Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nami pulls him aside as soon as she sees him step out of the galley. 

“Don’t make the excuse you have to prepare dinner, we just had lunch—you’ve got time, and I saw you making preparations for it throughout the meal.” 

Sanji lets his mouth fall shut, pressing it to a thin line as her hand squeezes his arm, pulling him behind her. 

“Instead of following you doing the same thing over and over, you’re gonna follow me to this.” She says, matter of factly, “We’re gonna do what I usually do, now.” 

He begins to panic when she leads him to their room, “O-of course, Nami—but—“

”You’re going to deny a lady what she wants?”

“Never! Especially not—“

”Good. We’re doing a spa day.” 

“Huh?”

The navigator had shoved looser clothing his way, pushing him to change in their bathroom. Once he did, he felt so abnormal. Not just because he was in the ladies’ room.

A loose t-shirt and baggy sweatpants, he’s surprised Nami had clothes for him—but he supposes he shouldn’t really be, knowing her. He folds his suit and tie neatly, stepping out. His brows furrowed. 

“Socks and shoes off.” 

Ah. 

He places his clothes down neatly by the door, out of the way, easy to grab for a quick leave. 

Shoes and socks quickly placed beside the pile, he settles awkwardly besides Usopp, who’s seated with Robin as Nami gathers some more supplies to place in the middle of them all.

Their sniper is mixing something in a motor and pestle, and he grins up at Sanji when he sits on his knees, hands placed at his lap. Robin smiles at him, a closed-eyed one. 

He flinched when a hand moves his hair up, and Nami places a fluffy headband to keep it pulled back. He must have a funny expression, because Usopp snickers, and Nami huffs fondly, patting his shoulder. 

Robin’s devil fruit power moves around in the background, one hand appearing at each of their faces, applying the mixture Usopp created. 

Sanji can’t help but screw his eyes shut, especially at the sensation—it’s so weird.

The archeologist’s hands are gentle. She uses two for him, patting the sides of his face gently. He doesn’t know how to handle it. 

She’s rubbing gentle circles now, slow ministrations, another pair of hands settle at his shoulders and he stiffens up again—it doesn’t bother her, or deter her. 

Robin keeps working, massaging the muscles around his neck and shoulders, soon finishing up his face and those hands disappearing while the others work. 

He feels too awkward here, in this setting, especially not doing anything—

“You know what you can do for us, Sanji?” Nami asks.

”Anything.” He replies without a second thought.

”Ease up and let us handle this, okay?”

Ah. He might not be able to hold true to his word, here.

“You know you can relax.. right?” Usopp raised a brow, Sanji had to pry his own eye open in order to actually see him. Ah. 

Robin’s voice has a soft tease to it, “That is the purpose of this.” 

“S-sorry,” He jolts a little when a hand moves with some pressure down his spine. He tries to will himself to relax—he’s not used to being touched so much.

The navigator smiles, ”You can trust us with this.” 

“O-of course.”

”If it’s too much, you can let us know, Cook.” Robin says, slow. Calm. “We don’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

”It’s—It’s fine.”

He tries to breathe deeply, Usopp even demonstrating for him with a dramatic flair, “Yeesh—Let’s try a breathin’ exercise!” 

“And straighten these out for a sec.” Nami pushes at his legs. 

Too much is happening at once. But he complies, trying to find one steady thing—the breathing does help—he has to hold himself back from jerking his leg when he feels a hand at his foot. 

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands—And the next thing he knows, he sees Nami grabbing them, gently massaging circles there—he finds himself shivering, especially when feels Usopp mimicking the same movements with his foot. 

He screws his eyes shut again, trying not to move so much. 

Robin’s disembodied hands moves more to his sides, and he has to stop himself from laughing—pressing his lips tightly closed—

“Oh.. I see, now.”

Shit.

”Robin, p-please—“ 

“Huh?” Usopp raises a brow, thumbs pressing deeply into the sole of Sanji’s foot, and the cook can practically feel the evil grin on the beautiful Robin’s face. 

Nami scoots back, still holding his hands captive—And Robin’s arms wrap all around his sides, wasting no time.

”EHAH—“

He tries to stifle the laughter, hiding his face against his arm—Struggling to not rip from or pull against Nami, and to release his legs from the same hold of their relentless archeologist—

Usopp catches on quick, fingers now pressing so lightly,—the archeologist holding his ankles firm—tickling at the soles of his feet, and he can’t hold it back anymore.

Sanji wriggles, trying to escape from the sensations—proving fruitless, he knows, as Robin’s power is inescapable lest he hurt her. 

“Aha—Haha!” 

Nami released his hands, tickling under his arms, and he feels tears pricking from his eyes. 

“P-please—stop—!”

He gives out bursts of laughter, immediately bringing an arm to cover his face and a hand, his mouth, stifling more of the shrieks. 

Somehow he finds himself on the floor, trying to pull his legs away from Usopp, curling at his side as fingers relentlessly attack his sides.

They let him keep his hands at his mouth, his frame wracking with the force of the laughter. 

He shudders when a hand trails across his neck and begins tickling at the spot between his collarbone and shoulder, and he feels like he practically screamed with how loud his laughter got—he tries stifling it again, shaking his head and wriggles his form away from Usopp and Nami—At least he could do that, he couldn’t flee from Robin no matter how hard he tried.

Usopp moves up to try tickling at his wrists, now, as Sanji struggled too much to not kick at the poor sniper.  And Sanji almost felt tempted to bite the man. A pair disembodied hands simultaneously finding their way to the underside of his knees, and he’s lost.

“How did we not know he was this ticklish?” The sniper asked aloud, Nami having stepped back to let them do their thing as she prepared something else. The navigator shrugged, “I don’t actually know.”

”He always ran from touch.” Robin hums, something fond in her voice as she slowly calms down her assault. 

All the hands on his form stay there, slowly shifting from tickling to patting. Usopp gently taking ahold of Sanji’s hands now, pulling them away from his mouth as he tries to gather his breath again. 

He promptly lets himself go limp on his side. Chest heaving, he still shudders from the remnants of the tingly sensations—that, are now subtly amplified by a different kind, the kind that came with gentleness. 

Sanji’s eyes still closed, he doesn’t register Nami’s hands coming to rest at his head, running through his hair as he catches his breath. 

“That was mean.”

He barely finds it in himself to grow ashamed of how his voice came out as a cracked whine. 

Nami’s laugh, and gentle pat at his head, was enough to chase away any of that shame. 

“Completely necessary, though.” Usopp’s grinning, Sanji doesn’t need his eyes open to tell that. “Look, your body’s completely relaxed!”

Huh. He guesses that’s what they’d been looking for. 

“Hmm.” He feels his fingers twitch in Usopp’s hold, subtly leaning into Nami’s hands. 

One of Robin’s stay at his neck, gently massaging the back of it with her palm and thumb—her others, mimicking the gentle, circular squeezing and petting at his arms, calves and feet. 

Had he more energy in him, he’d feel guilt and insist that a lady shouldn’t have to touch him—especially his feet—but the sensations were quick to make his head all fuzzy, especially after the tickle attack.

He stays curled, limp, resting toward his crew mates. Eyes, no longer shut so firmly, but lax. 

His breathing managed to even itself out, and he felt himself dozing off. 

Everything was so warm, soft. Foreign, but.. nice.

Sanji doesn’t mind being touched by people, not if it’s them. Not if it’s his crew. 

He’ll likely keep flinching at their hands—but he hopes that doesn’t stop them, like it didn’t stop them here. 

..he’ll let himself, just for today, have that selfish thought. 

Here, under the care of Nami, Robin, and Usopp—who, all of them, for some reason wanted to have this be how they spent their afternoon.

Robin felt the cook practically melt into their hands.

She finds herself wondering, when was the last time he was held? 

The last time he had laughed so freely? 

..She’ll protect that sound. This moment—she’ll hold it close and make sure they’ll never lose it again.

Judging by Nami’s saddened expression, and Usopp’s determined gaze, she knows they share the same sentiment. 

It didn’t take much care for Sanji to fall into a slumber. Really—it was a pitifully small amount of tenderness. Robin wonders, not for the first time, how they’d gone this long without showing him more.

Usopp’s taking care of his toenails, now, keeping them neat and gently applying some nail-care based polish. Nami, similarly, with Sanji’s now pliant hands. No color—nothing that would interfere with his job.  The job he loves so much. The job he loves even more because it’s for them—

And Robin.. she keeps her devil fruit active, holding gently onto their cook—arms wrapped around him, a hand still rubbing the back of his neck, and another running fingers through his hair. 

..There’s little scars she’s never noticed before. Running, in straight lines across their cook’s neck.

Stretched out, old, and thin, but etched there all the same. She wouldn’t have noticed them had she not held her hand there for such a prolonged amount of time. 

They reminder her of handcuffs, chaffing—too tight against too thin skin.

She doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

Chapter Text

“Sanji, would you like to join me with something?”

He blinked at their Helmsman. “..Do you—need help?” 

Jinbe shook his head, a tad awkward, but steady nonetheless.

”I’d appreciate the company, is all.”

It was the fishman’s turn to accompany Sanji  with chores. However, it was laundry—and with the machines Franky’s been working on, it’s just a matter of waiting, now. 

They were, admittedly, just awkwardly sitting around as they waited. Sanji would’ve ran around to sweep the deck or dust the ship down—but that’s a chore he’s grown to reserve for their Captain, as it can involve a lot of running around, and help give the rubber idiot more of an outlet. 

“..Alright.” Sanji shrugged, “Let me prep something for lunch, first, though.”

”Of course.” Jinbe smiled. 

Sanji hesitated before stepping out of the galley. He made another  excuse with handing out some quick refreshments to the ladies and others—But now, after returning the dishes and straightening up, and having had the laundry taken over by Franky and Usopp wanting to see if there was anything they could do to make the work more efficient. 

He took a slow breath—okay. Robin shot him a knowing look, and he felt fingers creeping along the back of his neck—His shoulders tensed, “Robin, dear, please, I’d hate to ask you not to do anything you want to do.” 

She smiled, “Jinbe’s not one to force you to do what you don’t want to, either. You just have to give it a chance.” 

”…” He nodded, the disembodied hand now just resting placatingly around his neck, yet his shoulder’s stayed tense. 

“Are you sure there’s—“

”Yes, you’ve done plenty—and you’ve done well. Go spend time with your fellow crew mates.”

