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Wishes of the Fallen	By : SaiyanGirl Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 4338 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own DragonballZ, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Title: Wishes of the Fallen

Author: SaiyanGirl (SaiyanGirl@Gmail.com)

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Goku/Vegeta, Vegeta/Goku, implied Goku/Chichi, implied Gohan/Videl, others are a surprise! ^_~

Warning: Language, Violence, a tiny bit OOC, Death, Angst, Yaoi, Graphic Lemon

Disclaimer: All copyrighted characters appearing in this story were created by Akira Toriyama, and appear without expressed permission. Any original characters appearing are the intellectual property of the author, SaiyanGirl.

Special Thanks: A HUGE Thank You goes to Katiefoolery for beta'ing this fic. She is absolutely amazing! Without her, this story would never have been worthy of posting!

Soundtrack for Chapter Twelve:

     Neverending White Lights - Theme from the Life Eternal (Act II: The Blood and the Life Eternal, 2007)

     Neverending White Lights - Dove Coloured Sky (Act II: The Blood and the Life Eternal, 2007)

     Neverending White Lights - Black is the Colour of My True Love's Heart (Act II: The Blood and the Life Eternal, 2007)

     City and Colour - Hello, I'm in Delaware (Sometimes, 2005)

All soundtrack selections are available on iTunes.

Please Note: For all Soundtrack Discliamer Information, please see The Prologue.

Chapter Thirteen - Loss

     "Goten? Are you ready? We're leaving soon!"
     Vibrant reds filled the room, splashing along the walls as they cascaded through the windows. It was the gift of an evening sun that sat precariously above the mountain's ridge, its tired eyes awaiting their reward after an exhausted day. Even at the day's end, the breeze was still warm as it seeped through a cracked window; heat and humidity fighting with the conditioned cold pouring from molded modern vents. Warmth and cold, light and dark - together they danced, their movements painting a canvas of hope and despair upon a teenage face.
     The dance continued: the warmth of the wood, the cold of the strings; the light of the fiber, the dark of the fabric - a liquid mosaic, frozen and carved in the design of Goten's favourite instrument. A warm hand caressed cold strings, the subtle articulation of sound filling his ears one last time. Cold eyes gazed upon the warm finish of the wood, flowing over the vibrant hues before skidding over the plush black fabric of the guitar case. One final look, one final touch - his hand hesitantly lowering the lid of the case over the instrument.
     With the last click, Goten latched the guitar case shut, coldly encasing it within the warmth it deserved, his fingers left numb in its wake.
     He slowly ran a hand over the case - he felt nothing; his other hand ran along the carpet - he felt nothing. Empty eyes arose to stare at the bleeding sunset - nothing. There was nothing left. No warmth, no cold, no light, no dark... He could barely hear: sound muffled into deep, irrelevant bass-tones, their vibrations slowly diminishing around him. He couldn't feel himself breathe, couldn't feel the beat of his own heart - was he even alive? His senses, his emotion, his life - no longer were they responding, no longer were they even there. He knew where he was, knew what he was doing... He couldn't feel a thing.
     Shouldn't he be able to feel his own soul?

     "Goten?"
     It was her voice - the only voice he heard within the walls of the prison, the walls that kept him from touching the clouds. She'd been the only one to speak to him since he'd returned, carrying the very instrument he now gazed upon. For three days her husband had ignored him outright, leaving him to the care and observation of his sister-in-law. It was more than he'd expected upon setting foot back into the elevator, the street knight's blood still on his shoes.
     Rising to his feet, he turned to find her looking upon him, her eyes sharing a shade of black with her hair. The locks flowed loosely over her shoulders, long strands of thick darkness pulled into a single river of sorrow. Darker still was the dress, flowing lazily over her entire frame; shaped yet supple. Their eyes met - hers as dark as the endless pool of black that enveloped his soul.
     "Are you ready?"
     "I think so." His voice was devoid of life, mimicking the fa�ade of composure she was desperately trying to hold onto - how easily he could see it in her eyes. How fortunate she couldn't see what lay behind his: a sleeping monster, cryogenically dormant, its cage unlocked. A spaceless hole instead of a door; clouded darkness instead of walls. One would only need rattle it to set it free, if only the impact of a sledgehammer wasn't reduced to the force of a summer's breeze. A monster of infinite emotional power, enslaved by all that was nothing in the universe.
     He could tell she was trying her hardest as she faked a half-smile, agonizing a pleasant sigh as she approached. "It fits well," she remarked, her hands extending to adjust the tie around his neck. "You tie ties better than your brother does." Despite the frozen sorrow surrounding her, Videl's hands looked and felt as warm as a summer's rain.
     "Hnn." It was all he could say - a simple agreement without laughter, without contentment. He was as capable of feeling the two as the black suit draped over his shoulders. She'd bought it for him - the first change of clothes he'd had in three days. A black ensemble accented by the white of his buttoned shirt, complete with a jacket that wasn't too tight - she'd sized him up without him even noticing. It was a gift as unexpected as it was wanted: a last chance, a fresh and dignified look in which he could say goodbye.
     'Goodbye...'
     The cage rattled. The monster did not stir.

     He fell deeper within the depths of endless apathy, his thoughts dragging him under. Past the point of sorrow, past the point of anger - past the point of even wanting to feel. Deeper, further, darker; the walls of an emotionless void rising above him, closing around him, caging his very core as they gripped his body. They left him stripped, stricken of all emotion, torn from his very self: all his joy, all his hope...
     They left him a shell.
     He couldn't dare look into her eyes - he knew those pools of darkness would surely drown him for all eternity, leaving him a broken wraith for the rest of his miserable life. A twisted part of himself suddenly felt the urge to laugh bitterly - this was the rest of his life. Too young to survive on his own, he was stuck here amongst the clouds, under the tyrannical rule of an asshole and his wife. There was nowhere else to go - mom and dad were gone. Forever.
     "There we go." Her voice was barely audible as she released his tie, the knot presumably positioned in some manner pleasing to her senses. He couldn't tell. He couldn't tell if she were even looking upon him - all he could do was stare blankly at the floor below them. The reds and oranges painted on the carpet bathed his black feet, the warmth doing all it could to soothe his skin back into a realm of life. They desperately cried to his impassive eyes, trying with all their want to bring him the slightest form of joy.
     The lifeless void gripping his heart drowned them out.
     "We won't be much longer." The vibrations of her voice told him she was trying her hardest to sound the least bit comforting - his ears were still fiercely guarded by all that was ruin. "Gohan'll just be a few more minutes. Why don't you get your shoes and put your guitar by the door?"
     "'Kay."
     His shoulders slumped as she moved away, crossing the room to disappear behind the door to her bedroom. Crouching before the last piece of his former life, Goten carefully checked each latch before grasping the handle and lifting. The teen hoisted the heavy case above his waist as he turned, making sure not to knock anything over on his way to the door.
     "What are you doing?" A heartless voice cut his journey short.
     Goten stopped in his tracks, gradually turning to face the man glaring at him from the open doorway. Black eyes, black hair, black suit - he couldn't tell, but Goten was almost certain Gohan had pulled his hair back into a ponytail. He just stood there in the doorway, shoulders square in yet another cheap suit, suspicious eyes slowly shifting from Goten to the guitar case in his hand. Three days. Three fucking days, and that was the first thing he had to say...
     "What does it look like?" Goten replied, barely lifting his head as he returned his gaze to the floor, his voice muffled by the restrictive collar of his shirt. "I'm getting my shoes."
     Goten resumed his journey to the door, discarding the man's glare as he passed before him.
     "You're not bringing that."
     The words made his feet cease their movement. He wasn't in any mood to deal with his sister-in-law's husband's shit - everything always had to revolve around him. He had to be in control, had to be the centre of attention; even at his parents' funeral, he had to find a way to place the focus on him. And now here he was, ignoring his unwanted brother for seventy two hours only to ask him a stupid question. A stupid question followed by a command - a command from a Human.
     "Yeah, I am." The cage rattled. Goten's gaze shot straight up in defiance, grasping the unwanted attention of the man in the cheap black. He glared straight into his eyes, his stare empowered by the legions of anger, hate and loathing that were slowly stirring within the cage. He was about to say goodbye to his parents. He was going to do it his way.
     The disgrace before him could go fuck himself for all he cared.
     "A funeral is no place for a rock concert, Goten."
     There he was. The triumphant return of the almighty, all-knowing Gohan - always knowing what's best, always offering retarded and conceited answers to questions no one asked. A rock concert? How the fuck could he possibly be so blind?
     The monster stirred.
     '... It's Gohan.'
     A simple reminder which spoke volumes, negating any need to answer the question further. "There's not gonna be any rock concert, you idiot." He could feel the anger seep into his voice - the beast within was stirring. "I'm bringing it for a reason."
     Gohan snorted, obviously bemused by his simple explanation. "And what's that? To show off in front of everyo�"
     It awoke.

