Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon ball Z or any of the character's except for my OC's
Summary: Yasai never thought he'd end up in a place like this. A new family that wasn't really his, and a life that did not belong to him. His body has healed, but his mind hasn't, and he is still scared. Of what, he isn't sure. But this is a fear he is not sure he can let go of. Especially not with the lingering thoughts that he still isn't safe. Not yet, not ever... Sequel to BWTB
Warning: Rated M for language, abuse, rape, mpreg, etc.
Okay, yes, I know I suck, and I'm sorry. Those last few months of school really just destroyed me, and then my computers were bitching at me, and I don't really have a reliable one to write on right now, but don't worry children, I will persevere! Pray for me...
This is really fucking long. Like length of a long one-shot, fucking long... I'm sorry. I was going to split it, but I couldn't find a good enough spot to do so. I've been working on this chapter for like nine years so that's probably why it's ungodly long...
Anyways, please enjoy this long ass, and long overdue chapter.
Blind Eyes Opened
Chapter four:
It was not until at least two days had passed before the train finally stopped.
At first, Chill was not quite sure that the journey had truly ended. The train stopped frequently, almost as if were teasing him and his fellow inmates into believing they could finally be freed from the far too small and far too hot cart. He was exhausted, because no matter how tired one was, it was still difficult to sleep standing on sore feet, while crushed against a hot barred window, with a throat that was so damaged from thirst that even to so much as swallow his scarce bits of spit was painful. He felt nauseous too. Still, the thing that bothered him most was probably his hunger, which was so bad that he couldn't even feel it. That happened sometimes—you could be so hungry that you couldn't even stomach to eat. He wondered if he was a Muselmann, yet. He felt a bit too aware of his surroundings, so probably not. He was not sure if he hoped so or not; if there was ever a time for him to be accepting of his fatal fate, it would be now.
Also (just to complete his wonderful train ride) he had a dead body pressed against him. The man died about a day ago, whether or not it was from dehydration or hunger or suffocation or fatigue or some other reason, Chill could not tell you... not that it matter. What mattered was the fact that since all of the inmates were packed so closely together, the lifeless body could not crumple to the ground in heap, leaving his only option to be slumped against Chill's side. At first, horrified, Chill had tried to push him away, but it was not any use: the other prisoners had snapped at him for the constant movement, and he had disturbed Neeila, on his other side, who was desperately trying to rest.
So he and the dead body spent the journey together. He wanted to say that it had not been that bad, but it really had been, even for him. Chill did not dislike many things, but corpses were definitely one of them. Even if he could not always see them (for which he was grateful for), he could just as easily imagine what they looked like: cold, dull, filthy skin; sunken faces and rotting eyes and ears and noses; bloated tongues and disfigured limbs; thin, brittle bodies, slowly caving in until even their bones laid flat against the ground... Just thinking about one made him naseous, nevermind touching one, which was why he was surprised he had not simply passed out from having one laying on top of him for so long.
The body had been heavy, literally and metaphorically. Literally because its weight would have crushed him if he was not already forced to stand, and it made breathing even harder than it already was. Metaphorically, because it was just a heavy reminder that if he did not get more water and more food, he would as well die, still forced to stand; still trapped; still leaning on Neeila's shoulder...
Other than that, he supposed it was not too bad. If he faced the barred window, and calmed his mind enough to rest, he could pretend that the body against his was not dead, but was rather in some type of coma, and that the man still had a heartbeat. When Chill closed his mind off, it was almost easy to give into the false fantasy.
Well, at least until it had started to smell, but Chill did not like to think about that much.
When the train had rocked to its final stop, Neeila's eyes had cracked open. She did not say much, aside from questioning whether the journey was over, to which Chill did not answer because he did not know. She might have still been talking to him, but by this time he had tuned her out. It was too loud in the cart; to hot, and too packed. Panic and frustration were being to cloud him, and there was nothing for him to do except wait.
And wait he did, because it was another painful hour full of heart-wrenching moans, and cries of suffering, and the horrid stench of body waste before the doors finally opened.
His body was instantly bashed and shoved as if he were nothing more than a rag doll, and through it all he could feel Neeila's grip on his sleeve. Together they were dragged along with the shuffling crowd, Chill's dead companion still being forced along beside him. The hybrid nearly tripped when he stepped down from the cart, only managing to save himself and Neeila by slamming into the sturdy body in front of him. Once again on his feet, he was pleased to note that corpse he had been plagued with had finally slumped properly to the ground in a dead heap. Other bodies of those who did not survive the journey dropped to the ground as well, and it was Neeila's grip on his sleeve that kept him from stumbling over them. He sure hoped they would not have to be the ones too clean them up. He'd rather skip meals and work in the coal mines shoveling rocks until his hands were raw and bleeding, than have to drag corpses to the trenches. That was the worse job in the whole prison—even worse than managing the waste trenches.
(Well, actually, he hoped he was not put to work right away regardless. He was too exhausted he could barely stand. He needed to eat and drink, and maybe if he was lucky, a moment of rest. He could not work now—he did not need to have any sort of intelligience what so ever to know that he would die if made to do so. It was not a possibility, it was a fact.)
He had not even realized he had zoned out until he was jostled very roughly by the body in front of him, making his head spin from the pain. Neeila's grip on his sleeve was loosening with every hit she herself took, so Chill reached back, and tangled his hand in the hem of Neeila's pants, perhaps a bit too close to the place a boy his age of twelve-years should refrain from touching on a girl's body. She does not object though, and the thought does not even cross Chill's mind, because why would it?
Distantly he can hear her voice trying to say something to him, but he ignores her because he cannot make out her words. Aside from the loud footsteps and the thuds of bodies banging into each other, there was no sound. No one spoke out loud unless spoken too—that's just how things are run here.
Eventually, the bodies stop moving, and Chill finds himself in some sort of line. Once his mind has settled from the previous motion and the aches and pains in his body in his body have had time to register, a smell reaches his sensitive nose. It's sickly sweet, like some type of cologne—nothing like the scent of body odor or body fluids that Chill has long since grown used too. Immediately he knows that it belongs to the people in front of him: newly-arrived prisoners; the ones that were still fresh with their old lives. Boy did new-comers smell good; a bit overwhelming, but damn good. He wondered how long it would be before they lost their scent. He wondered how long it would be before the little child with them would stop humming that little cheerful tune. Probably soon.
As the line moved slowly forward, Chill released the fabric of Neeila's pants, and clasped his hands together, like he was trained too. Chill was not used to being accounted for in this way—normally, every start and every middle and every end of the day he would wait in rows for role call. His ankle bracelet was already programmed for Division 3, so any and all documents about him and his person was in their database. Now though, he would need to stand in this registration line so Division 7 could get his bracelet information.
He wanted to sleep. Exhaustion and the foreign smell of the family in front of him had his body swaying so much that he nearly missed a kapo speaking. That was what they called the inmates who have been assigned to oversee the other prisoners that did the real labor. While they were not respected to the degree that Tenemareen guards were, they still had a position of power, which was a definitely something to be joyful over, compared to being your average slave like Chill and Neeila. It did not matter that the other inmates thought them to be traitors (which in a sense they were, considering how they abused their power, as Neeila once said), because they were eating, and they sleep on real bunk beds, and they did not have to work in the way the other prisoners did. Herio once said he'd sell Neeila's kidney just to be a kapo for a day, and her left arm for a week, and in turn she punched him in the chest, all while their mother laughed. Chill thinks that might have been the last time he was ever in that vile woman's presence.
Then it dawns on Chill that someone is speaking. The kapo, right, what was he saying? Chill's brows creased in concentration as the kapo's words grew louder with each step, until finally he heard: "Tell them you are eighteen, and can work."
Chill did not need to be told twice, because he already knew that rule. It was probably for the new-comers, who were still lost in their blissful ignorance. It was not their fault, Chill knew. Chill did not know how 'normal people' (dubbed by Herio) lived, but he knew enough to know that it was much different from the way he lived.
The sweet-smelling man and woman in front of him looked at each other, and Chill heard the woman question: "eighteen?"
Chill leaned forward on the balls of his feet, and said in as low of a voice as he could: "Tell them your child is eighteen years, and that he had a job." He was not sure why he felt the desire to help them—maybe it was because they smelled good.
The two were startled (the woman even went so far as to yelp). Chill did not blame them. He and the other prisoners who lived this life were monsters—or at least, that was what they were called. Corpses and demons and animals and zombies—they were called these too. Some of the other prisoners did not like that, being called such names, that is. Chill can somewhat understand—the words do hurt (or at least they used too, back when he realized that those things were not his given name, but were actually insults, and he had enough mental capacity to care). But then again, Chill did not understand. After all, the labels were true. They were monsters, and corpses, and demons, and animals, and zombies. They were slaves for labor; they slept together like cattle; they carried and spread diseases like vermin. When they died, their bodies piled on top of one another, as if their lives meant nothing (and Chill supposed they didn't). They would kill each other just for an extra bite to eat; they rolled and screamed and shook uncontrollably with drool and blood pouring from their lips as if they were insane (which they all practically were).
Monster, no, that was too kind of a word to describe what Chill was; what they all were. He will admit that it was somewhat comforting to think that he was not the only one like this.
But these people were not like the rest of them. These were 'normal people', who did not know hunger, or whips, or the constant companion of death lurking just over your shoulder. Their clothing was not tattered, or stained with blood or vomit or excrements, or other things that Chill has long since stopped trying to identify. These people did not have brittle arms and legs, or swollen hands and ankles, or thin lifeless hair. Hell, he had lived this life for so long that his stomach was no longer bloated. It probably ate itself. The pains of hunger were pretty much ignorable now, but it was still there, eating away his life. He was probably going to die. If they put him to work straight away then he would for sure. If they made him clear away the fallen bodies, then he might as well already be dead. He could probably lie amongst them and no one would know the difference.
