Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Friends ❯ 28 - Regicide ( Chapter 28 )

Friends - an AU Vegebul Highschool Fanfic by LadyVegeets

Ch.28 - Regicide

Everything seemed fucked up. He was fucked up, beaten sore and bloody by Ginyu, a beating he'd willingly take again if it meant saving the girl he'd somehow, inexplicably, come to love, the same girl who now probably hated him, was likely crying because of him, cursing his existence. Vegeta wondered if she'd hold up her end of the plan still.

But one thing gave him hope, however hallow it was and however painful it was to admit. Vegeta looked at the center ring, his eyes on the carrot-haired, clownish oaf standing in orange and blue; last name Son, first name Goku.

Goku was squaring off against Ginyu, still looking as fresh as when they'd first arrived seeing as none of his matches had proved to be a challenge for him. Even though Vegeta was now banking his hopes on Goku to win, it still rankled him, was still a blow to his pride that he had to rely on Goku to avenge him, Goku, who was so impossibly skilled and strong when it made so little sense for him to be. He was a goddamn prodigy. But would it be enough? Ginyu was looking worse for wear, wearing some of the marks Vegeta had given him, but despite these he stood tall, confidently, and was smiling, as was Frieza, smirking down on them from the crowd. Neither Icejin looked worried about the coming battle with Goku, but then again, neither of them had been paying him any attention, so focused had they been on Vegeta and his attempt to upset the Icejin's illegal gambling.

Just as Vegeta had hoped they would.

The whistle blew, and the fight commenced. Ginyu moved quickly throwing the first punch, and Goku avoided it with a simple tilt of is head. Goku grinned, and Vegeta found his mouth twisting up along with him. If there was one thing he could begrudgingly acknowledge about the fool, it was that Goku genuinely loved a good fight. And Vegeta also knew, from experience, how grating fighting against that could be.

He glanced at Ginyu, watching as the thug threw blow after blow that Goku dodged. Ginyu's face started to twist with frustration. Getting impatient, Ginyu threw a wild punch.

Goku caught it in his gloved hand. And laughed. “Ehehe, not bad!” He complimented.

Ginyu sneered, his eye twitching in fury. He launched a full-out attack, backing Goku up but he couldn't land a single blow. Just before Goku was up against the ropes, he bought up his knee, catching Ginyu in the gut.

Ginyu staggered back in surprise, clutching his gut, but Goku didn't press the advantage.

Vegeta gritted his teeth. “Don't underestimate him, you idiot!” he shouted, but he doubted he could be heard over the cheering of the crowd. As if to prove him right, Ginyu's next attack caught Goku in the shoulder, staggering the boy back, but Goku quickly recovered.

The two fighters battled, circling, dodging and blocking, neither one gaining the upper hand. The crowd was going insane, enjoying every close call. It was impossible to tell who was going to come out victorious.

Then Ginyu said something, the words lost in the crowd's roars, but Goku heard, his face twisting in surprise. It was all the advantage Ginyu needed. He hit Goku hard, knocking him to the floor. Ginyu followed him down, straddling him, punching Goku over and over, pummeling him ruthlessly.

Vegeta gritted his teeth, his hands fisting, his whole body tight. He wanted to scream in frustration, scream at Goku to GET UP but he knew it would be swallowed in the roaring of the crowd. The referee was inching forward, ready to the call the end of the match at the first sign of complete domination. Goku kept his hands raised, struggling to defend himself…

Out of nowhere, Goku's hand dropped, fisted, and swung. His fist connected cleanly with Ginyu's jaw, and the purple-haired fighter reeled, tilting back. And dropped to the floor. Goku staggered up but Ginyu wasn't moving, out cold. The referee blew the whistle.

The crowd erupted in cheers, and Vegeta slumped back with relief, awash with amazement. As the referee announced Goku the winner, holding up the boy's arm, Vegeta felt something bubble up inside him. He started to laugh. He looked over at Frieza, and saw his boss's face twisted into terrifying rage. It only made Vegeta laugh harder, the sound wheezing out of him, pained and bordering on the edge of hysterical. They'd won, and he knew it was going to cost him something terrible, but in that moment he didn't care, because they'd beaten Frieza and it was glorious.

