Chapter Text
A heavy, lingering pain prickled at the edges of his body. Every joint rigid, stiff, and aching, as he stared up at the ceiling with surprising clarity. Cool, refreshing air brushed against his skin, and the tatami beneath him felt firm and grounding. He lay on a velvety futon, its softness supporting his battered frame. The sliding door to his room stood slightly ajar, light filtering through as he tried to piece together how he’d gotten here.
Beautiful paintings adorned the walls, and finely crafted furniture filled the space, evidence of Wano’s elegance even in the aftermath of war.
He sat up slowly. Sanji's movements were stiff and sharp with pain. One hand ran through his hair and stopped. It was still caked with blood.
How long have I been out?
His eyes scanned the room, then the corridor beyond, where people moved with urgent purpose. Judging by the activity—and the ache in his bones—he must have been unconscious for days. But that didn’t matter now.
They won.
Luffy won.
He saved Wano from Kaido's reign.
A slow smile stretched across his bandaged face. He kept his promise. Luffy always does.
The castle bustled with life, but his focus turned inward as he rose to his feet. The pain lingered, but nothing felt broken. Testing his weight on both legs, each tendon and muscle protesting as he moved. Instinctively, his hand rubbed the side of his neck—Queen had landed a brutal blow. He should be dead. The memories flashed in rapid succession: Big Mom. King. Queen. Black Maria. Saving Momo, the geisha, Soma.
Somehow, he’d survived it all.
Finding his footing, sliding into a vivid yellow and black yukata, the fabric brushing against his skin as he stepped into matching slippers. The first person he saw wasn’t familiar, but with so many rushing through the castle, he knew he was safe.
"Excuse me, madam," he said with a strained but polite bow—his manners intact despite the pain—"do you know where Luffy and the rest of my crew are?"
He winced, fingers pressing to the deep purple bruise on his neck.
She bowed in return, eyes wide with concern. “Luffy is still sleeping. He hasn’t woken up yet. His room’s just a few hallways down.”
She returned to her duties in a flurry, hurrying off before he could ask more. No matter. He moved with purpose now.
Luffy's sandals were placed neatly outside the room when he arrived. The door creaked open, and before he could call out, Nami barreled into him, nearly knocking him off his feet.
“Nami—?!”
"Sanji-kun! You're awake!" Nami's voice cracked slightly, a mix of relief and lingering worry. She barreled into him again, squeezing tightly. “I’m so glad... We’ve been waiting for you three to wake up—it’s been four days now.”
Sanji blinked, trying to process that. Four days. He wanted to ask more, but his eyes locked onto Luffy.
His captain lay on an elevated futon, bandaged from neck to toe, breathing slowly but steadily. Chopper knelt beside him, changing bandages with clinical precision. Marco stood nearby, silent and vigilant, like a guardian watching over royalty.
Sanji’s voice dropped, quieter now. “It’s good to see you too, Nami. How’s he doing?”
He walked into the room at a controlled pace, doing his best to hide the pain. Every step sent a roar through his chest, his heart hammering like a drum. But whatever pain he felt—it was nothing compared to what Luffy must have endured.
“Stable,” Nami said gently, following close behind him. “But we’re watching him closely. He just needs rest now.”
Sanji stepped beside Chopper and rested a hand on the small doctor’s shoulder.
“You did great, Chopper. Where would we be without you?” Chopper flinched at the compliment, his ears twitching.
“D-Don’t say that, you big meanie!” He snapped, cheeks flushing pink—but his hands never stopped moving. Marco glanced back at the trio with a faint nod. “I’ll give you some space.” Then, without another word, he stepped out of the room, leaving the Straw Hats alone with their captain. Nami joined Sanji at his side. They stood together, watching Chopper work in silence.
“Where are the others?” Sanji asked, eyes still on Luffy. Almost absently, his fingers patted around his yukata. The craving hit fast and hard—nicotine withdrawal biting at him all at once. Nami noticed, of course.
“Robin and Franky are down at the Sunny—making repairs and checking on supplies,” she said. “Usopp and Jinbe are helping with the citizens. Brook’s... somewhere.” She purred that last part, deliberately skipping one name.
Her voice was sly as she reached into her kimono and pulled out a small silver case, delicate and refined. The mother-of-pearl shimmered softly, and an orchid was etched on the lid in fine detail.
