A/N: TRIGGER WARNING!
This chapter does get slightly intense at one point. Only slightly, but you can never be too careful with these things, am I right?
With that said, enjoy the chapter!
A tear slid down Gohan's cheek, but he quickly wiped it away. He wouldn't allow himself that weakness. He sat down in his chair. Thank goodness he had gotten a new one. The other one had been getting quite small. He took out his journal and a pen. This needed to be written about.
Hey there Journal. Long time no see, huh? It's been a couple of years. They were rather uneventful. Until today, anyway. I'll admit, I've been trying to not use you. I thought that I needed to learn to handle my problems on my own. It's worked fine. Honestly, I could probably not write in here and be fine for a while, the last couple of years have been tolerable. They weren't great or amazing or anything.
I still mess up all the time. I still have some really bad habits. But nothing too extremely bad or extremely good has happened in quite a while. It's been kind of nice, having a short break from everything going wrong. But, as we know very well by now, that kind of peace cannot last. Unfortunately, today is my sixteenth birthday. Even though I can drive now, today is not everything that you would think it would be.
Five years. For five years, I've been Goten's father. For five years, I've raised a son that isn't mine. For five years, I've kept Dad's secret. But today, I had to. I'm sixteen and Goten is five. Soon enough, I'm not going to be able to raise the little guy anymore, and he'll have to know who his real father is. He deserves to know about Dad, and decide what he thinks about him by himself. Today was that day.
The day had started out fine, it really had. I got a big breakfast, a small party, presents, everything. Even the other Z Fighters came to hang out with me, since I didn't really have any friends of my own. Dende even managed to make it. It was swell. I got to sit and talk with the adults (now that I'm sixteen, everyone but Mom considers me an adult) and I got to play with Goten, Trunks, and Marron. It was the best of both worlds.
But then the party ended. The other Z Fighters left, leaving only my family and I at home. I couldn't help myself. I found myself wishing that Dad was there for my sixteenth birthday. I quickly dismissed the idea. I'm better off without him, aren't I? I'm raising Goten just fine by myself. Hmph. But...it got me thinking.
In the end, I decided it would be best to tell Goten. Not everything. Oh Dende no, not everything. He is still a little kid afterall. But...he should know that I'm not his real father. No more "poopa" for me. It's all "big brother" from here on out. That's what I told myself. I thought it would be rather simple. I said this to myself so many times that I had started to believe it enough to try it. I was greatly let down.
I waited until Mom was busy with something else. She was doing...I wouldn't say that she was doing "good", but she was doing "good enough" and I didn't dare have a conversation like this with her around. I sat Goten down on the couch. If I asked him really nice to do something, he'd do it with little argument. Same with Mom.
Goten was no where near as much of a pushover as I was, but he wasn't as rebellious as Trunks. But then again, Trunks has Vegeta's genes in him. Plus he has Bulma's too, which makes him have a head start on being super smart. Goten isn't as stupid as Dad, no one is, but he isn't as smart as I was at his age. But he was old enough to listen to what I had to say, and understand at least the basics of what I was getting at.
That's why I hadn't had a clue where to even start. Do I get straight to the point? Do I want to ease into it gently? So much had ran through my head at once. And what came out, probably hadn't been the best way to handle the situation. I said, and I quote, "I'm not your father". Goten responded by tilting his head to the side. I'll paraphrase, but this is basically how the conversation went:
"Yef you awer." Goten's voice was high pitched and childish. His words were soft. "Poopa!" The endearing term had yanked at my heartstrings. I almost couldn't do it, Journal. I almost didn't tell him. Didn't tell him about his father. I almost kept the small pleasure of being Goten's world to myself. But I just couldn't do that. That would've been selfish. And I've been too much of that.
"No, Goten, you don't understand." He opened his mouth to speak again, but I hushed him. He silenced and patiently waited for me to continue. "I'm your big brother, not your father."
"Poopa?"
"Gohan." I had corrected him. "I'm your big brother, not your father." I paused and let him process the information. "Do you understand?"
After a moment, Goten nodded. "Who poopa?"
"Your father...our father..." I started. Now was when I had to decided what to tell him, and what to leave out. "He was a very noble man. He had several great accomplishments."
Goten smiled and bounced a bit. "What poopa do?"
"Well, he saved our planet several times from scary evil monsters." I dramatized. I ticked his tiny stomach a bit at the end of my sentence. He laughed and sent a kick at my face playfully. It didn't really hurt when it connected, as would be expected. "And, of course, he had you and I."
I stood up and walked over to the closet. I reached up to the shelf at the top of it and grabbed one of the many frames that now resided up there. I figured that I could at least give Goten this, since I couldn't actually give him Dad. I handed him the picture. He took it and stared at it curiously. He had pointed a finger. "Wat 'dis?"
I pointed at each person as I named them. The picture had consisted of Mom, Dad, and myself. It was taken just days before Raditz had shown up on Earth to fuck up my childhood and everything everyone thought they knew about Earth and about Dad. This meaning that all of us looked really young, especially me, but Goten seemed to brush over that after I pointed it out.
