn’t let himself think about anything but the grime in Franky’s gears. He focuses on the simple motions of wiping ooze from cracks and corners, trying not to hope (or fear) for anything to do with Sanji’s search.

(Does Franky’s breathing sound thinner?)

“Got it!” Sanji barrels back out, and he’s up the stairs and handing it to Chopper in a blink. “From Dressrosa. Real cane-sugar, perfect carbonation and syrup ratios—only for special occasions,” he grins a little manically, “but this seems special enough, eh, Chopper?”

Chopper can’t seem to string the right words together to thank Sanji as he accepts the bottle, but he hopes Sanji feels the wave of gratitude in his big, relieved smile.

He pries the cap off, but pauses before he hooks the bottle up. Turning to the others, he says, “I need three more clean bottles.”

Luffy’s next door—in and out of the kitchen almost before Chopper’s finished his sentence. “Is this enough?” he asks, pushing through the crowd with both arms heaped with glassware.

Nami helps pick out three bottles from the precarious stack, and wordlessly guides Luffy to put the rest back.

Tearing off his gloves Chopper gathers up the bottles and pours an equal amount into each before plugging them into Franky’s stomach.

Franky taught Chopper about batteries once. Chopper doesn’t remember most of it, but he remembers something about ‘completing a circuit’ and how you can’t just put one battery in and leave the other slots empty and expect a machine to run.

Chopper has no idea if Franky’s cola refills are anything like that, but he’s never seen Franky just change one bottle (then again, they’ve never run this low before) and Chopper figures it’s better to be safe than sorry.

So, he hopes he’s doing the right thing, filling all four slots, even if there’s not much cola in each bottle.

For a while, nothing happens.

Finally, there’s a small click and a whir. It’s nothing like the usual vibrant shaking and fizzy explosion of power, but Chopper can hear bits of machinery chug to life as energy trickles through Franky’s limbs.

The cyborg doesn’t wake up. But there’s no grinding, or crunch, or explosions, so Chopper hopes they’re not hurting anything, letting the machinery run even though something’s broken.

Chopper pulls his hat down over his eyes by its earflaps.

(What if the energy breaks it more? What if he’s making it worse? What if Franky never wakes up? What if Chopper’s killing him? What if—)

“Chopper?”

It’s Luffy. Chopper should answer, but the knot in his throat is too big.

“Did you fix it?”

With watery eyes, Chopper peeks out from under the brim at his captain. “I don’t know,” he sniffles. “Franky’s pulse is better, and he’s breathing steady, and I think he’s just sleeping for now, but I don’t know anything about machines.”

Luffy stares at Franky’s stiff form for a while. And then his eyes flick to Chopper. “That’s okay. Franky will fix the machine parts when he wakes up.”

“But I don’t even know if… if he’ll wake up at all.”

“Chopper already fixed the doctor parts,” Luffy says easily, like he’s stating a well-known fact, “so when Franky wakes up, he’ll fix the other parts.”

There are still so many ‘what if’s swirling around in Chopper’s head but Luffy’s looking at him without a trace of fear in his scent or uncertainty in his face.

Chopper bites his quivering lip, takes one big, unholy sniffle to suck all the snot back up, and nods. “Yeah. Franky’ll wake up.”

Luffy said so. And Luffy’s always right about his crew.

Nami scrubs a hand down her face. “How did this happen?” she asks.

“He seemed tired last night,” Brook adds, “but not sick, by any means.”

Robin tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. “Perhaps he was nodding off a little while he worked, but the attack itself was very sudden.”

Jinbei says something about siren attacks being internal, but Chopper isn’t paying much attention because Robin’s lips are still moving even though she’s not making any noise. Chopper thinks he sees the words ‘blood’ and ‘black.’

Nami cuts sharply through his focus. “Were there any other signs? Does anyone know how he might’ve touched the water, even accidentally?”

“Usopp was with Franky the whole time,” Chopper realizes, hopping down from the cot and joining the crowd in the doorway. He can barely see Usopp’s nose sticking out at the back of the pack. “Usopp, did you—?”

Chopper doesn’t even finish the question before Usopp bolts.

“Wait!” Luffy calls, climbing over people, stepping on shoulders and heads and faces to get through the door. “Usopp!”

But Luffy can’t get to him fast enough.

The sniper nearly makes it below deck, but Zoro leaps over the second floor railing, and cuts Usopp’s escape off. He reaches out, but Usopp flinches back, and tries to dart around the wall of swordsman blocking his path.

Zoro’s reflexes are faster. He catches Usopp by his suspenders and holds him fast.

Usopp erupts into a mass of flailing limbs. “Don’t touch me! Let me go!”

Zoro is unphased by all Usopp’s struggles, iron grip holding steady.

“I have to go, I have to get out of here, I need to—” Usopp fumbles a hand into his ammo bag.

“Are you going to fight me, Usopp?”

The sniper falters, dropping whatever it was he grabbed. 

Zoro’s grip tightens, “Then you don’t need to go. Not before you answer our questions.” He pulls Usopp a step backward by his suspenders, but Usopp’s arms fly out, clinging to the doorframe by his fingertips.

“No! Zoro, let me go!”

Zoro pulls until Usopp’s grip slips from the doorframe. “Answers first.” 

“Stop!” Usopp shrieks, and Zoro pauses. “Don’t you get it, you’re all gonna die! Let me go, you can’t—I have to go before it’s too late! I need to—”

Zoro turns Usopp’s head with a twist of his ponytail, forcing Usopp to look at the endless black ocean (forcing him to stop freaking out and think). “Go where?”

“Anywhere else!” Usopp’s voice cracks as he claws at Zoro’s hand in his hair, desperately fighting to get free. “Let me go! Please, I can’t—they’ll kill us! I can’t be here!”

Chopper feels like somebody stepped on his heart.

Usopp wants to abandon them?

(Again?)

Zoro’s eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. He turns away, dragging Usopp by his straps behind him.

Usopp scrambles for finger-holds in the grass as he's dragged inch by inch toward the stairs. He won’t stop screaming and kicking and flailing and begging.

(Usopp screams a lot. But Chopper’s never heard him scream like this.)

“They’re coming! They’re attracted to weakness and everyone’s too tired to fight and Franky’s already half dead—Zoro stop!” Usopp cries, digging his feet in and clinging to the railing as Zoro tries to pull him up the stairs, “We’re not strong enough! They’ll rip us to shreds! They’ll kill us, I can’t be here, I can’t—you’re not strong enough!”

Zoro’s expression grows even darker, but Chopper can’t hear whatever he growls because the wind suddenly picks up and carries his voice away.

“That’s enough,” Luffy says.

They both freeze.

Luffy’s voice is low and steady, piercing like a gunshot through the sounds of the rising wind.  He pins Usopp with a look. “Usopp, you know what happened to Franky, don’t you.”

Usopp sags, practically going boneless in Zoro’s grip.

It’s as much of an admission as anyone needs.

Chopper can’t help himself—all his questions burst out at once, “Really? What happened?  How did Franky get sick? Did you touch the water? Was there a siren? What’s wrong? Why did you run?  Is there—”

“She’s louder.”

Chopper blinks.

Everyone else looks confused, too. Even Zoro’s grip loosens in surprise.

Luffy’s expression is blank. 

Usopp won’t look at them, eyes riveted on the ground. “It’s not Merry. I can hear the voice in my head today, and it’s not Merry’s.”

A gust of wind blows Luffy’s hat off his head and it swings on the string around his neck.

“What did it say?” Luffy asks.

Usopp crumples in on himself at the bottom of the stairs. “She told me to be brave. She told me to save you.”

Chopper feels entirely lost in all this. “She wants you to save Luffy?”

“She?” Nami echos, eyes narrowing.

Usopp just shakes his head, words barely audible to the rest of them above the wind. “Save all of you.”

Unconsciously, Chopper grips Sanji’s suit pants. He finds himself looking over his shoulder at Franky’s frozen form on the bed.

“Save us from what?” Sanji presses, “How?”

The wind is blowing colder.

Usopp shudders. “Just… save you.”

“Did it tell you anything else?” Robin asks. “Do you have any more clues or details that might help us figure out what’s going on?”

Usopp is trembling so hard, Chopper can see it from here. “She keeps telling me to be brave.”

The Sunny rocks a little as the water gets choppy.

Usopp licks his lips and finally looks up at everyone. His eyes are bloodshot and sharp and wrong and it makes Chopper’s fur stand on end. 

“She sounds like my mother.”

Jinbei looks like he wants to ask a question, but he’s cut off by a deep rumble of thunder.

Chopper looks up, bewildered. There are no clouds in sight. Where is the thunder coming from?

The Sunny rocks a little harder, creaking as the water whips itself into a froth.

Nami squints at the sky and sea for a moment. Chopper’s eyes are drawn to the logpose on her wrist—the needles are spinning wildly.

“Typhoon.” The word barely leaves her lips before the rain starts.

Chopper runs down the stairs to the deck, looking up the whole way, but he can’t figure out where the rain is coming from. The sky is still clear and cloudless.

A few drops land in Chopper’s fur, on the underside of his arm closest to the railing. He stares at them. More droplets join, flying up from the waves.

The drops are black.

The sea is raining into the sky. 

The wind blows ice-cold over the waves and across the deck, making Chopper’s fur instinctually puff for warmth like he’s back on Drum Island. The black water stirs, bumping against the Sunny in rolling waves that seem to get bigger with every hit. The sky is fading, bright blue withering to grey as the sea-rain flies into it. Even the sun itself seems to be sapped of light and color.

Chopper’s whole body trembles, but it’s not just cold and fear. Wind is whipping the sea-water across the deck. He can feel it in his fur, soaking into him, making his limbs heavy.

“Stations everyone,” Nami shouts, “We’re almost out of the Siren Sea. If we can just push through to—”

Everyone stumbles, as a wave rocks the boat. Sanji catches Nami from falling and smacking her head on the railing, Zoro loses his grip on Usopp, and Chopper nearly falls off the side, saved at the last second by a hand sprouting out of the railing.

The others jump into action, but Chopper is frozen as the arm sets him gently back on deck.

Nami says they’re almost out, but Chopper can’t see anything but bulging black waves and torrents of upside-down rain.

White lightning flashes somewhere in the depths, and Chopper feels the answering thunder vibrate in the Thousand Sunny’s wood like the surface of a drum.

Chopper clings to the railing.

All that worrying and caution, all the warnings and vigilance—none of it was enough to prepare them for the storm.

Chapter Text

The wind blows the rain at a sharp slant, pelting the deck with black seawater. Thunder rumbles below the Sunny’s bow.

Usopp doesn’t hear it.

It’s been three days since his mother started speaking to him.

Be strong. She says. Be brave.

Usopp stares over the railing at the water. His knees are shaking.

Save them.

His voice is hoarse when he finally answers her. “I-I tried to leave, but…”

But you were too late, she finishes gently. I know.

His throat feels tight.

Once, when he was little, Usopp ate some mushrooms he found in the woods. He brought one home to share with Mama, but she immediately threw it away. Mama always had big reactions, so if she was happy or angry or scared her whole body would show it. But when she told Usopp she needed to make him throw up, she was calm and gentle and quiet. It was scarier than her yelling had ever been.

(She was calm and gentle and quiet when she was sick, too. That’s how Usopp knew she wasn't going to get better.)

Right now, Mama’s voice sounds exactly like it did all those years ago when she told him to poke his fingers into the back of his throat and force the poison out.

You’ll have to be especially brave.

Staring down into the water, Usopp’s heart plummets. “No.”

The storm would crush your paddle boat if you took it now. There’s nothing else to do. It’s the only way to save them .

He shakes his head furiously, “Nononononono! I’m sorry, I knew you were right, I should’ve listened days ago, I shouldn’t have been a coward, I should’ve—”

I’m so sorry, Usopp, she says and his heart aches at the misery in her voice, I never wanted this for you.

His nails dig into the banister. “Don’t ask me to…you can’t ask me…”

I know, I know, I’m sorry—but I’ll be right here with you. I won’t leave you alone again. I’m right here.

“Please, Mama,” his breath comes in fast, painful hitches. “Please, I don’t want to.”

You can’t stay, Usopp. You know you can’t.

“But we’re so close to making it out, a-and the others are strong, they can—”

You’re killing them.

It feels like a slap.

Tears prick his eyes, but he barely feels them leaking down his face.

Like your fishman friend said, sirens prey on the weak, and you… well… y ou’re Usopp.

He chokes.

It’s the voice he’s ached to hear everyday since he was seven, voicing every dark fear he has.

If you live, they die. The sirens will use you against them, just like before.

“I didn’t mean to! It’s not my fault!”

You know that’s not true. How else did your friend, the robot, get sick? All that changed is the time he spent around you. Your weakness rubbed off on him. You marked him for death.

Usopp covers his ears, palms squeezing his head until it hurts, but he can’t keep his mother’s voice out. Even over the raging tempest she’s clear as day. “I didn’t know! I swear I didn’t know!”

But you did know, she sounds so disappointed, I told you.

Usopp shakes his head furiously (but he knows she’s right, he always knew…)

I told you they needed to be stronger, I told you to take a boat and run before anyone got hurt. Why didn’t you listen?

“I’m sorry! I wanted to find another way, there has to be—”

You wasted days looking for another way, Usopp. Now it’s too late. The sirens are nearly here. 

“I-I could still… I could…”

He can’t, he realizes.

There’s no way out. Stay or go, he’s going to die either way. The only question is who he takes with him.

He screams. “I don’t wanna die!”

Your weakness attracts the sirens, but we can use that against them. You can lead the sirens away. You can save your friends.

Something between a howl and a sob tears its way out of him. “Please, I don’t wanna die!”

You love your nakama, don’t you? Save them.

His whole body is trembling. Snot is running down his face as he cries. “I can’t!”

Yes, you can. No matter how weak, you’re always my son. You’ve got your father’s courage in you somewhere. Find it. I know you can do this. Be strong.

She can hear his thoughts—Usopp’s sure she knows every mistake, every act of cowardice, every moment of failure and embarrassment. But she still believes in him, nudging him to face his fears just like when he was little.

Be brave.

Usopp’s knees are shaking so bad he can hardly stand. But he manages to crawl on top of the ship’s railing. He stares into the inky black water.

I’m right here. Just take one step forward. It’s going to be okay.

Even when she was sick, she had always been hopeful. She always trusted that everything would work itself out.

Usopp is nothing like her.

Please, Usopp, you’re hurting them, every second you waste.

Staring into the depths, everything feels strange. Surreal. He wonders if this is a nightmare. He just wants it to be over, he’d do anything to make it go away…

You never belonged here anyway. It’s better like this. We’ll be together, and they’ll finally be relieved of their burden.

“Burden,” Usopp rasps. “I’ve always been useless.” It takes more energy than he expects to lean away from the water. “B-but I’m getting better. I’m getting stronger, I’m… I’m…”

She sighs, and he can hear the sad smile in her voice. It’s been so long, but you’re still the same—always my little liar.

Something furious (and stung) boils up inside him. “It’s not a lie! I’ve been working really hard, I am stronger.”

If that were true, nothing would have attracted the sirens.

Just like that she strips the anger away and Usopp’s left reeling, feeling small and stupid and embarrassed and pathetic.

(If nothing changed, what were those two years of fighting and survival on the Boin Islands even for?)

The pitch-black waves churn and froth furiously. Beneath them Usopp sees a flicker of white. It’s just a glimpse, but it looks like a woman.

The sirens are here. Now or never. Save them.

But he can’t do it. 

He’s always had this fire in him—pure determination to survive no matter what, even if that means running and crying and (more often than not) completely disgracing himself.

He can’t move. He doesn’t want to die.

What about your friends? You’d really let them die to save your own skin? 

He chokes, a strangled noise tearing out of his throat.

What about Laboon? And the All Blue? The cherry-blossom cure, the map of the world, the peace between humans and fishmen, the Void Century, the Sunny’s journey around the world, and the world’s greatest swordsman? What about the King of the Pirates—the freest man in the world?

Usopp’s insides clench until he feels like throwing up (but he’s hardly been able to look at food in days, much less eat anything).

Everything they struggled for and dreamed of would end here. How could you do that to them?

Under the mounting fears and twisting stress and stinging shame and suffocating guilt, something inside him finally cracks.

The fire sputters.

“Just… just one step?”

Just one, and I can help you with the rest, I can help you lead the sirens away. I promise, I’ll be right there with you.

“A-and my nakama?”

They’ll finally be free.

A laugh bubbles out of him, burning its way up his throat. It tastes like bile.

Oh, Usopp… you didn’t expect to see this to the end, did you? You could never be good enough for the Pirate King and his crew.

“I know,” Usopp laughs, tears streaming down his face.

You should have left them long before now.

“They’re all destined for greatness. I just wanted… I wanted to be…” laughter gushes out of him until his ribs ache—until he’s not sure if it’s laughter at all. “I’m a selfish coward.”

Selfish coward , her voice echoes quietly. There’s still time to fix that. Let me help you fix it.

Usopp leans over the side of the ship. Waves crash into the Sunny’s side, sending black spray into his face.

“I don’t wanna die,” Usopp whispers.

I know. I’m sorry.

Usopp takes a deep breath. His knees stop shaking.

One step forward. Be brave.

“Brave,” he repeats weakly.

He isn’t. He isn’t brave enough to step forward. His feet feel glued to the railing.

But he can lean forward. He can let himself fall.

The water is colder than ice. Waves push him down, and he starts to panic because it’s pitch black and he can’t breathe and after everything he’s still afraid to die—

A hand reaches out to him. It’s soft and warm.

Even though Usopp is much bigger than he was when Mama was alive, his hand still seems to fit perfectly in hers. She gives him a gentle squeeze and guides him downward.

Usopp clings, trembling, to the hand that drowns him.

Chapter Text

Zoro feels it—the moment Usopp freezes.

Even though the storm only started minutes ago, it’s quickly becoming the worst that the Sunny has ever seen. Zoro is immediately occupied with tying down the sails before the wind catches and tips them sideways into the water. The storm is a blur of black rain and lighting and roaring water and freezing wind, and Zoro’s so busy, rushing to keep the Sunny afloat, that he hardly notices anything else.

But there’s a shift when Usopp goes rigid, and it’s as if the whole ocean shudders with him.

The Sunny is pitching and rolling, but Usopp hardly notices. Slowly, clumsily, like somebody else is puppeting his body, Usopp staggers to the side of the ship.

Eyes locked on the water, he leans over the railing. The ship leans with him.

“Usopp!” Chopper screams.

The cook’s got his hands full, fighting to lash the cannons down alone, but over the pounding rain he shouts, “Get away from the side, you idiot!”

Usopp doesn’t seem to hear them. He’s leaning further over the side. Staring into the depths.

“Zoro,” Jinbei shouts, weaving the ship between rolling hills of water, eeking through the blackness threatening to capsize them. “Help him. Nami and I will mind the ship.”

Zoro nods, tossing the ropes to Brook to finish tying down the sails, and runs forward to yank Usopp away from the edge before he falls in.

Only steps away, Zoro can hear the longnose hyperventilating.

“Please, Mama,” the words barely squeeze out between high, wheezing breaths. “Please, I don’t want to.”

And then the Sunny rocks violently the other direction, and Zoro’s flung all the way to the back of the ship, smashing flat against Sanji.

The stupid cook is snarling at him, but Zoro doesn’t hear it, he’s already barreling forward, climbing the grass at an enormous tilt, slipping and sliding and forced to use his swords for traction.

Usopp is still shouting nonsense at the sea, “I didn’t mean to, it’s not my fault! I didn’t know! I swear I didn’t know!”

Riding the inside of a swelling wave, the ship has listed nearly ninety degrees, but Usopp seems unaffected by the gravity, his feet are still planted by the railing.

Finally, Zoro reaches him, clamping a hand around his ankle.

Usopp doesn’t notice. The torrential wind and rain don’t so much as ruffle Usopp’s hair—it’s like he’s not even part of the storm.

“I don’t wanna die!” he wails.

Zoro yanks at his foot, but Usopp doesn’t budge.

The babbling chokes off, and Usopp lets out the worst noise Zoro has ever heard.

Startled, Zoro nearly lets go, but he catches himself. Using Usopp’s legs to pull himself upright, he looks for the wound (what else could’ve made Usopp sound like that?), but Zoro can’t find one.

“ Please, I don’t wanna die,”  Usopp sobs.

An alarm blares in Zoro’s brain, and his head snaps up just in time to watch the Sunny hit the crest of the tidal wave at the wrong angle and fall.

Hands spring out of the wood, and Zoro manages to catch hold of one as the Sunny drops sideways through the air. There’s a single moment of weightlessness before they hit.

Black water blasts upward on impact and smashes back down a second later. The hands nearly lose their grip, but Zoro clings tighter, the muscles in his arms pulled taut to keep from being swept into the sea.

The ship is made of the toughest wood to ever sail and the masts hold strong despite the battering.

But the waves are relentless. Stuck on its side, The Thousand Sunny begins to sink.

Above the roar of the wind and water and groaning wood, Zoro thinks he hears Nami shouting. Through the pounding rain, he sees the foremast’s staysails open, and instantly blow full—whipping and nearly tearing under the strain of the wind. Zoro’s not sure how Jinbei does it, but it’s only a moment before the Sunny swings up and rights itself, black waterfalls gushing over the sides.

Hauling himself to his feet, Zoro’s eyes flash across the deck.

Nine heads—nobody’s missing.

Judging by the number of hands around Chopper, Nami, and Brook, Robin’s the one to thank for that.

But Zoro doubts she can keep it up. Her eyes are squeezed shut in concentration, and she’s bent over, shaking with the effort to exert her powers while drenched by sea-water. It’s all she can do to maintain her hands, and she doesn’t offer any more help as the love-cook heaves himself back over the side, onto the deck, dragging Luffy with him.

Nami is barking out orders to Jinbei and Brook. Jinbei is standing between the mast and foremast. His muscles bulge between the ropes wrapped around his arms as he manually controls the sails. His face contorted with the effort (he looks like he’s single handedly holding the ship together).

Nami is braced against the stair banister, stumbling back to her position on the second deck where she’d nearly been washed away. Her movements are shaky and clumsy with the freezing cold, but her face is steely and she never stops barking orders, voice carrying over the storm.

Under her direction, Brook is dashing back and forth, swiftly filling every order. Seamlessly, he dodges an unsecured cannon as it’s swept over the side, disappears below deck to bail water, reappears to finish battening hatches and secure rigging, and disappears again to prepare the last resort Coup-de-Burst.

Chopper is weakly struggling to get to his feet, soaking wet and coughing up sea-water. Zoro reaches to help him up, but the reindeer doesn’t even glance at Zoro, terrified eyes fastened on the lone figure at the other side of the deck, “Usopp, no!” 

Zoro whips around.

Usopp is standing on top of the railing now, swaying. “Burden. I’ve always been useless.”

A wordless shout bursts out of Zoro as Usopp leans forward, and Zoro’s racing toward him, stumbling against the ship’s rocking, but he can’t get there in time—

Usopp pulls himself upright at the last second. “B-but I’m getting better. I’m getting stronger, I’m… I’m… ”

“Hang on, Usopp!” Luffy shouts. He wraps one arm around the mast and the other arm stretches out, wrapping around Usopp to tug him back to the deck. Zoro sees Luffy pull.

But nothing happens.

“It’s not a lie! I’ve been working really hard,” Usopp tells his invisible tormentor. He’s crying, “I am stronger.”

“Oi, Usopp, snap out of it!” Luffy tugs Usopp again, bracing his feet against the mast and pulling harder. Luffy coats the arm around Usopp in haki and pulls again.

Still Usopp doesn’t budge.

“Just… just one step?”

Zoro can’t see Usopp’s face, but he can see his shoulders bending and shaking like he’s being crushed under one of Zoro’s largest weights.

Luffy kicks into second gear. Steam pours off him as he grits his teeth and pulls with his whole body. The mast groans at the force Luffy exerts on it, and Zoro can see cracks forming in the wood where Luffy’s feet are planted.

There’s a deafening clap of thunder. Stark-white lightning tears out of the depths, bursting into the sky and narrowly missing the foremast. Nami shrieks. The wind whips the rain so hard it stings Zoro’s face to numbness.

“I can’t move him,” Luffy says and it sounds as close to panic as Zoro’s heard since Luffy shouted at them to run on Sabaody, two years ago. “Why can’t I—?”

They freeze at the sound of laughter carrying over the wind.

It’s Usopp’s laughter, except it sounds mangled—an agonized, breathless sound that only dying animals make.

Fury surges out from the gaping pit of dread in Zoro’s stomach.

(What is she doing to him?)

“Usopp!” Sanji screams, running on the air toward the sniper.

Zoro follows, sprinting across the deck, fighting to keep his footing in the slick grass as the whole ship tosses.

“Don’t let go of him, Luffy!” Zoro barks, but he didn’t need to. The way his arm is squeezing around Usopp’s waist, letting go is clearly the last thing on Luffy’s mind.

A wave is swelling up to meet Usopp where he’s standing, trembling, on the railing. Usopp’s body, which is wound tight as a spring, begins to relax. “I know.”

Zoro’s lungs are so tight he can barely breathe and his muscles are tense to the point of snapping, but he pushes more into each step, forcing himself to move faster—to catch Usopp before the sirens take him.

Sanji (the flying cheater) reaches Usopp three seconds before Zoro. He’s hovering in the air in front of Usopp, so close they’re practically touching noses, but Usopp still doesn’t seem to see him.

“Look at me!” Sanji demands, taking Usopp by the shoulders and shaking him, or trying to, because the sniper still doesn’t move. “Don’t listen to the siren, listen to me, you idiot!”

Usopp stares straight through him. “They’re all destined for greatness. I just wanted… I wanted to be…”

Usopp is laughing again in that dead-man way, and Zoro is itching to slash something to bloody ribbons, but there’s nothing here except Usopp and the ocean.

“Stop ignoring me!” Sanji roars, voice shaking with as much rage (and fear) as Zoro himself feels, “I don’t care if it really is your mom down there talking to you. She’s dead and she can’t have you.”

Zoro catches up and wraps his arms around Usopp’s legs, trying to force them together so Sanji can push Usopp back onto the boat, but it’s like trying to bend stone or iron or something sturdier that even Zoro’s swords can’t chip.

“I’m a selfish coward,” Usopp laughs, like it’s some big, terrible joke. 

Sanji snarls, kicking the sniper square in the face, but it doesn’t seem to do a thing—it doesn’t even ruffle Usopp’s hair. “You are if you touch that water. I don’t care what the sea-hag is saying, I already told you, she can’t have you!”

Usopp sways forward again, and the cook’s voice jumps an octave. “Step one foot off this boat, and I’ll drag you back and kill you myself!”

“I don’t want to die,” Usopp says so quietly that Zoro almost misses it under all the stupid cook’s screaming.

Zoro makes the mistake of looking up into Usopp’s face. Tears and rain mingle, pouring in black rivers down his cheeks. His eyes are wide and dark and he’s staring straight through Zoro’s face down into the ocean. He looks pale and drawn, and he’s shaking like a leaf. Or he was. The trembling slows to a stop, and Zoro watches as Usopp’s desperation morphs into numb resignation.

Usopp tilts forward, and Luffy screams as he nearly loses his footing on the mast. Sanji’s shoulders are braced against Usopp’s chest while his feet kick in the air, pumping and straining to push Usopp back up, but it doesn’t do a thing. They’re both slipping toward the water. The cook’s threats have morphed into a meaningless string of curses.

“ Two Gorilla. ”

Zoro’s arms bulge around Usopp’s legs, and he pulls, straining his muscles to their limits in a hopeless attempt to keep Usopp from falling forward over the side. Luffy is pulling from the back and Sanji is pushing from the front, but even with all their combined strength, it does nothing to keep Usopp steady or prevent him from slumping forward—like they haven’t even touched him.

“Brave,” Usopp whispers as he goes limp. Eyes-scrunched closed, he tumbles through Zoro’s arms and into the water.

Zoro is just quick enough to catch Sanji and yank him back on board before the stupid cook goes in, too, but he can’t stop Usopp from disappearing beneath the waves.

“USOPP!” Luffy bellows.

The ship groans, whipped back by a wave, and Sanji and Zoro are thrown, skidding like ragdolls across the grass.

Zoro intercepts Sanji’s mad dash back to the side. The stupid cook fights against Zoro’s hold on him, aiming to plunge overboard himself. “Let me go! We’ve gotta—”

“What?” Zoro asks, cold and cutting. “Drown with him? We couldn’t slow him down before. If we go after him now, we’re just giving the sirens what they want.”

Sanji won’t stop struggling. “Let go!”

Zoro doesn’t. They can’t lose Sanji, too.

“I won’t leave him to die!”

Zoro grits his teeth so hard they ache when he grinds out, “There’s nothing we can do.”

“What do you know?” Sanji snarls, and Zoro doesn’t have time to respond before Sanji adds, “He’s not my father!”

Zoro’s stomach plummets.

Sanji isn’t talking to him.

Zoro shakes him, but Sanji’s gaze is fixed on the ocean. His eyes are growing glassy and his breath is coming fast. There’s pressure where Zoro’s fingers are digging into Sanji’s arms, and it feels like a steel plate is being forced between Zoro’s hands and Sanji’s skin.

Zoro slings an arm around Sanji’s throat and squeezes, hoping to knock him out before whatever this is can take over, but it’s like trying to choke an oak tree.

Zoro’s heels dig into the grass, carving ruts through the lawn as Sanji staggers back to the railing, dragging Zoro with him.

The grayed sun is fully blocked out as Chopper towers above them in his Monster Point. He leans over them, breathing harshly, reaching down into the water. His hands and arms sink in further and further even as the water saps his strength.

“Chopper, stop!” Zoro orders, but Chopper doesn’t hear him, he’s crying, rambling to himself through the tears, breaths hitching, eyes glassy…

“Luffy!” Zoro calls, and maybe his voice cracks, because he has no idea how to fight this, he can’t see an opponent, he can’t even reach his nakama, and Usopp is already—

The ocean took him .

He freezes.

It’s been years, but he’d never forget her voice.

He’s drowning but there’s still time to fight. You’ve been training for this.

Zoro swallows. It’s some kind of siren trick.

Kuina is dead.

You made a promise. You have to fulfill it.

Sanji slips through his arms, but Zoro doesn’t notice.

You promised me you’d be the greatest swordsman in the world. You promised Luffy you wouldn’t lose ever again. You promised yourself you would protect them.

 Zoro is shaking, trembling.

Keep your promises. You have to save your friends. Protect them. Kill the siren.

Th-this was a trick… a siren in his mind luring him… luring…

It couldn’t be her… it couldn’t…

What are you standing around gawking for? Are you just going to let them take him? What good is your strength and training if you don’t even use it, idiot?

Her familiar waspish attitude stirs up his own defensive crossness, and he bickers back, “What am I supposed to do? There’s nothing here to fight.”

Getting beat by a girl again? She taunts.

After all these years, Kuina still leaves Zoro stumbling for any retort other than, “Shut up!”

Think, muscle-brain. Where’s the storm coming from? Where did Usopp go? What’s the enemy attacking you?

Zoro stares out at the water, into the roiling black jaws that devoured his nakama.

Good. Now protect them.

Maybe it’s Kuina. Maybe it’s a siren. It doesn’t matter. She’s right, either way.

Zoro made a promise. He’ll get Usopp back.

The greatest swordsman in the world can cut anything.

Zoro steps up to the railing and draws his swords.

So cut it open. You have to. You’re the only one that can.

He climbs the railing and clamps his teeth around the hilt of Kuina’s blade.

Slit the ocean’s belly. Kill the siren. Protect them.

He draws a sharp breath through his nose, and slashes.

The waves part, creating a rivet forty feet long and twenty feet deep. Usopp and the siren are nowhere to be seen.

Not deep enough, Kuina snaps. She’s as tough and demanding as Zoro remembers her being. Concentrate.

He shifts his stance on the railing.

Tch. Sloppy.

His stance is fine. The angle is bad. He’s not close enough to the water from here. He needs to get closer.

Then do it right this time.

Zoro steadies his breathing. He leaps off the ship and just before he hits the water, he slashes. The ocean splits, and through the blackness, a chasm yawns open, broader than the Sunny, longer than a sea-king, deeper than Impel Down. He lets himself fall through it. His nakama is down there.

Better, Kuina says (and Zoro doesn’t notice Wado slip from his teeth). Almost like a real swordsman.

His eyes scan the water for any sign of Usopp or the siren.

Near the bottom of the watery gorge, through a flash of lightning dashing between the walls, Zoro sees a flicker of something else white. The rain and wind and sea-spray are too heavy to make out the shape exactly, but when the tiny form turns to look at him, he thinks it might be a child, a young girl wearing a hakama.

Keep your promise.

It might be her. She might be—

The waves close around him. Stupid. He should have been paying attention. He was trying to avoid touching the water.

But he can’t go back now. Not without Usopp. Not without keeping his promise.

A hand grasps his. It’s small. Calluses break up the smooth skin on her thumb and fingers. This hand is used to holding a sword, and now it’s holding him.

This way , Kuina’s voice says as her hand guides him downward through the blackness.

Zoro follows her into the deep.

Chapter Text

Usopp is drowning. 

The water is black and cold and suffocating and Usopp is going to die. He knows he’s going to die.

He doesn’t want to die.

(Isn’t there supposed to be some shred of peace in death? All he feels is fear.)

It’ll be okay, Usopp. I’ve got you, just like I promised. I’ll help you the rest of the way.

Mama is taking him somewhere, but he doesn’t know where they’re going and he can’t see her and there are sirens chasing him, but he can’t see them either and he won’t even know they’re there until they sink their teeth in and he wants to go back to the Sunny where it’s safe and where his nakama can protect him.

Keep going—you’re protecting them now. You have to keep your weakness away from them so they’ll be strong enough to survive. Keep leading the sirens away. Save them. Don’t look back.

Look back? He can’t see anything down here. He can’t even see his own nose.

He tries to take a deep breath, only to remember that there’s no air and he’s gonna suffocate, he’s gonna drown, he’s gonna die—

Usopp, stop struggling. Relax. Focus on me.

He’s trying—he wants to be brave, he wants to save them, he doesn’t want to let his nakama down again. He’s trying to be better, he’s trying .

Just a little further, Mama encourages. It’s almost over, I promise.

Usopp clutches her hand to his chest, wrapping himself around it, trying to soak up her warmth and strength as she pulls him deeper down.

His shoulders are shaking. He’s crying—not that he can feel the tears down here.

It’s okay, Usopp, I’ve got you. I’ll take you as far as I can.

