Chapter Text
The fight itself is pretty average, considering what they've dealt with before. A couple of bounty hunters thinking they could take on Strawhat Luffy and win. Zoro can't say he's surprised when they get ambushed after stepping foot in port—he's long since gotten used to the fact that wherever they go, there'll be people going after Luffy's bounty. In the end, he, Luffy, and the cook beat them easily. Of course, because of their usual luck, a few marines spot them, and now they're hightailing it back to the Going Merry.
There are only a few minor injuries. Some guy with a gun almost shot Sanji, but the cook managed to dodge just in time. Zoro himself only has a few cuts—scrapes and bruises, really. Nothing out of the ordinary.
So when Sanji falls behind on his way back, Zoro is confused.
"Oi," he grunts, hoisting the groceries over one shoulder. He hadn't wanted to play pack mule, but Nami had threatened to increase his debt if he didn't, the witch. "Hurry up, cook. We need to get out of here."
There was no real reason for them to be so far from port, but the witch had insisted Sanji, the annoying love cook, buy her something, and Luffy had wanted to come along as well. Usopp had been intrigued, too—most of the crew had grown up in rural islands, so it was rare to be in such a giant city—though the sniper had already headed back to the Merry by then. It was supposed to be a relatively boring trip, but then a whole bunch of bounty hunters and marines decided to stick their noses where they didn't belong, dragging the whole thing out for longer than any of them wanted.
Turning to look behind him, ready to pull the cook along, Zoro can see the exact moment Sanji curses and almost stumbles on the stone pathways, reaching down to grasp at his leg for a moment.
Something's off. The cook is coordinated, weirdly so—he's like a damn ballerina, always prancing all over the place, sending marines flying with a single kick. Sanji had held his own at Arlong Park a week ago. He's even able to dodge Luffy's usual attacks on the galley, something Zoro would begrudgingly admit is no easy feat. He doesn't just trip over nothing. "Curly?" Zoro calls out, frustrated, with a tinge of desperation—he would be able to take on the Marines easily, but Luffy's already at the ship, and the rest of the crew is waiting for them. There's no reply. "The hell is wrong with you?"
"I'm fine, mosshead," Sanji retorts, straightening up again, or trying to. His face screws up in pain, and he almost slides onto the ground. "Now fuck off."
"No, you aren't. Now stop being an idiot and moving around. We don't have time for this." Finally reaching the cook, Zoro slings an arm over his shoulder.
"Let me go , you idiot patch of moss— Shit !" Sanji hisses at the sudden pressure on his leg.
Zoro glances downwards. There's a jagged hole in the cook's thigh—probably a gunshot wound from one of the bounty hunters. Blood continued to seep out, painting the black of his suit a burgundy red. It doesn't look too terrible, but the idiot cook wouldn't be able to run with it, that's for sure. He could check it out later.
In the distance, Zoro could hear the sound of boots thumping against cobblestone, accompanied by angry shouts, getting louder and louder—the marines were getting closer. They needed to leave.
Before Sanji could protest, Zoro hoists the cook up and starts leading them away.
"You're going the wrong direction, asshole," Sanji snaps in his ear as he turns the corner. "The Merry's to the left." And then: " Left , marimo! How do you not know which way left is?"
"I know where I'm going," Zoro says, usual frustration bubbling in his chest. "It's at the docks!" The witch made him memorize the directions three times before he left—sure, the fight took them off their planned route, but they'd be back in no time. He could figure it out. Despite what everyone else on the crew liked to say—except for Usopp, who seemed to have i-won't-give-my-opinion-on-this disease, and especially the cook, who seemed to have issues with everything he did—his sense of direction wasn't that bad.
"Yes, and the docks are on the other side of town! You're going to get us lost, just like always!"
Another corner turned—the woman behind the stall looks at them in surprise as they crash through, bloodstained and bedraggled, and continue running. "I'm going the right way. You sure the blood loss isn't getting to you, curls?"
