Safety came in the form of a tiny thatch-roofed hut deep in the forest, a hut that appeared abandoned if it weren't for the neat piles of wood beside a well-used fire pit outside and the tidiness of the clearing.
The huge fox that served as their ride had lowered itself to the ground once more, and Sanji slid from its back, Zoro's swords strapped to his, managing to throw the unconscious swordsman's arm over his shoulder and drag him, with some difficulty, towards the entrance.
His mysterious escort—a samurai, Sanji assumed—followed, sliding nimbly to the ground as well, despite his lack of legs, the man quickly surpassing Sanji on his hands, his arms and shoulders thick with muscle.
"In here," the man said, sliding open the rickety wooden door to reveal a single room, coolly lit by the uniform patches of moonlight that fell in from the rows of windows.
He gestured to a sleeping mat against the wall, so Sanji wasted no time settling Zoro there, his hands clammy with blood and sweat, limbs trembling from the effort of lowering the heavy man as gently as possible.
The samurai's smaller form moved swiftly about the room, his hands pushing him across the tattered floor mats to light a few oil lamps, finally illuminating the swordsman properly for the first time since Sanji had found him.
It wasn't a pretty sight, Zoro's carved torso still oozing blood, and he was so pale and lifeless that, for a moment, Sanji feared he'd slipped away.
But his breaths still came, upon closer inspection, and his Seal remained inked on his skin, so the blond willed himself to stay focused and present. Zoro was a fighter; he had to remember that.
"Are you a doctor?" he asked the man, who was busy rummaging through a box across the room.
"I am not," the man replied distractedly. "Though the boy's gotten injured enough that I've a few medical supplies on hand."
That "few" consisted of a crude assortment of bandages and salves that soon formed a small pile on the floor next to Sanji when he brought them closer.
Not a doctor… The blond huffed, a twinge of panic threatening to overcome him for a moment, despite the man's apparent familiarity with Zoro and injuries.
The bitter thought entered his mind that, had his sister's assumption been true—had he really stolen his mother's Seal—he could have healed the swordsman easily.
But no.
He was done with those defeatist thoughts. He didn't need a Seal. His own strength would be enough.
"A needle," he said instead. "And some thick thread…"
The man glanced over at him curiously. "Are you a—?"
Sanji shook his head. "I cook. So I know my way around meat. This isn't much different."
The man merely nodded in response as he procured just that from the box: a spool of thread and a smaller box of needles, which he passed to Sanji as well, followed finally by a ceramic bottle that reeked of alcohol.
It seemed this responsibility was falling to him alone, Sanji determined, faced with the daunting wound before him when the samurai moved back outside, mumbling about fetching water.
He could do this himself. He had to do this…
A minute later, the man returned with a bucket of water, the metal handle firmly clamped between his teeth as he continued to maneuver himself with loping strides of his arms. How he continued to move with such ease, Sanji didn't know, but his fascination couldn't linger.
Instead, he set to work cleaning the wound as best he could, washing away enough blood so he could see his canvas.
Soon, there was nothing left to do but begin.
He took the bottle of liquor, another whiff telling him it was the same pungent sake the swordsman guzzled like water. Ironically, it would serve a very different purpose now.
He wasn't sure of its effectiveness, but he knew from experience that it would sting like hell, so he leaned in close to Zoro's ear and murmured an apology before he slowly trickled the liquid over the wound to flush it further.
Nothing, not even a twitch or reaction from the swordsman, forcing Sanji to squash another tidal wave of worry that threatened to overwhelm him in favor of finishing the job.
He focused on threading the needle next, barely managing through the shakiness of his fingers, then passed the tip through a lit candle, sterilizing it too as best he could.
And then, those same trembling hands met the swordsman's chest tentatively, the needle poised over the gash for a long moment.
Sanji took a deep breath to steady himself.
Then he took the first stab, sliding the needle and thread through the damaged skin to the knot and pulling it tight, a light exhale of relief escaping his lips when the string held securely.
This would work. This would help. He would help.
Another stitch followed, and another, the blond finding a slow, careful rhythm as he inched his way down the massive wound, discarding his makeshift binding as he went.
The minutes ticked by in silence, his left hand staying firmly atop Zoro's Seal as if he could keep it there himself—as if his touch alone could perpetuate Zoro's shallow breaths and the sluggish flutter of his heartbeat.
He kept going, dabbing away blood as necessary, gaining confidence as he went, only pausing to rethread the needle a few times.
His work would scar, most likely, the somewhat clumsy stitches like a jagged line of teeth gnawing its way over Zoro's torso. But he didn't think Zoro would mind. After all, the idiot was the polar opposite of vain, sometimes to a fault. He'd probably see it as a trophy, wouldn't he.
More than a few times, Sanji couldn't resist an extra-hard jab of his needle, just to see if it would rouse him. He wanted the mosshead's eyes to open; he wanted to see his stupid smirk and hear his stupid voice. Even in sleep, he was never this quiet…
Yet Sanji found himself alone as he tied off the last bit of thread, finally reaching the end of the wound near Zoro's hip.
He was alone, with nothing but Zoro's heartbeat to comfort him.
That is, until he heard a shuffling and remembered his new companion, a glance over his shoulder revealing the man had settled himself on a cushion, silently watching the scene.
Sanji looked away, dozens of questions circling through his mind, but he started with one as he began to wrap Zoro's torso in bandages.
"So who are you?" he asked, carefully coiling the cloth strips over the wound.
A moment passed with no reply, but then he heard the sigh the man heaved out, and he knew an answer was coming.
