*****

The sun slowly reached its peak in the sky, looking down on the nice red bricked house with a nice patio and freshly cut front lawn. It could not send its rays inside, but it continued to watch, as if curiously. Through the window there was a purple haired man that had recently become twenty-eight, walked across his bedroom floor.

A large bedroom it was too, one that best fit the owner of Capsule Corp. It had a nice ceiling fan over head, churning the air about in a swift motion, making ambient noises in the background. There were many complimenting furniture pieces placed in strategic positions, it had made the room that much more appealing. A tall mahogany wardrobe pressed up against the right wall, a desk in the corner overlooking the backyard from the window, and a golden brown dresser was touching the large king sized bed, which were the least of the magnificent objects in the room.

Trunks lightly sat on his bed folding his arms before him in a thoughtful fashion staring into the open door leading into his spacious bathroom. The best in the entire house.

Letting out a soft sigh before standing up, Trunks had turned his eyes onto the dresser only inches from him. Five drawers. And three were his. The other two belonged to his roommate, or perhaps there was a better word for him. In the top drawer were where Trunks kept his boxers, briefs, and socks. The second drawer held pajamas and other clothing of that nature. The third drawer was the most delightful for it contained his desired items.

Gohan knew nothing of what lie in that drawer, he hadn’t even asked. That’s the sort of man he was.

Almost as if he were breaking a carefully kept secret, Trunks reached his hand out, nearing closer to the drawer with each step. His deep sky blue eyes were intent on what lie behind the barrier of wood. The man’s fingers stretched out and then curled around the handle, gripping it tight and pulling it out, little by little.

He grinned, chuckling to himself as he found a few choice items inside and pulled them out carefully from the drawer.

A chastity belt, a bottle of lube, a few coils of hemp rope, a ball gag, a black spiked collar, an entire outfit designed specifically for Trunks’ use, anal beads that he planned to coat in lubricant (with mint inside!) to help with stretching and would leave a burning sensation where it touched, and a variety of other surprises that he had set up for the night to come.

His fingers ran along the sleeveless leather jacket, bringing it up to his nose and taking a whiff of it. He’d always loved leather; it was a secret fetish of his that he never voiced aloud to Gohan. He placed the jacket down neatly next to the kinky items he had before running his fingertips against the nice black fingerless gloves, then over his mesh top, and finally what he was most looking forward to wear: his leather pants. Worn with a nice belt buckle, the pants would be the highlight. Of course, there were many things that he wanted to get around to.

As if he hadn’t already done so for the last three weeks, Trunks examined each of his toys. Each toy was different from the last and according to their packages guaranteed fun for both partners.

He smiled, returning a dark black dildo to its resting place on the quilt, quickly turning his eyes onto the clock. His grin grew, pulling at the ends of his mouth as he mulled over the thought of being clean for the dirty show that would soon occur.

Trunks finally nodded his head, walking toward the bathroom, stripping off his brown top and letting it fall to the floor as he turned on the fan and light upon entering the white tiled area. He continued inside, letting the door remain open as he unbuckled his pants, stepping onto his bathmat at the same time and reaching into the bath to let the water begin its rushing descent into the tub, for a moment pausing to feel the temperature. His pants began to slide down his thin slender legs as he reached down further into the tub and placed the plug in the plug hole to allow the water to start accumulating in the tub.

There was no point in watching the water fall from the faucet, so Trunks stepped out of his jeans and left those too on the floor as well. Now simply in his briefs, he made his way over to the sink and checked his reflection, shining his bright white teeth into the mirror and, thinking vainly to himself. He smiled at his handsome features, prodding his cheek. It was difficult to not have some pride with an amazing partner with him each night calling him beautiful and other such attractive-like words.

Finding nothing wrong with his reflection, he turned to face the bath tub, walking over to it. He hooked his thumbs under the elastic of the underwear and pushed them down until they fell to his feet, to which he simply stepped out before climbing naked into the tub of water.

The warm liquid felt warm and inviting to his skin, pushing lightly against it as the ripples caused from the waterfall from the faucet emanated out. Soon the other leg joined in and took a firm placement on the rubber mat inside.

Best not to trip and fall, Gohan had said when Trunks had asked him why he had such an uncomfortable looking appendage added to what he thought was a very nice bath already.

At this thought, Trunks smiled, gripping the sides of the tub and then slowly lowered himself into the depths of the water.

He sighed, licking his lips with pleasure. The water was almost half-way full and covered most of Trunks’ lower body.

