A/N: I needed a mean and evil Sanji in my life. I don't know where this is going, but it gets pretty bad. I had to write it; it came to me in mid-nap and wanted me to write it. Don't expect constant updates of it, through – I'm still involved in my WAAMoS. I just had to share it because I can find any mean Sanji fics. The thought of him as a bully makes my icy cold heart smile.

Title taken from the song, 'Dust to Dust' by the Civil Wars, which should give a good indication of where this story will go.

1

The Vinsmoke brothers were a rotten bunch. Rich, snotty, excelling in nearly everything they put their hands in save for social skills, they happened to rule Grandline High with identical sets of fists and rapidly speaking mouths twisted with cutdowns. But they were charming in their own way; their charisma was every unsuspecting victim's downfall. Their father paid for their mistakes and praised their successes, and their peers were forced to look at their involvement as a way of survival; if they could get through high school eluding the infamous Vinsmoke attention, then they could say they made it.

Given that they were fraternal, each Vinsmoke brother had their own identifying characteristics; Ichiji was quiet and dangerous, with his bright red hair and Hermes glasses, wearing his maroon and white uniform rigidly and fitted without any flaw. He excelled in nearly every subject except for PE, physical activity being the only thing he truly detested unless he was wearing the traditional gi for Brazilian Jiujitsu. Niji wore his collar loose and slacks too fitted, always with black loafers because he liked to whack people with them if they happened to piss him off; he fiddled and worried over his blue hair constantly, and complained often about everything. Yonji was the largest and the tallest, his uniform often loose and open, and he liked wearing the most expensive Jordans, with long black socks; he expressed himself physically, and had no hesitations expressing himself vocally. Sanji wore his uniform sweaters loose and his collars tight, slacks hemmed over his white shoes, and he snapped gum constantly while smelling of Sonomas and spice.

Their teachers learned early that they could separate the brothers if needed, but they still spoke loudly and openly to each other no matter where they were in the classroom. After getting away with most ordinary offenses throughout their teenage lives, the boys weren't afraid to challenge anybody that tried to rein them in. In their current class, long after the morning bell had rung and their teacher checked roll, Yonji was shouting at Niji from the front of the class, while Niji sat in the back, kicking the chair in front of him; the poor girl looked near tears as she inched closer to her classmate in front of her.

Sanji was bent over his desk, scrolling through Instagram and shouting back when needed, but he wasn't interested in their banter while he had local girls' to Like. It was a typical day at Grandline, and while none of them had any particular interests to pay attention to, it wasn't going to be just another day.

Today was going to be different.

When the new student walked in with hunched shoulders to hide his true height, all black clothing and a tense expression that carried the remnants of a black eye, everyone looked at him with interest. Yonji hunched over his desk to give a closer inspection, hugging the desktop in his arms as the new student handed over a slip and grunted in response to the teacher's question.

Sanji only looked up from his phone because he heard Yonji say loudly, "Hey, newbie, show me your tits!"

"Oh my god, Yonji, you can't just ask for guys to show their tits!" Niji complained, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair with an impatient growl. "Can we start learning, now? Because I'm in danger of losing my mind!"

"It's not that I'm gay," Yonji said to the poor kid behind him, the teacher ignoring him while he told the newbie to take a seat in front of Sanji, "it's for a safety check. All emo kids are carrying, nowadays. I need to know whose ass to kiss if they snap suddenly."

Sanji dismissed the new kid because when the kid made his way to his seat, he resembled a very timid mouse. Eyes down, mouth tight, every step a chore as the others looked at him with interest. Sanji complained only when his seat hit his desk as he sat, causing Sanji's phone to tilt a little to the left.

The male teacher started talking about 9/11, and Sanji put his phone away with a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair to stare up at the ceiling, vaguely listening. Niji mimicked the sound and pretended to snore loudly, causing discomfort amongst those sitting around him. Only Yonji took active notes because he didn't want to miss out on wrestling season, asking questions only to draw the actual lesson out – to prod the teacher into distraction.

