Author's Note: Okay the amount of follows, favourites and reviews I have for this story already is totally blowing my mind. This chapter was a bit weird because I wasn't a hundred-percent sure how it was going to go. It's kind of like Beautiful Disaster, in the sense that in chapter 7, Sanji had a nightmare and this time, it's chapter 6. I don't own One Piece. I did some work on this, trying to figure out where everything should be, how his dream should go and yeah. I wonder what you guys think now. Don't ask me why, but you somehow persuaded me to update sooner ... Great, now I don't have any pre-written chapters, just chapters prepared ... Dammit. Okay next update really will be on November 7th.
Speechless
By: Setkia
Full Summary
Sanji is a cook at the Baratie who, for a reason not fully understood by all the other cooks, has not spoken a word in three years. He goes through his life normally, communicating through paper and pen. He hasn't felt the urge to speak since he's decided he would never speak again. Things change though when one day, while taking out the trash, he accidentally runs into the "Demon the Streets".
Roronoa Zoro, the "Demon of the Streets" is a mystery but he's feared by everyone who hears his name. He's on the run from the police with a wanted poster and a big prize if he's found and captured. With an accidental wrong turn, he encounters a strange man with long legs and blond hair. Zoro learnt pretty early on that in his line of work, you don't get attached to people and yet somehow this cook is working his way through his barriers.
PART ONE: BATTLE SCARS
VI
It had been decided that Marimo was staying the night.
More accurately, Sanji had decided the guest bedroom had Roronoa Zoro's name written on it, while the moss head refused the hospitality point-blank.
"I can't stay here," said the idiot of a swordsman.
There was that word again. Can't. He can't go into the Baratie, he can't stay the night. Sanji was starting to believe the man couldn't tell the difference between can't and won't.
With a forceful push, Marimo stumbled into the guest bedroom.
The colour scheme was old, the blue faded, reminding Sanji of a washed up shoreline, the white reminding him of stained baseball pants in need of a good wash. The room hadn't been used in years and seeing it now made Sanji feel a tad sick.
He watched as Marimo let his hand trail along the side of the wall. He stopped at the bed and stared, a conflicting emotion in his eyes. He let himself sit slowly, his hands meeting the bed before the rest of him and he let out a sigh of relief for an unknown reason.
Roronoa Zoro laid back, spreading his arms and legs, looking like a fallen angel on worn, baby blue sheets. A green haired angel, but an angel nonetheless.
Sanji wondered what he'd say about the ceiling.
The swordsman squinted. "What's that?" he asked. He tilted his head slightly. "Are those … oi, Dartbrow, why the fuck are there dots on your ceiling?"
Idiot didn't get it, did he?
Marimo's arm raised slowly, tracing a pattern in mid-air. "That's .. Ursa minor," he said softly.
Actually, it was Ursa major, but Sanji wasn't going to correct him.
"You like astronomy, Shit Cook?"
Sanji knew he wasn't a bad cook and Marimo knew it too. Marimo, he mouthed in retort. It seemed he didn't have half as many insults for the swordsman, not that the Demon of the Streets knew them anyway.
"You know, you really didn't think this out, did you?"
Sanji gritted his teeth. As though he didn't know that!
All he knew was that even if he had to do it again, he would. Letting someone starve was not an option. It had never been.
Of course, perhaps he could've handled the situation better, but what was done was done and there was no changing that. Just because someone was hungry didn't mean he had to drag them off the streets and give them shelter and more or less force-feed them. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure if Matimo was even remotely happy about Sanji's decision to abduct him.
Well, Sanji wouldn't be the happiest if he were to be abducted so he supposed the fact that the swordsman wasn't jumping for joy was rather expected of him.
"You shouldn't be doing this," said Marimo suddenly. He folded his hands across his stomach and stared at the ceiling. "I'm a wanted man, you could be arrested for this," he pointed out.
Sanji shook his head and said nothing in response, instead slamming the guest bedroom door behind him.
It was dark. He couldn't see anything. He tried to feel around for something, anything solid, confirmation he wasn't in an endless, dark abyss. His fingers wrapped around something, it was cold and something slick was intertwining between his fingers.
Suddenly a light turned on and when Sanji looked down he could see it. Blood. His hands were coated in blood, staining his pale fingers. He blinked, trying to understand what was happening but noting made sense. There was a gun in one of his hands, that cold metallic object was a gun, a revolver.