"My name is Kin'emon," said the samurai, a solemn look on his hard features when Sanji met his eye. "I'm afraid I haven't met a foreigner in quite a long time, let alone a prince. Do excuse my humble lodgings."
A prince…
He'd once again identified Sanji correctly, and the blond had to assume.
"Zoro told you about me…" he muttered, his gaze automatically flitting back to the swordsman, but not before he caught the look of surprise that crossed Kin'emon's face.
"You know him," Sanji clarified. "I've gathered that much."
Another sigh from the man.
"Yes," he conceded. "He'll deny it, but I practically rais—"
But then it hit Sanji, recalling that first glimpse of Zoro's past that the swordsman had allowed him, and it was enough for him to interrupt.
"It was you," the blond realized, pausing his work. "You're the one who trained him. His master."
Kin'emon nodded silently.
The reclusive man Zoro had mentioned… Though Sanji had to admit, the samurai's disability was unexpected, albeit impressively so. A legless samurai. Even after weeks, this country continued to reveal its hidden wonders.
Still, if this man knew Zoro, then surely he knew what he was capable of.
"So will he live?" Sanji asked, trying to keep his voice from trembling. "You said you've seen him injured before. How strong is he…?"
He knew the swordsman's immense strength himself, but this… He'd shown no signs of waking, and there was so much blood.
The lingering fear of nearly losing him, twice that night alone, was still a raw ache in his chest.
Kin'emon seemed to sense his concern, such that his voice came a little softer.
"I believe he wouldn't want us doubting him. Least of all you, Your Highness."
It wasn't the answer he'd been fishing for. Above all, he'd wanted reassurance from someone more experienced, Sanji could admit. But still, that usage of his title left his heart clenching for different reasons.
He turned to resume his bandaging as a distraction.
"My country's soldiers just fought your people," he muttered, not wishing to delve fully into his contempt for his origins. Not when he'd only just escaped his family again. "I wish you wouldn't acknowledge me as such."
Kin'emon didn't respond, the swishing sound of Sanji's work filling the silence for a moment before he asked, "The Empress… Is she capable of stopping them now…?"
Sanji raised a brow, sparing the man a glance. Wano was his own country. Shouldn't he know the answer to that?
"Germa's forces should be retreating," Sanji eventually replied. "If you'd like to seek shelter in the Capital, I can tend to Zo—"
But the man was quick to respond.
"No. I must never re-enter the Capital."
That statement earned Kin'emon a greater pause from Sanji, who tied off the bandages and turned to face the man fully, though one hand remained on Zoro's chest.
In the low light, the man's shadow dwarfed him completely on the opposite wall, yet Sanji took in his appearance in greater detail.
He couldn't place his age. The hard lines on his forehead and the tiredness in his eyes spoke of someone far older, though there wasn't a hint of gray in his hair, nor in the thick goatee that decorated his chin.
Sanji noticed, for the first time, a glimpse of a Seal beneath the fabric of his robe.
The blond sighed, now understanding the difficulty of returning to the Capital. Some clearly weren't as resilient as Zoro, no doubt unable to handle the prejudice thrown at them. But Kin'emon seemed to pick up on his unsaid assumption, shaking his head.
"Not only because of this…" he said with a gesture to his Seal.
Then the man shifted, slipping his arms from his loose sleeves and twisting himself to reveal a large tattoo on his back, the design of a bird whose form was emblazoned with a simple sun.
Sanji instantly recognized it, his eyes widening as his mind flashed back to that day he'd found the Empress training with Kawamatsu…
"That tattoo…" he murmured. "The Empress' retainer has it as well… Wait…" And he trailed off as the significance of that mark dawned on him.
But no… It couldn't be… They were all dead.
And yet, he found the words leaving his lips anyway.
"You're one of the Scabbards."
Kin'emon confirmed it with a nod, leaving Sanji's mind reeling. Again, questions assaulted him from every angle, everything he'd been told about the enigmatic group—all of whom had supposedly perished defending Wano—flipped on its head.
Had he been fed lies? Were they all alive? Or was there something else at play here? Why was Kin'emon living alone, so far removed, even from Amigasa?
"Then why can't you go back?" was the first question he blurted out, feeling frustration bubble within him. If all this was true… "You could change things! For everyone with Seals! The Empress could—"
"Of the Emperor's guard, I was the only survivor on that fateful day of Kaido's attack," Kin'emon replied seriously. And despite Sanji's confusion, one look at the man's haunted eyes convinced him it was no lie. "My injuries—my legs—were my price to pay. I retreated to the forest to continue my penance in solitude. The shame of our weakness is now mine alone to bear."
"But Kawamatsu is—"
"Kawamatsu was tasked with protecting the Emperor's children," Kin'emon explained. "His duty and loyalty have given him reason to stay in the light."
"Are you saying you're no longer loyal to the Empress?" Sanji huffed.
"Of course I am. But my failure to protect Emperor Oden has caused this country's hardship."
Sanji immediately shook his head, that inner frustration boiling over. How many of these people would continue to blame themselves for everything that happened? How could they not see what—or rather, who—was really at fault?
"Kaido was the one who caused it," Sanji insisted, his hand curling into a fist over Zoro's chest. "And he is the only one who should have to atone for it. Or would you also blame your fallen comrades? For their so-called 'weakness.'"
Perhaps it was hypocritical of him. After all, Sanji had spent years curled in his cell, fixating on all the things he should have done differently—all the things he'd ruined, all the reasons he'd been made to feel shame over his existence. He could relate…
But now he'd seen the other side, if only a small glimpse. He knew what it was to break through that shame and force a change. If he could do so, why couldn't this samurai?
