Chapter Text
There were two things that Sanji noticed almost immediately upon blinking himself back into consciousness. The first of which being, that he had a violently fierce headache, and the second, that he couldn’t see a damn thing. He panicked initially, fearing that the two things were correlated, until he began to make out vague shapes around the room. He also came to the unfortunate realization that he was restrained as he made to stand up.
Sanji instinctively tried to kick himself free but nothing happened. He remained exactly in the same place he’d been, legs still and unmoving. A cold shudder of dread shivered down the blond’s spine as he realized he was not able to move anything from his waist down. He felt completely numb, void of any feeling or potential pain. Nearly the exact opposite was true for the other half of him. Sanji’s upper body ached deeply and he was sure his legs would be just as worse off–if he was able to feel them.
Sanji struggled to remember where he was and how he had gotten there, ultimately coming up with nothing. His memory was fuzzy and he was having trouble focusing. He reckoned if there were more light available his vision would be patchy as well. His ears were ringing and he could feel something warm trickling down the side of his aching neck. If he was still bleeding, it couldn’t have been long since he was hit: maybe a half an hour, if that.
There was no breeze whispering across his sweaty skin, so he had to be inside somewhere. The room had no windows for the moon or sunlight to stream through, at least not that the blond was able to discern.
He bit at the inside of his cheek nervously. The situation was–all things considered–not good. He’d been in worse circumstances before, but this time seemed particularly dreadful.
Sanji shook back his hair as best as he could and squinted down at the chair he was confined to. He gave an experimental tug with his arms and found that they were both tightly strapped down with something that sharpened and dug into his skin the more he struggled. He hissed through his teeth at the pain and tried to steady himself with a deep breath. He just had to endure this, wait for an opportunity to escape, and then he could get back to sailing with his crew.
As the thought came across his mind, Sanji straightened up in the chair and his eyes went wide. His nakama! How could he have forgotten? He must have gotten hit on the head pretty damn hard. If Luffy and the others were here somewhere, surely one of them would be able to break out. Sanji just had to do whatever he was able and everyone would get out okay. If only he could remember how he’d gotten into this mess.
As his eyes acclimated more, Sanji was able to tell he was indeed inside in some sort of cell. There were no other people around, not much of anything, really. Just a big empty space with his chair smack dab in the center.
He should be able to get enough momentum with his upper half to make the chair topple but what then? Getting his arms free would render them torn to shit and with his legs like this, he was in no condition to walk–let alone fight. He’d have to crawl, dragging his legs behind himself, and potentially messing up his hands. That wasn’t an option–but what was the alternative?
Time passed, Sanji couldn’t be sure but it felt like hours. He swallowed dryly and nervously pressed his cracked lips together. How long had it been since he’d had something to drink–his stomach growled painfully–or eat?
Sanji’s eyelids were heavy and he was beginning to feel nauseous from the persistent pounding of his head, not to mention the blood he had and still was losing. By now, his dress shirt was surely ruined beyond repair, if it hadn’t already been torn up during whatever altercation he’d been a part of earlier. It was too dark to see the full extent of the damage.
He was now having trouble keeping himself conscious, but as much as he tried he was unable to prevent his eyes from fully weighing shut.
The next thing he knew, Sanji was being slapped harshly across his mouth. “Wake up, Black Leg!” an unfamiliar voice growled. “That’s enough beauty sleep.”
Sanji squinted and spat out blood before responding, his voice coming out raspy. “Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” He wasn’t able to make out much other than the new figure was broad, tall and male. That didn’t exactly narrow down the options. A marine? Another pirate? Sanji couldn’t tell.
A harsh laugh came in response, and then, “I think I’ll be the one asking the questions here.” There was a brief pause as the man lit up a cigar, faintly illuminating his face. It was scarred and rough, though still unfamiliar. He let out a puff of smoke. God, what Sanji would give for a cigarette. “Where is Straw Hat?”
Sanji blinked. Had he not been with his nakama when he was taken? If this man didn’t know where Luffy was, then what the hell had happened? He faintly recalled fighting back to back with Zoro, but the cook couldn’t be sure he wasn’t just remembering another skirmish. He desperately hoped that everyone was safe and that he was the only one that had been stupid enough to be caught.
“Like I’d tell you,” Sanji sneered, finding it best to err on the side of caution and pretend that he was in better shape than he actually was.
The man started laughing again, much to the cook’s dismay. “Well, alright, if you want to play that game…” The man’s footsteps began to fade away along with his voice and Sanji’s gut churned uncomfortably, from hunger or nerves, he wasn’t sure which. It felt like he was on the edge of something big here; something bad. There was no way Sanji was going to get off this easily. The man was planning something.