He was still laughing when two suited goons came and grabbed him, dragging him out of the hall while the crowd was still preoccupied with Goku's victory and award ceremony. Vegeta didn't' resist, he didn't have the strength or the inclination. He knew there was no escape.

Outside the sky was bleeding oranges and red, the shadows long, twilight fast approaching. The men dragged him to the back parking lot he and Bulma had scouted out earlier. He made sure not to look up at the security camera overhead. The men dropped him to the pavement, and when he tried to stand one of them kicked him in the backs of his legs, and he fell painfully to his knees.

“Vegeta,” a cold, familiar voice greeted him. Vegeta didn't have to look up to know who it was, but he did anyway to stare the slimy bastard right in the eyes. Frieza stood before him, his purple suit immaculate, his voice dripping with disdain. “You've really gone out of your way to piss me off this time, haven't you?”

He looked up at the Icejin leader and smiled defiantly at him. “Don't know what you're talking about. I took the dive like you asked.”

Frieza glared at him. His hand lashed out, striking Vegeta's cheek hard enough to snap his head to the side and cause his vision to blur. “You were supposed to take the dive before the semi-finals, as you well know! It took some heavy `encouragement' to even get you to give up to Ginyu, although how you managed to fight that boy on your own is impressive, I will give you that. I'd almost be impressed if you hadn't brought along that stupid monkey friend and deliberately tried to mess up my plans!”

Vegeta laughed at the insult. “Monkey?”

Frieza struck him again and Vegeta felt blood well in his mouth. He spat it out with a grimace by Frieza's shoes, the metallic taste bitter on his tongue.

“I would have thought you'd be a little more contrite, Vegeta, but it appears you've totally lost your mind. Have you forgotten the position you're in, that I can make things very miserable for you and your father, and all your little friends that you've been acquiring?”

“Like my life isn't miserable already,” Vegeta snarked back, earning himself another fist to the face.

Frieza pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his knuckles, sighing, aggravated. “Do you have any idea how much your little stunt has cost us? But I suppose that was your brilliant plan, wasn't it? Well, thankfully things are not as bad as they could have been if you'd gone ahead and won. Still, what were you hoping to accomplish? Bankrupting us? Even if you had won, our accounts would have only been set back a few months at best; that seems hardly worth the trouble of defying me. Did you hope to buy your freedom with your winnings? Laughable. Or were you simply trying to annoy me? Well, you've certainly achieved that goal, Vegeta. In spades. I should have known better than to trust you with so much responsibility. You're still painfully young, and what little control your pathetic father has over you only wanes each year. He promised that your living with the Briefs was going to be very beneficial to us, but it would seem the only person who has benefited has been you, getting yourself all wrapped up with that stupid girl. Well, I hope her bed was comfy and that she was a good lay, because it'll be the last bit of comfort you'll enjoy for a long while. You'd better tell me everything you know about her family, and I do mean everything, and oh dear me it had better be good or I'm going to have to find my father a new Lieutenant General after disposing of the current one and his DISOBEDIENT SON!”

Vegeta stared down at the ground as Frieza rattled on. He flexed his hands, gathering his courage for what he was about to do. When the Icejin finished, Vegeta looked up, staring him dead in the eyes. For years he'd bowed to this man, had submitted to him, had taken his beatings, his orders, his abuse, letting it chip away at his pride, at his soul, had watched it do the same to his father and to countless others as well. But no more. He was better than that, he was more than that, she'd seen it, she'd nurtured it and helped him to believe it. He wouldn't go back to that life anymore, and he wouldn't ever let it become hers… “Better to die as free men, than to live a lifetime of servitude,” he told Frieza firmly.

Frieza sneered and smacked him hard, sending Vegeta to the ground. “Cute. I see that school of yours has been teaching you something. Still, while I normally encourage intelligence, it seems to only be filling your head with ideas, Vegeta, and those can be quite dangerous.”

Vegeta pushed off the ground, back onto his knees, rubbing his jaw. “This is tedious. If you're going to kill me, could you hurry up and get on with it?”

Frieza turned to one of his lackeys and made a gesture. The suit headed off to a large SUV parked nearby and opened the back door. They dragged something out. No, not something, but someone.