The woman pulled her son closer, and said: "Eighteen? My boy is barely nine years! How could he have had a job, as you say, if he was only in his second year of school?"
'Well, your boy is not in school anymore, now is he? He's in our world now, and we do not have much a need for nine-year old schoolboys.'
Chill kept quiet; he was not going to get in trouble for these people. Still, despite himself, he could not help but wonder what this family had done to earn this fate.
Inch by inch, the line moved. The family in front of him kept whispering to each other in a language that Chill could not understand, but he had stopped paying attention. Instead, he kept his head down, and tried not to think of Neeila standing behind him. Somehow, her pinky had found its way curled around his (probably to make sure they did not get separated, as ineffective as it would be), and he did not like it. Ignoring the fact that if she had not been holding onto him, he probably would not have even remembered she was there. He felt sick in his chest, and he wanted her to let go. She would not though, no matter how hard he subtly tried to pull away. He would never understand why she had to be so unnecessary.
His attention was captured once again by a guard's voice coming out loudly. Chill could not see him, but he bet that the guard's eyes were devoid of interest, if his voice was anything to go by. His words, however, were not directed to Chill, but to the family in front of him: "Name and age."
The new-comer woman watched the guard warily, clutching her son as the new-comer man said: "I am Santamaricily, thirty-five years. This is my wife: Mayflorence, thirty-seven years. And this is my son: Pintovenice, nine years."
Again the guard spoke as if he were a machine reciting words on command: "Are you healthy?"
The man looked puzzled. "Ah, yes. My wife was actually down from influenza a week prior, but she should be almost completely recovered now."
Chill's head sunk lower. He was telling them all of the wrong information, and nothing right.
"Your ankle, sir."
Sir. This man would not be a 'sir' for much longer. The moment the bracelet was attached, he was one of them—one of Chill's people.
"My ankle?" the man questioned. The guard said no more, only pierced him with a hard gaze, to which the man quickly reached down, rolled up the leg of his pants, lifted his leg, and presented it to the guard. It only took a moment for the bracelet to be attached, and another moment for the device to be activated. Once the small bulb on the device began to glow green, the man's leg was knocked down from the table. Another guard then appeared and directed the man towards the right, and another guard directed the woman and boy to the left.
"Wait, where are you taking them?" Chill heard the man ask almost frantically before he stopped listening. Ignoring the distant cries from the man, Chill stepped forward.
"Your name?" The guard barely looked at him.
Chill's voice was even quieter than a mumble, and directed towards the ground as he recited his answer. Chill was a rather stupid boy, but if there was one thing he knew, it was his name.
"Excuse me?" the guard snapped with impatience.
The hybrid flinched, straining his bowed neck as he spoke with more volume: "Chill, son of Lord Frieza, son of King Cold. D3-990874." He would not need to state a false age, or a false state of health; his name was all that was needed. It was strange saying his full name (and not just because it was fucking long). Every guard in Division 3 knew him, and if for some odd reason they did not, all that was needed was a quick check of the bracelet around his ankle. Then again, perhaps Division 7 was not quite up-to-date with this new technology?
The guard was quiet for a moment, before he spoke to the guard next to him. "Well, this is a surprise. I had not been informed he would be joining us."
"Indeed," she replied.
The guard turned back towards Chill. "I would hope they did not send you here sick. Despite the contents of which your name holds, we have no use of sick vermin here."
Chill nodded, and his arm was grabbed. As he was directed towards the right, he heard Neeila's voice say: "Manence Neeila. D3-990815; eighteen years."
Chill wondered if she really was eighteen. What did eighteen year old girls look like?
His thoughts were interrupted, because distantly as he was dragged along he could hear her say: "Healthier than a newborn fowl!"
Gods she was so colorful. It was a wonder that she survived this long—that is, if they did not kill her right then and there.
They don't though, because moments later, he feels her bump into place beside him. Just as she settles, Chill realizes he's standing next to the new-comer man from before. The man's voice is frantic and full of panic as he asks: "Where are they taking them? My wife and my son—where are they taking them!"
"They're gone, mate," a familiar voice whispers, and it takes Chill a second to recognize it as the kapo from before.
"Gone? Gone where!" the man exclaims with something akin to a sob.
"Pipe down!" the kapo hisses. "Gone, as in gas chamber or furnace, gone. Now, if you don't shut the hell up and do as your told, you're going to be following them."
Chill did not need to see the man to that he looked like he just might have wanted to follow them.
He didn't though. The man's body slouched in defeat, his shoulders slumped. Sobs escaped him as he covered his face with his hands, once again mumbling in that language Chill could not understand. Chill was not sure he felt sympathetic; he had tried to help them, didn't he?
Or maybe it was simply that other people's tears did not make him sad. He had heard so many people cry that he just didn't care. He did not know if he had ever cared.
Then Neeila spoke; quietly, and nothing like the colorful girl from before, who had the courage to tell a guard with the power to kill her with only one perfectly position slash of a whip, that she was healthier than a damn horse. "You're alone, but you still have to survive."
The man looked down at her, but she would not look at him. You almost could not even tell that she was the one who spoke.
She was still reckless though, because that was just the type of girl she was. Just as a guard passed behind them, she whispered in Mangelin—her home language. They were words that only he knew, and were only for him: "All we can do now is survive."
And Chill wanted to ask: "Well what the hell for?"
He doesn't, because he knows that colorful Neeila does not have the answer.
He woke up screaming.
Or rather, it was his screaming that woke him up.
His mind was in such a daze that he almost did not notice that he was no longer lying down, but was braced on his elbows, choking on the saliva his screaming left behind. He convulsed with his coughing, his heart pounding, and his body soaked and trembling underneath the blanket, which had never felt so hot— no, never so suffocating before.
He had to get it off. Get it off. Get it off! Someone get it the fuck off!
Yasai kicked and kicked, trying desperately to free himself from the blankets that only seemed to entangle around his legs even more. He did not even notice when the blankets crumbled to the floor below him, he only kicked and kicked.
Daddy! Where was Daddy?
Yasai tried to call for him, daddy, father, Vegeta! Nothing came though, because something was on his throat. Whatever was on his throat was choking him rather tightly, and he could not so much as utter a sound, and he could not breathe either. He clawed at his neck, desperately trying to free himself from its confines, but it was not working because nothing was there. But there had to be something there—he could feel it! Oh gods, he was going to die. Where was Daddy? Daddy would save him, surely. Daddy saved him before.
Or maybe Daddy wouldn't. There had been a lot of times when he needed Daddy—or rather Mommy at the time—and he had never come. Chill had been all alone, just like Yasai was now.
Stop it. Daddy will protect you. He promised he would.
But can Daddy protect you from your dreams? Can he calm your shaking body, and stuttering breathes? Can he stop your blood and heart from pumping with undeniable fear?
Fear of what, Yasai could not say.
So he closed his blood-colored eyes, and desperately tried to wrack his memory for anything that would clue him on what just occurred. Nothing came through. He had had a dream (that much was clear), and now he could not remember any of it. He could still feel the dream; it was as if it were hiding behind a corner, waiting to strike him again.
It did not though. The dream was gone, only leaving behind the terror.
No, it was not a dream, it was a nightmare.
He did not need to remember it too know that he had never had a nightmare like that. Never, and he has had a myriad of nightmares in his thirteen years of life.
He furiously brushed his hands over his face, smearing away the tears and sweat and snot. His hands fell down to grip the blanket in his white knuckles. It was then that he noticed the spot beneath him was wet. He had peed in his sleep again, and apparently, that was a bad thing.
Through his hysteria, he found himself looking over at the burgundy chair. It was empty—it always was this time of day. Daddy was gone, and for the first time since he had come to this strange planet, Yasai felt truly alone. Alone in the bad way.
'No, I'm not alone,' he told himself desperately. He had—no, he needed to believe so.
But you are. You're all alone. That nightmare is going to come back, and maybe this time, you won't get away.
He could not feel his body, but he registered that he had swung his legs over the edge of the bed. In the back of his mind he knew that his legs were not working, but he did not let that stop him from crashing to the floor. His elbows, as if on auto-pilot, danced across the tiles as his abdomen wiggled, his mind focused on one thing only.
Get out; get out; get out.
When he reached the door—thank the gods it was cracked open—he nudged it out of his way, and continued his retreat. The hallway was familiar (maybe a bit different because of the lighting) but he could not find it in himself to care enough to stop and stare. Stopping and staring wide-eyed would not free him—only motion would. He had to get away. From what, he could not really remember. Perhaps something was chasing him? He did not care; he only cared about getting away. Get out and get away.
But he couldn't, because he found himself stopping. His face was smashed against the floor, the tile cold against his cheek. His chest shuddered, desperately trying to refill his lungs with air. He groaned and clutched his temples, because his head was pounding with pain. The haze from his eyes, however, was clearing; as was the fog in his mind.
He really needed to calm down. He was okay. Had he not told himself that? Calm yourself down and think.
And a few minutes later, he did.
With a final deep breath, Yasai pushed himself back up. Where the hell was he? This was not the hallway that led to the room where his eyes were checked by the strange doctor woman; this was a different place entirely. This was place that he should not be.
He was going to be in so much trouble.
'Don't freak out', he told himself, 'Breathe, or else you're really going to get caught.'
So he breathed—in and out several times, until he felt he was calm enough to open his eyes again. Unfortunately, he had not awakened to being back safely in his hospital bed, underneath his crème ceiling with brown dots and tiny cracks. He was still in the strange hallway; still not where he should be; still lost.
