Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Black and White ❯ 08 ( Chapter 8 )

"Gohan," Goku breathed as they alit right beside the man, standing atop a steep hill and gazing off into the distance. "You're okay."

 

"Yeah. Is that Cell?"

 

"Guess so," he nodded.

 

"I didn't want to rush into anything—figured you'd come back right away, anyway," the young man smiled, face creasing with concern even as he did so. "Guess I was right."

 

"Kakarrot!" Vegeta snapped. "You moron!"

 

"What?" he turned to face the prince. "What is it, Vegeta?" The man pointed to Cole, and Goku frowned. "I told you not to come."

 

She shrugged, grinning. "Too late now!"

 

"This isn't a joke," Gohan asserted. "This guy could really hurt you."

 

"All of you," her tail whipped about behind her, "could really hurt me." She paused. "Well. I dunno 'bout you."

 

"Kakarrot," Vegeta hissed in nearly a murmur.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"I want to—to see—" he paused, huffing at the fact that Goku could not fill in the blanks. "I want to make sure Bulma is okay."

 

"'C-course," Goku nodded. He closed his eyes for a moment and took in a sharp breath. Shortly thereafter Vegeta began swearing profusely, clenching his hand onto Goku's arm. "He's right in the same area as your place!"

 

"So get us there!"

 

Goku nodded vigorously, and two more hands joined Vegeta's against him. He shivered again, and then glanced up toward Gohan. "Aren't you coming?"

 

Gohan bit his lip. "I can—if you want me for backup. But Dad—I—I dunno, I guess you were never around after..." he trailed off, and as his father maintained a gaze against him, the young man continued, "...Frankly, those feelings scared me. You know I'm not a fighter, Dad—not really. You and Vegeta and Goten and Trunks—you all love this sort of thing. I'm sure you can do a much better job than I can—"

 

"But Gohan—"

 

"Let it rest," Vegeta spat, "and let's go."

 

"I'm just afraid of what I might do if I see him again—if he does something awful—I don't want to...be that thing..."

 

Goku nodded, smiling apologetically. "I think I understand, Gohan." His own thoughts and memories were, at times, more alarmingly out of his control the higher he ascended. For Gohan to have experienced such a thing at such a young age—maybe it had been a bad idea. At the very least, Goku empathized with his son's fear of something inside him that seemed out of his control. "It's okay."

 

"Send somebody to get me if you need me," he added. "But I know you guys...I think you can handle this. You probably wouldn't even give me a chance to fight anyway," he finished with a small smile. Goku grinned guiltily.

 

Vegeta, to his right, seemed to be growing immensely impatient, boot tapping restlessly against the ground and teeth grinding together as he waited, apparently in physical pain. Cole seemed confused, taking in her surroundings and attempting to decipher the relationship between the two taller men. Vejata's veins, he was forced to note through their direct contact, seemed to pump in time with Vegeta's, equally impatient, equally frustrated. He wondered if they would need Gohan's help—he was excited to fight what his senses told him was a new, improved Cell, but his stomach couldn't seem to right itself with Vejata around. He remembered once, when he could hardly tell the difference between her and Vegeta; now, it was the world.

 

The queen had not apologized to him in her time back, but his shy pessimism that had been rearing its head lately had not expected such a thing from her. She hadn't been mean, however—hadn't said a single thing to Goku, really, besides what she had to. The few times he had mustered the courage to look at her face, she averted her eyes, and he wondered if it was out of politeness, or if she felt something too—if such a person was capable of feeling guilt, of feeling regret. If she joined them against Cell, would he retch in his enemy's face for her nearness? He was afraid to consult his feelings on the matter, if something uglier than his lack of forgiveness could surface as a result. But Vejata seemed to have other things on her mind—was distinctly distant. Had her months in Hell subdued her so? "Are we going?" she finally snapped. He bit down hard on his tongue at the sound of her harsh words, but nodded.

 

 

...

 

 

"I wondered how long it would take you," Cell chuckled. "I thought I might actually have to kill one of them." He jerked his head toward the wall across the room, where Bulma sat crumpled against the wall, petting Trunks' hair and keeping an eye on an apparently unconscious Goten.

