Chapter 2

After an eternity of being around, why did these days suddenly feel so damn long?

Like he was dragging himself through the river water rather than leading others to it, and god, why the hell did he feel so frustrated? He had never been so agitated, not ever, and he was especially irritated that he wasn't really focusing on his job much anymore—

"Hey."

—and he was certain that he was going to get in trouble for accidentally taking the wrong damn kid from that last family he had visited, although it certainly hadn't been intentional—

"Hey, you awake over there?

—and goddamn if his head hadn't started hurting, and he hadn't even known that he could feel pain at all, yet it still pounded like it was being cut up by shards of glass—

"Hey, there's somethin' really wrong with you, you know?"

—and damn, damn, damn, he just wanted to punch a wall, or, better yet, he wanted to punch his boss in the face and tell him that he was quitting, the threat of being dissolved or no, because he was sick and tired of being griped at—

"Ouch!"

He reached up reflexively to rub at his head, sending a narrowed glare over at his brother, who was leering down at him with a rather knowing expression as he came back from his daydreaming.

Didn't have to hit him, though. Hurt like hell.

Oh. Well. He could feel pain. Figured.

"What do you want?" he muttered, as his brother took a seat beside of him on the overpass that looked above the end of the long river.

"Well, I noticed you were going off into lala land again, so I thought I'd snap you out of it before old Yemma noticed you were slackin' off. If he decides to get rid of you, then I'm next in line to be you, and I'm not looking forward to that. So. Don't you have souls to reap or something?"

Still frustrated for whatever reason, he shot back, "Don't you have a gate to be keeping an eye on? I think Yemma's gonna be angrier about a demon sneaking up into Heaven than he will be about some late souls. He can't even keep up his appointments anyway."

His brother, smiling in that arrogant fashion, flipped his great mane over his shoulder and just quipped, "Nah. I always catch 'em before they get too far, anyway. And don't let Yemma hear you sayin' that shit. He'll drown you himself."

Ugh.

Raditz got his nerves like no one else. His damn brother.

Brother. What a generous expression. They had been created at different times for different functions, but they had still been intended to be brothers, although sometimes he didn't feel particularly inclined to refer to Raditz by the term.

"You've been really out of it, lately."

"Yeah, and you're always out of it."

Raditz laughed.

"Maybe, but you'd be looking for an escape too if you had to stand in the same spot for eternity to bitch at everyone that comes by and try to explain to them why they're in Hell in the first place."

He scoffed.

But Raditz, looking for an excuse to irritate him, skittered sideways like a horrible spider and leaned in with a high brow.

"And besides, there's also the matter of where you've been disappearing to instead of keeping your poor brother company."

"I haven't been disappearing. I've been busy."

Yeah, busy stalking, alright.

That palace. A prince.

"Bullshit!"

He was bullshitting. Raditz called it.

Damn.

A little squirm of unease in his chest, and he sent Raditz a foul look.

"Mind your business, won't you?"

"And then there's the fact that you insist on everyone calling you Kakarotto nowadays."

He was sure, then, that he actually felt a flush upon his pale face.

So what? Was it wrong to want a name? Raditz had one. And speaking of which, how come Raditz had gotten a name, anyway? So Yemma would have something to call him whenever he needed to bitch at him instead of screaming at 'the big guy at the Hell gate'? What was wrong with 'gatekeeper'? That hadn't been fair. Not fair at all. Well, then again, there were two gatekeepers, so perhaps a name had been required. His own function had been simple enough, he supposed, that a name had been unnecessary.

Death.

He was Death.

That was his name, always had been, and he had always gone by that moniker, so he wasn't really certain why, these past few years, he had started referring to himself as Kakarotto.

He had never had a name, and hadn't ever desired one.

But Vejita had called him Kakarotto, that night. Afterwards, having a name had suddenly seemed much more important. He liked to think of himself as Kakarotto now.

Raditz had a name, so why couldn't he?

"What's so wrong with wanting a name?" he finally muttered, as Raditz looked him up and down, and he could feel that relentless gaze starting to grate his nerves.

"You never cared before."

"So?"

No matter how much he tried to scoot away, Raditz continued to close the distance between them, refusing to let him squirm out of this that easily.

"I think I know what your problem is."

"Oh?"

Raditz lifted up his chin, then, a picture of self-confidence, and he said, firmly, "I'm not stupid, you know! That's your job. I know you've fallen in love. Don't bother trying to deny it."

"I—"

He stopped short, losing his retort, and knew he must have looked confused as the phrase actually sank in.

"I've fallen in love?"

Raditz stared at him for a moment, probing, and then he sighed and shook his head.

