Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Burden of Hope ❯ Almost Like Old Times; Reflections on a Father ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimer: As you know by now, my name is not Akira Toriyama and I therefore do not own DBZ; I'm just borrowing a few of the characters for a while.

The Burden of Hope

CHAPTER FIVE: Almost Like Old Times; Reflections on a Father

Amazingly, it was quite a beautiful place.

Gohan and Trunks stood a quarter mile or so inside a forest that seemed to have no knowledge of the androids' existence, staring in silent awe. Their eyes were bombarded with a dizzying array of vibrant greens and browns from tree and bushes that stood proudly upright instead of lying in hideously humbled heaps. The only war present was that of the songs of several species of birds, but instead of conflicting with each other, they blended into a lovely melody. Insects scurried busily over leaves wet with morning dew; plump squirrels skittered across the forest floor and clawed their way up tree trunks. On the whole, the place was an oasis in the desert of destruction.

"Wow," Trunks whispered, utterly wonderstruck. "This is the prettiest place I've ever seen."

Gohan nodded slowly, still too entranced to speak. This forest reminded him of the one that cradled his home; surprisingly, this brought him no pain, as memories of home usually did. Rather, he hadn't had such a sense of peace in many years. It was as though time had frozen the area at the peak of its loveliness and sheltered it from the androids' fury. Gohan had never dreamed that such beauty still existed in this world.

And to think that I nearly killed myself last night, he thought. Not even Heaven could look this good.

Trunks' stomach let out another growl, sounding very much like a half-starved wolf. The sound pulled Gohan from his daydream; it was a reminder of the reason they'd come here. Though it seemed a desecration to hunt in a place so brimming with life, his own stomach was about to voice its protest of his hesitation; the practical had to take precedence over the fanciful.

Slowly, Gohan stepped forward, placing his fingers on the back of Trunks' shoulder to urge the child along with him. "Stay close to me and try not to make too much noise."

Their steps on the soft earth were as soundless as those of the insects on the wet vegetation; the rustling of brambles was the only auditory clue to the presence of the two creatures foreign to these woods. Carefully, Gohan ducked his head under a low branch, eyes combining with ki detection in the search for game. Trunks walked close behind him---a little too close actually; on several occasions, the toddler stepped on his heels. To chastise to child would be pointless, Gohan decided---doing so would create unnecessary noise, and besides, he was only doing as he'd been told---but the action was still annoying.

Gohan stopped abruptly, causing his young companion to bump into the backs of his legs; his senses had found something. He turned his head to the right, narrowing his eyes to see through the spaces among the dense trees. Then he found it: a flicker of motion. Slowly, he pointed his index finger and waited for the movement to come again. A few seconds later, it did, and Gohan let free a thin ki beam; the sound of it hissing through the air was abruptly followed by a thud.

He started forward toward the thud, but stopped when he realized that Trunks was no longer stepping on his heels; turning, he saw the toddler staring at him with wide eyes that blinked every few seconds. "Well, come on, Trunks. Why are you hanging back?" After a moment, the older boy sighed, understanding; he'd seen Trunks stare at him that way before. He gestured for the child to come closer. "Come on, Trunks. You can't keep getting scared like that every time I use my ki."

Hesitantly, Trunks complied, scuttling through the underbrush. "What's ki?"

The question made Gohan blink. He really wasn't sure how to answer it; the nature of ki was something that he'd never actually considered. "Well…" he began, searching for the right words. "It's… it's like a kind of power that you feel inside of your body."

"And people can use it like you do?" Trunks' fear had clearly dissolved into curiosity.

"Well, actually, Trunks, most people don't even know it exists," Gohan explained, continuing the trek through the brambles. His voice dipped a bit. "I'm the only one left who can use it."

Trunks frowned, apparently considering this answer. Then: "Could my papa use it?"

Startled, Gohan brought himself up short; he hurriedly composed himself and spoke, feeling oddly compelled to quench the child's thirst for knowledge. "Hai, Trunks, he could. He was the best at it, at least once my father died. Didn't your mother ever tell you about him?"
Trunks shook his head, looking thoughtful. "No, not much. It made her sad. I didn't want to make her sad, so I tried not to ask her very much."

It made sense, Gohan supposed; before the androids came, he'd come to accept the astonishing fact that Bulma had had feelings for the arrogant Saiyajin prince, that she had, in fact, loved him. The rest of the group, Gohan included, had reluctantly---and warily---tolerated Vegeta's presence. Well, all the rest of us except Otousan, anyway, Gohan mused. He almost seemed happy that Vegeta was around.

