Thanks to everyone who has read so far!
Trigger warnings for Franky's backstory.
Franky POV:
He had not taken it well. Franky is man enough to admit it in retrospect. But then the last thing he'd expected when they'd docked on the island was that cook-bro would come back tortured and missing an arm.
Zoro's hoarse voice shouting for Chopper had sent chills down his spine. He'd dropped whatever he'd been working on and charged out to the deck in time to see the swordsman fall to his knees, arms full of their abused cook.
He hadn't quite noticed the worst of it, not until Chopper had stood up with the cook-bro, and then, well, everyone had seen. Luffy had seen, and that sent the air all the way to below zero.
Chopper, Nami, and Robin had disappeared into the infirmary, the others had gone to deliver some well-deserved revenge and Brook had set up watch in the crow's nest. Franky had known he was meant to be backing up Brook, and he would. But for those first few minutes after, he could not manage to remain on the deck.
He'd retreated to his workshop, slammed the door shut, and then leaned over and pressed his forehead to the wood, and tried to breathe.
Because he remembers. He remembers what it had been like to be so utterly broken, so utterly in pieces that he'd had to discard those pieces in order to stay alive. He's at peace with who he is, with what he is now, but that doesn't mean that the grief of what he'd lost in the making, in the surviving, will ever truly go away. And he'd had to cut most of those pieces away himself. What would it be like for cook-bro, he'd wondered agonizingly, to have someone else do it? To have it be done against your will?
He had trembled, pressing his forehead harder into the wood, at the thought that off all the things, it had been cook-bro's arm. Sanji's hand. There was not a person alive on the Sunny that didn't know how carefully the cook-bro took care of his hands. There wasn't a person alive on the Sunny that didn't go out their way to make sure his hands were unhurt, from the girls including him in their manicures, to sword-bro studiously avoiding them in spars, to the rest of them wrapping their arms around his waist instead if they wanted to drag him off somewhere.
There'd been that one time, cook-bro had burned himself when the ship had lurched suddenly and hot oil had spilled over his knuckles. Franky had sworn that the rest of the crew had been more frantic than their cook-bro himself.
And now this?
He'd taken a long, moment, fighting the fear, the hurt, the memories before he'd returned to the deck. The others had returned on the pre-dawn and they'd left right after. A few hours later, he'd handed the helm over to Usopp and had been walking over to the infirmary, with the intent to see if Chopper would allow a visit or not, when he'd passed the aquarium.
"Perhaps…perhaps we can ask Franky?" He had heard Robin's voice say tentatively.
Curious, he'd knocked on the cracked open door, saying, "Knock knock. Heard my name?"
"Franky!" Nami had said. The girlie had looked terrible, dark circles under her eyes, mouth arched down unhappily.
She wasn't alone with Robin though. Zoro had been there as well, arms crossed, bandana still on his head, those bandit shadows beneath his eyes darker than usual even for him. His jaw had been set grimly as he surveyed what seemed to be his haramaki on the bar.
"We, we have an unusual problem," Robin had said then.
"It's not a problem!" Zoro had snapped and Robin had looked startled before softening.
"Of course," she'd said. "We have an unusual situation Franky and we were hoping you might be able to help us deal with it."
"Of course," he'd said then, trying for some of his usual cheer and coming short. "I'd always help my nakama!"
There had been a pause before Nami had jerked her chin to Zoro's haramaki. "It's that," she'd said, "We uh…we don't think we should do anything without asking him first, but we can't store it in the galley fridge, he'd hate that."
Thoroughly confused Franky had stepped forward to inspect the haramaki, hoping he would get a clue as to what was going on. He'd frozen the second he'd realized what exactly was wrapped in the haramaki.
"Oh," he'd said numbly, tracing the lines of those elegant fingers that he'd never get to see at work again. The others had, mercifully, given him the time to process and only after did he realize what they were really asking.
"Oh," he'd said again.
"You don't have to," Zoro had told him gruffly, when he didn't say anything more.
He'd shaken his head sharply at that. "No, it's fine. Are we leaving it in this?" He'd asked fingering the haramaki.
