Summary: Before Earth, before his change of heart and before his family, there had been a son he'd never wanted, made from Frieza's seed and born from his body. Then he was dead, and Vegeta made sure to forget he had ever been there at all. Only, he isn't dead. He is alive. Tormented and abused, but alive, and now Vegeta will do what he couldn't have done the first time. He will save him.
Warnings: Rated M for language, abuse, sexual violence, depictions of rape, mpreg, etc.
*This chapter includes child abuse and graphic depictions of violence.*
Every Eye Will See
Chapter Six: The Understanding
"This is where Bulma and Vegeta live," Kakarot's voice called out, seemingly unaware of all that was going on behind him.
Vegeta—still troubled by his behavior but seeing no point in pondering over it now—stepped forward. He began to move up the pathway leading into his home when Ziloh stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. The same hand that had gripped the boy's neck.
Vegeta's eyes bore down harshly on the hand. The Warden, however, did not take the hint, so Vegeta roughly knocked it away. He tilted his head and looked up sharply at him.
Ziloh, to his credit, appeared to have regained his composure from earlier, and seemed to not have even noticed the brush-off. He regarded Vegeta with an easy expression, and Vegeta berated himself for letting the man get to him so.
"I would like to join you," Ziloh said, "if that is alright."
Vegeta bit down on the terse 'no' that wanted to fall from his tongue. "Why?"
"Well I thought it would be rude of me not to personally thank the woman who will be responsible for the success of my mission, especially when I am so readily available."
Vegeta narrowed his eyes and wondered if he should say something like 'go to hell' or stick with the simple 'no'.
Ziloh, it seemed, misinterpreted his look. The smallest flicker of wickedness graced his smile as he said, "It would only be me, of course. I would not want to risk overwhelming your wife with the entirety of my cadre of servicemen. We also would not want any of them to track anything unsavory into your lovely home, now would we?"
The statement, it seemed, was not subtle enough to go over Kakarot's head, who sucked in a sharp intake of breath. He could feel Kakarot's outrage growing, and Vegeta quickly spoke just as the other saiyan opened his mouth.
"Stay with the Tenas," Vegeta said curtly. Kakarot narrowed his eyes at him. His words remained unspoken, but his expression spoke them loudly enough.
I don't like him.
That much was clear.
I don't trust them.
Neither did Vegeta.
Make them leave. Make him leave.
Well Kakarot would certainly have something to bitch about if Vegeta killed them, so how else was he to get rid of them aside from appeasing them until their business was done?
It was you who brought them here, he thought, sourly. If Kakarot had a response to that, his eyes didn't show it.
Vegeta's eyes lingered on Kakarot's a moment longer, before he beckoned for Ziloh to follow. Together, the duo walked the stone pathway that led to the headquarters-cum-residence.
Vegeta wondered idly just when it was that Kakarot's eyes became so eloquent.
Goku frowned, watching as Vegeta and that man—who towered over him quite ridiculously—walked side by side up the path. When they disappeared into the building, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Calm down, he told himself. There's no use getting so upset. Vegeta will help them, and then they'll leave, and he won't have to feel like this anymore.
Just then, he registered a faint scent of flavor pervading through the air. It caught deliciously on his sensitive nose.
His mood was improved, he decided.
He turned back towards those who remained, letting his usual cheer take over his face like a good friend. Or perhaps a cozy blanket. "They could be a while—especially if they get Bulma to start 'explaining' things. No sense in waiting out here." He turned towards the smell. "Come on, this way!"
The guards narrowed their eyes at him, though they said nothing. Goku could see the reluctance in their eyes and he said nothing as well. Loathe as they were to follow him, the lot of them were beginning to draw attention, as several humans had already stopped to stare at the spectacle happening in the front yard of the infamous Capsule Corporation building.
"Come on, it's not too far," Goku reassured, before turning away. He could hear some of the guards murmuring to each other in a language he did not know before they reluctantly began to follow him. He ignored the glares at his back. Instead, he focused on the smell of meat and other delicacies, focused on how happy they made him feel.
With every step, the smell of food grew stronger. Goku and the rest of the aliens had nearly outlined the entire perimeter of the building when the scent trail ended in the backyard. He could see several grills set up, emanating the delicious smell of searing meats and sizzling vegetables. He breathed in deep, and his good mood seemed to become all the more genuine.