     Roaring.
     "Have you no fucking sense, Gohan!?" Outrage at the man's words instantly empowered him to dangerous levels of ferocity. "Show off? At a fucking funeral!?" How in the hell could an educated adult be so fucking stupid? "They forget to teach you common sense in that fucking med-school?"
     Gohan's face grew dark - his grew darker. There was no way he would be leaving his guitar here. No fucking way would he allow a human to stop him from saying goodbye to his parents in the only way he knew how. "It's coming with me."
     "No it isn't."
     "No? Fine!" The case thudded against the carpet, sending vibrations along his feet. There was only one way the instrument was staying put - whether a building would be present to surround it was another matter. "You want it?" Fucking Humans - always interfering, always getting involved, always feeling like their presence was wanted by those they claimed to be helping. All they wanted was to serve their own personal interests - like hell was he about to let this one succeed.
     "You'll have to rip my fucking arm off! Just like yo--"
     "Stop it!"
     The shout pierced through his hypersensitive eardrums, the surprise shocking the back of his neck to attention. His gaze was instantly drawn to her - her face ripe with anger for them both.
     "The both of you! Just stop it!"
     "Videl, please..." Pleading, appeasing, bribery, coercion - Goten was certain the man had learnt every last trick, every technique to make sure he got his own way. Like fuck he knew anything else.
     She wasn't about to have any part of it.
     "Goten is bringing his guitar with him." Her voice was as cutthroat as a frozen blade, a damning strike against her husband's perceived invulnerable superiority. "If you have a problem with it, you can stay here."
     Goten could only watch as she shot the wife's glare of death upon her husband - the sort of glare which would have had him on the couch if it wasn't already taken. Perhaps he could sleep in his study with the door closed - he seemed fond of it three nights ago. The thought nearly brought a sadistic smile to Goten's face. Nearly.
     "Now come on. I don't want to be late."
     The lady hath spoken. Goten was forced to reluctantly wrench his sight away from the pathetically humorous look on the man's face, letting his feet carry him to the door where they slipped into a pair of polished shoes. He bent to tie them, barely noticing his blurry reflection in the surfaces he'd polished the night before. The sound of rattling keys filled his ears - he looked up in time to catch the sight of his sister-in-law tossing a set of keys to her husband, his hand fumbling as he barely caught them.
     'Figures...'
     Goten couldn't help but scoff, sneering scornfully the idea of Gohan neglecting his mind and body to the point of nearly missing a small object tossed to him - it would have been sad if it wasn't so fitting. Ignoring the glare the man cast upon him, he crossed his path to pick up the case and sling it over his shoulder, settling the fabric strap over his suit jacket.
     ...Was that a groan he heard with his back turned? A final pathetic gesture of disapproval? He didn't give a shit; neither did she.
     "Do you have everything?"
     'No.'
     The word filled his head, his heart, his entire body. Faking a smile for her while her husband nodded coldly was one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his life.
     "Alright, let's go."
     His eyes were cast upon the ground the entire way, his sister-in-law before him, her husband behind him: a miserable procession of despair. Down a plush carpet, into a classy elevator, down thirty six floors, into a classier atrium.
     "Hang on." The command stopped Goten mid-step, his blurred golden reflection filling his sight as the elevator doors closed before him. Again, the elevator fell - descending deeper into the proverbial unknown, dragging the rest of his miserable existence kicking and screaming down every self-destructive inch. When the doors opened again, he was greeted by the cold of matte stainless steel, xenon lights casting a light blue throughout the bay as he stepped into the building's parking garage.
     "We're not flying?" His eyes moved to his sister-in-law, suddenly remembering the days when he and Trunks had helped the man behind him teach her how to fly.
     "No," was all he heard from behind, a simple rebuttal from a simple Human.
     "Why not?" His voice faded as the memories continued to swirl in his mind, reminding him of a better time. A time when he had parents, when he had a best friend, when he had a brother. "You forget how?"
     Another groan, another set of rolled eyes - Goten could see it in his head without needing to confirm it. It was Gohan, after all.
     "We're in the middle of a city." Gohan's voice was forced, betraying the fact that he was at the limits of his restraint. Too bad for him - Goten could go all day if he wanted. "People around here would be freaked out if they saw three people suddenly flying by."
     "We flew in three days ago." The silent vehicles around them paid more attention to his words than Gohan.
     'Tch - fucking Humans.'
     They were scared of their own fucking shadow, let alone a superior race whom they somewhat matched in appearance. Another scoff, another thought of being surrounded by such pathetic habitants. How dare they compare themselves to Saiyans? There could be no graver insult; these weak fucks should be on their knees - their fucking knees - fawning in constant gratitude that they were even allowed to live, let alone share a superior form.
     His face grew darker as the angered thoughts continued to violently crash into each other within his fogged mind, momentarily halting as an expensive looking vehicle appeared in his path.
     "Don't worry about the trunk: just throw it in the backseat." Her voice competed with the metallic chirp of the alarm, the doors unlocked by a device in Gohan's hand. The three of them piled in, Goten disappearing into the spacious backseat interior with his guitar on the floor next to him. More polished wood, more expensive leather - the scent of Human wealth wasn't appealing in the slightest. He laid his head back against the plush headrest, frowning as the conditioned seats coloured the air around him.
     He sank further back into the seat as the craft began to move, slowly backing out before cruising down the corridors of parked vehicles, similar in colour and style. Xenon lights flared in his lidded eyes as he mindlessly stared out the window, his anger dissipating back into the void that held him in emotional suspension. Soon his mind was a blank canvas, coarse fabric tainted in the dull of headache grey. He didn't even notice when the craft came to a stop, his eyes watching blindly as metallic walls raised around them in a perfect circle. He took one glance skyward, peering through the expansive glass roof to watch the stars bleed above, the evening sun still casting its low gaze upon the world. They bled as he did, lost in a haze coloured by all that hurt within.
     His eyes closed as he felt the vehicle rise, laying his head back as they blasted through street level, flying into the coming night.

