Author's Notes: Alrighty, here's the beginning of what I like to call "the real story." Completed and uploaded in record frequency for me—not that long after uploading the last chapter for It's a Start…which, of course, I'm working on at a leisurely pace. Anyway, enough rambling, here's what you came for.
He was nervous. Yes, just a bit nervous, he would admit—not that that was the primary emotion he was experiencing at this time, oh no. He was nervous, but layered thick on top of that was…
Excitement, fear, elation, depression, nostalgia, so many conflicting emotions and feelings, all struggling to be expressed—it was turning out to be too much for the young demi-Saiyan!
Except he wasn't really that young anymore. Physically he held the appearance of a fit and healthy nineteen-year-old boy, handsome to the eye, well-groomed, well-mannered—physically. On the inside was a completely different story. Inside he housed memories of battle scenes stretching for miles in all directions, the landscape charred black with the sky a cold steely gray swirling above him, pouring rain down in torrents. He could hear pitiful screams of those damned to a premature death, those he loved and cared for, could smell smoke twisting into the sky from a fresh crater formed by a ki blast, could still remember the strain of pouring his energy, his life force into an impossibly large blast, muscles tearing under the force, hoping against hope that it might make some difference, sweat pouring down his temples, hair flying into his eyes. It was all there, on the inside. Invisible to any onlooker.
"Wake up, Trunks dear. Wake up, Trunks dear. Wake up, Trunks dear," his mother's familiar voice chanted the mantra she'd recorded into the flight deck, replacing the cold monotone computer voice it had previously played. It continued to babble over and over for another ten seconds before Trunks Briefs shook off the cobwebs of hyper-sleep and managed to shut off the annoying racket.
He was finally home. He didn't even need to lean forward to peer out the tiny cockpit window of the space pod he was blasting along in—he knew it was there. Big, round, filling his visual span, a sea of blue with white swirling over it like paint spattered carelessly over an aqua canvas. But what he couldn't see below all that white was all the black. The black that represented cities and towns destroyed by android ki blasts, that represented families torn apart, friends and loved ones killed, lives forever changed. All the red couldn't be seen from space either, representing the blood needlessly spilled for the amusement of a pair of machines, nor could he see the green, representing the all-too-few pocket communities left alive, waiting their turn at the proverbial chopping block.
He also couldn't see the shocked faces of millions of people, who suddenly "awoke" to find themselves alive. Alive again! Alive, thanks to the Dragonballs on Neo Namek and some swift talking by Trunks himself. It had taken a while to convince the aliens that his intentions were truly pure—he only wished to restore the lives lost in the android terror of his homeland. It was only after a slip of the tongue inserted Piccolo's and Goku's names into the conversation that they agreed to allow the Saiyan youth the use of the magical balls. And that was it: a mere few words later and it was almost as if the cyborgs had never set foot on the Earth at all.
Almost.
He had reconsidered his decision to restore the Earth itself to normal at the last moment. No, humanity needed some way to remember what had happened, an ever lasting mark that they might forever recall the price of their technology and how revenge brought one twisted mind to bring to life two horribly vicious creatures. They had all died, but they had all been given a second chance as well. The destruction around them would remain, and they would rebuild eventually.
Trunks made his wish to revive the percentage of the population that could be revived—that is, those who had not perished by the deadly heart virus—and had left the Namekians with their remaining two wishes, urging them to do with them as they chose, thanking them profusely.
Yes, he was coming home to a new world: one free from androids, free from deadly viruses that wiped out nearly a third of the planet's population, free from pain—for the time being. He would fight to keep it that way, and die for it if need be, but he would not be alone this time. Lips curling into a small smile, he cast a glance at the small clock counting down the time until he landed safely back on the Capsule Corp grounds with his mother. And with Gohan—his old mentor and friend, finally back after more than four years! Back, alive and well: he was more than ready to see him again, he had so much to tell him!
