Rights: All rights belong to Akira Toriyama, Toyotarou and Toei Animation

This is based on the manga cannon, so there may be some discrepancies with the anime.

WARNINGS: This story is very, very dark, with a large amount of violence, gore, and sexual references, including references to non-consensual sex, and to a certain extent, scenes. It has been given the highest rating for a reason – you have been warned.

The moment his wife, Whis and Beerus departed, Vegeta returned Bra to her play pen.

"I trust that you'll be good while I'm away," he instructed, quirking an eyebrow at the girl, who chirped back something that Bulma may have recognised as "I good!" but meant nothing to Vegeta.

He raised a hand in farewell, leaving the room as a toy pelted his turned back.

Children.

Human offspring were a nuisance, even when they reached Trunks' age, although he at least could moderate his behaviour. But apparently teenagers were especially notorious amongst his wife's species. Vegeta thought all ages were quite appalling, from what he had observed in regards to humans. Trunks hadn't been that bad, but Bra was showing all the signs of growing up as a spoiled brat, just like her mother, throwing her toys around when not paid attention to. It was probably too early to tell, though.

And if Lord Zeno had his way, his daughter never would grow up at all.

Vegeta couldn't allow that, not at all. No one was going to steal his children's futures, no one was going to take the lives of his family. Not if he still had breath in his body, and even then he would fight back from the grave.

Which wasn't a consideration for him anymore, but still, it was the thought that counted. And the thought was that Vegeta was absolutely not going to allow Lord Zeno to erase this universe.

Merus was an exception, not the rule. Vegeta knew he wouldn't be able to restore those he loved with his own power. Even Kakarot was likely not enough of a deity for that. If this universe were erased, then those who gave meaning to his life, and the dragon balls which were the only means of their resurrection, would be gone.

It was time to find out just how powerful the First One was. He had never, as far as Vegeta had seen from unbidden ventures into his memories, come toe-to-toe with the childish ruler of all. Not in a fight, although the overgrown infant had attempted an erasure at their only meeting, to which the First One had merely raised an eyebrow, prompting the child to storm off in a tantrum. Even the pretentious title had not prompted a challenge from the saiyan deity, content as he was with his own chaos and debauchery. Both parties had predominantly left the other alone, as if not wanting to test the consequences.

Well, to Hell with that. No one was allowed to threaten his family, and to threaten innocent people, like Lord Zeno was. His erratic and destructive behaviour had gone unchecked for too long, and it was about time someone punched some sense into that football-like head.

Well, it looked like an American gridiron football. Why did the humans have so many sports by the same name? It was ridiculous. Their language never ceased to amaze and confuse him in equal measure.

Vegeta debated visiting or communicating with Trunks, but decided it might be too suspicious. If all went well, he would be returning and would not need the distrust of others, especially Beerus, to dog his steps. And if all didn't go well, Trunks would be gone and he, Vegeta, would…he wasn't sure what he would do. He wasn't sure what might happen to him if he lost. Would his soul and body be split again? He thought that technique had been lost with the residents of Universe 15. But he was certain Lord Zeno would have something up his sleeve apart from erasure. Some sort of imprisonment would await him if he failed. But no torture would be worse than the loss of his loved ones.

Nothing could possibly compare.

Leaving a replica of himself, weak and useless, in his home, Vegeta prepared to depart.

When Vegeta woke it was to an existence of pure agony, diluted by nothing and rendering his entire body immobile. He could make no move, no sound, apart from finally managing to peel his eyelids open to take in his blurry surroundings. Everything hurt like nothing he had ever experienced before, consuming him and making him want to cry out endlessly and shamefully.

But he couldn't do that because there was a tube stuck down his throat.

A tube which was providing him with breath, because his chest seemed unable to perform the action. And as it expanded and contracted with the movements of a machine, the deafening beats of his heart sent waves of agony to his brain, merely adding to the cacophony of painful signals his poor mind was receiving.

