A French philosopher once wrote 'The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.' Glen didn't know with certainty if he wrote it or told it or what, in truth, he had been told that quote and had never bothered double-checking. He wasn't that big on philosophy; old white dudes making their lives impossible trying to find meaning in life was too complicated for him. But he had liked that quote.

And he tried to live by it as authentically as he could. Because Glen wanted to be a simple person. Though, in reality, he was a complicated man trying to be as nonchalant as he could. His version of freedom.

Indifference.

He might fail his whole year because he never studied? Who cared? Not him. No fucking clue what he wanted? Who cared? Life was so short anyways, so why not just enjoy it?

That attitude brought him many problems, with his parents, his teachers, with himself. The few friends he got to make loved him because he was the clown, the guy who would chug down eleven tequila shots and didn't care if he died because he didn't care about anything. He would be content living on the streets, they used to joke, for Glen was truly a simple idiot.

Maybe it was a coping mechanism, he didn't know. But it became a sort of shield, if he let everyone think he didn't care about anything if he let himself believe he truly didn't care about anything, he could not get hurt. Or at least, not show when he was hurt. It did nonetheless.

"Why are you limping, Glen?"

"I fell down the stairs, Miss Sif, and well, hit my knee."

"Good, that's karma because you're too annoying."

"Thank you, miss, love to see you care."

"Did you know Miss Sif once gave me a hundred percent in my essay! Way back when we loved each other..."

"Back then, he used to be a hardworking student instead of a clown."

"...yep, that's right."

All the remarks, all the laughter, the looks, all of it, Glen took with a smile on his face. He was the laughingstock of everyone who knew him. Look at him, he will literally do something no one else does because they have dignity but Glen doesn't! He will do anything. And how he loved it, he lived for it. Yeah, see me, see me destroy my future, my world, my life for your amusement, see me and laugh at me, make me feel worthy!

His whole existence was truly an act of rebellion. (Or more like an act of fucking clownery).

And the only one who saw right through it was Oda.

Oda didn't understand him, not completely but he was the only one who saw him as more than just a clown. He had told him to his face that he was actually a very sad person in search of validation. Glen had socked him in the eye for that. They didn't talk for two whole days before he showed up at Oda's house and begged his forgiveness. In response, Oda showed him that French philosopher.

He knew Oda since the fifth grade but they really became friends around tenth grade. Oda would calm Glen's stupidity, in return, he would get him to become more daring. Oda was the only one available when Glen panicked in the night. The only one whom Glen admitted to wanting to be something more than what he was. Oda took care of him after the fights his parents had.

He encouraged his love for writing.

While Glen wanted to be happy making poems and living in a small studio in downtown West City (where he lived) and then become a kind of celebrity (validation seeker as his best friend said), Oda simply wanted to be a chef. And while Glen didn't have the brains nor the patience for studies, Oda was a damn genius at them. He even got offered a scholarship for an engineering program. But he refused it. He wanted to be a chef.

Glen couldn't understand it. He would've killed to have the gates of heaven open in the academic sense. Yet, Oda simply refused them, with politeness but refused them nonetheless.

Neither of them became what they wanted though. At the end of their friendship, Glen was about to start a psychology degree and Oda was going to become a mechanic. Then, life happened, Glen dropped out even before starting and Oda decided his friend's self-destruction would infect his own life if he didn't distance himself.

And now, it was at times like this that he missed Oda. His wisdom. His warmth. His whole existence.

But he hadn't spoken to him in years. The last time, if Glen remembered well, which he did, was before he ran away from home. The Big Fight as he got to reference it.

And what a shitty decision because now he was panicked trying to find his ex-coworker. Gohan reminded him of himself, and he believed that maybe he could be what Oda was to him. How wrong he was. Gohan was more reserved and less reckless and Glen wasn't as analytical and direct as Oda was. And when he tried to be direct, he got hung up by what could possibly be a suicidal teen.

He really missed Oda in these moments. He had no fucking clue to go along with, only the words of a crime-obsessed girl and a crazy old photographer.

"Mister Abi, you got a minute?"

The old man was in his office, counting a bunch of old papers and writing new ones. Didn't seem so interesting. He looked up and took off his glasses when he saw the worry in Glen's eyes. "What's on your mind, kid?"

No one knew that Glen got basically saved by that old man. He gave him a job, a shelter when he needed it and operated almost like a father figure to him. He never asked why Glen ran away from his home and Glen never asked why he was saved.

"Can you help someone who doesn't want help?"

Of course not. Oda tried helping you, he tried saving you, and all you did was distance yourself, hurt him and then expected him to come back.

Mister Abi frowned and didn't answer for a good minute. "Well, I would say it depends."

"On what?"

