Chapter Text
Zoro snapped awake to the sharp crack of a stick breaking outside of his tent. He was awake immediately, eyes staring at the roof of the threadbare canvas. He tried to quiet his breath to listen to his surroundings, unsure if it had only been the normal movements of the forest surrounding him, or an intruder to his camp. As he stared into the blackness of his tent he heard a light, nervous whinny from outside, followed by the rustle of swift movement.
Zoro sighed quietly, rising from his bed roll and gently pushing the flap of the tent open with the tip of the six-gun he kept next to his head while he slept for scenarios such as this one. He glanced around, sharp eyes scanning the dark woods around him for any sign of movement. His gaze caught on the still glowing embers of the fire that he had used to cook dinner, skirting over to where Wado stood, her hoof beating the earth in clear anxiety from whatever was lurking in the shadows. Zoro pushed his way out of his tent, staying low to the ground and stepping softly to the horse’s side, both to comfort her and in case they would need to flee if they found themselves surrounded.
Zoro placed a soothing hand on Wado’s flank, listening to her huff in discomfort as he peaked over her back to try and find the source of the noise. A crescent moon hung in the sky, making it near impossible for even the most adept of eyes to pierce the thick blackness of the night, and leaving Zoro in paranoia of what could possibly be lying in wait for him in the shadows.
It was a beautiful night, considering. The nights were still not warm enough to sleep without a tent, the full effect of summer yet to develop. Because of this the humidity was low enough that the air felt fresh and rejuvenating in its crispness, a hint of warmth on its tail. The crickets and frogs were out in full, their songs spreading across the small clearing where Zoro had set his camp, as if they were intentionally harmonizing a blanket of noise for the comfort of whoever happened to be close enough to listen.
Regrettably, Zoro wasn’t able to yield to the nights comforting lull as his shoulders remained tensed and his senses alert to detect whatever had crossed into the boarder of his camp. He thought he had put enough distance between himself and the nearest towns to protect from a situation like this one, but clearly his faith in himself had been misplaced in this instance.
His head whipped around at the sound of another branch snapping under a heavy foot. The intruder was either ill-trained, or confident enough in their own aptitude to be careless. They were making more noise than Zoro ever would have, were their roles reversed. Zoro stared into the darkness where the sound had come from, eyes bouncing from indiscernible shadow to indiscernible shadow. He tracked the motion of the next swish of grass, eyes straining under the night for any sign of movement that would give him a greater clue than the detached noises that came at unpredictable moments from the edges of the tree line. He was starting to get the impression that he was being circled, as the next sound of brush being disturbed appeared some meters from where he had last tracked it.
Zoro inched around Wado, having gathered a good idea of the intruder’s pace. He felt confident that he knew where they were moving next, every crouched step he took towards his destination sure and silent. He kept his weathered pistol clutched to his hip, finger on the trigger and prepared for any sudden movement to provoke it. He slowed as he approached his chosen location to wait, figuring whoever was out there to be around thirty paces to his north. He waited silently, eyes trained on where he predicted the intruder to emerge from the shadows.
Just as he was starting to believe he had gotten it all wrong, and that there was nothing even out there, Zoro heard a deep growl emerge from the shadows right in the blind spot to his left, prompting him to whip around in surprise.
The next moments happened at lightning speed. Just as Zoro turned, raising his gun from his hip, a blur of peat brown moved towards him, his eyes meeting greenish yellow glowing orbs before a searing pain slashed across his chest, only dampened by the feel of his shoulder being pierced by a sharp hold.
Zoro let out a piercing cry, his head clearing of any thought as the adrenaline from the pain pushed his survival instincts to the forefront of his mind, his logic fleeing to safer depths while his survival instinct did its job. He grabbed on to the nape of the mass of fur, pulling it away from him as far as he could manage, his shoulder screaming in pain as the claws buried in his shoulder protested their movement. He could feel blood weeping from his opened chest, the wound deep since nothing had been there to protect him besides a thin cotton sleep shirt. The pain cleared his mind as he pushed the gun he was still holding into the soft flesh in front of his own chest, panicking the animal and causing it to lash out just as he pulled the trigger.
A shot echoed loudly in the clearing, just as a claw went ripping through the left side of Zoro’s face, turning his vision red as his own blood sprayed across his eyes, along with blood from the messy close range hole left by the bullet that had hit its intended mark. The large body slumped on top of him, dropping the entirety of its weight onto him as the life slipped from it. Zoro stood stock still, holding the body of the large cat in a satiric embrace as his brain rewired, working overtime to calibrate and communicate with his body to tell him that he was safe from outward danger now, but that he was injured.
