Reality

"Mom. Mom! Come on, get up."

I groaned, rolling over and throwing my arm up, covering my eyes. I swallowed, my mouth tasting funny as I sighed, opening my eyes. I sat up, feeling a heaviness settle in my middle. I pushed my hair back, the stringy strands falling back into my eyes as I leaned forward. I struggled to stand, grasping the nightstand for balance. God! Why do I feel like this? I shuffled to the bathroom, the door connecting to my room. I paused, bleary eyed, and briefly glanced at the mirror. I froze. The hair around my face was ragged, dull clumps of brown knots sticking every which way. A plump face stared back at me, her eyes a watery green, her chapped lips hanging open in surprise. I reached up and touched the mirror, my eyes widening even further when I realized I was staring at myself. I grasped the collar of the gown I was wearing, the faded flowers almost mixing with the background, the flannel worn in several places. What the hell am I wearing? I splashed water on my face, washing the sleep indention off my cheek before slowly pulling the door open. A teenager stood there, frowning at me with worry darkening his eyes. His hair touched his collar, the yellow dress shirt hanging passed his waist. His pants sagged around his waist, before bunching a little over his sneakers. "Lynn!" I went to wrap my arms around him, thankful to see a familiar face. He stepped back.

"Are you going to make breakfast, or am I gonna have to eat a bowl of cereal? Again!?" he demanded, impatiently shuffling his feet.

"Why are you acting like this? What did I do-"

"Oh, spare me!" he sneered. "Cut the crap! Okay!?" He turned towards the door, stomping loudly through the house.

I followed him down the hallway, my body feeling sluggish for some reason. He stalked into the kitchen, yanking the door open and grabbing a carton of milk before slamming it shut again. He did the same with the cabinet, jerking it open and banging a box of cereal on the counter, not bothering to close it back. He quickly poured himself a bowl, ignoring me as he angrily pushed a chair back, sitting down and started eating in stony silence. My gaze slid down his body.

"Lynn?"

He didn't answer. I watched as a muscle in his cheek moved as he chewed, before swallowing, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What?" He didn't glance up.

"Where's your tail?"

The spoon clattered in the bowl, splashing milk on the table before he stood up, grabbing the bowl and sitting it hard in the sink. Anger radiated from him.

"Give me a break," he muttered, before brushing past me and going into the living room, jerking his book bag up and slinging it over one shoulder.

"Where are you going?" I asked. His hand clenched around the strap.

"Here we go!" he said, impatience written on his face. He rolled his eyes.

"To school, mom," he said, his voice condescending. "You know, where you go to class, learn stuff, ride a bus." I briefly looked over the shabby furniture before looking back at him. "Where's Goku?"

He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. "His name's Gerald, and my dad isn't here. You're divorced, remember?" he said slowly, as if talking to a child.

"Look! I don't have time for this! I'm late for school as it is! I'll call the doctor after I get out okay. Maybe he can give you more medicine." He grabbed the door handle, and yanking it open, quickly left, banging it behind him. I studied my surroundings again. A beat up old television rested on top of a tiny stand, movies that were slightly dusty stacked beside it. The carpet had seen better years, it's fabric now a dingy brown, permanent stains marking it here and there. An ashtray sat on a ruined coffee table, filled with cigarette butts, ashes scattered around it. Old magazines littered the remaining surface, a few scraps of newspaper that had looked like it had been there awhile resting on the floor. The couch sat against the wall, its stuffing poking out in places, while springs were visible beneath the worn fabric, the orange flowers printed on it faded with time. I turned, pausing in the kitchen. The ugly brown fridge hummed to life, seeming to cough as the scarred surface vibrated a moment before settling down. The stove leaned to one side, the handle missing off the oven door, a black hole stood out on the stove top where a burner used to be. I walked over and shut the cabinet door. The white paint was now gray with age, the counter top chipped around the sink, deep gashed running between the tiles in many spots. What kind of place am I in? Why aren't I at Capsule Corporation? Did I have another accident? Is this really my place? I put a hand to my stomach, feeling the excess fat sink in as my hand pressed against my body. Bile rose in my throat. I quickly walked to the bathroom, cellulite jiggling behind me every step of the way.

"Do you think she's going to be okay?" Krillin whispered, staring at the woman laying on the table. Nobody answered. They all gathered around Marie, watching as her eyelids fluttered every few hours. Her tail lay limp under her, not moving, even when Bulma had taken additional blood work, even going so far as to take bone marrow samples, to see what kind of enzymes the saiyan warrior had been injected with. Lynn stood off to the side, his face etched with grief, every now and then his breath hitched, before he quickly covered it up and struggled to keep his shoulder's from shaking. Goku sat vigilant by Marie's side, not even moving to get something to eat. Instead, he had procured Bulma into bringing his food to the lab, not wanting to leave in case she woke up. Now they were all visiting, hoping that talking to her would bring her back. They wouldn't know anything else until Bulma got the reports back from the main lab in the city. Which could take weeks. Lynn apologized again, seemingly for the hundredth time. "It's not your fault," Goku stated quietly. "You didn't know."

