AN: Man, who saw the episode of DBS last night?! Vegeta sure kicked serious ass! What an amazing moment! And now, on to the new chapter!
Chapter 38:
Trunks wakes in the middle of the night from his own nightmares, undershirt drenched in sweat and breath coming too fast and shallow.
Nothing new for him.
He'd suffered nightmares since he was a child. Since Gohan had...
He clamps his eyes shut, bringing his palms to his forehead and tries to remember to breathe.
Gods, Gohan...
He'd been like an older brother to Trunks. The only family he'd had left, besides Mom. Trunks had idolized him, looked up to him. Gohan had taught him everything he knew, had been there for him through everything...
He misses him so much sometimes, it's like there isn't enough air for his lungs and he can't make the pain stop, can't...
Mom had told him so many times it wasn't his fault, what had happened to Gohan. That there was nothing he could have done to stop him from being killed by the androids. She keeps telling him that, only...
He dreams about Gohan almost every night, and about the androids. Dreams about what had happened, his imagination acting as torturer, visualizing horrifying, unspeakable scenes. He dreams of Gohan in his final moments, screaming for him, begging to be helped, to be saved, and Trunks is always too late, always frozen in place, unable to move, to act. Unable to do anything.
… Just as it had been in reality.
When he'd seen Android 17 and 18 then, in this present, when he'd seen Dad going after them so carelessly, so recklessly, it had been like a nightmare in itself. Like his worst dreams made manifest in reality. The past repeating itself before his eyes, and him helpless to stop it. He'd seen Gohan killed at their hands, and seen in his mind the same again happening to Dad, and he'd thought, no, no, no, it couldn't happen. He couldn't let it happen again. Not again...
He lifts his hands and sees them shaking, the vision of fire and death still fading from his mind, and he shakes his head, shoving his hands into the pits of his arms to keep them still.
He isn't going to be able to fall back asleep tonight, probably.
He glances to his side and sees Dad's bed, empty, the sheets tangled all together at the foot of the mattress, and he feels his heart sink.
He still doesn't understand what had happened.
He'd seen Dad, again talking to himself, something he'd witnessed a fair number of times since they'd come here. Only Trunks would have had to have been blind to miss the distress apparent in his father then, the way he was hunched in on himself as if in physical pain, ripping at his scalp, face twisted in what had seemed despair. And then he'd begun screaming, as if shouting at some invisible person to shut up, voice broken apart in desperation, and Trunks hadn't been able anymore to stand by and watch, thinking something had been really wrong.
He'd gone to him, asking if he was alright, putting his hand on his shoulder when Dad hadn't seemed to hear him. Dad had been shaking almost violently, and then he'd gasped in naked shock, turning so quickly on him Trunks had barely seen the movement, barely stepped back in time to miss the winging blow Dad had thrown at his face.
He hadn't been there. Dad hadn't been there, Trunks doesn't think. Not mentally. His eyes had seemed glazed, distant and unseeing, and he'd attacked Trunks with an intensity which had been missing from any of their earlier sparring sessions. Like he'd really, truly been trying to hurt him. Attacked too with a sloppiness totally uncharacteristic, all of his incredible precision and timing and control suddenly gone, throwing wide, looping punches which Trunks was able easily to dodge. Only the punches had been thrown with deadly intent, whizzing by with such force that Trunks had been able to feel the impact on the air around them. Dad's face had been twisted in a vicious snarl, a guttural growl emanating deep from his chest with each shot. He'd looked like an animal, and Trunks hadn't thought. Instinct had kicked in, fear and adrenaline, and he'd lashed out in defense, catching Dad hard, square in the face, putting him down.
The blow had seemed, finally, to snap Dad out of whatever trance he'd been in, his eyes abruptly clearing, and Trunks had been able to tell he was actually seeing him.
He'd been so relieved, and had felt suddenly so guilty when he'd realized that he'd hit Dad as hard as he had, rushing over to make sure he was alright.
He'd had a bloody nose, and when Trunks had touched him, the reaction had been almost immediate, Dad violently shoving him off. Trunks hasn't ever seen him so angry, and for the last few days, they hadn't spoken a single word to each other, though Trunks had tried in vain to communicate.