It would appear, though he had suspected as much, that clones did not endure once their creator was rendered unconscious (or dead, as the case may be). When he had awoken, he had been aware of only one set of eyes, ears, and body parts in general. His clone had dissipated, and his absence, given he had indicated a desire to stay with the children, would be suspicious.

That was the reason why he chose to ignore the pain, and shelve the opportunity to redress some of it by choosing to summon a clone instead of performing a minor healing.

A clone which allowed him to observe his current condition in more detail.

He was prone and supine, helpless on a hospital bed, surrounded by a multitude of machines making noises and producing glowing lines which meant nothing to Vegeta. Numbers blinked on the sides of the screens, but again, the alien prince did not understand what they were implying. His body was practically mummified with bandages, several tubes and wires disappearing into various places along his torso, supplying or registering who knew what. A cage supported a blanket thankfully covering his lower half, which he suspected was as naked (bar bandages) as the top.

His body couldn't really feel anything except pain.

Vegeta did not like hospitals, and he did not like medical equipment. But he could imagine why he hadn't been healed by magical or enhanced horticultural means. It was the same reason he had kept his cards close to his chest this entire time.

Beerus.

The history between Beerus' kind and the First One was bloody, vicious, and appalling. They had been one of the First One's favourites, and the things he had perpetrated against the females was inexcusable.

And Beerus was the reason Vegeta had braved an exhausting technique in lieu of healing at least some of his injuries. He needed to make his presence known, to dispel any suspicions they might have about him. But how to explain his absence? Could he get away with claiming he had been out for a stroll? That he had been hiding his energy for the purposes of remaining undetected?

Heck, the insinuation of an affair would be better for Bulma then having a target painted on her back by Beerus, as would be the case if Vegeta's body-insertion was discovered.

He couldn't defend her right now, and all it took was a second, in any case.

At 3 o'clock in the morning, it was unlikely that anyone except perhaps the angels would be awake, and he would have to trust their discretion. He would sneak in, and emerge for breakfast the next morning as though nothing unusual had occurred, making sure to know nothing about what had happened and ask plenty of questions.

Yes, that was what he would do.

Beerus. After all this time, after all this hurt, it was Beerus who was responsible for the destruction of his planet, for the murder of his parents and most of the people he had the audacity to care about to his father's perpetual disappointment. Many would say it was still Frieza who executed the deed, but Vegeta did not buy that kind of thinking. He was a firm believer in the chain of command; that the buck stopped at the top because that was what he had been taught as a prince. All victories, all failures, ultimately lay with him, or would lie with him after his coronation. And later, it was an excuse he had used to put aside his guilt at the slaughter of the innocent. Vegeta liked a good fight as much as the next saiyan, and didn't find killing as a concept all that distasteful – it happened, and it was necessary to eat. But killing when there was a choice in the matter? Murdering those who had surrendered? He hadn't agreed with it as a child, and had tasted the back of his father's hand many times for his unnatural inclinations. These had been diluted until they disappeared completely as he aged under Frieza's thumb, only to return unexpectedly in his years of freedom as he gradually became the man he was supposed to grow into all along. Which was odd considering his soul was rotten to the core.

His mind was wandering.

Beerus. That was what he had been thinking about. Beerus and his machinations. Keeping such a thing from the Prince of All Saiyans, forging a normal relationship with the only surviving full-blooded saiyans he had been aware of as if nothing was wrong. Vegeta couldn't believe himself so fooled, so well played. He had never even suspected!

And to think he had eaten with Beerus. When Frieza had forced Vegeta to dine in his company, using the saiyan custom as yet another form of psychological abuse, Vegeta had, against all rules of saiyan biology, vomited up the delicacies in the comfort of his shared quarters as the other saiyans slept. But with Beerus he hadn't any idea, not that it was an excuse. How his ancestors must have seethed, churning in their non-existent graves as Vegeta feasted alongside the God of Destruction with a vendetta against the saiyans.

