Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's amazing how quickly a situation can turn from bad to disastrous.

If Zoro had to pinpoint the exact moment the battle got out of hand, he wouldn't be able to choose between Usopp throwing a smoke bomb upwind of the group, or when he lost sight of Sanji. Probably the first one, because it directly caused the second.

He thought the job was supposed to be simple. Protect a small village from the bandits that kept ransacking their homes. But the area was marshy, tall cattails and reeds hiding mud and ankle deep water. It was already difficult to navigate the terrain before the battle started, but once it really got going the crew realized they were at a disadvantage. 

The wind felt gentle enough that Usopp didn't think before tossing a bomb, yet it blew the smoke at them too quickly for them to do anything but stay put and wait for it to pass, enemies and allies alike hidden in the dense fog it created.

Normally losing track of where the cook was during a fight wasn't a big deal, Zoro trusted Sanji to hold his own. But seconds after the smoke blew in, he heard a strangled shout in the direction of where he last saw him, only a few feet away.

“Cook?” He called, something like anxiety taking root in his stomach. The silence that answered him was off putting somehow, wrong.

When the smoke cleared, Zoro wasn't quite sure what he was looking at. Or who.

In Sanji's place stood a child, short and rail thin, his fluffy blonde hair glaringly obvious among the brown cattails. He wore strange clothes, and his single visible eyebrow was curled at the end.

The boy was staring at the bandit Zoro had just run through with his swords.

“Cook?” Zoro asked around the hilt of Wado, flicking the blood off his blades before he sheathed them.

A wide blue eye met his, stricken with fear and confusion, then looked back at the dead man. The boy turned and ran.

In the corner of his vision, Zoro saw a bandit in a strange bowler hat running away too, but in the opposite direction. The man held no visible weapon, and was pushing other bandits out of the way.

“Devil fruit!” He yelled, pointing to the rat bastard who must've used his powers on Sanji. A few dozen arms sprouted out of the marsh at his warning, very efficiently capturing the man before he could get too far.

With that handled, Zoro tore off after the child, cutting down anything in his way.

Little Sanji was quick. He sprinted further into the wetlands like dogs were nipping at his heels, but what he had in speed he lacked in agility. 

The mud grabbed at his shoes, jerking him to sudden stops frequently enough that Zoro had no problem catching up to him. It was disconcerting to be chasing after a clearly frightened child, but the other option of just letting him get lost in the weeds was unthinkable, because Nami would kill him.

Sanji glanced over his shoulder and tripped at the same time, landing on his hands and knees in thick, unforgiving mud. 

After a moment of futile struggling, he started to cry. Not quietly, either. Uncomfortably loud, gasping sobs that shook his entire body and triggered a terrible ache in Zoro's chest as he watched. 

He put Wado away and grabbed the kid around his middle. The second he touched him, Sanji screamed and started babbling in a foreign language, eyes wild with panic. Trying to ignore how truly scared the cook was, or how defined his ribs were on his already thin body, Zoro yanked him up out of the mud.

He immediately started thrashing around, making it rather difficult for Zoro to carry him over to a solid bit of ground. He sighed impatiently, mostly out of habit, but the kid went stiff at the sound. Not another noise or movement was made until Zoro dropped him unceremoniously onto the dirt. 

Landing on his ass at Zoro's feet, he stared up at him with wide blue eyes, tears running down his face. Sanji's breath quickly picked up again. His frame shook with the force of his gasps, muddy fingers digging into the earth.

What the fuck was Zoro supposed to do now? He had no idea how to change Sanji back, no idea if this mess was permanent, and no idea how to take care of a child.

But panic was useless, so first things first. “Can you understand me?”

Sanji nodded, still wheezing too quickly. So he knew two languages this young? Wait, how old was he? He didn't look nearly as old as Kuina had been, too tiny and baby faced to be a day over nine. Maybe even younger.

“Then calm down. I'm not gonna kill you.” Zoro wiped the mud off his hands and squatted down. 

Instead of reassuring Sanji, it seemed to have the opposite effect. He started hyperventilating, eyes blank and unseeing. 

Zoro knew what was happening, he'd seen Usopp do the exact same thing when he got too scared or stressed. A panic attack. A child was having a panic attack because he thought Zoro was going to hurt him. The revelation left a sour taste in Zoro's mouth, and he wondered if he should've had one of the more friendly looking crew members handle this. Too late for that, he supposed. 

“You'll make yourself throw up if you keep breathing like that.” He offered his hand for the kid to grab, not expecting Sanji to latch onto it immediately. It was endearing, and also concerning. “Relax, cook. You're safe with me.”

“Cook?” He hiccupped pitifully. 

Shit. The devil fruit obviously took Sanji's memories along with his real age, which meant that Zoro had no rapport with the kid sitting in front of him. He couldn't be too familiar with him or he'd scare him off.

“What's your name?”

Slowly calming down, he took great heaving gasps of breath that shook his whole body, obviously trying to pull himself together. It was a few moments before he let go of Zoro's hand. “It's Sanji, sir.”

Zoro couldn't tell if his voice was still thick with tears or if his accent was just that strong. Either way, Little Sanji spoke so softly and carefully compared to his adult self.

“Just call me Zoro. None of that sir bullshit.” Standing up, he looked around and groaned. Where the fuck were they? “Can you walk?”

Sanji nodded and scrambled up, occasionally still hiccupping and sniffing from how hard he had been crying. When Zoro motioned for him to follow he did so without complaint, closely at first, but soon started lagging behind. He was just too small to traverse the marsh as easily as Zoro did.

From behind him Zoro heard a wet thump, and he turned to find that Sanji had fallen again.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sir- I mean Zoro!” Sanji choked out, struggling to free himself from the muck. He managed to get back on his feet before Zoro reached him, but he was trembling something awful.

“How old are you?” Zoro asked, trying to be as non threatening as possible. It didn't seem to work.

“Eight.” He whispered.

The way he was now, Sanji was unrecognizable as the headstrong cook that Zoro knew. He looked, for lack of a better word, pathetic. Covered in mud and shaking at the slightest mistake, so little a strong gust of wind could probably take him down.

“Eight years old and you don't know how to ask for help?” 

Sanji squeezed his eyes shut when Zoro reached for him, only to open them wide and yelp when he was lifted into the air. “What are you- I can walk!”

“It's just until we get to a road, curly.”

He settled down eventually, though Zoro didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing. The feeling of tiny, trembling fingers clutching at his shirt made him irrationally angry, and he didn't understand why.

When Zoro was eight he was a little terror, a scourge upon his village. Intense, loud, opinionated. But Sanji was so subdued. It wasn't right.

Finding the road took all afternoon, and they walked a good few miles down it before coming across anyone. An old woman driving a horse drawn cart came up behind them. She looked at Zoro suspiciously, not noticing how Sanji had carefully moved behind him to hide.

“Know the way to town?” He asked gruffly, too tired to be polite.

“Back the way you came, though it's a long ways off.”

A small hand slipped into his, and he unthinkingly tightened his grip. Glancing down, he saw Sanji peeking out from behind him.  

“How much further?” Sanji asked him quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself. 

“Oh, poor thing. You're all a mess!” The old woman gasped, her expression visibly softening. Then she turned a scathing glare Zoro's way. “Why are you so far out here this late in the day with him, boy? Look at the state of him!”

Perfect. He could use her sympathy, maybe even get a ride out of it. 

“Bandits.” He said, not really lying. Technically the whole reason they were out there was because of bandits, in some form. “We got turned around in the marsh, we're just trying to get back to the village.”

She tutted, squinting at the sun now hanging low in the sky. “You won't make it before dark. Because of the little one I can give you a ride, but not until morning. Come along now, my house is beyond the bend.”

