Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Crossroads ❯ Awakenings ( Chapter 2 )

*blinks* I can't believe it's been two months since I updated, I'm really sorry *hangs her head in shame*

But here it is, the next chapter, I hope you like it. Please tell me if you do and also if you don't. Comments, suggestions and constructive critiscism are always welcome and appreciated. :-)

Thanks to all who have reviewed, you really made me happy :-D

And a big thanks to Lady Hella for beta-ing most of the chapter and the support and encouragement!

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

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Svenja sat against one of the walls watching into the distance, unseeing. Her legs folded were underneath her in a manner that promised nasty cramps later, but she neither cared nor recognized that at that moment. Too much had happened for her to bother about her feet falling asleep or some muscles aching later on. Strange how priorities can change so fast. Only half a week ago she would have grumbled about those physical annoyances, complaining about them. Now they were just an annoyance she noticed. She leaned her head back to rest against the wall and close her eyes briefly, only to snap them open again. She was dead tired, but too high-strung to get any rest except fitful five-minute dozes that left her even more tired and anxious than before. No use in that. It was better staying awake and conscious - or at least attempting to - and breaking down at some point falling in some hopefully deep and dreamless if exhausted sleep, than having those short moments of unconsciousness making her question her sanity every time she opened her eyes again. She swivelled her head to the side, looking at the person lying a short distance away. The one that had kept her sane all the time, even though it wasn't by conscious effort on his part.

It had been like this all her life. Whenever there had been a big crisis or something she didn't dare, want or could cope with, her mind unconsciously found something to concentrate on, something to immerse herself in completely, giving her the ability to shove away the painful issue, lock it deep within her mind to deal with sometime later on, when it didn't hurt that much anymore. It didn't matter what exactly she focussed on, it only had to be a diversion she could flee into. Svenja was well aware of this, and she knew it was cowardly in a way, but she couldn't stop it. Not that would make a conscious effort to stop it; if her subconscious wanted to protect her in that way - fine. And since in this place didn't have a large variety of diversions - except if you found rubble in various sizes exciting, which she didn't - her inner focus had automatically turned to the only other living being in her vicinity.

She had to admit concentrating on that strange guy had helped her a lot with coming to terms with her current situation. Svenja was a pragmatic person. Usually, if she got into a situation she didn't understand, she watched and learned until it made sense, and in the meanwhile accepted it as given. Though this particular situation was rather hard to accept, it wasn't everyday you got ripped out of your normal life and thrown into a strange place, not to mention almost getting killed by a spaceship... But she didn't have any other choice, she could hardly close her eyes against plain facts. Everything in her had rebelled at the thought of taking all this for real, but what else could she do?

She had dismissed the thought of having a nightmare a while ago. It just felt too real, the aches in her body, the coldness of the wind blowing constantly, the oily wet rain, the dusty sand that seemed to be everywhere, the quietness… It was too quiet here. Like in a graveyard… 'Stop it!' she scolded herself. No need getting into hysterics, she had already been through that. Not that it had helped anyway, but at least it had yanked her out of her zombie-state.

So she had slowly come to accept her situation for the time being, however unwillingly. Watching and learning. And trying to find out why and how it happened, and how to reverse it. And everytime the logical part of her mind had started to scream about the sheer impossibility and improbability of the whole mess she found herself in, her thoughts had turned to the injured stranger, making him a fixed constant to focus on, like a rock she could cling to while the waves of panic slowly started to ebb, leaving her able to think clearly for a while and oddly calm. Well, as calm as the circumstances allowed.

She sighed and stood up slowly, wincing at the tingling sensation in her legs. 'Just perfect' she grumbled inwardly, 'breaking an ankle because my legs fell asleep would be just the thing I need right now. Why didn't I stay over there in the first place? Whatever… ' Using the wall for support she walked over to her 'patient' to check on him.

Kneeling down stiffly she laid her hand on the side of his neck to check his temperature, almost instantly retracting it. She didn't have much medical experience but she was fairly sure no one could be that hot and still alive. How high can a fever raise until you die? She shoved that thought away uneasily, she certainly did not want to think about that. On the other hand, he had seemed a bit cooler than some hours ago when she had last checked, didn't he? She placed her hand on his neck again, this time leaving it there, closing her eyes to concentrate solely on touch. Yes, the temperature had gone down a bit, though it was still very high.

She looked down at him in relief. He was still unconscious or sleeping, but he seemed to get better.

Maybe if he woke up next time she could get some answers. Or anything. She was starving for sounds other than wind and her own noises. The few times he'd been awake before had been short, and at those times she hadn't thought about making conversation. She sat down beside him, stretching her legs out and waited for him to come around. Her thoughts went back to the first time she had seen him.

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She stood for what seemed an eternity for her frozen to her spot on top of the crater, poised to bolt any moment, until her legs started moving on their own accord and she stumbled down to the bottom where that strange man had collapsed. She sat down on her haunches, wrapped her arms around herself and just stared at the hunched form in front of her.