He’s pathetic, clinging uselessly to Mama, making her lug him around and save his nakama for him because he’s too scared.

Mama was right. After everything, he’s the same weakling, the same coward he always was. 

(He’s still Usopp.)

She squeezes his hand. I know. But I’m here now, I can help you. I’ll be brave and strong for both of us. Together we’re enough, I know we can do this.

He’s trying, but with every sob, the fire inside him burns brighter. He can’t do this, it’s asking too much, he’s too scared and too weak and he doesn’t want to die.

Focus on me, you’re doing great. We just have to keep moving to stay ahead of the sirens. We’ll be okay as long as we keep going. Just calm down.

He can’t. There’s no air, he’s swallowing too much water, it’s dark and cold and the sirens are after him and he’s sure they’ll tear him apart when they catch him, or maybe he’ll drown first, or freeze—he doesn’t want to do this anymore. He doesn’t want to die.

Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you, I promise I’ll protect you, I won’t let them hurt you, I promise. Just calm down and let me—

He stops, pulling against her hand to keep from sinking further down.

She pauses, grip loosening. Usopp?

He doesn’t want to die.

He pulls against her again, pushing toward the surface.

Wait! I know it’s scary, but you don’t have to do it alone. I’m right here, I’m not going to leave you. Just let me help you.

He should be ashamed. Mama is doing everything she can to help his nakama survive the sirens. And Usopp’s fighting her. 

But she already knows he’s a selfish coward, he’s already lost her respect. The only thing he has left to lose is her love.

And his life.

Her grip slips. Usopp lets it.

Suddenly, he feels a faint tug around his middle.

Is there something else in the water with him? Has a siren grabbed him?

Usopp claws at whatever’s wrapped around his waist but it only seems to cinch tighter around him. The texture is weird, like one of his rubber-bands, when he’s stretched it to its breaking point.

Mama’s hand catches and tugs him insistently. Merry is waiting for you. Protect them, just like she did. Don’t let her sacrifice go to waste.

Usopp freezes.

You couldn’t save her, but you can still save the rest of your nakama.

Luffy would. Zoro, Sanji, Jinebei—even Nami and Chopper would be brave enough for this.

Usopp can’t.

He’s terrified. The sirens are gonna suck the meat off his bones or rip his soul out and leave him to drown in the dark.

If you go back they’ll die. 

He knows. And he still lets go of her hand.

No, Mama’s voice quivers, Usopp!

(If he wasn’t completely worthless before, he is now.)

Usopp!

He can’t tell where the surface is, so he starts kicking frantically in whichever direction the rubber band is pulling from.

No! Her hand grabs his bicep, slips, and just manages to catch him by the wrist. You’ve come so far, don’t give up now, you can’t let them down now! Please, be brave!

Nope nope nope, he’s reached his quota and now he’s going to die like the coward that he is—kicking and screaming and crying the whole way.

Please, This is for them, they’re so close to safety, they’ll die if you turn back now, they—

Usopp struggles harder toward the surface. He knows he’s supposed to be saving them. He knows he’s weak and that if his nakama are going to live then Usopp can’t.

But he’s scared. He doesn’t want to save them anymore, he wants them to save him. He’s no warrior of the sea—the Great Captain Usopp is a lie. The real Usopp is a weak, selfish coward. He hates himself for it, despises himself, but he doesn’t want to die.

F-focus, Usopp. You can do this, I know you can. A-and I’ll help. Please, let me help you, I just want to help you!

Her hand gives his wrist a squeeze as she tries to pull him downward, but they both come to an abrupt halt. The rubber band tangled around his middle won’t stretch any further. He’s stuck between two forces pulling him in opposite directions. But his instinct—his fear—already knows which way to go in order to survive.

He pushes Mama away.

Please, Usopp, He feels both her hands clutch the hem of his pants. You’ll kill them! Don’t hurt them, please, p-please, I’m begging you don’t—

Usopp squeezes his eyes shut and wrenches his leg away.

Mama lets out a sharp cry of pain—like Usopp had hit her.

In all his life, Usopp has never hated anything more than he hates himself right now, not even pausing to check if she’s okay. He just turns away from her—cowardly, weak, guilty beyond measure, but still above all, desperate to survive—and clamps both hands around the lifeline, kicking toward the surface.

No, she breathes. Nononono. You’re my boy, I know you, y-you have a good heart, you would never hurt… even if you’re not a good man yet, you’re not… y-you wouldn’t… She trails off briefly, just long enough for Usopp to wonder if he was swimming fast enough to leave her behind, but her voice comes back, ever so small. Usopp?

Suddenly the entire ocean splits, gaping open, and he’s  hurtling upward, rubber band springing back to the surface.

Here, in the chasm of air, the reality of drowning seizes him. It’s like the actual sensations had been suppressed. The idea of death had been terrifying enough. And now that he’s faced with the physical effects—the pain and exhaustion and burning, desperate pressure in his lungs—his panic doubles.

He coughs up what feels like gallons of black sludge and takes a huge, gulping breath of air that burns icy all the way down.

He can see the Sunny in snapshots, illuminated by flashes of white lightning searing into the sky from the water.

Usopp can also see several shapes—Chopper, leaning into the water in his monster form is unmistakable, and that has to be Sanji who’s running on air, and he thinks he sees lightning glint off Zoro’s swords. There are arms, springing out from the side of the ship, aiming to catch the three of them before they leave the ship and hit the water, but when his crewmates meet the grasping fingers, the hands bend backwards until they look like they’re about to break and disappear in a flurry of petals.

Usopp’s heart jumps into his throat. Everyone’s diving in wrong directions. They won’t be able to find him or each other like that. And the waves are starting to close in.

He rummages through his soaking wet bag and he pulls out his Kuro Kabuto and three pellets. His mind is such a muddle, that he’s not paying attention to what projectiles he’s grabbing or what they’ll do when he fires them—he just needs to catch the others’ attention so they’ll save him. In a split-second all three pellets are flying through the air at their targets.

The first turns out to be an oil star. It hits the hilt of the sword in Zoro’s mouth, and the white blade slips free and spins away as oil splatters across his teeth.

The second is a tabasco star, which Chopper reflexively swallows when it lands on his tongue. Flames shoot out of Chopper’s jaws, burning bits of fur and licking at his blue nose. He stumbles and falls back, rocking the whole ship.

The third is a pop green. It smashes into Sanji’s cigarette and vines explode out, wrapping around the chef’s head and torso and the Sunny’s railing. But the the restraining vines don’t even slow him down, immediately pulling and snapping and crumbling to dust.

The only effect the attack had was smashing Sanji’s cigarette, which Sanji must’ve swallowed, because he chokes and falls out of the air, crashing into the lowest of Robin’s hands while hacking up a lung.

Clearly, shooting his friends was the worst idea Usopp’s ever had, because now the only one coming to rescue him is Zoro, who still has his swords raised to slice through anything in his way and Usopp is about to be in Zoro’s way, shooting upward as the thing around his middle—Luffy’s arm, Usopp realizes—hauls him with ever increasing speed toward the Sunny. 

They’re on a collision course and Usopp’s gonna be sliced to ribbons, and Usopp is mid-scream when the waves crash in around them, plunging him back into suffocating darkness. Luffy’s arm slips when the sea walls slam into it, and Usopp just manages to catch it before it retracts out of reach.

Stop! Hands seize his ankles, trying to pull him back down. I-I won’t let you hurt them! I-I won’t…

Usopp jolts, kicking a hand away.

His mother’s breath hitches and her voice cracks. Please, Usopp, I don’t want to fight you, please, I don’t… i-it’s not too late to make this right, you can still save them, you can still choose to be brave. Please stop… please…

Usopp finds himself babbling apologies even as water surges into his mouth. But he clings harder to Luffy’s arm and kicks the other hand away.

As the hand loses its grip, he feels an emotion that doesn’t belong to him, pressing around him. Mama’s stunned. She’s heartbroken.

How could you?

Then the feeling swells into anger and bursts in a torrent of contempt and disgust.

I gave up my dreams and my life, I gave up sailing the world with Yassop, for you.

Her voice multiplies, another and another chiming in, talking, tumbling over each other until his mind is drowning in a seething sea of her.

Selfish coward—so this is what you are?—no wonder Yassop never came back for you—trusted you and you let them down over and over—deserve to die—never be good enough—selfish, sniveling, lying—dead weight to all their dreams—nothing like the others—

Usopp’s grip on Luffy’s arm nearly slips as he fights off her other hand. His eyes are wide and stinging as he searches for a nonexistent glimmer of light through the water.

The only thing down here is Luffy’s hand (and the unseen sirens). He clutches his captain’s arm and kicks desperately toward where he thinks Luffy is reaching from. He has to get to the surface, he has to get—

Run like you always do—spineless failure—didn’t deserve their forgiveness—never learn—let them down again—reason nobody loves you—

He smacks into something hard.

It moves, shoving Usopp aside to dive lower.

Zoro?

Usopp reaches out to stop him. Teeth sink into his outstretched arm, and the panic redoubles. It’s  a siren! Usopp’s sure it’s a bloodthirsty siren parasite come to eat him alive and tear him to pieces and suck the meat from his bones—

He struggles blindly to wrestle the monster off of him, but no matter how he kicks and punches, its jaw won’t budge.

Four, then six hands grab at him, clawing at his thighs and ankles to drag him into the depths, and he fights them off, kicking as hard as he can in the opposite direction, but the bitey-monster is swimming the wrong way and it keeps pulling him down, down—

Your fault—looked up to you—tricked them into worshiping you—hate you—nakama trusted you—watch them die—never should have brought you along—stupid, worthless—just a child playing pirate—counting on you and you’re killing them—

His forearm crunches under the force of its bite.

Water fills his lungs as Usopp shrieks. 

Switching his Kuro Kabuto to the free hand, he slams it over and over into the monster’s teeth, trying to pry them off his arm. The teeth won’t budge, but the monster’s downward trajectory falters. It hesitates.

Usopp doesn’t. He bashes his kabuto into the monster’s head until it goes limp. But even unconscious, its teeth are sunk stubbornly into his forearm.

Usopp leaves it because the fire inside him flares—he’s suffocating, he needs air, he doesn’t want to die, he needs air, he needs—

Luffy’s arm is gone.

Usopp forgot to hold on. He let it go, he was so busy trying to fight the monster, he forgot! Now he has no lifeline and no clue which way the surface is and the hands are clawing at his legs and his arm hurts so bad and the monster’s weight is pulling him down he can’t see any light and he can’t breathe and Mama—

Inflicting your weakness on them—can’t stand to be left behind—see through all your lies eventually—if Kaya saw you now she’d hate you too—soon as they can replace you—get themselves killed saving you—no one wanted you—wish you’d never been born—

His lungs are burning and his thoughts are a incoherent splatter of malice and panic, but he kicks as hard as he can in what he hopes is the right direction because the fire inside him is blazing for life, for air, air, air, airairairairair—

Suddenly, he breaches the surface, coughing up what feels like half the ocean. Lightning flashes. He locks onto the Sunny and swims. The waves, towering and endless, seem to push the ship just out of reach. But, with adrenaline and pure, manic cowardice pounding through his veins, Usopp paddles faster than the ocean can pull him away.

Everything hurts. He doesn’t dare look at his mangled arm where the monster is still clinging. His limbs feel like they’re dissolving in acid, the water burns like frostbite on every inch of skin it touches, and the air somehow feels colder than the water. But he doesn’t stop swimming. He doesn’t want to drown—please, he doesn’t want to die!

Supposed to save them—blight, burden—nothing like Yassop—ashamed of you—useless—never be—ever do to deserve you—Luffy—call them nakama but—betrayed them…

The barrage of rain and spiteful words cut out abruptly. Something momentarily offsets the storm.

Usopp drives forward. He’s so occupied with kicking away hands and fighting to keep his head afloat above the great rolling waves with the bitey-monster clamped, immovable on his arm, that he doesn’t even notice that he’s made it to the Sunny until he smacks into the side nose-first.

He’s scrabbling for some way to climb up when the ocean resumes its assault, currents twisting violently. His body is swept in the opposite direction, his head is pulled under the water.

But the storm glitches again, and Usopp bobs back up just in time to feel the tail end of the pulse, the blast of energy that disrupted it.

Unmistakable—it’s Luffy.

Usually the Supreme King’s Haki feels like a challenge or an order, but right now it just feels like a scream.

Choking on a mouthful of sludge and seawater, Usopp screams back. The storm resurges, and a wave once again pushes him out of reach of the ship, and the thing on his arm pulls him down, and he’s sinking again, but he never stops kicking because he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want—

The Sunny dips down toward him, and Robin’s hands are foisting him up. He throws up, over and over, heaving up black muck all over the side of the ship and all over the deck when he’s finally pulled up and over the railing.

He flops gracelessly into the grass, head spinning, unconsciousness tugging at the corners of his vision. He vaguely feels the bitey monster disappear and all he can manage is a trickle of relief. Something thick is still pooled in his mouth, but he can’t make his tongue move to spit it out anymore. It’s so cold and the wind is burrowing under his skin and stabbing at his lungs, but he doesn’t have the energy to shiver. His eyes are drooping closed.

They fly open again—there are hands all over him, and he tries to fight them off, but he’s too tired and these ones are so much stronger than the ones before.

The hands disappear long enough for his mother’s voice to whisper, Oh, Usopp. You’re alive, but for what?

When she goes quiet, he can feel the grass and the warm fingers, and smell damp, singed fur, and hear other voices straining over the crashing waves and crackling thunder.

“—sopp! Uso… -n you hear me? Are… with us? Stop nap… -kay!”

Everything is a blur of colors and textures and Usopp doesn’t even try to understand what’s going on.

“...back… -et him inside now! Don’t know… looks like… sucked dry… transfusion… -ing Zoro—”

Someone picks Usopp’s boneless body off the grass. His head lolls back, and for a moment, he locks eyes with Luffy, who’s leaning exhausted against the mast. There’s a split second when Luffy just stares at him with that blank, unreadable look that Usopp’s always been sure can see straight into the soul.

Then, Luffy grins at Usopp. Like he’s the greatest sniper a pirate king could ask for.

Usopp feels empty. Bereft of everything but disgust and shame.

He betrayed everything he believed in, everything he dreamed of, and everyone he loves. He betrayed Luffy. And Luffy, none the wiser, is beaming at him.

Usopp doesn’t even have the strength to weep.

He lets the darkness take him, hiding from Luffy’s smile in unconsciousness.

(Usopp always takes the coward’s way out.)

Chapter Text

Sanji’s eyes are burning and his lungs won’t stop spasming and he thinks he might die coughing up this stupid cigarette. Everything around him is a blur of white light and black water and shouting.

(He can’t hear Reiju’s voice anymore.)

Hands are pulling him up until he’s sprawled on grass, fighting for an even breath. 

A scream shatters his focus. “ZORO!”

Sanji’s head snaps up. There’s no sign of Usopp or the stupid swordsman.

They’re both gone, they’re both—

There’s a roar so loud, Sanji’s ear-drums feel like they’re bursting. A giant paw swipes at him, and Sanji barely has the presence of mind to roll out of the way before it slams into the deck.

“Chopp—” he chokes and starts coughing again. He just manages another dodge, as Chopper’s arms and legs swing out recklessly. Giant tromping hooves can’t seem to keep balanced on the slick grass, and Chopper staggers, falling forward and nearly overboard, with another roar.

The Sunny is rocking wildly and black water sloshes up and over the sides with each near miss of capsizing. Even jumping and running along the air, Sanji struggles to stay upright. The deck keeps dropping out under him, slamming back up into him, and twisting violently to sweep one of his feet away when it suddenly lists.

And if Sanji can barely keep up, then it’s no wonder that Brook (despite all his grace and poise) is sent tumbling. He bowls right into Sanji and sends them both over the side.

Water licks at his heels as Sanji catches himself in the air and yanks Brook up, too, pushing off the black surface to sprint back to the ship. At least, he tries to sprint. He’s fighting a coughing fit so bad that spots dance in his vision. It’s all Sanji can do to keep himself and Brook airborne—legs pushing them blindly upward in sharp jerks. It’s hard to see anything through torrential black rain, and it doesn’t help that his eyes are watering from the coughing and Sanji’s not sure if he’s headed in the right direction to return to the ship or if—

A giant hand sweeps over their heads, missing them by centimeters. Sanji’s so startled he drops right out of the air, landing in a heap with Brook. Sanji hears Chopper’s fist smashing through the stair banister, but all he sees are spots as he coughs his throat raw.

“He’s lost control!” Brook’s sockets look impossibly wide as he pulls Sanji to his feet, half-carrying him across the deck to duck out of Chopper’s sight. “If we don’t stop him he’ll—”

Brook cuts off with a gasp and throws them both out of the way of the hoof that smashes through the grass and wood, all the way down to the deck below. Sanji has enough presence of mind to kick, changing their direction mid-roll, dodging as Chopper falls forward onto an elbow, nearly crushing them again.

Sanji hasn’t even got to his feet before a wave slams into the ship (he’s starting to think the waves are intentionally hitting them in the back and at the worst moments), and he’s tumbling backwards, slamming into the opposite railing.

Sanji finds himself sprawled on his back looking straight into Chopper’s maw. He stares, paralyzed. Wind tangles in dripping black fur, tongues of fire flick out between wide, square teeth, and the dim light of the flames illuminates Chopper’s face. The eyes are hollow.

Lightning flashes. Chopper roars.

On instinct, Sanji’s hands fly to his ears, and his body curls, but the thundering sound reverberates through every muscle and bone in his body. He feels something rupture—his nose is bleeding.

Chopper stabs a hand into the deck. His fingers blow straight through the wood in a circle around Sanji as the towering behemoth pushes himself off the ground and stands upright. Antlers tangle in the rigging, and Chopper gnashes his teeth, snorting jets of smoke as he jerks his head free, snapping ropes and shredding the mainsail. An earth-shattering roar blasts through Sanji again as the giant foot rips itself free from the hole in the deck. But the deck rolls at the same moment, and Chopper staggers, falling backward into the mast.

“Luffy!” Robin screams (Robin doesn’t scream, she never —), and it hits Sanji that Luffy’s arm was still knotted around the mast, sticking him in place right where Chopper fell.

Sanji’s vision is still filled with spots, but he’s on his feet anyway, stumbling forward to pry Chopper off, thoughtlessly shouting Luffy’s name and pulling at fur, trying to dig his captain out. He thinks he can see a red vest, he thinks he can see…

He doesn’t see the giant hand swing from behind. All he sees is blinding white when it hits him.

The next thing Sanji knows, he’s on his back. He’s blinking up at the sky.

It’s beautiful. Either that or grotesque—Sanji’s not sure. He spits out a glob of black while he mulls it over.

Rain is pouring upward, collecting in an expansive black cloud. The cloud is ugly—like a big, dull hole in the sky, void of all light and warmth. Like an inverse sun, but bigger. A lightning bolt as thick as a marine battleship tears out of the ocean, so close that Sanji’s whole body erupts into goosebumps. The lightning is searing cold. But it’s beautiful. The light hits the black cloud and scatters, making glowing white cracks in stark blackness, before fading and disappearing completely. When it’s gone, the only thing interrupting endless black is Sanji’s breath, fogging out in uneven puffs. It’s cold, Sanji thinks. It’s too cold. His skin feels numb. He can’t feel anything.

Except his bones shifting back into place.

Judge was wrong about you, wasn’t he?

Reiju’s voice swirls in his mind. She sounds just like she did when they were children, when she watched their brothers beat him senseless and she laughed at him like they did (and patched him up when they weren’t looking).

You were never a failure after all.

Sanji’s neck jerks as his spine knits itself back together, and he thinks he makes some kind of sound, but he can’t hear it through the ringing in his ears.

Look at you—you should be dead. But you’re a miracle. Better yet, you’re Germa.

His swimming vision finally comes into focus and he sees crumbling brown leaves. Turning his head slightly, he notices the trail of broken branches and smashed tangerines where he landed.

Our tech is just as much a part of you as it is your brothers. You’ll catch up to them soon enough and you’ll get to come home and be part of our family and Father will finally—

Sanji’s lungs spasm again, and he’s half-coughing, half-laughing—Germa tech didn’t fix everything. His ears are still ringing and he coughs until something in him comes loose. It comes out in a long, thick gush of black. That can’t be good, but he’s still laughing even though it hurts, and he can’t stop coughing, but he’s relieved that he can’t—he’s relieved —and he’s so screwed, he’s so screwed up…

There’s another roar, and Sanji’s thoughts click sharply in place. He crawls forward, ignoring the pain flaring in his unmended bones, and he pulls himself shakily to his feet by the mast.

His nakama are a mess, too.

Jinbei has abandoned the sails to wrestle Chopper, leaving Nami at the helm to fight the ocean alone. She’s losing. The wheel keeps slipping, and the Sunny keeps turning at just the wrong angle to meet the incoming waves—waves that won’t stop getting bigger. They’re halfway to the crows nest when they hit, and climbing.

A lesser ship would be sunk, but the Sunny determinedly endures everything the storm throws at her. She’s still stubbornly charging forward toward escape. But the abuse is stacking up. She’s growing sluggish, and water keeps sloshing into the holes that Chopper left in the deck.

Brook, who has slowed to a snail’s pace amidst all the seawater, is gingerly crawling around monstrous limbs and under fur to find Luffy and pull him out—careful to always stay out of Chopper’s sight.

Robin is kneeling, head bent, shoulders shaking, near the center of the deck. Her arms are still poised for creating extra limbs, and her face is scrunched in concentration, but the only extra hands on deck are around her own ankles keeping her rooted in place. The rest have disappeared. Sanji can see flickers of petals around Chopper and briefly, arms poke out of Chopper’s fur and tug him toward the ground, but the water washes them away as fast as they can form.

Thankfully, the same pounding sea-rain that brought Robin to her knees is also weakening Chopper. His erratic swinging and flailing is growing labored, and Jinbei is making headway in the fight, tugging him away from the mast and pinning him to the ground.

Finally, Brook has room to pull Luffy out, dragging him up and out from under Chopper’s ribs.

Normally, being squashed like that wouldn’t slow Luffy down. He can and has taken hits bigger than Chopper can ever hope to dish out, bouncing back no problem.

But not while drenched in seawater.

He’s pale and shaking and there’s a river of blood flowing from somewhere under his hair, mingling with sweat and trickling down his neck. His clothes are soaked and sticking to him, blackness is pouring down his face, and he’s gritting his teeth and shaking his head against the compounding exhaustion and stinging pain.

Luffy’s already at the end of his rope.

Even so, his eyes are filled with fire. Luffy never loses his grip—even as Chopper is peeled off him and wrestled down. He’s still strapped to the mast by one arm, the other stretched over and below the railing into the water. He hasn’t let go which means Usopp is still down there and they’ve still got a chance—

“ZORO!” Luffy bellows.

From the corner of his eye, Sanji catches a glint of metal. He pushes off the mast and limps to the railing. Over the side, stabbed into the hull just below the deck, is a white sword.

Sanji’s hands hardly feel like his own when he reaches for it.

What a waste of strength, Reiju sighs.

But she doesn’t say anything else—Sanji’s breath stutters, making his lungs protest. He’s forced to breathe shallowly through his mouth to fend off another fit.

He gets a hand around the hilt, and just as he pulls it free, Jinbei lets out a guttural shout. Sanji pulls back up and whips around, bracing himself to charge in and help Jinbei hold Chopper down.

But Chopper seems to be coming to himself, and Jinbei is only staring at Sanji. He looks shocked and slightly relieved. “You’re not—” he starts, but his attention is immediately caught by a shift in the mass of fur he’s kneeling on.

Chopper lets out a rumbling groan and his blue nose quivers, but other than that he doesn’t move as he starts to shrink. “Us’pp,” he slurs. There are tears leaking into his fur, but his eyes are otherwise clear and full of Chopper again. 

Jinbei lets go and crawls off Chopper’s back, looking nearly as exhausted as those with devil-fruit powers. But he immediately returns to his place between masts, forcing his sluggish limbs to gather the ropes to manually steer the ship. “Which way out, Nami?”

“No!” Luffy screams, even as his grip slips a little further and a portion of his arm, stretched below the water, snaps back to him. “Zoro and Usopp are—” He cuts off with a cry as his arm slips again and he lurches closer to the railing. He grits his teeth, winding the other arm even tighter around the mast, and leans back to pull with his whole body.

“Captain,” Jinbei says thickly, “Zoro is lost, Usopp can’t be reeled in, and if we don’t press forward we’ll die!”

Luffy doesn’t answer except in a roar, furiously shaking blood and water out of his eyes and pulling so hard that Sanji can see bits of rubber along his arms cracking and snapping.

(Sanji’s not sure if Luffy ever heard Jinbei.)

Jinbei grits his teeth and turns away, “Nami, which way?”

“I don’t know! The logpose is going crazy, it’s—”

There’s another blast of lighting, and this one actually blows off a chunk of the foremast’s yardarms. The clap of thunder is deafening.

But worse yet is the tiny pop that comes after as one of the logpose’s glass bubbles bursts.

Sanji’s brain stalls, watching shattered glass fall. He doesn’t even notice the tidal wave that follows until he’s being washed away.

There are no hands to anchor him this time, and Sanji would be thrown overboard if not for the white sword in his hands. He plunges it into the deck on instinct (although he’s not sure if it’s his own instinct or the sword’s) and clings to it as the wave blows past him. When it finally ends, Sanji lands sprawled out, choking and spitting up black water, spotted with globs of thick sludge.

Staggering to his feet, he hears Nami and Jinbei shouting to each other over the wind, and he feels the ship turn slightly as they doggedly press ahead for the exit.

Suddenly, Luffy lets out a sharp whoop of triumph, and the arm that’s stretched over the side begins to slacken as Luffy reels it back in

Sanji’s there in an instant, hand-over-hand yanking Luffy’s arm like a rope to pull Usopp back. Luffy is giddy, talking excitedly the whole time, although Sanji’s not sure if he’s talking to Sanji or himself. “Usopp did it! He won! He fought her and he won! I knew he’d come back, he always does, and as soon as he’s okay we can work on finding Zor—”

Luffy’s hand snaps out of the water, over the railing, and back to Luffy’s side.

Usopp isn’t there.

Sanji isn’t sure how long he and Luffy just stand there stupidly, gaping at nothing.

Then, Luffy screams. Supreme King’s haki hits Sanji so hard, he reels, seeing stars. Sanji has to dig his heels into the lawn to stay upright.

“ZORO! USOPP!”

They’re gone, Sanji realizes. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

(It’s like Sabaody all over again.)

He can see tears glinting in Luffy’s eyes as the captain claws at his other arm, fighting to get free from where he’s tangled around the mast. “Give them back!” he snarls. 

Sanji lurches forward to stop Luffy from tearing his own arm off, but another wave of haki blasts the deck, and Sanji stumbles blindly into the foremast as the pulse slams into him.

Sanji isn’t the only thing it affects—the sea-rain falters, the ocean shudders, 

Suddenly, the Sunny dips down—sharply, almost like a pounce.

With a roar, Luffy tears himself from the mast, gouging a chunk of wood out of the pillar and leaving a bloody smear behind as his arm rips free and snaps back to his side. Luffy charges toward the edge.

“No! Luffy!” Sanji shouts, scrambling forward, but it’s too late, Luffy is already at the edge, poised to jump into the ocean, that idiot’s gonna—

“Luffy!” Robin shouts, “I’ve got them! They’re right here, I’ve got them both!”

Luffy skids to a stop.

For a moment, Sanji thinks it’s a trick, just a desperate attempt to keep Luffy from diving headfirst to his death.

But it’s true—a trembling set of hands pull Usopp up, and Zoro, too, dangling unconsciously by his teeth on Usopp’s arm.

(What on earth did that big, dull sword knock himself out with down there?)

Usopp’s awake, kabuto clattering to the deck as he collapses in a heap, coughing and puking up gallons of vile, black sludge.

Sanji is there in an instant. It takes him a ridiculous amount of time (a full minute at least) to pry the stupid mosshead’s teeth out, and Sanji winces when Zoro finally tears free, mangling Usopp’s arm even more. Usopp hardly seems to notice—he doesn’t even wince. He’s so still—his chest barely rises and falls as black ichor oozes from his lips.

Suddenly, Brook is there, too, taking the stupid Marimo out of Sanji's hands and turning Zoro over to force as much water and sludge out as he can.

Sanji lifts Usopp out of the puddle of his own sick, and Usopp’s eyes fly open. The sniper shudders, hands weakly clawing at Sanji, but they do little to stop the chef from turning him over onto his side. For a moment, something steely passes over Usopp’s skin, and Sanji can’t touch him, but it’s gone as soon as it comes, leaving Usopp limp.

“Usopp!” Sanji shouts, despite the stinging in his lungs. “Usopp! Can you hear me? You still with us? ” He gives Usopp a shake (he can’t tell if Usopp’s still breathing) and he calls again, “Stop napping and tell me that you’re okay, you little sh—” his voice catches and he’s coughing again and why is he still coughing? Why hasn’t the damn Germa science fixed that yet?

“Sanji,” a tiny, trembling voice says. It’s so thin and wobbly that Sanji barely hears it over his own wheezing. “Step back!”

Chopper, tiny and frail and young and old, crawls slowly forward. He reaches out to check Usopp over, but his whole body is quaking violently, and he can’t steady his hooves enough. Hissing something that’s much too quiet to hear over the storm, Chopper sits back and points at Brook and Robin. “Get him inside now! He needs fluids and nutrients immediately. I don't know what happened down there, but he looks like he’s been sucked dry. Prepare a blood transfusion for each of them. Sanji, bring Zoro—you’re the only one I can trust not to drop him right now.”

Robin gathers herself on her feet, and Sanji wishes he could steady her, but he’s got his hands full of Zoro and Geezer-Baby Chopper and Brook is leaning heavily against him with Usopp draped over his bony arms. They stumble up the stairs together and into the sick-bay.

Robin lights the lamps, and Sanji freezes at the sight of his nakama. Zoro looks deathly pale, especially in contrast to the black ooze seeping out between his clenched teeth. His face is thin— eyes sunken, cheek and jawbones jutting out in a way that vividly reminds Sanji of Zeff, teetering on the brink of starvation. What used to be thick, tan skin looks nearly translucent. So much so that Sanji can actually see Zoro’s muscles through it, moving slightly as he breathes. And the scar from Mihawk looks fresh, red and raw and weeping black across Zoro’s chest. 

But as bad as Zoro is, Usopp is worse. Chopper wasn’t kidding when he said Usopp had been sucked dry—he’s barely more than skin stretched over bones, almost as skeletal as Brook himself. His arm is bent at a nasty angle and the skin is shredded with deep punctures and gashes which should be gushing blood, but all that’s coming out is a slow crawl of black. Usopp looks more dead than alive. But he’s breathing. It’s the loudest sound in the room—the awful rasping gurgle that Usopp’s lungs make every time he takes a breath.

A wave crashes into the ship’s side, and the lurch jolts them all out of their horrified trance.

“Put them on the floor,” Chopper orders. “Franky, too, we’ll move Usopp to the cot as soon as we get him warm and dry.” He grimaces, muttering something under his breath and then says, “We’ll have to make the others as comfortable as possible on the floor with blankets and pillows.”

Sanji sets Chopper on his office chair and leans down to help lift Franky off the cot, but there’s another bashing wave and blast of lightning, and he’s thrown against the wall, catching Brook and Robin as they crash against him.

He only spares a second to help them to their feet before shooting forward to check Usopp and Zoro for new injuries, but Chopper stops him, reaching as far as he can without falling off the chair to poke Sanji in the shoulder with a tiny, wrinkled hoof. “We’ll take care of them. You take care of the ship.”

“You can’t be serious,” he argues, gesturing at the three of them, soaked and shaking and barely able to stand, if at all. “You can’t help them like this, you’ll just—”

He’s forced to swallow the rest of his argument as his lungs flare painfully and he fights back another attack.

“No one can help them if the ship goes down,” Robin says, eyes somehow both grim and pleading. “Don’t let us sink, Sanji-kun.”

With a careful, deep breath, Sanji shuts his mouth and nods. He hates the idea of leaving them like this, but he can’t ignore begging from Robin. Besides, he can hear screaming outside. Nami’s in distress. He walks away, only catching a glimpse of the three—Chopper issuing orders for the IVs while Brook and Robin rush to comply—before he closes the door against another rush of water and wind.

Leaping back down to the main deck, he pauses just long enough to gather the soggy lump of Luffy off the lawn, planning to stash the idiot somewhere he won’t get washed overboard.

“They did it!” Luffy lets out a whoop, even though the rain makes him sag like wet noodles over Sanji’s shoulder. “Take us out of here, Nami!”

Nami, still fully braced against the helm, snaps, “What do you think I’ve been trying to do?”

She gasps as her grip slips and the wheel spins. Sanji, with Luffy still looped and dangling around his neck, dashes through the air to her side to help put them back on course.

Run, Sanji! Run! And don’t look back till you’re free!

Sanji stumbles, slipping out of the air.

No! Why did you stop?

He crashes into the second deck banister and falls backwards onto the grass.

You idiot! You could have made it out! The edge of the sea is so close, and everyone else is too weak to make it! Just leave them! Judge would—

Sanji chokes when he hits the ground. His lungs scream at him and Reiju’s voice cuts out. He’s not sure how long he spends curled up with endless barking coughs tearing through him.

Through muddled senses, he hears Nami shouting his name.

His whole body aches for air as he crawls up the stairs, using the banister to pull himself to his feet. He braces with Nami against the helm. It’s only then that he realizes he dropped Luffy in a heap where he fell, but Nami needs him and he’s so tired and he can’t be everywhere at once, and at least Luffy’s a little more protected from the rain and waves in that corner under the stairs.

“Jinbei,” Nami’s voice is rough and cracking from all the shouting, but it still carries sharply above the storm. “Head starboard, three—” A second bubble on the logpose bursts, and Nami snarls as shattering glass slices her wrist, but otherwise she pays no mind to it and firmly repeats, “Starboard, three degrees!”

Sanji has no idea how Nami knows which way to go—with the sun blocked by the massive black raincloud, and the sea a writhing mass of tidal waves, and the last needle on the logpose spinning erratically—but it’s Nami, so Sanji has no doubts whatsoever that she knows what she’s doing.

He’d love to praise her pure brilliance, but his lungs and throat feel torn to shreds, and his teeth are grit tight as he forces the helm to turn in the right direction—the moment Nami said starboard, the rudder pulled sharply portside, like the water itself was willfully disobeying the order.

Sanji growls and pushes harder. (How dare the ocean disrespect Nami like that!)

“We’re so close!” Nami shouts. “We just have to make it to—” She cuts off with a strangled sound.