His ears twitched at the tiny groans of pain. It was then that he heard a chorus of grumbles, and gods he doesn't think even his own stomach had ever sounded so pitiful.
"Whoa, you guys sound hungry!" he said loudly—too loudly. He tones it down. "I'm sure there's enough food here for—"
"No," said a guard, roughly, the language Goku understood now filtering through the device around his face. "We are not here to eat."
Goku's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure you have enough time for a quick meal. The kids seem hungry."
If the man was caught off guard by the seemingly joyful man's change in demeanor, he didn't let it show. Instead, he said evenly, "Our prisoners' digestive tracts cannot handle your Earth food. It is not wise to feed them."
It was perhaps not a lie, but even Goku knew better than to be so easily deterred. "I'm sure that we could find—"
"Oh, Goku, honey, it's good to see you!" came the high-pitched voice of Bulma's mother, cutting him off. In her hands was a tray stacked precariously high with foodstuffs. He took the load from her and set them on the table. She beamed at him, and if she noticed the relatively odd group behind him, she did not let on. "I made all this food for Vegeta and Trunks, but I can't seem to find them anywhere! No use in it all going to waste. Come sit down and have some lunch!" From the pocket of her apron she produced a few packets of moist towelettes, to which she handed to Goku.
"I'd love to," Goku said as he ripped open one of the packets, "but first, do you have anything that'd be easy on the stomach? Something like bread or crackers?"
"I do, actually." She grabbed a nearly full loaf of wrapped bread slices from one of the trays. "Though I've already got some sandwiches made, dear."
"I know, it's not for me," he took the loaf from her, and gestured to the children. "It's for them. They seem hungry, but they can't eat anything too complex."
He turned to the guard from before. "I'm sure they could handle this, right?"
Goku found a deep satisfaction in the hard set of the man's jaw.
Triumphant, he was just about to twist open the package when he heard, "Hey, Goku!"
He turned towards the voice and smiled. "Hey, Yamcha!"
Yamcha smiled back just as brightly. Puar was not with him, which Goku thought was already an odd enough sight, but even odder was perhaps the fact that Vegeta's son, Trunks, was trailing along beside him. Or perhaps it wasn't odd. Goku wouldn't really know what was normal nowadays, would he?
"Hi," the boy said to him, after indulging his grandmother in a reluctant kiss.
"Hey, Trunks. I thought Chi-Chi said you were coming over to play with Goten today?" he questioned, remembering the conversation he'd had with his wife the night before.
"I was," he answered, "But Ms. Chi-Chi called and said that Goten is sick and won't be able to play."
Goku blinked. He hadn't known that.
Before he could come up with an answer, Yamcha cut in. "So, who are these folks? Friends of yours?"
Goku wasn't quick enough to fight the frown that came over his face. "They're from a planet called Tene'mareen. They came here to find some special herbs to heal their sick people. Bulma and Vegeta are talking with the leader guy now." He held out the loaf in his hands. "I was just about to give the kids some bread. You guys wanna help me out?"
Trunks took his stack of slices without protest. Yamcha gave the children a strange look, and then regarded Goku like he had questions he was not sure how to ask as he took his own slices. Goku thought he felt the same way, though who he would direct his questions to he was not too sure.
Goku approached the first child. The child watched him with wary eyes as he knelt and offered two slices. For several seconds neither moved, until finally, the child's stomach growled loudly, and she snatched the slices away from him, cradling them protectively against her chest and glaring harshly at him, as if daring him to take them away.
Goku grinned at her, but inside he felt hollow.
Down the line the three of them went, handing out slices to cautious, teary eyes and snatching fingers. Trunks seemed rather irritated by the behavior. Yamcha kept the pleasant smile on his face as he handed a small girl with violet eyes, long black hair, and equally black wings her slices, but his demeanor grew darker by the second. Goku wondered what his own face looked like. It was probably not as pleasant as he hoped, if the way the blindfolded boy from before trembled underneath his gaze as he reluctantly took what was offered to him was any indication.
Once all the children were served, Goku stepped back over to the picnic table and folded himself down onto the bench. He picked up his utensils, but despite the undoubtedly delicious food spread out before him, just the thought of putting any of it in his mouth made the queasy feeling in his stomach worsen. Would he dare sit here and gorge himself on this feast when all he had given those clearly starving children was bread?
