Chapter 39:
Dad is quiet as he huddles over the book in his hands, staring intently, almost determinedly at the pages.
He stays seated on his bed, curled in tight, almost timid seeming, and Trunks is struck by the incongruity of the image.
Maybe it's how insubstantial the book looks in Dad's hands. Dad has big hands. Nearly twice as big as Trunks' own. Huge feet too. It would be almost comical, how objects tended to look bizarrely undersized in his hold, if not for the air of clumsy awkwardness it instead projected. Something about that only seemed to accentuate the loneliness which surrounded Vegeta. His awkwardness wasn't funny. It was sad. It somehow reminded you of how much he didn't belong.
Trunks tries not to stare at him, but it's hard.
Dad did this almost every night. Took out the same book and read from it. At least, Trunks thinks Dad was reading. If he was, though, he was painfully slow at it, averaging maybe a page every ten minutes.
From watching this, it hadn't been difficult for Trunks to ascertain that Dad was maybe illiterate, or... at a very basic reading level, in any case. As if things weren't hard enough for him.
It broke Trunks' heart, and more than a few times he'd nearly said something, wanting to help, only forcing himself to pull back at the last moment, fearful of what Dad's reaction would be.
Only Dad had been stuck on the same page now for the last fifteen minutes or so, and Trunks hasn't been able to help but notice. Like he can't help but notice the look of growing frustration across Dad's face. If Trunks had to guess, he would say there was some word, or maybe a group of words, which was giving him trouble.
He bites his lip, hesitating a moment, wondering if he should try saying something.
"... W-what are ya reading Dad?" He finally forces himself, hoping he isn't making a massive mistake.
He sees Dad start almost violently, and Trunks feels himself stiffen, realizing Dad must have gotten so lost in what he was doing, he'd forgotten he wasn't alone. He braces for an explosion of temper, only his father instead glances over at him, mouth tight, but otherwise no sign of anger on his face.
"... A book." He answers after a long moment.
Trunks smiles weakly at him, a strained laugh slipping past his lips at Dad's literal answer.
"I know, I mean... what's the title of the book?" He tries, and then he sees it, a flash of anxiety pass over Dad's features before it's smothered in a look of annoyance.
"If you're so interested, why don't you read it yourself?" He snaps, tossing the book at Trunks.
Trunks catches it, feeling suddenly awful. He hadn't meant to upset him.
Glancing down at the cover of the book, it's one he doesn't know, but he can recognize it as a chapter book for young adults, and it's all he needs to confirm his earlier suspicions. He feels his heart sink at the confirmation, a bitter sensation seeming for an instant to close up his throat.
Dad couldn't read, or... he could read only at a very basic level. He wonders if Mom knew. Probably. She'd probably given him this book as a starter. Only stuck in this place for several months now, Dad wasn't getting any help.
Trunks understands first hand how frustrating, even painful it is to try and learn something on your own, with no guidance. After Gohan had died, Trunks had still had so much to learn as far as technique went, and in his rage he'd turned Super Saiyan without really understanding how to control or use it. It had taken him years of studying on his own to develop even a little efficiency in the form, and still, he knows without Gohan's help, he'd never gotten to a point of perfecting it. Not even close.
He glances up at Dad and sees him turned away, arms crossed tight over his chest, face to the wall.
"... I can't read." He says suddenly, voice almost too soft to hear.
Trunks sits, shock momentarily robbing of his voice. Had Dad just... admitted that he couldn't...?
Dad turns to look at him then, face hard with defiance, mouth twisted in a scowl.
"You knew that already." He goes on in that same, quiet voice. "Don't be a fucking coward by trying to trick me into exposing myself. If you have something to say to me, you had better just say it. If you try to trick me again I'll beat the living shit out of you. Understand me boy?"
Trunks swallows, a knot of anxiety forming in his gut as he nods stiffly. He hadn't meant to...
Dad turns away again, staring ahead at seemingly nothing.
"Understand?!" He snaps again.
Trunks swallows once more, trying to force his voice back into action.
"Y-yes Sir. I understand, o-of course!"
For a long moment, the space between them again falls silent, and Trunks hesitates, fidgeting with the book in his hands. He glances up at Dad, seeing him still staring straight ahead, arms folded, holding almost impossibly still.
He can't believe Dad had just flat out admitted it. Though, he thinks, he was again making assumptions, and whatever Dad's lack of education, he was anything but stupid. Trunks knows that.
Maybe... maybe since he'd just confessed to it, that meant he... maybe he wanted help. It was worth a shot. And Dad had just told him if he had something to say, he should just say it.
