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Resolution on a Lonely Planet	By : Ulrike Category: Dragon Ball Z > General Views: 5386 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z or the DBZ characters. This is a fanfiction written purely for entertainment. No money was made from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Thank you very much for the reviews, my friends. I’m glad that you are interested in this story and I enjoy the feedback.
Warnings: Violence, blood, angst
“What do you mean you let him go?!”
The fighters of earth stood in a panic in the Capsule Corp. living room. Piccolo was practically ripping his turban from his head in shock as Goku and Bulma calmly stood before them, informing everyone that Vegeta had disappeared from the infirmary in an irate and murderous state.
Blinking rapidly, Krillin could only stare at his long-time friend and shake his head at Goku’s naively trusting nature. “So let me get this straight? An enraged almost-super-saiyajin is parading around Earth after telling you he was going to kill everyone on the planet…and you just let him stroll out?”
Goku grinned and placed a large hand behind his head. Even though he often appeared innocent or thickheaded, the earth saiyajin got a kick out of spinning-up his friends. He had kept his senses trained on Vegeta’s small energy since he left the building. Only minutes earlier, Goku felt a rush of rage and despair emanating from the prince’s psyche and had to submerge the need to aid the pained warrior. He made his mind to not interfere with Vegeta’s space and privacy and he would respect that, as long as the distraught alien didn’t hurt others or himself.
“Vegeta doesn’t actually have any energy right now. He’s as weak as an everyday human, it seems,” Goku explained.
Surprised, the fighters in the room glanced at each other. Yamcha sat quietly on the lattice in the living room window, his eyebrows cinched in concern at Goku’s words. Having been poisoned by Skip and Bulma’s creation himself, Yamcha was almost back to full power, his ki slowly creeping its way back into all of his senses. He was also saddened and completely upset to hear about Vegeta’s rage upon waking and his threat toward humans and the earth itself. It didn’t surprise the pained human, but a large part of him wished and imagined that Vegeta would have awoken with some desire of comfort or help. He had prayed that their connection throughout the ordeal had changed the saiyajin prince…or least brought Yamcha to mind when he was awake again.
Why, so you could play the hero once more? A bitter voice in Yamcha’s head hissed. Face it, you enjoyed hurting the saiyajin prince just so you could turn around and coddle him. You loved the way he held onto you when he was in pain. You loved the way he needed you and depended on you. You’re such a sadist.
Yamcha closed his eyes and lowered his head as his friends discussed the situation. Disgust rose within him and he wondered if it was true. Had he really been hoping that Vegeta would wake up, scared and helpless, begging for Yamcha to come and comfort him? Was the scar-faced fighter truly fantasizing about being the knight in shining armor, whipping the pained and tortured saiyajin into his arms as they reminisced about the way Yamcha had hugged him and kissed him briefly on the forehead?
Face the facts, the awful voice laughed, you’re no hero. Yes you held Vegeta in your arms as he bled and whimpered. Yeah, you kissed him once and cried when he was shot. Why did you do those things? Oh, it was because he was bleeding to death after you raped him. You held him and kissed his defenseless body at the edge of the cliff because you lost him and allowed him to get fried by Skip’s microchip! You wept and screamed for him after he was shot because you were at the bottom of the fall dicking around with the remote-control! And why did all of this happen in first place?? Because YOU refused to listen to Vegeta in the beginning and laughed at his shame in Skip’s bedroom! Oh, if only you had taken Vegeta away immediately when he first crashed into you in the woods. You would be guilt-free and not trying to distract yourself with desperate images of heroism and a happy ending.
“Excuse me,” Yamcha choked as he stood suddenly and rushed from the living room.
He could feel the eyes of the warriors on his retreating back but didn’t care. He needed air and was starting to feel nauseous. Rushing into the front yard of Capsule Corp. Yamcha braced his hands on his knees and dry-heaved, his voice choking back sobs as he tried to breathe. Gasping, the trembling human heaved a few more times before straightening and wiping his mouth. Tears stung his eyes, but none fell. With blurred vision, the agonized man gazed into the sky, mildly surprised that it was nighttime, the stars barely visible from the West City lights.
It slowly dawned on Yamcha that his nightmare had started at 11:00 AM that very morning. Somehow, meeting Skip, running into Vegeta, being forced to assault him, attempting to save him, and then getting abducted himself had happened within a four-five hour time frame. How had his world crumbled so terribly in such a short amount of time?
