Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Hold still.”

Sanji perches on the edge of his bed, body rigid as Reiju prods at his face. He hurts all over - but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. How he feels on any given day is completely up to how… excited his brothers are to see him.

“Ow!”

Reiju’s fingers pull back from where they had been poking underneath Sanji’s eye socket. He can’t see what he looks like, but he must have the beginnings of a nasty bruise if Reiju touching him hurts that much.

“Sorry,” she says, and moves her hands elsewhere, pressing a bit gentler against the tender skin of his cheek. Sanji tries to ignore the way his hands throb, thumbs aching with pain that he has come to recognize as broken bones. They twitch involuntarily as Reiju ghosts over another bruise, and the movement makes Sanji hiss. He works up the courage to ask his sister a question.

“Reiju?”

“Yes?”

Her face is open, calm but not cold. It’s impressive how she can seem to switch herself on and off whenever she needs to, blank in front of Father but a little warmer when he isn’t around. Sanji can’t do that. His mama has always said he has “big feelings”.

“Why is it that whenever I punch Ichiji or Niji or Yonji I get hurt, but they don’t?”

Reiju picks up one of his hands, examines the purple bruising around the base of his thumb. She’s careful with his injury, cradling his hand in both of hers, but it still hurts when she manipulates Sanji’s thumb to test his range of motion. She frowns when he winces and tries to pull his hand away from hers. Reiju lets him, and he rests his sore hand in his lap. She looks into Sanji’s eyes.

“When you punch, do you do it like this-” Reiju tucks her thumb into her fist, “-or like this?” She pulls her thumb out, curling it across her knuckles.

“The first one,” Sanji answers. Reiju’s face turns sour, a little sad.

“That’s why. You’re not supposed to tuck your thumbs in when you punch.”

Sanji’s heart sinks down to his stomach. “I didn’t know that.”

“Did Father not teach you?”

“...no.” He’s ashamed to say it, so Sanji whispers. The fewer people hearing him admit that he’s weak, that he’s failed yet again, the better. Reiju just looks at him. Her expression is somehow sadder than before. It confuses Sanji. She picks his hand up again, her grip the gentlest Sanji has ever felt it. Reiju is quiet for a moment before she turns to the first aid kit she brought with her, searching for bandages with one hand and holding Sanji with the other.

“I’m sorry.”

Sanji rarely receives apologies, so he doesn’t know how to handle it except sit there and nod.

The two of them are quiet as Reiju works, winding bandages around Sanji’s wrists to support his thumbs as they heal. They both know he will have to train again tomorrow. It’s an unspoken fact of their lives. Father will relent for a few days, excusing him from using his hands with a dismissive sigh, but that doesn’t mean their brothers will go any easier on Sanji. He knows that the bandages paint a target on his back, a bright red bullseye waiting for their fists and kicks and piercing words. He doesn’t know why Reiju bothers anymore. All anyone else does is waste her hard work.

Sanji watches as his sister carefully lays his hands in his lap and unscrews the cap on an antibacterial cream, squeezing a small amount onto the tip of her finger and massaging it into a cut on his jaw. She’s always so careful with him, but only where no one else can see. In front of Father and their brothers, her eyes will glaze over, a carefully curated mask slipping to cover any semblance of humanity left within her. But when they leave, Sanji can see the warmth leech back into her face as she reaches for him, not to hurt but to help. He knows she can’t be seen protecting a failure like him and that this is her way of looking after Sanji, but there’s a small part of him that wants so badly for Reiju to do something, anything more. She doesn’t have to fight on his behalf. Even a kind word for him in front of everyone would ease the sick feeling in his stomach.

Does he deserve her kindness in the first place?

Sanji comes back to himself as Reiju lays a bandage over the cut on his jaw and traces the swollen skin around his eye with blissfully cool fingers. He leans into her unconsciously, seeking any gentle touch. Reiju’s chin wobbles, and she steels her expression into something different. Not closed off, but a hardened determination comes over her face. Brave , Sanji realizes. She’s trying to be brave for him. 