He released a shuddered breath as he stood disbelieving of his own bad luck. He had had no chance against such a beast. Another human was one thing; equal ground at night even if the other had discovered him first, easy to read. But there was no way he could have competed with the tracking skills of a nocturnal predator in a situation like this.
Thank fuck for the adaptation of man, he thought snidely, staring down at the pistol in his hand. He was exhausted, the weight of disrupted sleep and worn off adrenaline making him feel ready to collapse where he stood. He swayed slightly, sudden wooziness making his head spin and prompting him to close his eyes.
It was the nervous whinny of Wado that finally pulled him from his daze some moments later. He opened his unmarred eye, staring down at his blood soaked shirt apathetically, turning around unsteadily and walking back into his campsite. He picked up a leftover log, throwing it on the dying embers in an attempt to reawaken the fire as he walked past, moving into his tent and pulling out the half assed first aid kit from his thankfully mostly still loaded pack. He opened it, hands shaking slightly as he pulled a needle and thread out, placing it back in its rightful place in his pack. He grabbed the bottle of brandy from next to his pillow as an afterthought, figuring he would probably be wanting some pain relief for what was about to come.
He stepped back in the clearing, happy to see the small licks of fire slowly crawling their way up the log in acceptance of his offering. He stumbled over to it, pushing the hand that was holding the needle into the fire with little regard for his own safety until the tip of it was red and the needle itself was nearly unbearable to hold. He pulled it back, uncorking the brandy and taking a long swig before tipping the bottle to pour over his chest, and then his eye, hissing as his body lit on fire from the contact of the alcohol. He quickly followed the alcohol with the rest of his drinking water, moving on to pull the thin thread through the eye of the needle.
It didn’t take Zoro very long to stitch himself up considering how long the gash on his chest was, but the feeling of each stitch forcing his disconnected skin back together gave Zoro a greater sense of dread. This wasn’t an injury he could just recover from, let alone the fact that he may be down an eye. As he pushed the needle through the last stitch at the top of his left collar bone, he made the decision to listen to the often ignored voice in his head advising him to be rational.
Zoro pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, discarding the now useless needle and leftover thread in the dirt, and downing the last few gulps of brandy left in the bottle. He stumbled over to the tent he knew he would be abandoning, pushing his hand in to grab his pack as well as his twin Winchester rifles, loading them onto Wado before he pulled himself up onto her back. He took the reins and together with a length of rope he kept on the saddle, tied himself as securely as he could to the white mare’s saddle.
“Alright girl, I’m leaving you in charge. Get me to the nearest doctor,” He grumbled, rubbing a hand against her jaw affectionately. Wado shook her head, pawing at the ground with a soft bray, clearly unhappy with the situation. Zoro, having kept conscious through resolve alone throughout everything that had happened, kicked Wado’s flank to get her moving, and then promptly lost consciousness, leaving his well-being in the hands of his trustworthy mare; his best friend.
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Zoro opened his eyes slowly, blinking as light flooded his retinas with painful overstimulation. He groaned, rubbing his hand over his face in an attempt to reset his eyes, feeling like his sight was far groggier than usual in its waking. His hand paused as his thumb hit textured ridges in his brow, his brain working to catch up with the foreign feeling on his face. He opened his eyes in surprise, only to find half of his vision was gray, and unseeing. He placed his hand back on his left cheek gingerly, tracing what he could now identify as stitches up through his left eye. His right eye widened slightly as the memories of the previous night came flooding back, realization hitting that there was no way that he was in a bed of his own making.
He sat up hurriedly, only to fall back down as pain seared through his entire torso, pulling his attention from his eye to his chest as he gasped in pain. He heard a squeak from somewhere to the left of the bed he lay in as he clutched at his chest. He struggled to breathe again after the air had been knocked out of him, his vision swimming from the tension in his head.
“Sir, you really ought not to move, you’re still in a real fragile state,” said a surprisingly high pitched voice unnervingly close to him. Zoro turned his head, needing to move so that his right eye had range of his left side. His eye widened comically as he came face to face with a worried looking kid, decked out like he was playing dress up as a doctor, a stethoscope draped around his neck, framing the white coat he wore that was clearly a size too large for him. His childish face, padded with unlost baby fat and only enhanced by a light smattering of freckles made him look even younger than he probably was, causing Zoro to more thoroughly wonder where the hell he was,
“Who th’fuck are you,” He rasped, clearing his throat before he spoke again, “where the hell am I?” The child giggled in response, sitting down on a stool next to his bed and grabbing a bound book from the table next to his bed.