"Oh, that's convenient!" Vegeta said loudly. "It seems like this boy does nothing but get into trouble!" He sent Lynn a dark look, crossing his arms before turning his back on the boy. Goku's hands clenched at his sides. "You're not helping Vegeta," he said, not turning around. "Well," Vegeta began, "my cousin has been through enough as it is, and now she's like this!" He gestured towards the table. "What were you thinking!?" he demanded, aiming his question at Marie's son. The boy looked away. "I didn't go out looking for them." he said quietly, "they jumped me when I was going to see my mother." His tail hung behind him, the tip slowly swishing back and forth. "I didn't know who they were! How was I supposed to know they injected a substance that drained your power, putting you in a coma! I was trying to get away when my mother showed up, and I wasn't going to leave her there to fight alone. Especially when we had no idea who they were or what they wanted!" he paused, his chest heaving, before clenching his fists and glaring at Vegeta. "I jumped in front of her when they shot at her, but she pushed me out of the way!" he yelled, tears rolling down his face for a moment before he angrily wiped them away. "I tried to protect her! She's like this because of me!"

Vegeta stared blankly at the young saiyan. "That's right." he stated, "you take full responsibility," he stepped closer, "because she doesn't deserve this! I should pummel you right now for being so stupid!"

"ENOUGH!" Goku shouted, his head whipping around and catching the prince's gaze. Vegeta closed his mouth, grunting. The silence deepened. Bulma walked in, ignoring them as she checked Marie over, taking her temperature, flashing a light in the woman's eyes, checking her pupils. She checked the clamp on the saiyans finger, reading her vitals and writing something down on the clipboard. She sighed, and looked up, already used to them staring at her as her gaze met her best friends. "No change," she said softly. A play of emotions passed over Goku's face, before he clenched his jaw and sat heavily into the chair behind him. The same chair he's been in for what seemed like weeks now. "So you haven't gotten anything back from the medical lab?" he asked quietly. Bulma shook her head, sadness clouding her eyes as she gazed down at the proud woman before her. "I'm worried," she began, her words soft. Goku's head jerked up, and he jumped out of his seat. "About what?" he demanded. The other warriors watched as Bulma struggled to say what had her so worried, not wanting to freak anyone out. She hesitated before continuing, "I'm worried about the baby," she finally stated, meeting Goku's gaze. They watched as his face drained of color, before lowering his gaze to Marie. The other warriors filed out, briefly patting his shoulder before exiting, giving him privacy with his family. Gohan walked up, snaking his hand beneath his fathers', clenching until the knuckles turned white. "She's going to be okay, isn't she dad?" Gohan asked softly, his gaze fixed on his fathers. A moment passed before Goku responded. "I hope so," he whispered, "for her sake, and the baby's."

I sat on the bed, my gaze slowly moving around the room. Sadness and hopelessness washed over me. Why am I feeling this! This isn't right! I'm not some middle aged, overweight, frumpy mother who hallucinates! Am I!? This is all just a bad dream, right!? In my minds eye, I saw my son, a blue spandex uniform covering him from head to toe, his tail whipping behind him before it wrapped around his waist, gazing at me as a smirk settled on his lips. That's my son! Not this preteen adolescent who hates me and thinks I'm crazy! That's not my son! This isn't my life! I stared at the little television perched on a patio chair in the corner of the bedroom, an odor of unwashed bodies and stale cigarette smoke clinging to every fabric in the room. The shades were drawn, shutting out the light. Clothes piled the floor. I had to push them to the side just to get to the curtains. This isn't me! I'm not the kind of person to lay in bed all day, feeling sorry for myself, not caring how I look, or what I wear! Or how I smell! I don't wear these sort of clothes! I jerked the ugly flannel nightgown over my head, throwing it in the hamper already overflowing with laundry. UHHG! I tore the cotton, granny-like underwear off me, flinging them into the waist basket before running a bath. An hour later, feeling somewhat more alive and clean, I rummaged through the dresser drawers, slinging all the clothes aside, trying to find something descent to wear. God! Everything looks like something an 80 year old woman would wear! I finally found some old jeans in a box in the closet, searching before pulling a candy apple red t-shirt over my head. It's tight, but it'll do!