Sanji looked at the kid in front of him, noting that the black hooded sweater had a perfectly round hole in the shoulder, and he smelled like cigarettes. He looked as if he'd just rolled out of bed with awful bed head, a noticeable whirl at the crown. He was tall, but kept himself hunched, as if he were smaller. He was absurdly thin, with slender hands and skin stretched so tightly over his skull that it looked painful. Once he sat in his chair, he sunk low with his hands fisting up into his jeans pockets, not looking up once from his desk. Those sitting next to him offered their names and greeted him cheerfully, but he didn't acknowledge them, causing their expressions to drop with discomfort.

Should I make the same effort as Yonji? Sanji wondered, lips pulled into a thoughtful frown.

When the bell rang, Sanji gathered up his things and skipped out before Niji and Yonji could, and went on with his day without a second thought to the kid.

Two days later, the kid stumbled into class, ten minutes late and essentially wearing the same thing Sanji had seen him in days earlier. He sat at his desk and continued to stare at his notebook without opening it for the entire lecture, then refused to answer the only question the teacher tossed at him in order to draw him into the discussion. He gave a limp shrug as a response, and that was when Niji finally noticed him.

"Maybe he's not English!" Niji complained, crossing his arms and sinking low in his seat.

"There are hundreds of languages used here in America, and you chose to use English automatically?" Sanji cried with dismay, their teacher looking several years too tired to deal with their shit, today.

"HAH! No, guys we're American, here!" Yonji shouted, twisting in his seat. "British belong back over the lake!"

"Ocean, stupid!"

When the new kid pulled up his hood and sunk low in his chair at the attention, Sanji snorted. The kid might as well as have put a target on his back. Showing any sign of weakness in front of the Vinsmokes was the wrong answer to every unspoken question.

"Aw, we made the English guy self conscious," Yonji observed, his tone dripping with fake concern.

"Welcome to America, bitch," Niji commented.

"Are we still paying attention to him, or are we moving onto more relevant things, like my dick?" Sanji asked, snickering as he pulled out his phone.

"Shut up, Sanji!" Yonji hollered as he twisted back around in his chair to face forward, Niji scoffing from his. "No one likes you!"

At lunch, on their way to the Buick their father had given them for their last birthday so Niji could smoke his special brew, Ichiji could get some fresh air and Sanji could smoke without being lectured, Yonji spotted the kid near the end of the parking lot, smoking a cigarette while seated atop of a concrete car stop.

"Hey, English!" he bellowed, waving a bulky arm to catch his attention. The kid ignored him, turning the volume up on some device in his hoodie pocket, adjusting headphones hidden under the hood. "Hey, English! What you doing over there? Hiding from the Boston Tea Party, eh?"

"You're a fucking idiot," Ichiji said with disapproval.

"Gimme your lighter," Niji demanded of Sanji after rustling through the backseat for his box of supplies.

"Give it back right after," Sanji warned him.

"We decided that he doesn't speak English," Yonji told Ichiji as he pulled out a bag of Skittles from the left passenger backseat door. Dropping several into his mouth as Ichiji turned to look at him with a questioning frown, Sanji and Niji next to them, pushing and shoving each other until the item was in Niji's hand.

"Then why are you calling him 'English?'" Ichiji asked with a furrowed brow.

"I wasn't thinking hard enough for another name," Yonji explained, rolling the candies around in his mouth.

"Why am I related to you?"

"Because God thought you were lacking, so he sent you an angel."

Not wanting to get into it with his younger brother, Ichiji scowled, Yonji grinning at him before leaning over to spat rainbow colored spit onto the pavement. Once he had his lighter in hand, Sanji leaned against the driver's side door and blew smoke into the air. Around them, other kids had the same ideas, enjoying music and talk in the parking lot as teachers watched them from a picnic table nearby, not interested in busting any of them for any wrong doing. Sanji looked over at the kid in the black hoodie, noting that he was also wearing the same jeans as the last time – Sanji knew because they were hideous, and rolled over scruffy old Pumas that must've come out from someone's trashcan.

