Dangers Of Trick Or Treating

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ.

A/N: Here’s Chapter 3! Hope you guys like it, and please review!

Chapter 3: Yamcha Meets the Tough Guys

Yamcha stood in the corner, drinking his third beer of the night. It had taken him awhile, but he had finally managed to recover from the trick or treating. After he’d been given CPR, a piece of cake, and a beer he had allowed himself to relax and remember exactly why he loved Halloween.

The beer, the balloons, and most importantly…the babes.

Every year he dragged himself to Capsule Corps to ogle whatever babe Krillin had mysteriously managed to hook himself up with. He didn’ow how how but the short bald guy always managed to attract blondes. Tall blondes. The monk attracted girls that should be in the next playboy issue, while he attracted short brunettes that were usually using him in an attempt to make their boyfriends jealous.

And, of course, the only woman he wanted was one that he couldn’t have.

Bulma. The gorgeous blue haired heir of Capsule Corps that made him come to her extravagant parties year after year. Not that he needed much encouragement, but still…

Speaking of Bulma…Where was she?

Yamcha took a small sip of beer and idly looked around the room, searching for the object of his fantasies. In that corner with the drooling Master Roshi who was holding yet another ‘interesting’ magazine?

Nope. If she was he’d be worried.

On the couch next to the grinning Goku dressed as a purple monkey?

No. And why Goku would pick the color purple was beyond him. Maybe there were some issues that he didn’t know about. Not that he wanted to know…

He shook his head, getting certain unusual thoughts out of his head, and went back to his task.

Was she next to Oolong, who was currently sneaking a bottle of beer to the now conscious Gohan?

No. If she was he would wonder about her sanity.

Yamcha paused a moment to process what he was seeing. Oolong was giving Gohan alcohol.

What did he think he was doing!? Gohan was a kid! He was eight!! Oooh…ChiChi will kill him when she finds out! Hmm…Maybe he should interfere. Stop Oolong.

Yamcha thought about it for a moment, swallowing the rest of the beer as he did do. Interfere? With the chibi that had nearly killed him this afternoon?

Nah…Besides, he had always wanted to see a drunk Son. And, when ChiChi did find out, and he knew she would find out, he knew that she would blame it on Goku.

Ah, he pitied his poor friend.

Now, back to business.

He continued to look around the room, pausing every now and then to grab another beer and consume it in two or three swallows. Thank goodness it took forever for him to get drunk.

He was on his sixth or seventh beer and his eighth search of the room when he was startled by a soft hand on his shoulder.

“Yamcha?” asked a soft, sweet voice that he instantly recognized.

He turned around, his smile already in place. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind doing something for me?” Bulma asked.

Yamcha grinned, immediately taken with the thought. Help Bulma? Sure! He would do anything to get in her good graces again, especially with what happened last week.

“Sure,” he said, shrugging as he raised the bottle to his mouth again.

Bulma squealed and hugged him. “Oh, thank you! You don’t know how much this means to me, Yamcha!”

He smirked, thinking of what he would get later, and nodded at her. “No problem. Helping you is what I do best after all.”

She grinned at hiYes,Yes, it is. Now, here.”

Yamcha blinked and looked down at the large bowl of candy that had been given to him. Wha-?

“It’s so nice of you to volunteer to hand out candy. Usually I would have Vegeta do it, but he ran off for some strange reason,” she said, taking his arm and his beer (pout) as she led him toward the door.

“But,” he stammered, looking back over his shoulder at the bottle of beer sitting on the table.

“And I can’t leave the door unmanned. It would be just wrong,” she said, leading him away from the party.

“But…Why can’t you do it?” he asked, wanting to go back to his beverage. He couldn’t leave it alone like that. It needed him.

“Because I’m the hostess, silly. And a hostess can’t abandon her party. It just isn’t done,” she said sweetly, gently pushing him into place.

“But…”

“But nothing, Yamcha!” she snapped, her blue eyes narrowing. “You volunteered!”

“I know, but…”

“No buts! Honestly, it’s not that bad. You’ll only have to be here about an hour, and then I’ll find someone else. Alright?”

“But…”

“Thanks for understanding, sweetie! See you in an hour!” Bulma said, heading back down the hallway.

Yamcha stared after her, stunned into silence. He couldn’t believe that he’d been THAT stupid. He should’ve known better than to say yethouthout knowing what he was getting into.

He banged his head against the wall, hoping for something to save him from this evil chore, but when no one appeared he stopped, deciding that maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea to destroy whatever wits he had left. After all, it took intelligence to deal with those little trick or treating hoodlums, and he would need everything he had.

“And it won’t be that bad,” he said, leaning against the wall. “I mean, I am older and smarter than theo ito it shouldn’t be that hard, right?”

Thirty Minutes Later...

Yamcha groaned as the doorbell rang yet again. He couldn’t believe how many trick or treaters there were. It was like he was being mobbed. As soon as he closed the door, a whole new batch showed up, their greedy little paws grasping for any little bit of candy they could get. And if they didn’t get what they wanted…

Well, he didn’t want to think about that.

