Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Ghosts of Christmas ❯ Ghosts of Christmas ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z. Also, (and this goes for all my fics) the views that characters express in this story are not necessarily my own (i.e. Vegeta, being a homicidal maniac, isn't always going to think nice, happy thoughts).

A/N: This is written for a Christmas B/V challenge (`Vegeta's first Christmas on Earth' was the topic) on Boogum's The Prince and the Genius Forum, which you can find a link to through my profile. There's a bit of gore in this that could be disturbing (hence the M rating), which you can blame Vegeta for. I read the words “Vegeta's first Christmas,” and this is what he shoved into my head.

Oh, and in my version on Christmas at Capsule Corp, it doesn't snow in winter. I figured that the presence of palm trees around the Capsule Corp compound indicated that the climate was relatively warm (basically I based it on my home climate haha).

. . .

Ghosts of Christmas

Vegeta sat alone on the cold, damp lawn of Capsule Corporation, his back turned against the rowdy festivities that were taking place in the household behind him. The darkness of night enveloped him, and the chilled winter air threatened to seep through his clothing and get at his skin.

He had been seeking solitude, but realised now that this was in vain. The sound of clattering dishes and chatter, of laughter, and even singing, filled his head, making him grit his teeth against the noise. Tonight he would not escape the Humans, not anywhere on this planet, for it seemed the whole world was celebrating.

And for what? That was the question he had asked the woman, upon finding her stringing up streamers made of flimsy paper. The entire living area was now swathed in red and green, and for reasons that still eluded him, a massive tree had been brought in and placed in the corner, before being covered with shiny baubles.

The woman had said it was tradition. He'd snorted, and had replied that tradition alone was not reason enough to act in such a ridiculous manner. “What Are The Reasons Behind These Traditions?” he had asked her, speaking slowly and enunciating every syllable as if he were speaking to a child. That alone had been enough to raise her hackles, but she had answered him anyway.

“Foolish,” he muttered now, lifting his face to the cold wind. The woman and her family didn't even follow the religion for which these stupid celebrations were made, although many others on the planet did. He snorted, thinking of those inside the building behind him. What kind of idiots celebrated something they didn't even believe in?

He was not a religious man, and had never been, but he had seen others practice some form of divine worship enough times to realise that it was all the same. In the end it all came down to the hope that some fruitless plea to a divine being would save one from impending doom, as if some heavenly creature would swoop down from the skies and protect them in the face of death.

Or in the face of him.

The singing had started again, the voices louder now as the travelling group of Humans, travelling down a neighbouring street, grew closer. He grimaced and pulled the jacket he wore further about his ears, but it did nothing to hide the words that were carried on the wind.

“… O hear the angels' voices…”

The chill had seeped through his clothing. He hunched his shoulders against it and raised his ki, but the disquieting cold did not dissipate. In fact, it grew.

A memory flashed through his mind, of a pale-faced man with three bug eyes that bulged as he tightened his grasp on the fool's neck. “Oh please…” the man whispered, even as he squeezed the life out of him, “Oh please, Great Angel Amayi, save me please, oh please, oh please -

A woman screamed, pushing her child behind her. Her skin was pale green, her eyes a vivid blue that stared at him as he advanced. “Don't come any closer!” she screeched, her breath coming in quick, panicked gasps, the scent of fear and burning flesh thick in the air. “Don't you dare! The Gods will smite you for this! They will strike you down!”

He laughed at the woman. “Oh please,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm as he stretched his arms wide and threw his head back. “Oh please, great gods, smite me where I stand!” The woman gasped, and he watched her face, his grin stretching wide as he saw the disappointment, the fear and the madness growing in her eyes.

“Your gods do not exist!” he screamed at her, snatching the bawling child from behind her legs. “Now watch as I smite you and your kin!” -

He gasped, suddenly finding himself back on the lawn, on Earth, those past experiences light-years away. He was sweating, despite the chill, and wiped at his brow mechanically. What had brought those memories to mind? He supposed it was the thought of gods, of religion -

“You will go to Hell!” a young man hissed at him, the boy's white hair streaked blue with blood -

“You will burn in Hell,” an old, wizened thing told him as he pocketed the credit chips that lay abandoned on the table. “You know that.” He didn't bother replying, didn't even acknowledge that he had heard, but simply lit the thatched roof of the hut with his ki, stepping outside and locking the door as the quiet flickering of flames became a downright roar. The old creature would burn, but not he -

“I will see you in Hell,” a soldier muttered between gurgling breaths. He pulled his hand free from the soldier's chest cavity, watching coldly as the life drained from the man's eyes -

Kakarot's face swam before him, his vision clouded by tears. He was dying, and he reached out, trying to grasp on, trying to stay, trying to tell Kakarot something important that he had forgotten in the last few seconds as the black swarmed him, choking -

The air around him was pure, too pure. He stood- no, floated; his legs were no more- in line, on a path, before a great temple. Had he still had a heart, it would have beaten loudly with fear. The dread swirled through him, dread and anger; he had failed, he had not killed Frieza, and now… now he knew. Somehow, he just knew. There were Gods, and they were far more powerful than he had ever been, and here in this realm he was no longer the angel of death that he had loved to play, but only a ghost of a spirit about to be condemned. And he would be condemned- he would burn in Hell. He knew it to be so -

The woman stared at him, her blue eyes wide, her face framed by that ridiculous mass of aqua hair. “Vegeta,” she whispered, “I heard you last night… you have nightmares about all the people you've killed, don't you?”

“Tch,” he grunted, pushing himself swiftly to his feet, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. He shook his head to dispel the memories, but they remained, and more flitted through his mind, faces and bodies, corpses and blood, and the screams -

“Fall on your knees!

O hear the angels' voices!

O night divine,

O night that Christ was born…”

The voices of the singers were loud now, their high-pitched tone echoing through his brain. He looked up, snarling as torchlight lit the driveway and the singers passed through the open gate, their music growing louder and louder, suffocating him with their songs about divine beings- beings like the ones he knew, that he had seen in death; beings that held more power than he would ever have.

He lifted his hand towards the oblivious group, a small, glowing ball of light growing between his fingers. He would smite them. He'd kill them all, and bathe in their blood, and the ghosts in his head could all fuck off.

“Vegeta!”

He turned abruptly, the ball of ki disappearing under his closing fist. The woman stood a mere three paces away from him, concern etched across her face. How had she managed to get so close without his notice?

“Come inside, Vegeta,” she said softly, motioning to the house behind her. He stood frozen, for once unable to school his features into an impassive mask. He wondered briefly at what horrors she saw in his face as he watched her eyes flicker over him, her unease evident in the way her mouth pinched at the corners.

“I have no interest in partaking in your ridiculous rituals,” he sneered at her. As expected, she didn't back down, but merely pursed her lips, frowning at him.

“I know. But there's lots of turkey, fresh out of the oven, and you can take a few plates up to your room to eat.”

He hesitated. He could smell the food, now, and the warmth of his room suddenly seemed tempting.

“There's lots of gravy,” the woman said, tilting her head to peer at him. “I know you like gravy. Come on.”

He took a step towards her, then another, and she turned, trusting that he would follow her. She is a fool to do so, he thought darkly, screams of terror and death- the noise he was most familiar with- echoing hot in his ears.

“You will burn in Hell!” a memory screeched at him. He stepped inside, still following the woman, and his eyes raked over the mass of food laid out.

Yes, he would burn, someday. But for now, he would set those distasteful thoughts aside, and eat.