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Once upon a time, there was a queen who loved her children very dearly, and who feared their father, the king. The queen was very sick, and too weak to run away with her children. Unable to protect them from the king, she sought them to hide them, instead, weaving all of her love and fear into magical shirts, which she threw over her children. When her sons put the shirts on, they were transformed into beautiful albatrosses, strong and free, and flew away the way their mother could not.
Their older sister the princess, however, was clever and shrewd, and she was suspicious of the gift; she did not put on the shirt her mother gave her and so was not transformed, and she missed her younger brothers. Before the queen died, she told the princess that the only way to undo the spell was to weave four shirts out of nettles and put them over the birds that used to be her brothers. The princess only had four years to complete this task, and she could not speak during that time, or the spell would never be undone and she would never see her brothers again.
For four years, alone in the palace, the princess wove and studied and trained in silence, no one but her father and her brother’s memories to keep her company. She was very lonely, and she was very scared, and she was very angry. She did not speak a word.
At the end of four years, as the albatrosses flew overhead the family’s castle, the princess traveled to the top of the tallest tower and threw the shirts over them, transforming them back into the brothers she had missed so much during her years of quiet solitude. However, despite all her efforts, she had not been able to gather enough nettles to complete all four shirts; one of the shirts was missing a left sleeve, and so the third youngest of her brothers was not transformed all the way, and still had one long wing instead of an arm.
Their father was very proud of the princess for her dedication, and very disturbed of his one-winged son. Ashamed of him, and afraid that people would think his other children weak or deformed if they saw him, the king locked him away where no one would find him, hidden far from the sky and sea he had grown to love as a bird.
The princess thought this cruel and unfair. The princess did not say anything, because she had grown used to holding her tongue. The princess feared her father, and pitied her brothers, and hated her mother.
The princess wished she had finished the last shirt, so that her father would love all her brothers the same. The princess wished she had not made the shirts at all, or perhaps that she had been transformed as well, so that she and her brothers could be free as birds and far away from a father whose love was so fickle.
The princess could not bear to leave her brother locked away like a criminal when she was the one who had failed to break the spell. Her other brothers had grown as cruel and callous as their father, and they mocked their brother for his feathers and his sadness. The princess, as clever and shrewd as she had always been, took the key from their father, stole down to the dungeons where her brother was hidden, and set him free.
She told him to run or swim or fly as far as he could until he was far, far away from their family: from the father and brothers who scorned him, and from the mother and sister who could not do enough to protect him. The young prince was scared, but he did as he was told. He ran when he was on land and he swam when he was in the sea, but he did not fly, because he had been told for so long that he must hide his wing, and he was scared to let anyone see it.
The boy who used to be a bird and used to be a prince became only a serving boy; he fashioned a sling for himself to hide his left arm, and he found a new kind of freedom on the seas, even if he could no longer fly. He had many adventures, and he met many people: an old chef, and a young swordsman, and a boy in a straw hat.
For a long time, he tried to hide his wing from them as well. He feared that they would mock him, or scorn him, or even fear him. Such secrets are difficult to keep, however, and the boy who used to be a bird was amazed to find that his friends still loved him when they found out. As he grew to trust their love, and to view them as his family more than the ones he had left behind so many years before, he hid his wing less and less, because he felt safe with them.
This, as it turns out, was a goddamn idiotic thing to do.
“You still have the wing,” Reiju remarks, and Sanji rolls his eyes.
“What exactly did you think I would do with it?” he asks, exasperated.
Reiju shrugs. “Amputate it, frankly. Surely this is a hassle.”
“I'm used to it,” Sanji says flatly. “Had it longer than I had an arm.” He brings the cigarette to his mouth. He has his wing stretched out along the back of his chair, comfortable and deliberate. “Besides, it's useful.”
“Yes, I'm sure there are plenty of times it's useful to be regarded as a freak of nature,” Reiju says mildly. “Isn't there a cyborg on your crew? And a doctor? Surely they could build you a prosthetic.”
“I'm sure they could,” Sanji says. “But there's no need, because I have two limbs already.” He exhales a long, slow plume of smoke. “Besides, I'd just ask them to build me another wing.”
“Why?” Reiju asks. “Are you that determined to remind me what I did to you?”
Sanji frowns and looks at her more closely. Reiju is sitting primly in the armchair across from his, ankles crossed and hands folded in her lap. Her expression is serene, her voice even. Her shoulders are tense.
“You were a child, Reiju,” Sanji says. “You didn't do this to me.”
“No, Sora did that,” Reiju agrees. “But I failed to undo it.”
Sanji shrugs. “I don't hate it,” he says quietly. “It's as much a part of me as my arm.”
His arm that currently sports an exploding cuff. That bothers him more than any of his actual injuries, as hard as he tries not to show it. His face and ribs still ache; he'd been too busy trying to protect his wing, all fragile feathers and hollow bones, to pay any attention to where else his brothers hit him. And Reiju, in true Vinsmoke fashion, had been more concerned with hiding his injuries than healing them.