The hot glares he could feel on his back from the guards made him feel the oddest bit better, but then he heard the pitiful smacks of the children nibbling on their offerings and he felt unbearably low again.
Out the corner of his eye he could see Yamcha settling beside him. "Goku," he said, his voice low and very displeased. "What's going on?"
Goku didn't know what to say. He thinks he could count the number of times he had ever been truly speechless on one hand. But now, he couldn't think of a single thing to say to explain the horrible spectacle he had brought to his oldest friend's home.
"I don't know," was what he said.
"Hey," he heard, but it's not directed to him. He doesn't turn, but he figured that Trunks must be speaking to one of the prisoners.
He received no reply.
Trunks tried again. "Aren't you guys bored just standing here? We could play while we wait, if you want."
Trunks was not his son, but in this moment, Goku felt proud of him. From what he had seen of the boy the several times he had visited Goten, he was not the kindest child. He was not cruel, of course, but he did have a tendency to say hurtful things, and he was undoubtedly spoiled. Goku had not expected he would make an effort to show kindness towards dirty, boney, and admittedly ugly prisoners.
Despite Trunks' efforts, however, once more there was no response. Their little eyes remained at their feet, and only the tension in their bodies showed that they had heard him at all.
"Okay then," he said awkwardly, disappointedly, and Goku wondered if he should have deterred him from even trying.
He heard a sigh pass from Trunks' lips as he stepped away, directing his attention to the display of steaks on the picnic table. He had barely placed the slab of meat on his otherwise bare plate when he froze, his eyes directed on a point further down the table.
Goku furrowed his brow and followed his gaze. His eyes fell on the boy from before, the blindfolded one whose hand he had held. He was leaning slightly towards a plate of barbecue ribs, his nose twitching hungrily as the tip of his dry tongue darted across his cracked lips so subtly, he himself had probably not noticed he'd done it.
Goku had never felt so sick in his life.
Trunks, oblivious to just how truly heartbreaking the sight before him was, set aside his own plate and grabbed a new one before heading towards the boy with purpose in his step.
"Hey," Trunks said brightly, and the boy's entire body stiffened in response. "If you were still hungry you could've said so. Do you want one?"
In lieu of an answer the boy drew in on himself and wrapped his arms tight around his face. Goku saw the way Trunks cocked his head and took a step back in stunned confusion. Goku also saw the guard from before stepping forward with his arm drawn back, a long rope trailing over his shoulder. Goku knew then that it was a whip—like he had seen a ringmaster use on an animal at a circus show he had seen once with his family, before Chi-Chi quickly called the scene disgusting and decided that they ought to leave. The guard drew it down hard and Goku saw every movement, like time had slowed just where the weapon was flying. His reaction was even slower—because while time had slowed it was also too sudden at the same time. The whip had already hit the boy by the time he was on his feet.
His arms swung a second time and Goku's body blurred. He fazed beyond Trunks, then the boy, until he was directly in front of the guard. He grabbed the guard's wrist tightly, and with a shout, he dropped the whip. Goku caught it in his other hand, and in not even a second, crushed the handle to pieces before his energy disintegrated the whole thing. His sharp eyes bore into the guard as his free hand flew to the gun strapped to his belt.
"Kakarot!"
Goku's eyes narrowed at Vegeta. He saw Ziloh beside him. In his stone hands was a sheet of paper, a list of ingredients, or perhaps coordinates. Goku didn't really care, and bared his teeth at him.
"Back off," Vegeta said once the two of them stopped, his arms crossed tight against his chest.
Goku's jaw tensed.
"Now, Kakarot."
Goku let the man go. The guard immediately stepped back into line with the other guards, and if he felt the pain of having the bones of his wrist completely crushed, he impressively kept it to himself.
Goku stomped his way over towards Vegeta. He could feel the deep imprints his boots were leaving in Bulma's grass, but he didn't care even a little bit. When he finally stopped before him, there was hardly any space between his fiery gaze and Vegeta's steely one.
"He was beating him! With a whip! In front of your son!" he hissed, and he can't remember the last time he was ever this furious.
Vegeta's eyes flickered down to where Trunks was hiding behind his leg, having run over the moment his father spoke. Goku didn't look, because he couldn't bear to see Trunks' shaky legs, and simpering lip, and terrified, shiny eyes a second time.
