Chapter Text
Zoro woke with a foggy mind and an aching body. He tried to sit up, finding that an impossible feat.
Where the fuck am I, he wondered in a daze, staring at the dirty stone floor his cheek was pressed to. What was I-
The contract. That's right, he was tracking a bounty high enough to pay for his food and board for weeks. Months, even. Yet here he was, laying on some scummy floor, beri-less and tied up.
Shit, he was tied up real fucking tight. Like a prize pig or something. Why wasn't he wearing his boots? Zoro reassessed his situation around the new information, coming to the grim conclusion that, without his swords or any sort of weapon, he was probably fucked.
Not great. Subpar, even. How in the world did he let himself get caught? Not that the how really mattered, considering he was still hog tied and weaponless in a strange place.
Trying to rock onto his side, Zoro let out a loud, painful grunt when he just slammed back onto his stomach again after the third attempt. Holy fuck, that hurt worse than he expected.
The ground was uneven, maybe even naturally formed, like a cave or something of the sort, and it jutted out in all the right places to make him seriously regret moving. But Zoro couldn't just lay there and wait for someone to come finish him off.
His wrists and bare ankles burned as he twisted them back and forth, the skin rubbing raw faster than he thought possible. Zoro hated to admit it, but he was starting to get frantic, wriggling and twisting until everything hurt far worse than when he woke up.
Nobody knew he was here, because Zoro didn't work with anybody. He was a loner, by both choice and lack of connections, and that was probably going to be the death of him. If he was lucky, whoever nabbed him would come and run him through with a blade instead of letting him starve to death in a dingy cave.
If she could see him now, she'd laugh in his face.
Zoro snarled as he contorted himself again, his joints protesting at the horrible mistreatment. He couldn't die yet, not so soon after starting his journey towards their goal. What a joke, Roronoa Zoro found dead at fifteen, penniless and alone and reeking of cheap booze.
That is, if his body was ever found, or identifiable.
"Oi oi, you're making a lot of noise in here." A man said from behind him, voice deep and raspy like a heavy smoker. True to assumption, the stench of cigar smoke swept over Zoro as the man crouched down to poke at his face. "Quit causing trouble."
He snapped his teeth at the finger, earning him a sharp slap right over his ear. Zoro hadn't been slapped like that since he was a child, it stung something awful.
"Is that the best you could do?" The man sighed and yanked on the rope connecting his feet and hands, sending a jarring pain through his joints. "Get used to it, sweetheart, you're not going anywhere."
In his fury, all Zoro could do was spit at his feet. He saw the hand raise up, but didn't brace himself in time before it cracked him across the face again.
"Seriously, I leave you alone for five minutes and you start beating the kid?" A second voice came from somewhere behind him, and he thought for a brief, stupid second that they'd both leave him be.
Then a hand grabbed a fistful of his hair at the root, and yanked his head up so high his neck stung like it was about to split open. His eyes went wide, the position reminiscent of how he's seen bandits slit the throats of their victims, and he garbled out a frantic wait-
"What's that?" The first man asked, grinning as his friend shoved Zoro's filthy bandana in his open mouth. "Sorry, couldn't hear you. Try saying it again."
"Quit tormenting him." The newcomer said, dropping Zoro unceremoniously. "Leave that to the boss."
"Ach, no fun."
They both left him to stew in silence after that, a small blessing in a barrage of suffering. Zoro worked the bandana out of his mouth slowly, hacking at the taste. He seriously needed to wash that thing.
It was getting hard to breathe. Zoro tried to ignore it, but how could he when he wheezed on every inhale, and his chest burned like there was a ten ton weight pressing down on him?
Struggling only made it worse, so in an effort to literally save his breath, Zoro lay there motionless. Left to seethe at his own misfortune.
After far too long, Zoro heard heavy boots against the ground. The sheer size of the person approaching was big enough that he felt the tremor of each step.
The aforementioned boss, obviously, and more than likely his targeted bounty from the night before. If Zoro really focused, he could remember a mountain of a man and the meaty clubs he called fists.
What can I do? How do I get out of this?
Unfortunately, the answer was looking more and more like he couldn't do anything. He really fucked up this time, bit off more than he could chew, just absolutely screwed himself over.
No swords, no way out, trapped with a bunch of pirates more than willing to murder him. Either he was gonna have to talk his way out, or figure out how to fight without his arms, legs, or balance.
Zoro wasn't exactly the smoothest talker. Actually, it was pretty good odds to bet on him accidentally starting a fight during a normal conversation, so he could be considered the opposite of charming.
Those imposing footsteps grew closer and louder until they stopped right behind him, and what dim light he got from the torch at the entrance of the cave or cellar or wherever the fuck he was faded in the wake of the man's shadow.
