Chapter Thirty-Four
Snow Globe
He remembers the first time he died.
It was loud and bright, the aftershock of his final Kamehameha rippled through the air as it tore through the clouds and burst from the Earth. The relief he had felt as Cell's diabolical Ki disappeared was suddenly marred by sheer agony.
It flooded every part of him as soon as the adrenaline faded, his power falling away as he fell, like it was the only thing keeping him standing.
His life did not flash before his eyes as the stories went. Maybe it was because his life had been so short. Instead, he remembered being cradled by strong arms, telling him something that he couldn't quite hear as he dipped in and out of the darkness.
He remembered someone stroking the hair away from his face in a vain attempt to soothe his pain. He remembered the blurred yet familiar faces all around him, blocking out the blueish hue of light as his attack against the android menace began to dwindle.
There was a face that he didn't see, one that had been there at the beginning of this ruinous battle but was no longer present.
The guilt and regret burned even worse than the pain from his wounds.
He didn't want to think about it, not in his final breaths; albeit haggard and shallow as they were.
But his mind was not kind, not even in death, and as he shook with agony did he remember his father's gentle smile and eyes full of pride before he was gone forever. Nothing but the dust of the northern wastes left in his wake.
It had been his fault. And now, he was left dealing with the consequences of his actions. It was too late. He had been too late.
Faintly, he heard someone sob. Oh how he had wished they wouldn't cry, he didn't deserve to be cried over.
He had barely mustered a whisper of an apology before death had claimed him, even though he knew that it wasn't enough to redeem him. It would never be enough after what he had done.
He had heard the stories of the Otherworld from his father. Great fluffy yellow clouds surrounding a magnificent ancient temple - your first stop on the way to the afterlife. But Gohan's soul never reached the Check-In station, and judgement was never cast. He was never told of what would become of him, whether or not he was destined for the bountiful fields of the upper world or the vile pits of hell.
He would never know. Not even now on the cusp of death again. Dead souls like his that were unlucky enough to die again were not judged, nor sorted, nor truly died. They just … weren't.
So Gohan was confused when he started to feel. Albeit, it was an odd sort of numbing sensation, as though his entire body had been bathed in ice. It was cold, disconnected.
Then slowly, pins and needles started from his feet, which then gave rise to shooting pains running up his legs and spine in tiny jolts of electricity. His body began to tingle, and then without warning it burned.
An an indescribable ache wrapped around him like a thick and heavy blanket, keeping him firmly in place, although his fingers gave an involuntary twitch of pain from where they rested at his sides.
His hearing ebbed and swayed, like waves lapping lazily against a shore. It was quiet, save for the distant low hum that reverberated around the space he was in. A strong smell wafted into his nostrils, an unpleasant mixture of antiseptic and stale blood.
Speaking of which, a coppery taste lingered horribly on his tongue. Dry and irritable, he couldn't find the strength nor will to look for water.
His bare skin brushed against some kind of fabric that felt soft like cotton. He felt it from his chin down to his toes, and he wondered sluggishly if he was naked underneath. Not that he cared much for his modesty right now.
He noticed something irritating nestled within the crook of his left arm, although it was more uncomfortable than painful. It was difficult to breathe any deeper than he was doing so already, even if it was astonishing that he was able to breathe at all. He tried to stretch out his senses, a logical part of his brain desperately trying to break through the fog of pain and delirium. But he found he had not the energy to do so.
Giving up, he creaked open his eyes, only to find his bleary vision assaulted by the harsh sterile light that invaded his pupils. A straggled groan left his throat, wincing as a terrible shooting pain stabbed across his skull.
He thought he heard a frantic scrape of chair legs against a hard floor, but he was too focussed on attempting to open his eyes again.
Doing so even more tentatively this time, his heavy lids drew back slightly to allow him to see. At first he caught sight of a blurry figure hovering above his head, and almost panicked before it quickly began to manifest and take shape.
The palm-tree shaped spikes were all too unmistakable, and faintly, he was reminded of his first dance with death when all he wanted to do was to see that unruly hair and cheery grin as soon as he crossed over to the afterlife.
Funny how things come back full circle.
"D-Dad?" He croaked weakly, as the man's features came fully into focus. Gods, his mouth felt like sandpaper.
"Hey there, kiddo," his father replied softly, smoothing back his hair away from his forehead, the thick callouses on his palm catching his skin. But Gohan didn't mind.
"W-Wha -," he tried, but ended up gasping. What little saliva he had caught in his throat and sent him into an embarrassing frenzy of hacking coughs.
He tried to sit up to avoid choking altogether, and nearly screamed at the pain that coursed through his torso. His father quickly intervened, helping him to sit up just enough so that it wasn't total agony, but just enough for him to down the glass of water that was forcibly pushed against his lips.
The water was glorious. The best thing that he had ever ingested. He gulped at it eagerly and hurriedly motioned for another when the glass was drained within seconds.
Goku wasted no time in filling it up with the jug that he had obtained from who knows where. And obediently continued to until only dregs remained.
Gohan panted, wiping the wetness from his mouth and uncaring of the spillage that had trickled down his bare chest as he was helped back into his pillow.
Silence engulfed them as he continued to breathe heavily, looking up at the bright ceiling as he recovered from his fit. He sighed, licking the excess moisture from his lips as he turned back to his father.
"What happened?" He asked, although he knew it was a stupid question.
He knew exactly what had happened. It was all a ploy, a wretched trick hatched by Zamasu and that monster that called himself his future counterpart.
The thought sickened him.
And now, Zamasu had finally realised his goal and set about unleashing chaos upon the cosmos. It had unleashed in the form of Perses, and worst of all Gohan had been utterly helpless, too weak to stop it all from happening. He had been fatally wounded, almost died all over again, and only the Gods knew what had happened to his comrades - his friends.
Makhai. Bia. I'm so sorry.
He had failed.
Goku's knuckles were white against the handle as he raked his dark eyes over him, "I was hoping that you'd tell me that."
He looked away, a gnawing ache building at the back of his throat and eyes.
"Gohan," his father spoke again. It was soft, quiet.
"Gohan, I thought I had lost you all over again."
He cleared his throat, the dryness returned full force. Still unable to look him in the eye.
"Where are - ?"
"Capsule Corp.," said Goku, swallowing hard and placing the jug back on the counter beside him. "We brought you here after some old geezer found you out in the sticks. He was threatening to call the press about aliens before Vegeta intervened."
Well, at least that explained the golden light, Gohan thought, realising that his father and Vegeta must have sped over to his location Super Saiyan style as soon as they had sensed him enter the atmosphere.
"Think you must have crashed landed, it certainly gave him a good fright," a whisper of an amused smile graced his lips, before it was gone with the moment.
Gohan blew out a haggard breath. All he wanted was to bury his face in his hands and melt into the pillow. But he only found the strength to avoid his father's awaiting stare, and instead gazed out at the room around him.