Sanji’s head snaps up. His jaw drops.

Stretching out beyond sight along the horizon, a sheer wall of black is rising out of the ocean. He can hear the deafening roar of water as the edge of the sea shoots into the sky like an upside-down waterfall.

White light flares in thin trails along the tops of ocean waves. The light is moving, flowing in bright rivers toward the wall, where it’s congregating in the center. It’s making something.

But Sanji doesn’t have a second to guess what before a wave blasts over the second deck. He barely manages to catch Nami from being swept away, pumping his legs to push them through the onslaught and holding desperately to the wheel with his other hand.

Finally, the wave passes. Nami drops, sputtering to the deck. Sanji scrambles back to the helm, veins bulging in his arms and neck as he strains to put them back on course. Only when he stomps his foot down on the lower pegs does the ship finally start to turn against the current, and the Sunny lists, leaning starboard.

Just in time.

A bolt thicker than Oars Jr. lets loose from the wall. It would’ve vaporized them had it hit head on, but it misses by a hair, slashing across the Sunny’s portside leaving a gash in the hull.

The sunny groans, rocking back as the hull takes on water. She’s slowing down—they’re sinking!

Sanji spies arms, coming from just below the second deck stairs and stretching across the grass. Hands latch onto the portside railing. Soon Luffy comes into sight as his arms retract, dragging him on his belly to the side. Leaning heavily on the railing, Luffy forces himself upright. His limbs barely hold his weight, trembling visibly in the battering rain. Slowly, Luffy leans over the railing.

Sanji lurches away from the wheel to stop him. The wheel spins and one of the pegs slams against Nami’s jaw and she cries out. Sanji turns back, catching the wheel because Nami's hurt and it’s his fault and without his help the ship will turn right into oncoming waves and Robin told Sanji to keep them afloat, but Luffy…

Luffy’s hands are stretching overboard and his torso is following. Sanji opens his mouth to scream at Luffy to stop, but his throat catches, and he coughs instead and he can’t leave the wheel and he can’t shout and all he can do is watch uselessly as Luffy drops over the side.

Sanji chokes and coughs harder, until his eyes water and he can’t remember how to breathe. He can feel the tendons in his arms straining and his lungs and throat are on fire but but he doesn’t let go of the wheel because Robin begged him to save the Sunny and everyone’s depending on him, he can’t—

Nami’s voice slices sharply through his thoughts. “Don’t you dare let go, Luffy! You’d better not die down there, or I’ll kill you!”

He follows the furious point of her finger, and through the black rain and pricking tears he sees it—a glimpse of red and a belly inflating just beyond the side.

Luffy’s plugging the hole himself.

(This has to be the absolute worst idea Sanji’s ever heard of! If they survive this, Sanji’s gonna kick Luffy’s head in!)

Nami is pulling away from the wheel, lunging toward the stairs. “You’re not allowed to move till I fix it and so help me, if you die, I’ll—”

Nami doesn’t finish. A wave twice the size of the ship crashes over them, and the Sunny capsizes, thrown onto her damaged side—slamming right onto Luffy.

The ship is sinking and Sanji is hanging, dangling by a leg, hooked through the stair balusters. Both his hands have Nami’s arm in a vice-grip. He hears Jinbei call out, though he can’t hear the words over the storm and his own coughing. But he watches Jinbei let go of the sails and dive toward the water.

Jinbei lands hands first, slamming both palms into the surface of the water.

The shockwave hits Sanji like an explosion and Nami cries out as it blasts rain back, droplets flying out like shrapnel. For a moment, the ocean buckles, caving in. Then it rebounds, shooting back up with enough force to roll the Sunny upright.

Sanji manages to catch Nami from being thrown off the second deck, but between his fumbling and the Sunny’s heavy rocking, they both end up tumbling gracelessly backwards. Sanji’s head slams into the helm hard enough to make his vision flicker.

Distantly, he hears Nami shouting and feels something tugging at his suit jacket. He’s still seeing double as he struggles upright and practically falls against the helm. His whole body shakes as he blindly follows Nami’s lead and forces the wheel to turn back yet again. His hair is plastered over both eyes and he can feel liquid running down his neck and back and he can’t be sure if it’s sweat or blood or rain, but, bit by bit, he sets them back on course—pointing the bow straight at the towering black wall.

The wall! A sound slips out of him and Sanji’s not sure if it’s a sob or a laugh—he almost forgot about the wall still barring their escape.

(They’re trapped. They’re going to die here.)

A ray of light shines across the deck as the medbay door opens. Sanji’s heart soars—standing on deck, silhouetted by the light is Robin. She’s still soaked and relying on the banisters as she rushes down the stairs, but there’s a little more color in her face and strength in her voice than before when she says, “What can I do?”

Nami is stumbling away from the helm and down the stairs, scrabbling across the deck on all fours as the ship rolls wildly. She’s breathless and hoarse, but the order still carries above the howling wind. “Portside! The hull!”

Hands pop out of the deck to help Nami to her feet and up the stairs as she makes her way to the main mast and tugs frantically at the long, hanging shreds of mainsail, still whipping loosely in the wind from when Monster Point antlers tore through. More hands pop out of the spars to help Nami tear the sail down. There’s a long ripping sound, as the shreds finally come loose.

Nami gathers the shreds and whatever broken planks that cross her path as she sprints, half tumbling down stairs and below deck to cover the gash, pausing to call over her shoulder, “Get Luffy!”

Sanji has no idea how Robin knows where Luffy is or if she can see him from where she’s standing, but she doesn’t miss a beat. Her arms cross and deft hands pry Luffy out of the hole, pulling him up and over the side while a forest of arms replace him, folding over the opening like a giant scab.

Luffy looks awful. There are long, oozing gashes all along his body where jagged shards of wood had stabbed into him. Some of that wood came with him, sticking out of his stomach and arms in enormous splinters. He’s still partially puffed up, eyes squeezed shut and face twisted in concentration as he fights to stop his slow deflation (so determined, so desperate to maintain his shape to plug the hole, that he hasn’t even noticed being moved).

But it’s only a minute longer before his body gives out. Luffy jolts, eyes flying open in horror as air pours out of him and he completely deflates. His eyes are unfocused as Luffy blinks at the deck, confused and stunned. He tries to sit up, but he freezes halfway up. He shudders, heaves black sludge all over himself, and falls limply on his side.

Thankfully, Sanji can still see Luffy’s face—can see his eyelids drooping, but stubbornly staying open—or he’d think Luffy was dead. His fingers twitch faintly, like he’s trying to get up again, but his limbs won’t move. His strength is completely spent.

Another wave pounds the ship. Sanji’s feet are washed out from under him and he slams into the ground. His hands are too numb—they refuse to grab anything to keep him onboard as water blasts into him, and it’s pure luck that the water only throws him into the railing and not over it.

Sanji’s not sure if it’s just the ship rocking or his own dizziness making everything spin as he crawls back across the deck. His world has narrowed to a single point—nothing but him and the helm. He can’t seem to wrap his hands around the pegs anymore, so he uses everything else—elbows, knees, feet—to make the wheel turn. And when the Sunny is pointed at the wall once again, he braces his back against the helm and plants his feet and doesn’t budge, no matter how hard the wood stabs into his spine.

He’s not sure how long he holds that position. It feels like eons before Nami comes back. Jinbei is at the foremast, coils of rope wrapped around his arms as he personally maneuvers the staysails to keep the ship upright and moving forward. Robin is doubled over with the effort to keep her scab in place despite the pounding waves. And Luffy is nothing but a pile of limbs lying in a puddle of black slime at the bottom of the stairs.

But finally, Nami bursts back up through the door shouting, “Good enough!” 

The arms on the hull immediately dissipate as Robin slides to the ground and collapses on her back.

“Nami, move Robin and Luffy,” the voice so high and wobbly that Sanji never would have pegged it as Jinbei’s. “Get them to safety.”

Slinging Robin’s arm around her shoulders, Nami calls, “What about the wall?”

It’s right ahead of them, so close, Sanji can feel the spray rolling off it as it blasts into the sky.

Though his voice is strained, Jinbei’s face is flinty. “We’ll push through.”

Sanji can’t for the life of him see how that’s possible. It’s huge—black water stretching as wide as the ocean, the world’s largest waterfall, thundering up into a swelling black cloud.

The ship won’t make it, Reiju’s voice says. And everyone else is too weak. But you’re strong enough, your kicks still have enough power to push you through alone.  

Sanji snarls. Never. Sanji will get the others through that wall somehow—he’ll see them survive this even if he has to kill himself kicking that wall open! He sucks in a breath to tell her as much, but he chokes and coughs and coughs and when he finally gets a breath in edgewise, Reiju is gone and Jinbei’s hand is on his shoulder, and he’s saying something.

“—nji, hold her steady for me.”

Sanji’s head is spinning and he can barely keep his thoughts together, as he watches Jinbei trudge up to the Sunny’s figurehead. The ship rocks as a wave slams into the broken section of the hull and the Sunny leans sharply on her starboard side. Jinbei stumbles, and Sanji nearly loses his footing, braced under the helm.

He shoots a glance over his shoulder to the ladies and lets out a puff of relief. They’re okay. Nami is pulling Robin up the stairs, and they’re almost back to the shelter of the med bay.

But then Robin goes rigid, and Nami stops.

“Look,” Robin murmurs, and the air is quiet enough for Sanji to hear her, all the way across the deck, “the rain’s stopping.”

Sanji blinks. He must have been distracted—he hadn’t noticed the torrent slowing to an upward trickle. And the wind has completely disappeared. The staysails that Jinbei abandoned have fallen flat.

Nami shoots a bewildered look at the sea, trying to get a read on the sudden change of weather. When she looks at the sky, she screams.

Sanji looks up. There’s nothing but the swollen cloud of black rain hanging over their heads.

No, not hanging.

Falling.

All his hardwon air leaves him in a woosh.

(The sky’s going to crush them.)

Sanji lets out another strangled laugh-sob.

(They’re going to die here.)

“Sanji, hold her steady!” Jinbei bellows, and Sanji snaps back to himself, wedging his back and shoulders under the wheel and pushing up to turn them back and keep them on course.

The waves bash ruthlessly into the Sunny, washing up over the bow, but Jinbei doesn’t slip when he clambers on top of the figurehead. He takes a fishman-karate stance and holds his position as the black wall draws closer.

The cloud, as big and dark as the ocean itself, is bearing down on them, gaining speed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sanji sees Nami’s arm slip out from around Robin. Robin cries out, reaching to pull Nami back, but her legs wobble and give out.

Nami is staring up at the falling sky, almost dreamily. She’s muttering to herself. A single hand pops out of the deck to grab Nami’s ankle, but she walks through it—feet piloting her to the side in clumsy, stilted steps. Her eyes are glassy, she’s breathing fast. When she meets the side railing, she looks down.

Whatever Jinbei plans on doing, he’d better do it now .

But Sanji can see Jinbei faltering. The helmsman blinks, shakes his head, and blinks again. He tilts sideways, barely catches himself, and crouches deeper into his stance.

The ocean ceiling (not a cloud anymore, it’s too low for that now) is practically on top of them. And the Thousand Sunny’s muzzle is brushing against the wall, where pounding water has begun blasting paint and splinters of wood off her face as it shoots into the falling sky.

With the wall right in front of him, Jinbei finally moves. He stabs one hand in and then the other. He roars, heaving with his whole body. A seam appears, shooting up the wall. His stance shifts, his feet dig into the Sunny’s head so hard that wood cracks and caves in, making small craters under each of his Geta. His fist shoots through the crack, slamming into the left side, and the wall opens, just enough for Jinbei to slip his shoulders in.

“Sanji!” (he almost sounds panicked with his voice high and cracking like that). “Ready the Coup de Burst!”

Sanji, back still digging into the helm, reaches an arm out and barely manages to get a hand around the lever. It takes his full concentration to make numb fingers bend and wrap around the handle. He pulls.

He can hear machinery humming to life, and energy swelling below deck as the cola barrels shake.

“Shut up! You’re not her!” Nami is shouting, furious tears running down her cheeks. “I watched her die! She’s dead, you’re not her!”

Jinbei shimmies his shoulders through the gap, wedging himself into the thin sliver of light between black walls. With both shoulders braced against the sides, he roars again, forcing the seam open. His arms push straight out, shaking on both sides, holding the walls apart as black spray rolls over him.

“Now!” Jinbei shouts—a gutteral scream.

The opening still isn’t big enough—not for the whole ship—but Sanji pulls the lever anyway. The Sunny goes perfectly still. There’s a split second of nothing.

Then, all at once, everything: A deafening crash as the ocean ceiling hits, smashing down through the crows nest. Jinbei roaring, his arms snapping in and back out and the wall blowing wide open at the shockwave he creates. A blast of light, and gravity doubling, crushing Sanji into the ground as the Sunny takes off, flying through the thin tunnel.

They’re airborne. Sanji can see a line of sunlight filtering through the black, but it’s shrinking. The sides of the wall are already closing in. Sanji can hear wood groaning and snapping and splintering as water catches and rips her cross spars. The Sunny sways under the assault, first one way, then the other, but she never stops charging forward and upward.

Sanji watches the far end of the tunnel close. He braces for impact. The Sunny hits, blasting through the curtain of black water in an explosion of black spray.

And at last, she’s free.

Sanji feels the deck disappear beneath him as the Sunny descends. There’s a moment of pure weightlessness amidst blue skies and fluffy clouds and beaming sunshine. Then the Sunny lands, clear blue water spraying up as she touches down.

Sanji’s landing is less graceful. He slams into the deck flat on his back.

For a while, he can’t breathe at all—air knocked clean out of him. Then, he’s in the middle of another fit, only catching snatches of air between each barking cough. He hacks up at least four mouthfuls of goop before he manages to force the attack under control, fighting to keep his breaths even and shallow.

Still gasping, Sanji rolls his head to the side. He sees Jinbei, lying face-down on the stairs, unmoving.

Sanji tries to call out to the helmsman, but his voice is nothing but a rasp. He tries to crawl toward him, but Sanji can barely shift his legs and he can’t move his arms at all.

So he just lies there, soaking in sunshine. Slowly warming up and drying out. Periodically spitting out globs of black. Unable to tell if Jinbei is breathing. And he doesn’t even know if Nami and Robin and Luffy are still on board, or if the Coup de Burst threw them into the sea.

He lays there for what feels like hours, just breathing—or struggling to breathe—while he waits for feeling to trickle back into his limbs.

The sea is gentle and the sun is still high and shining brightly like all is fine and right in the world. There’s a seagull passing overhead, the first one Sanji has seen in nearly two weeks. And there’s no sign of the wall or storm that almost killed them all.

Eventually, Sanji manages to sit up. The first thing he notices is Nami, sprawled out, unconscious on the grass, wet hair strewn over her face, small bleeding cuts and scrapes all over her arms and legs. He doesn’t see Robin or Luffy.

The med bay door creaks open and Chopper stumbles out. His hooves and fur are caked with black and his eyes are red and puffy. He trips on something, and his eyes go wide, filling with tears.

“Don’t be dead!” he sobs, bending over someone on the second deck that Sanji can’t see. “Please, Robin, don’t—” Chopper cuts off with a relieved hitch and goes quiet as he checks her body over and wraps her head with bandages.

And then he’s running down the stairs to check Nami, wiping snot and tears on the inside of his elbow, crying softly as he carefully pokes and prods and wraps a roll of bandages around Nami’s arms and legs.

“Are they alright?” Sanji asks, wincing at the gravel in his voice.

“Yes, they’ll be—” Chopper’s head whips up, and he bursts into a fresh round of tears. “Sanji!”

Before he knows it, Sanji has his arms full of blubbering reindeer, as Chopper presses his face into Sanji’s chest and squeezes his middle.

“Oi, check for broken ribs first.”

Chopper pulls back looking a little indignant. “I did. I was multitasking,” he sniffles, inspecting Sanji’s head and neck.

Sanji has a retort for that, but Chopper’s got his newly gloved hooves in Sanji’s mouth and besides that, talking hurts —each word burning all the way up.

“Your throat looks really painful,” Chopper notes, eyes crinkling in sympathy. “Let me give you—”

“Jinbei first,” Sanji says, nudging Chopper off his lap toward the fishman.

Chopper gasps at the sight of the helmsman, immediately switching into Strong Point to lift Jinbei off the stairs and check his vitals. Ear pressed to Jinbei’s chest, Chopper’s forehead crinkles, uncertainly. “His heart sounds a little unsteady. I’ll have to bring him upstairs to…” he trails off, head lifting, ears twitching.

Sanji hears it, too.

“Meeeeaaaaat…”

In sync, they look up.

Luffy is hanging upside down, tangled in the rope ladder to the ruined crows nest, hat swinging by its string under his chin. He looks more like wet spaghetti than a person.

His eyes are still closed when he whines, “Sanji, meeeeeeeeaaaaaat.”

“You ate it all,” Sanji says. It’s supposed to sound annoyed, but his throat is too sore. And he’s far too exhausted to muster feelings of any kind right now.

(But he tries to feel annoyed. He tries to dredge up anger or joy or fear—anything at all. Because if he can’t feel… if he can’t feel…)

The ropes jostle as Chopper climbs up to get Luffy down, and Luffy finally cracks his eyes open. They’re a little unfocused as they sweep over the deck, but he seems fairly aware when he locks eyes with Chopper. “Is everyone okay?”

Chopper’s hands pause, halfway through untangling Luffy. “Everyone’s alive,” he answers softly, tugging Luffy onto his shoulder and climbing down.

Luffy frowns, twisting against Chopper’s grip, trying to look at his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what to do,” Chopper answers, laying Luffy down on the deck and checking over his injuries. There’s black goop instead of blood leaking from Luffy’s wounds, but Chopper doesn’t even blink. He just cleans it out and meticulously wraps up every cut and gash. “I don’t know how to treat Zoro or Usopp or Franky. The water’s still hurting them and I don’t know how to stop it. Maybe nothing can stop it.”

Luffy holds very still while Chopper works. He waits until Chopper’s done before asking, “How bad?”

Chopper doesn’t stop moving, rolling up bandages, putting supplies back in his bag. But he looks his captain in the eye and murmurs, “They might die, Luffy.”

Sanji waits for Chopper to keep going, to ramble and cry and worry and apologize, but he doesn’t. Chopper just looks numb. That’s what makes it real, because it isn’t nerves or panic. It’s a genuine possibility—one that Chopper doesn’t want to believe or even acknowledge, but one that he’s been forced to confront and spent hours grappling with.

Luffy closes his eyes. At length he says, “They’re my nakama.”

(It’s not fearful, or angry, or confident, or sad, or even tired. It’s just a fact.)

Nobody says anything else. There’s nothing else to say.

Chopper silently picks Jinbei up, hefting the fishman onto his back, staggering a little, but faithfully carrying him to the med bay. (Chopper has always looked unbearably young, but right now, with so much weight around his shoulders, he looks impossibly old.)

Sanji should probably get up and do… something. The Sunny is limping—there’s still a gaping hole in the side that only has a makeshift, emergency patch. He should fix that.

He doesn’t know how to fix it.

Franky and Usopp would know.

Sanji watches as the seagull that’s been circling overhead drops down and lands on the hilt of the white sword, still stabbed into the edge of the deck.

Sanji’s thinking about everything the Straw Hat Pirates have done and everywhere they’ve been together. It occurs to him that nearly everywhere they’ve sailed, they’ve found traces of Gol D. Roger. Sometimes it feels like he’s not dead at all—like he’s only two steps ahead and they’re hot on his heels on the way to the One Piece.

Luffy’s going to be King of the Pirates, just like Roger.

(And just like Roger, he might lose a third of his crew to the sirens.)

Nami groans. She scares the seagull away when she moves, turning her head to spit out a glob of black. Sanji can see her eyes flutter open, and she starts to sit up, but part way through she stops and just stares at the carnage on deck: The gaping holes and splintered wood. The round iron weights scattered from the crows nest. The torn sails. The blood on the mast. The black smears standing out amidst dead, brown grass. The ruined garden. The mangled remains of tangerine trees.

She eases back down, looking blankly at the sky.

It’s quiet. Quiet enough to hear the Den-Den Mushi.

Nobody moves.

The snail sounds again.

Sanji drags himself to his feet. He’s sore all over, but the bones that he’s pretty sure were broken earlier are fine now as he steps inside and picks up the call.

“Hello?”

There’s a cry of relief on the other end. He hears a woman’s voice and there’s a few minutes of whispering and fumbling and excited, inaudible chattering before Sabo’s voice greets him breathlessly, “Luffy?”

“Sanji,” he corrects. His voice is a little better (stronger, Sanji thinks with a sneer), but it still sounds rough and raspy.

“Is he there?” Sabo’s voice is low and urgent. He sounds strained and frazzled in a way that Sanji didn’t think was possible for Luffy’s cool, collected older brother.

Sanji grunts, taking a breath to call his captain to the transponder snail, but he chokes on another coughing fit.

“Sanji? Sanji, is Luffy alright?”

Sanji thinks that’s a stupid thing to ask when he’s the one hacking out his guts, but as soon as he gets black gunk out of his throat and air in his lungs, he grits out, “Luffy’s fine.”

(As ‘fine’ as any of them are.)

The breath of relief is cut short by a sharp follow up of, “What happened? We’ve been trying to contact you for over a week.”

Sanji knows Sabo’s worried about his little brother, but Sanji doesn’t want to hear it right now. His throat is killing him, and the Sunny’s still slowly sinking, and Jinbei’s heart nearly gave out, and Franky’s broken, and Usopp and Zoro were nearly sucked dry, and the sirens almost took Nami, and in the midst of it all, Luffy actually cried, and Sanji thinks he’s never been so scared in his life. 

And if it weren’t for Sabo, Luffy would never have taken this damn shortcut, and everyone would be fine and Zoro and Usopp and Franky wouldn’t—

“Sanji, answer me! What’s going on? Where are you?”

“We’ll be on time,” he snaps.

Sabo growls, beginning to sound irritated, too. “That’s what we’ve been trying to contact you about. The plan’s been aborted. I know laying low is impossible with Luffy, but at least keep him away from Yukiryu Island. CP0 and Fleet-Admiral Akainu showed up—”

Sanji slams the receiver down, for once hanging up on Sabo before the prick got the chance.

Nami’s in the doorway, watching. He can feel her eyes on his back, but he ignores her and takes a few shallow breaths that, thankfully, don’t irritate his lungs.

He reaches into his breast pocket, and pulls out his cigarettes. They’re all ruined—soaking wet, rumpled, mushy, and dripping black water.

(Leave him, Reiju’s voice had told him . It’s what Judge would do. He’d say it’s Usopp’s own fault for being weak.)

Sanji hurls the cigarette box across the room.

(Judge would never make Zeff’s mistake, sacrificing himself to save a dumb, drowning brat. Who’s your real father anyway?)

His hands spasm. He clenches them until his nails cut into his palms, forcing himself not to throw the Den-Den Mushi, too.

“Sanji? You alright?” Nami asks, in a small, timid voice.

He looks at her. Her face is drawn, pulled taut with stress and exhaustion and she’s leaning against the doorway, using it as a support. Her eyes are fixed on Sanji and worry and uncertainty flicker across her face while she tries to decide what comfort and solidarity she can offer.

He doesn’t want to hear it. Any other day of the week, he’d bask in that kind of care and attention from her, he’d soak it up like a sponge. But right now… right now…

“Tell Luffy his brother called,” Sanji says as gently as he can. It still makes Nami flinch. “Sabo said not to meet up. Called off the plan over a week ago.”

Nami’s expression goes slack. “You mean… this whole shortcut… the sirens…”

(Save him? She scoffed. Why? He’s hardly worth the hassle of getting your socks wet.)

He tells himself to walk away, but before he can rein himself in, Sanji slams a foot through the table, sending the snail flying and creating a flurry of all their instructions and battle strategies.

(Nakama? Is this a joke? He’s normal .)

Nami reaches out, but hesitates before touching him. “Sanji, your hands.”

There are droplets of blood welling up where his nails dig into his palms.

Sanji shoves his hands in his pockets and briskly walks away. He locks himself in the kitchen. 

The fridge is hanging open. The meat is gone. Luffy took all of it. The only remains are a few random scatterings of bones.

Can’t let it go to waste.

Sanji gathers the bones up. He pulls out a cutting board and meat mallet, and gets to work crushing them down into bonemeal.

(Stubborn idiot! Back away from the water—none of them are worth your life!)

He only stops smashing when his cutting board splits and his meat mallet’s handle snaps.

Sanji blinks at the mess, shards scattered over the counters and floor. He picks up the meat mallet’s broken head and stares at bone-dust coating its spikes.

What was he thinking? He’s supposed to use a blender to grind bones since it leaves less waste and takes less effort than hand-crushing everything. Besides, he shouldn’t have been cooking at all without cleaning and bandaging his hands.

(There’s no reasoning with you, is there? You’re seriously going to sacrifice yourself for that weakling.)

No, he realizes, his hands don’t need bandaging. Blood is smeared over his palms, but the crescent shaped cuts are already gone.

(Reiju had sighed in her long-suffering way, but Sanji was sure that he’d heard a note of pride when she said, You really are just like Mom.)

Sanji sinks to the floor, back against the cabinets, head on his knees.

He needs a smoke.

Chapter Text

It’s been two days since they left That Place. But sitting in the medical wing, watching her nakama writhe and sob, Robin thinks that they never really escaped.

She finds herself falling into ancient habits of detachment, robotically following whatever instructions Chopper manages to issue through frozen panic.

(During medical emergencies, Robin often acts as nurse, maid, assistant, and whatever else the doctor requires. She is level headed, unintrusive, and offers an unending supply of steady, helping hands.)

(Not that any hands are helpful right now.)

Usopp is having another fit.

He’s tossing and turning and flailing wildly. Robin and Chopper have been trying to hold him down, but he moves through them like he’s a thousand times stronger than they are—like they’re not even there. His snot and tears are black. 

“Help me! Zoro! Sanji! Chopper!”

“I’m right here,” Chopper says for the thousandth time. His nose is trembling like it does when he’s trying not to cry. “Usopp, I’m right here.”

Usopp doesn’t see or hear him. “Please! Somebody!”

The IVs have come out again. But they can’t do anything about that right now. Even if they could somehow hold him still enough to reinsert the needles, they won’t penetrate his skin. Which means sedation isn’t an option either.

“Please, I don’t wanna die, don’t let me—” he chokes off, retching black water.

And just like that, a day’s worth of fluids are gone.

But at least it gives Robin something to do. She takes a rag and begins wiping the muck from Usopp’s face and neck. It’s a slow, difficult process with all his twisting and turning.

“Mama,” he moans, blackness trailing down his cheek.

Mama was the biggest complainer ever.

How many times had she thrown her hand over forehead, collapsing to the ground, loudly telling Usopp to carry on without her? All the time. Especially when he wanted to play games with lots of running.

She would sigh about how she’d love to climb to the very tip-top of that tree with Usopp, but she couldn’t because her arms were too floppy, so she’d have to stand guard at the bottom of the tree, keeping watch for bad guys there. And whenever Usopp refused to take his bath or do his chores, Mama would always start moaning about her I-have-to-send-naughty-boys-to-bed-without-dinner-itis which could only be cured by Usopp being clean and responsible.

The real illness was so gradual, Usopp hardly noticed it beginning. Mama was always tired, since as long as Usopp could remember. The older Usopp got, the less she could keep up with him. That cough that she insisted was just asthma, kept getting worse, and she complained about new aches and pains every month.

But Mama complained about those symptoms the same way she complained about her many chronic diseases. Usopp never thought it was serious.

Robin has resigned herself to dodging his limbs and keeping the towels around his body cool and damp, hoping to alleviate the heat of his fever. That’s about all she can do. She can’t be sure if it’s helping, if he can feel it, or if he’ll ever realize that anybody is there.

“Still too hot,” Chopper says to himself, “Bbut we can’t move him, and without the medicine in his IVs…”

Robin doesn’t hear whatever else he mutters while she spits out a small glob of black into the bucket by the bed.

“I’m sorry, Mama!” Usopp wails, “I should have listened! Please come back! Help me!”

One day, Mama didn’t get out of bed. Her breathing sounded horrible.

Usopp asked if he should get the doctor, but Mama insisted she was fine. She knew how to make her own medicine and the doctor’s medicine was expensive and they were saving up for a Den-Den Mushi to surprise Yasopp, weren’t they?

Usopp was still worried, but Mama tickled him until he forgot to be worried and gave him a great big smile and told him she was perfectly fine. She was just tired from working so much. She was having a lie-in.

Usopp thought that was okay… as long as she was sure she wasn’t sick.

She scoffed. She said the Great Banchina had never been sick a day in her life.

Mama was a liar.

“Pirates!” Usopp is screaming. “Pirates are coming! We have to go, they’re planning to kill you! They’ll kill everyone!”

“Maybe I can make something for him to swallow,”Chopper says, climbing down from the cot. “We’ve gotta bring the fever down.”

Robin can hear Chopper rushing around the room, gathering ingredients, but she doesn’t look up or stop wiping beads of black sweat from under Usopp’s hair.

“You have to believe me, Kaya! You’re my friend, I wouldn’t lie, not to hurt you! I’d never hurt my friends, I’d never—”

Black goop burbles in the back of his throat, and he’s suddenly choking. Even with six hands sprouting out of the bed, Robin can’t roll him over or thump his back or even touch him. All she can do is watch his face go blue.

He gets lucky—Usopp’s floundering makes the ichor come loose enough for him to cough it up.

Head turned to the side, he shudders as the last string of black bile leaves him. “I’d never h-hurt them. I love my nakama. I’d n-never…” His voice breaks. 

Mama never hated Yasopp, even when she was angry.

Even that time Usopp saw her from way far off, standing on the beach, shouting at the sea, throwing rocks and sticks (and one poor crab) at the waves.

She stopped when she noticed Usopp coming close. Sometimes, Mama explained, she felt angry and hurt. Sometimes she was furious at Yasopp for forgetting about her while he sailed the sea. But she could never hate him for following his dreams. He was an idiot, but a good man, and she didn’t regret a thing. Even when it was hard, she was proud to love Yasopp.

Usopp didn’t know if he loved Yasopp. He didn’t remember much about his father. He met Yasopp once, when he was very little, while a boat full of pirates stopped for supplies. Usopp spent half the time hidden behind Mama. He doesn’t remember Yasopp’s face or voice, but he remembers the stories—incredible tales where Dad unflinchingly faced terrors and monsters that Usopp couldn’t imagine.

And, Usopp remembers the way his mama lit up when Yasopp told stories. He remembers the way Dad could make her laugh until she cried.

When Mama was sick, Usopp told her lots of stories. He made his mama smile and giggle plenty, but it was always quiet and tired. As hard as Usopp tried, he could never get Mama to belly-laugh like she did before.

There is a single benefit to Usopp being untouchable: no matter how hard he whacks his arms or head, they don’t bruise or cut.

But just because nothing touches Usopp, doesn’t mean Usopp can’t touch anything.

Robin freezes when Usopp’s hand latches on around her wrist.

“I want to laugh from the bottom of my heart, just like them,” Usopp cries, “But if I don’t fight with everything I’ve got, then I don’t deserve… I don’t deserve…” 

He squeezes until Robin can feel her bones creak.

Robin gasps, trying to pull her hand away, but Usopp’s grip doesn’t budge.

Mama and Usopp always did everything together—working, playing, shopping in town. But it was hard to stick together when Mama was sick. She couldn’t come outside, and when the doctor was visiting, he never allowed Usopp inside. And sometimes the doctor’s visits took all day.

Usopp wondered if Mama got lonely, too, without him. So he tried to make sure she knew he was nearby. He made lots of noise when he played outside, shouting loud enough for her to hear how many bad guys he was fighting with his slingshot. When the doctor told him to be quiet and to stop disturbing Banchina because she needed rest, Usopp drew pictures and slid them under the door. When Mama was awake, he’d stand on his tippy-toes and press his nose against her window and make funny faces, ducking whenever the doctor turned around.

Usopp tried to make it feel like nothing was different—they were still together, even when he couldn't come see her or hug her. It was still Banchina and Usopp against the world.

But one night, when Usopp was asleep, Mama left him behind.

Suddenly, it was just Usopp against the world.

Usopp’s head turns. His breathing is very fast, his pupils are dilated, and he’s still crushing Robin’s wrist in his grip. But he’s facing her now, staring straight into her eyes.

Does he finally see her?

“You can’t come in, today,” he says. “Mama’s asleep. She was feeling better before bed… s-she’s all better now.”

Robin hears her own voice ask, “Usopp?”  

He gives Robin the worst smile she’s ever seen. “She’s all better. Her fever is gone and her lungs aren’t rattling, so we don’t need a doctor anymore.”

Robin stares blankly as black tears make rivers down his face, dripping past the big smile.

“Mama’s just sleeping. She’s too tired to see you. B-but she’s all better, so you don’t have to worry. You don’t have to—no!” He jerks like he’s trying to sit upright, but it’s as though his head and shoulders are too heavy, and he only ends up arching a little off the cot. “You can’t come in! Dad came back in the middle of the night and she was so happy, she got up and danced. That’s why she’s so still, she was dancing all night and she’s really, really tired! She’s fine! She told me she’d do whatever it took to get better! She promised me she’d get better!”

Robin feels like there’s cotton in her ears. She’s barely listening to the shouting. Instead, she finds herself noticing all the things she can’t hear anymore. Like the sounds of violin petering out, and the rattling of pots and pans rattling through the shared kitchen wall that went silent, and the sandaled footsteps plodding back and forth through the ceiling that came to a halt.

But sparks of pain shooting through her wrist bring her back, and she hears Usopp howl, “No, she’s not! She’s not! Don’t touch her! Stop, o-or you’ll break her concentration! She’s meditating her spirit out of her body to talk to Dad. You can’t move her or she won’t know how to come back!”

Finally, Usopp lets go, hands flying out, grasping for something invisible. Robin doesn’t give a thought to the ring of bruises forming around her wrist. She robotically replaces the towels around his body—in case it’s doing anything to cool him down—and resumes wiping black tears from Usopp’s face.

“Don’t take her away! Please, don’t take her away!”

Usopp didn’t go to the funeral.

He was curled up under his mother’s bed. He stayed there for days. People came in and out of the house, leaving candles or food or flowers, or cleaning up the old ones. Some of them talked to Usopp, but nobody touched him or tried to move him.

But eventually, he had to come out. Mama told him to be brave.

(Besides, he was really hungry.)

When he finally uncurled and crawled out, he found fresh-baked cinnamon bread on the table, and his fridge and cupboards were full of other home-cooked foods.