It’s no secret that if Jinbe had down time, he’d spend it resting in the shade on a sunny day, or meditating—if not needed elsewhere for whatever reason. 

Today, it was the former.

The cook’s hesitation didn’t die down when the fishman looked toward him and gently motioned to the spot next to him. 

Brook was relaxing with him as well, softly playing a tune as he sat. 

Robin’s disembodied hand gave his neck one last squeeze before being replaced by a faint smell of cherry blossom. 

It was rare for the Sunny’s green field to not be overtaken by their Captain, Swordsman, or Anyone really—it was oft a place where they played or did something chaotic and filled with energy. But this moment, it was used for rest. Something unfamiliar—something Sanji was unfamiliar with, even with all the changes made to their typical routines. 

“Ah! Sanji, you’ll be joining us? Do you have any requests?” 

The skeleton spotting him made it increasingly more difficult to just turn around and walk away.

Robin said to spend time with his fellow crew—Jinbe had already asked and he had already agreed earlier—And now, both Jinbe and Brook held these expectant looks toward him. 

He hesitated—he can’t stop doing that— And gingerly made his way to sit down beside the laying helmsman.

Usually the moss-for-brains tended to nap like this.  

“Whatever is fine, Brook. Thanks.” He felt himself say, more than he actually heard.

He shuffled awkwardly in his spot, trying to get used to not having anything to do. 

“Lie down, perhaps?” 

Brook suggested. Jinbe stayed quiet, only subtle humming, if anything—yet he remained steady, calm—like always. 

He had his arms splayed out on the ground beside him, it was kind of amusing to see the ex warlord so—lax..? Is the word?

So open. And peaceful. Trust, fully in everyone in company. 

..Sanji can trust them, too. He knows this. Why can’t he settle down? 

He tries for lying down like Brook said—Not before removing his suit jacket, folding it, and placing it carefully on the wooden deck.

The grass is soft against his neck and hands. Sanji leaves his button-up shirt sleeves rolled down. Usually Usopp tends to the field, Franky if not—They do a wonderful job. 

He looks up at the sky, a light blue this time—few, if any, soft fluffy clouds moving along languidly as the ship bobbed across the sea.

Laying like this made it easier to just take in the sensation if the waves against the boat. He can see the crows nest, no doubt Zoro’s up there training away like the lumbering oaf he was. 

Sanji should probably be doing that, too—getting stronger, but—He said he’d accompany Jinbe. He already said he would, Robin wants him here, and Brook is playing a tune.

His mind still feels too wired, his fingers twitching as he brings his hands to rest at his stomach. 

Brook begins to play a bit louder—Still, soft, and smooth, but more present—Having the sureness of choosing an exact song to play. 

Sanji fights against the urge to roll back around—tap his foot—head back up, do anything, go anywhere—Have something to do, at all— And.. he focuses.

Intently. On the music, on Jinbe’s breathing. On the way he knows they’re there, next to him, even without having to look.

On how the sky stays blue, how the wind softly hums to Brook’s tune, and how the grass tickles his hair. 

Jinbe’s arm, while nowhere near touching him, lies just above his head. The presence being close enough he can feel the warmth off of it more than the sun in the sky itself. 

..Can he really let himself be still, like this? 

Is that really okay? Shouldn’t he be moving—getting things done—training—working—? 

He has to make up for how he is, how he has been, somehow, yet—

“Thank you for spending the time with us.” 

Jinbe’s deep voice barely cuts through the ambience of the rarely quiet Thousand Sunny and their musician’s delicate work. It’s almost like a pleasant rumble, not unlike waves crashing against a shoreline.

But, it strikes through something that kept Sanji’s heart so tense. 

For some reason, Jinbe and Brook wanted to just sit and lie here, with him. Robin wanted him to go spend time with them—and judging by how peaceful this all is.. the rest of the crew wanted to let them have that time. Hell, even Franky and Usopp took over a chore he was doing—-

He should.. probably check on them. Maybe he shouldn’t have trusted their crew’s laundry with the two, rather chaotic, and extremely experimental geniuses. 

..Later. He can do that later. Right now, he mimics the rising and falling of their helmsman’s chest beside him — keeps steady, following the beat of Brook’s song, and letting his eyes fall shut.

Thank you. Jinbe had said. 

He wasn’t doing anything the crew didn’t ask of him.. it’s okay. 

If they needed him to do something—They’d come get him. He’ll be fine.. He’ll..

It’s okay. 

He hadn’t realized how tired and heavy his body had been, before.

The grass is soft, the sky is blue, and Jinbe’s presence is steady.

Brook’s tune plays, the waves move along, and the gentle warmth of the day lays like a blanket.

..It’s okay. 

Their cook fell asleep. Brook lets out an amused hum, Jinbe’s arm settling to wrapping around the younger man securely, lest the Sunny be wracked with a rogue wave and cause them to tilt too sharp to the side. 

The helmsman nearly flinched when the blond puffed out a sigh, but he was deep enough in sleep that he hadn’t flinched awake at the touch. Instead, they found him melting into it. 

Jinbe let out a low hum of his own, shifting the slightest bit and settling down into a contented slumber, himself. Their cook, for once, held protectively by another as he rested. 

Brook lets the music play, lingering, just a little longer before settling his violin down carefully. Sanji’s expression was the most unperturbed he’s seen in months. ..Years, even. 

Even when asleep, lately, their cook would have this tense quirk to his brow, and this defensive posture in his hammock. Always, legs tucked into his chest, arms tight around his stomach.

Here.. soft strands of yellow splayed out against their helmsman’s arm and chest, shifting with each soft breath. Instead of tensely curled up, their cook was wrapped loosely around Jinbe’s arm, his back pressed against the ex-warlord’s side. 

How affectionate, Sanji was. Yet so rarely willing to express it.. to indulge in it, or even let himself receive an ounce of it.

That’s okay. Their crew will help him—even if it’s as small as taking a nap on a quiet day. 

Brook dares let himself threaten to disturb the moment, placing his violin back in her case, and shifting over to the helmsman’s other side—the one Sanji rests at. He settles there, aiding in a subtly protective barrier between the cook and the rest of the world, and runs a gentle hand through the golden strands. Jinbe’s nose scrunches up, the soft hair no doubt ticklish, and Brook laughs. 

Undisturbed, their cook is practically a puddle—or a sponge, soaking in the gentleness he was given so freely, yet never knew how to accept when awake. He looked so small.. asleep, almost swallowed by the grass and practically dwarfed by the helmsman’s form as much as Brook’s own. 

A thin, yet soft and fleshy hand twitches, the one not around Jinbe’s arm. Brook halts his movements, but would have huffed a fond sound out had he any lungs or nose. Yoho.

The cook’s hand had found its way around the musician’s free one. 

He and Jinbe—They’ll stand guard for any nightmares that threaten to still haunt the young man.

In both sleep, and reality. 

Oh.. to have a stab at meeting Vinsmoke Judge again. 

Sanji barreling through the galley door, frazzled, hair sticking up in more places than one—fluffy and wavy,—Shirt ruffled, hanging loose off his person, as he breathes heavily,—was not the sight they expected to see this evening, so to say.

Their cook blinked. He turned his eyes towards Brook, shouting, “Why didn’t you wake me—?! I missed lunch and dinner?!”  

Jinbe shuffled in, unhurriedly, after. The juxtaposition between the last two crew members to arrive for dinner caused the room to break out in laughter. A heat rose up Sanji’s face as he quickly shook his head and headed toward the kitchen, where Robin worked carefully with her devil fruit.

”I’m so sorry, Robin, dear, for making you d—“

“You’re not making me do anything, dear cook.” She cuts him off.

He sputters, a disembodied hand appearing at his head, fixing the strands there. Sanji fumbles to regain his usual handle on his kitchen, and Robin lets him take over.

Zoro lets out a snort, “Even I got here before ya.” 

“You better have arrived earlier than usual, if Robin cooked! It’s unforgivable to let a lady wait, especially after she worked hard on a wonderful meal!” 

“It was mostly your work, cook.” She corrected, smiling fondly, all the same. “I merely listened to the wonderfully made instructions left behind, and put fire in the mix.” 

Flustered, struggling not to fume, he rolled up his sleeves and got to cleaning and organizing the kitchen. 

It didn’t last long, as Robin summoned arms behind him and pushed him toward the table to sit—Luffy wrapping his limbs around Sanji and pulling the cook into the spot next to him. 

“Sorry, again—I—” Sanji felt himself frown as he settled into the seat awkwardly. Nami handed a plate over to him and he thanked her—

“Sanji’s being silly.” 

“You keep saying shit like that.” 

“Because you are!” Luffy huffed. “Sanji’s allowed to rest and have breaks, too!” 

“And where will you be when I take one of those and I can’t cook you meat.” 

“…Sanji always cooks me meat.”

Luffy pouts, “We’ll just get you to take breaks later!” 

He lets out an amused huff, shaking his head.

“Yeah, okay.”

..They still want him around, even when he doesn’t get it right. Even when he doesn’t work.

Thank you. 

Jinbe said thank you, to him, before. Just for laying beside him. 

It’s.. weird.

He takes a quick glance toward their musician and helmsman, and gives a quick nod, “..Thank you.” 

Had the skeleton any skin, there’d be a bright grin on his face. He held a cup of tea up as a mock-mini toast,

“Thank you.”

And Jinbe nodded, a smile on his face even as he chewed. 

“It was an honor.” 

Chapter Text

He barely has time to react as the air is forced from his lungs, a certain rubber idiot having flung himself at Sanji, wrapping tightly around him—

“Sanji! Let’s take a bath!” 

He chokes out a puff of air, hissing as he steadied his footing, “Be careful, dumbass!” 

Luffy merely laughs, “Bath!”

”You—I’m surprised you even know what that is.”

”Nami makes Zoro and I wash up once a week.”

”Oh, how noble of our darling navigator, taking it upon herself to force brutes like you to have the simple decency of cleaning yourselves.. I should go get her something to compens—“

”Go spend time with Luffy, stupid.”

Nami, stepping out from behind him, laughed, and patting his shoulder. Their captain, still, clinging to his front like a damned koala.

She successfully shot down his excuse, he can’t even find it in himself to be too upset—it’s impressive, her ability to read him. And an honor, to be deemed worth that time it takes.

Fighting the fluster from rising up to his face, he gives a tense nod, “Fine.” 

