It's been a while, little brother.
Her words were smooth, and her tone was casual to the ignorant ear, as if he'd only been away on a journey. Yet, while Sanji should have been glad it was his sister, of anyone in his family, who stood before him, the cold apathy behind her stare was more than enough to remind him.
Reiju's presence was anything but comforting.
'A while' would never be long enough to erase years of torment.
Sanji couldn't react, feeling his brain begin to numb in familiar fashion, starting its instinctive retreat to a far corner of consciousness where nothing could hurt him, neither insults nor physical harm.
He felt himself standing there on that dirt path, the night breeze chilling the air, the gleaming eyes of dozens upon him, both Orochi's villagers and his sister's soldiers alike. His memory flitted back to the herds of deer he'd struggled to hunt on his nights alone in the forest, dotting the fields like mushrooms waiting to be picked. But now, he was the hunted.
His vision had begun to dull, as it hadn't in weeks, at the sight of Germa's forces, those black-clad forms blurring slowly into identical shadows he could barely register as people. His mind stumbled backward out of his body, disconnecting itself as its only method of defense.
No dungeon bars separated him from the world at that moment, yet the Sanji he'd been with Zoro—the stronger person he'd so loved becoming—why did it slip away so easily, upon merely seeing a glimmer of his past? Why did it—? He didn't want to—
A large hand shoved him roughly to the ground, the jolt to his back and the grind of his knees against the fine rocks beneath enough to rattle him back into his body, his dissociation cruelly halted.
It was Zoro's hand that had pushed him, the swordsman looming behind him in a way that was hardly comforting either, a fact that was heartbreaking to Sanji in ways he hadn't yet come to terms with.
It was Zoro—his friend, or so he'd thought—who had brought him here, inexplicably, standing unphased before Orochi and the villagers, the swordsman's own tormentors, as if he too had disconnected himself from the world…from everyone…even Sanji.
The blond struggled to hold onto his trust in the swordsman, now as devastatingly thin as sand sifting through his fingers.
The silhouette of Reiju's cloak fluttered, a tattered wing, the smoky scent of gunpowder on the wind—the scent of his father's training grounds.
"Come, Sanji," she said quietly, reaching out towards him with a gloved hand. "I don't want to make this difficult."
The gesture was a semblance of kindness, her tall form a picture of regality in her ruffled collar and intricately patterned tunic. But her icy gaze was as dead as the portraits that lined Germa's palace halls, hollow and unfeeling.
And thus, Sanji was able to muster the defiance he felt inside so strongly. He was there, present in that horrible moment, but he could fight back now. He would. He need only think of what Reiju was to him. Nothing but false, painted perfection hung over cold, dead stone.
"No," he replied, voice low in a forceful tone she likely hadn't heard from him before. It was one he himself hadn't known he'd possessed until very recently. But he would damn well use it now as the adamance rose within him. "I'm not going back."
If his sister was surprised, she didn't show it, the slight pause before her reply the only indication of any tension before she said, "We're going home—"
He interrupted immediately, disgusted at the very suggestion.
"It was never my home, and you know it!" he growled. "Especially not now that Mother is—" He cut himself off with a grit of his teeth, still unable to let the word escape him, even if his bitterness threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't waver.
Reiju remained silent, so he continued.
"I'm not going with you. I can't go back to that cel—"
"Father will allow you your own quarters—" she started, but he merely scowled.
"Why? What could he possibly want me back for?" Sanji hissed. "He had no use for me! He wanted me dead!"
"You wouldn't be alive now if he'd wanted that."
It was what Zoro had wondered, in a futile attempt at comfort, not truly knowing what Sanji was running from. But hearing the words from his sister's mouth, when she'd helped perpetuate his father's cruelty, he couldn't forgive them.
His glower took on the fresh heat of rage, even as Reiju sighed and walked closer, crouching down gracefully before him, the hem of her belted tunic skimming the ground.
"Sanji, I tried," she murmured, her face decidedly more human at close proximity, and Sanji struggled to ignore how much she resembled their mother, as pale as she looked in the moonlight. "I always tried to advocate for you," she continued. "But Father… Father is—"
"It's too late, Reiju—" he growled in quick dismissal. If she'd tried, she hadn't tried hard enough. She'd had years—years.
"Things can be different now," she pressed, a gloved hand reaching out for him before she drew it back to her side as if thinking otherwise. "You know that. Now that you have—"
"Why should I believe you?!" The words burst from his lips at long last, words he'd stopped himself from saying more and more often as time had passed and his sister's consolations rang empty. Now he let them flow freely. "Why would I ever believe you? You were all I had! I trusted you. I trusted you every time like a fool and look where it got me!"
He remembered, after all, his failures at training, his sister's hand on his shoulder as she led him inside, only for her to shuffle away with mumbled apologies when their father came to reprimand him.
He remembered her assurances that his faked death was good, that it would remove the constant pressure he felt to live up to his country's standards.
Her empty promises to help him sneak out of the palace, enjoy a day of anonymity outside his cell, to bring back books, extra food, paper for him to jot down recipes. Promises to tell their ailing mother why he never came to visit nor assured her he was alright.
