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Unfounded Fears	By : chroniclyflaming Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 594 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Do not own DBZ, and am making no money from this.

Chapter List
- 1-Unfounded Fears
- 1
The Prompt: Why? Why not?

Yamcha wakes up one day with odd symptoms and suspects that he has become a werewolf. Whether his fears are unfounded or not is up to you.

The fill:

He came awake, smearing in cold dried mud with grass stuck to him and staining everything, with bloody scratches drying to scabs and heavily bruised, and no idea how he'd ended up that way.

His last clear memory was leaning over a glass of whiskey neat (oh god, that was what Bulma drank!), trying to pay attention to the game playing on the old television overhead and wincing at every crack of the bat. He'd just left the stadium hours ago and he swore his hair was still damp from the showers no matter how many times he checked.

Now, laying in bed and replaying that scene, Yamcha realized how odd a picture that must have made, what with him frantically touching his hair, grimacing over hits and moping into his drink.

For once, he didn't even care about what a spectacle he was making. How could he, since now he was so totally alone. The first relationship he'd managed to have after that fiasco that resembled a long war, complete with time spent in a prisoner camp where unspeakable war crimes had been committed. Now she was gone.

Such a nice, kind girl, one who understood him, that cared, that never yelled at him or forced him to do anything weird or threw things at him or tossed him out of his bed at three in the morning out of fear her parents would find them since she didn't still live at home.

A girl who had never gotten him drunk and forced him and her new 'boyfriend' to do unimaginable things that Yamcha never would have suspected himself capable of doing. Things that made him have to revaluate his life in this bar, drunk and single again.

Then…it was all gone in the blackout.

He sat up.

The sheets were torn and shredded, like a wild beast had been let loose in his room. His wooden headboard, a heavy thing made of expensive oak that Bulma had insisted on to make his apartment look classier, was smashed into two uneven pieces. Yamcha held the snapped off bedposts, holding them up to the light and blinking at the golden beams that pieced his narrowed scratchy eyes, at the chew marks that ruined the intricate carvings of something like ivy and pixies and if you looked at it from a certain angle, Goku.

As someone who'd grown up with wolves, had a special technique with the word 'wolf' in it, Yamcha considered himself something of an expert on the animal. And well, those chew marks didn't look human. They implied a snarl, and fangs. Big fangs.

But, obviously, there was no wolf here. He whistled sharply, enough to make him flinch, and nothing came running, snarling.

Yet, there appeared to be strange muddy smears on the nice floorboards.

His scratches burned.

Yamcha looked at the sun climbing up his ceiling.

'Well,' a voice spoke up. It sounded like Bulma. 'Obviously nothing human did this much damage.'

Yeah.

'So what did it? What animal was in your apartment last night? And no, this isn't the time for a joke on the people with whom you have one-night stands with. Since, obviously you're not bringing people home with you.'

Uh-huh.

'After all, it took you weeks to ask that little P.R. girlfriend of yours that recently dumped you out.'

Sure.

'Let's be honest. You're not a ladies' man. I think it's more likely you brought a wild animal home, not a party animal.'

True.

'So what did it? And, perhaps more importantly, where did it go?'

He stood up. Or rather, he slowly slid off the bed, and after a minute, managed to haunch over on shaking knees and dragged himself forward using the furniture. His clothes were in shreds all over the room, clothes that scarcely resembled what he'd been wearing last night.

Of course he could handle a wolf or two, even in this state. But what if it was something worse? Those fangs. They weren't unlike Piccolo's, and he remembered when the Namek had been an evil entity that killed some of the strongest fighters, and that even Goku had a hard time defeating.

Speaking of which, had the moon been wished back?

When he passed the hallway, scraping his cuts against the wall, he noticed that at least the front door was closed. His spare/small gym bedroom looked normal, although admittedly he didn't do much more than open the door and lean in a little to glance around. In the living room, sliding past the living room, he took in that his television was still there. And his stereo and movie players. But there were new videos scattered all over his couch, ones that made him do a double-take because he definitely didn't remember buying those. In fact, aside from some girly magazines that he immediately threw out a day later, or burned in his nice fireplace, he had never bought such things again. Especially ones that featured, well, not woman. Just…not woman. That was all he allowed himself to note. That, and that there were lots of them.

Now he realized that his nice leather couch was all creased and torn in places. The blanket he had thrown over the back in crumpled pieces. He smelled…something burned. Crispy.

Yamcha swallowed, and headed into the kitchen.

…Since when did he have so much meat? Especially red meat? He wasn't the best cook and ate out more than a little, and that was probably the only time he would have steaks since preparing them turned out to be beyond his grasp. But this stuff, it didn't look like takeout. Just hunks of half-cooked meat dripping blood onto the fancy marble counters and tiled floor.

Absently, he walked around surveying the damaged and closing open cabinets, stepping around a spilled bag of flour that he'd owned for nearly as long as he'd been living in this apartment, and taking in the chewed wood doors of the cabinets and a mysterious sticky mess on some of the counters.

Had he eaten that meat? Dusted with the flour, maybe? He didn't tend to drink much, and maybe this was what happened when he got wild? Drunk eating and cooking? Sadly, it looked about the same as his attempts sober.

The exact smudgy marks from his bedroom were here too. Maybe there were bare footprints too.

'I don't think an animal was here.' Now the voice sounded like Krillin, tentative and a little scared. 'I had no idea you were capable of this. Did…did you take a bite out of that marble table?'

