Categories > Anime/Manga > Dragon Ball Z > Fathers and Sons
We got so far, to lose it all, but in the end, it doesn’t even matter.
Trunks stared out at the empty plain; lavender grass as far as the eye could see, speckled by slightly darker purple bushes. Racine pulled up a stalk and held it next to Trunks’ shoulder-length hair, and grinned.
“You blend right in!” Racine tossed the stalk away, then turned towards Bardock as the old Sayajin closed the hatch to the ship. “What's the damage, Gramps?”
“We wait. His Majesty will be here in about twenty minutes.” Bardock looked around, squinting his eyes against the blue sun. “Looks like this world was made for you, Right Hand.”
“You keep calling Trunks that, but I still don’t know what it means,” Gohan stretched, tail curling in a question mark behind him.
“He kills in the name of the King. Those who are deemed unworthy to be executed by the king himself, the king sends his Right Hand. Not petty law breakers. True enemies of the throne and the people.”
“Sounds like a dictatorship,” Racine commented.
“Its Sayajin monarchy. I guess its all the same thing, more or less.” Raditz squatted and poked at the pale dust.
“What does it matter? Racine and I won’t ever be on Vegetasie.” Gohan sat and curled his legs up as if he meant to meditate.
“No. I don’t think any of us will be going back to Vegetasie.” Kakarrot sat next to his son, mimicking his position.
“What about me?” Vegeta wasn’t looking at anything other than the horizon as he asked the question. Astute, for a ten year old.
“We’ll be going back.” Trunks put a hand on his son’s shoulder.
There was an energy spike, and they turned their collective gazes towards the sky. It took the ship less than ten minutes to land, and Trunks shuddered as it touched the ground. Even Freeza hadn’t emanated that much evil when Trunks had killed him. Now that it was so close, though, he supposed that his father must have pulled off some kind of miracle to buy him close to four years to train the kid with no influences from the Sayajin court. The kid had gotten stronger by leaps and bounds, when he’d had Pan and Serenity to keep as far ahead of as possible. Even by Sayajin standards, the girls were strong; Trunks wasn’t sure who was most proud of them out of the five men in their lives.
They didn’t have much longer to wait. The Sayajin fleet had started landing, and with them, the fleets that Kooler and Kold must have brought with them; they out-numbered the Sayajin five to one. Not bad odds, Trunks decided. Gohan and Racine needed the challenge.
Hell, they’d spent the last few years training hard for the sake of making Vegeta stronger. They’d trained hard and simply expected him to keep up; it had been motivation enough, since making him train with the girls had become a punishment after the first year. Making him train with Yaumcha and Piccolo might have bordered on cruel, if Trunks had thought that there was anything to be lost by it; as it was, they’d forced him to mature mentally as well as physically. Roshi and Krillin had had their part; without them, Vegeta would have learned nothing about fighting for the sake of fighting, nothing about the challenge for the sake of the challenge. Nearly four years, and Trunks had made his son as perfect a warrior could be. He’d rule with a Sayajin mind and a human heart; that’d throw the bastards for a loop, even his father.
His father was walking towards him now, looking cold and grim. The others fell into step behind Trunks as he started across the purple grass, but he pushed his son to the front; he’d have to at least look like he was in the lead now. He could see the fleets unloading from the ships, pouring out like rats. They met in the middle, keeping an eye across the plain at the enemy ships.
“Looks like you’ve done well, boy.” It was hard to tell if King Vegeta was talking to his son or grandson, but that was only because there were other Sayajin at his back. He’d always called Trunks ‘boy’ anyway, and his grandson ‘kid.’
“Everything’s ready.” Trunks told him, and he knew the Sayajin behind his father were starting to put two and two together; he probably should have worn his Sayajin armor, but Bardock had said to screw it, so they’d all worn Earthling clothes. Even the Crown Prince. Jeans and tee-shirts, all of them, and even with the blue crawling out of the collar of his shirt, Trunks was obviously a half-breed. Gohan and Racine were a little less obvious because of their coloring; their eyes were human, though, even if their hair wasn’t.
They turned and looked across the plain; one horned giant followed by a blue version of Freeza were heading toward them. Trunks watched his father paste on the familiar smirk, before he turned back to the assembled group.
“Just you and me, Bardock. Kid, if anything goes wrong in the next ten minutes, order the attack. Boy,” he made the first real distinction between the two of them in front of half a dozen warriors of the court, “Give them hell to pay.” The two men headed out to the center of the two armies, leaving their sons and people to watch. Bardock flashed a victory sign over his shoulder as he followed his king, not turning to look back. Trunks would remember that for years to come; that they’d walked into their deaths without looking back. Not just true Sayajin, or brave men; they were real heroes.