He'd thought they'd been making progress, on some level anyway. With the way Dad had spoken to him the night before, about his family, and asking about Mom back in his own time line...
The whole situation was so fragile, Trunks sometimes thinking to hope for more was foolish. Dad was just so distant...
He wonders where Dad is then, sudden worry churning in his gut as he pushes himself from his bed and makes his way out of the room, into the open space of the time chamber.
It doesn't take him long to spot Dad, off several hundred meters, putting himself through the paces again.
It must be late, and Trunks thinks Dad couldn't have gotten much sleep. He'd come in from training late anyway, and Trunks hadn't seen him really take any breaks during the day, hadn't even seen him stop to eat or drink anything.
He can feel his worry increase as he makes his way quietly across the space, moving towards Dad cautiously, opening his energy up to be easily read. He doesn't want to take Dad by surprise again, certain that would only worsen the rift that had opened up between them.
A few dozen yards out, he sits down, watching Dad push himself.
Trunks wishes he wouldn't. Not so hard anyway. The regiment Dad put himself through was more brutal than anything Trunks had ever witnessed, bordering, at times, on self-torture.
Now is no exception.
He watches with a feeling of unease and slight nausea as Dad goes through an intensive set of of high impact intervals, rotating between viciously hard reps of pullups, pushups, plyometrics, shadowboxing, and short bursts of powerful sprints.
His muscles must be screaming with the exhaustion of built up lactic acid, but he isn't slowing, isn't showing any sign of easing up.
Trunks watches it go on for another solid, uninterrupted half an hour before he starts to really consider stepping in and stopping Dad.
It's in that moment the decision is made for him, when finally Dad pushes too far, and Trunks feels his eyes go wide in shock as he sees him wobble as he pushes himself up from a set of pushups, his knees visibly buckling, balance lost, and a moment later he collapses flat onto his side, unmoving.
Trunks bursts to his feet, sprinting towards his father, heart beating near panic in his chest.
The relief he feels upon reaching Dad, seeing him still breathing, nearly puts him down himself, and he drops to his knees at his father's side, reaching out and pressing his fingers to his pulse anyway.
He feels it, solid and strong, only too fast, frantic even.
Trunks' gaze shifts to Dad's face, seeing his eyes half open and unfocused, staring blearily at nothing. His skin is drenched in a thick sheen of sweat, his chest rising and falling with heavy breathing, lips parted. He's dehydrated, no doubt, Trunks thinks, and something else maybe, something worse.
And then Trunks looks over the rest of him. At his body. He isn't wearing anything but a pair of shorts and some sneakers, and for an instant, Trunks is struck dumb by the ravage of scarring covering his entire torso and even his legs, and he realizes, suddenly, that he's never seen Dad this unclothed before, never seen his body uncovered like this. He always wore the full body suit which Mom had provided both of them, along with the armor. Always wore gloves even, covering his hands... Even when they went to sleep, he'd never seen his father without a long sleeved shirt and sweats.
… He'd had no idea... Gods...
He shakes his head, not having time to wonder about where all the scars had come from, instead slipping his arms underneath Dad and lifting him up. He had to get him back to their rooms, get him some liquids...
Dad seems as light as a feather in his arms, like he weighs nothing at all. Trunks can't really say he's surprised by that. Dad was lean as hell, his build unbelievably tight and shredded, his muscle incredibly defined. But he didn't have much mass.
Maybe most unbelievable was how hard Trunks knew he could hit, being the size he was. Even without the use of his ki, Dad hit hard. Hard enough to knock you on your ass and knock you out, if he wanted. It seemed impossible, given how little he was, how he could get so much power behind his shots. But that was talent. Dad was just bizarrely coordinated. He might not have weighed much, but what weight he had, he could get all of it into a single blow.
He's out of it now though, Trunks thinks, trying to move quickly but gently, his father lying nearly unconscious and limp in his hold, unaware probably of where he is or what's happening.
Trunks had been fearful Dad was pushing himself too hard, and here was the proof of it.
It doesn't take long to reach their beds, and Trunks is careful as he lays Dad down along the mattress, positioning his head carefully on the pillow.
Dad mumbles something, but Trunks can't make it out, and when he looks at his father, he thinks he isn't really talking to anyone.