"Morning, little pirate hunter." The man rumbled, deep like the growl of thunder. "I trust you slept well?"
When he laughed at his own shitty joke, the noise echoed off the walls of the cave so loudly that Zoro's poor head throbbed. He grimaced, still trying to ignore the sharp pains that inhaling brought with it.
"Y'know, I admire your tenacity. Haven't had someone come at me head on like you did in a long time." Crouching down, the man touched the back of his fingers to Zoro's sore cheek, chuckling when he flinched away. "You're really something else."
Zoro kept his mouth shut, though he couldn't help the way he glowered at the man like an especially gross bug in his soup. He had trouble controlling his expression when he was stressed. Or in general, if he was being honest.
"Will you beg for your life?"
"Fuck you!" He spit, baffled at the man's sheer audacity. Zoro wouldn't debase himself like that, it was humiliating. Dishonorable.
The man hummed thoughtfully, then pulled a large, sharp knife out of the holster on his thigh. He settled comfortably on his knees, and grabbed the top of Zoro's head like he was palming an orange. When he lifted him, Zoro could barely eke out a single breath.
"What about now?" He asked again, pressing the blade flush to Zoro's throat. It would be so easy to nod, or wheeze out a yes, anything to stop the godawful stretch of his throat.
Instead Zoro bared his teeth, and leaned forward like he couldn't stop himself from getting that much closer to the object of his rage. He would not beg. He was an honorable man, and he refused to die like a coward.
An idiot, sure, dumber than a box of rocks for getting caught. But not a fucking coward.
The man smirked, then removed the blade as he dropped him. Zoro only managed one deep breath before the knife came flaring back down and scored the side of his jaw wide open.
"Can't let people think you beat me without getting roughed up first, understand?" The man explained, like that made any sense at all. "As a matter of fact…"
He hauled Zoro up by his arms, forcing him to his knees. For the first time in what felt like hours, Zoro managed to fill his lungs. Just in time for all that oxygen to be driven out of him by a well placed gut punch.
"I'll try to aim for the face, yeah?"
Zoro gasped around the taste of blood, confused and more than a little put out about being beaten for no reason. But he took the hits like a man, shaking his head to clear it of the ringing and holding in his meager dinner from the night before with all his might.
When the man was kind enough to take a break, Zoro was heavily listing forward, wheezing through a swollen lip and drooling blood that could've been from his nose and his mouth. He stared up blearily, the man's dinnerplate of a hand clamped over his shoulder, and gave a weak shake of his head.
"Still not beggin'." He slurred, drifting in and out of consciousness.
The man laughed so hard that he threw his head back, far too loud for the little cave they were in. "You're a real spitfire!"
He shoved Zoro back onto his stomach, and for the first time since the knife was pulled, Zoro began to truly struggle. It was no longer a matter of honor, he couldn't fucking breathe when he was laying flat like that. If he was gonna die, he didn't want to do it on his stomach.
"Squirmy." The man commented under his breath, pressing a knee to the small of Zoro's back. It was so heavy that he felt like his spine was being crushed in slow motion. That really fucking hurt, Zoro couldn't even think from how bad the pain was.
Then the rope keeping his wrists and ankles connected suddenly went slack, and his feet shot back to slam against the ground, immediately jamming several toes. Why did they have to take his damn boots? He really liked those, it took a lot of effort to steal them.
Zoro snarled louder, his struggling renewed, sounding like a chuffing hound trying to break free of its master's chains.
"Relax, kid. Take it easy." That heavy hand dropped over the nape of his neck, holding his face in the dirt as the knee pressed down so hard he felt a pop.
Zoro went limp. Not because he wanted to, but because it hurt so bad that he thought for a moment he was already dead.
"There we go," The man muttered, thumb rubbing disgustingly slow over his sweat damp skin. "This'll be a lot easier if you just listen to your elders."
"Yo boss, you want us to bring in the bait yet?" One of the men from before, the high pitched one that shoved Zoro's bandana in his mouth, popped his head in at the wrong time, breaking Zoro free of that strange pain-induced trance.
He thrashed once, had his head slammed into the ground so hard he saw stars, then fell still once more.
"Go on, since you already interrupted." The boss growled, squeezing the nape of Zoro's neck as a warning to behave.
Somewhere behind him was the sound of something dragging against the cold stone floor. The two men were now carrying a third by his arms, his head lolling down low enough that Zoro knew he had to be knocked out cold.
They unceremoniously dropped him next to the boss, right in Zoro's line of sight. The newcomer's face was beaten to a pulp, swollen and bruised and just a downright mess. Along his scalp was a birthmark that turned a chunk of his hair bright, unmistakeable white. Well, if not for the blood everywhere.
He smelled foul, like he'd soiled himself, and when he hit the floor he didn't make a single sound. Blood seeped out of the man's many wounds over the ground, his half lidded eyes dull and unseeing.