“Yay!” 

It was night—Sanji’d normally be cleaning dishes and prepping work for the next day, but Zoro and Robin helped him out with the dishes despite his protest—and he was able to prepare something in that time he’d usually be stuck washing and drying silverware. That left him with nothing to do with the time he usually spent prepping.

And Luffy wouldn’t let up about the bath. He came barreling in when Sanji stepped out for a smoke—and Nami pushed them further toward the baths. 

Zoro and Chopper were following them, their little doctor humming a tune about baths and rubber ducks, and Luffy singing along horribly. 

Something upsetting swirled in the pit of his stomach. He’s been checked by their doctor—Chopper’s seen them already. Luffy hasn’t. Zoro, certainly not. At least Zoro doesn’t seem to have enough context to what they could be—But Luffy? 

Luffy might grow more disappointed in him. His answer from the day before—His choices. 

Luffy might grow disgusted with him.

”Sanji’s being silly again.” The cutting eyes of their captain’s upside down face fills up his field of vision, and he has to force himself to stop walking to not stumble. 

Rubbery hands pat at the sides of his face from behind.

”Tch.” He huffs, shutting his eyes, “It’s nothing.”

”…” Sanji can still feel Luffy’s eyes on him. 

Zoro and Chopper spare glances—Chopper stays back with Sanji when Zoro pries Luffy off of him and drags him to start the bath. 

“S..Sanji?” 

“Yeah, Chop?” He looks down toward their little doctor, and the reindeer wrings his hooves. 

“You.. you don’t have to get into the bath with us if you don’t want to. Y-you know that, right?” Chopper stammers—then quickly picks up, “I-I also have some scar ointment that can be applied in the shower that could help if—“

“I’m alright, Chopper.” Sanji huffs, but fondly this time, ruffling the little head of fur. “Thanks for being a good doctor.”

”That—That doesn’t make me happy, bastard!!” 

And with that, they settle into the baths. Sanji has to teach Zoro how to take a proper bath— And how to actually fucking shampoo, holy shit. 

“What do you mean you don’t use conditioner.” 

“Water’s just fine on its own!!!” 

“No, the fuck, it isn’t!!”

Sanji rolls up his fucking sleeves and pushes the mossball down into the water, “No wonder your hair’s so fucking green—Literal Mold growing out of your damned scalp—shitty—Fucking—Idiot, holy shit.”

Luffy laughs loudly, overshadowing their cook’s grumbling, “Me next, me next!!” 

And Chopper doesn’t even have to ask for Sanji to also be washing his fur. 

Thank whatever gods out there, that Robin has a handle on ensuring their little reindeer knows how to properly clean himself—and the fact that the kid is a fucking doctor, and knows the importance of good hygiene—

“Can I wash Sanji’s hair, too?” 

Oh, right. Water. Bath. He was to do that, too.

”Yeah, shit cook.” Zoro huffs, hair thoroughly drenched. “You’re s’posed to get in ‘ere too.” 

He looks like a wet cat. Sanji lets himself be proud of his part in that.

”..Fuck off, you’re lucky I trust Franky’s ingenuity enough to believe this can be remotely sanitary with you infesting the place.”

He and Chopper get ready to settle into the baths—He hesitates, again, and Chopper pats his arm. Sanji glances down at him, and the doc gives his most reassuring smile. 

“Baths can be soothing and very nice! Especially with friends!” The doctor tries to cheer up, and Sanji manages a smile of his own, “Yeah, yeah..” 

Quick scrubbing down in the showers later,—he’ll probably need to do that again, after this, knowing the damned rubber and moss idiots over there—There’s no more stalling. Chopper’s even headed on in already. 

Towels for modesty, the texture around his waist keeps him grounded in a way he can’t tell is good or not. 

He gingerly settles himself into the water by the corner, trying ignoring the intense stare of his captain, and the pointedly averted gaze of the swordsman. 

Sanji struggles against the urge to scratch at his arms, or to wrap them around himself.  The silence lingers a tad too long—He motions for Chopper, and grabs the shampoo for his fur. 

The reindeer doesn’t hesitate, setting a good distance apart from him, and Sanji gets to work, gently rubbing in the soap into his fur. 

The ministration, the doing something with his hands, helps. The contented hum of their youngest crew member helps, too. 

There’s a big, large scar across his body. In the shape of a “Y.” That’s the most glaring mark. 

If he turns, they’re able to see the burns, still fading bruises, and electrical scars from his siblings all across his back and sides. It’s shocking, how they’ve lingered so long—even longer than the injuries he’s received from Wano.

..Marks from his blood family always do.  

And it might be because of whatever weird genetic bullsh—

A loud CRACK echoes out, and Sanji flinches, his hands jumping off of Chopper. 

“..I’ll wash your back.” Zoro mutters out. “While you get Luffy’s hair.” 

“You don’t h—“

”Let me.” The swordsman looks away, “Please.” 

The firmness of his voice makes Sanji flinch again. 

Apparently Luffy accidentally shattered one of the bath’s shelves. Franky’ll be upset with them later. 

Sanji finds it’s increasingly difficult to focus on washing his captain’s hair while the very man is playing with Chopper in the water, and someone has their hands on his back. 

He keeps flinching, he keeps jolting—he stays so stupidly tense, and it’s so fucking stupid. 

“Shit, cook..” 

“Fuck off.”

Zoro digs his hands into his shoulders. Sanji freezes when thumbs rub at the back of his neck. Two big palms at either side, almost threatening to swallow up his shoulders. 

Luffy leans into his chest, and his arms stay uselessly in the air where the captain’s head once was.

He’s sandwiched between two far too warm bodies, in a frankly warm body of water. Chopper pats awkwardly at Sanji’s hands, and the cook remembers to set them down. 

He and Zoro don’t do this. Yeah, there was that odd time when he was drunk, and he mentioned the dungeon, and Zoro pat his head—and it was nice—and it was so oddly gentle—But—They still don’t do this.

They settle into a quiet that’s not as tense as before, as their Captain dozes off in the water. Chopper waddles on out of the tub—Sanji makes to get up, offering to help the reindeer dry off—but Zoro forces him to stay put.

“He can handle himself fine.” 

Chopper nods firmly, then more sheepishly, while avoiding eye contact, says, “Thank you, though! It was really nice to get my fur washed. I appreciate it a lot.”

Sanji finds himself dumbly nodding, “Yeah. Of course..” 

The cook’s hair is soft. Even when wet. Zoro’s moved to washing it, as Luffy grew weary of the water and has to move around again. Currently, their Captain’s dried off and on the hunt for cozy clothes. 

Where Sanji was tense with the touch against his back, he seemed to ease up more with the attention to his scalp.

The cook’s always had a goofy habit of fucking up his hair when stressed. It’s supposed to be some kind of self-soothing. Zoro’s not so blind as to not see that.

But Sanji always treats it so roughly. Zoro’s not good at what is and isn’t soothing—but.. he knows that the tightness of which the cook grips at his hair is definitely not how to get the desired effect.

It’s kinda funny, how he treats his hair, when he is such a stickler about washing it the “correct” way. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” 

But he does. He hates how little energy is in the cook’s voice. 

He wasn’t there.

He once told Sanji he couldn’t trust him. 

While He, himself, couldn’t be trusted, either.

He’s supposed to have the cook’s back. 

The cook always has his.

And even when he doesn’t—it’s because he fucked up, made a mistake, and thought that they’d all be better off had he notreached out to them for help, for whatever fucking reason—When the cook doesn’t have his back, it’s because he made a stupid decision with the intent of having it. Thinking they’d be fine, had he just up and left—had he disappeared on them.

There’s the scar from Drum Island. The ungodly amount of lightning from Sky Island. The plethora of so many more scars— All of it, because Sanji couldn’t dare live with himself had he allowed the crew to suffer. Had he allowed their crew mates to die.

Zoro feels so fucking stupid thinking Sanji left because he betrayed them. Because Sanji hated them. Because Sanji was so one dimensional and would abandon them for a fucking girl.

There’s a wide branding of “66” across his shoulder blades. At the small of his back , longways across his spine, a large, yellowed bruise in the vague imprint of a boot—both of them, scarred from the use of heat—Burned into his skin.

”I don’t blame you.” Sanji mumbles—it was obvious, Zoro’s guilt when he saw his back, “You’re not obligated to do anything—and it was a shit situation. Shit timing. You did the right thing.” The right thing not going. Not caring. “And it’s not like I helped make all of it any easier, either.”

Zoro should have tried more. 

He’s supposed to protect this crew—he’s supposed to keep them together, he’s supposed to defend them and—Sanji’s part of that, too. 

Sanji’s a very significant part of that. Luffy’s the sun—-He’s.. like, the moon. The sky, that holds the sun up, if not.

He’s seen Luffy before and after Sanji. He’s seen himself before and after Sanji. The crew—The Going Merry.. None of this would’ve happened had they not had Sanji. 

Even after a long day—There he is, picking up the pieces, mending what’s broken, and fixing up a hot meal to greet them back home. 

“Oi, mosshead—I said it’s fine—“

But it’s not.

I spent six months alone in a cell —— nothing but the rotting corpses of long forgotten prisoners and a plethora of insects for company.

The cook was drunk when he said that.

He never explained why he was apparently locked up like that. He never said how, he never said when—He spoke it, like it was just a fact of life. Like he was supposed to have stayed there. Like he had.

“I’m sorry.”

Sanji flinched.

Zoro runs his fingers through the wet strands of hair, feeling a few strands between his thumb and pointer finger—watching, as it falls and drips, heavy with water. 

If Sanji can’t afford to give himself the same care, the same love—Zoro will take up the responsibility. 

“I’m going to do better.”

And Zoro returns to that weird gentleness, still unfamiliar from his own hands—but feeling no less right, especially when it comes to their cook.

He’ll get even stronger, too. That way—No one in their crew has to doubt their trust in them to handle whatever shit situation comes their way.

“Sanji doesn’t have to tell us anything if he doesn’t want to.”

They’ve moved out of the water, now focused on drying up. Sanji was made to sit as his Captain fluffed a towel in his hair. 

He can feel the rubber man’s hands shaking. 

“..Cap’n, if you gotta know something, you don’t need my say-so to ask.” 

Sanji gave himself the task of combing through the moss’ hair once it dried. Neatly, and gently, untangling any knots in the soft, short strands.

The sensation of his hands across Sanji’s head and back still lingers in tingly bursts. 

