Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Wait and Bleed ❯ Haunted ( Chapter 1 )

Warnings: Yaoi, VxGk (Kakarott), Violence, insanity, lemons, language, angst (For the whole fic) NC17. Warnings will be added when necessary.

Disclaimer: I, being the fantastic and wicked Dynishra the Vampire, does not in any way, shape or form claim to own Dragon Ball Z or any of the therein owned characters, merchandise, television programmes or manga. All who contest to this fact and attempt to sue me can roast in hell over a slow flame. I do though, own the idea of this fanfiction, and any whom do steal it from me will shortly be meeting with a committee of six inch earth worms in a large mass grave with the rest of the fools whom deem it wise to thwart me. Therefore, use your heads and what little is in them, to politely leave me be on the matter of legal actions. Never the less, enjoy this story I have written, as I have enjoyed writing it! Chow!

~ Wait and Bleed ~

~I've felt the hate rise up in me...
Kneel down and clear the stone of leaves...
I wander out where you can't see...
Inside my shell, I wait and bleed...~

From `Wait and Bleed' by Slipnot.

Chapter One: Haunted

Vegeta stared at him self in the steamy mirror.

It was the bathroom mirror of his en-suet that was attached to his bedroom by a plain white door. He wasn't thinking about his plain white door as he stared at his hazy reflection. Shirtless, his muscular chest slightly tanned and covered with a multitude of scars, gleamed wetly. Behind him in the mirror he could see the two lackeys standing there, smirking. Their wicked mouths curved up their cheeks. He knew they weren't really there. He was only seeing them in his mind, like two ghosts. They stood there snorting their disgust at him.

"Look at him." Said Zarbon, he flicked his long envy green braid off his shoulder. The smirk came natural to his face. "He's pathetic. See the way he stands there, all defiant. Think'n himself all high an' mighty. Think'n him self a Prince an' all. An' what the hell is he a Prince of, Dedoria?" The lard ball beside him scoffed, his sneer etching deeper into the folds of fat that made up his lumpy pink face. "I'll tell ya what he's the Prince of, Dedoria." He dropped his folded stance and began to walk over to Vegeta, his smirk widening evilly. His hands were spread out to the sides menacingly, like he was going to do something violent with them. Vegeta watched him in the mirror. He could see his large white teeth pulled up into the smile of a dead man. His gums, he could see his gums, they where a soft mould green colour. Zarbon walked right up behind Vegeta. He stretched his right hand up till it was in front of his own face, the fingers splayed out. Vegeta tensed. "Why, Dedoria, Vegeta here is the Prince of…" His fingers suddenly clenched into a fist and his green arm swung through Vegeta's head. "…Nothing." The mirror shattered. The glass shards fell to the tiled floor tinkling like the crimson rain that stained it. Vegeta pulled his fist back from the cracked plaster wall behind the remains of the mirror. He looked down at his hand; there was a single cut that ran along three knuckles. It was clotting already.

His voice gently whispered through the misty bathroom. "Nothing…"

When he turned to leave he didn't bother to look over to see if Zarbon and Dedoria were still standing there in his bathroom. He knew they were a long time dead.

He walked over to the edge of the king-sized bed and swept up the white starched shirt in one hand. He didn't like wearing suits, to any occasion. But Trunks had insisted. He said it would be proper. Vegeta didn't give a damn about what was "proper" but he knew Bulma had. And so for her he hesitantly slid his arms through the long cuffed sleeves. He did up the little buttons made of pearl that Bulma had brought him. They were meaningless, Vegeta did not care for pearl anything, but Bulma had given them to him. And so for her he carefully buttoned them with out snapping them in half with his steel-like fingers.

He made sure to not bloody the cuffs; it wouldn't be "proper" to turn up covered in blood. Bulma would have said that, even though he may have only spilt a little on his cuffs, she would have insisted that he was "not coming dressed all covered in blood!" She would immediately then demand that he change. He walked over to the dresser and opened a draw to pull out a roll of guise to rap his slash. He dressed it carefully, making sure that no sign of red could be seen then bit through the guise and tucked the end under a fold. He walked back to sit on the end of the bed. A heavy sigh. Then he straightened his black dress pants and tied the laces for his shiny black leather shoes.