“My name’s Tony. Tony Chopper, and you’re in the hospital. You, or your horse, I guess, found your way to Honeycutt, and you were brought here immediately. I’ve been your doctor during your stay,” The kid, Dr. Chopper, said jovially, kicking his small legs like he was reciting a fun story to a parent. Zoro stared at him, disbelieving, before trying to sit up again.
“I gotta’… I gotta’ go. Gotta’ get out ‘f here,” he muttered, throwing the blanket that had been wrapped around him to the side.
“Sir, please do not get up, you are in no condition to be moving right now!” Chopper yelled, going ignored by Zoro as he tried to stand. He quickly discovered that the kid was right about him not being ready to get up, as his legs buckled underneath him the minute he placed any weight on them, causing him to topple to the floor.
Tony yelled someone’s name, running to the door to make himself better heard as Zoro braced himself by his arms where he lay on the floor, sight tunneling from the strain, and body shaking in disbelief of how weak he felt. His ears rang as he processed movement out of the corner of his vision, a pair of sandaled feet walking up to stand in front of him. He felt a pair of hands pick him up by the arm, tugging him up until he was once again sitting on the bed. He felt caged, shivering lightly as his skin turned clammy and his head swam. He looked up to the man that had lifted him up, finding a friendly and handsome looking middle aged man with bored eyes looking down at him in passive amusement.
“Best to listen to your doctor there, partner.” He said, a deep drawl giving Zoro the impression that it wasn’t as much a suggestion as it was an order. He glanced over at the smaller doctor, and then back at the blonde man, trying to read recognition in either of their eyes.
“Listen, I don’t care what you’re running from, kid, you were out for eight whole days. Your body is gonna’ need a bit to recover from that, you’re lucky to be alive,” the older doctor said, pushing his shoulder so that Zoro fell back into the bed, his head hitting the pillow with more force than he would have liked.
Eight days? He had been asleep for eight days? How was that possible? His eye flicked back to the blonde, searching for answers in his apathetic eyes.
“Where’s my horse,” He asked suddenly, starting to raise himself from where he lay again at the realization. A strong hand held him down, pushing him back onto the bed.
“She’s fine. Bein’ looked after by our sheriff in fact. They took a liking to each other.” The man drawled lazily. Zoro’s eyes widened at the mention of the law, fear gripping him again knowing that there was a presence in the town he found himself unwilling prisoner to.
“How long do I gotta stay here?” Zoro asked, finally taking time to look around the room he had apparently spent nearly a fortnight in. It was a drab space, feeling more like a half built shack than any hospital Zoro had ever seen before. The beds and medical equipment were the only redeeming part of the space, all seeming acceptably sanitary despite the dusty filth of their environment.
There were two windows on the wall his bed was facing, both too high for Zoro to get a good view of whatever lay outside from the vantage point of the bed he rested on, but wide enough to allow plenty of natural light into the room, helping him to orient himself to the time of day and weather. To his left there was one large desk covered in unorganized papers and half empty bottles of labeled liquids, which he assumed was the young doctor’s desk. There was one door in the room to the right of the desk, the rest of the walls empty besides the two windows. That meant he only had three exit options, two significantly more difficult to maneuver than the last, especially while injured like Zoro was.
The cornered feeling that had begun to fester in the recesses of his mind doubled in ferocity at the realization that he was truly trapped in the dingy room, left to the whim of the medical abilities of a child and a man who clearly knew that there was money on his head.
“You should remain with us for at least two more weeks, but you will be able to start to move around the building, and even our town, within that time,” The kid said, his voice still friendly. Zoro stared at him, his mind racing as he tried to think of how best to plan his escape. He knew he should wait some time to allow himself to heal like the doctors had told him, however for someone like him, lasting long in one area was a sure way to get a hand held walk to the nearest gallows. He needed to start rebuilding his strength immediately. As soon as he was able to walk comfortably again he would find Wado and ride as far from this town as he could.
As if on command, his stomach growled angrily, a sorry reminder of the malnutrition his body must be experiencing after spending so long bed ridden and asleep.