Zoro’s hair grew a bit from the past few months. Sanji can also swear it, it’s almost a brighter green now. 

So, mossy fields need lawn care, too.

Luffy’s hands stop for a moment. The towel’s gone from his head. It’s quickly replaced by a rubbery chest as hands place themselves at the bottom of his chin, moving his face upwards to look at their captain. 

“If Sanji needs to talk, I’m not going to stop him. But if Sanji doesn’t want to, I can’t force him.”

Luffy has a frown on his face, and a look too complicated for his typically straightforward eyes. 

“..More than enough choices were taken from Sanji.” 

Soft hands move his head back down, but presses its side against Luffy’s stomach as he hugs him there. 

“The only choice Sanji can’t have is that he’s mine.” His captain pouts childishly against his hair.

 Sanji lets out a laugh, nodding, “Yes, captain.” 

“He’s also not allowed to overthink his worth every time people give him a damn pat on the back.” Zoro huffs, and Luffy enthusiastically nods, shaking Sanji lightly as he does so. 

And Sanji just yanks harshly on a knot he finds in the moss’s hair. 

“Zoro.” 

Luffy never really asked more than he says, that happens when he’s tired, or his brain is overworking a thought and he can’t get himself to focus so much on his tone of voice for communication.

Zoro gets that, and they understand each other easily enough as is—With their training in haki, they practically have their own language that goes over everyone’s heads.

Cook’s mastered a good bit of haki, as well—but he never focused on any offensive ones. There’s an itch in the back of Zoro’s mind, convinced that Sanji’s always been able to have some control over his own haki—he rarely remembers feeling that.. particular vibe from him, where there was no.. thing to be alerted to. Sanji knows how to hide it. But he hasn’t done it consciously. That irks the swordsman. It scares him when he can’t feel the cook’s haki. It.. scares him to think about how bad it had to have been for him back then—that he’s.. 

Zoro’s getting off topic.

“Yeah, captain?” 

Luffy’s staring. He’s figuring out how to word this.

He’s looking at Sanji, who’s asleep. Zoro, himself, had his eye closed before this—He pretended to be asleep. The cook was too out of it to care for the truth of it. 

After they dried off, Luffy had shoved clothes from Nami their way—And the heavy, softness of them made the cook endearingly drowsy. A sweater, simple and blue, and loose pants. Cozy. Zoro’s had a green set of them—and the Captain’s been wearing a red one. 

Luffy happily dragged a sleepy Sanji back to the bunk, Zoro following wordlessly after them. They set the space much like they would have with “sleepovers” they used to do on the Merry—Pillows and blankets piled up on the floor like a weird bird’s nest.—The cook never joined them for that, and Zoro smirked at the bafflement in Sanji’s eyes even as he slowly, sleepily blinked. 

And it didn’t take much prompting for the man to follow after the swordsman, settling down into it face first and curling on his side. Luffy had laughed, and Zoro closed his eye. 

The next thing he knew, soft, barely audible snores came from the cook. Luffy, patting through the fluffy strands of hair, moving Sanji’s head against his chest.

A subtle, protective measure.

“Sanji doesn’t want them to die.” 

Them, that’s gotta be the Vinsmokes. 

“..You wanna act in accordance with cook’s wishes, but you..”

Luffy nods. They don’t need Zoro to finish that sentence.

They both feel it. It’s frustrating—Luffy is frustrated.

The two of them handle things best by doing. They handle problems best by being blunt, straightforwards—fighting. Beating the fuck out of whoever hurt their nakama.. killing, if it ever came down to it. 

But Sanji doesn’t need that. Sanji’s never wanted that. 

Time after time, the world’s chewed him up—spat him out—and gave him shit. 

Yet time after time, he still fucking loves it. 

It’s too bad they can’t fight or punch the world. It’s a real fucking shame they can’t. But..

“If we see them again, we can still punch ‘em a little.” Zoro’s eye was open, watching the Cook’s chest rise and fall slowly.

Drool began to make a small puddle against Luffy’s shirt where Sanji’s face was squished into.

And his captain finally grins,

“Death’s too good for them, anyways!”

Chapter Text

“I still don’t think I’m worth it.”

Sanji surprises himself with the words that come out his mouth.

Usopp’s hands still, and Franky glances up.

They’re tinkering away in their space, Sanji being dragged along because they were working on something that could make cleaning the Sunny easier. 

“Bro..?” 

Sanji shrugged, turning his face away. “He came back for me.” 

“..he thought I was worth it, and he— Here I am, repaying him by still not having faith in him.”

“Luffy..?” Usopp set down the tools in his hands, looking over to where the cook sat, knees curled to his chest. 

The cook nodded. “I lied. I broke everyone’s trust. I ran away, instead of facing it.”

“He still smiles at me.” Sanji’s head falls against his knees, resting there. “He was hurt so bad. I hurt him. He didn’t fight back—Nami—“ 

Usopp grabbed ahold if Sanji’s hands before they clenched at his hair. Sanji flinched, but didn’t dare move. 

“I fought with Luffy, too. And he still wanted me.” 

Sanji didn’t look up. He knows. He’s well aware. It was a stressful time for them—back in Water 7. 

They likely wouldn’t be here with Franky, today, if Usopp wasn’t with him on that train. Sorry, Franky.

”You’re the reason why this place feels like home.” 

Usopp’s never sounded so sure before—he’s only ever sounded that way when.. on one of his spiels, of lies, storytelling—but not like this.

He shook his head, apologizing—He needs to head back out onto the deck—sweep—wash—cook—anything.

“Sanji.. you were hurt and scared.”

Usopp stays, steady, even with shaking arms.

”We got hurt, but that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be exist.”  Usopp holds both of his hands, now, holding them gently between his own. “I-I mean, yeah, things could’ve definitely gone a lot better—But that’s no one’s fault. Shit happens.. we have to sort it out as it comes—and..“

Usopp squeezed his hands. Sanji laughed, shaking his head, and Usopp..

”Talk with us, o-okay?” He offered, “Tell us—The story.. What w-we didn’t see. Help us see.” 

“I.. can’t. I-I don’t think I can.” 

Robin told him, things are heavier carried on one’s own than when shared amongst others.

If the past few days have taught him anything, the crew’s concern grows the more he doesn’t talk.

And if the crew stays concerned over him—Their time would continue being wasted, and he’d keep getting in the way. 

But he can’t. He’d.. he’d only managed when he was drunk, and every small thing felt like it crushed him. He can’t leave it at that—His captain said that he won’t force Sanji to explain. But—He keeps.. he keeps feeling the obligation. He owes them something, especially after everything. 

he owes them so fucking much. 

A hand far bigger and colder than Usopp’s lands on his head, he feels only slightly better when he barely jumped at it. 

“I’ve got just the thing, don’t worry, bro!” 

Crayons and empty books were not what Usopp had expected when Franky stepped in.

On the floor of their workshop, blankets brought in,  making the space more comfortable to sit and relax in, as Franky placed down the stuff in front of Sanji. 

Usopp stared. 

“Let’s make a story!” Franky grinned, “Like journalling. Or, childhood fairytales, stuff like that.”

”Iceberg’d get me to do this sorta thing when I was littler..” He shrugged, “Helped out. Even still have some—Despite how little sense there was in it all.”

The cyborg laughed, also placing down some colored pencils. “And colors are SUPER at shifting focus and cheering up!” 

Huh.. Usopp supposes, that makes sense.

Sanji never looked more out of his depth before. Sitting in a pile of blankets, coloring supplies and a small, empty book before him. Blinking. Unsure of what to do with himself, here.

Even when he fell asleep in Nami and Robin’s room, even when he was curled around their helmsman’s arm in the grass, and even when he was found in the pile of blankets and pillows with their Captain and Swordsman— 

He was at least asleep during those. Sure—it was odd, not something you saw everyday—But.. he was relaxed. Happy. It’d been nice, seeing the cook finally rest. 

But here.. he looked.. scared. 

“Hey, man.. y-you don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna.” The sniper tried—Franky put a hand on his to stop him from reaching his own out, “Give ‘im a sec..” 

Sanji blinked, he finally looked away from the paper and crayons—looking up at them.

Franky pushed the little book closer to him. 

“You’ll be fine, bro! There are no rules, there are no right answers.” 

“I—I need more direction.. than that.”

Usopp’s heart clenched at the sound of Sanji’s voice. They were just kids. Not even two years ago—They were still kids. He sounded so small. And Usopp.. felt small, too. Unable to do anything to help—unable to make it all better. 

I’ll do what you can’t do, and you’ll do what I can’t.

What can’t Sanji do..? 

What can’t Sanji do that Usopp can?

”..Here! I’ll make one too!” Usopp grabbed some random colors and another small book, humming. Franky glanced toward him, Sanji stared with a tense, blue eye. 

“Hmmmm.. it can be about anything, right?” Usopp asked.

Franky nodded, “Yeah!”

”Anything..” Usopp tuts, scratching his chin, flipping to the first empty page. “Oh! I know! I’ll write about that time I saved a beautiful maiden from the terrible forces of a super secret underground spy society that threatened to take her hand and feed all the sheep to armies of ten-foot-tall werewolves!” 

That got a small snort from their cook. And Usopp got to work, pretending like his eyes weren’t pricked with tears, and his hands held tremors. 

A small snort. That was enough. 

“Write it all out here… real quick,” He stuck his tongue out, quickly working—flipping through pages. “And—! Gonna sketch out little scenes to go with it…. and then, some color hereee… ooh, a little bird would look nice here—wait—nope, that just looks like a butt in the sky.. oh well—Flying butts were haunting the narrative, anyways! The super-secret super-deadly assassin society had them in their arsenal!”

And Usopp worked. 

He worked. Slowly, Sanji’s hands hesitantly grabbed a color of his own—Blue. 

And began his own. 

Usopp glanced up, Sanji’s hand frozen before the first page— “Something.. something you can’t say out loud. That’s okay. It can be anything. It’s for you. You alone.”

And he.. He worked. Sanji got to work. 

It’s a multiple day project.

Every now and then, Sanji would settle on the floor in the workshops with Usopp and/or Franky, coloring or drawing away. 

Not always the little book; Sometimes Franky would have created various coloring sheets, and sat with the cook just coloring away. A lot of them, intricate patterns; mandalas, swirls, geometric shapes, florals.. a lot of floral patterns, and ocean themes. 