He hesitates a moment longer, before just forcing himself to speak.
"Do you want help?" He blurts. "I mean, if you wanted me to help you with your... your reading, I could... if you wanted, I mean..."
He braces himself as Dad doesn't move, doesn't say anything, and he thinks for a moment he's really stepped in it this time. He probably shouldn't have said anything at all. He should have...
"... Bulma is helping me." Dad says suddenly, and Trunks' thoughts come to a halt, again shocked at his father's words, at his so readily admitting to something so... private.
Dad glances at him again, as if searching for some sort of judgment in Trunks' expression, and Trunks can feel his heart sink.
In truth, he felt surprise that his father would allow Mom to help him, as he'd come to learn over these months spent with him, Vegeta would rarely accept help of any kind unless you simply forced it on him. But then... his mom and dad had obviously formed some sort of bond. Something Trunks had found himself wondering endlessly about for a long time now. Wondering about how it was they'd gotten so close, how it was Dad had come to trust Mom like he did, when he didn't seem to trust anyone or anything.
He smiles at Dad now, the words falling from his lips before he has a chance to really think better of it.
"You and Mom are pretty close, huh?"
Dad's mouth comes open, holding suddenly still.
"... She's a fine woman." He says after a long moment, and Trunks can't help but smile more broadly. His father was never very effusive in his words, but Trunks had begun to be able to read between the lines with him a little bit. If he said something nice about someone, even if it was seemingly reserved, it meant a lot.
He can't help his curiosity then. Mom back in his time line had never really spoken to him about how she and Dad had become an item, only ever making vague allusions to what might have happened.
"How... how did you and Mom get together? I mean, how did you and her..."
He can feel his cheeks flush slightly as he realizes what he's asking, and watching as his father stiffens visibly doesn't help.
For a long time Dad doesn't say anything, and Trunks waits, having begun to realize that sometimes it just took his father a long time to get his thoughts into words.
"... She offered me shelter..." he finally starts, voice slow and measured. "... after I was brought back here... She... she let me live with her at her home..."
His father stops again, looking down at his hands, his thick, blunt fingers kneading into the material of his bed sheets.
He's silent, saying nothing else, seeming lost in memories.
Trunks barely hears it then. Father's voice whispering out, like whispering to the past.
"... She was kind to me."
"Nappa! NAPPA!"
"What the fuck are you yellin' about Raditz?! I'm in the middle of... fuck..."
"Help me with him! Th-there's something wrong with him, gods... He can't move..."
Nappa at last comes lumbering out of the washroom, and Raditz feels no relief. Vegeta is as limp as a rag in his hold, his head lolling down onto his chest, like he has no strength to even hold it up, his limbs uselessly hanging, body without any tension. His mouth keeps moving, slurred, unintelligible words falling out, like he has no control of his vocal chords even, and Raditz thinks he's gonna be sick. What was wrong with him? Gods, what was...
He'd been headed out of their room to go pick some stuff up for their dinner tonight, their supplies running low, as seemingly always, and down to their last few credits. Vegeta had left earlier that morning to go and train, and Raditz had thought only briefly that he seemed to be taking longer to come back than usual. But Vegeta did that sometimes, more lately now than in the past. He'd been growing so much more distant, spending more time by himself, despite his and Nappa's warnings against it. He should have known. God damn it he should have...
"What happened?! What's wrong with him?!" Nappa snaps, freezing halfway across the room, seeing Vegeta is Raditz' arms.
"I don't know. I don't know. I found him outside the room. He can't fuckin' move. It's like he's sedated or something." Raditz answers, and he can hear the panic creeping up in his voice. Doesn't matter. It doesn't fucking matter.
Nappa strides closer, reaching out.
"Give him to me." He says and Raditz knows better than to argue, handing Vegeta to him.
It's terrifying, how limp and helpless he is. Raditz has never seen Vegeta like this. Seen him get the shit beat out of him plenty, but never seen him without any motor control like this, never seen...
Nappa drops down to the floor, holding Vegeta in his lap, pulling his eyes open. His pupils are pin pricks, severely dilated, looking almost black with how blown the irises are. Nappa presses his fingers against the pulse point in his neck then, waiting, counting probably, Raditz thinks.
"Somebody gave him something." He says after nearly a minute, Raditz feeling like he was gonna hyperventilate. "Some kinda drug or somethin'. His pulse is way slowed down." He presses his palm to Vegeta's chest. "Heart too. Some kinda fuckin' downer or somethin'."