 

"What did you do to them?" Vegeta growled.

 

"Just moved them to the other side of the room," he crossed his arms. "Don't worry, Vegeta. I wouldn't kill them without extracting the information I need."

 

"Vegeta," Bulma muttered. "I'm—glad you got here."

 

He tilted his head toward her in a brief nod. "What the hell do you want with Bulma?"

 

Cell smirked. "You might say, rather, that I want out of Hell."

 

"You are out of Hell!" Goku crossed his arms. Vejata wondered vaguely if his posture was meant to display his displeasure at what Cell had done to their family members, or if he was merely impatient to fight.

 

"Yes, but," he motioned to his halo, "I'd hate for them to drag me back."

 

"If we kill you now," Goku muttered, "then you'll vanish from existence, 'cause you're already dead once. If you die while you're dead, you're gone."

 

"Good to know," Cell chuckled. "Thank you, Son Goku. Yet another reason for me to wish myself back to life." Vejata would have smirked a little at the fortune of her own forethought—but her stomach plummeted as more urgent thoughts rushed to her mind.

 

"What's going on here?" a new voice joined them, and Piccolo's cape swished behind him. His eyes narrowed. "Cell."

 

"It's a regular party," he chuckled. "Well then, I'm sure you can all help me out. You see, I'm certain that this woman has a radar that can find the dragon balls for me. The problem is, she can't seem to remember where she's put it. I'm sure one of you must know where it is, though, so perhaps I don't need her anymore." He held one hand up and charged a small ball of ki in his hand, glancing around to the occupants of the room.

 

"No," Vegeta and Vejata hissed in unison. As she realized that Vegeta had also spoken, Vejata flinched away, going so far as to turn her back to the scene as he dealt with the matter.

 

"How sweet," Cell chortled. "But there's really nothing keeping me from killing her. I'm afraid I'm much more powerful than I was the last time you saw me." He took a few steps forward, as if such a thing would be necessary to ensure his accuracy. Trunks balled his fists and stood, but abruptly fell again, and it was then that Vegeta noticed his broken leg.

 

"Get the fuck out of here," the prince warned.

 

"Oh, well," Cell shrugged. "I thought you loved them, or something petty like that." The ki in his hand seemed to flicker in preparation.

 

"In the dresser drawer, second floor, wing A," Vegeta muttered, eyes cast toward his feet as he balled his fists.

 

"Vegeta—" Bulma started.

 

"But," Goku piped up, "ain't it been less than a year since I was brought back? You used both your wishes then, right? Why, nobody can even call Shenlong for at least a couple more months."

 

"Again, Son Goku, I must thank you," Cell chuckled. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost say you want me back to life."

 

The man waited, watching carefully as Vegeta swiveled his head to glare at him.

 

"But I noticed," Cell continued, "that this look-alike," he motioned toward Vejata, "doesn't seem to be wearing a halo anymore, yet I'm certain I met her in Hell." Now the prince's poisonous glare was on her. "Now, Son, I know you believe in a fair fight. How about you help me come back to life in the same way she did so that we can start on even ground?"

 

"Think clearly, Son," Piccolo advised. "We can kill him now and be rid of this problem before it becomes too much for us to handle. Can't you sense his power?" Sounds scratched from Vejata's throat, and both Goku and the Namekian glanced toward her.

 

"If he's destroyed," Vejata muttered, "what happens to all those he sucked into him while he was in Hell?"

 

"I imagine they'll be gone forever as well," Piccolo guessed, watching her carefully. Her breathing accelerated. "Son," he spoke again, "no. Look—even Vegeta wants to do away with him right now." He nodded toward the prince, whose fists were clenched as he held his gaze on his family.

 

"Don't," Vejata pleaded quietly. "Don't destroy him."

 

The man blinked at her for some moments, confused, as her jaw seemed to quiver in nervousness—some shivering that he had never seen on her. Before he stepped forward, he muttered, "This ain't for you." And then a smirk: "Fine, Cell. You're right. I wanna have a fun fight with you now that we're both stronger. It should be a great time."