Yamcha held up the broken chunk, eyeing it.

'I think that's a bite mark, buddy.'

Yeah.

His fridge was full of soda, sticky sweet soda in a flavor he didn't buy, and imported beer he didn't like. And a sad little box of baking powder that was the only thing left untouched in this room.

He closed the fridge door.

What else had he done? Was this the extent to his insanity? Oh, but wait, wait, if this stuff definitely hadn't been in here before, it had to have been put in here. As in, going out and buying this this. As in, him drunk and crazy in a grocery store. Ones that maybe had video cameras and might now be turning these tapes to the cops to put on the morning news.

Numbly, Yamcha stumbled back to the living room and turned on the television, expecting to see his mug shot, or a grainy image of him eating furniture or appliance, or a drawn image that an eyewitness had described to a police artist. Bulma giving an interview in maybe that pink pantsuit or that green thing with the padded shoulders, saying 'yeah, I knew Yamcha. Before he lost his mind, obviously.' Flirting with the male host and gabbing with the female one until Vegeta burst into the studio as Cell had done to drag her home since he wanted his gravity chamber fixed. The Saiyan saying only 'yes, that puny scarred human has gone insane.' And maybe, maybe Bulma's parents coming on, the old man saying gruffly that he didn't know 'what happened to that boy', and the squinty-eyed blonde going on and on about how nice that young man was and how he'd used to date her daughter, how he was constantly sneaking out of the world-famous scientist's bedroom, and oh, oh, did they know about when Dr. Briefs and some of his associates had walked in on Bulma and Vegeta and Yamcha having a drunken threesome-?

Then Vegeta and Bulma's horrified shrieks as they reached out to strangle the mother.

And then the screen would go grey and say something about technical difficulties.

And all across the world, everyone staring disturbed at the screen over their breakfast, or reaching to cover their children's eyes/ears, or to grab their phone and call someone to ask had they just seen that shit on the morning news?

Yamcha collapsed on the couch and reached for the remote resting perfectly on the coffee table.

On the news, there were the usual disasters, fires, drunks hitting kids and speeding away, diseases on the rise, but nothing about rich and famous blue-haired women and their alien husbands having sex with highly ranked baseball players. Yamcha breathed a sigh of relief while watching sooty people run from a blazing wildfire that had been their homes.

He sat on his torn leather couch in his expensive flat, and remembered a young man with longer hair and no scars that would have jumped up and rushed out to help those ash-darkened people. And he sat there and imagined that man, boy, really, running out and using his inhuman powers to fight the flames, who would have blushed rosily at the applause and grinned sheepishly before escaping and hoping no one knew him.

What had happened to that boy? Had he died when Yamcha had been killed by Vegeta and Nappa and those Saibamen? Or before then, when some little kid with weird hair had gotten so strong there was no chance to catch up to him? Either way, he was fairly certain that guy was gone and buried, and what he'd left behind didn't have it in him to be a hero anymore.

Vegeta's sneering voice was in his head now. 'But what happened to your apartment, man? Can't you figure that much out? Pathetic.'

Yamcha felt his brow furrow. He didn't need Vegeta giving him advice. The guy had killed him and nearly everyone else by turning into that giant monkey. Because of a full moon. Had it been a full moon? Had that been what drove him crazy? Or had they not wished it back after that old man, Jackie Chun, destroyed it. And how he'd pissed off that werewolf guy. That humanwolf guy.

Speaking of which, it looked like he'd let that guy into his house, and not in his human form…

When he opened his eyes, they were still talking about the fires, a cameraman screaming, and screaming louder when something orange and blue and white and black sped across the screen. A short guy using an energy wave that blew out the nearest flame, the force of it smothering it out.

Krillin? Krillin? Wait, Vegeta? What? Was that him? God, maybe it was just because he was thinking about the grumpy bastard, but that guy looked like Vegeta. No, like Krillin. Yes, it was Krillin, but he wasn't bald. Since when was Krillin not bald? If he wasn't bald, he wasn't Krillin. And yet, there was the missing nose. But god, he looked like Vegeta with his hair sticking up like that. Like the Saiyan's younger, nicer, noseless brother.

Huh. What was that pink mark on his neck? That couldn't be a hickey, right? Right? Since when was his perpetually single friend getting lucky? But if Krillin had hair, then really, what wasn't possible?

Krillin, with hair, was just weird. Even as a kid, he'd been as bald as a moon. Moon. Werewolf guy. They'd never asked how that was possible, what had bitten him…There could be some crazy animal running around biting people, maybe here in West City. Yamcha glanced downward. Those scratches.

'What are you saying?' Vegeta sounded scared in the taller fighter's head. 'Are you saying that you've because a werewolf. Because that's crazy, human.'

As crazy as a race of human-looking people that have tails and turn into giant apes at a full moon?

'…yes.'

Hey. That blonde person, rolling her eyes and the only one clean of ash, tapping her boot. She looked familiar. So familiar. Juuhachigou? Definitely. Oh. That explained the hair and that hickey. Damn. Way to go Krillin. Yamcha nearly wanted to high-five the screen.

She was looking at her watch, as haughty as ever, and he remembered being on Kami's Lookout and how Krillin had revealed how much he liked her, how he wanted her to be happy, how he'd somehow won her interest. How he just wanted her to happy, even with her boyfriend, who had actually been her twin brother…

Yamcha's heart skipped a beat.

Twin brother. Twin brother.

Those blue eyes.