A light hand landed on his shoulder and Yamcha spun, his fist raised and glowing with red power. Through the brightness he could see Bulma’s large, worried eyes. He took in the loose curls that dangled past her chin, the blue locks pushed back with a large headband. She still wore her gray Capsule Corp. jumpsuit, but even with an un-kept appearance she was stunningly beautiful. Timidly, Yamcha reached a finger forward and trailed her soft cheek, his mind racing with the disturbing thoughts of what he had experienced in just one day. Bulma’s concerned, open eyes never wavered from his strained face.
Rushing forward, Yamcha captured the small, but strong woman in his muscular arms, his body quivering and jerking as tears began to fall once more. Squeezing his eyes shut, Yamcha inhaled Bulma’s scent and wept, his world spinning out-of-control as he felt like he might explode with grief and guilt. Bulma was silent as she pressed her small hands into her lover’s back, feeling her heart ache from the sadness and pain she had witnessed in just a few hours. She knew that things would never be the same again.
“We have to find him,” Yamcha croaked. “I can’t stand the idea of him getting hurt.”
Bulma said nothing, but simply pressed her nose into Yamcha’s shaking chest, her blue eyes blank as she stared out into the city.

Vegeta had no idea where he was going. He was on edge—alert, paranoid, angry, and confused. All these things meant bad news for a saiyajin; especially a saiyajin who had no contact with his ki. His black eyes shot from one strange face to another, his heart racing with unfamiliar fear as everyday humans walked by, laughing or chatting. He stormed past patios full of drinking people, past dark alleys that held looming shadows, and across busy streets full of honking cars. The noise, the energy, the life…he wanted to destroy it all.
The anxiety and mounting panic still pressed upon his chest, but his anger was stronger. He wanted to create a gigantic ball of sizzling, beautiful violet energy and release it into the joyous faces of the oblivious people strolling past. He craved to feel the heat that had rested deep within his soul since he was a baby. His mouth watered for the ability to call upon his ki and focus his life-energy to one point, feeling its caressing waves licking at his flesh as he allowed it to dance in his hands.
But there was nothing. As if he were blind, Vegeta’s one most important thing in life had been taken from him and he could not sense it anywhere in his body. The panic was building again and Vegeta’s hands rose into his black hair, his fingers tightening to the point of ripping the locks out in chunks.
What had he done in the past when life was too much? Vegeta tried to take a few calming breaths to fight away the panic that was threatening to engulf him again. Back in his horrid days of Frieza, how had he managed to stay sane when the pressure made him crazy?
“Hey, cutie, lookin’ for a good time?”
A burnt-out hooker swayed uneasily on the curb of the sidewalk as her hazy eyes stared him up and down. Vegeta felt bile rise in his throat just looking at the creature, but the loud bar next to her caught his attention. As if in a trance, Vegeta marched forward, his hands in his pockets as he brushed at the money in his black pants. The hooker’s dagger-like, curled nails scratched against his loose, open-throated gray shirt as she tried to grab a hold of the handsome, dark man. She was surprised when a strong hand gripped her face and shoved her backwards hard, causing her to fall off the curb into the street painfully.
“Fucking asshole!”
Upon entering the bar, Vegeta’s black eyes scanned the environment, noting that it was relatively empty except for a few burly bikers near the bathroom, a scowling bartender, and a handful of stoned junkies playing pool. Music blasted from the jukebox, already encouraging a headache to form in the prince’s temples. One of the drugged-up patrons stared blankly at Vegeta before gazing back down at his crotch, where his girlfriend (or some random female) was giving him a hand-job. Vegeta froze momentarily as he eyed the neon-orange hair on the punk and his several facial piercings, the man’s face suddenly melding into Hal’s.
The urge to flee rushed through Vegeta, but he stood his ground. Or rather, his legs remained frozen to the floor as anxiety kept him in place.
“You want somethin’, boss?”
Shaken out of his funk, the surly saiyajin shuffled his feet and approached the bar. Pulling out a wad of cash, he laid it before the bartender’s eyes and gave a short nod.
“Your strongest.”
Vegeta recalled that when he wasn’t being beaten, degraded, and sodomized by Frieza or one of his sick cronies, the saiyajin prince was either on missions or planet-leave. When not hiding in his quarters or brutally punishing his body with extensive training, Vegeta would head out with Radditz and Nappa to drown his trauma in drugs and alcohol. Although he didn’t indulge often, the saiyajin prince got wild when he did decide to “let loose.” To dull his mental and bodily pains, the youth would very often lose control, drinking beyond his body’s tolerance or taking any drug that was offered to him. More than once, Nappa and Radditz had to haul his unconscious or completely delirious body quietly into Frieza’s bases or past suspicious guards. It was a time in his life he wished he could forget.
