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Sanji’s childhood had been…unkind, to say the least. He remembers his mother sick in bed, his father’s disdain, his cruel brothers and placid sister. He remembers the dungeon, the mask, the escape.
But he doesn’t remember a lot of the in-between. He doesn’t remember the food served, or his childhood bedroom. He doesn’t remember the exact shape of the abuse he suffered, or the experiments he underwent, only the impression that it was bad. His mind gets a little fuzzy whenever his thoughts go anywhere near that time in his life.
But that’s okay! Why would he want to remember anything from then besides his mother anyway? He just knows that he was weak then, and he’s stronger now. He’s someone Zeff can be proud of, a chef who serves the next king of the pirates! His crew is always moving forward, so it’s better that the past is left right where it was–behind him.
Which is why he never thought to consider the damage that his family dealt might have lingered in a place he never thought to look.
***
Zeff is tired. His body is still recovering from that godforsaken Rock, and he’s been spending every free moment planning for his– their future. He’d finally found a shipwright, paid him the majority of their gold to start building his floating restaurant, the Baratie . He’d managed to find a carpenter who’d gladly fastened him with a sturdy peg leg so he’d finally be free of the crutch he’d become reliant on. He’d even found a fresh produce supplier he’d been interested in forming a business relationship with once the restaurant was up and running.
The one thing he is almost completely lost on was the little Eggplant standing outside the door of their rented cabin, soaked in mud and bits of hay.
“They started it!” The boy screeches, all but stamping his foot. He’d gotten into a scuffle in town with some other idiots, no doubt. What it was over, Zeff can’t begin to guess, but he’s certain that the Eggplant isn’t as innocent as he probably thinks he is.
His glare threatens Zeff to rebuke him, and Zeff will, a little later, but right now he’s tired and he feels the need for a hot bath on his still fragile body. In fact, that’s exactly what he’ll do.
“Sure it was,” he grunts, swinging the front door wider to allow the Eggplant enough room to come inside. “Let’s get you washed up. Shoes off.”
They’re in the middle of lathering up when Zeff first sees it. He’s got his eyes on the boy soaking in the tub while he sits on the stool beside it with his peg leg set off to the side. Sanji is still so small, recovering faster than Zeff is, but each rib is still showing starkly, his wrists are still just bones and tendons.
Zeff has his work cut out for him, raising this boy. Sanji had all but admitted to having nowhere else to go, no family to speak of. Perhaps they were all on that cruise ship. Something in Zeff twinges at that, and he sighs. He’d been feeling all sorts of new emotions since the boy entered his life.
He worries about him getting enough food, enough sleep. He gets the urge to teach him, to guide him, to make him a better man than Zeff could ever be. Zeff wonders if this is what a parent would feel. Sometimes he feels so inadequate that he almost wishes someone better would take over for him so he doesn’t mess the boy up more than he already is. But Zeff is all Sanji has, so he’ll do his damndest to raise him as well as he’s able.
Speaking of… “‘The hell happened in town to make you fall into a pigsty?”
The gasp of offense is expected and brings a smirk to the old chef’s face. Sanji’s glare is back and as furious as ever. “I didn’t fall into a fucking pigsty! It was these idiot boys who were being assholes! We got into a fight and it just got a little muddy. I won though.” The boy puffs out his chest and tilts his chin up, obviously pleased.
Zeff pushes down the fondness that wells up inside him. “Oh yeah? And what were you fighting about?”
The boy turns sheepish at this, his gaze averting. Then, he seems to gather himself and look defiantly at Zeff. “They kept pushing over that newborn goat in the old lady’s farm. I got mad and we ended up wrestling. But I used the kicks you taught me and won!”
Zeff raises his eyebrows. “So you did fall in a pigsty?”
The Eggplant turns scarlet at this, and scowls. “It was the goat pen , you shitty geezer!” He huffs dramatically and leans forward to grab the shampoo bottle. Zeff is about to reprimand the boy for using his hands in a fight (Sanji’s still getting used to it) when he glances at the boy’s back.
Zeff feels his heart nearly stop. Across Sanji’s back are angry red and pale slashes, crossing over each other in no discernable pattern. Zeff feels a rage come over him when he thinks that he got the marks from his fight today, but no–the marks have long since healed. Across the top of his back, between his shoulders, are numbers.