He'd met that guy before, briefly. Very briefly, when the guy had arrived on Master Roshi's island to find and kill Goku. Dude in a scarf and jeans. Had talked with Piccolo before leaving with that big guy, and his sister following and laughing (at Krillin?).

'But was that the only time you met him?'

…yes?

'Are you sure?'

Those blue eyes.

Oh god. He'd met that guy somewhere else, maybe while drunk. What had he done? Challenged the guy to a fight? Threatened him? Yelled at him? Told him what Krillin felt about the dude's sister and what he wanted to do to her ('I'm telling you this, Yamcha, under strict confidence not to tell anyone, not Bulma, not anyone…but I can't stop thinking about Juuhachigou…and her wearing things that she couldn't wear in public without the cops coming...that's not healthy, is it?'). Any of that could have escaped his mouth.

Maybe that hickey was actually a bruise that Juunanagou had left on him after the beating and after Dende had mostly healed the little guy?

'You saw that man earlier.' Vegeta sounded so sure. So cold. 'Last night. You met that man. That machine who looks like Krillin's girlfriend.'

So what if I did? Nothing wrong with that. Necessarily. Krillin survived.

'Are you sure that's all you discussed with him?'

What are you saying?

'Are you sure you did not say something more?'

No.

The voice sounded like Bulma, trying for patience. 'Perhaps what happened involved him? Maybe you said some stuff and he followed you home and wrecked your apartment? Maybe this is all psychological warfare?'

'Or maybe you're just paranoid?'

Yamcha recalled his girlfriend storming out, telling him how weird he was, how bizarre his friends that she rarely saw more than glimpses, how come he would duck his ex so fervently when the CEO was so kind. Was he part of a cult? What was with that three-eyed guy? Had she in fact actually noticed him her boyfriend of nearly a year checking out that punk who had been slashing tires at the concert? His yell of 'you don't understand!' seemed to be heard only by himself and made the fighter wonder if he hadn't actually spoken the words aloud. The sound of the front door slamming was definitely audible though.

What he wanted was to leave this apartment and go fly around. Or drive. Or walk. Clear his head. Maybe go to the gym, or eat breakfast, or eat breakfast, something huge and full of eggs and hash browns and bacon, and then go to the gym. Then maybe to a neighborhood bar where he would nurse a glass of beer and smile and watch the game and maybe talk to any pretty girls that came through the door.

Take a long shower. Dress in casual clothes, t-shirt and jeans, looking wholesome and without any gel in his hair to only make the contrast between him and any younger men sharper. It was something that often worked on woman who thought him an easy-natured guy a little older than them that they could introduce to their parents without cringing completely. Or someone blue-collar who was good for a night. Maybe he would say his name was Chuck. Or Chip. Or Jimmy. That's what he needed to clear his mind.

Meet someone with…

Vegeta was emotionless. 'Blue eyes?'

Brown eyes. Hazel. Green.

'Brunette?'

No. Blonde. Red-head.

'Tan?'

I want to take home a vampire.

'I think you already did, human. You already did.'

And he tore my stuff apart? I knew those androids weren't to be fully trusted. Especially him. Just like I said to Krillin. Juuhachigou, not too bad, but her 'boyfriend' who turned out to be her twin brother? Real jerk. But you have no evidence that he did any of this.

'He was probably the one to bite that marble then?' Krillin was back, fussing and nervous.

Okay. So I won't call him a jerk to his face.

'Hey. He could be my brother-in-law one day. The uncle of my future children.'

Oh please, man, you and her will last two weeks.

'Little Krillins and Juuhachigous will wonder why you were so mean to their beloved uncle and therefore guarantees he never visits during the holidays. Looking up with big eyes. Why Uncle Yammy, why?'

He's a sociopath.

'Guarantees it.'

If I ever see him, I will apologize. Wait. You're not even actually here.

'Talking to yourself, Yammy, is a sign of mental illness.' Bulma sounded smug.

There was a knock at the front door, and he literally leapt off the couch hanging in the air for the briefest second before coming down on the coffee table, hard. Then tumbling off it in a totally unprofessional way for someone who earned his income running and dodging and doing other physical activity, oh, and was one of the strongest beings on the planet, at least in the top ten, and his heart wouldn't stop racing. Stupidly, he remembered the smell of his ex-girlfriends perfume and felt like weeping for a good ten minutes. She'd been so good, so pretty, so much of a woman, someone he could have introduce to his non-weirdo friends as a wife and mother of his child. Then there was another knock.

Why would she ever want to see him again? There had been no mentions of goodbye or that she needed space or they were on a break. Had she come back? Were his friends here for a visit, or an intervention? Or were the police at the door, wanting to bring him down to the station?

On the news, Krillin was sheepishly shrugging the questions and then being dragged away by an irate girlfriend, a sight that sent nostalgic feelings throughout Yamcha's entire core, and then nauseous.

Only at the front door did he realize he was still muddy and in his underwear.

But he couldn't bring himself to run to his ruined bedroom to find clothes. Or even look through the peephole, knowing that his courage or insanity would disappear and he'd find himself running into the bath and barricading the door. Throwing himself into the tub and never leaving until Krillin, who grew concerned enough to finally knock down the front door to find him. The short man making that concerned motherly expression that made you feel guilty, and then want to yell at him while he went off to clean your apartment.

But Krillin wasn't here. Even in Yamcha's mind, the guy had disappeared.

He scratched some dried mud from his side, and opened the door.