Vegeta looked back at him. "Kakarot, they are prisoners," he responded lowly. "All of these people are criminals."
"Criminals?" Goku said incredulously, giving up all pretenses of whispering. "Vegeta, these are kids. What could they have possibly done to deserve this? What could he have possibly done to deserve being hit like that?"
"You don't know that they're children," Vegeta says, though he did not seem all that sure himself. "And either way, your personal feelings do not dictate the way the rest of the universe works. These people don't follow the same morals as you, and you're just going to have to accept that."
"I don't have to accept anything." He felt something break a little in his chest. Was it betrayal? Was it disappointment? Whatever it was, it had Vegeta staring back at him with wide, astounded eyes. "I will never accept abuse on my planet, right under my nose. Not to a child or anyone else, and I would hope that you wouldn't accept something like that either."
"Hey!" Trunks called, drawing Goku's attention away from Vegeta's downright stunned face. The boy's shiny eyes were gone, and in their place was a stubbornly outraged expression as he stared up at the guard from before. Goku thought he looked very much like a son of Vegeta in that moment. "Why would you do that? What's wrong with you?!"
"And who are you, child?" Ziloh asked, stepping forward with an indulgent smile.
"He is my son," Vegeta said, and despite his simple answer, his displeasure at the situation was quite evident.
"Really?" Ziloh exclaimed in surprised tone that Goku could not tell was mocking or not. "Ah, yes! Now I can see the resemblance! Of course, only you would have such a handsome so—" the Warden was cut off by a choked gasp.
Every eye turned towards the sound. It was that same boy again. His spidery hands were covering his mouth and his knuckles were jammed passed his teeth, yet his muffled whimpers could still be heard. His entire body trembled, and if Goku looked closely enough, he could swear that he saw the cloth over his eyes darken with tears and gods, Goku just wanted to grab him and hold him and feed him and tell him everything would be okay and take away whatever was hurting him and dammit why couldn't Vegeta see there was something wrong here? How could Vegeta see this and just accept it?
"Hey, don't do that!" Yamcha exclaimed, crouching down in front of the boy when he bit down so hard on his knuckles that blood began to drip down his hand. He did not even seem to notice him, nor the teeth embedded in his skin.
Goku had the sudden thought that perhaps Vegeta just didn't care. Goku didn't know him all that well, but he did know that Vegeta wasn't very kind. Goku thought back on all the times he had spoken to Vegeta and concluded that he was not a nice person at all, perhaps even more so than Goku wanted to admit.
Vegeta could be thinking anything right now, or even nothing at all, and the thought upset Goku more than it probably should have.
"Are you quite finished?" Ziloh called, and the boy froze, like the words were a sedative being injected into his blood. his body relaxed, his hands dropping back to his sides and then wrapping behind his back. There were traces of blood staining his lips.
"Oh man, that doesn't look good. Come on, there's a first aid kit inside the building," Yamcha said, reaching out a hand that the boy soundly ignored.
"That won't be necessary," Ziloh said. Yamcha frowned and stood to his feet. He opened his mouth, but Ziloh cut him off.
"I apologize for his conduct," the Warden with the sickest amusement, as if it were an inside joke that everyone except Goku was in on. "This one still tends to display behavioral problems, though he is normally easy to correct. Despite the occasional hiccup, he is rather well-trained."
"Shut up."
Goku blinked, his astonished eyes trailing over towards Vegeta. The muscles of his arms bulged with tension across his chest, and his face was set in a hard expression. Goku could feel what was hidden underneath his stiffness though—pure, unadulterated rage, perhaps even mightier than Goku's own.
So, he did care. Goku still felt justified for his anger, but he felt the slightest bit of shame for doubting him.
The Warden regarded him for a moment with an expression Goku could not read, before nodding. "Apologies. I don't mean to offend. I realize my words can come off as tasteless to some sensibilities."
Even Goku felt that insult. He wondered how Vegeta—whose temperament was far worse than his—managed to seemingly not react to it at all.
"Anyways," the Warden said, his grin returning with full force. "I can never thank you enough for allowing us use of your planet's resources. My people will never forget your generosity."
Vegeta spared him a nod that didn't look the least bit friendly.