“It's abhorrent,” Reiju says. “Father's discussing options with the royal tailor on how to hide it.”
Sanji nearly bites through the damn cigarette when he grits his teeth automatically. “I don't hide it,” he says. “He can sell me off if he wants, but I won't pretend it's not there.”
“You will,” Reiju says. “We can't have this wedding called off because of your…” She kisses her teeth, then says delicately, “Deformity. After the vows are said, you can show your bride whatever you wish. Until then, there are appearances to keep up.”
Sanji has spent thirteen years learning not to hate the damn wing. He’s put up with shock and disgust from strangers, with stupid jokes from Patty and Carne, with learning how to cook and fight and live with a wing where his arm should be. He keeps it neatly groomed, feathers combed into places and evenly coated with oil to keep them glossy and smooth. The other Strawhats help sometimes, when he's injured or tired; he's fallen asleep more than once laid out on his stomach, lulled into a nap by the soothing motion of a crewmate’s fingers combing through his feathers. It's the safest he ever feels, trusting them with his hollow bones.
It's not a deformity.
“I'll do whatever the hell I please with it,” Sanji hisses. “It's mine. You can't make me–”
“You’ll cover it, or Father will cut it off,” Reiju says calmly, and Sanji freezes. “We have standards to uphold, Sanji, and they do not include you looking like some sort of animal when you meet your new family. We’d rather send you to the tea party bloody than with feathers. At least that can be explained easily.”
Sanji stares at her, searching for any trace of a lie. He finds none. There's not even defiance or anger; Reiju isn't challenging him, she's just stating a fact like she can't believe Sanji didn't already know.
In a way, he supposes he did. He learned that rule at an early age: the world turns according to what Judge wants.
Heart sinking, he slowly folds his wing in and tucks it close against his side. “I've worn a sling before,” he says, quiet and resigned. “And it lays mostly flat like this.”
“I'll pass that along,” Reiju says, smiling sweetly. “A shoulder cape would be quite fetching.”
Sanji wears the cape. Sanji hides his wing. Sanji fights Luffy, and hates himself for it. Sanji does everything in his power to save his crew, save his family, save Zeff, and is reminded at every turn that he is incapable and incomplete.
The food is ruined, Reiju is injured, and the wedding is a scam. His sacrifice and all his efforts are for nothing.
“Just leave,” Reiju says from her hospital bed, soft and pleading. “You're not a failure, Sanji. It's always been me. I told you to fly, didn't I? Do it again.”
Sanji did fly, once. For four years, the sky and the sea were his, and he didn't remember the land or his sister. For those four years, he was freer than he's ever been since.
For those four years, Reiju wove nettles until her fingers bled.
“I'm not leaving you,” he says tiredly, cradling his head in his hand. His wing is held close to his chest, pinned in place by a too-tight sling and covered by a cape, and it aches from being held so stiff and still for so long. It's nothing compared to his pounding headache as he tries to process everything Reiju just told him. “I've left you too many times. I'm not doing it again.”
“I am a murderer,” Reiju says, carefully enunciating every syllable, like Sanji hadn’t understood her before.
“And I'm a pirate,” Sanji says. He doesn't lift his head. “You're my sister. Let me try to save you this time.”
“I've never saved you,” Reiju says bitingly. “I've barely even come close.”
Sanji finally lifts his head, offering her a small, tired smile. “Well, I did say ‘try.’”
Reiju opens her mouth, then frowns. “Do you hear that?”
She gets up and makes her careful way to the door. Sanji can hear it too, now, a familiar voice growing louder as it barrels down the hall towards them, followed by the sound of pounding footsteps and distant shouts.
Before he has time to process the fact that Luffy is still here and calling for him, Luffy is stumbling into the room, Reiju’s hand tight around his wrist. Sanji’s heart stops at the sight, even as they all sit silent and still, waiting for the voices outside to pass. Luffy looks like hell, still obviously hurt from their fight and nursing new injuries besides, and Sanji can hear his stomach growling from across the room.
“Luffy,” Sanji says before his captain can say anything. There will be time for reprimands later, for Luffy to yell at him and finally hit him back the way he deserves. For now, he's hungry, and Sanji has food. “Here.”
“Sanji!” Luffy lights up at the sight of him, and when he sees the basket Sanji holds out, he looks ecstatic. “And Sanji food!”
“It's not– it's not good,” Sanji says haltingly, as Luffy falls on it with an appetite even more ravenous than usual. “Try not to–”
Luffy’s laughing as he tears into it, though. “No, it's good!” he cries, mouth full of wet, sodden food. It's everyone's favorites. Sanji had expected to never see the crew again while he cooked it. It felt like the closest he could come to introducing them to his fiancée.