The villagers didn’t like his pranks or his shouting or his lies, but they took care of him anyway. Probably for Mama’s sake. They had always loved Banchina, even if she loved a pirate.

Usopp is completely incoherent, screaming and crying and babbling. Robin only understands some of the words. She can tell he’s begging, mostly. For what? Robin’s not sure anymore. He calls out for his mother often.

“Finished.” Chopper slides down from his desk and staggers back onto the bed holding a vial. It’s full of something green and syrupy.

“Help me sit him up still while I massage this down his throat…” Chopper stops and grimaces at the black stains on Usopp’s pillow. “R-right. I-I… We’ll still try it. We have to bring his fever down, and his reflexes are still intact so… I’m sure Usopp can swallow it himself.”

(Robin wonders darkly if his face will turn a different shade of blue when he chokes this time.)

“I’m the son of a pirate!” Usopp’s voice is weak, thready. “I’m proud to be—”

Syrup Village liked to gossip.

Usopp overheard Mr. Merry talking to Ms. Bonn, the baker, about his dad. Merry said he wished Yasopp would, as the children put it, ‘suck it up’ and come home already, but Ms. Bonn sighed and shook her head. She said Yasopp would never come back. Because that would mean facing his mistakes, and he was far too ashamed for that. The coward.

Usopp was furious. How dare she insult Dad like that. He barged into the bakery and told Ms. Bonn to take it back. His father wasn’t a coward. Dad wasn’t scared of anything, he was super tough and brave. Yasopp was a great pirate who fought day after day against terrifying odds and opponents, risking his life on the sea. Usopp was proud to be his son.

Ms. Bonn smiled wryly. She apologized sincerely for insulting Usopp and his father and offered a slice of ‘truce’ cake, although she never quite took back what she said.

But she’d have to take it back when Dad came home and proved her wrong. Maybe he wasn’t here yet, but he would be. He was probably sailing from halfway across the world, so of course it would take a really long time. Still, Usopp was sure Dad was on his way. All he had to do was wait for Dad to show up and take Usopp with him to the sea. 

Any day.

Any day.

Any…

…

Dad still wasn’t back. It felt like forever since Mama… Since.

Dad wasn’t coming.

Maybe Dad’s dreams were more important. Mama said it was important to dream and to fight for your dreams and to never give up. So of course Dad couldn’t come home. That would be giving up. 

Usopp was going to grow up brave and strong, too, and then he would find Dad on the sea, and Dad would be so impressed with Usopp (and Usopp would prove he wasn’t a mistake and Dad would never be ashamed to face him again).

Someday, Usopp would make Yasopp proud to be his father.

It’s hard to aim the medicine when Usopp’s head keeps rolling and tossing, but at least his mouth is open most of the time while he pants and babbles. They just have to time it right.

Chopper takes a chance, successfully pouring a big blob of syrup right on Usopp’s tongue. Usopp swallows it.

The medicine’s effect is instantaneous. (It is Chopper’s work, after all.)

Usopp goes still. His lungs rattle with each breath, but they’re starting to come slower now, and they sound deeper. His heart rate is slowing, too.

After a moment, Usopp’s head lols to the side to look at them. While his eyes are fuzzy with fever and exhaustion, his pupils aren’t as dilated, and their dark, glassy sheen is disappearing.

An older girl from the village told Usopp that the marines would catch Usopp’s dad and that Usopp’s dad would get executed. She said his dad deserved to die for being a horrible, nasty pirate.

Usopp told her that his dad wasn’t horrible or nasty and that he wouldn’t get caught because Yasopp was a great man and Usopp was going to be a pirate too, and someday he would be just as great—

She punched Usopp in the face.

(It’d be three years later, long after the girl and her mom moved away from Syrup island, when Usopp would find out that her dad was a marine. Killed in action by pirates.)

The girl kicked Usopp once, while he was down, and walked away, leaving Usopp lying flat on his back, head spinning, with his first broken nose.

The next time Usopp saw her coming, he jumped straight into a tree and climbed to the top and held very still until he was sure she was gone.

The climb down was miserable. His scraped palms weren’t the only things that stung. Usopp was supposed to become a brave warrior of the sea, just like Dad.

When his feet hit the ground, Usopp told himself he’d never be a coward again.

(It was a lie.)

(It’s always a lie.)

“Usopp?” Chopper is sitting very close, wringing his hooves.

Usopp swallows thickly, rasping something unintelligible.

Chopper reaches out. He touches Usopp—grabs his arm and moves it.

Usopp looks at him, eyes half-lidded. He croaks Chopper’s name.

(For the first time in two days, Robin feels like she can breathe.)

“Y-you’re back!” Chopper is visibly fighting the urge to crush Usopp’s bony ribs in a hug. Instead he spends a minute re-inserting IVs and checking Usopp over. Chopper talks the whole time he works, telling Usopp how worried they were, promising Usopp that he and Robin have been taking care of him the whole time even though Usopp couldn’t feel them, assuring that he’ll do everything he can to help Usopp get better. It’s a long ramble, made longer yet by the way Chopper’s voice frequently hitches and cracks under the pressure of too many emotions.

Robin gently helps Usopp sit up enough to drink a glass of (clean, crystal, clear, good) water, and while Chopper never takes a breath long enough for her to get a word in edgewise, she smiles, and quietly murmurs. “Hello, Usopp. It’s good to see you awake.”

His eyes roll toward her. He looks as exhausted as Robin feels. But with the glass pressed to his lips, he obediently takes small sips.

Robin studies his face. There are no obvious signs of pain, but under the thick blanket of exhaustion… there’s something in his expression that makes Robin frown.

She glances at Chopper. He hasn’t seen Usopp’s face. He’s pressing an ear against Usopp’s chest to listen to his lungs and heart (although the way he’s nestled against Usopp, it’s obviously a snuggle, too). And he’s still babbling about how worried he’s been and how relieved he is that Usopp is awake.

He doesn’t notice how miserable Usopp looks.

Robin frowns. Maybe Usopp is still thirsty? She stands, planning to quietly slip out of the room to retrieve more water, but Chopper catches the movement out of the corner of his eye and shoots up.

“Robin? What’s wrong? Is there a problem? Is there—”

“Nothing’s wrong. I was only going to refill the water glass.”

“I can do it!” Chopper says, climbing down from the cot. 

Robin is surprised at the offer. She assumed he’d rather stay with Usopp, especially now that he can actually treat his patient, and it really isn’t necessary for the doctor himself to fetch water.

But she doesn’t argue. Chopper’s been cooped up here for days with little to no sleep, trying to fight an impossible disease. He’s practically vibrating with all the pent-up emotions of the last few days. A water run is such a short errand, and the fresh air might do him some good—especially if Sanji catches him and sends him back with a heaping plate of food.

So, Robin hands Chopper the glass, and the reindeer scampers away, nearly tripping over the doorway in his haste.

Robin resumes her seat, taking Usopp’s hand, ignoring how withered and bony it feels. She gives it a squeeze. “Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Longnose?”

He rolls his head to look at her under drooping eyelids, but he doesn’t say a word. The medicine is helping lower the fever somewhat, but sweat is still beading around his temples and under his nose.

With help from a few extra hands, it takes less than a second to readjust him on the bed, fluff his pillow, and drape the cooling towels more effectively over his skin.

He shivers, curling away from the cloths, but Robin lays him back, with a sympathetic look. “Forgive me, but your fever is still quite high, and I won’t take risks with your life and health.”

Usopp drops his eyes, looking ashamed. “Sorry,” he rasps.

“Whatever for?”

“‘M sorry for hurting you.”

He must’ve seen the state of her wrist—Robin can’t conceive of any other reason for the apology.

She smiles warmly at him. “I think I’ll survive a few bruises, Usopp. And I’d sustain far greater injury if it meant seeing you get well again.”

Usopp’s face crumples.

Robin doesn’t understand. She was trying to be kind and reassuring, but Usopp looks on the verge of tears. Did she somehow say something wrong?

(Robin isn’t entirely sure she knows how to be warm and comforting. Nobody ever taught her. She had observed plenty of loving families in passing, but her nakama are the only ones to show her what it means. They never take it to heart when her words come out harsh or morbid, but Robin still wishes that she could repay a little of their kindness with real warmth.)

She brushes tangled curls out of Usopp’s face and tries another subject. “It’s good you’re awake. I can finally thank you for your part in saving everyone.”

“But…” his throat clicks when he tries to swallow.  “I didn’t save you guys.”

She frowns. Is he misunderstanding her? “Everyone survived, partly thanks to you. Not only did you withstand your own siren attack, but you broke the spell on Chopper and Sanji, too, before swimming all the way back to the Sunny with Zoro in tow. You’re quite the hero.”

He makes a strangled noise, breathing speeding up. “No I’m not. I’m not a hero. Don’t say that. I-I was hurting you and I came back.”

She’s not sure if it’s the fever talking or the black water, but he’s not making any sense. He might be slipping into delirium again. She needs to calm him down before he flies into another attack. “It’s alright, Usopp. The bruises don’t matter. Please, look at me—they don’t matter.”

“No, no, no,” his eyes squeeze shut, and the fat tears that leak out from under his eyelashes are black, “It’s my fault—I was killing you, but I came back!”

When Robin gently turns Usopp’s chin to face her, she’s alarmed to feel his body resisting her touch.

“Usopp, breathe,” she tells him, placing her hand on his chest trying to keep his focus and help them sync their breathing. She winces at the feel of his skin—he’s boiling. She needs to cool him down.

Arms sprout from the bed to re-dampen the towels and arrange them around his body again, but he’s getting harder to move and he’s breathing so fast, and under her hand she can feel his heart pounding, fit to burst.

“Usopp, breathe with me,” she repeats, but he’s not listening.

“Robin?” He’s staring right at her, but his pupils are dilating and his eyes are growing glassy, and he looks terrified. “R-robin?” 

Chopper. She needs Chopper and the fever syrup immediately.

She shifts partway out of her chair to concentrate, sprouting eyes around the ship, searching for the doctor, but her sudden turn away panics Usopp. 

“Don’t go!” He lurches forward to catch her arm. He misses, rolling off the bed. Robin’s reflexes, dulled with stress and exhaustion, are a split second too late to catch him.

His head slams on the corner of the chair, and he crumples to the floor, eyes rolled back into his head. His body spasms. Black drool and foam drips from his lips.

He’s having a seizure. 

Glass shatters. Robin turns to see Chopper, Sanji, Brook, Nami, and Luffy standing in the open doorway, gaping.

“Doctor,” she pleads.

Chopper snaps into action, stepping over the shattered water glass and upside-down plate of pancakes. “Robin, cushion his head, move everything out of his way.”

She’s quick to obey, shoving the cot and chair out of reach of jerking limbs, propping a pillow under his head and neck.

And then all she can do is stand back and watch.

When Usopp finally goes still, they turn him on his side, waiting until black ichor stops oozing from his mouth before moving him again. She starts to lift him onto the cot, but Chopper stops her.

“Put Zoro on the bed. I shouldn’t have…” he swallows. “It’ll be more comfortable for Zoro on the mattress, and better for Usopp where he can move without danger.”

Robin quickly makes the switch, arms springing out of the floor and bed to foist Zoro up, and move Usopp beside Franky, settling him into the nest of blankets and clothes and anything else that might cushion him on the hard floor.

She hopes Usopp is positioned far enough from Franky’s metal body, not to knock into it.

She glances at Franky. He’s still powered off, with no sign of powering on again. But his chest is pumping rhythmically, although more mechanical than usual. Chopper thinks it’s an emergency life-support feature. Robin tries to take comfort in the fact that there is still life to support.

On Franky’s other side, closest to the wall is Jinbei. Chopper already treated Jinbei’s heart arrhythmia, the best he can. All Jinbei needs now is enough rest to allow his body to recover from the extreme strain he put on his severely exhausted body. Robin can’t be sure if it’s the single small sedative Chopper put in his IVs, or if Jinbei is simply that worn out, but he’s slept straight through the two days since his collapse. Even at the heights of Usopp’s screaming, all Jinbei ever did was turn over in his sleep.

But at least Jinbei looks relaxed—Zoro looks like his whole body is clenched.

The swordsman’s arms have never moved from where they’re crossed over his chest. He hardly moves at all, except for the occasions when his fingers dig into his biceps until he bleeds. His jaw is set and his brow is furrowed. It might be from pain, but Robin thinks it’s more likely determination. She marvels that even in the depths of this illness, with blackness seeping between grit teeth, and his muscles withering (or at least, looking much less defined than they once were)—he can still seem so stable and sturdy and Zoro.

So different from Longnose. She watches Chopper bandage the sluggish flow of blood from Usopp’s head. The rise and fall of his chest is so shallow, he hardly seems to be…

“Is Usopp dead?”

Robin startles, turning to find the others still standing in the doorway.

“Is Usopp dead?” Luffy repeats (and Robin never imagined that he could sound so hollow).

She takes a deep breath, “No. He’s alive.”

Stepping over the broken glass and plate, she moves to usher everyone out of the room, providing Chopper and his patients more peace and privacy.

“Let me clean that up,” Brook says, softly, slipping around her arms as she herds the others out, and bending over the ruined pancakes. “While I’m at it, I’m happy to help Chopper for a while. You need rest.”

Robin opens her mouth, but pauses, thinking better of her automatic refusal. Out of the two of them, she’d rather give Chopper the break, but she knows it’ll be impossible to tear him from his patients’ sides any time soon—especially when the seizure fiasco occurred during the few minutes he left the room. Besides that, her aide to Chopper in the last few hours has been… lacking. She can’t moderate his stress and panic when she’s barely holding herself together.

Reluctantly, Robin nods. “Alright. But watch out for any signs of an attack. Just because Franky hasn’t had one yet, doesn’t mean he won’t. And always keep an eye on Zoro—his fits are quiet.”

“I’ll do my best, even if I don’t actually have eyes.” He chortles a low Yohoho, and gives Robin a reassuring smile.

Robin shoots Brook a last grateful look over her shoulder as she follows the others out into the clean air and sunshine.

Considering the atmosphere of everyone outside, looming rain clouds might be more fitting.

( Ocean sandwich… )

(Robin hastily shoves that thought away.)

She turns to her nakama trying to think of a suitable distraction from the bleakness, grimacing at their expressions. Sanji looks vacant, hands fumbling into his breast-pocket only to come back empty, trembling harder.

Robin clears her throat, gently nudging Nami. “Can you hear my stomach rumbling—I’ve been so busy I forgot to eat today. Would you care to join me for a late lunch?”

Nami stares at Robin. Her bottom lip is trembling, and there are tears swimming in her eyes, and the look she gives Robin clearly states that she’s never been less hungry in her life. But she answers, “Yes,” even if it comes out stilted and flat.

Robin places a hand on Sanji’s shoulder, and he jolts out of his thoughts, blinking at her.

“Is it too much to ask you to make us something right now?”

Color rushes back to his face and he almost sounds offended. “Of course not! There’s no punishment on earth that I don’t deserve for letting you go hungry—I can’t believe I neglected you, Robin-chwan!—but cooking for you now could only be pure bliss! I’ll make you and Nami-swan a dish so spectacular you’ll never remember the bitter taste of hunger or sadness again!”

His typical overzealousness, coaxes a chuckle out of Nami, even if it sounds a bit watery. “I only want tea, Sanji.”

“I’ll provide any service my sweet angels desire,” Sanji croons, opening the kitchen door for her.

Robin turns to ask Luffy what he wants. He’s still staring at the med bay door.

“Luffy, Sanji’s about to make lunch.”

He doesn’t move.

“Luffy?”

“She can’t eat them here,” Luffy says, quiet enough that Sanji and Nami don’t hear over their own chatter as they enter the kitchen.

“What?”

“Franky and Usopp and Zoro are too far away. She can’t eat them. But she won’t stop trying.”

(The mouth of the sea is hungry, hungry)

(Sinking in white teeth to bleed out black)

Robin shudders.

Luffy turns to look at her. His face is grim. “Are they going to die?”

Robin doesn’t know how to answer, so she doesn’t.

Luffy studies her, eyes traveling over her face like the future is written on it. And then he sits down by the railing across from the door, wrapping his arms around his knees, head angled so his hat shades his face.

“I won’t miss the next time someone wakes up,” Luffy says.

Robin, at a loss for anything warm or encouraging to say, simply presses her palm against Luffy’s knee and leaves him to wait.

Chapter Text

For a moment, Franky is 26 again. Fresh off the sea-train tracks. His body won’t move, he can’t feel his face, his insides feel like they’ve been rearranged, and everything is distinctly not super .

Memories of the Franky Family, Luffy, and the Straw Hats, trickle back, but none of it explains why he feels like scrap metal. Last he remembers, they were sailing… somewhere dangerous, wasn’t it? But that doesn’t narrow it down. The Straw Hat Pirates are always neck-deep in trouble.

He starts running diagnostics, testing each part of his body to identify the problem. It takes infinitely longer than usual—it feels like an hour just to confirm proper heart function and acceptable oxygen levels—and diagnostics are only 2% complete when something in his chest wrenches and he has to shut it down before he blacks out again.

After that, even running minimal functions hurts. (Well, at least he knows his nociceptors are fully functional. Ow.)

He’s hyper aware of all the implants in his body in a way that he hasn’t been since he first built them. The metal pressing against his remaining organs, bones, and skin feels ice-cold, like the walls of a freezer. If Franky could squirm, he would, but his body is completely unresponsive.

The shutters over his eyes refuse to open. He spends a long time concentrating, diverting cola-power to his head from whatever reserves he has in his limbs. It feels slow and thick, flowing through him like molasses wherever it isn’t completely gumming up the works. But eventually, he feels power behind the mechanics in his face. The shutters creep apart and optics blink on.

He’s staring at the ceiling in Sick Bay.

Is he sick? That shouldn’t be possible. Not with the way he maintains himself.

But he must be.

His brain is so foggy that it takes him several minutes to notice Chopper leaning anxiously over him, and even longer to realize that Chopper’s saying something. He lets power trickle to his auditory functions.

“Franky! Are you there? Blink twice if you can feel this.”

Chopper’s hooves are poking sharply into his back. Ow.

“Sto…p,” Franky says, forgetting all about the instruction to blink. His tongue works fine, but it’s hard to speak when his jaw keeps locking up, and vocals must be clogged because his voice is muffled and stuttering, echoing strangely in his mouth. “Pl…ease s…top.”

Chopper’s forehead wrinkles with even more anxiety and he attacks the back of Franky’s ribs faster and harder. “I can’t tell if you can hear me, Franky.”

“No, st… op… Chop—” his voice suddenly cuts out in a gurgle. There’s something pooling in the back of his throat that he can’t get out because his gag reflex is down.

The hooves under his side shift into hands and shake him timidly, almost experimentally. With a breath of relief, Chopper gently turns him over, angling him to help the gunk out. There’s already an empty bucket waiting for him, and he spits out a mouthful of… oil?

(What is going on?)

“Franky, can you hear me?”

“Chop…per?”

“Something inside you got jammed and broke everything, but I don’t know how to fix it, because I don’t know anything about machines,” Chopper explains steadily. “Will you talk me through what to do?”

Franky stares at him.

His whole body is malfunctioning, which isn’t supposed to happen, because he built himself to withstand anything from the flu to a metric ton of explosives. But something bypassed layer after layer of armor and defenses and  failsafes and forced him into shut down and now that he’s awake, he can’t move and he’s throwing up oil and this isn’t supposed to happen .

Meanwhile Chopper’s just looking at him expectantly, and Franky’s not sure what kind of upside-down world he woke up in where Chopper’s perfectly calm and he’s the one freaking out.

Chopper pokes Franky’s back to get his attention again. “Can you tell me where to start?”

“Get… Cola.”

Chopper’s head shakes. “We took everything we could out of the Brachio Tank and the Kurosai—the Shark Sub didn’t have any left—and we gave it to you. You’ve already got everything we could find.”

“Carb… ona… tion… sy…rup… aquar…ium b… ar… make…”

Chopper’s breath hitches (and, for some reason, that familiar little flash of anxiety actually puts Franky more at ease). “You want us to make a substitute soda?”

“Ye…s.”

“Y-you’re sure it won’t hurt anything?”

Well, it wasn’t Franky’s favorite idea. There was always a chance it could further damage whatever was already broken, since Franky hadn’t made his body with any old beverage in mind. But home-mixed soda should be close enough to cola not to have serious consequences or personality changes. And it was definitely better than being dead. Or worse, tea -powered.

“Be fi…ne,” Franky croaks.

Chopper still looks hesitant, so Franky tries to give him a smile and a wink, but the machinery in his face grinds and spasms.

Chopper (looking deeply traumatized by whatever Franky’s face ended up doing) turns to someone just out of Franky’s eyeshot.

Chopper doesn’t even get a word out before Franky hears Brook offer, “I’ll ask Sanji to whip something up and we’ll be back in a heartbeat! Presumably Sanji’s heartbeat since I don’t—” Brook’s out the door before he’s finished his skull joke, but Franky hears the ‘Yohohoho!’ through the wall.

“Never do this again,” another voice says. “Ever.”

If Franky strains, he can see Robin out of the corner of his eye. She’s tending somebody on the medical cot—though, from this position, it’s hard to tell who.

“I’ll fix… nev… er… breaks ag… ain.”

Robin walks around the bed to kneel by his side, and he can see her fond smile before it disappears. “No, not that. I’m sure you’ll solve the problem in no time and probably make yourself entirely indestructible for good measure.” Her eyes turn pointed and serious. “I meant your face. It’s an offense to all living things.”

Brutal.

Through the agony of being totally, verbally demolished (and the physical pain from whatever’s clogging his system and freezing his metal), Franky cranks his face out of the mangled wink-smile and back into something neutral.

Chopper must have caught something in Franky’s eyes. “Are you in any pain? Is there anything I can do to help while we wait? Can I—”

There’s a whimper from the other figure on the floor (Franky thinks he sees Usopp’s nose sticking up in his peripheral) and Chopper forgets his questions to turn and check the patient.

Robin is halfway to her feet to come help, but Chopper waves her off, “It’s not another fit, it’s just the fever.”

Robin hesitates. “Has it come down much?”

Chopper doesn’t answer.

“Is the medicine working?”

Franky can’t see Chopper’s face, “It’s helping. Enough. It helps enough.” There’s a brief pause, before Chopper asks, “How’s Zoro? Any luck?”

“I haven’t been able to give him any. But I doubt I’ll need to force his jaws apart since his fever is lowering by itself.” Robin’s lips quirk in a faint smile. “Zoro is intent on winning this battle, I think.”

Chopper slumps, pressing his hooves into his eyes, blue nose quivering. “Yeah, but… couldn’t he let us help him? Just a little?”

On instinct, Franky opens his mouth to offer a bit of comfort, but his jaw only grinds loudly.

Chopper turns, visibly swallowing a slew of emotions down as he returns to Franky’s side. “Sorry for getting distracted, Franky. I should be focused on helping you while you’re awake. Are you in any pain?”

Franky’s jaw is slowly coming loose enough to talk again, but he doesn’t have the chance to answer before the door swings open.

The cot is blocking Franky’s view, but Sanji doesn’t waste any time making himself known. “Stupid cyborg. Sure took your time waking up.” Sanji probably meant it to be a grouse, but the tone is much too pleased for that. “I hope you know how lucky you are to have Robin waiting on you hand and foot.”

Franky snorts, “Jea… lous…”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Sanji snipes back, finally moving past the cot to hand Chopper the homemade soda.

He looks like crap.

Sanji’s face is pale with deep bags standing out under bloodshot eyes. He isn’t smoking. All he’s got in his mouth is a toothpick. There’s dried salt crusted in his hair, and his dress shirt is rumpled, with black (oil?) stains on the inside of his elbows. Whatever fight Sanji got into, it doesn’t look like he won.

And that’s when Franky remembers, “Si…rens?”

“We beat them,” Sanji says in a clipped tone that only cements Franky’s hunch that they really didn’t .

But Chopper pipes up before Franky has a chance to ask more. “I’m going to open your stomach now. Blink twice if I do anything wrong.”

But of course Chopper’s fine. He opens the compartment, pulling out the old cola bottles and replacing them with the fresh made stuff like the pro he is. When he’s finished, Chopper steps back, brow furrowed. “Is… is anything happening?”

“Yup,” Franky would say if his jaw wasn’t locked up again. It’s taking longer than usual, but he can feel the pumps in his stomach chug to life, shaking the soda into a fizz.

Sanji’s toothpick tucks into the corner of his mouth. “Mm. My recipe must not have enough power. I’ll be sure to tweak—”

The small ding is the only warning Franky gets before the floodgates open and soda-power surges through him.

(As it turns out, there is something worse than tea.)

The explosion of carbonation alone is enough to dislodge half the gunk in Franky’s system. Fizzy sweetness blasts through his limbs and all the way to the ends of his artificial hair. The sudden spike in energy has Franky rocketing straight up into the air, smacking into the ceiling, and landing on his feet.

The others are gawking at him—bug-eyed, open mouthed—but Franky doesn’t spare a second for his own shock.

He can feel pressure, swelling in his joints and under his skin, making circuits and muscle bulge nearly to the point of bursting. He frantically opens as many panels and valves and compartments as he can. Sludge spurts out of every opening, blackness slopping out from his arms, legs, and torso as the soda forces black goop out of him. The smell of blood and metal and seawater is so potent, Franky nearly gags (so, at least that’s working again). 

After a few seconds, the fluids change from black to brown, texture thinning until Franky’s sure that the only thing coming out anymore is soda.

Franky closes everything back up and tries to calm down. But he can’t. There can’t be more than a quarter-bottle of soda left in his tank after flushing out so much goop, but his whole body is jittering and he feels like he could fly to the moon and punch it in half.

Franky looks up at his gaping friends. “Sanji, what’d you put in this stuff?”

Sanji’s jaw is hanging, toothpick forgotten where it fell. When he finally regains his wits, he stutters, “It’s fuel right? I just made sure it’d give you energy.”

Well. It’s nothing if not energizing. Everything around Franky feels like it’s in slow motion and his heart is hammering so hard it hurts.

“Could ya make the next batch a little less super, maybe?”

Sanji gathers the empty bottles and turns to leave, still looking a little dazed. “I’ll work on it.”

“Franky?” Chopper asks as the door slides shut behind Sanji.

He wipes his hands on his ruined shirt, making a face at the mess of soda and probably-not-oil dripping off him into the nest of blankets and pillows he was lying in. “What the hell was that stuff? And why was it inside me?”

Chopper doesn’t glance at the blankets, eyes riveted on Franky’s face. “You’re… you’re okay?”

“Eh,” Franky shrugs, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders and elbows, “Still a little funky, but nothing ol’ Franky can’t fix!” 

“B-but you’re sure you can fix it?”

“Suuuuuuuuper sure!” His arms don’t quite bend right when he strikes his pose, but this time, the grin and wink he gives Chopper is flawless.

Chopper sags briefly in relief. Then, his face screws up and he throws himself around Franky’s calf, burying his muzzle in a metal knee. “I’m sorry!” he sobs.

Franky’s heart hurts twice as much now that it’s melting on top of pounding. Prying Chopper off his leg, he sets the reindeer on his shoulder. “Didn’t you hear me, bro? I’m alright.”

Chopper only cries harder, latching on around Franky’s head. “You were dying and I didn’t know how to help you at all! But I promise it won’t happen again! I’ll work harder and learn everything you can teach me about machines and I’ll know exactly what to do next time and I’m sorry if I broke something o-or made anything w-worse and I’ll— hic— ”

While Chopper struggles through the sudden onslaught of hiccups, Franky takes the opportunity to interrupt. “Don’t worry about it. You’re a doctor, not a mechanic.”

“But I’m your doctor, so I should know— hic —h-how to help you with all your cyborg parts when you’re sick— hic— or hurt, a-and Doctorine told me— hic —she said… ” he scrunches his eyes closed, presses his blue nose into the side of Franky’s head, and sniffles loudly right into Franky’s ear.

Franky has no idea what Chopper’s talking about, but when he looks at Robin for a clue, she’s wearing such a dark expression that he doesn’t dare ask.

(Must be a sore subject. He’ll come back to the Doctorine stuff later, then.)

“Oi! You trying to steal my job? Building and fixing is my thing, little bro.” All Chopper does is hiccup at Franky’s teasing, so he follows up with a more serious, “Nobody expects you to read poneglyphs if Robin’s hurt, or cook if Sanji’s sick. It doesn’t seem fair to expect you to fix me. I never thought you’d need to.”

“B-but—”

“Chopper,” he says, prying fuzzy arms away from his head, just enough to look the doctor in the eye, “this wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t build myself to break.”

Chopper’s voice goes really soft. “Yeah. I thought you were invincible.”

“Yowch! Don’t rub it in, bro!” Franky says, mussing the fur on Chopper’s head trying to coax a smile out of him.

But Chopper looks dead serious. “Please, Franky, teach me. I never— hic— ever wanna do this again.”

As if Franky could refuse Chopper, looking at him like that—big, teary doe-eyes, peering up at Franky from under the brim of his hat.

“Of course I’ll teach you, little bro!”

Chopper’s face, strung tight with a hundred emotions, collapses into relief. He flops against Franky’s head and bawls his heart out. Franky can feel the kid’s whole body shudder with every sob, and it’s starting to turn Franky into a blubbering mess, too. 

“I’ll teach you a thing or two,” he says, scrubbing the tears sneaking down his cheeks “and I’ll upgrade my circuits to be just as tough as my exoskeleton, and between the two of us, you’ll never have to worry about this again!”

“Waaaaah!” Chopper agrees.

Franky poses, tears gushing past his sunglasses, “Suuuuu-huuu-huuu-perrrrrrr!”

Franky’s not sure how long they spend, clinging to each other, crying.

He catches Robin covering a chuckle, and maybe he’d be embarrassed if her eyes didn’t look a little overbright. 

Though, her smile does little to hide the dark rings under her eyes. How long has it been since anyone slept? Sanji, Robin, even Brook sounded exhausted.

Heck, now that he’s calmed down a little, Chopper’s already half-asleep on Franky’s shoulder, his breaths evening out besides the occasional teary hitch or hiccup.

Adjusting Chopper against his neck, so the kid won’t fall off, Franky turns to ask Robin one of the million questions bubbling in his brain.

But Zoro makes a noise deep in his chest, and Robin’s suddenly busy tending the swordsman, wiping blood away from where his fingertips are digging viciously into his arms, and trying to coax Zoro’s fingers away so she can re-bandage the marks.

Franky moves to wake Chopper, but an arm sprouts under his shoulder and prevents him.

“Take him to bed. Chopper needs the rest, and there’s not much he can do right now, anyway.” Robin smiles reassuringly, although there’s an edge of helplessness to it that Franky hates.

He’s about to ask what’s wrong, but he’s distracted by Brook’s return.

“Forgive me for my tardiness.” Brook sets his sword down, grabbing a bucket of rags and cold water and joining Robin at Zoro’s side. “Nami asked me to freeze the hull again.”

Franky goes rigid. “Did you say freeze the hull? Is something wrong with the Sunny?”

Despite Brook’s lack of eyes, Franky gets the impression he and Robin are sharing a weary sidelong look.

Franky’s at door in two strides, flinging it open—

A strangled sound escapes his throat as he gapes at the carnage on deck.

What happened? 

The grass is dead, piles of collected debris are heaped in the corner, there are gaping holes all over the deck, a chunk of the formast is missing, the sails and rigging are destroyed, the crow’s nest is gone, the Sunny is listing (how did he not notice the slant before?) and …

The hull! In an instant, Franky is at the side, leaning over the railing, pushing his sunglasses up to look at it. Bulging out of the wood is a mangled mess of torn sails and rope and wooden splinters and what looks like an entire iceberg.

What. Happened?

Chopper snuffles slightly in his sleep, and Franky snaps out of it. He takes a long, deep breath and lets it out slowly and manages to swallow down an unmanly (unearthly) shriek.

It’s fine.

Nope. It’s super not fine. But. He can fix it. He’s a shipwright, maybe the best alive. He’ll fix the Sunny. But he’s gotta keep his head on. Like Tom said, start at the beginning and take it one step at a time.

First, take care of Chopper, then take care of himself, then take care of the abomination growing out of Sunny’s hull.

Once Franky’s got a hold of himself, he walks, quickly and smoothly to the men’s quarters, slipping inside and closing the door quietly behind him.

“FRANKY!”

He hasn’t yet turned around before someone flies into his back, knocking him against the door so hard that Chopper slips off his shoulder. Arms wrap around and around and around, pinning Franky’s hands to his sides in a hug, and it’s a good thing Franky’s second pair of hands can reach far enough, fast enough to catch Chopper before Franky drops him completely.

“Franky! You’re awake, too!” Luffy laughs—a big, bright noise that, where his cheek’s mashed against Franky’s ribs, makes all Franky’s metal buzz. “Woo! Today’s a great day!”

“Oi, careful about Chopper, Luffy.”

Luffy lets go, peeking around Franky’s shoulder to see the furball curled up in Franky’s hands.

Chopper must have been dead on his feet, because despite the noise and the roughhousing, the poor kid’s still out like a light.

“Shishishishi, Chopper’s funny.”

Tucking Chopper into the crook of an arm, Franky gives Luffy a conk on the head (because no part of Chopper working himself to death or being dropped on his head after crying himself to sleep is funny). But he can’t help cracking a smile at the goofy noise Luffy makes or the ensuing pout.

“Guess it’s not such a good day if Franky’s grumpy.”

There’s a low chuckle, and Franky turns to see Jinbei, wrapped in bandages, sitting up in his bunk. “It’s good to see you up, Franky.”

Franky gawks at him. “Jeez, Jinbei, you look like a mummy. What kind of fight did I miss?”

Something flickers across Jinbei's face that Franky can't place, and the helmsman side-steps the question entirely. “I only woke up a few hours ago, so I can’t say what’s happened since we left the Siren Sea.”

Franky wants to call him out and press for answers, but… Jinbei isn’t the type to avoid confrontation. Ever. So he’s gotta have his reasons. Besides that, he really does look half-dead (like everyone else on this ship) so Franky sets his mounting frustration, confusion, and questions aside. For now.

“You look quite odd, yourself,” Jinbei says, gesturing to the mess of soda and goop dripping from Franky’s body.

“Shishishi, now I’m gross, too.” Luffy wipes slop off his cheek and arms only to smear it on his pants.

Franky snorts, moving to grab a towel and a new shirt from his locker. He cleans himself up a bit and does his best to wipe some of the crusty grime from Chopper’s fur (lil’ guy is gonna have a monster of a time scrubbing that mess off when he wakes up.)