     From far above, stars began to glow; the sky slowly blending reds, blacks and blues together in a moving portrait of sorrow - dark and hurt bleeding into the evening sky. Gliding along the winds, three individuals flew, occupants trapped together by glass and carbon, bearing no sound above the subtle hum of AeroVector's finest, elegantly powering them to their ominous destination. Together they stared into nothing: nothing to see, nothing to say, nothing to attract their attention.
     All he could do was stare, his blank mind the result of a numbing haze. Stare at the ground, stare at the sky, stare at his own reflection - it made no difference. Nothing could help. He was a shell - a lifeless entity without thought or feeling, slouching in the backseat of his sister-in-law's car. Their destination became all too obvious as sweeping forests familiarised themselves to his dead eyes. His body refused to react. Refused to think, refused to feel...
     Life without feeling...
     The thought bled into his mind as his eyes cast themselves upon the sweeping ground, slowly tracing the plains and forests that swept by - even at that height, he'd still survive the fall...
     "Oh my God... is that it?"
     She'd obviously spotted it off in the distance - its horrific glory wasn't enough to make him stir. How outrageous it must have appeared: expecting a forest, finding a desert. Expecting a mountain, finding rubble; expecting a river, finding dirt. Expecting life - finding death.
     "Attention! You are nearing airspace restricted by the Capsule Corporation. Alter your heading immediately, or slow to be identified."
     The calm female voice filled the interior, its firm tone flowing softly from the numerous stereo speakers. The craft slowed in compliance, nearly coming to a stop as the last of the sun disappeared from view. How fitting - behold: from darkness, enter unto darkness.
     "I.D. Confirmed. Please proceed."
     He sunk back into his seat as the craft resumed, shifting his blank stare to the window beside him. How it had happened, why it had happened... There was no 'how' or 'why' left within him - they were just words; meaningless as the moonlit desert below him. 'How' or 'why' couldn't bring them back - 'how' or 'why' couldn't help a fucking thing.
     "Shit... how big is it?"
     "The news said something like twenty seven hundred square miles." He didn't expect anyone to hear the quiet drone of his answer, but it immediately caught her attention.
     "Hey... you're awake!" Even in the worst of times, she still managed to fake a smile. Such wondrous integrity could have only existed within very few - so rare, it made him wonder who the fuck had died a decade prior in order to get her anywhere near the man who was driving. How in the hell could he have possibly deserved such enchantment?
     "Yeah..." he replied, slipping his right hand to grasp the handle of his new guitar case. "Kinda hard to sleep right now, huh?" Doing his best to match her efforts, his tone earned him nothing but an annoyed glance from the driver through the rearview mirror. Ignoring the look, he let his attention drift back to her - only to have it suddenly seized.
     "What's that?"
     Off in the distance appeared a bright light: a light no more than a desert's mirage, no more than a blur of orange, red and yellow - no larger than a candle's flame. A simple image, a simple blur, seemingly meaningless. His eyes were locked upon it, captivated by an unknown presence, an unidentifiable source of... of what?
     Unable to avert his eyes, he could have sworn he heard her gasp.
     "That must be it..."
     Must be... what? Where they were headed? Bullshit. They were headed to the middle of a wasteland; headed to a crater where his house used to be. How could there be any lights? How the hell could there be anything out here?
     The light was drawing them in - him in. It was huge, ferocious; it wouldn't let him look away. His sight was being held. Held by something... within him.
     Time was no longer standing still - the colours flickered in his eyes as they danced before him, forcing him to lose all sense of time while they captivated his sight. One colour, then another, then another... then two sets of colours, then three. A cast of colours, grouping themselves together in their performance, subtly adding additional extras to the cast as the stage expanded to his view. Dancing, performing... calling. They were calling to him, calling to his soul... he could feel the void tighten as he desperately tried to call back.
     "Sit down."
     Sit down? He hadn't even noticed he was standing. Hell, he could barely hear the man speak; his voice drowned under the colours' ecstatic performance. Another second passed, another set of colour emerged - more and more revealing themselves to dance in his sight, calling forth his soul to dance among them. A soul incapable of calling back...

     ________Not yet..._______

     "Holy shit..." The words slipped from his mouth, his throat suddenly as dry as the former rivers below.
     As shadow delivered unto darkness, reveal thyself unto light.
     He could see.
     Fire and steel danced together in harmonious pleasure as they sang their chorus of pride and power before all who would gather, the clash of solid and liquid mixing in an endless display of molten clarity. Towering among them stood omens of stone: black towers numbering four standing watch as they flanked the squared corners of a dome whose size Goten had never thought possible. Around the dome's exterior the fires danced, their feet tethered to the ground in equal intervals, their numerous voices as loud as their colours while they sang in unison to the teen's heart. Atop each pillar, their leaders roared, massive blazes contained by the elements alone, unhindered to play their leading role in a score that left him trembling in awe. Stone and steel; fire and ice - antipodes come together to cry in glorious fury as they called his name.
     He hardly noticed as the air-car banked to the left - he refused to blink, refused to miss a moment of the sight out of the side window. The fires flickered, the pillars roared - together they formed a living symbol of power and glory - one that was speaking directly to his heart and soul. How desperate he was to let them hear - to let them respond... Within him, the void began to crack; the beast began to stir once more.
     "I think we can set down over there..." Another voice, another victimless drowning. Human voices were suddenly meaningless to him, pouring over his shoulders like tepid water to drip against expensive upholstery. He was a willing captive, a submissive prisoner - caught in a universe of fire and steel and stone.
     He never wanted it to let go.
     A subtle jolt wrought him from his wanting trance as the vehicle's tires came to rest upon fresh earth. He blinked as elegant lighting slowly illuminated the cabin, barely aware that the engines had ceased and the driver's door was fully open. The both of them stepped out without a backwards look, leaving him alone to resurface into reality. Sighing to himself, Goten reached across the interior to grab his instrument, ducking his head as he opened his door.
     The desert air coolly greeted him as he stepped out, his shoes falling upon restless dirt. Three closed doors, three disembarked passengers; Goten barely bothered to hide his scorn as the neurotic driver chirped the alarm twice. Gazing around, Goten spotted various other vehicles parked sporadically along the ground, their colours all painted with the midnight blue of the desert's starry sky. Their blues were nothing compared to the fiery reds which sang in his ears.
     Goten strung his instrument along his back, taking his first step on ground he'd wished never to feel again. The touch, the smell; everything about his surroundings prodded his mind, forcing his memory to replay every image, every sound from three days ago. As his feet left subtle tracks in the passing dirt, he could faintly make out other tracks, faintly make out other disturbances in the peaceful earth - a foot here, a hand there; for a moment, he could have sworn he saw himself on the ground. On the ground, on his knees... just like he had been.
     Memories brought emotions, emotions kept astray by the darkness which so desperately tried to drown him in ruin. Suddenly, he was back among the street knights, his mind blurring the reality with the bleak. One foot in front of the other, one foot back together; one Human before him, one Human behind him - another depressive formation, marching into embracing heat...
     The gentle warmth calmly caressed his bare skin, its welcoming invitation alluring him, causing him to raise his head. As his eyes came to focus, the images made his breath hitch. Fire surrounded him as he walked: blazing torches illuminating the path laid out before him. Each one as quiet as the next, they danced in their inviting pleasure, bathing him with the love and warmth he'd lost upon the very stone on which he now stood. Stone? Dragging his gaze to his feet, he raised his right foot to reveal slabs of uneven stone below him, the path mortared with crushed gravel. Fire and stone, hot and cold - he could feel their song resonate within his frozen veins.
     "Wow..." The whisper melted with the warmth, swirling around the suit that insulated his heart. It was too much to handle: the warmth, the heat, the prowess of the design: simple, yet elegant; humble, yet overwhelming. The fires, the stones: energy and strength combined in a display of honor and respect. How they quietly surrounded him, coaxed him forward, carried him with their song of power, of glory. Within him, the darkness was dying; a dim firelight slowly brightening his core, warming his soul as the feeling made itself known to him once more: pride. Pride in his family, pride in his mother, pride in his father... Pride in...
     'Myself.'
     The beast had awoken - the fires had tamed him.
     Standing at the grand entrance, Goten couldn't help but pause, his eyes panning to his left and right. As the fire surrounded the path, so too did they surround the dome - each as bright and lively as the next, curving in equal intervals beyond his sight. Expecting a door, he turned to face nothing: an entrance devoid of any barrier, leading into darkness made incomplete by restless fire. Gazing upward, his eyes widened as his sight came to rest upon a vast symbol above the entrance. Soft lines and sharp angles collided within a perfect circle, their meaning indecipherable to his mind - try as he did, once again, he couldn't look away. The lines called to him, voicing their familiarity through the darkness of the vague - his body unable to understand how, his mind desperately wanting to know why.
     "You coming?" Again, her voice entered his ears, somehow becoming softer each time she spoke to him. His eyes fell from the sky, centering upon her face in favor of the backside of her husband already well ahead of them.
     "Ye--Yeah," he replied, rejoining their mindless procession.
     He stared straight ahead as he walked, lungs subtly holding their breath as he crossed the threshold. Within the dome, the air was dark - dark as the night beyond its ominous walls. Not a light was present beyond that of the dancing performers, the torches continuing to pave his path forward. Beyond them stood their brethren, relieving the shadow of its work as they stood guard along the curved walls, their light cascading upon the steel, illuminating the vastness that was the interior. Gazing all around him, he was in awe as the images flooded his sight: the plains of fresh grass which expanded from the path's edge, the torches that cast their light... and the massive opening at the dome's apex, where a perfect circle of starry sky greeted his eyes, letting a subtle faint of moonlight cast itself upon the small gathering below.
     It took nearly five whole minutes to walk the length of the fiery path, the torches finally ending where the moonlight began. Before him stood a static gathering, a sketch of blue, white and black as bodies sat silent in a small array of folding chairs. The path divided the seating arrangement in half, the physical division lost in the uniformity of various suits and tamed hairstyles decorating the quiet ensemble. All except two: the pale white and purple turban of the tall Namek, and the wild royal black of...
     "Vegeta!" His heart nearly leapt into his throat, relief barely contained by the vast, sombre atmosphere surrounding him. It was enough: enough for his mentor to notice, enough for his head to slowly turn. Goten remained perfectly still as Saiyan eyes met his for the first time in three days - the presence of the Saiyan Prince alone dealt a decisive strike against the void within him. The warmth of the fire; the slow warming of his heart; fire and blue, power and black... warmth within in him, power before him. The chiding grip was losing strength - it wouldn't hold on for much longer...
     It couldn't.
     With the power of a crushing juggernaut, it hit him: this was the reason he was there, the reason everyone was there.
     His mom and dad were gone.
     Nothing could stop him from breaking his mentor's gaze, his sight drawn to the two pillars gleaming in the moonlight, one vastly larger than the other:
     "Here lies Son Goku - Selfless Protector of the Earth."
     Sorrow unleashed itself upon him.
     The boy nearly lurched as he drew within himself, his face hardening under Vegeta's gaze. Standing solitary; alone between the rows of Capsule chairs, once more ignored by those fucking Humans charged with his care - the disgrace already seated, talking with the bald weakling while his wife made her way to a seat next to the robot. Fuck - he knew it. Three godsdamned days and absolutely nothing had changed. The only bastard to even glance at him in the place was her old Scar-boy - feh, like hell he even knew who the boy was. He was probably stoned...
     "Something wrong, Vegeta?" Her voice entered his left ear, practically choking on its own depression. He refused to draw his sight away from the boy, finally relenting as the teen took a seat away from everyone else, his head barely held up as he placed the large case on the seat next to him.
     "No," was all he had to say, noting with disdain that the only thing close to the boy was the green man a few seats down. He was still alone. "They're here."
     "Gohan and Videl are here?"