"You killed them," a voice said.
Around him, Sanji was surrounded by dead bodies. Amongst them was his mother, his father and there was Zeff, lying there with only a single leg, giving him the evil eye.
"One word and the old man gets it," boomed the voice.
Sanji couldn't wrap his mind around it. His hands were bloody, his vision was blurring but yes, that was his mother and his father and Zeff, just lying there, looking like he utterly hated Sanji for existing.
Sanji wanted to plead, to tell the mysterious voice to stop torturing him, to kill him instead, but his voice wouldn't work. He couldn't formulate a sentence, never mind make a sound to cry. He could feel the tears running down his cheeks, could see they were blurring his vision and he wanted to scream, to wail, but he opened his mouth and no words came out.
"Remember boy, one word and I'll blow his fucking head off," the ominous voice sneered.
Sanji couldn't speak. He was frozen, his voice wouldn't work. "Please" was all he managed to mouth before the sound of a gunshot was fired.
He felt so cold and empty. Pulling his knees into himself, Sanji closed his eyes and let a silent tear roll down the side of his face. It was times like these where he wished he could scream. Even if he wasn't speaking any language, even if no one understood him, he would love to scream and yell and whine and cry and wail and blubber and break down, if only it meant all of this would go away. He wanted to scream until his voice became hoarse, until he couldn't speak out of free will, rather than lack of guts.
His fingers played with the sheets, twirling them. Taking deep breaths that sounded silent to his own ears, he tried to calm his heartbeat. He lit a cigarette, illuminating the room.
Scream, he commanded himself.
He opened his lips, swallowed harshly and—
Nothing.
He didn't know what he was expecting.
Besides, wasn't it better that he couldn't speak? This way he wouldn't have to deal with it. If he could keep the entire world silent then nothing bad would happen, no one would have to die, he wouldn't be able to kill someone ever again, he could just live his life, silent and mute and it would be okay because everyone else would be mute too. It'd be a wonderful world.
What a naive thought.
BAM!
The door to his room was forced open by a panicked green-haired swordsman. He was blinking and trying to adjust to the new lighting and it was then that Sanji realized that rather than an injury that was below his eye, Roronoa had an eye injury. His left eye, there was something wrong with it. Could he see through that eye?
"What ... What happened?"
Sanji wanted to tell him to be quiet. If he spoke too much, someone might die. He didn't always have these thoughts, but it was always after that dream that they came back to him, memories he so desperately wanted to push back.
"Are you okay?"
Sanji shook his head. No, stop. Don't talk. If you talk, if you speak then bad things happen.
"What's wrong? What's going on?"
Sanji shook his head again, closed his eyes tightly, hugged his knees, prayed to God that Marimo would leave him alone. He didn't want to hear him talk, he didn't want something bad to happen. Even with tears steaming down his face, Sanji was still silent. The sheets seemed to rustle silently, his hair made no noise as it swayed back and forth with his head.
Don't open your eyes, if you do there'll be blood. If you do then they'll be dead. Don't open your mouth, they'll die.
"Sanji?"
Sanji shook his head and his knees shook. He lit another cigarette, trying his best not to overreact. The Demon of the Streets was probably laughing at him, wondering why he was acting so crazy, probably thought he was insane, wondered why a crack had to pick him up.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, don't kill them, please, don't kill them.
His voice wouldn't work.
Roronoa's brow creased in confusion. "Are you okay?" he asked again.
Sanji shook his head. He didn't even hear that much anymore, no, he was more focused on the sound of the gunshot, it was still ringing in his ears.
"You need to talk to me if you want my help—humph?!"
In a matter of seconds, Sanji jumped up from his bed and slammed his hand over the swordsman's mouth, trying to keep him quiet. Please don't talk, his eyes begged. He was sure he definition of desperation, but he couldn't have the man talking. Not when lives were at stake.
Clearly the green-haired man was confused. He raised an eyebrow at Sanji but he stayed quiet like the blond wanted. He slowly slipped to the floor, bringing Sanji with him, still covering his mouth. They sat like that for a while until Sanji slowly took his hand away.
Roronoa Zoro stayed silent.
It was clear he still didn't understand and he wanted Sanji to explain, but Sanji didn't trust himself to. After all, if he spoke there'd be trouble.