Indeed, the man looked torn, his gaze troubled and downcast, dark shadows ravaging his face.
"Your words are strong, Your Highness," he admitted. "I can see now why the boy has become so enamored… I only wish it were that easy…"
Kin'emon trailed off, but Sanji found himself struck by what he'd said.
Something stirred in his chest at that word—"enamored"—a flame that flickered up to his cheeks, making him suddenly aware of his own heartbeat, the feeling of Zoro's skin beneath his touch.
The swordsman's gaze flashed through his memory, immobilizing him just as it always did when it lingered and softened impossibly with something that seemed almost desperate and longing.
This was something that had begun to entrance him more and more—those times when Zoro didn't look away, when he seemed to forget himself at the same time as Sanji.
But no. They were comfortable in each other's presence—that was all. They'd both been lonely, craving companionship, in their own ways. He could never question it, never wonder if it was more. It was all in his head, as starved for attention as he was.
Sanji knew there was no way the swordsman shared his fascination. It would thoroughly disturb him, surely. He couldn't expect that of anyone, let alone someone as independent as Zoro.
So he pushed that minuscule hope down before he could disappoint himself.
"Does the Empress know you've been living here?" he asked instead, trying to return to the matter at hand, despite the pounding of his heart.
"She does not…" Kin'emon answered. "'Twas my choice to exile myself."
"Does anyone know? Besides Zoro?"
The samurai shook his head. "Not a soul. Not even my lovely Tsuru… I believe you met her as well."
Sanji's brows lifted in subtle surprise, realizing the woman's "dead" husband now sat before him. And yet, the poor woman didn't know…
He sighed his disapproval, looking down at Zoro again to steady himself, watching his still face for a long moment.
"Zoro told me of your virtues...the virtues of the samurai," Sanji eventually said. "If I recall, honesty was one of them…"
Honesty, which had so eluded him throughout his life. Even the swordsman had kept secrets from him.
But then again, he'd kept his own as well.
He'd never prioritized any sort of virtue in his life, never even been afforded the opportunity, but the way he was talking now… Perhaps Zoro's teachings were starting to rub off.
Kin'emon was pushing himself up onto his hands again, and Sanji saw a distant sadness on his face as he made his way to the door.
"I will make sure we weren't followed," he said, bowing his head slightly with an added, "Your Highness," that made Sanji automatically bristle with discomfort once more.
The man seemed to notice, his lips turning up faintly.
"Forgive me," Kin'emon said. "But I will always use formalities for someone I deem worthy."
Then he slid the door open and slipped through, leaving Sanji alone with the unconscious swordsman and his own swirling thoughts, the worthiness of which he wasn't sure.
Those thoughts accompanied him through the night, thoughts that became more and more worried, more and more panicked, as the next day slid by with no sign of Zoro waking. He barely moved from Zoro's side, couldn't sleep, halfheartedly picking through the simple meals of rice and stew Kin'emon prepared for him using what meager stores he had.
The man offered him a change of clothes too, which came, rather amazingly, in the form of a pebble that the samurai placed on top of Sanji's head. Kin'emon pressed his hands together, and that pebble exploded into waves of blue and white fabric around Sanji, waves that took the form of a new robe. It was an odd power, but a useful one.
With little else to do, Sanji changed Zoro's bandages and cleaned the wound twice, thankfully with less blood seeping through each time. It was enough though that Kin'emon's supplies began to run low, his salves scraped dry and bandages nearly depleted.
Sanji's anxiety grew.
He talked to Zoro, in the moments Kin'emon ventured outside to cook or scout, murmuring admonishments that he hoped would annoy him back to consciousness. They never worked.
And it was late the second night, Sanji sitting awake in the candlelight, Kin'emon snoring across the room, that those goading words turned to pleas. His touch became bolder—innocent, but adventurous—tenderly exploring the swordsman's face, the feel of their hands linked together—all things he could never try if the swordsman were awake.
He was scared, he told himself—desperate for comfort and reassurance—and playing gently with Zoro's earrings, stroking over the strong muscles in his forearm provided that. It assured him there was still life left in the swordsman. Surely he wasn't imagining the color slowly coming back to Zoro's face, his skin growing warmer.
And he certainly wasn't imagining the small groan that left Zoro's lips on the morning of the second day. Kin'emon had stepped out, so the noise couldn't possibly have come from anyone else.
Sanji whipped his head around so fast it hurt his neck, instantly hovering close, his heart in his throat as shifting followed.
Zoro's features tensed in discomfort, his breathing changing rhythm.
The blond almost couldn't speak, frozen with hope, but he managed when, finally, Zoro's eyelids began to flutter.
"Hey…" he murmured shakily, but like hell he wanted his weak voice to be the first thing Zoro heard, so he cleared his throat and tried again more forcefully. "Hey! Zoro! Enough sleeping—wake up. Wake up, mosshead—"
He reached out to shake the man's shoulder, an explosion of relief raining showers of warmth through his chest when Zoro finally opened his eyes to blink up at him groggily.
Words escaped Sanji again for a long moment, the blond struggling to hold back a sudden onslaught of stinging tears.
Zoro's eyes were that familiar deep brown, the color constant and steady. It was really him, as he'd known.
"Welcome back…" Sanji muttered, a phrase that couldn't hope to convey the magnitude of his relief, but it was impossible to articulate more.
Zoro's bleary gaze never left Sanji's face, searching there, until, a few moments later, Sanji saw a spark of recognition widen the man's eyes—actually saw the moment that memories no doubt rushed back to the swordsman.
