Notes: Ohmigod! Skadu finished a chapter! Hide the children… The apocalypse is coming…

The title is Portuguese for "empty dream." And the sections which begin with dates are parts of Goten's journal. Just a quick heads' up; I know it might be a little confusing at first. But it's darting between Goku's p.o.v., Goten's journal, and Goten's p.o.v.

Disclaimer: Me no own any of these kids. Or Kahlil Gibran. Someday… someday.

Yamiji: Chapter Two
Sonho Vazio
"What difference is there between us, save a restless dream that follows my soul but fears to come near you?"
-Kahlil Gibran

September 12, 781 A.D.

Father told me to let him die today.

Not in those exact words, of course. I'm being melodramatic. But, put bluntly, there you have it. After one of our (now rare) spars, he sat down with me and told me to stop chasing after my brother's memory; to just let fate handle it. If he came back, he came back.

He told me to let him die.

How can he be so blind? We're supposed to help those in need, aren't we? Be heroic. If he's as much a hero as everyone else proclaims him to be, why is he leaving his own son to this fate? Someone needs to find him; someone needs to help him.

If anything, this makes me even more certain. It's my task to do what they're afraid to do. I'm going to find him, and if I can, I'll save him. It seems like I'm the only one who saw the man behind the monster that day.

I'm alone in this. Not Trunks, not anyone understands. Really understands. This is my quest, and it seems I have to face it alone.

I don't know when I'll go, but I think it'll be soon. The dreams are getting worse.

There was darkness all around. He pulled his knees close to his chest – feeling like a child again. He wished the shadows would go away. It was too dark to make out anything, but not dark enough to hide the indistinct movements in the gloom…

He held his breath. Something was moving towards him. Something the shape of a man.

Black eyes widened against the dim backdrop.

"Brother?"

Goku opened his eyes to the sound of rain tapping on the windowsill. It was a gentle sound, a becalming one… Acting as a soporific, the steady beat of the shower began to drag his half-conscious mind back to a state of sleep. But the part of him that was awake swiftly reminded him that he had woken up for something, and not just the drizzle. Gently brushing the sheets aside, he got to his feet.

His wife was safe at his side, still beautiful in the dim shadows. She shifted in her sleep as he looked over her. She was older, but beautiful. For reasons genetic, time abhorred him; he didn't seem to have aged much at all since he had hit thirty. It was the Saiyan blood, no doubt.

Chi-chi is fine, he reminded himself, leaving the unhappy prospect behind. Not hungry, either. He smiled to himself in the dark.

He paused at the door, finger poised over the light switch, but he withdrew it after a moment's thought. His eyes could make out the hallway with ease, and there was no need to wake his anxiety-prone wife. She would automatically assume the apocalypse had come if he awoke her in the middle of the night.

Running a calloused hand through thick, stiff hair he glanced around the house, into the kitchen down the hall, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The martial artist paused in the doorway to his son's room. It had been the other one's room, many many years ago; but Goten had been living in it since birth. That didn't mean the old smell had gone away.

With one hand resting easily against the doorframe he peered into the room, and immediately realized his problem. Goten's bedcovers were thrown in a haphazard pile across the foot of his bed, spilling onto the floor below. And the rest of the bed, save the impression of a body not long missing, was empty.

Goku groaned. His son had been sleepwalking intermittently for months now. Usually he let it pass, but he didn't particularly want the fourteen-year-old getting lost in the middle of a November rain storm. It was too cold and too miserable for sleepwalking (and for sleepwalker chasing), but he found himself pulling on a light jacket and heading for the kitchen door anyway. The door had been left ajar, and rain had splashed across the linoleum.

Chi-chi will be happy to see that, thought Goku wearily. Not even bothering with shoes, he headed out into the elements, gasping at the first splash of icy rain against his feet. The energy within was enough to warm him. He closed the door gently behind him.

He glanced around the misty yard. The rain was falling lightly, but it was enough to confuse the shadows and make everything darker than usual. There was no one within sight.

Reaching out with his sixth sense, now as easy as reaching out with a third hand, he managed to locate the faint cry of his son's chi. Sleeping as he was, it was at its lowest. But the boy was near enough that he could sense it.

The meadow, he decided before he had even begun walking across the soft, muddy grass. Of course, it's always the meadow…

Pulling the jacket close against the soggy frigid night, he set out at a leisurely pace towards the forest.