That night, the four of them were followed after their father to a restaurant downtown, and that's when Sanji saw him, sitting with three men at one of the tables near the back. The kid looked the same as he did at school; hunched and quiet, taking up as little space as he could while two of the men talked with hand gestures and annoyed expressions, and another stared vaguely into space. The Vinsmokes took up a large table towards the middle, Niji and Yonji arguing over a seat while Ichiji took his with an irritated expression, Judge signaling for a drink. Because of their loud voices, the kid in the hood took notice of them. Sanji watched him roll his eyes and turn to slouch in the other direction, but Yonji noticed him.

"Hey, English!" he called, waving grandly, Niji taking advantage of the moment to sit in the chair they'd argued over.

"That a friend of yours?" Judge asked gruffly, scanning the table settings with a critical eye as he sat.

"Yonji is obsessed with him," Sanji said. "Fag."

"I never met a real life foreigner, before," Yonji said with a shrug, reaching over to swat Sanji upside the head for his comment, Sanji losing his gum in the process.

"Yet that entire table is speaking properly with an accent similar to ours," Ichiji said, examining his nails as a couple of waiters hurried over to greet them.

"Don't associate yourselves with that type of riff-raff," Judge said, examining those men with a frown. "Money isn't always kind to those that deserve it."

"You know them, father?" Ichiji asked, frowning at the glass of water poured in front of him.

"Does it look as if I'd associate with men who wear fur?" Judge asked him.

"Maybe they're drag queens," Niji snickered, looking over once more. "That kid's probably drag in training."

"That guy's wearing lipstick!" Yonji gasped. "Oh my god, is that English's mom? Or dad? Or how does that work, nowadays? One hundred and sixty-four genders in the world, and I can barely tell two of them!"

"Dad, please take away his internet privileges," Ichiji complained.

"Be nice to each other," Judge said, heaving a tired sigh as he relaxed into his chair.

"Examining your future family?" Sanji asked Yonji. "Fag."

"Shut up, Sanji! Dad! Sanji's insulting my masculinity, again!"

"Don't mock your younger brother for his femininity, Sanji," Judge said vaguely, looking over the menu.

"I apologize," Sanji said to Yonji, lips out with mocking sympathy. "Find it in your heart to forgive my rudeness for outing you before you were ready."

"No. Never. I was planning on telling Dad around Homecoming, but you ruined it," Yonji sniffed.

"God, why am I related to you?" Ichiji muttered again, slouching a little before straightening his shoulders and adjusting his glasses.

"Because God felt you needed a lesson."

"Dad, make him stop talking to me."

"Go sit with your other family," Sanji told Yonji, kicking him under the table. Yonji kicked him back.

"Oh, they're leaving," Niji reported, the brothers looking over, Ichiji unable to help himself. As the men rose, their newest classmate ended up bumping against the table in his haste to rise, knocking over a half finished glass of red wine that rocked and fell against one of the men's jackets. The tall, blond man looked down at the damage, face tightening as one of the waiters hurried over with a wet towel, mopping up the mess. The kid looked frozen with horror before looking up at him apprehensively. But they all walked away, and the brothers lost interest, returning to mocking each other over the table over each other's masculinity. Only Sanji noticed when that man ensnared the kid's arm in one massive hand and the kid cringed as he was briefly reprimanded before shoved away.

He smirked.

Friday, the kid showed up to class in proper uniform, Sanji noting the swollen cheek as he slunk into his chair and continued to stare down at his closed notebook. Around them, everyone cheerfully discussed plans for the weekend and showed off recent memes, Yonji tossing back Skittles and spitting rainbow flavored spit into an empty water bottle, yelling across the room to another kid sitting near the door.