"You're here…" Zoro uttered, his voice hoarse, a look of disbelief coming to his face. "You're safe—"
He began to push himself up, something that Sanji immediately stopped, firmly pressing him back to the mat. The swordsman winced in pain but didn't lose his incredulous expression.
"I'm fine," Sanji assured, keeping hands on Zoro's shoulders for a long moment before slowly pulling back when he calmed. "Worry about yourself."
They were words Zoro had spoken to him before, and he saw they had a similar effect when the swordsman's brow furrowed, shifting a glance down to his bandaged torso.
"What happened…?" he eventually asked, his wary gaze meeting Sanji's again.
Something about that careful look told Sanji that the swordsman remembered, at least up to a certain point.
Sanji had two options.
He could answer Zoro truthfully. He could tell him that he'd seen him transform, that he now knew what his Seal was, despite Zoro's attempts to hide it.
Or he could wait. He could be patient and let Zoro tell him on his own terms, knowing how much the swordsman hated his power.
The slight quickening of Zoro's breaths the longer he waited for a reply was enough to help him choose. Sanji couldn't stress him, still fearing the effects on his injured body, so he reluctantly opted for the latter, choosing his words carefully.
"I don't know for sure…" Sanji said, and it was true to a degree. He didn't know what had happened to Zoro beforehand, where he'd been prior to the fighting. "My sister tried to take me back to Germa. There was…a battle. Think I blacked out for a bit, but next thing I knew, I was in the woods. I found you passed out near a stream. There were claw marks all over the embankment. You earned a nasty one yourself too—must have fought the beast… You've been out for over a day."
His eyes flicked tentatively over Zoro, letting his words sink in, wondering if the swordsman would seize the moment and tell him the truth.
But he saw the relief, not surprise, that crossed Zoro's face, the way he let out a shaky breath.
Sanji waited, trying to implore with his eyes alone that Zoro could tell him. He could tell him everything.
The swordsman opened his mouth to speak.
But all he huffed was "My swords—" and Sanji clenched his jaw in response.
"Right there," he replied, jerking his head to the adjacent wall where the three were propped.
Zoro closed his eyes and nodded. Disappointment caught bitterly in Sanji's throat.
He was going to hold on to his secret, wasn't he. Did he really think Sanji would judge him? After everything they'd been through? It hurt to think so.
Still, Sanji reasoned, if Zoro wouldn't let go of his secret that readily, then he would hold on to his patience. He was starting to realize he would do anything for the man who'd saved him, a thought that was equal parts scary and powerful.
"That wasn't me who took you out there," Zoro eventually continued, his words gaining urgency as he looked up at Sanji. "Higurashi could change forms—"
It was something Zoro shouldn't have known unless he'd been present for the full battle, his omission of the truth clearly showing its holes, but Sanji decided not to question it.
"Yeah, I figured that out, mosshead—"
"—Orochi's plan. I had nothing to do with it, I swear—!"
"I know," Sanji replied, his hand naturally finding Zoro's, fingers lightly touching. "It's okay. I trust you..."
Zoro's next inhale was pronounced, the swordsman's lips parting and his eyes taking on that desperate, almost sad quality that Sanji certainly wasn't imagining now. What had caused it? Sanji's words? Simply his trust?
"I'm sorry," Zoro breathed eventually, the words nearly a whisper. "I didn't want…"
Sanji smirked despite himself when the man trailed off.
"Don't hurt yourself again, mosshead," he teased, his fingers sliding a bit more confidently to squeeze Zoro's palm.
If the idiot was still unwilling to tell him the truth, perhaps Sanji could coax it out himself, he thought, finally asking, "How did you know the old woman led me somewhere…?"
He saw the flash of panic across the swordsman's face, his mind no doubt grappling for an answer. The blond resisted the urge to chuckle. Perhaps it was cruel to toy with him, but he wanted the man to accept that he was safe.
"W-We were supposed to meet, remember?" Zoro finally stammered. "I went outside town when you didn't show up, saw the fighting. I…protected you from the beast. It tried to drag you off when you passed out. I was afraid you…"
His words tapered off again, the man clearly struggling for an explanation, but Sanji could relate—remembering the terror, the complete helplessness he'd felt watching Zoro nearly…
"I owe you one," was all he said, an absolute understatement, but trying to put into words how he'd felt, just how scared he'd been, and how grateful he was for Zoro's help… He wasn't sure if he could ever express it, especially not now that Zoro could hear him.
The swordsman's eyes drifted to his bandages again, then slowly back up to Sanji's.
"Think we're even," Zoro said, relaxing ever so slightly, his lips turning up. "Did you…bring me here?"
Sanji shrugged, a strange wave of embarrassment coming over him, especially when the door jostled across the room, sliding open to reveal Kin'emon's short form. Sanji's heart pounded as if the man had entered upon something far more intimate.
"Had some help," he mumbled, hitching a thumb towards the samurai. "You know, for someone who doesn't do the 'friend' thing, you've got more allies than I expected."
"Zoro," Kin'emon said, his face relaxing into a placid smile upon seeing the swordsman, erasing years from his weathered skin. "I am pleased to see you awake."
"Any sign of them?" Sanji asked over his shoulder.
"No," Kin'emon replied as he settled himself on the floor, unhooking his sword from his belt. "It seems you correctly predicted your sister's retreat. Orochi and the surviving villagers have returned to Amigasa, from what I observed."
The blond nodded, relieved. "Germa won't come after me. Not anymore."
"They left…?" Zoro cut in.
