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Later, there won’t be an answer for why he’d gone unnoticed—each of them more willing to take the blame than the last—but when Nami hears Usopp yell, “Stowaway!” from the galley, it’s already too late.
A cracked roar of anger and fear rips across the deck where the rest of the crew is still scattered with hands on the rigging and rails, haul from the island half-strewn through the grass—cannonfire and Marines on the horizon. It’s an uneventful exit by Straw Hat standards, Nami thinks—both riding the high of Kaido’s defeat and everyone else’s newfound cowardice in the face of an Emperor—
Until.
Something from the kitchen smashes through the open door, followed by gunfire—gunfire—of all things, and even though she knows he’s just as strong as the rest of them, he’s still their Usopp. Nami tears away from the mast the same moment the rest of the crew moves—turning, jolting toward the danger, startled by another crash and already rushing toward the sound. Beyond instinct, Nami’s hands reach for her thigh—
Just as she skids into the galley doorway, banking the corner in time to see a scrawny little kid wielding one of Sanji’s knives with a pistol in the opposite hand—in a standoff with their Sniper. Usopp’s unarmed but unharmed, hands up like he’s trying to placate the kid, a preteen (at most) who looks equal parts ready to kill and terrified out of his fucking mind.
The galley’s in fine shape, rough like someone’s tried to dig through and hit the wall of the crew’s anti-Luffy measures—but through the far door, she can see that Chopper’s infirmary has been completely trashed. It’s impossible to tell the extent of the damage from so much distance, but even at a glance she can see the sparkling sheen of shattered glass and strewn medicines.
From behind, Nami hears Sanji curse, and it’s just as likely to be about his knife or the fact that someone’s pointing it at Usopp—and then Chopper yelps, “My—” and shoves Sanji aside, scrambling past them both.
Chopper hardly spares the kid a glance (which says something, Nami will think later, of how much he trusts them) as he bolts across the room, and Usopp barely has time to turn, barely has time to shout when the kid hollers and the gun goes off at the same time Sanji dives.
His tackle sends Chopper sprawling to the ground—rolling right into the kid, slamming him into the wall in a tangle of limbs and spitting. The force of it knocks the kid’s grip loose and both weapons skitter out of reach, clattering across the galley floor. It doesn’t slow him down, though; he claws at both of them, practically hissing like a wild animal as he struggles to get away, and so sure he’s scared enough to (try and) kill Nami leaps for the knife while Usopp pivots for the gun—
Then Zoro bursts through the door, halfway through growling, “If fucking Caribou—” when there’s another shriek, this time not from the kid but Chopper—and it’s a sound none of them have ever heard him make.
Within seconds, Sanji’s shouting, too, as Chopper’s hind leg nails him in the gut, his little body transforming with a startled violence into his beast form. By the time Nami scrambles back to her feet, Zoro forgotten, Sanji is already upright, but he’s lost focus and his grip on the kid, too.
Chopper flails, and the momentary distraction is all the kid needs. He ducks around Sanji’s bent waist just as Chopper’s hoof swings wide again, and Nami decides she’s going to throw them both overboard with the kid. She might not even wait until they’ve escaped the Marines.
With multiple Straw Hats closing in, the kid doesn’t get far—barely a few steps toward the door when two hands unfold from the floorboards to grasp at his ankles. He trips, barely catching his palms on the floor before his nose smashes, and he growls, furious as he claws at Robin’s arms—and Chopper lets out an animal noise that hits Sunny’s wooden walls at just the wrong angle. Nami flinches and in her peripheral vision she sees Usopp jolt, too—
—and it wouldn’t be anything—shouldn’t be anything, just something off in their guts, except Sanji says, “Chopper? Chopper!” and it’s not the way his voice should sound. His tone is wrong, like he can’t decide whether he should be angry or—
In the blink that follows, the kid leans down and bites Robin with all his teeth and like few things have ever done, it startles her enough to let go—already caught up in the chaos unfolding across the room—and the kid bolts.
Instinct forces them all to move, diving after the kid even as Chopper rears again, upright and kicking, with both hind legs aimed directly at Sanji’s face—but he’s is too fast and Nami is already too far—Usopp even further—and Zoro is too slow,
“Fuck! Don’t los—” As he slips across the threshold, Nami pivots on her heels, bolting after with Zoro as Usopp turns the other direction, toward Chopper and Sanji. They don’t collide—because of course they don’t, they’re crew and they need to move fast—and Nami has her Clima-Tact out by the time she slides out onto the upper deck—
Right into Brook, who’s frozen mid-step. He lets out a breathy oof! like she’s knocked the air out of his lungs—though he has no lungs to breathe!—but at a full-speed sprint, his bony chest is hitting the side of her head on concrete. She blinks, stunned, but waves as Brook reaches out to steady her—already apologizing—scanning the deck. The kid’s gone, but—
Zoro has already sidestepped her and drawn one of his swords, slicing another volley of Naval cannonfire aimed directly for them all, an attack that somehow hasn’t been caught even with Jinbe, Franky, and—
There is a giant bird on deck.
“What the fuck!” Nami shouts. The thing screeches, wingspan the size of the Mini Merry and claws to match, and Jinbe hollers in the distance, and Luffy is already stretched back on two arms hooked to the railing, less than a second from launching into it. To catch it, probably. For dinner.
And he might end up in the ocean with the rest of them if he doesn’t—
The kid screams again, extremely close, and Nami realizes why Brook’s stopped halfway up—the kid’s pressed right up against Sunny’s outer wall, staring dead ahead at their musician and trembling. Nami seizes the opportunity—
Or tries to, because the scream sets off something in the bird and it launches, wings driving hard enough to blow flatten a weaker crew, in a rocket toward them both—with Luffy hot on its heels.
Then from the galley depths, Chopper wails something incomprehensible (incomprehensible?) and Usopp yells, “Chopper, wait—” and the bird stops fully midair and scoops up the kid and Luffy overcompensates, misses, stretches one arm to grab the bird’s leg even as he collides with the deck—
And the kid reaches out and bites him viciously, no hesitation, and Luffy—Luffy—lets out a shout of surprise and retracts his arm—
Sunny rumbles and Franky’s voice carries across the ship through the speaking tubes below—Coup de burst!—and in an explosion of seawater and screaming, it’s over.
The Marines are gone, but so is the boy and his bird.
And then Chopper bursts through the door in a scramble of hooves and terrified squealing, and he doesn’t slow down—just catches his front leg on the first step and tumbles, already falling as Sanji and Usopp rush behind, and something is very, very, very wrong because Sanji looks—
Zoro leaps after Chopper just as his reindeer bulk hits the rail, and Nami shoves Brook aside. She would feel worse about it if her head weren’t still spinning, and if Chopper weren’t still making those sounds, and if—
By the time the rest of the crew reaches the bottom of the stairs, Luffy has slid past on Sunny’s rail and landed lightly in the grass, and Zoro has his arms around Chopper’s neck, firm and gentle, and they’re both kneeling. Chopper is still half struggling, mostly frozen, keening with a soft wildness. On the upper deck Robin stares out in the direction they’ve just come while below, Sanji and Usopp shout for Chopper and Luffy’s too quiet and Franky yells something else from the depths of the Soldier Dock system, and then Robin raises her arms and more sprout from the ground near Chopper’s hooves and she grasps and he shudders, whining, trying to shake off Zoro’s grip, and then Luffy says—
“Chopper’s empty,” and everyone shuts up. Even Chopper stills just a little, enough for Luffy to lean forward and bury his fingers in the soft, warm fur at the curve of his cheeks, and Nami sees his eyes, then—Chopper’s—and barely has time to gasp before Luffy repeats, “Chopper’s empty.”