And yet, despite his unease, he could smell something. Ever since coming to the planet, his sense of smell had improved amazingly (which still confused him, but he figured it had to be the healing, and the fact that it was not stuffed with anything that should not be there). The smell, however, was distant, but pleasant. Pleasant enough that he tipped his head back, and took a deep long whiff.
He shuddered in pleasure. It was definitely food—that much was clear.
Oh he wanted that food so bad. He was not going to go after it though—that just was not an option. What he needed to be doing was finding a way back to his room. What would happen to him if Dr. Hobberoff came to administer him his medication and he was not there to receive it? He did not know, was not too keen to find out.
Then again, he was already this far; it would be pointless to turn back now empty-handed. Dr. Hobberoff usually did not visit him until the sky was brighter anyhow, and through the wall next to him made up of see-through glass, he could see that the sky was still grey.
As for Daddy, who knew when he would drop by? But if Yasai had to guess, he would say it would at least be after the doctor's visit.
So was he going to do this? Yes, he could not see any reason not to. He needed food, and this was his chance. They said he could not go outside, but they never said anything about him leaving the room, now had they?
He would be quick just in case.
With that, he released his body into action. His arms flew wildly, yet somehow controlled; his useless feet pointed up towards the ceiling and out of his way. It surprised him to realize that he was a bit tired; maybe he had crawled much further earlier than he had thought? This flooring, however, was much easier to crawl (was this really even crawling?) across—the surface was smooth and cold, and did not burn or scrape his skin like the hot stone gravel of his old home. He was grateful, yet, maybe a bit sad. He did not miss Tenemareen, not by a long shot, but there were just somethings that stuck with him. Despite the pain it would often bring, that ground was familiar. This floor was foreign; unfamiliar, and Yasai never liked unfamiliar things. The old ground felt right, and he almost wanted it back.
He vaguely remembered a time when he had crawled across that dirt ground, his skin burning against the stone as he left trails of blood behind him from his open wounds, trying to reach the main building so they could heal him before he passed out and his life was lost. He remembered pebbles embedding themselves in his wounds, and dirt and blood choking him as he squirmed on the ground.
The desire to have the old floor back quickly vanished.
When he reached a wall with an opening in the shape of an arch, he paused. The room and all of its strange appliances were almost blindingly bright. He could not remember what the kitchens on Tenemareen looked like—had he ever actually seen it?—but he was certain it did not look anything like this one. Shiny wooden cabinets adorned the tops of the grey-colored walls, and stainless steel sinks and counter tops on the bottom. In the middle were an island with chairs, two stoves, and a huge silver box with two doors. All of them were so bright.
He shied away from the illuminated room, and trailed his eyes down towards the tile floor—much less intense.
Blinking a few times through the smudges on his goggles, he took another big sniff. The aroma of food was so strong that he almost sobbed. Only once in his life had he smelt food this wonderful (not even the guards ate this good). The earthlings certainly lived a life of luxury.
From further inspection he realized that the delicious smells were coming from the cabinets and the huge silver box. Crawling towards the giant rectangular device, he grabbed one of the black handles, and tugged. It took only the slightest of effort to open the door, and instantly he was hit with the wave of cold. The inside of the box was white, with a small light bulb up at the top. Also adorning the huge box was clear shelves, which were piled with so much stuff!
All along the shelves were containers of food and boxes with the pictures of food. The smells and colors that hit him were so overwhelming that they made his head spin. He took a moment to calm himself, before looking back up into the food supply. Try as he might, he could not recognize a single thing. There were no bowls of lukewarm soup, or crusted wheat, or even so much as a damn sausage. He needed to take something though. He doubted that anything in there was fatally poisonous, because as stupid as he was, he could figure it out all by himself that this was Daddy's family's food supply.
So he reached out and grabbed the closest thing to him: a grey carton. He inspected the slightly weighted box, before popping the top open. Inside, were two rows of pearly white eggs, with only two slots empty.
He immediately took one. He had swiped eggs from unoccupied nests to curb his hunger many times back on the prison planet. Sure, those eggs were not nearly as light-weighted or pretty as these ones, but an egg was an egg, as were they edible.
Once the one he desired was in his possession, he closed the carton and placed it back in the same place he had found it. He could not be obvious, now could he?
The egg was in his possession barely ten seconds before he popped it into his mouth. It was big between his lips as he bit his teeth down on the shell. It cracked under the pressure, and immediately flooded his mouth with yellow fluid. The taste was not exactly pleasant, nor was the shell, but he could not help but think that that was probably the safest thing he had eaten in his life. He wondered if all Earth food tasted like this. He did not think he would mind so much; beggars can't be choosers.
Now what? He definitely needed more, but he was not so keen on raiding the cold box with its strange foods again. What was he to do?
Oh, yes, the cabinets!
Spinning on his legs, he tilted his head up. From his spot on the floor the cabinets looked miles away, but he figured if he was at full height it would not seem so bad. He figured that once he got to the counter, he should be able to reach the cabinets just from being on his knees. If he used the handles from the drawers of the cupboards nearer to the ground to support himself, he should be fine. He was not worried either way. He had climbed higher and harder distances before, and with much more damage too.
So kneeling as tall as he could, he grabbed the stainless steel ledge. His body did not weigh much, so it was not hard for him to pull himself up enough to get his leg up, and dropped his foot onto the handle of the drawer.
Burn. Pain. Blood. Screaming. Pain. Pain!
He heard a crash, and then all was silent and dark. When he did eventually open his eyes, he was staring up at the ceiling, painfully bright from the light fixture. His head ached from where it smashed into the tile, and clenched tightly between his fists was his foot, still useless without feeling, as it had been ever since he had woken up on this strange planet.
The Prince of all Saiyans glanced out the corner of his eye at the two boys lying on the carpet, all of them still sated from their early morning breakfast a half an hour before. Trunks, and his brat of a friend Goten, were playing with tiny green men that they liked to call 'army action figures'. They had positioned them into lines, and made 'pewing' sounds at each other, which Vegeta figured was supposed to be gunshots, even though he had never heard a human gun make that sound. Too top it all off, Trunks had named his 'main guy' (a toy-sized figure of some professional wrestler, that was gigantic compared to the tiny army men) General Blue Finger, while Goten named his main guy (a dinosaur) Captain Square Bottom.
Both of the boy's had found the names ridiculously amusing, and for a split second Vegeta wanted to shoot them.
To be honest, Vegeta just did not understand the point of their game. Both of them could fly; both of them have experienced actual deadly battles, hell, both of them could be fighting right now if they so wanted (without the ridiculous names). What was the point of having oddly-sized toys do it for pretend?
Despite the idiocy of it all, the boys continued to play, and laughed while doing so. 'Whatever,' Vegeta thought. As long as they did not try to incorporate him in their silly childish antics, he did not really care how they spent their time.
Instead, he focused on the television. He had been watching it more and more lately, since 'training all the damn time' was no longer an option, Vegeta found himself bored easily. There were not many programs that held him attention, but on some occasions he found something that held his interest. Most of the time Bulma told him his shows were inappropriate to watch in front of Trunks, and sometimes did not understand the always understand the jokes, but hey, he was amused, right? That's all that's important.
"Hey, dad," Trunks spoke, to which Vegeta answered with side eye contact. "Can I see the remote? Frozen is about to come on."
Vegeta arched his brow. "Isn't that the one with the singing ice woman?"
Trunks' cheeks dulled pink as he cried indignantly: "S-so what? I know a lot of boys that like that movie!"
"Yeah!" Goten agreed.
"The only boy you know is sitting right next to you, and he makes that dramatic 'ooh' sound every time he hears a swear word."
"I do not!" Goten cried, before sticking out his tongue.
Vegeta rolled his eyes, but did not hide his smirk as he tossed his son the remote control. Children were so fun to tease.
Just as the television screen clicked onto some children's channel, Bulma strolled her way into the room. She still had on her long white lab coat, which Vegeta learned over the years meant that she was not by any means done working (working on what, the prince never knew), only taking her daily 'family break'. Family break always consisted of Trunks (no matter where he was in the house) receiving a kiss, and Vegeta (no matter where he was in the house) being forced to participate in a conversation that would always be cut halfway through since Bulma always just had to get back to work.
As predicted, the blue-haired woman stooped down, and kissed the top of Trunks' lavender head, earning an indignant cry of, "Mom!" and a giggle from Goten. Bulma only smiled and give a little giggle herself, as she made her way over to sit beside her alien husband.
"Vegeta," she sang near his face.
He graced her with side eye contact, a raised brow, and a spike of irritation shown on his face.
She was undeterred as she smiled back brightly at him. "I have some good news."
She did not wait for a reply (not that Vegeta had planned too) as she continued, "So, Dr. Hobberoff said that Yasai is healing greatly. He is no longer on any IVs (as you have probably noticed) and his medication intake is lessening as well. He thinks that Yasai will be good to start physical therapy tomorrow, and we can move him out of the hospital then as well."
Ah, well, Vegeta had not been expecting that.
Bulma crossed one of her legs over the other. "We're going to use the room you set up the night before you left for space."
Vegeta vaguely remembered doing that. Most details from around that time were a panic, anger, and exhaustion-filled blur.
"I just sent up a couple of bots to make sure it's all ready for him," Bulma finished.