Journal, that boy hugged the frame and kissed the picture. "Imma keep it fowe eber and eber."
Convinced that the five-year-old was satisfied with our life-changing conversation, I began to walk away. But his confused voice calling for me made me stop in my tracks. "Gowan?" My own name sounded foreign when it came out of the small boy's mouth. I remembered how to control my muscles and walked back over to the couch where he sat.
"'Sup sport?"
"Where is Poopa?"
I had felt myself begin to tear up before he had gotten two words into the sentence. All I need to hear was where and I knew I was in for it. I honestly didn't know if I could have this part of the conversation without my bias opinions coming out. I groped for words, I had searched for minutes as for where to begin and where to stop. But I couldn't do it.
Dende damn it, I just couldn't do it, Journal.
As I exited the room, I said what was probably the worst thing I could say. I could have told him to ask Bulma or Trunks the next time he was at Capsule Corp. (which was surprisingly often), but I didn't. I could have left the room in silence, but I didn't. I made a really fucking stupid decision. As I entered the hallway, right before I exited earshot, I growled, "He's dead."
I DIDNT EVEN SAY IT KINDLY! I growled it through gritted teeth as my spite and resentment and anger at his selfish decision seeped through. I quickly made my way to the bathroom and grabbed my best friend. My razor. Just a simple shaving razor. I pushed all of my raw emotion from my head and chest through my arm. It flowed to my hand and into my razor. Just like a sword, it was an extention of my being.
I felt instant relief at the sharp pain as it tore four, short, thin lines across my arm. I felt the blood seep out as I started my second, then all I would need to do is grab some toilet paper and apply pressure; treat it like any other minor wound. Then I'd be good to go. I was halfway through the cut when I heard a small gasp.
I froze. My blood ran cold and my muscles tightened up so bad that I thought they might tear. I couldn't move at all. Not even my head. My eyes shot toward the door. I felt my eyes tear up horribly. I tried my damnedest to hold them back, but all it did was make them burn. I couldn't believe I had been that careless. I've never been that Dende damn careless! God, I'm an IDIOT!
I had forgot to lock the door.
Journal...Goten was standing right there. His mouth was wide open, eyes staring at the blood lines on my arm. Tears were streaming down his face, snot dripping from his little nose. "Bwudder, yewr huwrt." He walked over and grabbed the first-aid kit. He took out some band-aids. "Yewr tweeting it wong."
He walked up to my arm and stuck the band-aid on. It would seep through in a matter of minutes, but I didn't tell him that. His little fingers were red as he put band-aids on my arm and they brushed up against my arm blood. Once he had a couple on my arm, he took a step back and smiled a giant, bright smile. It was not very well done, and looked like it too, but the prideful smile he showed me made it so I couldn't tell him so. "I fwixed it, bwudder!"
"Yes, yes you did Goten." I had assured him, rubbing the top of his head.
Goten's smile faded and turned to one of inquiry. "What huwrt you?"
I couldn't do it, Journal. I just couldn't do that to him. I want to keep the world a secret from him. I do, trust me. But I was also tired. Between my party, talking about Dad, and Goten walking in, I was done. I was physically and emotionally drained. I didn't want to lie to him. And as hard as the truth is to tell him, I didn't have the strength to come up with a convincing lie. It was a moment of weakness. And I will always be ashamed of it.
"I hurt myself, Goten." I had told him, squatting down and placing my hand on his shoulder.
"On accident?"
I shook my head. "On purpose."
Goten started bawling. He straight up had a tantrum. I don't blame him, but I didn't like how loud he was being. Eventually, it would get Mom's attention. I tried everything to hush him. I rubbed his head, cooed him, shushed him, rubbed his back, picked him up, I even tried signing to the kid! But he just wouldn't shut the hell up! Eventually I remembered our finger trick. He grabbed my pointer and middle fingers. He sneezed them hard. I remembered his Saiyan genes at that moment.
At that moment, I realized how alike me and him might actually be. How strong of emotions we can both feel. How those emotions have a strong, direct link to our power levels. It was what seperated a demi-Saiyan from a full blood. Yes, emotions are a key factor for them too, but not to the extent it is for us. At least, not from what I've gathered over the past sixteen years.
Goten finally stopped crying. I set him back on the floor. "Why..would you...do someting...wike 'dat?" He had said in between sobs.
"It's complicated, kiddo." I said. I groped for words. I shut and locked the door as I explained to him, as best I could, the complicated concept of depression and self-harm. He understood the gist, and I knew as he got older he'd come to understand it more.
And that's it, Journal. That's what happened today. That's why I'm sitting here wishing to cry. That's why I needed to write this. Goten learned a lot today about Dad and myself. All I can hope is that he doesn't whisper a word about the latter to Mom. He promised me he wouldn't, so I hope that's true. Goten usually keeps promises that he makes to me.