Not one to turn down an opportunity, Zoro thanked her and pulled Sanji towards the back of the cart. He lifted him up onto the ledge and hopped on next to him, ignoring the look of disbelief he got in return.

It wasn't exactly a pleasant ride, but the setting sun painted the sky in vivid oranges and reds, and Sanji seemed to be transfixed by it.

“What, never seen a sunset before?” Zoro taunted, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't talking to the cook he knew.

“Sorry.” Sanji mumbled, picking at his nails. There was dirt smeared across his face. “It's hard to see them from the- What sea is this?”

Zoro wondered briefly if telling him they weren't in East Blue was a good idea, but he wasn't about to lie to the kid. Though he was curious about what he was going to say before that. “Grand line.”

Panic crossed his face for a split second, then bled away to tired blankness. He didn't say anything the rest of the ride.

The woman's name was Carla, and she was expecting Zoro to do his fair share of chores around the cabin for her hospitality. He helped Sanji down and started grabbing sacks of animal feed from the back of the cart, when a little tug on his shirt caught his attention.

“What should I do?” Sanji asked meekly.

“Wait on the porch.” He told him, sure that if he did all the work himself it would get done faster. But Sanji blanched at the dismissal, hands twisting nervously in the hem of his shirt.

“I can be useful, I promise!”

Zoro huffed, though not unkindly, and shifted the feed bags to one arm. He ruffled Sanji's hair and turned back to the task, not bothering to give another answer when he had been clear the first time.

As he worked, he couldn't help noticing the dread on Sanji's face, clearly visible even from the porch. It didn't sit right with him, how timid and afraid this little version of the cook was.

Carla sized him up once he was done, declaring that he should fit her son's clothes, if only just barely. Sanji was older than her grandson, who she spoke of often and highly, but small enough for the clothes she had on hand. Zoro received a nasty look when she came to that conclusion.

He wasn't the reason the kid was so damn skinny, but he kept his mouth shut about that particular detail. It wasn't like he was happy about it either.

“Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Under the sink.” She waved him off, already started on dinner.

After they were both cleaned up, he set about caring for the few scrapes Sanji had gotten while running away. One on the knee, and a few on the palms of his hands.

Sanji sat on the edge of the sink in his clean clothes, hair once again a stark yellow blonde, curling up as it dried. He stared at his knee seriously as Zoro pressed a cotton ball wetted with alcohol to it, brow furrowed.

“You killed that man.” He said matter of factly, bringing up the memory of how the whole mess started.

Zoro grunted, using a bright red bandage to cover the cut. “I did.”

“Why?”

“Battles are bloody.” Not that he expected Sanji to understand the price of war and freedom, but he just couldn't bring himself to lie. Child or not, he was still namaka.

“You're a soldier?” Sanji asked. His accent really was thick, adding a layer to his words that reminded Zoro of how he- the normal Sanji sounded when he was excited or angry.

“I'm a pirate.”

Nothing else was said until after Sanji was all taken care of, and Zoro was cleaning his own wounds. Particularly a nasty but shallow cut across his abdomen. He held the hem of his shirt between his teeth as he closed it over with butterfly stitches.

“You can't be a pirate. But I don't think you're a soldier either.” Sanji said quietly, knees pulled up to his chest where he sat on the floor.

He glanced at the kid for only a moment, dropping his shirt hem as he started cleaning up the mess of wrappers and dirty cotton balls. “Why not?”

“You're too nice.” It was said barely above a whisper, but Zoro heard it all the same. He tried not to think of what sort of experiences would make Sanji so jaded at that age, already expecting the worst from the get go.

Later, after Zoro had finished the dishes used for dinner and Carla had set out blankets for him and Sanji to use on the couch and armchair, he stood in the doorway of the living room and watched the kid silently.

Carla owned a very fat, fluffy white cat that was both spoiled and vocal, and Sanji had beelined for it after he struggled through his dinner. A simple bowl of potato soup shouldn't have been so hard to finish, especially since he looked half starved already.

He barely managed to eat half of it, and Zoro ended up mercifully finishing the rest of his bowl, shooing him off into the living room.

But with all his attention now on the cat, Sanji was actually smiling. He was lavishing the cat with pets, cooing in that language he had spoken before, though now it sounded much happier.

In fact, Zoro recognized some of the words as terms of endearment that Sanji would call the girls, voice dripping honey sweet.

“Ma chérie, tu es si forte. Une grande fille. La plus grande!” Sanji giggled, patting the cat's side like a drum. He was in his own little world, grinning and so bright that he was almost hard to look at.

Zoro approached quietly from behind, reaching over Sanji's shoulder towards the cat. The second Sanji registered his presence, he grabbed Zoro's wrist with both hands, suddenly horribly afraid.

“Please, I'm sorry!” Sanji gasped, staring up at him in terror. “I won't do it again, please don't-”

They locked eyes for a moment, one terrified and one confused, before Zoro gently pushed his hand within the cat's reach. He let the animal sniff him, huffing in amusement when it smushed its head into his palm. Sanji deflated, slowly letting go of his wrist with an uncertainty that burned in Zoro's chest.

“It's not my cat, what do I care if you pet it?” Zoro said, softer than he'd ever talked to the cook before.

He didn't miss how Sanji hadn't moved to protect himself, but the cat. As though just interacting with it put it in danger, simply because it was Sanji giving it attention.

“Does it have a name?” He asked, realizing the kid was stuck in his head.

“Yessir.” Sanji mumbled. He decided not to comment on that. “Her name's Snowball.”

Humming, he gave Snowball a good scratching behind the ear then stood up, waving Sanji off when he tried to follow. “I'm just going to clean up my swords, do what you want.”

Now that his presence was announced, Sanji seemed to be hyper aware of where he was in the room at all times. He kept him in his peripheral vision, never fully turning his back to Zoro at any given moment.

When it was time for bed, he looked sick with the realization that Zoro planned on sleeping in the chair while he took the couch.

“I'm smaller.” He argued, eyes pleading. For what, Zoro didn't know.

“Don't care. You're taking the couch, curly. Good night.”

Despite how his face twisted anxiously, he didn't say anything else about it once Zoro shut him down. He just lay there, too little and quiet, not at all the man Zoro knew.

Oddly enough, it was like he actually missed normal Sanji. At least he knew how to behave around him, not this scared child who made him want to find and kill everyone who ever treated Sanji in such a way to make him act like that. 

“Zoro?” Sanji whispered, fists bunched in the blanket that basically swallowed him up.

“What?”

“Something's wrong, isn't it? With me. I think I'm not how I'm supposed to be.”

He stared at the tiny silhouette on the couch and thought about cigarettes and blue eyes, and how badly he was going to beat the shit out of that devil fruit user. “Yeah, kid.”

“I'm sorry.”

His stomach churned at the feeble but sincere apology. As though Sanji needed to apologize for his very existence. “Nothing to be sorry about. Get some sleep.”

Chapter Text

Mornings at Carla's apparently started with the sun.

She smacked the side of Zoro's foot to wake him, pressing a hot mug of matcha tea into his palms and standing vigil while he downed it, mouth scorching. 

He at least got to change back into his clothes, freshly cleaned and pressed, before he was dragged outside to help with the animals. A few sheep and cows, a single outlandishly large pig, and the snobbish horse that pulled the cart.

Sanji followed him out at a distance, stopping to talk animatedly to the animals while he worked. Surprisingly, Zoro didn't mind the company. The kid stayed out of his way for the most part, really only coming closer to ask if he was allowed to do something.

Which he did often.

“May I say hello to the horse?” Came a soft voice behind him as he filled the trough for the monstrous pig.

“Do what you want.” Zoro grunted, not bothering to turn and check if he actually left. He headed over to the well to pull up some fresh water.