With his pen, Sanji poked the kid in front of him, saying, "Hey, hey, you rich?"

The kid ignored his prodding, so Sanji kicked his chair.

"I'm talking to you. Why are you so rude?"

When he still didn't get a response, he stood up and leaned over his desk, reaching out to poke the kid's cheek that was giving promise to a blooming bruise just underneath a pale stretch of skin.

"Was that your dad?" he asked as the kid pulled away from him and covered his cheek with his hand, leaning forward on his desk just to avoid Sanji. "Hey, was that your dad and your mom sitting with you? Your mom wears a lot of lipstick."

Annoyed when the kid continued to ignore him, Sanji sat back in his chair, and kicked his in response.

"I'm trying to be nice," he complained. "And you're being an ass."

The next Monday, the kid didn't show up for class. By Wednesday, he stumbled in late, ignoring the teacher's question as he passed by his desk and headed towards his, tossing his notebook atop of it before sliding into his chair with a low sigh. Sanji sipped at his Starbucks coffee and looked at the kid with a disgusted frown, annoyed at the bedhead that made his head lopsided and seeing that his cheek had turned color over the weekend, so it nearly matched the maroon of their uniform.

"You're a mess," he commented lightly, the teacher resuming his lecture. "Can't you take at least ten minutes to clean up before coming to class? Or do you just roll out of your cardboard box and expect that to be the end of things?"

At the end of class, the teacher called for Trafalgar Law to stay after, and Yonji jerked out of his chair with an astonished gasp as the other students hurriedly left the classroom, the kid in front of Sanji giving a reluctant growl in response.

"English!" Yonji exclaimed. "I was right! Hey, I was right! Sanji! Niji!"

"Shut up, who cares?" Niji complained, throwing his bag onto his desk to pack away his notebook and pencil.

"Hey," Sanji said to Law, once again jabbing him with his pen, "are you a homosexual? Because my brother likes you. Maybe you can clean up before you come to class and I don't have to look at the back of your ugly head, anymore. Do it for him."

"Shut up, Sanji!" Yonji bellowed, whipping out of his chair quickly. "No, I don't!"

"Shots fired!" Niji hollered just to be heard, and the three of them left the classroom, pushing and shoving each other as Law reluctantly approached the teacher that waited for him expectantly.

At the last block period of the day, Sanji was returning to his class after running an errand to the office when he caught sight of Law lingering near one of the trash cans near the stairway. Sanji quickly pressed up against one of the pillars near the lockers because he felt that the kid was too entranced by something in the trashcan. He watched with disgust as Law reached in and pulled out a tray of half eaten nachos, eating the rest of it as he then hurried back towards the block of rooms down the hall. Once he reached his classroom door, he tossed the cardboard box into another trash can, and exhaled heavily before he re-entered the classroom. Sanji just stood there with a disgusted expression because he'd never seen any kid do that, before.

That Friday morning, once Law took his seat in front of him, Sanji pulled a breakfast sandwich from his messenger bag, and passed it to him.

"So you don't have to eat out of trash cans," Sanji said when the kid turned to give him a bewildered look.

"Garbage Pail kid! We got us a Garbage Pail kid!" Niji hollered unnecessarily, more interested in his notebook than with Sanji, but he'd caught the action because Sanji and Yonji had been fighting over that sandwich most of the morning.

Law turned bright red, Sanji pushing the sandwich at him with an insistent shove, Yonji looking over with an exaggerated gasp.

"You're eating out of trash cans?" he exclaimed loudly, kids looking over to see who was doing exactly that. Mouth open, Yonji looked at their teacher, who tried in vain to ignore him. "Teacher! Teacher, we got us a homeless kid! This kid is hungry! You need to start a Gofund Me for him!"

