Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ My Second Time Around ❯ part three ( Chapter 3 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: fusionHA 
Vegeta's perspective
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 12.05.2002 | Updated On: 12.29.2002 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.0K | Visits: 313 | Status: Completed
Vegeta's perspective
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 12.05.2002 | Updated On: 12.29.2002 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.0K | Visits: 313 | Status: Completed
~ PART THREE ~
So, the woman tells me my son wants to be a warrior. That brat has no idea what it means to be a warrior! My kid has had a more coddled life than a pregnant royal had on Vegeta-sei, and now he wants me to teach him to be a 'Saiyan Warrior'? For his sake, I hope he's not serious.
What gives him the right to think he's even the kind of material for something like that? So he knows some decent fighting skills and learned to fuse with one of Kakarott's half-breeds... that means nothing in real battle! He made that perfectly clear when he openly made a mockery of his heritage fighting Majin Buu as that idiotic Gotenks character.
Uh, I can't believe that whole scenario even happened!
I have noticed that the kid has been hanging around Kakarott's two brats more often, though. Just yesterday, I overheard his oldest tell my wife that apparently Kakarott doesn't think I can train Trunks anymore, so he's been taking it upon himself to include him in their own nonsense training sessions. He even commented how he thinks my ten-year-old son is actually stronger than that mirai boy who came to warn us about the androids. I doubt that, and spit at the thought of that moron teaching *my* son anything. That's the last thing I need - for Trunks to start fighting with all kinds of 'emotions' and 'feelings'.
What's next?
True Saiyans fight with pride, not all of that garbage Kakarott preaches... but I guess a third class soldier who's never stepped foot on his home soil wouldn't know anything about that, now would he?
If it weren't for the fact that this damn planet lived virtually unthreatened in these past years, Trunks would already be developing into a formative fighter by now. But because of this *comfortable* life style he has become so accustomed to, he has severely lacked the survival experiences that harden a boy into a warrior.
Maybe it's time to take matters into my own hands...
I find the boy in his room, again polishing that ridiculous sword he was given for the hundredth time. God, I hope he doesn't start toting that thing around everywhere like Kakarott used to do with that stupid bow staff. I clear my throat, hoping to at least give him a jump.
"We're going to the clearing tomorrow, so get up early! Understood?" As suspected, I left the boy speechless. He blinks a couple of times before opening his mouth.
"O-Okay, Dad!" For whatever reason, he was starting to crack a smile.
Did he think I was joking?
"You mean it? Just you and me? To train?"
What? Now he looks even thrilled at the prospect! Does he think we're going out there to play games or whatever the hell he usually does out there with that other little brat he tags along with?
"Get up early! We're leaving at six!" I leave the doorway immediately as not catch his response. Quite frankly, I don't want to see it. The boy has become entirely too excited about serious training lately, even though that's not what I intend to do with him.
You see, if there is one thing I've picked up from that simpleton, idiot- Saiyan, it's that you have to push yourself until you crack - until you are given an ultimatum for survival in order to unleash your true hidden power. It happened with me in space when I was training to become a Super Saiyan. It happened with Gohan in the Time Chamber before the Cell Games. I know it will happen with Trunks tomorrow.
I'll show everyone who can train his own son!
As I walk down the hallway, I can already hear my son babbling over the phone to that friend of his, going on and on about how 'fun' tomorrow will be. Fun?! Regardless of what kind of brain capabilities his mother has, the kid isn't always the sharpest knife in the drawer. I wonder where he gets it from? Definitely not my side.
Even before I get out of bed - and mind you, I get up pretty early for Earth's standards - I can hear the brat already up and running about the house like there's a damn party going on. From my guess of it, he probably never even went to sleep! I get ready and head downstairs to see him eating cereal out of one of those big bowls the woman uses for cooking.
I fold my arms and turn on my harshest sounding voice behind him. "Let's go! I am not wasting anymore time with you than I have to!" That should calm him down, all though, I am a little suprised when it actually works.
He stands at attention, straightening the sash around his waist, attempting to look all official about this 'father-son outing' he thinks I have planned. After swallowing the food with a loud gulp, he flashes that same obnoxious grin that Kakarott's spawn uses. The fact that he's even remotely happy about this is making me furious.
I start walking out the door and shout back to him once I notice that he's still stuck in stun-mode at the kitchen table. "Trunks! NOW!"
The moment we reach the same familiar clearing of the woods I've trained both the boy and myself in sporadically over the past ten years, I open up the space between us and begin. I'm not concerned with warming up - you don't get a chance to stretch before a real battle, so why baby him now?
Without even being aware of it, I fully power up to my second stage, nearly scaring the shit out of my son. It only takes him a second before he follows my lead and transforms into a Super Saiyan as well, all though not quite to the same dynamic as myself.
I don't give him the chance to take a breath before I hit him hard with a punch to his smug face, knocking him flat on his ass. "Pay attention, brat!"
Trunks covers his mouth with his hand and wipes away a smear of blood. For whatever reason, he looks at it dumbfounded for a second, like the kid has never seen his own blood before. I run up to him and kick him square in the chest. "Do you think an enemy will wait for you to wipe your face off? GET UP!"
But to my complete suprise, he shakes it off, stands up, and looks back up to me with a smile. A real fucking smile! Does he think that this is a game were playing?
"Okay, Dad! I'm ready!" he spouts out, like he's *enthusiastic* about getting pounded into the ground. The brat is perhaps more resilient than I thought. "Show me how to be a Saiyan, Dad! A *real* Saiyan... like you!"
