Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Shirt Off His Back ❯ Son Goten ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

This is a story that would not let me go. It is written in a Point of View format, each chapter written by a different person. It is a tale of dedication spanning even timelines. It is a tale of woe. It is the tale that shall now be told - using characters I do not own, but have borrowed for the time being. Please review.

The Shirt Off His Back
By Raven Pan

It wasn't supposed to happen that way, it wasn't! It was just a simple party... yeah, we were just finishing up highschool, and yeah it was a frat party at the college we were looking into... but still!

I wonder, if the reason all this happened... was because, in our infinite chibi-wisdom, we decided that Trunks Briefs should be held back a year... so he could graduate with his best friend.

Now, five years later.... now I don't think that co-graduation will ever happen.

It hurts so much to even move - but I'm dragging myself, naked, bleeding and torn, to where you lay.

So much blood....

Who knew an innocent party could go so wrong? Who knew so many people could die? Who... who knew we could be so helpless to stop anything - because of some not-so innocent experimentation? I can still feel the dulling of my nerves from that last drug-laced shot of vodka....

Who knew that, if powered down, simple human terrorists could attack us? Who knew that a bullet, or a nail, or a piece of shrapnel could pierce a demi-saiyajin's skin? Could.... "Damnit, wake up!" I shout, ignoring the screams, the pained moans around us as I try to pull your head into my lap. "Please... wake up," I whisper, pushing your blood-soaked hair out of your face... and immediately wishing I hadn't.

Who ever knew I'd have to turn my face away from yours in disgust? No... not disgust. Heartbreak. Pain. It hurts to see what's happened to you.

What's happened to us. Both of us... naked. Bleeding.... Raped and....

"It was just a party," I could hear the words break forth from my lips, my voice raw from screaming. Tears fall from my eyes as I force myself to look at you, my fingers shaking as I try to push your jaw back in place... your nose to where it should be. Your eye....

So cold... you feel so cold to me. I wrap my battered body around your own, ignoring the blood still seeping from both of us to the ground. It seems you got a worser share. A far worse share.

Why won't you wake up? Your eyes are open, but you're not looking at me. "Look at me!" I scream at you, but you don't even respond - not even to tell me you can't hear what words my lips are forming. They always told us body heat would warm someone up... someone who's cold.

I'm practically wrapped around you, in some grotesque imitation of love-making... but you're still so cold... and you're getting colder. Why can't I get you to be warm? Tears streaming down my cheeks, I kiss the top of your head again and again, crying desperately.

I know why you're not warming up, but I refuse to believe it. It can't be true!

This is insane!

Why did they kill that girl over there and her boyfriend, or those guys over by the keg? Why.... why the massacre? What did these people ever do? What did we ever do?! Why couldn't they have killed me too? Why'd they kill you and let me live? Why did they rape us, and not others? Why did some get away, and some... end up looking like you do now.

Irrational, I know, but I want to put your eye back into it's socket... to fuse your jaw back in place and kiss your cuts closed. I want to find, and give you a senzu bean... even though they don't work if your soul has already left you.

I wonder if I took one... would it heal me? You're gone, I can't live without you, and you left me! How could you leave me!? You're supposed to stay with me, we're supposed to go through life together, and college... and ... and.... and you can't even hear me, because you're dead.

And I'm alive.

"Not for long," my raw voice gets out as blurred vision greets my cursory search for something sharp. Something deadly. Still holding you against me, my hand reaches out to pull one of the sharp bits of shrapnel from your arm.

Yeah, I'm already bleeding. Already cutup. But nothing important was severed.

Important.

Like an artery, or vein. Something that will kill me so I don't have to face the pity. The questions. I can be with you.

Always with you.

I've got the sharp pressed against the side of my neck, when suddenly a pair of hands wraps around my clenched fist. "Don't," a voice so much like yours tells me, pulling it away.

"Damnit, just let me die!" I sob into your hair, so covered in blood I can't even see it's colour.

"C'mon," that voice... again it's almost like listening to you only... more mature. Older, more world-worn. I can feel a shirt put around my nakedness, even as he pulls the sharp from my hand, and turn bleary eyes to see who this devil must be.

He's got to be a devil, he won't let me die. Now I know he's a demon.... he looks just like you. His hair... it's longer though, and his eyes.... "No... just let me die," I sob, clutching your body as though it is all that matters. And to me, it is all that matters. I only want to join you.

"I can't do that," he says softly, reaching down to pry your still, cold body from me. "C'mon, kid. Let's get you home."

"If you let me die, I will be home!" I scream at him, trying to pull away - but he's too strong.

Just like you were. "Who...?"

"My name's Trunks... you must be related to Gohan, you look a little like him."

"Gohan's my broth-" I stop as his first statement registers, "No.... you can't be Trunks... Trunks is... he's...." In a moment his arms are wrapped around me, pulling me up, and I have no strength to fight him as he tries to cover me better with the shirt he's put on me... a shirt I now realise came from his own back.

He holds me, trying to bring me comfort. "He's dead," his words are like nails in my soul. "I'm from another timeline," He speaks softly, trying to calm me. He even moves like you, rubbing my back as I cling to him, sobbing.

Until I violently try to push away. "No! I won't let you replace him. YOU'RE NOT HIM!!!"

His hold is relentless, though the look in his eyes says it's more for my safety that he's holding me still. "I don't want to replace him, and I know I'm not him. I'm not trying to be him, kid. I'm just trying to get you home alive before they come back."

"I'll just kill myself when you leave, then," I glare at him. I don't want someone who looks like you, smells like you, feels like you... anywhere near me.

I don't want to be forced to forget you, Trunks. I won't be.

"No you won't," he says in a certainty, steadying me as he reaches down and carefully picks you up, putting your body over his shoulder as his other arm wraps around me, picking me up slightly as he rises into the air. "I'm bringing you both back home... then I'll find the dragonballs. You'll get him back, you don't need to die."

I start sobbing again, and he asks why. "He's already been wished back... you can't wish him back again."

He lets out a sound I know too well, one that sounds like refusal to be defeated. "Then I'll find a way to bring him back to you." He pauses, and his eyes darken all too much like yours, and I know he won't be defeated. "I promise," I hear the words even as black consumes me.

To Be Continued.... Please Review.