For a week, Trunks guarded the door to his mother's lab.
Vigilance had dwindled from constantly staying right outside in the hall to checking in every few hours, but there it was. The young man grew more anxious with every passing day, knowing there was still a loose end with the potential to unravel everything unless he went looking for her. Despite 17's current lack of fighting power, there was still something terrifying in the atmosphere of the open room, and trusting him alone with Bulma was simply not an option. So Trunks remained conflicted, practically gluing himself to a small radio for any news of 18's potential warpath, just to pretend to himself that he was still in control.
"You have to feed yourself, you know."
Trunks looked up from where he sat to see his mother smiling at him knowingly. He absently fiddled with the handle of the small electronic at his side not really listening to the music that currently crackled through its speakers.
"I know, but I just…I can't leave right now." He turned his gaze downward, trying to avoid the glare he was certain he'd get. Instead, he heard a heavy sigh, and felt her eyes move from the top of his head to the doorway.
"Trunks, he hasn't moved in four hours. I know you're worried, and it's not that you shouldn't be but…"
Another sigh. Glancing up, the young man saw her staring hard past him into the lab. Blue eyes flicked back down to his face, features softening around them.
"If things have been fine so far, they will stay fine for one meal. Come on, I've already got it on the table."
Still wary, but feeling somehow relieved, Trunks picked up the radio and traveled with his mother back up into the small dining room of the house. He even managed to crack a smile as they talked over steamed rice and some grilled fish. He'd nearly forgotten entirely about the music playing at his side on the table, when just as they started clearing the dishes, music turned to a frantic news anchor filtering through the static,
"After almost a week of calm, I am now reporting live from the east district of Lemon City where survivors are fleeing for their lives from—"
Trunks barely heard the shouted "be careful!" at his back before he rushed from the kitchen, grabbing his sword and the remote on the way out. He would have to trust that his home and mother would be in one piece at his return.
This time, Trunks steeled himself to the possibility of another inexplicable emotional breakdown. He didn't act fast enough at first, and had to fight for a while before having a chance to grab for the off switch and hit it within range.
To his surprised horror, 18 fell totally limp in a crumpled pile at his feet. Not trusting that he wouldn't be approached by someone if he stayed standing there, he picked her up and took to the sky, entirely unsure of his destination. He cursed as clouds gathered and it began to storm, forcing him to land a little ways outside town where it started becoming trees and clusters of stonerock. Trunks happened upon a small cave, and though it wasn't ideal, propped up the lifeless body in his arms against its inner wall. Tempting as it was to leave her there and forget about it, something kept him by the cyborg's side until the rain passed. For the hour and a half that he sat, the sounds of water dripping at the mouth of the tiny space washing over him, he silently argued with himself over his options. Nothing seemed to be a satisfying end, but the least complicated at the moment was to just bring 18 back with him. Expression grim, the demi-Saiyan gathered his charge and started the trip back to Capsule Corp, a pit burning it's way through his stomach as he went.
It had been a few years since Trunks had snuck into his own home. Back then, it was almost always to avoid getting yelled at for "running off to be killed", and would involve trying to patch himself up the best he could before his mother noticed. He tried to push away the memory of Gohan lying face down in the mud as he slipped into one of the top floor windows of Capsule Corp, still holding 18 against his chest.
Though technically now an attic, the gravity room was open and nearly empty, more of a wide, circular flat than a storage space; the perfect place to hide his second impromptu captive. Hands shaking, Trunks lowered her to the floor close to the door he'd come in through, and once he had double checked that she was very much unconscious, bolted out of the room and down the stairs to find Bulma. He found her waiting at the kitchen table, hands knit together tightly around an unfinished mug of coffee that had long since grown cold, radio silent. The moment she heard him step over the threshold into the small room, she stood from her seat,
"Thank god, you're ok! The way you ran out I thought maybe—"
"Mom, I need your help," Trunks interrupted breathlessly, feeling his face beginning to betray his distress. Bulma's eyes widened slightly with horror.
"…It happened again?"
"No. The remote worked this time. That's the problem."
The boy stumbled through an explanation of what had happened, trying not to scream or collapse from the frenzy of thoughts blurring in his mind. Once he had finished, he slumped helplessly into one of the chairs, burying his face in his arms on the table.
"What do I do…I just don't even know what to do anymore."
"Oh, sweetheart," Bulma sighed, taking the seat next to her son. She put what she hoped was a reassuring hand to his shoulder, rubbing it gently.
"I just wish…I wish Gohan were here," Trunks's muffled voice came broken and small from where he was slouched over. The sting of tears came to Bulma's eyes, and fighting them back with a deep breath, she moved closer to give a hug.
"I know."