-x-x-x-
As Sanji pulls another head of lettuce from the fridge, Usopp calls, “He was clearly looking for something,” through the open infirmary doorway, and Sanji reaches for the empty space where his chef’s knife should be before he remembers. Stops. Goes for the cleaver instead. Usopp tosses something else into the growing pile of debris in the galley hall and when Sanji glances up, he’s still on his on his hands and knees, sifting through the broken glass and smashed equipment attempting to separate what’s salvageable.
“Something to sell?” Sanji grunts, and Usopp just shrugs without looking up.
“Could be. Maybe.” Usopp scowls, and Sanji scowls, and neither of them say anything about Chopper, and in two strokes the lettuce has been quartered and dumped in the serving bowl with the rest—carrots and mushrooms and celery, washed but raw and mostly whole. He’ll bring more than he needs, because Luffy is the one who’d insisted food might help (because food always helps) and Sanji isn’t convinced Chopper will eat the majority.
Chopper.
Sanji had seen it happen—had been right there with Chopper in his arms, and still, he hadn’t prevented it. Hadn’t even tried, really, because how could he have known (he should have known). And then in the space between one blink and the next, he’d been gone. Not gone-gone, really, but gone enough.
Empty.
There’s the tinkling scrape that might be pretty if it weren’t the death of Chopper’s hard work, and Usopp says, “They’ll find the kid,” with so much assured conviction, Sanji knows it’s the truth. Of course they will.
So he exhales smoke into the kitchen and picks up the bowl and strides toward the exit and snaps, “As if I’m worried about him,” and kicks the door open and thinks, again, of course they will. Usopp might say something or he might not, but Sanji doesn’t stay long enough to hear it either way.
Chopper isn’t settled so much as refusing to move, legs tucked under him as he sits in the shade of Sunny’s mast with Luffy pressed against him.
Once he’d stopped trying to run with nowhere to go, they’d figured out quickly that he’d lost his sense of sea-balance and couldn’t stand still (on all fours, half the size of Franky) without stumbling against the sway Sanji thinks the rest of them might’ve all been born with. Stairs are out of the question, then, and trying to get him below deck at all is a recipe for disaster. So after half a dozen futile attempts to do something Luffy simply flopped down on his back in the grass, huffed, “This isn’t fun anymore,” scowling. “Chopper, come here,” and that had been that.
Now, he’s calmed enough to sit with his head low while Luffy keeps stroking the thick fur at his neck, chattering endlessly about nothing. Nearby, Zoro stands firmly back and to the side—rigid, silent, telegraphing a need to cut something in half with so much ferocity Sanji’s only marginally less skeptical about the whole conqueror’s haki bullshit. Brook isn’t far, a lullaby drifting through the rigging, and the rest of the crew has scattered—Nami-swan and Robin-chwan retreating to the library, Franky and Jinbe searching in their wake with the Shark submarine.
As Sanji approaches the mast, Chopper’s ears twitch and he lifts his head, snorting the air, but Luffy doesn’t break his rhythm, just says, “Sanji! See? I bet food’ll make you feel better,” and doesn’t reach for the bowl. “Sanji’s food makes everything better that you can’t, which is saying a lot, because you can make anything better,” and Sanji wants to kick him in the head because vegetables won’t make this better and he should’ve gone with Franky and he shouldn’t have let the kid go and—
For once, there’s nothing for Sanji to yell at Luffy about, so he just sets the food down in front of Chopper and steps away—giving space, taking the cigarette out of his mouth long enough to exhale and exchange a glance with Zoro, who says nothing.
Chopper watches him through dark, glassy eyes then—after a pause—warily noses toward a carrot. Sanji doesn’t hold his breath but doesn’t do much else, either.
This is temporary. Chopper will be fine. He knows. They’ll figure out what’s happened and fix it, because Chopper’s Chopper and they’re the fucking Straw Hats and he’s fairly sure the moment Luffy decides something is going to happen, it simply will. In the meantime, though—
Fuck.
It’s—
“I suspect his Devil Fruit has been completely suppressed,” Robin-chwan’s lovely voice carries softly down from the upper deck, and when he glances up she’s already making her way down the stairs, two books tucked under her arm. Nami-swan isn’t far behind, but she’s stopped at the rail—once again watching the horizon. She doesn’t look concerned and the skies are clear, but they’ve all learned that the weather on the Grand Line is a wreck and—more than that—to trust Nami. Then she turns, frowning but quiet, and a pathological need for normalcy has Sanji stepping forward, cooing, “Ah, Robin-chwan, would you like—”
As Zoro grunts, “So he’s just a deer,” through gritted teeth.
Immediately, Chopper freezes, and Sanji stops with the rest of them—suddenly terrified because they’ve just gotten him calm—except Luffy, who huffs, “Stupid Zoro. He’s a reindeer,” without missing a beat, and Zoro, who snaps—
“Fuck off, I meant—”
And the ship rocks, creaking horrible and sudden—the ocean roaring through a toothy waterfall as the massive head of a Sea King breaks alongside Sunny.
-x-x-x-
She sees the shadow but doesn’t register the danger for what it is because it’s been months—years, even—since Sea Kings have been anything more interesting than lunch and an argument against keeping one as a pet. And because Chopper is right there, occupying so much of her brain; and because Luffy has done something odd enough to catch the edge of her attention, though she can’t pinpoint what. And then—
Zeus’s cloud is out and Usopp is rushing through the galley doorway with Black Kabuto aimed, and twenty-four massive hands are sprouting from the monster’s elongated neck, and Brook is running up a row of palms to one eye, and Sanji is spinning toward the other, and—
The thing roars, but it’s already over. Blood spurts from both sockets, coating the sea a murky red, and Zeus goes for the brain-stem with ten thousand volts.
The fight itself is shorter than the time it takes for the monster’s massive corpse to fall back down into the ocean, but the crash displaces so much seawater that Sunny pitches nearly on her side—and a wave high enough to submerge them all crests over the deck. Instinct and practice take over; Robin will always be fine because Sanji will always go for her first—and Zoro is close enough to Chopper and Luffy—which leaves Brook. Brook, who’s one of the hardest to save because there’s so little to grasp and he’s the lightest, the easiest to sweep away. Usopp must have the same thought, because even as she leans over the deck to leap, he’s already leaping over the side of the stairs—
Chopper makes an animal noise that sounds like fear itself and Nami turns—and just as the wave hits, Chopper scrambles backwards—terrified—right out of Zoro’s reach.
“Fuck!”
Within seconds the entire deck is underwater, and it’s like being ripped to shreds against concrete. She wraps her arms completely around the railing on Sunny’s upper deck and holds on with everything she has, because shit—shit—if Chopper’s gone overboard, the last thing they need is someone else to—
It’s over.