But he'd return to his father as well. Vegeta, Prince of Saiyans, back alive. His father… whom he'd met only a couple of times before—in a whole different timeline. He'd never met his real father, if the other could be considered a fake. His father had died valiantly, fighting to save his world from the androids—at least, that's what his mother told him, eyes growing misty at the memory. He doubted very much this was the whole untainted truth. From meeting the other Vegeta, he would be more likely to believe his father had merely viewed the cyborg attack as a new challenge and had greeted it enthusiastically, eager for a decent fight, underestimating them as he was wont to do. Well, he'd certainly gotten one. And who was she to lament the Saiyan prince's death? She'd never even spent any decent length of time with him—she hardly knew the man!
Alright, so maybe he was a little ticked at Vegeta for leaving them alone… at least the Trunks in the other timeline would be little more fortunate than him, as the Saiyan prince had grudgingly promised not to leave that boy without a father. But it still left him with the problem of facing his own father for the first time: how would he react? Would he be proud of his son, pleased that it was his own offspring that had avenged his untimely death? Or would he be angry, furious that a mere boy had shown him up in power, easily defeating the monsters that had just as easily defeated him? More likely the latter, Trunks thought dejectedly. Ah well, the only course left was to simply let time roll on as it had been for the past twenty years, as it had for all the years before that.
No more time travel, no more meddling in temporal affairs, no more. It was time to let the Earth fend for itself after twenty years under the heel of the androids, living in fear. It was time to wake up, to start a new life, to start over.
Wake up, Trunks dear
"Come on, Trunks…come on…" Bulma Briefs muttered under her breath, gripping the hem of her long skirt nervously, wiping the sweat from her palms onto it. "It's time…he was supposed to be ba—THERE HE IS!" Her voice rose into an excited yell, echoing for miles all around to where even her son high in the sky might have been able to hear it. Her worried face broke into a wide, relieved grin, and tears of joy began to form in the corners of her eyes. She gave a short sob and waved her arms wildly as the light-gray space pod descended lower and lower, growing in size and slowing as it neared the front lawn of Capsule Corp. headquarters.
Violent wind gusts swirled around the mother, pulling her hair from the loose ponytail it had been pulled back in, but she didn't care in the least. Slowly, slowly the craft settled gently on the swaying green grass, sending small dust clouds and blades of grass into the air as the engine died down. The metal legs she'd specially attached hissed as they extended from the main body and settled on the ground, followed by the welcome sound of the main hatch creaking open, the form of a young man barely visible through the haze.
"…Hey Mom, how's it going?"
"TRUNKS!" she cried out, tears spilling over as she wrapped her only son in a great bear hug, shaking him violently. "Trunks, oh Trunks…Don't you ever leave me again!"
The demi-Saiyan blushed lightly at the display of motherly affection, hand instinctively stretching behind his head—a habit he'd picked up from the Sons in the other timeline. "Geez, don't cry Mom…I'm back now, for good!" He gingerly patted her back, whispering soothing words to her, and she soon quieted down, apparently a bit embarrassed at the outburst, and wiped her eyes profusely.
"I—I'm sorry about that, dear. It's just… I finally realized that it's over. It's finally over, and you're safe…You're back home again." She pulled away, wiping her hands again on her skirt with a final sniff, and looked deep into her son's calm blue eyes, meeting an equal expression of relief that life was soon to return to a state of normalcy unheard of for twenty long years. She smiled widely at him, "Someone's been waiting for you, Trunks…"
He blinked, a bit confused and wondering just who his mother had hidden away, until he peered over her shoulder at a figure leaning against the far wall beside the main entry door. "Gohan!" he shouted with child-like glee, reverting to the mindset of the fourteen-year-old child he'd been when his sensei died—the mindset that had died along with Gohan. Bulma easily sidestepped him as he shot forward into the welcome arms of his master, wrapping him in a warm hug. "You're back—you're back!" The elder demi-Saiyan chuckled and returned the hug, himself a bit shocked at how much his student had grown since he'd last seen him. The boy he'd unwillingly left behind was no longer a boy, a full five years older physically with the weight of battles lost and won resting on his sturdy shoulders.