The trees thinned out a bit, not enough to open up into a glade, but enough to allow passage without having to carefully weave through them. Lying on the ground was the large, still form of a black bear. It appeared as though the amount of meat on it would feed a small group of humans for about three days; thus it would probably satisfy the hunger of two demi-saiyans for one meal.

Reaching down, Gohan gripped one of the dead creature's legs and began the laborious task of shifting the weight of its entire body onto his back. It was heavier than he'd thought---heavy enough to keep his back bent as he carried it. Its muzzle rested on the bridge of his nose, partially obscuring his vision; the bear's legs hung limply over his shoulders.

A muffled sound caught his attention; as he turned to face that sound, it grew louder. Trunks was covering his mouth with his hand, his tiny shoulders shaking as he giggled uncontrollably. Self-consciously, the older boy's eyes examined how the bear was draped over his body before fixing again on the toddler.

"Oh, come on, Trunks," he said, almost pleadingly. "I don't look that silly, do I?"

Apparently, Trunks did not agree with him; the child giggled even harder. Gohan smiled in exasperation. Kids.

Turning on his heel and starting off, he called over his shoulder, "Oh, would you just cut that out and follow m---Whoa!" His foot caught on an exposed tree root and he fell flat on his face, snugly sandwiched between the ground and the bear.

Gohan pushed himself up on his hands, irritably shrugging off the carcass and disgustedly spitting dirt out of his mouth. He made a mental note to never allow such a substance to pass his lips again---even to a starved demi-saiyan, the stuff tasted awful. Childish laughter now echoed through the forest, bursting forth from the mouth of Trunks, who, Gohan noticed after he turned his head toward him, was lying on the ground with his arms folded across his stomach. Gohan found himself chuckling at his own clumsiness as well; he was certainly making quite the fool out of himself today.

After a moment, he froze, surprised at himself. What was happening to him? One night ago, he'd been on the verge of killing himself, and now he was laughing? It didn't make sense; he'd not even so much as smiled without bitterness for a very long time. Why was it different now? What had changed?

Gohan looked at Trunks again; the toddler was still lying on his side, his tiny body still wracked with fits of laughter, albeit less violent ones. That was what had changed, Gohan decided; he'd been acting strangely since he saw Trunks yesterday. Just being around the kid was causing an odd shift in his behaviour: a shift toward his old self. And he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Gohan climbed to his feet and took hold of the bear carcass again. He didn't bother to heft it onto his back; quite honestly, he'd had his fill of looking ridiculous.

"Are you quite through?" he snapped at Trunks, more harshly than he'd intended. Shoulders still shaking convulsively, the little boy pushed himself to his feet and wiped a hand across his tear-filled eyes. His smile died when he saw Gohan's scowl. "Now come on."

They walked in silence for a long while, the only sounds being the dragging of the carcass along the forest floor and the gradually increasing volume of a fast-flowing river. The trees opened up into a wide glade and offered a view of the river's clearer-than-crystal waters splashing over rocks.

Trunks plopped himself down near the rushing waters and stared with curious eyes as Gohan knelt next to him, at last finished dragging along his weighty burden.

"So how are we supposed to eat that?" the small child asked. "Won't we get hair in our mouths?" He made a face. "That would be yucky."

Gohan rolled his eyes. "Of course we're not going to get hair in our mouths, Trunks. I'm going too take the skin off; the meat is underneath it."

"Oh." Trunks crawled over to peer over the older boy's shoulder. "Can I watch?"

"Only is you think you can stand the sight of blood," Gohan answered absently. He dug his fingernails into the bear's skin, breaking through it easily; warm, red liquid gushed onto his fingers. "If you can't, I suggest you turn away."

Gohan had expected Trunks to do just that, but, to his surprise, retained his audience as he ripped flesh as though it were paper. He wondered about this for only a moment before finding the answer. No matter that Trunks was only four years old; he was a child of the age of the androids and had seen some awful things in his short lifetime. Still, it was disturbing; little kids shouldn't have to know anything so terrible.

He paused, a flap of thick, hairy skin in each hand. "Actually, Trunks, I think it would be better if you didn't watch," he said thoughtfully.

"But you just said that…"

"Nevermind what I said before!" Gohan ordered curtly. "Do what I'm saying now. Quit watching."

