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.
Every Eye Will See
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Beginning
In the blink of an eye, the suffocating heat, the thick and heady smell of ash and blood, and the deafening crash of lightning on stone vanished. In their places were cool air, the soft scent of a fresh breeze, and blissful, almost unnatural quiet.
Vegeta was hesitant to open his eyes, so jarred by the change that part of him worried Kakarot had not made it in time after all and they were now in Heaven, and if he did not see it, it would not be true.
The fact that he was very unlikely to ever find himself in such a paradise once he died again gave him the strength to look at what was before him. Sure enough, it was not the endless plains of the afterlife he was met with, but rather the opulently grand building of The Lookout.
"Why did you bring us here?" Vegeta asked as his eyes squinted against the sudden switch in light intensity.
"Well, I—" Kakarot began, but did not finish. Vegeta turned to him, but the other man did not raise his eyes from where they were glued on his son.
If the boy noticed the attention, he did not say, only kept his head and face buried in his chest. Vegeta noticed the attention, however. "Earthlings consider staring to be rude."
Kakarot blinked up at that. Before the man could respond, a call of, "Goku!" rung out through the air.
Both saiyans turned towards the source. Mr. Popo, Piccolo, and Dende had finally decided to make their appearance, it seemed. His snide attitude dimmed somewhat when he saw just how haggard the guardian looked, so unsteady on his feet that it was clear the only way he even managed to walk at all was the grip Piccolo had around his bicep.
"Dende!" Kakarot called back, sounding almost aghast. "What happen—"
"Give me the child," Dende cut him off as he closed the distance, and Vegeta nearly moved until he realized that Dende was not speaking to him.
"Wha—"
"Give me the child," Dende repeated with haste in his voice as his unsteady hands grabbed at the bundle Vegeta somehow did not notice Kakarot was carrying.
Kakarot snapped out of his confusion and moved to properly settle the load onto the marble floor. Just as the guardian said, a child emerged from what had been a ball of curled up limbs. A mess of one, it seemed, with still bleeding sores painting its bald head, a face so battered hardly any of it was still pale, and a body full of bruises, exposed through the tattered remains of a uniform that looked just like his son's.
It was that thought of his boy, and the sight of a golden glow emanating from Dende's hands that made anger suddenly spike within him.
"What of my son?" he demanded. "He is injured as well. I think he takes precedent over a boy who should not even be here."
"Girl," Dende said, as if that mattered, his voice sounding beyond tired around his labored breaths. Sweat beaded on his brow and trickled down his temple. "She is... a girl. You—your son is not... in danger. But I... I could—I could feel her lifeforce slipping away."
His anger was not dissuaded. He did not care for a strange child whose life was already forfeit, not when his own was still bleeding, still wounded, still suffering the pain those bastards had dealt him.
He opened his mouth again, more fiery protests ready to fly off his tongue, when Kakarot cut him off.
"Vegeta," was all he said, his eyes looking both stern and pleading all at once. Vegeta knew instantly that this was the reason why Kakarot had brought them to the Lookout. Not for his son's benefit, but for some girl he had happened to stumble upon.
That realization, and that Kakarot would even dare to take such a tone with him only made the heat of his anger worse. The only thing that stopped him from flying off the handle in that moment was the shift of the boy's head of matted hair on his chest. When Vegeta looked, he saw that the boy was now staring down at the girl, a contemplative expression on his face.
"Do you know her?" he asked, his skepticism clear in his tone.
To his surprise, the boy nodded. It seemed so farfetched that the boy would happen to recognize one girl out of the billions that must have lived on that planet, but the look in his eyes told him he wasn't lying, and he could not imagine why he would anyway.
Not that it seemed to matter either way. If seeing the girl in such a state affected him, the boy did not let it show. He watched the girl with a face that was utterly blank for a moment longer, before he turned away, tucking his face safely back into Vegeta's shoulder.
Despite the revelation, such as it was, Vegeta was still not ready to let the matter drop. However, when he looked up, he was greeted with Kakarot still making that face at him, so he snapped his jaw shut and looked away. Even he knew there was no point in trying to argue with him, not with an innocent's life on the line.
He did not bother asking why Kakarot brought the girl with him in the first place. Vegeta only needed to look at her battered body to know the answer to that. Privately, though, he wondered what the girl might have said, what the situation had been like for Kakarot to save her single, insignificant life above all the others there.