Promises to protect him from their brothers, promises that next time, next time would be different. That she'd pluck up the courage to stand up to Father then and never now.
Now was too difficult. Now wasn't the right time, and he'd waited and waited for an 'eventually' that never came.
He'd always believed her, handed control of his life into her fickle grasp.
Why had he done that? Why had he believed he didn't matter? Why hadn't he just stood up and said—
"I'm taking back my own life."
And with those words, he was back on his feet, shoving off even Zoro's hand to rise above his sister, Reiju staring at him silently until she slowly pushed herself up too. He stood marginally taller than her now.
Sanji waited for a semblance of understanding in her eyes, unable to snuff out the hope that maybe the time had finally come when she'd support him. Too little, too late, but dammit, she was his last hope for a family, as far as he was concerned.
Indeed, something tumultuous brewed in her features, something that he couldn't quite place. Something completely fleeting before her face froze over again, the crevasse of worry he imagined furrowing her brow smoothing back into marble.
Reiju pushed to her feet and turned her head slightly, shooting a glance over her shoulder with a subtle nod.
And then, figures descended swiftly upon him from either side, hands grabbing his arms violently and wrenching them behind his back.
He struggled instantly, thrashing in their grasp as fear filled his chest, and he stupidly, so stupidly, turned to Zoro. On pure instinct, he turned to his only friend for help.
"Zoro—Zoro! Help me!" he gritted out, his eyes hot and skin burning where his captors' fingers dug into his arms like talons.
Zoro didn't move, merely stared down at him dully, not a flicker of emotion crossing his face.
It was different. It was again so different from their first meeting. There was nothing behind Zoro's stare. No enjoyment, no malice, just emptiness, and Sanji knew it wasn't him. This wasn't the annoying idiot who'd trained him so determinedly, looked at him with such fierce support and warmth that couldn't be faked. He knew false kindness, and he didn't think the swordsman capable, however much he liked to pretend otherwise.
"Dammit, mosshead, snap out of it, please—!" he cried, desperate now to break through whatever was keeping Zoro from reacting, but it was no use. The swordsman was a statue, cold and unmoving.
The soldiers gripped him tighter against his escape attempts, his knees dragging in the dirt as they pulled him toward his sister's side. His sword was still belted to his hip, but he couldn't reach it, feeble kicks doing nothing, legs unable to gain their footing.
Just when he found himself giving up, movement began to close in on his sister's troops, Orochi and his men stepping forward threateningly with hands and weapons raised.
For an odd moment, Sanji wondered if they'd decided to help him after all, especially when Orochi's voice rumbled, "I'm afraid we can't make things that easy either, Princess."
But then, Sanji caught a glimpse of the man's teeth, sneering with amusement.
"A Germa defeat will be all too redeeming for us with Seals, after all."
Redeeming…?
Sanji's eyes narrowed, flicking to Zoro inadvertently when his captors momentarily ceased their assault. Had Orochi and the villagers truly come to take on his sister's troops? Did they really think it would win them favor in Wano?
Zoro, predictably, gave nothing away.
"Our sole purpose was to retrieve my brother," Reiju replied, her expression as cold and empty as Zoro's. "We will not attack your people."
Orochi simply sneered back, his eyes beady slits.
"Perhaps you need some incentive," he growled.
Then he turned his head towards Zoro.
"Roronoa, kill him. He's just in the way."
Almost instantly, Sanji felt the grip on his arms loosen, then drop altogether as the soldier holding him fell to his knees with a choked gasp, a spray of blood spurting from his throat where Zoro had sliced it.
The man slumped to the ground, unmoving, a glow visible beneath his armor before the shape of a Seal lifted off his chest, hovering there for a few seconds before vanishing into the night.
And for a fleeting moment, Sanji had hope, watching the life leave his captor. Maybe he would escape. Maybe Zoro would help him after all.
But that hope was quickly squashed the moment Zoro's hand yanked him by the collar, wrenching his head back, the blade of his prized sword pressing against Sanji's jugular.
He swallowed, his heart pounding as he took in the last sight he'd see before his death—the eruption of chaos. The villagers rushed Germa's soldiers on Orochi's order, the field quickly filling with battle sounds, cries of pain echoing in the night.
He whimpered his final words—
"Zoro, please…!"
—only to be met with an ear-splitting roar overpowering the battlefield.
The men barely had time to react before an enormous dark form leapt clear overhead from the direction of the forest. Nothing but a black shadow soared through the air, growing larger by the second until four giant paws landed directly in front of Sanji with a thunderous thump, and he found himself face to face with the Night Beast.
Zoro's blade left Sanji's throat when the beast swiped over the blond's head, giving the swordsman no choice but to raise his sword to block, massive claws clashing with the steel, like blades in their own right.
Sanji dropped to the ground instinctively, throwing hands over his head as the monster surged forward again, this time with its teeth, paws barely missing him when the creature ran forward on the attack.
Familiar panic ravaged his chest, clenching and squeezing, leaving his breaths ragged and his heart struggling to keep up.
He couldn't move, his eyes darting between the clashing bodies above him—nothing but flashes of weapons, animalistic appendages as Seals were used, and glows of otherworldly powers.
