Percussion
Chapter 9

Tread Lightly

True enough, Trunks was good as new in four days' time. Unfortunately, it was less than two days before Bulma and the eleven-year-old Trunks returned to West City.

By the time he fell asleep on Monday evening, Trunks had resigned himself to the fact that this would not be a pleasant week. When he woke up the next morning from a fitful night of sleep, his every joint and muscle ached, and the churning in his stomach hadn't improved in the slightest. He stumbled out of the bed, dragging himself toward the bathroom in hopes that a shower would help soothe his aching body. He steadfastly avoided looking at his reflection as he entered the bathroom and reached for the shower taps. He set the water to a lukewarm temperature; he usually preferred his showers on the hotter side, but reasoned that cooler water would probably sting less, given the open wounds and scrapes on his body.

Trunks simply stood under the running water for several long minutes, letting it loosen and dislodge the dried blood that still caked his hair and skin. He leaned against the glass door of the shower, closing his eyes as another wave of dizziness hit him. Though the pain had ebbed significantly since the night before, the fatigue had not.

He waited for the wooziness to fade before grabbing a bottle of shampoo and washing out the remaining blood and sweat that had clumped on his hair and scalp. He did his best to ignore the lather stinging the scratches on his face and shoulders. Finally, satisfied that he was reasonably clean, he rinsed out the shampoo, turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower.

The teenager quickly dried off and wrapped his towel around his waist. He couldn't help glancing at the mirror on his way out. Simply washing off the dried blood had done wonders, but he still looked like a disaster. His chest was a tapestry of black and blue, and though the swelling in his lip and his eye had gone down, they were still an angry purple.

Trunks heard, rather than felt, his stomach growl as he walked back toward his bedroom. He shot a glance in the direction of the stairs. He knew he should eat something, but wasn't sure he had the energy to make it down to the kitchen. He stood in the hallway for a few minutes as the desire for food battled with the desire for sleep. Sleep quickly won out, and Trunks barely managed to slip on a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt before collapsing into bed.

The young man didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until a sharp knock on his bedroom door woke him up. He blinked, trying to clear the haze of sleep from his eyes. He couldn't imagine who would be at the door; his mother and younger self were still in Pepper City, and he doubted his father had any desire to speak to him.

His curiosity got the better of him. "Come in," he called out, slowly sitting up in his bed. Strangely, his nap hadn't taken the edge off his exhaustion. If anything, he felt weaker than he'd been before he'd fallen asleep.

"Hey," he heard his mother's voice say as she opened the door. "Still asleep?"

Trunks shook his head, surprised at his mother's presence. "You're home early."

She stepped into the dim room. "I caught an earlier train back."

"I thought you weren't getting in until Wednesday."

"Trunks," Bulma said with no small amount of concern, "it's noon Wednesday. Are you alright?"

Trunks frowned at that. "I slept all day?" he asked aloud.

Bulma flipped the light switch nearest the bedroom door. Trunks flinched at the brightness. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden lighting, he saw an expression of shock come over his mother's face.

"What the hell happened to you?" Bulma slammed the door behind her, stalking over to her teenaged son's bed as she took in his injured state.

"I—"

"I told you not to do anything crazy! What happened to just training?"

"I was training."

Bulma's eyes narrowed as comprehension dawned on her. ". . . Tell me your father didn't do this." Her voice was low and dangerous. Trunks bit his lip and broke eye contact with his mother in reply.

"Oh," she said, her voice practically trembling with anger, "that stupid, crazy—"

"Mother," Trunks tried to reassure Bulma, "I'm fine. Really."

"Like hell you are!" For the second time in as many minutes, Trunks' bedroom door slammed, this time as his mother walked out.

Trunks leaned back on his pillow, waiting for the inevitable shouting to echo through the house. He knew better than to try to argue with his mother when she was like this. He could only hope that the fight that would break out between her and Vegeta would be enough to get whatever anger she felt toward her husband out of her system.

