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Look, I love Mirai Trunks. I think he's an amazing character. Super tragic, yes, but that's what I look for in a man. (I'm kidding. Except not really.) But I also think he's alone and that there's no way, no possible way, he would have been completely okay after all that he went through. That's where this drabble came from.
Also, I'm having a really bad day and I'm extremely unhappy, so that contributed too.
Summary: Mirai Trunks misses.
It starts as a passing fancy. He flies over the Earth, over rippling green fields, over high mountains and endless blue oceans and every other generic landscape that's ever been seen or thought of by humans, and he realizes—yeah, I could ruin this place with a flick of my wrist.
Then he feels sick with himself. He pushes it away, into the deepest recesses of his unconscious mind. He makes an effort—don't think about it, Trunks, don't THINK ABOUT IT.
And he doesn't. Not really. Not intentionally.
But it comes to him anyway, in moments of weakness, when he sleeps.
Dreams of fire, of lightening and of broken bodies—the end of the world, all at his hands. He watches himself do terrible things—animals, trees, children, none are safe from him, not him, who's not even human, not completely.
He becomes aware of it, pumping through his veins and out of his control. Splitting. Dividing. Two persons trapped in one body. It's like his human DNA and his Saiyan DNA are separate entities, warring at each other inside of him, fighting for dominance. His hands shake with it, his eyes water and sweat forms on his brow. He's frightened, but at the same time—he just wants it to end.
They—the humans—they hail him hero. He doesn't understand, how can they not see? Not even his mother, so close to him all the time, she doesn't notice, she can't, she's only human too, isn't she?
He wants to scream in their faces—look at me, look at me, I'm no better than they were, look at ME!
He thinks of his father, the last Saiyan in the universe. His father, who once longed to conquer planet Earth. He was the same, once. He was the same, but he grew out of it, eventually. He could have taught how to live with it, crush it maybe, or at least get a grip on it—but Vegeta lingers in a different time, a different place. And well out of his reach now.
He's the last Saiyan here, and there's no Gohan, no Piccolo, no other Trunks, no one to sort him out or put him in his place. No, there's no one now.
He's the strongest in this universe.
Sometimes he thinks of them, of the two beings he fought his whole life. Of the two beings he finally conquered, destroyed, annihilated—and he enjoyed it, he's not about to deny it. It gave him a thrill, wiping them from the Earth. If he could, he'd probably bring them back, do it again and again and again and again—
He wonders if this was how they felt every day. Yes, yes, I could burn this entire world if I wanted to.
It just makes him even sicker.
But worse of all is a thought that occurs to him one night, while he sits on his bed and stares at the wall and refuses to sleep, because to sleep is to dream and to dream is to destroy and he just can't take it anymore—
They were the only ones left in the world who could have understood him.
And he killed them.
He killed them.