The words should have made me pleased, I suppose. But I grew more annoyed by the second at his total disregard to being serious about what I was trying to do. You don't smile in battle and you certainly don't try to suck up! Time to step it up a notch and wipe that grin off his face with another smack of reality.
I came at him again, but this time he countered. Even at his age, I'm pretty suprised at how creative and improvisational he can be in a fight. I carry it on like this for a while, landing devastating hits all over his frame, but I'd be lying if I didn't say he landed a few good ones on me, too.
I notice the look in his eyes. He's trying to prove something - to force me to see something in him. I remember once having that look in my own eyes, in the palace training with my father. I was so young back then, but I remember my father pushing me - forcing me to be stronger. I know what he was trying to do now, but I didn't then. He wanted me to be strong enough to take on Frezia someday - to become the Legendary Super Saiyan that he always told me I would be. I wanted to make him so proud of me.
It makes me angry that he never got to see what I've become.
I focus back to what I was doing and glance down to see Trunks on his hands and knees, wincing in pain at my feet, clutching his side with his arm wrapped around his midriff. I must have got him pretty hard when I was distracted with my thoughts, and from the looks of it, I'd say his other arm is broken by the way it's just hanging from the socket. Not only that, his hair isn't nearly as golden as it was when we started, now weighted down by the strips of purple bleeding through it.
Look! Not an ounce of fighting instinct in him - he's already let down his guard and now he's shown his opponent his injuries. I grab him by the wrist and hold him up so that I exposed his bruised rib cage, causing a whimper to leak out under his breath.
"You NEVER show your enemy your weakness! What do you think will happen when they EXPLOIT IT?!" I scream, as I start pounding into him hard, punching his side over and over again until I can feel the bones crushing under my fist to teach him. He barely makes an attempt to fight back, even though his only free arm is broken and just about useless. His body collapses into my fist. But even though every punch and kick I land forces out another scream, the power surge I'm waiting for doesn't come.
I finish my example on him and let him drop to the ground. At least he learned a lesson from it. However, as soon as I release, he falls on his hands and knees and starts throwing up.
Why is he so fucking weak?
"Get UP!! Get up and fight, you brainless child! A warrior does not roll over and wait for death in battle! DO YOU HEAR ME?!" His current lack of strength and stamina is disgusting me. No son of mine - the son of a super elite - will be this soft, this gutless in a fight. I listen to his breathing for a moment, sharp and uncontrolled before he somehow pushes himself back onto his knees. He's shaking or spasming, but if I didn't know any better, I would say he's just about ready to cry.
"P-Please, I'm... s-sorry. I wa-want to stop now. It hurts..."
"Frezia didn't care when I said that to him!! He didn't show sympathy to ANYTHING! He enjoyed to hear the desperate begging for life, only to mercilessly take it away!" I can feel myself powering up. "DEFEND YOURSELF! FIGHT BACK! Is this what you would do in battle, Trunks? IS IT?! Would you just fucking roll over and die?!"
Trunks grabs on to my hand, choking out his words like a sobbing, human child. "I d-don't want to fight anymore, Dad... please... I-I wa-want to go home."
I feel my blood starting to boil. I can't even see straight. I will not give into this childish weakness like every other time I've tried to train him. I want him to release his fucking power already, and I am not going to hesitate to beat him senseless for it to happen!
I grab his arms, crushing them to his sides, and yank him up to hear me. He bites his lip and draws blood in some desperate attempt not to scream out again. Or maybe he's trying not to cry? I'm so mad about it, I can only manage to grit my words through my teeth.
"YOU NEVER BEG FOR YOUR LIFE! NEVER!!! DO YOU HEAR ME?!? You are dishonoring your race and everything it means to be a Saiyan!!"
He's coughing up blood now. It hits me in the face. "D-Dad, pl-please stop. I... c-can't... please... you're h-hurting me!" I can't tell if those are tears running down his face or sweat.
"Do you think Frezia cared that he was hurting me?! Did he give a fuck that I was only a boy and didn't know what it meant to 'learn your place'?! Do you know what kind of humiliation that is? DO YOU?! ANSWER ME!!"
I remember all of it. I was begging for my life - for him to stop, to let me go. It hurt so badly, and I just fucking let him destroy the life I was supposed to have without ever fighting back. I never even tried! Why the fuck didn't I fight back?!
I can still feel the punches across my face, over and over and over again. I can see myself in his throne room on the ship. That little bloody child in his claws, screaming for his father who wouldn't come.
I lost it.
I could feel something inside of me break.
I want Frezia to be alive again. I want to rip him to pieces and make him pay for everything he did to me. He killed my father - my race - my planet. I was only five years old! I was too young to understand what real death was - that it meant that I would have to fight alone for the rest of my life - that nobody would save me and I was too weak to do anything about it on my own.
I hate myself for letting it all happen. I want to go back. I want to see that stupid little boy who was too fucking scared to defend himself.
The choke of crying, clawing to break away.
"Fight back! Fucking FIGHT BACK!! Why are you letting this happen to you!"
The sound of breaking pain, a body thown to the ground. Gasping, silent screams that don't echo.
"You didn't listen to him! You were supposed to be stronger! Why are you letting this fucking happen?!?"
Teeth knocked out. Blood splattering under a faint cry.