The mundanity of the chores was soothing, and gave him plenty of time to think about how he was going to explain the situation to the others. He supposed he didn't really need an explanation, the crew trusted his judgment.

But how was he going to tell Sanji?

When he turned back to check on him, the bucket fell from his grip and splashed across the dirt, a waste of clean water. But the boy was crouched down behind the horse, looking at something in the mud.

Zoro had seen his fair share of injuries caused by a pissed off horse. The beasts were skittish and quick to react, and if Sanji got kicked in his current form there would be no fixing the damage it would cause.

He might even die.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” Zoro snapped as he yanked Sanji up away from the horse by the scruff of his shirt.

The kid yelped and went limp, just letting himself be manhandled to a safe distance away. When he was back on his feet he shook like a scared dog, head down and eyes wide as he waited. For what, Zoro didn't care to find out.

“Are you an idiot? That horse could’ve kicked your damn head in.” He scrubbed at his face tiredly as Sanji's mouth scrunched up like he was about to cry.

Even if he felt bad for scaring him, Zoro wasn't going to apologize for trying to keep him safe. He could picture the worst case scenario vividly; a limp body sprawled across the ground, blood mixing with dirt.

Children were so damn fragile.

When he calmed down enough, he saw Sanji's hands were cupped together, holding something. Not even nine in the morning and already he was playing in the mud. Whatever, Zoro couldn't really fault him for getting dirty when he was too relieved at seeing such normal childlike behavior.

 Zoro sighed and squatted down, gesturing to the kid's cupped hands. “What do you have?”

Sanji flinched at being addressed, but offered it all the same. Cradled in his dirty palms was a little green frog, stomach fluttering with its shallow breathing.

“I didn't want it to get stepped on.” Sanji said, hiding behind his curtain of straw blonde hair.

What about you? What if you got hurt?

But Zoro couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, to drop such a heavy burden on an already sad child. He didn't want him to cry.

The borrowed clothes were far too baggy on Sanji, his belt cinched as tight as possible to make up for all the extra fabric. They seemed to swallow him up, making him look even smaller than he actually was, spindly and almost gaunt.

Making a mental note to get something for the kid to eat as soon as they were back at the village, Zoro stood to finish the rest of the chores. 

He couldn't wait for the cook to be back to normal, if only so his chest didn't hurt every time they interacted.

“Stay away from the animals, you hear?”

“Yes.” Sanji whispered, face blotchy and sad. He sat on the porch until it was time to go, knees pulled to his chest and face buried in his arms. 

Zoro couldn't tell if he was upset because he wasn't allowed near the animals or because Zoro had raised his voice. 

He didn't really want to know the answer.

They got to the village early enough that people were still starting their days, shops just opening up, others headed out to the fields. Zoro thanked Carla again for her kindness as he helped Sanji climb down out of the cart, who also thanked Carla as well. She lit up at his sweet voice, leaning down in her seat to pinch his cheek before she carried on with her day.

Barely holding back a snicker, Zoro motioned for him to stay close as Sanji rubbed at the red spot on his cheek. 

He wasn't sure where he was going exactly, just that he was looking for his crew.

At some point it occurred to him that neither of them ate before they left, having told Carla he'd get something in the village. Remembering to eat wasn't as much of a priority as it used to be since he usually had the cook breathing down his neck the second it was time to eat.

“Hungry?” He looked down at the kid who was following him closer than a shadow.

“Mhm.” Sanji nodded, startling when someone brushed against his back. Zoro sighed and pulled him closer, a leading hand against the nape of his neck. His spine was protruding, each knob clearly defined through the skin.

Appetite properly ruined, Zoro decided to give his portion of whatever he ended up buying to the kid.

Two rolls of sweet bread for a frankly ridiculous price later, they were headed up what might've been the main street. Zoro wasn't really sure.

“Here.” He waved his half eaten roll at Sanji, who just stared at it. “Take it, or it'll go to waste.”

“But-”

“I don't like sweet bread.” Zoro said, knowing damn well that's why he chose it in the first place. Knowing, though he hadn't realized he noticed until he actually needed the information, that Sanji preferred sweet things for breakfast.

There was a child in his friend's place by his side, and he was not bitter about it, but he wasn't happy either. All Zoro could do was care for him the same, maybe a little better, because this version of Sanji wouldn't balk at his efforts.

But what if he never got the true Sanji back?

It felt like only yesterday that he was still with Perona and Mihawk in a castle too big for just the three of them, wondering if he'd ever see the cook again. And now he's gone and lost him again.

A bread warmed hand tentatively grabbed his own, and Zoro closed his good eye for a second before wrapping his fingers securely around the smaller ones. He could do this. He had to.

Wandering around the village proved absolutely useless, so Zoro sat down against a tree and told the kid to stay in sight. Other than that, he didn't really care what he did. 

At first Sanji stayed close, unwilling to venture more than a few feet from him. He got bored of that eventually, and started going to the shops and stalls directly in front of Zoro's tree, always quickly returning as if to check that he was still there.

Sanji had just run off again when somebody thumped Zoro solidly on the top of his head. He cursed and twisted around to see Nami looming over him, seething mad.

“ Bastard. ”

“Good to see you too, witch.” Zoro grumbled, rubbing his poor scalp. And to think he'd been hoping to see her soon.

“We were looking for you all night! And here you are, napping under a fucking tree.” She scoffed and kicked his thigh. “Where's Sanji? Please tell me he's with you.”

Turning towards the busy street where he could see the slightest bit of electric blonde hair bobbing around the stalls, Zoro whistled sharply. “Oi, Curly!”

Sanji came running at once, skidding to a stop when he saw Nami.

“You kidnapped a child.” Nami said blankly, already pulling her leg back to kick him again.

“Relax, he's one of ours.”

She took a minute to process that, mouth scrunching in displeasure. “If we ever have kids, which we won't, they'd all be perfect clones of me. That is a little blonde boy -”

Nami paused, bending down a bit to take a good look at Sanji, then let out a sigh that seemed to come from her very soul. She glanced back at Zoro in pure exasperation. 

“You owe me financial compensation for this.”

Zoro laughed. “Yeah? How so?”

“Don't know yet.” She said pleasantly, cupping Sanji's chin in her hand. “Hi, Sanji. Do you recognize me?”

He flushed red at an alarming speed, fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt. “No, ma'am.”

“Oi, you're making him nervous.” Zoro grouched, but leaned his head back against the tree again. Nami was crew, he trusted her with the kid.

“He called me ma'am , that's cute!” She cooed, fixing Sanji's bangs. “But now I feel old.”

Sanji stiffened, immediately fixing his gaze on the ground.  

“I'm really sorry.” He said, voice small and sincere. “I didn't mean to offend you.”

Nami straightened up and hit Zoro with a concerned side eye, quickly trying to dismiss the idea that she was offended. It didn't work.

“You're alright, kid.” Zoro spoke calmly, not even lifting up his head. He could feel the fearful gaze burning against his skin. “We'll come find you when we're done talking. Go on now.”

He waited until he couldn't discern Sanji's footsteps from the rest of the crowd before inhaling slowly, trying to compose himself. All he wanted to do was grab Sanji and start demanding names, faces, anything he could track down and pulverize for training the kid to act like that.

“That's not normal.” Nami said, crouching down next to him.

“He spooks easily.”

“What a fucking understatement.”

Zoro sat up, grabbing her wrist so she would know he was being serious for once. “Don't make a big deal out of it. He's not like how we were as kids.”

“Speak for yourself, I was an angel.”

She knew what he meant, though. Headstrong. Willing to defend themselves. Sanji was withdrawn and eager to please, he didn't need much convincing to follow an order. Compared to the adult version, Little Sanji was a complete pushover.