Sanji turned back to look at him, something about Zoro's hopeful expression sending butterflies straight to Sanji's stomach. The fool wasn't even trying to hide his emotions.
Surely it was the blood loss.
But then why were Zoro's cheeks so red?
"I don't have what they're searching for…" he responded simply, fighting the flushing of his own cheeks, and he didn't elaborate further.
But it was enough that Zoro let out a long breath.
"They're really gonna leave you alone," he murmured, the sincere happiness in his voice enough to draw a smile to Sanji's face, those butterflies soaring to his chest.
"You wouldn't have turned me in, would you," he said to Zoro, his smile widening when Zoro shook his head adamantly.
"Hell no," the swordsman insisted. "Don't tell me you believed Higurashi's act…?"
His words were teasing, but the concern was clear.
The blond shrugged slowly, unsure what he could say to justify the fear he'd felt. "She looked just like you. I never expected…" He sighed. "I didn't know what was wrong, but I knew you weren't there. Your eyes were…" He shook his head. "They weren't your eyes."
He could have added some quip, and perhaps any other time, he would have, but the thought of "Zoro's" empty stare still sent a chill down his spine, not to mention the even worse memories that followed.
"I'll admit, I wasn't exactly thinking about that as I watched the beast tear 'you' to shreds," he added, his gaze falling to Zoro's bandages once more, noting the speckles of blood that still stubbornly stained the white fabric in places.
But Zoro was smirking despite that, looking almost smug.
"She couldn't even lift a sword properly," he snickered, with the quick addition of "I bet," after a second, a feeble attempt at keeping up his act.
Though Sanji barely noticed, his attention wandering.
Studying Zoro's battered torso, he started to feel his mind drifting again, felt the slick, sticky wetness of Zoro's blood on his hands, heard the strangled cries of the battlefield—the tearing of flesh and cracking of bones.
He remembered how final it had felt to watch Zoro's Seal glow, how he'd lost control of himself at the mere thought of losing him. How he could do nothing but cling to him with hands that could do nothing to bring him back—
"You don't have to look at me like that."
Sanji blinked back into focus, suddenly aware of the swordsman's grip on his wrist, grounding him back to that room—the peaceful sound of the breeze in the trees outside, the warm morning sunlight streaming in through the windows.
Redness had colored Zoro's cheeks again, the bridge of his nose, and he seemed to be having trouble meeting Sanji's eye, but he kept his hand where it was, anchored against Sanji's skin.
The blond let out a long breath, trying to steady himself and keep himself present. He shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment before redirecting his gaze out the window.
What would the world look like if Zoro had really left him? Would it lose its radiance, its color, as it had when his mother died? Zoro had started to bring that color back for him, dragging him from his former gray existence into a world of verdant green.
If he didn't have Zoro, would he even be able to see at all? Why did the world want to steal every source of his happiness?
"This won't kill me," Zoro said, drawing a pained, bitter laugh from Sanji.
"You say that…" he muttered.
"So believe me," Zoro implored.
He tugged at Sanji's wrist then, forcing the blond to look at him once more. Their eyes met, and Zoro's grip crept up his arm, coming to rest near his elbow, the slide of his thumb sending sparks through Sanji's skin, sparks that seemed to travel directly to his heart.
Zoro was alive. Zoro would survive. He had to keep telling himself that.
From then on, he had to be there for the ones he cared about. He couldn't shut down. He had to be strong for them, if not for himself. It might hurt more to live through those moments, but now he had things to live for. He couldn't watch the world take them from him just because he couldn't bear to act.
"I won't let it…" he finally murmured in reply, more to himself than to Zoro.
To his surprise, Zoro snickered quietly, something that made him hiss with pain again. But he grinned through it, and Sanji felt the swordsman's fingers brush his skin again in a shy but intentional touch.
The blond's eyes lingered there, at the point of contact, for a long moment, watching Zoro's hand but remembering his mother's caresses that had always comforted him after an altercation with his brothers, lifting him up from depression, a reminder that someone gave a shit about him and his life.
He hadn't thought he'd ever feel something similar again.
So he basked in it, closing his eyes for a moment, steadying himself with a few deep breaths.
Zoro's touch seemed to grow in confidence, his hand sliding down his forearm again, this time to cover Sanji's with his own, curling fingers around the blond's.
Sanji swallowed, feeling his pulse pick up speed, and the desire to move closer burst through him suddenly.
He suddenly wanted—needed—that same contact he'd had when Zoro lay there in the field, the lack of inhibitions that had allowed his own touch to surge forward to Zoro's face, his hair, press his forehead to the swordsman's and feel his breath so warm and close.
His mind, spurred by a different kind of desperation, wanted more, wanted to feel Zoro's touch on him…his lips…
He'd never felt that before with a real person—imagined it, sure—but never actually felt that desire in his core, his chest, never felt it tugging him, urging his body to act.
Sanji forced his eyes open before the rash desire took hold.
He found Zoro had closed his eyes as well, and for a moment, Sanji thought he'd lost consciousness again, but his thumb still stroked a rhythmic pattern over his hand, and when Sanji shifted, he cracked eyes open again.
"You should sleep," Sanji murmured, to which Zoro shook his head tiredly. Ever the contrarian, Sanji thought.
And he was about to urge the swordsman further when Kin'emon spoke up. The blond had nearly forgotten his presence entirely.
"We need salve...and bandages," the man muttered, looking extremely interested in the hem of his robe. "The wound will become infected otherwise. The Capital will have supplies…"
The implication was clear. Someone needed to fetch them, and, as it stood, only one of them was capable of returning to the Capital.