Oh. He was already dead, wasn't he?
"This here's my baby cousin." The boss announced, smacking the back of the corpse's head. "He's a tad small for someone related to giants, but beggars can't be choosers. And he's far better bait than a pirate."
That scumbag killed his own blood? Scratch that, his own crew? He didn't even have the decency to pretend to be upset.
"Here's what's gonna happen. You, my precocious friend, get to walk free."
Zoro knew to wait for the catch. There was always a catch. Sure enough, the boss grabbed him by the back of the neck again and gave him a good, hard squeeze. Just enough to make Zoro think his spine was about to dislocate.
"In exchange, you're gonna take his head to the marines and collect my bounty." He said, as demanding as the hand still holding Zoro down. "I'm getting tired of life as a wanted man."
For a moment Zoro saw a future in which he didn't open his dumb mouth and say something smart. Too bad he wasn't a fortune teller. "He don't look like you."
The boss smiled like Zoro was playing right into his big dumb hand. "That means the hair dye worked. Bye bye pesky birthmark."
Covering up a whole chunk of white hair and skin didn't seem that easy to play off as just a bad dye job, but what did Zoro know? They came from completely different walks of life. Maybe it was nothing to constantly dye one's hair if they were a pirate.
He still cut his hair in the tide so he didn't have to clean up afterwards. This guy though, he was was stuck up enough that he probably had his own barber.
What a fake job. Pirate barber, Zoro thought deliriously, catching himself before he smirked. I definitely have a concussion.
"You're just gonna let me go?" He finally asked with a healthy layer of suspicion. And for good reason. His face was still smushed in the dirt, for one. For another, his wrists and ankles were still bound.
"Of course! Did you think I beat you up for fun?"
Absolutely he did, but that wasn't the point. Zoro saw a way out, as flimsy as it was, and he also saw a way to collect the bounty with the head of the real pirate. "I can have my swords?"
The boss clicked his tongue, hemming and hawing like he actually had to think about it. "You're a smart kid, you understand why I can't give them back, don't you?"
"I'll split the money."
In this world, cash opened doors. Zoro knew that from a young age, seeing people pay for the same food he was punished for stealing. So they wouldn't give him his swords, big deal. They were still pirates, therefore driven by greed. If he promised half, they'd jump at the chance to take it all.
"Hard bargain. Alright, but you gotta bring the money first." And walk straight into a trap? More like hard pass.
But Zoro still had to play along, so he swallowed and nodded as best he could with the boss holding his head down. He was gonna have one killer headache after this shitshow was dealt with.
"Atta boy." The boss said with a salacious grin, patting his head so hard it may as well have been a slap.
He cut the ropes binding Zoro's ankles, relief crashing over him like a wave at the circulation returning once more to his extremities. Then the boss yanked Zoro to his feet, the way someone might pick up a child that fell, which was to say far too easily despite all his squirming.
Zoro grunted and swayed in place, his balance completely shot from getting smacked around a bit too much. That, and the fact that the feeling in his legs hadn't fully returned. The stone floor was icy beneath his feet, downright painful.
"Hurry up, I'm not waiting around in this place all day." The boss said, snapping his fingers at the two men who had more or less just stood there like bumps on a log while he gave his villain speech.
They both startled and ran into each other in their haste to obey. He looked back as if to say see what I have to deal with? Zoro just raised his eyebrows. Those two were much more intimidating when they weren't making fools of themselves for some insufferable prick.
The one with a higher voice grabbed the corpse by the hair and started rearranging it to a more suitable position. The other, now holding a small hatchet, crouched down and held it above his head like he was about to-
Zoro blinked rapidly as he watched the two men struggle to sever the corpse's head from its torso. In place of focusing on the unpleasant imagery, his mind was flooded with a thousand useless thoughts.
Butcher stalls and cleavers that were actually meant to rend bone from bone. Whetstones and anatomy diagrams and funeral rites. The human body was so full of sinew and gristle, if a person died by a blade, then they dulled it with their passing.
If those fools actually wanted to decapitate a full grown man with a neck like a tree trunk, then they should've had a bigger axe. Sharper too, that way they didn't have to make a thousand pitiful whacks just to begin scraping bone.
They were desecrating that corpse. Weren't they? Could a corpse be dishonored? Was it any different to bullishly sever a man's head with a tiny hatchet than to dress a young girl in a kimono she would've fought tooth and nail to escape had she only been alive to do so?
Maybe it was the people around the corpse that were truly the victims. Although he wasn't so sure the dead man's cousin would be angry in his honor. Perhaps it was Zoro's responsibility to put them in their place, both for mistreating a blade and for defiling what once was a person.