“The crew is gonna go ballistic.” Nami searched the crowd for where Sanji ran off to, giving Zoro one more pointed glare. “Can you handle this?”

“Of course. What do you take me for?” He rolled his eyes. He'd done well so far, hadn't he?

“Socially awkward and intimidating to small children.” Offering him a hand, she yanked him up and dusted the dirt off the back of his clothes.

“That was rhetorical.”

They found the kid standing outside a used goods store, staring through the window at the display. 

He jumped when Nami touched his shoulder, eyes wide like he'd been caught red handed. He quickly fell in step just behind Zoro, a little to the left. That seemed to be where he was most comfortable, even though Zoro would've preferred to keep him in a direct line of sight.

“Witch, you think you can find him some clothes?”

“Already on it.” 

She turned to walk away, but Zoro stopped her again, frowning at the shop window they were loitering in front of. “Lend me some money.”

“You want money? Find it on the ground.” Nami laughed, but he was dead serious.

“It's not for me.”

Their eyes locked, and he could see when Nami worked out what he was trying to do. She blinked in surprise, already reaching for her wallet.

“When you're done, just stay here. I'll come find you. Last thing we need is you getting lost again.” Counting out twenty berries, she slapped the bills into his open palm and motioned for Sanji to follow her instead. “And I want my change.”

As a kid, Zoro didn't have many normal interests. He liked swords and fighting, and he thought his time was better spent training than anything else. But Kuina had hobbies outside of the dojo, and in pursuit of learning more about his rival, he tried to get into some of them.

That stopped pretty soon after he got bored of not training.

He could've guessed Sanji was into cooking, even at such a young age, but cookbooks? Reading? It did sort of make sense, the kid seemed pretty bookish, though why he didn't just go into the shop and look at the book was beyond Zoro. What good was staring at it through a pane of glass going to do?

As far as used books went, it was pretty beat up. There was writing in the margins, sticky notes and shreds of paper shoved between the pages, the front cover was taped over with brown paper and sloppy handwriting declared it titled Recipes.

But if the kid wanted it and it would keep him occupied, why not? It wasn't hurting anybody to get the thing for him.

Zoro had the shopkeeper wrap it up for him and went back out to the street, looking around for a glimpse of orange hair. He ended up waiting a good hour before he started down the way he remembered them going.

Someone grabbed the back of his collar before he even got out of sight of the shop.

“I thought I said to stay put.”

“You took too long.”

“Whatever, let's go back to the ship.” Nami was carrying way too many bags for a few changes of clothes. She held out her hand for her change and unloaded her spoils into Zoro's arms, checking behind her to make sure Sanji was still there. He was, though he looked tired.

“Still alive, kid?”

“Yessir.” He mumbled, practically dead on his feet. He swayed a bit, but kept up with Nami's breakneck pace as they headed the opposite direction of where Zoro was going to go.

“So you're saying this is Sanji, and he doesn't remember anything?” Usopp paraphrased, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to process the information being thrown at him.

The four of them were all in the kitchen, standing at the island as Nami prepared some snacks for her and the kid. The others were apparently still out looking for them.

“He remembers what eight year old Sanji remembers.” Nami corrected, sipping her drink. She had tried to put it in a pretty glass and make it all fancy like the cook would've done for her, but by her sour expression it didn't work.

“Okay. This is fine. We can work with this.” Sounding more like he was trying to convince himself, Usopp squinted at the kid's face. “But is he before or after Zeff?”

Sanji glanced at Zoro. He had done remarkably well with being told that he was supposed to be twenty one instead of eight, but he was getting visibly more nervous every time Usopp got closer.

It was setting Zoro on edge too, especially since the kid had apparently deemed him the safest adult in the room and kept checking for his reactions.

“Who's Zeff?” Sanji asked, inching backwards just enough for it to not be too suspicious. He was trying to put more space between himself and Usopp, though the reason wasn't clear.

Usopp's hopeful smile crumpled when he heard that, and he groaned in frustration, missing how it made the kid jump. “What are we gonna do now? Sanji doesn't tell us anything about his life before Zeff!”

“Perfect time to learn, then.” Nami handed the kid a peeled tangerine, kneeling down next to him. “Where do you live?”

“Um.” Looking quickly to Zoro for instructions, Sanji's cheeks turned red. He didn't seem to do very well with having someone's full attention. Only when Zoro nodded did he answer. “Germa kingdom, in North Blue.”

“Explains the accent.” Usopp muttered, pulling out a stool at the island to sit.

The sharp noise made Sanji flinch, and he nearly dropped his fruit. Immediately his eyes flicked over to check if Zoro had seen, which he had, but the kid relaxed upon seeing his blatant disinterest.

He didn't know how he felt about being the standard for how Sanji reacted to situations. Certainly not good.

“That doesn't make sense.” Nami said to herself, swirling her drink around thoughtfully. “Germa is a military kingdom, people don't just leave .”

“Maybe his parents defected?” Usopp offered, pulling out his slingshot to fiddle with.

“Mm, I guess.” She said, not sounding too convinced. “Who are your parents? Are they soldiers?” 

“I don't-” 

Usopp shot a metal bb into the sink. It rattled loudly as it ricocheted off the sides. “They could've been staff. Ask about that.”

Wincing, Sanji's fingers started to dig into the flesh of the tangerine that he barely ate any of. “I really don't want-”

“What about the royal family?” Nami interrupted.  She wasn't meaning to talk over him, so used to Sanji just letting her speak first.

Abruptly, the kid went quiet. He started to shake, breaths coming short and wheezy through his clenched teeth. His face was blotchy red, his lip trembling as he stared at a spot on the far wall.

Juice dripped down his fingers onto the floorboards, and if he were the normal Sanji he would've had a fit. But he wasn't. He was a complete stranger. He was just a kid.

Oh. Zoro's chest squeezed painfully as he realized he knew exactly what was wrong. Sanji was about to cry.

Pushing away from the wall, he strode purposefully towards the kid, intending to stop the onslaught of questions. “Enough, you're freaking him out.”

But when he reached for his shoulder, Sanji flinched back so violently that he stumbled and fell. He wasn't breathing so much as he was panting, tears slipping down his chin while he waited for Zoro to move again, terrified.

Acutely aware of the silence that swept over the room, Zoro wanted to tell the others to look away, to stop watching. But he just froze, unable to do anything while Sanji fell apart. Of all the things Zoro imagined the cook would be as a child, an easy crier wasn't one of them.

A low, wounded whine came from the kid's throat as he hid his face, wiping furiously at the tears betraying how scared he was.

Zoro thought about a sullen adult Sanji nursing a cigarette in some dark corner after a particularly nasty argument, and he wondered when he had lost the urge to cry his heart out every time he was upset.

Maybe he still did, maybe he just learned how to hide it better.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Zoro closed his good eye for a count of three, then began damage control. He could do it. He had to do it.

“Easy, kid. You're okay.” Zoro said, crouching down to offer him a hand. He went to grab it but faltered, staring over Zoro's shoulder. “Don't worry about them, look at me.”

He helped Sanji to his feet, adjusting his grip so he was holding the kid's hand as he nodded towards the doorway.

“C'mon, I'll show you the aquarium.”

In the washed out light of the aquarium Zoro could see a fraction of Sanji's adult self, staring at the fish in wonder. He knelt on the bench and pressed his hands to the glass, smiling despite the occasional sniffle.

Turned out all he needed was some space to stop the impending meltdown, calming down quickly once they left the kitchen. He didn't say much, and his breath still hitched once in a while, but he wasn't about to start sobbing again.

Zoro leaned his head back against the cool glass, shutting his eyes for a moment of peace. It was hard to think when he was too busy worrying about the kid, but in the bar it felt like he had all the time in the world.

“Am I really a pirate cook?”