Her mind was starting to struggle against the shock-like state Svenja was currently in, fighting its way up from where her self-defense mechanism had shoved it to act only as an observer, letting instincts take over. It was a natural kind of protection for times of highest stress, when survival was top priority and every conscious or logical thought would only endanger it. But it has its bad sides, for example when a panic breaks out and people get trampled or crushed by others who are currently in survival-mode. That scenario wasn't a likely one in Svenja's current situation since to her knowledge the only people nearby were herself and the guy that had almost killed her in the crash. But the ability to think any rational thought was disabled too, and that was something she had to avoid at all cost if possible. And since there wasn't any danger visible her mind, slowly but persistently, clawed its way into consciousness again as she looked at the hunched-over form.

The man - at least she thought it was a man, since he looked humanoid, had the features and figure of a man and from what she could see no female chest - was a real mess. Dark hair matted with blood but still sticking up in a weird angle from his head. His face was a mess of bruises and blood, his clothing torn and ripped. He had a very nasty gash on his back near the shoulder blade, and what she could see from his body where his clothes were torn was discolored in purple and black hues. And attached to his lower back, laying limp behind him on the dusty ground was something long and furry, blood oozing from it and coloring the sand under it to a dark red. It was twisted in an odd angle, it looked like a thick rope someone had put into a fridge and then made an effort to create some Modern Art. With a sledgehammer.

Svenja blinked slowly. That wasn't supposed to be there, right? But as she looked closer she saw it wasn't some debris from the crash. Debris usually doesn't bleed. And it was attached to the man, she saw as she looked closer. A good part of his shirt was gone, she could clearly see where that... thing grew out of his lower back.

Slowly she extracted one arm from around herself, reached out with her hand hesitantly and poked the him in his upper arm. She actually touched something. She repeated the motion, the resistance of flesh her finger met convincing her it wasn't a hallucination. It was real.

Svenja started to cry.

She had no idea how long she sat there, tears flowing down her face. It was the first indication that what had happened was real, no nightmare and no hallucination. After a while it stopped, leaving only a feeling of numb emptiness and the beginning of deep despair. She didn't really notice it had begun to rain softly.

That was when he began to stir, a groan escaping his mouth as his eyelids fluttered. He opened his eyes halfway, and after a moment they cleared, darting around until they focused on her. Svenja froze.

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A sound ripped her from her thoughts. She swung her head around and saw him shift a bit, his eyelids were fluttering and he was mumbling softly. Svenja scrambled to sit on her haunches and leaned over to reach out again to check his temperature. Was he waking up? Or did he only have a nightmare? She really hoped it was the former. Maybe she could finally get some answers, not to mention having some kind of communication.

When her hand was just a few inches away from his neck her wrist was suddenly caught in a firm grip, halting her movement instantly. Svenja let out a small shriek of surprise, her involuntary backward movement as she tried to jerk away stopped by the hand holding her wrist, causing her to lose her balance and dip forward. Unconsciously she reached out with her free hand to steady herself, her conscious mind too flooded with adrenaline to think about her actions. A suppressed wince of pain brought her back to reality . Her eyes widened and she jerked back her hand where it had lain on his injured shoulder for support, causing her to wobble a bit until she managed to twist her legs so she was kneeling. Her wrist still captured she leaned as far away as possible and starting tugging furiously, glaring angrily at the man rendering her arm useless by his grip. She was met by an equally furious stare, dark eyes boring into her. How could anyone have eyes that color? So dark, does he have any irises at all? She blinked and shook herself inwardly, that was not really the right moment to contemplate eye-related topics.

Collecting her last shreds of politeness she ground out, "Would you please let go of my wrist?" No answer, no visible reaction, only that stare.

"Hey!" she said louder, pulling against the grip with all her strength. It felt as if her wrist was embedded into stone, and her fingers started to tingle due to lack of blood circulation. She was starting to get scared, and really angry. "Let go! And I mean as in RIGHT NOW!" she yelled angrily, and unwilling to wait and see if her request was heeded this time she reached out with her free hand and jabbed him into the side, hard. She must have hit the right spot, because her hand was free suddenly, causing her to fall on her butt, and the former captor of her wrist released a hiss of pain.

Svenja righted herself and sat on her haunches again, this time out of reach of her 'patient', meeting his enraged glare with one of her own.

"What was that all about, huh? Are you out of your mind or something? Do you do any other things in your spare time than freaking people out?" she yelled angrily. What was this guys problem? Rendering her hand and arm immobile like that… She shivered inwardly at the memory of feeling so… helpless when she had realized she couldn't get away, no matter how hard she pulled. For an instance all those horror stories had flashed through her mind about women getting beaten up or worse by assailants stronger than them. The fact that those situations were by no means comparable to the particular one she was didn't come to her mind at that moment. Seized by a sudden rush of anxiety that instantly increased to panic she had reverted to the only thing she had thought of at that moment. Hurting the one causing her to feel like that, this way enabling her to get free.

She realized it hadn't been one of her best moves to jab him like that, after all he was seriously injured. What if she had make matters only worse? What if she had accidentally pushed one of his probably broken ribs into his lungs? What if…

"What the hell did you want at my throat?" a hoarse voice growled, dissolving her train of thought. Svenja blinked.