“Y’all got any grub around here?” Zoro asked, trying to act indifferent despite the teeth of hunger gnawing at his stomach. The bored doctor showed his first emotion outside of apathy, a sly grin sliding onto his face at the mention of food. Zoro cocked a brow, confused by the reaction to such a simple request.
“Ah yes, I suppose you might need something besides broth. Chopper here will go talk to the towns chef to get you something. He’ll be willing to give you food, has a soft spot for folks who haven’t had a good meal in a while. And you’re a special case, seeing’s you showed up in front of his home half alive and all.” The doctor smirked, leaning back in his chair as Chopper shot up from his stool and scampered out of the room. Zoro was curious to see the man who had found him, picturing what a typical chef looked like back in his hometown and laughing at the image of someone like that carrying him like a bride to the hospital in the middle of the night, a balding, squat man barely able to hold a sack of flour carrying his large frame would have been a rare sight.
“Well, while we wait for Chopper I’m sure you’ve got lots of questions. I’ll tell you a bit about where you are and then you can ask me about whatever’s been eatin’ you up since you woke.” Zoro nodded as the doctor spoke, his attention tied to the door as the older man continued to speak.
“Well, first off, name’s Marco. You’re in a small settlement called Honeycutt, I’m guessing you at least know you’re in Northwest Wyoming. Honeycutt’s not a typical burg, more so buildings full of vagabonds which all ended up in the same place one way or another, give or take a little organization. There had been a mining town here before, abandoned when the gold dried up. No one for miles now ‘sides the sad sacks who wash up every few months.” Marco gave Zoro a pointed look at that.
“We don’t have much involvement with the outside world, ‘sides our only neighbors; small band of Arapaho bit South of here that cycle through every few months, and who we trade with on occasion. My point there is that we don’t let any law besides what we’ve got established ourselves round here, and he’s too focused on makin’ sure everyone loves thy neighbor to go bounty huntin’.” Marco leaned back, crossing his arms against his chest as he finished his speech, a knowing smirk on his lip. Zoro felt his shoulders relax at his last sentence, feeling settled despite his apprehension,
“He? There’s only the one sheriff?” Zoro clarified, pushing himself up slightly in the bed with a pained groan.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can just do what you will, we all uphold some ethic within town borders. There’s less than a hundred folks ‘round here, so we don’t need mor’n the one.” Marco said, leaning his chair to balance on its back two legs, clear boredom written on his face, “doubt you’ll even stay long enough to find out, with the way you were just rarin’ at the bit.”
Zoro hummed in agreement, relieved that his horrible situation had resolved the way it did. Seemed like he had ended up in about the only place in the greater West where he might not be hung for being laid up more than a day. His own luck continued to astound him, narrowly escaping threat after threat despite getting himself in continuously worse situations. He glanced down at his bare chest, frowning at the ugly gash down his chest that was responsible for keeping him bedridden. At least it would heal into a formidable scar. Maybe he would start wearing his shirt undone to scare anyone thinking of crossing him in the future. Could be fun.
He pressed a soft hand to his sewn eye, following the seam of it down to where he felt it end in the middle of his cheek.
“You got a mirror?” He asked Marco, who had turned around to the desk behind him while Zoro had been in his own head. Marco glanced at him over his shoulder, smirking as his hand reached into a drawer.
“Didn’t peg you a vain man,” Marco quipped, handing the shard of mirror to Zoro and watching as he held it up to himself.
“I’ve been known to stay groomed,” Zoro said as he looked into the small fragment of mirror. The image presented to him silenced any words left for the doctor, as he took in his haggard appearance. He barely recognized himself, feeling as if he were looking in at another person, rather than himself. The beginning of a beard was patch worked across his face, clumps of coarse hair making him look older than he was. His face was gaunter than he had ever seen it, and upon second look so was the rest of his body. Skin, usually knotted with corded muscle, was looser and softer in appearance, his eyes appearing sunken and dark, and his cheekbones protruded heavily. He was paler than he had ever seen himself, normally sun tanned skin turning waxy pale from malnutrition and injury, only making his newest scars stand out all the more, the shiny pinkness of the newly healing skin saturated against their pale canvas.
“Christ,” he whispered to himself, turning his cheek to finally take in his closed eye, brushing his hand to pull at the skin surrounding the laceration. The doctor hummed in understanding next to him, reminding Zoro that he wasn’t alone in the room.
“There any of it left?” He asked, glancing over at Marco as he rubbed the hair on his cheek, trying to come to terms with the new body that he found himself in.
