Author's Note: This is a rewrite of chapter nine. The story took on a
life of its own and went in a direction I didn't like. It was too much like
an ending when the fic wasn't really over, so this time something actually
happens to Gohan. Oh, and Goten doesn't die. For those of you who liked the
former chapter nine, (all three of you) it is now posted as "A Possible
Reality," with Gohan as the main character. Sort of depressing, though in a
different way from the old chapter nine. Sorry for the teaser at the end.
That bit of story might not show up for a few more chapters, or until/if I
write a sequel/prequel/side story.
"Gohan! Stop right there mister!" The aforementioned demi-saiyan froze in his tracks. He had made it past the kitchen and was already opening his bedroom door, but evidently his entrance hadn't eluded his mother's notice as much as he had hoped. "You were out sparring with Piccolo again, weren't you? I told you that you couldn't fight anymore, especially with him!" Chichi approached her son, spatula still coated with sticky rice in hand. Her eyes were narrowed, and her aura radiated agitation, though there was a shadow of hesitation in hand. "Mom. . . I can't just stop sparring with Piccolo. . ." "And why not?! Gohan, you've been gone three days! I've been worried sick!" (I can't stop because he is all I have, now that father is dead. Now that you, are. . .) Gohan didn't voice this of course. Chichi would fall into one of her well-known tantrums again, and that would probably be magnified with the mention of her husband, dead three years now. So the demi-saiyan took a safer route. "Piccolo is my best friend. Sparring is what we do." Chichi shook her head, anger dissipating, but not disappearing. "Despite all I do, you're turning into your father." "You say that like it's a bad thing." Chichi's eyes widened at her son's cool tone. "Of course not, Gohan! You know I love your father with all my heart, but he was too often sacrificed our happiness and his own for everyone else's. If your father had just been a little less generous and a little more selfish, he would be here right know, instead of. . . of. . ."
Gohan tensed. The hesitation usually resulted in a tear fest, and he wasn't in the mood to comfort her. Not now. Not after what had happened. Luckily, for all involved, a distraction soon presented itself. "Mommy?" A sniffle. "Mommy, I had a bad dweam." Gohan silently exhaled a sigh of relief. Chichi's face reasserted itself, leaving no trace of the previous sadness. She turned. "What is it, Goten?"
As his mother comforted the little demi-saiyan, said demi-saiyan's older brother slipped past them and out the door. He had thought himself ready to face his mother, but seeing the righteous indignation on her face after she had spotted him had again brought the turmoil to the surface. He wasn't sure what to feel. Anger, depression, resignation? He knew his mother loved his father, but. . . She never looked at the albums anymore. Worse, just a few months ago Gohan realized he couldn't remember his father's face, panicked, and ran to go get them, but they weren't in their customary place on the bookcase. This had only heightened the hysteria, but Chichi had been out at the time with Goten. By the time they were home Gohan's panic had led to a widespread search of the house. He at last discovered the albums in the attic, and hadn't left the room since. The teenage demi-saiyan couldn't believe it. His mother was trying to erase her husband from their lives. He didn't confront her. It would only upset her, beyond what the mere mention of the saiyan's name usually brought. He briefly regretted his hesitation when last month all family portraits with Goku in them had disappeared, and others had taken their place. Anger had boiled, but Gohan convinced himself that she was just doing what was best for all of them, so they could move on. Three days ago, however. . .
He had been in West City, getting groceries. Goten was at Capsule Corp. with Trunks, so for once Gohan didn't have to worry. What he had seen in the coffee shop effectively ruined his day. Or life. (Was there a difference?) There had been Chichi, his mother, sitting with a man. The man had been tall, blond and blue eyed. Nothing like father, except for the height. She hadn't seen him. All she gazed at was the man's eyes. Gohan turned away before their lips met.
He had felt betrayed. Scratch that. He felt betrayed. How could his mother just forget about father like that? He was the world savior. He was the strongest man alive. He was her husband. (Love father? I don't even know that you loved him.)