Trunks slid down the white surface until his back rest against the highly contrasted cold tub. The mixture of the two temperatures had an odd effect on his skin and made him shiver. He stretched out his legs and let them sit on the rim, above his head.

This is the life… He slowly closed his eyes and let his mind drift off, ignoring the splashing of the water or the sound of the fan overhead. Diligent boyfriend, wonderful house, great company, and… the sex.

They had been having sex more and more often to where Gohan and Trunks could barely keep their hands off each other when they got home. All day the two of them would hold up the pretence of being just two close friends that inherited the company from Trunks’ parents without letting any of the employees or news reporters find out about their secretive relationship.

Trunks could recall a time when he got home and he was greeted by his loving mate and groped more than he had ever been in a single evening. Suficent to say they had sex three times that night. It wasn’t even that dumb law of diminishing returns. No, it was just as good as the last, if not amazingly better.

The water had reached his chin by now and slowly crept up to cover his lips.

He decided to push up a little, letting his neck rest against the back of the tub and allowed his long purple hair to fall back and reveal his perfectly shaped ears.

It had been quite awhile since he had a peaceful time alone. Not that he wished he could have a break from Gohan. A few relationships might not last well with a lot of physical contact, but they did fairly well with it. All they had to do was look at each other and they’d be instantly turned on. Some might explain it as the honeymoon effect, but every day.

Having sex over and over again each day would obviously be uncomfortable and rub certain areas on the body raw and make them almost completely unusable, which is why Trunks had to put his foot down (however reluctantly) and spread it out to twice a week.

It was like he was sent to Hell, because the rule controlled him as well, not just Gohan. Their nights ended up being ten times more passionate.

A groan of pleasure escaped from him as he remembered this, instantly bringing him into a heated state. He shook his head to remove the image of his lover sweating and gasping to prevent himself from losing precious semen for later.

His eyes opened once more and glanced around, thinking.

Gohan would be home in an hour. This left Trunks with just enough time to get dressed and settled.

The both of them had been an underground couple for about twelve years. This held many troubles for them, due to them being men and also keeping it all a secret from their parents and friends. Still, their love couldn’t be stifled so easily. Gohan had suggested that they go to work at different times to keep outsiders from knowing that they worked together and were anything more than roommates. Every day they would go to work separate ways.

Trunks very much enjoyed his car, which he had designed, and took that, usually going first since he was head of the company.

Gohan, on the other hand, traded off between his own orange truck and the everyday bus.

About a year ago, the two of them found that having the same type of sex over and over again just wasn’t enough. It wasn’t that they were tired of each other, but they were tired of the positions that they believed to be the only way to really fuck each other.

Luckily, Gohan’s computer smarts came in handy and he took a look around the inter web and came across a rather interesting ‘kink’ called S&M. There didn’t seem to be a problem with trying it out.

Little did they know that they would try it once and become immediately hooked on it. Hell, the mere fact that one of them was taking complete control of the situation was enough to turn anyone on. Though, they couldn’t just let it run on and become boring. In the end, they ultimately decided that they would take turns, switching the master and the slave once a week.

It was Trunks’ turn this time, and he was going to take full advantage of it.

He switched off the water with his foot and waded in the water for a little while. Trunks just laid there, comfortably listening to nothing at all and thinking about emptiness.

The sound of a clock chiming below him brought him to his senses and allowed him to grasp the time, which meant that he had to get out of his rather pleasing tub.

With a soft groan, he pushed himself up to sit up straight. He pulled the plug and felt the water instantly heading toward the new opening. He didn’t wait for the water to drain out completely, pulling his body up to stand, reaching out and taking a short white towel from the hanging rod and wrapped it around his mid-drift. He grabbed a second and pulled it around his shoulders before stepping out and making sure he had firm footing before stepping out completely.

The liquid fell from Trunks’ body like he was on fire, dripping onto the mat.

Again, Trunks just began his walk into the other room, drying off his torso and neck as he walked over to his bed. He used the towel to clean his ears one at a time, reaching out with his free hand and pulling on his leather pants.

He had decided against wearing underwear. The pure feeling of leather brushing against his skin was enough to make the choice easy. He pulled them up completely, letting the towel fall and then buckling the pants.

I’m really doing this… Trunks quickly enjoyed the feeling of the tight clothing against his skin, not focusing on it too much as he put his mesh top on, followed by his jacket, gloves, and a hair tie to pull back his long violet hair.

A grin passed across his face once more as he gazed into the full length mirror at his reflection.