Vegeta nodded, as his eyes trailed back to the boys playing in the carpet. It was strange to think of his dark-haired son leaving that hospital bed, and moving into an actual room. Vegeta cared for the boy (that much was obvious), but it was hard to truly consider him a part of the Brief family, what with his health keeping him isolated from the other members. But it seemed that it would not be the case from now on. Now, the boy would be waking with them, and walking the same halls as them. Good gods the boy would be eating with them soon, and going on those stupid family outings that Bulma and her mother were so fond of, and participating in silly earthling traditions and holidays. Even with simple things, like training, or going out flying, or watching this stupid Earth TV, the boy would be there too.
Vegeta would not be able to shield him from Trunks anymore. Not that he wanted to, because while Trunks was a bit obnoxious and overbearing (as all children were), they were going to have to meet each other eventually. Whether or not they wanted to, they had to put up with each other if they were going to live in the same house and... be related. Vegeta probably should set their meeting soon. The saying 'the sooner the better' seemed as though it really applied to this situation.
Vegeta looked away from the playing boys and back to the TV, which was already blasting some type of annoying musical number.
Yasai was lost.
That was to be expected of course; wandering into unknown territory like he had just done, but that acknowledgement did not make his situation any better. So along he crawled, his knees sliding across the ground, and his feet pointed uselessly towards the ceiling, his stolen object—a half a slice of bread—tucked into his shirt.
Eventually he did reach the tall cupboard. It was hard and uncomfortable placing his knees where his feet were supposed go on the drawer handles, but he was successful nonetheless. Once he was kneeling on the counter with the cupboard door opened, he had stretched his body to reach the plastic-covered loaf on the top shelf, and was extra cautious not to rip the plastic into an unrepairable (or noticeable) state. Again he had been successful in placing the loaf back as if it had never been touched, and acquired a slice for his efforts (he knew better than to take too much, lest it be noticed). Did these people count their food? The warden did, when Yasai slept in his chambers, and yet, the boy still managed to smuggle extra bites. It was such a long time ago, the he could not remember how he—no, how Chill—had even done it.
Now, regarding his stolen goods from the cupboard—the bread. He knew what bread was, or at least, he thought he did. The bread he had used to know was dry and terribly hard, crunchy beneath his teeth (to soften it, Neeila had taught him to dip it in his water); sometimes burned; other times sprinkled with mold.
This bread—at first he was not even sure if it was bread, but it smelled like the type he used to eat, so he figured so—however, was soft and maybe a bit moist, and oh so good! He could only stomach a bite, though. He just... was not hungry. It rather scared him, because he had gone far too long without food; he should be starving, if not dead by now! Never before had he had food this delicious in his grasp, and how unfair it was that he could not even eat it! If anything, the single bite he took put a tingling sensation in his stomach that was just as unpleasant as it was uncomfortable.
No matter, though, because he would just ration his treat. He would have to get hungry eventually, he was sure, and when he did he just hoped that the half of bread would still be fresh when that moment came. Of course he would need to find more of this food when it was gone, because half a slice of bread would run out sooner rather than later. On this planet, he did not have the luxury of a morning meal of imitation coffee, or herbal tea; or a lunch of watery soup with the occasional turnip or potato peel; or an evening meal of a small piece of aged bread or a tiny link of sausage, or maybe even old cheese if the animals produced more than strictly necessary and the guards were feeling generous like he had on Tenemareen. There also were no animals that he was aware of that he could try and hunt, leaving his options limited.
He was not worried, though. He knew where the food was being held now, and he could smuggle anything he wanted with no one noticing—not with how vast their collection was. For a split second, just looking at that array of food had sent a hot spark of anger through him, and he had been confused by it. He could not figure out why he would ever feel that way.
It did not matter though, because the anger was long gone just as fast as it had come; emotions never did stay long with him.
So that was his plan: to follow the scent of food again, and take bits and pieces (maybe if he was brave enough, try some that he had never had before—there was plenty of those just on the bottom shelve of the cupboard alone). Yasai felt a bit like he was stealing from his dad, and he did not like that... but he was willing to look past it. Even someone as stupid as him knew that you needed to eat to survive, and survival always came first.
This all would have to take place another day, however. Right now, he would focus on finding his way back.
So along he crawled. As far as that frightening pain he had felt in his foot when he place it and his weight on the drawer handle went, well, he could not explain it, so he decided to ignore it. He had felt worse pains, and much more frequently, too. If anything, he saw this as a sign that he could, in fact, still feel pain. Was that a good or bad thing? At this moment, when the only pain he could recall feeling was the pain he felt from the nightmare, which still had his body shaking even as we speak; he decided it was a good thing. Physical pain was easy; mental pain—not so much.
Tap. Tap.
His body froze, as did his breathing, because he knew what that sound was—footsteps.
Yasai was not supposed to be out here. It was past dinner; labor was over for the day, but stealing food is still a crime punishable by death. They would be angry, but they would not give him death.
But oh would they be angry.
He had to hide, there was no other choice. He must hide until they've passed on; or else be beaten and hungry. He had to hide. Hide. Hide. Hide!
But there was nowhere to go.
He whipped his eyes back and forth, but still, all he could see was the blur of the walls, and the bright lights that hurt his head. Oh but they would hurt him worse. He did not want to be hurt again. Just one moment of peace—that was all he wanted. He did not deserve it, he knew, but he still wanted it!
He had to hide, anywhere, anywhere! Get close to the wall, yes, like that! There had to be somewhere to cower against—he was tiny, so he did not require much space. A corner? Yes! Curl up; hide your skin (why was it so pale all of a sudden?); protect your head and ears, your neck too; curl in more, you must protect your feet—you need your feet to walk, and if they were to acquire too much damage, they will get infected, and you will certainly die. You can't die; you just don't want too. Just pray that they don't find you. Please, please don't let them find you!
"Oh my!"
You've been found; you're done for! They are going to burn you and kick you and rip you and hit you, and maybe this time, they really will crack your neck, and then you'll be dead. They'll be upset that they lost their plaything. Neeila will cry those awful tears that make your stomach twist every time you hear them (the only tears that could even make you feel something), and make you want to hug her and wipe them away, even though you'll never have the right too. You will be dead like your father, and maybe he'll find you, and then, at least, you'll have the family you were always meant to have, because he's evil like you. But no, you don't want that. You don't want the universe to lose one of its favorite sources of entertainment, you don't want for Neeila to cry over you, and most of all you think that you just don't want to be stuck with your tyrant of a daddy forever. You just want peace!
You're hearing sounds now. The sounds are words, but they seem so far away that you miss most of them. You hear something about a little boy, and a hospital, but none of those words make any sense to you. You do not know any little boys; what is a hospital?
Then you hear another word—Vegeta, and you think it sounds familiar. Yes, you have definitely heard it before! But you cannot figure out where from—wait. Oh. Oh! Oh! Oh!
When Yasai came too, he realized that his body was shaking from his terror. He felt light-headed as he furiously gasped, trying to refill his lungs with the oxygen it was severely lacking. There was sweat underneath his arms and dripping down his chest and face. The goggles over his eyes were too blurry from steam and grease smudges to properly see out of. He could not make out where he was, and his heart still pumped so dangerously with fear that he probably would have stopped breathing had he not been trying so hard too.
He wanted daddy, and he wanted him right now.
"Come on, now, no need to be so tense," a voice said: "You're hurting yourself."
That was true, Yasai supposed. He had been clenching his fists so hard, that his black nails (never had they been this long before) had punctured deep into his skin, dripping blood down his palms. But even as he stared down at them he did not feel pain, only numb awareness. He thinks he might have even pull a muscle in his neck from his struggling, but still, all he felt was numbness. Everything was numb.
Yasai was so sick of feeling numb.
The boy's focuse was snapped away from the non-painful injuries in his hands as he registered the fact that the foreign body that had spoken to him was kneeling far too close for comfort. He flinched away, his eyes snapping shut more from habit than actual fear.
The man (at least, Yasai assumed it was a man) hummed and said: "Those are pretty deep wounds, son, but they won't be too difficult to treat. I've fixed your father and Trunks with much worse."
Who is Trunks? Oh, right, that is the brother's name. This man knew his father? Fixed him? Well, this was his father's home, so it sort of made sense. Why would this man be here if his father did not know him? That would also explain why this man was even talking to him in the first place.
"Come, follow me," the man said: "I think I may have supplies the next hallway over."
Yasai cracked his ruby eyes open. Through his smeared goggles he could see that the man was standing now; his hand deep in the pockets of his big white coat; dull-colored hair on his head; a nearly white moustache over his lip, and big round glasses in front of dark eyes. There also was something black clinging to his shoulder. From the fur and ears, Yasai would guess that it was some type of animal. His theory also included the fact that it was blinking at him. He blinked back at it.
"Can you still crawl?" the man asked, pulling Yasai away from the eye contact he had been holding with the dark creature. "If not, I could bring around a wheelchair."
Yasai was still for a moment as he stared up at the man. Once he had registered the words, he shook his head, and to prove his point, lifted himself onto his knees.
The man smiled, and kneeled down. Yasai instantly backed away.
If the man noticed, he did not let on. Instead, he stuck out his hand and said: "My name is Dr. Brief. Your father just calls me Doctor, though. He's my son-in-law, you know."
Yasai knew the term 'son-in-law'—it meant that his father had married Doctor Brief's (or apparently just Doctor) child. So that meant that... this man was Bulma's father? When Yasai broke information down, it made sense rather fast. This revelation was not as ground-breaking for him as one might have thought it would've been. Why the hell would Yasai care about Bulma's family relations?
Instead, the hybrid stared down at the outstretched hand before him. He quite literally just stared at it. What else was he supposed to do?
"Are handshakes not okay?" Dr. Brief asked.
No, Yasai supposed they weren't.