66 - 03
Slave markers . Zeff had recruited a few freed slaves back when he was captain of the Cook Pirates. There were many ways of marking slaves, be it numbers or symbols, most of them burned on similar to what the boy had. From the stories he’d heard, he can imagine quite vividly what Sanji would have gone through.
He’d known something had happened to the boy. The flinching and nightmares hadn’t come from nowhere, after all, though the little Eggplant probably thought that Zeff hadn’t noticed. He’s been trying to get the boy used to sudden head pats and loud yelling, and he thinks it’s actually helped him quite a lot. But knowing where that damage had come from is different from his previous vague assumption of “abuse”.
As the boy washes his hair, a thought enters Zeff’s head. Sanji isn’t self-conscious at all right now, easily showing his back to Zeff without a thought.
Usually the Eggplant is rather particular about his image. He won’t leave their cabin until his hair sits just so on his head, and all his clothing must be properly pressed and clean. It annoys Zeff, even though he finds himself shaking his head fondly often enough, but it doesn’t align with how nonchalant Sanji is acting.
“You got something on your back, Eggplant.” Zeff probes, voice calm.
Sanji turns his head as if to look. “There’s still mud? Dammit, I can’t reach back there…” He grabs a bath brush and begins scrubbing his back with it. After a moment he asks, “Did I get it?”
He doesn’t know it’s there , Zeff realizes, and his heart breaks just a little bit.
“Yeah, kid. You got it.”
***
It’s right after they start sailing away from Cocoyashi Village that Luffy falls off the side of the ship. Zoro’s eyes crack open from his meditation and gears himself up for a swim when the cook jumps in first.
Once Luffy is safely aboard, the cook is spitting curses and reprimands while their captain just laughs.
“Shitty piece of rubber! Another suit I have to wash from fishing you out of the ocean...” Sanji begins unbuttoning his dress shirt, muttering all the while. Zoro thinks the cook’s being a little dramatic, and if he’d waited a second someone else would’ve easily jumped in and saved him the effort. Well, maybe not Usopp. Or Nami. Probably just Zoro, except he’s still healing. Hm.
“Thanks, Sanji!” Luffy’s smile is bright and free, water dripping down his face from his sopping hair. He plops his hat on his head and opens his mouth to say more, when the cook turns around to wring out his shirt.
Zoro’s breath catches. And he can hear Nami gasp from where she’s adjusting some ropes. Usopp looks like he’s about to pass out, and Luffy’s hat covers his eyes.
Across the cook’s back are…cuts? Whip marks? Definitely not recent. And at the top of them is a brand, a series of numbers. They don’t mean anything to Zoro, though he’s heard of how people brand big groups of cattle to show ownership.
The thought makes him sick, and he feels a twinge of guilt at saying ‘scars on the back are a swordsman's shame’--but no, Sanji’s not a swordsman, and he wouldn’t want his crewmate to feel ashamed of these.
“Sanji,” Nami says, her hand over her mouth. “Your back…”
The cook twists around in surprise. “Yes, Nami-swan? Oh, is there something on there? I better not have some kind of starfish stuck on me.” He brings his hand to his back to feel for something.
It strikes Zoro as odd that he’s not acknowledging it. The cook is kind of prissy and careful with his appearance, so it would make sense for him to want to hide this, right? Not that Zoro thinks any less of him for it, or wouldn’t get angry at anyone who does. So why is the cook ignoring it?
“There’s nothing there.” Luffy says, his tone stony, eyes still in the shadow of his hat. Sanji gives him a confused look and shakes the last few drops from his shirt before moving to put it on again.
“Good. Well, I’ve gotta make lunch. Don’t fall into the water again until after we eat, got it?” He strides over to the galley and blows a kiss to Name before he enters.
The rest of the crew look at each other.
“Ummm,” Usopp begins. “So, uh, is Sanji okay? Because that looked a little messed up and he didn’t even–”
“He doesn’t know.” Luffy cuts him off. His head tilts up, and Zoro can finally see the steely glare his captain is wearing.
“He doesn’t know?!” Nami nearly screeches. “How could he not know? He was obviously there when it happened!”
Luffy just shrugs.