I waited for my son to come home, straightening up as best I could. It didn't take me long. The apartment was tiny! I saved my sons' room for last. Opening the door, I groaned at the mess. Clothes littered the floor, much like my room had, old take-out cartons and empty drink cups were strewn everywhere. Car magazines were piled next to the bed, tucked in beside a desk. A porn magazine stuck out from underneath the mattress, the covers from the bed laying on the floor. I sighed, slapping the trash bag open in front of me, wishing I had gloves on.

I heard the key in the lock a couple hours later, sitting on the couch and glancing through a five year old magazine. I stood up, watching as my son walked through the door, throwing his book bag on the floor. He didn't look at me, keeping his gaze down, strolling to the kitchen. I heard him banging around, a moment later the ancient microwave whirred, dinging moments later. The smell of something hot and sweet filtered through the apartment. Lynn walked back in, plopping down on the chair opposite the couch, shoving half a pop-tart in his mouth.

"Hey son."

He glanced at me, quickly looking away. He threw the rest of the pop-tart in his mouth.

"How was school?" I watched as he paused, looking back at me with a puzzled expression on his face.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes. "You dying or something," he asked, seeming not to care about the answer.

"I-" The doorbell rang, cutting me off. Lynn jumped up, muttering "Finally!" before wrenching the door open.

A man walked in, clapping a hand onto Lynn's shoulder before resting his gaze on me. "Ah," he said, smiling slightly. "I see you're looking better." He pushed his glasses back onto his nose, rubbing his forefinger and thumb down his mustache before walking over and sitting beside me. He fidgeted for a moment, trying to find a comfortable spot on the cushion. He met Lynn's gaze. "So tell me what's been going on this time. I understand that you said she was slipping back into another fantasy world!?" I waved my hand. "I'm sitting right here! You can talk to me instead of my son, Dr. Briefs."

He sighed. "It's Dr. Brennan, Mrs. Sands. We've been over this. I'm not a scientist, I'm your psychiatrist."

Lynn sat forward. "I thought she was doing better, but guess what she asked me this morning!?"

"Lynn, you have no right-"

He cut me off, " She looked me straight in the eye and asked me where my tail was!"

I started to get angry. "Look, first off, my name is not Mrs. Sands. Second off, I'm a saiyan. Me and my son. We were born with tails!"

Dr. Brennan pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "Look, whatever you want to call yourself is fine," he said. Lynn looked away from me in embarrassment. "But you need to stop with this "saiyan" nonsense. You're a normal human being. I understand you had a traumatic childhood, but you are hurting your son with these fantasies. You keep making up situations that could never have possibly happened."

"She keeps calling people by different names too," Lynn mumbled. Dr. Brennan shook his head, resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. "Well, we know your mother suffers from Schizophrenia, falling into a dreamlike state so soon after her last episode is not good."

"I'm right here! I am not suffering from nothing! I KNOW WHO I AM!" I felt my blood boil, waiting for the blast of energy to escape me and give me the satisfaction I needed.

Nothing happened.

My son and Dr. Brennan watched me, as if knowing exactly what I was expecting. "I told you, Marie, you're just an ordinary person, with the same problems as the rest of us. There's no special fighting techniques, no super people milling about. If you keep down this road I'll have to put you in a hospital." The man stated, studying me.

"Call Goku here, he can use instant transmission," I demanded, waiting for the saiyan to appear. I saw Lynn's eyes close.

"His name is Gerald. My dad's name is Gerald!" he said through clenched teeth. "And there's no such thing as instant transmission. Just plain old transportation."

I jumped up, mad as hell. "Call Vegeta, we're related. He'll tell you!"

"Mom! My uncle died years ago, and again, his name was Victor. Victor!"

"Fine! Call Yamcha, or Krillin! Dammit, I'm not making this up! This isn't my life! THIS ISN'T MY REALITY!" I felt tears roll down my face.

"You mean Yamcha being your super, Yancy? And again, Krillin doesn't exist, the man next door is Kenneth," Dr. Brennan stated. He stood, reaching into his vest pocket, sighing. I whirled toward him.

"What about Bulma, or your wife, Bunny?" he didn't glance up from the prescription he was writing. "My daughters name is Brianna. And we've talked this over before Marie," he ripped the paper off the pad, handing it to Lynn. He stuffed the pen back into his vest pocket. "I don't feel comfortable with you calling my wife Bunny. Her name is Veronica." He turned to my son.

"That's a new dose. Make sure she gets one before she goes to bed," Dr. Brennan glanced at me, "if she seems to be getting worse, more so than now, increase the pill intake to two. I wrote it down if you forget." He turned to me, settling a hand on my shoulder. "Please don't make this more difficult than it already is," he asked, before walking to the door, shutting it behind him. Lynn stood up, stuffing the paper in his pants pocket. I glared at him.