After another moment of silence, the man dropped his hand. Despite his rejection, Dr. Brief's words were bright as he straightened himself on his feet. "Well, I suppose that can be saved for another time. Come on; I would like to get started on those injuries of yours."
With that, the man took off down the hallway. Yasai sat still, watching him walk. When the doctor reached the end of the hallway, he turned back around. Despite the distance, Yasai could still see the old man peering down at him through his glasses expectantly, yet still with patience. Once again that black ball of furry lifeform watched him with blank eyes, as if he as well was waiting for the spiky-haired boy to move.
Yasai was waiting to see if he would move too. Should he follow this man? The doctor may know his father (who Yasai was still desperate to see), but he was supposed to be finding his way back to his hospital room. He was not supposed to be off following Bulma's parent in hopes to treat wounds that he had caused himself and thus rightfully deserved.
'But still...' he thought, as he looked down at his palms. He was still only able to feel the slightest bit of sting, but there was quite a bit of blood—enough of it to run down his arms and drip onto the otherwise bare, shiny floor. Despite not being fatal, these injuries were troublesome, and not just for him. Father would not be pleased at all to return and see this; that, Yasai was sure off.
So, promising himself he would leave immediately after he was treated, Yasai threw his arms in front of him, and pulled himself forward. Dr. Brief smiled, and turned forward once again. The doctor was talking again as he led the way, but Chill was not really listening. He only focused on propelling himself forward, because despite the doctor's slow pace, it was almost tiring to keep up.
Fortunately, the journey was not long. After taking two turns and crawling across two hallways, the doctor stopped and said brightly: "Here we are!"
Yasai looked into the room once the door slid open. It was spacious, with gigantic dark monitors lining the walls. In the middle was some sort of examination table, but Yasai could not think of one reason as to why it would be there.
The boy snapped his eyes up the scientist, as he said: "Just hold still for a moment while I grab the First Aid kit."
Yasai did not know what a 'First Aid kit' was, but even if he could speak, he did not care enough to ask. Instead he scooted out of the doorway and into the room. Once inside, he sat his backside against the cold tiles, and held up his hands. Blood still bubbled from his wounds, so he positioned his hands over his lap to ensure that the liquid that dripped over fell into his gown as opposed to the floor. Even through the oozing blood, he could see that the cuts were deep and gaping. The fact that he caused himself these wounds was a bit unsettling.
What was even more unsettling was the fact that he could not even feel it.
It was not long before the scientist returning from wherever he had gone to, and was kneeling in front of Yasai again. Dr. Brief was speaking again as he pulled on white plastic gloves, but Yasai was not really listening. Instead, the youth watched as the senior opened a white and red box, and pulled out the same supplies the nurses had used to reapply the threading through his other injuries. Yasai watched curiously as Dr. Brief pulled out a brown bottle, and twisted off the white cap.
"This is Hydrogen Peroxide," the man replied to the hybrid's questioning gaze. "It's going to clean out your wounds so they don't become infected. It might hurt a bit, but it will pass quickly," he finished, just as he tipped the bottom over Yasai's awaiting hands.
It didn't hurt, and Yasai had not expected it too. He watched as the cool clear liquid (now stained red) bubbled over his cuts, before it dripped down his palms and arms, until it reached his gown-covered knees. Then, the doctor wiped away the residue and began to speak again. Yasai again was not paying attention; he was too tired to listen to anymore talking. He only focused on the tingling he felt in his hands as he watched the needle and thread weave through his pale skin—closing his cuts. Once his final wound was sealed, Dr. Brief wiped away his left over blood with two wet cloths. Once that was over (leaving Yasai's hands feeling oddly refreshed) the man smiled, and stood. Dr. Brief then walked off to the other side of the room to fiddle with gods knew what, as Yasai sat back and stared at his hands.
Would these stitches leave scars? Once upon a time ago, Yasai did not really even know what scars were. Sure he knew of that word, but without sight, scars never held that much relevance to him. Now, he could see that he had a lot of scars—at least in the places of his body that he could see. Not that he minded if these wounds left behind marks (scars were just a part of his body, such has how his nose was a part of his face). He just did not know how deep a wound had to be to leave a scar, or what shape they would be it, or if they would look like forming; simple things like that. Just silly curiosity, he supposed.
As he stared down at his hands, a flash of color caught his eye. Blinking behind his smudged goggles, he looked over to his left. There was no denying there was something colorful over there, but the majority was hidden from the shadow the wall casted down.
Yasai sat still for a moment, before he scooted over towards it. Closer now, he could see it was a small sphere, with black letters written on it. The overall color though, he could not say. It was bright, he knew, but as much as he tried to rack his brain, he could not recall ever seeing a color like this before. He knew some colors: Red—his eyes, blue—Ziloh's eyes, yellow—Neeila's hair, green—the trees outside his window, but he could not say he knew this one.
What even was this thing?
"Ah, you've found Trunks' orange SuperBall," Yasai snapped his eyes up to see Dr. Brief staring down at him. "He bounced it a few hallways over a while ago and we haven't been able to find it! Not that he missed it, what with all the toys that boy has."
'Orange SuperBall'? That did not really make much sense to him. Was orange supposed to be the color? And what the hell is a SuperBall?
"Ah, it was quite funny, now that I think about it." Dr. Brief chuckled, cupping his chin. "That little friend of his really thought it was made of Zectron."
The boy cocked his brow.
Yasai might have been mistaken, but he could have sworn that Dr. Brief's eyes brightened as he responded: "The creator of the SuperBall devised the concept of Zectron, because it would appeal more to consumers. The real substance behind the Zectron façade is 'polybutadiene'. You see, it's made up of three distinct parts that provide clues about the material's chemical nature: "-but-" means a four-carbon chain, "-ene" means double bond, and "di-" means two. 'Butadiene', then, describes a compound built with a four-carbon chain containing two double bonds. The final part of the name—the prefix "poly-"—tells you that there are many butadiene molecules strung together to form a polymer. The polymerization process begins when an unpaired electron on one butadiene subunit steals an electron from an adjacent butadiene subunit, bonding the two together. This sequence of events occurs repeatedly until a long chain of molecules forms. By itself, polybutadiene doesn't produce an effective material, because it's gooey at high temperatures and brittle at low temperatures. To transform it into a stable rubber, the creator vulcanized his new material. He mixed 100 parts by weight of polybutadiene with 0.5 to 15 parts by weight of sulfur. Then he placed the mixture in a mold and cooked it at 285 to 340 degrees Fahrenheit while simultaneously compressing it at a pressure of 500 to 3,000 pounds per square inch.
"Thus creating the Original SuperBall!" Dr. Brief finished. "Simple, wasn't it?"
Yasai only blinked at him. It took Yasai a moment to register that yes, this old man really did say all those words to him, and yes, all because he picked up a sphere (no, not a sphere, a 'SuperBall'). He doesn't think so many words have ever been directed towards him at once before in his entire life. He being lost was much an understatement. Could normal people follow those fast-spoken words that were equal to a short novel? Sure Yasai was not particularly smart but damn.
Dr. Brief smiled sheepishly, and petted the cat on his shoulder. "Ah, I suppose not. Goten was lost too; in the end he just wanted me to leave him alone and let him bounce it in peace."
Yasai looked down at the orange ball in his fingers. All of those big words just to bounce it? Yasai had thought it was some type of nuclear weapon in disguise. Bouncing... how strange—what was the point of that?
"Go on," the scientist insisted. "Just drop it on the floor. It goes pretty high even without adding strength."
Yasai glanced up at him, before looking back down at the ball. He still could not see the point, but it would not hurt to do as requested of him, right? He had never bounced a ball before, especially not a nuclear SuperBall.
Yasai held out his arm and unclenched his fingers, allowing the ball to fall to floor. It hit the tile, and immediately jumped back up to the level of the boy's face. Shocked, he hurriedly scrambled to catch it.
Dr. Brief chuckled. "Well that's a SuperBall, for you; even a little drop'll take you by surprise! I would wait until you were outside before you really bounce it. Things can get ugly pretty quickly indoors with those things."
Yasai found himself wanting to bounce it outside; he wanted to see how high it could go. That is, if he ever was allowed outside.
All of his thoughts were cut off by a shrill call from the doorway, "Dear, are you in here? Have you seen—oh! There he is!"
Yasai was not quite sure what a heart attack was, but he is almost certain that he just had one.
Opening his eyes, and unclenching his tightened fist from around the ball (fortunately his nails were not in a position where they could have pierced the material); he looked up at the figure in the doorway he himself had come through not too long ago. It was a woman (if those were breasts in her shirt). Her hair was blonde like Neeila's, but much shorter and curlier, and maybe even a bit darker yellow. Her smile was so big and bright, that her eyes were squinted shut to accommodate it. All and all, the whole air about her hinted that there probably wasn't much going on in her head.
And then she was speaking with that high voice of hers again, "you really are as adorable as Bulma said! I've heard so much about you, but I wasn't allowed to visit! Had I known a cutie like you was sitting in that boring old room all day, I would've snuck my way in with some toys and sweets!" She paused to giggle.
The pause was short though, because Yasai barely had time to blink a second time before the woman spoke again, "you sure are tiny for your age; almost Trunks' size! What you need are some of the iced chocolate brownies I just made. They are delicious, and will certainly put a pound or two on you!" she giggled again, and still Yasai stared at her incredulously; completely speechless.
"He's not supposed to be eating right now, dear," Dr. Brief said: "and as delicious as they are, I don't think your iced chocolate brownies will be doing him much good in his condition."
She sighed happily, resting her hand against her cheek. "I suppose you're right—we wouldn't want to make him sick when it took so long for him to get better!"
