The wind was whipping loudly in Vegeta's ears as he hovered damn near lifelessly in the air above the scene of the battle against Cell, who had just been defeated by his own rival's half-breed son. Between the breeze bellowing against his ear drums and his tinnitus ringing profusely, he could hardly hear the words exchanged between his so-called-allies who stood on the ground beneath him.

Kakarot's son lay limp in the rubble while the three Earthlings and the Namekian stood gathered around him. Vegeta's face contorted into a grimace as he heard them chuckling, and making jokes as if they didn't all barely escape death mere moments ago. The one he recognized as Yamcha lifted the tattered boy off the earth and shortly after the tall bald one grabbed Trunks—

Trunks. His lifeless son.

Before his thoughts could proceed any further, the Namekian spoke up towards him. "That was brave, what you did."

Vegeta wiped his own blood off his mouth and frowned at him. "You can save your applause," he growled. He couldn't stand to have the green alien stare at him with what he could only identify as something resembling sympathy with perhaps an ounce of respect lingering in his eyes. "Now, go on. I don't need anybody's help." Though he knew it was a lie, and unfortunately Piccolo knew it too.

Somehow this exchange pleased the Namekian as his expression shifted in amusement. "Your call," he smirked and blasted away, following the Earthlings to the dragon balls.

Alone, he faced his thoughts once again. Defeated and ashamed, Vegeta had never felt weaker in all his Saiyan life. Not when Freiza had killed him, not when Kakarot had surpassed him, not even when he had lay on the ground expecting his life to be extinguished once again along with Gohan and the rest of the Earth. No, this was worse.

He has beaten me completely. First by his own actions, and then through his son's. And what has he left for me here?

Vegeta stared out into the vast wasteland before him, unsure of what was emptier- the scene or himself.

How? How could you die like that? How, Kakarot?

His fists, clenched at his sides, trembled along with his voice. Soon, the action carried throughout his body in an act of betrayal against his will.

I'll never… have the chance…

He fought his emotions- anger, hatred, regret, sorrow, grief- losing the battle once again.

…to prove my strength against you! You died without fear. What does that make of me?

Vegeta, propelled by his despair, began flying in the opposite direction of the other fighters.

I am no warrior, and I will never fight again.

…

He didn't know where he was going. His mind was completely empty save for the image of Kakarot saying goodbye and vanishing with Cell, alternating with the view of Future Trunks being shot with an energy beam and lying lifeless and bloody on the ground afterwards. They replayed endlessly on a torturous loop and he wished for some sort of reprieve.

Led by nothing but his instincts, he suddenly arrived at the only place in his Kami forsaken universe that resembled a home for the prince- the place where he had been given a bed, food, clothing, and even produced the son he was currently grieving (though the present day baby was alive and well.)

His feet touched down on the balcony outside of his bedroom at Capsule Corporation. Grunting, he flung open the sliding glass door and stumbled inside, grasping his side as he suddenly became acutely aware of his injuries. He made it about four steps before he collapsed onto the hardwood floor next to his bed. It was neatly made, in fact nothing in the entire room looked to be out of place. If he hadn't been so distraught already, perhaps he would have taken a moment to ponder if Bulma's mother had told the housekeepers to maintain the place while he was away for months training to become a Super Saiyan.

He did realize, however, as his tailbone hit the floor with a thud and his disheveled head of hair rested against the mattress behind him, how much he missed the place. The sense of relief he felt as he took in a few deep breaths of the air around him, was strange and unfamiliar to say the least. The brief moment of comfort was quickly overshadowed by the pain riddled not throughout his body, but through his heart.

Too exhausted to move, Vegeta continued to rest against the side of his bed, marinating in his blood and sweat. His battle armor that once glistened and gleamed in the sunlight, was now torn and broken into pieces. Where it was once held together with strength and pride, it clung helplessly to his tired body, tattered and stained.

He sat still, pondering over the events of the day- recalling every moment, every mistake with precise detail. He painstakingly remembered losing his battle against the female Android, and then triumphantly winning in his battle against semi-perfect Cell. His grimace turned downwards as he understood with utmost certainty that the move that ultimately cost him what would have been his most glorious win yet, was allowing Cell to absorb the female Android and become Perfect, the monster who nearly destroyed the Earth and Vegeta along with it.

I should have ended him when I had the chance… then, maybe he'd still be alive.

He understood that the older version of his son was likely already being revived by the Earth's dragon balls. However his brows wrinkled in frustration as he recalled the limitations this dragon had when reviving somebody. Unlike the dragon from Namek, Shenron was unable to bring somebody back to life whom he had already revived once before. Unfortunately that included Kakarot.

