#opfic

And there is Ivankov, whose feelings are obvious even over the snailphone. They sound bone-tired and worried in a way that pricks restlessly at Sabo’s heart like a million needles. Iva explains that they hitched a ride away from Marineford with the Pirate Empress, of all people, who seems to treat anyone allied with Luffy as an ally of her own. Boa Hancock’s ship was hailed by the Heart Pirates, the rookie crew that had rescued and absconded with Sabo’s injured brother, and she gave them enthusiastic permission to shelter at Amazon Lily indefinitely.

“That,” Iva told him, their voice world-wearier than Sabo had ever heard it, “is where Strawhat-boy will be. Whatever need you have of him, please go gently.”

Sabo doesn’t have a gentle bone left in his body and arrives on Amazon Lily like a tropical storm. He’s met with open hostility at first, for all of ten seconds. That’s how long it takes Trafalgar Law to lift his head and say, “So you’re Strawhat’s brother? Emporio warned me you were coming. Took your time showing up.” At which point Sabo becomes an honored guest and the eldest Boa all but trips over herself trying to make a good impression.

He’ll definitely have an opinion about all of these things some other time. It all goes up on the shelf where he’s keeping Ace, safe in the back of his brain. He has to focus on what he can still do—the person he can still reach. It’s too late for him to save anybody but Luffy is his responsibility. His only family. His little brother.  

“Where is he?” Sabo says, doing a passable job of sounding like a human being.

Trafalgar tilts his head eastward, where the coast begins to climb upwards into a craggy cliffside. Jinbe, beside him, has his arms folded over an impressive swathe of bandages that wrap around his chest and midsection and looks Sabo up and down with a critical gaze. He clearly isn’t eager to interject where it isn’t his place, but he’s equally as unwilling to let someone who might be a threat go near the young captain in question while he’s hurting. It’s surprisingly proprietary for a person who has only had Luffy’s acquaintance for a short time.

But then Luffy has always had that effect on people, hasn’t he? He worms his way in. He makes you care.

“The surgery was a success,” Trafalgar says without overture, like the word ‘surgery’ in correlation to Sabo’s brother doesn’t send ice down his spine. “But it wouldn’t have been for anyone without the Op-op Fruit. And there’s still a good chance that all my hard work will be rendered a waste of time if that kid goes on another rampage.”

“He was disoriented when he woke up,” Jinbe adds carefully. “He went looking for his brother. And it—pained him. To realize that Ace was gone. He was hurting himself. I told him to look past what he lost, at the things he still had.” His deep, strong voice softens as he goes on, “If his grief wasn’t so self-destructive, I would have let him have it. He deserves to have it.”

Sabo is halfway up a hill before he’s aware of moving in the first place, using his hands to climb when it gets steep, not feeling it when sharp branches cut against his face as he shoves his way through them. Observation Haki comes naturally to him but he thinks he’d be able to find Luffy even without it. His soul or heart or something equally as important inside him would tug him in the right direction.

He was always the best at finding his brothers.

Sabo knows right where to go. He doesn’t know how he knows, but his feet guide him without faltering, picking his way over the river stepping-stone by -stone. And as he gets closer, over the cheerful babbling of the water and the thrushes in the trees, Sabo can hear the faint sound that’s become so familiar to him over the last couple of months—the sound of a little kid crying.

“This is why Ace calls you a baby, you know,” Sabo says to the hollow log Luffy is hiding in.

Luffy stubbornly won’t budge, so Sabo crawls in after him. Luffy’s face is all sticky and dirty, and Makino would have a lot to say about it if she could see him, but she’s not here. A little dirt never killed anybody. The tears bother Sabo, though.

They bother Ace, too. He probably remembers as well as Sabo does how it feels to be left alone while you cried. They both learned a long time ago that no one was going to come make it better.

Luffy hasn’t learned that yet. He still cries over every little thing that hurts or scares him, and Ace gets loud and mean because he hates it when his siblings are hurt or scared. He hates it even more that this crummy world failed Luffy as wholly as it failed Ace and Sabo. 