Cracking open his eye, he saw Sanji sitting on his heels with his head craned back, staring at the top of the tank where the smaller fish swam in schools. The dappled light danced across his face.

“Yes.”

He looked over and met Zoro's gaze, irises bluer than any waters they've crossed. At least his eyes didn't look any different. “Am I a good pirate cook?”

Zoro wasn't sure what to say to that. He knew what he wanted to say, knew who he wanted to say it to, and it wasn't the child sitting a few feet away. A version of him, but not quite the same.

He said it anyway, because this version might actually believe him.

“You're the best cook I know.” He said, raw and honest, turning to watch the light reflecting on the ceiling.

It was blessedly silent for a long while, nothing but the sound of breathing to fill the air. The kid fell asleep at some point, curled up tiny and exhausted with his head pressed against Zoro's leg.

He didn't feel like he knew enough about kids to properly handle the situation, but Zoro's stomach turned every time he thought about someone else in his place.

At least if it was him, he could offer the cook some peace of mind when he turned back. Zoro wasn't going to treat him differently, not because of this.

But god, did he miss Sanji. His version, not the scared kid who startled at every surprise like a kicked dog. He missed the smell of nicotine, the easy banter, the bottle of soju passed with lingering hands.

He wanted Sanji to hurry up and come home, even if nothing changed between them.

And if he's never coming back? What then? What if I've already lost him?

Zoro shook his head to chase the thoughts away. He only dealt in absolutes, not what-ifs. 

But the possibility weighed on him. If Sanji couldn't turn back, if it wasn't reversible, he wouldn't be able to stay. Children were such fragile creatures, after all.

Zoro absentmindedly brushed the hair out of Sanji's face, carding his fingers through the wavy mess. His version always kept his hair so neat and orderly, it was fun to see the natural texture. And fun to know that if he had ever tried to touch the normal cook like that he'd end up with a shoe to the face.

The kid mumbled something unintelligible, rolling over. He rolled too far, however, and tumbled right off the bench. 

Sitting up and looking strikingly similar to a disgruntled cat, he wore an expression so intrinsically Sanji that Zoro couldn't help but laugh.

Those troublesome thoughts faded with the realization that Sanji wasn't gone, he was right in front of him. A little different, changed, sure. But still him.

All Zoro had to do to get through it was change a little too. He always was quick to adapt.

Chapter Text

“You let him go?”

Zoro was seriously considering picking up bounty hunting again. They captured the devil fruit user that targeted Sanji, they had him. Hog tied and ripe for questioning.

And for some reason he was let go.

“Taking hostages isn't cool.”

His jaw clenched, he could practically feel his anger rising like bile in his throat.

“Don't worry,” Robin said, seeing how close he was to outright fighting Franky. She held up a little notepad. “I got all the information we'll need to help our cook.”

That was.. better news than he'd expected after being told he wasn't going to get his turn with that bastard bandit. “Do I want to know how you got that?”

“Mm, better if you don't ask.” She smiled blithely, handing it over.

Skimming through the neat notes, Zoro felt a headache coming on. Time based effects, painful transformations, memory loss, nothing spoke of how to turn him back .

“So we're playing the waiting game?” Usopp asked as he read over Zoro's shoulder, patting his back in an attempt to soothe him. “We've got this. One kid versus eight adults. Easy peasy!”

“Chopper's still a child too.” Robin reminded him, beckoning Franky over to help her down from where she was perched on the railing. “They could bond over that, hopefully.”

If they didn't, Chopper would be crushed by the rejection, and they'd have two upset kids to deal with. He wasn't sure he wanted to gamble with that possibility.

“What are we going to do for meals?” Taking the notepad from Zoro's hand, Usopp squinted at the writing. “A whole week at least? Luffy will destroy the kitchen.”

Speaking of the captain, where was he? Zoro looked around the lawn deck, shielding his eyes against the glaring sun as he tried to spot a straw hat or a red shirt. 

All he found was Nami on the other side of the lawn, nose buried in a book with a few others stacked around her. She was trying to find a way to reverse the effect, and he could've sworn Luffy was over there with her the last he saw.

He stopped paying attention to what the others were saying as he searched, beginning to head towards the aquarium bar. Someone called his name and he waved them off as he went inside, a strangely foreboding feeling taking over.

There was no sign of the kid inside, though that was where he had left him. For some reason Zoro just assumed he'd stay put, waiting for someone to come and collect him.

Walking upstairs to the kitchen, the first thing he was greeted by was Luffy, standing stock still in the middle of the room.

“Captain.” He said, pausing in the doorway. At least he caught him before he could try to raid the fridge. “You shouldn't be here without Sanji's permission.”

“Sanji's right here.” Luffy looked at him over his shoulder, face stony.

Zoro quickly joined him in the center of the room, and sure enough, Sanji was standing pressed against the opposite wall. He met Zoro's gaze for a split second before going back to his staring contest with the captain, face pale. Afraid.

“Kid, go find Nami.”

Hesitantly, Sanji took a step towards him, still watching Luffy.

“Go on, now.”

He ran to the door, giving them a wide berth. The sound of his footsteps on the stairs finally let Zoro take a full breath again, that weird tension draining from his chest.

They stood in the silence of the kitchen for a while, a muscle in Luffy's jaw ticking as he thought something over. He stared at the spot where Sanji had been, cowering with his back to the wall like a cornered animal.

“I asked what he was doing.” Luffy said, head tilting back. “I was just curious.”

Zoro could picture how it must've gone, just based on Sanji's previous reactions to strangers. He probably got spooked and froze up, or thought he was in trouble.

“He's scared of me.”

“He's scared of everything. Don't take it personally.”

“No, I will.” Luffy growled, fixing his hat as he turned to leave. “Sanji shouldn't be scared of me.”

Grabbing his arm, Zoro caught his eye. He knew Luffy wasn't angry with the kid, moreso at his reaction, at what it implied. That was how it always went when Luffy felt something wasn't right. He got angry and he tried to fix it, sometimes making things worse in the process.

“Let me handle this.” Zoro spoke softly but with conviction.

His captain searched his face, then hummed thoughtfully. He nodded and pulled his arm free, heading over to the dining room table to sprawl across the bench.

“I trust Zoro.”

Sanji wasn't with Nami like he was supposed to be, nearly giving Zoro another heart attack. She laughed at his pinched expression and just pointed him towards the library, saying she sent the kid to put some books back.

He didn't go to the library much. Most of the books belonged to his namaka, and he only had a small shelf of his own. It was cool and quiet inside, lit well but not too brightly, a perfect place to read.

There was a stack of books on the table, presumably the ones Nami sent back, but no kid. Zoro walked around quietly as he searched, only relaxing once he caught sight of blonde hair near the farthest window seat.

Sanji was sitting on the floor with a book in his lap, gingerly flipping through the pages. He looked entranced, and didn't notice Zoro until his shadow crossed the page. 

“I'm-” He started apologizing immediately, cringing and curling in around the book, but Zoro just held up his hand to stop that. The kid fell silent and waited with an air of dread for him to speak.

“Might be more comfortable to read that by the window.” Zoro nodded towards the window seat, and Sanji gave him an incredulous look.

“You're not mad?”

“I have no reason to be.”

He stood up with the book clutched to his chest, looking back and forth between Zoro and the cushioned seat. The desire was clear on his face, he just didn't trust it. “But I didn't ask.”

“Don't care.”

Sanji's eyebrows scrunched up, and he huffed in the first real show of frustration since he was transformed. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but just as soon as the courage arrived it dissipated, leaving him staring blankly at a point over Zoro's shoulder.

He crawled onto the window seat and hugged his knees, waiting for Zoro to break the silence once more.