Nappa looks up at Raditz, face tight with anger and concern.
"Where are his clothes?" He asks. "Did you take them off?"
Raditz shakes his head, heart beating harder.
"No. I found him like this. I don't know if someone dropped him outside the door or what."
Nappa doesn't reply, beginning to examine Vegeta, turning him over, looking over his body.
There's no real signs of a beating. Just the usual bruising common to Vegeta at this point. The doctor said that was from malnourishment or something. Everything was from malnourishment, and fucking beatings, getting the shit kicked out of him almost every day by one of Frieza's fucking goons, or by Frieza himself. Doctor said Vegeta wasn't gonna grow much if this kept up. Said his bones were brittle, that the damage was probably already going to have lasting effects. He had joint pain which some day's was almost crippling to him. He wasn't even twelve years old yet and he was so fucked up physically. Raditz doesn't understand how he continued to push through all of it, every day. How he continued to train as hard as he did. Twice as hard as him or Nappa ever did. Doesn't understand how he can contain and control the massive ki he has, being in so much pain all the time. Doesn't know how he even found the will sometimes to go on living...
But if there was one thing Raditz had known about Vegeta for a long time now, it was that he had a will stronger than anyone's. There was a reason he was their prince, a reason he was better than the rest of them. It wasn't just his power. Raditz had never known anyone as mentally strong as Vegeta was. It was unreal. It was fucking unreal. Only...
Shit like this kept happening. It just kept happening to him. Over and over. It never fucking stopped, and Raditz had begun to fear more and more lately that it never would. He doesn't know how much longer Vegeta can hold out like this. Doesn't know how much more of this he can take before it destroys him. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, god damn it. Vegeta was their prince, fuck, with his father dead, he was their king now. He was meant to be treated with deference, with the highest respect imaginable. He was meant to be leading their people, meant to be their guiding light, their force. Not... not fucking shit on every day, spit on and beat down and treated like fucking garbage. Treated like he didn't matter. Damn it... God damn it!
He turns away, his eyes burning, rage and hate twisting his guts. He wants to kill somebody. Anybody. Somebody had to pay for this. Somebody, fuck...
He hears Nappa shift behind him and turns, seeing him stand, holding Vegeta against his chest.
He was so damned small. Raditz had been more than twice his height at the same age. Had outweighed him by four times as much. Vegeta had barely grown in the seven years they'd been here.
"We can't afford the infirmary. We gotta try and get him to throw up." Nappa says. "I don't think it's gonna help much, but it might a little. It's just gonna have to work itself through his system probably. And maybe a hot bath'll help him to sweat it out. Come on."
Raditz follows him to the washroom, lifting his hand and biting down hard on his knuckles as he watches the older Saiyan sit down with Vegeta is front of the toilet, having to prop him up.
"Vegeta, little man, can you understand me?" Nappa starts.
Vegeta's mouth comes open, his half lidded eyes glazed, staring ahead unfocused.
"Nnnppa... Nnn... pp..."
"It's alright little man. It's alright. We gotta... we gotta try and make you throw up whatever it is in your system. Alright? I'm gonna have to stick my fingers down your throat. Alright?"
"Iiii... Icccaa... Icca... tt..."
Raditz' eyes burn, his vision blurring with tears, and he turns, wiping angrily at them. He can't stand this. He can't anymore...
"It's alright little man. Don't try and talk. I know you can't. Just... this is gonna feel funny. Don't be scared. I'm just gonna make you throw up. Ready?"
It's horrible. Fucking horrible watching Nappa shove his thick fingers into Vegeta's mouth and down his throat. A thin whine escapes Vegeta, a convulsion working through him like he's panicking, and Nappa wraps an arm around his thin shoulders, resting his chin against the crown of his head, shushing him gently.
Another, hard convulsion, and Nappa pulls his fingers out, Vegeta vomiting into the bowl of the toilet a moment later.
Hardly anything comes out, just a clear, thin liquid, and Nappa tells him one more time.
He vomits again, more, thin liquid, and Vegeta's face is pale, beads of sweat streaming from his hair line, glazed eyes red as tears slip from them, down his cheeks. He starts to tremble in Nappa's hold, and Nappa pulls him against his chest, wrapping his arms around him.
"Good little man. That was good. We're done now. It's alright."
Vomit hangs off Vegeta's lower lip, and he can't seem to stop shaking.
"Raditz, fill the tub will ya? Make sure it's hot, but not too much."