Usopp sits on the ground with a sigh. “Well, should we tell him?” Everyone looks to their captain.
Luffy looks conflicted, his face turning into the pout it always does when he’s thinking hard. “I don’t know.”
“We shouldn’t, right?” Nami speaks up. “I mean, you know how he is, he’d probably never take off his shirt again.”
“We’re crew,” Zoro says, “he’d be comfortable around us, and it’s not like we haven’t already seen it.”
“Well, if we do tell him, I won’t be the one to do it.” Usopp says. “I have I-can’t-tell-you-about-your-scars disease.”
“Guys, listen,” Nami snaps. “Sanji has never mentioned anything about his past that could explain those, and I doubt he ever will. I don’t want to dredge something up that he’s probably gladly forgotten about.”
Zoro would want to know, if it were his back, but he can see the logic. “The cook’s past is his own,” he agrees. “But if he asks, I’ll tell him.”
***
Dr. Kureha is in the middle of wrapping the blond boy’s torso when he wakes up. He seems a little sleepy still, until she explains where he is.
“My crew! I have to get back–!” He yelps when she presses down on his injured back.
“Your crew is fine, they’re in here somewhere. You ain’t moving until I finish patching you up though.” She pulls the bandage tighter. “You’ve got a brand new scar back here.”
His back was already a mess of them, all ragged and stark on his pale skin, especially the brand. She’ll have to tell Chopper about this if he ends up joining the ragtag group of pirates. Remind him on how to care for patients with PTSD and long-term injuries. She didn’t know if this boy had anything like that, but she’d bet money he did.
“Uhhh, I do? Well, I got it from saving Nami-swan, so I’ll wear it with pride!” He’s got hearts in his eyes now. Ah, young love.
“Good answer. I hope you wear all your scars with pride.” She says, probing.
He pauses, almost looking confused, then says, “Sure. I got most of them from fighting, and I always have a good reason when I fight.”
Hm. Obviously not the scars she meant, but that was his answer, she supposed.
***
Robin adores the Thousand Sunny. She loves the bright paint, the grass beneath her lounge chair, her library, and the jolly roger proudly displayed on their sail. Or maybe it’s not the ship she loves, but the people who reside on it.
She never dreamed she’d have people she’d call family again. That she’d finally be free.
Her introspection is interrupted by a pair of colorful cocktails being placed on the table beside her. Nami grabs at hers eagerly on the lawn chair beside Robin’s and takes a sip happily.
“Thank you, Cook-san.” She says to Sanji, who’s swooning over them, for once wearing a t-shirt and shorts in the sweltering heat.
“Of course, my sweet! Anything for goddesses such as yourselves–” He’s interrupted by a spray of water directed at his face. They all look to the source to see a smiling Luffy, holding a water gun, one of Franky’s inventions, no doubt.
“Sorry, Sanji! I was aiming for Usopp!” He says cheerfully.
Sanji, now sopping wet, turns red. “Usopp’s in the opposite direction, idiot!” He peels off his soaked shirt, and flings it at Luffy. It hit his face with a wet slap and he doubles over laughing, the shirt sliding off. One arm stretches out to drag Sanji towards him, who kicks his captain harmlessly in the head when Luffy tries to wrap his arms around him in a hug.
Robin smiles at the scene, completely content as she sips her drink. Her smile drops away when she notices the marks spread across the cook’s back, her mind halting as she tries to piece together what she’s seeing.
Nami is giving her a pinched and uncomfortable look, drawing a line across her mouth with a finger.
Don’t talk about it .
A sore subject, then. Her heart aches as she turns her gaze back to the two tussling, now dragging a protesting Usopp into the mix.
Sanji finally extracts himself. “I’ve got work to do, unlike a certain shitty captain!” He snaps, grabbing his forgotten shirt. He smiles and swoons over Robin and Nami on his way back to the galley, and throws an insult to a napping Zoro before closing the door.
Robin turns back to Nami, who looks upset.
“He doesn’t know,” she says, “and I don’t think we should tell him.”
“He doesn’t know?” Robin repeats. She supposed it made sense, in a sad way. Their cook, for how loud he could be, was reticent with his true emotions and thoughts. He wore a mask, but she’d never really thought to question it, too busy keeping hers up at the time.
