Chapter Text
It was rare that the weather ever caught the straw hats with their pants down. Nami, ever the talented navigator, spotted this one coming from miles away. No big deal—the straw hats had resolved to spend this evening inside, chatting and drinking as Sanji cooked dinner for them.
But as soon as Sanji was plating up the meal, the ship shuddered. They almost missed it amongst the rumbling thunder and cracking lightning, but the sound of something amiss was distinctly there.
Everyone fell silent, waiting for the confirmation of trouble. Then, wood crunched and strangers, their voices roaring, boarded the ship. Sanji, balancing a few platters piled high with steaming sea-king, paused and watched his nakama as the situation settled on them.
“I’ll just set this back on the counter,” he said casually, rolling the cigarette dangling from his lips to the other side of his mouth. Luffy, already bolting from his seat and pouncing across the table, ordered the others in a less-than-serious-tone to follow him into battle. Sanji sighed and stamped out his cigarette on the stove. Zoro, grinning like a demon, drew his swords and followed his captain.
“Oi! Those bastards are damaging my ship!” Franky growled on his way out the door as more wood crunching into splinters sounded above them. The others, scandalized that their precious Thousand Sunny was being vandalized, rushed to join the fray.
Sanji, knowing the others would be more than enough to take care of any manner of stupid pirates or marines, took the time to cover the food and place it into the oven for safe keeping. The last thing he wanted was food to go to waste should the sheer power of one of his captain’s clumsy punches tilt the ship and toss all of Sanji’s fine dishes onto the ground. It happened once, and Sanji wasn’t about to have it happen again—forcing Luffy to eat the wasted food off the floor as punishment didn’t work as deterrent, and Sanji never wanted to see the man lick steak sauce off the kitchen tile ever again.
Only when everything was safely protected did he ascend the steps to the deck. He ran out the door and was immediately drenched in the torrential downpour. The rain was so thick he couldn’t see far, but what he could make out was a row of giant metal claws gripping onto the sunny’s outer railing, the polished Adam’s wood cracked and splintered under the pressure. Massive chains attached to them, yanking taut as more men, dressed in thick black cloaks and wide-brimmed hats, climbed onto the deck and drew their swords.
Well, that is, only about half of them had swords, from what Sanji could tell the other half carried their own lengths of chain, draped across one arm. In the opposite hand, they carried metal claws much like the ones that ripped up the ship’s railing, only smaller. These, they threw at Sanji’s crewmates, hoping to catch one of them.
Luffy, legs coiled up like springs, leaped out of the way, claws snapping shut in the arc of his path. They fell, empty, only to be caught by their wielders and thrown again. Zoro fought nearby, looking irritated that his opponents had the gall to be wielding rapiers rather than broadswords or cutlasses. The scrunch in his mossy brow told Sanji he found no joy in snapping the bladed twigs with his iron-cutting technique.
By the railing, Franky tossed enemies over the railing, freeing up the area around the massive claws to give Robin, giant arms sprouting from the deck, room to yank them from the Sunny and throw them into the rolling waves. The enemy ship, bobbing like a cork in the whirlpool of a draining sink, already had chunks missing from its deck, mast, and side as Ussop and Chopper, manning the cannons, worked to sink it.
There was a lot going on, but only one thing concerned Sanji.
“Nami-swan?!” he called out, his voice barely audible through the pounding rain. He called out again and again until he found her, at the helm, ripping the wheel to one side with all her might. Beautifully and strongly, she leaned her weight into the wheel and bent the Sunny to her will, saving them from crashing into the enemy ship. Several gut-less, goddess-hating pirates tried to attack her and pull her from the helm, but Brook flitted about, his sword singing, and did away with them. Rain turned to ice daggers around him, guarding his shoulders and flying out to targets as the musician bid.
So, then. Sanji could leave Nami to hi—
Sanji’s breath left him as the five-pronged claw clamped down over his ribs and yanked him off his feet. He felt his flesh tear and blood, hot in this chilling rain, fill his shirt. He scrambled to his feet but the pirate who’d marked him had Sanji on a chain. As soon as he’d found his footing, the other man heaved, tearing Sanji several feet to the right. The claw sunk tighter and then ripped itself free, causing Sanji to cry out. He nearly fell to his knees but was yanked back, by another claw.
This one slammed into the back of his skull and closed its cold talons over his face. The points dug into his cheeks and under his chin. Sanji groaned. The mechanism creaked as it sunk tighter. Once more, he was ripped from his feet. Wet planks slammed into his back, creating further misery for the wound on his ribs.
All feeling drain from him as he reached up to his face, timid, shaking fingers prodding at the claws, tracing the bars they formed across his face. His breath hitched. He tried to get up but found the claw yanking him back down, the metal crowding him in.