He's in bad shape, and needs water, and so Trunks is quick to go fill a glass and bring it over, supporting the back of Dad's head and lifting it up as he brings the glass to his lips.
"Dad... Dad, you've got to drink this. You're dehydrated."
At first there's no response, and Trunks feels a slight swell of panic. But as he tips the glass and the water hits Dad's lips, it seems to wake him somewhat, and a moment later he's gulping the liquid in earnest, reaching for the glass himself as he sits up slightly.
"Easy, easy, don't drink too fast..." Trunks tries, still supporting the back of Dad's head.
It's only a matter of seconds before the glass is drained, and whatever energy Dad had seemed to gain from it goes just as quickly, his body collapsing back down on the mattress, his eyes, at last, closing, apparently unconscious.
Trunks frowns down at him, chest tight with a sudden, intense sadness.
He doesn't understand why his father does this to himself. Why he pushes himself so hard, to the point of it becoming dangerous, even detrimental to his health. It was important to grow stronger, of course. It was important to try and be the best you could be, but... Not if it meant risking your life, Trunks doesn't think. Not if it meant hurting yourself.
He probably should set up an IV, he thinks. Maybe an oxygen mask too.
Not for the first time, Trunks finds himself grateful that this place seemed to come equipped with everything necessary for any given situation. Obviously, even if only a full day had passed on the outside, it was the span of a year within, and a lot could happen in a year. That had plainly been thought of by whoever was responsible for the time chambers existence.
He'd found the medical supplies on their first day in here. Force of habit, really.
Living in the desperate, uncertain world of his own time line, he'd learned quickly enough one had to account for any and all supplies available to them, to always expect the worst and to never let anything go to waste. You never knew when you were going to have to move, never knew for sure where your next meal was coming from, or if there would be enough water. It was survival, not living...
Out there on the field of battle, he'd picked up more than his fair share of knowledge in medical aid, and so it doesn't take him long to get the IV into Dad's arm, or set up the oxygen tank. He's careful as he slips it over Dad's nose and mouth, and grateful that his father is exhausted enough that he remains unconscious through it all.
Trunks doesn't think he would likely react well to all of this. But more and more, he was beginning to understand that Vegeta was a man who unless you forced it would never accept anyone's help.
Getting the mask in place and double checking the IV, Trunks does what he can to make Dad more comfortable, moving around the bed and removing his sneakers.
He pauses as he does so, staring at Dad's feet.
Even those are riddled with scars, mostly smaller, though there's a few that stretch long over the bridges of his feet, and along the arches and soles some that appear to be patterned like shrapnel, like Dad had been caught in an explosion or something. There's other patterns like that on the rest of his torso and legs too. But letting his eyes really wander over the mass of scarring which seems to cover every part of his father's body, it's easy for Trunks to recognize that most of it's been caused by vicious, personal attacks. Some of them are gnarled and uneven, thick, like someone had taken a sharp or blunt object and driven it deep, dragged it along to get it out... Others are plainly caused by a whip, and Trunks feels his eyes burn with abrupt tears, welling too quickly for him to stop them as they slip down over his cheeks, and he looks away.
Gods...
For a moment it feels like he can't breathe.
… What the hell had been done to his father?
"Your father's had a really hard life..." he hears Mom's voice in his head.
Abstractly, he'd known what she'd meant. Together with what Mom from his time line had said, about where his father had come from, about how he'd been enslaved by Frieza from the time he was a very young boy. Abstractly he'd known his father must have suffered through physical punishments of some kind, like most slaves...
Knowing something abstractly was different from having that reality in front of your eyes, to see and to feel.
These weren't just punishments.
Trunks reaches up, wiping at his eyes, head shaking.
"I'm sorry Dad..." he says softly. "I'm so sorry."
Dad doesn't hear him, passed out, his breaths at last coming more even and smooth.
/
"Get his arms! Get his fucking arms!"
"I'm tryin'! The little fuckers squirming all over the place!"
Panic. Panic in his chest, heart pounding and deafening noise in his ears, and can't breathe... can't... throat closing up and can't breathe...