“Father plans on testing our endurance tomorrow,” she says, voice tight and eyes shining. “There’s nothing you need to hold or hit. Your hands should be safe.”

“Okay.” His knee is still aching from when Ichiji tripped him a week ago, but he should be fine.

“I’ll try to stick by you, see if that will get our brothers off your back.”

“Okay.” That won’t really stop anything, he knows, but Reiju can try if she wants.

His sister is silent for a moment before she lunges forward to wrap her arms around his neck in a hug.

Stunned, Sanji lets his hands hover in the air for a few seconds. Reiju’s shoulders shake minutely, and he can feel her hands clenching tight in the fabric of his shirt. He carefully lays his palms across her back, and she squeezes him gently once he makes contact.

“I wish I could do more for you,” Reiju whispers. “I feel helpless.”

“It’s alright,” Sanji says.

Why can’t you? , he thinks.

-

Sanji realizes he’s screwed when he goes to get out of bed and his ankle buckles under his weight.

“ Shit ,” he hisses, hands making an aborted movement to hover around the injury. In his defense, he didn’t realize it was this bad. He’d rolled his ankle last night with Zeff, when he had been training out on the deck, and brushed off the stiffness and pain that lingered when he threw his kicks. He was lucky they weren’t practicing any acrobatics, or else Sanji really would have been fucked. He had said goodnight to the shitty old man, limped back to his room, and shoved down the worry at the tenderness in his ankle. Sanji was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Now, as he hobbles back to sit on the edge of his bed, he thinks he should have paid a little more attention.

It doesn’t look too bad, or so Sanji thinks. Yeah, his ankle is swollen, black and blue bruises painting his skin in the ugliest watercolor he’s ever seen, and yeah , it hurts like hell when he goes to rotate his foot in any direction, but he’s fine! He has work to do. The Baratie won’t run smoothly without him, even if Zeff refuses to acknowledge it. So Sanji sucks it up, stuffs his feet into his shoes, and swallows down a yelp of pain as he rises from his bed.

The walk down to the kitchen is agonizingly slow as Sanji limps his way down the hallway. He has to take a break on the stairs, gritting his teeth against moisture that burns at his eyes in a mixture of discomfort and humiliation. He should be used to pain. He’s suffered far worse at the hands of his brothers, so why is this the thing that sends him reeling? He’s thirteen! That’s practically an adult! He should be able to make it down stairs on a sprained ankle. He’s been forced to run miles with broken ribs.

I’m strong , Sanji thinks as he grips the railing.

I’m strong , as he shoulders the door to the kitchen; a mantra.

By the time he reaches his station to start prep, his words have become I’m not weak .

The old man gives him a funny look when Sanji catches his eye, like he’s tasted something rotten. Sanji glares at him, snaps his jaws.

“What do you want, geezer?” He turns sharply, bracing himself against the flare of pain in his ankle and brandishing his knife. “I’m trying to work!”

“You’ll keep that knife pointed away from me if you know what’s good for you,” Zeff barks back. “Stupid brat. Chop your damn vegetables.”

Sanji does, grumbling under his breath as he goes back to his station. He tries to ignore the feeling that he’s being watched, like the geezer’s eyes are burning a hole through his uniform. If he attacks the onions he’s chopping with a little more ferocity, no one needs to know.

Service continues to be mostly uneventful as Sanji fights against the increasingly persistent ache in his ankle. It throbs constantly, twinging every time he so much as shifts his position. He knows he’s walking slower, and he knows the shitty old man thinks something is up. His words are less harsh than usual, tone a little lighter as he berates his knife work and the sear on his salmon. Sanji responds the only way he knows how - by shrieking in his face.

It’s not like he wants Zeff pissed at him. He knows all too well how it feels to be on the receiving end of disappointment, and he’s not eager to experience it again. He just…needs to prove himself. The old fart has told him time and again that he’s staying, that Sanji will always have a place on this ship no matter how viciously they fight, but his mind has started to warp those words. He fought tooth and nail for his spot on the line. Hell, Zeff only gave it to him six months ago! This is just a test Sanji needs to pass. Just testing his endurance , he thinks bitterly. He needs to hold out a little bit longer.