He was definitely at Capsule Corporation alright, in the medical bay by the looks of things. It was a relatively simple room, housing only four beds and basic medical equipment. It was situated deep within the bowels of the building, near the basement if he remembered rightly. The small windows almost touched the ceiling, shielding most of the bay from view of the outside world. Although, he could see a soft billowing of snow, almost purplish in colour, drifting past rapidly outside.
The clinical, whitewashed walls were adorned with pristine white cabinets that were filled with medical supplies. It was only used if there was a lab accident at Capsule Corp. headquarters, or if one of the Z-Fighter's needed a quick patching up that wasn't serious enough to require a senzu bean or Dende's healing hands.
Speaking of which, he wasn't the only person occupying a bed space.
Dende's sleeping form sat across from him, propped up on fluffy pillows with a starched-pressed sheet pulled up to his chin. He looked exhausted, his green skin sickly in colour.
"I grabbed Dende as soon as we got you here," his father explained, following his concerned stare, "He tried to heal ya up but he had to stop and rest. You've had a few rounds of healing now, you were -."
Goku stopped short, his breath hitched, "You were really hurt. We even used our last few senzu beans but… well, it didn't work. We figured that maybe they didn't work on Gods."
"That's stupid," said Gohan, finally tearing his eyes away from his Namekian friend.
"Hey now," his father griped sternly, "How am I supposed to know how this God thing works -?"
"No not that," he snapped, guilt quickly warped into anger, "You shouldn't have used your last senzu on ME! You might need them! If Perses - !"
"What?" Goku demanded, "If Perses what Gohan?"
But he was silent, suddenly incapacitated as a searing heat ripped right through his abdomen. His eyes bulged as he screamed in agony, unable to stop the stark crimson blood that spewed from his mouth. It cascaded from in-between his fingers as he tried to contain it, splattering against the white sheets its garish red.
His father swore loudly, "Hey! HEY! WE NEED HELP IN HERE!"
The pain threatened to tear him apart, it was excruciating. He barely registered the emergency klaxon as what seemed like dozens of bodies flooded the room.
The slick bloodied sheets were pulled right off of him, and several startled gasped sounded. He could feel his limbs being pulled and tugged in opposite directions, as flashes of white coats floated in and out like ghosts. He tried to bat them away weakly, pulling out the IV in his arm in the process when someone prized open his eyelid and shone a bright light directly into his pupils.
His fists were quickly caught in a vice grip. A gruff voice ordering him to calm down, but as darkness took over his vision, he couldn't make out who it was.
No, please… it hurts…
"It's okay son, it's okay -. " His father tried to soothe him, but his voice broke immediately, giving way to his panic.
More blood came, commanding him to give in - but he wouldn't. A mesh of frenzied voices eclipsed him as more forceful hands struggled to hold him down.
Stop… stop, please…
Delirium welcomed him into its inviting embrace. He was so cold. Like he was made of ice.
Then suddenly, fire.
"Dende no! Your body will give out!" A frantic cry bellowed.
"I've rested enough!" He distantly heard Dende argue, "I have to help Gohan!"
"He's bleeding internally…"
"Magic or medicine we have to do something!"
"We're transfusing the eighth unit of blood now, Doctor."
"He needs intensive care in a larger facility, we simply don't have the equipment - ."
"Then I'll get it," said Bulma, "I'll get you whatever you need, but he stays here."
"His wounds just keep reopening, what the hell was that spear made of?"
"We'll have to operate to remove his spleen, can you consent Mister and Mrs Son?"
The voices sounded off in rapid succession, one after the other. He felt as though he was hearing everything in fast-forward, each sentence moulding together so that a permanent murmur hummed in his brain.
There was a clap of thunder, a crash - something - he wasn't sure. But it was loud and booming, thrashing against his subconscious.
Clawed hands snaked around his neck, choking him as long probing fingers plunged down his throat. They squeezed at his lungs, causing them to burn. He couldn't breathe.
I can't breathe.
"Why didn't you save me?!" Bia cried, her glowing golden eyes burst from the darkness, "Save us?!"
There was a gaping hole in her chest. Dried blood caked her mouth, neck and torso; her once snow white skin a ghastly shade of grey.
"… chest drain… pneumothorax…"
"You were too late," she spoke again, angry tears falling, "You were too late, Gohan."
"B-Bia," he groaned weakly, "I'm s-so s-sorry… p-please don't g-go - "
"Morphine, stat."
"Gohan, help!" Makai's desperate voice echoed around him, a devastating violet glow slashing around him.
The lights flickered with a sparking surge of energy.
"Damn it, sedate him! NOW!"
No… no more drugs… I can't… think straight…
"YOU HAVE TO SURVIVE!" Kratos bellowed at him. And wake up.
"He's hallucinating… the fever…"
"It's only a matter of time," smirked Black, identical eyes filled with so much intent, "Your end is nigh … Son Gohan can you hear me… and you will soon give in unto me."
Stop, make it STOP!
Where his dreams ended and reality began he had no idea. He had no way of finding his consciousness in this hellscape, and all he could do was succumb to this nightmare. He was trapped.
"Hang in …, kid. We all need … the relic…"
Piccolo… they're trying to kill me…
SoN gOhAn.
Come out, come out.
dEsTrOyEr…
"WHERE IS THE RELIC?!"
Gohan started upright, panting and gasping for air. His fists clutched tightly at the mass of blankets strewn over him, finding himself nestled in bed in the medical bay.
His breath relaxed, his senses on high alert but could feel no immediate danger. He was relieved to find that the room was devoid of doctors, or anyone else for that matter. It was dark, still, with only a dim light emitting from a small window no one had bothered to close.
It was still snowing out, a strange violet glare sweeping across the sterile floors towards him. His keen ears detected the sound of West City traffic humming along outside, yet this told him nothing of the time of day, for it was the city that never slept.
He was certain it was the middle of the night, judging by how dark it was, perhaps close to dawn. He couldn't hear any of the usual hustle and bustle that filled the corridors of Capsule Corp., and no one had rushed in as soon as he had woken - not even his father.
For that he was thankful. He needed some time to himself for now. To process… well, everything before he could figure out what in gracious hell he was going to do.
And Kratos had only gone and sent him back to Earth for goodness sake. How did the big idiot think THAT was going to help any?!
Still, he couldn't, shouldn't be mad. Kratos and the others had risked everything to save him.
Makhai... Bia...
He sighed heavily, attempting to quell the dark thoughts that plagued his mind. Glancing down, he noticed the heavy weft of bandages wrapped around in his upper abdomen. He tentatively brushed his fingers over the gauze, pleased to find that it didn't feel anywhere near as painful as before - albeit, still sore.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Gohan tugged at the bandages until they came apart to reveal a long diagonal line of surgical sutures on the left side. He blinked, running a finger over the bumpy grooves of inflamed flesh, hissing a little when it stung.