He had a black dinner jacket that went with the suit and wondered with a slight tad of humour if this would give him any kind of appetite. He left the tie on the bed. He had never liked those constricting confounded things. And Bulma had said he looked better without one any way. He pulled the jacket on, running his hands down the lapels and yanking it straight on his shoulders before he buttoned it down the middle, five small black buttons. He stood up straight and braced himself steadily. This whole occasion was new to him, uncomfortably so.

"Very, very nice Vegeta…" He heard his name purred out from those ice pink lips. He didn't turn around. He knew Frieza wasn't really there. They were just ghosts. "I so wish you had dressed for me like that just once Little Prince." Vegeta clench shut his eyes. He didn't want to hear that voice. "No matter, this is good enough." Suddenly he felt ice-cold hands wrap about his waist and he whipped around, choking a cry from his throat. But, as he already knew, there was no one there. His caught breath staggered out of him with his thudding heart. A blush spread up his face from embarrassment. Of course there had been no body there. But for the tiniest of moments, those hands had felt so like… so like his hands. That things cold, frozen hands touching him. He hated the cold. With concealed haste he left the silent room to join with his silent family in the lounge. Bura and Trunks sat voicelessly. Neither speaking. They both looked miserable as they had every right to feel. Blood shot eyes looked up to see him enter.

Vegeta looked down at his two children, thought neither really suited that label any longer. "Well, are you ready?" he said bluntly. Two silent nods and they exited.

~*~

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…" The voice droned on. This was dull. Vegeta sat, or more like slouched, in his pew. On other days you would never see him slouch in the presence of Kakarott, but on other days he would have cared. On other days he would have sat up, disciplined, to try and make him self out to be the Prince, to show whom was greater. But on other days, he would have felt arrogant and full of unbridled discontent. Not this splendid feeling of numbness that was coursing through his veins.

He wondered vaguely weather to blast this old windbag of a minister and go home to talk it over to a bottle of Bourbon. Naturally the bottle would say nothing and keep its trap shut but that was the whole point wasn't it. With any luck he would become so inebriated it wouldn't matter weather he heard the bottle answer or not. Not that Vegeta believed a bottle of Bourbon would have much of any interest to him to speak about. He greatly doubted there were any bottles of Bourbon that could share in his passion for ever greater power. But with that closed casket lying up there on the altar, those sorts of thoughts seemed pointless and childish. What did he give a damn about power? Had it saved his beloved? No, of course it hadn't, his power was useless. Vegeta, all-powerful Prince of the Saiyan Race. Those old boasts seemed a joke to him now. And what the hell was he a Prince of? Zarbon had it in one. Nothing.

There was no race; the Saiyans had come last and lost. Who was there now to call "Saiyan"? Himself? Kakarott? The brats? What was the point in that? Being Prince of him self was joke, Kakarott had long ago given up his Saiyan Race, and the brats wouldn't know what it meant to be Saiyan if it slapped them in the face. Perhaps Kakarott had it right, give up being the Prince and just be himself, Vegeta. But that was the clinch wasn't it. In the Saiyan Race the name Vegeta meant King. It wasn't just a translation; it was an inbred instinct. He could no longer stop being the Prince as he could stop breathing. It was who he was.

The minister was wrapping up the ceremony. There had been a few trivial speeches that Vegeta didn't hear. He already knew how great Bulma had been and he didn't give a damn about what other people thought. He just wanted to get the hell out of this stuffy church.

"Vegeta, wait a minute." Said Kakarott with an almost casual air as he finished his conversations with several of his annoying little "friends". The once bald midget Krillin, who was now sporting a grey receding hairline, looked as though some one had slapped him. He gave a quick sympathetic glance at Trunks and Bura who sat in their pew talking quietly amongst themselves before leaving Kakarott to go and speak with them.