He wondered, if it had been him who had come across her, would he have done the same thing?
He supposed he would never really know, but he thought that the answer was 'no'. He never had been, and he was sure he never would be the kind of man that the answer would have been a definite, resounding 'yes'.
Several minutes went by, far longer than he was sure Dende had ever needed to heal someone. Despite the time, the wounds hardly even seem to change under the golden light, and he wondered if perhaps her worst injuries were ones that the eye could not see. He knew for certain his own child had wounds he could not see.
Dende slumped to the side, so unexpectedly that Piccolo nearly did not have time to catch him despite their proximity. The guardian's eyes fluttered closed, and he did not immediately respond when Piccolo called his name.
The anger struck within him again, as well as a twinge of panic. "Dammit, Kakarot! Do you see what you've done?"
Kakarot did look a bit distressed, but Vegeta felt no satisfaction from it. He could not take the boy home now, not to the mediocre healers Earthlings contended with when something far superior was right before his eyes. Vegeta had not seen the state of his feet beneath the bandages, but he was not naive enough to believe they were not in a dire need of attendance. What if the doctors were not able to save them? That was not even mentioning the wounds that were on his back. How long would it take them to repair whatever was hidden from the eye on his back, and how bad would the scarring be?
All these unknowns, and all because Kakarot insisted Dende waste his energy on a child who should have been left for dead.
"Your son will be fine," came Piccolo's gruff voice. "Dende is just exhausted. He will drink something first and then heal the boy's dire injuries."
Vegeta bared his teeth at him. Sure enough, though, Dende's eyes started to flicker open. Piccolo repeated the plan of action to him, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"I—alright," Dende conceded, and Vegeta assumed that his easy surrender was probably supposed to be a testament to just how exhausted he truly was.
To Goku, the guardian said, "The girl is not in danger of dying anytime soon," and to Vegeta he finished earnestly, "I'm sorry about this, truly. I promise I'll be quick."
Vegeta sneered at him, but even he could recognize a battle he would not win. Acknowledging that did not make it any less infuriating.
Instead of trying to beat a dead horse, he turned abruptly to Mr. Popo. "Take me to a washing chamber."
Mr. Popo blinked at him. He could feel the incredulous gazes of the others on his back as well. "Why?"
"If I'm going to be forced to wait, then I will attend to his hair," he said, quite sure that it ought to have been obvious. "I imagine you have some kinds of products here that might save it from being completely cut off."
The deity swiftly recovered. "Yes, of course. Please, follow me."
Vegeta trailed after him, leaving the others behind in still stunned silence.
"I'll check and see if Korin has any sensu beans!" Kakarot quickly called, before he could disappear into the building. Vegeta gave him no reply.
For as grand as the rest of the building was, the bathroom he was led too was surprisingly small. Aside from the bathtub with two sprayers jutting out from opposing walls inside of it, there was a marble sink with a long counter connected to it, and not much else.
"I'm going to put you down now," he warned the boy, before setting his bottom onto the counter. For several seconds, the boy's hands did not move from where they were clenched in his clothing. Vegeta cannot think of anything to do aside from wait, so he did. Eventually, the boy did let go, dropping his arm and eyes all at once.
During the ensuing silence, Vegeta considered the sink and the hard surface of the counter. He asked, "Will it hurt you too much to lie on your back?"
The boy watched him blankly and unblinkingly for a long moment, and Vegeta fought the ridiculous urge to squirm. He had meant it when he said he was not intimidated by the eye color, but that did not make eerily silent stares at any less unsettling.
Slowly, the boy shook his head. Vegeta was doubtful, though he supposed the boy would not really know until he had tried it. Vegeta told him how he wanted him to lie, and the boy complied—to the best of his ability, anyway. He moved slowly, like his body was tin and in need of oil, like every one motion was equal to that of a thousand.
Vegeta was stuck frozen for a moment, watching the boy's face with something that was both awed and disturbed at once. The flinches that spasmed through his muscles equally affected his face. However, the moment the little wave of pain was over, his face dropped back into the abnormal blank expression it had held since they arrived here. It was like the pain was enough to invoke an involuntary response, but not enough to affect him any deeper than that.