He wished he could forget a lot of things about his life. Vegeta sighed and tipped his bottle of Spelt Whiskey back and forth. He had sampled something called Jack Daniels before that and was not a fan. When the bartender poured a sample of this, he bought two bottles. Downing the first bottle, Vegeta cracked into the second quickly and was already halfway finished. He was getting quite drunk and the saiyajin’s cold face grew darker at the thought. Without his ki, even his muscles, blood, and organs had become weaker. Normally he would just have a good buzz going at this point. Although…he also hadn’t eaten in two days; something that was absolute torture to a saiyajin. However, even with his amount money, he didn’t want food. He just wanted something to end the pain, disgust, and self-hatred coursing through his veins. He wondered how much he would have to drink to end it all.
“What next?” He inquired of the bartender.
The mustached man looked at him warily as he cleaned a spotted glass. “You sure you want another? An entire bottle?”
Vegeta leaned back with a smirk and opened his hands at his sides. “It’s still early in the night, isn’t it?”
Pressing his lips together, the bartender nodded curtly and replaced the glass he had been cleaning. “That it is.”
Within two hours Vegeta had finished off two bottles of whiskey, a bottle of gin, and was now swallowing down something the bartender described as a malt-liquor with the word cobra in it. Vegeta was dismayed to see that there were no actual cobras inside.
Trying to read the label, the saiyajin’s normally hawk-like vision blurred and doubled. Closing one eye, Vegeta swayed back and forth as he tried to focus on the miniscule text, but gave up after a minute. Running a hand down his face, the inebriated prince placed his chin in his palm and enjoyed the fog that clouded his brain, making all thoughts leak from his mind like a sieve. His nose and lips were numb and he knew that if he tried to stand, he would immediately be on the ground.
“There he is!”
Large hands gripped Vegeta’s shirt and spun him around in his chair. There were four men in front of him and the tiny blond hooker he had pushed down earlier. Blinking one eye at a time, Vegeta tried to count the number of people towering over him, seeing doubles of everything.
“Come on, gents,” the bartender warned. “He’s been quiet the whole night. Leave ‘im be.”
“Shut up, old man. It’s between him and us.”
Hauled to his feet, Vegeta scrambled toward the bar urgently as if trying to reach the bartender for help. The man looked at his pitifully wasted face and shook his head helplessly, causing Vegeta’s frustration to explode.
“Fuck! Give me my bottle, idiot! I’m not done with it!”
With a snarl of anger at the short man’s lack of fear, the brute gripping Vegeta’s shirt pulled him from the bar, dragging the defenseless saiyajin outside into the brisk air. The four men handled Vegeta roughly as they shoved him into an alley a few buildings down from the bar. Vegeta barely felt his back colliding with the brick wall behind him, his brain unable to track what was happening.
“You messing around with one of my girls?” The beastly man directly in front of Vegeta hissed, his rancid breath making Vegeta want to vomit. Through blurred vision, the drunken saiyajin could not distinguish one hulking figure from the next. A flash of neon pink, burnt-out blond hair, and gigantic breasts stood behind the four men.
“I wouldn’t touch that thing even with someone else’s dick,” Vegeta slurred, and then laughed at his own wit.
Something hard slammed into Vegeta’s nose and the back of his head collided with the brick wall he had been forced against. Stars burst in his vision, but the pain felt dull and far away. A trickle of blood crept past his lips, but he did nothing to wipe it away.
“You gonna fight back, pussy?” Another voice barked.
Saiyajin adrenaline kicked in and a rush of fury ignited Vegeta’s drunken, swaying form. Swiping his right fist, Vegeta punched one of the men hard, the force of the strike hurling the ogre into the man next to him. The two staggered briefly, one of them falling from the strength behind the punch. Even in his completely inebriated, ki-less body, Vegeta’s saiyajin durability was impressive. However, he was beyond drunk and disoriented and outnumbered.
Rushing forward again, the wild saiyajin landed punch after punch in one man’s face, his broken knuckles bleeding and aching from the damage he inflicted upon himself earlier in the Capsule Corp. bathroom. All the rage and pure hatred for humans came back and he saw the hellish monsters from his nightmares in front of him. The four enclosing shadows were Hikaru, Hal, Rich, and Skip. Even Yamcha’s face made an appearance in his delirious vision.