Sanji lets out a noise not too dissimilar from a drowned cat. "I know what direction we're supposed to be going in, and this isn't it! Seriously, were you hit on the head as a child, or something? Fucking hell."
He was, actually, many times. Kuina was a force to be reckoned with. But he didn't see any point in telling Sanji that.
"You're an idiot, marimo," Sanji continues exasperatedly, but that seems to be the end of it for now. Knowing the cook, prissy bastard that he is, he'd probably find something else to complain about soon.
It's only a few minutes later the weight on his arm starts going slack.
"Hey, curls," Zoro says. "You need to keep walking. We're not back at the Merry yet, in case you haven't noticed, and I'm not carrying you." He pulls them behind a wall and glances down, prepared to shake the idiot, when—
Sanji looked as if he was about to pass out. The cook's face was pale—well, paler than usual—with his eyes shut tight, breaths coming in short gasps. Coming from the gunshot wound in his leg, blood continued to seep through. It dripped onto the cobblestone beneath them steadily in a splatter of red.
For a moment, all of Zoro's planned retorts fled him.
Damn it.
Surely the wound wasn't that bad. He would have noticed. It had just been a bullet, for fuck's sake. Small puffs of air could still be felt on his shoulder, if Zoro turned a little bit—the cook was still breathing, at least. Had the cook been hit somewhere important? He briefly remembered interactions with fellow bounty hunters on the road, those that had severed their arteries and bled out before getting help. He looked away, suddenly cold.
A few moments later, Sanji blinked his eyes open.
"'M okay, mosshead," he wheezes out. If it was supposed to inspire some sort of confidence in his abilities, he failed; the cook sounded winded, almost, as if he'd been running a long marathon. Not exactly in winning condition.
"You're a shit liar, is what you are," Zoro retorts. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Sanji scoffs. "Like you have any room to talk. The first time we met, you were getting yourself sliced open by Dracule Mihawk. My beautiful Nami had to almost tie you to the bed so you would stop tearing your stitches. This's nothing." Toward the end, his speech starts slurring.
They would get nowhere standing around like this. Whatever adrenaline had been fueling Sanji earlier had all but dissipated—there was no way the cook would be able to walk in his state, not even to mention run, even with his usual levels of hard-headed stubbornness.
Turning the blond around, Zoro picked him up and slung him over his shoulder.
True to his usual nature, Sanji immediately started squirming. "Oi, cook! Stop moving already!" It was like trying to give a cat a bath; he hissed, trying to push his way out of Zoro's grip. That approach quickly failed; due to current circumstances, the cook lacked his usual strength, arms flopping uselessly around the swordsman's shoulders. However, he made up for it with barbed words.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing? I can still walk , you barely sentient, intelligence lacking patch of mold—"
"I said to stop moving you curly-browed moron!"
"And I said I'm fine!"
A few moments later, Sanji slumped into Zoro's hold. He took that as a sign to keep moving; soon enough, he was back on the streets, running toward the docks.
Zoro hadn't realized how much he'd relied on Sanji's constant bickering to determine his health until it stopped. It was like the cook had frozen—he was quiet, cold to the touch. It didn't suit him.
Had this town always been this big?
He glanced around for a moment, thinking. He recognized this place—they weren't too far away. We're almost back.
It was another half-hour or so before the cook finally spoke.
"Hey, marimo?"
"Yeah?"
"Think 'm gonna pass out," Sanji wheezed.
Zoro swallowed. "You're not going to pass out, shit-cook."
And then—
Waves, splashing against a ship, on the docks. The Going Merry. Usopp and the witch were on deck, Usopp waving. He could see the exact moment they realized something was wrong—Nami's eyes widened, turning to whisper something to Usopp. He nodded, rushing toward the cabins.
A tug on his shirt brought Zoro's attention downwards again. The cook looked up at him, blue eyes wide.
"Marimo, 'm gonna—"
Sanji was out before they hit the deck.