Trunks had known something would go wrong; he’d suspected it when Bardock had made his prediction, but he’d only really known as they’d headed out across the purple grass. So he watched Kooler and Kold blow Bardock and his father into ashes from too far back to help, and threw his head back as the scream tore out of him.
He could feel Raditz and Kakarrot screaming with him; that was natural, for them to be enraged over their father and their king. Gohan and Racine joining in was a mild surprise; they’d loved Bardock, even if they still hated Vegeta. But his own son joining in the cacophony, that was a jolt. Vegeta had respected his grandfather, vaguely liked Bardock. No love really lost, there.
But oh, the kid was screaming.
Vegeta was the last to peak; as he settled into Super Sayajin, the clumps of rock fell back, and the dust cleared. Kold and Kooler stared at them from across the plain, wearing matching looks of surprise. Six matching pairs of pupil-less green eyes focused on the enemy; six heads of glowing gold hair ruffled in the breeze created by their own power; six identical smirks of destructive intent settled on them.
The Sayajin fleet hung back and watched the wholesale slaughter. It took about a half hour, moving at a fairly sedate pace. When it was done, Raditz, Kakarrot, Racine, and Gohan boarded the ship they’d come in without looking back or saying a word to anyone. Trunks turned to his son, reaching out a hand to put on the kid’s shoulder. Vegeta dodged, and looked him in the eye.
“You need to go with them.”
“What?” Of all the times to be ineloquent. Then again, talking had never been what he was really good at.
“My sister needs you more than I do. Mom needs you more. You need to go, and I need to stay.” There were tears in the kids eyes, but he was nothing if not strong. Trunks could feel his own eyes prickling. He hadn’t gone Super Sayajin for the loss of life he’d witnessed, but for the loss of the life he’d never get to have. Bringing the kid home, giving him a taste of a human life he loved when they both knew he had to go back to a place where he would be all alone and surrounded by people.
Trunks didn’t know if there’d ever been a father so cruel.
“GO!” Trunks pulled the kid in to hug him, whispered goodbye, and headed back across the plain. “Pop?” He turned, dreading and hopeful. “What are you going to name her?” The tears were streaming down the kid’s face, and Trunks felt his heartstrings lurch more painfully then he’d ever thought possible.
“Bra. Your sister’s name is Bra.” Vegeta nodded, sniffled hard, and scrubbed futilely at the tears still sliding out of his big green eyes.
Trunks turned and walked back to the ship. Boarded, walked past all the others, and locked himself in his room.
Nearly thirty years old, muffled by the sound of the engines taking off, Trunks cried for the second time in his life.
Trunks stared out at the empty plain; lavender grass as far as the eye could see, speckled by slightly darker purple bushes. Racine pulled up a stalk and held it next to Trunks’ shoulder-length hair, and grinned.
“You blend right in!” Racine tossed the stalk away, then turned towards Bardock as the old Sayajin closed the hatch to the ship. “What's the damage, Gramps?”
“We wait. His Majesty will be here in about twenty minutes.” Bardock looked around, squinting his eyes against the blue sun. “Looks like this world was made for you, Right Hand.”
“You keep calling Trunks that, but I still don’t know what it means,” Gohan stretched, tail curling in a question mark behind him.
“He kills in the name of the King. Those who are deemed unworthy to be executed by the king himself, the king sends his Right Hand. Not petty law breakers. True enemies of the throne and the people.”
“Sounds like a dictatorship,” Racine commented.
“Its Sayajin monarchy. I guess its all the same thing, more or less.” Raditz squatted and poked at the pale dust.
“What does it matter? Racine and I won’t ever be on Vegetasie.” Gohan sat and curled his legs up as if he meant to meditate.
“No. I don’t think any of us will be going back to Vegetasie.” Kakarrot sat next to his son, mimicking his position.
“What about me?” Vegeta wasn’t looking at anything other than the horizon as he asked the question. Astute, for a ten year old.
“We’ll be going back.” Trunks put a hand on his son’s shoulder.
There was an energy spike, and they turned their collective gazes towards the sky. It took the ship less than ten minutes to land, and Trunks shuddered as it touched the ground. Even Freeza hadn’t emanated that much evil when Trunks had killed him. Now that it was so close, though, he supposed that his father must have pulled off some kind of miracle to buy him close to four years to train the kid with no influences from the Sayajin court. The kid had gotten stronger by leaps and bounds, when he’d had Pan and Serenity to keep as far ahead of as possible. Even by Sayajin standards, the girls were strong; Trunks wasn’t sure who was most proud of them out of the five men in their lives.
They didn’t have much longer to wait. The Sayajin fleet had started landing, and with them, the fleets that Kooler and Kold must have brought with them; they out-numbered the Sayajin five to one. Not bad odds, Trunks decided. Gohan and Racine needed the challenge.