Nami shoots upright, shout already forming—
But Chopper is rearing against a tangle of Pop Greens that have sprouted quick and violent from Sunny’s own grass, keeping him in place. Usopp still has Black Kabuto raised, soaked to the bone and chest heaving—and Brook’s held suspended against the upper mast by four of Robin’s disembodied hands and the back of his pants. Sanji has her held mid-air even as he descends back onto the deck, and as soon as he touches down, she releases Brook—who lands nimbly back in place. Luffy is, of course, fine—he’s always fine, and Zoro was standing right there.
By the time Nami reaches the bottom of the stairs, Zoro’s cut down the vines and looks like he’s just been told Sanji has the higher bounty again; and Luffy has both hands back on Chopper’s massive, furry cheeks, teasing, “What, are you scared of the ocean? How can you be a pirate if you’re scared of the ocean! Or are you scared of Usopp’s plants? But you love Usopp’s plants! They’ve only tried to eat you like three—”
“Luffy, stretch,” Zoro barks, and Nami stops—sees the rest of them stop, too, in her peripheral vision.
Luffy just turns his head to the side and sticks his tongue out at Zoro. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he whines, petulant, and Zoro glares—glares at him.
“Fucking—” Nami can see his jaw flex, sees him swallow, angry because (she knows) that’s sometimes the feeling fear gets filtered through. “Captain.”
Chopper tosses his head, snorts, glances between them all without recognition, steps steps steps, nuzzles Luffy, stares hard at Zoro—but Luffy’s distracted now—he rolls his eyes, lets go, mocks, “Zoro!”. Raises his palms to Zoro and wiggles his fingers and grins, “Can’t!” with a laugh. “I’m empty, too!”
And Chopper bolts.
-x-x-x-
By the time Sanji hauls Luffy out of the water, Zoro has already made it back with Chopper—who’s frozen in place, thick fur sopping wet and too scared to move as he trembles in the middle of the deck. As Luffy lolls onto the grass, waterlogged, Sanji sucks in a breath.
Looking at Chopper feels like someone has scooped out his guts—because that’s not Chopper, that’s a caged animal with nowhere to run; that’s a thing that’s lived inside him, quiet, this whole time, exposed raw in the daylight.
And Luffy.
He’s—
Zoro, soaked, has his arms crossed—white-knuckled and straight-backed as he barks, “Find an island,” at Nami-swan and Chopper’s ears flatten and Sanji opens his mouth—
Then Luffy scrambles up, already grinning easy like nothing is wrong and Sanji wants to snatch him back by the collar because that’s—he’s—
He doesn’t even realize he’s reaching out until Luffy’s already four steps out of reach, striding toward Chopper, and he’s gone.
He sees Usopp look at him, sees Robin-chwan follow, but there’s nothing to grip so he shakes his wrist out like it’s just seawater and pats his damp breast-pocket for cigarettes. The rest are too focused on what’s unfolding in front of them, the wide calm-keeping berth around Chopper that Luffy’s breaking, but Nami’s, “Luffy, wait—” is too late as he marches right up to Chopper’s muzzle—
And Chopper just whines. Bows his head to bump the flat space between his eyes against Luffy’s chest, caging Luffy in on both sides with the crown of his horns. Luffy giggles as the force sends him rocking back on his heels, but he just wraps his arms around Choppers head again. “Nami’ll find an island,” Luffy declares, like Zoro had simply known what he’d wanted before Luffy’d said it himself. “Sunny knows you don’t mean anything by it.”
Nami nods, “Right. Stable ground, right—” and turns without finishing, and Usopp says, I’ll start hauling in the Sea King, to no one because that’s what they always do, and Brook offers to help, and Robin turns toward the galley—toward Chopper’s smashed infirmary within—and Zoro doesn’t move.
All Sanji can see is the sharp points of Chopper’s antlers digging into Luffy’s skin. It looks like agony shriveled up and leaning against a rock in the middle of Tottoland.
Luffy smiles just like he had then, too.
-x-x-x-
Chopper refuses to leave Luffy’s side—keeps trying to follow him whenever he wanders off—so Luffy stays stuck in the middle of the deck. It’s inconvenient because the ocean (danger) is right fucking there and because Luffy keeps getting bored, but it also makes them both that much easier to keep an eye on, so it’s fine. Fine.
What’s less fine is the fact that every time someone else gets close—every time he gets close—Chopper tenses, muscles bunching, and even though Zoro’s used to people being afraid of him it’s Chopper and—
“Zoro knows you don’t mean it, either,” Luffy says, sprawled in the grass, head leaning against Chopper’s side as Chopper sits, legs curled under him, and stares glassy-eyed at Zoro. Zoro stares back. Chopper doesn’t say anything because he can’t, and Zoro doesn’t say anything because he won’t.
It doesn’t help.
The crew’s gone, now—scattered, half to deal with the Sea King (because food is food no matter the circumstances) and half to steer Sunny toward dry land, griping and exasperated—but Zoro hadn’t missed the Cook’s pallor as he’d tossed Luffy on deck.
Chopper is—well, he’d carried Chopper’s dead-weight bulk with his own two hands—but outwardly, Luffy doesn’t seem bothered by the loss of his powers. Maybe it’s their nature, or maybe it’s the nature of their fruits, except—
Zoro can feel them both now, in the curve of his senses, soft and malleable and wrong. They’re the same—not the same as they should be, but the same as each other.
Hollowed out.
It sets his teeth on edge.
He wants very, very badly to cut something in half—or do something else, something that makes his hands twitch, something he can’t do because he can’t get close enough to either of them and—
“Nami-swan says we’ll make landfall before dawn,” the Cook’s voice carries across the deck and Luffy perks up. When Zoro glances back, Sanji is pristine as usual even though Zoro can still smell the Sea King’s blood from here. He’s carrying a fresh bowl of vegetables in one hand, something hot and steaming in the other. “Here—lunch,” he says, even though there’s no food for anyone else. Even though it’s neon-obvious that this is the Cook’s equivalent of standing guard.
Zoro scowls at him because there’s nowhere else to direct it and hopes the island is deserted, because that would be one less thing to worry about. Knowing their luck, though—
“I’m not hungry,” Luffy says, laughing. “Isn’t that weird?”
And Zoro sees the exact moment Sanji nearly falls down the stairs—but doesn’t, because he’s too fucking poised for that.
Sanji doesn’t say anything, maybe just pretends he hasn’t heard (coward) so Zoro grunts, “Yeah,” through gritted teeth. “For you, yeah.”
Luffy must think that’s hilarious, because he laughs—and Zoro almost tells him to stop, because the sounds is off. Wrong. Forced. Like something’s missing.
He doesn’t like it, which is a horrible feeling in and of itself, because Luffy’s laughter—it’s the axis on which half the world tilts, and to want it gone feels something like betrayal.
Sanji just scoffs and sets the food down in front of them, nicer than he’d ever admit to being, Zoro’s sure. “Well, I made it for you, so you have to eat it,” Sanji drawls like it doesn’t matter, and Luffy chirps, Okay! Thanks, Sanji! anyway.
