Disclaimer: Do I really need to go through this? I think not. Though I am VERY proud to say that I painted a life-size mural of Trunks on my bedroom wall this afternoon… heh heh heh……
A/N: I don't know where the inspiration came from, but as I was driving home I suddenly got a mental picture of Goten carrying a baby bird. As soon as I got home I grabbed some loose paper and a pen, and next thing I know, this story is done.
My inspiration comes at the strangest times, I swear…. When this one hit me, I was dead tired, sore, and had no voice from running around screaming my head off in a corn maze Halloween night. It was friggin' AWESOME! Though I don't know HOW I'll climb the steps to school tomorrow with these dadgummed aching legs…
Baby Birds
Seven years, four months, twelve days. That's how long it's been since my Goku died. It's incredible how difficult things can get, raising two boys as a single mother. Of course, I'd had to take care of Gohan by myself most of the time even when Goku was alive anyway, but this is different, somehow.
Goten. Every time I see him, I see my husband staring back at me. And then my mind clears, and there will be my little boy again, with his big black eyes that have never even seen his own father. There are so many things I wish I could give my boys, but nothing compares to how much I wish my little Goten could have his daddy.
I can see him running up to the house through the kitchen window. He looks scared, so I go outside to meet him. His large eyes are wide and filled with worry, and he looks at me with that "Mommy make it better" gaze that gets me every time.
He sniffles, and I pull a handkerchief out of my pocket and help him blow his nose.
"Baby, what happened?"
He sniffs again, wiping his nose with the back of one hand. I've been trying to teach him not to do that, but this time I let it slide.
"Me 'n' Trunks, we were sparring. We got kinda hungry, so Trunks killed a bird and he cooked him all nice and crispy with an energy ball."
I like my thumb and attempt to wash a smudge of dirt from his cheek.
"That sounds nice. What's the matter?"
He sniffs again, and I can feel my heart melting as those big, black eyes fill with tears.
"We found its nest, and there were babies in it! They were hungry, and the daddy bird was going to get them food and we killed it!"
He wipes his nose again, and I gently pull his hand away.
"Don't do that, sweetie, you'll get germs on your hands. Use the handkerchief."
He does as I tell him. He's such a good boy…he blows his nose, but it doesn't help very much. He's starting to cry.
"The babies are gonna die!" He wails and flings himself into y arms, his tiny body shaking with sobs. I hold him, stroking his hair, rubbing slow circles on his back. I shift into a more comfortable position on the ground, and he curls up in my lap immediately. My sweet baby boy…
I place a hand on his soft cheek reassuringly.
"Baby, it's okay! The mommy bird is still there to take care of them. The babies will be fine, don't worry."
Mommy bird is still here.
He raises his head, nose running and cheeks wet, eyes glistening.
"Are you sure?"
I swallow the lump in my throat and hug him tightly. He's so trusting…
"Of course I'm sure. Mommy's know everything."
He smiles now, and it lights up his whole face.
"So the mommy bird knows everything too?"
"That's right."
His face darkens again, and his bottom lip starts to quiver.
"But what about the daddy? Won't the mommy bird miss him?"
I feel my throat start to constrict, so I laugh instead and hug him again.
"The mommy bird will be fine, she's still got her babies, after all! Why don't I make you a picnic and you and Trunks can have a nice lunch outside?" I can see his lavender-haired companion lurking at the edge of the trees, hair falling across guilt-filled blue eyes. Apparently daddy-birds aren't too popular to eat anymore.
Goten brightens and hops up from my lap.
"M'kay! Can we have cookies, too?"
"Two each."
"Yay!!" He scampers off to join Trunks and they start a wild game of tag, all previous grief forgotten. I smile and walk back into the house to make sandwiches.
Won't the mommy bird miss him?
My eyes are automatically drawn to the window, past the two boys to a small grove of birch trees, grass well tended and spotted with small flowers over a solitary grave. The stone is clean, though the engraving is beginning to show signs of wear. It's a pretty place, with healthy grass and cheerful flowers, the birches casting a comfortable pool of shade. I'm glad he's there, and not in some small lot in a public cemetery, with people who don't even know him walking overtop and trampling the flowers I plant, whether they mean to or not.
Goten runs across the lawn, flailing his arms madly as he flees from Trunks, who must be It in their game. He's so innocent, he deserves so much more than I can ever hope to give him. He deserves to have a normal childhood, but I can't even grant him that. He deserves to have a father.
I shake my head, wrapping the sandwiches in wax paper and placing them, along with the cookies and bottles of juice, in a large picnic basket. Goten leaps up and kisses my cheek before taking the lunch while Trunks rolls his eyes and makes a gruesome expression. Goten takes off into the woods, giggling, and I return once more to the house.
They're only birds. Relax.
* * *
Two days have passed since Goten's baby bird crisis. It's a beautiful day -- perfect weather for him to play outside. A light breeze filters through the birch-tree grove, stirring the soft petals of the flowers planted there. I should plant more soon -- it won't be long before these ones are finished blooming. I want the flowers to always be in bloom there.
Suddenly Goten runs into the kitchen, tears rolling down his cheeks and breath shaken with deep sobs. In his hands he cradles a tiny, downy feathered body and my heart sinks. He can scarcely speak as I take him into my arms, he's crying so hard. My poor baby…
"It d-died! The m-mommy b-bird couldn't take c-care of them-m all, and the l-litt-tle one died! They n-needed the d-daddy to help-p t-too!!"
He's sobbing so much that I can no longer understand him, so I lift him into my lap right here on the kitchen floor and rock him as I used to when he was a baby. He holds the little body so tenderly, it makes me want to weep with him.
I let him cry, smoothing his hair away from his face gently, kissing his forehead and resting my cheek atop his head as he cries.
Goku, your baby bird needs you…
He leans against me, tears soaking through my dress, and all I can do is hold him and rock, gently, gently.
The mommy bird can't do it all, he needs to know hid daddy.
He's so small, and it strikes me how he is already a million times beyond me in physical strength, yet he's so vulnerable and scared…
A tears slips down my own face and disappears in my Goten's thick hair, and he clutches the baby bird to his chest, still cradling it in his hands as if it could still feel pain if he hurt it.
So sweet, so innocent, so deserving…
Come home, Goku, come home to your baby bird…
He's cried so much that now he's out of breath, and it breaks my heart to hear him gasping while the sobs still come, his thick eyelashes wet and trembling, hands cupped protectively around the tiny body.
This mommy bird can't do it alone. I've tried, but they're dying….
So I cry too, holding him as he holds the baby bird. A leaf blows off one of the birch trees to pass by the window, over my Goku's grave and into the distance. And it kills me that even as he cries, even as he needs, my little Goten will never get what every boy should have. I want to give him everything, but I can't and every time he cries, every time he sees other little boys with their daddy's, my heart breaks all over again.
My poor, innocent little Goten. He shouldn't have to be that baby bird, too.