--*--
Two beings stood in a wood next to a waterfall, but tranquility obviously wasn't the order of the day. "You sure about this, kid?" "I have to talk with him, Piccolo. He has to know." "Kid. . ." The demi-saiyan turned to his mentor, anger barely below the surface, ready to boil over. His eyes flashed green. "Are you going to tell me it's all for the better, now? To forget father? His whole life, he's trained to protect. His family, his friends. He's never forgotten us. He's always been there. How could she! How could she betray him like that!" Halfway through his tirade Gohan's hair spiked into gold, and his voice rose until he was screaming. Tears ran down the young demi-saiyan's face, though tears of anger or sorrow, Piccolo couldn't tell. He resisted the urge to take a step back, instead moving forward and enveloping the adolescent in his arms. Gohan tensed, but after a moment his wildly fluctuating aura calmed. "It's alright Gohan. It's going to be alright."
"No, it's not." The demi-saiyan stepped out of his mentor's embrace. No more tears graced his face. "It won't be, not until I tell father." "And what will that accomplish?" "Enough." "Gohan. . ." "I've never died before, remember?" The namek's mouth quirked. "You're the only fighter who hasn't. Don't you want to keep the distinction?" "Not really. Just remember to wish me back in three month's time. That way I can spend some time with father." "Alright then. Here." He took a scabbard out from under his cloak and handed it to Gohan, who pulled out the sword. It was obviously well-made, but was shattered on one side. "Trunk's sword." He ran his thumb along the edge. It drew blood. Gohan nodded, satisfied. He lay the sword across his neck, and turned once again to Piccolo. The demi-saiyan's hair again faded to black. The smile the namek received was more heartfelt than any Piccolo had ever seen before on the child's face. It reflected in the young man's eyes. "Goodbye, Piccolo." (Too long, Gohan, have you hidden your spirit, your true self from the world. Too long have you shrouded your soul. Thank you Gohan, for allowing me to see what no one else has. What no one else will. Why in death do the shadows wane? Is death what your soul yearns?) He never received an answer. The only sound that resonated throughout the wood was a sword being slid across a throat, and a body hitting the leaf strewn ground.
Elsewhere. . .
"Kibito, what of Shin?" "Everyday, Supreme Kai, you ask. Everyday, I answer. I am sorry, my lady. We have no word. We haven't for four thousand years." The Supreme Kai didn't answer. She continued to gaze at the solitary lake that graced the planet of the Supreme Kai. "My lady. . ." "Perhaps. Then all is lost."
-There are things worse than death-
"Gohan! Stop right there mister!" The aforementioned demi-saiyan froze in his tracks. He had made it past the kitchen and was already opening his bedroom door, but evidently his entrance hadn't eluded his mother's notice as much as he had hoped. "You were out sparring with Piccolo again, weren't you? I told you that you couldn't fight anymore, especially with him!" Chichi approached her son, spatula still coated with sticky rice in hand. Her eyes were narrowed, and her aura radiated agitation, though there was a shadow of hesitation in hand. "Mom. . . I can't just stop sparring with Piccolo. . ." "And why not?! Gohan, you've been gone three days! I've been worried sick!" (I can't stop because he is all I have, now that father is dead. Now that you, are. . .) Gohan didn't voice this of course. Chichi would fall into one of her well-known tantrums again, and that would probably be magnified with the mention of her husband, dead three years now. So the demi-saiyan took a safer route. "Piccolo is my best friend. Sparring is what we do." Chichi shook her head, anger dissipating, but not disappearing. "Despite all I do, you're turning into your father." "You say that like it's a bad thing." Chichi's eyes widened at her son's cool tone. "Of course not, Gohan! You know I love your father with all my heart, but he was too often sacrificed our happiness and his own for everyone else's. If your father had just been a little less generous and a little more selfish, he would be here right know, instead of. . . of. . ."
Gohan tensed. The hesitation usually resulted in a tear fest, and he wasn't in the mood to comfort her. Not now. Not after what had happened. Luckily, for all involved, a distraction soon presented itself. "Mommy?" A sniffle. "Mommy, I had a bad dweam." Gohan silently exhaled a sigh of relief. Chichi's face reasserted itself, leaving no trace of the previous sadness. She turned. "What is it, Goten?"