     He turned to face her - she was directly to his left, her eyes filled with moonlight, blurred by the suffocating disaster of tears slowly leaking down her beautiful face.
     "Yeah," he confirmed, resisting the urge to wipe those tears away as he'd done once before...
     "Are you alright, Bulma?" A voice came in an exaggerated whisper, far too loud to escape Vegeta's superior senses. Next to her sat Darien, dressed in his best, the young gun that had stared death in the face and had only moderately flinched.
     "Yes, I'm fine." How simple her response was, nearly cutting him off as she folded her tense hands in her lap. "What do you think?" her voice asked, her head turning to gaze into Royal blood. "Is everyone here?"
     The fires billowed slightly as he flexed his ki, searching the area for any disrespectful stragglers. Fuck anyone who wasn't there yet. "Yeah. Tell your friend he can start."
     "Okay..." was all she said, her head bowed as she subtly tapped a button on her watch. Moments later, his attention was seized.
     Flames shot into the air as they roared from behind the two pillars of polished granite, a vast wall of fire towering over them as a cloaked figure appeared. Fire glittered on flowing robes of black and silver shielding a body as wide as it was tall, whose darkened face was covered by a draping hood. Vegeta's eyes widened as polished ebony captivated his gaze, shining brightly in the firelight as it adorned the giant's feet, the sharpened blades along his calves slashing the moonlight with their will. The man's stride was as proud as it was heavy: rounding the two stones, his boots pounded liquid vibration along Vegeta's skin. Saiyan eyes widened further as the man turned to face them, his face a pit of darkness save for the oppressive white cascading from his right eye, cutting the black with extreme prejudice.
     "What in the fuck?" His voice was instantly drowned by the overwhelming bass of the towering figure before him.
     "Behold! From fire we are born..." The proud and noble voice rumbled Vegeta's core, making him shift uneasily in his seat. "Unto fire, we return, our power and pride fulfilled."
     He couldn't believe his ears - where the fuck had she found this guy? How was this possible? How could she... how could he know?
     "Unto fire," the bass spoke, his hands raising to gasp his hood, "we burn eternal..." The hood swept back over his head, slowly revealing the shadow. "Unto fire, our souls return." As the hulking frame turned to stare straight into Vegeta's eyes, liquid awe coursed within his veins, the ominous white of that single eye forcing him to tremble.
     "Forever remembered," he spoke once more, his voice making Vegeta feel lightheaded, "for the strength and glory of the Saiya-jin Empire!"
     His heart was in his throat - he instantly felt like he was going to be sick. The presence of the giant among men before him made him feel hollow - a cowering shadow - trembling in the wake of the boisterous pride the giant commanded. The darkness, the light, the black, the white - who the fuck was he? Where the fuck did she find him? How... how the fuck was it possible that a man of this planet was capable... capable of...
     "Fear not, Your Highness."
     Shock became him as all colour left his face, deserting him in the presence of sheer, overwhelming power.
     "Dau tos nia sket reakai."
     "Woman!"
     Blue hair suddenly unraveled in the corner of his sight as she jumped, her fright instantly sending her skyward.
     "Shit! Fuck, Vegeta, don't do that!" Her retort came in shallow breaths, her lungs left panting from his shout. He didn't give a fuck if she was on the ground in panic.
     "What the fuck do you think you're doing!?" He snapped his head in turn, staring directly into angered confusion. Yeah, she looked like she'd just had a fucking heart attack with her hand clutched to her chest like that, but she'd be on the verge of real one if she didn't start talking. "Who the fuck is that?"
     "What?" was all that came out of her mouth, all nerves visibly confused. "Who the fuck is who?"
     "That!" Vegeta snapped his head towards the two polished obelisks, anxiety and haste empowering his motion towards the cooling blue light. "Wait... what?"
     He forced himself to blink. Before him stood the two towers of stone, basking in the pale moonlight from far above, a faint glow of sky emitting from a light he'd placed behind them. Gone were the fires. Gone was the heat. Gone were the robes, the armour, the black, the silver, the white - gone was he, the hulking tower of a--
     "What the hell is wrong, Vegeta?"
     "Wha... what the hell was that?" By now he could tell he'd become the center of public attention - like fuck he gave a shit. One blink could vaporize them all, save for one. "Your watch!" He abruptly directed his head back to face her. "You pressed something on your watch, and--"
     "I checked the time, dumbass!" Now was not the time for her alluring charm of insults. "I couldn't see it, so I hit the light! Gods, what the fuck is wrong with you?"
     "Is something wrong, Sir?"
     "Fuck off, run�" He practically made his tongue bleed as he bit down, stopping himself from speaking far too soon. How the hell he hadn't sensed his approach? Peering over his right, he spotted his understudy, the boy he'd fought so hard to save on that very spot three days prior. "No."
     He didn't appear affected by his harsh dismissal one bit - fuck, his face looked incapable of appearing like anything other than a solid wall of sorrow frozen in place. Hate carved into his skin, molten sadness insulating his eyes, painful remorse gripping his body stiff - the fact that he was keeping the tears at bay was a feat alone.
     "No, Goten. Nothing's wrong." He did his best to make himself sound as comforting as he could, still failing dismally on any Human scale. "Go sit down. We're gonna start soon."
     "Okay..." Hurt dripped from his voice, mirrored in his eyes as he glanced subtly over Vegeta's shoulder. Looking at his ungrateful bastard of a son, no doubt - the same bastard who'd now turned into an asshole; an asshole who refused to observe his friendship with a boy he'd known since birth... A boy who now slumped back into his solitary chair across the aisle. Feh - perhaps it was his mother's side, his Human side - abandoning his friend to sit alone. He'd have to teach his son a little something about loyalty...
     "Good evening, everyone."
     Turning to face the two pillars of stone once more, Vegeta's eyes were greeted with the presence of another male. Less than half the size of the glorious giant who'd stood in his place, this man's face was easily visible, his hood drawn over his shoulders. Buried within a grand robe of flowing white and golden tribal accents, the Human approached the gathering, standing before the aisle with his arms open in a welcoming embrace.
     "Thank you all for coming on this wonderful night."
     His voice was weak by Saiyan standards - it fit perfectly for the Humans gathered before him. It was an insulting far cry from the presence that had towered in his place not moments prior...
     "Let us all welcome one another tonight under the evanescent gaze of Elizia, daughter of Schaledra, creator and protector of the nigh--"
     Three seconds - it wasn't a new record by any means, but the thought of giving the man some kind of chance ensured those three seconds. Bah. Alizjia, Skaledjra? Where the hell did she find this o--
     "I found him in Stellar Cartography."
     "What?" His attention was barely hers as he turned to cast a disdainful look towards the man of whom she spoke.
     "He's a computer nerd who spends his days staring at maps of the stars," she murmured, refusing to look at him, "and playing online videogames while he thinks no one's watching."
     He couldn't stop a groan from leaking through clenched teeth. "You gotta be kidding me..."
     "What?" she protested, strained anger in her voice. "What else was I supposed to do? Bring in a priest or something?" She had a point. No human would be bringing any of their fucking religion anywhere near here.
     "Hnn."
     "... For we gather here tonight to remember and celebrate the proud spirits before us; their bodies at peace, their spirits finally free."
     "It's not like he has to do much," she continued, her voice subtly slipping through his ears. "Like hell any of us were about to do it."
     Like hell he would let any of them do it. The very fact that he was about to hear them profess their love and friendship for the hero they abandoned to die made his anger flare, his muscles flexing to match. The savior of their planet, the hero of their lives - his restraint was about to be tested beyond what he already knew.