"Yes, I'm back Trunks—thanks to you." His student pulled away, eyes beaming with joy.
"I did it, Gohan, I finally beat them! And it was…" He faltered a moment, eyes losing some of their brightness as if confronting a sorrowful memory from years past, "It was all thanks to you…" At his master's confused stare, he gave a pithy explanation. "You helped me, even after you died—because you died. It pushed me to become a Super Saiyan and I couldn't have…I could never have done it without you, Gohan…"
He smiled warmly. "Hey, forget it, kid. You can tell me all about what's been going on later. Your mom here tells me there's still someone else you should meet…"
At this statement Bulma sprang back to life, "Ah—yeah! Inside, Trunks!" She and Gohan corralled her son, ushering him into the looming building excitedly. He had a sinking feeling he knew whom he was being hurried on to meet, and his suspicions were confirmed upon reaching the living room area. There, seated on the couch, a bored expression painted upon his features, was the Prince of Saiyans, appearing not at all pleased to be alive once more.
"Vegeta!" his mother barked, and Trunks had a sudden feeling of déjà vu from the alternate timeline. The Saiyan's dark brooding eyes snapped to the doorway the trio were standing in, face maintaining its bored expression. Trunks drew in breath audibly in a small gasp as he surveyed the man he'd grown so close to in another time—but this one knew nothing of such a filial bond. "Well?" his mother prodded the couch-sitter, "Aren't you going to say hi to your son?"
There was the slightest twitch of an eyebrow as Vegeta's eyes took on a vaguely surprised size. A tiny sound like someone had just punched him sharply in the stomach issued forth from his pursed lips, and he suddenly found it difficult to draw breath. Son?! Sure, he remembered well that night nearly twenty years ago when pride had been set aside for a moment of passion—he remembered it only too well. He even vaguely remembered the existence of a tiny bundle of clothes the woman carried around for a few months before he died—was this the result of that night? A child? Cold calculating eyes ran over Trunks' tall slender frame, and he felt a bit uneasy, like one of his grandfather's animal experiments under a microscope for observation.
Yes, Vegeta could faintly see himself in the boy… "This is Trunks, Vegeta. You can thank him for defeating the androids and wishing you all back with the Namek Dragonballs," the woman's sharp high-pitched voice grated on his ears, interrupting his thoughts. He could no longer maintain the blasé expression he worked so hard to keep up, and the mighty Saiyan prince's royal mouth hung open like a frog's.
"Y-you?! A mere boy did what two Saiyans, three humans, and a Namek couldn't do!?" His voice rose, tone making it evident he found the idea quite ludicrous, and somewhere inside Trunks' pride stung a bit at the comment.
He frowned at the exclamation, but stepped toward his father anyway, pasting on a smirk as he approached. Well, while he was at it, may as well go ahead and try and get on the old man's good side—wait, did Vegeta have a good side? "Well, I am your son…" The elder Saiyan's mouth snapped shut immediately, yet he didn't smile or acknowledge the statement in anyway, merely crossing his arms in their typical position and giving out his usual, "Hmph" of acceptance.
"True as that may be, I still find it difficult to believe, boy."
Trunks was about to reply, when Gohan stepped nearer, speaking up now. "I don't see why, Vegeta. If I remember correctly, you got taken out in one hit by 18." Vegeta's dark eyes narrowed threateningly. "While Trunks here managed to actually give her a hard time a few years ago in one battle—and that was before he even ascended to Super Saiyan status."
Eyes widening again, he choked out, "You mean to say—the boy has—"
"The boy has a name, Vegeta," Bulma interjected angrily, and the Saiyan shot her a filthy look before returning his eyes to Gohan.
"The boy is a Super Saiyan?!" He ignored the remark and continued the interrogation. "But how—"
"Gohan taught me, Father. He trained me—after he ascended. He was my sensei up until his death four years ago…" Vegeta turned a disbelieving eye from his son to Gohan, who nodded, confirming Trunks revelation. Impossible—was everyone a Super Saiyan now? Where had the honor of achievement gone, that now even a child could attain it?