When he’s done, he tosses the towel at Luffy. “Have you been in bed all day?”

“I was told to stay away from the helm and spend a few days getting plenty of bedrest. Doctor’s orders.”

Franky stops cleaning and stares at Jinbei. “You’re actually following them?”

Jinbei looks thoroughly puzzled (and a little perturbed) at the implication that nobody else does what Chopper recommends, but Luffy cuts in before he can comment. “Did Chopper tell you to sleep more, too?”

“Nah,” Franky says, carrying Chopper to bed and tucking him in, “I’ve got too much work to do. From the looks of things topside, there are a few days’ worth of repairs at least. But first I gotta swing by the Aquarium Bar and fuel up.”

Luffy perks up. “Snacktime?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Franky expects a cheer or a laugh, but Luffy’s eyes just dart to Jinbei.

“I’m sure I’ll sleep easier now,” Jinbei says, looking faintly embarrassed. “And I have Chopper to keep me company.”

Luffy brightens. “Great! See ya later, Jinbei!” He calls, already halfway out the door.

Franky shoots Jinbei an apologetic look as Luffy grabs his arm and drags him away.

Even with the extra power of Sanji’s recipe coursing through him, Franky struggles to keep up as Luffy bounds out the deck, sing-songing something about rice dumplings.

Nami jolts away from the helm as they pound up the stairs toward the kitchen. “Jinbei, what happened? Did something—”Catching a glimpse of Franky, Nami shrieks. “You’re awake!” There’s a flurry of steps as she flies across the deck to greet him.

“Nami!” Franky smiles, preparing for a hug as she runs to him with open arms.

But at the last second her fists close and he takes a punch to the head instead. “Why did nobody tell me? And you were dying just this morning, so no more running around! Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“Good to see ya, too,” Franky grumbles, massaging his goose egg.

“We were all so worried about you!” (And of course, now Nami hugs him.) “You look awful. Have you eaten anything?”

“We were gonna ask Sanji to ration us some snacks!” Luffy grins.

“That’s not at all how rationing works,” Nami snaps. “We’re trying to save our food, not eat more! You’ve already had twice your ration today, so if you want anything at all for dinner, you’d better go catch it!”

Luffy’s arms droop until his knuckles hit the floor. “But it’s no fun fishing alone, and I’m hungry!”

Nami looks murderous, eye twitching, fists curling.

In the blink of an eye, Luffy is sitting on the railing, hunched over a fishing rod.

Nami turns to Franky with a cheerful smile (and it gives Franky whiplash, how fast her scowl disappeared). She takes his arm. “Let’s see if Sanji’s in the kitchen, shall we?”

Franky winces. She might be smiling, but the vice grip she has on his arm isn’t super reassuring.

It’s not unusual for Nami to be a little temperamental under pressure, but Franky’s never seen her this volatile before. If she’d smack Franky just for waking up without notice, then anything could set her off. Sticking with Nami guarantees Franky a few more lumps at least. 

So, Franky decides to take a page from Usopp’s book—distract and run.

“Oi,” Franky shouts, pointing past Nami’s shoulder, “that’s not what the bait’s for!”

Luffy, cheeks bulging, looks at Franky, betrayed.

Nami shrieks, darting across the deck to shake Luffy by the throat, “You moron! Stop eating that! How are we going to catch any fish now?”

Silently promising to make it up to Luffy later, Franky slips inside the aquarium bar. He’s gently pulling the door closed when his foot slips on an empty bottle, and the door slams instead. He freezes, waiting for Nami to whip the door open and demand to know why he’s sneaking away behind her back, but the muffled screeching doesn’t stop, so he assumes she didn’t notice.

Franky frowns, picking the empty bottle up. Who left this lying around? Sanji’s always been careful to keep his spaces clean and organized, so whoever it was that left this on the floor has quite an earful coming their way…

Franky looks up at the rest of the room. He swears.

The floor is covered in shot glasses, full of various colored liquids. There are hundreds, arranged in lines and rings, sometimes stacked on top of each other. They’re nearly three layers high the closer they are to where Sanji is camped on the floor,  bottles.

Sanji, pouring yet another mixture into a glass, doesn’t even glance up as Franky picks his way through the labyrinth of soda and glass. “Good, you’re here. I’ve never made mechanical fuel before, so I need you to tell me which recipe works best.” Sanji carefully adds another glass to the pyramid on his left.

Franky lifts his sunglasses off his nose with a thumb. He looks at the crop-circles made of soda. Then he looks at Sanji, who is pale and black-eyed with exhaustion and working on yet another concoction. 

“Bro.”

Sanji’s hands slow to a halt. He sets the bottle of vanilla flavored syrup down.

“What is this?”

“I’m making you fuel. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

“That’s not what this is. This,” Franky jerks a thumb at the ocean of shot glasses, “is crazy, and you know it, bro. What’s this actually about?”

Sanji says nothing. He takes the toothpick out of his mouth, dropping it in a small bowl with thirty or fourty other discarded sticks, and grabs a new one from the box by his elbow.

Maybe it’s the soda, giving him too much energy with nowhere to put it, or the leftover aches in his body from damages he needs to fix, or the state of poor Sunny, or all of the above, but Franky suddenly finds himself inches from the end of his patience.

“Sanji, tell me what happened.”

Sanji rolls his neck until it pops. “Do you want the soda or not?”

“What happened with the sirens?”

Sanji flinches—actually flinches—at the mention.

But Franky won’t back down this time. He needs to know.

“Alright, bro. I’ve been waiting for answers all day, but I’m at the end of my rope. Either you tell me what happened, or the old ship demolisher in me is gonna come out, and we’re gonna spend the rest of the day cleaning up glass.”

Sanji shoots him a don’t-you-dare-waste-this-soda glare that makes Franky snort. Because Sanji already wasted the stuff making a million samples instead of something for Franky’s tank.

“Last time I’m gonna ask, bro. What happened?”

Sanji doesn’t say a word. 

Franky grabs the nearest sample, gulps it down, and shatters the glass between his fingers.

Sanji teeth clench so hard the toothpick snaps.

There’s a moment when Franky thinks Sanji might snap, too—snarl and shout and erupt into flames. Franky can see a thousand arguments cross Sanji’s face, and he waits for Sanji to dish them out, to tear Franky apart and let loose whatever’s trapped under his skin (maybe filling in a few blanks for Franky in the process).

But Sanji just puts the pieces of his broken toothpick in the bowl and fishes another one out of the mostly empty box. “Eh. You didn’t miss much.”

Fine. No answers here.

But Franky’s out of patience and feeling petty, and whatever crap Sanji’s got bottled up obviously needs to come out anyway. So. He brings a fist down on a pyramid of samples.

Something crashes before Franky even touches the glasses, and his hand freezes, hovering in the air just above the top of the pyramid. Upstairs, Robin cries out.

Sanji’s already out the door, charging toward sick bay, and Franky’s only steps behind.

Nami and Luffy get there first, throwing the sick bay door open.

It takes a moment for Franky to wrap his mind around what he’s seeing: Brook pinned to the floor by his neck, a perfectly still and silent figure bent over him, covered in layers of arms that don’t seem to do a thing. It’s a moment longer before Franky recognizes green hair through the net of limbs.

Sanji tries to tackle Zoro off of Brook, but Zoro doesn’t budge.

Luffy’s already coated his hands in haki, yanking and clawing at the swordsman’s arms. “Let him go!” Luffy snarls (and somehow, Franky gets the feeling he isn’t talking to Zoro.)

“Brook!” Nami cries, rushing in to pull the skeleton away, but no matter how she strains Brook’s neck won’t be pried from Zoro’s white knuckles. Panicked tears prick her eyes.

“It’s alright,” Brook says, though the words are rushed and strained, “It’s quite alright everyone, I can’t choke if I don’t have a windpipe to crush, so there’s plenty of time and no need to lose our heads—even though mine is reattachable, yoho- hulgh!” Brook’s anxious laugh chokes off as little bits of the bones in his spine crumble and cracks begin to show between Zoro’s fingers.

“Stop!” Nami begs, “Zoro, stop! It’s us! Please!”

Zoro doesn’t show any sign of hearing her. His eyes are trained on Brook, pupils wide and fuzzy, he doesn’t seem aware of anything but the bones he’s crushing.

Franky finally snaps himself out of his stupor, charging in to help. If Luffy, Sanji, and Robin put together can’t even slow Zoro down—can’t even make him blink—then Franky doubts he’ll have anything to add. But if Franky can’t move Zoro, then he’ll have to move the floor.

He smashes both fists into the ground, hard enough to make the room tremble (apologizing profusely to Sunny in his mind) but the Adam’s wood doesn’t give. He tries again and again to blow a hole in the wood around Zoro’s feet, but all it does is scrape the finish.

(Well duh. She was designed to survive dropping out of the clouds on a regular basis. The Sunny’s too super to buckle from a little high-grade titanium jackhammering.)

Even so, the wood is groaning where Brook’s being pressed into it. Zoro’s lips pull away from his teeth in something that might be a smile—if it wasn’t so predatory.

Handfuls of petals are piling up between Zoro’s palms and Brook’s neck, but they never turn into anything, crushed as soon as they appear, until Robin jerks away, yelping and clutching a pair of dislocated fingers to her chest.

Brook’s movements have turned frantic. While Nami pulls his arms, Brook’s legs are kicking wildly.

And then, without warning,  Brook goes limp.

Sanji’s leg catches on fire, Luffy flips into second gear, Nami’s voice climbs an octave, but Zoro’s as unyielding as ever.

Cursing, Franky’s jams his fingertips at the cracks between boards—he’ll tear the floor up plank by plank if he has to—but his own damn workmanship is too clean and can’t get between them, can’t pry out the nails. He needs something thin and sharp—

Brook’s cane sword is propped against Chopper’s desk.

Franky isn’t the only one who reaches for it.

Zoro is stronger. After his fingers close around the handle, it doesn’t matter how hard Franky pulls or how hard he hits Zoro (aiming for his elbow joint in a last-ditch attempt to break his arm and make him let go). Zoro’s grip is iron-tight, and Franky’s fighting does nothing. Except pull the sheath off.

Steel flashes, arcing down toward Brook’s face.

But the slash never connects.

Nami screams, fist whipping out, cracking against Zoro’s teeth. His feet leave the ground before he tumbles across the floor. The sword spins away under the cot.

There are several seconds of nothing but heavy breathing.

When the others finally do move, Franky doesn’t. His head is buzzing.

He’s vaguely aware of Nami helping re-set Robin’s fingers, and Robin talking urgently to Sanji, and Sanji disappearing and reappearing with milk. Sometime after that, Brook groans, coming to. Nami talks softly to him while Robin checks the damage to his spine. Sanji hovers, fetching any bandages, or splints, or other tools Robin asks for.

Luffy is standing slightly apart from everyone. Just standing, face blank, fists clenching and unclenching.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Zoro struggle to sit up, and he finds himself stepping between Zoro and the others, walling them off. “Zoro? You back, bro?”

Zoro opens his mouth, but only black sludge comes out. A hand blossoms out of the floor, sliding a bucket into Zoro’s lap, and he heaves into it. He finishes with a full body shudder, spitting out the last string of black saliva and falling heavily against the side of the cot.

It’s strange. A few minutes ago, Zoro seemed impossibly strong and now he looks half-dead. He’s sheet-white, with a thin sheen of sweat on his face, and Franky never thought he’d ever describe Zoro as looking gaunt. But there’s no other word for it—he looks nowhere near as muscle-y as he used to. He’s thin and lean and he almost looks small.

(But he’s still more than strong enough to hurt someone.)

(If it had been somebody with a throat, Zoro would have killed them.)

(Zoro almost killed Brook as is.)

Franky hears Brook say something about panties, and sees Nami flick him. 

Zoro must have noticed it, too. He shifts slightly, trying to look at them. “Brook okay?” he asks, and it’s barely more than a low rumble between breaths.

“I-I’m alright,” Brook croaks.

Franky waits for a skull joke about having his bones rattled or something like that, but it doesn’t come.

Luffy walks out. 

Franky follows him, catching Luffy’s arm halfway down the stairs. “What was that?”

Luffy stops, but he doesn’t answer.

“Luffy,” he growls, “tell me what the hell is going on before I lose my damn mind.”

Luffy looks up at him, and Franky’s startled by the tears swimming in his eyes.

The door to the men’s quarters flings open, and Chopper staggers out, eyes wide and bleary. “Wha’ppen’d?”

“Brook and Zoro got hurt,” Luffy says quietly.

Chopper’s face drops into horror. Uncoordinated with exhaustion, he scrambles past them up the stairs. “‘M sorry, I shouldn’ been ‘sleep—”

He squeaks, when his foot slips and he tumbles back down. Luffy catches him, and Franky helps pick the reindeer up off his face, and his heart breaks (again, again, again) when he sees the way Chopper’s nose trembles. Chopper whimpers, wiping thick black goop from his mouth with the back of his arm. “I shouldn’ have been asleep. ‘M a bad doctor. I let everyone down, I’m a bad…” 

“Chopper,” Luffy says, pulling Chopper up to look him in the eyes, “my nakama are the best.”

“B-but—”

“You’re my nakama, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Aren’t you?”

Chopper closes his eyes, letting his head fall into Luffy’s chest. “Yeah, Luffy. I’m your nakama.”

“Of course you are,” Luffy nods firmly, like Chopper’s answer was proof enough for the whole world that he’s the best.

After a moment, Chopper lifts his head again, wiping tears away. “I’ll go check on Zoro and Brook,” he says, pushing to his feet and beginning to crawl up the stairs.

Franky intercepts him, because nope. Chopper looks leagues beyond exhausted, and if he’s struggling with stairs , then there’s no way Franky’s gonna let him go back to medbay right now.

“Franky,” Chopper whines, wriggling against his hold, “I gotta make sure—”

“It’s okay, Chopper. Go back to sleep,” Luffy says, and it almost sounds like an order.

Chopper stops, brow furrowing. “But what if—”

“They won’t die. She can’t kill them.” Luffy lifts his hat off his neck, setting it firmly on his head. “My nakama are the best. She couldn’t kill them before, she can’t kill them now. So go back to sleep, and don’t worry. When you’re ready, you can help, but we’ll take care of each other ‘till then.”

Franky watches Luffy’s face.  Luffy’s eyes are still a little watery, but they’re burning with certainty.

There are a lot of puzzle pieces Franky doesn’t have. He doesn’t know who ‘she’ is, and he doesn’t know what that black stuff is, or how the Thousand Sunny got so beat up, or why the crew is in such bad shape. Franky has no damn clue what the hell happened in the Siren Sea.

But Franky knows his nakama, and he knows Luffy. He trusts Luffy with his life—with his dream.

And really, as long as the Straw Hats can dream, Franky thinks they can figure any mess out. (Bouncing back is par for the course with a rubber captain.)

They’ll be alright. As long as they can dream.

Chapter Text

Jinbei pulls himself back from the brink of unconsciousness. His body barely feels like his own, clumsy, numb, and shaking as he pushes himself to his elbows. Through the muddle of pain blaring in his mind, he recognizes the smell of burning flesh.

“F-forgive me, Luffy,” he gasps, blood dripping from his lips onto the melted skin of Luffy’s chest, “I c-couldn’t keep m-my vow…”

He hears gunshots and swords and screaming and weeping. It’s the sound of war. The sounds of a slaughter he couldn’t prevent. Whitebeard, Ace…

There are footsteps drawing closer. He can hear the ice groaning, feel the wave of heat rolling in from behind him, smell sulfur and fire.

“You should have saved yourself, pirate.”

Jinbei’s arms won’t move to pick Luffy up. His legs won’t run. His body refuses even to crawl. All Jinbei can do is watch the admiral approach.

“The boy’s death would have been quick, painless, but you made me miss,” Globs of lava, dripping from Akainu’s fist, leave spikes of black rock and tendrils of steam in his wake. “Now you’re both suffering.”

Jinbei tries to shift, to put himself between Akainu and Luffy, but it jostles his wound and his vision sears white.

“Still trying to protect him?” Akainu doesn’t sound amused. “With that hole in your chest?”

Akainu’s so close, Jinbei can hear the magma boiling.

“He’ll die either way.”

Jinbei roars, his arms shake as he pushes himself up. If he can just make it to his feet, if he can just—

The corners of his vision flicker. He’s falling. He catches himself, curling back over his knees.

(All his life, Jinbei lived on his knees, sacrificing everything over and over—to save his island, his home, his friends.)

He strains until he feels blood gush from the hole next to his heart. But his body won’t move.

(He tries not to feel bitter, but it aches, seeing what little his sacrifices amounted to. Jinbei has given up his pride, his future, his friends, his freedom, his home, his dreams, his body, his blood, his soul— anything to protect the innocent. And none of it did much more than buy time.)

 Jinbei falls again. “I’ll shield him!” he cries, head bent against the ground.

(Now, here he is, practically bowed before the government that uses him like a toy soldier, that abuses his kind. He’s prepared to sacrifice everything he has left, and it still won’t be enough to spare Luffy.)

“No matter how many times you strike me,” Jinbei cries, “I will not let Luffy die!”

The footsteps halt. Akainu raises his fist, and a fleck of ash and fire sears the back of Jinbei’s neck. “What a load of crap.”

(It makes sense he’d die this way—in another wasted sacrifice.)

He braces for the punch that will end them both—

Jinbei wakes up choking on black sludge.

He jerks to his side, coughing and heaving until the muck comes out. It’s not much. Only a few spoonfuls. But apparently that's all it takes to leave Jinbei collapsed on his back, gasping for breath.

(Seven days since they escaped the Siren Sea. It feels like a lifetime.)

(He wonders how many more lifetimes it will take to heal.)

Jinbei stares at the bunk swinging idly above him. Moonlight streams in from the porthole window, bright enough that Jinbei might mistake it for sunlight if it were gold instead of silver. 

He breathes deeply until he feels his heartbeat slow to a reasonable rhythm. Sleep was supposed to help steady Jinbei’s heart. Chopper is worried about the strain. Jinbei is trying to follow Chopper’s orders, but…

He needs to find another way. There is no rest in bed.

Apparently, no one else can find rest here, either. It must be past midnight by now. But Jinbei is alone in the men’s quarters. Not that he’s surprised. He can’t be the only one having demoralizing dreams.

Closing his eyes, he spends a few more moments in sleepless exhaustion, before dragging himself out of bed and outside to the main deck. He hopes finding rest will be easier among the company of his crew, and he hopes Chopper won’t be too put out with Jinbei for not following doctor’s orders like he ought to…

All worries about his own health evaporate when he opens the door to find Zoro crouched on the lawn, shirtless despite the night’s chill breeze, and squatting weights as large as the Sunny’s figurehead.

Shocked, Jinbei forgets both a greeting and tact, blurting, “What are you doing?”

Zoro doesn’t bother replying, his good eye flicking over Jinbei and away again as he finishes another rep. 

“Ignore him.” Nami calls from the gardens above the second deck. “He’s an idiot.”

Her cold, dismissive attitude throws Jinbei for another loop. “B-but, how is he supposed to recover if he never allows his body to heal?”

“That’s a great question, Jinbei.” Nami’s eyes never shift away from Jinbei’s face, but somehow he feels like Zoro’s the one she’s watching. “The answer is he won’t. In fact he’ll probably make himself worse.”

Face impassive, Zoro’s eye is set on some point on the horizon. Sweat is pouring down his back, and with each lift his breathing sounds more ragged.

“Chopper and I tried everything short of drugging Zoro to make him stop and heal, but Zoro’s too tough to listen to his friends. He’d rather cripple himself than let us help him.”

The only indication that Zoro hears her is the slight flare of his nostrils while he doggedly keeps his rhythm.

Nami leans against the upper railing, still with that attitude that’s far too lackadaisical to be so. “I guess it doesn’t matter. So what if he hurts himself—he doesn’t mind. So what if we’re worried—that’s our problem. So what if he made Chopper cry—joke’s on Chopper for working four days straight to keep him alive, huh?”

Zoro grunts and Jinbei notices his body quaking under the weight of the barbells. The rhythm stutters as he struggles more and more to push himself out of each squat.

“Aw, look at him. Must be hard to be so weak. Maybe he should, oh I don’t know, go back to bed.”  

Jinbei stares at her aghast. “Don’t be cruel, Nami.”

“I don’t see why I should cut Zoro any slack if he won’t,” Nami bites back, watching Zoro from the corner of her eye.

Pressing for a reaction, Jinbei realizes. Harshness is the point—pinch the right nerve and maybe Zoro will lose his temper, maybe she can distract him from his self-destruction, at least for a little while.

But it isn’t purely altruistic. Jinbei hasn’t missed the soil on her hands and staining her overalls, or the way her arms are wrapped around herself like she’s physically holding herself together, or the way she’s turned her back to the withered remnants of tree branches poking out behind the mast.

“That’s enough,” he says, gentler, firmer. “We’re all struggling. There’s no reason to take it out on Zoro.”

“He doesn’t mind,” Nami snaps. “He’s been ignoring us for days. Why would he care what we have to say now?”

Jinbei can’t win an argument against Nami (he’s only met a few that can). So, he’s about to change the subject—ask her when she expects them to reach the next island—when Zoro lets out a strange noise.

His rhythm has come to a standstill. He’s frozen in a squat, head bowed in concentration, muscles bulging, drops of sweat dripping from his the ends of green hair. He’s practically gasping, and shaking so hard that the weights have started clattering faintly.

Alarmed, Jinbei reaches out to take the weights, but Zoro snarls at him.

“Let him crush himself, Jinbei,” Nami says, leveling a scathing glare at the swordsman. “Don’t you know? Strength is the only thing that matters, so if he can’t be as strong as he used to be, what’s the point in living at all?”

(That’s it. That’s the nerve she was looking for.)

Everyone on deck jumps when the weights hit the ground with a boom like cannonfire.

Zoro is usually difficult to read. His emotions don’t frequently surface, and Jinbei has only seen his face so open twice before (when Zoro laughed as Luffy took the helm and threw the Sunny off that waterfall, and when he screamed as Sanji and Chopper began following Usopp into the water).

But Zoro’s expression is clear now, and there’s no misreading it—he’s seething. Angrier than Jinbei’s ever seen anyone. He can hear Zoro’s teeth grinding, see the molten fire in his eye. Zoro’s fists turn white around the handles of sheathed swords, and, shoulders heaving, he takes three strides forward.

There’s a split second where Jinbei wonders if Zoro would hurt Nami, if he would draw his swords against her. But the moment Nami takes an involuntary step back, Zoro freezes. Something shifts in his eye, too fast to read, and then his face is stone again.

Sanji bursts through the kitchen door. His hands are covered in flour, but he looks geared for a fight as his eyes flash over the deck looking for the source of the boom.

(They’re all strung so tight, it’s a wonder they haven’t snapped.)

(Or perhaps they’ve already snapped, considering how scarce their laughter is these days and how much they’ve come to expect the worst.)

When Sanji’s eyes pass between Zoro and Nami, his expression darkens. “What happened?”

Zoro doesn’t answer, doesn’t move. His expression is blank.

“Oi, Marimo, what did you do to scare Nami?”

“It’s nothing, Sanji,” Nami says. “It’s fine.”

Sanji turns to her, picking her body language apart with his eyes. “Did he threaten you?”

“It’s not his fault, he was minding his own business and I was pushing him, I asked for it, so it’s really not—”

“Did he threaten you?”

Nami’s arms curl tighter around herself. “Let it go, Sanji.”

As if Sanji could let it go. He looks thunderous. “What were you about to do, Zoro?”

Zoro meets Sanji’s glare unflinchingly. And then, slowly, deliberately, he turns away.  “Franky,” he asks, “how long will the crow’s nest take?”

Franky, who is (or was) patching the last two holes in the deck, doesn’t say anything around the nails pinched between his lips. He just sets his hammer down and sits back on a hand, using the other to push up his sunglasses, scanning Zoro’s face.

“Zoro,” Sanji says, bitterly cold, “give me one good reason not to kick your head in.”

Zoro doesn’t respond, still watching Franky, waiting for the answer to his own question.

Sanji’s toothpick catches fire, “How dare you—”

Jinbei hastily steps in, “There was an argument, Sanji. That’s all.”

A floury finger points at Zoro, “He threatened—”

“He didn’t do anything,” Jinbei says firmly. “He controlled his temper. I trust you will do the same.”

Sanji stares at him, shoulders clenched, emotions warring in his eyes. The flaming toothpick flickers and flares, bending shadows across his face.

Eventually, jerky and forced, Sanji lets the toothpick drop and puts it out with a shoe. “This won’t happen again,” he says—a threat.

“It won’t,” Zoro agrees—a promise.

Sanji turns on his heel and stalks back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

A gust of wind catches Jinbei’s cloak, blowing it against his ankles. The night is only mildly chilly, but Jinbei still pulls the cloak tighter around himself.

“Zoro.” Nami stops, swallows. “I shouldn’t have picked on you. I just… I hate how… it’s supposed to be better, but we still can’t…” She stops again, wavering, and when she finds the words to start again, her voice is very small. “Please, Zoro. I can’t watch you hurt yourself.”

She waits for his reaction. For some indication that he accepts or at least understands.

Zoro’s eyes fall to the bar weights. He stares at them for a long time, lips pressed into a thin, grim line. Then, he asks, “How long will the crow’s nest take, Franky?”

Nami’s face falls. Slowly, she turns away.

Sunglasses still pushed off his eyes, Franky watches Nami slink back to her trees and curl up under the withered branches. Then, letting the glasses drop, Franky plucks out the nails out from between his lips and sets them next to the hammer. “I’ve still got a super long list of things to fix, bro. Could be days, maybe a week or two before the crow’s nest is done.”

Zoro stares, “Weeks?”

“Sorry, bro,” Franky shrugs, not looking particularly apologetic, “I know the wait’s annoying, but I promise as soon as Chopper clears you to train it’ll be ready for you.”

(Ah. An incentive to rest. Or blackmail, depending on how one looks at it.)

A muscle in Zoro’s jaw twitches.

Franky gives him a cheeky smile, “Anything else I can do for you, bro?”

Zoro’s lips curl back, but he thinks better of whatever he’s about to say, swallowing it down. He crouches, reaching for his weights again. His body trembles visibly, violently, as he lifts and settles them back over his shoulders.

One squat… two… squats…

Zoro is practically gasping for breath already.

T h r e e. . .   s q u a t s . . .

Jinbei can’t stand it. Zoro can snarl and snap all he wants, but if he isn’t well enough to stop Jinbei, then he isn’t well enough to be using these weights at all. He reaches out to take them. 

A hand clamps around his wrist.

Jinbei gapes at Luffy, sitting on the figurehead, arm stretched across the deck to stop him.

“It’s Zoro’s dream,” Luffy says.

“Captain,” Jinbei says, hurt blooming in his chest, “I’m only trying to support that dream.”

“I know,” Luffy says, but he doesn’t let go.

“If he continues like this, Zoro will prevent himself from reaching that dream,” he presses, waiting for Luffy’s expression to change, or for his hand to stop gripping Jinbei’s wrist like he thinks Jinbei would hurt Zoro.

Luffy’s grip only tightens. “I know,” he says, “but it’s Zoro’s dream. Only Zoro can choose how to follow Zoro’s dream.”

Jinbei studies Luffy’s face—the sadness, and despite it, the certainty.

Finally, he sighs, dropping his hands.

Luffy’s arm retracts, whipping back across the deck to his side. Slowly, Jinbei follows, knowing that putting distance between himself and Zoro is the only way to keep from intervening again. He sits down heavily below the figurehead, hearing his knees creak and pop, as he settles himself

He waits for Luffy to turn back around and face forward toward the sea, as he always does. But Luffy crosses his feet under himself, tucks both fists under his chin, and settles his eyes on his crew.

For a moment, neither one of them says a word, just watching Zoro struggle for six or seven seconds to stand up out of his squat.

“Sirens aren’t a very fun adventure,” Luffy says, suddenly.

It surprises a bark of laughter out of Jinbei (and he privately marvels how even now, Luffy can make him smile.) “Not at all fun,” he agrees, “but everyone is alive, and I’m certain that Chopper can help Usopp and Zoro become well again. Franky can repair the ship. We’ll be alright.”

Luffy doesn’t answer. His eyebrows pinch together, his eyes skitter over the deck, and he frowns.

Unease settles deeper into Jinbei's bones, but he tries to shake it off.

Of course they’ll recover. The danger is behind them now. They survived. All of them. It’s more than Jinbei thought possible. It took a heavy toll, but if this crew can handle the most dangerous sea in the world, then recuperation is a simple matter in comparison. It may be longer than they like and certainly annoying, but nothing is broken that they can’t fix, given time.

(…Right?)

Luffy’s frown lingers.

(As do the nightmares, the ooze, the weariness, and the gloom…)

Jinbei forcibly extricates himself from those thoughts. He reminds himself that came out here to sleep. It’s no good worrying while he’s tired. His emotions are pulled too tight. A few hours of rest will do him far more good than entertaining aimless fears.

He leans his head back, trying to get comfortable, trying to relax.

But it’s impossible. Jinbei doesn’t feel any more at ease surrounded by his nakama than he did alone. If anything, it’s worse, with the slow, shuddering clink of weights ringing in his ears.

(His nakama have never failed to help lighten his mood, but now it seems nobody knows how to feel light again. And that alone is more discouraging than the dreams.)

A door creaks, and Jinbei cracks an eye open in time to see Brook stoop through the sick bay doorway.

He studies the skeleton carefully. According to Sanji, Brook’s spine was practically ground into powder three days ago, but now Jinbei can’t see any evidence that Brook was ever touched.

(Jinbei shakes his head in awe. Brook calls himself a humble musician, yet he can somehow regenerate solid bone in a matter of minutes with nothing more than milk and will power! Jinbei sometimes wonders how he can ever measure up to such a remarkable crew.)

Brook smiles broadly, fidgeting in excitement, “Wonderful news, everyone! Chopper says—”

There’s a strangled cry, a crash as the weights clatter to the deck again, and then a thump, as Zoro’s legs give out, and he lands in a heap.

Franky is instantly there, tugging the weights off Zoro, and Brook flies down the stairs, reaching down to help Zoro up—

Zoro flinches.

They both freeze.

Eventually, Brook backs away, hand falling limply to his side.

Zoro shudders. His eye screws shut and he clenches his teeth, jerking and shuddering again. The third time, he can’t suppress it—he turns on his side as black muck forces itself out, making a shallow pool by his head.

Zoro falls back into the dead grass, and Jinbei sees a flash of the same molten fury from earlier.

The only difference is that his face looks paler, and perhaps thinner than before. But it’s… it’s not a trick of the light is it? Zoro is thinner, less somehow. The ichor is taking something from him.

The revelation puts Zoro’s near frantic efforts to build muscle into perspective. But as hard as Zoro tries, he can’t build himself up faster than the ichor tears him down, can he?

(So… what of his dream?)

“Zoro?” Brook hovers, unsure what to do as Zoro crawls to his feet.

Frany offers a hand up, but Zoro ignores it, pushing himself up and off the foremast to stumble away from them.

“Oi, Brook,” Luffy calls, “what did Chopper say?”

But despite the attempt to shift focus, all eyes remain on Zoro.

“I…” for a moment, Brook looks lost, stepping back as Zoro trudges past him toward the men’s quarters. The door slam makes Brook rattle. Long, bony fingers twitch restlessly at his side, but Brook has no instruments on hand to occupy them, so his hands slowly thread themselves together over the handle of his cane.

Throwing an arm around Brook’s shoulder, Franky tugs Brook into his side (although Jinbei can’t be sure if the gesture is for Brook’s sake or Franky’s), “You said you had good news, bro?”

Brook stares at Franky for a moment—perhaps he’d be blinking if he had eyelids. Then he straightens up, forcing a little bit of levity into his voice, “Er… yes… r-right. Forgive me. Chopper says that Usopp’s fever has finally broken, so he should be out of danger.”

Good news indeed! The collective relief is nearly palpable. Jinbei finds himself mirroring Franky’s broad grin, and even Nami perks up, leaning back over the railing to talk.

“He’s getting better, then?”

“Suuuuuperrrrr!”

“Yeah, Usopp!” Luffy cheers, laughing and leaping to his feet, stretching his arms out to catapult himself to the sick bay.

“Luffy, hold on,” Brook shouts, waving his cane frantically, but of course Luffy isn’t listening.

So it’s Jinbei who stops him, grabbing a fistfull of Luffy’s vest and planting his feet to keep them both from springing across the ship and smashing through Chopper’s door. “Luffy, Usopp will certainly need plenty of rest. Let’s let Chopper decide when the best time to visit is.”

Luffy droops. “Aw, he’s asleep? But doesn’t he wanna see us?”

Two of Brook’s fingers have begun tugging distractedly at the frilled cuffs of his sleeves. “He’s, ah, not asleep, exactly. But Chopper thinks it’s best not to disturb him yet.”

Franky squints at Brook. “Something the matter, bro?”

“He’s… very tired. As Jinbei said, I’m sure he needs more time to recover.”

The wrinkle between Luffy’s eyebrows has returned. “Okay,” he says slowly, finally letting his arms drop and retract back to his sides. “But he’s okay?”

It takes Brook a hair too long to answer. “Of course.” At the handful of wary looks, Brook amends, “Or, he will be soon. I’m sure of it.”

Something about the way Brook says it, Jinbei isn’t sure he believes it. But he can’t bring himself to press or argue. Usopp has improved. It’s good news. They need all the good news they can get.

Brook clears his throat. “You know, I haven’t played my guitar in days. Anybody up for a soul-rockin’ concert?”

Nami sighs, sinking down, leaning her head against the railing. “Not today, Brook. I’m feeling a little—”

“Dead?” Brook’s head tilts, until his spine clicks. “Me too.”

She huffs, and Jinbei can’t tell if she’s annoyed or amused.

Franky nudges him, “So, the dead guy thinks he can liven things up, huh?” 

“Of course! That’s soul power, baby!”

“Nah, there’s no way.”

“Yohoho! So cold!”

“Doesn’t matter how super the music is, you’d hafta change Nami’s mind before you could play any, and that just ain’t gonna happen, bro.” He shoots Nami a teasing look.

She rolls her eyes.

“It might happen,” Brook prompts, “right Nami?”

“No.”

“Please?” Despite having nothing but sockets, Brook does a shockingly good impression of puppy-eyes. “The show’s world famous, you know, and you’d get front row seats—free of charge, of course.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Nami says, pressing her palms into her eyes. “We are not going to have a rock concert.”

Franky snorts, gesturing around the deck. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s sleeping.”

She grimaces.