Although he remembered the man well enough considering he'd seen the guy for only two minutes in a haze of tiredness and fear, it was really the dude's twin sister that served as a reference for that pointed chin and nose, angled eyes, the squarish jaw, sculpted part in the straight hair. But really, who could forget that stupid orange scarf?

Yamcha barely had time to squeak before he was casually pushed back inside the apartment, cold fingers against his bare chest.

"Hey," the android casually slid off and threw down his jacket. His grin and pale creepy irises that flickered downward made Yamcha want to cover himself. "I see you've been waiting for me."

Why hadn't he put pants on? "Um."

"It's okay; I understand. I mean, how could you not miss me?"

"Er."

He couldn't close the door on the guy. 'After all, remember how badly he beat up all your friends, friends that were much stronger than you?'

Oh god, he was going to die in his underwear before a psychotic android teenager with Bulma's voice ringing in his ears. This was so much worse than what Trunks had predicted. At least the Future Yamcha probably had died wearing pants. Probably. Guy might have had a girlfriend too.

"What, why do you keep looking down? Checking to see if you have an erection just from looking at me? You don't, this time.

"Well. Not yet anyway."

Things rolled from a stained and filthy bag into new light that truly revealed the grisly blood stains.

Vegeta sounded shocked, spelling out what exactly Yamcha was already horrifically aware of. 'You took him home, from a bar. You met this android in a bar and took him home. And you knew who he was, since you'd already met his fucking twin sister. The woman who has almost identical features and is currently screwing that other shorter weakling. Fuck, human, you have already met him before. '

I know. Oh my god, I know.

"Yammy?" Juunanagou was cocking his head. "Yams?"

'What's truly disturbing is how odd you were at the bar, what with the touching and wincing, and that he was still interested. You're a broken shell of man. But what type of person is into that?'

He flinched, closing his eyes and waiting for the blow. Relief.

The Saiyan's voice speaking through his empty head was still stunned. 'Oh. The bite marks. The broken bed board. The sheets. Wait. Why were you so bloody…never mind. But the grass and mud? The torn couch. The cooking?'

Fucked up.

'And he came back here. He knows where you live. He has no ki, so aside from not being able to hide from him, he could kill you and no one would ever know. Make it look like a home invasion. Remember all those horror movies you used to torture Krillin with when you were kids? Happens all the time in them.'

This is all Bulma's fault. If that night hadn't happened, that door, that Pandora's Box would have remained closed. Never to be found. I mean, sure I noticed if a guy was in good shape. But, goddamn her…

This was definitely how Yamcha knew that the voice was solely his imagination trying to comfort him: Vegeta would never have sounded so kind. 'I know.'

"Hey. You okay? You uh, kinda look like you're having a stroke."

It seemed oddly ironic that Yamcha had once disliked Juuhachigou so much, when the real android to have been hated and feared was right before him.

If only it had been Juuhachigou. For so many reasons, that would have been better. Surely, Krillin would have been suicidal had he heard, but there was no guarantee that he would have. Goddamn it, speaking of which, it would have been better to wake up and find out that he'd had sex with his little friend. Krillin at least could be sometimes discreet, was not insane, and wouldn't murder him.

Too bad Yamcha hadn't known that this would have happened. He never would have taken a sip of alcohol for the rest of his life. But it wasn't as though he had Baba's crystal ball or anything.

Wait. Hadn't she once said something about—

"Yamcha?" Small lightly browned fingers snapped before his eyes. "I know you sustained head trauma last night—"

"I did? I did!"

"Yeah." Crystal blue eyes blinked. "Remember when we were in bed and you were pounding me so hard that you hit your own head on the board?"

Yamcha leaned against the wall, truly thinking that over, turning it over in his head like one would a diamond, or maybe a piece of bloody lung they'd just coughed up.

"Had no idea you were such a dom, either. You definitely did not warn me about that last night."

He sagged down a little further. "Did we talk a lot last night?"

"A little, sure. I wouldn't have gone home with you last night if you'd just whistled. Okay. Maybe," Juunanagou admitted, doing his own thinking over. "But of course we did talk. You're not the type of guy to just go and pick someone up and be rude enough not to have a discussion with them."

It was hard to look at the android. Partly out of fear, partly out of terror that the memories would come back, partly out of shame knowing that he'd slept with him, partly because that almost sweet smile on his face was so terrifyingly nice. A lot nicer than the way many girls would look at him, especially after he was loaded.

"You told me a lot of your childhood. Sorry about that, by the way. And about training with Goku." That smile turned fiendish. "With Krillin."

"Uh." Not as horrible as the taller fighter had feared. Just normal guy stuff. Stuff that he would say to most everybody.

"It's funny, now that you mention it." He rubbed one pointed chin. "You talked my ear off in the bar, telling me about yourself, all about yourself, and now that we're talking about it, you underemphasized a few of your attributes, I'm still sore."

Almost jokingly, he winced and rubbed his backside while inside Yamcha's head, Vegeta turned away from them both and shuddered in horror. "But I guess you made up for that when you talked me into coming here and taking my clothes for copulation. Then mostly just growling and saying 'wolf this' and 'wolf that' during sex."

Juunanagou scratched an ear through the thick curtain of dark hair. "Is that normal? For humans to name their sex techniques?"

Bulma cackled and said 'yes' while Krillin looked on disapprovingly and Vegeta began scratching at the walls of Yamcha's imagination that were now padded. None offered words of help.

"Sure. Sure."

A too warm arm clamped around a waist that was only partially covering by his underwear. "Okay then. Let's go see if I can make you howl again."