Part of Vegeta thought that maybe it was better that way—that the boy was not truly registering the pain he was experiencing—but the majority of him was more than a little unsettled.
(It was not as unsettling as the realization that in all this time, the boy had not spoken a word. Not once.)
Already, Vegeta regretted the decision, but there seemed to be no point in turning back now. Vegeta moved to assist him, and though the boy's muscles tensed up at his touch, he did not resist. Not long after, the boy was laid flat on the counter, with his head dipped into the sink.
"Are you alright?" Vegeta asked when he saw the tight lines on his face. The boy only nodded, and like a stain, the expression was wiped away.
Vegeta could only hope that his own discomfort was not obvious as he reached over and grabbed the bottle of shampoo Mr. Popo had left—why it even existed in a building where none of the occupants had hair was beyond him—alongside a fluffy white towel. When he unscrewed the cap of the bottle, he was met with a soft, sky-colored liquid that smelled of fruit and flowers. The effeminate gentleness of the scent immediately irritated him, but another look at the knotted mess of the boy's hair reminded him that he was not in a position to be picky.
"I'm going to turn the water on now," he said. The boy nodded again and Vegeta dropped a hand onto one of the knobs and twisted it. The water that fell from the spout was too hot, so he quickly turned the second knob until the temperature evened out. If the boy noticed the difference, nothing in his demeanor gave him away. He had not even flinched when the water hit his scalp. He simply laid there with his eyes closed just a bit too tightly to be content.
For several moments, Vegeta just let the water run through the forest that was his hair. It was a repulsive sight, yet also morbidly fascinating to watch as only some of the grime turned the stream of water to nearly black without even the aid of shampoo. When the color finally faded to a dull grey, he turned his attention back to the shampoo, and immediately felt out of his depth.
He had never washed a child's hair before, he realized. He was not sure he ever actually acknowledged that that was something parents did for their children. Even if he had, though, he doubted that Trunks' thin, bone-straight strands would have prepared him for the lion's mane before him now, and his own similar hair had never been neglected to such a degree. It seemed such a daunting task and he did not even know where to start.
"You should divide it into chunks."
Vegeta whipped around so fast his neck bones creaked in warning. Kakarot was standing in the doorway, his face wary and unsure despite the casualness of his voice. Out the corner of Vegeta's eye, he could see the boy's body tense up once more. Vegeta was surprised that he had relaxed at all and was now annoyed that the other saiyan had ruined it.
At Vegeta's look, Kakarot continued, "Gohan's hair is thick like mine but gets real tangled like Chi-Chi's. That was the easiest way to wash it when he was little."
Vegeta said nothing, irritated at the fact that Kakarot would ever think he needed his advice. It was even more irritating that he followed the suggestion. He parted as much as he could with his fingers, trying his best not to pull too hard where the knots were particularly tight. When he had four, somewhat defined sections, he poured some of the shampoo into one and—with only a bit of reluctance—began to rub his fingers through the filthy mess.
"Were there no sensu beans, then?" he asked when the silence drew on too long.
"No," Kakarot said. "Korin said that Yamcha and Gohan had been by and took them to try and help as many of the injured people as they could."
Vegeta paused at that. "Injured people?"
Goku sighed. "Dende was not the only one affected by the dragon balls disappearing. Apparently, the whole planet was on the verge of collapsing."
Vegeta thought of crumbling cliffsides, of fire and ash, of bodies strewn across stone grounds, of the rubble that was now floating through space where Tene'mareen once orbited. He imagined Earth the same way, and felt a chill go down his spine.
He also felt the burgeoning weight of anxiety. It was irrational he knew—if something had happened to Bulma or Trunks he would have been informed, and in any case, he doubted there was anything this planet could throw at his younger son that he could not handle. Still, he knew the weight would not lift until he saw them with his own two eyes.
Kakarot must have mistook whatever look was on his face because he hastened to add, "Dende will still be able to help him, though."
Vegeta did not dignify that with a reply. He continued scrubbing, and Kakarot stopped talking. The other man did not leave though, and Vegeta tried his very best not to show how uncomfortable being evaluated made him feel.
When he inevitably failed, he caved and asked the first thing that he could think of to fill the silence, "Why did you bring that girl?"