He’s in the middle of rushing around the kitchen when he falls, stamina running dry.

“ Fuck! ” Sanji screams, forgetting to be strong as his hands clamp around his ankle. It hurts like a bitch, and he feels the anger and anxiety and nerves that have been simmering inside him all day bubble to the surface. They boil over as frustrated tears, and his stomach sinks like a stone. Sanji grinds his forehead into his knee as his ankle throbs, and his tailbone hurts from falling on his ass, and shit , he’s so embarrassed! He’s supposed to be working, but instead he’s writhing on the floor like an idiot. Sanji doesn’t even try to fight his sobs as they burst from his chest.

Stupidly, childishly, he thinks, I feel awful.

A hand claps down on his shoulder and Sanji flinches before he realizes that it’s just the stupid old man, crouched down on the floor next to him. He braces for shouting, for insults and degradation, and is surprised when they don’t come. The confusion is enough to shock his tears into slowing, breath hitching pathetically as Zeff shifts on the floor, trying to find a decent position for his stump. Sanji is silent as he waits for the old man to speak.

“Let’s go sit down, kid.”

What?

Sanji blinks up at the shitty geezer, a salty tear falling down his cheek. His heart pounds in his chest as he waits for the rest of the sentence, but nothing else comes. Sanji’s lack of understanding must show on his face, because Zeff sighs, and carefully, with effort, rises to his feet. Once he’s standing, he bends to help Sanji up, bracing a hand against his back.

“Let’s go sit down,” Zeff repeats, “and you can tell me why you’ve been hiding shit from me all day.”

There it is.

With the geezer’s help, Sanji limps out of the kitchen and lets himself be led into Zeff’s office, where he most certainly does not fall into his armchair. He isn’t alone for long, the old fart only stepping out to retrieve a first aid kit. There’s silence as he pulls up a chair in front of Sanji, brings his foot up to rest on his knee, and carefully pulls his shoe off.

“This happened last night?” Zeff asks, gently rotating Sanji’s ankle. It’s stiff, unwilling to flex, and Sanji keeps his bottom lip caught firmly between his teeth as he nods. He can’t ask any questions, can’t make any noises that show weakness. “Why didn’t you say something, eggplant?” Sanji can’t look the shitty old man in the eye. His voice sounds strange, worry bleeding through his gruff tones, and it’s all so bizarre that it makes Sanji’s stomach turn. He looks at a particularly swirly grain of wood in the floor as he shrugs.

“Well, you’re acting pretty damn stupid, kid.”

Sanji swallows sharply. This is it, this is what he knows how to deal with. He holds his breath and waits for Zeff to raise his voice, to throw him to the ground, to toss him back into the sea and tell him he never needed him anyway. Stupid, worthless Sanji couldn’t hack it, so he gets to sleep with the fishes. He failed. He never deserved Zeff’s mercy, and this is just his way of letting Sanji down easy so he doesn’t-

“Hey. Look at me.”

Sanji startles out of his thoughts as the old man cuffs him on the side of the head, roughly but not unkindly. His eyebrows crease as he looks at Sanji, like he’s trying to understand him, or take him apart. “What’s goin’ on up there?” He raps his knuckles on the top of Sanji’s skull.

Sanji feels his heart leap into his throat. He can’t say it. He shakes his head.

“Well then, we’re going to sit here until you tell me.”

Sanji feels sick all of a sudden, like he’ll throw up if he spills what’s on his mind. They never talk like this. It’s not how they operate. The trust Sanji has in the shitty old man is unspoken, shown through actions instead of words. He doesn’t think he’s ever told anyone how he truly feels. About anything.

Sanji swallows as he admits, “Do you think I’m weak?”

Zeff’s face contorts, before a rueful smirk comes onto his face. “Kid, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. Whoever told you otherwise is a real idiot.”