"Nobody's going to save you, you stupid boy! You were supposed to save yourself! You're welcoming everything he's doing to you by not fighting back. This is exactly what he wants!"
The sound of a wet fist smacking into a bloodied face. Again. And again. And again.
Eventually, there is no more resistance. No more screaming. No more crying.
I don't even know where I am anymore.
I open my eyes.
I'm looking over that cliff, not too far from the clearing. I don't even know how I got here. My mind is attacking me with so many graphic memories that I never wanted to remember again - thinking of how my father told me he loved me before I went to bed the night before he was killed... hearing a little, scared boy crying alone in the bowels of Frezia's ship because he was the only one left - because he knew that for the rest of his life he would be enslaved under the ruthless hand of Frezia himself.
I *did* want to be strong, but I couldn't do it. I didn't know how. I was only a boy.
Now I think of a different little boy crying, alone in his room that one night as I walk quietly past his door. The woman told me he transformed that day, but I didn't believe her. I don't think I *wanted* to believe her. But there he was, lying alone in his bed, probably scared out of his mind because nobody was there to help him - nobody who could understand how incredibly painful the first transformation is, and to show him how to control it.
I can hear him again, after the first time I had actually seen it with my own eyes, taunting him to hit me, only to hit him back. I just... wanted to see his power. I couldn't believe *my* eight-year-old son was Super Saiyan, after it had taken my entire life to achieve the very same thing. I didn't intend to hit him back. It was just a reflex. And honestly, I didn't think he would *want* to go to the park after all that. But the real truth is I don't think I would have been able to look at him, either.
I should have been proud of my son, but I hurt him instead.
My mind keeps flooding back to all of the times I've repeatedly ignored him and threw him aside, but he never gave up, did he? Over the years, my son has displayed more bravery than any other Saiyan child I have ever seen, not once giving into fear before trying to save his planet and myself from an enemy like Majin Buu. He has reached the very pinnacle of our race at an age that should be completely impossible, and has surpassed anything that I was ever able to do at even twice his age! He's powerful, resilient, brave... everything I always imagined *my son* - the son of the Prince of all Saiyans - would be. But yet, I still reject him.
I may have hated Frezia for all of the torture he inflicted on me, but I do the same to Trunks everyday and he *still* gives me unconditional love in return, despite being treated so cruelly.
What does that make of me?
I glance down at my stained gloves, realizing that the blood splattered on them is my own, even if it came from another. I tighten my fist as I close my eyes. My voice is barely audible. "Trunks, let's go. We're going home."
No response.
I glance around for him, but he isn't anywhere close. Where did he go? I scan over the area and find him exactly where we must have left off, still face down in a trench of dirt. I don't think I can handle it if he's crying.
I carefully walk down the side of the rocks and make my way through the empty clearing to where he's lying on the ground. The mid-day sun is starting to get hot. "Trunks? Come now. We're going home."
No response. Not even a flinch.
I feel a lump beginning to form in my throat as I get closer to see a pool of red puddling under his form of tangled limbs. "Oh God, no..."
I bend down to tilt his face back and I'm horrified. I can barely tell it's my son. His face is so badly beaten and bruised, almost beyond recognition, that it doesn't even look like him anymore, save a patch of lavender hair that's not soaked with blood. His life force is so faint, I'm not even sure it's there.
"TRUNKS! TRUNKS! Look at me!! TRUNKS!!" I shake him, but his limp body doesn't respond. "TRUNKS!!" I break into a full-blown panic at the thought of that in my blinded rage, I might have killed my only son.
*Think quick!*
I pick him up and immediately take off to the only place I know I can go, and as much as I hate to admit it, the only person that can help me now. As I accelerate to full speed, cradling him in my arms, I realize how foreign it feels to actually be holding my son.
"KAKAROTT! GET OUT HERE! QUICK!" I shout, as I near the house and touch down on the grass, Trunks still hanging across my arms. The house is so small, I probably would have missed it had not been for the unmistakable ki signatures pouring out of it.
Great, all three of them are home!
"KAKAROTT!!"
It doesn't take him more than a second to run outside. I mean, when was the last time I've *ever* asked someone for help, much less him? I would imagine that would send anyone running, if not out of pure curiosity. His eyes immediately look down to the bloody mess in my arms and turns the palest shade of white I've ever seen anyone take on. Perfect! Of all times I want him to shut up, *now* he's at a loss for words.
"Don't just stand there, you idiot! HELP ME!"
He can barely speak. "V-Vegeta... wh-, h-how did this happen?"
Before I'm able to rip his head off for being so paralyzed in such a dire situation, his two brats come running out of the house to see what's going on. At least it didn't take *them* as long to react.
"TRUNKS! NO!! What did you do to him?!" his youngest screams, already accusing me of doing this... not that he should be thinking any differently. Gohan runs up behind him and holds him back, giving him a hell of a struggle in order to keep the kid under control. "No! Let me go! Trunks needs my help! Nhhh... Gohan, PLEASE... LET... GO!"
Kakarott finally snaps out of his initial shock and quickly summons Gohan to retrieve a senzu bean from inside the house, holding on to his small, hysterical son while he's gone. Even Kakarott has to struggle to hold on to him tightly.
"Listen, Goten... Listen to me! Trunks is going to be alright. Okay? I need you to calm down," he tells him in a suprisingly stern manner. The boy starts crying. I watch as my Saiyan counterpart holds his sobbing son into his chest, gently rubbing his back and reassuring him everything will be okay - that Trunks is strong and he'll be fine once he gets a senzu bean.