Several minutes passed as Trunks stared at his white ceiling. Oddly, no shouts could be heard within the Capsule Corp compound. He closed his eyes for a moment before finally realizing that he couldn't actually feel Vegeta's energy signature nearby. The man was probably out training in the wilderness somewhere.

He had just started to drift off to sleep again when he heard his door open once more. His eyes again snapped open as he sat up to see his mother standing in the doorway.

"I'm assuming you haven't eaten anything," Bulma said as she stepped into the room, tray in hand.

"Uh," Trunks began sheepishly, "not since Monday, I guess."

"Idiot." She set the tray down on the nightstand before taking a seat at the edge of Trunks' bed. The teenager started as she put a cool hand to his forehead and hummed thoughtfully.

"What?"

"You're running a slight fever," Bulma said softly, pulling her hand back. "I can't believe Vegeta. What the hell was he thinking?"

"It's really alright," Trunks mumbled in reply.

"No, it isn't." She looked the teenager up and down again. "Do you want me to call Goku? I'm sure he'd be happy to go and get you a senzu."

"No!" Trunks replied a little too emphatically, "I mean, uh, no thanks, mother." The teenager swallowed loudly. He knew, intellectually, that it was silly, but he was embarrassed about having been injured so badly in what was supposed to have been a routine training exercise. Besides that, the last thing he wanted was to drag yet another person—let alone Goku—into the situation. "I'll be fine. Really."

"I'm not sure why I expected you to be less stubborn than Trunks." Bulma shook her head as she stood. "You're going to eat, then you will take three aspirin and go back to sleep. Understood?"

Trunks knew better than to argue.

Trunks quickly got dressed, grabbing a clean black top and a pair of blue jeans. Bulma had, of course, been right about what he'd needed to recover from his injuries. It amazed him what a difference getting adequate food and rest had made over the past two days. The boy couldn't help shaking his head at his own stupidity—going nearly two days without eating anything had probably had just as much to do with his miserable state as his fight with Vegeta.

He quickly retrieved a pair of sneakers from his closet floor. His body was still covered in cuts and scrapes, but they were quite superficial, and the bruises had faded to a pale shade of green. His remaining wounds were, at least, nothing that should keep him from training.

The issue, of course, was deciding where he should train.

Trunks might have considered asking Vegeta to continue to train him if he believed that the man would be remotely willing. But between his own disappointing performance in the Gravity Room four days earlier and the fights he had managed to spark between Bulma and Vegeta, he doubted his father had much interest in speaking to him, let alone training him.

Even through the thick walls and heavy door of his bedroom, he had heard the arguments that had erupted between Vegeta and his mother after she had seen his state. The younger Trunks, meanwhile, had been unusually quiet throughout the whole episode. He had been spending a surprising amount of time holed up in his own room, presumably studying or playing with his video games. He had come in to check on the injured teen a few times, but beyond that, had not done much to make his presence in the house known.

The tension at Capsule Corp was palpable. Trunks knew it was cowardly to run away from his problems, but he needed to get out of the house, if only until the friction had dissipated somewhat. Trunks didn't know what was worst—his father's coldness, his mother's endless concern, or the barely-concealed shock and worry apparent in the younger Trunks' demeanor.

He had to get away from the Capsule Corp compound. And as Friday afternoon rolled around, there was only one person he could think to call.

To his credit, Gohan had not pried when Trunks called him, obviously distressed. He'd simply offered to meet him for a sparring session at the largely unpopulated mountain range north of West City.

Trunks sat on the ground, reaching for his ankles in an attempt to warm up his tense muscles as he waited for the other teenager. The stretches were helping to some degree, but his limbs were still sore from the incident in the gravity room, and were stiff from disuse. He ignored the slight shiver that ran through his body; despite the bright sunshine, the winter air was crisp and chill. Still, he hadn't bothered with a jacket, knowing that the exertion from sparring would warm him quickly enough.

It wasn't long before he felt a familiar ki behind him. He stood and turned around to see Gohan approaching through the air.