“Sorry to say, it’s fully gone. You’re very lucky to be alive. Who stitched you up before you found your way here?” Marco asked curiously, brushing over the loss of half of Zoro’s range of vision. Zoro scowled, confused by the question.
“It was just me.” Marco’s eyes widened at his admittance, the doctor looking the most unsure that Zoro had seen him in the hours that he had been awake. Marco didn’t have a chance to fully react, however, as the door burst open as Chopper scampered in to the room, empty handed. Zoro felt a wrench of disappointment from his empty stomach, until he saw a long leg step through the door where the small doctor had just stood.
“Got some chow for y’all,” a deep, smooth voice said, pulling Zoro’s attention from the floor to take in the stranger in the doorway. His eye followed the long leg up to a deliciously tapered waist, accentuated by the fit of the cream colored linen suit the man wore. Despite his overall leaner frame, he still had a wide chest, and strong shoulders that spoke of a hidden durability. Eyes reaching a long, pale neck had Zoro starting to believe that this man’s face must be ugly as a mud fence to permit a body like that.
He couldn’t have been more wrong. A sharp jaw with a well-shaped scruff of a beard framed what had to be one of the most beautiful faces Zoro had ever seen. Thin, but pouty rose colored lips were pursed around a cigarette. His nose softened the rest of his sharp features, small and unimposing where it sat in the middle of his face. A flop of yellow hair rested messily around his face and over his right eye, pressed down by the matching cream Stetson he wore to compliment his suit. He had a strange curl to his eyebrows that seemed to be the universes foolish attempt to provide the man with a flaw, failing miserably as it only created an interest to his face that garnered greater attention to his striking features.
And his eyes, oh, his eyes were like the first signs of a hurricane back in Zoro’s birth town. Crystal blue and sparkling, with a ring of gray bordering his pupils that promised ferocity and viciousness when provoked. He had eyes that would put the glacial lakes of the north to shame. They could bring any man or woman to their knees in worship just for the opportunity to look on the glimpse of the heavens.
Zoro was slack jawed in awe as he took in the newcomer, his heart beat increasing twofold and his ears ringing as the stranger walked to his bedside, his eyes studying Zoro in a similar fashion as he approached. Zoro was suddenly very conscious of his lack of clothing under the thin sheet he had pooled at his waist, feeling vulnerable to the analytical look from the handsome stranger. He glanced up, seeing the blonde’s mouth moving and realizing that he was ignoring whatever words were being exchanged between the other three.
“So is he weak north of the ears?” the blonde asked, glancing at Marco with a look of off put confusion.
“Can’t tell yet. He’s said less than thirty words since he woke up,” Marco responded, looking over at the bed. Zoro’s brow scrunched as he tried to catch up with the conversation, starting to think they were talking about him.
“I’m not stupid,” he barked, his face set in an ugly scowl as he readjusted the sheets around his waist to sit a little higher. He heard Marco laugh to his left, glancing at him to see the doctor watching him with a glint of understanding in his eyes that made Zoro wary.
The sudden presence of an object being thrust in front of his eye drew his attention from the increasingly irritating doctor, his one eye doing its best to refocus to the sudden presence of something in such close range. He slowly realized it was a bowl full of food, and he reached out to take it from the offering hand. It was a delicious smelling stew, with what Zoro suspected to be either beef or venison in abundance. His stomach growled loudly at the smell, giving away just how desperate his body was for protein.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, barely acknowledging the man in front of him in favor of shoveling the stew into his mouth. The man huffed in laughter as he brought the spoon to his mouth, staying leaned in towards Zoro as if he were observing a caged animal.
As soon as the first bite of food touched his tongue, Zoro forgot anyone else was in the room, groaning and leaning back at the pleasure of something as simple as eating after so long. Even before he was injured, eating was just another aspect of survival. It was unfortunately rare that Zoro ever got to eat anything besides the shitty dried beans and rice that he carried with him. Sometimes he would get lucky and happen upon a river, or use some energy to hunt, but he was no cook so whatever was made from the meat was barely passable as a dish, usually unseasoned and overcooked. Sometimes finding a blueberry patch felt more valuable than striking gold to him.
So, to have a warm meal cooked by someone meant to be cooking it, well, it pleased Zoro more than he could say. He took another large bite, savoring the taste that he could only describe as comfort as it enveloped the buds of his tongue in a warm embrace, sliding down his throat and warming his belly.