Kakarot blinked at him, seeming surprised at being addressed. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Vegeta continued, "You can't expect me to believe she was the only person on that planet you had come across. So why her? What made her so special that you saved her and no one else?"
Kakarot stiffened. Vegeta realized then that it had perhaps been a cruel question, but he had not really intended for it to be. He could not imagine why he ought not speak bluntly, and so he did.
"She asked me too," Kakarot eventually said, sounding as if he were trying to wipe the emotions from his voice. He was not succeeding. "She was begging me. And I... and I knew I would never forgive myself if I left her, especially not when I was already leaving so many others to..."
He did not finish, but Vegeta heard him loud and clear.
Kakarot, he knew, was not truly a heroic man. No man who put his own lust for battle over the fates of even those he loved could ever really be. He was a saiyan, after all. An odd one, un unorthodox one, but a saiyan nonetheless, and there would always be a hunger in his blood that he would stop at nothing to satiate. Vegeta knew all about that himself.
Even so, Kakarot was not cruel. Perhaps he did not intend to spend his days saving lives but if it was needed of him, he would do it.
Vegeta would be lying if he said he felt badly for the souls that had perished alongside their planet. It was a tragedy, of course; the planet had been a prison, but he was not so naive as to believe that every person had been a sadistic guard, or a criminal deserving of their sentence. There were many innocents, many children just like his own that had never deserved to suffer and die the way they had.
Even so, there was no possible way they could have saved them and seeing as how Vegeta had not even been inclined to try, he was not particularly choked up about the countless lives he had left to die. Kakarot though...
Vegeta was not sure what to say to that, so he said nothing. He let the silence grow until all that could be heard was the scratch of his finger pads against the boy's scalp.
After a while, he became so engrossed in his task that he nearly forgot the other man was even there. The soap must have been imbued with magic for how well it worked. It captured the grime from the strands like it was a magnet and loosened even the most tangled of knots.
As he rinsed the soap away, though, clumps of hair fell away with the dark suds, so much so that it was a wonder the drain did not clog. He nearly panicked at the sight of it, contemplating all the ways he would torment that genie-man for causing his son to go bald, until rationality told him it was only pre-loosened hairs finally coming free. Or at least, it had better be.
All the while, the boy said nothing as Vegeta scrubbed through his hair. He only laid there, the tension in his closed eyes becoming less apparent as time passed. On his stomach rested his two hands in a manner that might almost be comfortable, though Vegeta would not delude himself into thinking the boy was at all eased.
It was that moment, while he contemplated the boy's hands of all things, that he noticed his fingernails. There were gruesome things—frayed and bloody and missing altogether on two fingers. Interestingly, though, he saw that the nails were pure black, the color was so rich it seemed almost painted on.
Vegeta furrowed his brow. Had they always been that way? Try as he might, he could not remember if the infant's nails had been colored in such a way. They must have been, though. Another thing he had forgotten.
Don't think about it, he told himself as he poured more soap into the boy's hair.
He repeated this multiple times until finally the bubbles that fell from the strand were almost entirely clean. When he was done, he helped the boy rise. When the boy was settled, he then covered his hair with the fluffy towel, and rubbed his hands over it.
When he removed the towel, he saw that the soap had certainly done its job. The boy's strands straightened out properly into proud, downward spikes. There was a shine to the raven color that had not been there before, and though there were noticeable spots devoid of hair, Vegeta was confident that it would all grow back in time.
As he was running his fingers through to make sure all the knots had been dealt with, he heard the sound of Kakarot stepping towards him. The boy—who had been staring firmly at his own lap—tensed as the man grew nearer. Kakarot seemed not to notice, leaning in so closely over Vegeta's shoulder that he would have shoved him away had his hands not already been occupied.
Kakarot inspected him, then gave a low whistle, followed by a wide smile. "Looking good, kid!"
The boy jerked, like he had expected to be addressed but was still shocked that it had happened. His eyes darted up at Kakarot for less than a second before he dropped them down again, shifting a bit in his seat before settling once more. There was no way to tell, but Vegeta liked to think that the boy was pleased by the compliment.
In the next moment, Piccolo appeared in the doorway. Vegeta wondered what sort of sight they must make to the Namekian—the boy on the counter and Kakarot practically draped over his back. Vegeta refused to allow himself to be embarrassed, though he did give Kakarot a firm push.