Ziloh looked towards the device wrapped around his wrist. He pressed several buttons before humming in contemplation. "It seems that we are a great distance away from our landing site." To Goku he said, "I hate to ask for more favors, but would you mind lending us use of your Instant Transmission technique? The faster we get started the better."
Goku poised his lips to give a resounding 'no' when Vegeta nudged him, shooting him a look.
Goku let out a quiet growl before positioning himself in front of the group, letting their hands bunch around his clothes. Quickly, before he could try and link onto someone else, Goku grabbed the blindfolded boy's hand again. The boy looked less frightened this time, but Goku gave him a reassuring squeeze anyway.
He felt the tiniest squeeze back, and Goku smiled a genuine smile despite the heavy weight consuming his chest.
Just get them out of here and you won't have to feel this way anymore.
He lifted his fingers to his forehead and took them all away.
"I don't think he likes us," the Warden said after the strange man faded away.
"Don't think much of it, sir," a female guard said. "He is of no threat. Intelligence-wise he is of no concern, and the scanner says the level of his power is barely that of 100."
"Yes, my scanner said the same for Vegeta, but I know he is stronger than that. They must be masking the true measures of their strengths, which would make them threats, don't you think?"
The guard said nothing, and if she was unsettled by the implications of her misinformation, she did not show it.
The Warden seemed to think a moment longer before throwing his hands up. "Oh well, we don't have to worry about them any longer, I suppose. Let's just get what we came for and leave before they decided to get suspicious."
The Warden turned away from her, and the guard relaxed.
"Before we go, however..." the Warden's eyes trailed down the line of chained prisoners, all of whom stiffened underneath his gaze.
"Chill."
A whimper was heard. The guards stepped aside, as did the prisoners, until he was left trapped underneath the Warden's eyes. His body suddenly felt heavy beyond compare. His legs trembled beneath the weight of it.
"It was a mistake to bring you here."
The grass crunched beneath the Warden's heavy boots. Chill let his weight drop to the ground. He buried his face into his knees.
"I know that you follow any orders I give you, though it was still very reckless of me to take you away from III. You don't belong anywhere else but there. I see that now." He could hear the 'click' of the Warden unhooking his own whip from his belt. Chill dug the fingers of one hand into his hair, the other—the one the man touched—he kept cradled to his chest.
"I do, though, recall saying I would not tolerate any disobedience from anyone—from you, least of all. I was quite clear on that, I think."
The Warden swung the whip out so hard it cracked the air. Chill yelped at the sound, and his heart began to pound in his chest. He felt an emotion, a very unpleasant one, begin to permeate his body. It was different from the constant perturbation he felt when the guards spoke to him or the other prisoners tormented him or even when he was so much as trying to make it through his tasks without accidentally getting himself killed. His heart banged like a drum in his chest; his blood roared through his veins with an aggressive vigor. He wanted to run. Run, run, run, and never look back. What was this feeling?
Oh, he realized. It was terror.
Why? Why was he feeling this way? Why was he fearing something he deserved, something he had always known? How did he make it stop?
The Warden knelt before him and hummed. "I won't kill you," he said, but his words did nothing to ease his fear (why, why, why?); his proximity only seemed to heighten it (someone just tell him why!). "I still need you. You know that."
The Warden's hand darted out, closing around one of his wrists with a vice-grip. He yanked Chill forward, his knees grazing across the grass with a whine. His grip shifted, flipping his wrist until his palm was faced up. He brushed the skin lightly with his thumb.
"This is where he touched you," he said absently, his nail catching on every ridge and scar.
"He was gentle, but he does not care for you," the Warden said, though he sounded like the Master. "That's the problem with men like him, you see. He gives out his affection like a dirty whore, but he does not care for you. He has never known your name and has already forgotten your face, yet you protect this hand as if he has bestowed you a blessing. I know your name, Chill, and your face, and every breath you breathe is a gift you owe to me. I'll erase his touch and remind you just who exactly cares for you."
The sound of his pounding heart was replaced by the sound of his cries, and the strange man faded away until he was hardly a memory.
TBC
In this house, we appreciate Yamcha.
Also, I know that Goku uses Ki signatures to actually use Instant Transmission, though I'm pretty sure I've read that Goku can IT places without Ki so long as he's already been there? If I'm wrong then I cheated, and I, as a fanfiction author, have no problems with that.