Raditz is fast to comply. He needs to do something. He can't stand watching this.
Nappa continues to hold Vegeta as the tub fills, picking him back up when he hears Raditz twist the faucet off and bringing him over, lowering him slowly into the water. He doesn't let him go, keeping his hands wrapped tight under his arms, Vegeta's head hanging forward.
"Raditz, try washin' his hair or somethin'. Maybe it'll help him relax." Nappa says and Raditz nods, moving around to the other side, grabbing up the plastic cup they used as a rinser and kneeling down at Vegeta's back.
He tries to ignore how pronouncedly Vegeta's shoulder blades stick out as he gently pours water over his head, the way he can see every vertebra of his spine. Tries to ignore the horrible mass of scar tissue which has begun to build up along his back, which has begun to build up all over his entire body.
He can't though. Not really. Not anymore. It's too much. Too fucking much.
"He's gonna die like this." He says aloud.
Nappa's eyes cut up to him, pausing in his massage of Vegeta's limbs.
"He can still fuckin' hear you Raditz." He hisses. "Shut the fuck up."
Only Raditz can feel panic gripping him now, a surge of it coming up his throat, seeming to force his voice out even as his brain tells him Nappa is right, that Vegeta can hear him, that he needs to shut up.
"What's gonna happen if he dies?" He says, eyes stinging, filling again with tears, and he can't stop. He can't shut up. "What's gonna happen to us Nappa? He's the last... the last line of his family, he's... there's only three of us left and if he dies we're all fucked. That'll be the end of all of us. The whole Saiyan race. If he dies we're all fu-fucked, we're..."
Nappa moves so fast Raditz doesn't even see it, a moment later finding himself shoved hard against the washroom's back wall, Nappa glaring down at him with pure disdain.
"Shut your fucking face Raditz!" He hisses. "Just shut the fuck up! Vegeta ain't gonna die! He's stronger than that. He's stronger than all these fuckers. It don't matter what the fuck they do to him, he ain't gonna break. He's our fuckin' prince and he ain't gonna break!"
Panic recedes, Nappa's heated voice seeming to snap Raditz out of it, and he swallows hard, blinking, shaking his head.
Nappa was right. What the hell had he been thinking, losing it like that in front of Vegeta? As if Vegeta didn't have enough anxiety to deal with, as if he needed to hear how afraid Raditz was for him all the time. He shouldn't have opened his stupid fucking mouth. He should have...
A loud splash scatters his thoughts, he and Nappa turning their eyes away toward the tub, and like a surge of fire in his lungs, the panic takes hold of Raditz again as he sees Vegeta spassming in the water, his head sunk below the surface, unable to lift himself up.
Nappa reacts before he can, launching himself at the tub, and Raditz watches stunned and frozen as he grabs hold of Vegeta, tearing him up out of the water.
Vegeta chokes and gasps, water pouring out of his mouth onto the floor, Nappa holding him up, arm wrapped around his torso.
"It's alright... it's alright..." he tells Vegeta again and again, like a mantra, over and over, until Vegeta stops choking and coughing, no more water in his lungs, only left limp and trembling uncontrollably in Nappa's hold.
Only it isn't alright. None of this is alright. They can't take care of Vegeta. They can't help him. Can't protect him like they were meant to.
Vegeta was sick. He wasn't alright. Wasn't going to be alright if all of this kept up. Someone would kill him, eventually. Either purposefully or by accident, it didn't matter. Or he would die from neglect. From an accumulation of too much of this, of all of this...
And there was nothing any of them could do about it. If Vegeta was only given some kind of time to recover, to get well... if only the abuse wasn't constant like it was, he would grow strong enough to destroy all of these bastards. Raditz knows it. Nappa too. He had the ability, had the talent.
Only Frieza and his lackeys also knew. They also knew, and they would never... they would never let Vegeta grow that strong. It was the most twisted game, letting him live then like this. Dangling that hope in front of him, in front of all of them, only to always pull it out of their reach, only to torture them with it.
It would be better, Raditz sometimes thinks, if Vegeta would just die. He hates himself when he thinks things like that. He hates himself so much.
Only watching Vegeta now, shaking and helpless and suffering... Gods, he was suffering so much...
Sometimes, Raditz thinks, it was the only mercy which could ever be allowed to him. The only release from this nightmare to just die.
/
AN: Again, all my thanks to all of you who continue to support me and enjoy my story! I promise the action is going to pick up again soon and Bulma is going to come back. In the mean time, hope you enjoyed the chapter and if you have a chance, let me know your thoughts!