Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Time's Lessons Learned ❯ Gohan's reflections on Training ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z, Akira Toriyama does. This work of fan fiction means no harm to the anime or manga. I get no money for writing this. My thanks to Lord Truhan for help with the ideas in this fan fiction.

 

This idea is based on the doujinshi Our Time written by Dragon Sisters: Manya and Minea, which wasn't written or drawn by me. I'm borrowing the ideas for this fan fiction and I'm attempting to fill in the missing pieces that happen before, during and after it.

 

Time's Lessons Learned

 

Chapter 2 Gohan's Time Training

 

Memories of other more painful times after that were common for Gohan, in the years to come. He would often remember that year of training in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber during the week Cell was giving them to 'rest'.

 

Broken, blossoming with new bruises, Gohan turned over in the small bed once more. Distantly the sounds of Goku's ki explosions explained the flickering blue lights shining through the window. In the twilight of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, it was hard to differentiate night from day except for the huge clocks and trickling hourglasses. The novelty of the pocket world quickly faded through endless days of kicks, punches and ki blasts singing his already aching body. Never since Namek or those first days training did it hurt this bad.

 

On top of all the fresh crop of bruises and sore aching muscles, he felt sick. Unable to train he had taken to bed, only to wake in a half torpor hearing his father continuing in his absence. At times like this when his muscles screamed Gohan wondered if it was worth anything. All that seemed to transpire day in and out were new ways for his father to use him as a punching bag.

 

"Is that all I am to him? Some means to an end," Gohan found himself wondering. He tried to push away the though, feeling guilt bubbling up. Yet as his head pounded continually along with the explosions of his father's training, he felt left out. In between times of his father leaning over and forcing hot broth down his throat with steamed rice, the heat burned him at the same time icicles pricked every square inch of his skin. Just behind his temples, a battle raged in volcanic heat, contrasting the freezing shiver of his toes and fingers buried under the blanket.

 

He curled up on himself, struggling to block out battle cries. Of what good was he to anyone except as a training partner? Just why he should bother trying to achieve SSJ when he could barely withstand the daily pummeling was beyond him. He had often dreamed of what it would be like training with his father, only to learn in three years the reality. Often times he would be in the middle of a two-way punching fest between Goku and Piccolo, only to feel like a tagalong. How many nights of ping ponging between his father and Piccolo for some scraps of knowledge that led him nowhere?

 

Pressing his hands to his head he would cry, "Masenko HA!" to block his father's beam. He remembered the gleam of pride in Piccolo's eyes those few times, shoving against the Kamehameha wave. Moreover, the echo of his father's laugher as he was kicked backwards.

 

How hard was it to learn a Kamehameha wave, Gohan wondered? It seemed so simple and yet in all those three years Goku never instructed him once in his signature technique. Now he had earned the privilege, so called, to train one on one with his father and it was the pits. In comparison, the year under Piccolo seemed a fond memory. Yes, Piccolo had been hard and cold, but in that time, they had forged an unbreakable bond.

 

All he wanted to do was to shut out the thunder rolling distant, and the voices whispering failure in his ears. Squeezing his eyes so tightly shut he saw orange in the blackness, much like the orange of his father's gi. On the green fields of Namek, there had been bright red blood that contrasted just as glaringly. At that time, his father seemed an angel sent to rescue them all. All they had to do was hold out until his daddy came. Then it would all be okay.

 

However, it was not to be. Even with Goku's strength, everything went horribly wrong. Krillin exploded before their eyes, Dende slaughtered. Even Vegeta who was an enemy turned tentative ally was pierced through the heart. Vegeta, who had saved him from Freeza's blows repeatedly. After all those months on Namek, the Prince, Krillin and Gohan had grudging respect for each other out of necessity to survive. Then Goku came and took charge, and things blurred into a far greater struggle.

 

He had to be strong, Goku whispered. Even now, he heard the footsteps and saw the shape of his father blocking the light.

 

"Dad," Gohan muttered, weakly lifting his hand up. Goku gently pulled the covers up to his chin, a bowl of that purple hued rice he would come to hate. He had liked purple beans and rice, but day in and day out it was becoming a loathed staple.

 

"C'mon it will help you feel better," Goku urged. Gohan felt him tug his head forward with an arm slipped behind his neck, nearly yanking his head from his spine. Something cold and curved was shoved below his lip and liquid tipped past making him cough.

 

"You have to be strong Gohan. Any day now, you will be a Super Saiyan. You just need to push harder..." Goku whispered. He could not see his father's face, backlit by that eerie twilight. Only the shadow falling across his bed as he coughed down the meal Goku force-fed him.

 

Goku could feel the resistance of his son to the treatment. Gohan glanced feverishly up into his father's dark eyes, seeing a glimmer of sadness. Sighing, he withdrew, still carrying the half-emptied bowl. Gohan turned over in bed, his back facing his father. The message was entirely all too clear then. Distant footsteps receded, telling the half Saiyan his father was exiting the HTC pavilion. After a wait of ten minutes, he heard the resumption of loud shouts accompanied by ki blasts.

 

Though he could sense the pain in his father's gaze, Gohan couldn't help but delight in it. Although he wanted to scold himself for such perverse pleasure, he felt in a way that his father deserved it for not pushing him harder or sharing such secrets sooner. Anger and resentment bubbled up as hot as the fever pounding his pulse in his forehead, contributing to a slow simmer that spread all over his body. More tightly, he curled up on himself beneath the blankets, burrowing into their protection to achieve that inside the womb sensation he found comforting.