He had hidden it so well, but Vegeta understood a thing or two about putting aside one's anger for a goal. And maybe Beerus' hunger for revenge had been satiated by the eradication itself, maybe he hadn't needed to eliminate every single remaining saiyan to assuage his rage.

"Vegeta."

That was his name. Calling him back to the world of consciousness, of awareness, of a physical existence. He didn't want to return to the physical world, content to meditate in the blackness and cut himself off because it hurt. It hurt everywhere. His heart trembled and ached with each chamber's pulsation, making him want to stop it completely just for a little peace, if he only possessed the capability. His lungs screamed bloody murder at him each time they expanded or contracted, sending liquid magma through his chest cavity as his heart roared. Lower down, he was sure his abdomen was currently resting on the sun or some such nonsense based on the signals it was sending him.

Good god, he was glad he hadn't survived his first final explosion. The fleeting, mind-consuming agony had been quite enough without this Hell. Even that place was nothing compared to what he was currently feeling.

He really wished his saiyan form was more susceptible to weak human drugs. While 'Vegeta' had been highly resistant, the First One was basically immune, much to his displeasure. Sedation sounded excellent right now.

If he could only summon the strength to heal himself.

But healing such catastrophic injuries was impossible with the energy he now possessed, every addition to his pool going straight towards physical recovery techniques as instinct dictated. A clone was possible, but a healing, no. And a clone would not be a good idea since he was supposed to be saving his energy for a magical convalescence.

"Vegeta."

Oh yes, someone had been calling him before he had lost himself to the agony.

Which was odd, because he wasn't currently Vegeta at all. There was no Vegeta at the moment, unless someone was disguising themselves as him. That would be just what he needed.

"I know you're awake, Vegeta. I can sense you."

Merus. Merus was telling him he was awake, much to his misfortune, and that he could be sensed. What could there possibly be to sense with his body so broken and diminished, every scrap of energy diverted and stolen by a crippled system?

Merus must have said something else, but it sounded like a massive blur amongst the pounding anguish of his ruined heart and the ascended migraine his mind was succumbing to.

And good grief, the infernal beeping. There weren't even any medical professionals nearby. How was he supposed to get his much-needed rest with such distracting noises assaulting his poor eardrums?

"Vegeta? Can you answer me, please? I really need to talk to you."

Talk? He had a giant tube in down his throat supplying his every breath, how could he possibly-?

Oh, well there was—

"Vegeta?"

For a moment, there was a jolt, just a minor one amongst all the pain fighting for the attention of Vegeta's overloaded brain.

Then his heart exploded.

BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM

Each beat was a detonation of anguish within him, every movement an eruption like nothing he had experienced before. It was as if his ventricles were trying to tear themselves apart, as if an alien conceived in that very organ were about to burst from his chest like in that movie Bulma had forced him to watch.

Oh, gods, his heart! His heart!

If his world was pain before then he had no way to describe this.

Not that his mind was capable of rational thought.

No, all thought processes were disengaged, all awareness shut down as agony became everything.

Sounds entered unchecked through his ears, but he was incapable of deciphering their meaning.

BEEP!BEEP!BEEP!BEEP!BEEP!BEEP!

"VEGETA! Vegeta calm down! Don't do this, please!"

Something pressed against his sternum. If he had been capable of thinking, then he would have been certain it couldn't possibly get any worse.

But it could.

By the gods it could.

His heart was already racing, as if trying to outrun the pain, but now it took off at speeds hitherto unfathomable, ramming against his hastily re-constructed rib-cage in a desperate bid for freedom.

His heart.

The pain.

Were everything.

"VEGETA!"

"MOVE! MOVE!"

Footsteps. A multitude of running footsteps.

"Clear the way!"

Voices muttering. Observing.

"Morphine line's been disturbed-"

"-heart's going crazy-"

"-something wrong with the machines! It can't possibly be beating that fast!"