Today he was going to try something new. The truth was that Gohan and Trunks had been doing the whole deal for a long time and the only time that Trunks felt like he was truly enjoying himself was when he was the master. Not that he didn’t enjoy being the slave sometimes, but having complete control just drove him up the wall. Trucks knew that he was power hungry when he let it control him like that.

With his new outfit and plans set into motion, Trunks walked down the stairs, checking that both the bottom and top locks were indeed set before slipping a finely written note under the door for Gohan to find before walking into the kitchen and locating a banana and pulling the skin off before taking a large bite out of it.

He went into the dining room and sat down, looking out of the window from his secret spot in the corner. Gohan wouldn’t see him in any case, but he would be able to see everything that happened and he was looking forward to what would occur.

*****

He didn’t have to wait long for his tall dark and handsome lover to come walking around the corner in his nice brown suit, tie hanging rather loosely around his neck, and a tired, but happy expression donned on his face. Gohan had always had great looks, ever since they had first met; however odd the circumstances were.

Gohan reached the door and immediately tried to open it, but, to his dismay, found it locked. He cocked his head to the side and tried again, but to no avail. It was then that he turned to search for his keys, something that he hadn’t had to use for quite some time.

It was a beautiful and nice neighborhood, the kind where there was almost never a need to lock the door when you left for work in the morning. Usually, neither of them did, but Trunks had a few things in mind. He’d taken the keys from Gohan’s pocket that morning.

There was a moment where Gohan just stood there looking perplexed and confused, wondering where he’d left his keys and then finally trying to figure out why the door was locked in the first place. He ran his fingers through his dark black hair and then finally knocked on the door. Gohan placed his briefcase on the ground beside him and waited patiently for Trunks to come to the door and let him inside.

Trunks stood up at the sound of the door, stifling a laugh at his lover’s actions at the door as he walked to the door and slowly undid the locks. All the while, he looked through the peep hole and saw Gohan’s hopes rise that he’d be let inside.

His expression was adorable.

“Yes?” Trunks opened the door a little and poked his head through enough to look over his finely suited roommate.

“Uh… I must’ve left my key at home today.” Gohan looked rather embarrassed by this fact and picked up his suitcase and made to step into the house, but Trunks closed the door a little more.

“Ah, ah. If you want to get inside follow the instructions on this paper.” He pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and held it out for him to take.

Curiously, Gohan took it in with both of his hands, his suitcase back down on the ground. He unfolded it and began to read as the door closed and there was a soft lock.

Trunks moved to look through the peephole and giggled as he saw Gohan’s face turn bright red as he neared the end of the note.

He looked around him frantically, as if everyone on the street was reading the note that he had just read. His eyes moved to the peephole and he tried to negotiate, to make Trunks see that he had gone too far, but his hands fell down to his side in defeat. After a moment he began to take off his tie.

It was placed over his suitcase before Gohan slowly unbuttoned his over coat, slipping it off and placing it on top of the briefcase before taking off his collared shirt to reveal his amazingly fit bod. Then he quickly unzipped his pants and let them fall. Now he stood in nothing except his boxers, looking quite embarrassed at his situation, the rest of his clothing lie beside him in an unorganized pile.

Gohan looked at the peephole once more with a pleading expression, but after he received no help, he glanced around him once more and took off his undergarment.

Just as the note had said “strip before I let you in”, Gohan was bare naked and waiting outside.

Trunks let him stew like that for a moment, taking his time to look over his lover through the one-way glass before unlocking the door.

Gohan looked up like a poor embarrassed puppy at such humiliation, smiling softly in any case once he saw the face of his boyfriend peeking through the tiny crack he’d made.

A smile donned the “master,” looking over Gohan in a teasing way. “You’re all naked?”

“Um… y-yeah…” Gohan stepped forward, attempting to make his time outside last less. There was a foot blocking his way and caused him to look a little upset. “Aren’t you… going to let me in?”

“I have one more condition.”

“O-oh? What is it?”

“Grab your things then get on all fours and crawl in.”

Gohan’s face deepened in colour. “W-what…?”

The door opened further and revealed Trunks’ special outfit, causing a wry smile to stretch across Gohan’s face. Comprehension finally coming to him as he slowly fell to his knees to look up at Trunks with a pleading look.

“Yes, master.”

The door opened completely, revealing Gohan on all fours, like some dog before Trunks.

Grabbing his things, he crawled inside, placing his things off to the side as the door closed. Without so much of an order, Gohan lowered himself further down, licking at the boots his lover had donned, swirling his tongue around the toe, then the rim, and (Trunks was kind enough to lift his shoe up) then along the bottom, cleaning it with his saliva. Soon he switched to the other and repeated the process.