The turmoil in Sanji’s head slows to a crawl as the stupid geezer picks up bandages and starts to wrap his ankle. It’s the most careful he’s ever seen him. 

“I know you can protect yourself,” the old man says. “You wouldn’t still be here if you couldn’t. But just because you can doesn’t mean you have to , brat.” That’s all he says, but Sanji feels the meaning he doesn’t fully express, and the weight of Zeff’s words drape over him like a woolen blanket. The old geezer tucks the end of the bandage in on itself, pats Sanji’s ankle, and ruffles his hair. “Now go get some rest. I don’t want to see you out of bed or you’re doing nothing but waiting tables once you’re healthy, shithead!”

Sanji smiles. He doesn’t know why he was worried.

-

The first thing that registers when Sanji wakes up is pain - white-hot bolts of it, lancing through his temples and stabbing his forehead and pounding insistently behind his eyes. It feels like someone wrapped a million rubber bands around his skull as it pulses with agony. Sanji can’t help the whimper that escapes his lips when careful fingers come up to cup the back of his head, nor the second whine that he utters when those fingers move to graze over his temples. He tries to crack his eyes open, squinting against the harsh light of the sun. 

“ ...anji! Are y…? ”

Whoever is speaking sounds muffled, like Sanji is underwater. His ears ring as he strains against his rushing pulse to hear whoever is talking to him. Suddenly, like he’s breaching the surface, clarity returns to him as the sound of a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Sanji!”

Oh. It’s Usopp.

Sanji blinks fast, forcing his eyes open to look into Usopp’s own, dark lashes wet with tears. He looks scared, which shouldn’t shock Sanji, but he really can’t focus on much of anything right now. His brain feels like it’s been pulverized in his food processor and his stomach is roiling like boiling water. He tries to say Usopp’s name, but it comes out as a garbled groan. Usopp gently strokes his hair, and Sanji realizes it feels sticky.

“Oh, thank God you’re awake,” Usopp breathes, and one of his tears plinks onto Sanji’s cheek. He’s bent over Sanji, practically folded in half, and as Sanji’s vision starts to return, he can see the treeline out of the corner of his eye. Usopp cards his fingers through Sanji’s hair again, and he realizes belatedly that his bangs have been moved out of his face. Fuck . Usopp wasn’t supposed to do that. He can’t see Sanji like this , all weak and pathetic.

Sanji lurches, tries to summon any strength into his limbs to sit up, but a firm hand on his chest has him slumping against the ground again. It’s not like he really could have gone anywhere, anyway. His legs feel like jelly. He wonders if this is how Luffy feels when he’s exposed to sea stone.

“Don’t try to move around man, are you crazy?” Usopp’s hand stays on his chest, trembling violently as he holds Sanji down. An explosion sounds from somewhere in the distance. Trees crash and Sanji hears the bright sound of Luffy’s laughter, cackles rippling through the air. “They’re finishing up the fight,” Usopp says. He pulls his hand from Sanji’s chest once he’s sure he won’t try to get up again. There’s something red smeared on Usopp’s palm.

My blood , Sanji realizes. From the sticky, wet back of his head.

He tries to speak again, but all that comes out is a moan. Usopp leans in close to peer into Sanji’s eyes, long nose poking into his cheek. His eyes widen. “ Shit ,” he breathes. “Hey, can you tell me your name, man?” Usopp’s voice is frantic, almost demanding.

“Ssssanji,” he slurs. Sanji’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth, his head fuzzy and cloudy. His vision slips again, and he squints to focus, trying desperately to lock onto Usopp’s dark eyes.

“Good, good job,” Usopp says. His hand comes up to Sanji’s forehead, soothes the crease between his eyebrows, runs through blond hair matted with blood. “Do you know where you are?”

Sanji has to think about that one. The floor he’s on is wooden, and he tries to tilt his head up to get a better look, but that sends black spots twirling around the edges of his vision, and Sanji whines miserably. Usopp mumbles another curse under his breath and strokes Sanji’s forehead with his thumb.