But it’s not the same, not really. Luffy can tear up over every heartache and frustration and nighttime fear, and his big brothers will come running. It’s annoying sometimes, and upsetting other times, and they can’t always make it better, but Sabo and Ace would never leave Luffy to cry all by himself.

Luffy isn’t crying when Sabo sits beside him. His dark eyes are wide and faraway, gazing out over the water the way he used to when they were children, dreaming about their future.

His brown skin has a sickly, ashen pallor to it. There are bruises beneath his eyes and an unhealthy thinness to his frame. He is covered, head to toe, in bandages. Even his hands are wrapped up, finger by finger. It’s proof of how far he would go, how much damage he’s willing to do to himself for just the opportunity to reach out and save someone he loves.

Sabo doesn’t know what to say. This is one of the most important people in his life, and he failed this person so spectacularly. He opens his mouth, but he can feel the words forming right before he speaks them—Do you hate me? He closes his mouth.

Coward, he berates himself venomously. If Luffy hates you, it’s as much as you deserve.

But his lips stay glued shut. He can’t open himself to that inevitable blow, not yet. The question goes up on that mental shelf next to Ace. Instead, Sabo sits beside his only living brother for as long as he’s allowed.

“I haven’t seen you since I was little, Sabo,” Luffy says suddenly. “I saw you all the time back then.”

Sabo’s heart is racing. He’s confused and unsettled and hurting so keenly he could lay down and die from it. But he can’t let Luffy go unanswered, so he says, “Of course you did. We lived together.”

A faint smile touches the corners of Luffy’s mouth, like some distant part of him wants to laugh.

“I mean after you died. We saw you a lot. We talked to you and you would talk back. Sometimes I wondered if maybe you were really still there and everyone just got it wrong. I was dumb.”

“No,” Sabo says quietly.

“I thought I’d see Ace now,” Luffy goes on, in a meandering, conversational way. “The way we used to see Sabo. But Sabo is here again instead. I’m not mad, ‘Bo. I missed you. I wish you hadn’t left.”

Sabo doesn’t know how to hold this without it breaking him. He needs more hands. He needs his twin, his anchor, his other half, to help with the heavy-lifting. He isn’t enough on his own. He will never, ever, ever be enough on his own to make up for Ace dying in Luffy’s arms, bleeding all over Luffy’s hands, carving a hole into Luffy’s heart right next to the one Sabo left there ten years ago.

There is nothing that he can say that will make this better. The only thing he can do is be here, and put his arm around Luffy the way he used to when they were children, and whisper, “I missed you, too, Lu. I wanted to stay.”

Luffy doesn’t cry how Sabo remembers. He doesn’t throw his head back and wail and shove balled fists into his eyes. But the way he curls against Sabo’s side is familiar—the way he makes himself smaller, and tucks his face against Sabo’s shoulder like he’s seeking shelter, and winds rubber limbs around him until they’re too well-tangled to do anything but hold each other.

The sun sinks slowly through the sky, and Luffy’s body gets heavy and loose. He falls asleep between one thick, hitching breath and the next. 

“I don’t believe him,” Sabo’s twin says incredulously, staring down at the little boy sprawled like a sack of potatoes across the mossy rocks. “As soon as it gets dark, he’s out like a light.”

Sabo laughs, the way he’s only recently learned how to laugh. It bubbles up all the way from his stomach, from the squishy warm center of him. He isn’t allowed to be noisy at the mansion, but Ace’s face always scrunches in a wolfish grin at the sound.

“And he’s up with the sun, too,” Sabo says. “Better than an alarm clock.”

He sloshes across the shallow part of the river and kneels in the muddy bank, beginning the familiar chore of gathering up a seven-year-old’s sprawling rubber limbs so they can carry him home. Luffy always droops when he sleeps, like taffy left out in the sun, his bones going all bendy since there isn’t conscious thought to keep them firm. He’s as light as a kid half his size, and twice as much work.