Brook quickly jumps in, “But if sleep is what you’re looking for I’ve got plenty of soul-soothing lullabies.”

Jinbei sits up a little straighter. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but he’d seen Brook’s music put a couple of bustling battleships to sleep. Surely, it was also capable of bringing the Straw Hats peace from the nightmares—at least momentarily.

By the expression on Nami’s face, it seems her mind is following the same lines of logic. “Get your violin,” she orders.

Beaming, Brook salutes “Aye, aye!” (and he only hesitates a heartbeat at the door) before sweeping inside the men’s quarters.

“Sanji!” Nami shouts.

The kitchen door bursts open, and Sanji looks a little wild as he jogs vertically through the air to the garden. “What happened? Did that Mosshead—?”

“Have you got anything in the oven or could you help me for a while,” she interrupts, blinking at him innocently.

Sanji blinks back, mouth gaping slightly. Suddenly, he drops to the deck and hurtles back into the kitchen. Jinbei is too far away to be sure, but he thinks he hears crashing and cursing from inside. Half a moment later, Sanji reappears sans apron and with clean, scrubbed hands.

“I’m always at my sweet Nami’s service!” he declares, twirling through the air to Nami’s side.

(Truly, Sanji is the most stout-hearted man Jinbei has ever known, offering to do anything Nami might ask without question or hesitation.)

“Great,” Nami says, letting her hair down from the long ponytail and shaking it out. “My head hurts from having my hair up all day, but I’m not finished working on my trees. Hold my hair off my neck, would you? And don’t block my moonlight.”

Instead of being affronted by such a menial task, Sanji crows, “My pleasure!” and graciously adds, “Would you like a massage as well? Or I’d be happy to braid your hair, or—”

Nami waves a hand indifferently, “Whatever, just keep it out of my way.”

Sanji coos something in reply, but Jinbei’s attention is diverted when Brook reappears with violin in hand. He tunes for a moment, and then begins the softest, sweetest melody Jinbei has ever heard.

The results are immediate. A few notes in, and he already feels his eyelids drooping. A few measures, and he finds himself beginning to drift.

But he can’t help peeking at the others. He catches Franky, already sprawled on his back, snoring, and Sanji (halfway through a big orange braid) nodding heavily, and Nami taking long lethargic blinks.

It’s working, then. He sinks back, satisfied, ready to doze off entirely. But there’s a small shuffling noise above him, and Jinbei finds himself prying his eyes open to look at his captain.

Somehow, Luffy is still wide awake. And still frowning.

“Luffy?” Jinbei asks softly.

“Brook’s violin sounds sad.”

Jinbei pauses, listening closely. The song sounds fine. Not upbeat, per say, but it’s not supposed to be, so is there anything wrong with the slower tempo? No, wait… he hears it, now. The notes seem to drag faintly. A breath too long, even for a lullaby, like Brook is fighting the urge to drag every note. It does sound a sad, even more so for how cheerful the song is trying to be.

Luffy’s hands curl. He slams a fist into the wood by his knees. “It’s not fair. She attacked Brook, even though we got away and she knows she can’t eat anyone from here and it won’t even help her. She’s just being… she’s just…” He punches the wood again. “It’s not fair.”

Jinbei stiffens. “She—the siren?”

“She’s so loud and she won’t shut up and she keeps yelling about how she hates it out here but she won’t listen when I tell her to go away ‘cause we don’t want her here either.”

Jinbei’s mouth feels so dry he can barely talk. “She’s still here?”

“I can hear her inside us—she’s so loud— and she doesn’t have to be here and she doesn’t even like it, but she won’t go away.”

Jinbei feels like his head is spinning. “W-what?”

“She’s too mad. She keeps saying she wasn’t finished eating.” Luffy leans forward glaring daggers at the little puddle of black by Zoro’s weights, “Who cares, you can’t eat them!”

 “You can talk to her”

“No, she never listens! All she ever does is yell!” 

Jinbei doesn’t have time to wrap his head around that before Luffy continues, voice falling into a growl. “And she won’t stop taking stuff. She took Franky’s cola and Nami’s trees and Zoro’s muscles. She hurt Sunny. She made Chopper cry, and made Robin scared again, and made Sanji fall apart, and she made everyone sad!” Luffy finishes, whole body shaking in rage.

Jinbei is… it’s an understatement to say he’s at a loss. He’s reeling, like gravity has switched.

The siren never left? They took her with them? Inside them? Like the illness and the nightmares and the ichor?

The slow, dragging tempo of Brook’s lullaby seems entirely at odds with the pounding of Jinbei’s heart. He tries to calm himself.

Surely, she can’t stay with them forever. Roger’s crew survived and…

Roger was sick. Plagued for years with a mysterious illness. Doctors couldn’t do anything. No medicinal cure…

But… i-it couldn’t be…

(Jinbei’s pulse is too fast. Chopper told him to rest and to not put any strain on his heart.)

He tries again to calm himself, screwing his eyes shut, letting Brook’s music wash over him. Eventually, he feels his pulse slow down.

(But, now he can’t unhear the melody’s wavering tempo, matching the wavering of his own heartbeat.)

When he opens his eyes again, his gaze wanders over the half-mended holes in the deck. He reminds himself that Franky built this ship and can surely rebuild, given the tools and the time.

His eyes linger on the shredded tatters of a Straw Hat Skull. Franky has fixed the rigging, but not the sails. They need more canvas to replace all of it. And, of course, they need Usopp in order to repaint.

Jinbei tells himself they all just need time. Each of the Straw Hats is remarkable in their own right. They were all strong enough to survive the storm. They will continue to fight and survive. 

Luffy pulls the straw hat off his neck, turning it over and over in his hands. “I’m scared,” he says, quietly enough that Jinbei wonders if he’s talking to himself. “She won’t stop trying to eat them. I know she can’t, but she’s still hurting them and I dunno what to do to make it stop.”

It’s true, and it’s awful, and Jinbei wishes he’d done more to prevent this—he should have pushed Luffy harder to leave the Siren Sea in the beginning, he shouldn’t have taken so many breaks and instead helped the Sunny escape faster, he should have paid more attention to the warning signs from Franky and Usopp, he should have…

But he didn’t. And he can’t change what happened. All the Straw Hats can do is move forward, until they leave the Siren Sea completely behind them. (He prays that it’s possible.)

 Luffy bows his head, hair hair forward over his face until Jinbei can’t see his eyes. But he sees Luffy’s lips quiver. “What’m I s’posed to do, Jinbei?”

Jinbei has never felt so out of his depth. He’s faced plenty of cruel and evil people over his lifetime. He’s even worked for a few. He’s seen how they rise to power and how, with the help of good people fighting back, they fall.

But this ancient, undying, monsterous thing… this isn’t a person with hopes and dreams and weaknesses. It’s Tsyruhn— black magic witchcraft, and familiar ghosts, and flesh-eating slime, and a void of endless hunger all wrapped up together. What is anyone supposed to do against that?

“I… I’m not sure,” he admits. “Tell Chopper and Robin anything that might help, I think. Look for a cure or a way to fight.”

Luffy looks at him, and Jinbei is painfully aware how empty that advice feels.

Perhaps Luffy can offer a few more insights but… nothing Luffy has said would really change anything. There’s something inside them hurting them—that much was obvious. It’s the siren. She’s hungry, she shouts, she’s mad. Does any of that bear any clues for a cure?

Chopper has been searching for one for a week, but there’s only so much he can do without more information. The Siren’s Spell (for lack of a better term) is such an unknown. Robin hasn’t found anything written about it in any of their medical journals or tomes. Of course, the only possibly useful information would come directly from Roger’s crew, since they were the only others to survive. But where would anyone find such records, if they exist at all?

Jinbei swallows the awful taste in his mouth and suggests, “There isn’t much else we can do at present. Let’s focus on getting to the next island. We can replenish our supplies and ask the locals if they have any helpful information. From there… perhaps we can begin looking for members of Roger’s old crew. Find out what answers they have.”

Hands still fiddling with his hat, Luffy tucks his legs to his chest and sinks his chin into his knees. “‘Kay,” he answers softly, 

“I’m sorry.” Absently, Jinbei rubs the melted scar tissue bordering the brand of the sun on his chest. “It feels hopeless right now, doesn’t it? But we both know it’s not. It never is.” He drops his hand, letting out a long slow breath. “Keep carrying hope, Luffy, for as long as you can.”

“It’s hard,” Luffy says, fingers clenching around straw.

“It is,” Jinbei agrees, thinking of thousands of fishmen whose hopes and dreams and futures he had often felt weighing on his shoulders. His eyes trail over each of his sleeping nakama. “But we already proved we’re stronger than she is. We’ll come through.”

For a while, Luffy doesn’t respond. At length, he nods. Wiping his nose on the back of his hand he sets his hat firmly on his head. “My nakama always comes through,” he says, over the last notes of Brook’s lullaby.

There’s a moment of silence—nothing but gentle sea-breeze and Franky’s snoring—while Brook stops to fiddle with one of the pegs.

Jinbei can see Nami, curled up under the branches of her trees. And Sanji, sprawled against the railing, face lax, breathing deeply (still holding Nami’s hair off her neck). So far, no nightmares. Good. Perhaps now they’ll get more than an hour of sleep at a time.

When Brook begins a new melody, Jinbei lets his eyes fall closed. He sleeps deeply and doesn’t wake until morning.

(But in his dreams he hears the hollow clink of weights.)

Chapter Text

It sounds awful. 

Brook has been at it all night, and no matter what he does his music is just… wrong. Like those trick mirrors that make perfectly normal people look stretched and wadded and warped—these perfectly good melodies sound sour, even though he’s playing the same notes he always has.

(Everything he plays sounds like that song.)

(He can’t get it out of his head.)

He’s playing his favorite run in Bink’s Brew, a run he’s played a million times. Halfway through, he stops. He replays it in staccato and then again normally, paying extra attention to his bowing. He stops. Re-tuning the e-string, he plays the run again, slower.

Still wrong.

(It’s looping over and over and over, buzzing in his skull endlessly. It’s enough to drive him mad… assuming he wasn’t before.)

Huffing, he flexes one hand, then the other to stretch his fingers even though it doesn’t matter because he can’t get muscle cramps without muscles. He tests the tension of his bow and coats the horse-hair in fresh rosin. He checks for cracks or water damage in the wood and then checks the strings because he replaced them yesterday and maybe he over-tightened them and damaged the bridge or…

Nope. It looks right.

Brook plucks a few experimental notes, pausing to tune the e-string again. When he starts over for the hundredth time, he tries to make his mind go blank. Muscle memory works well enough for a while, but then he gets to that run. He stops. He tunes the e-string again. Adjusting his chin against the wood, he plays the run again. He stops.

(Nothing muffles the echo of Her song.)

He changes keys.

(The sound of singing slips through the cracks between notes and clashes violently with his violin.)

His grip on the bow slips and a string screeches. He stops again.

Briefly, he considers smashing his violin to pieces.

Instead, Brook settles for stomping up and down the stairs. He hasn’t ‘stomped’ in fifty years. With nothing but bones weighing down his shoes, his footsteps are nearly silent, but what Brook lacks in body weight he makes up for in spirit.

Franky’s snoring stops, and Brook freezes, but thankfully, Franky doesn’t seem to wake. Brook blows out a breath, feeling some of his bad mood dissipate under sheepish relief.

Climbing the rest of the stairs more softly, Brook pauses at the top. He raises the violin to his shoulder and plays Binks’s Brew one more time.

(He doesn’t understand the words of the song, but whatever they mean, they’re seared into his eardrums permanently.)

If Brook had ears, he thinks they’d be bleeding. The music is too brittle in some places and too dark in others, but he’s checked his instrument a million times, and nothing should be wrong. 

Ah, but it’s not the violin’s fault that the violinist is strung too tight and feeling flat. It’s not the strings or the wood that can’t seem to play anything other than a dirge with finesse.

Sighing, Brook puts the violin away, hoping he’ll have more luck when he’s not so tired. The last time he slept was…

Days ago? Weeks? He can’t remember. He can’t even remember if he actually needs sleep as a skeleton, or if he just does it out of habit. 

Not that it matters either way. The crew is falling to pieces and Brook needs to hold them together. He has to remind them to take care of themselves, has to soothe their worries, has to do everything he can to distract their minds from wandering back to that place.

(Back into the dark, into the silence and the storm. With the singing that harmonized with every crash of lightning and beat in time to the percussive roar of water pounding the ship.)

He glances around the deck at all his sleeping friends. He’s glad they’re resting, but it’s strange to see everyone snoozing while the sun is rising. 

It’s quiet.

His fingers ache for his electric guitar, but it would wake everyone up. Besides it’s in the men’s quarters with Zoro—who clearly wants to be left alone.

Brook fights the impulse to go anyway. Zoro is probably fine, and even if he’s not, Brook’s constant pestering doesn’t help. The way Brook follows the swordsman around—standing just outside his peripheral, silently watching like an omen of death—anyone would think Zoro was haunted. Brook knows he should leave Zoro alone, but the ship isn’t very big and his thoughts run in circles and he always seems to wind up back in Zoro’s peripheral.

Or in the infirmary, to haunt Usopp instead.

But Usopp needs rest to recover, so Brook tamps down the temptation to peek in. Usopp was alive last he checked. That can’t have changed. Chopper and Robin would have told everyone if… if.

Brook forces himself to let go of the infirmary doorknob (which he doesn’t remember grabbing in the first place), and turns to look out at the main deck. Franky is sprawled on the lawn, no longer snoring like a motor-engine, but looking perfectly fine, nonetheless. Whatever the sirens did, Franky seems to have made a full recovery.

And Usopp’s fever finally broke last night, so he’s improving, and if Zoro is strong enough to lift weights, then he must be getting better, too.

(Zoro and Usopp are poisoned fine. Everyone’s poisoned fine.)

He presses a hand into his eye only to remember that he doesn’t have eyes. One might think that he’d be used to it, but some small part of him will probably always be surprised and alarmed about being a walking corpse. Even though he’s been dead longer than he was ever alive.

Brook watches his sleeping friends.

It’s so quiet.

He doesn’t mind a little peace and quiet here and there, but the bareness of his bones and hollow space under his ribs becomes much more noticeable when he’s left to himself and his memories of the past.

He hums to fill the silence, forcing himself to stop staring at the bodies splayed out around the ship ( sleeping, he reminds himself). He turns his gaze to the horizon and stares straight into the sun because he can, because his eyes don’t water anymore because he still doesn’t have eyes.

(And because sunrises are the single most beautiful thing in creation. After 50 years of darkness, he’ll never take another sunrise for granted.)

He cuts his humming off mid-note, squinting into the morning light. Sure enough…

“Land-ho!” he calls.

The effect is immediate.

Luffy leaps to his feet before his eyes have finished opening. In his excitement, his legs get tangled, and he slips off the Sunny’s figurehead, careening overboard. With unbelievably quick reflexes, Jinbei manages to leap over the side and catch Luffy before he hits the water.

“A new island!” Luffy cheers, swinging wildly as he dangles over the ocean by his vest.

“Captain, stop,” Jinbei pleads, hanging onto the side of the ship with one hand and struggling to pull Luffy up with the other. “You’re slipping. Wait until you’re onboard to move so much.”

Luffy isn’t listening. “This island will have good adventures, I bet. Ooh look, Jinbei, it’s got a forest! I bet there’s lots of meat there. You hear that, Sanji? We’re gonna have tons of meat!”

Brook hears a groan coming from the garden, “It’s too early.”

“I’ll make him shut up, Nami,” Sanji offers. Then, “Stop shouting, moron, or you’ll wake Nami up!”

“You’re the one yelling in my ear, Sanji!”

“Nami and Sanji are just cranky ‘cause they’re hungry,” Luffy informs Jinbei.

“Because you ate all the food, idiot!” Nami and Sanji shout in tandem.

Franky sits up, yawning and stretching. As cheerfully as if he’d been awakened at a reasonable hour by something other than a screaming match, he asks, “Did somebody say something about an island?”

“Brook found it! We’re gonna eat meat again!”

“Oi! I thought I just told you not to shout when Nami’s trying to sleep!”

“Sanji, you’re not helping.”

“Captain, please calm down—just until we’re aboard the ship.”

Brook points, “You can see the island just over there.”

“Super! There’s plenty of stuff we gotta restock,” Franky says. “We need timber, nails, canvas for repairs, plenty of Cola, a new logpose, bandages, IV bags for sick bay—”

“Meat, meat, meat!”

“You didn’t listen to a word Franky said!” Nami yells.

“Lots and lots of meat—”

“Luffy, don’t ignore Nami, too!”

“—to eat!”

“L-Luffy! Stop moving or you’ll—”

There’s a small splash, followed hastily by a bigger splash as Jinbei dives in after. And while Luffy is dragged back to the boat, coughing and spluttering through all Nami’s waspish complaints, Jinbei’s patient scolding, and Franky’s raucous laughter, Brook beams.

It’s going to be a good day after all.

***

It takes Nami and Jinbei a little over an hour to pilot the ship to the island Brook saw. The mainland consists mostly of a single, steep mountain. The peak is dusted white, but the rest of the mountain seems to see more rain than snow. The whole island is covered in thick, evergreen forest that only stops where the long rocky shore starts. The island is small—tiny, compared to any of the sprawling, populated countries that the Straw Hats have saved. There’s not much room for a city here. The most they can hope for is a small fishing village on the other side of the island. Brook can’t see any trace of smoke or light coming from any point on the mountain, but considering how tall and thick the trees are, Brook wouldn’t be too surprised if there’s a whole village hidden somewhere in the forest. He hopes there are a few shops, at least. The crew desperately needs supplies.

By the time the Straw Hats have weighed anchor, the sun has burned through most of the cold, morning fog, promising to make everything brighter and warmer as the day goes on.

Luffy is practically dancing with anticipation as they dock the ship, and the moment the anchor is weighed, Luffy’s arms stretch to catapult him up and away—only he doesn’t land on the shore like Brook expects, but flies the opposite direction, straight into the sick bay

“Usopp, Chopper, we found an island! Come look!” There’s a short commotion, and Brook can tell Chopper and Robin are talking, but he only hears Luffy over the top of them, “Oi, Usopp? I know you’re awake. Don’t you wanna explore? Usopp?”

Slowly, Luffy reappears, tangled in a mass of antlers as Chopper pushes him out of the room in Horn Point. Chopper is ranting—listing all the reasons not to disturb Usopp and all the ways he still needs to heal—but Luffy hardly looks like he’s listening. His forehead is wrinkled, and his neck is craned to look past Chopper.

“Is Usopp okay?”

Chopper huffs, “I just said he needs bed rest, and I don’t want him running around in the cold until his temperature is completely normal, because I don’t want to risk his fever coming back, and—”

“I’m afraid Usopp is indisposed for now,” Robin’s voice interrupts, “but I’m sure Chopper would love to go exploring with you.”

Aghast, Chopper whips his head around to stare at Robin, accidentally flinging Luffy off his antlers, shooting him overboard. “What? No! I can’t go, Usopp still needs somebody to look after him.”

“I’ll look after him. You should take a break. Besides,” she reasons, “you know better than I do what kind of herbs need to be found and prepared before we set sail again.”

“Well, I guess that’s true, but—” interrupted by a splash, Chopper gasps, “Oh no! Luffy!” and dives overboard after him.

After Jinbei (whose kimono had just finished drying) fishes them both out of the sea, Luffy doesn’t give Chopper the chance to argue. Nor does Jinbei get a say as Luffy latches on to both of them and practically hauls them away with him, taking off across the beach to explore.

Brook watches them go for a moment, frowning to himself indignantly. He would have liked to be invited, too, you know!

The sound of crinkling paper makes Brook turn, and he’s surprised to see Sanji unwrap a sucker and jam it in his mouth.

Ah. Must have run out of toothpicks.

“What?” Sanji snaps, and Brook realizes he’s staring.

“May I have one?”

Sanji blinks, taken aback. Fishing a sucker out of a sleep-wrinkled suit pocket, he hands it to Brook.

Brook gives it a lick. “Yum.”

Now it’s Sanji who’s staring, mouth gaping slightly open. “Did you just… but you don’t have a tongue… how—” he stops, vigorously shaking his head. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know.”

Hopping off the side of the ship and onto the beach, Sanji announces, “I’m going hunting. Those three idiots will be back as soon as Luffy remembers he left without breakfast.”

Huh, Brook thinks, watching the chef stalk into the forest. Sanji didn’t invite Brook either. Rude.

He stares wistfully at the mountain ( not thinking about that song), listening to the birds, and to the water lapping the shore, and to Franky and Nami taking inventory of all the supplies to restock.

Sanji comes back after half an hour, dragging a giant grizzly and, just like he said, the others show up not long after. Although, this time Chopper’s the one dragging Luffy who is apparently too hungry to walk… that is, until Luffy gets a whiff of Sanji’s Ragù di Grizzly and comes rocketing to the side of the pot, bowl materializing in hand.

Sanji rolls his eyes, telling Luffy to keep his hands off until the ladies have been served. But when he turns to tell Brook to gather everyone to the shore to eat, he happens to turn his back just long enough for Luffy to fill his bowl.

(Softie.)

***

“We found a market on the other side of the mountain—or where the other side should be,” Jinbei reports when Nami and Franky and Brook have all joined the feast. “With the back half of the mountain being so flat, it looks as if half of the island is missing. However, where the shore suddenly ends, there is a boardwalk that leads to a large village out on the water.”

“It’s so cool!” Chopper chimes in. “All the houses and walkways are made of wood so everything floats!”

“We didn’t get too close, but with a town that size I’m certain there will be a suitable market and plenty of shops for us to restock our supplies.”

“Perfect,” Nami says, clapping her hands together. “Franky and I have been working on a list. There’s a lot we need to get but with all hands on deck, I’m sure it won’t take too long to…”

Thunk.

Brook freezes, sure he heard something. He glances around the group, but Nami is still talking and nobody else seems to have noticed it. Brook tunes her out and holds his breath to listen…

(He doesn’t have lungs. Does he need to breathe? No, focus.)

There’s nothing but the sound of waves lapping against the rocks and birds chirping in the distance. It was probably nothing. Probably.

Brook tries to shake it off. Everyone’s alive and in no more danger of a sudden, fatal ambush than normal. So why does he still feel so paranoid?

“Oi, Brook.”

He jumps.

Sanji frowns, aborting whatever it was he’d been about to say—probably an offer to refill his bowl—and gives Brook a strange look. 

“Sorry, lost in thought.” Brook laughs a little self-consciously and quickly changes the subject, trying to make Sanji stop x-raying him. (After all, Brook’s bones are perfectly visible as is, Yohoho!) “Do you think it would be better to invite Zoro out, or let him join us in his own time?”

Sanji’s face twists. Not just with his typical irritation for Zoro—this expression is darker. Angrier. 

But Sanji turns away to ladle more stew into Luffy’s bowl, and when he faces Brook again, the look is gone. “Forget him. Actually, I feel worse for my sweet Robin. It’s a beautiful day, and she’s stuck inside slaving over Usopp while everyone else is eating—”

“I’d be happy to take her a bowl,” Brook offers, and if he sounds a bit eager, Sanji doesn’t comment on it.

“Alright. Good.”

Brook stands to take the dish, but instead of one, Sanji hands him three. Enough for everyone missing. Brook feels a knowing smile growing behind his eternal skeleton grin.

Sanji must see it too, the way he’s scowling. “Shut up and go. If it’s cold when you serve Robin, I’ll kick your teeth in.”

Brook grins wider, but hops to it, knowing better than to voice any teasing remarks about Sanji’s thoughtfulness. (‘Forget him.’ Ha!)

He flies up the gangplank and the stairs to the infirmary without spilling a drop. When he knocks, Robin answers the door with an errant arm. Seated by the cot that Usopp occupies, she’s reading. She looks tired, but considering how many all-nighters she’s pulled recently, she doesn’t seem as tired as anyone else might be. Robin is, after all, a master multitasker.

She glances up at Brook and the steaming bowls of stew with a warm smile. “It smells delicious.” She slips a bookmark between the pages, setting the book aside as extra arms take the two bowls from Brook. “What do you say, Usopp? Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

Usopp doesn’t answer. He’s curled on his side, turned away from both of them. His eyes are closed and his shoulder rises and falls evenly with each breath. But it’s obvious he’s awake.

Ever since the Siren Sea (was it only a few days ago?) Usopp talks when he sleeps. Even last night, after Chopper declared his fever had broken, the light sleep that Usopp sank into was muddled with murmured pleas and apologies. These days, Usopp’s mouth never stops moving unless he’s awake (when everyone knows it’s supposed to be the other way around).

But. Usopp is conscious and breathing. Brook watches the rise and fall of his shoulder, listening to the long, steady breaths.

“Brook?”

He forces himself to stop staring and gives Robin a sheepish smile, “I’m so distracted today—you must think I’ve lost my mind,” he flips his head open and flashes her his empty skull, “and you’d be right, Yohoho!”

She beams at him (always a fan of his gallows humor), and it makes Brook feel a little more like his usual self.

“I’ve got one more delivery to make, but if you’d like a break I’m always happy to take over for you.”

“I’m alright for now.”

“Really? You aren’t even a little intrigued by the new island?”

“I am, but after so much time at sea, I’m sure everyone is excited to explore. I’d be happy to join a later expedition,” she arches an eyebrow, “perhaps after some of our captain’s excess enthusiasm has dissipated.”

It’s true, Luffy was vibrating out of his skin this morning, and he’ll probably be a force of nature the rest of the day, too. Who can say what kind of danger he’ll go charging into. Brook isn’t sure he has it in him to navigate that kind of chaos today, either.

“Ah,” he says. “I hadn’t thought about that. Are you sure you don’t want a second pair of hands?” he asks, forgetting who he’s talking to.

Robin shakes her head. “Actually, I was hoping you would look out for Chopper. He’s been under a lot of pressure and I worry that if it doesn’t let up…” her lips pinch. “In any case, he needs our support. Any stress-relief we can afford him will help put my mind at ease.”

“Of course,” Brook promises, “I’ll do my best.”

***

Leaving the infirmary is far easier than it’s been for the last few days—maybe because Brook’s seen that Usopp’s awake, so it’s easier to believe his nakama’s getting better. (Mostly.)

However, entering the men’s quarters has never been more difficult. Brook isn’t sure how long he stands in front of the door, knuckles hovering over the wood to knock, but it’s long enough for the stew to go luke-warm.

He can’t decide whether to drop the bowl outside the door and leave Zoro in peace like the swordsman clearly wants, or if he should try to break the ice. Maybe he could apologize for always hovering and explain himself. But Zoro doesn’t like excuses—actions speak louder than words. If Brook is actually sorry about annoying Zoro with his hovering, then he’ll stop it, rather than intrude again on Zoro’s privacy with a weak excuse for past intrusions. 

Zoro needs time to himself. Brook should leave him be.

But Brook can’t seem to convince his feet to walk away.

There’s a thunk —like the one he heard earlier—and a crash , and Brook throws the door open before he knows what he’s doing.

Staggering away from where his weights have landed and rolled into the lockers at the far end of the room, Zoro sliding to the floor, shoulder pressed against the wall, back to the door. His face is sheet white, making the dark rings under his eyes look black. Sweat clings to the tips of his hair and runs in rivulets down his shirtless back. He’s clammy and his whole body is shaking, despite the fact that the room practically boils with body heat and reeks of sweat.

“Later,” Zoro snaps.

Brook doesn’t hesitate, immediately reaching to pull the door closed.

This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have barged in, he’s only hurt Zoro’s pride more, he shouldn’t have—

Zoro wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, staining his wrist black, and Brook freezes, leaving the door hanging half-open.

Zoro turns snarling, “Get out, I’m not in the mood fo—” His face drops as he faces the door, like Brook was the last person on earth he was expecting to see. His lips part like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

Brook watches a drop of black sludge ooze down Zoro’s chin.

(The sky was black. There was no way out. They were all going to die there, in the dark.)

Zoro staggers to his feet, looking strangely alarmed, and takes a step forward, but he stops just as suddenly.

Brook doesn’t move, rooted to the spot.

(Technically, they won the battle. They won, but it didn’t matter. The poison would kill them anyway.)

Distantly Brook hears his bones clattering.

(He never thought he’d see them puking up bile, pale faces more gaunt than before, dull eyes sinking deeper into their skulls as they smiled at him, thin and weary, pretending like this wasn’t the last time they’d play a song together, pretending they didn’t notice when one fell and then another until—)

“O-oi!”

Brook blinks. Zoro is right in front of him, hands hovering uncertainly in the air around Brook’s shoulders, not quite touching. Smears of black litter his arms.

Robotically, Brook shoves the bowl into Zoro’s hands and leaves.

***

“There you are! We were all about to go to the village but… Brook? Hey, is something wrong?”

There’s tugging on one of his pant legs. He looks down to find Chopper trotting beside him.

“Are you okay? Why are you walking in circles?”

It takes Brook a moment to register the question. He stops to think it over. “I don’t know.”

Chopper’s ears flatten with worry. “You don’t smell right. Do you feel sick?”

Brook stares at the little doctor, struggling to recover his thoughts from whatever fog they got lost in. “I smell wrong?”

“I dunno, you don’t smell like anything right now, and you’re acting weird, and I-I dunno. A-are you hurt? Do you need milk?”

Brook shakes his head, both as an answer and to help clear out the cobwebs.

“Are you sick? Does your stomach hurt…” Chopper’s eyes grow huge, and he’s starting to look downright scared. “You don’t have a stomach! But if you’re stomach is hurting anyway, what am I supposed to do? I can’t fix it if it isn’t there! I can’t—”

“Chopper, calm yourself,” Brook says, head clearing in a rush as Chopper begins to spiral. “I’m alright. I simply… I was lost in thought.”

“You were?”

“Of course. Why else would I be pacing like this?”

“Oh.” Chopper’s fur settles a little. “Okay. What were you thinking about?”

“Well…” He doesn’t think that explaining his overreaction to the encounter with Zoro will make Chopper any less anxious, so… “I have a song stuck in my head, and I can’t seem to get it out,” Brook says, truthfully enough. 

Chopper’s ears perk up. “You’re writing a new song? Can I hear it?”

Brook picks at the ruffles on the ends of his shirt sleeves. “Ah, actually I’d rather forget this one. It’s…” he flounders, unsure how to explain without giving Chopper any reminders , because if Chopper was lucky enough to get that hellish tune out of his head, then far be it from Brook to put it back in. “It’s not my kind of groove,” he says after a moment.

Chopper looks at him quizzically, but doesn’t get a chance to ask another question because Luffy’s shouting interrupts, carrying from the shore, “Are you coming or what?”

“Oh, right,” Chopper says, brightening. “I was supposed to invite you to come with us to that floating village to go shopping.”

At last, an invitation! Obviously, Brook would love to accept—only he doesn’t get the chance.

Apparently tired of waiting for an answer to his question, Luffy calls out, “Okay, bye! Catch up soon!”

“Where are you going? Get back here and wait for Brook and Chopper!” Nami shouts, chasing after him.

“You’ll ruin all Nami’s brilliant plans, you moron!” Sanji cries, quick to catch up.

“Bro, slow down!”

Brook watches them go with his hands on his hips. “They left us? How rude. Well, Chopper, I guess you and I can go on our own adven…” Brook trails off.

The space at his elbow is vacant.

“Luffy!” Chopper shouts, already on the beach, tearing off after the others in Walk Point. “Don’t go without us!”

Brook scrambles down from the ship and hits the shore running. “Chopper, wait up!”

***

Sometimes, Brook wonders why Nami bothers to plan.

By the time they reach the wooden village, Luffy is long gone and Franky is far behind. Brook and Chopper had left him in their dust on their way here. (“Oi, don’t look so smug! You try running with this much metal, then we'll see who’s slow!”) It would be a while yet before Franky got here.

And if Luffy and Franky are off the hook for all Nami’s shopping chores, then Brook doesn’t feel particularly inclined to sacrifice himself and Chopper to pick up the slack. Especially not when Nami already looks so annoyed. Besides, Sanji is with her, and he’d be more than happy to be Nami’s personal pack-mule, or step-stool, or whatever else she wants.

So instead of convening with the others, Brook pulls Chopper aside into the first shop he sees and ducks down to wait for Nami and Sanji to leave.

“What are we doing?” Chopper asks, cracking the door open to peek through. 

“Shh. Stay down.”

He glances around the shop, and thankfully there’s nobody around to blow their cover except the  the positively ancient looking man stocking shelves behind the cash register. Brook puts a finger to his lips (or teeth, since he doesn’t have lips, Yoho!) in a universal hushing sign, but any fears about the old man panicking or drawing attention are entirely unfounded. If the geezer notices the living skeleton and shape-shifting reindeer crouched on the floor of his shop, he doesn’t show any signs. Considering the way he knocks over a pallet of cans and doesn’t even blink, there’s a good chance the old geezer is blind with age.

Brook leans over to help clean the cans up before the old man trips and hurts himself.

“Won’t Nami be mad if we don’t help her with more of the shopping?” Chopper whispers.

“I doubt it. They ran off without us.”

“Oh yeah. Good point.”

“Besides, when Luffy shows up, he’ll probably bring plenty of trouble with him, so we’ve got to enjoy the village and relax as much as possible before then.”

“That’s true,” Chopper says, pounding his fist into his open palm. “Good thinking Brook, you’re so smart.”

“Aw, I’m blushing—or I would be, if these cheekbones knew how, Yohoho!” Brook chortles, finishing his stack of cans. The old-timer still hasn’t noticed them. Must be deaf as well as blind.

“I think the coast is clear,” Choppers says, peeling his ear away from the door and poking his head out to check. “Yup, Nami and Sanji are gone. So, what do you wanna do first?”

Brook hums, tapping a finger against his chin as his mind returns to the promise he made Robin earlier. “Did you give Sanji the last of your suckers this morning?”

“Uh-huh. Why?”

“Well, you can’t be a doctor without suckers for your patients, can you? It appears we have no choice but to visit a candy store and restock.”

Chopper lights up with a smile so big, it hardly fits on his face.

The sight makes something warm fill the hollow space behind Brook’s ribs and, for a little while at least, he forgets that he doesn’t have a heart.

***

Just as Jinbei described, Stump island has a very strange shape. The back of the mountain is a perfectly flat, vertical cliff with no beaches or forest at all. It’s completely at odds with the rugged landscape on the other side, and it gives Brook the impression that whatever god created the island gave up halfway through.

Where the land abruptly ends, New Diamond Docks begins, and a segmented boardwalk leads directly into the city. A long chain of wooden huts stretches across the whole diameter of the island and huts of various sizes spiderweb outward for miles on thousands of thick, wooden platforms interconnected by long floating walkways. Some of the platforms are crafted with clean-cut wood and meticulous workmanship while others are obviously nothing more than giant, uprooted stumps.