I look down to Trunks, draped lifelessly across my arms, bleeding and barely recognizable, and think of what I did when *my son* was scared and crying...
I beat him further into inch of his life.
I glance back to the little father-son bonding moment in front of me, getting a look from Kakarott that I haven't seen in years, not since our last battle. Even then, I don't remember it feeling so degrading. I try in vain to explain my actions, even though there isn't anything I can say that can justify *this*.
My voice sounds numb. "I-I just wanted to push him. I wanted him to... to fight back. To be fearless of his enemy..."
"He would NEVER fight you, Vegeta. He loves you! You're *not* his enemy. You're his father!"
I can't even look at him. I feel dead inside.
Within seconds, Gohan comes flying out of the house, bean in hand. I set Trunks down on the grass and prop his head up, silently praying that this will be enough.
"Give it to me NOW!" I demand.
"But, he has to swallow it..."
"JUST GIVE IT TO ME!" I grab it out of the older boy's hand, snap it in half between my front teeth and push it far into his mouth. I shudder when I can feel that most of his teeth have already been knocked out from earlier. I push it down as far as I can reach, and watch intently for any sign of it working.
We wait.
A minute goes by.
Another.
Suddenly, Trunks starts gasping for air, coughing up the blood that had been pooling in his lungs from the damage I caused. His body spasms violently, desperately trying to heal itself, but physically there doesn't appear to be much of a difference.
"Why isn't he fully healing? The senzu bean should be working better than this!" I yell, wanting to know why his body still looks so torn apart.
"That bean is pretty old, Vegeta. I haven't been to Korrin's to get new ones since Majin Buu. I don't think it will heal him completely. His injuries... they're really bad..." Kakarott goes on, like I don't fucking know how injured my son is. Obviously there's nothing more he can do for him.
I have to get out of here.
I pick up Trunks, still shaking and spitting up blood, and fly back towards West City. I don't say good bye. It didn't even come to mind.
I bring my son home and carry him up to his room. The woman's not here, at least giving me a chance to clean him up before she sees him. I can only imagine the wrath that this is going to bring! I lay him down on his bed to tear the bloody clothes off his body and suddenly feel nauseated at the first full view of the damage I've done - The right side of his torso is covered in dark purple welts the same size as my fist, and his arm - all though no longer broken - still needs to be tended to. I can barely look.
I go into the bathroom and bring back a wet towel to start wiping off the blood and dirt. Once I clean off most of the mess, I notice, to my relief, that nearly all of the actual breaks in the skin have already healed, leaving only the swelled bruises over his face and body along with a mouthful of missing teeth. I finish washing him off as best as I can, and pull the covers over him to keep him warm until Bulma comes home. I wish I could say that I knew what to do at this point, but I've never had to deal with injuries this severe without the aid of a Regeneration Tank or Dende on hand.
He's in alot of pain, I can tell. He's still pretty much unconscious and hasn't opened his eyes yet, but I don't think I want him to. I don't know how he will react when he sees me.
I don't know how *I* will react when he sees me.
For the next couple of weeks, I find myself avoiding the house as much as I can, spending most of my time alone out in the woods. Training. Thinking. Wondering how things will turn out...
The few times I do actually return home, it's almost unbearable. If not for the dirty looks I get from my wife, it's the sitting at the dinner table, looking at the near-disfigured face across from me while being unable to say anything back to him... Or to walk past his room in the middle of the night to hear him quietly sobbing in his pillow in the dark.
This is my torture.
Somewhere during all this, I realized that I stopped hearing the little determined voice that would always beg me to train him... to spend time with him. My son no longer eagerly pounded on the door of my Gravity Simulator at all hours of the day to let him in, and the enthusiastic smile that had once beamed across his young face slowly faded into the same expression of that sad young man I remember from so long ago.
I think he's been training with Goten these days, or so I assume. He doesn't talk to me about it anymore like he used to - always going on about what they did that day or what he learned - but I don't exactly make the effort to ask. I can hardly look at him, much less say anything.
I miss the boy I had grown so accustomed to always being around.
I find myself thinking about my grown son from that other timeline alot lately. He tried everything to please me and I did nothing but ignore him, no matter how much he impressed me. I sat there and watched as Cell killed him and I did *nothing* to save him! I wanted a second chance - to be the father for my strong son - to tell him that I was proud of him instead of letting him die.
But I *did* get that second chance. I told myself things would be different for Trunks with me around this time - to train him and make him stronger and more powerful, more so than even Kakarott's son!
Even after I was given the chance to come back to this world, I *still* thought that I could change for him. At the moment of my sacrifice, it was what I regretted the most. But still, I failed him. I forgot what kind of father I should have been the first time, the same one *I* wanted so badly as a boy myself. But when I really think about it, I wonder if Trunks ever wanted to be a warrior or a fighter at all. Maybe he just wanted to make me proud of him the only way he knew how, and I denied him of even that!
Months... years go by as I watch Trunks grow into a strong young man, no longer the eager little boy who would always be at my side, though I never really noticed until later. I want a second chance to be his father - to tell him that I'm proud of him again, and that I was just too stubborn to tell him so many other times before. I've noticed his fighting skills probably aren't what they could be by now, but then again, I suppose he isn't exactly the same son I used to have, either.
Every now and then, I can see the disappointment in his eyes - the disappointment for me - but I never try to make things right like I should. I don't think I can. Even after a lifetime of training myself to be stronger and more powerful, I'm still too weak to fight for the life I'm supposed to have...