The sound of glass shattering echoed off the dingy, wet alley walls and Vegeta was on the filthy ground before he could fathom what had happened. His skull ached and when he reached a hand back, his fingers grazed jagged shards sticking from his scalp. Growling with fury, the small saiyajin attempted to rise before all four men began to attack him, kicking, punching, and holding him down.
Flailing and screaming, Vegeta kicked out and swung blindly at the hazy images before him. But he was far too intoxicated to protect himself…and a small part of him welcomed the beating. Feeling a large hand grip his throat, Vegeta’s bleeding lips parted into what many would mistake as an agonized grimace, but was actually a satisfied grin. Yes…let the humans finish what they started. Let these four thugs complete the task Krillin had been too cowardly to accomplish almost two years ago when Vegeta first landed on Earth. Let the Neanderthals breaking his ribs and choking the life from him fix the wish that had brought him back to life on Namek. Please, you mindless animals, bring me back to where I was earlier today…dead and rotting and ready for the afterlife.
Vegeta’s swollen eyes were closed and his mouth was filled with coppery blood when he realized the men were no longer surrounding him. The alley-way lit with blinding energy and the broken saiyajin could see the red glow through his purpled eyelids. There were screams of pain and panicked voices. A shrill sound of ki echoed throughout the small space and then all was quiet. Vegeta lay silently in the cold wetness of the dark, haunting alley and he wished that the blood seeping from his body would move quicker, allowing him to slip into unconsciousness.
But alas, his cold flesh felt the shaking fingers press against the side of his throat. Through the heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears, Vegeta could hear the scared, anxious breathing above him. Even though he was horribly drunk and beaten senseless, his saiyajin nose was sharp enough to know that scent…and his stomach lurched violently.
“Just…let me die,” he whispered.
There was a sharp intake of breath and the fingers slid away. The silence in the alley stretched on, but Vegeta knew he was still there. That smell—the odor of human sweat and testosterone. The man’s scent was not a bad one and something struck the ailing prince as he remembered that essence as one of comfort and protection. Yes, he recalled pressing his face into the warrior’s chest and breathing in deeply, his body more damaged and broken than it had ever been, but all he wanted was to crush his nose into Yamcha’s shirt and inhale…to feel that power and source of safety.
With Yamcha so close to his vulnerable, barely conscious body, Vegeta knew he should have been terrified, yet all of his anger seemed to wash away. He was not happy or relieved. Vegeta also felt no vengeance against the human, even though he wanted to destroy the planet. For the first time since the whole ordeal, Yamcha and Vegeta were together again…in very similar circumstances. And Vegeta felt oddly comforted by that fact.
“I’m sorry,” Yamcha whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry I can’t…I can’t even stand it. Nothing will ever make this right!” He rasped. Vegeta could hear the tears choking in his throat. “Vegeta, please don’t give up on us. Don’t give up on the humans who want to help you. Bulma, the others…they all mean well. They want to help you. None of us will ever hurt you again.”
Vegeta still lay silently on the blood-stained ground, but finally pried his eyes open. One was covered in a film of red and the other was purely blurred—whether from the alcohol or from injury he could not tell. Letting his head fall sideways, he gazed at the legs kneeling at his side. Yamcha was wearing the same black pants…same white shirt, too. He hadn’t even changed or showered from the day’s awful adventures.
Forcing his black eyes upward, Vegeta found it hard to look into Yamcha’s pained, guilt-ridden face. He thanked the gods that his vision was so blurred and shaky. He could not stand to see pity in anyone’s eyes when it was directed toward him…but he knew it was there. Vegeta didn’t know what to say or do, though. He understood that the idiot human would never leave him there to freeze and bleed to death, but there was no way he was going to ask the human for help. Closing his eyes as a wave of nausea passed through him, Vegeta sighed.
“Do what you want, human.”
Goku was standing several blocks away from the scene and Yamcha knew the powerful warrior was there, watching with curious eyes as he stood atop a building. If the earth saiyajin hadn’t followed him, Yamcha knew he would have killed the men beating the hell out of Vegeta. Yamcha had never killed in cold blood. He never took an innocent life. But the stress of the day and his wild emotions made him want to rip apart the thugs who laughed and roared with amusement as they choked the defenseless alien on the ground and kicked his unprotected ribs and stomach.
But he only allowed his energy to push the men away. Punching a couple of them was pleasing, but Yamcha wanted to kill them, not give them a light punishment. Goku had been watching, though. Besides, he was so close to Vegeta now. And the saiyajin was done fighting against the ones who wanted to hurt him. He was done trying to stand up and look strong. He was done living. It tore at Yamcha’s heart to see him lying on the ground, completely still as his bloodied face appeared calm…accepting. Do what you want, human. He was giving Yamcha permission to help him, not because he wanted the comfort…but because he was just finished fighting back.