"You've been walkin' around in that little shadow world of yours for way too long. I think it's messed up your head. You mean you haven't even noticed it? What the hell have you been doing all this time? You've been slacking off to go see some mortal, right? Or it better be a mortal, anyway, because if you try to tell me that you've got a little crush on Brolly, I'm gonna bail because I do not want to be around to pick up whatever's left of ya."

He nearly shuddered at the concept.

And nothing made him shudder.

Except for the thought of ever wanting Brolly like that, or, perhaps more truthfully, the thought of what the Heaven's gatekeeper would do to him if he thought that it were true. A notion not quite even fathomable. Well, if Death could ever be ripped limb from limb, Brolly was the one who would be able to do it.

He still didn't know why the hell that crazy son of a bitch hated him so much, but, oh damn, did he ever hate him. It didn't even make any sense. Brolly was the sweetest little thing around Raditz, going along with whatever unholy strings his brother pulled, sure, but set him in Brolly's sights and it was like Raditz had just unleashed the gates of Hell right in front of him.

Crazy.

"I haven't been in love since the beginning. What makes you think I am now? Can I even fall in love?"

Raditz looked as though for a moment he wouldn't even dignify him with a response, but then he just shook his head again, saying, "I just listed everything, didn't I? It's a real shame for me to know you're in love before you even do. And yeah, idiot, you can fall in love. You're Death, not Yemma. Why did you think you've been zoning out for the past fifteen years? Surely you thought it strange that you've been stalking someone with no reason to. You're an idiot. You really are."

Ouch.

That time his pride was the one to hurt.

Before he could open his mouth in his defense, Raditz had grown all the more obnoxious and added, "I bet you haven't even made yourself known all this time, have you? You're too lame. You've probably been standing outside of windows and staring in like a creep from the shadows. Puttin' weird little handprints on the glass. Ugh."

Ah.

How embarrassing.

All those days and nights he had stood there outside of the palace window, peering in to watch as Vejita grew up a little more each time he looked, making sure he stayed well in his little world of darkness as he did so, and maybe he had put his hand up a few times here and there...

"Well, actually—"

"I knew it."

"Well!" he cried, frustration peaking, "What am I supposed to do, huh? I just thought he was interesting, was all. I like to watch him from the windows, so what? That doesn't mean anything."

Raditz hissed air through his teeth as he rolled his eyes.

"Idiot."

So he had been watching the prince for years. He didn't see what the big deal was.

...though it did occur to him that whenever his mind seemed to wander, it usually wandered straight back to Vejita, but that wasn't so abnormal, was it? He had spared him, after all. The only time he had ever let any mortal cheat death, so of course a little curiosity was healthy.

Vejita was his, in a way.

Death had spared one, only one, and that made Vejita his, as far as he was concerned.

Vejita had been a fascinating child, and was even more fascinating now that he was a man. Perhaps he had a short-fuse, a temper, but he had exhibited that when he had met Kakarotto for the first time, and maybe he was an expert at hiding what he was really feeling so that he could snipe hurtful words instead, but those traits somehow made him all the more appealing. Couldn't figure that out.

He had watched Vejita grow, even if the prince hadn't been aware of it, so it was natural he had become attached.

Although attachment was forbidden.

Damn—every excuse he came up with only made his hole deeper and deeper.

So maybe attachment had turned into attraction.

Vejita was handsome and witty, not particularly nice unless he felt so inclined to be, and sometimes he was downright ruthless and aimed for the throat, yet he wasn't a bad person. Not someone that would be sent straight to Brolly's gate without a good long look-over, perhaps, but not a horrible being. Vejita spent most of the day looking down upon the world around him, but when he slept he was nothing short of breathtaking. Pretty eyes, too, almond-shaped, dark brown, and his nose was nothing less than the distinction of royalty, straight and narrow with a distinguished bump in the bridge. Thick eyebrows and lashes. The lightest shade of caramel when it came to his skin.

Auburn hair.

Active and self-aware, smart, not afraid to do what he wanted whether he should have or not. And oh, man, did he have the most enthrallingly addictive baritone, purring out eloquent words in his native language, and what a language, perfectly suited for Vejita somehow—

"You're doing it again."

He started upright, brow falling down in agitation, and sent Raditz a half-hearted glare.

Alright.

Maybe he had fallen into the curious thing that immortals and mortals alike called love.

"What do you suggest I do about it, then?" he asked, seeking a little wisdom from his brother.