Chopper doesn’t move much, just huffs out through his snout—watching, waiting. Luffy pats his side. Hums. Then Luffy reaches for the bowl and takes one massive bite—slow and deliberate. Watching Chopper but not. It’s stupid as hell but it works enough and Chopper noses back toward the food. Zoro chooses to ignore that the Cook doesn’t move until he’s started to eat.
“Enjoy, assholes,” Sanji grumbles, turning back to the kitchen.
Then around his spoon, Luffy hollers, “Usopp! Chopper’s too hot!” with so much confidence that neither of them question it—and Zoro blinks, realizing that the shade has moved and he’s sitting in the evening sun.
“Oh, shit—yeah,” Sanji stutters, and he sounds as stupid as Zoro feels. “I’ll get some—?”
But Usopp has already appeared in the galley doorway, is already calling down, “On it!” before he turns to Sanji and says, “I’m raiding the freezer,” like it’s not a death-wish.
“Wha—“
By the time Usopp has fled back into the galley, Sanji’s already running and Luffy’s turned to Chopper, giggling again. “They’ll figure it out,” Zoro hears him say, and Zoro—
Waits. Watches. Tries not to take offense when Sanji and Usopp eventually make their way over with chunks of ice (salvaged from Punk Hazard) wrapped in towels. Chopper snorts at them but Luffy doesn’t budge, and eventually he returns to his lettuce while the other two pack their bundles against his side. By the time they retreat back to the upper deck, Chopper’s calm and settled again. More comfortable, maybe, if the way he noses at Luffy’s hat is any indication.
Luffy laughs and pushes the rest of his uneaten food in Chopper’s direction and Chopper does, in fact, eat it. And Zoro still wants very, very badly to cut something. Into quarters, maybe. Or even smaller pieces. Maybe not the kid who did this but his stupid bird—or the Marines who chased them too-fast back onto the ship in the first place.
There’s a huff and when Zoro blinks, Chopper’s watching him again—and Luffy yawns, stretches normally, because he’s—
“I’m tired,” Luffy says, and it’s mostly surprise.
All Zoro can think to reply is, “Alright,” around a shrug. The swords at his hip feel heavy. It’s not an order but it’s something, and that’s enough. “I wanted a nap anyway.”
It’s less of an ordeal than Zoro expects, mostly because now that he’s ice-packed and fed Chopper doesn’t want to move. Zoro doesn’t question whether it’s intentional on Luffy’s part, because it doesn’t matter—not really—and before long they’re settled with Zoro’s back to the mainmast bench, Chopper’s massive head in his lap, Luffy sprawled across his legs with one arm still wrapped around Chopper’s neck. He doesn't nap and is instead slowly, steadily crushed to death—and he thinks if anyone tried to move any of them, he’d kill without hesitation.
Eventually, Nami emerges from the library—whether to ask Luffy a question or tell him the answer she wants to hear—but she takes one look from above and stops halfway through. Then she descends the stairs, crosses the deck, and opens her mouth like she’s going to ask Zoro—and gives up. Rubs her eyes under her glasses because it’s nearly dark now, not quite dinner but almost. Sighs. And just—lays on her back in the grass next to them.
“Whatever,” she says, eyes closed, and Zoro has no context but somehow feels exactly the same.
-x-x-x-
Luffy doesn’t wake for dinner, not even when Sanji suggests—pointedly—that they might as well picnic in the grass. It’s worrying enough that Sanji just brings the food out and stays, but still—no one wants to disturb either of them. Any of them, really, with Chopper asleep and Nami staring up at the sky nearby.
By the time the stars above unfold, the rest of the crew has wandered on deck one by one. Sanji aside, Zoro doesn’t mind—not really. And without Franky and Jinbe, the crew feels too small, even with everyone else gathered.
Eventually, they’ve picked enough at their food to satisfy Sanji, but no one leaves. It feels too much like the end of a battle, Luffy injured and unconscious, even though as far as anyone knows he hasn’t been hurt. Brook serenades them all with something like a lullaby while Nami props her feet on Usopp’s lap and closes her eyes, listening to the low conversation he’s having with Robin. Zoro catches snippets of a discussion about myths in Wano and wonders if he should care, but his legs have long-since fallen asleep and Sanji’s still puttering around, gathering dishes and—
Chopper snorts, lifts his head—startled—and the crew freezes.
But he doesn’t bolt.
Instead, he just blinks, ears flicking, and Zoro stares into his eyes—the glass-topped ocean after midnight—waiting—but nothing happens. If he’s had a nightmare or it’s just instinct, only sleeping for a few hours to check his surroundings, Zoro will never know. There’s an emptiness where Chopper should be, and in its place is some fundamental, animal truth about the world—something he else he doesn’t care about—because the world isn’t crew. Only Chopper.
Chopper huffs again and lowers his head back onto Zoro’s lap, and then—when Usopp breathes and Nami turns back to the stars and Brook’s bow returns to life—he growls, “How the fuck did this happen?” It’s low enough that Luffy doesn’t wake (still) and Chopper doesn’t move—even as his ears twitch, instinct over awareness.
“The same way everything else happens,” Nami sighs, propping up on her elbows. “Because the Grand Line is full of bullshit and this is what we signed up for.”
He flips his middle finger up at her and she sticks her tongue back, and before either of them can say anything else, Robin hums, “There’s something they have in common that I, apparently, do not share,” as she tilts her head to the side. She studies the two of them—Chopper and Luffy, curled up against each other, curled up against Zoro—and draws the crew’s attention back as she shrugs lightly. “Something about their Devil Fruits.”
Zoro blinks, Huh? but Usopp leans forward, already thinking. “The kid tried to take your powers?” he asks.
She shakes her head. “Yes and no,” she says, and Zoro scowls at her. At least sometimes, he hates it when she’s cryptic. (Nami pinches him. He decides when this is all over, he’s going to use one of her T-shirts as a gym rag.) “I stand by my use of the word suppress earlier—we only know of one, possibly two methods for taking Devil Fruit abilities, and I never felt as though mine were being extracted.”
Brook shudders, “How violent,” and echoes what Zoro is sure they’re all thinking. Extracted.
There’s a pause while the word rolls through their brains, then Nami says, “What did it feel like?”
Robin doesn’t answer immediately, hands folded in her lap. Then Chopper—eyes closed again—huffs in his sleep, enough to loll Luffy’s head to the side, crushing the edge of his hat against one cheek. Zoro resists the urge to move him, because it doesn’t matter—not really—and Luffy doesn’t seem bothered. The idiot could sleep anywhere, probably. Zoro’s seen him nap right in the middle of the battlefield, after all.
Then Robin reaches over and runs one hand across Chopper’s flank, gentle, fleeting, and says, “Like a voice speaking to someone who wasn’t there,” in a tone that’s mostly intrigued, partly awed. “I’ve heard rumors that certain Devil Fruits have some measure of identity, but it’s only a theory.” Brook makes a noise that’s hard to interpret, but doesn’t say anything, so Robin continues, “Mine does not,” and shrugs again. “There was nothing to answer.”
Nami murmurs, “Zoans, right? Zoans have personality.”
“Hang on—” Usopp spreads his hands out like he wants to stop an oncoming object but there’s nothing, just a conversation in the night. “So you’re saying Chopper’s—Chopper is the Devil Fruit?”