He was in the middle of a silent funeral for his spleen, when the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing reached his ears.
The door to the right of him swung open to reveal Krillin, drying off his hands on his trousers as he walked out of the bathroom. He stopped suddenly when he caught sight of Gohan - who now resembled a deer in headlights - and gave him a pointed look.
"Bulma is going to be so pissed if you manage to rip open your stitches again."
Gohan cleared his throat, "I was just -."
He looked amused. "Just what?"
"… Looking."
"Ever heard the phrase 'look with your eyes, not with your hands'?"
"Nope."
"'Course not," Krillin chuckled. Ignoring the chair beside him, he perched himself on the end of his bed instead.
Gohan welcomed the weight that dipped the thin hospital-issue mattress out of place. It was silent for a few moments, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Somehow, over the years, he had forgotten just how at ease his father's best friend made him feel.
Even now, as he looked at him with awaiting eyes, he didn't pressure him to speak first. And Gohan was grateful, for at this moment, he would rather not admit to anything that had transpired since the last time he was on Earth.
Warmly, he remembered the long and arduous trip to Planet Namek, when his father had been gravely injured and Piccolo and their friends had all been slain in battle. He was so young back then, but had felt so much responsibility. If he hadn't been so scared to face Nappa, if he had only been stronger, then maybe they wouldn't have died.
Mister Piccolo wouldn't have died.
It was a heck of a lot for a five year old to come to terms with, and Krillin had seen that he was struggling. He couldn't keep his emotions in check - the utter rage - towards himself. And after he had broken his bed, two chairs and a heck of a lot of crockery, Bulma was starting to get fed up with him.
He hadn't seen it at the time, but Krillin had known exactly what to do to help, and was there for him when no one else could be. And he didn't do it by words, for words were not what the boy needed.
Krillin instead introduced him to image training. They would spend hours upon hours within the depths of their minds, duking it out until Gohan could focus on something else other than grief, other than anger. And it worked. Similarly, if Gohan didn't feel like training that day, Krillin would brush it off without making him feel bad. There was 'no pressure kiddo' as it were, and they would dig out an educational board game his mother had packed to pass the time instead.
"So uh," Krillin began, "You missed your mum threaten your dad with the garden hose earlier."
"I did?"
"Yup," he smiled, "Your dad hasn't left your side for days, she threatened to hose him down herself because he was stinking up the place. The big-wig doctor Bulma got in nearly quarantined him just so he would take a shower. He only agreed to go and get some sleep because I offered to stay here tonight."
Gohan snorted, until dread filled him, "Wait, days? I've been back on Earth for DAYS?!"
Krillin shook his head, giving him a grim expression, "Gohan, you've been here for almost two weeks… mostly unconscious…but yeah…"
He felt sick. "T-Two… weeks?!"
This wasn't right. It didn't add up. Perses was free, they should all be dead - obliterated by now. Better yet, why hadn't anyone come for him?! Whis? Lord Beerus, even?! Had they all been - ?!
Bile rose in his throat, and he vomited just in time for Krillin to shove a stray kidney dish under his chin. He wretched violently, acid burning at his throat and nostrils as he rubbed his back in a soothing motion.
Cold sweat lingered on his brow when he had finished, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He viciously wiped at his mouth with his sheets, before throwing them off so suddenly that he nearly flung Krillin off with them.
"I-I have to go," he mustered, swinging his legs from the bed.
"Woahhhhh!" Krillin started, both hands on his shoulders now, ready to force him back down, "You're not going anywhere! Your fever only just broke this morning!"
"I feel fine Krillin," he implored, as he attempted to stand, but immediately lost his balance.
Krillin caught him with ease, rolling his eyes as he did so, "Oh yeah, perfectly fine kiddo. Now get your butt back in bed before your mother slaughters me."
"Better her than Perses," Gohan grumbled, wincing in pain and begrudgingly allowing himself to be tucked back into bed.
He opened his eyes fully, only to meet Krillin's grave expression.
"What did you say?" He pressed, realisation dawning, "G-Gohan, was he the one that did this to you?"
Gohan bowed his head, he was in no fit mental state to confirm his suspicions out loud.
"W-We had a haunch," Krillin swallowed hard, "We all felt something, something down right unholy. That, and the solar system felt like it was about to implode. Your dad nearly used instant transmission and stepped in and, well, King Kai put a stop to that but -."
He was waffling, and Gohan couldn't bring himself to look at him. It was evident that his friends and family had come to their own conclusion long before he had crash landed back on Earth. And how could they not have done? What with such diabolical power being thrown around but a short distance from the planet, his own power included.
Just how Perses had managed to escape, and what had transpired surrounding the resurrection of the ultimate embodiment of evil, well, he would keep that to himself. For now at least.
His physical wounds barely scratched the surface if he was being honest with himself.
"That spear… what it did to you…," Krillin continued, pale, "I mean, Dende could barely heal you and … Gohan, what the hell happened out there?"
"I…," He tried, "I'd rather not get into it now, Krillin."
He balked, "You're kidding, right? After everything - Gohan - we need you to - !"
The doors to the medical bay slid open with a mechanical beep, cutting Krillin off mid-sentence. For in waltzed in Bulma, her high heels clicking as she made her way into the room.
She yawned widely, grasping two mugs of steaming hot coffee in one hand and a file of notes in the other. She was dressed in a pair of overalls with a lab coat thrown over the top, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as she dumped the file on the counter.
"Here, Krillin," she mustered, stifling another yawn, "Figured you could use some coffee after playing Nurse all night -."
Bulma stopped short, her eyes landing on Gohan.
"Oh shit!" She gasped, slopping coffee all over the clean tiles and clutching her hand to her chest, "Damn it, Gohan, you scared me!"
Before he could speak, however, she had already thundered towards them and walloped Krillin over the head, "Why didn't you come to get me the second he woke up?!"
"Hey, the kid's been through a lot these past few days!" Krillin protested, rubbing his head, "I thought he could use a break before you got those stab-happy doctors of yours back in here - !"
Bulma rolled her eyes, "They're just doing their jobs Krillin. Just because you and Goku don't understand Western medicine doesn't mean that it's wrong. Besides, they've been dealing with you guys for years, not a lot phases them anymore. Doctor Chiron and his team are the best the business - and they can keep a secret."
Krillin scoffed. "Dende did most of the work for them."
"Yeah, when he wasn't half-dead himself."
Gohan cleared his throat, "I'm still here, you know."
"Barely," said Bulma, turning her stern gaze towards him, "Do you know just how hard it is to keep a dead man alive?!"
He was too afraid to open his mouth for fear of her wrath.
Bulma sighed, smoothing a hand over her stomach, that looked a fair bit bigger than when he had last seen her.
Was she -?
His eyes widened, he wasn't expecting Bulma and Vegeta to have another kid. Come to think of it, just how long had it been since he was last on Earth? Months? Years? If that was indeed the case, it was all too possible that he was… Videl had…
A sharp and unpleasant twang shot through his gut, and he suddenly felt as though he was going to be sick again.