“Brat’s lucky we don’t just leave him here,” Ace mutters, but he doesn’t mean it. He sits carefully still while Sabo situates Luffy on his back, and keeps one rough, scarred hand wrapped carefully around one of Luffy’s soft wrists the whole way back up the mountain.

Their little brother only comes close to stirring once, and all he does is press his face against Ace’s shoulder with a content sigh that’s so quiet it could almost be a secret. 

Luffy is lucky that he has someone to carry him home. But Sabo and Ace are lucky, too. They have someone to carry.

Sabo rests his cheek on the top of Luffy’s head, and listens to the marathon march of his heart. He counts every beat. He feels like a ghost.

“If anyone had done that to me,” Zoro spoke again, “I’d have – why aren’t they dead?” His voice was quiet to avoid waking anyone else, but no less angry than if he had been shouting. Sanji looked over to where the swordsman was seated by the door, back against the wall and swords close at hand. Zoro’s face was carefully blank, but Sanji knew him well enough to recognise tension in the flare of his nostrils and clench of his jaw.

“I couldn’t,” Sanji whispered, his voice carrying across the silence of the room.

“We could have for you.” Sanji shook his head and sat up, wincing slightly as the movement made his back twinge. He swung his legs off the couch, careful not to kick Luffy where he was spread out by its side. His captain was wearing the same clothes as the night before, and his strawhat was resting on his chest. Sanji tried not to look at it.

“No, that’s not – I don’t mean it like that. I’m strong enough to take them now, I know that. I just… killing them is something that they would have done, you know? I’m not – I don’t want to be like that.”

“Not everyone deserves your kindness, cook. They sure as fuck don’t.” Sanji couldn’t exactly argue with that, so just nodded his head in agreement.

“Yeah, I know. But – my mother loved them. Maybe not Judge, but my – she loved all of her children. She would never have wanted us killing each other. Not ever.” Zoro frowned.

“Sounds like she didn’t do much to stop them from trying. Did she even–”

“She died, Zoro,” Sanji interrupted before the swordsman could say anything else about her. “She – she was sick, always sick. She couldn’t – she did more for me than you realise. More than I’d ever realised, even. She – she saved me. She did.” Zoro was still frowning, but after a moment he nodded, and he didn’t say anything else about Sanji’s mother.

Sanji stretched, trying in vain to alleviate some of the pain in his back. It had been a long time since his old Drum Island injury had bothered him this much, but Niji’s attack had fucked his spine all over again. He sighed as his movements only made the pain pulse and swell, and resigned himself to a difficult few days.

“What – are you hurt?”

“Hm?” When Sanji looked back over at Zoro it was to find the other man halfway to his feet, eyes scanning the tense lines of his body. Sanji waved a hand at him, aiming for relaxed and no doubt falling short. “No, no, I’m fine. Do you want some tea?”

“Cook–”

“Booze, then. I’ll get you some beer–” Sanji stood, biting his cheek against another wince.

“Cook. Stop it. Why are you moving like that?” Sanji ignored him, trying to force some of the stiffness out of his posture as he picked his way across the sleeping bodies littering the floor. “Sanji!”

“Shut up,” Sanji hissed back at him as his voice started to rise. “I’m fine, my back is just fucked from sleeping on that shitty couch. Stop kicking up a fucking fuss–”

“I’m not ‘fussing’, cook, you hide shit all the time–”

“You are literally fussing right now, you fucking shitty ball of moss. Do you want beer or not?”

“Of course I do, shit cook, but not if you’re gonna fuckin’ keel over trying to find it!”

“I am not–”

“Fucking hell, will you both shut the fuck up?” Nami’s voice was low and dangerous, and when Sanji looked back at her she was sitting up from where she had been cushioned between Robin and Jinbei, frowning at them both through the sleep in her eyes. Her scowl lasted until she saw Sanji’s face, then her entire expression softened in a way that he wished he could enjoy. He turned back to the kitchen, busying himself with the lock on the fridge. Nami and Zoro had both fallen silent behind him.