Vegeta waited with growing irritation as Kakarott walked over to him. He stood silently watching Vegeta until the Prince scowled and growled out between held teeth. "What the hell do you want Kakarott." His voice was flat, the usual accent sounding husky and whispery. Kakarott wasn't smiling. But Vegeta could see that the man hadn't cried either. Vegeta felt this was slightly unusual, considering how sensitive the big man was.

Kakarott took in a deep breath before saying, "Vegeta, I won't pretend. I have a similar idea of how your feeling, but I know I can't say it's the same, so I'm not going to say `I know how you feel' because it would just be a lie." His eyes seemed to clench slightly from some inner turmoil. Vegeta had a good idea what that was. Had it not been about three years since Chichi had died, a frail washed out old lady. Kakarott bit his lip slightly; it was such a youthful expression. But then both he and Vegeta did still look at their best didn't they, no signs of ageing, not in the least. "Let me just convey though, that if no one else," he gave a glance about the room where no one else even looked at the late Mrs Bulma Vegeta-Briefs youthful spouse. "If no one else, I'm here for you Vegeta. We have been friends for such a long time now."

Vegeta looked at him with emotionless black eyes. He tilted his head slightly as if pondering what the man had said before saying in that same flat voice, "Very well Kakarott." Vegeta glanced to his face; Kakarott gave a nod and a smile before placing a hand on his shoulder as a sign of sporting companionship. Vegeta went to smack it away casually, but Kakarott removed it before he could, his fingers brushed lightly over his jaw in a silent caress before he quickly turned and walked out of the church.

Vegeta caught his breath, his eyes wide in shock. What the hell had that been?! He moved his hand up slowly to trace over where Kakarott had touched him. A faint blush came to his cheeks that he tried in vain to hide as he swiftly walked out of the church cursing in confusion under his breath. It of course had meant nothing, that touch. It had just been to show that Kakarott was there for him like no one else was. But… it was just that, he had never felt anything like that before. Bulma had never touched him like that, and Frieza… he did not want to think of Frieza, that was a long time ago.

"He's looking good isn't he?" He turned about and saw Frieza standing there, leaning against the outer Church wall. His white arms were crossed over his small manly chest. Vegeta turned his head away, not acknowledging that the figment was there. He had got use to these visits from the ghosts, they had been happening for years, but it wasn't until Bulma's death that he had heard them speak. Then he felt cold arms rap about him and he froze, his eyes wide. He couldn't move! His breath came out in a mist like on a cold winter morning. But it was the middle of summer. He felt cold white fingers trace up his jaw like Kakarott's had. "Mmm, yes… don't you just want to bite him? He looks so good." The lips were brushing against his ear. A cold tongue flicked out to run up his neck. A shiver crawled down his spine. "Don't you just want to… taste him Vegeta? You know that you want him, you have wanted him for so long…" Then there came a quick nip to his neck by little white fangs and the apparition had vanished.

Vegeta shakily fell to one knee, he felt drained of energy. Like some thing had sucked it out. He shuddered slightly at the memory of those touches and slowly stood. He felt weak and pale. "This is insane.." He muttered feebly as he stood. He glanced around to check that no one had witnessed his weakness and was shocked to see not another soul in sight. Where had all the guests gone? He turned about looking back through the great redwood double sided doors of the Church. The casket was gone along with the minister. There was no one here but himself. A quick check of the sun told him it had been several hours since the end of the funeral. "Impossible!" He uttered, his face going pale. How was this! How had several hours fled by with out his knowing! Had it been the apparition? Had it been that.. He hesitated on using the word ghost. But he was beginning to think that was precisely what they were. Not just harmless imaginings at all but full protoplasmic spectres.