Why did you have to die?

Vegeta's body began to tremble once again.

Why did you have to steal my glory for the countless time? Why did you have to leave me here alone, and a disgrace to all Saiyans?

His fists pounded the floor beneath him. He hated Kakarot with every fiber of his being. Hated him for besting him all those years ago when Vegeta and Nappa first arrived to this disgusting planet. Hated him for sparing his life, when a true warrior would have saw the battle through and ended it. He hated him for being the first Saiyan in 1,000 years to ascend and become the legendary Super Saiyan- something that was Vegeta's right by birth. And Kakarot, the low-level filth that he was, robbed him of it. He hated him for being so damn selfless and ending his own life, to save not only the people of Earth- but Vegeta as well.

The Saiyan stared down at his hands, bloody and bruised, the fresh drops of salt water falling onto them causing his lacerations to sting. The prince had never been so humiliated in all his life, he wasn't sure he could ever face the world again.

He sat on the frigid floor of the now shadowed room for hours, pondering every decision in his life that had led him to this dark and desolate place. He regretted ever coming to Earth. He should have tried harder to stop Raditz from seeking out his younger brother, after all a low class warrior who hadn't managed to conquer such a docile planet in twenty-some-odd years would certainly have been no use to them. At least, that's what he thought at the time. The Earth could have been pulverized by the Androids or Cell, and he wouldn't have gave a damn.

A commotion coming from a room beneath him finally halted his thoughts in their tracks. It was times like this that he hated his enhanced sense of hearing. Convenient in battle, a curse when all he wanted to do was shut out the world around him.

As he honed in on the noises from below, he identified three voices as Dr. Briefs, his wife, and the loudest of them all was the mother of his child. Accompanied by them was a much softer sound Vegeta had to concentrate to hear, but once he did his expression softened. A few small thumps occurring one, after the other, in an unsteady rhythm, followed by cheers from those around him. Trunks must be taking his first steps, he figured.

Vegeta's previous thoughts were halted by a feeling in his heart he didn't quite recognize, was it pain? Sadness? Images of his violet haired son flashed in his mind, first the infant, and then the adult and he realized what was bubbling inside of him- guilt.

As much as he hated himself for being bested yet again, he realized he also hated himself for how he treated his grown son during the time he knew him. From the second Future Trunks arrived on Earth, he was nothing but hostile towards him. Two years they spent together training in the hyperbolic time chamber and the boy was lucky to receive a passing glance from his father whom he so looked up to.

With great effort, Vegeta pushed himself off of the cold floor, and unsteadily found his footing, mirroring what his son was doing on the level beneath him. He stumbled into the en-suite that accompanied his bedroom and pried off the remainders of his battle armor, allowing it to drop onto the tile floor with a loud thunk. If he had looked into the mirror, his eyes would have fallen on countless lesions and lacerations scattered across his chiseled body. His abdomen conveying the worst of his injuries, the cereulean colored contusions rivaled the cobalt of his battle suit. His dark, ebony eyes were sunken deep into his skull, exposing his exhaustion and desolation. Dark red blood was still seeping from a few of his wounds, the warm maroon drops a stark contrast against the chilling ivory tile beneath his feet.

He reached into the shower and turned the handle as hot as it would allow him. Stepping in, he winced slightly as the heat of the water stung the gashes in his skin. But he could handle the pain. If anything, he craved it. Focusing on the pain of his injuries would allow him to momentarily forget the pain emanating from inside him.

Steam slowly filled the bathroom until Vegeta could hardly see the walls around him. He stood in the scorching hot water, washing away the grime from his battle and the agony from his heart until he could no longer feel anything at all anymore.

Once he was cleaned and his skin thoroughly reddened, he turned off the shower and stepped back into the sauna that had become of his bathroom. He grabbed the nearest towel and dried his unruly black hair before wrapping it around his wounded waist. Squinting in the steam, he searched for the door handle and opened it to the bedroom, instantly flinching at the brisk night breeze coming through his open balcony door.

Too exhausted to take another step, Vegeta made his way to the bed and collapsed into it, not even bothering to put on his clothing that still remained in his dresser drawers. As he laid atop the soft mattress, his battered body was gently illuminated by the moonlight, the breeze cooling his burning skin.

The Saiyan wasn't sure when he fell asleep, his relentless thoughts of the battle muddled into his dreams as he relived every moment of his failures again, and again, and again.