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

Disclaimer: I don't own DB/Z/GT. I wish I did, because I would do anything to be able to draw the characters as well as Toriyama-sensei!

A/N: Heh, I finally got off my rear end and typed up some more, finally! This was actually kind of difficult to write, because I wasn't sure how I wanted this story to go. Yeah, originally I had a happy ending planned, but ... no. About 30 seconds after posting it, I nearly had conniptions trying to take the story down before it even appeared. ^^ Kind of amusing, to me, but . . . heh. Nothing I can do about it now!

I realize #17's reactions are quite bitter and accusatory, but . . . that is how I picture #17 to be. One only needs to watch the episode in DBGT when #17 murdered Kuririn to see how little regard he holds his sister's husband. #17 wanted #18 to join with him, and when Kuririn interfered . . . BAM!! I believe this type of feeling would be present when #17 discovered #18 had been able to start a life without him.

So yes, Sporanox, I believe #17 would really be that jealous.

Again, this is a short chapter. Once it's entirely finished, I think I'll probably re-edit and put all the chapters into one, but for now, it'll be a more-than-one-chaptered story.

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Last time on Strangers:

#17's eyes narrowed and he finally managed to shift out from under #18's hands. He clenched his fists, dropping into the ready stance, and smirked at the expression of surprise and even fear that sprang up on his sister's face. "Would you fight for them?" he demanded, powering up a tiny energy blast and running it lazily over the backs of his fingers. "Would you kill me to protect them?"

Strangers

"Don't do it," #18 warned, raising her hands in an ostensibly placating gesture, but #17 knew his sister well enough to be able to tell when she was readying herself for battle. "What are you trying to prove?"

"I'm just finding where your loyalties lie," #17 spat, and the fiendish smile that had crossed his face was replaced by a black scowl. "I'm different than you are -- I can't just forget who we are and who they are. And I think, somewhere inside you, neither can you. Tell me, have you never wondered what your 'husband' thinks of you? There are some things about you that he can't pretend are normal . . . don't you ever wonder if he wishes he had married someone truly human? Somebody without metal parts inside her? I bet he does."

The next second, #18's fist lashed out and caught #17 in the face, knocking him backward. He flew a few dozen feet, then righted himself, holding his hand over his bleeding nose. #18 followed his trajectory, and her eyes blazed with a fury #17 hadn't seen in years. "Don't ever say that again," her voice was a sharp as the blade of a sword, and she reached out and grasped #17's bandana. "If you're jealous that I've managed to move on, that's one thing. Trying to make me doubt Kuririn is crossing the line."

"Sor-ry," #17 shot back, putting all the scorn and sarcasm he possessed into the word, and he ripped his bandana out of #18's grip. "But you haven't answered my question. What if I decided to kill them?"

#18 said nothing for a few moments, and the sorrow in her eyes was greater than #17 had ever seen. "I would fight you," she sighed softly, and #17 winced -- #18 never sighed . . . or never used to. "I still care about you, but . . . I can't let you hurt them."

#17's lip curled in a derisive snarl, and he backed away. #18 was gone; he knew that now. The sister he had known had disappeared; quite where she was he had no idea, but he did know it was a place from which the old #18 would not escape. "Fine. I'm sorry I ever came here. Enjoy your life," he spun around and flew in the opposite direction.

He didn't get very far before the air in front of him shimmered, and #17 had to grind to a halt to avoid smacking into his twin. "Get out of the way," he growled, but #18 refused to move. Each time #17 attempted to fly around her, she was too fast for him. At last, #17 crossed his arms. "Do you want something?" he snapped.

"If Kuririn tried to hurt you, I'd stop him," #18 declared quietly. "Not that he would, but if he ever attacked you, I would fight him. I want you to know that."

#17 merely let out a "Hmph!" and did not reply, but #18 pressed on. "A few years ago, Kuririn and I were at a party with the rest of his friends. Vegeta said something about how he was glad you hadn't been spat out by Cell, because it would have been a waste of his time to have to find you and destroy you -- something along those lines," #17 growled at that, but #18 shushed him with a sharp hand gesture. "I attacked him. It was a stupid thing to do, because the Saiyajins are our superiors in strength now . . . but I did it anyway. I couldn't just stand there and listen to him insult you."

"What happened?" #17 inquired, for the first time speaking without any malice, his tone tinged with curiosity in spite of himself.

#18 let out a small, embarrassed laugh and looked away shamefacedly. "I ended up in bed for three days, barely able to move. It was one of the more unintelligent things I've done, that's for sure. But . . . I couldn't let him say things like that. I don't care if I'm married, I don't care if destroying the world isn't important to me anymore -- you're my brother. Don't you understand? Nothing can change that."

"That's where you're wrong," #17 replied, his voice dead and flat. "If you stay with that . . . that man, if you believe in all the things that we used to stand against, then things can't be the same. If you've let yourself get sucked into their world, their petty beliefs, then I don't understand who you are anymore. My sister would never love anyone -- not even me. Loving a human is proof that you aren't who you used to be."

"I never said I was," #18 pointed out, and though her tone was gentle, her words dug deeper into #17's heart than any cruel statement could. "People change, you know. I know that's hard to accept, but it's true."

"The #18 I used to know didn't change."

"Memories don't change. That's why they're dangerous. You remember people how they used to be, and since you can't see them to prove yourself differently, you go on believing things are exactly the way they were. You can't live in the past. It's not healthy."

#17 turned away in disgust, folding his arms across his chest. Though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew #18 was right -- people did change -- he didn't want to believe her. People might change, but jinzouningen didn't. That was something #17 had always taken for granted. I guess there are a lot of things I need to learn, he thought cynically, Like there's no such thing as happy endings.