They came in handy whenever the cook began to stress over the little book. Which happened more often than they wished. But.. the coloring helped. Usopp acquired some markers off of an island they stopped at—this particular kind that applied its color very smoothly.

He got a lot of blue ones—Sanji seemed to be attached to that color. 

It’s nice, actually. Usopp finds himself grinning at how impressed he gets Sanji to be when he draws Brook near perfectly. Usopp eventually draws Nami, Chopper, Robin, Zoro(albiet, for Zoro, he specifically draws him as a little fluffy ball at first, which causes the cook to snicker), and Luffy, and Franky, and Jinbe. He draws each of the crew. And Sanji colors them in. 

He draws the cook, and Sanji stares at the drawing for a little longer than he probably meant to. Usopp doesn’t know if he should say anything when Sanji starts to tear up a little, but he does, “..Good?”

The cook nods, quickly scrubbing at his eye.

“Where’s..?” Sanji asked. And Usopp hesitated, “Right.”

Usopp draws himself. They color each other in. And Franky tinkers away, a grin on his face as the younger bros spend time together.

More days continue like that. And eventually.. Sanji hesitantly places the little square book, cover now colored in various blues, on an empty workshop desk.

He runs quickly off, likely back to the galley to cook. 

Franky and Usopp stare at it for a while. 

Sanji’s book. He trusted the final product with them. 

The cyborg promptly bursts into tears, before they even begin to read it, and Usopp has to swipe it away from the shipwright’s hands so it doesn’t get ruined by the water pouring from his eyes. 

“Fourteen years ago, the Queen died. In her bed, alone. Not a full year later, the third prince, as well. It was a tragedy, they said. The king held a funeral for all of the North to see. A little boy, dead, not long after his mother. 

The king held a funeral. But the little boy was still alive. He’d called guards to swarm him, and drag him down, strapping a metal helmet to his head before locking him away. 

‘Why?’ The little boy would cry. 

He’d be met with nothing, nothing but the echoes of his own whines. 

Three months in, he’d be found again.

The helmet made for him to be unrecognizable—it did nothing when it came to that of his own blood.

He hadn’t anything left, but the dark and pain inflicted on him.

Insects forced through the cracks of the helmet, wriggling to get free. Body rattling, head sore. Kicked and thrown, it didn’t matter.

He could be as bloody and torn as they desired, for the third prince was dead. It didn’t matter.

The princess came each time, perhaps wracked with the guilt from remembering the queen. She took it upon herself to try and tend to the wounds, even when she was placing herself in a danger of her own. 

The little boy in the cell, helmet on his head, cried each time. He always cried, and that was why he was locked up. That was why he was thrown away.

He cried for the guards killed in battles, he cried for the rats stomped by boots, he cried for the servants tortured by his brothers.

He cried for his mother, who loved him too much. And he cried in fear of hurting anyone near. And he cried, scared, alone—no one left who cared to hear.

One day he said, ‘I’m going to be a cook. And I will find the All Blue.’ 

‘Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.’ She had said. She had good reasons, ones she couldn’t afford to show.

But he’d scream it if he had to, selfishly, true. It was all he had to hold on.

It was all he had to not let his mother’s love be as worthless as he was. 

She chided, ‘Stupid,’ and cried. For the first time, tears were shed by another, tears were shed for the little boy. She used her strength to pull open the bars, yelling at him, ‘Don’t Dare Delay.’

He had to get the key to the helmet while she ran to secure his way out. His father caught him before he made it through.

‘You can’t stop me.’ The little boy cried.

And while untrue, the King did not even attempt to.

The little boy gave the King an out—The boy would likely die, alone, at sea. The King wouldn’t have to trouble himself with the failure no more. The failure who dared look like his mother. The failure who dared to wail when first born. The failure who still cried, even when wearing a glare. 

And the King would have no extra blood or dirt on his hands—Lest, somehow, the boy grew and became a man. 

To counteract that, he ordered the boy; 

‘Never let anyone know, your blood, your name. Who you are, from where you came.’

‘And as my last request, as your father..

Don’t ever call yourself my son.’

The third prince is dead. And if people knew him, they would be, too.“

”ROOOBBIIINNNNNNNNNNNNN?” 

A blue eye popped up on the wall of the workshop’s communal space, in a more visible location. An ear appearing along with it.

Franky and Usopp, sobbing, holding onto each other—the little blue book sat in front of them. Usopp just pointed frantically at it, sniffling, struggling to bite back a whine. 

The eye blinked. And disappeared.

Quickly, their archeologist opened the door after knocking, and stepped inside. 

She knelt beside the cyborg, wrapping an arm around him with a pat. A disembodied arm held Usopp close, as well. 

“We—We should ask be-before sharing t-this with—-“ Usopp sniffled loudly, “With any-anyone.”

”Y-yeah.” Franky sobbed. 

And Robin pat their backs, smiling fondly toward their sweet, softhearted crew mates. 

Dinner time came. And the pair just about calmed down—but when Franky walked in, he bursted into tears again, instantly pulling the cook into his arms and hugging him tight. 

“Oi—Shitty—-“

Sanji tensed in his hold, but didn’t push him off. 

“Thank you, for trusting us, bro.” Franky spoke through sobs, “You did so well.” 

And Sanji awkwardly pat the cyborg’s arm.

”..Th-thanks.” 

Usopp wiped his eyes, and Robin followed in after—placing a gentle hand on the sniper’s shoulder.

 “You all did good.”

And Usopp’s once dry eyes started to well up with tears all over again. 

He wrapped is arms around Sanji and Franky, as best he could around the Cyborg’s massive form—and cried. Sanji, before he could utter out an apology—jumped a bit, as the kitchen’s oven beeped, and pat more urgently and aggressively against their arms, “I— swear to fuck, if this shit burns because y—-“

They reluctantly released him, the pair of sniveling messes—and as soon as Sanji successfully retrieved the dish and placed it down safely—

Lufdy barreled in and shouted, “Group hug?!!!”

And Sanji was promptly engulfed in the firm embraces of the shipwright, sniper, archeologist, and captain. The captain, eventualy, dragging Nami, Chopper, Jinbe, and Brook, from wherever they were before, into the galley for the hug as well. Zoro, actually settling in of his own initiative, a hand patting the top of the cook’s head. 

“I’m s—“

Zoro pulled sharply on his ear. 

“Fucking—hell, asshole—“ Sanji glared, but quickly hid his face, sniffling, ”Th-the food’s getting cold.” 

And Franky laughed, as did Luffy. 

They havent shown the book to the others yet—Sanji getting antsy and stressed when asked about it. So they kept it safe, more often than not held close, inside a chest compartment of Franky’s. 

The artwork on each page was actually truly impressive, especially with the use of crayons. The cook’s skill with his hands didn’t just stay with the kitchen, with his craft. 

Usopp found himself more often than not, flipping through the pages of the little blue book. 

It was like a legitimate children’s tale.. one of those books parents, or older siblings—or the elders in the village— would read to the kids at night. 

..The way he drew his brothers.. scary, shadowed, simple.

He had etched the helmet on his head with scratched, imprinted detail each time. 

And he always drew Judge barely fitting in the page. Imposing, and face smudged and unclear. 

Little fishies dotted the sides in pen like doodles in margins, and Usopp found himself tracing them—it was soothing. Probably what they were supposed to be, for Sanji, when he made them.

More and more.. the sniper keeps asking in his head, over and over— Why did they save them? But Sanji already answered.

He answered the Captain, They’re my mother’s children, too. And.. 

Usopp.. can’t blame the cook. He remembers what it was like—to see his mother, weak, fading—yet still, smiling so brightly at him every time he came by.

She loved him. Usopp.. wants to keep going, be strong, keep fighting, so he can carry her love on..

He’d be hard-pressed to let that which his mother loved die so easily, too. He feels a little silly asking Sanji that question.. but, at the same time—

He kind of wishes that they didn’t have to let the Vinsmokes live. He scares himself a bit with that thought—but at the same time..?

They took away one of the brightest smiles Usopp’s ever seen. They still keep taking it—haunting the cook, even now, far away from them—in the Sunny, surrounded by everyone. Home. Back then.. Sanji’d smile so, so brightly.

He’d rarely do so—usually a scowl on his face, or something unimpressed—or enraged. Or those silly, goofy expressions, usually displayed when fawning over the ladies. But.. when he did..? Like—Actually smile, for real?

Usopp always felt a warmth fill him. A kind of warmth that gave him.. strength, confidence—a will stronger than when on his own.

Reassurance.

The comfort of home..

Sanji has a beautiful smile. It makes sense—those with the brightest ones tended to be the most stuck. They tended to be the ones trapped, in the dark.

He hates that it makes sense—even more so, now, especially.

Usopp.. doesn’t want Sanji to stop smiling. He’ll fight for that smile—He’s going to work harder, get stronger, and become fiercer just for that day they might see Germa again; and absolutely torment the hell out of Sanji’s undeserving brothers. 

Sanji may not be able to let himself care about the pain they put him through, for—well—all of his life, but Usopp can. Sanji may not be able to.. give himself the patience and self-love, but Usopp can give that to him, too. 

Usopp can care about the fact Sanji deserves so much more than what he’s been dealt. 

He’ll get it through Sanji’s skull one way or another—Sanji doesn’t deserve to be treated worse for whatever it is he thinks he’s done wrong. He doesn’t. 

He deserves to be loved. 

Usopp grabs a few of the blue markers he’d got for the cook, and Franky moves out of the way when he heads over to grab another spare, empty drawing book. 

Robin doesn’t comment when she sees him walking into the library—pulling out books all about different seas and fish. 

And he gets right to work. 

Chapter Text

Zoro’s been spending more time in the galley. Sanji’s not sure how he feels about that. 

If the swordsman’s not training, not outside watching the others, not doing more training but in a different location—he’s “resting” in the galley, now, instead of just outside, or training. 

Sanji can feel little prickles of Zoro’s haki fanning out every once in a while, so he knows Zoro’s not really asleep, even with his eyes closed.

It’s a little unnerving, but likely because Sanji’s not quite used to a constant presence around him. He’s been spending his time with at least one of crew members around him. 

Usually.. the kitchen, still—while he cooks, that’s when he’s allowed to be alone and spend time with himself. Or showering—or in the early mornings, allowed to do his usual routines as normal, stretching, showering, and preparing. 

