Shattered Pride

Chapter 5

Notes: I believe this has turned into an AU, if it wasn’t one already, since I screwed so much with time, ages, and the supposed-to-be-dead Goku… O_o

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Goku stopped at the entrance of the kitchen, irritated voices drumming against his ear. He stood to the side of the doorway and waited patiently for Bulma and Vegeta to complete their customary morning argument, listening to what was being said. Goku was eavesdropping and he knew it, but he was unable to prevent himself from doing otherwise; they were only a few feet away from him. Their voices carried.

“I am going to find out what’s going on with Gohan. How could he have gotten hurt so badly? He’s a Saiya-jin for crying out loud!” Bulma said, frustrated.

Vegeta’s tone was nonchalant, on the brink of unconcerned. “Exactly, and the boy can take care of himself.”

“Why are you not bothered by this!?!” Bulma screeched.

The prince gave no response. Goku heard Bulma sigh heavily, and he moved his hand up to scratch the back of his neck. He furrowed his dark eyebrows, wondering why their conversation concerned Gohan’s injuries. Vegeta was the one who caused them. It was during a spar. It was no big deal. At least, that’s what Gohan had said.

The blue-haired genius appeared from around the wall, walking past Goku without noticing him. She reached the foot of the staircase and suddenly ceased her trek. She turned around sharply, her turquoise hair swaying, her matching eyes locking with Goku’s ebony ones.

“Oh! Goku! I’m glad you’re here! Have you seen Gohan?! He looks terrible! What’s going on?”

The tall Saiya-jin frowned in consternation. “What are you so worried for, Bulma? He sparred with Vegeta, that’s all.”

Bulma blinked once, twice, three times. She worked her mouth for an appropriate response but found none. Closing her mouth, she gathered her thoughts. “What?” she finally managed to ask.

“Yeah. That’s what he told me just a minute ago. He came here this morning to spar with Vegeta.”

“But…Vegeta didn’t…”

“Woman, shut up. Kakarotto, we need to talk.” Vegeta tapped his fingers impatiently against the wood of the doorframe, one regal eyebrow arched at his longtime rival. With no further commands, he promenaded down one of the many hallways of Capsule Corporation. Goku helplessly followed, leaving Bulma confused by the stairway.

“Hey, ‘Geta, wait up!” Goku said, as he hurried to the dark prince’s side. Vegeta did not concern himself with glancing back, continuing his pace down the hall. They walked together in awkward silence—that is, Goku felt awkward; Vegeta was well at ease.

Goku pouted, as his attempts at conversation seemed even more futile than usual. The scowl on Vegeta’s lips deepened, an action that had not gone unnoticed by the taller Saiya-jin. Goku’s bewilderment increased and he wondered what he had done in the few minutes that he had been with Vegeta this morning that could irritate him so.

Vegeta halted in front of the door to the gravity room, the chamber in which he spent most of the hours of his day, opened the door and stepped inside. Goku succeeded him, his pout morphing into an eager smile.

“Are we going to spar? Because I have all this pent up energy for some reason, and since you and Gohan seemed to have such a great spar, I figured—”

“Kakarotto.”

The harsh tone in which the familiar word had been spoken was enough to stop Goku in mid-sentence. The younger man closed his mouth and dropped his previously animated hands to his sides. Vegeta wore such a serious countenance; Goku was almost afraid. Goku’s brow lowered.

“Yeah?”

“What have you done to your son?”

“…What?”

“I’m entirely unconvinced of your game of stupidity, Kakarotto. Answer me!” Vegeta’s teeth bared with prominent fury.

Goku raised his palms in submission, thoroughly confused. “Really, I don’t know what you mean! Gohan told me that you sparred this morning. What does this have to do with me?”

Charcoal eyes narrowed venomously. “He reeks of your scent, almost as though it’s permanently bound to him. What have you done?”

“I didn’t…I didn’t do anything!” The conversation was treading in waters too deep for Goku. He gulped, no longer wanting to be the object of Vegeta’s murderous glare. “Besides, why do you care so much? I didn’t think anyone meant anything to you, especially not anyone in my family,” he retorted, knowing he was crossing a sort of line with the shorter prince, but he cared little if it meant that Vegeta would cease his accusations.