"Stubbornness," Mister Abi shrugged. "On both sides. Whoever wants to help has to be mean stubborn if they are to help someone who denies it. And the one who denies it has to be consistent in his denying."

Glen nodded. Mister Abi continued. "One of them will break eventually. Either the helper realizes it's not really worth it and leaves it alone or the helped realizes it's not bad to ask for help and gets it."

"And how do you measure the worth? How do you know if it's worth it or not?"

The old man laughed.

"Well, that's the thing, isn't it, kid? It's up to you. Worth is subjective, and what's worth it for me might not be for you and vice versa. What's wrong?"

What was wrong?

Gohan was never really friendly with him, it was mostly one-sided on his part. Gohan never shared anything. Glen overshared sometimes. Gohan got in fights and Glen laughed about them. Gohan got himself stuck in a place with no exit, he decided to walk on a tragic path. Glen-

Glen did too.

Age 771

There was an incessant knock on his door followed by his phone ringing. It drilled into his head and made his brain bleed. He tried to drown it by placing his pillows on top of him and pressing just enough to muffle it. When that didn't work, he hoped whoever was at the door and calling him would leave but after ten minutes, it was clear that they weren't going back to wherever they were so easy.

Finally, he admitted defeat. Standing up, feeling sudden nausea and bile in his throat, with a killer headache and perhaps sixty percent of his normal capacities, he made his way to the main door. It was way too early to be doing this kind of noise and it was too fucking early to deal with life's bullshit.

He opened the door.

Of course, it was him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Glen gave a toothy grin. "Good morning to you too, Oda."

His best friend in question, and the guy who was knocking incessantly frowned. " Good morning ? It's fucking five in the afternoon, you asshole!"

Wait, what?

Glen probably looked really stupid as he tried to mentally go back to what he was doing before falling asleep. He did not remember much. He had been out all night and came home around four or maybe three in the morning. What he was doing? It was blurry. But if nausea and headache said something, it was that he had a drink.

Oh, well.

He shrugged then walked towards the kitchen, leaving the door open knowing damn well his friend would follow him.

"Do you have any idea how many times I tried contacting you?"

"I don't have my phone with me," he grumbled as he grabbed a can of Coke from his fridge.

"Your parents called me asking me to check on you, you weren't answering their texts," Oda continued.

His parents. Hell, they were in another country for a few weeks and yet they were still managing to fuck whatever Glen had for himself.

He grabbed one of those glass cups and poured the can, splashing himself with the residual bubbles. He, then, left the cup on the countertop as he bent down in search of the gold mine.

"Are you even listening to me, you fucking idiot?"

"Yeah, yeah. My parents texted me, I didn't answer, they worried and now you're here. You need to chill, bro. Drink?" He finally found the pearl. Some liqueur his father had bought years ago from his trip to somewhere important.

With a smile, he poured a good amount into his cup. And took a big gulp tasting the burning of something akin to hand sanitizers.

"You wake up from your fucking party or whatever and now you're drinking again?" The dark-haired, fucking tank of a friend he had spoke in disbelief.

"It's five o'clock, Oda. And don't make me sound like an alcoholic."

"Well, considering you are drunk most of the time, I do consider you an alcoholic."

Then, it wasn't his fault.

Alcohol made everything better. When he was sober, everything was numb, painful and so gloomy but when he was buzzed, suddenly, the world seemed better. Shit was lighter, happier and much better. When he was wasted, his mind didn't scream at him, didn't tell him how fucking idiotic he was. Instead, it laughed with him.

And even when he wasn't completely wasted, simply knowing he was drunk, helped everything be simpler.

"Well, you checked on me, I'm alive, surprisingly. If you don't want anything to drink, then, I don't know what to offer you. Wanna dance?"

Oda gave him those sad eyes. Well, not exactly sad but melancholic, as if they were disappointed in him. Judging how bad or how wrong his path became. Perhaps, Oda had a version of him that was better, everyone had that of him, and this was simply sad. Talent gone to waste as his teachers said.

It wasn't like Glen was happy for failing to be what he had to be.

"I want to help you, but I can't do so if you don't put in the effort."

A snort escaped his lips. Effort. Of course he had tried that. He had tried everything. Yoga, smoking, drinking, drugging himself with whatever that damn hooded man from Walk gave him. Nothing ever changed.

"How your chef thing goin'? What kind of plates you got cooking? Get it, 'cooking', I know, I am a comedic genius-"

Oda sighed. "Glen, you'll end up dead if you don't stop whatever you're doing right now."

With that, he downed the whole cup. And smiled at his horrified friend. "Well, then, what a mighty waste I will be."

"Do you think this is a joke? Do you think you're a kind of tragedy, that we must feel some kind of sympathy for you?"