Reiju was nowhere in sight. He couldn't follow any of the writhing action—didn't want to—the screams, the murder in the eyes of both sides overloading his senses from every direction.
He had no one. He was alone. His sister would take him captive again, if he wasn't killed first. And the one person he'd thought was different was—
Sanji couldn't help but turn, fearfully searching for Zoro amidst the devastation. His gaze locked on the beast, towering over the swordsman, driving him further away from Sanji with ferocious, bloodthirsty growls and swipes.
And Zoro—strong, invincible Zoro—was barely holding it off, his movements slow and clumsy, his face wrought with his own panic, the first emotion Sanji had seen from him all night.
He had to help him. Zoro had betrayed him, but dammit, it was Zoro. Even with the fresh memory of that blade digging into his throat, Sanji couldn't believe he'd decided this all on his own. Orochi had something to do with it, and though he didn't know if he could forgive him, he couldn't even try if the swordsman was dead.
And something about that thought terrified him more than the monster, more than his sister and Orochi combined.
He was on his feet, sword drawn before he fully knew it. He didn't know what he was going to do, but already he was pushing through his shock, stumbling through the grass, his eyes fixed on the swordsman.
A cry to his left, the robe of a Germa soldier billowing towards him, and Sanji twisted, his sword blocking a fist made of stone from crushing through his skull.
He didn't think about the way his body moved on its own, didn't think about the look of surprise on the man's face before he kicked him hard in the side with a quick pivot, the man collapsing to the ground. He didn't think about the strong desire to stab him through the chest, a desire he just barely pushed down.
There was nothing but Zoro in his mind, a shout of pain he'd never heard from the swordsman echoing in his ears as the beast clamped its jaws into his shoulder with a crunching squelch. It shook him vigorously in its grip before dropping him heavily to the ground, his form nothing more than a rag doll.
Sanji broke into a run. Zoro wasn't moving.
"Zoro!" he screamed, sprinting now, another horrified shout leaving his throat when the beast descended, again and again, gouging the already mangled swordsman repeatedly.
He didn't know what he was going to do, how he was going to fight it off… He didn't know if Zoro would even live, but he still ran.
Perhaps the monster would have kept going, mad with bloodlust, had a group of Germa soldiers not intervened, one lashing out with arms that had turned to rope, another with thick vines that fought to restrain the beast.
It fought back, its attention now focused on the soldiers, and it was just enough of a distraction for Sanji to reach Zoro's side, the blond falling to his knees in a pool of blood beneath his mutilated form.
"Zoro!" he cried, hands unsure where to land when the body before him seemed less man than raw meat. Was he even breathing? "Zoro, fuck—look at me! Look at me!"
His touch found Zoro's face, stroking his cheeks.
"Open your damn eyes, mosshead! Why did you—what the fuck did they do to you?"
Zoro still wasn't moving, his skin cold and pale, the moonlight glistening off the sea of red coating his body. His wounds were severe, unsurvivable, surely, but Sanji couldn't go through it again. The pain of his mother's death was still so fresh. To lose Zoro…the strongest person he'd ever known…
"I need you—you can't—! Come on… Come on, please…"
He should have been trying to stop the bleeding. He should have been doing anything more than just staring desperately, tears streaming down his face, his pleas and whispers lost on deaf ears.
Or so he'd thought…
Amazingly, impossibly, a groan left the swordsman's throat, his chest hitching with it, and Sanji gasped as his eyes fluttered open, just barely.
But it was enough to make a jolt of alarm shoot through the blond when he realized those eyes were the wrong color. They were not the deep, warm brown he was used to, but instead an odd light gray, and in fact, the colors were fluctuating, struggling between the familiar and unfamiliar.
The swordsman coughed, blood coming with it, but a grating chuckle followed, his voice sounding strange….raspy…
Sanji's hands leapt off the swordsman's face when his skin began to shift beneath his touch, morphing and stretching grotesquely. His fingers began to twist and curl, knuckles becoming gnarled, veins protruding. His muscles seemed to shrink.
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
This was not Zoro. This was not the man he'd started to—
"It will only be your undoing, boy…"
The voice that choked out of the swordsman belonged to someone else entirely, and a second later, the body that lay beneath him, eyes blank and unseeing, was that of an old woman, her white hair long and tangled, translucent skin stretched thin over destroyed bones.
It was the same woman he'd run into at the palace… The same woman he could have sworn accompanied Orochi earlier that day…
Zoro had warned him not to let an old woman near him… He'd been stupid, so stupid. He hadn't thought…
But how had she…?
Then, from beneath the tattered fabric of her robe, a glow, the oval shape of a Seal floating upwards. It hovered there, temptingly, for a second before it vanished into the night air with her final rattled exhale.
This wasn't Zoro, Sanji realized, torn between horror and complete and utter relief. It hadn't been Zoro, which meant Zoro was alive, and for a moment, he worried that this woman had disguised herself as him the entire time he'd known him, but no. There was simply no way.
He'd been right. Zoro would have never turned him in. Zoro would have done anything to protect him, which raised the question—the terrified, panicked question of where he was. Where the real Zoro was.