Just as Yasai thought his heart had calmed down, the woman suddenly exclaimed: "Oh dear, I've forgot to introduce myself!" The lady then bent at the waist, and outstretched a delicate hand. "My name is Panchy Brief; I'm Bulma's mother!"
Yasai was meeting all types of 'Bulma relatives' today.
A few seconds passed before Dr. Brief spoke with a hint of amusement to his wife, who still had her hand extended: "Yasai says that handshakes are not okay right now."
She threw both of her hands up. "Oh, that makes sense! I'd much rather a hug—we are family after all!"
Before she could act on her words, she was interrupted (Yasai could not even be thankful for this, because he was still stunned that she had even suggested such a thing) by a voice calling: "Mrs. Brief, are you down here? Have you found him?"
And of course that voice belonged to none other than Dr. Hobberoff. Yasai was not all that surprised; his absence was bound to be noticed sooner or later. Still, his chest tightened with nerves. He was probably in trouble. Not that he was really afraid of the punishment that awaited him, because honestly, how bad could it possibly be? It was rather the knowledge that he had troubled his father and Dr. H (whom he could almost say he was growing fond of). He did not want his father to feel dissatisfaction when he looked at him. He did not want him to ever have to doubt whether Yasai was worth the trouble of saving after all. Yasai knew from experience that leaving his post without permission was definitely a no-no, because if there was one thing Tenemareens loved, it was keeping track of their slaves. That did not stop Chill from leaving, but now, as Yasai, he did not want to run away from his daddy.
To think, he's been gone this whole time and only just now was starting to regret it.
"Yes, I found him right over here!" Mrs. Brief called out cheerfully.
It was only moments later when the doctor appeared in the doorway Mrs. Brief had once occupied. He stood there, still handsome in an aged, yet professional kind of way, with his tousled greying hair and long white coat. From down at the floor, Dr. H seemed gigantic, in almost an intimidating way. Yet, even as Yasai curled his knees up to his chest and bit his lip in anxiety, he felt still felt a slightly pleasant tingle in his stomach as he looked up at the amused doctor.
Dr. H looked down at him, his dark brow arched. "Well look at who we have here."
Yasai felt a trickle of sweat run down his neck as he gulped. He wanted to apologize, but even if he could, it did not seem like a good idea. Apologies more often than not made situations worse rather than better in his case, and he did not want to give the doctor another reason to be upset with him.
But then surprisingly (and Yasai was genuinely surprised) the doctor smiled, and said, "I should have guessed you'd find your way out here eventually. I will have to ask that you notify someone by pressing that red button on the wall above your bed when you want to leave the room. This is a very big house if you haven't noticed, and I don't think your father will be the least bit understanding if we lost you," this he finished with a laugh.
Yasai nodded quickly, and the doctor returned it.
"Oh Jones, why didn't you tell me he was such a cutie?" Mrs. Brief said, with mock offense.
The doctor chuckled as he pulled out a plastic package from his pocket. "I figured you just had to see him for yourself. I was actually going to speak with Vegeta and let him know that it might do Yasai good to meet the rest of his family. He hasn't even met Bulma or his brother yet, has he?"
"Not that I know of," Dr. Brief chimed, looking down at Yasai, while still directing his words towards Dr. H: "Bulma hasn't mentioned anything, and they've been trying to keep Trunks at a distant. That boy can be a bit over-bearing at times—especially if you're not used to him."
Bulma had kept their meeting a secret? That was strange.
The doctor nodded, but before he could open his mouth, Mrs. Brief cut him off with: "Oh Jones, you must be hungry, having to look for Yasai all morning! Wouldn't you like to have some iced chocolate brownies? I'll have one of the robots bring them over!"
"Oh, sure ma'am," the doctor replied, and she was already out the door by the time he finished: "But I don't think brownies are breakfast food..."
Dr. Brief chuckled, and went back to fiddling with whatever object he had been tinkering with before. Yasai only stared up at Dr. H, as he freed the syringe from the plastic wrap. How was his name Jones, and Dr. Hobberoff?
As if reading his mind, the doctor kneeled down and said: "My first name is Jones, and my last name is Hobberoff. If you haven't been able to tell, I'm the family doctor—been so for years, which is why everyone in the house knows me so well."
Yasai took a moment before he nodded again. The doctor did not say anything else, and it was at that moment that Yasai realized he was staring down at his hands. Feeling a bit exposed, the boy curled his fists.
The doctor questioned: "How did that happen?" Yasai only stared up at him, as Dr. Brief's voice piped up from the other side of the room. Once Dr. Brief finished regaling the tale regarding the length of Yasai's nails, the doctor hummed and nodded. "Yes, I supposed we should trim them, shouldn't we?"
Yasai oddly felt embarrassed, and he did not know why. He only stared back at the man, which was about the most he was going to give consent-wise. He had never had his nails trimmed before. He had had his nails pulled before, but he figured that was something completely different and he did not want to think about it.
The doctor smiled again, and Yasai felt himself relax. Even as Dr. H connected the needle to the syringe, Yasai was relaxed. He would not say that he trusted the man, but he was definitely fond enough of him to not be afraid of him.
Besides, injections were probably the last things to make him anxious.
"I'm also going to ask you not to run off, because it won't be good if I can't get your medicine to you on time," Dr. H said, glancing at him. "Got to keep things on schedule now don't we?"
Yasai tipped his head as a nod, even though he was dreading those accursed pills. Not only did they make him numb, but also drowsy. Not only was he tired of being numb, he was tired of being tired.
"After this, I'm going to take you back down to your room," the doctor said with a smile as he rubbed the pad of alcohol over Yasai's bicep. "I can see you've been rather active—you look exhausted. How about when we get back I'll clean off your goggles, give you a quick check-up, get you to a bathroom (because I know you need one), and let you take a nap? We want you to be well rested for later. A little birdie told me that father has a reward for you since you agreed to see the eye doctor."
Yasai was quiet as he stared back at him, barely even noticing the needle sliding into his arm, as he processed the information just presented him.
It was at that moment that Yasai realized that he did in fact, need to pee.
It was barely five, and already the sky was darkening. Vegeta figured it was the perfect time to watch snow, if there was to be a perfect time to do something so trivial.
He had been surprised to hear of the Yasai's early morning expedition. He knew that the boy was a curious thing, but he did not think he would really have the guts to actually leave, which Vegeta could not even be mad about. If anything, he was glad that the kid was overstepping boundaries, which meant he had to have been improving somewhat from when the prince had first found him, right? Vegeta hoped so.
He could not think of that right now though. Right now, he had a promise to keep.
So down the silent hall he walked—the only sound coming from his boots as they clashed against the floor. Any and all necessities they would need were being held in his arms—bulky, but still weightless. Out the windows next to him, he could see the snow falling, steady and consistent, perfect for a 'Babies First Snow'. All day he had thought over it, taking Yasai outside, that is. Considering the boy's condition, it was not like there was anything they could really do aside from quite literally stare at the snow. How entertaining could that be? His eldest son did not seem all that hard to please, but still.
Of course there was also the doubt that Vegeta should even be taking his boy outside today in the first place. Vegeta was certainly not going to win the 'World's Best Dad' award any time soon, but he still enough paternal sense in his body to know that today was probably not the best of days for this. What with all that the boy had been through just this morning, he had to still be at least a little overwhelmed, so the likelihood that taking him outside right would probably be too much for him to handle was not particularly ineffable. Also, nine hours was a very long time to nap (especially when Yasai would still be getting a full night's rest after this), so putting the boy through even more strenuous activity even when his body clearly could not handle it was probably not the most responsible course of action either.
Despite this, Vegeta still found himself walking these empty halls towards the hospital wing because the boy was awake and probably excited now, the weather was as good as it was going to get, and gods dammit he had made a promise and he was not too keen on making a habit of breaking them.
Vegeta just hoped this went quickly so he could get the boy back in bed and be back for his well-deserved dinner without Bulma bitching at him about 'lateness', as if 'family dinners' had been their thing past last month.
Once Vegeta reached the room, he used the toe of his boot to push open the cracked door. Immediately red eyes found his, and he was almost surprised by how intense it was. Half of the boy's face was covered from the medical mask that was already tied to his ears to shield his mouth and nose, and his googles were so clear that it was rather obvious they had been cleaned. The way Yasai sat there—upright, with his blanket pooled around his waist and his hands in his lap—made it seem as if he had been waiting for him.
Vegeta kicked the door fully out of his way. "Take off the gown," he instructed as he crossed through the room.
Yasai stared at him blankly for a moment, before he kicked away his blanket. He reached down, and pulled the gown from underneath his legs, and rolled it over his head. His blank gaze set back on his father's as he held out the disposable cloth.
"Drop it," Vegeta said, and Yasai did. The prince then leaned over the bed, and released the contents in his arms. A sweater, coat, thick trousers, two gloves, two socks, a hat, a scarf, and two boots scattered across the bed. "Put those on."
Yasai stared down at the objects one by one. Once he had gotten an eyeful, he trailed his eyes back up to Vegeta's curiously.
The prince crossed his arms and said gruffly: "Do you want to go outside or not? I don't have all day." He knew Yasai knew what clothes were, and how to put them on himself. Vegeta has done a lot of things in his life, but dressing a thirteen-year old was not one of them, and he was going to keep it that way. Yasai was too old for a lot of things, and being dressed like an infant was one of them.
(Yes, Vegeta remembers that he did technically put a hospital gown on Yasai, but if you asked him, he would tell you it didn't count.)
Yasai blinked as if shocked—the only emotion he had shown since Vegeta entered the room. Vegeta stared back; hoping for a verbal answer, until the boy hesitantly looked away, biting his tiny lip.