"No! No way." He threw himself away from Juunanagou, knocking a painting off the wall.

The android looked to the fallen picture, then at Yamcha for an explanation.

Yamcha held up his hands defensively, trying not to pull his underwear up. "Sorry. Look. Dude. I'm not like that."

"Like what?"

His face was turning red under the strain of trying not to say that word. "You know."

"What?"

"Into…guys."

"Oh, that." The sharp blue eyes were rolled, and made him look more like a teenager than ever. "I remember your rant on that. How you complained there was nothing wrong with being a little curious, and if your ex's didn't understand, then fuck 'em.

"Which, I get the feeling, you didn't do enough of and that's why they're your ex's."

"Hey! I'll have you know that I have no problems in that area. In the ladies department. I mean. With women."

"Yeah, you're a real stud."

Yamcha almost said something about how he'd managed to get him into bed, but the words turned to ash in his mouth.

Bulma sounded distraught. 'Why would you brag about that, Yamcha?'

Shut up and let me think! Just let me think!

He was getting down on his knees, a sight that nearly made Yamcha's eyes pop out of their sockets. "Really. I'm serious. You're by far the most attractive person to approach me in a bar."

The hand the color of tea Bulma's mother used to make was resting on his stomach. It looked so wrong, so obviously male and yet not Yamcha's own hand. Tracing around his belly button, toying with the short dark hairs on his stomach. Completely unembarrassed. "Just relax."

Hand moving downward. "What's that one technique you do so much, 'wolf fang fist?'

"What? Am I not allowed to use your moves?"

"I…" There were so many questions about that comment that Yamcha wanted to ask. But did he want the answers? Wasn't this like watching one of those tapes of the parties the gang would have, the ones Krillin and/or Bulma recorded, and they always featured you drunk and at your most embarrassing? Did you want to put that tape in the machine and press play? The answers you'd have to live with could be worse than the questions. "Don't you have your own…techniques? Wait. No. Don't answer that."

"I have to admit, I never thought of exact names for what I did in bed. Hmm. 'Finger beam'?"

The taller fighter only stared horrified down at him, then up and to the left at the still opened door. "Oh god. Wait. Stop! I meant, stop."

"What for?"

"The door's opened, for Dende's sake."

"Dende?"

"It doesn't matter! But close the door. And get up." Yamcha rubbed his cheeks, downward rather than up like Bulma had taught him. "I think I have some coffee somewhere. Come on, I'll make you a cup."

Juunanagou blinked. "What?"

Yamcha turned away, feeling a headache. "Just come on. We'll talk."

"Uh. Alright." Slowly, smoothly and without a single creak, he rose to his feet. Then he looked almost awkward closing the door with one hand, staring warily at Yamcha. Who looked back at him with the same expression, wondering now if any of his neighbors had heard them speaking. Already, he was not the favorite tenant of the month here, not since he'd invited Gohan and Krillin to the apartment pool only to result in serious flood damage and wrecked patios and ruined paint.

Since he'd absolved all knowledge of knowing those 'strange boys' (no one had taken a good look at Krillin past his height, what with both of the short fighters trained from spending time with Chi-Chi and playing sports too close to the house running away after causing property damage), he'd managed to avoid having to pay for the damages. No one could prove that those kids who'd jumped the fence and fled after seeing what those duel cannonballs, (with their inflatable rafts and water wings and tube in the shape of dinosaurs trailing behind them) had done were with Yamcha, who'd just sat there on a beach chair with sunglasses and a soda when this occurred. The quiet single man never late on his rent and with a sweet girlfriend that had brought cookies to the Christmas party.

Still, though, he got the skink eye in the elevators-after all, weren't athletes known for the raucous parties?

Also, there was the time Krillin had shown up depressed and holding, not fully explained, a guitar and they'd knocked back too many and tried a few attempts at covering their favorite songs. Only the cold black and white note left on his front door gave any indication of how annoying they'd been. And really, letting Krillin sing all those pining love songs? "Wiittth or withouooout yoooouuuu" bouncing off the walls, and that wailing of shockingly competent French followed by, "I don't wannna be freeeeeindss. I don't wanna be friiiiieeeends, want yooouuurrr baaaad romaaaance." Yamcha deserved to have been kicked out.

Plus Bulma would sometimes show up with her screaming child and wailing husband, both of whom tended to bust hole in the walls when they had their tantrums. "I want do go home! I want to go home NOW!" Vegeta, I swear, if you don't shut up—"

In the kitchen, Yamcha shoved everything filthy into the sink. Alone, he would sort through it and throw everything out. The burned meat he immediately tossed into the garbage, ignoring Juunanagou's mild, "that was for breakfast."

His hands didn't shake adding coffee hidden in the back of a ransacked cabinet and a filter to the machine, and rather than pay attention to his guest, he leaned to his chin on the counter and watching the thick drops fall into the pot, hypnotized as Gohan was whenever he saw something with a full moon in it and would have to be nudged back into sense. Something that his little brother Goten didn't suffer the slightest and that Chi-Chi shared her fear of with Yamcha, since naturally what would happen if Gohan didn't have someone near to wake him up, and what would happen, Yamcha, when he got older and was driving and that happened?

A cold spider rested on the base of his spine. "You know. The position you're in right now gives me an idea-"

"Not now. I—Not ever."

"That's not what you said last night."

"Knock it off. We're not doing that again."

"Why not?"

"It's!" Yamcha stared wide-eyed at the android. "Well. It's wrong."