Of course Luffy ends up eating it all, the selfish bastard. Sanji’s chest is going to crack open, too full of grief and love and shame to hold it all.
Luffy’s most of the way through the bento box—the work of barely a minute, to Sanji’s reluctant amusement and Reiju’s obvious disgust—when he looks up, eyes going wide. “Sanji!” he says, not pausing his near-frantic eating even as he starts talking. “Pudding lied, you have to–”
“I know,” Sanji interrupts. “I know, Luffy. I heard.”
Luffy's shoulders lose some of their tension, and he goes back to eating at a marginally more sedate pace, content enough with that answer for the moment. “Where's Sanji's wing?” he asks, eyeing him curiously.
Sanji flicks his cape away from his shoulder, revealing the sling, and Luffy’s brow furrows. “But… you don't like doing that,” he says hesitantly. “You like stretching it out. You always complain when you have to fold it up for too long.”
There's a lump in Sanji’s throat. “Yeah,” he says roughly. “Yeah, it's… it's not that comfortable.”
“So take it off.”
“I can't,” Sanji admits. He'd tried earlier, while he was waiting for Reiju to wake up. “It's tied around the back. I can't reach it.”
“I'll get it,” Reiju says. There's no hint of guilt in her expression for her part in binding Sanji’s wing too tightly to move, but her fingers are gentle when she brushes his cape to the side and deftly undoes the lacing holding his wing in place. She steps out of the way, and Sanji groans as he flexes his sore muscles, stretching his wing to its full length along the bench.
Reiju returns to her bed, sitting with a barely-audible sigh of relief as she takes weight off her injured leg. Luffy stays sitting cross legged on the floor. Sanji ignores them both, busy gritting his teeth through the unpleasant pins and needles sensation of feeling returning to his numb wing, then trying to smooth the feathers into some semblance of neatness with his hand.
“Here, Sanji,” Luffy says brightly, wiping his hands on his pants and bouncing to his feet. “I'll help!” Sanji doesn't argue as Luffy begins straightening the feathers he can't reach, fingers stretching and twisting to make sure everything is smoothed out the way it should be, rubbing at the glands underneath and smoothing oil down each feather until they're all evenly coated. A few have been broken or knocked loose from being pinned so tightly to Sanji’s chest all day, and Luffy plucks them free with quick, careful movements, reaching up with one hand to absently pat Sanji’s head in a quiet apology when he winces.
Sanji’s eyes burn. He left the crew, left Luffy. Fought Luffy. Nearly let him starve, called him terrible names, and here Luffy is, preening Sanji’s wing like nothing’s changed. He looks away, unable to look his captain in the eyes, and accidentally meets Reiju’s, instead.
She looks gutted. Her eyes follow Luffy's hands, the obvious familiarity as he cares for Sanji’s wing, the easy way that Sanji trusts him to do it.
Sanji hasn't seen his sister cry since they were children. She barely seems to notice the tears rolling down her cheeks now.
“Luffy,” Sanji croaks, not looking away from Reiju, and Luffy hums in acknowledgment. “I want to go back with you.”
“Of course you do,” Luffy says.
“But I want to save the Vinsmokes, too.”
He feels soft pressure on his head again. Not Luffy’s hand, this time, but an old, worn straw hat. He looks up at Luffy, eyes wide and full of tears, and Luffy grins back at him.
“Of course we will,” he says, like it was never a question.
When everything is over, when they're sailing away and Sanji is still reeling from the last few days, trying to reacquaint himself with the ship and the crew after a separation that feels much, much longer than three days, Reiju steps up next to him by the railing, watching Whole Cake Island and the Germa fleet disappear over the horizon.
“I’ve never thought of myself as a pirate,” she says thoughtfully.
“Neither did I,” Sanji says with a shrug. He turns and stretches his wing out to the side behind her, tilting it back and forth to sit on the breeze so that it ruffles his feathers the way it used to when he could glide through the air. Sky walking isn't quite the same thing as flying. The closest he's come is standing on the prow of the ship with his eyes closed, arm and wing outstretched and pretending his feet aren't on the ground.
He's never decided, in the nearly fourteen years since he became human again, if he misses being an albatross.
“I'm glad you decided to come with us,” he says. “You deserve to be free from them, too.”
“I don't know if I agree with that,” Reiju says, and her voice and posture are perfectly relaxed, but her hands are white-knuckled around the railing. “But it would be nice to be able to actually save you the next time you get in trouble.”
Sanji eyes her thoughtfully, then steps closer and places his right hand over hers. Slow and cautious, he lowers his outstretched wing until it's draped over her shoulders, tucking her close. She goes stiff for a moment, then relaxes against his side, the closest they've ever come in their lives to hugging each other.
“How about this,” Sanji says softly, thinking of nettles and feathers and blood and love. “Let's save each other from now on.”