Trunks softly locked the door, doing it all by touch so as not to miss the show.

The entire evening had been planned out down to the very last detail. He’d been planning it for quite some time that he’d made sure that Gohan hadn’t worn his favorite suit to work that day, allowing it to be tossed carelessly to the floor along with the practically empty briefcase.

No repercussions.

“I’m glad to see my pet catches on quickly. Are you enjoying yourself?” Trunks watched, feeling his manhood poke at the skin tight pants. Hell, the mere sight of a naked Gohan licking his feet like some glorified dog had him half-way ready to climax.

Gohan responded with a slight nod. He didn’t say a word, but instead ran the flat of his tongue along the black boot with extra vigor to show his appreciation. .

He mentioned before that he enjoyed being a slave more than being the master. I must admit, seeing him like this is much more satisfying than when our roles are reversed. Fuck… he’s really getting into this… Holy shit, Gohan…

Earlier that day, he had bought a black studded collar at a pet store that now lay on a table nearby, which he took in his hands and bent down to lock around the other’s neck. Trunks locked it into place by moving the white passcode keys from 7-4-8-6 to random numbers so that even if Gohan grew to dislike the new accessory, he wouldn’t be able to remove it no matter how hard he tried. He examined the green tag shaped like a dog bone and chuckled as he read what was engraved on it.

Name: Gohan. Please return to his master if lost.

Unperturbed by the new addition around his neck, Gohan licked up the boot and along the laces running his tongue up and under them. He didn’t even seem to note the leash that was soon added to the collar.

Trunks wrapped the end of the leash around his hand and pulled hard, forcing a yelp and the pet’s eyes to float up toward his master. “Let’s go upstairs.” Once more, he pulled and Gohan followed, walking up the stairs.

The leash was held up much too high for Gohan to stay on all fours, so he switched to his full height, smiling as he looked over his master’s perfect rump. Now completely naked, he couldn’t hide his extremely hard erection, an erection that he’d been sporting since he’d entered the house, from bobbing up and down in the air, slapping his stomach with every step he took up the stairs.

He had to admit, Trunks really looked the part today and was controlling Gohan as if he’d always been the master and they’d never switched roles.

Opening the bedroom door, the master pulled Gohan in and allowed him to look at the toys that were now in clear view.

I have the rest of the night to do whatever I want to him, but what I do first should be special… hm…

“Come.” His eyes fell onto Gohan, watching for compliance.

Gohan nodded, walking over toward him and standing beside the bed, even though there wasn’t much room to close between the two of them. The leash had done most of the work. “Yes, master.”

Trunks moved closer to the bed, pulling Gohan to the edge of it and forcing him to lie on his stomach over the sheets. He took a number of the toys laid out on the bed in hand and examined each one in thought as Gohan moved his head to rest on the right cheek, so as to get a better look at them all.

Such a multi-coloured selection!

Gohan’s manhood found itself pressed into the mattress, only alerting him to its presence all the more, he even felt himself releasing a little of his pre-ejaculation.

After a minute, he grabbed the old black and white bandanna and folded it so it was flat and layered, moving to cover Gohan’s eyes with it and tied the cloth behind the back of his head. He placed his hand on the back of Gohan’s ass and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Let’s abuse you a bit.”

An audible moan escaped Gohan as he heard the silky voice of his master, the hot steamy breath tickling his ear. He felt the other’s hand move from his left cheek and then to the right before moving completely away from his touch. Gohan wanted to feel it, wanted to enjoy the caress longer, but soon realized (and was glad that his master was doing so) a much more enjoyable action was to come.

The resounding sound of a slap reverberated around the air as Trunks’ palm slammed into Gohan’s left cheek, leaving a pink, stinging mark, the pain setting in before Trunks’ palm came down once more, almost perfectly on top of the mark, adding to the sting.

Moan for me, groan for me… Gohan, let me hear your sweet voice.

Just as he wished, Gohan cried out cutting it off seconds later with a pleased moan. “Abuse me… please…”

Trunks found no reason not to, repeating the action over and over again.

It stung and it burned where the palm touched, alternating between cheeks, sometimes slapping both at once to shake things up. Every now and then, he’d pause to grab hold of the now bright red, firm ass, pinching it, squeezing it in his hand before slapping it again.

This caused Gohan to moan and cry out in a mixture of delight and humiliation.

Using his skills at multitasking to his advantage, he took the geisha balls and stuffed them unceremoniously into the other’s hole, pushing one ball in at a time while leaving one small ball attached to the others by string for him to grab later when he decided to remove them.