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, glancing up at the blonde man in front of him, “fuck, this’s good,”
The blonde’s face turned a pretty scarlet at his words, his eyes wide and his mouth pinched in discomfort, his gaze flicking down to Zoro’s lips, then his naked torso. Zoro tracked the movement of his eyes, smirking slightly at the other’s obvious interest and growing much bolder than he had been no more than ten minutes’ prior.
“Enjoyin’ the view, Cookie?” he growled, leaning back so that what was left of his muscular torso was on full display for the handsome man.
“You mean the bag of bones on a sickbed in front of me? Hardly.” The blonde took a slow drag of the cigarette in his hand before continuing, “Also, I’m a chef.” The chef said, his nose rising in the air slightly in haughty contempt.
Ah, Zoro thought to himself, there’s the flaw. Must be his entire personality. He frowned in slight disappointment, the quiet hope that this wouldn’t be the most boring two weeks of his life lying stabbed into the floor of the sad excuse for a hospital.
“Hm, prissy cook, then. Fine.” Zoro said, returning to the bowl of food he still held, taking another large bite and groaning at the flavor, surprised that the second bite tasted just as good as the first, despite his hunger starting to be abated. He wolfed down a few more bites while the blonde’s face moved through a few different reactions to the new nicknames he was receiving from the bedridden man in front of him.
“Pretty sure food from just a ‘prissy cook’ doesn’t make a grown man moan like that. Then again you’re just some shitty washed up seaweed, so maybe you’re an exception,” The cook snarked back, a snarled smile on his face as a deep blush spread across Zoro’s face. His mind, dreary from days unconscious with little nutrients, was racing to keep up with the back and forth between the two of them. He had never been challenged so quickly by a stranger in his life, and it made adrenaline rush through his system, an unfamiliar spark of puppy-like excitement was doing laps through his chest from their verbal spar. He wanted nothing more than to jump up from his bed and get in the face of this blonde, but was held back by his state of dress and his body’s weakness.
“That’s the most words we’ve gotten out of the fellow since he’s woken. Why don’t you sit down and join us for dinner, Mr. Black-leg? Help him open up a bit more,” Marco interrupted Zoro’s thoughts, pulling another chair out from the far wall for the blonde to sit in. Zoro watched as the cook turned from him to sit beside the doctor, taking the extra bowl that was handed to him as he sat.
“This was for Law, is he not in?” The blonde asked quizzically, glancing between Chopper and Marco while he held the bowl at arm’s length. Marco shook his head, pushing the bowl back to him.
“Naw, he’s out on a call. Mrs. Perosh is due any day now.” The blonde hummed his understanding as he took a bite of his own food, listening to the doctors talk about how hard child birth was, and how busy their little hospital has been lately. It was a conversation not concerning Zoro, and as they spoke next to him he felt his eyelids grow heavy from exhaustion now that his belly was full and that he knew that he was safe enough.
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Someone was shaking his shoulder. He had thought it had been someone in his dream at first, in which he had been back on the ranch that he had grown up on, but he had realized that no one was behind him when he had turned around to look. As he looked forward again, a familiar flop of black hair shot past him, completely distracting him from any feeling of wrongness. He chased after the other, laughing as he slowly gained ground, dodging haystacks and pitchforks, running underneath wagons, following the airy giggle of his closest friend.
Zoro saw his opportunity when his friend stumbled, tripping next to a haystack and rolling over a few times before she could catch herself. He jumped around the side of the haystack, doubling his efforts to run fast as he roared a war cry, jumping on top of his friend in victory.
“Gotcha!” He exclaimed, looking down on her with a giggle and a broad smile on his face. That smile melted away the second his eyes met where hers should have been. Instead he was met with the gaping openness of a skull’s black eyes, mouth screwed in a morbid smile, and eye sockets blacker than the deepest midnight as they seemed to beckon Zoro nearer, taking in all the light nearby and crushing it into their oppressive depths. Zoro followed the compulsion to lean in, bending over the smiling skull in an attempt to peer into its abyss, sure that he was supposed to find something there.
“I’m dead!” The skull screamed in his friend’s voice, startling Zoro in its surprise. He jerked away from the skull in fear as it began laughing in a corrupted version of her laugh, light and airy still, but wrong somehow. Too slow. Too emotionless.
Zoro had been surprised enough that he had fallen backwards off of the body. He closed his eyes, preparing for the impact of his head against the rocky field, only for it to never come.