But once the marimo wakes up, he’s practically has a second shadow; at all times when no one else is around, Zoro will be. And if Robin, Brook, Franky, or Jinbe are there—Zoro leaves to train, or is dragged away by Luffy, Usopp, Chopper, or Nami.

More often than not, it’s Sanji, lately, who’s being dragged away by them. 

Thankfully, they know to let him have his space when cooking.

Mosshead did say something about ‘doing better,’ Sanji’s still got no idea what he meant—but maybe? This has something to do with it? ..He’s not sure, really. It should bother him that he doesn’t know—but he’s.. glad.

The brute’s presence is irksome and glaring enough that it helps keep Sanji grounded, alone. 

Somedays he still gets stuck and lost in his own head, drifting and going with the motions. Zoro’s haki spiking every now and then, and being within Sanji’s space, forces the cook to remember other people are here, it’s not just him—he isn’t alone. 

It.. doesn’t do much for that weird sadness, though.

Today it feels like he’s trudging through a sludge. 

The motions are familiar, and he loves cooking—it always makes him happy, especially when he’s doing it for his crew—But the sadness lingers, even still. 

This happens often, actually. It got pretty bad a few weeks ago, before the crew began making slight changes to everyone’s schedules. When.. Sanji was so out of it, he barely registered Nami’s question, or any of the crew’s concern. The “burnout,” If he remembers correctly, that Chopper called it. 

He still doesn’t know what to do with it, the lingering or clinging sad. 

Sanji feels guilty. He’s still.. like this, he’s still dragging himself by the feet—even after all the crew’s help, all the adjustments—all the effort and time placed into him. 

It sucks.

It really sucks. 

He’s not even sad about anything in particular. 

It’s just there, and he can’t do anything about it, besides continuing on, like everything’s normal—basically, that is normal, but..

It just.. sucks. 

“Sanji? Would you like to sit with us?”

Robin is the one to ask, she, Brook, and Chopper were reading in the aquarium. 

Dishes had just been cleaned from Dinner, and Sanji had just finished handing out some post-meal refreshments, or pre-bedtime tea.  Something sweet, but subtly so, with warmed milk for Chopper, a kind of warm tea also containing steamed milk for Brook, and a decaffeinated— Chopper managed to compromise with their dearest archeologist for that—rich, black coffee for Robin. 

“I shouldn’t—“

”Nonesense!” Brook chirps, “You’ve been on your feet all day, have a seat!”

“I need to—“

”That can be done later, sweet cook.” Robin smiled, patting the spot on the couch beside her. Cherry blossom hits his nose as an arm pries the tray from his hand and another pats at his back to sit down. 

He promptly does so. 

Chopper huddles close by him, Robin picking him up off her lap to sit between them, as Sanji’s fingers twitch. He gives the reindeer a pat on the head—Chopper leans onto it, and Sanji’s hand stays there. 

Brook and Robin continue reading—discussing, too, the book that they’re looking over. It’s interesting, Sanji thinks — something about a singer, who’s traveled across treacherous terrain to reach his love? He’s not exactly playing attention.

His eyelids feel droopy, and finds himself pulling Chopper in close and lying on his side, falling promptly asleep. Fluffy little reindeer fur and the warmth of their friends’ voices washing over him. 

He wakes back up under a blanket and Brook still sitting at the little round table before him.

A steaming cup of tea, and a book, in hand. 

The skeleton glanced up toward the groggy state of their cook, and lets out a hum. “Robin and Chopper went off to prepare for bed. Are you quite alright, Sanji?” 

Sanji blinked, propping himself up on his elbow and rubbing at his eyes with his other hand. 

“I guess?” He muttered out, more so to himself than anything.

”Hm..” 

“Shit—wait, sorry. I hadn’t—fuck.” He sat up, swinging his legs over to the side and looking around for the tray and cups he’d left there—

“No need to worry, dear cook. Rest is as important as anything else.”

That still hadn’t been enough to quell the groan emitted from Sanji’s throat as he slumped his head into his hands.

Brook waited, patient, maybe even understanding in ways Sanji won’t ever know the depth of.

”There are nights.. even days, where I feel lost in my own head.” 

The musician hummed, gaze idly on the book in his hands, providing some semblance of dignity for their cook.

”Stuck, perhaps, would be a better word.”

They both know. Many times, Sanji’d stay up, ensuring a warm spot of tea for their wandering skeleton. And many times, Brook would find him holed up in the pantry, providing the solace of quiet company. Of a peaceful presence—where he hadn’t a need to explain or speak, where he’d just have to sit. And be understood, in shared, similar traumas. 

They never really talked about it, though. 

Brook had spoken of it with the crew present; his own. It was kind of hard not to, as that was tied closely to how they met in the first place.

Sanji.. spoke of the rock. But held back more.

Loneliness and loss were familiar companions for the both of them.

Recently.. Franky and Usopp managed to get him to do something about what he never spoke of, but he was still so scared to even speak of it—it sucks. He doesn’t know why he is—it’s not like—

It’s not like Judge cared if the world knew his name anymore. 

It’s not like he should care of what Judge thinks.

So why is he still so—Stuck? 

“Sanji..”

He flinched, but kept his eyes on the ground of the aquarium, “S-sorry.” 

He cursed at himself for how his voice came out.

”Would you mind it if I sat with you?”

He dumbly shook his head. The skeleton slowly, quietly, moved over, settling down beside him softly. 

Sanji pulled his knees up to his chest, moving himself to lean back against the cushioned seat. His arms, now, wrapped loosely around them. 

Brook stayed, presence consistent. 

“I died.” 

Brook flinched. Sanji grimaced, he should’ve been more careful with his words. But it wasn’t false—it was true. 

“I’ve.. died before. A lot, too. The doctors at Germa knew how to resuscitate me.” He spoke quieter, turning his head away from Brook. “They had to, because then whatever progress made—whatever effort put into me—would’ve been erased.”

”Falling from.. heights, no child can survive that—no normal child could. I thought I was weak for not.  But it was normal. Human.” Sanji huffed a laugh, “And—Did the others tell you anything about Sky Island?”

”Bits and pieces, yes.” 

“One of my brothers has the ability to control electricity.” Sanji shrugged, “When we were younger—he struggled holding back and controlling it. Not that he ever wanted to hold back against me.” 

“I knew I could handle a lot more lightning than the others. Because the doctors had to ensure I wouldn’t die by my brother’s hand. Just for his amusement.” He hummed, “It was easier to try and fix me than to hold him back..”

And he grew silent. 

Brook let it fall, allowing the cook the chance to gather his mind and process his words. His thoughts. 

“..somedays, I think I should’ve stayed dead.” 

And Sanji finds himself hating that. It implies he’d just throw his life away, now—And he won’t. 

He can’t let the efforts if his mother—the efforts of Zeff—The efforts of the fucking strawhats—Go to waste.

He can’t. Because for some reason, they worked hard to keep him here. They worked hard to let him stay. Even after everything. Even after all he’d done—all he was truly worth.

But if he had.. never left Germa’s dungeons, none of that effort would feel wasted. None of their efforts would have to be expended toward him. 

..His mother’s, perhaps— But he knew Reiju was carrying that on, too.

No one else was carrying Zeff’s leg. The Orbit. The way Luffy still fucking smiles so brightly at him even after everything—

“Sanji.”

He flinched. He really didn’t mean to. He knows Brook’s hands—He knows them. He knows they’re safe. 

The skeleton’s hand remained carefully on his shoulder. 

“..I’m glad you’re alive.”

He was so stupid to talk about mortality so freely in front of their musician. It was such a sensitive, touchy topic and he shouldn’t have—

“The moment, the now—It’s hard to stay in. But that’s worth everything. You’re here now.. and it’s perfect. Thank you, for staying. For living up until now, and for continuing to do so.”

Sanji rubbed at his eyes, not wanting to get any droplets of tears on the couch or blanket.

”I’m proud of you. It’s not an easy thing.. especially after all that’s happened.” 

And he sobbed. The skeleton’s pulled him closer, arms wrapping around him loosely.

”Thank you.. for choosing to live, even after everything.” 

Brook and Robin were the third and fourth to see the little blue book Sanji’d made with him and Usopp. 

Franky was under strict(not really, the little bro was hesitant and finicky, almost shy in asking Franky to do this—which was far from the usual, bossy demeanor of their cook—But he’d be Damned if he dishonored the request of his dearest bros. Especially this one—Especially after everything, and the amount of trust being given to him. He’ll be damned if he lets it be broken again by any other hand.

Franky wants to wring the neck of those who were supposed to protect that trust, but broke it time and time again. Of those who didn’t know the worth that it held, who treated it so carelessly—Who don’t even know the depth of trust they still have, with how the cook refuses to let them be killed—

He’s getting off topic. Man, is anger a wild emotion to crack) orders to ensure that their dear Archeologist and musician are able to read it, and to keep the book safe once they’ve finished. 

Franky had found them and brought them to the workshop, Usopp tinkering away in the gardens this afternoon, their cook—who was just there this morning, now back upstairs,— in his own safe space and domain, the kitchen. 

He tapped against a compartment in his chest, settled down, moving some pillows and blankets over for more comfort and cushioning for the human woman and thin skeleton, motioning for them to sit. 

They did, and the compartment opened—and he reverently pulled out the book. 

He handed it to them, saying, “I trust and care about you bros, Sanji does as well, but I need to ensure you understand the depth of this.”

”He’s letting you in. I don’t want to hear anybody making fun of this, or anybody outside of whom he’s trusted me to give this to knowing of its contents.” 

“We’re nakama, I’m aware of what that means—And I know you guys do too. ..I just needed to say it, so I absolutely know you know.” 

“Of course, Franky.” Dear Robin nodded, understanding. A serious expression on her face. 

Brook did as well, a hand to where his heart would be as he gave a small bow. “You have my word.”

And Franky grinned, proud of the trustworthiness of his crew, and pulling out a box of tissues in advance. 

Somedays, I think I should have stayed dead.

..Brook understands what the cook meant, now. 

He’s grateful their shipwright had the foresight to take out tissues. 

He dabs at his eyes(ockets(yoho)) and gently hands the little book over to Robin. 

What the musician told Sanji the night before.. he means it. So, so much.

He’s proud, he’s scared—he’s sad, that their cook had to deal with such torment. Brook wishes he never had to. But there’s no use dwelling on the past.. especially, when right now, he has a nakama that deserves far more love and care they’ve been providing than before. 

