And now in written form with my own trauma and a little context sprinkled in!
I might write another part, but who the fuck knows.
this is 1800 words I wrote instead of sleeping AND instead of studying.
Enjoy
@uniquetosmbody kaaaaaCHOW
Zoro blamed Luffyfor the whole thing. Truly he did.
The Strawhat pirates were fighting the Black Bow Pirates. They were idiots who had been terrorizing a village. Of course, with Nami on their crew, the Strawhats couldnât stand there and watch. So they fought.
It had been Luffyâs idea to push the fight towards the land, away from both the sea and the village.
And they were making good work of it too: the Black Bows had almost entirely been disposed of when the rain finally started.
Calling it rain was truly a euphemism. Water fell from the sky as if a giant bucket was poured over the town by god herself. And Zoro and Sanji were way too far from the village to hope to get back there.
âThereâs a cave here!â Sanji said. Zoro was a little skeptical: Nami had told them both about the strange happenings in this side of the coast: people saw their dead loved ones on trees, or long loved pets started talking and asking for more food. Going into a creepy cave in the middle of a downpour didnât seem like the best idea.
Then somehow the rain doubled in intensity and Zoro decided that he would deal with it if it came to it, and followed the cook into the cave.
Sanji saw the illusions first: the little Zoro looked at him with an expression that, even at that age, was so Zoro âand who do we have here? Little macha mochi?â
Tiny Zoro asked a confused and preventively angry âWho?!â
Sanji just couldnât resist it: his crush for the green haired pirate was not making him any favors while interacting with the little boy
âYou are so cute-â he told Zoro.
Of course Zoro is always Zoro, so he yelled âDonât you dare say it again! Or Iâll cut you up!â
Sanji privately thougth that he wouldnât be able to cut open a tangerine, and was about to smooch tiny Zoroâs cheeks and let him know, when adult Zoro called out to him
âHey Curly! There isâ
But he was interrupted by the scared voice of his own tiny self who yelled desperately âSTOP!â
Tiny Sanji was hiding behind Zoro, in a move that Adult Sanji knew very well. They said âbetter the devil you know than the devil you donâtâ, but Sanji had always thought it bullshit. Tiny Sanji was, in fact, preferring to hide behind Zoro, dressed in black, full of scars, instead of asking for help to a vaguely familiar face.
He instead begged Zoro âDonât...please donât tell him Iâm here!â
Zoro looked down on him, and Sanji could tell that he was trying to be kind âWhat do you mean donât?â
Tiny Sanji, who adult Sanji was realizing was already wearing kitchen-y clothes, was tearing up, and trying to convince Zoro âYou donât understand heâs a bad guy! Please donât tell him about me!â
Then the emotions were obviously too much, the fear was too much, and tiny Sanji resorted to sobbing into the back of Zoroâs legs.
Zoro, who was yet to catch up to what was going on, casually asked âHey, cook what does that mean?â
But Sanji couldnât answer him. He was frozen, looking in the face at a past that he thought gone, at a version of himself that was obviously just tasting freedom for the first time. And in some sort of funny mirror he could see what was once upon a time and what, even if he would never admit it, still was somewhere deep in his soul.
Tiny Zoro had the most Zoro reaction ever: he saw another little boy crying, and an adult man in front of him, jumped to conclusions and proceeded to attack adult Zoro to the cry of âWhat did you do to him?â
But just as Sanji had thought the boy was not trained enough to cut a tangerine with his sword, so adult Zoro easily stopped him
âYou little -!â with a hand on tiny Zoroâs forehead the two kind of fought a little bit. It was obvious that Adult Zoro was going to win, but Nami had warned them: the way they acted with their younger selves would reveal a lot about their adult selves. So what did it say about Zoro that he, quite literally, fought with himself?
Meanwhile Sanji was walking towards his tiny self. Tiny Sanji was now crying in earnest and begging adult Zoro not to leave him, muttering about what the other unknown member of the Vinsmoke family was going to do to him.
Zoro was trying to talk to Sanji, he knew this. He did hear the vaguely worried âCurly you know whatâs going on?â and then the annoyed âHey! Are you listening to me?â But Sanji was focused exclusively on his younger self
Because he had been that little boy at some point. Terrified of anyone even remotely affiliated to the Vinsmokes. So what did it say about him that his own younger self was scared of him?
He was an adult now. He was an accomplished cook, he travelled the sea with his Namaka, he had a good life. A great life even. But somewhere along the way he had forgotten what he wanted the most. What moved him to run away. What carried him through the fear and the pain of his escape and of his first days on the run. The very thing that stopped him from going back, because even if they were monsters, even if they hurt him regularly, even if they probably would have killed him if he had gone back, the Vinsmokes were still his family.
He had forgotten the very basis of his existence: to never become like them. He had sworn to himself to never become like his father, like his brothers, like his family.
And now his own self looked at him like he was a monster, like he was going to attack him. He had forgotten the first real promise he had made himself.
He fell on his knees in front of Tiny Sanji, and as the boy took a step back in fear, he begged for forgiveness âIâm sorry Iâm not one of them I donât...â he sobbed. When had he started crying? âPleaseâ he wanted the boy to understand. He wanted him to know that he wasnât like them, that he didnât hurt innocents, that he never would hurt him. (But what about the smoke? Wasnât that hurting himself? And what about the countless times he stepped in front of a blow meant for someone else? And what about the hours spent in the heat of the kitchen where he felt like passing out?)