"Well, why don't you pay him a visit, huh? Maybe that'll wake you up a little. I'm tired of you drifting around like a damn ghost. You're Death, sure, but that doesn't mean you have to act like it. Next you'll be wearing a cloak and rattling chains in one hand and holding a scythe in the other. Go say hello, why don't you? Or," he added, as an afterthought, "You could just go ahead and kiss him. I bet Yemma would let you have one little soul. Surely. Then you can take him with you wherever you want." Raditz sighed, and looked over at him with a wink. "Then you'll really abandon me for good, huh?"

Visit.

He put a finger to his chin, thoughtfully, and then drawled, "I don't know... I don't think he'll be too keen on dying. He's...well..."

What was the right word?

"He's kind of ill-tempered."

Feisty might have been better. Stubborn.

"Yeah, you would go for that type."

"You're one to talk! Besides," he grumbled, as he rested his folded arms on his knees, "He doesn't even know I've been watching him. He's not gonna just come with me right off. He'll probably try to deck me one right in the nose if I pop up in his bedroom out of nowhere, and I don't wanna think about what he'd do if I tried to kiss him."

Especially since a kiss meant instant death.

"So go woo him," Raditz said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe, and Kakarotto looked up through his bangs, eyes wide.

"Wha—what?"

"You heard me. God, do I have to do everything for you? Go declare yourself to him, and then go and see him whenever you want. After a while, he'll come around. Do that dashing mystery man thing. Mortals go crazy for that." Raditz sent him a scrutinizing gaze. "It's not like you're hideous or anything. I mean"—another flip of that hair—"you'll never be as handsome as me, of course, but I think you oughta surpass any reasonable standards—"

Blah, blah, blah.

He filtered the rest of his brother's words into white noise, perched his chin in his palm, and turned his eyes back down to the gently flowing river.

Go see him, huh? Sure would be nice to talk to Vejita again, he wouldn't lie. To be able to interact with him instead of just watching from the shadows would be a welcome development.

Better than pining away and letting his work suffer for it.

These past years had been dragging by like no others. He had given the prince a chance to survive, and it was suddenly as if by doing so he had been drained of his own desire to live (although living, in his terms, wasn't quite the same). He felt tired. Distant. Hell, for a few moments here and there over the years, he had almost wished (although he would never admit it) that he were a mortal.

Everyone in the other world had already thought he was messed up in the head, a little dumb maybe, and to be so out of it now was surely making them think it all the more. If this kept up, Yemma might just replace him with a new reaper.

What a mess.

If he had known back then that it would have such an effect on him, perhaps he would have just taken the child as he was meant to.

But, damn, it had been too tempting.

He remembered going back a few days after the fact, standing there in the corner of the bedroom, oblivious to human eyes, and watching as the child's fever finally broke and he sat up for the first time, sweating with exertion and yet looking so proud of himself. Vejita had looked so proud of himself, like he had conquered the world, and the king had been bawling so badly that he hadn't even made sense, snatching his child up in his arms and yanking him up out of the bed and into an embrace, and it was actually a few days before the king set the child down again. When Vejita's feet had hit the floor for the first time in a month, the child had looked over to the corner, where shadows lied, and had smiled.

Kakarotto had smiled, then, too.

Vejita had kept his promise to pull through, through sheer will-power, and he had started calling himself Kakarotto.

Not a coincidence.

Getting to know Vejita, after that, had always been an interesting endeavor.

He wasn't a mind-reader, of course, and he would never know what was really going on inside the prince's head, but it was easy to understand him when he had the luxury of watching without Vejita knowing that he was even there at all.

Even as a child Vejita had been hard-headed and rather single-minded, proud and dignified if not a little abrasive, but that was what had made him so interesting. He wasn't like the other people around him, wasn't like the other royals, wasn't like the rest of the court. Kakarotto loved that, because it made Vejita stand out so much more.

Vejita was a prince who wanted to be a prince but didn't want to act like a prince.

That Vejita was a prince at all was another quirk that had snagged Kakarotto. Ancient kingdoms and monarchs weren't much longer for this time, and it was a little fascinating to watch Vejita growing up in a court and a society that probably wouldn't be there anymore by the time he was old. Vejita and his father were becoming novelties, but you wouldn't have known it by looking at them. Their world was crumbling beneath their feet, and yet still they stood strong, even as the tide began to swing the other way and wars threatened their kingdom.

Vejita may have unknowingly been the last of their line.

Time would tell.

For now, such a worry was for the king, not for the prince. Vejita was young and rather wild, not particularly concerned of the state of his union as much as he was about sneaking away from it.

How many times had Kakarotto stood outside the window and watched as Vejita slunk through it, so close that they nearly brushed each other, to escape into the outside world for a while? To get away from diplomacy and etiquette. Vejita seemed far more interested in wandering outside the palace than he was on learning how to run it when the time came, although he had certainly inherited the innate ability to do so. Maybe Vejita knew it, arrogant as he was.