Was he hurt? Captured? He was alive. He had to be. He was alive! But where was he?
Sanji found himself frantically scanning the battlefield, his gaze fearfully roving over fallen forms and closely studying fighting ones.
The beast was nearby, roaring and hissing with rage as it fought off attackers from both sides. Why had it come? Why wasn't it leavi—?
Suddenly, hands grabbed him from behind, coiling over his shoulders and dragging him through the grass again. He struggled, smelling his father's gunpowder on his captor's sleeves, but his fight was slowing, the shock of the carnage he'd witnessed starting to catch up to him, even if his heart still thundered in fear for Zoro—not even for himself anymore…
His vision was spotty, flashes of red, the scent of blood in his nose, his breaths coming far too quickly.
There was a huge shadow bounding straight towards him, but he couldn't react, the action around him seeming to grate by at a sluggish pace.
That shadow swiped over Sanji's head, a severed one shooting past him like a cannonball as it swiftly decapitated his captor.
He fell to the ground, rolling to his side, unable to move anymore, his body trembling with panicked breaths as he watched the shadow rear up to towering heights as it fought off more soldiers.
A slash of a blade across the shadow's torso, blood spraying outward. A ferocious roar of pain.
A massive thud, and four thick limbs were surrounding him, utter darkness blotting out the night sky above. He felt heat, heard the great huffs of lungs far bigger than his own. A hot splash of blood dripped down on him, soaking his entire back.
It wasn't a shadow at all…. It was the beast.
It was really there. And it wasn't hurting him…
His vision wavered as he struggled to stay conscious, the fear threatening to pull him under entirely.
A grip on his ankles, tugging him backward, out from under the beast.
His father's soldiers were relentless, yet another pinning him to the ground with an iron grip. He couldn't fight back at all. It was completely gone, his energy.
Something solid hit him sharply in the back of the head.
Pain burst through his skull, and the world before him vanished.
When Sanji's senses returned, time felt distorted. It was slow and confusing, fuzzy, muffled shouts and cries making their way to his ears, though he couldn't make sense of them.
Some corner of his brain told him he was moving, but not of his own accord.
Something was carrying him, but not arms. His torso was in something's grasp, his body limp. He felt heat again, moisture seeping into his robes.
He didn't understand.
So he let himself drift, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to bring himself back to full consciousness. He had to protect himself somehow, spare himself any more trauma.
The air grew quieter, and in fact, the air itself was hot, gusting heavily over his skin in rhythmic bursts.
He didn't know how much time had passed when he finally felt himself touching solid ground. Whatever was carrying him had lowered him there, gently as could be. He felt something heavy press against his chest, hold there for a moment, as if feeling his breaths.
And then it was gone.
Wherever he was, he was alone.
…Safe?
He didn't know. And he couldn't care through his exhaustion.
He fell fully into the darkness again.
The key clicked in the lock, and the metal pulled away from his face, more light than he was used to flooding his vision as the soldier removed his helmet.
No one told him the reason, but he wasn't about to question it. It had been weeks since the last time they'd freed him.
His head felt light, almost too light without the weight of the iron, and he stumbled awkwardly behind the men who led him out of his cell, his hands still bound, his ragged clothes too loose around his frame. He'd lost more weight.
They took him through the underbelly of the castle, through the cave-like tunnels out of sight, but when they finally emerged through a doorway, they'd arrived in a lavish suite, the kind he hadn't been permitted to live in for years.
The next hour or so was a blur of bath soap, scissors, razors, and fabric as he was scrubbed, shaved, and dressed back into some semblance of a human. A glimpse of himself in the mirror saw the familiar guise of a prince, but the haunted, gaunt look of a forgotten one.
That was all he was, after all.
He'd been led into the castle proper after that, through the halls he'd grown up in, and when he realized just what corridor they'd turned down, his heart fluttered.
"You're taking me to see her?" he'd asked, his voice cracking from disuse, but nonetheless full of hope.
His escorts said nothing, save for one, who merely muttered, "She's been asking for you."
That hope twisted in confusion. Did she not always ask?
But he had little time to question it before he found himself outside the ornate entrance to his mother's wing, the soldiers knocking on a wide set of double doors that seemed no less massive than they had when he was a child, rapping knuckles there fearfully after a bad dream.
He entered to find her in bed, same as his childhood, but this time something was off. She looked terribly frail, perhaps more so than himself, he thought, her skin and her frame thin.
Her eyes looked dark and hollow when she rolled her head to look at him tiredly.
"Sanji…" his mother breathed, even her voice sounding weak, but Sanji found himself rushing to her as the doors closed behind him, falling stiffly onto the mattress beside her, his head bowed in both shame and relief.
When was the last time he'd seen her? He couldn't even count, though it definitely hadn't been since he'd turned nineteen. And that was several months ago. Maybe… What was time anymore?
Her bony hand lifted to his hair, trembling fingers doing their best to stroke there.
"Your last journey was too long, Sanji. Why haven't you come to see me…?" she asked, shattering his heart, but he swallowed, conjuring the lie his father insisted he tell her years ago.