The elder demi-Saiyan turned to his student now, leaving Vegeta to his own thoughts, and queried, "But, Trunks—even I as a Super Saiyan couldn't handle one of the androids, much less beat them both. How did you do it?"
It was evident a long story was about to ensue, and Bulma quickly interrupted before her son could respond to his master's question, "Hold it, guys—let's put off this conversation 'til after lunch at least. It's gonna be a long one…" She marched past the group of Saiyans, beckoning them into the kitchen, and Gohan turned back to Trunks.
"Is it really that long of a story?"
He smiled, "Oh yeah, it's that long…"
"A time machine?!" Gohan gaped across the table at Trunks, nearly spitting out his lunch, then turned his gaze up to the boy's mother. "Really Bulma?" She nodded pleasantly, giggling. "Wow… so you're telling me there's a whole other world now, with all of us in it, in another dimension?"
Trunks shook his head, confirming the belief. "Yep, and the best part is none of this happened over there. Sure, the androids came, and sure, Goku got sick—but none of that mattered there! When I came to warn us all ahead of time, I gave your dad an antidote to the virus: an antidote which didn't exist when he died here, but one I brought back just for him."
"So…my dad…didn't die?" The surprise and shock was so clear it could almost be seen. "He's…alive there?"
Trunks' face fell at this statement, and he turned away, expression serious. "He…he didn't die from the virus, but… but he did die later on."
"So, they got him? The androids?" He'd had a sinking feeling ever since he'd entered his first battle with the machines that even if his father had been alive, it wouldn't have made any difference in the outcome—it would've just been another death he'd have had to deal with. But Trunks shook his head.
"No, actually—he probably could've defeated the androids pretty easily! Except, the ones that arrived there were a little different than the ones here. Instead of two, five were sent to kill him—six if you count Cell."
"S-six?! Six androids?! And Cell—who's that?" Trunks' story of the past four years was turning out to be like some complex movie, with plots twists every time you turned around. Vegeta merely listened with his back to the duo, gaze focused on his meal which—he grudgingly admitted—it seemed the woman had learned to cook since he'd last spent any time with her.
"Two of them were 17 and 18—the very same ones we had here. Another, 16, actually didn't seem so bad—like he didn't want to follow his programming, didn't want to fight or anything like that. Two others, 19 and 20, I'd never seen before—they were energy sucking androids, gained power from other living beings…" He trailed off as he recalled the various battles with the different androids of the other line.
"And the last? You said his name was Cell?"
Trunks' face hardened. "Cell… Cell was the most powerful of them all—he was the reason Goku died in the other line. When I left this timeline, I went back twenty years—three years before the androids we fought were set to arrive. This gave all the others plenty of time to train and prepare. But the first androids to come were 19 and 20—ones I'd never encountered before. Time was already changing due to my going back. This was right around when Goku got sick, but he took the antidote I gave him and recovered, and the two androids were beaten pretty easily. It seemed things were on the upswing… until 16, 17 and 18 appeared."
"Just like here…" Gohan noted grimly, and Trunks nodded.
"As if they weren't a big enough problem—Gero had another android waiting in the alternate timeline: Cell. He was…different though. He ate other androids."
"Ate them?"
"Ate them—well, absorbed energy is more like it. He used energy from other living beings like 19 and 20 did: it gave him the ability to achieve greater and greater levels of power, far beyond either 17 or 18…eventually far beyond your father, my father… beyond any of us…"
Gohan leaned forward, enraptured in the tale, lunch long forgotten. Even Vegeta had turned around a bit in order to hear better. "So… how did you beat him? You're alive and well, so I'm assuming you beat him somehow." The thought that his student had been forced to face an enemy more powerful than the androids, without him there, sent a funny feeling of discomfort into his stomach. The things he'd missed…
"Well, Father, me, Goku, and—actually—you trained for a year in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber to fight Cell. He set a time limit after which all Earth's warriors would meet him in a Budokai-style fighting ring, complete with Budokai rules, where we would fight him."