Vegeta growled, a low guttural sound emanating from his throat. “Someone has to,” he replied with disgust. “Since you seem to have more time to frolic in the flowers of heaven than to be a father to your own offspring.”

“Hey!” Goku exclaimed defensively. “I came back!”

“Only because you had to. If that woman of yours had never died, you would still be in Other World, right?”

Goku remained silent, staring at the lines of the pale tile beneath his feet.

“As long as there is someone else around to pick up the slack for you, you’re perfectly fine with doing whatever you please, aren’t you?” He scoffed, “Even if the burden you leave on that other person is too much for them to bear. Even if it causes that person’s death.”

He stopped, allowing his words to connect in the other’s mind. He waited patiently for the wheels to turn, waited patiently for Goku to discover the meaning behind his conclusive declaration. The ebony eyes finally lit up with realization, his eyes widening with the horror of the truth.

“You mean…Chichi died because…?”

Vegeta continued his reticence, not bothering to answer. There was no need; Goku already understood. The mere moments of silence stretched into an agonizing eternity for Goku, as the guilt began to descend upon him. His eyes stared blankly, seeing nothing, except his now obvious neglect and irresponsibility.

“Now, I will ask you only one more time,” Vegeta spoke quietly. “What have you done to your son?”

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Gohan stood idly as Mirai Trunks pulled open the drawer containing the brown bag of senzu beans. He opened the small compartment with slight hesitation, conscious of the fact that he was in his mother’s room, wary of what unmentionables he might find lying next to the leather pouch. He pulled the beans out without any concerns, breathing a quiet and relieved sigh before turning to face Gohan.

A small bean between his fingertips, he offered his hand to Gohan. The raven-haired boy smiled his appreciation and took the legume. It was bitter in his mouth and he barely suppressed a grimace, but he welcomed the healing sensation that soon followed. He stared down at his arms and wrists, watching with vague satisfaction as the wounds healed and disappeared. He lifted his shirt to see the scratches and bruises gone, but was disappointed to note that the scars apparently were permanent and had been left behind.

He frowned absently, and Trunks reached out to brush ink-colored hair from Gohan’s face. “Sorry,” he muttered, knowing what was on his friend’s mind.

Gohan shrugged despondently and allowed his shirt to slip from his fingers. “Well, hey, at least the big bruise on my cheek is gone, right? I mean, that was kind of unattractive, ya know?”

Trunks chuckled and agreed. Then he suddenly turned somber. “Gohan,” he said, “I really think you should have a talk with your father.” Gohan began to protest, but Trunks interrupted. “How about if I’m there with you? Will that make you feel better?”

Gohan lowered his eyes, chewing his bottom lip, perplexed. “I don’t know… I just don’t think I can face him…”

“You say he only…touches you when he’s drunk, so if he’s sober, he’s not much of a threat, right?” Gohan took this into consideration, and Trunks continued, “And even if he does do something, I’ll protect you.”

Gohan stared into lapis lazuli eyes, searching for sincerity. He smiled, knowing that Trunks would be true to his word. “But I still can’t help but be afraid, Trunks. I feel like such a kid, but…I just…”

“It’s okay if you’re afraid, Gohan. I’m not blaming you.”

Sable locks obscured his face as the younger man lowered his head, gazing unseeingly at the beige carpeting. Trunks tilted Gohan’s head up, caressing his face with his fingertips. He leaned towards him, pressing their lips together, reassuring him the only way he felt he knew how. Gohan slowly wrapped his arms around his broad back and gripped the fabric of his shirt. Trunks could sense the need emanating from the younger demi in front of him, and he pressed himself tighter against him. Gohan allowed a small moan to escape him and grasped the shirt tighter, shyly parting his lips as Trunks pushed his tongue forward. Trunks explored the warm cavern gently, yet aggressively, tracing the flesh sensually. His tongue retreated, his teeth moving to skim and nibble Gohan’s full bottom lip.

“Trunks…” Gohan breathed, as they pulled apart. Trunk smirked, the sound of his name falling from those petal soft lips provoking lascivious thoughts in his mind. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, shutting out the lewd images floating through his imagination.

“I think,” Gohan started, jerking Trunks into reality once again, “that I can face my dad now. I mean, as long as you’re there for me,” he added shyly.

“Of course.” Trunks smiled, adding quietly, “I’ll always be there for you.”