Trunks slowly complied, obediently scooting backward. Feeling a bit more comfortable now, Gohan returned to his task. It took several minutes for him to finish; once he did, skin lay around the carcass like once-living wrapping paper that had been used to conceal a gory gift. Gohan was glad that he'd made Trunks turn away; he himself, no matter how many times he'd seen it, found it a little less than appetizing to look at exposed meat and organs.

He tore a large chunk off the leg and held it in the river to wash off the blood; reddish streamers briefly tainted the waters. Once done, he lifted his hand and shook off the excess water.

"Is it ready to eat yet?" Trunks inquired impatiently. "I'm really, really hungry now."

"Just hold on a minute, Trunks," Gohan chided smoothly. "You can't eat raw meat. There are germs all over it that could make you sick. You'll have to wait while I cook it. Don't worry; it'll only take a couple of seconds."

Tossing the piece into the air, he enveloped it in a small ki beam; he then caught it and flipped it over to Trunks, who seized it with surprising skill.

"Wow," the toddler whispered, staring wonderingly at the fully-cooked piece of meat in his hands. He looked at Gohan, excitement bright in his blue eyes. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

Gohan prepared a portion for himself before answering. "You don't want to learn how to use your ki, Trunks; that'll make you a target for the androids, just like I am, now that they know I'm still alive." His voice was sullen. "There's no doubt in my mind that you're capable of learning how---you're half Saiyajin, and the son of the prince, no less---but…"

Clearly disappointed, Trunks lowered his eyes and began to eat. After a few moments, he looked up again, disappointment replaced by confusion. "My papa was a prince?"

Gohan blinked; he'd thought that Bulma would have told him that much about Vegeta. "That's a pretty basic fact; I guess your mother really didn't talk about him much. He was the prince, and destined to be the most powerful fighter who ever lived---and he made sure that no one ever forgot it."

Trunks nodded. "Mama said my papa was real strong. I wanna grow up and be strong just like him."

"Trust me, Trunks; it's not worth it," the older boy returned, smiling sardonically. "Being strong is such a joke. It's not getting me anywhere, and it certainly didn't do your father any good---he got killed off in the androids' first attack. Strength is useless; the androids have proven that."

The conversation ended with that statement, forcing the two boys to continue the meal in silence. Gohan actually finished before Trunks; the verbal exchange had damaged his appetite. Silently, he watched as his young companion ate with a little less than the normal Saiyajin enthusiasm; Gohan supposed that his little speech had depressed the child, who seemed to idolize his deceased and unremembered father.

It seemed odd for Trunks---or anyone, as far as Gohan was concerned---to revere Vegeta; the Saiyajin prince was a less than admirable person: haughty, condescending, foul-tempered, with a violent streak about ten miles wide… Truly, it was an enigmatic mystery of the universe how Bulma had managed to fall in love with him. Trunks' resemblance to his father was only apparent in his hawkish facial features; his demeanour was entirely different. The child was quiet, obedient, and sympathetic---much like Gohan had been at his age, only without the tendency to become paralyzed with fear at the sight of things more harmless than his own shadow. It was wrong of the kid to look up to someone like Vegeta, whose list of awful qualities would fill several pages. Then again, Trunks knew very little about his father and was too young to realize that a reluctance toward speaking about the man was a careful way to avoid disparaging him.

Somehow, the absence of conversation began to soothe Gohan; he listened to the rushing of the river and the chattering of birds, watched the clear waters and towering green-topped trees. The sense of peace that he'd felt upon entering the forest returned, washing away his dismal mood. He wasn't happy exactly---the bitter weight of his past failures was still heavy upon his soul---but he felt…what? Calmer? Freer? Lighter? None of those words seemed to fit. He just knew that he felt something: something different than that to which he'd become accustomed, and having that feeling was slightly more comforting than it was disconcerting.

Gohan turned his attention back to Trunks; the small child still looked somewhat dispirited. Feeling an apologetic look come over his face, the older boy hesitantly said, "Gomen, Trunks; I shouldn't have said that about your father. Standing up to the androids the way that he did took a lot of courage; even though they were a lot stronger than he was, he fought to the end with everything that he had. He died an honourable death."

Trunks stared at him, silently absorbing his words. The despondency in his eyes faded a bit, but remained present. The child's lips spread into something less than a smile, and he nodded once, briefly.

Gohan sighed softly; he felt awful that he'd caused the child pain. He didn't want Trunks to be angry with him. "Come on, Trunks; stop looking at me like that. I…I don't know what else I can say."

Trunks still said nothing and continued to stare, blinking every few seconds. This frustrated Gohan, who promptly balled one hand into a fist and slammed it, not too roughly---he still had sense enough not to bring anything crashing down---into the trunk of an adjacent tree.