“Not necessarily,” Robin replies. “It’s simply an explanation for certain properties of the transformation. Chopper is Chopper and always has been, but the thing that allows him to communicate with us—physically, emotionally, intellectually—has been quieted.”
Nami nods again. “That’s why he was scared of us,” she says. “Kureha told me—she said he was scared of humans.”
Sanji snorts, “So he’s always been a coward,” and it sounds like reassurance.
“He wasn’t scared of Luffy,” Brook says, contemplative—and Nami scoffs, almost laughing, already halfway through the insult—
“That’s because Luffy isn’t—”
—then she stops.
And Robin smiles.
“Possibly. Possibly not,” she hums. “Who’s to say?” Then she shrugs. “It could simply be his herd instincts recognizing Luffy as leader,” and it’s as good an explanation as any. “Truly, though—who among us would not, even in another life?”
It’s poetic and sentimental and it’s a fundamental truth, Zoro thinks. And he does reach out then—finally—and tilts Luffy’s head back, upright. The cheek pressed against the back of his hand is flesh and blood—is flaking with sunburn and crusted with sweat—and human. In this life and any other, he thinks, both would always be true; Luffy would always be Luffy, and they would always find him.
But still—
“That means it’s temporary,” Zoro grunts.
“Yes,” Robin replies. Usopp breathes an audible sigh of relief and the rest of them feel it. “I’m quite sure their second souls, if you will, are still there—it’s simply a matter of waiting out the ability or having the user reverse it.”
“Their second souls…” Brook says, “Fascinating. And yet Luffy seems so very much unchanged! Yoho!”
“He’s Luffy—not much to change,” Sanji scoffs, and Usopp snickers, and then Brook tilts his skull to the side.
“Our empty-headed Captain—and I would know!” he laughs, and Zoro rolls his eye, and Robin snorts, and Brook—keeps going. Hums, “But one has to wonder—would it not be painful to lose half oneself in an instant?” and then, sighing, adds, “Oh, how lonely.”
Oh, how lonely.
-x-x-x-
No one sleeps well, even for a crew with so much inconsistency in the first place. Chopper has them all on edge, and there’s something fundamentally wrong about watching Luffy sleep so heavily outside the context of victory, and every time Nami catches herself dozing off something desperate and instinctual wakes her up. She thinks might be some measure of how the crew felt about her between Little Garden and Drum. She remembers waking once through the haze of fever and nausea to find them all piled on the floor of her cabin, and now here they are—piled on deck with Luffy and Chopper, too.
She finally gives up when the sky is still dark—when Sanji shuffles up to start preparing breakfast so quietly she wouldn’t have noticed on any other morning. When she glances over to the heap they’ve all centered between them, Chopper has completely flopped onto his side, pinning Zoro’s lower half with his neck and huffing snores into the grass—and she expects to see Luffy sprawled in some impossible position, but instead he’s just tucked in the curve of Chopper’s front legs, one hand wrapped around Zoro’s ankle.
As she stretches, Nami makes eye-contact with Zoro and he blinks back through the early-morning mist. She wonders if he’s even slept at all—wonders if he even would under these circumstances—and nimbly follows Sanji to the kitchen, much to his delight.
By the time she returns with coffee—black, because he hates sweet things—the rest of the crew has started stirring, roused by the smell of breakfast or in anticipation of their landing. Everyone holds their breath when Chopper shifts—then Luffy—but it’s uneventful to the point of concern. Chopper is, fundamentally, fine—snuffling up and waking Luffy as he stands—but in the split second after Luffy opens his eyes, before he realizes everyone is milling close enough to make sure he’s alright, he looks tired. Bone-deep tired in a way Nami’s never quite seen. Then he catches Robin’s eye and beams and bounces up—and nearly trips when his body doesn’t—bounce, that is. Not really. He just stumbles.
Nami nearly upends a tray of fruit lurching forward—the whole crew moves—but Zoro just snags the back of his shirt with one arm and doesn’t say anything when Luffy giggles his thanks.
Perfectly in line with what Nami predicts (because when has she ever been wrong), the island appears on their horizon just after midnight, and by the time dawn colors the sky they’re close enough to dock—which is unfortunate, because docks mean people, and people make everything more difficult.
It’s not a large island, small by Grand Line standards and even smaller for the New World, and it’s immediately clear that they’re not interested in the business of Pirates. The dockhands watch—stone-faced and weapons at their sides—as Sunny approaches, and Luffy stares back at them under the rim of his hat. They’re wary, armed, but not outwardly confrontational, whether because so few people ever travel the route from Wano—or because he’s an Emperor now, maybe. Because they’re an Emperor’s Crew.
As Usopp takes over guiding them in, none of the villagers move to help but they don’t back away, either, so Nami leans over the side and shouts, “We’re not here to cause any problems,” like that’s ever convinced anyone when faced with Luffy’s flag. They squint up at her, waiting, but Luffy himself says nothing—expression deeply unreadable—until Chopper lumbers up behind on wobbly legs and noses the back of his head, pushing his hat forward. Luffy giggles, twists to rub the fur at Chopper’s jowls, and Chopper licks the side of his face like a dog.
Then, like an afterthought, Luffy calls, “You guys got any woods? Let’s go camping—I wanna go camping!” as though they can’t see the trees from here, half to the people on the dock and half to the crew, and it’s—something.
The villagers don’t quite relax but the burliest among them shouts back, “Yeah, we got woods. Right through town to the center of the island,” then he straightens his spine, bracing even though he’s facing someone a quarter of his size, and Nami almost misses the days when they were underestimated. “Just watch your fires. We’ve got ordinances and shit.”
Luffy doesn’t even look back, just calls a lazy, “’Kay!” and there’s a half-decent chance he doesn’t even know what the word means—but it seems to placate them enough. Nami’s fairly sure he’ll want a bonfire anyway because that’s just what they do, but she’ll fight that battle when night falls again.
Then Sanji sticks his head through the galley door and calls, “Nami-swan!” with their den-den mushi in his hand. “Franky found the kid and wants our coordinates!” and she speaks for all of them, probably, when she groans—
“Fucking finally!“
-x-x-x-
Sanji packs more food than they need because that’s what he does when he’s stressed, but no one comments because no one else has ever thought so much about how much Luffy actually eats.
With the news that Franky and Jinbe will be back soon, everyone seems renewed—disembarking with a relieved kind of vigor that telegraphs just how much they’ve all tensed up over the past day. Sanji doesn’t even realize that he’s been counting every hour the Devil Fruit ability hasn’t released on its own until Franky breaks the news that the kid needs to touch them (or it’ll be even longer) and he thinks, three more meals.
The dockhands don’t lie—the island is one large mountain, its population concentrated on the coastal edge, and they really do need to march right through the village center to reach the forests. No one even suggests hauling out the cart to carry supplies, even down half their load-bearing crew; Zoro just grabs as much as he can carry and Usopp twice what anyone expects, and they begin the trek uphill with Nami-swan leading the way, Luffy just a few steps behind, Chopper at his side. Even with his hands full, Sanji stays close—watching their surroundings, watching the two of them, too.