     "Are you going to say anything?"
     His breath hitched. He, the Saiyan King, say anything to these ingrates? Hadn't he already said enough? Feh - like fuck any of them noticed. Every last one of them probably assumed her company had built what surrounded them. They didn't know the first fucking thing about them...
     "Vegeta?" Once more, she turned to face him, tears resisting the urge to fall.
     "No."
     Her face immediately deflated, her eyes drawing behind their lids.
     "Al�alright..." she trailed, her hand reaching for his. The warmth of her fingers slipped between his, clasping his skin in her delicate touch. "You've already said enough..."
     "... And now, under this starry night, let us begin to honor those which we have lost."
     Lost... Could there be a more painful word in their language? To lose another... Another he dared never to call friend...
     "May those who wish to speak on their behalf," the man spoke, his hands rising to the crowd, "please stand and be recognized."
     A subtle hollowing thud emerged from over his right shoulder, the sound emitting from within the crowd across the aisle. Vegeta didn't need to look - he knew who it was. The thuds continued as he walked: the old man with the wooden stick, slowly making his way to stand before the gathered crowd. Even in the dark, he refused to remove his sunglasses.
     "I'm sure we could all use some of Chichi's cooking right about now," he opened, his attempt to make light of the situation earning a few forced smiles within the crowd. "... But, unfortunately, her famous roasted saffron potatoes won't be gracing anyone's plate anymore..."
     Hnn. Figures. He should have known the old pervert would do nothing but talk about her. At least someone was... The bodies surrounding him were poised for one thing: to use the memory of their hero in order to gratify themselves, like always. He could fucking smell it - the repulsive stink of weakness and fear. They'd attach themselves to him in any manner they could just so they could usurp any fragment of his former glory. A final chance to say goodbye used as a final chance to insult... He could feel the tendons clench in his bulging forearms, the warmth of her fingers squeezing his.
     "... She was a perfect match to Goku: her fire and passion only matched by her drop dead beauty and ballistic figure."
     He could feel the entire crowd rolling their eyes. Any chance the old man got...
     "I mean, she was a bombshell in her own right: talk about a knockout! She could ride with the best of them and still cu--" The exaggerated sound of a man clearing his throat cut the old pervert off, a matching glare coming from her robed employee.
     'Even at a fucking funeral...'
     He'd need to bash out a few more of that old bastard's teeth for that one. Fucking Humans.
     What the hell was the point to listening to the rest of the old man's shit? Using any chance he could find to say what he'd always wanted without the fear of taking a blunt object to the back of the head - the first of many insults tonight, Vegeta was sure. Never mind she was one of the strongest Humans on the planet. Never mind she managed to raise a Saiyan warrior with her Saiyan husband. Never mind she was one of the two pillars that held up one of the strongest families on this godsforsaken rock. The three of them: strength, honor, respect - he could only think of one other woman on the planet capable of such a trinity.
     But now, two of those three were dead: entombed before them by his own hand, forever preserved under fire and stone for all to know. Here lies Kakarott and his wife: the reason you're still alive.
     "... And really, that's all I have to say about Chichi. She was an amazing woman who left us all too soon. And we're going to miss her."
     His shoulders slumped as he shifted his weight onto the walking stick, hobbling back to his seat not nearly fast enough.
     "May the next speaker please rise. Rise into the light of Schaledra and be recognized by all."
     "... Is he even referring to real gods?"
     "Like I would know." Her hand continued to squeeze his, warm fingers wrapped over clenched fists - his fists, not those belonging to the man on her left. Anything to keep him from turning a somber celebration into a vengeful bloodbath. "In his mind, I'm sure."
     "Hnn."
     A subtle shift came from the corner of his eye: a chair slightly moving as another stood. The easing light reflected off the bald skull that rose, his head failing to break the five foot barrier. He couldn't help but smirk as he watched the man limp forward, favoring the knee Vegeta had shattered not three days prior. His eyes narrowed as the words of the blasphemer emerged from his clouded memory once more. He'd break his leg again in a heartbeat. Only this time, he'd leave him immobile permanently.
     And thus it began: the dramatic climb to the top of Earth's most guilty of hiding in the shadows of power. Too long had he stood by and watched the pathetic man clamor to Kakarott's side: standing in protection of the first born, befriending everything the beleaguered Saiyan cast his gaze upon - a useless sidekick no one wanted. Good for nothing; unable to even hold his own on the battlefield - what fucking good was he to anyone? And now there he was, one final attempt, one final grasp at celebrity. Here stands Krillin, the sidekick of Kakarott - the one person who could die in a burning train wreck and have absolutely no one care. The only one who did was dead.
     "I came here tonight," it began, his trembling voice deepening the smirk upon the royal face, "and I really didn't know what I would say."
     'Admit your weakness and get the fuck out of here, Human.'
     "I mean, what am I supposed to say? Goku was... the best friend anyone could have ever hoped for... especially me." And thus, out it poured: aligning himself with power to become power - disguising his goodbyes as nothing more than tactless boasting. "I mean, we'd seen this before: all of us suddenly in search of the Dragon Balls so we could wish them back... but not this time."
     He couldn't listen to any more of this - this tiny, insignificant Human, speaking to the legend of the Saiyan that stood ominously behind him. How amazing it must have felt, to finally stand before Kakarott as the superior, to finally be out from under his shadow. How fucking pathetic. In death, Kakarott was still the superior being, no matter what that bald piece of shit thought. To think it could stand over anything in superiority was a fu--
     'You'll wish you'd have killed me.'
     His chest tightened as the memories flooded his mind, his knuckles bearing white under her touch. How the fuck could he possibly let himself remember that?
     The wind, the warmth, the sunlight bearing down upon them as the bloodied and tattered midget pathetically loomed over him, gripping the blade between his bloody fingers. Pressing it to his throat, sliding it ever so slowly - just enough to open him up, just enough to stain the blade with his royal blood, to let him know... It was the only chance that bastard ever got. He should have taken it.
     "... It was one of the happiest moments of my life, before meeting my beautiful wife, that is..."
     'I'll bet it was, asshole.'
     The only time he'd ever felt important in his meaningless existence - standing over royalty with a weapon drawn, about to take advantage of a weakened state none had ever known. It was the only thing he was good at: taking advantage. Never rightfully earning a thing, never proving a thing - always taking, always usurping, always hiding in shadow of greatness, thinking himself equal to that which equaled...
     'No one...'
     A defeated sigh fell from his chest as Vegeta blurred the images before him, ignoring the self-gratifying speech of the pathetic. A subtle truth, so quiet it was impossible for his royal pride to accept. Kakarott equaled no one. No one equaled Kakarott. Not even he, the King, the one who only now stood the most powerful of the universe at the death of his superior. The acceptance was as forbidden as it was necessary: to have all that which he deserved, at the cost of everything he'd ever known. To be the best, you must defeat the best - in doing so, you must accept your own defeat... To accept meant betrayal; to deny meant ignorance. Ignorance meant he was no better than the powerless asshole who spoke before him.
     To accept inferiority meant to accept superiority, to accept the drive that would push him to best his superior.