"Are you okay?" Bulma asked, her anger dissipating almost immediately as she placed her palm to his forehead, "You feel a little clammy. Maybe I should call Doctor Chiron back in to take another look at you -."
"N-No," said Gohan, inching away from her, "I'm fine. I just want to sleep."
Her nostrils flared at his defiance, breathing out, "You can't avoid it, you know."
"Avoid what?" He challenged, as Krillin piped up uneasily.
"We should probably tell your dad you're up, he's been so worried," he told him, "Maybe… maybe it would be easier to fill us in on what happened all together?"
"Weren't you the one that said I needed a break?" Gohan asked in annoyance.
Krillin doubled down, "Well… I meant from all the scalpels and needles -."
He laughed darkly, "There's a difference?"
"We just want to help Gohan," Bulma said firmly, frowning at him, "You don't have to do this alone."
"I just want to sleep," he stated, before adding a rather haughty "Please."
Krillin opened his mouth to protest, when Bulma grabbed him by the collar, "You heard him. Come on, Krillin."
"But - !"
"We're here when you're ready, Gohan," she said again, and stiffly pulled the off-white curtains around his bed without another word.
Gohan was left staring at the flimsy wall of fabric, the sound of footsteps retreating back down the hall before the automatic doors slid shut behind them.
He groaned, grabbing thick tufts of his hair before flopping back onto the bed.
The springs creaked as his head hit the pillow, and Gohan scolded himself for being brattish towards them.
His father wasn't the only one that wanted him to open up, it appeared. But how could he admit to his failings when he hadn't even come to terms with it himself? He supposed he did owe them an explanation at least, especially for the state he had landed back here in.
But he didn't want to be here in the first place!
It was a mess. He was a mess, and he wasn't just talking about the sorry state of his insides either.
He needed to know what was happening out there. What had happened to his friends? The Gods? Had Perses and his puppets Destroyed them all or were they just biding their time for something much worse?
Gohan hit his palm against his head, this was so frustrating. And he didn't even have the strength to stand up. Some future God of Destruction he was.
He didn't need his dad right now, despite what Bulma and Krillin thought. He understood that they were worried, especially since that whole fiasco at Bulma's birthday party. But he felt smothered, he was certainly not a kid anymore and he didn't need to be coddled. He needed Dende to heal him back up to a reasonable strength and get back to the Destroyer's world.
He needed answers. And a plan.
Gohan had no idea how long he had lay there in silence, his dark eyes burning a hole into the ceiling. He could see a harsh glare of sunlight peaking through the small gaps in the curtains, and before long footsteps and dull noises coming from the upper levels.
His head perked up, as he heard a clatter nearby. Rapid feet were headed this way, a brazen shout carrying off down the corridor adjacent to the medical bay. A rush of feet pelted against the tiled floor, the automatic doors sliding open in a sudden beep whoooooosh.
Gohan was already sitting bolt upright by the time his curtains fluttered, and a short figure slipped easily in through the gap in the pleats.
Certainly not foe, he observed, staring at the little intruder. If they were, they wouldn't have made it past the threshold - whether he could stand up or not.
His steely resolve faltered, as the child stared right back at him. Dark eyes contrasting brilliantly with the white snowsuit they were wearing, which made them look like they had been stuffed inside a large marshmallow.
A bright pink scarf wound warmly around their neck, covering their mouth right up to their button nose, which was tinged red from the cold outside. Matching pink boots, adorned with cartoon animals, stuck out from the bottom of the snowsuit. The boots were wet, droplets of melted snow having trudged a line of little footprints over the floor.
Those eyes continued to stare at him from underneath a white hood, the curiosity evident from within their depths.
Gohan forgot how to breathe. His stomach dropped. A strange mixture of nervousness and excitement clutching at his chest.
Could it be?
"Uh, hi," he started awkwardly, feeling stupid. He had no idea what to say.
"I knew it was you," said the girl, cocking her head to one side.
Gohan was surprised, "You did?"
"Yep," she said matter-of-factly, as though it was obvious, "But you know what grown ups are like, they think kids are too little to help with stuff."
His lips twitched in amusement as she clapped her hands together, her gloves creating a dull sound as she did so.
"Will you come out and play in the snow with us when you're all better?"
"Um… well," he struggled, the nerves causing his voice to come up hoarse, "I-I suppose, if you want me too?"
"Duh," she giggled, before looking a little sheepish, "I mean, if my mum and dad let me."
Wait, what?
"Marron!"
The curtains were swiftly yanked back, startling them both. The girl almost jumped a mile, her hood falling back to reveal bright blonde pigtails.
Gohan felt his soul leave him all over again. Of course it was Marron, how did he not realise - ? But she was so wrapped up he could have sworn that - !
He wheezed, lungs suddenly empty of air as he stupidly kept forgetting how to breathe.
He turned away from Marron and her mother for want of them not being subjected to the embarrassing coughing fit that followed. And doubled over in an attempt to ease the pain that burned in his abdomen from the exertion.
Eighteen, thankfully, paid him no mind as she addressed her daughter, "I told you not to come near here."
As Gohan quickly reached for the glass of water on the bedside table next to him, he couldn't help but detect the relief in her tone. It was subtle, but definitely there.
"I know Mummy," said Marron, "But when Daddy said Gohan was awake I wanted to ask him if he would come and play outside! You said you would, didn't ya Gohan? When you were all better?"
He nodded over his glass in response.
Fuck, he was shaking.
Eighteen's icy blue stare surveyed him for a moment too long.
"Why don't you go and finish that snowball fight with Trunks?" She said, tousling Marron's hair with her fingers before pulling her hood back over her head. Securing it in place.
"'kay!" Marron beamed, giving them a quick wave before bounding away, "Get better soon Gohaaaaaaan!"
The doors slid shut behind her. Gohan let out a shuddering breath, dragging his fingers over his face before resting his head in his hands.
"Bothering you, was she?" Eighteen challenged lowly.
"N-No, I -," he sighed again, his voice muffled against his palms, "I-It's just… for a moment there I -."
He didn't know Eighteen all that well, he had only met her once before he had died. And that was only when he had walloped Cell so hard that she had been expelled from deep within the wicked android's very being. And Gohan didn't exactly mean for that to happen.
His confession tumbled from his lips before he could stop it. "I thought she was mine."
"You haven't been gone that long," Eighteen paused, but her gaze did not soften, "Videl is due any day now."
That made him look up, but he choked on his words.
"She's been here," she told him, as if reading his mind. "But she didn't stick around."
His mind raced with a million questions, but Eighteen had already started to walk away.
"Good to see you're awake," she said, and then she was gone.
He barely saw anyone for the rest of the day. Left alone with his own damning thoughts.
He willed himself to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he was met with the haunted images of battle. The frantic cries of his friends rang so clearly in his mind it was impossible to ignore.