The blond let loose a string of curses in his head.
"Go get some, Curly Brow," Zoro said quietly, his eyes half-closed again, exhaustion quite clearly creeping over his form. "Ask Hiyori. I'll be fine."
The words were almost triggering, so similar to the ones that were constantly stuck in Sanji's mind. He resisted their hold.
"I won't be able to sleep with you here," Zoro murmured again, this time meeting his eye.
Sanji huffed out a frustrated breath. "Why not?"
"You're too distracting…" the swordsman continued. "I can hear you thinking…"
Sanji felt a sick feeling twisting at his stomach, every bit of his heart fighting his logic. He didn't want to leave. He couldn't. If he left, then—
"I'd go myself, but…" Kin'emon added apologetically.
Stop, stop.
Sanji knew it. He'd noticed the dwindling supplies earlier, felt concerned over it. He could surely make it to the Capital and back by the end of the day. Zoro wasn't alone.
Zoro wasn't his mother.
Zoro was stronger.
Sanji would come back. He would keep his promise this time.
"Fine," Sanji hissed before he could stop himself, and pushed himself to his feet, feeling Zoro's fingers slip reluctantly from his. Already his hand felt colder.
He busied himself with preparations, gathered his own sword and pack, listened to Kin'emon tell him the general path, though he assured him Onimaru could take him to the edge of the forest. The man even brought out a small saddle, which Sanji helped him affix to the fox's back.
Eventually, there was nothing left to do but head out.
Sanji paused though—he had to—re-entering the hut and kneeling beside Zoro again, watching his dozing form for a long minute.
Zoro seemed to sense him because he shifted beneath his gaze.
"Do you want me to fucking sleep or not," he mumbled, eyes still closed.
No. Sanji didn't want that, because an annoyingly large part of him feared he wouldn't wake up, despite knowing he needed rest.
"If I come back and you're dead, Zoro…" he warned, trying and failing to keep his voice menacingly low. Instead, it quavered unfaithfully.
Zoro's brow furrowed, then he opened his eyes, rolling his head to look up at Sanji.
"Thought you trusted me," he said, with such softness that Sanji felt the urge yet again to fist his hand in Zoro's hair and press their mouths together, if only to solidify how much he did trust him.
Instead, he let out a breath and looked over the swordsman one last time.
"Wait for me," Sanji replied, and allowed himself one indulgence, bringing his hand to Zoro's jaw, stroking there tenderly for just a moment before he forced himself away.
He stood and crossed the room, reaching the door just as Kin'emon came shuffling back inside.
"Your secret is safe with me," he said to the samurai, but his gaze fixed on Zoro, hoping to drive that same statement home for the swordsman.
He didn't wait to see if Zoro understood his implication, merely slipped through the doorway with his heart in his throat, and the thought of Zoro's lips in his mind.
Onimaru carried him along the river, taking him as far as the forest's edge, just as Kin'emon had said. Sanji was surprised to find Sakanabi floating lazily in the water where the trees met open field.
A gruff little yip from the fox was met with a splash of the fish's fin. Somehow, it seemed, they had a sort of unspoken agreement, so Sanji slid off the fox's back and hopped onto the fish's, watching as Onimaru slunk back into the trees with a regal bow of his head.
From there, the way to the Capital was the same, though Sanji noticed, in the distance, what looked like quite a few of the Empress' samurai out in one of the fields, the same field where the battle had taken place. This realization had his chest automatically tightening, so he looked away, keeping his head down until Sakanabi dropped him off where the first houses began to dot the landscape.
He pressed on through the Capital, feeling almost in a daze as he passed through the streets he'd started to become familiar with. But he couldn't stop to appreciate the warm hustle and bustle. Zoro needed him. Dodging market stalls and passersby, he hurried towards the palace.
The gates were more heavily fortified than usual, he noticed, though the guards let him through with silent stares. He found the temple courtyard thoroughly deserted, not a worshiping monk nor training Empress in sight.
For some reason, it unnerved him, the quiet feeling almost sinister, so he continued into the palace, hoping to find Hiyori.
He heard a mournful tune as he wandered the halls, the faint plucking of musical notes growing in volume as he neared the inner garden. Two guards were stationed in the hall near the open doors, and when he peered out past them, there was the Empress seated outside, like a colorful lotus flower amidst the trees, strumming away halfheartedly on her guitar-like instrument.
He stepped out, listening for a moment before she noticed him. But she was struggling, her head low, her hand abandoning the strings to cover her eyes instead.
"Hiyori," he said, walking closer, and she instantly straightened, her head turning to look at him before her face all but melted in emotional relief.
"Sanji!" she cried, dropping her instrument and throwing her arms around him when he reached her side, burying her face in his shoulder and hugging him tightly.
"I feared the worst—" she whimpered. "I'm so happy to see you— A-Are you alright?"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry—I'm fine. I'm alright," he assured, squeezing her back, brushing some hair from her eyes when she pulled away to look at him with a tearful smile.
He tried to return it, but he couldn't quite, not when she looked so upset, and not when his thoughts drifted to the reason he'd returned.
Her hand tugged at the sleeve of his robe as if she sensed his distress.
"What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong? Where have you been?"
"It's Zoro," he answered, though he kept his voice lowered. "He's injured, badly. I've been tending to him, but I need to restock on medical supplies. Can you help me?"
"Yes. Yes, of course," she replied immediately, her brow furrowing through the lingering emotion as she tried to compose herself.
She let go of him before he could answer, wiping her face and sniffling away the tears.