"Dende will see him now," Piccolo said.
Vegeta straightened. He felt many things in that moment, many things all related to the home that was waiting below the clouds for them, but he wasted no time on pondering those emotions. Without a word, he scooped the boy back up into his arms, and followed Piccolo's lead.
One moment, he was taking in the palm trees and marble floors of the Lookout. In the next moment, he was standing on a concrete sidewalk, with the bright glow of the sun bathing his skin, and a dome-shaped building before his eyes.
Home.
The first thing he did was take in the city around him. Part of him had expected to see the same destruction that had befallen Tene'mareen, but thankfully that seemed not to be the case. An overpass had collapsed, he could see, and some buildings looked both damaged and vandalized, but the city as a whole looked for the most part intact.
Vegeta could not say for sure as he had not seen the rest of the planet, but he figured it was safe to assume that Tene'mareen had taken the brunt of the destructive energy.
Unlike the morning they had left, the sky was clear and blue. The air was colder as well, and his arms reflexively tightened around the boy in his arms. The boy did not react, and Vegeta might have thought he was asleep if his breathing was not still so heavy.
The day was not over for him yet, though. In the end, Dende could not do much for him, he had healed what was most pressing internally and little more beyond that, just as he had for the girl. It was hard to be mad at the young Namekian, though, all things considered. It was hard to be angry at someone who looked so pitifully ill.
(He had also appreciated that when the boy had refused to release him, Dende had simply scooted closer and healed him right there in Vegeta's arms.)
Vegeta knew he ought to just be grateful for the treatment the boy was able to get. He could see that the gash on his head was no longer so deep, and the mangled mess that had been his right hand was no longer quite so gruesome to look at. Vegeta did not know what the injuries underneath the bandages had looked like (and he can admit that he really did not want to) but Dende assured him that the scarring would not be as bad as it could have been.
Not that the assurance did all that much at easing his mind. That there would be any scars at all was not something he could bear to accept. Still, Vegeta forced himself to focus solely on the positives, such as how when he had asked if the boy's tail needed to be removed, Dende had assured him that he had healed it enough for that not to be necessary.
In all honesty, it probably was illogical to keep the appendage there. It was not a particularly pretty thing (in truth, it looked almost uncomfortably like a genetic abnormality). It also was not a necessary body part, and despite its hairlessness there was still the possibility that it functioned the same way a saiyan tail did, which opened a whole other worm can of risks. Even so, Vegeta had been relieved that a removal would not be necessary. It did not seem right to start the boy's new life off by immediately taking parts of him away.
So no, the day was not over for him yet. He would need to be seen by the Earth doctors as soon as possible to prevent his persisting wounds from worsening. Eventually, though, he would rest.
Soon, he promised. Soon you will rest.
Before Vegeta had a chance to bat him away, Kakarot immediately released his shoulder. Together, they floated off the concrete sidewalk and over the gate, before dropping their feet down onto the lawn. They walked towards the front door then, the both of them silent.
Or at least until Kakarot suddenly spoke. "Vegeta."
He hummed in reply.
"Are we friends now?"
Vegeta's steps froze. He could not help but to give the other man a disbelieving stare. "What?"
"Are we friends now?" Kakarot repeated himself as if he genuinely believed Vegeta had not heard him the first time, shifting his shoulder when the unconscious girl's head slipped a bit.
Vegeta's expression must reveal enough of his incredulity, because Kakarot carried on with, "I know you hated me for a long time. I also know that you still consider us to be rivals. But being rivals doesn't mean we can't be friends, and I was... I was wondering if we were... that."
Vegeta blinked a few times, still not entirely grasping the question. Once he had, the first thing that popped in his head was a resounding no.
Then he thought for a moment. Were they friends?
Vegeta wondered, not for the first time, what even made a person a friend. That was not a concept he had any real experience in. Subordinates, he most definitely knew. He even knew of comrades in arms, but friends?
What made a person a friend? What would make Kakarot his friend?
Kakarot was a man he had never thought he would have to seriously contemplate. He had always seemed like a fairly simplistic person—a strong fighter with a devil-may-care attitude, and some gods-given gift that allowed him to always remain one step ahead of him in terms of power.