"I-I know, Mother. I'm so sorry. But I was held up on my mission overseas."
She frowned, contemplating this for a moment. "You look so tired, Sanji. Have you been eating properly?"
"Ah, you're observant, Mother…" he replied. "I suppose I haven't. I've been preoccupied since I returned. Training….with Father."
His eyes lifted to hers briefly, not missing the spark of life that returned to her gaze.
"You have…?" she breathed, a smile coming to her face when he nodded, her stroking gaining a bit of strength.
"I always knew he'd accept you," she said, her other hand touching her chest, where the dark brand of her Seal stood out against her pale dressing gown and even paler skin.
He stared there for a moment, an uncomfortable twisting in his chest, but he forced a smile himself, forced himself to enjoy this rare exchange he was afforded. If his mother was unaware of his imprisonment, so be it. He would rather her live blissfully unaware of his suffering, rather than hear the truth of his torture. It would cause her far too much pain, pain he wasn't willing to risk, seeing how sickly she looked now.
The power of her Seal had always weakened her, the more she used it. Healing others' wounds required quite a large amount of her own energy. But she always bounced back. She always had…
The soldiers allowed him to stay for a while, surprisingly. He told his mother as many stories as he could think of, imagined stories of his adventures, adventures as a knight that he would never experience, journeying to far-off kingdoms and learning foreign cultures. Growing in strength…
He'd talked to her until her eyelids drooped, until her form became heavier against the pillows, and it was clear she was losing the battle with consciousness.
It scared him, for some reason, more than usual. It scared him to see her slipping away so quickly, letting herself fall into something that looked deeper than sleep.
The soldiers came to collect him, entering the room once more and standing a few paces away, clearly pressuring him to leave.
He didn't want to though. However much of a lie he was living in that moment, it was a lie he didn't want to end. He didn't want to be dragged back into his unbearable truth.
"I should stay," he'd insisted. "She's exhausted; she needs someone to look after her."
It was his mother who had answered him, her voice quiet, barely more than a whisper. Her eyes were closed, already half asleep.
"Go…" she murmured. "I'll be fine without you, Sanji."
But he wouldn't. He needed her. He needed her love and care, even if it was false. He was starting to think he would die in that cell. Not even his dreams were strong enough to keep him alive anymore.
So he vowed to come back in the morning. He promised her he would, living that fake reality just a little longer, even though he knew it wouldn't happen.
The visit felt like a dream once he was back in his cell, in his dirty rags, vision once again narrowed to the small slit afforded him through the iron helmet.
He'd slept fitfully that night, overwhelmed with emotion, his heart unable to calm, aching for things he couldn't have.
His meager breakfast had come the next morning, the trapdoor near the floor opening, his tray of food sliding in through the sliver of dim light as it always did, cold and gray, unchanging…
…Save for the new words that did accompany his rations that morning.
"The queen is dead."
The trapdoor slammed shut, taking that sliver of light with it.
Full awareness returned to Sanji slowly, in fragmented sensations that brought an uncomfortable chill to his skin and a piercing pain to the base of his skull.
The pain throbbed there, drawing a heavy groan from him as he rolled, digging his forehead into what he eventually realized was earth in an attempt to stave off the agony.
He clenched his fists and forced his eyes open, revealing a remote forest, silent trees standing sentinel in the night. He moved to push himself up, his hand touching down on something smooth. He looked down to find the lacquered sheaths of three familiar swords resting beside him at the base of a tree stump.
He sucked in a breath, Zoro's swords triggering the memory of where he'd been. He looked down at himself, realizing with a skip of his heart that his robes were soaked through with blood.
But the blood wasn't his. Aside from the throbbing of his head, he felt fine. He had no injuries as far as he could tell. So where had the blood come from…? Where was—?
Noises, the sound of growling, some sort of struggle.
He swiveled around, his heart picking up speed, to find a trail of crushed underbrush. The leaves and dirt gleamed in the moonlight, coated with a slick trail of blood.
Sanji didn't move for a moment, but then, the sound of water splashing, more grunting and struggling.
He didn't know why or how, but he got to his feet, shakily following that blood across the forest floor to the crest of a hill, a small embankment that led down to a stream.
And there, collapsed and writhing in the shallow water like a giant beached fish, was the Night Beast, its huge limbs thrashing and twitching in uncontrolled spasms.
It took Sanji a long, horrifying moment to understand what he was seeing, wide eyes flitting over the scene, from the creature's frothing, foaming mouth to its own glazed eyes, whites disturbingly visible as they rolled. Blood soaked the lighter fur of its underbelly, staining the stream water a sickening red that carried over the rocks, taking the beast's life with it.
The creature was dying; that much was obvious, and it was something that sent a sharp, unexpected pang of sorrow straight through Sanji's chest. The beast had protected him, whether it was aware of it or not, just as it had in his dreams, saving him from certain death at the hand of Zoro's—no, that woman's—blade. He'd been right to believe Zoro would never hurt him. And it was saddening to think he'd set out that night with the intention of hunting this poor beast down.