The whole crew is a spectacle—word must travel the same on small islands everywhere, because every window is half-shuttered enough for the islanders inside to peer out, and anyone still left on the street stops—gawks—and lets them pass with a glare. Sanji can feel the tension building in the air and wants to stare back, to bare his teeth like a pirate or a cook with pride—but when Zoro clicks his tongue at someone who inches a little too close to Chopper’s side and the whole street tenses, Sanji redirects. Snaps at him instead because, Don’t lag behind, Mosshead, and doesn’t even consider that he’s maybe preventing a fight by starting one until Nami-swan yells at them both and he realizes, suddenly, that the villagers have relaxed.
They make it to the woods without incident, find a clearing, and begin the business of settling in. They won’t be here long and they’ve never bothered with tents anyway, so it’s as simple as dropping their things and wandering off to explore—but by then, it’s mid-afternoon and they’ve nearly missed a meal. Sanji gets to work building a fire (fuck the villagers) as soon as they’ve found a spot, and he tries not to think about the fact that Luffy hasn’t said anything about hunger. Hasn’t said much of anything at all, really—just mindless chatter to them all that sounds fine on the surface, but—
Sanji isn’t deaf and Whole Cake Island is still fresh (will probably always feel fresh, at least in some ways) and he’s finally learned to recognize the edge of difference between Luffy’s Captain and everything else. And this—this isn’t quite laughing through a shard of broken glass and telling them everything will be fine, but it’s close enough to hurt.
As he skewers racks of Sea King meat and prepares a glaze, he watches Luffy wander at the edge of the clearing with Chopper and Robin, crouching in the grass to dig for bugs and holding them up to Chopper’s face. Chopper doesn’t react—just stares, no indication that he even understands—but it doesn’t stop Luffy, who still laughs and carries on when Chopper mouths at his hair instead of acknowledging the beetle in his hand, showing it to Robin instead.
From behind, Usopp grumbles, “I’d take another Kaido over this,” and it doesn’t sound entirely like a lie.
When Sanji glances back, he sees Usopp keeping an eye on them, too—ostensibly fiddling with the packets of Pop Green seeds in his bag as next to him, perched on a stump, Nami-swan halfheartedly traces the outline of the island’s coast in her sketchbook—and nods in agreement. Brook and Zoro have wandered to the other side, a perimeter of watch that’s so obvious Sanji almost wonders why they’re even bothering to pretend.
“It’s so much easier dealing with things you can hit,” Nami-swan sighs, almost wistful, and Usopp snorts.
“You sound like Zoro,” he says.
Nami-swan huffs, “Well, it’s true,” and as he starts pouring something sweet-sticky over the fish, Sanji sees her jab Usopp with her foot.
Usopp smacks her away with a roll of his eyes, and Sanji grumbles, “Oi,” because really, he’s right there—and thinking of the fear at the base of Drum Island’s mountain, of the horror at Luffy’s photograph in the newspaper, of the emptiness in his gut at a dinner table among Vinsmokes with the threat of Zeff’s head in a box, he says, “I am—for the record—agreeing with our beautiful Nami-swan and not anything that idiot would ever say, but—yeah.”
He flips the Sea King and paints the other side and Nami-swan echoes, “Yeah,” and pokes Usopp again and this time he just grabs her ankle, holds her there—the fun gone, and agrees.
“Yeah.”
And there’s silence, then, for as long as it takes Zoro to wander over, stance deceptively lazy because Sanji’s not stupid and as much as they’re all on-guard, he knows Zoro’s probably vibrating under his skin. Luffy, Chopper, and Robin are waist-deep in the forest now—with Brook at their back—and there’s a nonzero chance Zoro’s only been sent back so he doesn’t get lost the minute they lose sight of the clearing.
As Sanji steps away from the fire, leaving their lunch to sear, and reaches for the cigarette case in his pocket, Zoro grouses, “I can feel you insulting me,” but it sounds more like habit than the start of a fight.
“You make it so easy,” Sanji shoots back, but he doesn’t look up from his lighter, either.
He hears Nami-swan sigh again, and when he looks up—exhales—he sees that she’s abandoned the pretense of accomplishing anything now that Chopper and Luffy are moving out of sight. “We’ve decided this sucks,” she says, waving one hand broadly around them, and Usopp nods. He’s set his bag aside, too.
“No shit,” Zoro grunts.
Usopp lets go of Nami-swan’s ankle and leans back on both palms in the dirt. Shakes his head. “Has he said anything to you?”
“Nope.”
Sanji scoffs, tucking his lighter away. “Of course he hasn’t,” he says. “He’s not going to say anything to anyone—that’s just how he is.”
Zoro eyes him. “That’s how it has to be.”
And for a moment—just a moment—Sanji feels actual, genuine anger at him; and he grits his teeth through, “It shouldn’t be that way,” even though he knows now isn’t the time or place for that argument, no matter how long it’s been brewing.
Zoro glares—bites back, “He’s our Captain. We’re his Crew. There’s a line,” and Nami-swan sits up straight like she’s about to stand between them both, and Usopp flinches at his tone because it sounds like Water Seven.
Sanji can’t resist snapping back. “Exactly, we’re his Crew. He should rely on us,” even as the hypocrisy of it clogs his throat.
And Nami-swan does get up, then—and Sanji almost feels bad for making her stand, but his hands are trembling just a little (just slightly) as he reaches up to pull the cigarette from his mouth, to exhale—and she says, “No one here likes it,” in an effort at diplomacy.
She sounds tired, though. As tired as they all feel.
But still—Zoro doesn’t nod, really, just makes a Neanderthal grunt that’s almost the same. “He won’t tell us shit’s wrong ‘cause that’s the burden of rank,” he says, “and pride, and strength,” and Sanji rolls his eyes, already starts forming the curse in his head, but Zoro doesn’t stop. “It’s our privilege as Crew to be there for him anyway.”
-x-x-x-
There are so many interesting bugs on the island and Luffy thinks it’s awesome—really, it is—except everything is incorrect and even though he knows in his head that he should be excited—delighted—it’s like his heart can’t feel it. Like someone’s taken something essential and shoved it into a box. And even though he knows what’s wrong, he wants to ask Chopper to fix him, but—Chopper’s scared and tired and sad, better on land but missing the sea, and that’s more important. That’s so, so much more important. And if he doesn’t get his joy (and his strength) back, that’s fine—that’s fine—as long as they can get Chopper’s.
They get the call midway through dinner that Franky and Jinbe will make it to the island sometime just before morning, and even though Luffy wants to be the one to go, Sanji volunteers to spend the night on Sunny and regroup at dawn.
Now, after dark, the fire’s still dim and flickering through the first watch even with the rest of the crew tucked into their bedrolls, and they haven’t done much other than wait, and it’s boring as hell, and Luffy’s exhausted—but he can’t sleep because he’s slept too much already and he needs to move even though his muscles ache and his bones are made of lead. Chopper’s finally fallen back asleep, though—after enough stress and wandering to tire him out—and Luffy knows if he gets up, Chopper will too.
He’s stuck.
It’s terrible.