The memory of Bia's body evaporating into nothingness played vividly on repeat. Makhai's shoulder splintering apart, his warm blood splattering across Gohan's face as his chest cavity exploded. The deadly glow of Black's scythe casting shadows in his mind. Zamasu's cruel laughter as the heavens cracked open, rang in his ears in a dreadful echo. The stark reminder of Perses' chilling Ki caused his senses to ache, as though pleading with him to forget. He found himself in a cold sweat whenever his thoughts dared to go back there.
Bulma came in at one point with an offering of food and company. But Gohan didn't feel like neither.
"Suit yourself then." The tray bounced on the bed, yoghurt splashed and the faint aroma of peaches tickled his nostrils.
She didn't bother to come back. It was just as well, as he probably would have gotten an earful for leaving it untouched.
He buried himself amongst his blankets, tossing and turning so much that he wound up in a rather stuffy cocoon. The day dragged on hopelessly, but Gohan was stubborn enough to stay bundled up in his self-inflicted solitude til the cows came home.
He gave up on getting to sleep after a while, grabbing the the TV remote at the foot of his bed with a bit more effort than he was willing to admit.
The harsh glare of the television screen was stark against the plain white walls. A part of him wished that GodTube - the Divine broadcasting network - extended this far to Earth, as at least he would have some idea of what was going on in the rest of the universe, some inkling as to why they weren't all space dust yet.
But no, all the news channel offered him was numerous reports on the twelve-day long blizzard of purplish snow that had swept the planet, an interview with astronomers debating the mysterious reappearance and subsequent explosion of Mars and some bit about a squirrel that had learned to ski.
He started to regret not eating when he had the chance, as his stomach began to grumble in protest. The meal having grown cold and stale after been exposed to the stuffy air after a while.
His father crept in after a few hours, but Gohan pretended to be asleep. Whether Goku brought it or not he wasn't sure, it had never worked back when he was a kid. He didn't say a word as he gently ruffled his bangs, though he left the TV blaring as he left shortly after.
Gohan sighed heavily, sitting up as he felt his father's Ki retreat back down the corridor.
What the hell was he doing?
Anger filled him without warning. He tore himself free of blankets and made another hasty attempt at standing.
It was too much too soon, and he toppled into the bedside table, his knees knocking together as he struggled to hold himself up. His stitches stretched, painfully taught and burning unforgivingly.
Gods, this was ridiculous. He was barely a challenge for a stiff breeze at this point.
What use was he to anyone? Even if he did manage to heal up and find his way back to the realm of Gods, he would no doubt have to face the Divine Council and try to explain not only how he had failed to bring Zamasu to justice, that he was now immortal, Perses had escaped and murdered all his comrades, and there was an evil future version of himself cosying up to them too?
Still, he would rather face them than his family and friends right now - he didn't exactly last leave Earth on the best of terms. And that's if the Council were even still alive…
He lunged at the TV remote with a snarl, chucking it hard across the room out of frustration.
CRASH!
The TV set spluttered and sparked, spewing a small burst of smoke outwards as the remote became embedded into the screen.
Gohan watched as the monitor - bracket and all - came crashing down into a pitiful heap, still smoking. The fire alarm sounded in rapid succession, shrieking harshly against his eardrums as the sprinklers activated.
Immediately drenched, Gohan let out an almighty yell of anguish and aimed a kick at a nearby chair. It was a bad move, for he promptly lost his balance and slipped. His arm outstretched to catch his fall, but he accidentally ended up grabbing hold of his bed curtains.
His back slammed hard onto the sopping wet ground, the synchronous ping! of the curtain sheering off the railing following suit and landing unceremoniously on top of him.
Beep.
He groaned. The sound of that damned door was going to haunt him.
"Gohan! Are you alright?!"
Couldn't they just leave him to drown?
"G-Gohan?!" His father called again, hovering over him.
"Kill it."
"W-What?!" Goku was suddenly in attack mode, "Kill what?!"
"The alarm," Gohan grumbled from his soggy prison, he could just about make out his shadow through the pile of flimsy fabric. "The alarm, Dad."
He was more forceful this time, and thankfully his father caught on. There was a lot of fumbling, before Goku finally managed to find the cease and desist switch.
His ears were still ringing from the onslaught of sound, as Goku's shadow reappeared again.
"What happened?"
"Is the question of the day," Gohan said with a roll of his eyes.
Even though his father couldn't see his face, he was certain he knew what he did.
"I meant how did you get out of bed?" He replied in a clipped tone, though he was concerned, "You shouldn't be getting out alone, you could tear your stitches."
It was then did Gohan notice the warm trickle of blood escaping his side.
"Uh, I think I might have," he admitted, a little less boldly.
Goku sighed, he sounded exhausted, "You need to get up, son. Here, let me help -."
"No," said Gohan, "I can do it myself."
"… but you haven't moved."
"I like it here."
His father snorted in disbelief, "The floor is wet, the last thing you need is a cold."
Gohan didn't respond. A painful silence stretching between them.
The seconds ticked by, and he thought for a moment he had left, no longer able to see his shadow. The bedsprings creaked and groaned, as his father sighed again.
"You can't do this alone," he tried, and Gohan was certain he wasn't just talking about his current predicament.
More silence from the floor, as a rouge sprinkler let out a delayed sputter of water.
"Are you going to stop being stubborn any time soon?"
"No."
Goku walked right into that one. "You know, it's scary just how much I see your mum in you sometimes."
The mention of his mother caused his chest to ache. Mum…
He hadn't seen her since Bulma's birthday cruise, which was just the start of everything going to shit in his opinion.
Her desperate shouts carried across the ship towards him - the only one to try and stop Whis and Lord Beerus from wrenching him away from Earth for the last time. Hurt and longing shone in her eyes as she broke free of the group, her feet pounding at the splintered wooden deck as she raced forward. But she was too late.
He had disappointed her more than he ever had done so before. She didn't want to lose him again, but the truth was that she had lost him a long time ago.
He had told his father as such, the last time they had really spoken before all of … this. For everything the man Goku thought he would be had fallen apart right in front of him.
Gohan was no longer the gentle child he had raised, even though he knew all too well of the beast that crawled just underneath his skin. That beast had been forced - kicking and screaming at first - to the surface, and Gohan had no choice but to embrace it.
His Divine training moulded the two together until they became one and the same, shaping the boy into a man that was unrecognisable to his father.
The deception was black and poisonous, and had infected everything he had touched when he had gotten back to Earth in search for the Super Saiyan God. But as much as Gohan tried to spare them, tried so desperately to save them from the truth, he could do nothing to break the cycle of disappointment and misery that he had inflicted on his family and friends since the Cell Games.
"This isn't you Gohan… US! The Gohan I know would never -!"
"Well the Gohan you know is DEAD!"
The horror that had engulfed his father in that moment was almost palpable in the air, as Gohan's words had rung cruelly over the ship like sanctus bells of damnation.