"I am not thinking any of that, actually. I never asked you to come here and check on me, I never asked any of you to check on me!"

"That's called 'caring about you', you-you fucking asshole! At this rate, you'll end up dying, is that what you want?"

The cup smashed into the countertop and then fell to the floor with clamorous noise.

"Fuck all of you!" Glen snapped. "Why can't you just leave me alone? Leave me to rot, I never asked for any of this, I don't even plan to live past twenty-two. So, yes, Oda, can any of you fuck off and let me die in peace!"

What a damn parasite. Getting wasted while his parents were away, living off them because he couldn't hold unto a university course, and hoping they wouldn't care what happened to him. Oda had the kindness to check on him, all because he had driven all his other friends away. Just like in the beginning, Oda was the only one sticking by his side.

It didn't matter anymore. Glen had made his choice, all the rest had to either live with it or die with him.

"The only reason you're here with me is that you're 'in love' with me! Yeah, you thought I didn't know? It was so obvious, how you laughed at my jokes, how you were always there like a fucking smiling dog! Poor, poor, Oda, in love with their best friend, almost movie-like!" Glen spat, furious and uncaring of this bleeding hand. "Well, guess what, I don't like you or anything like that! So, fuck that!"

For a whole minute, the only sound that could be heard was Glen's breath. Anger filled his veins rather quickly, burned and made him want to break everything and everyone around him. His eyes shone hatred for that minute, a minute where neither he nor Oda broke eye contact.

Then, as expected, he felt a sharp and fast pain on his face. He fell to the floor with the rest of the glass cup.

"You're a fucking asshole, you know that, right?" Oda spat, holding his fist in his other hand. "You have people that want to help you, who would move mountains for you, you have parents that care and love you. You had friends who were ready to help you with anything and everything. And yet you're the one who keeps doing this bullshit, you're the one who likes to wallow in your misery and call it fate. You decided to become this, no one forced it upon you."

Glen said nothing, unable to look at his best friend in his eyes, tolerating just barely looking at his shoes.

"I tried helping you even after you isolated yourself, even when you went into an alcoholic spree, I was the one who held your stupid fucking head when you were throwing your guts out at three in the fucking morning. I was the one who let you in my goddamn house when you were too high to even think, I was the one who did all of that shit and not because of some tragic one-sided love story. Yes, I love you. But I did all those fucking things because you are my friend. But you know what, Glen?"

This was it, wasn't it? Glen felt it in his blood. He had to look Oda in the eye, he owed him at least that, after all the shit he pulled him through.

Oda's face wasn't one of anger or hatred because if it had been that, Glen could've lived with it, many people looked at him like that anyways. Instead, Oda looked defeated. The knuckles on his right hand were bright red from when he punched him, but his face, his eyes, those were the eyes of someone disappointed. He looked like he was so sad, like it physically pained him to say what Glen knew he was going to say.

"I can't do this anymore. There's nothing more I can give you. I don't know how to help you, I don't know how to support you. I give up. I give up on this," he motioned to the whole kitchen. "And I give up on you. Do what you wish. Go die in a hole if that's what you really want. I can't help you anymore."

Ah, there it was.

He could've sobbed, could've asked for forgiveness, begged Oda to forgive him, to give him one more chance. Or, he could've screamed, yelled some absurd mean words about how shitty of a friend he actually was, and threatened to kill himself right there because of his actions. All valid answers in his eyes.

Instead, he laughed.

He laughed and laughed like someone was tickling him to death. His breaths were coming shorter and shorter, and at some point, he truly believed he was going to die out of laughter. He kept laughing even after he heard the footsteps leave and the main door closed.

He laughed well into the night, the blood in his hand and arms caked and itching, the glass still on the floor with him.

By morning, he was already on a bus to nowhere.

Age 774

There had been times in Gohan's life when he wanted an out, something that could give him some sort of respite over the absolute mess that was his life. There were moments when he craved just a single day of pure laziness, to stop for a while and just do nothing.

After all, he had too much shit on his shoulders.

Now, being bed-bound for over four days, he wished he could do something. Anything, just to move.

Okay, he was being dramatic, he could move, he could move anywhere he wanted as long as it was on Capsule Corps 'grounds. Which were huge, almost if not as huge as an amusement park but restricting anyways.

For Gohan had fucked some things over and the consequences didn't let themselves be forgotten.

The first thing that happened after that kind chat with Vegeta was his mother's worry and relief. She had held him and cried her eyes out while Gohan merely held her awkwardly, trying to console her. That lasted a good while, a while Gohan mostly spaced out for the good of his own heart, after all, his emotions were clearly in need of a check. Goten had gotten his time too, he didn't cry but Gohan could see how hurt and worried he had been.