Zoro laughed at his younger selfâs attempts at hurting him.
But when he turned to look at Sanji and saw him sobbing he couldnât help a soft âCook?â
His younger self darted from behind him to stand in front of Tiny Sanji yelling a firm âDonât touch him!â Tiny Sanji was looking at Tiny Zoro with a surprised expression, much more open than the expressions Adult Sanji usually had. And Zoro would have loved to take the time to analyze it, but Sanji, is Sanji, adult Sanji, was crying.
And sure they argued like enemies, and sometimes the cook was truly fucking insufferable- but they were still Namaka. (Zoro still loved him)
So Zoro laid a comforting hand on Sanjiâs back, while the cook muttered somewhat incoherently âIâm not â Iâm not the â I wontââ Zoro rubbed soothing circles on the manâs back
âHe hates me, of courseâ Zoroâs heart was breaking in a thousand little pieces seeing his friend, always so strong, sobbing over what had been.
So he turned to look at the children and said âGO!â
Tiny Zoro was the one that moved Tiny Sanji with a âLetâs goâ
Because Zoro needed Sanji to calm down, he needed him to stop being so sad all the time, and the kids were not going to help with that.
âOf course he doesâ Sanji sobbed âHeâs scared of me...he thinks Iâm gonna hurt him cause...Iâm one of themâ
Because thatâs what it all boiled down to: Sanji had become what he swore heâd never be, and he had to face the reality that he had become that which heâd always hated.
Their Tiny selves mirrored their actions: Tiny Sanji sobbed while, a much more expressive than his adult counterpart, Tiny Zoro asked âHey are you alright?â trying to comfort the stranger as best he could.
Adult Sanji had ended up with his head in Zoroâs neck, like he always did when they both had nightmares and talked late into the night. Those nights that they never mentioned come morning. Those nights both knew they wouldnât survive without the other.
âHe hates meâ Sanji repeated
Zoro tried to be the voice of reason âDonât be like that!â
âHeâs scared...of meâ
âHe doesnât know anything about you. But I do curlyâ Zoro hesitated âI...all the crew knows you, damn cookâ and as Sanjiâs crying intensified Zoro resorted to nonsense âShh Itâs okayâ
They were buried in a cave. It wasnât okay, but Sanji was crying so much he was shaking, and his head was buried into Zoroâs neck and he obviously needed the comfort.
The kids were talking among themselves âYou need anything?â Tiny Zoro asked
âNow I feel badâ Tiny Sanji sobbed.
Both Zoroâs had to wait out the Sanjisâ sobs to subside.
When they finally did stop crying it was Adult Zoro that instigated the talk.
âHeâs not a bad guyâ he told Tiny Sanji
Tiny Zoro was still using his body to shield Tiny Sanji, but Sanji bravely stepped forward.
Tiny Sanji approached Adult Sanji, as he desperately tried to explain that he was no evil, that he would never hurt a child, and that he would find a home, a family, that wouldnât hurt him.
Tiny Sanji was obviously still very confused, but when Adult Sanji told him that no, Judge wouldnât hurt him again, and that he would do everything in his power to prevent it, Tiny Sanji surged forward to hug him.
And Adult Sanji held him tight because he knew the boy was touch starved. He had been so lonely before Zeff. And even then outside of hookups he didnât really have much physical contact. Not until the Strawhat pirates anyway.
So he held himself, knowing they both needed it.
Watching the scene both Zoros were smiling the exact same smile, with a heartfelt âGood!â
Then immediately turned towards each other, acerbic in their words
âSpeaking for myself? Myself. My self. That's the problem. That's the whole problem with the whole thing. That word, "self". That's not the word. That's not right. It's... that isn't it. How did I forget that? When did I forget that?
The body stops a cell at a time, but the brain keeps firing those neurons. Little lightning bolts, like fireworks inside, and I thought I'd despair or feel afraid, but I don't feel any of that. None of it.
Because I'm too busy. Too busy in this moment. Remembering. I remember that every atom in my body was forged in a star. This matter, this body is mostly just empty space, after all, and solid matter? It's just energy vibrating very slowly and there is no me. There never was.
The electrons in my body mingle and dance with the electrons of the ground below me, and the air I'm no longer breathing. And I remember there is no point where any of that ends and I begin.
I remember I am energy. Not memory. Not self. My name, my personality, my choices - it all came after me. I was before them and I will be after, and everything else is pictures, picked up along the way. Fleeting little dreamlets printed on the tissue of my dying brain.
And I am the lightning that jumps between. I am the energy firing the neurons - and I am returning.
Just by remembering - I am returning home. And it's like a drop of water falling back into the ocean, of which it's always been a part. All of us... a part.
You, me and my little girl, my mother and my father, everyone's who's ever been, every plant, every animal, every atom, every star, every galaxy, all of it.
More galaxies in the universe than grains of sand on the beach. And that's what we're talking about when we say "God". The One. The cosmos and its infinite dreams. We are the cosmos dreaming of itself.
It's simply a dream that I think is my life, every time. But I'll forget this. I always do. I always forget my dreams. But now, in this split-second, in the moment I remember, the instant I remember - I comprehend everything at once.
There is no time. There is no death. Life is a dream. It's a wish - made again and again and again and on into eternity. And I am all of it. I am everything. I am all.
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