It didn’t take long for the footsteps to return and this time they were accompanied by another set. A light suddenly shone in his face, so bright that Sanji was sickened by it.
“Let us see if this will have you talking,” a new voice drawled, feminine with a thick Russian accent.
Sanji gulped as his eyelids began fluttering rapidly, trying to adjust to the near instantaneous drastic change in lighting.
Unfortunately, the woman was lovely, as most tended to be. Her hair was long and silken black–similar to Robin-chan’s–and her lips were a full and plush pink, though they pulled down into a scowl as their eyes met. Her hooded eyes blinked down at him and he found himself smiling goofily in the face of such gorgeousness.
“Hello, mademoiselle,” Sanji simpered, unable to resist the temptation even in the face of potential danger.
The woman laughed airily and pinched at his cheek. Her fingers were cold and firm against his skin. “What a lively thing,” she remarked to her companion.
“Let’s not forget why we’re here,” said the man, “though it is interesting to see that Black Leg seems to be more cordial towards you, Svetlana.”
Sanji ignored the man entirely, focusing all his energy on the vision of beauty before him. “What a positively perfect name for a goddess such as yourself!”
The woman, Svetlana, laughed again and, woefully, moved out of his sight. The man behind her, however, was quite unattractive. His skin was peaked and mottled, more scar tissue than unmarred flesh. Sanji grimaced.
Neither of them were dressed in the white getup that marines typically wore. Sanji’s best guess was that they were pirates as well. What could they be after Luffy for? Sanji didn’t recognize them, but Luffy had a funny way of making enemies out of people he’d never even met–and it wasn’t like their crew wasn’t infamous for making news headlines. The better question was: what weren’t people after Luffy for?
The man sneered. “Let’s not waste anymore time, now,” he dragged another chair over and sat down across from Sanji, “I have some questions for you, and you have some answers for me.”
“Like I said, I have nothing to say to you,” Sanji replied, setting his face.
“Alright.” The man brought up one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. He nodded behind Sanji to where Svetlana undoubtedly stood. “Let’s give the man some encouragement then, shall we?”
Svetlana came back around Sanji’s side and handed the man a pair of needle-nose pliers. During the process, her curtain of inky hair swayed past the cook’s face. She smelled wonderful, like spices and herbs–could she be a fellow chef? Sanji swooned.
“Thank you, dear,” the man said before turning to look Sanji dead in the eye. “You don’t want to do this the easy way and talk? No problem,” his eyes narrowed and his smile turned thin and cruel, “I’ll make you.”
Svetlana’s hands came down unnaturally quick, like shackles of titanium upon his wrists, anchoring him in place. Something about her touch felt decisively wrong. Her grip was cold and unforgiving, none of the usual warmth human skin held was present through the material of his shirt sleeves.
“Hold still,” she purred into his ear. “Or don’t. It is all same to us.”
Sanji’s heart began to jackrabbit in his chest as the man took hold of his left thumbnail with the pliers. His eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen. Fuck .
“Let’s see if this loosens your tongue any,” the man said before slowly beginning to pry Sanji’s nail out of his nail bed.
Sanji’s eyes watered from the intense pain, it was awful, highly concentrated and, oh god it hurt. It hurt like hell, but he was determined to stay stoic for as long as he could.
When it finally came free from his thumb, the man let it fall unceremoniously to the ground.
“You like that, Black Leg?” he laughed darkly. “Ready for another?”
Sanji set his jaw and curled his lip, refusing to respond. He wasn’t going to make it easy for them to get any more satisfaction out of this.
“More fun for me! Have it your way!” He set to work on each of Sanji’s fingers and by the time he had extracted the nail from his ring finger, Sanji wasn’t able to keep quiet any longer.
He choked out a scream and dry heaved over as he gagged over the terrible feeling. His fingertips were raw and throbbing. His hands trembled against the armrests of his chair, blood dripping from his fingertips to make a small puddle beneath his left hand.
Svetlana laughed and bit down on the shell of his ear. “Feels good, yes?”
Sanji shuddered and took deep, shaking breaths. He steeled himself and held his tongue.
“Where is rest of your crew? Where is your captain?” she asked.
“I–I don’t know,” Sanji gasped out.
The man in front of him raised a brow. “Oh, changing your tune now? I could have sworn you said something different to me earlier,” he tapped his lips and cocked his head, “but still not the answer I’m waiting to hear.” His lips parted, showing his crooked teeth and just like that, all of the nails formerly on Sanji’s left hand were on the ground.
Rather abruptly, Svetlana released her hold and the man rose from his chair. “That’s enough for you to stew in for now, I think.”
They walked back together to where Sanji’s acclimated eyes could now see the bars that caged him into a cell. A rather large cell, but a cell nonetheless.