"Why?"

"Look." He tapped on the pot, as though that would speed it up. "You're not my type. No offense."

"Don't tell me this is about the android thing. Because we went over that last night. I'm not going to snap and kill you. My sister might, one day, but not me."

"Your sister?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, she's insane."

Yamcha saw Krillin being dragged away by her on his nice flat screen television again. Now it took on a dark light, rather than a simple humorous one of Krillin once again being bossed around by girls. Where was she going to take him? "What?"

"She's." The smaller man's tongue dug around his mouth. "She's lost it. She's changed. I mean, she spends too much time in our van, brooding over some piece of bad poetry about eyes and listening to dopey loves songs."

That did not sound like the Juuhachigou he admitted did not know well. That sounded more like…well, Krillin. Who seemed trapped behind general good-heartedness or sappily romantic or severely depressed. Meeting the blonde android hadn't helped him, either; really, meeting the androids hadn't helped anyone.

Or like Vegeta, that one time that Yamcha had been dispensed to inform the Saiyan dinner was finally ready, and found the smaller man in Dr. Brief's library, comparing Mrs. Brief's bodice rippers to the heavy academic books and cursing and ripping through another dictionary frantically, pop music on the radio behind him. Yamcha ended up closing the door silently and telling Bulma and Mrs. Briefs that he couldn't find the guy. "What?"

"Or in the house. Where she goes, she doesn't tell me. Sometime she comes home looking all jumpy and acting suspicious, accusing me of being weird. With ripped clothes."

"I know how that is."

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Anyway, Juuhachigou's been acting pretty kooky, so don't be shocked if you see her on the news."

"I won't."

"But anyway, what's your type?"

"Women!"

"No, really, what's your type?"

"Look, I have nothing against guys like you. I normally like guys like you. You have the bars with the best drinks, and I know you're not going to hit on my date. But I'm not like you."

"Really? Then how come when we went to that store, with all the toys and porn, you went straight for the gay stuff?"

"…what?"

"The really hardcore stuff too. I'm not sure how I feel about that. And why the twink stuff? That makes me feel uncomfortable, really. Not sure I want to be seen as some piece of meat to you."

"…what?"

There was arm crossing and a snort. Just like dating a fully human girl. Just like it. "I'm a human being, Yammy. Not just here to serve your needs, no matter how hot that sounds. If anything, it's the other way around."

"Shut up!" He glared at the guy, forgetting that this guy could literally twist him into a pretzel without using any real effort. His goddamn sister was capable of beating up a Super Saiyan, after all, and according to Krillin, looked damn adorable while doing it. Who knew what this guy was capable of? "I was drunk. And not going to do that again."

"Why so ashamed? Isn't there a lot worse in your life that you should be ashamed about, rather than the gender of the person who was willing to share your bed?"

Yamcha rubbed his chin, furious. Feeling the unshaven hairs against his palm and tried to focus on that. The guy sounded like his sister a little, when she'd been busting Krillin's heart and balls on Kame's Lookout. "What's that mean?"

"Hey. It's okay. You're strong enough, for a human. But, really, the short cute bald guy's stronger than you, and the three-eyed guy with that creepy doll floaty companion too."

"What? What did you say? Oh god, who?"

"Speaking of which, don't know why you're so upset over being gay. I mean, that three-eyed guy and his pale friend are obviously together."

"You did not say that. You didn't say any of that."

"How could you not notice that?"

"They're friends! Like brothers!"

"That's what they say to you. Because they know of your close-mindedness and are afraid of being rejected by you and your group."

"…"

"I see that handsome face in the reflection of that coffee pot, all riddled with concern. Do they not live together?"

"That's not—That doesn't mean anything."

"Really? My sister heard from someone that Vegeta and Bulma are in a relationship. Do they not live together?"

"Your sister heard from 'someone'?"

"Yeah. From the news I guess. Or she overheard someone talking about it."

Yeah, right. Probably her wanting to hear bad creepy things about the gang from Krillin was their version of pillow talk. "Fine. They live together. But that was unrelated. I think. I don't really want to know. Things…happened."

"You okay? Oh. I'm sorry. You and she used to date."

He sighed. "It's not that. You—I don't want to talk about it."

"It's personal; I understand."

Yamcha looked at him flatly. "You have a lot of ex-girlfriends?"

"No, but I get it. I liked someone uninterested, as well."

"I don't like Bulma that way. Believe me, if you knew her better, you would be relieved if she hooked up with Vegeta. In fact," he scratched his nose, turning away from the coffee pot. "I set them up. In a way."

"Did you?"

"Anyway, you liked someone, and they didn't like you back? Bet they were straight then, just like me. That's two for zero. Still, better than Krillin's record."

Juunanagou visibly winced. "I wouldn't go so far as to say straight. But anyway. He's into someone else."

"Sorry. But it's time to get back on that horse and find someone else. Someone besides me, by the way."

Blue eyes narrowed at him, reminding Yamcha of Krillin's desperate ideas for wooing Juuhachigou, what if I write her a song of a poem, what do you mean, no way, what if I in fact already did so and left that poem by her house, yes, I found her house and no I was not stalking her, stop making that face, oh god, do you think it's too late to go grab that poem, oh god, you're right it's super creepy, ah, and I went on and on about her baby blue eyes. Then him putting his head down on Yamcha's kitchen table for a long time while Yamcha tried to remind him that hey, at least he hadn't tried serenading her too, because that and the poem…only to be met with huge watery black eyes wide with horror, I'm dead to her, aren't I?