Hot tears of frustration prickled angrily, as much as he fought to quell them. And he was suddenly grateful of the mass of fabric shielding him from his father's gaze.
At first, he never wanted to let them go, he never wanted to give them up. He had buried his doubts deep long ago, only for them to be dug up and resurrected again after nearly a decade of dormancy.
He had lost his way on his visit back to Earth, and had started to convince himself that he actually belonged. He wished so badly for it to be true, so he made it true. And the consequences of just what he had left behind had sent his mind spiralling back into despair.
Yet Gohan had been given clarity since that dreadful day on the ship, mainly due to the profanity-filled lectures given to him by Grandpa Bardock in HFIL. And he realised, in time, that he had vowed to be something more in death than he had been in life.
He had stared this journey with stars in his eyes and the universe at his feet, and he couldn't forget that feeling. If he did, he feared that he would lose sight of himself, and his goal. Without it, there wasn't a shred of hope left against Perses, or for the future of the seventh universe.
He wanted - no needed to make peace with that once and for all, with himself. For the right reasons. He just wished that his father and the others could see it that way, but he doubted that they ever would.
At least Piccolo had understood, he had told him so several times during his short stint back on Earth. Although, he thought, a seed of worry creeping into his mind, he hadn't seen his old mentor at all since he had woken up.
"When are you going to start being straight with me, Gohan?"
He sucked in a breath, his father's voice was hollow, not even attempting to hide his disappointment.
Again, Gohan was quiet. But this time, Goku didn't let up.
"You know, I didn't raise you to lie."
"You didn't raise me at all." He fired the words out into the open without thinking, where they no doubt slapped his father in the face.
Gohan immediately felt horrible, and followed up quickly, "I-I mean, I didn't mean that. Not like that. It's just, you … you barely know me anymore."
"I tried, Gohan," said Goku, hoarse, but determined. "I tried so hard when you came back, I gave you every opportunity to open up, to get to know you, but you -."
"I know, I lied," he willingly admitted, holding his ground as much as he was able to lying on his back, "But do you see now why I kept it from you? You wouldn't have understood if I told you that I was a Destroyer when I first came back to Earth, you still don't understand!"
"It would have been better than lying," he told him, standing by his morals indefinitely, "If you had just told me, then I could have -!"
"Could have what, Dad?" Gohan scoffed, "Stopped me? It's already done, and I can't change it. Better yet, I don't want to change it. I wished you understood, but you know what? It doesn't matter whether you accept it or not, my mind was made up a long time ago."
"But Gohan -."
"I can't go back on my word. YOU were the one who taught me that, remember?" He was angry now, "Not to mention we're talking about Divine rules here."
Goku snorted dubiously, "You mean those same rules you ignored when it came to what you were getting up to with Videl?"
The atmosphere sparked with a dangerous charge, and if Gohan wasn't stranded on the floor then he would have punched his father straight in the face for that one.
"I'm sorry," Goku apologised after a beat of heavy silence, his tone somber, "That wasn't fair. I know how you felt about her -."
Gohan shut it down before it began. "Dad, out of everything, I especially don't want to talk about that."
He paused, "Aren't you even going to allow yourself that much?"
His throat ran dry, "I have a job to do. I have to put the universe first, above everything."
The bedsprings squeaked, as Goku shifted uncomfortably.
"But at what cost?" He asked, catching Gohan off guard.
"What?"
"Hear me out for once, okay?" His father pressed, although he continued without waiting for him to protest, "You were never meant to die Gohan. I sacrificed myself against Cell all those years ago so that you wouldn't have to."
Gohan had no idea what he was getting at. Hadn't they been over this the last time he was on Earth? He had already told his father that he shouldn't blame himself for his death. He understood why he had pitted him against Cell.
"What I'm trying to say is that it was my fight from the start," he continued, "The Red Ribbon Army, Doctor Gero, the androids, everything. Trust me, if I had achieved what you had in the Time Chamber, then you wouldn't have so much as set one foot in that ring."
Goku sucked in a breath, "I never felt your life energy disappear from the Check-In Station, but I felt Cell's shatter. I hadn't realised what had happened at first, I was so proud of you for saving the world. And when your soul was just … gone, I had no idea what to do. Because this wasn't how it was meant to be. And after all those years, when I finally saw you again, I was just so happy to see you that I didn't think much about what you were burdened with, what you might have gone through. But seeing you so strong and capable - confident, seeing you with your friends… I knew that you must have been alright, that you hadn't felt abandoned or scared, or winded up trapped someplace terrible."
"Dad, I wasn't - ."
"W-When it all came out… all this, you being the successor to a God of Destruction," he stopped short, gathering himself. That had been difficult for him to admit out loud. "I finally stopped to think about the kind of afterlife you'd had, you know, the things you've experienced - done. I-I know you chose to do this, and I can't deny just how powerful and skilled you've become..."
He was surprised, when his father let out a small chuckle, "If I'm honest, it's a liiiiittle intimidating. But for once, it's not just about power, is it?"
Gohan clenched his jaw tight. Again, Goku didn't wait for him to respond.
"I might not agree with all this, in fact I don't agree with it," he said, shifting through his own thoughts, "I-I think I can understand why you signed up for this role, your reasoning - I think. But did you ever stop and think? And I mean really think of what this all means for you?"
"Of course I did," said Gohan, he got straight to the point, as harsh as it sounded. There was no use tip-toeing around the subject anymore, "There's reasoning behind every Destruction. Every person, world, galaxy… and yes galaxies, Dad. It not just a case of running around the universe blowing things up when I feel like it. There's politics, paperwork, sanctions - the whole shebang. It's actually a lot more complicated than you think. The balance of the universe is constantly under threat and well, the Kais aren't exactly known for being expert mediators."
He paused, letting his father absorb.
"Look, I know you must think that Whis groomed me or something, but I didn't get chosen for the role of Junior Destroyer for like three or four years - I can't remember exactly," he added, "In that time, I could have dropped out whenever I felt like it. I could have asked to come home anytime and be wished back to life, but I didn't. So yeah, believe me, I had a hell of a lot of time to think."
The cards were on the table, the veil between them somehow making it easier for Gohan to talk. He felt an odd sense of relief when he had finished, but his father was uncomfortably quiet.
"You… you were just so little when you died," Goku was listless, "I didn't want this for you, Gohan. You never got to experience all of the good stuff in life, and I s'pose that I'm afraid that all you're ever going to see on this path is darkness."
"I want to fix this," said Gohan, defiant, "I want to, no need to find a way to put a stop to Perses and his plans somehow. Then the universe will be okay, and everyone here will be safe and happy."
"And you?" Goku pressed, the bedsprings whined again as he leaned closer, "What about you - your happiness, when all of this Perses stuff is over?"
Gohan couldn't help it, he laughed.
His father was bewildered, "What's so funny?"