With his walls up, she doubts he would so casually bare his scars to the crew, especially her and Nami. That is, if he knew about them.
The deck was suddenly silent. Luffy and Usopp share a glance before turning to her. Even Zoro had cracked an eye open, and Chopper, who’d been sitting in his lap, nervously twiddled his hooves.
“I see,” Robin says quietly.
“Do you know what it means? The numbers?” Nami asks, trepidation on her face.
“...They are very similar to the brands given to slaves, as identification or ownership.” Robin explains gently. “I’ve met quite a few escaped slaves, some of them still using their identifying numbers as their names. Usually they change them after escape or rescue, though some wear it as a badge of pride instead of shame.”
“Zero three,” Zoro says suddenly. “San-ji.”
Robin had already drawn the connection, but Usopp, Nami, and Chopper gasp.
“Sanji’s not a number,” Luffy growls. “He’s my cook!”
“I know that,” Robin says. “Though he was probably seen that way by whoever thought they owned him. The whip marks were from a common punishment for slaves acting out of line. I didn’t know the East Blue had any kind of slave culture.”
“I’ve never heard of one there either.” Zoro says.
“He’s from North Blue, actually.” Usopp corrects, scowl forming.
Chopper makes a questioning noise. “How did he cross the Red Line?”
They’re all quiet for a moment before Luffy speaks up. “Sanji’s past doesn’t matter, and he’s not owned by anybody anymore. He’s a Strawhat Pirate!”
Before anyone can respond to that, the galley door slams open, causing almost everyone to jump.
“Lunch is ready!” Sanji bellows.
And that was that.
***
Brook’s jaunty song is interrupted when Chopper’s fur catches fire. The crew had been having a makeshift bonfire on the lawn of the Sunny, roasting marshmallows for dessert after a dinner of pan fried chicken and linguine in a spinach, cheese, and tomato sauce. Delicious, despite Brook not having a tongue to taste it with! He’s still getting used to eating again, his time with his new crew still young.
Chopper had apparently gotten too close to the fire, though his screaming was more in alarm than pain. Panic took over the rest of the crew until Sanji swiftly tore off his dress shirt and patted the flames out. He then looked at the smudges on his ruined shirt and sighed, patting Chopper on the head.
“Be more careful next time, dummy. Let me roast your marshmallows from now on.”
Chopper looked at him with awe. “Really, Sanji? Thank you! And thanks for putting out my fur!”
“Sure.”
The whole crew calmed down after Sanji joined them in the grass and took up the roasting stick their doctor had been using.
From his position standing just behind him, Brook could clearly see the entirety of Sanji’s back, nearly stopping his heart, though he had no heart!
He’s shocked to see the old wounds, but his esteem for his crewmate rises all the more. To have such an awful past and still have the confidence to chase his dreams and wear his scars with pride. Why, it was enough to bring a skeleton to tears, though he had no eyes!
Brook placed his violin down and walked up to the bonfire, sitting in the grass in between Sanji and Usopp.
“You know, Sanji, I used to have a few ex-slaves as crewmates. I must say, it’s remarkable that you’re able to keep going despite having such a difficult past.” He said somberly. There was an immediate hush over the crew.
“‘The fuck are you talking about?” Sanji asks, his face twisted into an incredulous scowl.
“The scars? On your back?” Brook reminds him, glancing towards the rest of the crew, who all share a panicked look. Hm?
“I don’t have any scars on my back. I would have fucking known that!” Sanji snaps, eyes narrowed.
“He’s right, cook.” Zoro interrupts, eyes serious. “You have them.”
Sanji’s head whips towards him. “No I fucking don’t! What the hell?!”
Nami jumps up from her position across the bonfire. “I’ll be right back.” She says hurriedly, and races towards the ladies cabin. The cook ignores her, an indication of how upset he is, Book thinks.
“I bathe with you guys,” Sanji seethes, his arms wrapping around himself. “You would have fucking said. Franky? I don’t have any, right?”
Franky startles, his face panicked and guilty. “Uh, well, Robin told me not to–mph!” A hand sprouts up from his chest to cover his mouth.
Everyone’s gazes swing towards their archaeologist, who looks more troubled than Brook has ever seen her.