He found a half-decent bottle of beer towards the back of the fridge, behind the much higher quality stuff he typically reserved for Nami and Robin, and extracted it as slowly as he could. He was too tired for this, he realised. Way too tired for this. The longer he stood, the more he felt exhaustion pulling at him. He shook his head, reminding himself that he had just slept on the couch for what must have been hours, judging by the darkness outside. He was fine.

“Do you want anything, Nami-san?” He tried to make his voice sound lighter, happier, less like he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a foetal position on his bed and sleep for the foreseeable future–

“I want meat.”

“Fuck–” Sanji elected to ignore Zoro’s snort as Luffy seemed to suddenly fucking materialise by his side. He barely managed to stop himself from slamming the fridge door in his haste to close it. His leg twitched, but he didn’t kick the younger man. The idea of kicking Luffy, even playfully, was suddenly and deeply abhorrent to him. He looked at his captain, at the way his curls were mussed up on one side, and his eyes gummy and red from sleep, and the corners of his mouth just slightly downturned. The way he was holding his hat in one hand, rather than wearing it – an open invitation. 

No. No kicks today.

Sanji bit his lip, and wanted a cigarette.

“Sure, fine. Just – go wait over at the table. I can’t do anything with you hovering over my shoulder.” Luffy didn’t move. Sanji sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying very hard not to snap. “Luffy.”

“I want to watch Sanji cook.” Sanji sighed again, and shook his head, but didn’t have the energy to argue the point any further. He shoved the beer still clutched in his hand towards Luffy’s chest. “At least give this to marimo first.” Luffy took it, and stretched his arm across the length of the room to drop it in Zoro’s lap. His gaze never left Sanji’s face, even as the cook rolled his eyes and shifted to shield the lock on the fridge from his line of sight.

There was some lamb that Sanji had been intending to use for kebabs the next day, but his captain was hungry now, so he would just have to make do. He took a frying pan from the drying rack, realising he didn’t even know who’d finished washing up after he’d fallen asleep. The events of the previous night flashed through his mind again, and he felt his face heating up as shame coursed through him.

He kept his eyes on the meat in front of him, cubing it with far more concentration than it required, as he said, “Luffy, I – about last night, I’m–”

“Cook, if you apologise I’ll fucking cut you.” When Sanji turned, Zoro had even rested a hand on one of his swords. He felt his shoulders hunch a little at the interruption – and at the fact that he could be so easily read, even by their resident emotionally-stunted idiot.

“Find nicer ways to be nice, jackass,” Nami hissed, though her eyes were shining slightly. When she looked back at Sanji she was trying to smile. “Are you feeling any better, Sanji-kun? You’ve been sleeping for a few hours.” Sanji swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, hating that he already felt close to tears again. He hadn’t been this bad since the Baratie – hell, maybe even since his first days on the Orbit.

He remembered how he used to scurry around, fearful of anyone and everyone, convinced that one wrong move would see him sent back to his father and his brothers and his cell. He remembered how he used to insist that he could help them, that he was useful – and how those declarations were always undercut by his sudden bouts of tears and panic and a fear so visceral it would make him sick.

“Sanji-kun?”

“Hm? Sorry, Nami-san,” he shook himself out of his stupor, sliding the lamb from the chopping board to the frying pan. He didn’t look back at Nami, or at Luffy, who had shifted to sit on the counter, watching him intently. “I’m fine. Still tired – but fine, otherwise. And – I am sorry. About last night. I shouldn’t have… yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Sanji-kun…” Nami sighed, sounding so thoroughly exhausted that he almost wished he hadn’t apologised after all. Almost.

“Sanji isn’t the one who should be sorry,” Luffy said, nudging his hip with his bare foot until Sanji swatted him lightly with his spatula. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, I know,” Sanji tried to look at his captain’s face, to meet his eyes. He didn’t make it further than Luffy’s scarred chest, but he offered up a smile anyway. It didn’t seem to do much.