Talking to children was easier than to adults. Children believed anything someone with authority and an ounce of kindness said to them. It was easy to tell Goten he had gotten in a fight with a huge monster-like creature for his worry to become a childish curiosity.

(Nothing was said about baby dragons.)

Then came some tenacious tests, physical and mental ones. Bulma suddenly turned into a physician and psychologist and made Gohan fill a lot of stupid questions. She was unforgivable with both tests. She had concluded Gohan was severely sleep-deprived, suffering from anemia and another thing she couldn't totally place apart the cigarette withdrawal (tests were still done on him, and the number of needles poked on his skin would have made his father quiver in fear, but his father was dead.).

Mentally, apart from some stress, mild anxiety and perhaps a little case of the blues, Gohan was in top shape. Or, as top shape, the true savior of the world could be, given the context. He had wanted to laugh, or cry, either seemed a great response to Bulma's diagnosis. She, however, had given him a look that meant she didn't buy his answers at all.

That was the easiest part.

Then, came the shit.

Gohan knew he was going to get fucked afterwards when his mother didn't try to scold him. Not even once. After she cried her eyes and heart out, she had been present at every test done to her eldest and said nothing. No fuss, no 'what are you doing to my baby', not a fucking word, no nothing. Not even about the school scholarship policy for absences. She just stood there, face impartial, sometimes frowning and mostly just standing there. Gohan feared that.

Who gives a shit about a murdering android who has your blood and your dad's blood. No, whatever Gohan's mom was planning, that was truly terrifying.

But he waited and waited, and waited. And then, in the middle of dinner with Bulma's family, Chi-Chi finally spoke her truth.

"Why?"

Gohan was in the middle of slurping soba when his mother spoke, and what was a great dish turned to ash in his mouth. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Saiyan Prince, ever so stone-faced, raising an eyebrow.

Why? That's a good question, right, Gohan? Why did you become a vigilante? Why do you kill people? Why don't you want to stop? Why did you train? Why can't you be who you used to be? Why did your father sacrifice his life for you? Why were you given the power to defeat a god-like figure?

Why, Gohan, why, why, why, why, why-

"Gohan."

Oh, right, the soba, the ash, the dinner, his mom.

"I don't know," he shrugged and gulped down the rest of his soba.

I don't know.

Of course, that was the wrong answer.

His mother had this anger, an anger almost comical at times, and used to scold his father and him over trivial things. It was home for the first eleven years of Gohan's life.

Then, came the silent anger. The anger of a woman widowed for the second time by the same man (or alien) and now with not one mouth to feed but two. It was the anger of a woman who meant business.

"What do you mean you don't know? You just decided to go out and do a walk in the middle of the night to Bulma's house?"

Trunks snickered, not used to that anger. However, he was quickly shut down by Goten.

"I-," Gohan stopped. What could he say? What would make the situation better? Nothing. But the truth hurt, and he was sure as hell not ready to tell it.

He wasn't a child anymore, he was seventeen years old, at the age of four he had been kidnapped and endured six months by himself when he was Trunk's age he was already training to save his planet. He was seventeen years old and he felt as old as his father should've been.

He looked around for any kind of help, and there was none. Bulma looked stern and serious, she had stopped eating, probably looking for an answer herself. Probably thinking about that incident with her dad's workshop however long ago it was. Vegeta was eating his food, the asshole unfazed by the tension, probably enjoying it.

"I don't know."

The sound of a hand slamming the table was heard.

His mother had snapped.

"What do you mean you don't know? Do you realize how dangerous that was? Why were you even sleep-deprived? What is going on with you, Gohan?! I ask you every day how your day has been and every day you tell me it's fine. Then, why did you do this? I tried to make the workload a bit less stressful by telling you to stop working, all you gotta do is focus on your studies! What's happening, Gohan? First, you put on that awful headband and never take it off, and now this? What's happening to you?"

Oh, that was the gold mine. What was happening to him?

"I don't know."

"Don't tell me that stuff!" His mother scolded. "You're meant to tell me that you just decided to end up unconscious in the middle of the road just because? What is that? Gohan, look at me in the eyes."

And he did.

And he wanted to cry. Wanted to reach out and tell her all that was happening, all the worries in his head, the nagging voice that told him this was useless, the other voice that told him that this was the only way to prove his existence, he wanted to tell her he was the one killing all those people, that he had fucked up something good, that he was her son.

Most of all, he wanted to tell her one undeniable truth.

I miss da-

"Well?"

"I don't know."

Mom, I don't know anymore.

"You think this is a joke-"

"I don't think this is a joke!"

"Then why are you acting like it is? Just repeating 'I don't know' over and over again, of course, you must know! This isn't like you!"