Had tried to run, when he saw Jeice coming at him. Ran straight into Burter, knocked him flat on his ass, and he'd been finished then. Caught and trapped and they'd been on him before he could even make it back to his feet...
Doesn't know what they're doing, what they're going to do to him, doesn't...
Feels his wrists caught in Burter's powerful hands. Twists with all his strength, panic exploding, vision going black with terror, and can't move now, can't get away.
"NO!" He screams, and sees Jeice smile down at him, sick smile, sick.
"Aww, I think he's actually scared." He says. "Are ya scared little monkey?"
Bares his teeth. Growls. Tries to twist free and can't.
"Aww, don't be like that. We got a present for ya Vegetable boy. Even a dumb animal like you likes presents, right?"
"Let me GO! Let me go or I'll... I... I'll ff-fucking kill you, I'll f-fucking kk-kill you!"
Hears them laugh, sees Jeice's face splitting into a wide grin.
"Ya hear that Burter? He's gonna kill us if we don't let him go."
"Ohh, I'm real scared." Burter says behind, and blinding rage then, hate and rage and humiliation. Twits and pulls, teeth grinding together in hate. Hate... not strong enough to break free and hates himself. Eyes burn and can't... can't, oh gods...
"Hey monkey, just cool your shit. We got somethin' that's gonna make you feel real good." Jeice again, and he's holding something. Some kind of pill. Some kind of drug, and no, no, no, can't... can't let them, can't let them do... No...
"Open up wide for me now little boy."
Clamps his teeth together harder, turns his head away. Has to break free, has to... has...
"Dumb little fuck, that ain't gonna work." Jeice says, fingers clamping over his jaw, squeezing hard, twisting his head back.
Won't open. Won't open. Can't let them, can't let them... Heart beating loud in his ears, fear closing his throat and can't...
Feels Jeice pinch his fingers over his nose, and no air now, no air, can't breathe... can't... can't...
Tries to hold on. Has to... can't let them...
Can't breathe though, and pain, lungs burning up, like fire in his lungs.
Mouth comes open with a gasp, sucking desperately, eyes blind with tears, and he feels the pill hit the back of his throat, feels Jeice force his jaw back together, press his hand over his mouth.
"Swallow it. Swallow it you little cunt."
"Rub his throat." Barter says, and can feel Jeice do it, feels himself swallow reflexively, feels the pill go down jagged and rough.
"There!" Jeice says, and suddenly he's free, feels their hands let him go and doesn't think. Had to get away... get away from them. Jumps to his feet.
Tries...
Only the world tilts sickeningly, limbs heavy and weak, feels like lead and can't...
Floor comes up to hit him in the face, head lolls over and can't move, can't...
What was happening? What was wrong... wrong with him? What...?
"Shit works fast." Hears someone say, only sounds like he's under water. Distant and echoing and...
"That guy we got it off of said it would. Said it was almost instantaneous."
"Well he wasn't lyin'."
"Better not have been, with what we paid for it."
"So now what do we do with him?"
"Like we talked about. Here, get his clothes off."
No... no, they... had to get away, had to, only...
Can't move. Body won't respond and can't... can't get up. Keeps trying and can't. Limbs feel like jelly, thoughts coming too slow...
Feels hands on him and can't move, can't get away...
"I like you better like this, Vegeta." Someone says, but can't understand who. Voices distant and blurred. "Makes it a lot easier to fuck with you."
"We'll have to get more of that shit. Think how much fun we could have!"
"Fuck yeah."
Taking his...
Feels fingers in the waistband of his pants, feels them tugging.
Panic like drowning in his chest, squeezing his lungs, and no, no, no, no, no... Can't... can't... can't...
"Look at his little dick! And his little nipples!"
Laughter echoing like explosions in his ears, and someone's keening. Doesn't know who.
"Matches the rest of him, that's for sure! Damn, he's like some deformed freak. Why's he so fuckin' small when the rest of those monkey's are so big?"
"Hell if I know. He's always been a freak. He's been here somethin' like seven years and I don't think he's gotten any bigger."
Fingers tugging and pulling, cooler air hits his skin, sound of material ripping.
"Here, lemme have that cape."
More laughter, head spinning and doesn't... doesn't know where...
"Why do you even still wear this thing monkey?"