“No, you don’t,” Luffy said, quiet in a way that was so unlike him. “But we’ll make sure you do, one day.” Sanji shook his head, too afraid to take that any further.

“Here,” he said, sliding the lamb onto a plate with a sprinkle of salt and handing it to Luffy, who took it with a downright primitive noise of gratitude, laying his hat on the counter beside him.

“I’sh good!” He exclaimed, volume rising dramatically now that meat had been provided. Sanji tried to shush him, but the smell of food seemed to have roused the rest of the crew as much of the noise had, and soon the galley was filled with the sounds of them waking up. Sanji sighed, trying to sound put-upon and only half meaning it, as he delved into the fridge again for the rest of the lamb. He may as well make the kebabs like he’d planned – he knew that there was no avoiding the conversation they were about to have, nor how painful it was going to be. His nakama may as well have some delicious snacks for it.

Chopper tugged on his trouser leg at one point, and when Sanji looked down it was to find the little reindeer holding out two little white pills that Sanji recognised as the pills he usually gave Franky for his joint pain. Sanji frowned a little, and when he turned to scowl at Zoro the swordsman looked infuriatingly smug. Chopper tugged on his leg again, and Sanji knew better than to refuse him.

By the time the food was cooked and plated, the pain had faded to a manageable level, and the crew had settled around the table again, pillows and blankets shoved carelessly to the side in a pile against the wall. Sanji put the platter of kebabs in the centre of the table and handed out small plates. The others waited until he sat with them before digging into the food enthusiastically. In spite of his nerves, he felt himself relax slightly at their little noises of enjoyment, and the way they smiled with every bite. He was good at this – if nothing else, he was good at this.

Still, though – “I’m sorry for that scene last night, guys,” he said, ignoring the glares he received from Luffy and Zoro, and the small noises of protests from around the table. “That was – embarrassing. And stupid. I’m sorry.” Luffy swallowed his mouthful of food and frowned heavily at him.

“Sanji’s not allowed to apologise anymore,” he stated firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. His strawhat was in his lap. Sanji wished he would just put it on. “Sanji apologises too much, even after I told him he hasn’t done anything. So. He’s not allowed to apologise anymore. I’ve decided. Captain’s orders.” He set his brow, and jutted out his chin, and glared at Sanji as if daring him to argue. Sanji could only shake his head, at once fond and exasperated.

“Luffy, I just…” he trailed off, and Luffy’s expression softened at whatever he saw on Sanji’s face. He looked tired, and Sanji hated being the reason. “I’m–”

“You’re still hurting,” Luffy said, and Sanji’s breath caught. “I thought it would go away, but that was stupid. I’m sorry.” Sanji tried to smile so that he wouldn’t cry.

“So you’re allowed to apologise but I’m not? That seems unfair, captain.” Luffy didn’t bite at the attempted humour, only frowning deeper.

“What exactly are you even apologising for?” Usopp cut in before he could say anything else. “I mean, what is it that you think you’ve done?” Sanji shook his head, and finally relented, reaching for his cigarettes in the pocket of his jacket, still hanging on the back of his chair where he’d left it the night before. He lit one up before speaking.

“I know I haven’t ‘done anything’, that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what–” “I just – I used to be better at this, that’s all.”

“Better at what?” Sanji tried to ignore how warm his face felt, studying the grooves of the table rather than meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Better at – dealing with this shit. I used to get… episodes. Like that one last night. I used to get them a lot. But – not for years. And now – now I seem to be getting them all the fucking time. It’s just – frustrating. I know better.”

“‘Know better’?” Usopp’s voice took on an edge, and when Sanji risked a glance at him, he looked like he couldn’t decide between tears or shouting. “The fuck does that mean? ‘Know’ – so, what, should I ‘know better’?” Nami put a placating hand on his arm, and his face lost some of its anger. Sanji was shaking his head before he could say anything else.