Gods, it hurt to laugh.
"I-It's not… it's not funny," he mustered, dragging in air between laughs, tears stinging at his eyes, "I forget how optimistic you are, you really believe that I can win this, don't you? Even after seeing me being turned into a bloodied skewer."
"You're right, it's not funny," Goku said seriously, and Gohan's derisive laugher ceased, "I still have a lot of faith in you. But I also think that you're worth more than what you can give for others, son. You deserve to live too, and I mean really live."
The soggy curtains felt heavier than before. He didn't need a reminder of all that was broken, he'd rather his father not try to fix what he'd rather forget - what could never be.
Yet even at a time like this, his father was disgustingly hopeful. And he thought he got his stubbornness from his mother.
"It's better this way," said Gohan, Goku's shadow was hovering over him now from above. "I'm in this for the long haul, don't forget."
"I know," he responded sadly, "But that doesn't mean that you're above mortal help when you need it."
He tried to pass if off as a joke, but it fell flat.
Silenced stretched between them once more.
"So, should I get Vegeta in here to help me pick you up or…?"
"Absolutely not," Gohan retorted, he doubted he would hear the end of it if he did. And his father knew it too.
Goku chuckled, although he wasn't close to his usual cheery self and Gohan tried to ignore how bloodshot his eyes were as he finally freed him from the dripping wet fabric.
Bundling him up in a towel much like a fragile newborn, Gohan allowed his father's strong arms to pick him up and place him in a chair whilst he changed his sheets. He rummaged through one of the medicine cabinets before he started, passing him some sterile gauze and instructing him to apply pressure where a couple of his sutures had popped open.
He disappeared momentarily, pressing two fingers to his forehead and reappearing moments later with one of Gohan's frazzled doctors, and asked if he would be so kind as to stitch him back up. Not that he gave the poor man much of a choice after kidnapping him via instant transmission. Gohan wasn't surprised when Goku swiftly made his exit soon after, turning green as the suture kit came out.
The doctor explained that he was one of Doctor Chiron's team, the consultant who had been overseeing his medical care. He didn't look much older than he did, he observed, his fingers shaking as he sewed his skin back together with reinforced needle and thread.
Apparently it and most of the equipment needed to keep him from the brink of death again was something designed by Capsule Corporation's medical devices department. The department was only a few years old, and a seemingly new venture for the company in order to design and make more durable equipment to service more er… unconventional patients.
Though Gohan surmised that it wasn't such a bad idea what with his father and Vegeta's Super Saiyan spars, and would be helpful if they were out of senzu beans or Dende was otherwise engaged.
Speaking of Dende, he hoped that he would be paying him a visit soon. Alas, his last healing session must have taken a lot out of him, for he still hadn't heard a but a whisper of when he would be back.
It was the next day before Gohan managed to find the strength to drag himself the bathroom.
Forty-seven minutes.
He counted forty-seven minutes to complete the entire process, including the agonising trip there and back.
He was absolutely bursting by the time he had reached the porcelain throne, and he could have sworn that a choir of baby angels sang a holy chorus when he finally made it.
There was a walk-in shower that would have been equally as glorious to use, but he would rather stink before his dad would no doubt have to pick his pathetic naked ass up off the wet room floor. He was already humiliated enough from yesterday.
'The Big Freeze' was a regular phrase he had come familiar with on the third day. Bulma, after chewing him out for destroying the television set, finally relented and let him have an ancient analogue radio in his room.
It was crackly and the antenna didn't quite stay in place, but Gohan could make out the news reports through the static. The snow had not relented, and the economy was simply not prepared for a worldwide catastrophe of this scale - blizzards, snowstorms and right in the middle of spring?! Crops and livestock were dying, numerous families were trapped in their homes without supplies and a lot of isolated elderly and vulnerable people had frozen to death.
Guilt tore at him, and heading Bulma's words, it took all of his resolve not to smash the radio to pieces. The wild weather was a result of his battle, after all. The aftermath of the Destroyers' clash had caused unprecedented consequences across the solar system.
He hadn't seen his father or Krillin since that first day, only Bulma and a few doctors, but Bulma had informed him that Goku and the others were busy lending a helping hand to the people that were still stranded or in need. They were Earth's protectors after all, and that included dealing with 'natural' disasters too. He was glad that they were able to do something, but it only made Gohan feel even more useless than he already did.
On the fourth day, his mother visited.
She had stayed away at first, probably at the discouragement of his father sensibly telling her to wait. That Gohan needed space. Of course, Chi-Chi could never keep herself from her baby boy for long, especially when he had been so hurt.
Unfortunately for her, Gohan had just heard an announcement of the latest death toll over the radio, the body count now well over a thousand.
He snapped at her to get out as soon as she crossed over the threshold, anger burning through his chest. He choked at the stricken look on her face, faltering instantly.
"I-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Mum," he stammered, tears spilling over.
His mother strode to him without a word, kneeling up on the bed and pulling him to her. His shoulders shook, scrunching up his face into the crook of her neck. He let it happen, he didn't try to stop it.
He could hear her heart thudding hard in her chest as he crumbled, stroking his short locks of hair before kissing them fiercely.
"You're a good boy, Gohan," she whispered, holding him tight, "You are good."
It was a bad day.
Chi-Chi appeared bright and early the next morning to tell him that she was going to stay with his Grandpa Ox for a few days. Apparently, Goten had been staying there since Gohan had been at Capsule Corp. anyway.
"He's got a nasty cold," she told him, stroking his cheek at the look of dread on his face, "Don't worry, he may be getting older but he's not called the Ox-King for nothing. He just needs an extra pair of hands up at the castle. I'm sure it'll only be for a few days, I'll need to get back for -."
Chi-Chi stopped short, before finding her words carefully, "Well, I might be needed in the city. I want you to rest and not worry whilst I'm gone, alright?"
Gohan nodded wordlessly, and with another quick kiss on his forehead, she left.
He tried to adhere to her orders, but when Doctor Chiron arrived for his rounds later that morning, the first thing he did was ask if he could get out for a walk.
After a lot of back and forth arguing, the good doctor was gracious enough to go for a compromise. And that was where Gohan found himself, clad in a pair of his father's stripy grandad pyjamas (given the clothes he had arrived in were completely unsalvageable) as he was wheeled down the deserted halls of the complex.
He felt ridiculous, the pyjamas far too short at the ankle for a start. His arms were folded defiantly across his chest, as Doctor Chiron whistled a cheery tune, pushing him towards a large rectangular window situated on the upper levels of the complex.
The wheelchair slowly came to a stop, the disgruntled look on his face disappearing completely as he beheld the view before him.
Thick, dark violet clouds hung low and sinister over the tall sky scrapers in the distance. Occasionally, they quivered with a fuchsia charge of electricity before lying still once more. Snow drifted delicately out from their imposing walls - for now at least, giving the city below a much needed break from the onslaught.