     There, under the stars, before the pillars of polished life, surrounded by the fires of his people, Vegeta sat. At his absolute weakest, he was the strongest he'd ever felt in his entire life.
     "... Live forever, Goku. We're gonna miss you, buddy."
     The droning ceased, its mark left upon her face as tears continued to roll down her delicate skin. Subconsciously, Vegeta knew what was said: how much their precious Goku meant to them, how their lives were all affected by him, how they'd never know the strength to continue living without him. They knew nothing. Kakarott, Goku, their hero... their appreciation was an insult to his legend. What Kakarott meant to him... no one would ever be capable of understanding.
     "I guess it's my turn..." Her voice filled his ears once more, luring him into facing her streaking tears. The pains of sorrow were etched into her soft face, the tears falling without hindrance. To see such pain upon the face of the only woman he'd ever loved... biting his fist would have drawn more than blood.
     "I'm here if you need me." It wasn't his voice - it was the voice of the other: the Human medic who sat silently next to her. She turned to face him as she stood, his face morphing into the pain he observed.
     'Welcome to the family, you poor bastard.'
     Goten moved his legs as she shuffled past his mentor, her shimmering hair blending with the moonlight. What she was about to say, he couldn't know - Krillin had already said nearly everything. An old friend from before he was born, fighting by his dad's side... a chance Goten would never get.
     When she turned to face them, the look on her face made him wish he was dead.
     "I... I want to start by th--thanking you all for coming tonight..." Relentless tears stained her pale face, their sorrow reflecting the ambient blue surrounding her. Standing uneasily, she clutched her hands together, her entire body shaking before them, before Goten's stubbornly walled eyes, his tears refusing to fall. "I'm sure... they'd be proud to see you all here... remembering what g--great friends they wer--"
     Her voice faded from his ears as the onslaught continued: her head falling, the tears pouring; choking her throat as she desperately tried to suppress her cries. How lucky she must have been - to be able to release it, to let go: to let the sorrow out and let them know what they meant to you... He wasn't so lucky. Within him, it had control: immersing his entire being as it drowned Goten's soul; drowning him in his own tears.
     "I remember the first time I met Goku," she forcibly continued, her voice choked up as she pushed the words past the reflections. "Here was this little kid... with a tail, standing in the middle of the road." The glow in her eyes intensified as fresh tears welled up, their painful descent ready to commence without notice. "From the moment I first saw him... I knew... there was something special about him... even after he tried to look up my skirt."
     Her face nearly cracked as the memory forced a smile from her lips, her glistening eyes telling the story of the pain such memories brought with them. "What I wouldn't give to see that smiling face again."
     'What I wouldn't give to see that smiling face again...'
     To see that magnificent body again, to feel that loving and protective heat again... It was gone. He was gone. Again. Forever.
     All he had left was his sorrow: perpetually building inside him - refusing to let go.
     "It was incredible... you could never miss that smile. Even in the worst of times, he never forgot how to smile, how to cheer us up. He was... always smiling, always laughing. Always... the one you wanted to be around."
     Her broken voice continued to fill his ears as Goten dropped his head to stare into the darkness shrouding below his knees. They were proud, painful memories; of times before his birth: of triumphs and failures, of good and bad. Proud to hear; painful to remember... For there would be no more memories to be had; no more to be made by the being of which she now spoke - his father, his dad; an individual matched by none. How he wished he had as many as she: memories to cherish for the rest of his life; vivid imagery of his father at his most radiant, his most powerful...
     Millennia had passed - at least, that's how it felt as Goten dwelled upon pictures and memories of his father; blind to the world around him, deaf to the woman who continued to speak before him. It took nearly everything he had left within him simply to raise his head, to pay respect to the female who continued to pour her heart out for her fallen friend...
     "And when..." Her voice nearly faltered, diminishing into the pain of a strained whisper. "When we wake up in the morning... to find you're not there... Not seeing your smiling face will be the hardest part of our lives. I'll miss you..."
     An eerie silence fell upon the audience as she drudged back to her seat, the clicks of her heels keeping the choked sobs at bay. A deathly silence for a deathly scene - a scene matching the murderous serenity within his soul. Within him, he could feel it: the pain, the anguish, the torturous sorrow which gripped him, refusing to let go, crippling him to the point of wanting to vomit.
     Can't feel... can't see... his own tears blocked the approaching white as defeat began its forbidden charge to claim his body.
     "In the name of Lorsaedrau, eternal protector of Schaledra, we thank those who have been brave enough to share with us tonight." The man's calm demeanor was nothing more than an insult to his cold ears as Goten sat, his mind engulfed with the freezing rains of gloom. How easy it was for an outsider to just waltz into their lives, bringing his fucking stupid gods as if they mattered... "But now, in accordance with their tradition, I would ask for the eldest son to rise and step forward."
     'No...'
     Just when he thought his life couldn't get any worse... Gohan couldn't speak for his parents. He just couldn't. Nothing would have been more insulting to their memory.
     "Please, if Son Gohan is present, let him stand and be recognized."
     But... no matter what he had done... it would be too selfish to forbid him from saying goodbye. He was still their son... Goten fought through the blurred haze of tears as he turned his head, peering past the protruding chest of the one they called Piccolo. Directly next to him sat Gohan, his arms folded across cheaply dyed fabric. Try as he might, Goten could overcome neither the haunting blur nor the broad whites of the Namek - it was impossible to discover the look upon his caretaker's face.
     "Is Son Gohan here? Please, stand and be recognized."
     "No."
     The silence was broken.
     In a complete disarray of shock, the crowd reacted: a wave of gasps and reactions alike competing for his mind's attention with that of his own. No? What the hell did he mean, no?
     "Please, my apologies. I believed Son Gohan was prese--"
     "I'm not saying a word."
     Shock and confusion enslaved the crowd - it was nothing compared with what had happened within Goten's chilled heart. A flame frozen; anger derisively contained by melting ice. How... how could he be so... so fucking selfish!? How the fuck could he just sit there and say nothing!?
     "I'm sorry?"
     Goten's gaze flickered to the man in white, then back to the man in black, leaving it to his imagination to presume a look of surprised alarm on the former's face.
     "I've said enough just by being here. Go on to the next."
     It was impossible. He wasn't hearing this. He was imagining it. He had to be. It was absolutely impossible for a living being to act in such a disgusting manner. How? How could he? After everything... everything they had done for him. How could he turn his back on them? How the hell could he be so cold? How... how the hell could he be so fucking dishonorable!?
     Through the insurmountable rage boiling within him, a sudden flash appeared out of the corner of his sight. A sudden flash of white, flaring amidst a sea of... green?
     'What?'
     In his state, he couldn't be sure of his body, let alone anything he saw at that moment. But... white among green?
     'Wait...'
     Green and white... white and green. Piccolo was sitting next to him, a few seats down...
     In an instant, the rage left him - overwhelmed as the shock regained its hold upon his battered body. Was Piccolo...? Had he...?
     ...Was he smiling?
     "You do not wish to speak at your own parents' memorial?"
     The words were garbled under his own emotional torment, his brain barely able to process a single syllable of the man's voice.
     "No. I don't."
     The crowd erupted.

