The Drummer's March

Chapter 10

In the end, the counselor was about as much help as the books had been. Not surprising since he'd probably read all the same ones. Unfortunately that didn't change the fact that the first suggestion, for Trunks to talk to his parents, was the best advice.

"Have you ever said anything to them?" We were bent over a Chem. Lab bench, supposedly studying a petri dish with bacteria.

Trunks rolled his eyes. "Don't be a moron, of course I've said something."

I propped my chin in my hands and stared at him. "Well? What did you say?"

He glared at me in exasperation. "Stop comparing me to Trunks!"

There was a moment of thoughtful silence and then he shook his head. "On second thought, I don't think I ever said anything that stupid."

I nodded sympathetically. It was hard to make a serious argument when you sounded like you were in the midst of an identity crisis.

"You could always change your name."

He snorted.

"No seriously. I can just picture it. Hey mom. Hey dad. I've decided to change my name. From now on you may address me as . . ." I paused and then smirked. "Boxer."

Trunks blinked and then his eyes narrowed dangerously, "Boxer Briefs?"

I snickered.

"Goten," He informed me calmly. "I'm going to kill you."

I ran.

When I got home later that afternoon, dad had the study door shut. A shut door usually meant Disturb Me At Your Own Peril, so I tiptoed past and went to find Piccolo. He was up on the roof, which also meant I was supposed to give him space, but honestly the consequences of bothering him were far less than if I went into the study. Piccolo may be powerful but he's got nothing on Dad. Piccolo doesn't revoke my dessert privileges for one thing.

I've never understood why, but Piccolo seemed to find our roof extremely relaxing. Or at least, the few feet above our roof where he was currently hovering, arms folded and eyes closed in meditation.

Naturally I chose to ignore his unspoken desire for privacy. Instead I hopped up to hover next to him, slowly spinning myself in circles. "I've got a question."

He cracked open an eye and then sighed. "What?"

"Tell me what you know about the Trunks from the future." When he opened both eyes to glare at me, I quickly tacked on, "Please?"

Another heavy sigh but he lowered himself to sit on the roof. "What do you want to know?"

"Was he really all that?" I squinted in the sunlight and then settled next to him, legs dangling over the edge.

Piccolo thought about the question for a second and then shrugged. "He was good. Really good." He turned to look at me, mouth upturned in a crooked smirk. "Your dad was better."

I grinned. "Naturally."

Piccolo frowned and tipped his head back as if to study the sky. "You have to realize though, that Trunks, the Trunks from the future, came from a life far harsher than anything you could comprehend. The world was destroyed, humanity had been annihilated and the only person left to fight was Trunks. In his life he'd watched all his friends and heroes die.

"And when he was younger than you, he watched one of his most important people die right in front of him."

Piccolo looked down at me, his face filled with an emotion I couldn't describe. "It was your father."

Funny how a simple question can come up to bite you in the ass. There was a roaring in my ears and my stomach suddenly felt sick. Oh there was this guy Trunks and by the way your dad died a brutal death. Dead. Gone. Not here.

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. At that moment I didn't want to hear anymore, regretted ever asking Piccolo to tell me about it. But he kept talking.

"In a way you truly are, Fortune's Child, Goten. You were born to your powers, embracing them and never having to struggle. When you wanted to ascend you just did, naturally as breathing. For most people, reaching just a fraction of your level is the accomplishment of a lifetime's work of labor."

I wondered briefly how we'd gone from a, 'your Dad died a gruesome death in a different time line' speech to a 'be grateful you young whelp' speech.

Piccolo reached over and ruffled my hair. "Stop scowling; you're missing my point. Trunks went through horrific ordeals to become the man he did. He's nothing like your friend now, and more the better. No child should have to experience that kind of pain."

He stopped and I looked up, that strange expression was on his face again. Before I had a chance to ask him about it though, he shook his head and turned to look me in the eye. "The Trunks from the future came here to give us a warning. He ended up staying to help us fight, and ended up losing his life in the process."

I started, shocked and Piccolo chuckled. "Don't worry, the Dragon Balls brought him back good as new and eventually he went back to his own time to start rebuilding a new life."

"Bulma and Vegeta must have been torn up about that."

He snorted. "They seemed genuinely sorry to see him go, but Bulma also had her hands full with her new baby as well. And Vegeta hardly spoke to the kid the entire time he was here."

I stared at him in surprise. "Then why do they always carry on as if he was the greatest thing since sliced bread?"

"Because it's easier for them to nag Trunks than it is to admit they're wrong?" He shrugged. "I have no idea. Adults aren't perfect, Goten, they make mistakes. And for all her brains, Bulma doesn't always see the whole picture."

I grinned. "And Vegeta?"

Piccolo groaned. "Don't get me started, kid."

He pushed away from the roof and flew up to resume his meditation. I turned to go and then another thought occurred to me.

"Hey Piccolo. You said the Dragon Balls were used to bring Trunks back after he died. Did he use them to bring my dad back in his own time?"

Piccolo looked down at me and then shook his head. "No kid, I'm afraid not. In Trunks' time the Dragon Balls had been destroyed."

I swallowed and nodded slowly. "Ah. Thanks."

The kitchen was cool after the heat of the roof and I stared around the room blankly before wandering over to the fridge. I thought I'd get a snack but when I actually looked at food, the idea of eating made me feel a little sick. I sighed and shut the fridge door. I wandered out of the kitchen and started down the hallway toward my room. My feet seemed to get heavier though with each step until I dragged to a halt outside the closed study door.

Obviously he wasn't dead. I could hear Dad, typing at the keyboard, a busy sound that I'd heard all my life. Slowly, I slid down until I was crouched in front of the door with my forehead pressed against the wood. I was being ridiculous. I could hear him typing. If I tried, I could sense the steady calm ebb of his energy. He was right there, perfectly fine, right on the other side of the door.

I was still arguing with myself when the door opened and I nearly fell into the room. Dad gazed down at me in surprise and then concern. "Goten?"

I just blinked at him, wondering how undignified it would be if I were to ask for a hug. He crouched down, brushing hair away from my face. "Goten, what's wrong?"

To Hell with dignity. I threw myself into Dad's arms and burst into tears.

Gohan quietly pushed Goten's door open and stepped into the room. Light from the moon shone through the window, allowing him to see despite the darkness. Goten was sprawled across his bed, one arm curled around his pillow, blankets flung halfway to the floor.

He'd been furious at Piccolo for telling Goten those stories about the other Trunks. It was a complicated issue, and while he agreed Goten and Trunks both needed to know their family history, he didn't think they needed to know everything. And certainly not details like his alter-time line death. Goten had been incredibly upset, staying close to him for the rest of the evening. It would have been endearing, except he kept seeing Goten's horrified and tear-streaked face in his mind.

Gohan had believed that if he let things just develop naturally, it would all work out. All teenagers argue with their parents; it was the natural course of life. And with parents as independent and dominating as Vegeta and Bulma, it was inevitable. But things seemed to be spiraling out of control and he wondered how much worse it would get before it got better.

Maybe it was time to step in.

He gently pulled the blankets back up over Goten, smiling when the boy murmured and clutched his pillow closer.

There would be no more tears.

TBC . . .

(Oh my God, it writes! It updates. It's ALIVE! Yes indeed, this does appear to be chapter ten. Now the question is, how long before chapter eleven?)