Kakarotto had always found him curious.

He couldn't remember the exact day that curiosity and affection had turned into something else.

Maybe it had been the time he had gone a good year or so without seeing Vejita at all.

He had visited Vejita one day, when the prince was still lanky and his face still coated in baby-fat, caught in that awkward stage of the early teenage years, and then Kakarotto had left, for a while, trying to reaffirm his dedication to his job. For all the good it had done. In the end, he always came back to Vejita. Always. When he had returned that time, though, it had been nearly astounding.

Vejita had grown.

For a mortal, it seemed, it was all or nothing. At fifteen Vejita had been a little kid, chubby-faced and running away from his father petulantly, and at sixteen Vejita had been a mature-looking, angular young man whose cheeks were coated in glossy stubble rather than fat. Still running away from his father, though, although this time a bit less playfully and more urgently.

Vejita looked as regal as his father did.

Taller, although not by very much, wider in the shoulders and broader across the chest, he had come into adolescence with a rather handsome leap. A chubby face had become angular and refined, high cheekbones visible, and he had chopped off his bangs, revealing a distinguished forehead.

Still had that petite stature and those tiny feet though.

Vejita, in his eyes, was quite beautiful.

That might have been when Kakarotto had started to contemplate what it would be like to be a mortal.

Or, rather, what it would be like for Vejita to look upon him as a man.

He wondered if they would have gotten along. That one night they had interacted had made him think that they would, although head-butting might have been a frequent thing between them. All the better. He liked a little arguing from time to time. Made him feel engaged and in charge. An eternity of dealing with moaning dead people might have made him that way.

A sudden tap on his shoulder.

"So, you goin' to tell me his name or what?"

Raditz was staring at him, brow high and questioning, and for a moment, Kakarotto had almost intended to answer him until a movement from behind caught his eye.

A moment of shock, and then the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end.

Brolly was striding towards them, a struggling demon caught up in his grasp. He didn't look happy, either. Fuckin' Raditz, so busy trying to get into other people's business that he couldn't even keep his attention focused on his damn gate.

Brolly would blame him, of course.

He was always looking for an excuse to rip his head off.

"Hey, you—"

Bolting upright, he sent Raditz a quick look and said, thinly, "Gotta go!" and then, in a flash of shadows, he vanished.

"Wait!"

Too late.

He was long gone.

A whirling of darkness and mist, and he reappeared far away from harm.

Escaping an angry gatekeeper for now, Kakarotto felt his feet touch down gently on a stone hall he knew well, and heaved a sigh.

He wasn't afraid of Brolly. He would just rather avoid being maimed when it wasn't necessary, was all.

Well, that aside...

He raised up his head in the pale sunlight coming in through the window, and observed the world down below. Well-dressed people coming and going, holding conversations as they passed obliviously by him. Paintings all over the walls. Polished marble on the floor. Pretty trees and flowers adorning the yards outside. High stone walls. Too many rooms to be reasonable. And gold. So much gold. Gold everywhere. This entire country's gold supply probably lied in Vejita's dining rooms.

Kakarotto knew every inch of these grounds.

He'd come to this side of the world so often now that he knew every feature.

This old palace. Every room. Every corner. Every nook and cranny. He loved this country and this palace, because this was Vejita's home, and, by watching Vejita living in it, he almost felt in a way as if it were his own. He had always liked coming here, and this time he felt he had a pass. Raditz had told him to visit, hadn't he, so this time he didn't feel so bad about showing up in this familiar place.

He wondered what Vejita was up to.

Ha. Probably nothing the court would have been particularly pleased with.

Taking a step forward, gliding straight past so many people and yet being seen by none, he wandered about, gathering his mind and his nerves to do what his brother had suggested he do.

He shouldn't have been nervous. He should have been impervious to such a feeling. Although, to be fair, perhaps he should have been impervious to love as well. Sure as hell didn't keep his heart from pounding like crazy as he tried to plan his words out in his head.

What could you say to a man you knew so well but were a complete stranger to?

He supposed he would do what he always did when the situation was too difficult or too unpredictable.

Just wing it.

What was the worst Vejita could do him? Kill him? Hardly.

As he weaved through halls and corridors, grand scenery, his chest was burning with an excitement that not even an angry Brolly himself could have dulled.

For the first time in existence, he was going to show himself to a person that was not dying.

If he knew Vejita as well as he thought he did, then he was going to be making himself known quite a bit, because Vejita was not the type who would give him anything easily or quickly.

He would have to work for it.

It would only make it more satisfying in the end.

Showtime.