Damn, if he was doubting whether he had a concussion before, Zoro certainly wasn't anymore.
This was not his first dead body, far from it. But in his short career as a bounty hunter, it was indeed Zoro's first time witnessing a beheading. He wondered if he was meant to feel more disgusted than he did, or horrified, or appalled, or any of those other fancy emotions he struggled to identify.
Right then, all Zoro felt was a general sense of time being wasted. He was most certainly bearing witness to the least efficient way to decapitate someone.
What did they honestly expect? That poor little excuse for a blade was likely dulled after the first volley of swings, forget whatever number they were on now. Even Zoro, who only had a few bounties under his belt, understood that fine edges of any kind would be quickly worn down by flesh.
A dull blade was a dangerous one.
Then again, if those idiots wanted to waste their own time and give Zoro ample opportunity to regain feeling in his legs in the process, who was he to stop them?
The boss sighed impatiently, then turned his attention to the only other interesting thing in the room; Zoro. He lifted Zoro's chin with one finger, snorting when he ducked away.
"You really are a scrappy thing, aren't you? No meat on your bones. I could feel your ribs when I punched you, it was gross."
Don't hit me then, Zoro thought irritably. Problem solved. Wasn't like he wanted to go around visibly wasting away, he'd much prefer to eat his fill. But in order to do that, he needed that dickhead's bounty.
"How old are you?" He asked when it was apparent that Zoro wouldn't take the bait, leaning down to squint at him better.
What a useless question. If it really mattered, he would've asked before beating Zoro senseless. "Old enough."
The boss gave a loud belly laugh, startling his subordinate so much he nearly hit his own hand instead of the partially severed neck wound. "That's a good answer! I like that!"
Oh joy.
"If you're old enough to make decisions like a man, then you're old enough to face the consequences like a man!" He said jovially, slapping Zoro on the back so hard that he stumbled, the wind thoroughly knocked out of him.
He gasped like a fish out of water, hands still uselessly tied behind his back. Zoro tried desperately to take a deep breath, but it just wasn't working. Was the impact truly that strong?
"Tsk. Stand up straight, it will pass quickly." The boss clicked his tongue, then forcefully corrected Zoro's posture even as he fought against the touch. It was dehumanizing to be so easily manhandled, like he was just a puppet waiting for instructions.
He didn't stand a chance against that man. If they were to fight one on one, Zoro would die painfully and dishonorably.
I've gotta get the fuck out of here right now, he thought wildly, staring at the mountainous man as he experienced an emotion he could only describe as the mental embodiment of slamming a door.
"Got it, boss!" One of the men held up the head triumphantly, managing to look only vaguely nauseated.
"Took you long enough." He gestured to Zoro, already turning to walk away. "Show him out with his prize."
The urge to escape was overpowering. Zoro didn't want to be there anymore so strongly that he was willing to do anything to make that happen. He wouldn't allow that man to manipulate him like a doll again.
Someone untied his hands, then immediately shoved a severed head in his arms like he was supposed to somehow hold that thing after hours of pins and needles. Zoro dropped it, of course, because that was the only logical outcome.
And he dropped it again, when it was given right back as if something had changed in less than a minute. Zoro's lessons in anatomy taught him that the average human head was at least six percent of their body weight. The bait corpse wasn't just human, but a man related to giants, smaller than his cousin yet no less imposing.
If Zoro did his math correctly, which he did, then accounting for his current underweight status, that fucking thing was at least two and a half times as heavy as his own head. They were trying to make him lift weights after being stuck in a stress position for hours on end.
The hatchet man sighed like this failure was somehow Zoro's fault, bending down to pick up the mutilated head once more. He grimaced, holding it by the hair with both hands as it dripped all over his boots.
"What if we tie his arms around it?" The other suggested, which Zoro supposed probably sounded like an amazing idea for people with rocks for brains.
Great, just bind him to a giant hunk of decomposing flesh, completely offsetting his center of balance and just ruining his chances to make a run for his swords. Sure. Why the fuck not. Might as well spice up his day even more.
He only had one shot to escape. If Zoro failed, he wasn't looking forward to having his skull crushed by the human boulder just around the corner.
Meaning he had about half a minute between them shoving that thing in his arms once more and it being roped in place to make an actual escape attempt.
What did that big guy call him? Precocious? Yeah, Zoro's heard that word plenty, and he couldn't agree more. Neither he nor Wado Ichimonji were dying in a dingy cave today.
"Here, just cup your hands underneath like this-" The deep voiced man with the hatchet instructed, only for Zoro to purposefully let his arms dip. "Ow! Fuck, that's the second fucking time you dropped that ugly mug on my foot!"
"Sorry, my arms are still numb." Zoro said, not sounding apologetic at all. At least he had boots protecting his feet, Zoro was just praying not to get caught on the toes. "I can barely feel them."