When you were looking straight at them, with the vague general idea of romance of some sort, Yamcha could almost understand why he'd gone on about those eyes. Very intense and in a shade that looked so innocent, like it should be on the walls of Goten's room.

"Yamcha? Why are you staring at me like that? It reminds me of you in that bar, and you before all that twink porn."

He turned around and went silently for the coffee. "Let's just talk. And not about if I want to sleep with men or women."

"I think we both know the answer to that." He was glancing around the apartment, looking like he was getting comfy. "You kept the movies."

"I'm burning them later," Yamcha warned. "And I only have a few mugs that aren't missing. What did you do with my mugs?"

"We threw them off the terrace. Don't you remember?"

"No! Crap."

"It's okay. We'll go shopping or something later."

He chewed that one over. He wouldn't say no to another friend, really, especially a strong one that might turn out to be a good guy that could help them the next time they were in a jam. And Goku was dead, making the need for more strength even more important. The big guy being dead also meant that Juunanagou had no one to go after and murder.

But what if the android told someone what had happened? Especially Bulma. If he told Bulma, everyone would know within the hour what Yamcha had done to Juunanagou.

But, then, what if Juuhachigou wasn't abusive and was really into Krillin? If they got serious, (and God knew Krillin would cling to her and never let her go) wouldn't Juunanagou be part of their group. What if things grew awkward between him and Yamcha? And then if everyone would figure out what happened?

For once, the voice in his head was his own. 'Just be nice. And not charming. And don't touch him. Or smile too much. Talk about how hot you find the women in the room are.'

'Maybe he'll meet someone.'

Awesome idea.

"You know, this room looks different in the day, after not having bourbon. Dirtier. Do you remember at all what happened in here? What you did instead of properly cooking me dinner?"

"Oh god. Don't tell me."

"Fine. But you should clean up that sticky spot."

"Gross. Just gross."

"Well, you said you'd get to it later. That's what you said as you threw me over your shoulder and took me back to your lair. Your word: 'lair'."

He shuddered, almost spilling hot coffee onto his hands. "Do you want sugar with yours?"

"Yep."

"Too bad because there is none."

"Jerk." But Juunanagou grabbed the mug with a smile. Too innocent. Yamcha needed a second to understand when he was pulled closer to the barstool and the android that the other guy was grabbing him and wrapping a leg around his waist and leaving the coffee on the counter.

"But you can give me euphemisms for sugar. Right here, on the cheek."

It was impossible to pull away. "This is assault!"

"Come on. When you made me sit on your lap in that bar, that was assault."

"This is too." Oh god, what was that thing pressing against his thigh. It better be his gun.

Those chilly hands were cupping the back of his head. "Aw, but how can I resist? With you running around in your underwear, and being all bulgy and strong. And sweet, with getting me coffee and inviting me inside."

"You invited yourself inside."

One hand was tugging at his hair and the other trialing down his chest and making Yamcha have a panic attack. "Still. You opened the door."

"Stop. Man, I just want to be friends."

"We can do that too."

"Friends don't do this."

"You're blushing. And squirming. Keep doing both."

"You're crazy. You can't hold me accountable for what I did drunk. Maybe, legally, but not sexually."

That annoying hand was starting to play with one nipple, its owner looking no more than politely interested. "Says who?"

And it wasn't Yamcha fault at all that his nipple was starting to stiffen. Natural reaction. Same with his toes curling and noticing that pouty mouth that would feel perfect against his chest. All understandable. Now, if he let that moan building in his chest out, now that would be bad.

"…Not like you don't have fantasies of your male friends."

"What? Says who? I don't fantasize about my friends. Okay, maybe once or twice about Chi-Chi, even though I know she's a widow and all stressed out over two kids. But she's pretty. And single, now, I guess."

The other hand was leaving his hair to caress his stomach and almost make him shudder. He was one of the strongest people on this planet, and this was really just unfair. Shouldn't his will be stronger? What was all that training for?

"Goku would kick my ass though, if he heard. Like waiting to jump me at King Yemma's desk after I died."

…for those muscles that Juunanagou was almost making tremble, apparently.

"Goku, huh? Well, he was on your list."

"What list? You're the one with the list of people you wanted to kill."

"I didn't have a list. Anyway. He was on the list of friends you wanted to 'experiment' with."

"Oh god. Goku?"

"Yep."

"You're…lying?"

"Nope. Him, Krillin (which I totally understand, he's surprising cute) and Piccolo. Whom I won't comment on."

It was like discovering you'd been walking around with leprosy for the past year and never noticed. "I do not want to do anything with them."

"What's really weird though, is what you said about Vegeta."

Now Yamcha was definitely no longer aroused in any way. A good trick, in a way. Just think back on that night, just think about Vegeta.

"You remember? How you said he was left off the list since you'd already experimented with him? Is that true, or were you just bragging?"

"I won't answer that."

"Oh. Oh Yamcha."

"Stop it! Don't sound so…sad."

"Poor Yammy. Did he force you into it? He probably insulted you during it. Well, don't listen to him. You were fine when we did it.

"I was actually pretty surprised by how awesome it was.

"Yamcha?

"Hey, we don't have to do anything besides cuddle, if you want to wait. You seem kinda old-fashioned, I'll take you out to dinner beforehand. You're a meat and potatoes guy, and that is something I can actually cook. Or we can go out for a hamburger?