Hell, they’d spent the last few years training hard for the sake of making Vegeta stronger. They’d trained hard and simply expected him to keep up; it had been motivation enough, since making him train with the girls had become a punishment after the first year. Making him train with Yaumcha and Piccolo might have bordered on cruel, if Trunks had thought that there was anything to be lost by it; as it was, they’d forced him to mature mentally as well as physically. Roshi and Krillin had had their part; without them, Vegeta would have learned nothing about fighting for the sake of fighting, nothing about the challenge for the sake of the challenge. Nearly four years, and Trunks had made his son as perfect a warrior could be. He’d rule with a Sayajin mind and a human heart; that’d throw the bastards for a loop, even his father.
His father was walking towards him now, looking cold and grim. The others fell into step behind Trunks as he started across the purple grass, but he pushed his son to the front; he’d have to at least look like he was in the lead now. He could see the fleets unloading from the ships, pouring out like rats. They met in the middle, keeping an eye across the plain at the enemy ships.
“Looks like you’ve done well, boy.” It was hard to tell if King Vegeta was talking to his son or grandson, but that was only because there were other Sayajin at his back. He’d always called Trunks ‘boy’ anyway, and his grandson ‘kid.’
“Everything’s ready.” Trunks told him, and he knew the Sayajin behind his father were starting to put two and two together; he probably should have worn his Sayajin armor, but Bardock had said to screw it, so they’d all worn Earthling clothes. Even the Crown Prince. Jeans and tee-shirts, all of them, and even with the blue crawling out of the collar of his shirt, Trunks was obviously a half-breed. Gohan and Racine were a little less obvious because of their coloring; their eyes were human, though, even if their hair wasn’t.
They turned and looked across the plain; one horned giant followed by a blue version of Freeza were heading toward them. Trunks watched his father paste on the familiar smirk, before he turned back to the assembled group.
“Just you and me, Bardock. Kid, if anything goes wrong in the next ten minutes, order the attack. Boy,” he made the first real distinction between the two of them in front of half a dozen warriors of the court, “Give them hell to pay.” The two men headed out to the center of the two armies, leaving their sons and people to watch. Bardock flashed a victory sign over his shoulder as he followed his king, not turning to look back. Trunks would remember that for years to come; that they’d walked into their deaths without looking back. Not just true Sayajin, or brave men; they were real heroes.
Trunks had known something would go wrong; he’d suspected it when Bardock had made his prediction, but he’d only really known as they’d headed out across the purple grass. So he watched Kooler and Kold blow Bardock and his father into ashes from too far back to help, and threw his head back as the scream tore out of him.
He could feel Raditz and Kakarrot screaming with him; that was natural, for them to be enraged over their father and their king. Gohan and Racine joining in was a mild surprise; they’d loved Bardock, even if they still hated Vegeta. But his own son joining in the cacophony, that was a jolt. Vegeta had respected his grandfather, vaguely liked Bardock. No love really lost, there.
But oh, the kid was screaming.
Vegeta was the last to peak; as he settled into Super Sayajin, the clumps of rock fell back, and the dust cleared. Kold and Kooler stared at them from across the plain, wearing matching looks of surprise. Six matching pairs of pupil-less green eyes focused on the enemy; six heads of glowing gold hair ruffled in the breeze created by their own power; six identical smirks of destructive intent settled on them.
The Sayajin fleet hung back and watched the wholesale slaughter. It took about a half hour, moving at a fairly sedate pace. When it was done, Raditz, Kakarrot, Racine, and Gohan boarded the ship they’d come in without looking back or saying a word to anyone. Trunks turned to his son, reaching out a hand to put on the kid’s shoulder. Vegeta dodged, and looked him in the eye.
“You need to go with them.”
“What?” Of all the times to be ineloquent. Then again, talking had never been what he was really good at.
“My sister needs you more than I do. Mom needs you more. You need to go, and I need to stay.” There were tears in the kids eyes, but he was nothing if not strong. Trunks could feel his own eyes prickling. He hadn’t gone Super Sayajin for the loss of life he’d witnessed, but for the loss of the life he’d never get to have. Bringing the kid home, giving him a taste of a human life he loved when they both knew he had to go back to a place where he would be all alone and surrounded by people.
Trunks didn’t know if there’d ever been a father so cruel.
“GO!” Trunks pulled the kid in to hug him, whispered goodbye, and headed back across the plain. “Pop?” He turned, dreading and hopeful. “What are you going to name her?” The tears were streaming down the kid’s face, and Trunks felt his heartstrings lurch more painfully then he’d ever thought possible.
“Bra. Your sister’s name is Bra.” Vegeta nodded, sniffled hard, and scrubbed futilely at the tears still sliding out of his big green eyes.
Trunks turned and walked back to the ship. Boarded, walked past all the others, and locked himself in his room.
Nearly thirty years old, muffled by the sound of the engines taking off, Trunks cried for the second time in his life.
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