A grin flashed in the darkness, at him. Try as he might he couldn't sink into the shadows, away from the creature, whoever or whatever it was… But it just grinned and grinned, staring him down, face veiled.

"You just keep searching and searching," a voice he hated rasped. "Can't find him, can you?"

The creature moved forward in a single fluid movement. A frigid hand grabbed his wrist and he pulled away in fright - shivers wracked his spine. The fingers held tight, hard and clammy against his own feverish skin. The voice was only a few inches away, now. He could smell the foul breath of the toad.

"Come now, boy. You know where the answer lies."

"You're not him," he whispered throatily, more to himself than the monster in front of him.

The creature continued to grin and, shifting his grip, applied pressure on his hand until it curled into a fist. His voice took on an ethereal, deep tone. "Fight me."

Goku considered the sleeping boy with puzzlement amidst the sea of rain. His chi was fluctuating, though he continued to sleep.

A sleepwalker, and a sleepfighter, now? Even as he watched, the boy twisted underneath the pine tree, hands clutching at his soaked nightshirt. A soft moan escaped his lips.

He must be dreaming, thought Goku after a moment. The rain slid chillingly down his back, slipping past the collar of the jacket. Goten himself was soaked.

Blue light flooded the meadow, and a large peal of thunder shook the ground beneath their feet. Startled, the Saiyan whipped around to glance in the direction of the sound. The brief flash of lightning had made the grass almost seem normal…

But the light faded, and the grass resumed its steady glow. He could barely sense the ki – it was minimal, spread out among all the blades of grass. But it had the distinctive taste of his older son to it. It even smelled of him. A constant, painful reminder.

The rain, at least, dulled the glow and washed away the old smells – of sweat, and blood. His sweat. His son's blood.

His head turned back to his son just in time to be thrown roughly to the side. His neck cracked loudly in the dark night air as his ears rang. A fist, pale in the darkness, withdrew and left his cheek throbbing and numb.

Once he had recovered his breath, Goku looked to his son with astonishment. The teenager stood with his head bowed a few feet away. At first, he was too stunned to speak. Another peal of thunder shook the meadow, interrupting the uncomfortable silence.

At last finding his voice, Goku scowled through the wet and said, "Is this about yesterday? Because…" The boy threw another punch, one that the Saiyan caught. The sudden movement startled him and made his skin prickle. There was unusual force behind the blow; Goten's chi was going through the roof. "I'm sorry if I upset you," called Goku warily.

He observed in shock as he obeyed the creature's demands, ripping his hand free and aiming a punch straight at its face.

To his surprise the punch hit with a harsh and realistic crack. His knuckles smarted.

He fled back a few feet, trying to distance himself from the monstrous thing.

"Fight me and it will lead to a battle," that hated voice was proclaiming loudly. It reverberated throughout the dreamworld.

It balled one hand into a fist and held it up to him, a loud reference. "Fight me and it will lead to the end of all battles."

Goku released his son's fist, still unable to make him out clearly among the dark and the weather. "You know you had to hear it eventually," he said, a sad attempt at reconciliation.

"Back off!" The teenager cried, and disappeared into the deluge. The rainstorm had picked up its pace; now Goku could barely make anything out past a couple of feet. An immediate feeling of being threatened filled him – on his toes in the frigid mud and slippery grass, he glanced around him, tracking his son's movements through sixth sense alone.

He was not fond of being blind.

As the creature stepped towards him, he cried "Back off!", pressing himself into the corner he had been occupying. His enemy refused, continuing to approach. He slipped along the wall, dancing across the unseen floor, fists at the ready.

The monster was laughing at him, in his raspy, irritating voice. Then he disappeared.

He froze as he felt the creature's breath on his neck. "You know what they're all really saying," it said. Its next words make his blood run cold. "Kill him."

Crying out in horror, he pulled away, and did the only thing he could think of doing. In a swift combination of hand movements and chi-gathering, he prepared his father's legendary attack.

Lightning ripped through the valley and for the briefest moment Goku read his son's shape beside the pine tree. His sixth sense told him this to be true, as well, but all of his senses were sluggish with the early hours. He hadn't been expecting a fight after all. Goten had been at odds with him for a few weeks now, but this was aggressive even for him… His adrenaline had barely begun pumping.

"Gohan, you—" he stopped, surprising himself. He was rarely one for slips of tongue.