“It’s okay, Sanji, that’s okay,” he reassures. Sanji feels a spike of fear jolt through his body because Usopp isn’t convincing at all , his voice quivering as he tries to soothe. Sanji blinks against the newfound moisture in his eyes, and Usopp is back to his harried reassurances. “Hey, it’ll be alright! Nami’s getting our first aid kit now, and Zoro and Luffy are kicking the snot out of those marines, and I’m here with you. I’m right here. The Great Captain Usopp will keep you safe!”

Sanji feels a wave of exhaustion roll over him, and all of a sudden his eyelids are as heavy as the crates Zeff used to make him carry on inventory days. He tries to let them flutter closed, and he has exactly one second of relief before Usopp is carefully shaking him. 

“Can’t do that, man, I’m sorry. You need to stay awake.”

“ Ugh… ” Sanji groans. “ F’ck my life .” That makes Usopp laugh, startling it out of his chest.

“ There you are,” he says, relief bleeding into his voice. His hand moves down to Sanji’s shoulder and continues its gentle ministrations. “You’re gonna be okay. Fuck , we really need a doctor on our crew. Where the hell is Nami?”

As if summoned by the gods, Sanji hears her voice over the faint din of battle. “Sanji! Usopp!”

“Finally!” Usopp bites out. Nami’s knees thud into the deck by Sanji’s head, the impact sending shockwaves through his skull, and he whines in pain against his will.

“Shit! Sorry, Sanji, I’m sorry,” she says, flipping open the first aid kit and digging around. “I would have been here sooner, but I couldn’t find the stupid box.”

Tape and antiseptic wipes spill out onto the deck before Nami finds what she wants. Sanji doesn’t turn to see, not wanting to move his head, but gentle hands lift it anyway. Just barely, trying to keep him as still as possible, something soft presses against the sticky mess at the back of his head. “I just want that bleeding to stop ,” she says to Usopp. Then, she stops dead, hands freezing in place. “Wait. Aren’t you not supposed to move someone with a head injury?!”

“We had to move him plenty to get him back on the ship!”

“ Oh my God, we already screwed this up.”

“Don’t say things like that! If you freak out, I’m gonna freak out!”

“ Don’t yell at me!! ”

Sanji grumbles again, just to make his presence known.

“Oh crap!” Nami’s warm, beautiful eyes are in his field of vision, looking down at him in worry. He tries to smile. It must not look right, because she winces. “God, his pupils are fucked, Usopp, what happened ?”

“Marine tried to bash his head in,” Usopp replies. “It was a blunt object I think, like a bat? Or some kind of pipe? I don’t know, I barely even saw it before Luffy started screaming at me to take him and run.”

Pain pulses through Sanji’s skull again as he’s shifted, and he hisses through his teeth. This sucks . He forgot just how much getting hit in the head hurts. No one has beaten him so badly since…

He doesn’t want to think about them.

Instead, he tries to focus on Nami’s soft hands as they clean blood from his hair, his temples, and his neck. He hones in on Usopp’s fingers as they lace between his own, squeezing in comfort whenever Sanji shows any signs of pain. He lets their care wash over him, wrap around him like a warm hug. He’s far too tired to try and resist.

Sanji weaves in and out of awareness as Nami works. He faintly registers being moved, adjusted so his shoulders are up against someone’s thighs as she winds bandages around his head. She’s gentle, almost unnervingly so. It’s been a while since Sanji was handled this carefully. It makes him feel weird, and not in the foggy “I-have-a-concussion” way that he’s been struggling through. This feeling is in his chest, something warm and safe, and it makes his heart ache. It’s unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. Not by any means.

Usopp reaches down to brush his thumb along Sanji’s cheek ( that’s whose lap he’s resting on) and Nami smoothes her hand over his bandages. Eventually, Zoro and Luffy come back to the ship and immediately flock to the three of them. Zoro lingers at the back but doesn’t take his hands off Wado’s hilt, and Luffy crouches low to press a kiss to his forehead, staring at him with his big brown eyes, and all at once Sanji knows what he feels.

He feels protected.