"Don't start, Mom! Please!" He didn't look at me.

"You know I'm not lying! We've fought-"

"We haven't done anything together," he stated. "Look at you! How can you think you're a fighter! Please! Your overweight, slow, and deranged."

"Don't talk to me like that!" I snapped, glancing at him a moment before noticing something different. "Where's your emblem?"

"Oh My God! MOM! You got rid of that damn necklace years ago. It wasn't any kind of emblem! It was just a small gold chain with a green birthstone!" I watched as he raked his hands through his hair. He turned on his heel, heading for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Out!" he snapped, not turning around.

"Out where?" He spun around, clutching the door handle in his fist. "I'm going out to see some friends, if I stay here any longer, I'm gonna start acting like YOU!" He slammed the door.

I stood there, staring at the door for a moment before I gasped, a thought occurring to me.

"I never said anything about special fighting techniques."

Goku jerked his head up, focusing his gaze on Marie as he felt her power spike. Her tail flashed gold for a moment, before settling down again. Her fists clenched for a second before relaxing. He shot forward, rubbing his hand down her face, his eyes thoughtful. What's happening Marie! What are you seeing? Goku laid a hand on her abdomen, her skin soft against his rough palm. Closing his eyes, he focused on the little spark, a pinprick of energy that told him the baby was alive. There! Goku smiled softly, dragging his gaze away from her middle back to her face. "Please come back to me," he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He didn't move when the door slid open, feeling Vegeta come closer before stopping beside him. "So she didn't wake up after all," he stated, looking down at his cousin before focusing his gaze on Goku. "Her power spiked. I felt it!" Vegeta studied Goku for a moment, then laid his hand over Marie's briefly before turning and leaving. Goku sank heavily back onto the chair once more, wandering for the first time if, in fact, he would actually lose the woman he loved this time.

I smacked the hand away. It returned, trying to force something hard and bitter into my mouth. I flung my arm up to my mouth, knocking away the foul tasting substance. The bed creaked as someone sat on it, the space beside me sinking a little. Someone tried to push something past my lips again. I jerked away.

"Damn it, MOM! You need to take your medicine!"

My eyes opened up, focusing on my son, sitting beside me on the bed. He held an amber bottle in one hand, and was trying to force a dark red pill down my throat.

"I'm not taking those," I stated, trying to sit up. He watched me struggle, not the least bit sympathetic. Lynn banged the bottle down on the nightstand.

"If you don't take these," he yelled, "and try to get better. I'm going to live with dad!"

"You can't do that!" I gaped at him. "Your father's dead!"

"I can and I will! I'm sick of this bullshit!" he stated, practically running from the room, slamming the door behind him, the lamp on the nightstand rattling. I gazed at the shut door for a moment, feelings of trepidation running through me. What if...What if this is the real me? Did I really just dream everything up? I thought about the other day, when Dr. Brennan came over. I couldn't power up! Mine and my sons' tails are gone. No one seems to be who I think they are. I grabbed the bottle, staring at it for a moment, before twisting the lid off and shaking a pill into my palm. I stared at the small, dark red tablet. Maybe that was all a fantasy! What if the doctor's right, and I lose my son in the process!? I can't lose my son! I threw the pill into my mouth.

"We're losing her!"

Bulma and the rest of the team quickly went to work, attaching a breathing mask over Marie's mouth and nose, yanking her shirt up and attaching heart monitors to her chest, someone inserted a needle in her arm, the I.V already dripping clear fluid into her veins. A nurse watched her vitals, intent on the heart monitor placed beside the table. Alcohol pads were ripped open, blood extracted from each arm, one nurse continued to draw blood as another slapped a label on theirs and ran from the room. The noise slowly died, the only sound after a few moments was the heart monitor, beeping a slow rhythm throughout the room.

Goku watched all the commotion from the shadows, his breathing labored as fear choked his airway. The last doctor left, after what seemed an eternity, and Goku made his way back to Marie's side. He gazed down at the whiteness of her face, silently praying that this was all a dream, that they were back in his bed, snug up against one another. He squeezed his eyes closed. Then opened them. Marie still lay on the table, unconscious.

"Dad!?" Gohan and Lynn ran into the room, knocking the nurse that was blocking the door down, his head hitting the wall as he flew sideways. "We heard...Is she...? She's not...!?" Gohan couldn't finish his sentence. Lynn gazed down at his mother in fear. "Why is she letting go?" he whispered, shooting a confused look at Goku. Goku momentarily closed his eyes, before opening them and focusing on Marie's son. "I don't know," he said gently, helplessness etched on his face. A tear traced down Lynn's face, before disappearing under his collar. He grasped the necklace hanging down his chest, the emblem biting into his palm. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Mom! Fight! Wake up!"