Since there are no guard rails or ropes around the buildings or running along any of the thin walkways scattered between buildings, maneuvering through town turns out to be rather tricky—especially for a pair of devil fruit users. It’s disconcerting, feeling the wood bob with every wave.

Chopper and Brook are lost for hours while looking for a candy shop. There are no maps, and while each  hut varies drastically in size, they are all the same shape and style, making it easy to get turned around. And if it wasn’t hard enough, the walkways and buildings move. Since everything is so loosely connected, any one of the huts can be unmoored from those around it and manuvered to a different part of town. Houses, shops, walkways—nothing stays put (except maybe a handful of huts at the center of town). Brook would’ve been impressed by how easily the whole town can be rearranged if it wasn’t so annoying. At one point, Brook has to jog across the water with Chopper on his shoulders when they’re stranded at a dead end after somebody stole the return path.

Clearly, the town wasn’t made with foot-traffic in mind, since most people are paddling tree stumps around like rafts, shipping goods and supplies between stores. Or maybe they’re just used to it, Brook supposes, watching the few dozen people milling around the walkways—none of which seem the least bit phased by the waves always bobbing underfoot.

Still, it makes Brook nervous, seeing a pack of small children running on a thin bridge and leaping between stumps with nothing to keep them from falling in the ocean if they tripped—though, being a devil fruit user, he was probably just hypersensitive to the idea of drowning.

At last, Brook and Chopper find a candy shop. While Chopper is busy ogling all the sweets, Brook asks the shopkeepers about the town. The girl at the counter tells him about the systems of fishing nets set up underwater, deep enough that the rafts float over them, but shallow enough to keep anyone who falls in the water from sinking too far down.

Somehow, that explanation doesn’t make Brook feel more confident about the set up. Five feet of freezing cold ocean water was still plenty deadly.

When he asks what people with devil fruits do, the girl looks vaguely confused. The boy sweeping the floor (who must be the girl’s younger brother, based on their resemblance), lights up at the mention of devil fruits. Completely forgetting his work, he chatters excitedly about all power users he knows—not many, as it turns out. In fact, everyone he names (except a fellow named Harry) works on visiting merchant ships, rather than living in town, which doesn’t surprise Brook. 

He also learns, from one of the boy’s rather long and distracted tangents, that Stump Island is famous for its squalls and that New Diamond Docks is famous for weathering them. The little chatterbox almost has Brook convinced that any one of the wooden huts, large or small, is tougher than a stone fortress. Supposedly, there was a record breaking storm two years ago that sank a marine battleship in the area. As for New Diamond Docks , there were a few houses on the fringes of town that got separated and carried out to sea, but those people made their way back within the week, unhurt—only irritated about the inconvenience.

Brook points out that if they’d built their houses on the island, nobody would ever float away. Both siblings stare at him like he’s the biggest idiot on the planet.

“If we put our city on the mountain, then where would the forest go? You can’t grow trees in the ocean,” the boy huffs.

“Well… I suppose that’s true.” Brook says. Their answer doesn’t seem entirely logical, but since he’s not exactly a pillar of sanity himself, he decides to let it go. Let Robin or Jinbei untangle the logic of this place. 

Swallowing a question about how many people have died from pneumonia or hypothermia or frostbite while living directly on top of the freezing, winter-island water, Brook instead helps Chopper pick out an assortment of candies for his office.

With a bag stuffed with sweets and a couple heaping stacks of cotton candy for the road, they return to wandering the town, this time in search of quality herbs.

Passing by a potter’s hut, they hear a shrill scream and the sounds of ceramics being smashed. Turning to look, Brook watches a long, orange sea king slither out the window, cackling gleefully.

No, wait, that’s Luffy’s laugh. And those are Luffy’s legs, running away with the sea king's head while the body continues to flop unhappily through the window until, eventually, the seaking’s squatty back fins tumble into the street, attempting to run to keep up with the rest of its body. (That poor monster is still alive?)

A sandpapery voice rings out, “Tell that clown to go the other way! Toward the mountain!”

Brook looks up in time to see Franky leaping off the roof, chasing after Luffy with a frumpy old lady sitting on his shoulder, clinging to his hair.

“Luffy, bro, did you hear that?” Franky calls.

Luffy—completely focused on running and hopping over gaps between wooden platforms—obviously didn’t.

Franky opens his mouth to repeat the instructions, but he’s interrupted by an angry chattering sound. A gigantic woodpecker appears out of thin air, diving out of the sky to swoop at Luffy.

“Luffy, look out!” Chopper cries, charging after him. 

The poor sea king’s eyes bug out in terror, but Luffy manages to whip its long body out of the way of the bird’s beak and talons. Then, as suddenly as the woodpecker had appeared, it shoots back up into the sky and vanishes.

(How nice, Brook thinks. If a murderous bird, an anxious fish, and a cantankerous old woman are all the trouble that Luffy has managed to dig up by now, then Stump Island must be quite a peaceful place.)

“I see you and Luffy found each other,” Brook starts conversationally as he jogs to catch up with Franky. “Are you two enjoying the island?”

“Oh hey, bro,” Franky says brightly. “Yeah, this place is super—”

The old woman’s hand shoots out, grabbing Brook’s afro to yank him backwards as something falls out of the sky, narrowly missing Brook’s head and shattering at his feet.

“Look out for feathers, boy,” she tells him.

Brook beams. He can’t remember the last time somebody called him ‘boy.’ It makes him feel 60 again!

“Pardon me, I didn’t introduce myself.” Brook tips open his head in salutation, “My name is—”

This time the projectile lands directly in his open cranium. His whole body rattles with the impact and he trips, falling flat on his face with an oof . 

“I told you,” the old woman calls over her shoulder.

Plucking it out of his skull, Brook twirls a thin glass feather between his fingers, looking at it curiously. But, hearing chopper scream something as the giant bird swoops again, Brook quickly lets it drop. Picking himself up and dusting himself off, he runs to catch up.

He’s just fallen into step with Franky again when he notices a blue light flash over Chopper and Luffy like an inverted shadow. He looks up. Squinting at the sky, he catches a glimpse of color pass over a cloud. With a start, Brook realizes that the woodpecker isn’t gone or invisible, but made of clear, blue glass—blending in with the sky.

“Glass-glass fruit,” the old woman says, catching the surprise in his expression. “He’s pretty harmless overall, but watch out for his beak. It’s sharp enough to poke holes in a diamond tree.”

“Diamond tree?” Brook asks. “Is that a—?”

Another glass feather bounces off his head, making his skull buzz.

“I told you.” Then, to Chopper, she shouts, “What are you doing? Don’t just stand there, pick Sherman’s tail up. Poor boy’s been through enough already.”

Chopper glances at the gangly sea-king, apparently named Sherman, who is huffing and puffing and sweating—which marks the first time Brook has ever seen a sea-king sweat, but it’s no wonder why, watching his stubby hind fins struggle and fail to keep up with Luffy, leaving his body to drag behind. Chopper scoops Sherman up with his antlers and flicks the hind fins over his head to sit conveniently on his back while he and Luffy run.

Unable to turn his neck and see Chopper, since Luffy is holding his head, Sherman just looks confused about why his body isn’t flopping on the ground anymore. 

“By the way,” Brook asks mildly, leaping over another gap between rafts, “what exactly are we doing?”

“Beats me,” Franky shrugs. “All I know is that Luffy caught the wrong fish, and now we’re looking for Momiji’s Bar to put it back.”

Brook blinks. “The sea king lives in a bar?”

“Oi!” The old lady shouts, “Incoming!”

The woodpecker swoops again, diving at Sherman’s long, exposed middle, beak first.

Whipping out his cane sword, Brook leaps forward, parrying the beak and clipping a wing with Soul Solid. The bird screeches and switches out of his glass form, shaking ice from his plumage.

“Don’t hurt him!” The old woman snaps. “It’s not his fault that Sherman looks so tasty.”

Sherman looks dismayed by that.

Luffy’s stomach growls, and he smacks his lips together, “Yeah, you’d be a great snack.”

Sherman’s dismay turns downright miserable.

“Turn left here, boys—no, I said left!”

Luffy turns so sharply it whips Sherman’s back end off the ground, Chopper and all, sending him and Sherman’s hind fins flying right into the woodpecker’s talons.

“AHHHHHH!” Chopper screams, all four legs kicking wildly.

“KAHHHHH!” the bird echoes, taking a hoof to the beak.

The old lady throws her hands up in exasperation. “What did I just say about hurting Harry?”

“Hairy?” Franky makes a face. “Who names a bird Hairy?”

From her seat on his shoulder, the old lady pinches Franky’s ear until the metal bends out of shape, making Franky yelp. “You got a problem with the way I name things, boy?”

Since Franky is starting to fall behind, arguing with the old woman while he struggles to bend his ear back into shape, it seems it’s up to Brook to save Chopper (and Sherman’s bottom).

Leaping onto a roof and launching himself into the air, Brook lands gracefully on Harry’s back. Reflexively, Harry turns back into glass, and Brook’s grace is immediately replaced with frantic scrabbling, because gripping smooth, slippery glass with smooth, bony hands is practically impossible. He scrabbles desperately for purchase, struggling to keep himself from sliding off and falling into the sea.

Harry—now burdened with a stubby fish butt, a squirming reindeer, and a flailing skeleton—flaps his wings wildly, but it’s obvious that the only reason they’re all still airborne is because of Luffy, yanking the woodpecker along like a glass kite on a long, orange, extremely dismayed string.

At least, that’s what Brook assumes Nami and Sanji must see when Harry and all his screaming passengers almost crash straight into their stump-raft.

Nami’s snaps at them, though Brook doesn’t hear what she says. Glancing back, Brook sees her point at them, ordering Sanji to change course and paddle after everyone. Brook can practically feel her eye twitching and fists clenching

He yells at Luffy to run faster.

Luffy does—straight into the next hut.

According to the sign above the door (which they narrowly avoid smashing into), it’s Momiji’s Bar. The place is huge, easily the biggest hut Brook’s seen so far. Big enough for Luffy to drag a sea king, a reindeer, a skeleton, and a giant woodpecker inside after him.

(Brook gets the feeling that there’s a joke in there somewhere, but he’s too busy not falling off a bird to come up with it.)

Sherman is so long that by the time his back end comes through the front door in a whirlwind of glass, wings, bones, and hooves, Luffy has already leapt over the counter and is sprinting out the back door. Which means that by the time everyone else enters, Sherman’s torso has already caused plenty of havok, knocking people down, sending drinks flying, capsizing a table or two. Then, when the rest of them come tumbling inside, they finish off whatever tables weren’t already upended, which seems to displease the dozen or so men in the bar. Some of their glares remind Brook of the way Zoro looks when his nap is interrupted.

But Harry and company are quickly being dragged over the counter and toward the back door, so there’s no need to worry about these men, because Brook is sure Luffy can outrun them…

Outside, Franky’s shouting, but Brook only catches snippets of what he’s saying. “—issed it, Luff… -o back! She… to turn around—!”

And suddenly Luffy is back inside. He shoots by them, whipping them around, and yanking them out the front by Sherman’s big, orange head. Harry doesn’t quite manage to stay airborne this time, and he, Chopper, and Brook end up flopping out the double doors on the ground.

“That’s the spot!” the old lady yells.

Luffy skids to a stop at the edge of the floating wooden platform, right in front of the water.

The pause gives Harry just enough time to regain his senses. He shakes himself until Brook loses his grip and clatters to the ground. Then, spreading his wings, he tries to ascend into the sky still clutching both Sherman’s back end and Chopper.

 “Oi! Let go, Bird-guy!” Luffy says, digging in his heels and pulling back on Sherman’s head, like playing tug-o-war with the most depressed rope in the world.

Harry lets out an undignified squawk, straining harder to get away with his snack, but Luffy holds his ground.

“That’s enough! Now let go before I make you!” Luffy shifts his feet and his grip, turning his hips like he’s preparing to swing them in circles.

“Luffy, wait!” Chopper cries, seeing Luffy winding up. Panicking, he shifts into Heavy Point to try and pry Harry’s glass talons open, but he only ends up jerking Harry towards the ground with the sudden weight change. Right then, Luffy twists his shoulders and swings, smashing Harry full-force into the broadside of the bar.

Poor bird never stood a chance.

Brook lunges to save Chopper from falling in the water, and they land in a jumble as blue glass rains down on them.

“You twitheads,” the old lady yells, “look what you’ve done to Harry!”

Dazed, Brook gets to his feet. He nearly slips on a piece of wing. He shakes a chunk of tail out of his afro and eyes the blue beak that’s vibrating slightly, point-down in the wood.

He grimaces.

Franky jogs to Luffy’s side to survey the carnage. The old woman leans down from Franky’s shoulder and pinches Luffy’s ear, tugging hard enough to make Luffy yelp. “I told you not to hurt him. Does that look unhurt to you?”

Luffy’s mouth flaps open and closed wordlessly. To his credit, he looks appropriately ashamed about poor Harry’s fate.

The old woman sighs. “Well, standing around like a fish out of water won’t do any good. Speaking of, put Sherman back already.”

Sherman lets out a deeply relieved sigh when Luffy moves to obey, bending down to toss the large orange head in the water. It takes less than a second for the rest of his long body to follow as Sherman eagerly dives down into the depths.

“Brook, Chopper,” Nami’s voice rings out, “are you two okay?”

Brook turns to see Sanji quickly zig zagging between shops steering a little stump-raft heaped with shopping bags.

Brook brushes off his clothes, frowning at several new tears in his pants and shirt, but other than that he seems unharmed. “No broken bones here,” he calls back.

There’s a rumble and commotion as the angry people from the bar demand to know what’s going on, or demand that Luffy pay to replace their drinks—which makes Nami bristle dangerously.

But the old woman speaks up before Nami gets the chance. “Shut your yaps, ya goons. I don’t know what you’re doing here anyway, drinking the sun away when you ought to be up on the mountain, chopping wood and doing your jobs . It’s the middle of the workday, for crying out loud.”

“We were celebrating my birthday,” one of the men with a particularly grizzled scowl argues, “and these punks spilled my drink.”

“Boy, I’ll spill your guts if you keep standing around whining and don’t get back to work. That goes for all of you. Stop blubbering and shoo. You can be lazy on a real holiday.”

“But Sugi—”

She levels a steely eye at the mob.

Eventually they relent, trundling off toward the mountain, grumbling about ‘the old hag’ under their breaths.

Next, the old lady rounds on Luffy.

“As for you,” she growls, “since you and your friends are the ones who broke Harry, you’ll be the ones to fix him.”

Chopper sniffles noisily. Turning, Brook is surprised to see him clenching a shard of Harry’s head between his hooves, eyes welling up.

“Chopper,” Brook says, heart aching at the doe-eyed look of helplessness that Chopper gives him as he bends down to meet the reindeer’s eyes.

“I killed ‘im,” Chopper says, voice thick with emotion. “I killed ‘im and there’s nothing I can do to fix it. What kind of a doctor am I? I can’t fix anything. I can’t…” His voice cracks and suddenly he’s coughing—bent double and hacking up a tiny glob of black.

The old lady makes a choking noise. Brook watches the blood drain from her face as she stares at Chopper with pure horror, lips quivering.

Luffy frowns, poking her with finger. “Oi, grandma, are you having a heart attack?”

She smacks his hand away. She’s sheet white, but her voice is crackling with fury. “What is this? Is this a joke? You think this is funny, pretending to cough up tar like he used to do?”

Luffy cocks his head in confusion. “Huh?”

“Don’t be coy with me. My brother died and you think you can make a game out of it? Who told you about his symptoms?”

“Woah, sister, back up,” Franky says with a warning tone. “Are you accusing us of—”

She punches him in the eye and scrambles down his back to stand on her own two feet. “Who gave you the right?” she spits, voice shaking, breaths uneven. “Who gave you the right to stand here on his handiwork and belittle his suffering?”

“There must be some misunderstanding,” Brook placates, “We know nothing about your brother. Our ship made land just this morning and we simply came to town for supplies after a rather harrowing journey—”

“Through the Siren Sea?” Her face twists with grief and she turns away. “ Nobody survives the siren sea.”

Chopper sniffles again. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

She cuts him off. “Leave the island. If your ship is still here in three hours, I’ll bring the town to torch it.”

With that, the old woman totters away, righteous fury in every wobbling step.

“No.”

The old woman goes rigid, whirling on Luffy. She opens her mouth like she wants to say something, but all that comes out are strange wheezing noises.

Luffy folds his arms over his chest. “We can’t leave yet. My nakama need help. We sailed through the Siren Sea and now they’re sick.”

“Sh-shut up.” The old woman’s whole body trembles with each gasping breath, and Brook can hear her lungs rattling. She stomps up to him, throwing a wrinkled finger in his face. “You’re l-lying, it’s not possible, n-nobody survives.”

The shadow of a smile passes over Luffy’s lips. “We did. My nakama are really tough.”

Furious tears spill over her cheeks, and she slaps him.

Luffy doesn’t react.

The woman looks like she has half a mind to slap him again, but she drops the hand, clenching her fists. Scrubbing roughly at the tear tracks on her face, she spins on her heel, storming away.

“Wait,” Luffy says, and Brook shivers at the whispers of conqueror’s haki thrumming beneath the word.

She freezes.

“You’ve seen it before. The sickness.”

The woman doesn’t move.

“She’s mad that we escaped her, so she’s hurting my nakama. She’s making them sick.” His voice softens into a plea, “Help me save them.”

The old woman hasn’t turned around. Her voice still shakes, but the anger is tinged with uncertainty. Breath rattling in her chest, she asks, “W-who do you think you are?”

“My name is Monkey D. Luffy. I’m going to be King of the Pirates” His jaw tightens and his eyes shine with determination, “But not without my nakama.”

The old woman’s eyes dart to Chopper, watching him sniffle miserably as he wipes flecks of black from his mouth with the back of his arm.

Her eyes dart to each of them in turn picking their expression apart, searching for some hint of deception. When she doesn’t find any, her face goes slack in shock (and perhaps horror). For a split second, the wrinkles fade and suddenly it’s easy to picture her as a young girl. The effect only lasts a moment, before time slides back into place and the full weight of the years sinks back into her eyes.

“You… you really sailed through? Just like Buloke?” She swallows thickly against several rising emotions, and very quietly, she murmurs, “Alright. Walk with me. Tell me what happened, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Chapter Text

The Siren Sea, 28 Years Ago

Strangely, it was Scopper who broke the silence. “You grew up near here, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Buloke answered, slowly. “On Stump Island. We’re actually headed straight for it.”

“Stump Island, huh? Why does that not surprise me?”

“Shaddap,” Buloke muttered. He sat up a little from where he was bent over his work and wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow. The breeze felt fantastic. He turned his face into it, looking out over the water that was resting nearly as calm and clear as glass.

“You must know all about the Siren Sea, living so close to it for so long.”

Buloke paused. He squinted at Scopper suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Scopper’s face didn’t give anything away about his sudden chatty attitude. If anything, he seemed genuinely curious.

Buloke picked his whetstone back up to resume sharpening his blade. “I know everything there is to know about it.”

“Like what?”

“Nobody survives.”

After a moment, Scopper sighed. “I don’t know why I expected you to explain more, shortfuse. Your brain’s as small as your axe.”

(There it was.)

“Hatchet,” Buloke growled.

Scopper snorted.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing about, Shades,” Buloke said, whetstone moving faster against the edge of the blade. “You need twice as many axes, twice as big, just to compensate for my skill.”

“Skill? Is that what you call it?”

“Eh? What would a brat like you know about skill?”

“Nothing—not by watching you, old man.”

“Tch. Must be blind, then. Which would explain those stupid glasses.”

Scopper scowled, setting one axe aside to work on sharpening the other.

Buloke waited, but there was no retort.

Was that all? No butting heads until Buloke’s temper blew? No pushing until Scopper caved and agreed to cross blades in another rematch? (Buloke had been practicing. He was going to end Scopper’s winning streak, this time for sure.)

Come to think of it, Scopper had been acting strange ever since they entered the Siren Sea six days ago. Not that Buloke was worried about the black-eyed jerk, only… it would be stupid to ignore any potential threats to the crew since they had no idea how people died here. The danger could be anything from sea-beasts to brimstone, and Scopper Gaban was an easy target—being so weak in the head, and all.

(Ha! That was a good one. He’d have to remember that comeback for later.)

“D’you think we’re going to die here?”

Buloke shook himself out of his thoughts and blinked at Scopper. “Why? Do you?”

Scopper didn’t look at him. “Hundreds of years, thousands of ships, and not a single person has survived this place. Seems arrogant to think we’ll be any different.”

The sky was bright blue. It was brimming with sunshine and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Nothing but good weather (and a bad feeling).

“Mmph.” Buloke inspected the edge of his blade. “Maybe you’ll die, but I’m going to live. I always said I’d become a legend, didn’t I? I bet they’ll rename the place after me once we’re out.”

“Name it after you? For what?”

“Being the first to survive.”

Scopper looked annoyed. “You’re on Roger’s ship, flannel-brain. Even if they did rename it, they’d name it after Roger.”

Buloke waved a hand, dismissively.“Roger’s gonna be the first to explore the whole world. He’ll have other islands named after him. I should get this place, since it’s closest to Diamond Docks anyway.”

“Like I said,” Scopper grumbled, shooting Buloke a glare,“it’s arrogant.”

Buloke set his hatchet down, bristling. “No it’s not. You believe Roger will sail to the end of the world, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then you know he’ll sail through every sea in between, or he won’t be the greatest pirate who ever lived. You think Roger’s gonna fail?”

“Oi,” Scopper snapped, and for once it was his temper that wore thin, “don’t twist my words, old man. Of course Roger won’t die. Not till he sees the end of the Grand Line. I asked if you and I were going to die, that’s all.”

“You wanna know if Roger would live while the rest of the crew died? Well…” Buloke mused aloud, scratching the scruff on his chin (he could never seem to get the scraggly stuff to turn into a real beard), “Roger’s a good swimmer. Even if something was tough enough to sink the Oro Jackson, Roger could probably swim all the way to Stump Island.”

Pausing, Scopper considered that for a moment before a smile broke across his face.“If that happened, he’d probably throw a rope around us and tow the whole crew along with him.”

It wouldn’t be surprising. Self preservation had never been at the top of Roger’s priority list.

“There you have it, Shades,” Buloke said, resuming work on his blade. “Roger won’t let us die here. We’ll be fine.”

Scopper shook his head. “You’ve got it backwards. It’s our responsibility to survive so we can help our captain achieve his dream—not make ourselves a burden to him. But I guess we’ve been dragging you along this whole time anyway, so you might as well continue being deadweight.”

“Oi! I’m not a deadweight! I’m the opposite of deadweight! I’m a lightweight! I’m such a lightweight that…” he blinked. “No, wait…”

Scopper smirked.

“Shaddap,” Buloke grumbled, scooping up his tools to find somewhere else to work. Clearly, this corner of the deck was already at maximum capacity for idiots… (No, wait…)

He got to his feet and stomped off.

“Oi, flannel-brain.”

Buloke stopped halfway down the stairs.

Scopper hesitated. “You’d say if something was wrong, right?”

“You think I’m too senile to take care of myself?” Buloke growled.

“Something like that,” Scopper said, blandly. He scowled back at the glare Buloke gave him. “Look, you cantankerous geezer, you’ve been acting weird for days and I just want to know if you’re okay or if I’ll have to dump your body back on Stump Island when we pass by.”

Buloke’s temper flares. “I said I’d live, didn’t I? So why wouldn’t I keep my word?”

(Yeah, why wouldn’t you? something whispered in the back of his head.)

(Buloke ignored it.)

Scopper sighed gustily, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “You’re impossible.”

“‘Course I am. All the best legends are,” Buloke said, resting his hatchet on his shoulders and continuing down the stairs.

“Arrogant bastard. Just… take a nap, or something, yeah?” Scopper called after him. “You’re crankier than ever when you’re tired.”

“Shaddap.”

Stump Island, Present Day

Sugi likes to think she’s a patient woman, but blast it if these kids don’t test her.

“What are we gonna do with Bird-Guy?” the stupid one asks, swinging the bag of all Harry’s glass parts back and forth from one shoulder to the other. The clinking-crunching sounds make Sugi grimace.

“Be careful!” she orders, “No sense in breaking him down any more.”

At that, the fuzzy one sinks further into his gloom, prompting the skeleton to sing louder.

“~Let’s go meet Master Cat Viper~”

The rational one groans. “Brook, why?”

“Because, Nami, ~He will know what to dooo-oooo~”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“Ooh, that looks like a cool place to bury him,” the stupid one says, pointing out a muffin-shaped boulder.

Sugi ignores him. Adjusting her seat on the metal one’s shoulder, she asks, “You’re sure your blond friend will be able to find us?”

“For sure,” the metal one gives her a big, red thumbs up. “It won’t take Sanji long to get all our new loot back to the Sunny. He might get distracted by Robin for a while, but as long as we’re with Nami, he’ll catch up, no sweat.”

Sugi isn’t sure why the girl is the only person in the group that the blond one can track (she seems like the least obvious of any of them), but Sugi doesn’t ask. She can sleep just fine without knowing any more about these monkeys than she has to.

So instead of asking foolish questions with undoubtedly foolish answers, she cranes her neck to look back at where the rational one has stopped to fix the strap on her high heels. “Better keep up, girl,” she says.

The rational one shoots Sugi a dirty look. “Are you going to make us climb this whole mountain? My feet are killing me. Why couldn’t we talk on the beach—it was private enough there, wasn’t it?”

Sugi rolls her eyes. “Harry doesn’t live on the beach. He lives at the summit.”

“Is that where we’re gonna bury Bird-Guy?”

“No,” Sugi says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’re not burying Harry because Harry isn’t dead.”

The fuzzy one perks up. “He’s not?”

“Of course he isn’t. Since when has running into a wall ever killed a logia?”

“But he’s in a million pieces.”

“Glass shatters, that’s what it does.”

“You’re sure he’ll be okay?” The fuzzy one asks, looking up at Sugi with big, hopeful eyes, 

She feels her annoyance draining away, and a little softer than before, she says, “I’m sure. He’s been shattered before, you know. Harry is sturdy enough that he’d probably be fine even if he was ground into dust. Really, the issue is that he’s got feathers for brains. He’s supposed to put himself back together when he comes apart, but unless somebody puts all his pieces in the right order for him, he’ll never figure it out on his own.”

“He sounds pretty dumb,” the stupid one chuckles, swinging the bag so close to the ground that it catches a stray root.

The sound of crunching glass brings Sugi’s irritation rushing back. 

Reaching down from her perch, she grabs his ear, pinching the lobe between haki hardened fingers. Stretching it like a rubber band, she lets it snap back into place with a crack that makes the moron yelp.

“For the last time, boy, be careful with Harry!” 

He rubs the red mark on his neck, cheeks puffing in a pout, but it seems he’s finally gotten the message through his thick skull, because he stops swinging the bag around like a moron.

Sugi lets out a breath of relief, but ends up choking on it as the skeleton suddenly leans into her face, filling her vision with skull and afro. “I couldn’t help but notice you’re missing several fingers,” he says, pointing to the hand that Sugi grabbed the stupid one’s ear with. “What’s the story behind that?”

The rational one whacks the skeleton in the head with the end of a long, orange staff. “Brook, don’t be creepy!”

“I was only trying to be polite,” he says, rubbing his goose egg, sounding rather put out.

“You can’t ask about her scars—you haven’t even asked her name yet!”

“It’s Sugi,” she informs them, still a little winded from when the skeleton upset the rhythm of her breathing. (Blasted lungs. Always such a pain.)

“Nice to meet you. I’m Brook,” the skeleton bows. “Well, Miss Sugi, now that we’re acquainted, perhaps you’d be so kind as to show me your—”

The staff wallops him again. “Absolutely not!”

“But Nami…”

“Oi, lady,” the metal one says, shifting Sugi’s attention from the bickering pair, “what kind of trees are these? I don’t think I’ve seen them before, but they smell familiar.”

“Shishishi, you sniff trees? That’s funny.”

The metal one snorts, “I guess so, when you put it that way.”

The fuzzy one looks confused. “Why do you sniff trees, Franky?”

“Eh… it’s more like I spent enough time around cut lumber on Water 7 to associate different wood smells with different types of trees.” The metal one sets a hand against the trunk of the nearest tree, craning his neck to look up at the tree tops. “But maybe I’m losing my touch. I’ve been racking my brain all day and I can’t pinpoint what kind of trees these are. They’re not pine or fir… maybe they’re some kind of sequoia?”

“Close,” Sugi says. “They’re Saisei trees.”

The metal one whips his head to look at her, shocked. “Saisei trees? A whole forest of them?”

Sugi can’t help puffing up proudly. “It’s the only forest in the world. Saisei trees don’t grow anywhere else—leastways, they don’t re grow anywhere else. On other islands they’ll live and die like any other plant, but here on Stump Island, they’re the hardiest breed in the world. No matter how many times you cut ‘em down they’ll grow right back from the stump, tougher than ever, living in open defiance of their cold, hard birthplace the same way the native people do.”

“So the rumors are true,” the metal one says with a note of awe that makes Sugi glow, “Saisei trees can grow as hard as diamonds?”

“They’d grow even harder, too,” she boasts, “if there was a woodcutter tough enough to cut ‘em down.”

Buloke was strong enough, once.

All at once, the pride deflates and there’s a lump in her throat. She mutters a curse under her breath—so many years, and it still hurts. She can barely stand to talk about him.

But she has to, she’s too old not to. Soon, she won’t be around to remember him. No matter what he told her in those last days… allowing him to be forgotten…. 

She won’t. She can’t let the last embers of his dream die with her.

So, even though it feels like tearing open a scab, she swallows the feeling down and says, “My brother could cut the diamond trees. Stump Island raises the toughest woodcutters in the world, and Buloke was the toughest of them all. He never met a tree he couldn’t cut down, and all he needed was his little hatchet.”

“I’m sorry,” the fuzzy one says, giving her a sympathetic look. Sugi’s sure he’d give her a sympathetic hug or pat, too, if he could reach her, way up on the metal one’s shoulder. “He must have been a great man.”

She snorts. “He was an idiot. Had a big ego and a short temper. He was insufferable, always blabbing about how he was destined for something great. Endless talk about how he was too good for this island, and how he’d take on the whole world someday.”

Grimacing, she swallows another lump in her throat. “Joke’s on me for believing him. See I thought… I thought that if he was stronger than the diamond trees, he had to be stronger than anything in the world.” She folds her hands together, thumb circling the stump of her left middle finger. “It was arrogant of us to assume he was invincible, just because we hadn’t yet met the axe sharp enough to cut him down.”

Stump Island, 57 Years Ago

“Timber!”

Buloke yells it more out of habit than necessity. Nobody else is out here.

The first time he chopped a diamond tree down, these woods were packed with people. He was twelve. It took him days, but there was always someone around to cheer him on, and when he finally brought the tree down, the whole town was there, screaming and jumping up and down.

The first in a century, they said. Wait and see, Buloke was gonna be a legend someday.

Now people called him a ‘work hazard.’ The other loggers steered clear of him. Called him insufferable. Complained that he started more fights than he felled trees—which couldn’t be true because he logged around thirty diamond trees a day. And sure, he bickered and brawled a little, but he never had more than a handful of friendly fistfights during work hours… Whatever. They were probably just jealous of his talent.

Bending down to chop the tree into more manageable pieces, he caught a glimpse of the sea through the edge of the trees. He froze. It always amazed him how big the ocean was. He could almost taste the salt from here.

But this was about as close as he could get. He promised Ma he’d always be there when Sugi needed him. The doctor said her lungs would get stronger as she grew up, but he must’ve been wrong, because Sugi’s lungs gave her just as much trouble at twenty five as they did at five years old. The doctor hadn’t stopped telling them to be patient, or that a change would come in its own time, but it was obvious he didn’t believe those things anymore either.

Sugi insisted she got better everyday. She’d started ‘practicing’ walking up and down the mountain while Buloke was at work, even though he’d chewed her out about it a dozen times already. Exercise never made her lungs stronger and, if anything, she was more likely to make herself sick pushing herself so hard. Sugi tried to keep the practicing a secret from him, but it was obvious—her lungs rattled and wheezed for the rest of the day.

One of these days, she was going to overdo it. Then what would Buloke do?

He pushed those thoughts aside, gripping his hatchet to chop the felled diamond tree down to size. He glanced at the shadows lengthening between trees. On second thought, he’d better get home quick, or Sugi would—

“Oi, loghead.”

There she was, marching out of the woods, hands on her hips, tutting at him as though he were the younger sibling. (Her lungs rattled like dry weeds from the long trek out here.) “You’re late again.”

Buloke’s temper flared. “No I’m not!”

“Yes you are. Two minutes late. I warned you what would happen if you were late again.”

“Two min—” He saw red. “Have you lost your mind, woman? How early did you leave the house to get all the way out here in time to scold me for two blasted minutes?”

“Tch. I knew you’d be late again. I warned you. I guess you’ll have to find someone else to make you dinner tonight. I already ate yours.”

He can feel the veins jumping out in his neck. “You blasted hag!”

“Serves you right for being late.”

He practically exploded, “TWO MINUTES!”

“Two minutes is still late, Buloke,” she said, unruffled as ever. “I warned you not to be late, didn’t I?”

To think the village called her the most patient woman alive.

Maybe two months ago she was—it didn’t matter if it was sunset or sunrise, Buloke would always come home from work to find her waiting with the table set and the food ready. And she’d never utter a single complaint, even if the food was cold and even if Buloke snapped at her because of it. How many times had he yelled at her for sitting there and watching the food cool like a moron—sitting for hours, hungry and cold and tired for no reason at all when there was a hot meal and a warm bed right there. But Sugi said it was bad manners to eat before everyone was seated, so she always waited. Buloke could yell until he was blue in the face, but all the while Sugi would look completely unruffled (like it was the simplest thing in the world to keep her temper in check), and she’d ignore every word he said, because the next time Buloke came home late, he’d find her sitting at the set table, waiting.

(Buloke had gained a reputation among the other woodcutters for being lazy, ditching work every day, leaving everything unfinished. He always abandoned the last tree half-chopped or lying uncut on the ground while he sprinted home at sunset.)

(It didn’t matter. The work could wait until morning. Sugi shouldn’t have to.)

But out of the blue, two months ago, Sugi stopped waiting altogether. It was like she’d lost her mind. She said she was sick of putting up with him. She threatened him with starvation for losing track of time. She forced him to sleep without a blanket as punishment for any minor annoyance. Once, she even locked him out of the house on a snowy afternoon because he ‘hogged the heat.’