Moaning to himself about his luck, he grabbed the nearly empty candy bowl and trudged to the door. He hoped that these were the last ones. It was late after all, and he really REALLY wanted some beer.

He opened the door, prepared for yet another chorus of “TRICK OR TREAT!!” and blinked when he was met with the stony glares of three very scuzzy looking adults.

Yamcha blinked. “Can I help you?” he asked, wondering why in the world these guys were here. After all, this was Halloween, a KIDS night.

The tallest of them glared harder, if that was even possible, and thrust out a dirty hand. “We want candy,” he snarled, spraying spit all over Yamcha’s face.

“Yeah,” the other two said, sounding like broken recordings of the first one.

Yamcha sniffed. “Well, you can’t have it. This candy is for kids only.”

“Is not,” said the shortest one, standing on his tiptoes to glare at Yamcha.

“Yeah,” said the third one. “This night is for trick or treaters, dirtwad.”

Yamcha ground his teeth together. “Really? And what are you three supposed to be exactly?” he asked, wishing for Vegeta to come out of nowhere and kill him. That would really be much simpler than facing these three morons.

The tallest sniffed, assuming an arrogant pose that could only be compared to Vegeta’s.

“We are oppressed adults looking for wealth and happiness that shall never be given to us except in the form of candy.”

The other two nodded, moving slightly closer to him as they did so.

Yamcha blinked. “And?”

The middle one snorted. “And? And we want candy!”

Yamcha stepped back, clutching the near empty bowl to him. “No! Happiness or not, you’re not getting your hands on this candy!”

The shortest one took a step forward, looking as if he were the happiest person in the world, when he stopped in confusion.

“Wait….Did he just say that he wasn’t giving it to us?”

The other two looked at each other, clearly not understanding WHY this person wouldn’t give them what they wanted. It was unheard of. Most people were sympathetic to their plight and gave them everything they wanted. Hmm...Maybe they didn’t hear him right.

The tallest stepped forward. “Did you say that you weren’t giving it to us?”

Yamcha nodded, stepping away from them as he did so.

They all looked at each other, and then moved into a huddle. It was interesting to watch them gesture and whisper at each other. They looked liked little chibis plotting his demise. Well, they would look like chibis if he ignored the fact that they were old enough to get drunk, draw Social Security, and maybe even Medicare.

Finally, they moved out of the huddle, and turned to face him, angry glares set on their faces again.

“We’re going to ask you one more time,” said the tallest one. “Are you going to give us the candy?”

Yamcha shook his head, refusing to give in. He was under strict orders, after all. It wouldn’t do to piss off the higher powers…namely Bulma, just when he was getting on her good side.

“Alright, then,” the shortest one said. “Let’s get to it.”

And with that, the three guys moved towards Yamcha, cracking their knuckles with each menacing step of the way.

Yamcha gulped. He should really learn not to say yes to pretty girls. It only got him in trouble.

Thirty Minutes Later…

“Yamcha! Sweetie! Are you ready to come in?”

Bulma frowned when she received no answer. Hmm…Why wasn’t he answering?

“Stay right here,” she said to her next victim…er…helper. “I’ll be right back.”

“Yamcha?” she called, making her way outside to the front porch. “Are you here?”

“Urgh…”

Bulma wrinkled her nose, confused by the sound. “Yamcha?”

“H…Here…”

She turned the corner, expecting to see him completely drunk, as usual, but was surprised when she found him not in the corner smelling like a case of beer, but duct taped to the side of the house.

She giggled.

“What….(giggle)…What happened to you?” she asked, looking at the spray paint that covered him from head to toe.

“Nothing…” he mumbled, going completely red in the face, which wasn’t really hard since he was duct taped upside down.

“Oh, come on. Tell me,” she said, admiring the skill of whoever had spray painted Oppressor of the Oppressed all over the building.

“No,” he said, doing his best to ignore the fact that his girlfriend, as well as a whole other group of trick or treators, were giggling at him.

“Please,” she said, trying to keep a straight face. “I’ll get you down.”

Yamcha thought about it. Finally, he nodded.

“Alright.”

Bulma grinned. “So?”

“I wouldn’t give candy to some trick or treaters,” he mumbled, looking away from her.

“Yamcha!” she snapped, angry that he would be as cruel as that.

“It’s not what you think!” he said, afraid that she wouldn’t take him down. “They were adults and they called themselves the ‘Tough Guys’ and…”

Five Minutes Later…

Yamcha watched sadly as Bulma made her way into the building, laughing so hard that she could barely stand up straight. He really should have told her something different. That instead of adults, a group of chibis had ganged up on him like they did last year.

She would have let him down then.

But no, he had to tell the truth. And now he was stuck up here alone, with everyone to laugh at him, and, worst of all, he didn’t have his beer.

Poor beer.

Yamcha groaned as some trick or treaters began to tp him. He really should start hating Halloween. It would be much more healthier for him.

Then again. Maybe not.


End of Chapter 3! Please review!!