He shuddered. And that one, the one of Frieza, it had touched him and suggested such profane things. But who had the ghost been talking about when it had said "he"? Frieza couldn't possibly have been talking about Kakarott?! Vegeta shook his head of the thought. Frieza was dead; all this crap about ghosts was just going to wind him up in a not-so-friendly padded cell. But he had felt it! He had felt its icy fingers caressing his skin! He shivered again. "This is morbid, I have to start getting out more.." resolved the Prince. Suddenly a hand clamped itself to Vegeta's shoulder and he jumped with a little cry of surprise. He twisted around, his hand clenching into a fist and a scowl raging on his face.

It was Kakarott who jumped back as if burned at Vegeta's stunned reaction. "Oh shit, sorry Vegeta. I didn't mean to startle you." He said, his eyes wide and his hands up in a defensive position. Vegeta let out an irritated growl.

"What are you doing Kakarott?!" he barked, his old aggravated personality showing through the emotionless flaccid character he had been of late.

Kakarott smiled slightly. "I was just coming to check where you were, you didn't come to see her.. uh.." He didn't finish the sentence, it was obvious he meant that Vegeta hadn't come to see Bulma buried in the hard cold ground. Vegeta said nothing but dropped his scowl as it began to fade so he was looking with intense interest at the concrete steps under his black leather shoes. He felt odd. That was the only way to explain it really. The grief was there, in his mind, but it was like he hadn't acknowledged it yet. Like it was waiting for him to look up and say, `I think I will grieve now.' It was a respectable pain. But then Vegeta always felt he kept such good control of his emotions.

The whole time Vegeta was praising him self for his level-headedness he didn't notice Kakarott watching him intensely, him self worried at where all of Vegeta's old passion had gone. But now was not the time to ask things such as that, Vegeta's wife had just died, and so horribly too.

Kakarott remembered last Monday morning so vividly. Vegeta had walked into the lounge from the patio to the pool. In his arms he had been carrying a soaking wet Bulma, blood dripping steadily from the crack in her skull to the floor along with the pool water. It was gravity that made it drip, not a beating heart. Bulma had been quite dead. And for some time according to the coroner. At least several hours. Kakarott remembered from where he stood at the door talking to Trunks before he set off to work at the Capsule Corporation main HQ. Trunks was President there now, Bulma had handed the business over to him once he turned 25.

According to Vegeta he was looking for Bulma to fix his Gravity room for the millionth time so he and Kakarott could train; and had walked into the pool area to see her body sunk in the murky water, blood still slowly flooding out of her. He had jumped in the water and pulled her to the side as he tried to breathe the life back into her. He had called out several times but no one came. He had knelt over her body staring at it. Then he had picked her up and carried her to the lounge.

Trunks had gone hysterical. Kakarott had to restrain him from shaking her body so violently that it did more damage to her. The whole time Vegeta had just stood staring at the body he had put on the couch. It wasn't until the police questioned him that he gave what happened. As it was, foul play was ruled out when the coroner has said that Bulma had suffered from a minor stroke. One that she most likely would have lived through if she hadn't fallen near the pool and cracked her head open on the tiled edge before falling in the water and drowning. Kakarott remembered how he had been then and saw that the Prince was no different now. What was wrong with him? He silently wondered as he reached a hand out to rub his shoulders.

Vegeta tensed and moved away. "Vegeta, I'm just trying to help." Said Kakarott in a caring voice as he moved closer to Vegeta again.

Suddenly it seemed like an intense rage flew over the Prince because he turned in fury at Kakarott and screamed, "Leave me the fuck alone Kakarott! Got that you pathetic excuse for a living creature!" And then he swiftly leaned forward and punched Kakarott in the gut before turning around and flying off. The unexpected move made Kakarott fall to his knees, the breath punched out of him. He croaked out a gasp before standing, watching after the unbalanced Prince with sad yet wary eyes.

"Looks like he's gonna need more help than I thought.." He muttered with a frown. He straightened his brown suit and took off into the air keeping at a respectable distance behind Vegeta but never the less following him.

~*~

TBC…

Well.. tell me what you think.. Like and I will continue, don't like and I won't bother.

Chow!

~The Great Dynishra The Vampire~