Sanji took several more long deep breaths. He flexed his fingers and had to close his eyes as he winced. The white-hot pain was only slightly easing and becoming more manageable, but back to back to back it had been ghastly. He could get through it though, he was prepared for them to come back and do the other side.
While he waited, instead of continuing to stew in worry, Sanji wondered what such a beautiful lady was doing aiding torture. Surely there were a great many things she could be doing instead. Thinking of her possible other occupations calmed the blond down a little. She would be a lovely waitress, or hostess.
Recalling her rich scent, Sanji imagined working alongside her in a kitchen, but it was a possibility that she would be too distracting to get any of his own work done. He often had enough trouble focusing in his own kitchen when Nami-san or Robin-chan came in to grace him with their presence. Even that shitty swordsman could be a hell of a distraction too, when he wanted to be.
Nearly unintentionally, Sanji began to fantasize about Zoro’s strong arms around his waist and the soft puff of his breath against his skin as he tucked his head into the crook of Sanji’s neck. He became a solid line of warmth that perfectly molded along Sanji’s back, just close because he wanted to be. It used to make the cook splutter and struggle to break free, but nowadays it just made him blush lightly and he’d relax back into it.
Sanji was snapped from his daydreaming to hear a distant yelling. Though as much as he strained to hear, it was too far away to properly make out anything that was being said.
He was alone long enough for the blood on his neck and fingertips to dry and crust. It was hard to stay conscious with the exhaustion from being dehydrated and tortured and not to mention the fight he must have lost to land him here in the first place.
“You idiot,” Sanji hissed to himself, “how could you let this happen? You know better than this, what the hell were you thinking?” He couldn’t believe he was imprisoned in yet another shitty cell. Sanji had sworn he’d never let it happen again and now look. Jesus fucking christ. The blond could almost feel the suffocating weight of his old iron helmet on his shoulders.
Not to mention the hell Zoro would give him for letting himself get caught and tortured. That stupid shitty marimo , Sanji thought, blinking away sudden tears pricking at his eyes. He missed that damn swordsman and was embarrassingly desperate for his comfort.
Sanji flicked his head to the side, trying to get the clump of sweat and blood that his hair had become out of his eye. The first thing he was going to do when he got back to the Sunny was take a long luxurious soak in the bath and no one was going to bother him. Well, maybe Zoro could, but only if he stayed nice and quiet.
Sanji flexed his fingers and clenched his teeth at the tendrils of pain that shot up the fingers of his left hand. Hopefully Chopper would tell him there was no nerve damage, but Sanji knew that was probably wishful thinking.
Somehow, Sanji managed to stay alert enough that he was aware of footsteps returning to his cell. He nerved himself, setting his face and gathering his remaining resolve. This was it: they were back and he had to be ready. He was the left hand of the future king of the pirates and he was going to act like it.
“Still awake I see! Have any changes of heart?” the man asked rather jovially, which was odd considering the situation. He seemed almost eager, which was not a promising sign whatsoever.
Sanji glared and spat at his face in response.
“Insolent brat,” the man growled, using his shirt sleeve to scrub at the saliva that had landed on his cheekbone.
Sanji smirked, Usopp would have been proud of his aim.
The man wound back his fist and struck the cook across the face.
Sanji grimaced, it hadn’t been a particularly strong punch, but on top of everything else he’d suffered through it definitely wasn’t doing him any favors.
“Now I have heard,” the man began, “that you fight with your legs for a reason, Black Leg.” He grinned and started a slow stride back and forth across Sanji’s line of vision.
“Is that so?” Sanji met the man’s gaze as confidently as he could, though on the inside he was teetering on the verge of losing it. It suddenly made sense why his captors hadn’t just been wasting their time only beating him senseless, instead focusing more on something that Sanji truly cared for. His hands .
“Don’t play coy now!” the man said with a growling laugh. “I have it on good authority you’d do just about anything to keep those hands of yours safe. But,” he paused for a moment and looked into Sanji’s panicked eyes.
Who had he heard that from? Sanji’s heartbeat quickened and he shrunk back against the chair as the man drew closer–close enough that the blond could smell what he’d last eaten. His sour breath washed across Sanji’s face as he continued, “Before I ask you again, I think I’ll show you just how seriously we’re taking this.” He stepped back for a moment and reached for something on his belt.
Sanji couldn’t find his breath, his mind was racing and he was lightheaded from the frantic speed of his heartbeat. He struggled once more, trying desperately to get even one leg to respond. The sharp bonds tore up the skin on his arms as he shook. “No. No, no, no, no,” Sanji choked out, “you don’t have to do this!”
“Allow me,” Svetlana drawled as she approached. “I have been looking forward to this part.” Her lips curled upwards as she rounded Sanji’s side to stand in front of the man. She raised her arm, and Sanji suddenly realized the reason why her touch had felt so alien.