A strong rumbling noise filled the air; slightly confused, Gohan looked up---and instinctively covered his head with his hands as a mass of apples rained down upon him. As the rain slowed, he lowered his arms, a tight and irritated smile on his face. First the bear carcass incident, and now this. What a great day this was turning out to be for embarrassing moments.

There was one redeeming quality, though; Trunks was laughing. The toddler made no attempt to hide it; he was doubled over, his whole body heaving with each chuckle, his dark mood clearly forgotten.

Well that was easy, Gohan mused ruefully. All I have to do to make him feel better is humiliate myself. Not the worst deal in the world, I guess.

Yes, he'd had worse days than this one. Actually, today was probably the best one he'd had in recent memory. For that, he was willing to have himself subjected to a certain amount of embarrassment.

It took about a week to traverse the forest. The land that Gohan and Trunks now travelled across was an open plain dotted with rocky, grass-topped buttes. Some of the grass was even green instead of brown, showing some recovery from the residual effects of the androids' destruction of the city that lay in the near distance. Despite the fact that the area was comparatively pretty to most other places in the world, Gohan found that his eyes were continually drawn back to the woods.

Strange, but he was almost sorry to leave them behind; they had seemed to reduce his usual degree of moodiness. He and Trunks hadn't spoken a great deal while there, but after that first day, their silences were comfortable, sometimes even amiable. The toddler had usually begun any conversation they'd had, most often with a random question about Vegeta; apparently he'd decided that Gohan had known his father fairly well and was more willing to talk about him than his mother was. Gohan tried to answer them as best he could, choosing his words carefully to spare Trunks' feelings; he certainly didn't want the child to be upset with him again.

"Gohan-san?" Trunks asked. Gohan turned his head to look at him; he was growing used to the child's use of the familiar term, though it had only started a couple of days ago. "Remember when you said my papa was a Sai…Saiya…" the toddler stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

"Saiyajin?" Gohan finished for him, and Trunks nodded. "Yes. What about it?"

"What is that?"

It was indeed amazing how little the toddler had been told by his mother; Gohan had been answering basic questions such as this one all week long. "The Saiyajin were aliens who used to live on a planet far away from here. They looked a lot like the people here, except that they had tails. All of them were naturally strong and loved to fight. My father was one, too."

Trunks looked thoughtful. "Your papa is gone away forever, like mine, isn't he?"

Gohan's eyes began to sting; angrily, he kept the tears at bay. He wasn't about to let himself start crying, especially in front of Trunks. Still, thoughts of his father were wearying, and he stopped, leaning his back against a butte and staring up at the half-clouded sky. "Hai, he is."

"What was your papa like?"

Gohan scarcely heard the toddler's words; his mind flooded with old memories. He remembered his father's bright, boyish smile and his open, eager face; even in adulthood, that face had held a childlike innocence that had never faded. Gohan remembered the way that his father had eaten---most people would say that he had eaten like a pig, but pigs tended to chew; his father had virtually inhaled his food. Goodness knew that Gohan's mother had tried to teach him how to eat with a little more dignity and his father had made the effort---honestly, he had---but every attempt had been doomed to failure.

He remembered fishing with his father, in the great river that flowed a short distance from their house. Disdaining rods and reels---only normal people needed tools to fish, and Gohan and his father were far from normal---they'd simply leapt into the cold waters and casually tossed fish easily large enough to swallow a child onto the riverbank. When they surfaced, they would both be giggling happily and getting into splash fights with each other---which Gohan had lost each and every time.

Only now came the memories of battles. Of his father standing fearlessly in front of the enemy, face set into an expression so hard it seemed as though it had been chiselled out of solid granite. Of the way his father moved: gracefully, giving a surreal beauty to the brutal dance of combat. Of the security that everything was going to be all right; his father never let anyone down. Nothing could defeat him.

Nothing, that was, except the heart virus. His father had spent his last days confined to his bed, one hand perpetually clutching at his failing heart. His skin had gone from a healthy peach colour to a lifeless greyish tone; each breath that he took had been accompanied by a low moan of agony. His sleep had been plagued by nightmares that caused him to scream and thrash uncontrollably. Gohan hadn't been able to look at him for more than a minute before turning away, hot tears running down his cheeks.

Just like they were right now, Gohan abruptly realized, shaking himself from his daydream. Angry with himself for losing control of his emotions, he hurriedly wiped his hands across his face.

It wasn't until he looked down that he realized Trunks was missing.