“Robin?” Sanji asks, voice breaking.
Suddenly, the women’s cabin door swings open, and Nami runs out and down the stairs, holding something in her hand. She reaches Sanji, kneeling beside him.
“Sanji,” She says gently, holding up a hand mirror. “Turn around, and look back at this, okay?”
Sanji swallows, and shakes his head. “I-I don’t want to. There’s nothing back there.”
Luffy, who’s had his eyes shadowed by his hair until now, looks up.
“Sanji.” He says simply.
Their cook looks over to him, quiet for a few moments. The crew is frozen where they are, until Sanji exhales and turns around. It’s another few seconds before he turns his head over his shoulder and looks .
As his eyes roam across the small mirror, his face falls blank. The only sounds are that of the crackling fire and the waves rocking the ship.
“I wasn’t a slave,” Sanji says suddenly, quietly. “I was a prisoner.”
He gets up from the grass shakily and heads towards the galley, closing the door quietly behind him.
The waves continue lapping at the hull, and Chopper’s marshmallow has long since burned in the fire.
Sanji is crouched on the pantry floor, the door firmly locked and the soft blanket he’d grabbed from the galley couch wrapped tightly around him. He runs his hands through his hair, heart pounding.
So. So, he…it—
God, he can’t even think . He smacks his hand against his head a few times.
“Fuck. Fuck !” He grabs at his hair, clenching his fists. This wasn’t real. This was some kind of prank everyone was playing on him. There was nothing back there.
Right?
He has to know.
He extracts one hand from his hair, and reaches behind him awkwardly. At first it was just skin, and then he feels a raised line. He traces it up until it intersects another raised scar, then another.
He snatches his hand back and tugs the blanket around him tighter, clenching his eyes shut.
His head spins. Where could he have gotten these from? All his half-forgotten memories are superimposing on his mind, flooding his thoughts.
Was it the time his brothers found an old whip in the armory? Was it the time they were all allowed to fight with real swords?
Was it the time his father found him in the kitchen at midnight and took off his belt–.
His memory whites out. Not worth remembering, then.
He doesn’t remember the pain. Though it must have been agonizing. Every hurt should have been seared into his mind, should have bored into him every day after. But it wasn’t. He was fine.
He does remember curling up, protecting his head, his chest. And now the results are painted on his back for all the world to see.
Why hadn’t anyone told him? Zeff surely knew. Hell, all the cooks on the Baratie probably knew. After work, he’d sometimes shuck off all but his boxers for a swim, coming up after to dry off and play cards with them, his back on full display. They’d never mentioned it, never treated him differently.
His eyes start tearing up. He misses them all so much.
They’d apparently all thought he’d been a slave. Because of the…the numbers?
He reaches a hand over his shoulder, feeling the tight skin there. 66 - 03.
Of course his father would fucking brand him. As far as he knew, Sanji belonged to Germa and always would.
He doesn’t remember getting the brand. Despite his memories from that time being a mess, he thinks he’d remember this. He must’ve been just a baby when he got it.
He was telling the truth when he told the crew that he’d been a prisoner. Even before he was locked away, the Germa Kingdom had always been a cage to him. A place he’d always wanted to escape from.
But he has his crew now. His crew, who’d never told him either. Who kept it a secret from him. Why?
Probably because they knew you’d shut yourself up in a pantry and panic, he thinks to himself.
Still, he can’t help the shame and betrayal he feels. He’d shown his girls his cowardice, he’d shown the men his weakness, his uselessness. His entire past.
But–no, it wasn’t his past. It didn’t show his time on the rock, the kindness he’d received from Zeff. It didn’t show his loving mother, or meeting Luffy and the rest of the crew. It didn’t show him growing up, growing strong enough to protect himself, strong enough to protect others.
It hardly showed his past at all.
And maybe the crew knew that. Maybe they knew that it didn’t matter, that in a way, it didn’t really have much to do with who he was at all. And maybe they also wanted to protect him, and he can understand that, but…
He doesn’t need protection anymore.
A loud knock shakes the pantry door. “Sanjiiii!” Luffy whines. “I’m hungryyyy!”
A small smile creeps up on Sanji’s face and he stands up, letting the blanket fall off his shoulders.
“Aye aye, captain.” He says, opening the door.