"Come," she said, getting to her feet. "The infirmary." And she began to lead him off quickly along the path towards the other end of the garden, away from the guards, eventually asking, "Was he injured fighting the beast?"
"I… No, it was… Something else…" Sanji replied carefully, slipping through the doorway after her into the opposite wing of the palace. "What exactly…happened? Out in the fields? I saw some of your men out there."
"The Night Beast," she answered, keeping her arm firmly looped through his as they hurried down the hall. "It attacked two nights ago. Some of the farmers outside town witnessed it. There were so many dead, Sanji. People this time. You didn't come back that night and I was so afraid you'd been caught up in it. I never—I never thought—"
Sanji stopped her then, bringing the two of them to a halt, looking at her seriously.
"It wasn't the beast," he said. "It was—" He huffed out a breath, deciding she needed to know the truth. "My sister and her troops came to collect me that night. They failed, obviously."
"Your sister…?" the Empress replied, her eyes widening.
"Yes. Orochi led the villagers from Amigasa to attack them."
Her features scrunched with confusion. "But the bodies found were not from Germa."
"Her surviving soldiers must have taken their dead when they retreated."
"The villagers…? None of the fallen had Seals either…"
At that, Sanji gave her a silent, pointed look. Surely the Empress knew what became of Seals when their host died. She too had witnessed it firsthand.
He saw the moment she realized, remembered, her shoulders slumping, and he nodded stoically.
"This was not the beast's fault," he implored, squeezing her shoulders gently. "The beast protected me. It saved my life."
Her blue eyes fixed on his, searching there for the truth, something she seemed to accept when she let out a breath and nodded resolutely as well.
"Th-Then we have to tell Kawamatsu!" she said hastily, though she looked torn about this fact. "He believes it was the beast that killed them!"
She stood there for a moment, her delicate hands coming up to grip her arms, and Sanji saw the stress written clearly on her face. She looked small, burdened with far too much, and he couldn't help it. He reached out and pulled her to his chest again, feeling her instantly slump, leaning her weight into him gratefully.
She hadn't wanted this. She hadn't wanted any of this responsibility, he remembered. She'd been left alone too.
And he also wasn't the only one who'd desperately needed a friend all these years.
"It's alright. It's alright," he murmured as he held her, relishing in the comfort as well until she eventually pulled away, blowing out a heavy breath and straightening her posture.
The anxiety was still there, but the strong tug of her hand on his as she led him along again told him that she was ready to fight it, just as he was.
"Where is your sister now? Do I need to send out our guard?" she asked over her shoulder as they turned a corner.
Sanji shook his head. "No. She retreated, as I said. I believe she will no longer pursue me."
He felt her fingers squeeze his hand, and when he looked up, she was smiling at him genuinely.
"Then you are free," she said, something that brought a slow, but genuine smile to his own face too.
Freedom… He liked the sound of that. For the first time in his life, it was something he could dare hope for.
The warmth it brought lingered in his chest when they reached a door at the end of the hallway, and she led him into a room that looked hardly different from his own quarters in the palace, yet the glass-windowed cabinets lining the walls told him they'd reached the infirmary.
Together, they rummaged through for supplies, Hiyori helping to fill Sanji's pack with a large variety of salves, bandages, even herbal teas—probably to excess, but he gladly accepted. According to her, the Capital's best doctor was called in when necessary and regularly restocked their stores, so nothing would be missed.
Soon, Sanji's pack was far heavier, digging into his shoulder uncomfortably, but he didn't care. All of it was for Zoro. If the swordsman could lug around all manner of ridiculous river rocks, some in his mouth, no less, then Sanji could manage a few jars and bottles.
"Where is he?" Hiyori asked. "I will go with you. I just need to change my clothes—"
"No, Hiyori, you're needed here," he interrupted, continuing when she opened her mouth to protest. "He's safe. Outside town. I think it's best if he stays there until all this blows over. I'll watch over him."
Her lips twisted into an uncertain pout, but she eventually nodded reluctantly in agreement.
Just then, footsteps padded along the hall outside with some haste, and the two of them turned in time to see one of the Empress' female attendants poking her head in the room. A small sigh of relief left her lips upon finding them.
"Ah, Your Majesty, there you are," she said, pausing to bow low. "Forgive me for interrupting, but Kawamatsu is looking for you. He requested you urgently."
The woman's fidgety demeanor had a bundle of similar nerves twisting in Sanji's gut at the mention of the Empress' retainer. There was still the matter of proving the truth to the stubborn man. Of proving Zoro's innocence.
Hiyori's hand met his arm gently, her eyes meeting his.
"I will set this right with Kawamatsu," she assured, looking determined. "For now, I'll entrust things to you. Keep me informed, yes?"
Sanji knew these "things" referred to Zoro, and he nodded, watching as she slipped from the room with one last squeeze of his arm.
He waited a few moments, peered down the hallway until she and the attendant turned a corner and disappeared from sight.
Then he followed her.
Sanji kept his distance, ducking behind corners and sliding into rooms to avoid being seen as they made their way through the palace.
By the time the Empress and her attendant reached the temple, he was confident he hadn't been spotted, finding a suitable nook between a statue and a pillar just outside the entrance.
He crouched there, hidden, until the attendant left, then slowly scooted closer, peering in through a crack in the old wooden wall.
The lighting was dim, but he could see Hiyori and Kawamatsu inside, kneeling before the golden altar that housed the enchanted scrolls, the two seemingly sharing a quiet moment of contemplation before Kawamatsu spoke.
"This has gone on long enough," the man said, gazing up at the altar before turning towards the Empress. "This beast cannot be allowed to run free any longer. And those you have employed to dispatch it have proven useless."