"Can you do more than blink? Can you say yes? How about just as friends? We can go out to eat, and mess around, as friends. I would like that. Since Juuhachigou not around, well, I would like someone to talk to, every now and again. Someone to bitch to about bad songs and commercials. The physical contact part is just an awesome bonus.

"As friends then? I won't tell anyone what we did, or the noises and faces that you make and the way you name your sex positions and moves.

"Or that you and Vegeta had a brief affair. We'll keep it all between us. I can keep a secret. I know something about Juuhachigou that she would prefer to kill herself than ever admit? Wanna hear? Then we'll be more on even ground. Friendship, it's all about equality and sharing.

"Okay. She, here, take your coffee; you're going to need it to process this information. Don't burn yourself. It's cute the way you blow on it like that. And that wasn't a sex comment. But she's into one of you guys. You vigilante squad of rogues and superheroes, straight out of a comic book.

"I guess it's not too insane, I'm charmed by you and all, you blushing? No? Crap. But she has a thing for one of you guys, the ones that go around in the orange gis? Want to know how I know? Just nod your head.

"Anyway. We went into this strip bar, and there was this guy, yeah, she and I go to bars sometimes, especially male strip clubs, and there was this guy with huge muscles and wearing an orange gi just like you guys go around in. Have you ever been to such places? Smelled the body spray and sweat of the blankly leering performers, the perfume of the women who use a weak drink as an excuse in front of their friends to flirt with the dancers? The laughter and pounding music that can't be quite made out. The bouncing shadows created everywhere from the strobe lights. People watching the stage after enough time and drinks and their faces get all saggy and their eyes glazed.

"It was hilarious, the best thing I've ever seen besides you forcing me into a position so I can watch you fuck me. That was definitely a blush I saw. So this guy's dancing around for bills and when I wipe the tears from my eyes, I see the expression on my sister's face. And it's not hilarity or joy.

"She looked uncomfortable, and embarrassed. Which, fyi, if you go to those places, is just asking for trouble. This douchebag DJ shone a spotlight on her, like he could sense it as a shark smells blood in the water, and the stripper went at her like…well, I can't think of an analogy. More than a shark going for an injured swimmer. A Saiyan at food. Vegeta at a chance to be spiteful. Krillin towards a girl that might have looked at him twice. Why did you just choke like that?

"But those aren't right exactly. This was very purposeful and businesslike, but fast. And the way the chairs and tables are set up, it's perfect room for two people to a seat. I laughed, waved some money and wished for a camera. Then I had to grab her by the shoulders and hold her in place.

"Her face, Yamcha. It will haunt me. The look of fear in her eyes. I have no memories of my sister as a kid. But I could almost see her as a young scared child about to fall into a well and without a faithful dog to go out for help. Without her brother. No, with her brother, who was egging all this on. Who brought the stripper to his terrified just slightly older twin sister. The brother who pushed her into the well and then killed her dog.

"This stripper started gyrating, doing his job, Juuhachigou just cringing throughout it. Now, you know, now I understand what I should have done. But at the time, I was angry at her for ruining this perfectly good lap dance that cost money and could have gone for my own amusement. She didn't even try to smile or fake laugh and not look horrible. Her face was of one viewing a cadaver for the first time, and having to dissect it. And this was in front of people, Yamcha. Not at one-thirty in the afternoon on a Wednesday. This was happy hour.

"I got angry at her. She kept trying to push away. Looking uncomfortable, not even dutiful, dealing with her annoying little brother. There was not a single eye-roll. This was a scary thing. You don't know my sister well, but her without exasperation….even in her sleep she is disdainful. The way she snores is with scorn and contempt.

"This was a sign to stop that I ignored. And then another guy came out, a little smaller, with shorter hair, the same outfit since that, I suppose, was the theme of that day.

"He was the preverbal straw. She sat there and watched them, with these very numb eyes that were somehow accepting. Like a shot deer understanding that it would never see it's young again. I brought the other man over and after a while, when it was clear Juuhachigou was not going to respond positively to any of this, that they were not going to mess around with an attractive human female, (and I do notice how men look at her) they wandered to another table.

"And Yamcha, I was pissed. She had no right to ruin my fun. I was her twin. The evil twin you might say. I had no compassion to whatever plight she might be facing. We left. The van ride home was very quiet. There was no eye contact.

"I kept wanting to ask her 'what they hell was that about,' but I couldn't quite phrase it right. If I was mean, she would flip out and maybe grab the wheel of the car to drive off the side of the road. Or open the door and fly away without saying anything. It was very uncomfortable.

"Yamcha? Yamcha? Are you crying?"

"You remind me of my ex."

"And that makes you cry?"

"Yes."

"What-hey. Hey. Don't wipe your nose on my hankerchief. Oh.

"Mmm, glad you're seeing my side of things."

"Just don't tell anyone about this."

"I won't. You really like doing it in the kitchen. And listen, if you want me to dress up like Goku to fulfill a fantasy, I'll do it. But I draw the line at Piccolo."

"No Goku. Don't even mention his name."

"I won't. But promise me you'll get rid of all that twink porn? Please?

"Yamcha? I know you're busy there, but—

"Please? Oh. Please.

"…did you and Krillin really mess around when you trained?"

"No. And now you're no longer allowed to mention him either."

"Hey. You don't give the orders here. Hear me, human. And a really weak one at that. I'm shocked Vegeta let you touch him. Yammy."

"…your sister is sleeping with Krillin."

"…WHAT?"
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Unfounded Fears