I lost my second chance with Trunks, and failed again to save him from the enemy.
Only this time, the enemy was me.
:: please review ::
So, the woman tells me my son wants to be a warrior. That brat has no idea what it means to be a warrior! My kid has had a more coddled life than a pregnant royal had on Vegeta-sei, and now he wants me to teach him to be a 'Saiyan Warrior'? For his sake, I hope he's not serious.
What gives him the right to think he's even the kind of material for something like that? So he knows some decent fighting skills and learned to fuse with one of Kakarott's half-breeds... that means nothing in real battle! He made that perfectly clear when he openly made a mockery of his heritage fighting Majin Buu as that idiotic Gotenks character.
Uh, I can't believe that whole scenario even happened!
I have noticed that the kid has been hanging around Kakarott's two brats more often, though. Just yesterday, I overheard his oldest tell my wife that apparently Kakarott doesn't think I can train Trunks anymore, so he's been taking it upon himself to include him in their own nonsense training sessions. He even commented how he thinks my ten-year-old son is actually stronger than that mirai boy who came to warn us about the androids. I doubt that, and spit at the thought of that moron teaching *my* son anything. That's the last thing I need - for Trunks to start fighting with all kinds of 'emotions' and 'feelings'.
What's next?
True Saiyans fight with pride, not all of that garbage Kakarott preaches... but I guess a third class soldier who's never stepped foot on his home soil wouldn't know anything about that, now would he?
If it weren't for the fact that this damn planet lived virtually unthreatened in these past years, Trunks would already be developing into a formative fighter by now. But because of this *comfortable* life style he has become so accustomed to, he has severely lacked the survival experiences that harden a boy into a warrior.
Maybe it's time to take matters into my own hands...
I find the boy in his room, again polishing that ridiculous sword he was given for the hundredth time. God, I hope he doesn't start toting that thing around everywhere like Kakarott used to do with that stupid bow staff. I clear my throat, hoping to at least give him a jump.
"We're going to the clearing tomorrow, so get up early! Understood?" As suspected, I left the boy speechless. He blinks a couple of times before opening his mouth.
"O-Okay, Dad!" For whatever reason, he was starting to crack a smile.
Did he think I was joking?
"You mean it? Just you and me? To train?"
What? Now he looks even thrilled at the prospect! Does he think we're going out there to play games or whatever the hell he usually does out there with that other little brat he tags along with?
"Get up early! We're leaving at six!" I leave the doorway immediately as not catch his response. Quite frankly, I don't want to see it. The boy has become entirely too excited about serious training lately, even though that's not what I intend to do with him.
You see, if there is one thing I've picked up from that simpleton, idiot- Saiyan, it's that you have to push yourself until you crack - until you are given an ultimatum for survival in order to unleash your true hidden power. It happened with me in space when I was training to become a Super Saiyan. It happened with Gohan in the Time Chamber before the Cell Games. I know it will happen with Trunks tomorrow.
I'll show everyone who can train his own son!
As I walk down the hallway, I can already hear my son babbling over the phone to that friend of his, going on and on about how 'fun' tomorrow will be. Fun?! Regardless of what kind of brain capabilities his mother has, the kid isn't always the sharpest knife in the drawer. I wonder where he gets it from? Definitely not my side.
Even before I get out of bed - and mind you, I get up pretty early for Earth's standards - I can hear the brat already up and running about the house like there's a damn party going on. From my guess of it, he probably never even went to sleep! I get ready and head downstairs to see him eating cereal out of one of those big bowls the woman uses for cooking.
I fold my arms and turn on my harshest sounding voice behind him. "Let's go! I am not wasting anymore time with you than I have to!" That should calm him down, all though, I am a little suprised when it actually works.
He stands at attention, straightening the sash around his waist, attempting to look all official about this 'father-son outing' he thinks I have planned. After swallowing the food with a loud gulp, he flashes that same obnoxious grin that Kakarott's spawn uses. The fact that he's even remotely happy about this is making me furious.
I start walking out the door and shout back to him once I notice that he's still stuck in stun-mode at the kitchen table. "Trunks! NOW!"
The moment we reach the same familiar clearing of the woods I've trained both the boy and myself in sporadically over the past ten years, I open up the space between us and begin. I'm not concerned with warming up - you don't get a chance to stretch before a real battle, so why baby him now?
Without even being aware of it, I fully power up to my second stage, nearly scaring the shit out of my son. It only takes him a second before he follows my lead and transforms into a Super Saiyan as well, all though not quite to the same dynamic as myself.
I don't give him the chance to take a breath before I hit him hard with a punch to his smug face, knocking him flat on his ass. "Pay attention, brat!"
Trunks covers his mouth with his hand and wipes away a smear of blood. For whatever reason, he looks at it dumbfounded for a second, like the kid has never seen his own blood before. I run up to him and kick him square in the chest. "Do you think an enemy will wait for you to wipe your face off? GET UP!"
But to my complete suprise, he shakes it off, stands up, and looks back up to me with a smile. A real fucking smile! Does he think that this is a game were playing?
"Okay, Dad! I'm ready!" he spouts out, like he's *enthusiastic* about getting pounded into the ground. The brat is perhaps more resilient than I thought. "Show me how to be a Saiyan, Dad! A *real* Saiyan... like you!"