Little flakes spiralled downwards to meet the earth, already covered in a lumpy blanket of frozen snow. It was almost white, but looking closer it definitely glowed with an eerie tinge of purple. It was everywhere, piled up the side of buildings and fences in great heaving slopes. He was surrounded by snowfall, and from this angle it felt as though he was indeed trapped in a snow globe.
A shock of black against the patent backdrop averted his attention. It appeared as though Vegeta had taken the opportunity of the lull in snowfall to clear the paths. He was wearing a long blue winter jacket and scarf, a glowing ball of hot Ki at the edge of his fingertips, defrosting the snow as he walked. He could see his breath curl upwards into the air, a larger puff expelling when he let out another huff of irritation.
Gohan was wondering what Vegeta must have done to piss Bulma off so much in order to get lumped with such a menial task, when his doctor cleared his throat beside him.
"So, how would you rate your pain at the moment, Mister Son?" Doctor Chiron asked, observing him over his glasses.
He inwardly groaned, he could have sworn they ask him same question every five minutes.
"Zero stars, would not recommend," he replied dully, prompting a sniff in response.
"You know, if you keep saying things like that, I'll have no choice but to prescribe you more morphine."
Gohan immediately fell queasy at the thought. It may have been an Earthly drug, but it was not one to be taken lightly. Given the fact that he was half-saiyan and a deity in training to boot, he had been on a cocktail of strong medication several times that of what was considered a 'normal' dose. However, it didn't exactly relieve his pain, more so gave him some wicked nausea and some equally wicked dreams.
"It's… manageable," he relented, as Doctor Chiron smiled over his glasses.
"That's better," he said, but Gohan had already returned to the window.
He spotted Trunks ducking behind a large mound of snow a few steps behind Vegeta, a smaller version of the coat he was wearing pulled tightly around him. Even from a few floors up, Gohan could see a mischievous grin spread across his face, his gloved hands reaching towards the impacted frozen ground.
Gohan hadn't recognised Doctor Chiron at first, but apparently he had been the very same doctor that had cared for his father after the battle with Vegeta and Nappa. The fight had put Goku in a full body cast, but thankfully Gohan had gotten away with a few broken bones and the loss of his tail.
His memory failed him, even though Bulma had insisted that they had already met. He had only been five years old at the time, after all.
He was astounded at just how calm the grey-haired doctor was around him, given that he knew exactly who he was. Gohan must have missed the initial shock whilst he was unconscious, thankful of it too. He reasoned that Bulma had no choice but to tell them the truth. How else would she have explained that she was trying to keep some stranger without a pulse, alive? And that they needed medical intervention in order to do so?
Not only that, she had no doubt wanted Doctor Chiron and his team to pull out every tool in their arsenal. He was the saviour of Earth for a start.
It was crazy, sure. Definitely crazier than your bog standard 'Oh my god! It's an alien!' thing.
He wouldn't have put it past Bulma to have made them sign a non-disclosure agreement or something - just incase.
There was a brazen shout from outside, as a snowball pelted into the back of Vegeta's head.
Vegeta turned, seething with rage, just in time for Goku to materialise into existence. Mistaking his attacker, Vegeta lunged, and a freezing solid ball of snow and ice catapulted straight into an unsuspecting Goku's face.
Goten's boyish laughter penetrated the air, as their father was knocked off his feet with more force that was entirely necessary.
Their mother must have sent him away, he realised, staring at his brother with a coil of worry winding unpleasantly in his gut. I hope Grandpa's alright.
"We agreed on five minutes only," Doctor Chiron spoke up, looking at the watch on his lapel, "We should get you back soon, you need to rest."
A warmth radiated towards them from beyond the window pane. His father had turned Super Saiyan.
"I'd rather say a bit longer," said Gohan, a shower of snow blasting into the air behind his head as he turned toward him.
Lips pursed in disapproval from beneath a neat moustache. He highly doubted that a clinically dead person had ever given the doctor this much trouble.
"I did beat Cell, you know."
Doctor Chiron sighed, clearly exasperated. "Mister Son, you are the first one of my patients in over forty years to get away with such an excuse."
Gohan forced a small but triumphant smile.
"Five more minutes," he told him, before leaving, "I will be straight back up here to fetch you."
He nodded, thanking him before turning back to the window just in time to see Vegeta's snow covered back retreating, stomping back down the path in a sulk.
Gohan leaned back in the wheelchair, noticing that Doctor Chiron had left the brake on. He obviously didn't trust him enough not to try and escape.
He hoped Dende recovered from his last energy exertion soon, he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand being incapacitated like this. Not only that, it had been nearly three weeks since Perses had been freed, and Gohan was increasingly aware of just how much borrowed time he was on.
Over the last few tedious and emotionally and physically exhausting days, he had come to the realisation that Perses hadn't Destroyed him from the get go because he needed him to get to the Z-Sword.
Gohan hadn't told anyone where it was, not even Makhai. He hadn't wanted to burden anyone with that information, and he thanked his lucky stars that he had taken Whis' advice and kept the relic's location to himself.
Then again, he thought darkly, it was hopeless if he was the only one left. It would only be a matter of time before Perses and his entourage came for him too.
"…that doesn't mean that you're above mortal help when you need it."
His father's words struck him just as another ripple of garish energy darted across the sky. The flash of fuchsia reflected in his onyx eyes.
It was the furthest from what he wanted. He had promised himself that he wouldn't involve Earth's protectors. It was the Gods fight, not mortals.
But he was running out of time, and options.
The battle within his mind continued to wage long after Doctor Chiron had come to take him back to the medical bay. He continued to watch the snow fall from behind the small window in his room, but it was getting more and more difficult to see outside as heavier layers of white and violet fell.
All that he could depict was a thin reflection of himself; a phantom with gaunt, harrowed eyes. He couldn't recognise himself, but in the end, he supposed it didn't even matter. Slowly, frost crept over the pane.
It swallowed him whole.
21st March 2022
A/N: Dear readers,
Thank you so much all those who have stuck with this story so far. I have absolutely been overjoyed at the support and well-wishes from my last chapter. THANK YOU.
I apologise if I am slow to reply to reviews or PMs, isn't sending notification alerts which you may have noticed, so I will be dipping in and out where I can. I am starting back at work in the next couple of months, and uni too whilst being a mama, but am determined to do this story justice.
I am very excited to share this chapter, things are going to start heating up again soon.
Again, I will reiterate. THE CHARACTERS ARE NOT BRITISH. I am. It's my style. Like or love, it's Fanfiction. Ta.
I had a question asking if the The Void Perses escaped from is the same as the Dead Zone. Nah, sort of the same vibes, but in this universe there are millions of different dimensions. The Void is just one of them. So I thought I would just clear that up if it was confusing in any way. :)
I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. I especially mulled over the Gohan/Goku conversation for a long time, I wanted their still to be some opposition there, and some cold truths for the both of them!
See you next time!
ES x