"…Me? My dad trained…with me?"
Trunks smiled at his master's speechless expression. "Actually, a much younger version of you—I believe he was only eleven or so. Father and I trained for one day, after which you and Goku trained for another day. You went into that room with the same power level you had back when Goku died in this line. You came out a Super Saiyan."
"At eleven?!" Vegeta exclaimed, springing to his feet, speaking now for the first time in over an hour. "A Super Saiyan at eleven?!" Trunks merely smirked, shooting a glance to his father, and nodded.
"At the tournament Goku was naturally the first to fight—and it was assumed by all of us he would be the only one needed, that he'd be the one to defeat Cell." He lowered his head. "We were wrong… Goku fought furiously against him, they even got rid of the Budokai ring and did away with the rules, but it seemed none of it mattered. He actually forfeited."
"M-my dad…gave up?!" Vegeta took his seat again and smirked inwardly, pleased at the choked tone in the elder demi-Saiyan's voice. 'Guess your goody-goody father wasn't all he was cracked up to be, eh brat?'
"I know, I know—that's what we all said when he did it, until he calmed us all down by saying that someone more powerful would take his place before Cell. Then he said that someone…" He turned his face to Gohan, "was you."
"So…that's how it went," Trunks finished quietly. Gohan's elation at learning of the existence of an alternate timeline where his father had survived the deadly sickness that had taken his life here was gone, crushed by the rest of Trunks' testimony. It was his fault… because of him, his father was gone…again. Even if it hadn't specifically been he that had led his father to doom… his stomach gave another revolting turn and his eyes watered threateningly. "I'm sorry, sensei…"
"Kakarrot… he always ends up doing something like that, doesn't he?" Vegeta spoke up softly, startling the two young demi-Saiyans whose gazes snapped to their elder. "Makes some noble sacrifice every time he dies, endearing even more saps to him. Even when he can't win, he always seems to come out on top…the fool." What right did he have to go and get himself killed, did he think of no one else, other than himself?
"Goku died to save the Earth, Father," Trunks replied sharply, once again reminded of his father's one-track mind. "I couldn't think of a more noble sacrifice than that."
"But from what you've said, child, if he hadn't done that not only would the Earth have been destroyed, his spawn would never have released all that hidden power he's kept locked away." He slid his gaze over to Gohan. "It leaves one wondering if this whelp has the same power…"
"More than you, Vegeta…" Gohan countered easily, eyes no longer watering, rage boiling at the Saiyan prince's insinuations about his father.
"More than any of us…" Trunks added. "More than me, more than Father, more than Goku, more than Cell. It's kinda funny… I came back to save you all—and it wound up being you who saved me…"
It was clear none of them really found it funny in the least. "So, after the other me beat Cell, you came back here?"
"Yeah—by that time, after all the training with Father for Cell, the 17 and 18 of this line were child's play for me to defeat, it was pathetic. The thing was, another version of Cell followed me here as well… luckily enough he was only in the earliest stages of his development, even less powerful than the androids. After that, well, I set off for Namek—and here we are back at the present!" His ending statements came off with forced cheerfulness, as the present left much to be desired. Absently Trunks drew pictures in what was left of his now-cold rice with a chopstick, head propped up with one hand.
Gohan leaned back in his chair and let out a loud sigh. "So… that line's safe, this line's safe… what next? Rebuilding?"
Trunks nodded, eyes still resting on his rice-picture. "That's what's going to be first on everyone's minds for the next few months: getting everything up and running again. The humans haven't dealt with normal everyday life for nearly twenty years now, and most of them have just been wished back. The heart virus is still out there, but Capsule Corp. is distributing an antidote through its different branches and affiliates… it's already taken its toll though. Those the androids didn't get, the virus did. And they couldn't be wished back."
"Just like Dad…"
"Yeah," he began to reply dully, "and your m—" Trunks' head shot up to attention, and he barely managed to stop the next word from rolling off his tongue, though not quickly enough to keep his master from turning to stare at him quizzically.