The words should have made me pleased, I suppose. But I grew more annoyed by the second at his total disregard to being serious about what I was trying to do. You don't smile in battle and you certainly don't try to suck up! Time to step it up a notch and wipe that grin off his face with another smack of reality.
I came at him again, but this time he countered. Even at his age, I'm pretty suprised at how creative and improvisational he can be in a fight. I carry it on like this for a while, landing devastating hits all over his frame, but I'd be lying if I didn't say he landed a few good ones on me, too.
I notice the look in his eyes. He's trying to prove something - to force me to see something in him. I remember once having that look in my own eyes, in the palace training with my father. I was so young back then, but I remember my father pushing me - forcing me to be stronger. I know what he was trying to do now, but I didn't then. He wanted me to be strong enough to take on Frezia someday - to become the Legendary Super Saiyan that he always told me I would be. I wanted to make him so proud of me.
It makes me angry that he never got to see what I've become.
I focus back to what I was doing and glance down to see Trunks on his hands and knees, wincing in pain at my feet, clutching his side with his arm wrapped around his midriff. I must have got him pretty hard when I was distracted with my thoughts, and from the looks of it, I'd say his other arm is broken by the way it's just hanging from the socket. Not only that, his hair isn't nearly as golden as it was when we started, now weighted down by the strips of purple bleeding through it.
Look! Not an ounce of fighting instinct in him - he's already let down his guard and now he's shown his opponent his injuries. I grab him by the wrist and hold him up so that I exposed his bruised rib cage, causing a whimper to leak out under his breath.
"You NEVER show your enemy your weakness! What do you think will happen when they EXPLOIT IT?!" I scream, as I start pounding into him hard, punching his side over and over again until I can feel the bones crushing under my fist to teach him. He barely makes an attempt to fight back, even though his only free arm is broken and just about useless. His body collapses into my fist. But even though every punch and kick I land forces out another scream, the power surge I'm waiting for doesn't come.
I finish my example on him and let him drop to the ground. At least he learned a lesson from it. However, as soon as I release, he falls on his hands and knees and starts throwing up.
Why is he so fucking weak?
"Get UP!! Get up and fight, you brainless child! A warrior does not roll over and wait for death in battle! DO YOU HEAR ME?!" His current lack of strength and stamina is disgusting me. No son of mine - the son of a super elite - will be this soft, this gutless in a fight. I listen to his breathing for a moment, sharp and uncontrolled before he somehow pushes himself back onto his knees. He's shaking or spasming, but if I didn't know any better, I would say he's just about ready to cry.
"P-Please, I'm... s-sorry. I wa-want to stop now. It hurts..."
"Frezia didn't care when I said that to him!! He didn't show sympathy to ANYTHING! He enjoyed to hear the desperate begging for life, only to mercilessly take it away!" I can feel myself powering up. "DEFEND YOURSELF! FIGHT BACK! Is this what you would do in battle, Trunks? IS IT?! Would you just fucking roll over and die?!"
Trunks grabs on to my hand, choking out his words like a sobbing, human child. "I d-don't want to fight anymore, Dad... please... I-I wa-want to go home."
I feel my blood starting to boil. I can't even see straight. I will not give into this childish weakness like every other time I've tried to train him. I want him to release his fucking power already, and I am not going to hesitate to beat him senseless for it to happen!
I grab his arms, crushing them to his sides, and yank him up to hear me. He bites his lip and draws blood in some desperate attempt not to scream out again. Or maybe he's trying not to cry? I'm so mad about it, I can only manage to grit my words through my teeth.
"YOU NEVER BEG FOR YOUR LIFE! NEVER!!! DO YOU HEAR ME?!? You are dishonoring your race and everything it means to be a Saiyan!!"
He's coughing up blood now. It hits me in the face. "D-Dad, pl-please stop. I... c-can't... please... you're h-hurting me!" I can't tell if those are tears running down his face or sweat.
"Do you think Frezia cared that he was hurting me?! Did he give a fuck that I was only a boy and didn't know what it meant to 'learn your place'?! Do you know what kind of humiliation that is? DO YOU?! ANSWER ME!!"
I remember all of it. I was begging for my life - for him to stop, to let me go. It hurt so badly, and I just fucking let him destroy the life I was supposed to have without ever fighting back. I never even tried! Why the fuck didn't I fight back?!
I can still feel the punches across my face, over and over and over again. I can see myself in his throne room on the ship. That little bloody child in his claws, screaming for his father who wouldn't come.
I lost it.
I could feel something inside of me break.
I want Frezia to be alive again. I want to rip him to pieces and make him pay for everything he did to me. He killed my father - my race - my planet. I was only five years old! I was too young to understand what real death was - that it meant that I would have to fight alone for the rest of my life - that nobody would save me and I was too weak to do anything about it on my own.
I hate myself for letting it all happen. I want to go back. I want to see that stupid little boy who was too fucking scared to defend himself.
The choke of crying, clawing to break away.
"Fight back! Fucking FIGHT BACK!! Why are you letting this happen to you!"
The sound of breaking pain, a body thown to the ground. Gasping, silent screams that don't echo.
"You didn't listen to him! You were supposed to be stronger! Why are you letting this fucking happen?!?"
Teeth knocked out. Blood splattering under a faint cry.
"Nobody's going to save you, you stupid boy! You were supposed to save yourself! You're welcoming everything he's doing to you by not fighting back. This is exactly what he wants!"
The sound of a wet fist smacking into a bloodied face. Again. And again. And again.