He then made a show of trying to pick up the disgusting head multiple times, his poor, numb, malnourished arms too weak to properly hold it. The display was so pitiful that the higher voiced man just gave up trying to get him to hold the thing, bending down between them to pick it up himself.
Zoro slammed his bare foot into the man's shoulder, sending him and the ugly head careening right into Mr. Hatchet, who tripped over the poorly placed leftovers of the boss's cousin.
Both of them, or rather all three, went sprawling over the ground in a jumble of limbs. Swooping down to grab the length of rope that once bound his arms, Zoro twisted it tight between his fists and looped it round the first neck he saw.
He didn't have the strength to strangle anyone, but Zoro didn't need that when all he had to do was twist the rope and dead drop to the floor. Weight was still weight, even in the form of a malnourished teenager.
Mr. Hatchet's head smacked onto the ground so hard that they all heard the crack of his skull splitting open. He started seizing within seconds, limbs jerking and foaming blood spilling out of his bashed cranium in a mess that made Zoro feel horribly guilty.
He meant to kill the guy instantly, no need for him to suffer like that even if he was a prick. So Zoro crawled atop him as he thrashed, grabbing his shirt collar to use as a handle to smash his head against the ground until he stopped moving.
Wiping the fresh blood from his face, Zoro looked up to find the remaining henchman staring at the mess of Mr. Hatchet in horror. His own hands were shaking, having just killed someone without a sword for the first time.
Zoro didn't know it would feel so personal. He didn't like it, his stomach churned at the thought of what he'd done, but he wasn't going to be the next one on the ground.
Grabbing the dull hatchet from the man's belt, Zoro pointed it at the squeaky voiced pirate. He could already hear the thundering footsteps of the boss coming back to see what all the racket was, he didn't have time to waste slap boxing.
"I'm gonna leave with my swords and your boss's head. You don't gotta die too." He declared, the hatchet trembling in his weak grip like a leaf in the wind.
"You killed George." The man whispered, then repeated again, much louder, furious in his grief. "You killed George!"
And you fuckers kidnapped and held me in a cave while you decapitated some dude right in front of me, Zoro thought angrily, rising from George's corpse just in time to be barrelled down.
He buried the hatchet in the man's back, the dull blade sinking in surprisingly easy. Pulling it out was a different story. Zoro got socked across the face, losing his grip on the only weapon, and slipped in George's pooling blood.
Crashing onto the ground, Zoro started kicking like a mule at the man's reaching hands, succeeding in smashing his heel in the guy's face before getting snatched up by the same ankle.
"Fucking dickhead-" Zoro shouted, unable to find his footing as he was dragged across the floor. His fingers tangled in something unpleasant, and he reached for it with both hands to hurl at the man in his desperation.
The sound of two heads connecting was almost comical, if not for how disgusting the severed one was. Dazed and more than a little concussed, the man stumbled in place as he tried to right himself.
Taking the opportunity to snatch back the hatchet, Zoro screamed in blind rage as he started swinging indescriminately at his target.
A dull blade was a horrible way to die, yes, but he did not draw it out. He wasn't cruel, just… Zoro just wanted to live to reach his dream. Their dream.
Why was that such a crime? Why did he have to kill so many people to make it happen? Why couldn't he be left to his own devices?
His arms grew tired, the mangled flesh at his feet squelching in protest each time he pulled the hatchet free. Zoro gasped for air, everything tinged coppery and gross in the wake of his rage.
Eventually the hatchet lodged itself into bone, and a simple yank didn't immediately yield results. Zoro let it slip from his fingers, staring down the shadowed form by the only exit. His lips tasted like blood, his and others, and the tremble in his limbs was growing stronger by the minute.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" The boss asked, his voice deep and quiet, a distant roll of thunder heralding an approaching storm.
"No." Zoro answered honestly, feeling a bit like he was about to lose his lunch. He didn't enjoy killing them. He wasn't going to enjoy this, either.
No honor to be had in a swordsman slaying men without a sword. They weren't his equals, not in the way that mattered. It was just murder. She would be ashamed of him.
"Look at the mess you've made." He whispered, stepping further into the room with each word. "How are you going to make up for this?"
Zoro swallowed the lump in his throat, and shakily spread his blood wet feet into a defensive stance, loose fists raising in front of his face. He was going to lose, that was how he'd make up for it. But not without giving it all he had.
For a split second, Zoro didn't realize something had happened. Then he came back to himself face down in a puddle of blood, staring at George's broken head.
The entire side of his face burned like it was on fire, his jaw aching and crunchy. Then he began to slide backwards, a huge hand wrapped around his leg.
Zoro scrabbled for purchase of anything, everything that he could get his hands on, kicking out with all his might. When he lifted off the ground, he knew right then that he was so far out of his depth that he might as well just keel over right there.