He was also a man who enjoyed collecting friends, apparently. Vegeta had observed and overheard enough conversations to know that almost all of Kakarot's companions had been his enemy at one point. Vegeta had never been blind to the fact that Kakarot seemed to feel the need to project that desire onto him. He had always known exactly why Kakarot kept bothering him, egging him on for sparring matches and meaningless conversations alike.
Had Kakarot asked that same question even only three days before, his answer would have been certain. Vegeta did not like him, plain and simple. The man was annoying, and much pass the level of moronic allowed for his age. Just because he came to terms with him surpassing him, did not mean he had to put up with the goofy man's presence. Just because Vegeta was no longer actively trying to kill him, did not mean he wanted to have 'casual sparring matches' with him. Just because they were allies did not mean he wanted to speak with him as if they were.
Vegeta thought about the earthlings Kakarot called his friends. He thought of the way they hung off every one of Kakarot's words as if he were a prophet. He thought of how they seemed to value him as if he were a gift crafted personally by the gods.
Vegeta would never do that, but somehow, he knew that was not what Kakarot was asking.
So, what was it then? Did he want someone he could spar with? Vegeta had sparred with many people in his life and considered not a single one of them a "friend". Perhaps he wanted someone to spend time with? He thought of Bulma's friends, the other high society women who came around whenever she threw her business galas and holiday parties. From what he had overheard of their conversations, it seemed that all they did was gossip, talk about fashion, and complain about their spouses. He doubted conversation with an overbearing, annoying oaf like Kakarot could be any more engaging.
He thought of the past few days. He thought of impractical things, like Kakarot staying up throughout the day and night with him on the ship. He thought of necessary things, like him chasing the dragon balls all over the planet so Vegeta could do what needed to be done. He thought of little things, like the advice he gave him while he washed his son's hair.
Vegeta thought of how he had not needed him, had not even asked for him, but he had still been there for him in ways no one beside his wife ever had.
"I don't like you, Kakarot," he said, "but I don't hate you. If that is enough for you to call someone a friend, then I guess we are."
Kakarot blinked at him. Then a blinding grin took over his face. He was seemingly quite satisfied with the answer. The fact that the smile did not leave his face once as they continued on towards the house, was a testament to that.
If Vegeta had any urge to smile back, it died the moment they reached the front door, and the sound of voices reached his ears. He crossed under the threshold, and followed the sound, until he was standing just before his living room and staring at what seemed to be just about all of the Z-fighters.
The group fell quiet, their collective attention now on the saiyan duo. Before anyone could speak, a loud cry of, "Daddy!" suddenly rung through the room.
On the couch, nearly bursting from his seat, was Kakarot's youngest. His eyes were wide and glued on his father, anxiety, relief, and fear warring to monopolize his face. Vegeta still feels every time he saw him. He did not think he had ever seen a child look so much like their parent, and he wondered, oddly enough, if Kakarot had ever made an expression like that.
He thought the answer was no, as Kakarot seemed not to know what to do with such a look directed at him.
"Goten?" he settled with saying.
The boy blinked a couple of times, his lips twitching like he was struggling for words. Finally, he said, "I thought you weren't coming back."
Out the corner of his eye, he could see Kakarot's face fall. "Of course I came back, bud. I said I would."
The boy seemed to consider this, before he abruptly leapt from his seat, crossed the room, and threw his arms around Kakarot's torso, seemingly unaware of the bundle the man already had in his arms.
Kakarot seemed just as lost as he was before, like an old computer taking too long to load. Eventually, he snapped out of whatever fog had taken hold of him and wrapped his free arm around his son.
Vegeta trailed his eyes away, feeling vaguely uncomfortable at witnessing such a scene, and considered the other people who had taken up residence in his home. On one couch sat Krillin, the android, Yamcha and his floating cat creature. Next to them was Gohan, who was smiling at the sight of his father and brother. Beside him was Kakarot's wife, with a facial expression Vegeta could not place. She was not frowning but not smiling either. She simply seemed to watch, and if she was happy at her husband's return or still angry that he had left at all, her face was not at liberty to say.
Vegeta looked back to the boy who could not look more like his father if he tried. For a moment, he imagined Trunks, but with blue hair and a face like his mother's. Then he imagined her gone, lost somewhere he could not reach her, and himself left with a child who was like her in every way but would never truly be her.