"Hey!" the older boy said cheerfully as he landed on the ground.

"Hi," Trunks replied, biting the inside of his cheek as he took in the other demi-Saiyan's appearance. Gohan was dressed in his father's colors, donning an orange gi over a long-sleeved blue shirt. Trunks tried to force the memory of his dead master to the back of his mind, but the resemblance was striking.

Gohan gave Trunks a quizzical look, apparently picking up on his sudden discomfort. "Everything alright?"

"Yes," Trunks said, drawing a deep breath, "of course. Thanks for meeting me."

"No problem. I can't remember the last time I had a proper sparring session, I've been so wrapped up in school."

Trunks shrugged. "Well, things have been pretty peaceful, right?"

"So far," Gohan said. "Until some crazy wizard raises another hyper-powerful demon."

"Don't jinx it."

"Heh, right." Gohan nodded. "So, any exciting New Year's plans?"

"What?" Trunks asked, taken aback by the sudden change in subject.

"It's New Year's Eve."

"Seriously?" Trunks scratched at his head, wondering where the last three weeks had gone. It was astounding how quickly the days had passed since his arrival in this time period. "Wow, I have completely lost all sense of time."

Gohan shot Trunks a look that fell somewhere between amusement and concern. "Isn't that kind of dangerous for a time-traveler?"

"Good point," Trunks said, relaxing somewhat as the conversation helped take his mind off Gohan's deceased counterpart. "Do you have anything planned?"

"Yeah," Gohan said, his face falling somewhat. "Videl is dragging me to Sharpner's New Year's party. She says if she's going to be stuck with those 'blockheaded, knuckle-dragging, beer-guzzling morons' all night, she is going to need some sane company."

Trunks laughed at the description. "Sounds like fun."

"Any chance I can talk you into coming along?"

Trunks shot a sidelong glance to the other teenager. "I'm not sure . . ."

"Come on. You'd be doing me a huge favor."

Trunks sighed. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Probably," Gohan said, looking quite self-satisfied at having so easily extracted that promise from the other teenager. "Anyway, are you ready to get started?"

"Sure." Trunks stepped back a few paces before gathering his ki. He focused on concentrating his energy for a few moments before he felt the familiar transformation come over him.

Gohan raised an eyebrow at the younger boy. "Do you always go Super Saiyan just to spar?"

"Not usually," Trunks said, somewhat abashedly. "I, uh, just have a lot of pent up energy right now."

"Fair enough." Gohan nodded, closing his fists as he gathered his own energy.

Mere seconds passed before Trunks felt Gohan's ki rise to a level similar to his own. Though the spike in the other boy's power level was not surprising, his appearance caught Trunks completely off guard.

"Something wrong?" Gohan asked in response to the confused look on Trunks' face.

"Yeah," Trunks said with a frown. "You didn't transform."

"Oh yeah, I guess you wouldn't know about that."

"Know about what? Aren't you going to become a Super Saiyan?"

"I kind of can't anymore," Gohan admitted. "Or don't need to. I'm not sure which."

"So you can power up . . ."

"Without transforming, yeah."

"Great Kami," Trunks said, his eyes widening, "that's brilliant. You don't need to waste energy transforming! Your stamina has probably been doubled."

"Yeah, I guess that's the idea."

"How did you do it?" Trunks asked excitedly.

"Uh, I kind of didn't do anything."

"What?" came Trunks' confused response.

"After my first fight with Majin Buu, when I was unconscious, I got taken up to this other world that the Supreme Kai lived on," Gohan began to explain. "Turns out the Elder Kai's spirit was locked inside this sword, and when he was released, he agreed to help awaken my hidden powers. Now when I power up, I don't transform."

"Elder Kai?" Trunks repeated. "The same Elder Kai that gave his life for Goku?"

"That's the one." Gohan shrugged. "He popped out of the sword and helped me power up."

Trunks smiled at Gohan's explanation. "Sure, works for me."

"You know, you seem to be taking this all in stride pretty well."