Buloke had never been so tempted to sail away as he'd been that day. The sea was right there. All he had to do was carve a boat from any one of those saisei trees and paddle away…

But Sugi’s lungs weren’t strong enough, and he’d promised Ma.

So when Sugi finally poked her head outside hours later, she found Buloke right in front of the house, furiously stomping circles in the snow.

(She told him to stop shivering so loudly and brought him inside and wrapped him in a fire-warmed blanket and shoved hot tea at him. All the while Buloke shouted at her for locking him out, but Sugi never looked the least bit ruffled by all his blustering—no matter how angry he got.)

Buloke shouted at Sugi, hands waving wildly in the air. “So you ate my dinner half an hour early just to shove it in my face? Do you enjoy torturing me? Is that it?”

“I don’t enjoy anything about you, idiot.”

“Am not!”

“Are too. You’re so stupid it drives me crazy.”

“Then maybe I’ll leave!”

“No you won’t.”

“Yes I will!”

“You’ve been threatening for years, but admit it, you’re too weak for the sea, aren’t you?”

He roared. “You hag! I’ve wasted my whole life on this rock for what? For you?”

“Please,” she scoffed, “I’ve been taking care of you since the day I was born. I don’t need you. It’d be a relief to see you go, since you’re just deadweight anyway.”

Too angry for words, Buloke turned on his heel and stormed down the mountain. When he reached the beach, he hurled rocks into the sea, so far away he never saw the splash. He screamed and cursed for hours until his voice gave out.

(It was right there. The sea was right there. He didn’t even need a boat, a stump would do fine and he could leave this blasted island and show the whole world what he was capable of. Out there, he’d finally become a legend, like he was always meant to be.)

He stayed out all night, only trudging back up the mountain for work when the sun came up. And by the time he got home, the sun had already set. Again.

He was exhausted. His feet dragged with every step.

Sugi was sitting at the table, lost in thought, when he came inside.

She gaped at him—stared and stared and stared. Standing up so suddenly that her chair clattered to the ground, she slapped him in the face. And then, for the first time since they were kids, Sugi wept.

“I told you to leave, idiot! Why do you always come back? You were supposed to leave and become a legend—isn’t that what you want? I’m sick of waiting! I don’t care what Ma said, you don’t owe me anything. I can take care of myself! We both know you hate it here, so why won’t you leave?!”

Buloke sat down at the table. His stomach grumbled at the sight of the butternut curry. His favorite.

“Looks like I was late again. You said you’d eat it all if I was late again. Should’ve done it while the food was still warm.”

She scrubbed at the tears on her face. “Idiot. I don’t want your food. It’s not fair! If I were stronger, you could’ve left years ago. If I hadn’t been born—”

“But you were,” he growled. “You were born, and you’re alive now, and don’t complain about it, because I don’t want to hear it.”

Sugi scowled to herself, drying her eyes. She picked up her bowl and filled it with curry, and held it out to Buloke.

“I was more than a day late.” he said, eyeing the mostly empty pot. (She’d really thought he was gone, hadn’t she? She’d only made enough curry for one.) “You said you’d eat my portion. Or was that just hot air?”

Sugi simply set the bowl in front of him, scooped the few remaining spoonfuls of curry onto a plate for herself, and sat down to wait.

She wanted to wait? Fine. Buloke could wait.

His resolve didn’t last long. Around the third time he heard her stomach grumble, he caved, stabbing his spoon into the curry. “Stubborn hag,” he grumbled.

Despite the puffy red eyes, she looked smug as she mirrored him, finally taking a bite of her own meager serving.

Taking care of Sugi was like pulling teeth. How was anybody supposed to raise the most patient woman alive?

(But he promised Ma. And promised himself.)

(The dream could wait. Sugi shouldn’t have to.)

Stump Island, Present Day

Despite the fact that the reasonable one is wearing heels and the stupid one is eternally distracted, the group is making good time on their climb up the mountain. Even when they cross the snow line, their pace barely slows. The reasonable one trudges through mud and slush with no noticeable dip in pace, and the stupid one only stops to goof off in the snow whenever he’s waiting for the rest of them to catch up.

“Look, Chopper, guess who it is!”

The fuzzy one jogs ahead to look closer at the stupid one’s snow… thing. (It wasn’t so much a snowman as a big lump of slush, mud, and pine needles.) “That’s a person?” he asks.

The stupid one giggles. “Yup.”

“Is it… um…” the fuzzy one squints, “Sogeking?”

“No, it’s Usopp!”

“Oh, I see, that’s a nose. I was wondering why Sogeking had antennae.” The fuzzy one’s smile drops into a pensive frown. “Luffy, do you think Usopp and Zoro…”

“They’ll get better,” the stupid one says easily, sticking his tongue out while he packs snow together for another artless mush-pile.

“But what if—”

“They’ll get better, Chopper.” he repeats. Cheerful. Confident. (Wrong.) “We’ll help them, as soon as the old lady tells us how.”

There are suddenly several pairs of expectant eyes on her.

Ah. This is awkward. Because Sugi has no intention of answering their questions. Not until she’s certain about their story. She doesn’t distrust these kids exactly, but… it’s hard to believe anyone could sail through the Siren Sea like the Roger Pirates did. Sugi thinks she believes them—that they really did survive the siren—but until she can put the last of her doubts to rest, she’d prefer to keep Buloke’s last years private. Besides, it’s one thing to talk about Buloke’s life as a logger, and another thing entirely to describe his death. She just… she needs to be sure.

Sugi shakes her head. “It’s too cold out here. Let’s focus on getting inside. I don’t plan on having any difficult conversations until I’m sitting by a warm fire.”

The stupid one looks down at his sandaled feet, pondering his blue toes. “Oh yeah, it’s cold!” he exclaims (as though it hadn’t occurred to him until this moment), and he abruptly takes off like a shot up the mountain.

“Luffy, stop leaving us behind!” The skeleton calls, running on top of the snow in pursuit.

Sugi squints at the stupid one and the skeleton, already well ahead of everyone. “They’re going the right direction at least. As long as they keep heading toward the peak and avoid the creek, they’ll end up in the right place.”

The fuzzy one’s eyes follow his comrades as they run, but Sugi’s pretty sure he’s not actually looking at them, lost in his own thoughts. “Miss Old Lady?”

“Hm?”

“When your brother got sick, what were his symptoms?”

Sugi doesn’t answer. She already told them to wait.

“Please? I won’t ask more about it until we’re inside, but I need to know.”

Sugi tries to keep her resolve, but it’s hard with a big pair of doe-eyes silently begging for her help. Eventually, she relents. “I’m not sure what Buloke’s earliest symptoms were,” she says, stiffly. “I wasn’t on the Oro Jackson with him. The first symptoms I saw were fever and delirium. Nightmares. Lack of appetite. Hallucinations—a voice in his head. Emesis of black blood. Muscular deterioration. Oscillation between extreme fatigue and violent outbursts. In the end, there was severe depression. Self-loathing. Suicidal ideation. Apathy. Death.”

The fuzzy one grimaces, but adjusts his backpack on his back with a nod to himself. “Okay. Thank you. I needed to be sure that our infection was the same as your brother’s. There’s no point in treating the wrong disease.” He hesitates furrowing his brow. “It’s strange, though. The Siren Sickness sounds like it’s exactly the same as it was twenty years ago. Why hasn’t she mutated or evolved?”

He trails off into thought and for a while their journey is silent.

“So, I was thinking…” the metal one says, out of the blue a few minutes later. “It makes sense why Harry lives at the top of the mountain since he’s a bird, but I don’t understand why you live up here all alone while everyone else lives on the water.”

“My idiot brother couldn’t control his temper,” Sugi explains evenly.

There’s a brief pause.

“What kind of answer is that?” the reasonable one asks.

Sugi rolls her eyes. “Buloke couldn’t control his temper, which means he got into fights and created a lot of trouble.”

The metal one scratches his metal nose. “So… you built your house away from the town to keep him out of trouble?”

Sugi tuts, shaking her head, “Don’t jump to foolish conclusions before I’m done explaining.”

There’s another moment of silence.

“Well then? Explain it already!” he growls, giving the shoulder she’s sitting on a shake.

“Don’t jostle me, boy, are you trying to kill me? You’ll trigger my lungs, going on like that.”

“Something’s wrong with your lungs?” the fuzzy one asks, ears pricking up in interest and concern.

Sugi waves him off. “Just the way I was born. Nothing anyone can do about it, not without that newfangled something-something operation. But this body is far too old to recover from surgery. Better to let me live and wheeze as I always have.”

“Oh, I get it now,” the fuzzy one says, lighting up with realization, “I see why you built your house so far away. It would be horrible for your lungs if you lived right on top of the ocean. With so many people, and such cold water, and poorly ventilated housing, there’s a good chance you’d get pneumonia and your lungs might not be strong enough to fight the infection off. Meanwhile, this thin mountain air might be irritating to breathe, but it’s way less risky than living in town, right?”

Huh. Sugi had always thought that she and Buloke kept Koenigii’s house out of stubborn habit, even if the thin air and cold snow made her lungs sting. It had never crossed Sugi’s mind how much worse her odds were in town.

Buloke must’ve considered it, though. He used to bristle and growl any time she pointed it out, but he was always painstakingly careful about Sugi’s health.

“You’re probably right,” Sugi says softly.

“But that’s not the whole story is it?” the reasonable one says. “So what’s the rest of it?”

“Well, being so temperamental, Buloke never made any friends. Any time he tried, he always ended up in a fist fight instead. I wagered that he couldn’t keep his temper in check, even if his pride was on the line.”

Sugi squints ahead, trying to catch a glimpse of the stupid one and the skeleton. She sure hoped poor Harry wasn’t any worse off in the hands of that idiot. In retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have let them out of her sight. Or at least warned them to look out for the creek. 

“And?” the reasonable one prods.

Sugi blinks. “And what?”

“What does your brother’s temper and a wager have to do with living at the top of the mountain.”

“Oh. Well,” she starts, “he lost the bet,” she finishes.

“And?!”

“And what?”

The reasonable one throws her hands up.

Stump Island, 29 Years Ago

“Go away. I don’t need you to take care of me. Go live your dream before you’re too old to move.”

“Shaddap,” Buloke growled into his drink. Sugi’s pestering didn’t phase him anymore. He’d had more than twenty years of practice tuning it out.

“Are you waiting for me to die?” Sugi asks. “Is that it?”

“I hope you do. Then maybe I can drink in peace.”

“You've never done anything in peace.”

“Shaddap.”

“You can’t survive one conversation without getting into a fight.”

He bristled. “‘Course I can.”

“No you can’t.”

“Just watch me,” he snapped, slamming his drink on the table and standing up.

He walked straight to the other side of Momiji’s Bar and crawled onto a bar stool next to the stranger sitting at the counter.

“My name’s Buloke,” he said, sticking his hand out forcefully.

The stranger didn’t so much as glance at him. 

Buloke’s hand dropped. He shoved down the irritation bubbling up in his chest.

The kid was less than half his age, judging by the baby fat in his face. Maybe he was still young enough to be shy about talking to strangers. Or maybe he was sick—he looked pale. But he seemed to be here alone. Why wouldn’t he come drinking with his buddies? Maybe his ship stranded him on the island. That sure sounded like the kind of joke Mr. Itazura’s crew would pull to haze one of the new recruits.

“Sorry, pal,” Buloke said, backing up a bit, trying to make his voice a bit gentler than its usual gruff, sandpapery sound. “Maybe I got off on the wrong foot. Can I start by buying you a drink?”

Briefly, the boy looked him up and down from the corner of his eye. “Mm-no.”

Buloke’s eye twitched. “You’re at a bar and you don’t want a drink?”

“Not from you.”

Buloke grit his teeth against his flaring temper. “And why not?”

“You’re not worth the time.”

Maybe this kid had it coming to get left behind, the insufferable brat.

Buloke took a deep breath, trying to get ahold of himself (his pride was at stake, after all. And Sugi was watching. If he couldn’t handle a simple conversation she’d make fun of him forever), but when he let his deep breath out, the words trapped behind his teeth went with it, “Golden-eyed freak.”

Slowly the man turned, boring into Buloke with sharp, ringed eyes.

Oops.

Well. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“That’s an awfully big sword you’ve got on your back—almost makes your ego look small—but if it’s half as dull as you are, then you’ll have better luck cutting things with the sheath.”

The boy looked strangely predatory for a guy so young. “This sheath would be enough to chop you down to size.”

Smiling thin and harsh, Buloke said, “Why don’t you start with something a little easier, like the diamond trees up the mountain. Think your big bad sword can handle those?”

“I haven’t crossed anything I couldn’t cut,” the snob answered, dryly.

Buloke stuffed his hands in his pockets to avoid punching the kid. “Whatever. My house is just west of here, on the edge of town, a little ways down the mountain. Try cutting down the tree out front, and then we’ll see how that ego fares.”

Shoving off the counter and hopping down from the stool, Buloke stomped back to Sugi’s table.

She glanced at him over the rim of her glass. “I told you.”

“It’s a friendly competition, not a fight.”

“Admit it, you lost, idiot.”

“Shaddap,” he said, slapping a few beris on the table and storming out of the bar.

Buloke sneered. That golden-eyed brat might think himself a tough customer, but Buloke could see right through him. A sword that big gave up efficiency for the sake of spectacle, and with twiggy arms like those, the kid wouldn’t have the strength to dent the tree. Meanwhile Buloke had grown up practicing on that tree. After all the times he’d cut it down, it must be the toughest tree in existence.

Not that it would be any challenge for Buloke. After all, he'd been the first man in a hundred years to chop down a diamond tree. He built furniture out of diamond wood on weekends and carved diamond-wood toys for fun. It might take a few swings, but Buloke and his itty-bitty hatchet would slice through the tree easily enough. Ha, that would show that boy and his oversized sword. Maybe then the brat would remember his manners.

Only a short distance from the house, Buloke stopped short.

He wasn’t carrying Sugi. Did he leave her at the bar?

Buloke scrambled back up the path to town.

Stump Island, Present Day

“This is it,” Sugi announces as they crest the hill, coming into a snow-covered clearing. A little log house sits invitingly at the edge of the clearing, smoke curling from the chimney, promising a dry place to sit and warm up.

The skeleton is already waiting for them on the porch, holding what appears to be a human popsicle frozen to a bag of glass.

“I take it you found the creek, then,” Sugi says, blandly.

The skeleton looks a little sheepish. “I hope you won’t mind unlocking the door so we can thaw him out.

“That captain of yours is such a nuisance.”

“Tell me about it.” the reasonable one huffs. Then, with a wry smile, she adds, “But Luffy has his moments. Even if he is an idiot, there’s a reason he’s our captain.”

“It’s best if you leave Luffy-bro to his strengths,” the metal one suggests. “He’s great at making friends, and even better in a fight—especially if the other guy seems untouchable. But expecting Luffy to plan for the weather? That’s asking too much.”

The reasonable one glares at him. “You’re one to talk. You’re not even wearing pants, pervert.”

“You can’t expect everyone to understand the weather like you do, sis.”

“You don’t have to be a meteorologist to put pants on, Franky!”

The skeleton politely clears his throat, breaking up the argument. “Perhaps it would be better to continue this inside, once Luffy has started thawing. Would you be kind enough to unlock the door for us, Miss Sugi?”

Sliding off her perch and down the metal one’s arm, Sugi plops into the snow. “It shouldn’t be locked,” she says, waddling up the porch steps. She turns the knob but the door doesn’t budge.

Ah, the hinges are frozen again.

Coating her fist in haki, she smashes the door in.

“Sorry about that. Come on in. Oi, take your shoes off—my home is not a barn.” She shoots the metal one and fuzzy one a particularly stern look. They seem to get the message, quickly taking a few extra moments in the snow to rinse any mud off their feet and hooves while the others head inside.

The fuzzy one pauses after cleaning his hooves, cocking his head at the lone tree standing a few paces away from the house.

“That’s Harry’s tree,” Sugi says, catching the direction of his gaze.

The fuzzy snout wrinkles. “That’s a tree?”

The metal one squints at it, shading his eyes with his hand. “Sure doesn’t look like any tree I’ve seen.”

Okay, sure, now that they’ve pointed it out, the tree does look strange. It stands at the very peak of the mountain, at the very edge of the sheer cliff, exactly in line with the cliff face. Whether out of habit or boredom, Harry often tries to drill his beak into the trunk, but he only ever succeeds in nicking off tiny flecks of bark, making the tree look freckled. And since the needles from the lower branches have been plucked off to make Harry’s nest on the topmost branches, the tree looks naked, too, which only draws attention to the fact that it’s missing its backside (the same glaring, asymmetric problem that plagues the rest of Stump Island). Maybe if Sugi stood three steps to the left, the tree would look more dignified, but from this angle, the poor thing looks… well. It looks like half a stickman. Half a stick-man wearing a bad wig.

“Alright. So. It’s a little ragged,” she admits, reluctantly. “But it is a tree, and a very important one. It was Buloke’s tree before it was Harry’s—the very first one my brother cut down—and across five decades of Buloke practicing on it, it must have grown back nearly eight times. It may look silly now, but you’re looking at the strongest wood in the world.”

The metal one scratches the back of his neck with a big red hand. “Eight times in five decades? I didn’t know saisei trees grew so fast.”

“They grow back faster every time. The more experience a tree has with growing from the stump, the less time it’ll take to do it again. Obviously,” Sugi rolled her eyes. “That’s how learning curves work.”

The metal one stares at her, not sure if she’s joking. 

“Of course,” the fuzzy one says, pounding a fist into his open palm. “It all makes sense.”

The metal one’s mouth opens and closes twice before he completely gives up on Sugi’s logic and changes the subject. “So, if that’s the hardest tree in the world, then why does it look so beat up?”

“Buloke—the antisocial idiot—challenged an up-and-coming swordsman to a tree-cutting competition.”

The metal one’s eyebrows shoot up. “The swordsman cut a diamond tree in half?”

Sugi snorts. “The swordsman cut Stump Island in half.”

Stump Island, 29 Years Ago

It was just like when Buloke cut down his first diamond tree. The whole town was there. The townspeople were insatiable gossips. Word spread fast, and people really turned out for a spectacle since there wasn’t much else to do on Stump Island than sell wood, cut trees, and watch them grow again. Besides, on a beautiful afternoon like this, why not take a few minutes to watch some upstart swordslinger get his butt handed to him by a lump of wood?

“Go ahead.” Buloke gestured to the tree. “Have at.”

There were a few low chuckles among the crowd as the swordsman stepped forward to survey the tree. Pulling a tiny dagger from the cross around his neck, he stabbed it into the trunk. Or tried to—it didn’t scratch the surface. The swordsman narrowed his eyes.

“What’s the matter, boy?” Buloke called. “Is its bark worse than your bite?”

The swordsman turned slightly, golden eyes glancing between the grinning loggers, whispering shopkeepers, and snickering children. Sheathing his dagger, he drew the enormous sword from his back. Taking his stance, the swordsman dug his feet into the snow and swung.

The blade bounced off, harmlessly.

“Are you sure you’re using the sharp end?” one of the loggers laughed.

The swordsman swung again, chipping the bark.

Buloke frowned. Maybe the boy had some strength after all—that was quite a hit against a tree exponentially harder than diamond.

Again and again, the swordsman slashed at the tree and slowly but surely, Buloke saw that little chip become a dent, and that dent become a crack, and that crack become a sliver. It took thirty strikes, but that twig-armed swordsman had actually made a cut—it was no longer or deeper than one of Buloke’s fingers, but it was visible damage. Give the kid enough time, and he could probably whittle his way through in only a matter of days.

(That would make this swordsman the second in a century to cut a diamond tree down, and not just any diamond tree, but the hardest one in the world. This guy would be a legend for sure someday. )

(Maybe he already was.)

Buloke clenched his jaw.

“Don’t forget to call ‘timber’ when it comes down in a few years,” another one of the loggers taunted.

The swordsman stopped. Panting, he wiped a drop of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He stared at his hand for a moment, surprised. And then, he smiled.

“I was wrong,” the swordsman said. “This wasn’t a waste of my time after all.”

He crouched low to the ground. For a moment, Buloke wondered if he’d collapsed from exhaustion, but then, the swordsman leapt into the air. The boy looked like he was floating more than anything, weightless, like he’d left behind his gravity. Then, gripping his sword in both hands, he brought it down on the uppermost branches of the tree.

Somehow, Buloke felt the man’s sword change—the same way he’d often felt his hatchet change at the moment of impact with one of the other diamond trees. Except, this change was so visceral that Buloke saw the difference. It was only a flicker, but for a split second, the blade looked black.

The sword connected with the tree so hard it created a shockwave that snapped half the branches off without the blade ever touching them. Slowly, the giant sword began to slide downward through the trunk, gaining speed as it went. 

The swordsman and his sword hit the ground at the same time.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the tree began to part, one side curling away from the other—as though it were nothing but a split hair.

The island groaned. It rumbled. And then it parted. The ground shook so hard, it completely uprooted a dozen saisei trees. Buloke watched the other side of the mountain shift away, sink backward, and fall. It crumbled into rubble—into dust— collapsing on top of itself until it caved into the sea, where the waves crushed and swallowed the peices.

Buloke stared at the smashed branches and splintered tree trunks floating in the roiling water, and among the trees there were wooden planks—debris from the village of Diamond Docks.

Gone. Wiped off the face of the earth with a single sword stroke.

Every person on the island stood at the edge of that brand new cliff and stared slack-jawed, straight down into the sea. Even the swordsman looked surprised.

Panting, gasping for breath, the boy mopped a sheen of sweat from his brow. He glanced at the diamond tree’s remains, one perfect half, and smiled once more. Sheathing his sword, he turned to look back at the gaping crowd.

“Timber,” he said.

Stump Island, Present Day

“The whole island?” The fuzzy one gapes at her. “Somebody cut an entire island in half? What happened to all the people?”

Sugi shrugs. “They were fine.”

“But… but… the whole village…”

“It was like a holiday. The whole town shut down and came to watch that swordsman make a fool of himself—but he ended up making fools out of us.”

“Nobody died? Nobody at all?”

“Well… Harry’s grandma died. She was nesting in one of the upper branches when it got blown to bits.”

“But what about the old people a-and the sick people, a-and—”

“There’s not a single person on this island that would miss a spectacle like that. Not for anything.” Sugi says, darkly, “If you’re too sick to gossip, then there’s no point in living at all.”

The metal one bursts out laughing.

“WHAT?!” the fuzzy one screams, eyes bugging out of his head. Grabbing her by her coat collar, he shakes her furiously. “What is wrong with you? Is that how little you value life?”

Sugi opens her mouth to tell him off for being so rough, but all words disappear as, before her eyes, the fuzzy one grows to three times his size.

“Just die if you can’t gossip—how callous can you be? You can’t measure the worth of a life like that! You can’t live and die for something so petty! That’s crazy!”

Sugi waits for the metal one to intervene, but he’s apparently too busy guffawing to help.

“What are you laughing about?” the fuzzy one demands, slugging him with a giant furry fist. “It’s not funny, treating people’s lives flippantly!”

Bruised, the metal one schools his face, hiding the last of his laughter behind a couple coughs. “Sorry, bro, you’re right. They should value life more. It’s lucky everyone was alright, though I’m sure it must have taken a long time to rebuild.”

“A couple weeks,” Sugi says. “It took Buloke a couple weeks to build New Diamond Docks.”

 “Are you saying your brother built that whole town himself?” the fuzzy one asks, still holding Sugi by her coat collar.

She nods. “Buloke held himself responsible for what happened to the village. To replace all the homes that were lost, he carved nearly a hundred diamond-wood huts, working night and day without stopping.”

It’s not quite true—Buloke took a break each day at sunset. Just long enough to eat dinner with Sugi. (The idiot wouldn’t have eaten a blasted thing if Sugi hadn’t threatened to starve right alongside him.)

“At the end of the week, Buloke collapsed from pure exhaustion, sleeping for two days straight. But the moment he was awake again, he went right back to work carving furniture—” she stops, as her coat squeezes her throat, making her lungs ache from the constricted air-flow. 

Scowling irritably at the fuzzy one, she growls, “Are you going to put me down, boy, or  are you planning to dangle me like this forever?”

“Oh, right,” he says, sheepishly setting her down and shrinking back to his original form. “Sorry.”

Sugi straightens her coat out, dusting the flannel off and grumbling under her breath. 

The metal one frowns. “What happened to the swordsman?”

“He sailed away. Carved a raft out of diamond wood and left.”

“Nobody stopped him?”

Sugi gives him a look.

The metal one’s face wrinkles. “Yeah, guess not.”

“Besides,” Sugi admits, “it wasn’t really his fault. We brought it on ourselves, setting the swordsman up to fail. He obviously never meant to destroy the island. I doubt he was pushed to the upper limits of his power often enough to know how to control his full strength—though I’m sure it’s a different story now, since he’s had a couple decades to perfect his practice.”

“That swordsman…” The metal one hesitates. “His name wouldn’t happen to be Dracule Mihawk, would it?”

“Actually, yes,” Sugi answers, surprised.

The swordsman hadn’t told anyone in the village his name—they only found it out much later when somebody recognized him in a wanted poster. After that Momiji kept all of Mihawk’s bounties on a wall in his bar so everyone could keep track of his career.

(Not that there were many updates. For a long time the swordsman was a warlord, though lately it looked like he was working for some kind of circus? What a strange, unfathomable man.)

“How did you know it was him?” Sugi asks.

 Peering over his sunglasses, the metal one eyes the remaining half of Harry’s tree. “Who else could it be?” He takes a step closer to the edge and leans over, looking down the sheer cliff at the town bobbing in the sea, thousands of feet below. He whistles lowly. “Zoro’s sure got his work cut out for him.”

The fuzzy one’s ears flatten. “Guess that’s why he won’t stop training.”

The metal one eyes his friend, and Sugi can practically see the gears turning in his mind, mulling over the fuzzy one’s bleak mood. Pensively, he says, “Oi, Sugi, you said saisei trees can regrow as many times as they’re cut?”

“Yes.”

“Even this one?”

 “No.”

“Why?”

Sugi squints up the metal one suspiciously. His casually curious tone doesn’t fool Sugi in the least. There’s weight and direction behind his questions now, so obviously, the metal one is going somewhere with this. Sugi’s not sure where, and not familiar enough with him to trust it, but with her interest outweighing her suspicion, she answers anyway. “A tree can’t grow from nothing, boy. If its stump and roots are destroyed, the tree can’t come back.” 

Actually, pulling out the stump is an essential part of the loggers’ work for exactly that reason. If the loggers never removed the stumps, every saisei tree on the island would be too hard to cut. So, once a tree has been cut down four or five times, the stump is removed and hauled down to the ocean to become a part of New Diamond Docks, and a new tree is planted in its place.

The metal one gestures at Harry’s tree. “So, that tree is already dead?”

“The tree was cut lengthwise,” Sugi says, pressing her palm against the bark. Her hand moves across the surface until she feels the dents that Buloke made during that final year of stubborn, endless training.

(She takes comfort in the fact that they’re still there, glad that Buloke left a lasting mark somewhere.)

Sugi shakes her head to clear it of maudlin thoughts. “The remaining half of the tree is still alive, since it still has roots, but the other half will never grow back.”

“Okay, the missing half is gone for good. Makes sense. But,” the metal one persists, “what if the other half was cut down to the stump? What then?”

“I… I don’t know.” Sugi’s eyebrows furrow in thought. “It’s never been done before. If it were any other tree, I’d say it wouldn’t be strong enough to grow with just half its roots, but this one… if any tree could do it, this one could.”

The metal one grins, satisfied. Apparently finished with his questions, he nudges his fuzzy friend. “Whaddya think of that, Chopper? We’re looking at a tree that didn’t die when the strongest sword in the world cut it in half, a tree so stubborn it could grow back, harder than ever, from a fraction of its stump.”

The fuzzy one sets a hoof against the trunk. “For an organism to heal itself like that,” he murmurs, “it almost feels like a miracle.”

“Mm-hm. These are some super tough trees.” He lifts his glasses up, giving his fuzzy friend a meaningful look. “Sorta reminds me of a few people we know.”

“Zoro and Usopp are really tough,” the fuzzy one nodded, slowly.

“And as long as they’ve got their nakama to ground them, they’ll just keep coming back tougher.”

Like dawn, warm and bright, a smile begins to light up the fuzzy one’s face.

“Oi!” The reasonable one calls from the house, poking her head through the doorway. “What’s taking so long? Are you trying to freeze to death?”

Oops. Sugi lost track of time, prattling on about the island. She shoves the fuzzy one toward the door. “We can chit-chat inside. Go on, before your metal friend here turns blue.”

Shooing them both along, she toddles inside after them, pausing to jerk the door closed—or mostly closed. The blasted thing was never the same after Buloke knocked it off its hinges.

(Not that she really cares. Buloke’s dream was worth a thousand doors.)

Stump Island, 29 Years Ago

It’s been three months since he rebuilt Diamond Docks. Nobody in town has said a word to him. 

Not that he was expecting any thank-yous, since he was the one who pushed that crazy sword-kid into destroying Stump Island in the first place. But Buloke is pretty sick of the silent treatment. If they all hate his guts so much, then they should punch him in the face and be done with it.

Except, it wasn’t about contempt, was it? If he were a younger man, he might have fallen for the trick. He might have really believed that everyone on the island despised him. He might have lost his temper with them, and he might have left the island, (though he surely would’ve come back after his head cleared).

But he wasn’t a young man anymore. At fifty eight, he was only a handful of years away from being an old man. He was old enough to know one of Sugi’s tricks when he saw it.

This was another ploy to force him off the island. Buloke had endured twenty years of her machinations. Nothing she tried had worked, and nothing would. There was nothing Sugi could throw at him to make him leave. Not as long as her lungs were an issue.

Buloke grimaced at the dwindling light. He should’ve been paying more attention to the time. He was deep in the woods, and it would take a while to get home. He’d keep Sugi waiting again. Blast it all.

He tried to be quick on his way home, but sure enough, by the time he got there, she’d clearly been waiting for a while. Only this time, she was standing out front holding a packed bag.

“Goodbye, brother. I’ll be waiting for you when you come back.”

He blinked at her. “But… I just got back.”

“Goodbye,” Sugi said, shoving the bag into his hands. “Have fun on the sea.”

Buloke gave her a dirty look. Pushing past her he tried to head inside, but the door was locked.

“Goodbye,” Sugi said. “Travel safe. I’ll be here when you come back.”

“The sun’s down, Hag. You want to sleep outside tonight? Without dinner?”

“Goodbye.”

“Fine,” Buloke snarled, dropping the packed bag at her feet. “Wait all you like. I’m not going to stand here and freeze.”

Grumbling under his breath, he stormed out into the woods. If Sugi wouldn’t let him sleep, then he might as well get a little more work done. Tugging his flannel cap over his ears, he trudged right back to where he left off, and hacked another ten diamond trees to pieces.

But when he came home in the morning, Sugi was standing in front of the house, holding his bag. “Goodbye,” she said, waving at him from a distance. “Goodbye, brother. Have a safe trip.”

“Hag,” Buloke shouted at her from the treeline. “I can’t leave, so stop rubbing it in. Just sit down, will you. You can’t do this forever.”

“Goodbye. Have fun.”

He scowled at her. “I’m going to work. And if the door isn’t open by the time I come home, I swear I’ll knock it down.”

He whirled on his heel, stomach growling viciously as he marched as far across the island as he could.

And when he came back after dark, Sugi was still standing on the porch.

“Goodbye,” she said, voice raspy from the cold. “Be safe. Goodbye.”

Buloke stormed past her, slicing the door off its hinges with a flick of his hatchet.

The table wasn’t set. There was no dinner. The house hadn’t been touched in days.

He whirled on her. “What are you trying to do? Starve? Freeze? If you really want to die, there’s a cliff right over there for you to jump off. See if I care!”

He ripped his boots off, throwing them at the far wall, and didn’t bother to change his filthy clothes before climbing into bed. But no fire was lit, and cold air was pouring through the front door, and he could still see Sugi standing on the front porch, bag in hand.

Fuming, Buloke threw the blankets off, slammed his feet back into his boots, and stomped back outside.

Sugi looped the bag around his neck as he passed. “Goodbye. Take care of yourself out there.”

He snarled wordlessly at her, ripping the bag off and throwing it on the ground. He didn’t stop walking until he was standing right in front of the ocean. He glared at it for a long, long time, hurling insults at it until his temper burned itself out. Long enough for the sun to rise and the lights in New Diamond Docks to blink on again.

Eventually, he tore himself away from the sea and trudged back up the mountain. The whole way back, his stomach never stopped rumbling. It was practically loud enough for the whole island to hear.

When Buloke crested the mountain to their home, Sugi was still on the porch.

She was pale and exhausted, shivering in the morning cold as she leaned against the door frame heavily, legs unable to hold her full weight anymore. Her breathing sounded awful—worse than it ever did when she tried to walk up or down the mountain.

She was so distracted, just trying to breathe, that she didn’t even notice Buloke until he was standing right in front of her.

“Sugi, sit down.”

She shook her head. “Goodbye.”

“You’re making yourself sick, standing out here like a moron. Your lungs—”

She held the bag out to him. “Goodbye.”

“For the last time, I’m not going anywhere. I promised—”

“Have a safe trip. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He felt a vein bulge on his forehead. His hands curled into fists.

(He was a thousand times stronger than she was. He could pick her up, and shake sense into her, and carry her inside, and shove food down her throat, and hog-tie her to her bed until she was forced to sleep. He could make her stop waiting.)

(But he didn’t touch her. Never, when he was angry.)

“You hag!” he screamed. “You think this is funny? If you die like this, then you’ve wasted both our lives!”

Even tired and hungry and cold,  Sugi was as unruffled as ever by Buloke's ranting and raving. “Goodbye,” she repeated.

“I can’t leave! ”

(Sugi’s lungs were making terrible noises, and all Buloke could think about was the time when she was ten—when she tried to go shopping in town all by herself, and she carried too much and walked too far, and he’d found her curled up on the side of the road, panicked, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come. Buloke had been late coming back from work. He’d been goofing off, carving a boat to practice sailing. How long Sugi had been waiting for help on the road?)

“Goodbye. H-have fun,” she wheezed. Her arms shook as she held out the packed bag again.

Buloke opened his mouth to shout at her about being a stupid, stubborn, pain in his butt, but she cut him off. 

“I’ll be h-here when you get back.”

He didn’t doubt it. The blasted hag could wait until the end of time if she had to.