He stopped imagining it.
"Dad!" he heard. When he looked over, he saw Trunks looking back at him, a wide smile brightening his face. He slipped off the couch and bounded over towards him, though before he could reach out and grab onto the free hand at Vegeta's side, the bundle in his arms stiffened.
The boy's arms tightened painfully around him, a palpable sense of fear practically radiating from his tense muscles. A whine started to fill the room, low at first but growing louder and more distressed as each second passed.
"Dad?" Came Trunks' voice in uncertainty, as he took a step back.
Vegeta could feel the weight of every eye on him, and he knew the boy could too. Questioning and concerned, they were, and far too many at once.
"Bulma," Vegeta said through his gritted teeth.
"Come on," she said, taking his free hand to drag him out of the living-room, with Kakarot following close behind, leaving several stunned faces in their wake.
"I told the medical staff to be ready for your return. They already know the situation," she told them, her voice almost drowned out by the force of their steps against the linoleum floor. She glanced back at Kakarot, and the limp child in his arms. "Though I only told them to prepare for one."
"Sorry, it was... spur of the moment." Vegeta knew his wife had been hoping for more of an explanation, but it seemed that that was all she was going to get. "You don't think she'll be too much trouble, will she?"
"No, she'll be fine," she said, quite pointedly not looking at the boy Vegeta struggled to hold. He was sure hardly anything would seem like trouble compared to him in this moment.
In the span of a minute, the stiffening had become all-out thrashing, his body bucking and legs kicking so forcefully Vegeta actually had to use a bit of strength to keep them still. Worse than the thrashing, though, was the noise, no doubt. The whines had abruptly been abandoned for ear-piercing shrieking, the sound of it bouncing off the walls and back again over and over, until Vegeta was sure his ears would never recover from the onslaught.
He had to try very hard not to show the panic he was feeling. Had he hurt the boy somehow? Vegeta had not held or touched him in any particularly rough way, he did not think, but he must have. Why else would the boy be screaming like this: like the world was falling down around him, like he would never know peace again?
Thankfully, the speed of their steps meant they bypassed nosy coworkers with relative ease, and they reached the medical wing quickly. They rounded the corner as one, and Bulma sped forward to open the glass doors into the wing.
They were met by a crowd of white-coated doctors. Suddenly, they were surrounding him, their gloved hands seeming to touch everywhere on his body they could reach. When he felt the boy's body being pulled from his arms, he nearly fought against it. He calmed once his eyes caught the gurney, and he reluctantly loosened his arms until the boy was gone from them entirely.
The doctors struggled with the thrashing boy, and in the end, Vegeta had to assist them in strapping him to the gurney. The boy did not stop fighting and screaming, his limbs straining against the metal bands that reminded Vegeta uncomfortably of shackles.
"What is that?" Vegeta demanded with a hard gaze at the salt and pepper-haired doctor before him, who stepped forward with a needle in hand.
"A sedative," the doctor replied. "Please hold him as still as you can Mr. Vegeta. I need to make sure I insert it correctly."
Vegeta tightened his grip around the boy, and the doctor promptly slid the needle into his bicep. At first, the boy did not even seem to notice, until eventually his body began to cave to the drug.
He looked up at Vegeta then with wide eyes, terrified eyes, betrayed eyes.
Vegeta's stomach twisted. "These are healers," he assured him. "Doctors. They are going to help you. Sleep now, and I promise I will be here when you wake."
The boy's eyes brimmed with uncertainty, before the haze of sleep glazed over them. The boy's lashes settled on his cheeks and he was gone.
"His back is wounded!" Vegeta exclaimed as the doctors began to wheel him away. "And his feet! And his head!" Vegeta hastened to add.
One of them had the grace to nod at him, before they all disappeared into one of the rooms. Vegeta nearly followed when a nurse halted him.
"We need to examine him first. We will send for you when he can accept visitors," he said.
Vegeta wanted to snarl. He wanted to tell him to go to Hell with their rules. He was the Prince of all Saiyans and would not be told which places he could and could not go, not when it was his son in there. Every moment that passed without him in his sight was a moment too long, and they expected him to just sit here while they put him under their scalpels and knives and—
"He's safe now, Vegeta," he heard Bulma say, her voice the eye of the storm raging through his thoughts. "He'll be fine. Come. Sit with me?"