She held it out to him; Chopper gave an exasperated sigh in the background. Sanji hesitated, as his gaze was pulled once more from Luffy. “We’ll be right outside, Chopper,” Nami said, already turning toward the door. Sanji followed, tugging gently at his lower lip as he walked; like a tether, she pulled his attention away from Luffy as his body screamed for his fix, needing it.
The garden was still—serene in a way only nature after war could be. A light breeze rustled through the leaves of carefully tended bonsai trees, each one nestled between polished wooden railings. Ornate statues stood like silent sentinels—foxes and cranes inlaid with precious metals, their jeweled eyes catching the light.
Nami and Sanji came to rest in front of a single bonsai, unusually large for its kind. Its twisted branches stretched out like an old warrior rather than a tree—stubborn, proud, and beautiful in its age. Sanji leaned carefully against a smooth railing beam, still stiff from injuries.
Nami flipped open the small cigarette case with a quiet click, spring-loaded and elegant. She plucked one out with practiced ease and slipped it between her lips.
Sanji watched the motion with a fondness he never tried very hard to hide. She always carried herself with purpose—even in the small things. If he weren’t half-broken and barely upright, maybe he’d lean in and say something charming.
Never to have, but always to flirt with the line.
She pulled his golden mermaid lighter from her sash, lit the cigarette with a familiar clink, and inhaled slowly. The scent hit him hard, his brand. Sharp, smoky comfort.
“Come on,” she said through an exhale, lips curled into a soft smirk. “Ask already.”
The silver case was still open in her hand. Sanji took one, biting down the craving that rose like a storm tide inside him. His fingers closed around the lighter, cool against his bruised palm. He lit up with a steady hand, drawing in the burn, letting the tension ebb away.
“Where’s Marimo?” he asked, leaning on the railing beside her.
“A few doors down from Luffy,” she said. “Still out cold. Chopper says he’s healing... but slowly. That last fight took a toll on him.”
Sanji didn’t answer right away. He took another drag, eyes scanning the garden—but not really seeing it.
“That dumbass always has to push past the limit,” she muttered. “Still… it would’ve been a hell of a fight to watch.”
Nami laughed softly under her breath, but it faded quickly. Her fingers absently rolled the cigarette between them, eyes fixed on the gnarled tree in front of them.
Sanji glanced sideways at her.
“And you?” he asked. “How have you been holding up?”
She blinked at the question, caught off guard. Then gave a tired, ironic smile. “Oh, you know. I woke up in a castle full of wounded people, half the country on fire, and half my crew beat up and unconscious.”
Sanji chuckled, but the warmth in his gaze didn’t fade. “You’ve been keeping everyone moving. I noticed.”
Nami looked down, quiet for a moment. “I didn’t have a choice. Someone had to.”
“Yeah,” Sanji said. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t get tired too.”
She didn’t respond, not directly. I just took another drag and leaned back slightly, eyes turned up to the sky.
After a long pause, Sanji broke the silence. “I’m going to check on the swordsman. Then I need a bath; I smell like the Dead Sea King.”
She cracked a smile, just barely. “Thanks for not dying.”
He threw her a lazy salute, cigarette balanced between two fingers. “Anytime, Nami-swan.”
As he walked away, his voice was soft but certain: “Let me know when he wakes up.”
He didn’t look back, but he raised a hand in acknowledgment before disappearing down the corridor.
Once again, Sanji found himself standing outside a room, the weight in his chest just as heavy as before. He stubbed out the end of his cigarette on the heel of his slipper, the ember hissing faintly, then slid the door open. The air inside was still, faintly stale, carrying the sharp edge of disinfectant and dried blood.
Zoro lay on an elevated futon, just like Luffy, but the bandages told a different story. Thick layers covered nearly every inch of him, stark white against the vibrant futon he lay on. It reminded Sanji too much of that time at Thriller Bark. His chest ached at the memory. Another time he thought he might lose him.
“Stupid. Impractical. Reckless. Tch.” The words came out half-hearted, barely more than breath. Sanji stepped up beside the futon, eyes scanning the wounds. Some were healing, but others—others looked angry, inflamed. Zoro had taken more than just a hard hit. He'd danced with death.
Maybe this time you’ll learn, Sanji thought, then a small chuckle escaped, probably not.
Zoro’s face was the only part of him left untouched. Typical, of course, that idiotic face would be fine.