     "What in the fuck!?"
     "Gohan! What the hell? Why not?"
     "Yeah, what gives, dude?"
     "What the hell is wrong with you, kid?"
     Within moments, the entire memorial had transformed into that of a feeding ground at chow time: a pony-tailed man serving as the main course. At least he wasn't the only one... Through his stricken senses, Goten heard the shouting, his absent mind watching the accusations as they hurled over his head from those across the aisle. The bastard deserved every last one of them. He deserved more... Goten didn't have the heart to join in: his body was too emotionally weakened to have thrown an insult of his own.
     "I think it would be most prudent, sir..."
     "And I don't. All of you, be quiet! Don't question that which you don't understand!"
     The selfish man's words only garnered further opposition, its volume increasing along with its intensity.
     "What the hell, man?"
     "Are you freakin' kidding me?"
     "Don't give us that bullshit!"
     An open fight during the memorial service for the most powerful and selfless being on the planet. Only Gohan could be capable of such a disgusting feat. Only Gohan... Any moment he would hear it: the selfish cries of a pathetic man straining himself as he forced his hair golden. How dare he even think to insult such glory with his childish tantrum. But it, like everything else in Goten's life, was inevitable. Inevitably, he would watch as his parents' memorial was trashed by all that was pathetic and futile in the universe. Inevitably, he would watch as his life withered away into the clutches of a manic depressive drawl. Inevitably, he would die... only his death wouldn't come before a lifetime of that: of being forced to become that - of becoming as disgustingly selfish and pathetic as that.
     What happened next nearly made Goten fall to the ground. Expecting a fight, he found silence. Expecting a scene of disgusting depravity, he found serenity. Expecting the worst, he found the most unexpected sight he could have ever imagined. Around him, the silence amongst the crowd had made its triumphant return, for Prince Vegeta had risen to his feet.
     Polished shoes carried him forward as he walked - slow and casual, as if he were simply walking through public. It was a sight of such banality it was almost haunting: the calm approach of the most powerful being in the universe, appearing at his most humbled. Before he knew it, Goten's hands were raised, his fingers mindlessly clearing his vision, wiping them clean of their sorrow, if only for a few seconds. They were seconds he needed, seconds he wanted. He wanted to see him... wanted to hear the voice of all that he had left in his meaningless existence.
     When Vegeta turned to gaze upon them, his face said it all.
     "I'm only going to say this once, so shut the hell up and listen." He glared down the man in black, eyes narrowing in an unspoken challenge under the pale light. Gohan was an immature moron, but surely he wasn't about to blindly challenge supreme power before everyone he'd ever known... was he?
     Would he?
     "We're here tonight, because Kakarott and his wife are dead." Goten knew this. He knew it... yet the weight of Vegeta's words smashed his stomach to pieces. His parents were dead. "Dead. Not by my rightful hand. Not as it should have been. They are dead by his own." Another known truth, another mighty blow...
     "Gasp and sneer all you want: your precious hero is dead by his own hand."
     Gasp and sneer they did, refusing to accept Vegeta's painfully disturbing truths. Lost in his own pain, Goten could only frown - how selfish of them...
     "All of you! You. You. You, the disgrace next to the fucking Namek!" he continued, his accusative stare sweeping across the gathering. "Every last one of you! You dare call yourselves friends of the most powerful being ever to live upon this rock."
     After what seemed like hours, Goten blinked - had he just heard what he thought he'd heard?
     "For as long as he existed, for as long as he infuriated the living hell out of me, not once did he ever ask anything of any of you. Every fucking time you needed his help, he was there: your mindless puppet throwing his existence down for your pathetic, insignificant lives." He must have been talking of times before Goten was born... stories of times far worse than he'd experienced since the pink blob... stories told to him by his mentor and father...
     "And how did you ever repay him? With food!?" He could hear the rage building within his mentor's voice: a chilling cold, viciously efficient at cutting anyone to pieces. "No, not with food... You repaid him with scorn. You constantly took him for granted. You ignored him the one fucking time he needed you. Every last one of you repaid him by abandoning him to die alone in his own fucking house!"
     The first protest would be met with deadly force - Goten would see to it himself. Every painful word from Vegeta's mouth was marinated in the bitter irony of the guilty truth. Each of them. All of them. Where the hell were they? Where the hell were they when he needed them?
     "And who else, but his greatest rival and most powerful enemy, should be the only one to try and save him."
     '...Save him?'
     "And you dare to consider yourselves friends... Fucking pathetic."
     Vegeta had tried to... save him?
     "As Kakarott was my rival, it was my right to put him where he now lies... only just like everything else in this fucking universe, that right was taken from me. How ironic for it to be taken by the one selfish act he ever committed in his bastardized existence.
     "Condemned for life to this godsforsakened excuse for a planet... and you all treated him as one of your own. A fucking Human. Trying with every pathetic excuse to hold him back! Trying to convince him he's not like me in every possible way." He sneered, eyes dark and unreadable as he forced the truth down his audience's throats. "But he defied you. He shattered the chains you placed around his true power and he sought his vengeance. He reached into the depths of his own damnation and ripped the heart out of the fucking tyrant. Ripped it out and drank his own fucking blood right before his very eyes! A true Saiyan alive!"
     The lethality of his mentor's voice would have cut down even the strongest of ignorant believers; it only empowered Goten's fading will.
     "It was my right. A right that I alone deserved. A right the universe stole, a right to be reaped by the lowly third class that now lies dead before us." Beneath the anger, beneath the hatred... Goten could hear something in his mentor's voice. Faint as it possibly could be, it was still there... "However he did it, however... undeserving he was, he sought vengeance. He sought the rightful retribution for every Saiyan who lived under that motherfucker's rule. And I... I respect Kakarott for that. He did what I did not."
     Goten's eyes widened as the words seeped through his emotional wall: pride?
     Was Vegeta actually... proud of his dad?
     "Make no fucking mistake: Kakarott took the coward's way out. He killed himself. Whether he killed his wife is beside the point." Anger, sorrow, pride and awe: together they fought within Goten's body, each one of his mentor's respective words placing additional power in their corners. "I respect him, but I resent him: he took what last chance I had at finally defeating that bastard, and I'll forever hate him for it...
     "But if he must not die by my hand as he rightfully should, then so should he be remembered by it. Forever immortalized in stone and fire: a true Saiyan remembered..."
     Wide eyes refused to blink. Frozen limbs refused to move. Upon cold steel he sat, his battered mind shattered by his mentor's words. A true Saiyan remembered. It was him! Vegeta had built this... Vegeta had built the walls that surrounded them, the fires that would burn forever, the towering pillars of solid stone. He had built it all. All for his parents. All for them. The dancing flames, their endless performance, their alluring calls... it was all a symbol. One symbol, so simple, yet so powerful...
     Pride.
     It was all for the pride of the Saiyan race.
     Tears began to well once more: tears from a different sky.
     Goten was in awe...
     "Kakarott, your hero, is dead. Let him forever be remembered by you who abandoned him."
     With one last dismissive look, Vegeta returned to his seat. A seemingly endless array of tense moments passed before another sound was heard.
     "Th--Thank you for that... brave message, sir." It was the man in white, banished to the depths of the insignificant as Goten's vision became distorted once more. "An--and now, as per tradition, it is customary for the second eldest to bear himself into our Goddess's light. Please, if Son Goten is present, may he rise and be recognized before us."
     The weight of the universe fell upon his shoulders. For two days, he had prepared for this moment - two days, vainly convincing himself that he would be ready to say goodbye... How disgustingly blind of him.
     The world became a solid blur of dark as his body came to life, absently leaning forward to unlock the clasps of his instrument's case, lifting the flat lid to reveal the warming embrace of the natural wood. How he was about to do this... he had no idea. How could anyone expect anything from him at this point? His parents were dead - he'd watched it happen. And now he was expected to say goodbye... Forever.
     Moving without thought, he slipped the cured strap over his shoulders, barely aware of his own actions. He stood. A first painful step. Another. Each step as painful as the one before, pushing him to the front of the gathering. His eyes drawn, his sight upon the stone before him: one foot in front of the other, one foot back together, each step claimed by a different form of torment. Step. Sorrow. Step. Anguish. Step. Anger. Step. Lament. For a brief moment, he could have sworn he saw waves of blue flowing from beneath his shoes each time his feet met the ground: rippled shockwaves that slowly released themselves, echoing the pain in his own heart for all to see.
     As he turned to face the crowd, he could do nothing but stare at the stone beneath his feet.
     "I couldn't think of anything to say..." His voice was nearly mute, his soaking eyes drawn to the alluring blue upon the ground. "... So I'll say this."
     Cold hands gripped warm steel as hard flesh met soft wood - his palm flush against the instrument's finish, his fingers expertly placed over the strings. No better way - no second chance. There, under the starry night. There, standing in the spotlight of Heaven, where only true angels could observe - the only place where they could hear him for one last time. His chest tightened as he felt them - their gaze, their song - washing over him in all their glorious protective embrace. A mother's loving hands, a father's strong arms... A fleeting warmth. A final moment to say goodbye.
     His eyes drew closed - he was in the dark, painfully aware of the warm tear trailing the side of his face.