“What – no. No, Usopp, c’mon, you know that’s not what I meant–”

“Yeah, I do know. So why is it any different for you than it is for me? You should understand just as much as me that there’s no ‘knowing better’.” Sanji ran a hand through his hair, sucking his cigarette down to the filter. He stubbed it out on his untouched plate.

“I just mean – I just–”

“Sanji–”

“I’d figured it out, okay? I’d learned how to stop them, or just – how to deal with them. I’d gotten away from there and I’d found Zeff and I’d moved the fuck past it. It was over . It was supposed to be over.”

“How did you get out of that place?” Chopper asked in a small voice. Sanji sighed, and his hands were shaking again as he lit another cigarette. He’d expected it, but it was difficult nonetheless. He tried to brace himself, and he began.

“Reiju found me, after a while. Well, they all did. Reiju and – and my brothers. They found me and–” he swallowed, trying not to choke on the smoke, on the words. “Reiju did it. Set me free.”

“How long is ‘a while’?” Zoro asked, voice quiet. Sanji looked at him, and knew the swordsman had been waiting to ask that one. A glance around the table told him that the others had been waiting to ask as well – and of course they had been. It was the obvious question. Sanji returned his gaze to the table, and his shaking hands. It took a few moments before he could answer around the lump in his throat, the weight on his chest.

“I think–” his voice was hoarse, and he paused to clear his throat. “It was – I think it was about six months before they found me. Reiju and my brothers. At least – that’s what Reiju told me. I don’t – I didn’t really, you know, keep track. Or, um, couldn’t.”

“Six – six–”

“A-after that,” Sanji continued over Chopper’s horrified gasp, knowing that if he didn’t say it all now then he never would. “After that, I don’t know. My brothers would… visit me. Down there. Every night, just about. I dunno how long that kept up for. Reiju would always try to come after they left, to patch me up.” More wounded noises. Someone reached out to him, and before he’d even realised what he was doing he’d shifted his hands under the table. He grimaced apologetically, and kept talking. “It was during one of those times – when Reiju was with me. I had asked – we had crossed the Red Line, into the East Blue. I asked her – well, I said that I wanted to be a chef. That maybe if I ran away in the East Blue… maybe then I could escape. Escape Germa. Escape Judge. She set me free, after that. And Judge…” He shook his head. He wondered why it still hurt.

“What did Judge do?” Nami’s whisper was hoarse and horrified, and he wished he could find it in himself to comfort her. All he could do was finish the story.

“Judge found me trying to get the key. For the – the helmet. He fucking–” Sanji barked out a laugh, harsh and rough and full of a bitterness that he’d somehow managed to convince himself he’d let go of years ago. His friends flinched at the foreign sound. “He fucking let me go. After all that.” He was crying again. Not in the fast, panicked way he had the night before. Not loud, or messy. Just crying, because to this day he still couldn’t talk about any of this shit without fucking crying. “He let me go, as long as I stopped calling myself a Vinsmoke. Stopped calling myself his son. And that was – it hurt, but fine. I don’t know why it fucking hurt, but it did. It still fucking does. And you can’t convince me that isn’t fucking stupid.” He spat the word out with more venom than he’d expected. It sat heavily in the silence, waiting for someone to contradict it. It was Brook who broke the silence.

“Sanji-san,” he said, and Sanji turned in his direction, trying to muster up the courage to look into their faces again, now that they knew him. “We all love you very much,” the skeleton said, quietly and warmly and so honestly that Sanji felt his face twist, his tears becoming something more present. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Sanji gasped, raising a hand to cover his face. “Shitty skeleton. I – of course I do.” There was movement from around the table, but Sanji couldn’t move. Someone crouched by his side, and took up the hand that wasn’t tangled in the hair covering his face. They were warm, and gentle, and could only belong to one person.

“Luffy,” he whispered, “I want to be better again. I – I’m trying.” The hand holding his squeezed, and Sanji felt someone else rest a hand on his back, solid and steady.