Sanji reached out without thinking, fingertips grazing the curve of Zoro’s cheek. Lightly. Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin, the slow rise and fall of his breath. His fingers lingered. His chest tightened.
For a moment, his vision blurred. A sharp inhale, then a wrecked sob escaped before he could bite it down. He rubbed at his neck with his free hand, chasing comfort that wouldn’t come.
He'd trusted Zoro with the worst of him, entrusting him with the promise to end it all if Sanji ever lost himself. Turned into something unforgivable, the monster he might become, and here Zoro was instead, barely alive, broken, and still standing guard in his own way.
How long he stood there, he wasn’t sure. The silence was sacred. It was time to take Zoro in, truly take him in. The idiot had always been stronger than any of them gave him credit for. And maybe, for him, too. Sanji’s hand brushed Zoro’s cheek one last time. There was a tenderness in the gesture he would never admit to out loud.
Then reality cracked back in.
Footsteps. Voices. He turned.
Princess Hiyori swept into the room without hesitation, Chopper at her heels along with several assistants. She gave him a short, respectful nod as she passed. He stepped aside instinctively, silent.
Chopper blinked up at him, stopping in front of him with his usual curiosity. “Oh, there you are, Sanji! Nami said you were heading to the baths.”
The question lingered in the space between them, half innocent, half loaded. Sanji didn’t answer right away. He cast one last glance over his shoulder at the swordsman.
“Yeah,” he said eventually, his voice a little hoarse. “I’m going.”
The bathhouse was quiet—peaceful and surprisingly beautiful.
Sanji had scrubbed his body and hair three times before entering to rid himself of the day's battles. The shampoo had a soft, floral scent, and the scrub brushes were gentle enough not to irritate his bruised skin.
Steam hung gently in the air, swirling in the amber light that filtered in through the high wooden slats. The water was the perfect temperature, drawing the tightness from his legs, uncoiling his tendons until he could finally let himself sink into it.
Now, resting his arms along the rim of the bath, he let his eyes flutter shut.
Damn, I needed this.
His back gave a long, satisfying release, tension seeping out in quiet pulses. With a slow breath, he drew his arms back in, sinking deeper until the water reached just under his nose. His eyes were fully closed. The pain in his neck eased, his shoulders dropped, and—for once—he allowed himself to just be.
The faint pressure favoring his left side reminded him of Queen's blow. Of course Zoro had noticed, even if no one else had. Of course he had. That moss-headed bastard always saw more than he let on.
Sanji reflected on the way his body had responded during the fight—slower than usual, heavier in the soles of his feet. He had never felt that kind of strain before. Normally, he was so in tune with his movements, each kick, each pivot, each burst of speed choreographed like instinct.
But something had felt off.
It had started back when he saved Momonosuke under the guise of Soba Mask. That suit, that damned Germa tech—his father’s legacy—had left a crack in the foundation he’d always trusted.
Since then, his body had changed. Quietly. Subtly. Without his permission.
In the middle of battle, he realized just how much damage he had taken, how many times he should have collapsed. Bones that should’ve broken didn’t. Bruises that should’ve bloomed didn’t show. Pain that should’ve crippled him... didn’t register.
Tiny bubbles broke the surface as he exhaled and sank completely beneath the water. It wasn't deep enough to cover all of him; his golden hair still floated slightly dry above the water's surface. The fight with Queen played back in vivid detail—each blow, each burn, each hit absorbed without consequence. Like his body had become something other. Something he didn’t recognize.
Was that me? Or the science crawling under my skin?
The water rippled around him as he flexed his muscles beneath the surface. Still responsive. Still his. But how long would that last?
Germa tech... dammit, why now?
He remembered the moment he called Zoro, battered, shaken, and scared, and asked him to do the unthinkable:
“If I ever lose myself... if I stop being me... I want you to put me down.”
It had taken everything in him to ask that. Everything in him trusted Zoro with it. He hadn't told anyone else. He couldn't. And yet, here he was, unsure if he had already crossed that invisible line. Sanji leaned his head back against the wooden edge of the bath, sliding completely under water.
What am I becoming? His heart thudded, not from exertion, but from dread. The kind that sank deeper than bone.
But even through the fear, he reminded himself:
I’m still here. I’m still the cook of the Straw Hat pirates. I am Sanji.
And until that stopped being true, he'd keep fighting with everything he had, his way. He let his mind wander away from the topic. But beneath the fatigue, a warmth bloomed.