It was suffering, heavy, unsteady breaths wheezing from its lungs, and Sanji could only watch from afar, tears welling as those spasms grew slower, the beast's body seizing in grotesque positions for seconds at a time, until, after an agonizing minute, its form relaxed, falling limp into the water.
It lay there, bleeding, barely breathing, and it was only then that the spell keeping Sanji frozen broke, the blond tentatively stepping out from his hiding place and slowly sliding down the leafy slope to the stream's edge. He was a few paces away from the creature now, but it hadn't reacted, so Sanji stepped closer with solemn confidence, unsure of what he was doing but wanting to provide what little comfort he could in the beast's final moments.
He didn't make it closer.
Suddenly, a swift, unnatural wind rustled through the creature's fur, great clumps of midnight black and burnt orange lifting, to Sanji's utter shock, into the air in a swirling cloud that engulfed the animal's form. At the same time, the beast began to shrink, its hide shimmering and paling, fur scattering and rearranging to take the form of a dark robe, one that settled itself around a smaller body that lay where the beast had moments before.
A human body.
Sanji's heart stuttered, and his blood ran cold.
Zoro's body.
He wasn't moving. Just as the beast had fallen still in the water, so too had Zoro, collapsed there on his side, partially submerged in the stream. His torso was bare, visible skin glistening with sweat, and it took Sanji far too long to process what he'd seen.
The beast had changed, transformed with the power of a Seal, surely, as he'd witnessed so many times before. And yet Sanji's mind could not wrap itself around the fact that the creature, which had so haunted him for weeks now, and the swordsman were one and the same.
Surely he'd imagined it. But the longer he stared, the longer he squeezed eyes shut and willed the scene away to no avail…
The fear he'd felt, the frustration, Zoro's secrecy, his unwillingness to share his power, the contempt, the thought that everyone wanted the beast—wanted him—dead—
"It was you…. It was you. All along it was—" the blond huffed, trembling, trying to make sense of those words that he could hardly believe.
And yet…
"You came for me…"
It was all too much, enough to make the blond's limbs quake with stress, his head spinning and throbbing.
So he chose not to dwell on it because what he saw now was Zoro, the real Zoro, unmoving and lifeless. The blood flowing down the stream was his.
He stumbled into the water, barely able to hold himself up until he fell to his knees beside him, soaking them in the stingingly cold water.
"Zoro…" he murmured fearfully, trembling hands hovering over the swordsman's shoulder, noting his closed eyes, his cheek thankfully pressed against his outstretched arm, saving his face from submersion.
"Zoro…" he tried again, receiving no response. He was well and truly unconscious.
Or worse…
With a jolt of sudden terror, he slid a hand over Zoro's chest, resisting the urge to melt with relief when he felt a small hitch of movement.
He didn't waste any more time.
Carefully, he took hold of Zoro's shoulder and rolled the swordsman onto his back. Zoro came limply, his head lolling, Sanji lifting trembling hands to his still face to steady him automatically.
But he nearly recoiled upon seeing the man's entire torso slathered thickly with blood, a gaping gash ripping its way across his front from shoulder to opposite hip. He couldn't be sure if the flecks of white he saw were visible bone or his own vision speckling as nausea overcame him. Unnatural veins of dark purple exploded from the wound, hundreds of roots branching across Zoro's skin that was otherwise pale, so fucking pale.
He knew what to do, or rather, he would have, had his mind and body not locked into the same panicked cycle, touching Zoro's face, his chest, his face again, eyes flitting between those horrible veins, his slack lips, the blood—shit, the blood.
He wanted to yell at him, scream, shake him back to consciousness, something, but he couldn't make anything work, not when Zoro's chest barely moved, his heartbeat faint beneath Sanji's palm.
This wasn't happening. It wasn't. Something would change, just as it had in the field. This wasn't the real Zoro. His mind tried futilely to drag him from his panic with such thoughts, and yet his heart knew it wasn't so. It really was Zoro this time, bleeding out beneath him.
Just then, a crackle of underbrush, someone approaching from the forest, and Sanji sucked in a breath, instinctively shielding the swordsman despite knowing he had nothing to protect him with.
But he didn't care. He'd do anything—anything at this point.
The figure, alone thankfully, came closer, slender form stepping out of the trees to stand at the top of the embankment.
His sister stood there for a long moment, their gazes meeting, though his could barely linger before his attention flew back to Zoro.
This was her fault. If she hadn't come, this wouldn't have happened. Zoro wouldn't be hurt; no one would have had to die; Zoro would be fine—
He heard her footsteps approaching, rage boiling inside him until he exploded the instant she knelt beside him.
"Why did you come here?" he gritted out, glaring at Zoro's mangled chest, willing the man's shallow breaths to keep coming. "Why couldn't you just let me go?!"
Reiju didn't reply, the silence infuriating enough that his head shot up, redirecting his venomous glare to her face.
"Why?!" he demanded. "Why did Father send you?! Why does he want me back so damn badly if—!"
She remained silent until, unexpectedly, her hand reached out to tug at Sanji's robe collar, fingers opening the loose fabric at his chest, which heaved with his own distressed breaths. Her delicate brow furrowed, and Sanji flinched back when her cool touch landed on the bare skin above his sternum.