As his mother comforted the little demi-saiyan, said demi-saiyan's older brother slipped past them and out the door. He had thought himself ready to face his mother, but seeing the righteous indignation on her face after she had spotted him had again brought the turmoil to the surface. He wasn't sure what to feel. Anger, depression, resignation? He knew his mother loved his father, but. . . She never looked at the albums anymore. Worse, just a few months ago Gohan realized he couldn't remember his father's face, panicked, and ran to go get them, but they weren't in their customary place on the bookcase. This had only heightened the hysteria, but Chichi had been out at the time with Goten. By the time they were home Gohan's panic had led to a widespread search of the house. He at last discovered the albums in the attic, and hadn't left the room since. The teenage demi-saiyan couldn't believe it. His mother was trying to erase her husband from their lives. He didn't confront her. It would only upset her, beyond what the mere mention of the saiyan's name usually brought. He briefly regretted his hesitation when last month all family portraits with Goku in them had disappeared, and others had taken their place. Anger had boiled, but Gohan convinced himself that she was just doing what was best for all of them, so they could move on. Three days ago, however. . .
He had been in West City, getting groceries. Goten was at Capsule Corp. with Trunks, so for once Gohan didn't have to worry. What he had seen in the coffee shop effectively ruined his day. Or life. (Was there a difference?) There had been Chichi, his mother, sitting with a man. The man had been tall, blond and blue eyed. Nothing like father, except for the height. She hadn't seen him. All she gazed at was the man's eyes. Gohan turned away before their lips met.
He had felt betrayed. Scratch that. He felt betrayed. How could his mother just forget about father like that? He was the world savior. He was the strongest man alive. He was her husband. (Love father? I don't even know that you loved him.)
--*--
Two beings stood in a wood next to a waterfall, but tranquility obviously wasn't the order of the day. "You sure about this, kid?" "I have to talk with him, Piccolo. He has to know." "Kid. . ." The demi-saiyan turned to his mentor, anger barely below the surface, ready to boil over. His eyes flashed green. "Are you going to tell me it's all for the better, now? To forget father? His whole life, he's trained to protect. His family, his friends. He's never forgotten us. He's always been there. How could she! How could she betray him like that!" Halfway through his tirade Gohan's hair spiked into gold, and his voice rose until he was screaming. Tears ran down the young demi-saiyan's face, though tears of anger or sorrow, Piccolo couldn't tell. He resisted the urge to take a step back, instead moving forward and enveloping the adolescent in his arms. Gohan tensed, but after a moment his wildly fluctuating aura calmed. "It's alright Gohan. It's going to be alright."
"No, it's not." The demi-saiyan stepped out of his mentor's embrace. No more tears graced his face. "It won't be, not until I tell father." "And what will that accomplish?" "Enough." "Gohan. . ." "I've never died before, remember?" The namek's mouth quirked. "You're the only fighter who hasn't. Don't you want to keep the distinction?" "Not really. Just remember to wish me back in three month's time. That way I can spend some time with father." "Alright then. Here." He took a scabbard out from under his cloak and handed it to Gohan, who pulled out the sword. It was obviously well-made, but was shattered on one side. "Trunk's sword." He ran his thumb along the edge. It drew blood. Gohan nodded, satisfied. He lay the sword across his neck, and turned once again to Piccolo. The demi-saiyan's hair again faded to black. The smile the namek received was more heartfelt than any Piccolo had ever seen before on the child's face. It reflected in the young man's eyes. "Goodbye, Piccolo." (Too long, Gohan, have you hidden your spirit, your true self from the world. Too long have you shrouded your soul. Thank you Gohan, for allowing me to see what no one else has. What no one else will. Why in death do the shadows wane? Is death what your soul yearns?) He never received an answer. The only sound that resonated throughout the wood was a sword being slid across a throat, and a body hitting the leaf strewn ground.
Elsewhere. . .
"Kibito, what of Shin?" "Everyday, Supreme Kai, you ask. Everyday, I answer. I am sorry, my lady. We have no word. We haven't for four thousand years." The Supreme Kai didn't answer. She continued to gaze at the solitary lake that graced the planet of the Supreme Kai. "My lady. . ." "Perhaps. Then all is lost."
-There are things worse than death-