I can’t wait to see Luffy’s stupid grin again...
And hear that smelly Marimo grumble at me like always…
The crew, laughing together. Sharing a real meal on the Sunny. What should I make first? Everyone’s favorites? A feast? Or maybe something new…
A sudden, firm grip yanked under his arms, pulling him upward. Sanji jerked in surprise, immediately resisting. He surfaced, sputtering, as the bathhouse attendant tried to haul him out.
“Whoa—! What the hell—!?”
The attendant froze, pale once he registered Sanji’s strength pushing back.
“Sanji-sama! Are you… Are you alright?”
Sanji blinked, water dripping down his face. He was stunned, confused, and now a little embarrassed as he sat on the slick tile next to the bath.
“Okay, I’m going to need an explanation,” he said, catching his breath. “Why did you drag me out of the bath like that?”
The young man bowed low, trembling. “I-I deeply apologize! I thought—please forgive me!”
Sanji raised a brow, sitting upright now, aware of the cool air and his very exposed condition. Red tinged his cheeks as he scrambled for a towel, wrapping it tightly around himself. He stood with whatever grace he could muster, though his pride was clearly dampened.
“Just… tell me why,” Sanji repeated, more gently now.
Still bowed, the attendant said, “You were under the water so long—I feared you had passed out, sir! I didn’t mean to offend—I just acted out of concern.”
Sanji let out a long breath. His irritation fizzled into understanding. With a tired smile, he waved it off.
“It’s alright. But next time… maybe just tap me on the shoulder, yeah?”
The man straightened and bowed again, relieved. “Of course, Sanji-sama. Please enjoy the rest of your bath.” He exited quickly, red in the face.
Left standing there in a damp towel, Sanji scratched the back of his head.
“What the hell was that…?” he muttered.
He glanced back at the water. Still, despite the strange interruption, he felt better, clearer. A small moment of peace, even if it had been cut short.
Sanji rolled the odd bathhouse moment around in his mind as he gathered his things and made his way back to his room. He wore a simple dark yellow yukata, patterned with black posies trailing up the fabric like quiet shadows in moonlight.
The halls were dim and quiet. Most of the castle had surrendered to sleep by now. As he passed Luffy’s room again, he noticed a small figure stepping out into the hallway—Chopper. The two locked eyes, and the reindeer’s face lit up with relief.
“Hey, Sanji,” Chopper whispered, careful not to wake the rest of the sleeping castle.
Sanji couldn’t help himself. In one fluid motion, he scooped up the little doctor and nuzzled his cheek with affection.
“How’s my favorite doctor holding up, hm?” Chopper squirmed, his hooves pressing against Sanji’s chest in a half-hearted attempt to wriggle free.
“H-hey! Quit it, you big jerk!” he hissed—though there was no real protest behind it. These moments were common in the crew. Chopper's fake resistance, Sanji's quiet insistence. In truth, the doctor was exhausted, and Sanji could feel it in the way Chopper’s body sagged into the crook of his arm. Sanji walked calmly down the hallway, cradling him like treasure.
“Keeping those two knuckleheads alive is taking it out of me…” Chopper muttered, rubbing his tired eyes. “Yeah, Marco’s here, but he’s only one guy.”
“You’re only one guy, Chopper,” Sanji said, not meeting his eyes. His voice was soft.
“You need rest just as much as Luffy and that mosshead do. You’re not a miracle machine—though honestly, you’re damn close.”
The quiet footsteps echoed under open arches. They passed small gardens lit by starlight, the air cool and still. Above them, the stars shone brighter than Sanji could ever remember.
Chopper curled into Sanji’s side, and soon, a faint, soft snore gave him away. Sanji smiled to himself as he reached his room. He slid the door open with deft precision and closed it behind him with the same gentle care. Setting Chopper’s hat down beside the futon, he pulled back the covers and tucked him in with a tenderness. The doctor didn’t stir. His snores kept rhythm like a peaceful lullaby. Sanji lay down next to him, careful not to disturb the little doctor. For a moment, he just watched him. So brave. So strong. Taking care of everyone, without a second thought.
A yawn escaped his lips, unguarded. The bath had helped. His muscles felt looser, his thoughts quieter.
We’ll go back together, he thought, closing his eyes.
Once that idiot captain and that moss-brained swordsman are back on their feet, we’re all going to hit that bathhouse together.
As a crew.