"I'm sorry," he forced out. Unshed tears prickled in his eyes. He had already been undignified once, he wasn't going to cry one more time. "I'm sorry."

"He has been training with me," Vegeta's gruff voice said, still eating his food like nothing was happening. "The brat is far too important to be left to waste, I order him like his superior to train with me in the nights."

Bulma's anger was powered on while Gohan's mom was at least given a tangible target.

The rest of the night was a blur. He stopped listening, afraid to hear more harsh truths if he did. Instead, Gohan decided to poke his soba, no longer hungry, throughout the remaining dinner. His mom and Bulma were arguing with Vegeta, who in turn, kept eating and once in a while grunting his disapproval.

Things didn't get better from there forward. His mom concluded she had failed as a parent and decided that for the time being, Gohan should remain with Bulma (after she promised not to let Vegeta near him), Goten was unconsolable, he wanted his big brother home, while Trunks was excited to have such a powerful being in his house. He still had to get better, both physically and mentally, or that was what Bulma offered him.

When Gohan spoke about his scholarship status, Bulma smiled and winked at him.

"Leave it to me."

Truth be told, Gohan got let off easily, mostly because Vegeta took the blame. But he knew better than to be happy about that. He had heard the news, the police were hunting down the vigilante after he broke into Mister Satan's house, Gohan had to even act worried for a girl he barely knew. Oh, and Videl, oh, by what the media was saying, it seemed she had taken to heart his little show and was working like a maniac to catch him.

His phone was plagued by messages, most of them were Glen asking what he was doing if he was still alive, and that sort of stuff. Others were from Sharpener and Erasa, asking him the same as Glen except for the alive part, and only one from Videl Satan.

[Videl Satan]

Where are you?

Gohan hadn't bothered opening any of them.

Friday was rolling around the corner and he hadn't been to school, which seemed wasn't an issue for the time being or done anything really productive. Most of the time, he stared at his ceiling, going back to the mistakes he made that night or sleeping. Bulma had encouraged his sleep and asked Trunks not to disturb him when his door was closed, which was all the time.

Son Gohan felt like shit.

He looked like shit.

Overall, life was shit.

Then, he heard a knock at his door.

He ignored it because it was probably Trunks looking for some training, and Gohan didn't have the energy nor the will to do so at the moment.

But the knocking didn't stop.

At the tenth knock, Gohan got up to politely tell Trunks that he wasn't in the mood but when he opened the door, it wasn't Trunks there. Instead, Vegeta, who seemed two steps before killing someone.

So, what? So, what if he hadn't talked to that asshole since he made him promise to kill him should anything go wrong? He hadn't done anything to seek him out either.

"You have a visitor," the prideful prince spoke.

"What?"

"Are you deaf? One of your stupid friends or whatever has come to visit you, they're annoying, and won't take no for an answer. Get down, for fuck's sake and stop moping."

Gohan didn't have friends, he had acquaintances and none of them knew where he was at the moment.

Who the hell was at Capsule Corps then?

At the lack of answer, Vegeta grabbed his arm and pulled him out of his room. That was enough for Gohan to respond. "No one knows where I am."

"Not my problem. Someone clearly knows where you are and has made it my problem. So, either talk to them, or I will gladly take care of it."

Gohan was unforgivable but not merciless, at least not with his acquaintances. Throwing Vegeta to deal with someone was equal to asking a bear to help bees.

Whoever Gohan was expecting wasn't him.

Looking highly out of place in a place where everything was in order and expensive. He stuck out like a sore thumb, especially dressed the way he was. A red Hawaiian buttoned shirt, a brown leather jacket and some worn-out shorts with the dirtiest shoes to go with.

"You fucking asshole," were the words he spoke when Gohan came into his view.

"Glen?"

Glen looked worse for wear than usual, his dark brown hair all disheveled and sweaty, sticking to his forehead, some big (almost rivals to his) dark circles under his eyes, and a black eye so prominent Gohan didn't know how he missed it the first time.

As far as he knew, Glen wasn't one for fights, mostly because he could use his stupid jokes to get out of most situations, and those he couldn't, he ran away from.

"Would it hurt you to answer your texts?" Even his voice was raspy.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"What does it look like, you fucking asshole? Making sure you didn't actually kill yourself. And who the fuck are you, by the way, how the hell do you live in Capsule Corps?"

"How are you here?" Gohan asked, still dumbfounded about the whole thing.

Glen gave his toothy grin and patted himself on the shoulder. "Don't underestimate the power of words, also I was born in this city."

"You need to leave," Gohan was already turning his back.

"No, not without getting some answers, I think I'm owed that."

"You are owed nothing that I didn't already give you that night, so, goodbye."

Glen touched his arm, and without even thinking, Gohan flinched away. "Touch me again and we're fighting, Glen. I don't know how you got here, and I don't care. You saw me alive and well, so go home."