"Did you say something, Trunks?" The retort had been soft enough that Gohan hadn't grasped the exact words, but merely registered that he'd said something. The boy shook his head wildly, and he shrugged it off, standing in place. "Well, I think I've dawdled here long enough—I'm gonna head on home and say hi to my mom, figure she'd probably like to know I'm alive." He smiled brightly at the group, "I'll see you tomorrow, alright Trunks?" With that, he headed towards the door.
The younger demi-Saiyan made as if to call him back, hand outstretched to stop his master, but abandoned this course of action before it was even halfway started, and Gohan was gone, bound for his home nestled deep in the mountains hundreds of miles from Capsule Corp. Trunks' hand fell limp to his side again, and he suddenly felt sicker than he'd felt in quite some time.
"Why didn't you tell him?" Vegeta's cold voice sliced the solitude after a moment, and Trunks' head whipped around to face his father, brows creasing in alarm.
"But—how did you—?"
Vegeta waved him off, eyes closing in mirth, "Please, child, you read like an open book. That brat's mother is no longer alive, is she?" Trunks made no reply, but he took this as affirmation. "No, she died of the virus, didn't she? Not too long ago then?" His son frowned at this and turned away, his head resting in his palms as he massaged his temples wearily. Vegeta opened one eye lazily, gauging the boy's reaction. "He'll be quite angry with you for not telling him you know…"
"I know…"
Well, now he was curious. "Then…why? Why keep it from him?"
"Because…" came a soft female voice from the doorway, and the men turned to view Bulma. "Because, I asked him not to…"
Son Gohan was practically singing as he zipped through the air towards a long forgotten cottage. Though his mother was quite the neat freak, he didn't doubt that all the years without proper "play" to keep the lawn in check would've caused all manner of plants and vines to spring up around the small house. As a child—a very young child, mind you, something he hadn't been in a long time—it had been one of his main chores as well as joys around the house to keep the lawn free of weeds and vines for a radius of, "At least fifty feet, mister, or no dessert!" He smiled inwardly at the memory, then paled a bit.
Wow, if his mother had been that strict with regards to lawn care, how mad would she be at him now? After that final scene at the cottage a few years before his death…very. He'd not reneged his promise that he would visit—though, he would admit, his visits became less and less frequent as time went on, as well as became shorter with his mounting discomfort at frittering away time with a living person while so many others were dying at the hands of the androids. Yes, it'd been some time since he'd spent any decent length of time with Chichi.
Time to remedy that.
His eye caught a barely visible glimpse of a red domed roof, colors nearly faded beyond recognition, situated beside the dried up remains of what used to be a sparkling blue stream. The tree-line masked all these markers surprisingly well, but he knew what to look for and would not be thrown off. Descending rapidly, his feet were on the ground running within seconds. A wide smile spread across his face as he tore through the overgrown foliage, a trail of leaves whipping behind him. "Mom…MOM!" he laughed as he neared, "MOM!"
The front door was only a few feet away before he skidded to a stop, with the leaves he'd pulled along pelting the house. "Mom…" he whispered now. Gingerly he reached a trembling hand to the doorknob, as if fearing it would bite or shock him. Great, he'd faced aliens bent on world domination and androids bent on world destruction, yet he couldn't face his own mother after years apart? Well, he tried to argue, she was almost as bad as all of that! Pushing all hesitation aside, he swiftly gripped the knob and turned it, pushing inside with almost no effort: the lock mechanism had rusted off years ago.
The interior was dark, lit only by the dying rays of the setting sun in those rooms with windows. This didn't come as any surprise, though—the androids had cut off power to most major cities long ago, which meant little pocket areas of civilization—like the mountain communities—would have lost power well before then. Still, looking around, he would have expected to see at least the remains of burning candles or something…
After giving the house the once-over, he came to the quick realization that no one was home, nor had been for quite some time. Alright… so maybe she went to live with a friend or something, maybe Bulma—no, Trunks would've said something then. So… where?