Smashing into the wall, Zoro let out a loud cry and cradled his head as he dropped back down onto solid ground. His breath came quick and shallow, all attempts to reorient himself lost to the man's incredible, life altering violence.
So this was a person who could break others over his knee. Zoro was just small fry compared to him, he was nothing, he was weak.
What the fuck was he even playing at, wanting to be the greatest swordsman, when he was just a stupid, tiny human child? He only left home not even a year ago, he was so naive. This was only his fourth bounty hunt.
Zoro gagged at the pain, trying to crawl away only to be forced down flat by a huge hand against his spine. His fingers clawed the stone, flailing behind him, trying and failing to reach the heavy weight keeping him trapped.
If the man was the cat, then Zoro was the mouse.
I'm not going to die here, Zoro seethed silently against the icy ground, I'm not, we're not, we can't! This isn't where it ends!
With every passing second, the weight grew heavier. And Zoro could already feel his own ribs, count them through his skin, but now he was about to feel them break too.
Crck.
He inhaled sharply, then began to scream. It hurt, every second of noise, every little bit of oxygen in his lungs, it all hurt so horribly. Zoro had broken bones before, but never like this. Never by someone else's sadism.
There were so many unknown cruelties still left in the world he didn't ever consider he might have to face. Zoro thought he already served his sentence, paid his price. He was here alone, wasn't he? Carrying a dream meant for two. Was that not enough agony?
"Shhh," The man soothed, his open hand carding through Zoro's filthy hair. "It's only fair, you know. An eye for an eye. You killed my men, my most loyal men. They were stupid, but they respected their captain."
Shuddering in disgust, Zoro's chest heaved on a yell. He didn't know how else to let out all the pain inside, how to broadcast just how badly he fucked up. It was all building like steam pressure behind his eyes, and the only way to release it was by either dying or killing.
"How old are you, boy?"
"Fif-" Blood wet his teeth from the inside, a hacking cough expelling it past his lips. "Fift-"
He tutted, not letting Zoro get the rest of the word out before shushing him again like a fussing child. "Wrong. The answer is 'old enough to experience the consequences of your actions.' Are you ready to die?"
It was obvious what he wanted, but Zoro refused to beg. If he was going to die on his stomach, scared and alone, he wasn't going to debase himself further. He wouldn't do that to her.
Please, he thought desperately, if you're here, please look away just this once. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about our dream.
Zoro pressed his sluggishly bleeding cheek to the floor, and didn't close his eyes. One of them needed to witness the end, and it wasn't her.
As the hand in his hair tightened to a fist, drawing his head up off the floor, Zoro saw something in the blood smeared by his body. He reached for it, fingers closing around something sharp edged and unforgiving.
No sooner did he recieve it that Zoro then lost his gift by stabbing it into the knuckles of the fist about to shatter his skull against the floor. Fitting, because he just lodged a bit of George's cranium into his boss's hand.
The man hissed in pain, dropping him in favor of trying to pry out the large shard of bone sticking out of his knuckle. Zoro scrambled before he even hit the ground, clawing out of reach of those long, inhumanly strong arms.
"You little shit-" The man yelled, looking up just in time to see his cousin's decapitated head flung across the room.
Zoro didn't wait to see if his aim was true. He tore ass out of there like demons were on his heels, clutching his ribs and skidding through narrow passageways as he searched for his swords.
Behind him came a loud, echoing roar of anger, and the thunderclap of heavy boots. Zoro wheezed in fear, spinning around aimlessly before choosing a doorway at random.
Just before he ducked through, a cold shiver ran down his spine. Zoro froze, then as if pulled by invisible strings, turned around and walked in the opposite direction.
Inside the room was a table, his belongings spread over it like a flea market booth. Leaning against the wall were all three of his swords, Wado a beacon of purity in this dark, disgustingly damp cave system. Even his boots were there.
Zoro slumped next to them, his limbs shaking and his ribs flaring with each painful breath. His heart thumped a jagged rhythm in his chest, demanding to be let out.
Between one slow blink and the next, the doorway filled with the seething mass of a very dangerous, very angry man. Zoro gazed up at him in exhaustion, Wado already drawn in his hand.
When did I-
The man charged, and he hesitated not out of fear, but out of habit. A rushed swing was a botched one. When Wado's blade came up, it cut the very air around it, wind whistling around the steel mournfully.
Zoro dropped the sopping wet bag on the desk of the marine in charge of bounties. He didn't wait to be told to sit, collapsing like a dying star into the armchair next to him, not at all thinking about what his filth might do to the upholstery.
"Do you have an appointment?" The marine asked, side eyeing the crimson seeping out of the bottom of the sack.