Something else near his solar plexus.

"Going like a drum solo!"

"Get these bandages off!"

Snip. Snip. Snip.

"Let's see…"

Pressure.

Pain.

He began to convulse violently.

"Hold him down!"

"—strong-!"

CRASH!

"Let me help!" He knew that voice.

"Keep his chest still!"

One arm over the collarbone. One hand on his stomach.

"Need to see his heart. Give me visuals!"

Something cool against his sternum.

"Keep a good hold of him. This might hurt."

Agony. Pure agony.

And syncopation was added to the symphony of his hurtling heart.

BOOMBOOMBOOMBABABOOM…BOOMBOOMBOOMBOMBOMBOMBOM

"…palpitating…!"

"Look-!"

"—about to burst!"

"—needs surgery now!"

"—stop and restart—"

"Get me a shot of—"

"—jam it into his heart!"

"Get ready to restart!"

"—heart massage could be fatal, sir…"

"Roger."

"Defibrillator ready!"

"One! Two! THREE!"

STAB!

Vegeta's pain levels went through the stratosphere.

"Woah!"

The living restraints left him as his back arched.

CRASH!

Tmp.

"—still beating!"

"How do we-?"

"Another shot-?"

"If he's immune—"

"—could kill him!"

"—stiches on his heart aren't going to last—"

Beeeeeeppppp!

"—ripping the electrodes out!"

Suddenly the restraints were back, pinning him to the bed.

"Sorry about…"

"—exactly is wrong with—?"

"—pain—"

"—pumping faster and faster—"

"—cardiac arrest—"

"—pain I can—"

Suddenly, he was in heaven.

No, not the literal Heaven. He was still alive, and that didn't seem to be so much of an unfortunate situation now. He could feel his heart beating, feel his lungs expanding and contracting in tune with the machine.

But all the pain was gone. Abruptly, and completely.

Everything was paradise, everything was comfort.

And he sunk gratefully into the whiteness.

"Vegeta?"

He didn't want to hear that voice, didn't want to answer. Not when it had heralded so much pain last time. He just wanted to stay in his cacoon of peace until the end of time.

"Vegeta?"

He was swaddled in comfort, unable to feel any of the agony which had dogged his every waking and sleeping moment thus far. Everything was blissful, perfect, and he didn't want to emerge from this luxury. Certainly not to answer the one who had caused such a catastrophe earlier, though how much earlier Vegeta wasn't sure.

His brain still felt a bit fuzzy.

Ignoring the voice, he ascertained that, no, his nerves had not been severed, as he could still move his toes. He could even feel the slight starchiness of the sheets beneath him, although he wasn't registering any pain.

"Vegeta? Come on, please talk to me. At least squeeze my hand or something."

That wasn't the sort of thing the prince engaged in aside from his relationship with Bulma. He certainly wasn't close enough to Merus. But the angel seemed quite worried about something, distraught even.

Vegeta should put his mind at ease.

Yes, that would be the right thing to do.

And maybe if he had another brain he could think more good.

Considering his experience some time before, the pain he had endured, the physical and psychological distress he had suffered through, it was a minor miracle he even succeeded in producing the clone which soon graced his hospital room.

He could finally see the whole picture.

Merus was seated at a bar-stool by the bedside of the First One, one hand outstretched over his naked chest, emitting a welcoming veneer of light. The bandages over his sternum had been removed, revealing a thin tube entering the skin above his aorta, and a fine film covered the heavily bruised area, attached to various wires which all led to a new machine. Vegeta stared at the screen, feeling slightly ill as he watched the movements of his own heart digitised, each beat accompanied by a blip of the familiar monitor. He could feel the movements of his ventricles, of his atria as they pumped evenly.

Gently.

As if they hadn't caused him more pain than he had ever felt in his life.

"That's new," he commented idly, pointing to the screen.