It was Zarbon, or what was left of him. He looked even worse than Vegeta felt. Zarbon's night with Frieza's people hadn't been kind. He barely looked human, dirty, bloodied, one of his hands completely messed up… Vegeta could only guess at some of the methods they'd used to torture him. He kept his disgust hidden, giving Frieza nothing.

The suit dropped the broken boy next to Vegeta. Zarbon groaned, curled on the ground. He stank of sweat, urine and blood.

“Perhaps you remember your old roommate,” Frieza said, indicating the miserable broken young man, unfazed by the horrendous sight. “He too has disappointed me, going behind my back and acting out against my wishes. Maybe I've been too lenient with you boys. It seems you both need a reminder of the price of failing me.”

Vegeta steeled himself. Zarbon seemed to sense what was coming as well, weakly pushing up onto his knees. Frieza reached into his suit and pulled out a large handgun, the end modified with a giant suppresser. He raised the pistol, hovering it in the space between the two boys. He smirked, and aimed at Zarbon. Zarbon raised his crippled hand towards Frieza, trying to hold back the inevitable. “No, Frieza, Sir, please, I-”

Bang!

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Bulma left the tournament, her mind awhirl with questions and doubts, anger and heartbreak.

“See? Didn't I tell you from the beginning that he was mine, always would be? We've been planning this for months, my dear. Vegeta always delivers; do be sure to thank your father for Capsule Corps' kind donation to our organization.”

Frieza's words haunted her as she made her way home. Between his brutal revelations and watching Vegeta get beaten within an inch of his life, she was at her emotional limit.

“Did he do a good job at wooing you? Our little stubborn Prince was never much of a romantic, but he does have his charm, doesn't he? Don't fret my dear, he knows how to take a beating, and he's been prepared to take this one for the sake of the Icejin for a long time. How does it feel, knowing he's not fighting for you, knowing he's going to lose because I told him to? He betrayed you, everything he said to you, every kiss and gentle touch was all because I ordered him to do it, and I'm sure he enjoyed it because you're a pretty little thing but he always comes crawling back to me when I call. Now, be a good dear and run along home before your stupidity costs your family anything more than a few million. I'll be sure to tell your lover goodbye from you.”

And just as Frieza said he would, Vegeta lost. He'd stared at her, his eyes dark and filled with a pain and fear that she'd never seen in them before, and he just stopped fighting back, letting Ginyu destroy him. She fled.

Frieza wanted her to think she'd been betrayed, and she had been, but not for the reasons Frieza tried to make her believe. His cruel taunts didn't upset her; she knew what she and Vegeta had was real. Losing the money didn't upset her either, there had always been the risk that it would be lost, and it was chump change compared to the vast wealth of her family. No, what upset her was the secrets. Vegeta hadn't told her everything. Vegeta hadn't told her anything.

He'd made it sound like this tournament was going to be some great opportunity to blindside the Icejin, to buy back his freedom, but he'd known about it long before then. He'd clearly been ordered to lure her there, encourage her bet on him, knowing he'd lose. It was meant as a double-cross her, but he was going to use it as a chance to double-cross them. Yet he'd never told her any of that. He'd betrayed her trust, taken all the risk upon himself like the stubborn jerk that he was.

She was furious, and upset, but still had a job to do. Bulma headed home to where the security camera feed was being monitored and recorded. There would be time to yell and berate Vegeta later. Since he'd lost, they wouldn't be blackmailing the Icejin with the tournament winnings, so she was sure as hell going to make sure they could blackmail the Icejin with the video evidence of their illegal gambling operation. At least Vegeta had the foresight to come up with a back up plan.

She got home and raced to the computer she'd set up, but she wasn't prepared for what she saw. Instead of finding a money exchange taking place, she saw Frieza with a couple of tough guys in suits, and before them, a badly beaten Vegeta on his knees. She sat down just as Frieza smacked him, hard.

Bulma felt herself go numb in shock. She hastily turned the volume on, making sure everything was still being recorded properly. She fumbled for her phone, intending to call for help but was stopped when she heard Vegeta speak.

“This is tedious. If you're going to kill me, could you hurry up and get on with it?”

Her phone fell from her fingers. Bulma stared at the screen, wide eyed, filled with paralyzing disbelief at his words. What did he just say?!