"We both know you want me out of here as soon as possible, so just pay me my dues." He muttered, each word fighting to get through his exhaustion.
The marine sniffed, then nodded. "Very well. Show me the bounty poster. And your…Bounty."
He rummaged around in his rucksack for the wanted poster, taking the time to smooth it flat despite the stray smears of blood. Then Zoro undid the tie on the repurposed rice sack, and showed him the unmistakeably huge head.
With a shudder, the marine pulled out a pen from his neat little stationary rack, and poked at the head as he consulted the paper. He looked up only momentarily, but Zoro got the hint.
"Right, sorry, forgot this bit." From his pocket, he tossed the piece of scalp with bleach white hair onto the head with a corresponding bald spot. "There was a mishap."
A bad dye job was not going to cost him his damn bounty. Zoro took precautions.
"Unpleasant." The marine said very delicately, then dropped his pen into the trashcan next to his feet before counting out money into a small drawstring bag no bigger than Zoro's hand. "But all is in order. Here's your payment."
The bag that he placed onto the desk was not nearly as heavy as it should've been, considering the hefty price on that fucker's head. "Where's the rest of it."
"Where's the rest of him?" He asked pointedly, then tapped the poster so Zoro would read it again. "Wanted alive only. Dead means a quarter of the bounty."
Zoro got defensive first, then furious, finally just scrubbing his battered face and snatching the drawstring bag off the desk. "Enjoy your head, prick."
"Wait, you can't just leave it here-"
He shut the door of the office harder than necessary, and immediately slumped back against it for a moment. Zoro was beyond tired. There probably weren't even words to describe how he felt right then, because it was the worst feeling in the entire world.
Defeated, maybe. That was a pretty shit emotion.
But the day wasn't over, and he certainly wasn't going to sleep right there outside a marine bounty office. On he walked, a death march growing closer and closer to his final resting place.
He stopped to ask for directions to an inn multiple times, finally just having the last man walk him right to the door. La Rosa Inn was clean and spacious and willing to turn a blind eye to his disheveled, bloodied state. Perfect.
"One bed, and a bath drawn around…" He looked up at the clock above the innkeeper's head, squinting at the blurry numbers before giving up. "In an hour. No soaps or perfumes, understand? I have my own."
"Yes, yes, of course." She said sweetly, hand already out for a night's worth of beri.
"Gotta do some shopping, would you mind just leading me to the room when I get back?"
She nodded again, waving him off with a kind hurry back that he resolutely ignored. Zoro would not be hurrying anywhere today.
It was slow going, but he collected everything on his short list that he'd need to survive the night. First he stopped at the general store, asking the bitter old woman behind the counter if she had choji oil, among a handful of other things.
Taking a good long look at him, the woman scoffed and went into the back. She didn't reappear for a while, long enough that Zoro was starting to think he'd been snubbed.
A sack of things thunked onto the counter. Zoro startled, halfway to sleeping before she snuck back. Curious yet full of dread, he peeked inside.
"Oi, this isn't what I asked for."
"Sure it is. And more, since you're a walking plague house." She said irritably, pulling out each item to explain it.
The choji oil for his sword, needle and thread, a bottle of the strongest, cheapest alcohol she had at hand, an entire ginger root, antimicrobial salve, and several more first aid items.
"Why the fuck would I need ginger root?" He asked, lifting it up to study the strange shape.
"For nausea, idiot. Don't you want to keep your insides inside you?" What a deeply unpleasant old woman. Zoro liked her.
His next stop was the baker, where he requested normal, not at all sweet bread. The sort you eat with dinner, not dessert. He shoved the loaf in his paper bag, then asked to be pointed towards the butcher, where he bought spicy jerky and a handle of halfway decent moonshine.
Armed with his spoils, Zoro went marching back to the La Rosa Inn. Wrong direction, actually, so he turned back around. No, wait, not that way either.
By the time he got back to the inn, the keeper was none too pleased to see him. She led Zoro silently to his room and practically slammed the door behind her, trapping him in a horrible, floral scented hellscape.
Did he not specifically ask for no soaps or perfumes? Why was Zoro suddenly trapped in the memory of a rose garden he'd never stepped foot in?
He snarled and tossed his shit on the bed, immediately throwing open the windows despite the autumn chill. Only then did Zoro breathe easier, though the stench still choked him up.
Of course, the water in the tub was ice cold by now. An oily sheen sat on the surface, likely whatever poisons the innkeeper tossed in the water to make it smell so horrendous.
So much for a relaxing, hot bath.
He stripped methodically, having to shimmy out of his shirt because his broken ribs kept him from raising his arms most of the way. Zoro sat down with a weary sigh on the floor next to the tub, and got to work sponging the blood from his brutalized body little by little, chewing a bit of ginger root when the smell illicited the first gag.