 

"I knew I could trust you," he chortled. "Bring me to wherever this is, that I can be brought back to life." He glanced around the room. "Bring Vegeta, too." Cell looked over the others. "Don't worry; we'll come back to fight on Earth. You won't miss a thing."

 

"Kakarrot," Vegeta managed through clenched teeth.

 

"Well—" Goku scratched his head, giving one last glance toward his son, to Piccolo and to Vegeta's family, to Cole, whose tail was wrapped tightly around her waist as she observed the situation, and to Vejata, whose eyes were fixed firmly upon Cell. "Let's go, then."

 

As the three of them disappeared, Piccolo turned to address the remaining occupants of the room. "We'll go to Dende—so he can heal you." He glanced toward Vejata as he approached Goten, scooping him up under one arm. "How did you get out of Hell?"

 

"The creature ripped a hole," she hesitated, "some kind of hole through space, by screaming. Said he'd seen someone else try it before. It worked—must've taken him and me to someplace in the afterlife you can teleport from."

 

"Buu," Piccolo muttered.

 

"Like when we were trapped in that room?" Trunks suggested, channeling his ki so that he could hover instead of standing on his broken leg. "Shit, does that mean that this guy is as strong as Buu?"

 

"I'm afraid such may be the case," Piccolo muttered solemnly. He held one hand out to Bulma to help her up, and she obliged.

 

"But you all know him like—"

 

"We fought him when you were but a baby."

 

"Oh," Trunks nodded, "well, I guess you beat him okay then, since I'm still alive."

 

Piccolo nodded, but his eyes narrowed a bit. "Have your parents ever told you about—" he paused to think, "about the future that could have been, or about the time machine?"

 

He shook his head.

 

"So you don't know about..." he trailed off, and made as if to scoop Bulma under his other free arm so that they could fly to the Lookout. Vejata nudged him aside and picked her up instead, and Piccolo watched her carefully.

 

"I'm not going to hurt her," the queen hissed. "Don't you worry your green little head about it."

 

"You know," he growled, "no one here is going to forgive you for what you did to Son."

 

"I never asked for forgiveness."

 

Bulma breathed quietly in her arms, glancing over her features. Vejata seemed distantly concerned, the kind of quiet desperation and worry that had been Vegeta's chief trait shortly after the fight with Cell, after Goku's death. They were all sure Goku would be gone forever, and for a few weeks Vegeta went on about never being able to fight him again—for, as he pointed out to the woman, most of the man's friends would surely have a special place in Heaven that he would not. After those weeks, he had become silent about the matter, as if he had moved on from it—and maybe he had, eventually. Now, with Goku back and after Buu's defeat, he had seemed even more at peace with himself. She got the feeling something important had happened within him during the fight with Buu, but had never asked about it. "Vejata," she finally muttered, "what're you thinking about?"

"I can get her back," she responded immediately, but then shook her head as Bulma opened her mouth to ask. "Never mind."

 

"This is like coming into the middle of a shitty sparring match," Cole offered up, sticking her tongue out. "Boring and I don't know what the hell is going on!"

 

Piccolo's cheeks tinged at her brashness. "So there's another one of you like these two, huh?" he motioned to Trunks and Goten. "I take it you're a Saiyajin from New Vegeta?"

 

"Damn straight."

 

"If you were my child," Bulma started, "I'd—"

 

"I ain't so y' won't!" she finished. "Now somebody tell me what's going on!"

 

"Can I get my leg healed first?" Trunks glared at her. "And in case you didn't notice, some of us are unconscious!" he motioned to Goten, still limp under Piccolo's arm.

 

"Oh, I thought he was dead," she spat.

 

"If that thing woulda killed Goten I'da gone apeshit on—"

 

"Children!" Piccolo barked, and then grumbled, "I'm always the goddamn babysitter. But Trunks has a point; let's go now, and talk later." Trunks stuffed his arms over his chest, smirking a little, and Cole turned her nose into the air. Piccolo rolled his eyes and strode out the door.