"If you think that will get me to go away," Glen chuckled. "You're fucking stupid."

"This has nothing to do with you."

"I don't give a shit about that, the moment you called me, it did."

Gohan stared at Glen's hazelnut eyes. His fury was met with determination.

The first impression Glen Gohan ever had was of nonchalance. Nonchalance to the point of death. Everything slid right off him, and it was annoying at points. Did he almost burn the pizza for being distracted? No problem, it didn't so, it's okay. They had a check-up and he didn't memorize the way of putting the ingredients? Who cares, whatever happens, happens.

It wasn't that Glen was not a good employee. In fact, he was. But it seemed he cared about nothing at all. The world could be ending and Glen would laugh and crack jokes. To him, life was nothing serious. It made Gohan wonder how had he survived on his own when he was probably late with his rent payments and didn't seem like someone who would take care of serious matters.

Sometimes, Gohan envied that. That nonchalance to everything. Glen could be on the verge of bankruptcy and he would shrug indifferently, crack some jokes and continue living.

"Go the fuck away."

He didn't budge. "No, I won't. I will stay here as long as I have to, even if I have to sleep on the curb. I'll knock on the door as many times as I need. I won't go away."

Okay, now it was getting annoying.

So, he sighed. "Glen, just go home, please."

"Not without getting an explanation."

"I was suicidal, there, I was going to kill myself, that's the explanation."

Glen laughed, cheerfully even. "Go tell that to Miss Videl, who by the way, made me go to her stupid vigilante investigation to find a crazy old man who claimed to be at the Cell Games, and turns out, she now believes one of those warriors is the vigilante."

Okay, back the fuck up.

What the actual fuck.

"What?"

"Look, I did so much crazy shit to find this address you wouldn't believe, turns out fucking high school kids can pack a mean punch, and my dignity is in shambles, and I did all of that for you, so you think I'm just going to leave because you told me you wanted to kill yourself? I don't believe that at all."

Gohan frowned. "You don't think I wanted to kill myself?"

"Gohan," Glen said. "Of course I do, but there was more to that, wasn't it? You told me you fucked up, I want to know why."

Why. Again with that question. Why, why, why, why. All people seemed to care. Why was Gohan doing this?

They were all asking the wrong question.

"Go home, Glen, for fuck's sake." Gohan started moving.

"Are you the vigilante, Gohan? "

He stopped dead in his tracks.

"You called me at 3 in the morning, panicking, I think you were crying at some point, telling me how you fucked up. You told me repeatedly you needed to stay awake. You were freaking out, then, the next morning I see the news where the vigilante tried to kill Videl Satan or some bullshit, then I listen to this old geezer talk about superpowers and weird lights and a kid, and his dad, and I don't know. "

By the end, Glen was stuttering like the fool he was.

A kid and his dad, huh?

"Do you really think so little of me? To believe I'm a murdering vigilante?" Gohan pressed.

"No, of course not."

"Then why the fuck did you ask me that?"

Glen grimaced. It was kind of funny.

Checkmate.

"Leave, Glen. I won't ask you twice, whatever you think I will tell you, I won't."

"No. I won't. Tell me the truth, Gohan. Whatever it is."

"For fuck's sake, Glen," Gohan spat. "Don't act all high and mighty with me, you're the least indicated to do so. How many times are you high a day? Look how you're dressed! You have always run away from hard things, and now you want to change?"

"Hey," Glen defended himself. "I will have you know that this is the best I came up with in five minutes."

"You see, that's what I hate about you, you always take everything so easily, like life is some kind of a joke, like nothing matters. How have you come so far in life with that mindset? There's absolutely no wonder why you didn't even make it to college."

That did it if his grimace and tensed jaw said something, and Gohan was happy. If Glen wouldn't want to leave, he will insult him all he needed until he left.

"I know, I know I run away from everything, heck, I even ran away from my house, which is funny because it's around thirty minutes from this stupid compound, I know I am the least indicated to tell you some bullshit morals but I am all you got. And I want to help you, whatever it is you have on your plate, I don't care."

"It's just personal issues, nothing to do with you."

Glen shook his head. "I don't mind, I will help you out."

"Just leave, Glen, don't act like we're friends," Gohan muttered.

"But we are."

"No, you are the one who kept annoying me while we worked. I never addressed any words to you. You befriended me."

Glen smiled as he waved it off. "Ah, potato, potahto. Doesn't matter."

"I will ask security to kick you out if you don't leave in the next ten seconds."

"Why do you want me to leave so badly?"