Tasted like ass, but it worked. He'd have to remember that for future reference.
The sun was already at the horizon by the time he was anywhere near clean. Zoro's head lolled against the tub edge, longing for a real soak, but the icy, filmy water would only irritate his countless injuries. Who the fuck wanted to smell like roses, anyway? They were horrible.
Here was the part he was dreading. Now that his body was clean, Zoro had to lean over the edge of the tub and submerge his head in the water to scrub the filth from it. That first dunk sent a violent shiver through his entire body, pain hot on its heels.
It was so cold that his head throbbed, the breeze from the open window ghosting over the back of his neck and curling the tension at the base of his head even tighter.
Zoro winced, eyes squeezed shut but still on high alert. He hated this, the vulnerability of being bare and injured in a strange place. The little lock on the door wasn't nearly enough, he had to keep Wado within arm's reach just to be able to undress.
He dunked his head again, the open cut on his cheek stinging so sharply that it felt like it just happened all over again. The soap that he kept with him, unscented but harsh, did him no favors on the raw, broken skin of his face.
Afterwards Zoro stood aimlessly at the foot of the bed, looking down at his clothes. He only owned two pairs of pants, four shirts, a handful of undergarments. That was more than enough at the time of packing them, but now both pants were dirty, and he only had one clean shirt left, which he was already wearing.
He didn't have it in him to clean and repair his clothes. Not after the day he's had. Zoro just shoved them off the foot of the bed and wiped away the grime before he collapsed onto it, bare legs shivering in the cold. It wasn't like he could close the fucking window, the stench would kill him.
The salve that old lady gave him stunk of mint, or something close to it. Menthol, maybe. It burned wherever he slathered it on, bringing an icy chill deeper into his bones. Why was everything cold?? Did he really need to suffer after the fact too?
Whatever. None of it mattered. Zoro lay there staring at the ceiling for a while before he finally worked up the energy to reach for his loaf of bread. A full stomach would set him right.
He bit into it and gagged.
"What the actual fuck is this?" Zoro asked the wide, empty room. Shit tasted like the baker dumped a whole bag of sugar into just that one loaf. What part of regular, not at all sweet bread did that prick not understand? Zoro was still gonna eat it, but fuck!
It didn't matter. None of it mattered, he was fine, problems weren't piling on top of each other one after the other, Zoro was fine. He taste tested the jerky before he bought a pack, so at least he had that going for him.
Zoro bit off a huge chunk of sweet teriyaki jerky, not at all the red chili marinade he tasted in the store. The bins must've been right next to each other. He held it in his mouth without chewing, staring up at the ceiling in shell shocked defeat.
Food was food. It shouldn't have mattered, Zoro was going to eat it regardless of flavor, even if he asked for something completely different.
But he just had an absolutely shit day, and he just wanted to have a hot bath with no frills and eat some stupid, not sugary food, and instead he was laying half naked on rose scented sheets in a freezing cold inn room with a mouth full of sweet jerky and funds that were already half gone.
And he hurt. Everything ached like an open wound, which was fitting because he had a few of those. Zoro felt like a failure. Like nothing he did would amount to anything, and he should give up while he was already at rock bottom instead of digging even further.
Zoro's breath hitched.
He sat up in shock, looking around like he'd been caught red handed as he scrubbed at his face to rid himself of the unwanted moisture. But for some reason it didn't work?
That should've been the end of it, the shame should've cauterized whatever mushy emotions caused such a slip up, but right after he wiped his eyes the first time, more tears appeared. Zoro pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes so hard it felt like they'd burst, yet the tears kept coming.
And when his breath caught again, louder this time, practically a fucking hiccup, he couldn't immediately stifle the noise. Shame, hot and unbearable, crashed over him like a tidal wave.
Why couldn't he stop it? Did he not have complete control over his body? All those years training, and he couldn't even stop crying?
A loud, painful sob wracked his body, and Zoro split open like overripe fruit. If he couldn't stop it, then he had to see it through, right?
So he cried, the way children do when they can't understand anything but the pain they're in and the fact that it won't stop. He curled up on the bed, feeling so terribly small and weak, and reached for where Wado leaned against the nightstand.
Instead of grabbing her, he accidentally knocked her to the floor. Zoro let out a devastated whine and curled back in on himself, sobbing harder.
It felt like a rejection. Like she blamed him for the day's events, for getting caught and getting hurt and murdering those men without a sword even though he did it to survive! He didn't want to do any of it! He took no pleasure in killing them, couldn't she see that?
So why was she mad at him?
Zoro didn't need anybody or anything, he prided himself on his independence. But right then, all he wanted was to not be so alone. Impossible of course, because his best friend was already dead, and he wasn't ever going to find someone who understood him like she did.
Roronoa Zoro was always going to be alone.