Reiju's fingers held there for a long moment, her head shaking slightly in what looked like—of all things—confusion.
"Mother's Seal…" she eventually breathed. "You didn't take it when she..."
He stared at her, eyes burning and bewildered. Take her Seal…?
"No, I—of course not, I—"
But he squeezed his eyes shut, snapping himself out of his surprise, and turned himself back to Zoro, whose wound seemed to bloom with yet more of those spider-like veins, blood still oozing between Sanji's fingers despite his futile attempts to staunch it.
"What is this?" Sanji stammered. "What was on that sword?"
It was poison. He knew it, and he knew Reiju knew it. He'd seen it used by his father before, the waxy, but deadly substance of his own design that polished countless of his soldiers' weapons, coated the sheaths of their swords. He knew just a small amount was enough to kill.
He also knew his sister could cure it, thanks to the Seal she possessed.
"Father was sure you took it," Reiju was murmuring, almost to herself now as she ignored his frantic questions. Her hand fell away from her brother's chest to sit forlornly in her lap. "I assumed you had too…"
Sanji's heart stuttered around the implication behind her words.
…
"I'm sure it was because of my mother. She was the only one who cared about me. But now my mother is gone, so—!"
…
He'd believed it, even told Zoro so, but he'd never thought it could be true in this capacity.
They thought he'd stolen his mother's Seal when she died?
"Why would I have taken her Seal?! I wasn't even with her, Reiju!" Sanji snapped, anger and sorrow surging within him. "Mother told me to leave for the night, that she'd be fine! But the next morning, she was—"
His voice broke, and he instantly gritted his teeth, cutting himself off. But he quickly pushed down his grief before it could consume him and his priorities.
"It doesn't matter! Reiju, what's happening to him?!"
Zoro's breathing hitched beneath his hand, a choked sound leaving his throat, flaring Sanji's panic again. "You have to reverse it!"
Reiju's eyes were on the swordsman now, but calmly so, almost resigned, and he didn't like the way her lips seemed to twitch up faintly.
"Sanji, we can be a proper family…" she murmured gently, and Sanji realized she was fixated on Zoro's Seal.
Zoro choked again. Sanji couldn't feel him draw breath.
Her gaze met his, imploring. "This is your second chance."
"No!" he cried immediately, horror bubbling within him as the meaning of her words hit him. Had they been waiting? Waiting for his mother to die so he could take her power? Was that the only worth she'd had to them? The only worth Zoro had?
"I don't care! I don't care!" He would never let Zoro's life be a bargaining piece! Never again! He wasn't Kaido nor his father, and he knew now that he didn't need power, even though he'd coveted it for so long. Zoro had taught him that.
"I won't let him die!" he growled, furious tears falling against his will, dripping from his cheek to Zoro's, mixing with the blood smeared there. "Just save him! Please!"
Blood trailed from the corner of Zoro's dark lips, a trickle from his nose as well. The swordsman had gone completely still.
Then his Seal began to glow, faintly at first, then brightly, like a beacon in the night.
And though the sight was mesmerizing, Sanji knew what it meant.
"No—" He shook his head, his eyes widening. "No—fucking stay, mosshead! Zoro!"
A tremor quaked through him, terror ripping hard and cold through his chest as he curled over the swordsman, hands on his face again, touching desperately as they never had before.
"Don't go, please, please…" he begged, the glow of Zoro's Seal casting a deathlike pallor over his face.
Sanji was unaware of his forehead pressed tightly against the swordsman's, unaware of his fingers, which gripped at Zoro's short hair, thumbs stroking his cheeks as if they could bring back any amount of warmth to the man's cold skin.
He felt it, perhaps as strongly as Zoro had all those weeks ago when he'd pleaded for Sanji to stay in Wano. How much he didn't want to lose him, couldn't. Zoro too was the only one...the only one…
He was unaware of the desperate words that very nearly spilled from his lips in his hysteria.
"I…"
And he wasn't fully aware of his sister's hand over Zoro's chest, her fingers twirling slow circles above the wound until strange violet wisps floated from the gash, the dark veins following, creeping, receding steadily until the surrounding skin sat unaffected.
It was the arch of Zoro's back as Reiju lifted the last of the poison from his body that told Sanji something had occurred. The light from his Seal dimmed back to black ink. His chest rose with a rasping breath—
With a start, the blond drew back, wide eyes red-rimmed and stinging, watching as Zoro took another breath and another and another, and he was still too pale, still bleeding, but he was alive.
Sanji's head fell to Zoro's shoulder in relief, nose brushing his bare collar, his own breaths still shuddering with the effort to hold back sobs.
…Reiju had saved him.
A more vulnerable version of himself would have thanked her, seen the act as a great kindness to him, and perhaps it was, he thought as he clung to the swordsman. But again, Sanji's mind spiraled back to the fact that this wouldn't have happened had his sister not come. He couldn't thank her for that.
There was still Orochi and his mysterious plans to consider. Part of the blame lay with him. But all Sanji could focus on at that moment was how much he didn't want his sister's kindness, not anymore, not when it was always temporary.