She watched as one of the men brought out Zarbon, and she gasped, appalled to see the state he was in. As much as she loathed Zarbon, his condition was ghastly. She heard Frieza speak, but her mind could barely process his words, still reeling in shock at Zarbon's disfigurement.

Then she saw the gun.

Bulma put a hand over her mouth, her eyes bugging as Frieza pointed the weapon. Zarbon started pleading…

The gunshot was dull but still audible, the suddenness of it making Bulma jump. Zarbon slumped lifelessly to the ground. He didn't move. Blood pooled about him. Bulma whimpered, horrified. Dead… He was dead. She'd just watched someone die.

Her eyes flicked wildly over to Vegeta in the video. His expression was stoic, emotionless to the fact that someone he'd known most of his life had just been murdered right in front of him.

Frieza raised the weapon, pointing it now at Vegeta. Bulma sobbed, terrified. She scrambled to pick up her phone and punched in 911, her eyes transfixed to the screen. Vegeta looked at Frieza unflinchingly, saying nothing, asking for no mercy, staring at his death with an unwavering gaze.

Frieza smiled and slowly lowered the gun. “Hmm, perhaps you'll be useful yet.”

Bulma felt dizzy in relief. The operate answered the phone and Bulma reported a shooter at the event center, one man already shot, another being held hostage. She was giving the address when she saw movement in the video, someone approaching Frieza. The new man sauntered up to Frieza, impossibly tall and broad shouldered. As soon as he was side by side Frieza, Bulma saw the resemblance. “Father,” Frieza greeted. “What are you-”

Mr. Cold leaned in and whispered something in his son's ear. The operator assured her help was on the way, and Bulma ended her call, letting her hand fall into her lap as she watched the screen, waiting with trepidation to see what would happen next, praying for the police to get there soon.

Whatever Mr. Cold had told him, Frieza looked far from pleased. “WHAT?!” he screamed.

To everyone's shock, Vegeta started laughing. He grabbed his side as he chuckled, looking up at the two men with dark amusement on his face. “Have you finally figured it out?” he mocked them.

Frieza's face twisted into something unholy to behold. “This…. This is your doing?” Frieza seethed, spitting with rage. He raised his hand, still holding the gun, and pistol-whipped Vegeta. Bulma cried out, grabbing the screen, feeling tears start to run down her face.

Vegeta doubled over, his head bowed as he spat up blood. He looked up at the Colds, grinning painfully, his teeth red. “Is it starting to sink in now, Frieza?” he goaded. “I finally got you. I was never one of yours, I only played the part because I had to, but I'm done with that now. And if you think I was ever with her because of you, you're sorely deluded. I'd rather die than tell you one singled goddamn thing about her, or her family, you piece of shit.” Vegeta gave a hacking laugh, then pointed at Zarbon's body. “Even he saw that. And you just killed the one sorry bastard that was actually still loyal to you, hahaha…” Vegeta continued to laugh weakly. He looked at Frieza, his eyes burning with a cold, black fire. “You wanted me to play her, but all this time I've been playing you. Tell me, Frieza, just how fucked are you now, with all the money you lost because of me and Goku?”

Goku? What did Goku have to do with-

Frieza roared and raised his foot, kicking Vegeta in the face, knocking Vegeta backwards. He raised his leg again but the older Cold pulled him back, looking impatient. “We don't have time for this, son. We need to handle the situation before word gets out that we can't make good on our debts and an all out war ensues.”

Frieza tried to get himself under control. Vegeta was still reeling from the kick, clutching his face, blood oozing from between his fingers. Frieza glared down at him, breathing heavily through his nose. He grabbed Vegeta's hair and lifted the boy back onto his knees. When Vegeta was upright, swaying unsteadily on his knees, Frieza raised his gun, pressing it against Vegeta's chest. “I suppose you think you can negotiate?”

Vegeta smiled through his own blood. “With you? Ha.”

Frieza smiled humorlessly. “Smart boy. I'll miss that. Pity. Any last words, you pathetic maggot?”

Vegeta lowered his hands to his sides, his fists clenching, then relaxing, oddly calm. “Yeah…” he said, and looked up at the camera. “I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise.” His words were barely audible as he looked right at her.

Bulma felt her eyes widen in horror, her heart beating beneath her chest like a death toll.