Why did you have that kind of power, huh, Gohan? Why weren't you strong enough to kill Cell when you had the chance? Why did you think going to school was a good idea? Why did you call Glen out of all people? Why are you here? Why are you standing here while your father is dead? Why is he dead? Why did he think you could save the world?

Why, why, why, why, why, why, why-

Enough!

Glen fell with a thud, his whole body did a one-eighty. Gohan hadn't caught up to speed until he felt an ache on his left hand and saw the blood pouring out of Glen's nose.

Great, he had punched him.

Still, Gohan didn't feel much guilt. Glen was fucking annoying him, and he had warned him.

"Are you-"

Laughter exploded in the hallway. At first, Gohan didn't know where it came from, but then, he saw Glen's body move and realize it was the man on the floor that was laughing.

And he was laughing really loud.

As if Gohan had told him a good joke instead of socking him in the nose.

"Did it feel good?" He managed to say in-between laughs.

Glen was absolutely insane, Gohan concluded.

"It did, didn't it? That's okay, you can punch me, kick me everything you want as long as I get to help you. And if this is how, then, go ahead," he wiped off the oozing blood.

Gohan knew that by this point, either the laughter or the punch was going to make Bulma come. It was just a matter of time before both of that stuff would incriminate him.

"Just leave, goddamn it! Leave me alone!"

"I won't. You need help, and if you don't want to accept professional help, then at least accept mine. I'm all you got, and I know that I'm lazy, nonchalant, and I always run away from things that make me feel slightly uncomfortable but I'm all you got! Like it or not, Gohan, I won't leave. Not until you tell me how can I help you."

And still, with his face all bloodied, his nose crooked, an inflamed black eye and red-stained teeth, Glen managed to smile.

Perhaps it was his thinning patience, the fact he had been cooped up in Capsule Corps for a whole week, or maybe it was his emotions still running high, or the memory of how he had fucked up, or maybe it was something older and primal that made Gohan start crying.

Why is Glen still here? Why did your mom decide to get you into a private school? Why was Videl Satan in your class? Why couldn't you just sit that one out? Why did you want peace? Why did you think peace was still an option after Cell? Why did Trunks call you 'master'? Why out of all the people that died, you survived?

Why, why, why, why, why, why-why weren't I good enough?

Why did Dad leave?

There was this feeling, this primal and old feeling Gohan had believed to be completely gone from his being, a feeling he was so used back when he was a lot younger. One he hated with all his heart, and had thought the six months in the wilderness killed.

The longing for his father.

Gohan wanted to be a kid again, he wanted to be like Goten but have his dad back, and he wanted his mom to not look at him like he had disappointed her. He wanted his mom to be soft with her touches, to sing him back to sleep, he wanted his dad to laugh his worries away, to look at him and see the brightest smile in the universe.

By Kami, how much Gohan missed his dad.

Everyone was asking 'why' and it drove him insane, it didn't matter why he did all he did, it didn't change anything. It wasn't like the why would make everything perfect. The why was just an excuse, a way for Gohan to still have some sanity left. The end justified the means.

How?

How was Gohan still standing? How was he managing to pull this stupid double life together? How did he beat Cell? How was he that strong? How did it feel?

How was he still able to fight?

Such a vigilante he was, in the middle of his aunt's hallway sobbing his heart out while his one friend lay on the floor with a broken nose. Videl would have a field day if she found out that the man she believed to be ruthless was a seventeen-year-old teenager crying on a Friday.

"You're a fucking idiot," he managed to say. "I break your nose and you want to help me?"

Glen laughed. "You're not the first person who has punched me, this black eye is good proof of it. And besides, what kind of friend would I be if I couldn't help a friend out?"

That managed to pull a small smile out of Gohan's sobbing mess.

"You look like shit, Gohan."

"Likewise, Glen. What kind of fucking outfit is that?"

"I call it 'I really didn't plan shit out', I believe it will be the new fashion by next summer."

Oh, right. Summer was ending. Fall was beginning.

Gohan's body was still racked with sobs. "I fucked up, Glen. I really did."

A small form of warmth caressed his back softly. "I know."

No, he did not know. How could he? Glen at most thought he had a shitty time with his studies or parents, and perhaps that he could understand or relate to. Yet, he didn't know the whole scope of just how fucked up was what Gohan did.

The only one who did was a prideful being that would rather die than console him.

'No, you don't understand I'm-"

"I know."

And suddenly, the whole world went still.

The implication of that I know. Maybe Gohan was truly out of it, his emotions making him read into every little thing.

"Are you the vigilante, Gohan?"

Oh, the irony.

How?

Gohan mentally shook his head, no, Glen didn't know. If he did, no matter how nonchalant he truly was, he would ask or at least show something akin to horror. The vigilante killed his victims with ruthlessness, he made sure they were in Hell for that small moment he had with them; Gohan, well, he was a little fucked up but he wasn't that fucked, he had made sure to act the least threatening when he was out in public.