“You alright with staying here for a while? I have things to do.” Zoro reached into his kimono and pulled out the package he nearly forgot about, tossing it to the kid.

“Sure?” He mumbled, curiously flipping it over in his hands.

“Good.” Zoro started towards the door, but Sanji called out frantically.

“Wait! What am I supposed to do with this?”

He glanced back at the child silhouetted in the afternoon sun streaming through the porthole, quickly turning away again. Something about Little Sanji made it hard to look at him directly for too long without his chest hurting. “Just open it, curly.”

It was surprisingly easy to settle into a routine while waiting for the devil fruit to wear off. Zoro was tasked with watching the kid, and the rest of the crew came and went as they pleased.

Everyone was hesitant to use the kitchen while Sanji was.. indisposed, they mostly got food in the village. Only the girls knew the code to the fridge besides the cook, and they weren't too keen on sharing that information where Luffy might overhear, so it was just the better option.

Zoro thought it was going to be more difficult than it actually was. He expected more pushback or more meltdowns, but Sanji seemed determined to just try to keep to himself as much as possible.

Which wasn't to say that he preferred to be alone. No, the kid followed him around as faithfully as a shadow, keeping to the edges of whatever room or area Zoro was in at the moment, always just within sight.

He carried the cookbook around a lot as well, nose buried in it as he curled up in impossibly tiny corners and crannies, sometimes accidentally falling asleep like that. A lot of times, actually, because he didn't sleep well in the cabin, especially if Zoro went to the crow's nest for watch duty.

After the second night on the ship, Zoro told him to grab his book and his blanket and to follow him. He slept fitfully on the floor, but better than he had in the cabin, and his presence put Zoro at ease as well.

The notes Robin provided weren't quite specific about the time frame. It could last a few days or a couple of weeks, depending on how strong of an attack he was hit with. The smoke had blocked the actual event from view, so all they could do was wait.

Waiting was killing Zoro.

He wanted to talk to Sanji, his Sanji. It didn't have to be about anything important, they could have an argument for all he cared, he just wanted to hear the cook's voice.

One night about a week into the waiting, when the kid fell asleep in the cabin for once instead of the crow's nest, Zoro wandered the ship. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, the silence of the night was just soothing to his overcrowded mind.

But as he sat in the peaceful blue wash of the aquarium, he heard a crash come from above. The kitchen. Zoro threw open the door and came in with Wado drawn, expecting to see bandits or Luffy, anything but what he did find. 

Little Sanji, hidden away behind the island, frantically trying to clean up the shattered remains of what used to be a bowl. On the counter the cookbook lay open, a spoon wedged in the crease of the book to mark his page.

He was aware of Zoro's presence, he had to be from how loudly the door slammed open, but still he tried to collect the pieces in his bare hands. Sanji hissed in pain as a shard slipped against the pad of his thumb, but he didn't stop.

Blood dripped onto the floorboards, welling up from tiny cuts, and Sanji just reached for the next piece.

“Stop.” Zoro said, putting Wado away as he knelt by the mess. “Curly, stop.”

The kid was shaking, grabbing for more shards of porcelain to add to the pile in his palm. He wouldn't meet Zoro's eye, red faced and grimacing with each new nick.

“ Sanji. ” Zoro seized his wrists, forcing him to drop all that he had collected.

He ripped his hands away as he just sat there, refusing to look at Zoro, seconds away from tears.

The thing was, he could see how hard Sanji tried. He really tried not to cry, cheeks red and lip trembling, holding his breath like it might help keep the tears at bay. But once he started he couldn't seem to stop, soon he was sobbing just as painfully as he had been when Zoro pulled him from the mud.

And he was so ashamed about it, hiding his face in his arms as he yanked roughly at his hair, leaving bloody smears on the blonde strands while great heaving sobs wracked his little body like a ship in a storm.

“Oi, stop that.” Zoro murmured, gently pulling his fists away from his head. Sanji whined, wounded and scared, wary of him still. “You're hurting yourself, kid, c'mon.”

He shook his head frantically, biting his lip so hard it bled but still the whimpers and sobs escaped.

When Zoro offered a space in his arms, Sanji took it with only a moment's hesitation, crawling over the shattered mess. He buried his trembling face in Zoro's shoulder and curled in closer as Zoro cradled him in his arms, lifting him easily. He wasn't heavy. 

Sanji had never been too heavy to carry, not before and certainly not now.

“I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry.” Sanji gasped between sobs, hands grasping at Zoro's kimono.

“For what? I don't care about the bowl.”

“I took him from you.” He whispered, a secret, a confession, ripped from his bleeding fingers. “And I don't know how to give him back.”

Zoro held him tighter as he walked towards the infirmary. “None of this is your fault.”

“But you miss him!”

He did. Was it that obvious?

He missed the old Sanji so much it felt like a lost limb. Like his eye was freshly ripped from his head and he was habitually trying to open his empty socket and see again. But there was still someone in Sanji's place, he wasn't gone, he was just.. lost. Wandering. 

And while he was away, Zoro needed to make sure this little version of him was taken care of. Because when the bastard cook finally decided to come home, Zoro wanted him to be happier than when he left.

He wanted the smiles and the softness and cigarette smoke curling in his nose. He wanted to pass by the kitchen and hear a familiar hum, to be yelled at and called all sorts of foul names only to be given a plate of snacks.

Zoro wanted Sanji home again, but he couldn't control when it happened.

If the kid was just a fucked up blast from the past, what did it matter? He still deserved to be happy just as much as the cook did. He deserved to be safe, and warm, and fed.

“I do miss him. But I don't blame you.” Zoro said, holding Sanji as gently as he knew how. It still wasn't a lot, but he could try. For the kid, he could be kind.

His words only served to make Sanji cry harder, hiccupping and sniffling for all the confusion he'd suffered the past week. For every time he thought he was going to be hurt only to be treated softly, every open hand he thought would strike him that turned out to be offering help. 

Sanji wailed, and the sound was so painfully raw and scared that it was a shock that nobody broke the door down to get to him.

The crew took to Little Sanji in only the way a pirate crew could, with ferocity and the protectiveness of wild dogs. He was small and jumpy, and the Strawhats were already fiercely fond of the cook. It couldn't be helped.

Zoro nudged the infirmary door open and went to sit Sanji down on the cot, but the kid clutched at his kimono so desperately that he couldn't bear to let go just yet. He stood there and held Sanji close, hand pressed tight to the back of his neck, until he finally started to take deep breaths again.

“I need to see your hands, curls. They're still bleeding.”

“Sorry.” Sanji mumbled, leaning back to allow himself to be put down. He held out his palms and Zoro gently looked them over, noting with some satisfaction that it didn't look like he needed stitches for anything but the one cut.

He cleaned them up, pressing the cotton pad to the wound on his thumb gingerly, hoping he might get away with just butterfly closures. Chopper could check it in the morning.

“Do you hate me?” Sanji asked, tears still running down his cheeks.

“No.” How could Zoro possibly hate him? He was just a kid, he didn't do anything wrong. He was still Sanji. “Do you think I hate you?”

“Sometimes.” He whispered, fidgeting as Zoro put the bandages on. “You get this look like you're really mad. When I cry, I mean.”

Huffing, Zoro set aside his tools. He cradled Sanji's hands in his own, rubbing his thumb across the smooth palms.

“I am mad, but not at you.” Zoro said, looking at the tiny cuts and scrapes. “I want to ask who taught you to behave this way, but I won't.”

“Why not?”

“It's your own business, kid.” The cook he knew was private, closed off. Prying the information from him while he was in such a vulnerable state wasn't going to do anyone much good, and might even make Sanji resent him.

“What if I want to tell you?” Sanji asked, looking up at him with earnest eyes.

“You won't when you're older.”

“I might!”