BA-BUM…

Frieza pulled the trigger. The muffled sound of the pistol echoed in the parking lot. Vegeta fell down.

Someone was screaming. It was awful, ear shattering, soul rendering. She didn't even realize it was her until she clapped a hand over her mouth and the sound muffled. She couldn't stop screaming as she looked at Vegeta's lifeless body, only his hair moving, the wind tugging at the ends.

“That was rash,” Mr Cold chastised his son. “Now we'll have to replace the father as well.”

“Good,” Frieza sneered. “He was lying to us about sending Vegeta to spy on the Briefs, that, or his son was deceiving him too. Either way he's clearly of no use to us anymore either. Fuck these useless Saiyans. I'll eradicate them all.” Frieza sneered down at Vegeta's body with contempt, then suddenly his head jerked up, and he and his father stared off in the same direction, hearing something. It took a few seconds for the sound to reach the camera's microphone, but when it did it became clear why the Cold's were suddenly scurrying to leave. Help had finally arrived. Too late. They left Vegeta or Zarbon's bodies, jumping into their SUVs and peeling out before the police could corner them in.

Bulma left too, launching to her feet. She had to get back to the tournament grounds, she had to save Vegeta before he bled out. A cold voice in her head that sounded an awful lot like Vegeta was telling her he couldn't possibly have survived a gunshot like that to the chest at point blank range, but she ignored it.

Bulma got on the fastest motorcycle in her father's garage and peeled out, not caring that she didn't have a license. She didn't even remember the drive over, her mind fried with worry. She sped to the tournament venue and abandoned the bike when she couldn't go any further, the area already cordoned off by the police. They'd clearly taken her phone call seriously because the place was abuzz with first responders, dozens of police cars and ambulances blocking the streets, and there was a huge crowd, no doubt people from the MMA event having spilled out into the parking lot to see what all the sirens were about. Bulma struggled to push her way through the crowd. She was still crying, half sobbing, half screaming for people to let her by. “Move! Get out of the way, I-I need to get through to him!!”

“Bulma?” A familiar voice called to her, and Bulma paused, seeing wild, spiky hair move towards her. Like a carrot top, she thought inanely to herself.

“Goku, where is he?” Bulma asked when her friend reached her.

Goku wasn't looking in the best of shape, beaten up from the tournament, yet it wasn't his wounds that shocked her, but his expression. He looked pale, stricken. Almost nothing fazed Goku, he was always so easy going, but the expression he wore now was chilling. She'd seen it on him only once before, a few years back when Krillin had been very sick. The doctors had told everyone to prepare for the worst. Thankfully, Krillin had recovered, but Bulma would never forget that look of fear on Goku's face. He wore it now too, and it shocked her more than the police and crowds and sirens did.

“Bulma,” Goku said, his voice so full of sorrow that she instantly wanted to turn from him, to shut out whatever he was going to say. She couldn't accept it.

“No,” she sobbed, pushing him away from her but Goku wouldn't let her go, reaching out and taking her shoulders in his strong hands.

“Bulma, listen-,”

“No, you listen!” she demanded, trying to wrench out of his grip. “Vegeta's in trouble! We have to help him, Goku, we have to find him, we have to…”

“I know, Bulma,” Goku said kindly, but his fingers were like iron, keeping her from running to where she'd last seen Vegeta on the security footage. “Listen… Something terrible has happened, Bulma.”

“We have to go to him, Goku!” Bulma insisted. They were drawing a crowd. She didn't care. Tears were running down her cheeks unchecked, and she didn't care about them either. The only thing she cared about was getting to Vegeta in time, but Goku wasn't letting her. “If you're not going to help me, then let me go!” she screamed at him, trying to shove him off.

“Bulma, Vegeta's dead!” Goku shouted, raising his voice and giving her a gentle shake. “He was shot through the heart. There was nothing they could do… He's… he's dead, Bulma…”

Bulma felt herself go still. Her breathing was eerily loud in her ears. Distantly, with scientific detachment, she knew she was hyperventilating. She knew she was in shock.

She knew Vegeta was dead.

Bulma's knees went weak and Goku had to support her so she wouldn't fall, gently helping her to the ground. She wrapped her arms around her middle and bent over, a rising, horrible keen building up inside her. She started wailing uncontrollably, rocking back and forth, sobbing more wretchedly than she ever had in her whole life.