     With instinct as his savior, his right hand moved: he began to play.
     Angelic chords resonated throughout the hallowed dome, their ambience echoing above the subtle bass of the torches' roar. In unison they sang: the strings vibrating under his fingers' touch, the thin plastic bending in his hand with every strike. From one chord to the next, his fingers flowed over the frets, assisted by nothing but his instincts, by nothing but his own heart. And from his heart, sound became pride, sound carried his purpose - for all he had was emotion: feeling empowering his voice, words beginning to flow...
     "So there goes my life... Passing by with every exit sign." Sound and lyric melted into one as he sang, his voice softly flowing over the crowd. No room for error - no room for failure... "And it's been so long... Sometimes I wonder how I will stay strong.
     "No sleep tonight..." This was his final chance - his one chance. "I'll keep on flying these dark highway skies." This was the only way he could speak to them now. "And as the moon fades... One more night gone, only eighty more years."
     His fingers ran up and down the strings in a melancholic trance, a universal rise and fall. His mother's, his father's, his own... each run anchored by a higher key, leaving plateaus behind him, a relentless force building inside...
     "But I will see you again... I will see you again..." He could already see their smiling faces, their eyes bright as they stood in their backyard... "A long time from now..." An image which haunted him: torturing the depravity of his soul, taunting his sorrow with a simple glimpse of true happiness. So happy... so alive - their mere presence, their eyes... eyes he'd never see again.
     "And there goes my life... Passing by with every departing flight." His voice slipped away, winding between the torches, taking the last of his hope as sonic rivers flowed from his heart. Sorrow dripped from every word, endless and unquenchable, staying by his side as life passed him by. "And it's been so hard... So much time, so far apart..."
     "As they walk the night... how many hearts will die tonight?" Why couldn't he have died, too? Died with them... keeping them together forever. "And will things have changed?" There was nothing left for him. Nothing but time... so many years ahead, so many seconds without their loving faces. "I guess I'll find out in eighty more years..." Faces he would never see again.
     "But I will see you again." His voice began to tremble. "I will see you again..." The tears were faltering. "A long time from now..." Sorrow was winning the battle for his soul.
     "My body aches..." His mother... "And it hurts to sing." His father... "And no one is moving..." How their smiling faces shined upon him - smiles which he would never see again...
     "And I wish that I..." How could he continue without them? "Weren't here tonight..." How could he continue without anyone?
     He was alone.
     Forever.
     "But this is my life..."
     The ice was shattered. In a torrential downpour, his tears began to fall: finally released by his relentless sorrow, victorious in all their benevolence. A deep breath, a stricken voice - they needed to hear him, needed to see him. See him for what he was - what they would never see again. With his head thrown back, his streaming eyes bare for the stars to see, his painful cries echoed throughout the chamber of their hearts, cries for a love he'd never feel again...
     "And I will see you again!" The power of his voice matched only the power of his sorrow, unleashed in all its self-destructive glory for everyone to see. "I will see you again..." Nothing else mattered - not him, not what he looked like, not what any of the people before him thought... "A long... time... from now." No one else mattered.
     "And I will see you again!" Only her. "I will see you again..." Only him. "A long... time..." Only his parents. "From now..." Only them.
     His song was for them.
     With the final chord, his fingers stopped. Within moments the sound was gone, replaced by only the subtle bass of the torches around them. Frozen silence enslaved the entire memorial once more, its victims seemingly afraid to do anything so much as blink.
     His hands at rest, his instrument silent, Goten took one last look into the stars, his eyes burning as tear and moonlight met once more. His last hope, his last chance... Had they seen him? Had they heard him?
     ... Were they proud?
     The stars above him did not change. The image before him did not change. Nothing changed. No impact, no feeling, no... nothing. His body was no longer his: merely hands slowly lifting and slipping the guitar off his shoulders, placing it upon the ground, letting it fall to the grass. His back turned to the gathering, his eyes filled with polished stone - there was nothing left inside him. Nothing left as he stood, nothing left as he stared... Nothing left as he fell.
     On his knees before them, their son silently wept for their fallen memory.
     How long the silence persisted, Vegeta didn't care. It had every right to be present, its subtle nuance protecting the lives of all those who watched. Watched in awe, watched in horror - he didn't give a shit what any of those Humans thought. None had ever seen a true Saiyan on his knees, free to mourn that which he'd lost. How honorable the boy could be, continuing to amaze him with just how Saiya-jin he truly was - whether he knew or not was of no consequence. It was a true display of respect and honor: a display Vegeta would kill to protect. The first to rise would be the first to fall - he'd cut them to their knees, just as he was.
     But when the robes began to move, he stayed his hand.
     "Thank you... all of you, for coming tonight," Meaningless words from a quiet, meaningless voice - a voice pained in an attempt to sound resolved. It was no more than anyone could expect - there was no way in hell a single person present had resisted the effects of the teenager's cries. The cries of a Saiyan warrior were simply impossible to ignore...
     Not even a King was immune.
     "For here, tonight, under our Goddess's watchful gaze, the memories of Son Goku and Son Chichi are forever immortalized: captured within our hearts for all eternity." He had no idea where she'd found him, but suddenly, Vegeta was happy she had. No matter what insignificance a Human may have in a Saiyan memorial, the computer nerd had served them well. "So please, let us all rise once more, rise into the light of Elizia, and may we all go in peace."
     For several moments, no one stood: each and every body was frozen in their respective places. How fitting it was, after so much time in silence, to see the darkened white of the Namek's turban rise first, his broad shoulders dwarfing nearly three Capsule chairs as he appeared in the corner of Vegeta's sight. The ungrateful bastard hadn't even taken his fucking hat off. From there, the bodies began to rise one by one, each as somber as the next as they shuffled to the dividing aisle. Moments later, the warmth to his left began to shift.
     "Did you want a lift with us, Vegeta?" It was his voice again, the savior of Human health. Turning his head, he watched as the medic helped her into her heavy overcoat, dutifully holding the shoulders for her ease. A lift? As rightful as it was for a King to be thoroughly escorted in his travels, Humans hardly made for a fitting entourage. No - he had more important matters to tend to.
     "No," he snapped, his tone earning a stern glare from the emotionally damaged beauty standing beside him. "... Thank you."
     "Alright..." He conveniently ignored the appeased look upon her face, his attention turning to the important matter which was still upon its knees. "Try to have a good night, okay?"
     "Hnn." He didn't bother to look at the man, choosing to stand and move to the aisle instead. His ears twitched as they suppressed the virile "Let's go, sport," which immediately followed, the boyfriend suddenly believing it acceptable to address his son with such a Humanized vernacular mannerism. Feh - the boy probably preferred such moronic vocabulary... he only need talk to the meaningless prosti-tots who surrounded him on a daily basis.
     'Never mind that shit.'
     Exactly. Never mind the bullshit of Humanity. He had more important things to deal with.
     Meaningless existences continued to pass him as he turned to face the polished obelisks, his eyes falling upon the Saiyan heap before them. As much as he hated to disturb such a glorious exhibit of pure homage, his overwhelming pride for his people demanded he do so. Already he could feel their approach: the two insults to Goten's existence slowly closing the distance behind him. Like fuck would they be succeeding tonight.
     Polished shoes marched upon gravel and stone as he walked, stopping short of the physical image of misery - a turned back, a bowed head, unaware and uncaring of anything else. The heap at his feet paid no mind to his presence - just as he'd hoped. How shameful it was to be forced to disturb such magnificence...
     "Goten." The sternness in his voice was matched only by his compassion, a rare moment in which he could show true feeling for his people. Now was the time - the time to rightfully protect that which needed protecting. To rightfully lead that which needed leading. To rightfully become that which needed to exist. Who was once an understudy was now a pupil. Who was once a pupil was now a ward. Who was once a ward... was now...
     '... A son.'
     "Goten. Look at me, boy."
     In silence, the King of all Saiyans stood in waiting: intently watching as his subject slowly regained the gift of life, his wild hair slowly rising from its dormant state. Even as his head began to turn, Vegeta could feel the disgrace's approach - like a protective predator baring its fangs, his ki flared, its enormity stopping the suit in its tracks. In an instant, it was no longer a concern: the boy's head had turned, the sheer destruction of an annihilated civilization mirrored in his face.
     "Take as much time as you need, then gather your things." Moonlight amplified the pain in the boy's face, bright reflections of translucent white echoing the hurt in his eyes. It was a sight which Vegeta could hardly bear to truly see upon one of his own. The boy had lost everything: fallen from an existence with meaning...
     It was his royal duty to pick him back up.
     Fall, an understudy.
     Rise, a son.
     "You're coming with me."

A/N: The lyrics of "Hello, I'm in Delaware" (Sometimes, 2005) appear without the expressed permission of Dallas Green, City and Colour, Distort Entertainment or any other known affiliate. While they were slightly altered to fit the content of this non profit, fictional work, should any party affiliated with any of those listed above wish for them to be removed, removal of said lyrics will be done upon receiving notice via e-mail (SaiyanGirl@Gmail.com).
Please note: I am receiving nothing for their unauthorized reproduction - it's just a really awesome song which I felt would fit!
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Wishes of the Fallen