Vegeta's eyes widened, because he could not help but be surprised himself. Of all people, why was Vegeta someone Yasai felt he needed to be wary of?
All uncertainty left Yasai's ruby eyes just as quickly as it came. With his gaze down at the clothing in front of him, he reached out slowly, and grabbed the sweater. With a final glance at Vegeta for final confirmation; he pulled it over his head. He struggled to get his spiky-head through the neck hole, and even more so with his arms, but still Vegeta stayed put. Vegeta was not a nurse and this hospital room was not a nursery. He did not need to say it again that the boy was more than old enough to dress himself.
Once his head was through, Yasai blinked, as if disoriented. He smoothed the dark grey cashmere over his torso, and despite his blank face, Vegeta could tell he was pleased with the softness. It was a bit large, but Vegeta figured as long as it kept him warm, its size was irrelevant.
Once the boy was satisfied with his inspection of the sweater, he grabbed the dark-colored coat. He analyzed the opened middle, which reminded him of the shirts he used to wear on Tenemareen, but instead of buttons, there was a zipper. He shrugged that on as well. Then came the pants, which were a bit difficult with his useless legs, but he eventually succeeded in this task as well. Once he thought every object was on, he looked up at Vegeta expectantly.
The elder shook his head, picked up the socks, and tossed them into the boy's lap. "Those go over your feet." He did the same with the gloves, "and these over your hands."
Yasai fingered the thick material of the socks in his hands. The fabric of his coat protested as he leaned down, and slipped the sock onto his foot. Once both socks were pulled over his feet, he examined the gloves. They had finger slots just like the doctor's and daddy's gloves, but were much smaller and thick with fabric. He had never worn gloves before, but he figured they would not be too hard to put on.
On his first try, he put two fingers in the same hole. It was an easy mistake for him to fix himself, and second one slipped on almost perfectly.
Vegeta nodded in praise, and presented the woolen cap. He figured it was fine if Yasai learned how to put on a winter hat later (even Trunks still had trouble with it), so he position his hands to put it on for him. It took a bit of effort, because the boy's hair was so damn thick, but eventually the spikes flattened (covering one of Yasai's eyes until Vegeta maneuvered the dark locks over) enough for the wool to be snug over his ear and a half. Vegeta then reached behind the boy, grabbed his limp hairless tail, and said: "I'm wrapping this around your waist."
Yasai blinked, before nodding. Once the boy's tail was placed loosely around his tiny waist, Vegeta zipped up the coat and flipped its hood over his head. Once that was done, he picked up the long scarlet scarf, and wrapped it around his neck, adjusting it until it covered the medical mask (probably not very breathable, but Vegeta figured if it became a problem, Yasai could rearrange it himself). Finally, he reached over, and grabbed the boots from their place amongst the blankets. He unstrapped them, placed Yasai's feet in them individually, and fastened them. Never before had he done so much work just too go outside, winter or not. Sure he had seen Trunks and Goten play outside in copious layers when the weather was cold, but that had never been his job to supervise (considering they could do it themselves). Hell, he couldn't care less if they built snowmen in their bathing suits... well, maybe a little, but that was beside the point. Vegeta himself at most only went out with a long-sleeved shirt. He would not demean himself by wearing the atrocities that silly earthling called 'coats'.
His sons, however? Well, they were children, so it was okay.
Vegeta reached over, and pulled the wheelchair—next to the bed side, where it always was—closer to him. "Come on," he said, once he had the chair positioned to his liking. Yasai immediately outstretched his arms, allowing Vegeta to lean down and brace his hands in the puffy pits of Yasai's underarms. Once again the boy was completely weightless was his father lifted him from the bed, and set him down in the chair. Once the boy was situated in his seat, Vegeta moved behind it, grabbed the handles, and twirled him towards the door. He was surprised when Yasai's hands dropped down to the wheels (especially considering the stitched wounds they harbored). Vegeta did not object. Instead he simply let go of the handles, and crossed in front so that he could hold the door open for his incapacitated son.
The hallways were once again quiet as father and son moved slowly side by side. Vegeta kept his eyes ahead mostly, avoiding contact with his son, who rolled by at the level of his waist. Despite the slowed pace, Yasai's arms still shook as he pushed the wheels; his face was flushed and labored breathes fell from his parted lips as his chest gave little heaves. Despite this he left his son alone, because glowing in those red eyes, Vegeta could've sworn he saw something akin to determination, and the prince was pleased by it. Well, not that Vegeta was going to assist anyway. Determined or not, the boy was going to learn how to take care of himself (or at least push himself in his own damn wheelchair). He was far too old to be babied and treated as if he were helpless.
It seemed Yasai was learning how to do all types of things today.
A few minutes more had passed in silence, before Vegeta said suddenly: "You're going to get a new room."
Yasai twisted his head as much as he could to look up at his father, his eyes void of emotion again, but widened in something close to curiosity.
Vegeta glanced down at him. "You aren't so bad off that you have to stay in the hospital. Your new room will be across from my room and Trunks'."
The boy blinked twice, before he turned away to stare ahead of him again, as if Vegeta had not even spoke. If asked, Vegeta wouldn't lie and say that that did not agitate him a little bit.
Trying to keep all irritation from his voice, he continued with: "Also, you will be starting physical therapy tomorrow."
The wheelchair stopped.
Vegeta arched his brow in surprise. He could not imagine why that simple statement would have such an effect on Yasai. So he looked down at the blank red eyes that peered up at him, and despite the boy's lips parting, Vegeta knew no words would come. He was correct of course, because the only thing that fell from those lips was a huff, as the boy's head tilted to the side—universal sign of confusion.
Vegeta could not help but be surprised. Not by the confusion (he figured it made sense that Yasai did not to know what physical therapy was), but rather the way the boy conveyed his confusion. At first, Vegeta did not put much thought into the boy's lack of speech; he always figured out what the boy meant to say eventually. As for the fact that he was not speaking, it really had not been that long since he had saved Yasai—his behavior a big testament to that. Vegeta knew that the boy regaining his speech was just a part of the recovery process. But just now, the way the boy tilted his head did not seem natural. It seemed more like he knew that was a substitute for actually speaking his confusion. If he was putting so much effort into his non-verbal responses, was it possible he was purposely not speaking? Vegeta hadn't thought that Yasai was really all that aware of his silence. The prince never really knew what was going on in that broken little head of his.
Vegeta made a mental note to look into it, but not right now. Right now, was about taking his boy outside, and see if he could possibly get a smile... or at least something other than that blank expression. It also put an unpleasant feeling in his chest when he looked down at his son and saw nothing more than slight awareness, appearing as if he was just surviving instead of living. It was as if he was only alive because he had to be, and not because he wanted to be. Yasai was just too young to look so broken down and useless, as if he were nothing more than a living rag doll. Vegeta hardly remembered himself at Yasai's age, but knew that there had been so much fire in his spirit that most of the other soldiers (including his own team) on Frieza's ship could barely keep up with him.
Well, Vegeta supposed that this was to be the result if there had never been a fire in the boy's spirit to begin with.
But still, Vegeta wanted see something. He wanted to see the boy's eyes brighten, the same way they did when he got his new name. He was tired of seeing fear; he wanted to see dumb, blinding happiness, like Trunks on gift-giving holidays, or when Vegeta took him out to places, just the two of them. No, Vegeta would not deny that he believed happy children were annoying children, because, well, it was true.
He also would not deny that he believed annoying children were far better than unhappy children, especially when regarding his children.
So as he directed their path towards his only hope of pleasing the boy, he explained physical therapy. It was hard, because Vegeta was not sure just how exactly to explain such a thing. Despite his trouble he continued to talk, more to fill the silence than anything else, and Yasai continued to roll along and listen.
Or at least he did until the front door came into view.
Vegeta finished the sentence he was on as they both stopped. As he stared down at his eldest son, he saw that, again, not much was shown on his face aside from possible curiosity as he kept his red eyes trained forward. Through the glass doors was dark from the evening hour. The porch (it was really just a step and a ledge that led to the front door) was covered in a fluffy white blanket. The snow—white fluffs that appeared and flowed down from seemingly nowhere—was completely visible despite the darkened backdrop, as it fell down and coated the earth below it. Vegeta had never been fond of snow (not fond the cold in general), but he could see why someone like Bulma, or Trunks, or Kakarot and his brats, or even Yasai would be.
He looked down at the still boy through the corner of his eye. "Are you ready?"
Yasai broke his trance to look up at Vegeta. His lips moved a bit, before he settled for a nod.
Vegeta tipped his head in agreement, and said: "If you grow cold, tell me."
Yasai seemed to ponder that for a moment, before he nodded again. With a final tip of his head, Vegeta stepped forward. Grabbing the handle, he pushed the door open. He moved to the side so to be out of the way as Yasai pushed himself through.
Instantly, Yasai's exposed cheeks were stung with the bitter chill (no pun intended), and his eyes closed on instinct from the sensation. When the shock from the coldness of his cheeks passed, he opened his eyes again. He twisted his head back and forth, his ruby eyes sweeping over the land before him. The tip of Yasai's only wholesome ear twitched as the movement of his father moving towards the other edge of the porch and bracing his body against the wall caught his attention, but he did not tear his gaze away from what was presented before him.
Everything seemed so... different from this view. The sun was no longer in the sky, but the lingering light still kept the sky at a deep bluing-grey. The blanket of snow over the ground was so thick now that the frigid grass beneath it could not be seen. The big green tree slightly to the side of him seemed even darker and larger from this near ground-level view, but not quite intimidating. This darkness was not scary. Hell, it was almost welcoming.