“Then wait a bit longer.” He didn't need to know. It wasn't his business, as much as he wanted to ask. Zoro could be patient, and if it turned out that the cook didn't want to tell him, who was he to demand that he do so?

Zoro finished carefully wrapping the kid's hands, and helped him down from the cot. He had him stand off to the side while he swept up the remains of the bowl, curiously glancing at the book on the counter.

“Were you trying to cook?”

“No!” Sanji said quickly, flushing red.

He gave him a disbelieving side eye, but said nothing else about it when Sanji scooped the book up and held it close to his chest. It was late, the kid was probably tired, Zoro knew he was. They could deal with it in the morning.

But when they got back out onto the lawn deck, Sanji didn't make for the cabin like Zoro thought he would. He stayed back as Zoro sat down against the mast, eyes on the stars.

“Need something?”

“Um,” Sanji came a few steps closer, apprehensive. “Can I sit with you?”

“Do what you want.”

He scrambled to sit about a foot apart, careful to not accidentally bump against Zoro in any way. Staring up at the sky, eyes glittering with reflected stars and the remnants of tears, Sanji curled up on the grass.

It was a little while before he spoke again, hesitant but curious. “What am I like?”

“When you're older?”

“Mhm.” Sanji turned towards him, leaning closer. He wanted to know so badly, it was clear.

Zoro sighed, tilting his head back against the mast. “Kind of a dick, if I'm honest.”

“Oh.”

“Passionate too.” He continued, watching the stars and wondering if Sanji would remember any of it when he turned back. “Caring. A good fighter, a loyal friend.”

Sanji stared at him, and he looked so sad, as though he was missing something he never had in the first place. 

He didn't plan on doing it, but it felt natural to hold out his arm and let Sanji settle in along the crook of his arm, small and fragile but still him, still his friend.

“We'll never accept another cook.”

Chapter Text

The kid got sick a few weeks in.

After the kitchen incident Sanji had gotten a lot braver about speaking up, and Zoro had come to expect his thickly accented commentary. But one day after breakfast, Sanji went completely silent. 

He was trembling, clutching at his stomach, skin clammy and pale. When Zoro asked what was wrong, he just shook his head. If not for the fact that Zoro was watching him like a hawk, he wouldn't have even noticed the kid collapse.

Overcome by a gripping anxiety, Zoro found his temper paper thin. He paced the length of the infirmary until Chopper kicked him out, saying he'd be the first to know when there were any changes. He snapped at Nami when she told him to go somewhere with his brooding, nearly earning a high heel to the gut.

How was he supposed to focus on anything besides the kid? They hadn't seen how suddenly Sanji had passed out, crumpling to the floor like a house of cards. He was feverish, eyelids fluttering and limbs twitching. Zoro had thought for a few agonizing minutes that he was having a seizure, but Chopper told him it was unlikely.

“It's probably the devil fruit wearing off, Miss Robin's notes said it might make him sick.”

But Sanji hadn't been like that when he first transformed, why was it happening now? Why was it taking so long?

He brought the cookbook and placed it on the table beside the cot. In case the kid woke up, he reasoned. He'd want something to do.

The first day brought no changes. Chopper sent him to bed with a warning not to sneak back in, and Brooke took first watch. Zoro had nothing to do but sleep and hope come morning that Sanji would be alright.

Around midnight Zoro woke with a start, the beginning of a name heavy on his lips. It took a bit to reorient himself with the cabin and his surroundings, heart thumping to an anxious beat. 

He looked around and found one bed empty, the only person he wanted to see nowhere to be found. Right, the kid was in the infirmary.

So he laced up his boots and crossed the lawn deck, hoping Brooke would grant him this one discrepancy. He wasn't sneaking in, he was just checking on Sanji. That's all.

The stairs leading up to the infirmary had something odd, mud streaked boot prints that headed down instead of up. Zoro stepped around them lightly as he turned to follow them. No one had gone to the marshes in days, there was no reason for muddy prints, just starting to flake and dry out.

They ended at the aquarium doors, a few splatters of mud on the threshold like someone had knocked their boots against the deck before going in. But that wasn't likely, the only person Zoro knew who did that was the cook.

As soon as he opened the door he smelled the tobacco, concentrated and sickly sweet in the air. There on the bench sat Sanji, his Sanji, discarded cigarette filters littering the floor at his feet.

He looked the same he did that day in the marshes, dirty and scuffed up from fighting, the hems of his pants coated in thick drying mud. The lit end of his cigarette burned cherry red as he took a drag, running his fingers through his sweat damp hair.

Instead of relief, all Zoro felt was a kind of dread. Anticipatory, heavy dread that curled up in his throat, blocking any words he could've said. Not that he knew what to say to begin with.

Sanji broke the silence for him. “Hope you didn't come to gloat, because I'm not in the mood.”

“I have nothing to gloat about.” The stone sitting against his windpipe lifted, replaced by confusion. Zoro took a few tentative steps into the room, stopping when Sanji's shoulders tensed up.

“Right.” The cook laughed shortly, his knee bouncing as he fiddled with his cigarette. “Well I'm not in the mood for your pity either.”

“I've none of that.”

“Oh, I definitely believe you.”

Maybe it was masochistic of him, but Zoro had missed this part of Sanji too. The part that bit first and asked questions later, too preoccupied with protecting himself to see there wasn't a reason to in the first place. Little Sanji didn't fight back.

“Do you remember what happened?” Any of it? All? Was Zoro expected to pretend it didn't happen?

“Yessir!” Sanji said, openly mocking his younger self. He did a half assed salute, dropping ash on his pants. Staring at the little pile of ash against his already filthy clothes, his face contorted like he was trying to hold something in.

He took another drag and didn't say anything else.

“Cook.” Zoro said cautiously, stepping closer.

“Can't you just leave already?”

“We don't have to talk about it-”

“Great!” He clapped loudly, biting down on the filter so harshly it bent. “That's settled then, good night.”

Maybe he didn't know how to approach everything that happened, but Zoro knew he wanted to say this at the very least. “For what it's worth, I'm glad you're back.”

Sanji leapt up with a snarl, dropping his pack of smokes from his lap as he made to grab Zoro's shirt. It bounced, the lid flipping open to send the cigarettes rolling in every direction.

They both looked at the floor in stunned silence for a moment. Then Sanji cursed and dropped to his knees, chasing after them with trembling fingers. Zoro bent down too, but was shoved away almost immediately. 

“I don't need your fucking pity . ” Sanji spit, eyes blazing. While his eye color had stayed the same, Zoro still missed that fire more than anything. It was nice to see it again, even under such circumstances.

“Good. I don't have any.”

“Just leave!” He haphazardly piled the cigarettes into one hand, hissing when he accidentally snapped one in half.

“Slow down, idiot.” Zoro huffed impatiently, knocking his hand out of the way to pick them up himself, much more careful with the fragile filters.

Sanji threw the cigarettes down and grabbed his collar, yanking him practically nose to nose. “I said I didn't want your stupid fucking pity, get it through your thick skull already!”

“I don't pity you.”

“Yeah? You sure? You're not still seeing some snot nosed little brat you have to keep alive?” He taunted, voice dripping with barely contained rage.

“I didn't pity him either.”

“Oh fuck off, now I know you're lying.”

Was that what this was all about? Some misplaced inferiority complex because Zoro helped his younger self? “Are you seriously mad because I was the one who took care of you?”

Sanji's face turned a vivid maroon as he shook Zoro around a bit. “Don't pretend like that was anything other than obligation.”

Obligation? That actually stung, and it seemed like Sanji realized it. His chokehold on Zoro's shirt loosened, then fell away completely as they sat there quietly.

In that brief attempt at peace, Zoro studied every inch of Sanji's face. He wanted to commit it to memory, to burn the image into his retinas so he'd never go so long without the sight again.