He opened his eyes again, his friends name on his lips as he came face to face with piercing blue, he shot up from where he was laying, smacking his head painfully against something in front of him. He fell back to the bed at the impact, holding his forehead and groaning in pain, trying to figure out where he was and what he had hit.
“God damn!” Zoro glanced to his left at the exclamation, finding a gorgeous blonde man next to him holding his forehead with a free hand, while the other held a bowl of something indiscernible in the other.
Cook, his brain helpfully supplied, as the rest of what had happened before he had passed out came slowly back.
“Sorry,” he mumbled hoarsely, still rubbing his own forehead in discomfort as the blonde continued cussing next to him.
“You’ve got one hard fuckin’ cranium,” the blonde griped, walking back over to Zoro’s bedside and holding out the bowl in his hand, “breakfast,” he said as way of explanation as Zoro took the bowl from him with soft thanks.
“’s mornin’ already?” Zoro asked, mouth full of the food that he had been handed.
“Manners, you grass stain,” the blonde complained, “yes, it’s morning. You slept awhile again. Had to wake you to make sure you hadn’t keeled over in your sleep.”
Zoro grunted in acknowledgment, ignoring the new nickname in favor of eating the delicious food in his hands. Something he would normally refer to as gruel suddenly deserved a nicer name. Oatmeal, porridge, anything to acknowledge the flavor that the normally tasteless food carried.
“So, what’s the yarn behind you turning into Frankenstein’s monster?” the blonde asked, pulling one of the three empty chairs up to the side of the bed and crossing his leg over his opposite knee. Zoro glanced up at the blonde, unsure of what he had done to request company, but preferring the blonde to the weird doctors.
“Cougar surprised me,” Zoro mumbled before taking another bite of his food.
“You got that torn up by a cat?” The blonde chuckled, making Zoro side eye him with a pout.
“It was a big fucking cat.” The blonde laughed outright at that, slapping his knee at Zoro’s admittance.
“Why the hell were you out in the middle of the woods anyways, you among the willows or somethin’?” The blonde leaned forward in curiosity, a spark in his eye that Zoro recognized. This guy clearly had an adventurers spirit, but had never got to use it.
“Yeah, you could say that.” Zoro grinned, “D’ya not recognize me?”
“Pretty damn presumptuous to assume that I would,” the blonde scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair. Zoro’s eyes widened in slight surprise at the blonde’s denial.
“Y’all don’t get bounty posters ‘round here?” Zoro asked, unable to prevent the disbelief in his voice. The blonde quirked a brow, shaking his head in the negative much to Zoro’s surprise.
“Nah. Did Marco not explain our town to you at all? I was sure he would’ve,” the blonde frowned, a cute wrinkle appearing between his brows.
“Hm, well, m’name’s Zoro Roronoa.” Zoro said, figuring that would be enough to trigger some recognition for the blonde.
“Sanji,” the blonde said in response, tipping his hat in greeting. Zoro frowned, not understanding what the cook had just said but guessing that it was some colloquial of greeting that he wasn’t familiar with.
“Word around town is you’re the one who happened upon me?” Zoro asked, awkwardly changing the subject to something he still felt he needed information on. The blonde seemed taken aback at first, eyes flashing as he processed the change of subject.
“Oh… yes. I s’pose I was. But it was more like you found me. Or at least your poor mare did, can’t believe you just rode her through the night like that.” Zoro perked at the mention of his horse, putting down his bowl to make full eye contact with the blonde.
“Where is she,” he asked seriously, his face dead serious and his eyes burning. The cook laughed at him, leaning back into his chair and tapping his foot to a silent beat.
“She’s with Ace, she’s bein’ looked after real good, don’t you worry. Would’ve kept her at mine but I live a bit far from town and we figured you’d be leaving, or six inches under soon enough. She had to be treated herself though, I swear she was near baked when you two pulled up. That’s how Ace and her met, he’s got the useless title of Sheriff here, but happens to know how to care for a horse damn well, too.”
The cook didn’t stop there, he pointed to Zoro’s chest with the toe of his foot and continued his short rant.
“That was gruesome as all hell when you showed up on my doorstep. Infection was already clear, even around the disgusting amount of blood everywhere. Thought there was no real point in bringing you all the way here, but figured I’d let fate decide to save my own conscious. I can tell you you’re one lucky sonofabitch. You really sew that up yourself?”