A nakama who deserves to know his worth—his worth, that is so, so much more than anyone else dares to claim it is.

Chapter Text

Sanji’s leg bounces. He can’t stay still for so long—he’s trying. He is.

Relaxing. Relaxing. This is supposed to be calm.

He’s sitting with Zoro, Jinbe, and Brook in the crows nest. 

Meditation.

It’s.. not really that dissimilar to his morning stretches — Yoga. Except, right now, they’re just.. sitting here. 

When he stretches his muscles and limbs all put in the morning, he’s moving. Doing something. Helping his mind wake up and body get ready for the day. Even when he isn’t moving, his body’s in a strained position—Tension, physically, and it helps.

This.. is just—

Sitting.

Not doing anything.

Silent.

He can’t stand it. 

Sanji doesn’t understand the purpose of it—Or why he’s here, too. 

The past few days have been weird. His mind feels more active, compared to them, now. He’s realizing—He’s still not doing enough.

He isn’t doing enough.

He’s been sitting around—Not doing much, causing the others to do more, and it’s—He’s failed. 

He’s failed. He’s supposed to help the crew. He’s supposed to make things easier for them. It’s what he does. It’s what he has to do. He’s not doing that—He needs to keep working. He hasn’t even earned their forgiveness, yet—Luffy’s smile—Nami’s forgiveness—Everyone’s care.

Sanji stands more abruptly than he means to.

Ignoring the attention shifting subtly to him—from everyone—? Except Brook—? The shitty skeleton’s actually sleeping. Sitting up. Okay—And he makes his way to the latch leading out the crow’s nest. Wordlessly, unsettled, jittery.

And they let him go.

He comes back up, after running around and giving the deck a quick sweep —And providing quick snacks to Luffy and Usopp and Franky and Robin—Nami, he couldn’t find, which he learns to just leave something for her with Robin—And he makes a tray of drinks for the crew members up top. 

An experimental attempt at ‘milk tea,’ for their resident tea-and-milk-drinker, Brook. A salty, iced lemon-limeade for their helmsman. And, cranberry juice with a dash of ginger and bourbon for their shitty mossball. 

He hops back up into the crow’s nest, this time through the window, carefully placing the tray down before entering.

He slipped the window shut, and sat down at the couch lining the wall. 

Brook scares him by his face slowly appearing in his field of vision.  The skeleton’s form, craned and bent just to do so. 

Sanji jolts, slowly placing a hand on Brook’s face—And pushes him away.

“The fuck are you doing, shit skeleton?!” 

The musician laughs, scrambling away, a good enough distance before Sanji remembers his legs.

“Merely greeting our darling cook!” 

“Hah?” 

“Thank you, Sanji!” The Skeleton chirps, sipping the milk tea happily. And Sanji sputters, huffing.

He hands the limeade drink to their helmsman, and gracefully shoves the cranberry juice toward the shit swordsman. 

Zoro gives a fucking nod, in appreciation, and smiles. 

What?

He usually has a jeer or a snarl. 

Not whatever the fuck that is. 

“Thank you, Sanji. This is lovely.” Jinbe happily says in his calm, deep rumble. 

He understands more and more why Usopp likes hanging around Jinbe often. Sanji wants to wrap Jinbe’s, admittedly unsettling at first but, calming presence and steady voice around himself like a blanket.

..He’s going to pretend he’s never thought that.

Brook laughs, like he can read their cook’s thoughts. And Sanji kicks his foot out and swipes at the skeleton’s legs, causing him to trip and fall with a wail. 

And.. the cook quickly saves Brook’s drink from the same fate, anyways. Not a drop spilt, not a drop wasted.

The swordsman snorts, taking a big gulp out his own drink. 

Sanji struggling to stay still wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

More often than not, Zoro’d be annoyed at that. 

It was exhausting to watch him. The swordsman was almost.. gleeful, at the cook’s state — The swirly-browed-idiot’s constant activity was catching up to him—

And.. Zoro realized, it’s not something he should be smug about. 

The cook’d been getting better, relaxing more—spending more time with everyone. It was nice, it was progress. But.. he was beginning to fray at the edges, again. Most threads still not mended, yet, either.

Getting him to meditate with Zoro, only, would’ve been weird. So he dragged Brook and Jinbe along too. 

It was a big step, in of itself, that Sanji even tried to join. 

“Love-cook.” 

“What, marimo.”  

“Meditation’s not working. What do you do?”

”Huh?”

”For you. It’s not working for you.”

”And—?! So what?!”

The swordsman blinked, furrowing his brows. Yeah, Sanji had taken that as a dig at his ability to do something, instead of what Zoro’d meant.

”Whaddaya normally do to relax?!” He huffed out. Anger, admittedly, more from his own frustration at himself than toward the cook.

”What’s that have to do with anything?!”

Maybe it was toward the cook’s ability to do things, actually. Dense fucker. 

Brook settles himself down beside Jinbe, watching as the two, after.. who remembers how long—

Clash, with boot and blade, slashing and dancing—Bickering delving into the sounds of slicing, shoe hitting steel, and shouts of;

“Shit moss!”

“Stupid cook.”

“Marimo ball!”

“Curly brow!” 

Perhaps they’d have been more concerned, had this..  actually happened, in the past few weeks. Instead, the two elder members of the crew smiled, especially at the grins breaking both their cook’s and swordsman’s expressions.

They dueled—Almost til exhaustion—But—

Sanji stopped. Zoro forced himself to cut off the momentum of his next strike, everyone in the crow’s nest feeling something wrong in the air.

The cook silently knelt down at his leg, punched it—It clanged, cracking back into place—And he stood back up, grabbing the now empty tray of emptier glasses, and heading out the crows nest.

Zoro.. let him. Heavily breathing, gritting his teeth against the sword handle in his mouth.

He has to start on dinner, anyways. Sanji tells himself. Over and Over. 

On his way to the galley, he doesn’t run into anyone. 

His heart beat is fast, pounding—but he doesn’t hear it. Head.. oddly quiet. 

Panic? That hasn’t fully settled in yet? An odd and hard to identify friend, but familiar all the same.

He knows he just needs to work. Ignore the way his hands shake. And work.

Dinner is.. tense. 

Zoro’s.. basically pouting. 

Nami, growling at said tension.

Usopp cries silently to himself, the anger and frustration that simply radiate off the two terrifying enough.

The cook fluttering about, cooking, cleaning, providing refills—-And is promptly pulled down beside the Captain, to sit, and join them in the meal. 

Chopper squirms, uncomfortable, as well.

Robin and Jinbe are always rather quiet when they eat. 

Brook and Franky, whispering to each other in a gossipy way, being the only noise breaking the tension with be clatter and clang of silverware against dishes. 

“Alright.” Nami stands up, hand slamming against the galley table. “What the hell is going on?”

Most everyone finished eating.. Luffy, still, sneakily snagging more from the serving plates.

Sanji flinched at Nami’s voice, “Wh-whatever do you mean, darling Nami?” 

“With—! Whatever—THIS is!!!” She waves her hands, pointing, especially at Zoro, “What did you do?!”

The swordsman grunted, looking away. “Nothin.”

Nami narrowed her eyes.

She looked over to Sanji, who had stood from his seat and start gathering the empty plates—

“Sit.”

He sat back down so quick, she was almost worried he had hurt himself in the process.

She shot a glare both Zoro and Usopp’s way for snorting— They both froze, looking very interested in anything else.

“Captain.”

Luffy froze, his hand stretched out to grab some leftover steak. 

“Address this.”

Luffy snapped back into his seat, glancing around the room. 

“..Sanji and Zoro have to talk but Sanji and Zoro are bad at that. Zoro needs to think and process before talking—But Sanji’s thoughts go too fast and keep running.”

The captain shrugs, chewing on his prize, which where what leftovers was left on Usopp’s plate.

“I don’t—What?“

”I’m fine with talkin.” Zoro growled out.

Luffy laughed, nodding. “Yeah, but Sanji and Zoro get stuck in their heads too much.”

Sanji sighed. Nami’s stare unrelenting—The eyes of the crew on them, many awkwardly fidgeting and trying not to stare. 

“We’ll—We will talk it out later.” 

He forced out, glancing up at Nami before attempting to stand again—She gave a small nod, and he went on with his chores.

Zoro crossed his arms, huffing.

Luffy frowned, a slight thing. But, eventually, ate most of what was left over of the food on the table in one swoop. 

His laughter brightened the room once again, as Sanji cursed him out for making a mess. Zoro, rolling his eyes.

The cook sat himself down next to the mossball, seated against the ship’s railing, by the stairs. 

He fiddled with the cigarette in his mouth, smoke puffing out in the direction away from the man right next to him.

Zoro’s arms, crossed, tightened around himself as his eye stayed shut.

”I’m sorry for abruptly leaving.”

The swordsman snorted, Sanji whipped his head over, shouting, “I’m tryna talk like the cap’ said, here, asshole!” 

“I know, I know.” Zoro waved a hand.

”S’just.. Somethin’ you always do, is all. Leaving abruptly.” 

The cook tensed. Zoro, cursing silently at himself. 

“..Not a bad thing. Y’got panicked. You do what you have to.”

He spoke, quieter, after. 

Sanji blinked, nodding, slow. 

“Talk.” Zoro stated with a shrug. His voice was soft, but neither admitted that. “Anythin’. Just—Talk, alright?” 

They spoke quietly, to each other—The others around the Sunny running around, relaxing, doing their thing.. Luffy flinging around with Chopper; Nami and Robin relaxing under the shade with books and drinks; Usopp being an unprecedented victim of both Franky and Luffy’s chaos, running from them with his next project protectively in his arms; Brook laughing with a tune to Franky’s rumbling as a duet; and Jinbe settled down, acting as a mock-shield for the ladies against the other crewmates’ chaos, Nami having shouted at them all more than enough.

And.. surprisingly, Sanji opened his mouth to talk.

“For two years I couldn’t be outside without my eyes hurting or my limbs aching. I hadn’t been in the sun enough.” 

“Then, as I got better, I—the rock, and all that,” Sanji waved his hand, “Happened. And I couldn’t do much of anything. I couldn’t have confidence in my body—never knew how to, actually.”

”Then the old man actually started to teach me. Teaching me how to fight—Rather than runnin’ at people, swingin’ kitchen knives, and bitin’ ‘em” 

Zoro raised a brow at that, and Sanji bit back a laugh, “I bit Zeff’s leg when we first met. Kinda ironic, or poetic, or whatever—Since that leg’s the one he eventually lost ‘cause of me.” 