"I have a scarf," Nami had volunteered. She'd disappeared from the aquarium, only to reappear later with two scarves hanging over her arm. One was a soft dark blue one he'd definitely seen Robin wear, the other had been a scarf he'd seen Nami buy at the island before last. She'd come back crowing about it, gushing about the gold threads woven through the red fabric, about the soft silk, and how much it'd been worth the price she'd paid for it.
The girls had carefully wrapped the arm in the scarves, gently tucking the cloth around it before handing it to Franky. He'd had to take out two bottles of cola to fit it, but he hadn't minded.
And there the arm had resided until today.
It was a day after Zoro had asked Sanji what he'd wanted done with his arm and they'd chosen to hold it then, mostly as a concession to Sanji's bad mood the day before but also to give the cook-bro some time to process what would be happening.
Sanji wasn't here. He was holed up in the infirmary with Chopper and Brook, having vehemently shaken his head when asked if he'd wanted to attend.
The rest of them stand on the deck, ringing the little pyre. It was a tiny raft of logs, spare adam wood from his workshop, lashed together to form a base. A silver oval of steel was tied to it, and that was topped by the actual pyre, more logs in a pyramidal shape.
At Luffy's nod, Franky steps forward in the pale dawn and opens his stomach fridge, removing the arm, still wrapped carefully in the donated shawls, and rests it gently on the pyre.
Nami stifles a sob at the sight. Usopp doesn't even try to hide his. Franky snaps his fridge closed and tries not to break down right away either. His eyes brim with tears anyway.
They all stand for a long moment, simply looking at the pyre and its terrible occupant. Luffy's eyes are shadowed by his hat, hands clenched by his side. Franky sees the glint of tears as they drip off his chin. Nami is crying silently, tears streaming down her face, hands clutched to her chest as if she doesn't hold herself together, she'll fall right apart. Usopp-bro is crying more openly but trying now to stifle the sounds with one hand, the other tugging tightly at his hair.
Robin isn't crying yet, though her eyes are filled, body taut with the effort of holding her emotions back, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Sword-bro is watching the pyre, no tears, but his eyes are anguished, his jaw tight, and his grip around Wado leaves his knuckles white.
Nami moves first, and sometimes Franky thinks the girlie is the strongest one of them all. She brings with her small branches from her precious tangerine trees, that she arranges with infinite care around the arm. She also places a single tangerine there, and tucks a 100-berry coin into the scarves.
Robin comes after, arms full of flowers from her little garden. She settles each bloom with careful thought until the arm is lying in a bed of them, and pyre looks like it's sprouting flowers from the logs themselves.
It's Franky's turn next and he puts a bottle of cola next to it, and sprinkles some gold shavings he'd had left over from one of his projects, blinking back tears so they wouldn't drip onto the pyre.
Luffy is next. He steps up to the pyre, and after a long moment, takes off his iconic hat and picking at it, pulls out a single strand of straw and gently tucks it into the scarves, surrounding the arm. He puts the hat back on his head and reaches into his pockets.
Chopper's contribution is a rumble ball and a small bundle of herbs that Luffy tucks in with the branches of Nami's tangerine trees. His other hand holds Brook's contribution, a tiny sprinkle of bone shavings from the skeleton himself, and a coiled-up violin string. Luffy rests the string with the rest of their gifts and shakes the bone shavings over the whole.
Zoro comes after, Franky's nakama taking one of the little bottles of oil that he usually uses on his swords and pouring it over the pyre. He drops the empty bottle on top of it afterwards, before stepping back and pressing his hands together.
Usopp-bro is last. With tears dripping freely down his face, he gently unfolds a black rectangle of cloth to reveal a mini version of their jolly roger, painstakingly painted yesterday by him. He flicks the cloth out and lets it drift down to cover the pyre and its contents, the straw-hat-wearing skull and crossbones facing out to the world.
Robin crossed her arms in front of her and more arms bloom on the deck, carefully lifting the pyre and sending it down the side of the hull to rest gently on the waves. A final push from her many arms and the pyre floats out to sea.