Starting just at her shoulder, the fair skin of the woman’s right arm had shifted to a shimmering silver. Where her hand should have been, instead was a blade that resembled an overly large butcher’s knife. It was now glaringly obvious to Sanji that the woman before him was a Devil Fruit user. And she was deadly eager to perform.
“W-wait, please, no!” Sanji pleaded, but it was too late.
With one smooth, forceful chop, Svetlana brought her blade down, cutting Sanji’s left hand clean off at the wrist. It fell to the floor with a gruesomely wet sound, instantly rendered useless. Blood gushed out, spurting all over Svetlana, the floor and Sanji himself. The woman’s tongue darted out to lick a droplet off of her lip.
Sanji froze: numb with shock and adrenaline. He stared down at the ghastly sight of the stump where his hand had been mere seconds prior. His eyes were large with horror and his jaw fell open, gaping. His breaths began to come in sharp, harsh pants and he quickly worked himself into a panic. He rapidly became dizzy and his vision started to blur the more he stared. Just as Sanji’s head began to lull and his perception began to fade, a bucket of numbingly cold water was thrown over him.
Sanji bolted back to alertness, shivering and spluttering. He felt soaked down to his very bones. He spat his sopping wet hair out of his mouth and tasted iron as the water sent the rivulets of blood running down his face between his open lips. If the cook had thought the pain from the denailing had been bad, then this was excruciating. Damn near unbearable.
Sanji couldn’t process what had just happened. He could scarcely think. Something he had vowed to never lose was now gone. He had been powerless to stop it.
Svetlana knelt before him and picked up his severed hand, using it to stroke the curve of Sanji’s jaw with his own fingers.
Sanji jerked his chin away, eyes wide and terrified. This woman was beautiful, but truly disturbed and sick in the head.
“Where is Straw Hat Luffy?” The man’s voice shocked Sanji; he had forgotten that there was another person in the room.
“I don’t know, I don’t know where he is!” Sanji’s voice wavered as he shook his head back and forth. They needed to hurry and find him–someone, anyone–while he still had a hand left. He clenched his right hand into a tight fist, drawing it back as far as he could, letting the sharp restraints cut deep into his arm. That didn’t matter, his arm didn’t matter, all he could do now was keep this hand safe.
“Tch, thought you’d know better,” the man sighed. “Oh, well. We’re out of time, let’s go.” He turned and flicked a hand over his shoulder, beckoning Svetlana along with him.
Svetlana smiled as she began to follow, but turned back to look at Sanji. “I will catch up,” she told the man before crossing the room back to the blond’s side.
When the man’s footsteps had fully left, Svetlana leant forward to look at him, so that their faces were inches apart. “Not so like your brothers, are you?” she asked in a quiet voice.
Sanji couldn’t move. He couldn’t blink, or breathe or even flinch away. How? How did she know? “I–how–?” he stuttered out.
She reached a finger out to touch his visible eyebrow and narrowed her eyes at him. “You have not done well to hide yourself.”
“Who are you?” Sanji whispered. His entire body was shaking. “What do you want from me?”
There was another chorus of screams and series of crashes, this time coming from close by. Svetlana looked over her shoulder and then back to Sanji.
“I have no more time,” she told him as she rose to her full height. “If I were you, I would do myself favor and die here.” She turned to leave, using Sanji’s own hand to wave goodbye to him.
Sanji remained silent and he watched. He could think of nothing but shock and fear and pain. Once he could move again he looked down at his stump that was still profusely bleeding. His head wound seemed to have clotted somewhat but the cook had no idea how much blood he had already lost.
The blond didn’t know what his captors had meant when they’d said they were out of time, but did that mean they were just going to leave him here? And Svetlana had said he should just die here. They had no reason to keep him alive. He was on his own. He was going to die if he didn’t do anything.
The feelings of wooziness and lightheadedness were still very much apparent, getting stronger the longer Sanji stared at his missing hand. He knew this could kill him if he was left bleeding out but his gaze was becoming more and more unfocused as his heart rate slowed. Sanji looked around, his sight waning more as he searched the area for something to potentially staunch the bleeding.
Disoriented, scared and nauseous, Sanji was helpless to do anything other than gag and heave as he vomited all over himself. It was too much, just one thing after another, it was all just too much for him to handle, this can’t be real, this can’t be happening.
There was someone else in the room now. They were speaking, but Sanji almost felt as though he were hearing their voice from deep beneath the waves: water rushing to fill his ears so that everything became muffled and warped, distorted. His vision dipped in and out for a few long stuttering moments, but just before everything fell into complete darkness, he could have sworn he saw a glimpse of Zoro’s horrified face.