“Hm.”

They both failed at hiding their own respective grimaces. 

“..I had actually felt in control, of myself—my body, my own strength. I got confidence, ‘cause of that shit geezer. He taught me not just how to defend myself—But that I didn’t have to keep being afraid of everything, constantly lookin’ over my shoulder..” 

”That I could work hard and actually see results. I was in control, I could get stronger.. I didn’t have to fail all the time.” 

Sanji’s head landed on Zoro’s shoulder. The cook jumped, sitting back up, but Zoro let his head fall on top of the cook’s own. 

The blond tensed, but settled back down against the swordsman’s side.

“He taught me how to stand on my own two feet and not question what my next step would cause.” 

He fiddled with the cigarette in his mouth, taking it out with a puff of air and messing with it between his fingers instead.

”Built up something.. piece by piece, even without anything to gain from it.” 

Zoro grunted, hands clenching. 

Sanji grew silent.

“..He doesn’t sound like a man who’d expect anything back from you.” Zoro huffed out. 

The cook blinked.

”You don’t owe him for his choice to support you.” 

“…”

Zoro glanced down, Sanji.. had a sad look to his face. Smiling, a small thing. 

“..You don’t owe anybody anything.”

The cook shook his head. Zoro frowned.

“Talk.” He said, again.

Sanji folded his legs to his chest, drooping more against the swordsman’s side.

”I have to.” 

Zoro furrowed his brows. “You have to?”

”Too much’s been wasted on me if I don’t.”

He shifted, ready to stand up and leave—Abruptly. Again. —Zoro shot an arm out, wrapping it firmly around his shoulders—keeping him there. 

“No.”

The cook blinked, raising a brow.

”Fuck you mean, ‘no,’?” 

“We’re not done here.” Zoro grunted. “Talk. I don’t care if it’s polished or thought out enough. Just fuckin’ talk.”

“It’s not a waste. You’re not.” 

“…”

Sanji shifted awkwardly in Zoro’s arm, stubbing out the cigarette between his fingers.

”..You asked me to kill you.”

The cook flinched. “Yeah.”

”So..?”

“..I-I—don’t wanna end up like my brothers. I don’t—“

”I don’t want to hurt people like that, to not feel anything—To be cruel and lose myself to being this freak that just gets a thrill from tormenting people and ruining lives and putting to waste— Everything—“

Zoro felt Sanji tensing as his voice grew increasingly shrill.

“..Everything my mom did to protect what he had deemed was wrong with me—everything my sister did to get me outand keep me alive—And everything Zeff’d done to let me live.—It’s all going to fucking waste because I’m the one that can’t get a fucking grip on my own shitty life—”

The arm around the cook’s shoulder stayed heavy, firm. Grounding.

“And—I don’t—I don’t want to end up hurting them. I don’t want to hurt them—You—The crew, And—The only one I could trust who’d stop that from happening is you—You’re stronger than me and can—If—It’s for the crew—you could—“

The swordsman stayed quiet, gritting his teeth. 

“Luffy’d refused to let me go, he’d refuse to let me just die, and he’d—I don’t want to end up hurting the crew. I don’t want to hurt them—I don’t want to—I can’t,

“But—The fucking modifications keep—Acting up—I’d thought if I could just—throw away the damned suit—It would be fine, right?—But it keeps happening—And I don’t—? I don’t know if it’d stop—If I’m going to keep changing—If I’ll lose myself and keep hurting the crew and—“

Sanji took in a big gulp of air, shaking his head quickly.

”All.. all the effort—Everything Zeff’d put into me—Everything I learned—All that I’d been given.. all that.. all that, just because I can’t control my own fucking self.”

A soft, broken laugh left his lips, but he continued.

”It’s like all that—All the hurt—? The countless bruises, broken bones, yelling—kicking—bleeding—The fucking torment—And then the clawing my way out of it, fighting for scraps and just to fucking live—It was for nothing. All of it, because the fucking experiments actually started to fucking work—“ 

Sanji’d started crying.

”After they’d all given up on me, after they.. —after I’d finally been getting somewhere, making something..”

Neither knew when the first droplet fell—Zoro tightened his arm around him, as a quiet, choked sob forced itself out,

”I tried so hard. I tried so hard.”

The only reason his hands weren’t gripping at his hair was that arm Zoro kept around his upper body. But his hands still clenched tightly, nails threatening to break skin.

”I did everything they asked.”

”I did everything they asked—I never said anything. I never let anyone find out—And even when- When I did all of it—They—“ Sanji kicked his feet lightly, an aborted effort to let out some kind of frustration, “Still—Threatened to kill Zeff. Even though I never said anything. He never knew—No one did, I hadn’t failed.” 

“I hadn’t failed and it still wasn’t enough.” 

Sanji shrugged, brows furrowed with a laugh, “I actually hadn’t failed for once, and it wasn’t enough for them.”

“It wasn’t enough.” 

Sanji didn’t sob anymore with the tears falling from his eyes. They just fell. But, they were no longer stifled, they weren’t trapped anymore. 

“Fuckin—The damned modifications are an affront to all of it.. all of the shit geezer’s effort—All of my mother’s—All of.. mine.“

And he just cried. Frustrated—Not at himself, this time, but his situation.—Okay, maybe a bit at himself. But, it was mostly toward his shit circumstances.. and—

“They’d be proud of you.”

Sanji blinked, surprising both of them with a bark of laughter, “What?”

”..Your ma’ and shit geezer.” 

Sniffling, Sanji furrowed his brows—This time, confused.

“I’m proud of you.” Zoro mumbled, looking away—but his arm tightened around the cook again. “You’ve admitted the absurdity of the shit you went through.”

“You’re not acting like you deserved it just for existing, anymore.” The swordsman shrugged.  “You’re letting yourself bemad. You’re allowed to be upset and hate them.”

Sanji stared.

A refusal to admit the warmth pooling in his chest at the words—I’m proud of you. I’m proud of you—

“Fucking—Asshole.”

I’m proud of you.

Zoro let out a laugh. Not at Sanji, not for crying. But for the familiarity of insults—trying to deflect, but both of them knowing, now, it wouldn’t work. 

“Dumbass.” 

“..You’re not responsible for what others chose to do, shit-cook.” Zoro eventually said, when Sanji finally relaxed into his hold, rubbing the snot and tears off his face against the swordsman’s shoulder. “Also, that’s gross. Get a tissue.”

”You don’t shower anyways.”

”Not true. We showered the other day, remember?”

”..Gross.” Sanji wrinkled his nose, as though he wasn’t melted against Zoro’s side, basking in the warmth and comfort of the weight of his arm.

”I’m tryna talk like the cap’ said, here, asshole.” 

The cook elbowed his side, and Zoro laughed. 

“..You’re stronger than me.”

Sanji froze. Zoro kept talking. 

”Y’know, we’re equals.. You’re my rival, we fight—we’re an even match an’ all that.. but..”

Zoro looked up, away—toward the stairs. Something relaxed in his expression—letting.. out something sad. 

Unfamiliar. Sanji blinked.

”I carry a dream that isn’t just mine. I refuse to let it die, and so I won’t.” 

Zoro’s hand subconsciously gripped the cook’s shoulder tighter.

”I would have chosen to let everyone around me rot, had I been in your shoes. Just for that dream. The person who’s dream.. that it was.”

He shrugged,

“And.. you—You still chose to be so fuckin’ nice to people, despite having every reason not to be.” 

“‘m not nice.” Sanji mumbled, sniffling, “I do everything outta my own need to feel useful.” 

“You know that’s not true.” Zoro shook him gently, “You’re an asshole, sure, but you’ve never stopped caring for the people around you.” 

“We’ve all seen it.” The swordsman glanced toward everyone else on ship—counting who was still out on deck, and checking to see the paths of destructions for those not out on the field anymore. “You get this stupid smile on your face when you see others happy.”

”There’re these looks in your eyes, too.” 

Zoro grunted, “Stupid ones. But obvious.”

”Y’see someone burnin’, you run straight into the fire. Y’see someone danglin off the ledge.. you never stop thinkin’ bout it until you find a way to get them down without ‘em bein’ hurt, or you manage to set up a way for them to land safely.. —Fuckin’, even if it’s jumpin’ right off the cliff to be able to break their fall.—-And when they’re hungry.. you feed ‘em. Y’don’t care who, you feed them.”

”Even when you get so stupid in your head about it—When you know they’ll do nothin’ but hurt you afterwards.. You still feed ‘em.” 

“Took me awhile to get, why Luf’d refused to leave without you, specifically, as our cook. Back.. with that old man of yours and whatnot.” Zoro shrugged, “Thought the reason was the food. It’s not.”

”You care. Too much—That you get so hurt over it.. and, even then, you still chose to care.”

”That’s the kind of strength that Luffy saw in you. The kind we need—The kind that takes.. someone truly strong to be able to have.” 

“You’re a stupid, sweet, idiot—But you’re the stupid, sweet, idiot that nurtures this crew and gets us all to feel like an actual home.”

The swordsman spoke quieter, now.

“I never really knew what those’d feel like.. but after seein’ all that we had seen? Seein’ all we have here? Together?”

”I’ve never felt.. —When we were separated, I never realized how cold things were before you—How warm you hadmade things.”

Zoro huffed, speaking quicker, “I missed ya. I’m glad you’re here. And, It isn’t the same without you. It never is.”

”We aren’t the same without you. So shut up about this nonesense of you wastin’ everyone’s time.” Zoro growls, more slow this time—less embarrassed, “Of course Luffy’s not gonna let you go so easily. Even if you ‘lose’ yourself, we’ll go to the hells an’ back just t’get you back.” 

“Have some faith in yourself, and us, too, shithead.”

Zoro loosens his grip, only a little bit when the cook began to squirm, “Whatever comes our way, you we’ll handle it. Like we always do.”

The swordsman finally glanced back down at the blond, only really able to see his fluffed strands of hair.

“Yeah?”

He was wiping at his face, letting out a choked laugh, “Y’can’t j-just say all that.” 

“I just did.” Zoro shrugged, “What’re you gonna do about it?”

And Sanji.. decided to bite his arm. 

Zoro barked out a laugh, the two eventually breaking out into fits of what were definitely not giggles.