Red material in front of his eyes. Recognizes it. Recognizes...
"What, you think it makes you special? Like anyone here will actually think you're a prince?"
Laughter clanging, banging inside his head.
"You ain't anybody's prince. You're nothing but a relic at this point. The last piece of shit of a dead race. Something someone stepped in and needs to wipe off their boot."
Recognizes the red... recognizes... Father... Father gave that to him, gave him...
"Here, let me relieve of your royal burden, your highness."
Red material rips and tears. Hands ripping it in half. Ripping it to pieces.
"Don't forget this shit."
"Oh yeah. And what the fucks this? This supposed to be some sort of royal crest? Like a coat of arms or some shit? You dumb fucking monkey's really thought you were special, didn't you? You really thought you were nobility or something?"
Jeice... It's Jeice, he thinks. Has his armor in his hands. Has... Father gave him that too, gave him... Still fit him, after all this time, still...
"Give me a fucking break."
Crushes it. Jeice crushes it in his hands. Crushes it to powder...
Tries to say no, tries... Tries to stop... only can't move, can't... can't...
Something warm runs down his temples. Something wet and warm and can't...
"Alright chimp, come on. Get up."
Hands on him again, grabbing under his arms. World tilts and spins and gonna be sick... gonna be...
"Can't even hold his head up. Man that shit really worked him over."
"Good. It'll take him forever to make it back to his room, if he even can. Everyone'll see him."
"Probably one of the other monkeys'll find him before he makes it all the way."
"Fuck, I hope it's the one with that fuckin' stupid hair. He always gets real upset about the midget."
World rushes up and feels himself lifted onto his feet. Knees give out and floor comes rushing back up. Gonna be... gonna be...
"Fuck! You fucking piece of trash! You see that? He almost hurled all over my boots!"
Explosion in his head. Vision whites out, screaming, ringing in his ears and pain, sharp, stabbing, stinging in his jaw.
"Stupid fuckin' monkey..."
"Just let him go. Little bitch can't even stand. He'll have to crawl back to his room."
Hands let go and floor rushes up to hit him in the face.
"That's right Prince Vegeta, why don't you go crawling back to your subjects. On your hands and knees where you belong."
No more hands on him. No one holding.
Laughing still, farther away, getting farther.
Lays there and can't move. Tries. Gone. Thinks they're gone and he can...
Tries to move. Had to... had to get... had to get to...
Nappa... and Raditz, had to... had to get to...
Heavy... body feels so heavy, like... can't make his legs work right, can't... Won't do what he wants.
Had to... make it to...
Nappa... Raditz...
Doesn't know how long he's been crawling. Hears voices around him. Laughing. Things hitting him. Other soldiers throwing things at him.
Doesn't know how long he's been crawling before he recognizes the door to their room. Feels like forever. Feels like he's been...
Lays there. Can't make himself go any farther. Lays there and mind drifts. Thinks about the cape Father had given him. Remembers Father's words, that day. Remembers...
"I want you to keep this cape with you always Vegeta. Remember, it is a symbol of your nobility, and of your strength. Those who see you adorned in the colors of our house, and who perceive our crest emblazoned on the breast of your armor will understand who you are, and show proper deference. It is a statement of your worth my son. Of your greatness..."
Lays there... mind drifts...
Destroyed it. Jeice destroyed...
Door comes open. Boots in front of him. Raditz' boots. Recognizes those. Recognizes...
Someone makes a strangled noise, and Raditz' face in front of him suddenly, twisted in despair. Strong, warm hands on him, lifting him up.
"No." Thinks Raditz says. Can't focus. Can't... "No, Vegeta, Vegeta!"
World fades, black around the edges. And then he's gone...
/
Wakes violent, gasp ripping from his throat, and doesn't know... doesn't know where... where he...
"Dad!"
Hands on him and he lashes out, grabs hold, squeezes, squeezes with everything...
Sharp cry in his ears, pained cry and world comes back into focus. Sees the boy beside him, face twisted in pain, bent forward and hurting. Holding him. He's holding the boy. Holding him by the wrists and realizes... realizes he's...
Let's go and the boy falls back from him, chest heaving. Rubbing at his wrists. Bruising. They're bruising already. Didn't mean... thought... didn't mean to...
