Thicker Than Blood On the Dance Floor, Chapter #01
Summary: When Trunks Briefs, the world’s most beloved star, comes across an amnesia-struck child on the street, he takes him in and introduces him to the world as his own son, “Prince”. But what happens when Goku and Chichi come back into the picture?
Author’s Notes: This story is very alternate-universe.
Chapter One: Whatever Happens
Rain was pouring, pounding on his poor bloodied head without mercy. He wrapped his arms around himself in a desperate attempt to keep warm in the blistering cold. He kept his head down as he walked along the empty, barely lit streets. It was the dead of night. He was all alone. What happened? He couldn’t remember. Where was he? He didn’t know. Did he have a family? Where did he belong? Who did he love? Did he love anyone? Did he even have a home? An acquaintance?
All of these questions drew a blank in the small child’s mind. He twisted his wet raven locks around a petite finger. What name did he go by? How old was he? He looked at his tiny hands and formed them into a fist, then poked one out at a time. What the heck was he doing?
He couldn’t remember how to count. The gestures and symbols and words all felt so distant. Could he still speak?
“Ahhh….” he sighed. “Aaaahhhh…” he sighed again. What should he say? “My head hurts.” Good. He sill knew how to speak. What about the alphabet? “A B C D E… K… N…” He sighed again. What was next? Nothing. A blank. Empty space. He looked over his shoulder and stared out at the frighteningly dark road. Something clattered from an alleyway nearby, as if a tin can falling off a dumpster. The boy jumped and began to run. His frightened sprint came to a halt, however, when he collided with a pair of legs.
“Hello?” another voice questioned. “Are you okay?” The little boy looked up to see a man with bright purple hair and an umbrella, shielding his head from the unforgiving storm. He immediately held the umbrella over the child and placed a gentle, warm hand on his shoulder. The boy shivered and held himself tighter.
“I don’t know,” he answered, noticing his own condition. Blood, scratches, and large, swollen, throbbing bruises covered his body. “I think I got hurt really bad.” The man nodded and ripped his silky white shirt, dabbing the wounds with care.
“How did you get out here?” he asked. The boy shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
“Where are your parents?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did you get hurt?”
“I don’t know.” The man seemed to be at a loss. He bit his lip and tore off his sleeve, wrapping it around the boy’s head.
“Well, do you remember what your name is?”
“Ahh…” the boy struggled. “Ahh… I’m um…” What was it? He sighed, frustrated. The man patted the boy’s shoulder and inspected him closer. He noted the various cuts, burns, and bruises littering the child’s tiny body. He had to be no older than five. His bright brown- nearly orange- eyes glowed beautifully like precious gemstones in the rainy street-lamp-lit light. The man let his eyes travel down to inspect the child’s ripped clothes. He furrowed his purple eyebrows as something on the boy’s shirt caught his eye.
“Prince,” it said, stitched with love across silky, expensive fabric. Is he a prince?
“Um… I’m Goh… Goh… ughhh,” the little boy growled and pulled at his hair, feeling anger rise up in his chest. The man gently pulled the boy’s hands away and rubbed his arms, not even flinching when the blood smeared between his fingers. “I can’t remember. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” the man said gently. He let his fingertips brush across the boy’s ripped clothing. The boy looked up at him, eyes wide and afraid. The man smiled. “My name is Trunks Briefs,” he informed. The little boy nodded. “You can call me Trunks. Why don’t you come home with me? I can take care of you until we can find out whose son you are.” The boy’s eyelids dropped and he slid his amber irises back down to the ground. Trunks’s heart dropped with them, feeling the sadness radiate off the kid’s skin. “Can I call you Prince?” he asked gently. He brushed his fingers underneath the boy’s chin and lifted his head back up.
The boy hesitated, entranced by the warm gesture and comfort of Trunks’s dazzling blue eyes on his own. “…Would you… call me your son?” the boy asked tenderly, as if afraid of the answer. Trunks’s eyes widened. Son? He tilted his head slightly, eyes filled with concern.
“Would you call me your daddy?” he asked, just as softly. A smile crept across the boy’s lips.
Trunks stood back up and reached out to take Prince’s bloodstained hand. “I can’t wait to show you… your new home. Everything will be all right,” he assured.
“Daddy?” Prince asked softly, letting the man grip his tiny hand tenderly. “Whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand.”
As the raven-haired boy that Trunks had so delightfully named, “Prince,” followed his new caretaker, hand-in-hand, the rainy street suddenly took on a new appearance. Prince looked over Trunks’s shoulder and smiled. The world was suddenly so beautiful.
By Heidi_Siviel, September 21, 2010 @ 3:14 am
I think this so cute and i do hope that you write some more of it i wanna know what happens. it sound like a really good idea and you shouldn’t keep it all to yourself