Hiyori shook her head adamantly.
"Kawamatsu, listen to me. Sanji told me our assumptions were false." Instantly, the man gave an irritated growl in response, but she pressed on. "It was a skirmish between Germa and the villagers. Orochi was part of it. He said the beast defended him!"
"And you believe this!" he shot back.
"Yes!"
"Empress, that boy has been spending far too much time in Amigasa," Kawamatsu insisted. "Even if he spoke the truth, who is to say that he wasn't rallying those villagers for his own selfish gain, to defeat the Germa forces? We cannot have those heathens committing unauthorized acts of war! Not to mention the fact that Germa breached our borders in the first place!"
"Kawamatsu—"
"He comes from a country of Seals!"
"Sanji has no ill intent!"
"He is a son of King Judge, Your Majesty!" the man hissed. "Do not forget this. His father is well-known for his brute force. It's in his blood."
Sanji froze, those words hammering into him like two-dozen stakes through his heart. His temples throbbed, igniting suddenly with pulsing heat. It was all he could do to stay focused on the exchange.
Hiyori had visibly bristled, her hands clenching over the embroidery of her robe. She swallowed hard, a sudden iciness coming to her expression that Sanji hadn't seen from her before.
"With all due respect, Kawamatsu, you're wrong," said the Empress, her jaw clenched and her head held high. "Sanji is not a danger to us."
Kawamatsu fell silent, seeming to consider either her reply or her sudden authoritative stance. Sanji didn't know which, but for a second, he felt a twinge of relief, certainly gratefulness, for Hiyori's defense. Perhaps the man would listen to her after all.
But before the blond's pride in her could win the moment, Kawamatsu's gruff voice continued.
"Then we direct our attention to the beast, as before," he replied, sending a spike of alarm right back into Sanji's chest. "There is no better time to be certain of our people's safety, no matter the threat."
Without further explanation, he pushed to his feet, Hiyori blurting out, "What are you doing?" as he approached the altar and opened its golden cabinet.
"Empress. Your permission to use a scroll," he said. "We can isolate the monster and dispose of it properly."
"No," Hiyori shot back, scrambling up as well. "Kawamatsu, I refuse. We cannot waste the magic on a matter like this."
"On the contrary, Empress. Any danger to our kingdom is a matter worth considering."
Her hand reached out to land on his wrist, trying to guide it away from the two ancient scrolls sitting temptingly inside.
"Kawamatsu, please. Enough," she urged, her voice taking on an edge of desperation. "We will think of another solution. This would leave one scroll. For the rest of time!"
"The future has not arrived yet," he growled in response, lifting his own hand to remove hers, though he held onto it, his large fingers squeezing hers urgently. "But the present has. And your people need your help now. We need to know the truth behind this creature, once and for all."
She let out a frustrated breath, dropping her head and looking away from him to fixate on the scrolls herself, the tension in the air thick and heavy.
Sanji cursed inwardly when she muttered, "What did you have in mind?"
"We must gather those with Seals. And use a scroll to summon the beast," Kawamatsu explained, his voice quieting somewhat. Whether it was a tactic to get the Empress to comply, Sanji didn't know, but it seemed to be doing something when he saw her gaze slide tentatively back to his, wide and unsure.
"That is the only way," he urged, then he let out a sigh. "Perhaps…they can help us subdue it."
Sanji's gut twisted at the same time Hiyori's eyes lit up, a spark of hope returning there while Sanji's was crushed.
"You will—you will embrace their power?" she asked.
A long pause followed before Kawamatsu spoke again, slowly.
"I am willing to give them a chance to prove where their loyalties lie, if they will help us defeat whatever threatens our country."
Sanji nearly revealed himself, his teeth gritting against those words, which he couldn't believe were true. Surely that wasn't Kawamatsu's true plan. Surely he meant to punish all of them somehow by rounding them up, under the guise of a noble cause. And if he used a scroll… Zoro would have no escape…
"Empress… You are our leader," the man continued, pressing onward through Sanji's silent panic. "You have been trusted to protect the people of Wano at any cost. These scrolls were made for that as well. Think of your family."
Any small belief Sanji had in the man's integrity was shattered by those words. He had to be lying or, at the very least, toying with the Empress' compassion and sense of duty.
How many times had he been told to think of his ailing mother, to think of his family's image, all while silently accepting the heavy burdens nailed to his shoulders, all for the "betterment" of things? Even before his imprisonment, his family's obsession with Seals, their mistreatment of their own kingdom's subjects, had all been in the name of "protection" and "building strength."
It was delusion, nothing more. Delusion and weakness.
Someone had to do something. If not, there was no telling what would happen to Wano—to Zoro. He couldn't believe that Kawamatsu would be fair to the swordsman at all if his identity was revealed.
Sanji was screaming in his mind for the Empress to shut him down again. He willed her to see how her retainer's fear of the past repeating itself had corrupted his judgment so horribly.
But Hiyori was sighing, nodding in agreement, allowing herself to be gathered into the man's thick arms, his murmured reassurances filling the quiet space.
And Sanji saw himself. He saw himself falling into his mother's embrace, Reiju's embrace. He saw, from an outside perspective, what it looked like to fall prey to his own uncertainty, the desperate desire to be guided and loved, at the expense of his own bravery.
He saw his own reflection, but that boy in the mirror was lost. That boy in the mirror wasn't him. Not anymore.
The dragon statue, silently gripping those two powerful scrolls, seemed to grin at him mockingly.
But Sanji glared back with a vengeance.