Merus yelped, and suddenly it was like everything which had passed in the interim was a dream. The all-enveloping pain was back. Vegeta's hands slammed against his chest, clutching at his sternum, trying to claw his heart out as his lungs seized, unable to even draw breath to scream.

He hit the floor with a solid thump.

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!"

Vegeta took a deep breath as the anguish receded, marvelling at the feel of his respiratory muscles moving of their own accord as his real body lay immobile and helpless on the bed. Crawling to his knees, one hand still pressed against his sternum, feeling the beat of a new heart and the phantom pains of the original, Vegeta watched as the thumping organ returned to a normal pace on the screen.

"Sorry about that," Merus apologised again as Vegeta moved to stand by the bed, "I guess I was just startled."

"What are you doing?" Vegeta asked, eyes on the hand hovering above the centre of his breast, warm light shining on the translucent film.

"I'm stopping the pain," he answered, "I'm sorry I didn't think of it sooner. I didn't realise what the trouble was. I'm not as well versed in anatomy as you are."

"Interesting," Vegeta acknowledged, "That would certainly be useful for illnesses, since I can do nothing for them."

"I'm not sure I can teach it. Even if I could work out how, Whis would probably have my head."

Vegeta nodded.

"What happened?" he enquired, leaning over the supine form.

"Don't touch!" Merus warned, spare hand pushing Vegeta back away from his own body, "I…um…well, the truth is, I knocked your morphine line."

"Morphine line?"

"Yes, it runs directly into your heart. It's supposed to help with the pain."

Vegeta snorted, "As if any of the humans' insipid poisons would work on me."

"I figured as much," Merus replied, before sighing, "You gave them a huge scare, you know? Some of them aren't aware that you're immortal. They thought they were going to lose you."

"Would that it were," Vegeta mumbled.

"I'm sorry."

"Sometimes I wonder if being immortal is more trouble than it's worth," he explained, rubbing at his sternum. He couldn't believe that his master plan as a saiyan youth had been to wish for that very ability, then suffer continuously under Frieza until the zenkai boosts piled up to allow him to vanquish his mortal enemy. What kind of a masochist was he?

"Maybe…" Merus considered, "By the way, Miss Bulma cornered me earlier."

"She does that."

"She doesn't know, though, about you."

"It's better if she doesn't," Vegeta folded his arms, eyes fixed on his nearly dead body.

"She's your wife," Merus highlighted.

"I am aware. But she demonstrated to me that she could not be trusted to remain…in an amicable relationship with me while also knowing of my sins. And those now include the First One's."

"I don't think she sees it that way," Merus objected.

"It is also better for her sake to ensure she does not let something slip."

"Why are you insistent on keeping this a secret, anyway?"

"Were you not there last night, when Beerus threatened my wife? When he indicated that he intended to use hostages as insurance?"

"You could just kill him."

"Perhaps. Once I have recovered. But I fear…it takes less than a second to end a life at these power levels. Could I protect her? Could I protect everyone? What if Beerus was able to launch a devastating parting shot?"

"I understand."

"Speaking of keeping it a secret, though," Vegeta began, "How do you know about it? Am I really that obvious?"

"Obvious? No, I wouldn't say you were obvious. That story with Ternyp was some quick thinking, though. Better than that tale you gave me before."

Ternyp. If Vegeta ever made it back to Shindakan, he was going to thank that poor, timid sod for his highly convenient demise.

"Is it based on a true story?"

"Yes, it is. Ternyp did indeed perish on the Planet of Death only a year after the destruction of his home planet due to a supposed pod malfunction. We were never allowed to retrieve the body."

"I'm supposed to know him."

"I'm sorry?"

"Ternyp," Merus looked down at his shoes, "I'm supposed to know him. Miss Bulma was suspicious at how solicitous I was being with you, and deduced that I must know you."

"Ah."

"What can you give me on him, to support my story, and so our tales don't contradict?"