Gathering Vegeta into his arms, Yamcha’s red aura flared around them and he blasted into the night sky. The season was getting colder and as the icy wind whipped across his face, Yamcha drew his heated energy tighter to his body, doing his best to shield the disoriented saiyajin in his arms.
Goku appeared next to his long-time friend, his worried eyes peering at Vegeta’s resting features. Even with his mind tracking Vegeta’s location within the city, he hadn’t been able to sense the prince’s power fluctuate, as he barely held any energy within his weakened body. Having only been away from Capsule Corp. for about two hours, the surly fighter found trouble and more guilt crashed upon Goku as he wasn’t there to protect the defenseless being.
“What are we going to do, Goku?” Yamcha asked grimly as they flew toward Capsule Corporation.
The third-class saiyajin shook his head slowly and gazed out into the night sky, his sharp eyes landing on the domed headquarters of Bulma’s home.
“All we can do is be there for him,” Goku replied softly.
Reaching the front yard, the warriors watched as Bulma immediately rushed out to greet them, her hair damp from a shower and a large coat bundled around her thin form. “Oh my God, what happened to him?”
Her large eyes examined the cuts and bruises on his face. As she drew closer, she could smell alcohol wafting from his prone form. Grimacing suddenly, Vegeta’s hazy eyes opened and he struggled in Yamcha’s arms. His world spun and a kaleidoscope of tilting, concerned faces stared down at him.
“I can stand—put me down.”
With a sense of urgency, the pained saiyajin pulled himself free of Yamcha’s grip and wobbled uneasily before taking a few lurching strides forward. He bent over the grass and groaned in pain as splintering agony spiked through his broken and cracked ribs. It felt as if his body was being tugged to the ground and his bleary eyes tried to focus on the bushes that lined the huge mansion’s grounds. But even the shrubbery seemed to be spiraling in a tilt-a-whirl of movement and Vegeta stilled momentarily, seemingly calming himself, before vomiting the night’s beverages all over the lawn.
Goku’s mouth stretched into an expression of childish disgust and Bulma and Yamcha gasped in surprise. It was alarming to see the usually proud and arrogant saiyajin exhibiting such behavior, but what really shocked them was the amount of alcohol he was expelling.
“Kami, he must have emptied the entire bar,” Bulma murmured, a hint of fascination in her voice.
They allowed the small warrior to finish his sickness before approaching carefully. Vegeta peered down at the soggy mess at his feet and slowly wiped his mouth, before tilting his head to the side as he squinted into the brightly lit window of Capsule Corp.’s living room. Three or four astonished faces quickly disappeared from view and Vegeta growled in annoyance.
“Vegeta, you need a senzu bean,” Goku said hurriedly. “We have no idea how much internal damage you have.”
Placing a hand on the trembling saiyajin’s shoulder, Goku tried to pull the agitated man toward him and into the house, but the stubborn warrior refused to move.
“No. No senzu beans. I don’t need them or want them!”
“But…you’re hurt again and—“
“Fuck off, Kakarot!” Vegeta yelled as he spun around to dislodge Goku’s hand. The action threw Vegeta off-balance and he twirled to the ground clumsily. Sitting pathetically in the grass, the defeated saiyajin stared miserably forward, his swollen eyelids blinking slowly. “I don’t want a damn senzu bean. Just let me sleep. Let me go to sleep.”
Goku looked like he wanted to argue more, but Yamcha shook his head. Keeping his distance, the scarred man pushed his hands into his pockets.
“Do you want us to help you into the house?”
Vegeta didn’t respond as he sat quietly in the grass, his back hunched and bloody hands resting on his thighs. Taking one glance at him, anyone could see that something terrible had happened to the man. His usually fiery eyes were dead and dark circles hollowed-out his eyelids. Cuts and dark bruises marred his face and his usual upsweep of black hair was frazzled and hanging low. No one would have recognized him as the powerful saiyajin who had invaded Earth a year and a half ago or faced Frieza on Namek.
The three surrounding him glanced at each other with worry as the silence stretched on, the broken fighter still sitting like a ragdoll in the middle of the Capsule Corp. lawn. A couple of minutes passed before Goku crept forward and knelt next to the unmoving saiyajin. Vegeta’s dark eyelids were closed and his breathing was heavy. He was asleep.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Resolution on a Lonely Planet