Swords and Sands
A collection of trust and service, hurt/comfort drabbles about Sir Crocodile and his 'number one' Daz Bones. Please leave comments and kudos at the AO3 version of the archive.
Despite the Water
Crocodile wouldn’t have let anyone else in the world wash his hair but he was too tired to argue when Daz offered to do it for him on the ship as they sailed away from Marineford.
“It hasn’t been washed since before Impel Down,” Daz reminded him. “Just let me do it, alright?”
Crocodile allowed it.
He let Daz sink his head back in the basin of warm water, and massage his scalp.
He shivered at the sensation, and realized that despite the water, despite the chaos and heartbreak of Marineford, he hadn’t been this relaxed in a long time.
Down To The End (With You)
"You should have gone with Miss. Goldenweek, Daz."
"I told you. I go where you go. If that's straight to hell, then so be it."
He had been Mr. Zero's assassin, and had been Sir Crocodile's bodyguard, never knowing that the two men were the same.
Now, in all likelihood, he would die side by side with him in the unholy pit of the World Government's torture prison.
In their holding cell, Crocodile slumped over and rested his head on his shoulder. Daz felt that if they could bring each other some comfort before the end it would be enough.
Gone to Pieces
Daz wakes up in darkness, feeling Crocodile beside him twist and struggle like his namesake in an attack. But Crocodile is not attacking, not anything of this earth. In the darkness he can see his captain's face contorted with fear and anger, his brow covered in sweat.
Another might fear to wake him in this state, but Daz doesn't fear that any more than he feared sharing his bed.
He wraps his arms around Crocodile's shoulders, and shakes him, resting his chin on his shoulder. "Sir, it's a nightmare. Wake up. Crocodile."
He groans and shudders in his arms. A gasping breath seizes him and his eyes snap open, searching the darkness still in panic and rage. Daz feels every muscle in his captain's body tense.
"Daz?"
"It's me, sir. You were having a nightmare."
The big man falls limp in his arms and Daz just holds him for a moment, neither of them speaking. Daz smooths Crocodile's hair, damp with sweat, pushing it away from his face. Crocodile rests the cool weight of the back of his hook against Daz' bare back.
"Impel down?" Daz asks finally.
"Further back," he croaks out his voice still thick with sleep and pain.
Daz rests his forehead against Crocodile's for a moment, holding him close. 'I'm sorry' is never enough when Crocodile is dreaming of the past. All he can do is reassure him that he is there now. That he is always going to be there.
"Want a drink?" Daz offers. "Or some water?"
"Not now," he murmurs. "Just stay here a minute."
"As long as you want," he promises.
Crocodile's forehead slips against his, and he catches Daz' lips with his own, pulling him into a rough, needy kiss as they hold each other in the dark. Daz returns with firm, insistent affection that Crocodile can feel the strength of his support through it.
Other men, foolish men, might be disappointed or disgusted to see their captain in such a vulnerable moment, but Daz' heart only aches for him. It reminds him of his own purpose, as Crocodile's strength when his own is failing, as his confidant, as his sword. He wishes that he could transcend the realm of nightmares and fight at his captain's side there, too, and banish the black specters in his mind. But he contents himself with being there when he wakes up. Being there to pick up the pieces.
When Crocodile breaks the kiss for a long, shuddering breath, Daz plants more of them on his face, and neck and shoulders, holding him, grounding him.
I am here, his kisses say. I'll protect you. You can trust me to stay. I will always pick up the pieces.
Softness
Daz' body is a hard one. All angles and bones and sinewy muscle in the times when his devil fruit power hasn't changed it literally to sharpened steel. Crocodile's body is different, trained and strong, but still soft and broad. Daz loves to lay his head on Crocodile's stomach until he reaches down and pets his short hair like a cat.
When Crocodile lays his head on Daz' lap though, Daz worries he must be uncomfortable. He considers offering him a pillow. But Crocodile is happy enough to lay anyway, and arches up until Daz is the one petting him.
Without Speaking the Words
He arches his neck for Daz as he expertly strokes the blade of his hand over Crocodile's throat.
So this is trust, Crocodile thinks– his eyes closed, the scent of the shaving lather warm in his nostrils. So this is peace.
Here, far from Alabasta, far from Impel Down-- he starts to think that maybe he can re-learn those things with the faithful service of the man who has truly become his "number one."
Daz's hand– flesh again– strokes the smoothness of Crocodile's clean-shaven face, and Crocodile leans into the touch. Daz bends in and kisses him. They both smile.
-
Daz is a man of few earthly possessions. He twists the ring that Crocodile had passed from his hand to Daz's finger back and forth in frustrated contemplation.
'A man of your worth should have jewels', Crocodile said. Daz protested.
'Consider it a memento'. Daz protested again.
Crocodile insisted.
Daz considers the problem the same way he hunts his prey, serious and unrelenting. There must be some way that he can return the gesture.
He is startled by a hand on his shoulder and turns to find Crocodile smiling.
"Don't think so much, you'll sprain something." He kisses Daz' cheek.
Last updated: 03/19/2025