He did not want to. He wanted to keep arguing, to make that nurse and those doctors and anyone else who questioned his devotion to his son. Why else would they keep him from being by his side, if they did not believe he truly wanted to be there?
In the end, he did not argue. He followed Bulma to the set of chairs just by the front doors. He noticed, belatedly, that Kakarot was already gone.
They sat, and though her voice had calmed the storm, it had not dissipated it. His leg bounced, just light enough that the floor did not crack underneath his heel. The heat of anxiety swirled in his chest, and his eyes would not move from where they were pinned on the door they had taken him behind. Despite the intensity of his stare, the boy did not reappear, healed and smiling and finally okay.
"I wasn't expecting him to be so small," Bulma eventually said, when the silence went on for too long.
Vegeta wondered how many people were going to keep mentioning how tiny his son was, as if he somehow managed not to notice, or had and had thought it was perfectly normal.
He nodded in reply.
Bulma was silent for a moment, before she asked, "What is his name?"
"Why are your friends here?" he asked in turn.
That he had not answered her question did not go unnoticed, but aside from an unreadable look, she said nothing of it. "I... invited them."
Vegeta nearly wheeled on her. "Why?"
"I knew everyone must have been freaking out about all the disasters that were suddenly happening," she said, defensively. "I wanted to tell them what was going on."
Anger sparked within him, but he managed to keep a strong enough hold on it. It would seem that he had nearly perfected that skill over these past few days. "What have you told them?"
"I told them that he was your son, and that he was on the planet where the dragon balls were taken. I figured it wasn't something that we could hide. I didn't tell them anything else."
He bit back a growl. "It's none of their business."
"Maybe not," she said, "but they are always going to be around, you know. His existence isn't something we can hide. Don't you think it would be best to at least tell them something?"
In response, he said nothing. He tried to imagine doing what she asked. He tried to imagine walking into that room, looking into all those eyes, and saying... everything.
He did not know what to say to make her understand just why he truly, earnestly, desperately did not want to do that.
He tried: "And how do you think your friends will react to learning his father is Frieza? I think the boy has had enough of being judged for that."
"That's not what I meant. I'm not—I'm not saying that's something they need to know. I just meant that perhaps we could just—just explain the situation a bit more. I meant it when I said I told them hardly anything. They'll be confused if we say nothing."
She paused for a breath, then gave him a look out the corner of her eye that he could not completely decipher. "And even if you did tell them who... who fathered him, you know they would not react that way, right? They are good people, you know that. They would not treat a child badly just because of who his father is."
He thought of Yamcha and the one called Tien, standing over his future son's body as his heart stopped, carrying his corpse away from the line of fire into safety, even though there was nothing left inside of it to protect—
He said nothing.
After a moment, he heard her sigh. "I don't mean to pressure you. If you don't want to say anything, then we won't. You're right that the circumstances of his birth are not their business. I only got a glimpse, but from what I saw, he doesn't look like—like Frieza," she stumbled over the name, like she was unsure if she should say it or not, "so it's not like it'll be obvious or anything. His... behavior may be harder to explain but I'll come up with something."
She placed her hand over his. He did not snatch it away.
"I understand why all of this might not be easy to talk about, and I would never force you to do so," she said, her tone nothing less than truthful. "If you do want to tell them, though, I'll be right there. We'll do it together."
His hand clenched into a fist where it rested on his thigh. She did not pull away. Instead, she covered it fully with her palm, like a shield against the line of fire.
Perhaps that was what did it. The soft tone in her voice, the way she carefully calculated her words, the fact that she felt she needed to protect him.
Whatever it was, it gave him the resolve to do what did not need to be done but would be done anyway.
He looked back at the door, the last tether keeping him here and far away from the task he had no desire to do. He was reluctant to leave, already feeling too far away where he was now, but he knew that the doctors would not allow him in for some time.
He will be fine, he told himself. He will be fine.
Vegeta stood to his feet. His wife, to her credit, did not try to offer him useless platitudes and encouragements. She was silent as she followed him down the hallway they had just come from.
He would not hide his son like he was something to be ashamed of, he thought vehemently.
He would not hide from them like a coward, he decided furiously.
He would not hide from the truth ever again, he promised true-heartedly.
TBC