Vegeta stepped forward, preparing to do something he had not performed in a long time. Since before the loss of Planet Vegeta, in fact. Gathering his thoughts and focusing on the image of Ternyp, that lithe, little saiyan so ridiculed by his fellows, Vegeta placed one hand on Merus' head.

And executed a knowledge transfer.

In one moment, every scrap of information associated with that image was copied from Vegeta's mind and implanted in Merus' own. It was not a complicated telepathic technique, but it was something he hadn't done in a while.

And it tired him more than he had expected.

"Woah. Wow," Merus blinked rapidly, "I wasn't expecting that. That was…wow. All saiyans can do that?"

"To a greater or lesser extent, yes. It is not commonly used, however. Invasive, and draining."

Merus nodded.

"That bit with Frieza…" he said suddenly.

Vegeta's stomach dropped.

"What bit with Frieza…?"

"Umm…he was punishing you…for losing your comrade…? That's rather unfair, I think."

"I…didn't mean to give you that bit," Vegeta confessed, looking away as his face heated. Of all the people to witness his humiliation at the hands of his arch nemesis, an angel who Vegeta respected? Who Vegeta wanted to respect him?

Unconsciously, Vegeta's arms folded around the bottom of his ribcage.

He had forgotten how easy it was to transfer information unintentionally. He should have been more careful.

"How did you meet Ternyp, anyway?" Vegeta asked.

"I've never met him."

Vegeta turned to the young angel to glare at him.

"Oh, right. I 'met him on mission'."

"I see. What were you doing on the Planet of Death?"

"Umm…there was a fugitive who landed there?"

"Name?"

Merus thought for a moment, scratching his chin, "How about Spune?"

"It will do. Description?"

"I don't think Miss Bulma is going to cross-examine us, Vegeta."

"No, but Beerus might."

"True. Okay, he can be a…metalman!"

Hopefully Spune wasn't an uncommon name for that species. It had been popular with several civilisations he had...interacted with, due to some famous diplomat from an interplanetary empire that the saiyans had not deemed important enough to teach him about.

"I am familiar with those, so that is good. They do not vary much, do they?"

"Not in appearance, no, so it's ideal. And Ternyp was the one to bring him down."

Vegeta shook his head, "Ternyp is a timid creature, very unlikely to offend someone. I remember him struggling to come up with a line against the other soldiers when they teased him. His insults were utterly dreadful. You should know that."

"Alright, I did it, then."

"Congratulations."

"Much obliged. And the adventure to recover his hermitage bonded us."

"Hurrah," Vegeta intoned, then looked out the window at the afternoon sky. Was it just him, or had the view altered somewhat since the previous night? Maybe it was the change in lighting.

"I should probably make an appearance to allay suspicions."

"Oh, Whis knows as well," Merus contributed suddenly, "I was right on that one. I swear, he always knows."

Vegeta sighed, rubbing his forehead, "How many other people are aware?" he groaned.

"Just the two of us, I think. Maybe the Grand Priest. Whis was watching on his staff."

Vegeta jolted, staring at Merus with wide eyes, "Beerus did not see?!"

"Calm down, he was speaking with the Grand Priest."

"Champa…" Vegeta gasped.

"I have no idea. But he hasn't shown up yet so I'd say you're in the clear."

Well, that was certainly a relief. Champa may not have been 'in-shape' like his brother, but Vegeta knew that he held a great deal of power. And that would only increase with rage.

Speaking of anger, though—

"I have missed Bra's story time…" Vegeta mused, noting the position of the sun in the sky.

Merus barked out a laugh, causing Vegeta to give him the stink eye, "Lord Gemuse, terror of the universe, worried about missing an infant's story time."

"She becomes rather stroppy with me if I am late."

"Well, get going then. I'll take care of your pain until you fall asleep."

Vegeta's expression softened, gazing with respect at the little light hovering over his chest.

"Thank you."