Goku stayed with her, trying to console her. She heard him apologize, blaming himself. “I didn't know, oh God, Bulma, I'm so sorry… He didn't tell me all the details, if I had known, if he'd only told me the whole story. Bulma, I'm so sorry… I'm so, so sorry…”

She didn't care. She thought she was going to be sick. She struck the ground with her fists again and again until the edges of her palms stung and bled, and Goku had to grab her hands to keep her from hurting herself further.

Everything had been taken from her, everything she cared about, gone, because of one callous pull of a finger, Frieza's finger.

Frieza. It was all because of him.

Bulma looked up, her despair twisting into rage. She hadn't even noticed that Goku had stood up to engage an officer whom had seen her distress and wanted to inquire if she was alright. Bulma stood on shaky feet and ran over to them, grabbing the officer by the shirt, her eyes fixing on him with wild intensity. “I know who did it!” she said feverishly.

The officer reeled back, and Goku tried to delicately pry her hands from his shirt but she ignored both of their discomfort, words tumbling from her mouth.

“It was the Colds, it was Frieza Cold! He did this, he did all of this. He-”

“Ma'am, calm down,” the officer told her firmly, but not unkindly, seeing she was greatly upset and no doubt Goku had informed him she'd known the boy who'd been shot and killed. “Did you witness the attack, do you have any proof to these claims?”

“Yes!” she said, shaking with adrenalin. Hysterical, she was hysterical she knew, but she couldn't control herself. If nothing else, Frieza wouldn't get away with this; Vegeta would be the last person he ever killed. “I have the footage, the cameras, they're mine,” she stammered, struggling to get the words out coherently, her thoughts tripping over themselves.

The officer and Goku both looked up to where she pointed at the security cameras. Goku's face lit up with recognition. “Capsule Corp cameras?”

“Yes, yes!” Bulma said, frantically nodding.

The officer sighed and shook his head. “We've already checked with the security here, someone turned off the recording devices.”

Bulma's face twisted into a maniacal grin. “No! Not at Capsule Corp they didn't,” she said, letting out a small, hysterical laugh. “We have our own system that safeguards the cameras' recordings, I have it, all of it, because…”

Because of Vegeta. The thought hit her like a blow to the chest. Vegeta had been adamant that she get the footage of the tournament grounds, he'd drilled it into her over and over again. He had known. It was never about getting footage of some illegal gambling handoff. It was about getting footage of their cruelty as they punished an Icejin who'd gone AWOL.

He had known this would happen all along. Prepared for it. Planned for it.

I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise.

Bulma let go of the officer, backing away in rising dismay. The officer was pressing her with more questions, wanting to know if she really had the security recordings, but she was deaf to him now, in shock. One of her hands went to her belly, the other hovering over her mouth in horror. Vegeta had been planning this for weeks, possibly months, his ultimate trap to get the Colds. All it had taken was his life.

Oh god… he'd made love to her last night, knowing he'd never do so again…

She hated him. Bulma hated Vegeta like nothing she'd ever hated in her life. “You jerk!” she whispered hoarsely as she collapsed to the ground. “You asshole. You stupid, arrogant, selfish…” she choked off, sobbing too hard to continue. There were no counter insults, no huffed response or wolfish grin or furious scowl or hungry kiss…

And there never would be again.

Bulma curled up on herself and wept and wept and wept. She clutched her dragon-amber pendant, holding it as if by sheer force of will she could wish him back, as if the solid weight of it could return him to her. More than anything in the world she wished to have Vegeta back, would have given anything, anything for it to be so.

“We should take her somewhere more private,” the officer told Goku, and she felt Goku lift her up in his arms, the officer calling on his radio to report a possible lead in the case. Bulma didn't protest, letting Goku carry her, uncaring what happened to her anymore, detached from the world around her, limp in his arms.

There was a crackling sound as the officer's radio responded and he answered, speaking to someone she couldn't hear.

“Is she Bulma Briefs?” the officer suddenly asked Goku.

“Yes,” Goku replied, a little uncertainly.

“We need to leave right away. She's needed at the hospital.”

“Why?”

“Her husband is asking for her.”

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AN: O_O

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