He did not even glance in Vegeta's direction as he scooted down from the wheelchair. He slid down until he had settled against the white layer that coated the porch. His backside grew cold and wet against the snow, but he kept it to himself. He liked it. This cold air felt familiar, and it took him a moment to realize that the last time he had felt something like was when he had been brought here to Earth the first time to look for those things called 'dragon balls' (which apparently, were also orange). Gods that journey felt like it happened a lifetime ago.
He decided he didn't want to think about that so tilting his head back, closed off his thoughts, and stared up at the darkening sky. Fluffy white flakes fell down against his goggles, melting on impact, and leaving behind sprinkles of water. Wanting to feel more of the cold against his skin, Yasai reached up, and tugged down the scarf and medical mask. Tilting his head back as far as he could so the cold flakes could brush against his lips (and once he opened them, his tongue), Yasai felt the hood of his coat slip down from the top of his head. He paid it no mind however, and only sniffed, because his nose was getting runny from the cold air. He closed his eyes, and focused on the frozen flakes that collided gently with his face. The skin of his cheeks was starting to turn red and feel a bit unpleasant from the cold, but he did not mind that either. Despite the slight discomfort, the terror was gone, and even the numbness was gone. All that was left was calm. Bliss calm.
"Hey."
And all of the calm was gone.
Yasai might have yelped, but he could not be sure. Also, if it is possible for one's heart to truly drop into their stomach (or perhaps even their toes), then it definitely just happened to him. Still, he found it in himself to look up at the tiny figure in front of him through his water-sprinkled goggles, while also clutching his heart as his frail body quivered with fright.
It was weird staring at the little boy he had been avoiding for weeks. It had just dawned on him that he had never actually seen the boy before, only heard of him, and heard his child-like voice. Yasai noted the lavender hair that spilled from the bottom of his hat (Yasai was not sure exactly where it came from, because while he was no expert on genetics, he was pretty sure that blue and black did not make purple; the grandmother was blonde, and the Doctor's hair was too dull to tell), and the tanned skin that seemed even darker against the night. Slanted blue eyes stared down at his, as the small body floated over the snow-covered ground.
So that was why Yasai did not hear him coming.
'Damn,' Yasai could not help but think. There was no denying it—the boy looked just like Dad. It was expected of course—he was Vegeta's son, after all. And yet having this knowledge thrown in his face put an unpleasant sensation in Yasai's chest—almost like he had been punched—and he was not sure why.
"Did I scare you?" Trunks was not smiling or frowning; just looking.
Yasai looked back. There was no way he could pretend to be asleep now.
"Sorry, I didn't mean too. I just wanted to see you, but you would've heard me coming if I had walked," Trunks says as he moves to sit next to Yasai. Instantly on instinct, the red-eyed youth scooted away.
Trunks looked at him, but Yasai could not decipher his gaze. He did not know how to read people—at least, not from their faces. From their voice, perhaps, but Trunks was not speaking; again only staring. Was that hurt on Trunks' face? Or perhaps it was anger? All he saw was two blue eyes (Bulma's blue eyes) staring at him in such a way that he was starting to feel uncomfortable, as if he should look away.
He did. That familiar discomfort of his heart beating abnormally struck him again. This time, however, it was not so much from fear, but more... anxiety. He had done well to avoid the kid since he had arrived on this planet, but in that time he had never really stopped to think about what would happen when they would eventually meet. It would have been logical to do so, after all their meeting was inevitable. It was foolish of Yasai to think they would never have to confront each other. While he was armed with this knowledge, he at least had figured he'd have more time. He was not ready. He was not sure when he would ever be, but now most certainly wasn't it.
Despite his unease, and the desire to have the boy disappear into the thin air, he wanted him to hurry along. Trunks obviously had something to say, and Yasai wished he'd hurry up and say it so that he really would disappear. He was not afraid of the boy's words, more like he just was not sure how to prepare himself for them. What was it that Trunks had to say? Aside from Hila (that girl could hardly even be described as a distant memory, their only meeting happening so long ago), Yasai had never had a conversation with a child before. Yasai did not really know that much on the difference between children and adults (people were just people to him), but honestly, what could Trunks say that was actually worth listening to? What could Trunks possibly say that was so important to his young mind that had to actually put effort into tracking Yasai down just to make him listen?
Well whatever it was, he had better get on with it and leave. Yasai was tired of the fast-paced pumping of his heart. He had felt this unpleasant pumping of his chest far too many times today; he could not tell you how badly he wanted it to just stop. He wanted a lot of things to stop actually, but right now, this was most desired.
Despite the lack of eye contact, Trunks still spoke: "Goten is kind of lost in 'Curse of the Blood Rubies'—that's an old movie he really likes for some reason—so I wanted to come down and see you. Mom keeps telling me you're still healing, but I sort of thought you might have been avoiding me... I guess you are, huh?"
Yasai did not respond. Who the hell was Goten, and what did Yasai care if he liked old movies (whatever the hell those were)? What was a 'blood rubies'? More importantly, why did these people keep talking to him even when he continued not to answer back?
He tilted his head to see his father relaxing against the wall, his arms crossed and eyes closed. Why wasn't he intervening like he always did?
"He's meditating. He won't come out of it until you touch him or spike your energy," Trunks said automatically, not even looking at the man in question. He stared down at his drawn-up knees for a few moments, before he continued, "I just... I just want to know why. Why don't you want to talk to me? I haven't said, or done anything mean to you. I've left you alone; I didn't tattle on you when you left the hospital wing and went to the kitchen—I didn't even say something when you fell off the counter and hit your head really hard, even though I can't imagine what you were up there for..."
Yasai whipped his ruby eyes to look at the boy across him. He knew?
It must not have been as big a deal to Trunks as it was to as it was to him, because the younger boy said nothing else on the matter. Trunks was not even looking at him, but rather had his blue irises trained up towards the sky, as if it were the stars he were talking to instead of his sorry excuse for a relative. "I hate to admit this... and you can't tell anyone I said this, but I used to get real jealous of Goten. Sure, Gohan will play any game with me that I want when I ask him, but Goten gets to have him all the time, you know?"
No, Yasai didn't know.
"I realize it's not really fair to be jealous," Trunks continued, "because Goten didn't have a dad and I did, and I had all the toys and games he would never get to have and he never complained. But well, like I said, I don't get to see Goten and Gohan all the time, and with mom and grandpa working all the time, and dad training all the time, it gets... boring around here."
Yasai thinks he might have meant 'lonely', but might have been too young to really understand what that meant. Yasai knew what it meant. He hadn't always, but he definitely did now.
"Playing by yourself isn't as fun as playing with someone else, so I wanted to have a brother like Goten, or even a sister I guess." The boy's voice seemed as if he was trying to make a joke, but Yasai can't find humor in it, and he thinks Trunks can't either.
Still, the kid pushed on and said: "Now I have a brother, and he hates me."
There was no sound for a moment, only the occasional whisper of the wind, and Trunks sniffing his nose that was also beginning to from the cold. Yasai's own nose was running as well, but he ignored it, and only stared at the child next to him. The abnormal pumping of his heart was gone, as was his breathing. Those words froze in his ears, halting all motion that he could not even blink, and halting all thoughts until he could do nothing but stare.
"I know you're not Gohan—you aren't like him at all, really... and I hadn't expected you to be," Trunks said with his voice so small and full of hurt that Yasai almost flinched. It had been a while since he had heard a voice filled with so much pain. "You're younger and smaller; you don't talk; you're sick too I guess (even though I can't tell), and you can't even walk. But I mean it when I say I don't care about all that. I just wanted you to talk to me, because Gohan is great and all, but with his new girlfriend he doesn't have much time for us anymore..."
And that voice wavered with the same pain and hurt from before as he finished: "But... at least Gohan doesn't hate his brother, and he doesn't hate me either. I wish he was my brother and not you."
Then the boy is standing to his feet, and moving to cross in front of Yasai to reach the front door. He did not so much as glance back as he pushed open the glass door, and crossed over the threshold. Yasai watched the boy as he disappeared into the house, tracking snow against the clean floor all the way.
It was then that Vegeta opened his eyes. Trunks' words bounced around in his head, seeing as how the boy's theory of him mediating was close, but not close enough to be correct. He looked down at his eldest, and found that Yasai had turned away, and was once again facing the snow-covered yard in front of him.
The prince was at a loss for what to say, so he settled for: "Put your mask and scarf back on."
And Yasai did.
TBC
Okay so I definitely feel like that could've used a second read through/revision, but I'm just so tired right now that I don't really care. Sorry for any mistakes.
For anyone who was wonder why I referred to Mrs. Brief as 'Panchy', I read in an interview with Akira Toriyama that if he had to give her a name then that would be it, so her name scheme matched her family's. Not quite sure where 'Bunny' came from, but I'll be sure to fix that in my revisions.
REGARDING my revisions on 'The Boy with the Blindfold', they have not exactly been coming along, mainly because I was so focused on getting this chapter out that I wasn't able to get around to it. They are actually taking longer than I originally expected because to put it bluntly, that story sucks, at least by the standards I have now set for myself. Like it causes me physical discomfort just to read it. I'm not like fishing for compliments or whatever; I'm just telling it like it is. I am excited though because I really like the revisions so far, and I can't wait to post them (I'm going to wait until all the chapters are done before I post them)! Like I said before, I'm not changing anything just... adding... and slightly tweaking... maybe. I don't know. Bye.
Kapo: A prisoner in a Nazi concentration camp who was assigned by the SS guards to supervise forced labor or carry out administrative tasks in the camp.
· Harris, William. "How SuperBalls Work" 25 July 2011. HowStuffWorks. 09 June 2015.