Trunks' face fell. "Gohan," he deadpanned, "I'm a time-traveling half-alien prince. I think somewhere in between dying and coming back to life, I lost my sense of skepticism."

Gohan laughed. "Well, when you put it that way . . ."

"Don't get me wrong," Trunks said, "it's still incredible."

"Are we going to stand around and chat all day, or do you want to fight?"

"Right, of course." Trunks nodded as he slid into the familiar fighting form. "Just one question before we get started."

"Yeah?"

"How did the Old Kai awaken your powers?"

Gohan smiled as he stepped into sparring form, mirroring the other teen. "He danced in front of me for twenty hours."

Trunks instantly regretted asking.

Gohan unlocked his apartment door, letting Trunks in before he quietly shut the door. He was careful not to slam the door behind him. Sharpner's party had, unsurprisingly, gone well past midnight as the New Year's festivities ran into the night.

At times like this, it was easy to forget that Trunks was here on a mission.

"I hate you, you know," Trunks said as he all but collapsed on Gohan's couch. "This is the second time in as many weekends you've dragged me to some crazy party."

Gohan laughed at the irate expression on the other boy's face. "Come on, it wasn't that bad."

"Easy for you to say," Trunks grumbled. "You have a girlfriend. I got stuck with that crazy redhead and Videl's blonde friend following me around all night."

Gohan laughed at the thought of Erasa and Angela competing for the time-traveler's attention for the better part of the night. "I think Erasa's got a thing for you."

"No shit," Trunks said around a yawn. "I need to get some sleep if I'm going to get back to training tomorrow."

"What do you mean, back to training? Haven't you been training all week?"

"Long story," Trunks said as he sat up on the couch. "The short version, hurt myself training on Monday and I've been a little out of commission for the past few days."

"Fair enough," Gohan said. It was obvious to him that Trunks did not want to be pressed on the details. "Are you still training with Trunks? The younger one, I mean."

"Not since the whole issue with Buu came up. I should get back to that too, though." Trunks frowned to himself as he pulled his boots off. "I still can't believe he's already a Super Saiyan. He said he was only eight."

"I know," Gohan said, taking a seat on his bed. "Goten actually transformed before he even knew how to fly."

"That's insane."

"Right?" Gohan agreed.

"I'm serious," Trunks said, frowning. "It doesn't make any sense."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the boys have been fairly sheltered, right?"

"Mostly. Other than, you know, Majin Buu."

"So how did they transform? It doesn't just happen."

Gohan nodded. He'd often wondered the same thing. "I wish I could tell you. I honestly have no idea."

"Wild," Trunks said. "I guess you were really young too, though."

"Yeah, but that's a little different. I was training with my dad in the time chamber."

"True."

"And you . . ." Gohan looked at the younger boy, thinking back to the first time he'd met him, thirteen years before. "Well, you were a Super Saiyan when you first came to the past."

"Yeah?"

"Mind if I ask how it happened?"

"It was . . ." Trunks trailed off, casting his gaze away from the older boy. "It was when I found my world's Gohan's body."

"Oh." A tense silence descended upon the room. Neither boy moved from their respective seats.

"I'm sorry," Gohan finally said, breaking the silence. "I shouldn't have pried."

"No, it's alright." Trunks quickly shook his a few times as he pulled out his ponytail holder. "It's been years now."

Gohan bit his tongue. He was genuinely curious as to what, precisely, had led to his friend's transformation—and his own, alternate self's death—but it was obvious how the memory still distressed Trunks.

"You want to know what happened," Trunks said, seemingly reading the other teenager's thoughts. It wasn't a question.

"Kind of," Gohan said sheepishly. "But you don't need—"

"I don't mind telling you," Trunks interrupted.

"Are you sure?"

"Hey," Trunks said with a shrug, "if anyone has the right to know."

"If you're sure."