“You don’t need to be any ‘better’, Sanji,” Luffy said quietly. “You can’t be any better, anyway. You’re Sanji, you’re already the best.” Sanji shook his head, but Luffy kept trying. “I told you before – you’re good. You’re kind, and smart, and you’re the best chef in the world. You have so many friends, Sanji. And we all love you so much.”

“But I–”

“Listen to the captain, bro,” Franky said, his voice quiet and soothing and gentle in a way Sanji often forgot the cyborg was capable of. It only made Sanji cry that much harder.

“Sanji-kun,” it was Nami now, talking to him with more kindness and patience than he deserved for making her cry yet again, “you would never ask any of us to be okay, after something like that. You shouldn’t ask yourself to be either.” Sanji shook his head, needing them to understand. Needing them to agree with him – because facing this would be too much. Living with it was already hard enough.

“It was so long ago,” he choked out wetly. “It’s – I left it behind. It’s not fair,” he moaned, and he sounded so childish but he couldn’t stop now. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair. I was – I was something else. I’d made myself into something else, and now… now I’m back to – to this.”

A soft hand rested over his, still tangled in his hair, pulling it away before he hurt himself. It held onto him, rubbing a gentle thumb over his knuckles and squeezing his fingers encouragingly when he was finally able to open his eyes and look around him.

Luffy was still by his side, holding onto him. He wasn’t smiling, but his face remained the kindest thing that Sanji could remember seeing since his mother died. Robin was watching him from across the table, the hand she’d created to hold his having sprouted out of the table. Chopper was trying to hide his sobs in Brook’s t-shirt, the skeleton rubbing his back. Jinbei looked sick, and Sanji hated to think that he’d brought any old memories back to the surface.

“I just… I wish it was over,” he whispered to them all. “I thought it was over.” The hands holding his squeezed, and the one on his back moved to rest on the nape of his neck.

“It is over, cook,” Sanji jumped a bit when Zoro spoke behind him, and was shocked when he realised it was the swordsman whose hand was on his back, grounding him. Sanji couldn’t bear to look back and see whatever expression the other man was wearing. “All that’s left now is to heal from it.”

“I can’t,” Sanji whispered, wishing he was strong enough to deserve their support. “I can’t.”

“Then let us help you.” Zoro place his other hand on Sanji’s shoulder, refusing to let go even as the cook shuddered and fell apart.

“Sanji,” Luffy pulled on his hand until he looked at him. When he was sure he had his cook’s undivided attention, Luffy pressed his hat into the hand he held. Sanji felt the worn straw bending in his fingers, feeling so fragile for something that carried so many hearts and hopes and dreams. “Keep my hat until you feel better. And when you feel better, give it back to me.” He pressed Sanji’s fingers tight around the brim, ignoring the way the straw creased and folded. “I love my hat, I’ll want it back soon. So you have to let us help you, okay? So you can feel better as fast as possible.” He smiled, wide and earnest, looking a little too proud of himself for what he clearly thought of as a genius plan, and Sanji felt his heart swell.

“Idiot,” Nami said, “that’s not how it works.” But her voice was so fond, and her face held nothing but the same adoration that Sanji, that they all, felt for their captain. Sanji wanted to smile. He wanted to nod his head and say of course, of course he would.

“What if I can’t?” Is what he said instead.

“You can.”

“What if it’s too late?”

“It’ll never be too late, Sanji.”

“What if it’s too much?”

“Then share it,” Zoro said, before Luffy could. “Isn’t that what you’d say to us?” Sanji took a shuddering breath, and tightened his grip on Luffy’s hat. He twisted his other hand in Robin’s until he could hold onto her, squeezing just a little too hard. She didn’t complain, though, and only smiled at him when he turned to her. He looked at Nami, and Usopp. At Brook, and at Chopper, finally emerging from the skeleton’s tear-stained t-shirt to offer him a trembling smile. He looked at Franky and Jinbei.

He looked at Luffy, and felt Zoro’s presence behind him.

“I’ll try,” he told them all, and found himself meaning it. “I promise, I’ll try.”