In his moment of error a light bloomed in the dark, skewed and dimmed by the falling rain. He stared in incomprehension. The meadow was messing with his chi-sense…

As far as Kamehamehas went it was a small one, but that was what made it dangerous. Goten rushed the attack, sacrificing strength for speed; Goku, for his part, could barely make out the small beam until it was burning through the rain towards him.

Needless to say, he was shocked. That shock made him delay a millisecond too long.

His first instinct was to dive to the side, but he knew it was too late – all his inner energy shifted, and his palms automatically shoved forward. The rain sizzled as unseen force gathered in an impromptu shield.

The weak, rushed attack slammed into the shield, illuminating it as a pale blue upon contact; the disrupted energy of his son flew off at tangents to fade, with the lingering smell of burnt ozone, into the soggy atmosphere.

His heartbeat was louder than thunder in his ears, adrenaline now running high. That had been too close for his liking. A moment more of lingering… The warrior shrank away from the thought.

He looked up to see Goten appear from the veil of precipitation, clothes plastered to his small frame, head still down as if he were deep in thought. Immediately he took a defensive posture, unwilling to be caught off-guard again.

Shadows dissolved, leaving a murky half-grey world, empty and bland. But his enemy was before him – on his knees, defeated, face turned to the earth. The boy took a cautious step forward, hands still itching from the recent assault.

A man only he had seen that day centuries ago lifted his eyes to him. Son Gohan, compassionate, defeated. In that voice he had heard only once he said, "Kill me."

Goten stumbled back, breath hitched in his throat. Somewhere he found the ability to croak, "I can't… I can't…" Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt hands clamp on his shoulders and twisted desperately, panic flooding him as he continued to plead, "I can't, I can't!"

Goku watched with mounting confusion as Goten backed away, muttering something indiscernible to himself. He straightened, dropping his arms to his sides, and took on a supplicant posture. "Goten… What's gotten into you?"

The boy only continued to back away, refusing to look at him.

He had a stroke of inspiration.

In a sudden, careless movement – he was open in more places than any half-intelligent child would have been – he tore through the grass and grabbed his son by the shoulders. The fabric of his shirt was thick and heavy beneath his fingers, the skin underneath shivering from cold.

"Goten," he said stolidly. "Wake up."

They were still whispering to him – his brother, and the monster, or were they one in the same? – and he continued to fight, but he couldn't break free.

Something cold splashed his face and a completely different voice interrupted the scene.

He opened his eyes to a disorienting, wet, real world – and his father's face.

"D-Dad…?"

The older man grinned in his usual manner, releasing him. "You're getting harder to round up."

"Wha—" He gaped, seeing the glowing grass beneath him. He had to raise his voice over the pounding rain. "We're in the meadow?"

"Yeah. You must have wandered out again."

"I… I didn't think…" Goten shuddered, feeling the affects of the mountain rain. Panic curled deep in his stomach. I came all the way out here…?

His father took a hold of his shoulder in a reassuring gesture. "Don't worry about it. Come on – your mother's probably worrying."

Don't worry about it? he thought incredulously, wrapping his arms around his torso. This isn't like before. I've never been all the way out to the meadow…

And… He shuddered again, uncontrollably. His hands still tingled. From the dream? Or because he had actually done what he dreamed?

There was a faint bruise on his father's cheek; it was fresh, it hadn't been there the night before. It's been something to worry about, thought the halfbreed darkly. He stared morosely at the ground beneath his feet, following his father like a lamb back towards the forest. It's more than that, now.

I don't even have control over myself anymore.

September 13, 781 A.D.

I've decided. I'm leaving tonight.

This may be out of Dende's district. Whoever, then: please, just let me find him.

The yellowed pages of the old journal, half-full with a growing boy's scrawling text, ruffled in the wind. Pale curtains danced in the breeze issuing forth through the open window, a stark symbol of the boy's flight. The window would not be discovered until morning.

For the night, the pages and the curtains simply ruffled in the brisk early autumn draft.

Finis

A/N: Ah. Just when I hath forgotten the hell that is QuickEdit, it returns to slap me in the face.

Ok. No preview. This story is being surprisingly capricious. Quite honestly, I don't even know what's going to happen next chapter. But with any luck it won't take me another three months to get around to it. So there you have it kids! Chapter 2! Bitch to me so that I'll get around to writing Chapter 3! Review responses are, as per usual, on my Livejournal. Look at me Memories, and ye shall find!