Luffy feels the back of his head soak in the wet grass and thinks that if he tried to vomit, nothing would come up—like if he tried to laugh, his throat would be empty. There’s been a hole in his chest for more than two years now, constant, but he feels hollowed out and raw. His body’s wrong, too tight and too heavy and too quiet—but the worst part is his brain. He is—he’s trapped on Rusukaina and his world has collapsed down to a pinprick with nothing left but one good thing (His crew! His crew! His crew!) that he could still lose in a second—could still lose just like everything else.
He hates it—hates the feeling. He got stronger and stronger and stronger and now he is strong enough to protect his dream, to protect his crew—to protect his crew’s dreams—but it’s like that piece of him has been silenced. It’s cold and quiet and empty, and he cannot—he cannot—
If he isn’t strong enough, he’ll be alone. He’ll be alone.
ALONE.
He’s six and watching Shanks sail without him because isn’t strong enough; he’s seven and Garp has thrown him into the jungle to rot because he isn’t strong enough; he’s eight and on a cliffside missing a brother because he isn’t strong enough; he’s seventeen and watching the little pieces of his heart disappear for two years, holding the rest in both hands as it bleeds out, smiling, thanking him, leaving him—because he isn’t strong enough.
And oh, oh—he doesn’t want to be left behind.
He’s so tired of being left behind.
He wonders if this will stop when he’s the Pirate King, hopes that being the freest person on the seas will mean he’s free of everything else, too—like fear. And loneliness.
He doesn’t know—and isn’t sure if he wants to—and doesn’t examine that, either. He just wants Chopper back, because he can’t become the Pirate King without Chopper and if he doesn’t become the Pirate King, he’ll never know.
By the fire, Zoro drinks, and Usopp snores in the distance. It won’t be long before Nami wakes up and banishes him further from the campsite, but for now—it’s too quiet. Too quiet in his head, too quiet in his heart, too quiet in the campsite. He can’t hear the ocean and he can’t hear Sunny and he can’t hear the thing inside him that burns hot and bright and wonderful.
So he just—does what he always does. Plows ahead. Fills it because if he hates the quiet he might as well make noise. “I never learned how to swim,” he says—random but something—and Zoro snorts, not even acknowledging the edge they’re sitting on, not even acknowledging that Luffy’s been awake this whole time when he should be sleeping because Zoro always gets it. Or he’s just an idiot. Or both. “And I’ve never cared about it.”
“Can’t miss what you never had,” Zoro shrugs.
And Luffy nods. “I care now, though—sometimes.” Then he frowns. “Sometimes I wish I could swim. Do you think I could swim now?”
Zoro just rolls his eye, derisive, and says, “Well, even if you could, you don’t have to swim.” Then he takes another swig of his drink and Luffy wants to giggle but can’t, because that chunk of him is still suffocating under something he can’t dislodge. Zoro carries on. “That’s what you’ve got me for,” he says, matter-of-fact. “And it’s not even that interesting in the first place. You get wet—rain does that. Rain is basically swimming.”
“Stupid Zoro,” Luffy replies, because there’s nothing else to say.
“Oh, how’d you know then, huh?” Zoro retorts, and Luffy snorts and it’s off but it’s something. “If you never learned you don’t have shit to compare it to.”
“I’ll ask Nami.”
Zoro narrows his eyes. “She’d lie if I paid her,” he says.
“But you’re broke,” and Luffy tilts his head to the side, earnest, innocent, and it works—Zoro flips him the middle finger and Luffy really does laugh, then—and for a moment, he feels balanced.
Then Zoro says, “It doesn’t matter if you can swim or not,” like Luffy’s a moron just for bringing it up. “I’d still follow you either way,” He shrugs. “Everyone else would, too.”
And there’s a beat—a surprised drum of something even if it’s just a stutter, and the hole is still there because it will always be there, but Luffy—Luffy still has most of the pieces of his heart, he got them back—so Luffy grins. And Zoro rolls his eye again.
And then—
Luffy decides he’s done feeling this way and rocks back up on his heels and says, “I’m hungry!” because soon, Sanji will be back with Franky and Jinbe, and the kid will fix Chopper, and everything will be normal, and they’ve never gotten anything done properly on an empty stomach.
(Or a full stomach, either—but it’s entirely less fun to fuck up when he’s hungry.)
-x-x-x-
Zoro wakes to the Cook shouting, “They fucking set us up!” through the den-den mushi in Usopp’s hands, more pissed than afraid, and he’s already on his feet before Sanji finishes his explanation. “Assholes called the Marines sometime yesterday after we arrived and they’ve got the harbor blocked off—you’ve gotta come to us.”
Bleary-eyed and bedheaded, Nami wails, “Seriously?” even as she stumbles up, gathering supplies with one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other. The rest of the crew aren’t much better—not concerned by the danger because really, Marines don’t mean much of anything at this point—just frustrated and sleep-deprived and vaguely, indignantly offended. Even Robin, ever-serene, looks on the edge of irritated as she helps Luffy coax Chopper into standing.
“We didn’t even do anything!” Usopp moans. The den-den mushi stares back, unsympathetic.
At least Brook has the decency to commiserate, one huffed, “How rude, really!” and it’s the last thing any of them get out before somewhere in the distance, a cannon fires.
The sound echoes through the woods louder than it should, and Chopper startles—rears back—and throws his hooves forward—
Right into Luffy’s chest.
The sound he makes is something like a gurgle, something like a wheeze, and Zoro—
Zoro cannot do anything, because the thing that’s hurt him is Chopper—
And Luffy is already standing, reaching up to soothe Chopper as he stamps the ground, head shaking, wailing, as Luffy whines, “Chopp-er! Chopper that was so rude! I know you didn’t mean it but that hurt!” around gasps, tone like a petulant kid and barely betraying the hurt even though they all watched Sanji (Sanji) take the same hit (the full weight of a terrified reindeer) in the galley and—
There’s another shot, a whistling in the distance, and Chopper bolts.
Again.
-x-x-x-
Luffy is the first to chase after Chopper because of course he is and Zoro doesn’t miss the way Luffy’s chest heaves, his breath rasps like he can’t quite get enough air into his lungs, his skin already red from a spiderweb of broken blood-vessels that shouldn’t even be an issue because he’s rubber—
And fuck, fuck if Chopper figures out he’s hurt Luffy—
Zoro thinks if he lets either of them out of his sight he’ll die, so he curses (loud and to no one) and sprints after them, one sword already drawn even as he skids down the path in their wake.
The town is overrun with Marines and it’s stupid, really, that the crew is so fucking disorganized when they should’ve expected this with the welcome they received—but Zoro’s almost impressed with the balls on the islanders for calling the Navy on an Emperor’s crew. But maybe they have to be stupid (or brave) to survive life inhabiting the New World. Or maybe their reward is just that tempting.
Luffy is surprisingly hard to keep track of in the fray, not because he’s difficult to sense but because Zoro has to sense him at all—can’t just follow the usual path of carnage, because there’s no gum-gum anything to mow down hordes or cause island-wide property damage. Instead, there are just haki-coated fists and broken bones and bloody noses—and Chopper: massive, terrified Chopper bounding just out of reach, a wide-open, moving target armed with hooves and horns and fear.