"I was fourteen, and he was injured." Trunks began flatly. "We'd already fought the androids before, and he'd lost an arm in the process. I was unconscious, but something tells me he was protecting me at the time." Trunks took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. "A few weeks later they attacked again. He tried to talk me out of going with him, but I eventually wore him down. At least, I thought I did." Trunks paused, folding his arms and fixing his gaze on a spot on Gohan's carpet. "He must have knocked me out. By the time I came to, you were . . . I found you . . . I mean, found him . . ."

Without warning, Trunks rose to his feet and began pacing toward the window. "It was such a stupid waste!" It was clear that he was no longer speaking to Gohan so much as to himself. "Four years later," he said angrily, "and I still can't figure out why he wanted to go alone!"

Gohan again bit his tongue. He wanted to break the heavy silence that had once again fallen, but he couldn't think of anything appropriate or adequate to say.

Trunks turned from the window, again facing Gohan from across the room. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry with you. It's just . . ." he trailed off again, leaning against the wall with a thoughtful expression.

Gohan gave the other boy an understanding look. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," he said. "I felt the same way when my dad chose not to come back. I knew that he did what he thought was best, but it's hard to be totally rational when you miss someone so badly."

Trunks nodded again. "I'm glad Goku's back. If anyone deserves a happy ending, it's him."

"Yeah. You know, it's funny how much good came out of the whole Buu debacle." He paused for a moment. "Of course, I still can't even look at a chocolate bar without feeling a little sick."

"What?" Trunks responded to the apparent non-sequitur. "Why?"

Gohan laughed. "Among Buu's more interesting powers was his ability to turn people into candy."

"So you have a bad association."

"Stupid, huh?"

"Not really," Trunks said, retaking his seat on the couch. "Everybody's got that one thing."

"Speaking of," Gohan asked. A thought had been nagging at the back of his mind for a few days now; the conversation that had just passed between himself and Trunks brought it to the forefront of his thoughts. "Mind if I ask you something?"

"Not at all."

"Is it difficult?"

"Is what?"

"Seeing me," Gohan explained. "Because I remind you of your world's Gohan."

"Sometimes," Trunks admitted. "Definitely at first. Why do you think I was such a basket case the first time I came over here?"

Gohan's eyes widened as he recalled the afternoon in question. Trunks had gone from a state of perfect calmness one moment to silent tears the next, then seemed to collect himself just as suddenly a few minutes later. The cause, Gohan realized upon reflection, should have been obvious. And yet, it hadn't occurred to him before that seeing a replica of his old mentor would cause such a breakdown, if only because Gohan remembered Trunks from his childhood. He hadn't stopped to think how much had changed in the last ten years, or how abrupt that change must have seemed to the time-traveler.

"I'm sorry."

Trunks actually cracked a smile at Gohan's words. "I think we need to stop volleying apologies. It isn't your fault. But to answer your question, it's not so hard anymore. Don't get me wrong, there are similarities—good god are there similarities—but there are differences as well."

"Like what?"

"You're a hell of a lot stronger, for one." Trunks shot Gohan a grin. "And Gohan definitely didn't have time for a girlfriend in my world."

Gohan chuckled. "Makes sense."

"I am kind of curious how you two got together, actually."

"Long story short, she blackmailed me into teaching her how to fly."

"Blackmailed?" Trunks shot Gohan a look of incredulity. "What did she blackmail you with?"

"My secret identity as Saiyaman."

Trunks laughed. "Yeah, you probably wouldn't want that getting out. But how did that lead to you dating?"

Gohan glanced at the clock mounted on his wall. "Uh, why don't we save that story for another time? Say, when it isn't three a.m."

"It's already three?" Trunks yawned again, as if on cue. "Man, no wonder I'm wiped. Should probably get some sleep before morning rolls around."

"So you're just inviting yourself to crash here?"

Trunks frowned at his friend. "Oh, you are not kicking me out at three in the morning."

"Fine, fine." Gohan gave Trunks a knowing smile. "But if this keeps up, I'm going to have to start charging you rent."

Gohan dodged and grinned as his remote control came hurtling toward his head.