Usopp is there, kabuto in hand, aiming a firestar at the gently bobbing pyre. A flick from the captain's fingers and the pyre bursts into flames. Franky sucks in a breath, and feels someone slide their hand his.
Robin.
She slips her other hand in Nami's and the navigator grips onto Usopp. Usopp tangles his fingers with Zoro who lets Luffy take his free hand. They walk to the rail together and stand watching the flames.
It's Luffy who starts it, a slow song in an East Blue dialect Franky doesn't have a hope of understanding. It's aching and soft, something like comfort and sadness all mixed together. It's the flavour of grief and yet still carries the spark of joy, of good memories.
It must be traditional because the others from the East Blue take up the song easily, their mix of voices carrying over the water.
And Franky…Franky finally lets his tears fall.
They aren't grieving cook-bro, Franky knows this. But he lost something important and his pain is theirs. This is the smallest thing they can do to acknowledge what was lost.
So he cries and he isn't alone.
The others stand with him and they sing and sing until the flames die.
Brook POV:
Brook looks down at his nakama clinging to him tightly, face buried in the folds of his suit, tears soaking into the fabric, shoulders shaking violently for all that there is no sound forthcoming.
He is so young.
Brook doesn't often think it about his new crew.
But right now, with Sanji-san holding on to him, overcome with his grief, Brook cannot help but think about how young he is.
Too young, he would say, for such a tragedy.
But the world can be cruel. Brook knows that better than most.
He suspects it's why Sanji-san had specifically requested him while the funeral was ongoing. Of all of them, Brook is the one that has suffered the most loss, both in regards to his physical person and the people he held most dear. He does not begrudge Sanji-san the comfort of someone who can understand.
Their brave young cook-san had managed fairly well, during the majority of the funeral, sequestered away in the infirmary. He'd played chess with Brook while Chopper watched on. And if his lips had trembled intermittently and his hand had shaken while moving the pieces, neither Brook nor the little doctor had mentioned it.
But the moment the singing had started up, Sanji-san had frozen, eyes going wide and then watery and then he'd abandoned the game, lunging for Brook, scattering the board and pieces to the floor. Brook had caught him easily, tugging him against his chest and not for the first time had found himself wishing that he was a little softer, if only to give more comfort to his new nakama.
Brook adjusted them a little, so that Sanji wasn't straining himself and his wounds, at the angle he was at and ran skeletal fingers through the cook's blonde hair as soothingly as he could.
Chopper is pressed to Sanji-san's back, nuzzling him through the bandages. Brook doesn't think the little reindeer even knows that he is doing it. He simply wants to offer as much comfort as possible.
Ahh, they are so sweet this crew of his.
Brook rocks them all back and forth slightly, hoping the motion will soothe his young friend. Sanji's fingers spasm a little in his coat, his other arm tucked up into Brook's ribcage protectively. That's okay. Brook doesn't have a heart anymore; his friends can put whatever they want in the space left behind.
"Shh, Sanji-san," he rumbles lowly, "We are here." They might be a poor substitute for a limb but he has them regardless.
Chopper shifts and stands on the bed so that he can nuzzle directly into Sanji's hair. The cook freezes for a moment and then detaches his fingers from Brook's suit, to grab the little doctor and pull him in between them. Chopper yelps a little at the sudden change but settles in peaceably enough, throwing his hooves around Sanji-san's neck.
"Brook," Sanji croaks into his neck.
Brook knows what he is asking without him saying.
How do you go on?
Brook strokes through that fine, blond hair, and sighs a little. The answer will not be what the cook wants to hear, but he will not lie to him, not now.
"You decide to," the musician says gently.
There's a pause and then Sanji shudders again, silent tears soaking through his suit and onto his bones.
"But," the skeleton continues carefully, "You do not have to decide right now. It is okay, Sanji-san, to simply exist for a while."
Sanji trembles in his arms.
Brook holds him.
And finally, from the depths of Brook's suit, there comes a very tiny, "Okay."
"Okay," Brook repeats. When Sanji is ready to take up the monumental task of going on they will be there for him. For now, they will be there through the moments when all he can do is exist.
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