He knew true kindness now. Kindness that was pure and undemanding, unconditional. He knew true acceptance.
He could no longer live in the shadow his family had forced over him, because Zoro was lying there bleeding because of them, and that was unforgivable. Zoro, who had taught him so much in just the short time they'd known each other…
I grow by my own natural strength.
Zoro had said that to him, a statement that had made Sanji scoff just a few weeks prior. He'd now seen what Zoro could do with his Seal, finally realized that it had always been Zoro, in all forms, inhabiting his dreams, his thoughts, his fears, his hopes…
But despite the power he possessed, Zoro had denounced it.
And for the first time since running away from his kingdom, Sanji saw the merit in Zoro's words.
He didn't know how long he stayed there against the swordsman's chest, but eventually, he sat up stiffly and spoke, his eyes not leaving Zoro despite his words being for his sister.
"If that man won't accept me as I am, then he's no father to me," he said, bitter but determined.
He looked his sister in the eye when he told her, "The only approval I need is my own."
Yet again, she didn't respond, just watched him silently, but he didn't back down.
And in fact, he thought he saw his mother in her features—his mother's pride flickering there for the briefest of moments before Reiju's expression hardened back to impassivity.
"I hope you achieve it then...somewhere," she finally said, her voice quiet but even. "We will pursue you no longer."
He stared back for a long moment, judging her sincerity, but nodded.
"Goodbye, Reiju," he replied in clear dismissal.
Again, a brief flash of something warmer in his sister's gaze. Was it regret? He didn't know, and perhaps he never would as she got to her feet.
No sooner had she risen to her full height than her body began to shrink, impossibly so, her cape engulfing her as it twisted into the shape of two delicate wings with the power of her Seal. She hovered there for a few seconds in her new form, a luna moth of iridescent violet and rose.
But soon she was gone, fluttering off into the night, leaving Sanji alone with Zoro once more.
Zoro, who was still bleeding beneath him, his chest heaving with labored breaths.
He couldn't move him. Physically, Sanji knew he was incapable. He needed to find help, but Sanji had already decided he wouldn't leave. The last time he'd left, he'd lost. So he wouldn't leave; he wouldn't let Zoro die.
Not like his mother…
He ripped off his waist sash, clamping teeth on one end and swiftly tearing the fabric into long strips. There was no way he could stop all the bleeding, no way he could put pressure on the entire wound, so he had to close it somehow.
It was the same as wrapping meat to keep its shape, he thought as he slipped each strip beneath Zoro's torso and tied them tightly over his chest, the sliced skin knitting closed as he went.
It wasn't a permanent fix. Blood still leaked through in frightening amounts, but it would do until he could get the swordsman stitched up.
"I'll stay with you…." he assured as he worked, trying to keep his own breathing under control, his own terror from immobilizing him once more. "Just keep breathing, Zoro. That's all you have to do… Keep breathing… Keep breathing..."
No response from the swordsman, predictably, so he gritted his teeth and continued his work. By the time he'd pulled the last strip tight over Zoro's stomach, he was sweating, his hands covered in blood.
What now? What now…? he worried as he scanned the empty forest.
He didn't know where he was, feared what would happen if he brought him back to the Flower Capital, let alone Amigasa. He didn't know how or even if the battle between the villagers and his sister's soldiers had ended. He couldn't go back.
They were well and truly on their own.
Or so he assumed until he noticed a ghost-like movement sliding between the tree trunks, a massive dark figure sending his heart into overdrive once more.
Something was approaching.
He leaned forward over Zoro's prone form, again not knowing how he'd ever be able to protect him, but needing to nonetheless.
He stayed silent, barely breathing, but it seemed the figure was approaching him specifically. Whatever it was knew he was there. Had it been watching all along?
Sanji trembled, his hand grasping for the hilt of his sword, which he knew wouldn't defend him as soon as the figure emerged fully into view.
It was a giant fox, from the looks of it, covered in billowy white fur that shifted to black over its legs, giving the creature the appearance of a floating cloud in the night.
Sanji didn't move, just watched and waited for whatever the creature intended as it regarded him with piercing yellow eyes.
But, to his surprise, aggression didn't follow, the beast simply tilting its head and eventually settling down to the ground, revealing another form on its back that hadn't been visible.
Sanji couldn't make out his features, but it was very clearly human, a man, his dark hair tied up in the high bun of a samurai.
"I mean you no harm, Prince," said the man, Sanji's heart skipping a beat at the formality. How did this man know him…?
It didn't matter though, because the man was gesturing urgently between Zoro and the animal's back.
"Lift him up here," he said. "Onimaru and I can bring you both to safety."
There was no time for debate, but still, Sanji didn't react right away, roving his gaze over the man for a long moment, taking in his robe of partial stripes that…draped over nothing.
Sanji realized with a sharp intake of breath that the man was missing his legs, his thighs ending in short stumps that looked barely able to cling to the beast's sides…
He shouldn't trust him, couldn't trust anyone but Zoro now, but he had no choice. Zoro had to live.
With his heart in his throat and his skin dyed with Zoro's blood, he nodded.
ACT II: FINISH