Out of severe embarrassment, Law took the sandwich and threw it to the front of the class, near the large trash can in the corner, kids looking over at him with interested expressions because it was an unexpected gesture. Sanji's mouth fell open with insult as Law sat back down and crossed his arms tightly over his chest, still burning with color.

"Uh oh," Niji snickered. "Signal the meltdown in three, two, one…"

"You fucking asshole! I try and be fucking nice to you, and you do this? I didn't have to waste my time making an extra sandwich for your homeless ass! If you want to keep eating out of trash cans, go the fuck ahead! Fucking loser!" Sanji shouted, kicking his chair, Yonji twisting in his seat to look back with another exaggerated gasp, before leaving his seat and racing to the trash can, pulling out the wrapped sandwich.

"Ten second rule!" he shouted, unwrapping it and eating it, as the kids nearest him snickered.

At lunch, Ichiji watched with bewilderment as Sanji carried a half full trash can from the commons area through the parking lot to throw it at the 'English' kid sitting on the curb, the kid reacting with startled surprise as the rubber trashcan landed on the pavement, spilling out rubbish in front of him.

"Brought you lunch, bitch!" Sanji snapped at him, kicking the trashcan towards him, the English kid quickly standing up and striding off, burning with embarrassment. As Sanji returned to his brothers with a frown, Ichiji regarded him with a puzzled frown.

"What's that about?"

"He insulted my good graces."

"Sanji's got a stick up his ass because that extra sammich he made today got thrown into the trash by that kid," Niji said, rummaging through the backseat for his supplies.

"You made a sandwich for that kid?" Ichiji repeated with a bewildered expression.

"I saw him eating out of the trash, one day," Sanji said airily. "So I took it upon myself to take on a charity case, hoping it'll look good on my college applications."

"You can't just make these types of gestures without filming yourself doing it!" Niji exclaimed. "Otherwise, people don't know that you actually did it!"

"Don't bother with that sort of thing," Ichiji said to Sanji with disgust. "It's their own fault they're poor and stupid. Eating out of the trash can – he's only doing it for the attention. Don't give it to him, it's insulting on your part."

"Where's Yonji?" Sanji then asked, suddenly noticing that their younger brother hadn't arrived, yet.

"Talking to his coach about dropping weight."

"Fat ass."

"Oh, I also learned something interesting, today," Niji said, holding smoke for a few moments before exhaling. "That kid can't talk. He's got a speech impediment. Mihawk made him say his name before group work today, and he couldn't even say it right. Or should I say, 'wight'? HAH!"

"What a loser," Sanji sniffed, leaning against the Buick with a cigarette in hand. "No wonder he looks like a weirdo. He pisses me off."

"You guys give this guy way too much attention," Ichiji muttered. "If he's that despicable of a character, why bother?"

"I don't know! Fuck!"

"We are conflicted! Is it our hearts or our minds that make this decision for us?"

"Both of you are stupid."

That Monday, Sanji waited for Law to make his way to his chair, and once he tossed his notebook atop of the desktop, Sanji waited a few moments as he turned to sit, and Sanji kicked the desk to the left, the kid stumbling before he caught himself.

"My foot slipped," Sanji said as the kid looked at him with a start. But he dragged his desk back into place and sat down while Sanji glared at the back of his head, utterly disgusted with flattened black hair against the left side. "Don't you even care what you look like before you come to school? Most people put effort into themselves. This is a defining time in our lives, where we start making good impressions. Where the fuck are your manners to society?"

Law said nothing, focused on his desktop while the teacher called roll. When he called out Law's name, Yonji looked back and murdered his last name with a horrid British accent. Niji mimicked it, causing those sitting around them to shift in their seats with discomfort. Sanji leaned across his desk, jabbing him with his pen.

"Hey, say your name for us," he whispered. Then he snickered as he saw Law's ears reddening, shoulders stiffening up. Sanji kicked his seat before resettling in his, crossing his arms over his chest with a smug expression.