Zoro put his hand to his chest unconsciously, feeling the bumpy flesh that had been permanently marred by his uncertain hand.
“Yeah, knew I wouldn’t live without taking care of it to some extent. I’ve survived hell and high water, this ain’t nothin different.” Zoro muttered, lifting his hand to his eye, “this sucks, though. Gonna have to relearn how to shoot.”
“Wouldn’t think a head as moldy as yours capable of finer crafts like sewing. Must have a lot of grit,” the cook muttered, pulling a pack of papers and tobacco pouch from his breast pocket, “y’mind?”
Zoro shook his head, unsure of how to respond to a compliment from a man he had only known to be brazen and catty in the few hours that he had known him. The blonde set about rolling a cigarette for himself, deft fingers setting the tobacco and fixing the paper with practiced ease. Zoro’s eyes stayed on the other as he worked, finding a strange comfort and enjoyment in watching him. It felt enjoyable, in a domestic, easy sort of way.
The thought made Zoro snap his eyes away, staring out of the window across from his bed instead, watching as the few birds that had remained through the winter flitted in the air outside, the windowpane creating a dreamlike separation between him and the living world. It felt like none of the past day was real, as the sun flowing in the window caught on dust particles and small insects floating down from the aged rafters, while he lay stuck in a bed that was too comfortable and agonizingly torturous at the same time. His near dream man sitting next to him like a nurse at his bedside.
The smell of a sweet tobacco dragged his attention back to the man next to him, their eyes meeting as Zoro caught the blonde giving him an appreciative stare while he sucked a lungful of smoke from the small stick in his hand, his cheeks caving inwards and enhancing the sharpness of his cheekbones as he inhaled. Their eye contact remained, unbroken as the cook lifted his head slightly to blow the smoke towards the rafters. Zoro could feel his groin twitch at the move, enjoying the charged moment between the two of them, and the sight of the man with a cigarette between his lips. He raised his arms, pillowing them behind his head so that the muscles of his arms were on full display.
“So, why are you still at my bedside, uh, Cook?” He asked, throwing the nickname in as he realized that he still had no idea what this man’s name was. He could have sworn that Marco had mentioned it at some point, but for the life of him he couldn’t recall what it was. His question seemed to be enough of a distraction to hide the small mess up if the way that the blonde almost choked on his cigarette was any indication.
“I’m just here to make sure that the grass doesn’t wilt away while Chopper gets some much needed sleep. Little guy’s been high tailing it around this place keeping you away from deaths door for days now while you slept like a lazy cat. He needs the rest, and apparently, you need the supervision.” The blonde said as he recovered from his brief break, taking another long drag from his cigarette, “I’ll be in and out the next couple of days to bring you food and help keep your wound clean. You’ll need it bandaged before you fall asleep again, they were just letting them air for a bit when you woke up.”
Zoro grinned, lifting a hand to gesture at his abdomen.
“Go crazy,” he said, enjoying the way the blonde frowned at his words, visibly chewing on the cigarette between his teeth while he gathered what he would need to bandage Zoro. Once he had what he needed, he returned to Zoro’s side, spreading a cool ointment down the pink cut bisecting his chest, and then onto his eye, his hands rougher than Zoro had expected from such a refined looking man.
“Can’t wait until you’re well enough to do this yourself so I don’t have to touch salty ass seaweed again,” said the blonde as he gently wrapped bandages around Zoro’s torso, directing him to sit and move how he needed. Zoro huffed in amusement, enjoying the light touches despite the cook’s scathing words.
“Don’t act like you aren’t enjoying every moment, Curly,” he muttered, glancing to the side as he spoke. The touches paused, the blonde’s fingertips rested against his ribs where he held the end of the gauze.
“Curly? Mr. Roronoa, did you forget my name already?” he asked, pressing a little harder into Zoro’s rib, until Zoro grunted lightly from the pressure.
“No,” he groused, his tone more than likely giving away the truth, “I know your name, just think my names fit you better.”
The cook laughed under his breath as he finished pinning the gauze to itself to secure it to his chest, moving away once he was done.
“Well, either way I’ll see you in the evening for supper. If you need anything, well I guess you can scream and hope someone hears you.” He said, a big grin spreading across his face as he waved goodbye to Zoro, “try and remember my name by tonight, outlaw, and I’ll consider helping you out with your shooting.”
With that, the blonde disappeared through the door with a wink, leaving Zoro alone with his thoughts for the first time in days.