Eventually, there is no more resistance. No more screaming. No more crying.
I don't even know where I am anymore.
I open my eyes.
I'm looking over that cliff, not too far from the clearing. I don't even know how I got here. My mind is attacking me with so many graphic memories that I never wanted to remember again - thinking of how my father told me he loved me before I went to bed the night before he was killed... hearing a little, scared boy crying alone in the bowels of Frezia's ship because he was the only one left - because he knew that for the rest of his life he would be enslaved under the ruthless hand of Frezia himself.
I *did* want to be strong, but I couldn't do it. I didn't know how. I was only a boy.
Now I think of a different little boy crying, alone in his room that one night as I walk quietly past his door. The woman told me he transformed that day, but I didn't believe her. I don't think I *wanted* to believe her. But there he was, lying alone in his bed, probably scared out of his mind because nobody was there to help him - nobody who could understand how incredibly painful the first transformation is, and to show him how to control it.
I can hear him again, after the first time I had actually seen it with my own eyes, taunting him to hit me, only to hit him back. I just... wanted to see his power. I couldn't believe *my* eight-year-old son was Super Saiyan, after it had taken my entire life to achieve the very same thing. I didn't intend to hit him back. It was just a reflex. And honestly, I didn't think he would *want* to go to the park after all that. But the real truth is I don't think I would have been able to look at him, either.
I should have been proud of my son, but I hurt him instead.
My mind keeps flooding back to all of the times I've repeatedly ignored him and threw him aside, but he never gave up, did he? Over the years, my son has displayed more bravery than any other Saiyan child I have ever seen, not once giving into fear before trying to save his planet and myself from an enemy like Majin Buu. He has reached the very pinnacle of our race at an age that should be completely impossible, and has surpassed anything that I was ever able to do at even twice his age! He's powerful, resilient, brave... everything I always imagined *my son* - the son of the Prince of all Saiyans - would be. But yet, I still reject him.
I may have hated Frezia for all of the torture he inflicted on me, but I do the same to Trunks everyday and he *still* gives me unconditional love in return, despite being treated so cruelly.
What does that make of me?
I glance down at my stained gloves, realizing that the blood splattered on them is my own, even if it came from another. I tighten my fist as I close my eyes. My voice is barely audible. "Trunks, let's go. We're going home."
No response.
I glance around for him, but he isn't anywhere close. Where did he go? I scan over the area and find him exactly where we must have left off, still face down in a trench of dirt. I don't think I can handle it if he's crying.
I carefully walk down the side of the rocks and make my way through the empty clearing to where he's lying on the ground. The mid-day sun is starting to get hot. "Trunks? Come now. We're going home."
No response. Not even a flinch.
I feel a lump beginning to form in my throat as I get closer to see a pool of red puddling under his form of tangled limbs. "Oh God, no..."
I bend down to tilt his face back and I'm horrified. I can barely tell it's my son. His face is so badly beaten and bruised, almost beyond recognition, that it doesn't even look like him anymore, save a patch of lavender hair that's not soaked with blood. His life force is so faint, I'm not even sure it's there.
"TRUNKS! TRUNKS! Look at me!! TRUNKS!!" I shake him, but his limp body doesn't respond. "TRUNKS!!" I break into a full-blown panic at the thought of that in my blinded rage, I might have killed my only son.
*Think quick!*
I pick him up and immediately take off to the only place I know I can go, and as much as I hate to admit it, the only person that can help me now. As I accelerate to full speed, cradling him in my arms, I realize how foreign it feels to actually be holding my son.
"KAKAROTT! GET OUT HERE! QUICK!" I shout, as I near the house and touch down on the grass, Trunks still hanging across my arms. The house is so small, I probably would have missed it had not been for the unmistakable ki signatures pouring out of it.
Great, all three of them are home!
"KAKAROTT!!"
It doesn't take him more than a second to run outside. I mean, when was the last time I've *ever* asked someone for help, much less him? I would imagine that would send anyone running, if not out of pure curiosity. His eyes immediately look down to the bloody mess in my arms and turns the palest shade of white I've ever seen anyone take on. Perfect! Of all times I want him to shut up, *now* he's at a loss for words.
"Don't just stand there, you idiot! HELP ME!"
He can barely speak. "V-Vegeta... wh-, h-how did this happen?"
Before I'm able to rip his head off for being so paralyzed in such a dire situation, his two brats come running out of the house to see what's going on. At least it didn't take *them* as long to react.
"TRUNKS! NO!! What did you do to him?!" his youngest screams, already accusing me of doing this... not that he should be thinking any differently. Gohan runs up behind him and holds him back, giving him a hell of a struggle in order to keep the kid under control. "No! Let me go! Trunks needs my help! Nhhh... Gohan, PLEASE... LET... GO!"
Kakarott finally snaps out of his initial shock and quickly summons Gohan to retrieve a senzu bean from inside the house, holding on to his small, hysterical son while he's gone. Even Kakarott has to struggle to hold on to him tightly.
"Listen, Goten... Listen to me! Trunks is going to be alright. Okay? I need you to calm down," he tells him in a suprisingly stern manner. The boy starts crying. I watch as my Saiyan counterpart holds his sobbing son into his chest, gently rubbing his back and reassuring him everything will be okay - that Trunks is strong and he'll be fine once he gets a senzu bean.
I look down to Trunks, draped lifelessly across my arms, bleeding and barely recognizable, and think of what I did when *my son* was scared and crying...