Behind him, Zoro can feel the rest of the crew converge—Robin and Brook at his flank already swinging, covering him as he bolts after Luffy—with Usopp and Nami at the rear. They’ll be fine as long as they can get in front of Chopper, can herd him in the right direction—can get Luffy to stop too because there’s no way, no way the hits he’s giving aren’t exacerbating whatever damage he’s just taken. Broken ribs. Punctured lung. Injuries Zoro has never once had to worry about because Luffy’s Luffy and—
“Someone shoot that fucking deer!”
“Aim for the Captain, moron!”
Zeus crackles overhead and something green, leafy, noxious rockets alongside him, and Kitetsu decapitates some poor footsoldier while the guy at his back has both arms snapped off by disembodied hands, and Zoro thinks this is the dumbest fight they’ve ever had, because they’ve accomplished more with half the crew—but they’ve never had to do it without Luffy—
And there’s a sound, then—a cracking through the air that’s so familiar he should (can) recognize it in a heartbeat—but Zoro doesn’t move. He doesn’t move because he is—because they’re all so used to letting it slip by with the thought: he’s a rubberman and laughter, the memory of the first time he’d seen Luffy do that. Because he’s so used to guard point and airborne tufts of fur clogging his nose.
Because for a second, he’s distracted and this is a fight and he forgets.
And Chopper wails.
It’s the terrified, angry, animal shriek of some hunted thing, and every Straw Hat freezes—turns back—and Zoro’s heart explodes in his chest—because Chopper is on his side, toppled and kicking and—
And there is Luffy, the barrel of a smoking pistol held in one fist, right cheek and arm a red, red, red that almost blends with his shirt, with the scar on his chest—
And there is stillness, then.
And no laughter.
The man jerks his arm but it’s like yanking on concrete and Chopper whines, scrambling backward and only half to his feet, and Zoro leaps for him at the same time Usopp dives, and there’s something clogging his throat because Luffy got shot—Luffy got shot—Luffy got shot—
And Luffy says, “Are you willing to risk your life?” bleeding through a bullet-riddled palm, arm, shoulder onto the Marine and Zoro thinks he’s heard him say that before, years ago—
And before the man can respond, the bone-shattering crush of Luffy’s haki slams through the street. Zoro hears the snap of the gunman’s arm breaking as his hand and pistol stay locked in Luffy’s grip while the rest of his body crashes against the ground, and he will never know how much of the crunch is the sound of more bodies hitting gravel or the bodies themselves.
Zoro stays standing because he’s Luffy, because he would never force Zoro to kneel, only ask—and he would never even need to—but it’s like the sky has fallen on half the battlefield, every Marine in eye and ear-shot flattened.
Then Luffy drops the gun and the Marine whimpers and every single villager has been left untouched, and without sparing a glance down Luffy (Luffy, Luffy, Straw Hat fucking Luffy) turns his back on everyone and reaches for Chopper. He’s exposed, but no one moves, not even the Straw Hats. They’ve been given an order to stop and they will listen—and else no one would dare break through the silence.
With his uninjured arm, Luffy helps Chopper steady while he gets to his feet and there’s no blood on Chopper other than what Luffy’s accidentally smeared on his fur with his other hand. Then, when he turns back down the hill, Luffy says, “Don’t shoot a pistol unless you can face the consequences of using it,” in a tone that’s only half the one he used to use when quoting Shanks—because he’s older now, and the words hold sway in his own right, an Emperor and an equal. “And don’t shoot my crew unless you’re prepared for what comes after.”
Then he steps over the man, and Chopper follows alongside, and one by one, the villagers part, hushed and wide-eyed. And Zoro thinks it would be impossible to do anything else when faced with a King.
“Come on, Chopper,” Luffy says, patting his flank as Chopper’s wet animal tongue fumbles out to lick the blood on Luffy’s cheek and he whines, long and sad. “Let’s go home.”
The rest of the crew follows.
-x-x-x-
The boy is spitting mad and Nami would find it funny if she weren’t so stressed. Apparently they’d caught him easy, dazzling him with Franky’s robot body because he might be feral and angry at the world, but he’s still twelve years old.
The bird is with them, too, perched on Sunny’s railing and inspecting its wings, watching—standing guard, really—but there’s no danger, not really.
No one follows the crew, and the Marines in the harbor—they don’t move, either. Frozen, whether by order to stand down from the regiments on the island or from somewhere higher up. Nami can feel their eyes watching as she boards the ship, Clima-Tact still deployed and Zeus glaring around them at the rear like a guard dog, but no one makes a move.
For once, she almost wishes someone would—just to watch the nuclear bomb go off, just to relieve the stress. On the too-quiet march even she can hear the gurgling in Luffy’s inhales and she’s pretty sure every single one of them would—could—flatten the island at a moment’s notice if given the opportunity.
Sanji barely has time to curse when they climb the ramp, when he sees them all, but Zoro is already pushing past, grabbing the kid by the scruff of his neck and practically tossing him back toward Luffy. “Do it,” he barks, and Nami might be opposed to violence against children on principle but this—this is different. She crosses her arms and Zeus expands at her back, and if the kid tries to run past her he’s getting fried hard enough to force his power’s release whether he does it willingly or not.
Thankfully, she doesn’t have to.
“Fuck off,” the kid snaps, brushing off his clothes like Zoro’s carrying a disease, and he reaches for Luffy—
But Luffy just steps aside, grabs him, shoves him toward Chopper, who’s nudging Luffy’s side with his snout, but Luffy won’t budge.
“Fix him,” he says, like he hasn’t been (fuck) shot, like he hasn’t been kicked in the chest. And the kid blinks—startled. Looks at the blood on Luffy’s hands, now on his shirt, now on Chopper’s fur.
From the railing, the huge bird caws.
-x-x-x-
Chopper cries, because of course Chopper cries—doesn’t stop crying from the second he’s aware—great, heaving sobs that wrack his little body and spill over in snot and tears even as his hands stay steady. He’s a mess but doesn’t hesitate, works with precision and skill, tweezing out the bullets from Luffy’s rubber body as he wails, “That was awful! I was so scared! What the hell—you got shot! Luffy—Luffy you got shot and that was so scary for so long and I’m sorry—”
And Luffy—nothing changes (everything changes) and he laughs. Laughs. Laughs like he can’t stop—couldn’t even if he wanted to—like there’s nothing funnier in the world than the fact that he’d nearly—not died, because that’s a stretch even stripped of his power—but something. Laughs and laughs and laughs as he bleeds all over the infirmary cot and says, “I never, ever, ever want to do that again!”
Sanji brings another tray of food that Luffy will inhale before he’s even stepped out of the room, back to the deck where Franky and Jinbe are maneuvering them into open ocean. Robin takes the bloody rags from Chopper as Nami holds a glass for the bullets. Usopp scrambles for the needle and thread to stitch him back up, because he’s the only one who knows where anything is after cleaning the place. By the door, Zoro waits—guarding the room as much from the kid as the threats outside, not that any of them need it.
And Brook is the only one who says, “Yes, please—never again. ‘Twas only two days, but I missed you both so very much,” because he wears his heart (though he does not have one!) on his sleeve—but he speaks for all of them. “The ship was too quiet, and I missed you so very, very much.” And he does not cry (because he has no eyes to weep!) but they can hear it in his voice anyway.