"Papa! Papa!"

The voices came from afar. He wasn't really sure he could hear anything. He was under the impression of floating in some unfamiliar space... and didn't feel puzzled or alarmed. His mind simply didn't co-operate, and everything seemed just blurred...

"I heard this from my Mama. Papa is the proud Saiyan prince!"

Now he realized he knew that voice, after all. And he was troubled about it - the very first feeling surging in him since he'd... regained consciousness. Slowly, he opened his eyes... shut tight until now. He must have received a solid beating, all right...

"My Papa is incredible! The Saiyan prince wouldn't be beaten by the likes of that guy!"

The memory returned with a pang in his chest, much stronger than the pain in his body, when his gaze grasped two well-known faces leaning over him and smiling in relief. Along with the memory came despair.

Then, it was it.

No, not really despair, he decided after a second. He'd already accepted the situation; there was no time for futile sentiments. Actually, it'd helped him to make a decision that had been growing in him earlier.

The end.

He sat up, overcoming his dizziness. More than ever before, it was no time for weakness... not when a monster from the worst nightmare might wipe them out any moment. Them.

He pushed away Trunks' helpful arm, unable to hold back a sudden rage. Why would Trunks ever be here? What was he doing? Why here, of all places? Why-

He clenched his teeth. It was no use getting angry with the kids - even though it was Trunks' presence that dashed all hopes. If he'd been alone, he would still fight - like always, right? He would go on, never giving up, never yielding to the enemy. He would attack, again and again. He would strike and receive blows, and if he'd fallen down, he would always stand up. Over and over. One day, he would meet his end, but never in situation that he forfeited the fight himself.

He felt like smiling ironically.

Now there was no retreat. He'd never considered an escape, and now there was no longer any chance to do so, not with those impossible brats that'd just had to come here... Then, he had to destroy the enemy, eliminate the threat, here and now, once and for all, so that it would never, ever, get them. It seemed incredibly difficult, almost impossible - but there was one way, only one. A final one - and realizing it evoked a feeling of objection. He realized he didn't want to die... but a single glance at the two boys, who were staring at him with hope, strengthened his conviction.

He looked up at Piccolo, observing the scene with his sharp eyes. Damn it all, he really didn't want to die... but it wouldn't time for doing what he wanted. His face contorted, and his eyes grew wider; his chest ached again. Someone had to do it anyway.

"Trunks, take good care of your Mama," he said and thought that talking had never seem so hard before.

What he felt... Was it sadness? It was probably the first time he'd been sad in his life. He didn't want to die; more than ever he wanted to live so that he didn't have to leave... them.

But, well, so be it. He was Vegeta. He was the Saiyan prince. He was a husband and a father - and that was why, just this once, he could do something for others. He thought he just might be able to face the death with his head up. And a smile.

His eyes narrowed, and his lips curved in a familiar smirk. If it was to be the end, he would produce the fireworks the enemy had never seen and would never see again. And if they later met in Hell, he would make sure that the monster would suffer for the whole eternity.

It was with an amusing thought that he stood up to his last battle, 'No-one messed with Prince Vegeta.'