Stares. Doesn't remember... doesn't remember what happened, what...
More focus and there's something on his face. Reaches up, fingers brushing against hard plastic and just like that time... that time when he'd woken and Bulma and...
Tears the mask away, fearful, uncertain what... Pressure in the crook of his elbow and looks down, sees the needle going in. Tears it out, fearful and angry and can't remember what had happened. Why was he...?
"Dad."
Looks up, sees the boy nearer again, look of apprehension on his face now though. Look of fear. Used to that look. Used to it.
"... Where..." starts to say, voice comes out weak, thin. Throat dry. Hurts. Mouth dry. Can't swallow right...
Boy looks at him warily, frown on his face.
"We're in the time chamber Dad. Remember? We're training to get stronger, so we can beat the androids."
Remembers. Remembers now. Had to... had to get stronger so he could... so he could...
Doesn't remember what happened. Doesn't...
"You were training." The boy goes on, another step nearer and can feel himself tense. Doesn't know why. Boy wasn't going to try and hurt him. Wasn't... "You pushed yourself too hard Dad and you fainted. You were severely dehydrated and your oxygen intake wasn't okay, so I... I hooked you up to an IV and put an oxygen mask on you so you could breathe better."
Doesn't remember. Doesn't remember any of that.
"You've been out for a few hours."
Blinks, stares at the boy. Wrists bruising. Black and blue and must have... must have almost broken them. Didn't mean... didn't mean to do that... didn't...
"Your wrists..." says dumbly, and the boy shakes his head.
"It's alright."
Wasn't... wasn't alright. Lost... lost control again. Lost his mind. Attacked blindly like... like he'd done so many times already... like an animal... a dumb monkey...
Thinks of Bulma... thinks of how he'd broken her wrist and...
Thinks of Nappa and... and all the times he'd hurt Raditz and...
Turns away, hate burning in his gut. Hates himself, hates...
"Here, Dad, you... you should drink this."
The boy's hands in view, holding a glass of water. Holding it out to him.
"I know you don't want the IV drip anymore, but you've got to stay hydrated, so... so you should drink this probably. And... and also I'll go make you something to eat since I don't think you've had anything since yesterday... Please take it Dad."
Stares. Weird feeling in his chest. Tight and painful, and he reaches for the glass finally, taking it with trembling hands. Tries to hide... hopes the boy doesn't see that.
The boy smiles at him, and looks like Bulma. Same smile as Bulma, and he looks away, pain in his chest worst, brings the glass to his lips and realizes how thirsty... how thirsty... swallows in big gulps and the water is gone too fast...
"Here, I'll get you another one. Just sit tight. Would you like a turkey sandwich? I was gonna make a couple for both of us maybe."
Trunks takes the glass out of his hands and can only stare at the boy. Voice won't work right. Can't get the words... can't get them out. Feels so stupid, like some stupid child and can't... Boy was so much smarter than him. Smart like his mother, probably. Felt dumb around him. Talked even less 'cause... 'cause he would know then, if he... if he talked, he would know how stupid he was and...
Knows he looks stupid. Know it. Trunks asked a question and needed... he needed to answer. Aware suddenly of how tight his stomach feels, familiar pain of hunger low in his stomach. Voice won't work right, comes stammering out, and the boy must know how stupid he is.
"Y-yyes..."
Boy smiles at him again, standing.
"Great! I'll be right back with the water, and the food should only take a few minutes to put together!"
Watches the boy turn, heading into the kitchen.
Doesn't understand... doesn't understand how the boy can be... how he is. Hears him, at night sometimes. Hears him crying out in his sleep. Knows that. Knows what that is, 'cause it happens to him too. Knows its bad dreams. Knows the boy's life has been difficult. Doesn't understand how he can be how he is then. How he can be so much like Bulma...
Looks at him with kind eyes and can't... can't stand it, sometimes. Can't understand why. Should hate him. Everyone always... always hated... wanted to see him like a... a joke. Wanted to see him...
Can't stand it, sometimes, the two of them treating him like he... mattered...
Like he was better... better than he ever could... better...
Treating him like he was better than the worthless, dumb fucking animal he always would be...