He stepped outside once more, attentions turning now to the dried up stream bed. It had once been teeming with fish, a small tributary of a nearby roaring mountain cataract, and numerous had been the times he'd fished in it—both with his father and alone. He ran a finger gently over the cracked sandy bottom and smiled wistfully. Lifting his eyes to take in the opposite bank, his brow creased in puzzlement when he caught sight of something that hadn't been there before: a small stone marker.
He nimbly leapt the ten feet to the other side and peered down at the rock, one face smoothed over and inlaid with a tiny brass plaque. Bending low and sinking to one knee, he read the inscription:
May she finally find peace, and may other remember her legacy
(erected in memoriam, by Bulma Briefs)
Gohan's breath caught in his throat, stinging sharply like he'd just swallowed something that wouldn't quite fit down. He swallowed again, yet the sensation remained. Son Chichi…dead…dead…dead…
No, no…no, it must be a mistake—his mother wasn't dead, couldn't be dead. Not when she… He read the plaque again. And again. And again. He could repeat in his head now. Here lies Son Chichi, devoted wife, loving mo—
Loving mother. His mother… his beautiful, strong mother, who loved her little boy so very much. The mother who cried, the mother he made cry… he left, and she cried because of it. She died because of it—because he left. He abandoned her. Because he wasn't here, because he had to save all the others, she died.
She cried, then she died… If he'd been here—
May she finally find peace, and may others remember her legacy
But—why?! Why hadn't she been revived?! Why was this marker still here, nearly overgrown with weeds and grass? Why—
The virus. Of course that was why. She'd died of natural causes—however natural a nearly unstoppable heart virus could be considered. And couldn't be revived, just as nearly half the rest of the planet's population couldn't be revived… He crumpled to the ground ungracefully, head resting on the soft grass inches from the stone. So near… six feet, six mere feet. A single tear dripped into the soil and soaked into the ground.
erected in memoriam, by Bulma Briefs
They knew. They knew, and they hadn't told him. He'd said he was going home, and none of them—not Trunks, not Vegeta, not Bulma—had tried to stop him. Hadn't even casually mentioned, "Oh, by the way Gohan, your mom's dead. Been that way for a while now." They'd all just sat back and watched him fly away, searching in vain for what was left of the life he used to hold dear: his mommy.
…why?
…why did you let me hope? How cruel could you be to let me even hope? How heartless, to let me think for even one moment that life might be like it used to be…I would rather die than vainly hope, so why?
"…Gohan…" Bulma tried to calm him, but it failed, and he merely stood in the doorway, shaking with rage, face reddening, eyes squeezed shut to keep the tears from leaking out.
She knew he'd be back, as soon as he'd left—she knew. For she knew what he would find when he tried to return home, or rather, she knew what he wouldn't find.
He wouldn't find his mother, he wouldn't find his home as he'd left it all those years ago, he wouldn't find anything to remind him of the life he'd left behind—the life of peace. His mother had died, his home was in disarray and decaying, his life…well, he would have to start a new one of those. They were all having to start over, for none of them could go back to the way things were. That's what life was really all about anyway: getting over the past and moving on towards a new future. This was their world now, and nothing could change it, so better to accept what it was and move on than to wallow in self-pity and ancient memory.
Great, she'd convinced herself of that. Now to convince Gohan…
"…Why…?" A single questioning word, packing emotion to the bursting point, hurled at the scientist more harshly with a whisper than if he had shouted the query at her. She actually wished he'd yell: certainly keeping all this rage in wasn't healthy for him, and she knew he had to be experiencing quite the bit of anger and frustration right now.
"I…I just couldn't do it…I couldn't tell you she was gone…not when you'd just heard Trunks' story…"
"Oh, so that was it, was it?" he spat, voice turning icy cold, but body shaking less. "'He just found out he killed his father, better not tell him he killed his mom too.' Is that it?"