It was only during the night that these things haunted him, came out from the creepy shadows and though he had learnt to deal with entering the restaurant again, in the dark all the skeletons of his past came back to remind him of what he had done.
Perhaps this was something to be embarrassed about, but after the incident Sanji had learnt that embarrassment was pointless. So were words.
Sanji fell asleep with his back leaning against his bed, Roronoa Zoro next to him, his dreams fitful and sweat-inducing and yet there was something warm that seemed stop the booming voice reminding him of his crimes from drilling into his head quite as hard.
Author's Note #2: The thank-yous!
NaruHinaLuvr: Well tada, Sanji and Zoro's first night together! Not in the dirty sense, but still.
bronze andromeda shun: No, it is a compliment, it's just that it was unexpected. I remember admitting that I hadn't even met Ace yet during the writing of Beautiful Disaster, until I was about at chapter 34, I actually met him in the anime and someone told me I got him pretty right on, despite the fact that I barely even knew who the heck he was.
lilcutieprincess: Tada, I've updated. Why do I keep writing tada?
Random Person: I felt like dropping a bomb, so I'm glad it worked. I mainly wanted that chapter up so soon because of two reasons: to get the audience to know that every 5 chapters are Zoro's to tell and as for that other reason, their reaction to that last line.
CaptainNapkin: Interesting. I haven't figured out anything in terms of MO, I just know that I watched Dexter and when someone says "serial killer" besides imagining Cornflakes with a knife through it, I think of that wrapping thing he uses. Can't remember what it's called. Saw We're The Millers and screamed for joy from the Dexter reference.
siberianRS: It's all about the meaningfulness of things.
sanzaya: I just remember reading a few stories in which Sanji stresses that he's a chef because a cook puts ingredients in a bowl, and chefs make masterpieces. He is humble, I know that and a lot of people like to stress that fact (I'm one of those people) but I feel like chef, it could be a reason he gets irritated at Zoro, cause Zoro just calls him cook, or a variation of cook instead of chef and they call him the sou-chef in the anime English dub (which I totally decided to stop watching, and went for the subs) and I think in the subs it says "assistant chef".
Guest: Okay here's the thing, I think of Trafalgar and I think of Trafalgar square. There are just some names that make me wonder.
tenshuni (x2): Interesting, my parents don't seem all that happy about my desire to write ... Then again, they don't read anything I write, original stories included.
crystalbluefox: You have no idea how happy I am that you've decided to look at this story too! Oh my God, I feel like I'm communicating with a celebrity! It really means a lot to me!
ThatOneUndertakerFan: I've always been told that I have a talent for keeping characters in character.
Okay now before I ask you a question, I'm going to answer something tenshuni said and I'll tell it to you all because I don't know, if you want to reach me? I created a special e-mail for this Fanfiction account, and if you don't have PM open, or you don't want to PM me, but still want to talk to me, without the internet censoring you or cutting you off because you have long rants (you'll learn quickly enough my e-mails are as long as my chapters), you can reach me at this e-mail: setkia dot writer at gmail dot com. Just replace things with the relevant signs. Sorry, I don't have a place you can donate to me, but having your support means a lot to me. I can only really talk to you guys through updates, so if you want to talk to me before I update, e-mail me. I'm a compulsive e-mail checker, I swear, I check every five minutes. It's kinda weird, I'm not even that popular to have much e-mails except alerts because you guys have decided to follow or favorite my story! I'm so happy about that!
Okay now for my question: what do you think this dream means? What do you think happened to Sanji, given the dream?
And just in case you lost my e-mail amongst the suddenly long trail of words I wrote above, I'll reiterate it. Also, you don't have to worry about me stalking your personal e-mail or anything, I don't have any accounts anywhere except fictionpress ones and fanfiction. Yup. No Facebook, no Instagram, no SnapChat, no other weird site used to have a social life.
So my e-mail: setkia dot writer at gmail dot com.
I kinda feel like the writing equivalent of a YouTuber, but I don't get paid ... Or anything at all ...If I ever reach a million followers and/or favorites, I will do something special. But getting a million's kind of hard ... But if I ever reach there, I will do something great! I promise! (you'll have to remind me I said this should it ever happen cause I feel like it won't happen for a good thirty years ...)