"Huh? Checking your temperature, looking if you're still having a fever! No need to look now, the way you're acting I'd vote for a clear yes! What else would I want to do? What did YOU think I was doing, huh?!" she fumed, calming a bit inwardly but needing to let off steam. He was still trying to drill a hole through her head with his glare, the hand formerly occupied with her wrist pressed to his side where she had stabbed him with her finger. She stared right back stubbornly, refusing to be intimidated.

Zura was pissed. He had been clearly out of it, only gradually rising to consciousness when he felt a presence nearby that was unknown to him and getting closer, jolting him into awareness. Out of reflex he had grabbed whatever it was that had hovered so close to his throat, a life-long experience and a healthy paranoia screaming at him that strangers getting at his throat was never a good thing and could get him killed. He had opened his eyes to look at his would-be-killer, only to see the tired and dirt-streaked face of a woman with haunted blue eyes hovering over him, the expression contorting into one of startlement and shock at his grip. A high-pitched shriek had followed and the she had lost her balance, only regaining it after her free hand shot out to use his shoulder as support. Shit, that had hurt! And then his would-be-assailant had had the audacity to yell at him, demanding to be freed, and then she had rammed her finger into his side, sending a jolt of agony throughout his damaged ribcage, causing him to lose his grip. He had been aware he was in no condition to fight, even against someone with such laughable self-defense abilities, not without doing further damage to his already beaten up body. But fighting hadn't been on her mind apparently, she had seemed content to continue her yelling session, all the while meeting his warning glare with an indignant and furious one of her own.

He broke his stare suddenly jerking his head around. The wind had changed direction and his nostrils were assaulted by a most delicious smell. He had smelled that before, right? He dimly remembered waking up before, his blurred vision providing him with an unfocused picture of someone staring at him, and then the sounds of rapidly retreating footsteps. And an odour his body recognized as nutritients; carbonhydrates, amino acids, and his mind labelled plainly 'food'. Food he needed, desperately. The next thing he knew he was stumbling, crawling into a partly destroyed building, clutching a wall in support, the smell promising help for healing beckoning him like a beacon. Then nothing. He must have collapsed again.

But now the mouth-watering smell was back. Where was… There! A short distance away was a heap of objects, partly surrounded by a brownish looking material. He tried to move but stopped almost instantly when his shifting put weight on his tail laying beside him, and a lance of pure agony shot through his spine. He fell back panting slightly, feeling a slight sheen of sweat forming on his skin.

The indignant look directed at him turned into one of uncertainty and slight concern as the woman shifted uncomfortably, clearly undecided whether to come within range or not.

"What is it?" she asked in a lower volume than before, curiosity and mistrust in her voice.

Zura exhaled slowly, the pain in his lower back decreasing to a painfully but numb throbbing. He knew he could get the food himself after a short while, he only had to shift his weight to the other direction as to not put pressure on his tail again. But it couldn't hurt to try an easier way first.

"Food" he said, his voice coming out more like a plea than a request, much to his chagrin. She blinked. "What?" Gods, of all people in the universe did he have to be in the same room - or what was left of it - with someone having a slow understanding? Not to mention lacking common sense like not coming into near range within vital aeras of a fighter's body?

"There's food nearby. I can smell it. Over there." he said slowly and clearly, nodding his head in the direction.

"I understood you the first time, mister, there's no need for that!" she snapped back, but nevertheless moving to drag the contents of the ripped brown material over. His eyes were focused on the heap of objects in front of her, but he could feel her looking at him. She pulled the lid off one of the small containers. "Okay, I'll give you something, you must be pretty hungry and…" she trailed off after the container was ripped out of her hand and soon as he could reach it. He shovelled the strangely-shaped pieced in his mouth, his taste buds almost exploding in bliss at the foreign but nevertheless delicious taste. "Hey!" she yelled angrily, "those were my favorite! You ate them all?" She eyed him darky, muttering something about cheese pastries. "Okay, I know you're hungry, and I have no problem sharing my food. But the imperative word here is sharing. As in I want my half, too. Not as in you wolfing down everything, got that? And…"

"Yes. Thank you. Sorry. More!" he interrupted her, eyeing the rest of the food wrapped in foil or hidden in other containers hungrily, knowing that their contents would help further his healing process. She stared at him for a moment in indignant disbelief. "Whatever. Not that it really matters right now anyway…" she muttered , handing him several objects wrapped in foil and ripped open one to munch on its contents herself.

Zura slowed down only after the emptiness in his stomach was filled. He looked up, only to find himself subjected to a thoughtful and slightly desolate stare of his food-provider.

"That started bad." she said suddenly, "I'm Svenja."

Zura blinked. What the hell had just happened? First she had tried to attack him, claiming to only wanting to check his temperature, then she had screeched at him, after that she had given him food, and now she offered something akin to a truce? That didn't make any sense.

"What do you want?" he asked half confused and half curious. Her actions weren't fitting into any pattern he had encountered before.

Her gaze cleared, the desolation vanishing to be replaced by something hard, tinged with hopefulness.

"Answers." she said.