 

Unable to turn anywhere immediately for comfort, Gohan retreated inside himself. Even his mother seemed a poor substitute because of her constant disapproval of his abilities locked inside. While a good part of him wanted to be a good son and study as his mother desired, he wondered where his hopes and hers ended. Turning over memories in his mind, he soon realized that he had no aspirations of his own, only settled for those goals others had pointed out for him. Just what bars to leap over and hoops to jump through were always provided by his mother, and never clearly reinforced by his father. While other children in literature had very clear father figures that would put their foot down, he wondered why his own father was so quick to acquiesce to his mother's will. From all his studies, he learned the basics of psychology, and his analytical brain tried to square his parent's interaction with what was normal.

 

“What is normal,” Gohan asked himself. “My father was gone for a year or two, dead for a year before that… and my mom's had to do much on her own. Plus who do I know around here who is?”

 

What came to mind were the village children. Chichi had limited interaction with them, choosing to cloister Gohan away to put his studies before all else. The only people he could play with were Dende and Icarus. He recalled however volunteering to watch Baby Trunks for Bulma from time to time while she perfected the remote control. At times, she even found him assisting her.

 

Gohan's love of electronics stemmed from the time he accompanied her and Krillin on their voyage to Namek. Filling the endless days with study only went so far, so he often helped Bulma tune up things in voyage. Through those interactions, she taught him the basics of electronics to keep his mind and hers occupied. In some ways, he felt like Bulma understood him better then Chichi did. At least she wasn't uptight about letting him do certain things that Chichi would have a stroke if she ever found out.

 

Then his thoughts meandered through the blue of Bulma's eyes to recollect another pair of eyes that were identical in shade. Future Trunks. Thoughts of him filled Gohan with a sense of relief. All his interactions with the teenager seemed filled with hope. Just sparring with him gave Gohan a sense of relief that he never felt with anyone save Piccolo. Oddly enough, Trunks treated him like an equal, not a pupil, or a child to be reprimanded. In his eyes, Trunks seemed to almost worship him. Yet was it because he reminded the lavender haired youth of his own Future Gohan, or was it for his own sake?

 

“Does he like me,” Gohan suddenly wondered. “For who I am, or just because I remind him of his Gohan?”

 

His Gohan. Future Gohan. Very different and yet very much the same. Separated by as many years as he was to Future Trunks. Ironic and yet poetic simultaneously. Since the revealing of that package of strong feelings, Gohan sought to navigate the significance and meaning of them. He didn't want to misinterpret the strange glances and sad looks that Future Trunks cast his way during their workouts or sparring times.

 

“I don't want to be a substitute for him, yet if he does like me…” Gohan trailed off. Yet the attention and the purity of desire to spend time with him superseded any doubts at this time.

 

Summoning to his mind those images derived from Trunks he formed the clearest image he possibly could. In slowest detail, he paused each instant like a slideshow in his mind until he reached the sight of his future alternate self. Close-cropped hair except for a few spiky tendrils off the forehead comprised a far different hairstyle to what he wore now. The gi seemed a size or two large, considering the blue weighted undershirt, sleeves nearly touched the middle of his arms. Quite a contrast from how his father wore the shirt, its short sleeves reaching barely past his shoulders. Almost as if Future Gohan strove to grow into the gi that still seemed several sizes too big, yet fit in its own style. For him it was just right, just distinctive enough to differentiate him from Son Goku. The patch bearing the “Han” sign written in bold black script confirmed his individuality.

 

Jet-black hair flooded through with golden light, resulting from the flames of Super Saiyan energy licking over Future Gohan's figure. Teal eyes devoid of pupils gleamed at him through the memories as experienced from Future Trunks perspective, yet now deposited safely in Gohan's mind. He studied the diagonal scar crossing over his doppelganger's adult face, realizing it resembled Yamcha's, and only added to the rugged handsomeness Future Trunks perceived in his recollections.

 

“He was a super Saiyan. That means I must have it within me,” Gohan reasoned. In the fever pitch of his sickness his mind still flickered efficiently, preoccupied with the revelation. It seemed as if the golden glow from his future self had transferred into his heart. As it grew brighter, it radiated soothing warmth capable of banishing the dim doubts his father and others had previously deposited.

 

Coupled with the new levity of spirit was Future Trunks pride. A smiling face peeked behind that fringe of purple hair at him many a day. The graceful slant of his angular eyes contributed to the perfection of his expression. In them, he didn't see the resemblance to Vegeta, only the uniqueness that was Future Trunks. He delighted in those smiles the young half Saiyan gave him whenever Gohan arrived at Capsule, or in any other place. No matter what Gohan did, he sensed that Future Trunks would still accept him faults and all.

 

“I don't need to prove myself to him, because he's just glad to see me. Not only that… but he's actually happy when we're together in any way?” Gohan realized. As this thought crossed his mind, the warmth spread and modulated his body temperatures within a more normal limit. Now instead of shivering with twitching muscles wrapped in on himself Gohan could relax and lie still. Filling his head with the smile of Future Trunks and glimpses of a possible future, he managed to sleep.