A stricken look shot across her face. "Wha—Gohan, no! No, no! I didn't…" She sighed low. "I didn't want you to have to deal with finding out she died right after you'd been wished back…I—I wasn't expecting you to leave right away…We were going to tell you."
"And yet you let me leave here without trying to stop me or let me know I was going on a wild goose chase, did you? Just sat back and watched, waiting 'til I came back wondering just what the hell happened to her."
Bulma's eyes fell to the ground, and Gohan could tell they'd filled up with tears. Fine, let her cry, he'd been cried over before, he was used to it—jaded to it by now. She fumbled for words, but all that came out was a squeak now and then, until she finally gave up and shrank away back through a long corridor. His narrowed eyes followed her until she darted around a corner and out of sight.
Fisting a hand angrily through his short-cropped hair, he wandered back into the living room, noting the conspicuous absence of both Vegeta and Trunks. Distantly pondering their whereabouts, he deduced that—father/son time being out of the question—Vegeta was off meditating somewhere in the building in an effort to regain his fighting instincts, while Trunks was…well, somewhere else. He plopped ungracefully onto the sofa lining the far wall furthest from the doorway and sank deep into the cushions, staring straight ahead—though focusing on nothing.
His mother was gone… and she wasn't coming back. It wasn't like with his dad the few times he'd died—when he could be wished back. She got one chance at life, used it, lost it. Now she was dead—but at least she got to be with his dad now, at least she was at peace. Shouldn't he be happy for that, shouldn't he be glad she'd finally be reunited with her beloved Goku, whom she hadn't seen for over ten years?
He should. But that didn't mean he was. Because if she was entitled the right to die and be happy, then he was entitled the right to live and be angry, angry that she'd left and couldn't come back, angry that he hadn't been there with her as she drew her final breath. Selfishly he wondered if perhaps she had died crying for her only son, if maybe his mere presence could've given her the will to survive, to fight the virus longer.
He was more arrogant than Vegeta, he realized, eyes widening. To think his being by her side would've persuaded her to fight, when it was so much easier to simply…let go. The slamming of the front door perked him up a bit, and he looked up at the figure standing in the doorway: a very worried Trunks, with a brown paper bag of groceries in the crook of one arm. Apparently he hadn't expected Gohan back so soon, as he appeared to fumble for words, searching out what was undoubtedly an apology. Gohan simply glared coldly and stood from his spot, brushing past his former student.
"G-Gohan! Wait!" To his immense surprise, the elder demi-Saiyan halted his escape, one hand posted on the doorframe as if steadying himself. "If…if you need somewhere to stay… you're welcome to stay here…sensei…"
He turned to face the boy, dark eyes clouded, red and puffy, his usual jovial expression gone from his features. The two stared at each other a moment, neither able to fathom what the next few days might bring, and both knowing it would be easier to face them with friends and family.
"I'm…Gohan…I—"
"Don't say it, Trunks…" he spoke softly, a sad smile edging across his face. "Please, don't apologize…will you?"
He returned the small gesture of friendship. "Gohan…she wouldn't want you to be alone again, you know? Not when there are so few of us left, and…I don't think I can handle Dad alone…"
The smile on his teacher's features widened, a bit more sincere now, and he turned back to the living room, eyeing the groceries. "I'll help you put those up."
Post Chapter Notes: Hehee, did you think it was still from Gohan's POV at the beginning? I'll admit, I didn't mean to write it that way, but when I read all the way up until the "wake up call," I actually thought, "Hey…I'm writing Trunks, aren't I?" Even kinda confused myself. Anyway, I did take artistic license and off Chichi because, well, two reasons: 1) It's angstier that way, and 2) It was essential to the storyline. I kinda need him hanging around Capsule Corp…but won't say anymore here! Now that you've read, let me know in reviews!—sage
PS—Aching to see the two most beautiful evil authoresses there are? Well check out to see Psycho Ann and Sage's "Comic-con 2003 Advnture"! Lots of pictures from the San Diego Comic-con as well as fun commentaries by yours truly. Enjoy!