He knew, of course, that he could always kill Kuririn the little girl, whatever her name was, because in her weakened state #18 didn't believe he would actually go through with it. He could kill them before #18 knew what happened, and even though she would be furious, eventually she would get over it. It would be worth the temporary hostility on #18's part, because #17 knew that in time, #18 would realize she didn't need silly humans to be happy. Humans were a weakness, something that caused one to be indebted to, and once they were gone, #18 would see how ridiculous her feelings had caused her to become.

Yes. That would be the easiest way to do it. Kill them now -- just blow up the house . . . they'd never know what happened. Or, maybe they would die thinking #18 had turned on them. The corners of #17's mouth lifted in a vicious smirk, for he decided he liked that idea. Yes . . . ironic and fitting, that the humans would die at the hands of a jinzouningen. It didn't matter which one; everyone would think #18 had reverted to her primary programming, and she would be excluded from her little group -- perhaps even persecuted. She would have no choice but to return with her brother, for he would be the only one who would accept her. Oh, how contrite she would be . . .

Unfortunately, #18 was just as good at second-guessing #17 as she had been in the past. "If you're thinking of killing them, don't," she warned, moving into defensive posture, flying between #17 and the ridiculous, pink house. "We'd just wish them back with the Dragonballs, anyway, and you'd have the Z-senshi after you. I don't think you want that. Even you aren't strong enough to take them on."

"I've done it once, I can do it again," #17 snapped huffily, feeling insulted. The humans and Saiyajins couldn't have changed as much as the Namekusejin, could they?

"No, you couldn't. They're so much stronger than you, it's not even funny," #18 shook her head slowly, like she couldn't believe he was being so belligerent. "You know I don't like admitting when someone is more powerful than I am, but I will if I have to. We're stronger than the humans, but not the Saiyajin or the Namekusejin."

#17 snorted, and though he wanted to refuse to believe her, something in #18's expression convinced him that she was telling the truth. #18 might have changed, but she was still not a liar. "What happened?" he demanded. "How could they get so powerful?"

"Some radical training program. Kuririn wasn't very clear on it. Son Goku's boy is actually the strongest," #18 tilted her head, smirking a little. #17 got the impression that she was enjoying this a little too much, watching the disbelief he could feel creeping across his face. "You wouldn't stand a chance."

"Shut up," he snarled, repressing his triumphant smile as pain and disbelief flickered across #18's face. He could see she was confused at his anger -- and this made #17 feel even more determined to hurt her. Oh, she would understand before he was through . . . she would know what it was like to feel like her heart torn had been from her and held, still beating, in front of her face . . . "You don't know anything about me anymore. You might pretend you do, but you know nothing."

#18 stepped backwards in the air, and the confusion on her face transformed into genuine agony -- almost as though #17 had physically slapped her in the face. The colour drained from beneath her skin, leaving her even more pale than usual. She sucked in her breath and released it slowly, obviously trying to gain her composure. Her eyes narrowed, crystal blue slits in her beautiful face. "Who are you?" she hissed, voice fraught with sorrow. "You're not my brother!"

"I'm still your brother," #17's hands tightened on his upper arms until he felt his circulation slow. "You're the one who isn't my sister anymore. You're a stranger to me now, that's all. Like I said, I'm sorry I ever tried to find you. Memories of who you used to be were much better than seeing what you've become."

"#17 . . ."

"Don't talk to me. I don't want to hear it. I don't know who you are, and I have no interest in finding out. I'll remember my sister the way I want to, not as the weak human she is now," #17 smirked, and he inclined his head in a formal bow. "Goodbye, #18. I hope you have fun with your little human, for however long it lasts. Just don't be surprised if it doesn't end up to be the fairy tale romance you thought it would be."

"#17!"

"I'm going now. It would probably be better for the both of us if you forget I ever came here," he sneered, resisting the childish urge to thumb his nose at her. "I know I'm going to."

Once again, #17 attempted to leave, but this time #18 grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking him back. #17 winced -- Piccolo had done that once, and though the jinzouningen wouldn't admit it, hair-pulling hurt like crazy. "What?" he bellowed.

#18 spun him around to face her, and her eyes were colder than #17 had ever seen them. The lines of her face taut, #18 extended her index finger, nearly jabbing him in the face. "I want you to know that I'm not going to sit around and cry after you leave," she informed him acerbically. "You've insulted me, you insulted my husband, and you insulted my decisions and my life. That's something I don't tolerate from anyone -- not even you, 'dear' brother. So if you're waiting for me to break down and cry and fly after you or some such garbage . . . don't. I'm not going to come after you."

The words stung, for somewhere in the back of his mind -- behind the hate, the anger, the accusation -- #17 still felt a flicker of the care he used to harbour for his sister. It was hard to find, yes, but it still existed. In the depths of his heart, #17 had hoped #18 would leave her family and follow him . . . but he knew that voice, that expression. #18 was dead set on staying.

"Fine," he spat out the words like they were a foul-tasting substance in his mouth. "I won't be waiting anyway. See you around, human . . . well, no. Not really. Have a nice life, if that's what you call being the playtoy of a weakling not even worthy enough to tie my shoes."

Without giving #18 a chance to reply -- if she even would have -- #17 deliberately pried her fingers from his hair and flew away. Don't look back, he told himself, feeling the first flutterings of indecision beginning to beat in his heart, poking through the betrayal. Don't look back. You'll only regret it!

He didn't look back.

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This is not the end. Keep that in mind. There's still more coming.