“Is it really so unbelievable that I did it because I care about you?” He asked, voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

Sanji met his gaze and he sucked in a breath, mesmerized by the sight of unshed tears gleaming in all blue eyes. 

“Please don't say that. I was dead weight. I was useless, I couldn't even cook. By all rights you should've left me in the damn mud.”

Even if those things were true, which they weren't, Zoro would've never just left him there. “You were a child.”

“That means nothing!” Sanji snapped, visibly holding back his tears. He was so much better at it as an adult. How many times had he forced himself not to cry since they've known each other? How many times had it been Zoro's fault?

“It means everything.” Picking up the box, Zoro gently shuffled the cigarettes back into place. He plucked out a few to turn them the right way, then closed the lid and held it out to Sanji. “He was still you .”

Taking it with shaking hands, Sanji breathed slowly through his mouth. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, but a single tear still managed to escape, slipping down his cheek.

They didn't stop coming.

“I hate this.” He finally whispered, wiping at his face furiously.

“Crying?”

“No. Well yeah, crying, but also all of this!” Sanji waved at himself and Zoro, then around the room.

He wrapped his arms around his stomach, hunched in on himself like he needed to take up less space. Zoro wanted to comfort him, but he wasn't sure that was ever going to be an option again. Not like before.

“My body feels so wrong .” Sanji confessed, twisting his hands in the sides of his own shirt. His voice broke. “My age is all fucked up in my head, it's like I'm too small for my own body, nothing's the same. I caught my reflection in the glass and I didn't even recognize myself!”

“Does it hurt?”

He made an uncertain noise and shrugged. “I don't know. It sure doesn't feel good.”

“Let me-” Zoro's jaw clenched as he tried to reign in his urge to reach for the cook. But he couldn't stop himself from asking, already resigned to rejection. “Can I hold you again?”

Immediately the cook tensed, glaring at him through a curtain of dirt streaked hair. He said nothing as Zoro offered a hand, palm open but not demanding. If he wanted it, Zoro would be there. If he didn't, well, Zoro knew patience like an old friend. He could wait for his version to come around, as long as it took.

“I'm not weak.” Sanji whispered, glancing at his outstretched hand with wary longing.

“I know.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know, cook. But you don't have to.”

Sanji looked at him then in a way that seemed too revealing, as though he had just come to a terrible realization and he wasn't planning on sharing it. Or maybe it was a softer truth that he discovered. 

That to allow someone else to care for him was, in and of itself, an act of kindness.

After a heavy pause, he let Zoro take his hand and cradle it, calloused fingers wrapping around ones that finally matched. He stiltedly shuffled across the gap and settled into the space between Zoro's knees, long legs folding over his thighs.

Very quickly, like ripping a bandaid off, Sanji dropped his head against Zoro's collarbone. He huffed in surprise, tensing when Sanji tensed, but neither of them pulled away.

The cook took up so much more space like this, and yet not nearly enough. He fit into the crevices of Zoro's arms like a sword fit its scabbard, naturally and comfortably. 

“Oh.” Sanji murmured, fully leaning his weight against Zoro's chest. “I thought my memories were exaggerating how nice this feels.”

Face burning, Zoro said nothing and carefully rearranged Sanji's limbs so they could sit more comfortably. Their legs tangled together on the dirty floor of the aquarium bar, dried mud lit by sparkling blue water.

He breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of tobacco and sweet menthol on Sanji's skin. Maybe in the morning they wouldn't speak, too embarrassed by such a show of vulnerability to properly interact. But for now he was safe to hold Sanji as close as he dared.

“You wouldn't let me tell you.”

Zoro hummed, resting his arm across Sanji's lap comfortably. He still wasn't sure if he actually wanted to know. “Tell it to me on your own time.”

“And if I never want to?”

He felt Sanji tense, and looked down to see him staring at his hands. They were undamaged. Whatever magic had turned him back also undid the scrapes and wounds Little Sanji had gathered.

“Doesn't change anything. You're still crew, I don't need your life story to know that.”

Sanji balled up his fists, scowling. “You're too fucking kind.”

“Isn't that a good thing?” He placed his hand against Sanji's hip, holding him in place. The cook was so warm, it radiated off of him like a furnace.

“You were kind to him too.” Hissed like that, it sounded like an accusation. 

Zoro was confused. “The kid?”

“Yes.”

“What, would you rather I was cruel?” He thought he already explained that he didn't pity Sanji. Why were they circling back around to it again?

“Would've been easier to handle.” Sanji muttered, turning to bury his face in the crook of Zoro's neck.

His grip on Sanji's hip tightened, anger flaring up. It took a few tries to reign in his initial response, and still he could tell Sanji knew something was up. 

“Chill, Mosshead. I was a goddamn brat-”

“Nothing you say will convince me you deserved it.” Zoro snapped, furious he would even try. He pushed Sanji's head back down and held him there so he couldn't get a good look at the scowl on Zoro's face.

Neither of them spoke until Zoro's breathing evened out again. Sanji gave a self deprecating chuckle, and sat up straight to wipe at his face. This time, Zoro didn't try to stop him.

“You were really fond of younger me, weren't you?” The way he said it, like it had a hidden meaning, wasn't lost on Zoro. But he wasn't quite sure what Sanji was actually trying to say, either.

“I guess.” He thought about the polite kid that trailed after him like a puppy, sweet and naturally curious. The image was quickly replaced by a foul mouthed cook, smirking around the end of a cigarette. “But I prefer my version more.”

The words were already out of his mouth by the time he realized what he said, and his face scrunched up in displeasure. The cook was going to be insufferable about that, wasn't he?

When no jeering comment was thrown his way, Zoro chanced a quick look. Sanji was staring at him with wide, uncertain eyes, cheeks dark in the blue light. His hair was curling at the ends, defying his usual meticulous style to fall softly across his face.

Unthinkingly, Zoro fixed a chunk of hair that was blocking his vision, as he had done for the little version multiple times. Sanji caught his wrist, holding him captive with that intense stare.

“Do you mean it?” Sanji asked, something like wonder coloring his tone. He looked at him as if he was seeing someone he'd never met before, curious, just shy of hopeful. “You prefer me?”

Embarrassed and feeling more than a little exposed, Zoro looked away first. “Yeah, I do. Is that so hard to believe?”

He glanced just in time to see Sanji smile, too bright to look at head on. His eyes glittered in the dappled light, crinkling at the corners as he beamed like Zoro had said something wonderful. The sight of it knocked the wind right out of Zoro's lungs, leaving him to choke on his own desperate desire.

Oh god, he wanted to kiss Sanji.

Blissfully unaware of Zoro's plight, the cook squeezed his wrist and leaned in to rest his forehead against Zoro's shoulder. “It's just really nice to hear. Nobody's ever said that to me before.”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. Get a fucking grip. “I'll say it again, any time you want.”

“Careful,” Sanji laughed, mood considerably lighter. “I might ask to hear it every day.”

“Fine by me.”

The hand on his wrist moved to tangle their fingers together, and he felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. Did he sound too desperate? Was the sheer amount of his attachment spilling over onto the floor for all to see?

He knew what his strange fascination with the cook was, but he was fine just pretending like it didn't exist. That is, until his Sanji vanished right in front of his eyes, leaving him to confront his own emotions in order to properly take care of the person who was left behind.

Something about distance making the heart grow fonder or some bullshit like that.

“Thank you,” Sanji whispered into his shirt, expression hidden. “For treating him kindly.”

He sighed, tabling his own mess of a heart for another day. Maybe he'd feel braver in the morning, under the sunlight. Right then, all Zoro wanted to do was hold Sanji close for as long as he was allowed.

“He's still you, cook.”