I beat him further into inch of his life.
I glance back to the little father-son bonding moment in front of me, getting a look from Kakarott that I haven't seen in years, not since our last battle. Even then, I don't remember it feeling so degrading. I try in vain to explain my actions, even though there isn't anything I can say that can justify *this*.
My voice sounds numb. "I-I just wanted to push him. I wanted him to... to fight back. To be fearless of his enemy..."
"He would NEVER fight you, Vegeta. He loves you! You're *not* his enemy. You're his father!"
I can't even look at him. I feel dead inside.
Within seconds, Gohan comes flying out of the house, bean in hand. I set Trunks down on the grass and prop his head up, silently praying that this will be enough.
"Give it to me NOW!" I demand.
"But, he has to swallow it..."
"JUST GIVE IT TO ME!" I grab it out of the older boy's hand, snap it in half between my front teeth and push it far into his mouth. I shudder when I can feel that most of his teeth have already been knocked out from earlier. I push it down as far as I can reach, and watch intently for any sign of it working.
We wait.
A minute goes by.
Another.
Suddenly, Trunks starts gasping for air, coughing up the blood that had been pooling in his lungs from the damage I caused. His body spasms violently, desperately trying to heal itself, but physically there doesn't appear to be much of a difference.
"Why isn't he fully healing? The senzu bean should be working better than this!" I yell, wanting to know why his body still looks so torn apart.
"That bean is pretty old, Vegeta. I haven't been to Korrin's to get new ones since Majin Buu. I don't think it will heal him completely. His injuries... they're really bad..." Kakarott goes on, like I don't fucking know how injured my son is. Obviously there's nothing more he can do for him.
I have to get out of here.
I pick up Trunks, still shaking and spitting up blood, and fly back towards West City. I don't say good bye. It didn't even come to mind.
I bring my son home and carry him up to his room. The woman's not here, at least giving me a chance to clean him up before she sees him. I can only imagine the wrath that this is going to bring! I lay him down on his bed to tear the bloody clothes off his body and suddenly feel nauseated at the first full view of the damage I've done - The right side of his torso is covered in dark purple welts the same size as my fist, and his arm - all though no longer broken - still needs to be tended to. I can barely look.
I go into the bathroom and bring back a wet towel to start wiping off the blood and dirt. Once I clean off most of the mess, I notice, to my relief, that nearly all of the actual breaks in the skin have already healed, leaving only the swelled bruises over his face and body along with a mouthful of missing teeth. I finish washing him off as best as I can, and pull the covers over him to keep him warm until Bulma comes home. I wish I could say that I knew what to do at this point, but I've never had to deal with injuries this severe without the aid of a Regeneration Tank or Dende on hand.
He's in alot of pain, I can tell. He's still pretty much unconscious and hasn't opened his eyes yet, but I don't think I want him to. I don't know how he will react when he sees me.
I don't know how *I* will react when he sees me.
For the next couple of weeks, I find myself avoiding the house as much as I can, spending most of my time alone out in the woods. Training. Thinking. Wondering how things will turn out...
The few times I do actually return home, it's almost unbearable. If not for the dirty looks I get from my wife, it's the sitting at the dinner table, looking at the near-disfigured face across from me while being unable to say anything back to him... Or to walk past his room in the middle of the night to hear him quietly sobbing in his pillow in the dark.
This is my torture.
Somewhere during all this, I realized that I stopped hearing the little determined voice that would always beg me to train him... to spend time with him. My son no longer eagerly pounded on the door of my Gravity Simulator at all hours of the day to let him in, and the enthusiastic smile that had once beamed across his young face slowly faded into the same expression of that sad young man I remember from so long ago.
I think he's been training with Goten these days, or so I assume. He doesn't talk to me about it anymore like he used to - always going on about what they did that day or what he learned - but I don't exactly make the effort to ask. I can hardly look at him, much less say anything.
I miss the boy I had grown so accustomed to always being around.
I find myself thinking about my grown son from that other timeline alot lately. He tried everything to please me and I did nothing but ignore him, no matter how much he impressed me. I sat there and watched as Cell killed him and I did *nothing* to save him! I wanted a second chance - to be the father for my strong son - to tell him that I was proud of him instead of letting him die.
But I *did* get that second chance. I told myself things would be different for Trunks with me around this time - to train him and make him stronger and more powerful, more so than even Kakarott's son!
Even after I was given the chance to come back to this world, I *still* thought that I could change for him. At the moment of my sacrifice, it was what I regretted the most. But still, I failed him. I forgot what kind of father I should have been the first time, the same one *I* wanted so badly as a boy myself. But when I really think about it, I wonder if Trunks ever wanted to be a warrior or a fighter at all. Maybe he just wanted to make me proud of him the only way he knew how, and I denied him of even that!
Months... years go by as I watch Trunks grow into a strong young man, no longer the eager little boy who would always be at my side, though I never really noticed until later. I want a second chance to be his father - to tell him that I'm proud of him again, and that I was just too stubborn to tell him so many other times before. I've noticed his fighting skills probably aren't what they could be by now, but then again, I suppose he isn't exactly the same son I used to have, either.
Every now and then, I can see the disappointment in his eyes - the disappointment for me - but I never try to make things right like I should. I don't think I can. Even after a lifetime of training myself to be stronger and more powerful, I'm still too weak to fight for the life I'm supposed to have...
I lost my second chance with Trunks, and failed again to save him from the enemy.
Only this time, the enemy was me.
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