Sure, his headband and scars were a little off-putting but Glen had never made any comment about it. Just like Gohan didn't acknowledge the scars from one of Glen's hands to his arm.

He was talking about a dude who once came to work two hours late, put off a strong scent of alcohol on his breath and fell the moment he came through the door. There was absolutely no way he could know. Because if he did, then it meant Videl did as well, and if she did, then it was just a matter of time until his mother knew, and then everyone and Gohan would truly be fucked.

He would be alone.

His sobs turned into heaves for air, and the all too familiar sense of panic settled in his bones and chest.

He had to leave, he had to do something. Bulma would be here at any moment, and if Glen knew, then she would too, and all those promises he did, all that shit he had to go through, would be for nothing.

Kill him, do something, no one can know!

Could he go that far? Glen's body was fragile, every human was, like a twig. Gohan knew very well how easy it was to break it, to just snap the neck of horrible people and bring justice. But Glen was innocent, he had done nothing except know Gohan.

The ends justified the means, that's what he took with him. That's what he agreed to.

Come on, for fuck's sake, do something! This is what you chose.

Everyone was going to know, he was done, how dumb he was, and this was wrong. He would lose everything, Bulma and his mom would be so disappointed in him, they would be terrified, Goten would never speak to him again, and Vegeta would try to kill him.

He couldn't breathe, why couldn't he breathe? He was dying, he was dying, the world was ending, he needed to leave, to do something.

WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY-!

"Gohan, breathe." A hoarse yet soft voice spoke.

No, he couldn't kill innocent people. That was the sole reason he wore that stupid reminder of that fucking awful night.

"Glen, I-"

"I know."

Stop saying that for fuck's sake!

"Come on, breathe with me, one," Gohan's hand felt the palpitations of another's heart. "Two, and three."

He tried to copy the breathing and failed miserably for the first two sets. His sobs turned into wheezing and his panicked mind kept panicking. But by the third set, he realized he wasn't dying.

Not yet, at least.

He forced himself to look Glen in the eyes. That was the only way he could be sure that the 'I know' meant what he believed it meant.

'You wanna kiss me or what, why you're looking at me like that?" He joked.

Why, why was he still joking if he knew? Didn't he realize who Gohan was? What he did do? What he would continue to do?

Glen knew.

Oh, for fuck's sake, he knew.

Gohan was fucked.

So, so fucked.

"Gohan, are you alright? What happened here?"

And there was Bulma. The tone was severely worried and a bit surprised.

Okay, so he fucked up.

However, there was still time, right?

"Is that your friend, why is he bleeding?" Now Bulma made his way to Glen, who still looked way unpreoccupied for Gohan's taste.

How? How are you able to smile like that when you know?

"Turns out West City isn't as safe as I remember, ma'am. Some rascals got me. Ah, but not to worry, the inflammation will go down in a few," he pointed at his eye, then at his nose. "And this was made because I didn't see Gohan stopping in the middle of a hallway."

Talk, you fucking idiot, go and say something, try to have some dignity left in you.

He cleared his throat and force the panic down. This was no moment for panicking or regrets. He would have a serious talk with Glen at some point, but right now, his mission consisted in making Bulma as oblivious as she could be.

You're a pathological liar, you fucking asshoie, you have lied into this, and now you must lie your way out of it.

Glen stood up, clearly in pain by the small wince he gave. Gohan followed suit. "This is Glen, uh, Glen..." and that's when he realized he had never heard Glen say his last name.

"Hayakawa. Glen Hayakawa, at your service."

That seemed to have caught Bulma's attention. She furrowed her eyebrows. "Are you by chance related to Kohei Hayakawa?"

That name, Gohan knew that name. An honest yet stupid man in the political world, or at least that's what Bulma always said. As far as he knew, Kohei Hayakawa was a middle-age man who ran for mayor a couple of years ago for West City on the promise of unmasking the truth of what happened in the Cell Games. He claimed that someone as vain as Hercule Satan couldn't have possibly fought and won against such a monster.

Of course, no one took him seriously, and Hercule's friend became mayor.

Bulma pitied the man while Gohan didn't care much. What happened in the Cell Games was in the past, and with the fanaticism surrounding Hercule Satan, there was no way anyone could accept anything but his version of the story.

Then, the vigilante appeared in Satan City, and suddenly Kohei Hayakawa started to publicly support him, going as far as even saying 'whoever that vigilante is, should get an award, he is doing what Hercule Satan can't help the city'.

"Ah," Glen croaked.

And for the first time since Gohan knew him, he truly looked diffident.

"He's my uncle, ma'am."

Gohan wanted to scream.