Panting turned to hyperventilating as memories of a cold, damp cell and a pinching metal mask filled his frantic mind. Like a man possessed, Sanji grasped and yanked at the claws seizing his face, trying desperately to dislodge it from his skin.
To no avail. It only succeeded in riling Sanji’s panic to greater heights, until his brain was no longer thinking but screaming to have the claw off.
Mercilessly, Sanji’s opponent yanked his chain back, dragging Sanji across the deck. Sanji cried out, writhing and tearing at the offending claw.
“Stop,” he whined pitifully. “Get it off!” his breath was too quick—his vision blurred and bleached around the edges. His lips and tongue went numb. Suddenly, he could only mouth at the words he wanted to say. All that would come out were useless whimpers.
He was back in that cell again. He was just a kid—just a little boy in a metal mask. He’d be here forever. He’d rot without having anyone to miss him.
Sanji’s mind had run away without him. He hadn’t even realized when the chains threatening to pull him apart slackened, or when blood, warm and wet, splattered his cheek. But then suddenly the rain stopped pelting his face, and there was a warmth near him.
Still hyperventilating, Sanji reached towards the warmth and fisted it in his hand.
“Oi,” Zoro’s voice, deep and gravelly, scolded by his ear. “The fuck you doing?”
Sanji couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even loosen his grip on what he vaguely realized was Zoro’s shirt. The storm raged around them, their friends fought and their enemies barked orders at one another, but the pair of them were completely still, frozen in a moment Sanji refused to break.
Finally, Zoro moved, shaking of the rain and blood from his swords before sheathing two of them. The one in his left hand remained, ready to guard them from enemies.
“Breathe, Cook,” Zoro commanded. His voice was merciless—a warning to get a grip before an enemy preyed on him or worse—one of their friends saw him.
At least, that’s what the cook’s mind went to. He didn’t realize until his chest started burning that he hadn’t been breathing at all. Lurching, he violently sucked a breath down his lungs, surprised to find Zoro’s hand, pressed into the space under his collarbone, steadying him. Sanji let his head tip back into Zoro’s shoulder. The cold metal of the claw chilled his scalp, but he was quickly reminded of his nakama’s presence as it slowly warmed against Zoro’s skin.
“Get ahold of yourself.” The swordsman’s thick fingers dug into his flesh. The slight pain helped Sanji come back to himself.
“I—Can you—I—“
“Breathe,” Zoro reminded stiffly, moving his hand to Sanji’s throat. He swallowed. Felt the heat and pressure on his neck. He took a few more deep breaths, until he felt that his mind was clear again.
Even so, his voice was small as he said, “Off. I need this—“ he yanked at the claw around his face. “Off.”
“Alright, Cook.”
Zoro pressed the handle of his sword into Sanji’s hand. It was shaking so much Sanji nearly dropped Zoro’s precious blade. An odd fondness spawned in his gut as his palm and fingers stroked over the corded wrapping, a privilege entrusted to him when it never had been before. It nearly made him forget about the metal trapping his face.
With both hands free, Zoro burrowed his fingers underneath the arms of the claw, wrenching on both sides with all his might. Sanji, still held fast to Zoro’s chest, fought to keep still and calm as hinges creaked threateningly. It barely loosened.
“Keep still, Curly,” Zoro said haggardly. The metal shook as Zoro strained, grunting into Sanji’s ear as he struggled to get it open. It obviously had some mechanism that only the invading pirate crew knew how to operate—Sanji suddenly fretted that all the enemies had been done away with already. What if they needed one of them to loosen it?
Then, suddenly, the claw creaked again. Zoro’s muscles strained, turning his face red. With a measured exhale, he threw all his strength into his task, finally opening the claw. Sanji groaned as the sharpened ends of the arms pulled free from his flesh, again sending rivulets of warm blood pouring down his body. The second the contraption was off of his face, he collapsed to his knees. Finally, he was becoming aware of the chaos around him, how cold he was, and the pain festering in his side.
Finally he could think.
Zoro stood awkwardly behind him. “Are you—“
Shooting to his feet, Sanji shoved Zoro’s sword into his arms and then left the deck, headed straight for the pantry room door. As soon as he had stepped into the safe, dark room, he shut and locked it behind him.
He had the only key. Franky had installed it special for him, to ward off Luffy and his late-night snacking in case he got desperate. Now, he used it as a safe room, in order to process all that had just occurred.
But as soon as he'd wedged himself in the smallest space he could find, Sanji couldn't bring himself to dwell on anything. Clothes soaked, hair dripping, he sniffled in the dark, staring at the opposite shelf in his pantry as a puddle grew underneath him. His injury, a vague pain, ran down his ruined suit. Sanji thought that, maybe, he should be concerned about that—how likely was it that he bleed out?
Maybe right now he didn't care.
Teeth grit, he yanked on his hair, just to feel it. Just to know that that evil mask wasn't locked on his head.