Almost inhumanly, not once did he stop the incessant slapping on the gorgeous ass set before him. He liked watching as Gohan squirmed around on top of the bed sheets, struggling with his needs to sob and to beg for more.

The other’s cock pressed into the sheets, the way he was pushed against the bed placed him in an uncomfortable stance, but Gohan absolutely loved it and felt no need to keep such joy hidden. The submissiveness, the way that he felt he was being controlled. If he wasn’t in this position, it’d take away so much from the experience. His ass shook, the beads stuffed in his anus causing a small burning sensation inside of him. The balls were deep inside of his prostate, poking at his sweet spot, causing him to be much more excited in the sense of his moaning and groaning, he felt the beads against the walls deep inside his anus, forcing him to move all the more. “M-more… oh, please, more, master!”

Once Trunks was sure that the rump was the bright shade of red that he liked, he stopped, reaching over and running his palm through Gohan’s hair, gripping the black locks tight and pulling him back and putting strain on his neck. “Later, but for now… you’re going to please me. Doesn’t that sound more fun?”

The strain caused a grin to stretch across his face, arching his back and moving to stand at his master’s pull, then he was forced down onto his hands and knees just as he had been earlier. The movement caused the balls to pound unceasingly against his prostate, emitting a moan from him as he felt the combination of the sting from the spanking and the balls still taking residence in his butt added to his submissive state. He took on a complacent expression, waiting excitedly for Trunks’ cock to press against his cheeks first.

The organ dripped a small amount of clear and slippery looking liquid. Trunks ran it over Gohan’s lips and then moved to the other cheek, leaving his essence stuck to his lover’s face, soon returning his manhood to his lover’s crimson coloured lips and pushed it against them.

Gohan’s eyes were at half-mast, peeking out from under his eyelids at his lover’s cock, noting the way his balls moved from side to side. He wished that he could take them in his hands and play with them, even take them into his mouth and swirl them around. Yet, he knew that it was unlikely. The submissive man dictates nothing. He parted his lips to allow his dominant other’s cock entry, opening wide to take it all in.

Trunks could hardly prevent a moan to pass his lips as he felt his cock slide into the hot moist cave, the head of his manhood was the first to meet the inhabitant.

The tongue licked at the slit, lapping up the pre-ejaculation before moving to the underside of its guest. It ran around the head and moved to soak the entire organ in the saliva it secreted.

Trunks let out another moan, biting his tongue and swallowing most of it as he closed his eyes and raised his head toward the ceiling. His lover’s mouth moved up and down the shaft, doing nothing but pleasing him.

“Good… boy, Gohan…”

He took the appreciative words and used them to accentuate his master’s pleasure. Gohan relaxed his throat and took in all of his master’s cock, pressing his lips against the base. His nose found Trunks’ pubic hair at the end, finding that it smelled of the shampoo Trunks often used. Pine with a hint of coconut flower. The head of the cock pushed eagerly against the back of his throat. Oh, how he loved the way it felt in his mouth, the way that it throbbed lustfully as his tongue never stopped running along the shaft, and played with everything that it could reach. Even the base received some much needed attention.

It was not asked of him, but he had been wishing to do it for quite some time since this began. Gohan reached out and took his master’s balls in one hand. He motioned them around as he skillfully pleasured his master’s cock with his tongue. Around and around, he pleasantly enjoyed the feel as they twisted in his hand.

As master in this scenario, controlling himself was the most important part. He had to show that he had the power to prevent himself from thrusting and shoving his cock as far down the other’s throat as he could. It was a reflex and he was unsure that he could keep it from taking over him. He wanted to, but it was Gohan’s turn to please his master, not for him to just take what he wished. For now.

“Deeper…” His voice broke the muffled moaning and grunting from his lover. He shut his eyes tight for a moment, taking in everything his nerves sent shooting up through his body.

The slave obliged, moving his mouth so the lips ran along the shaft’s base, he pushed the cock as deep in his mouth as he could, feeling it move even farther down his throat. Gohan could not prevent a deep swallow with all the saliva he had built up.

Trunks let out a low gruff moan, cocking his head down and closing his eyes as he felt a soft pinch on the tip of his cock, shaking his head to stay in the moment, but finding it increasingly difficult with his slave’s skill.

Gohan pulled back away from it and then pulled it back in again, deep throating the organ he took great care not to bend in a direction it was not meant to.

His climax was so close, but Trunks knew that he couldn’t let himself release yet. No, no matter how much he wanted the shoot his seed into the other’s mouth. He had to hold it back.

The night wasn’t over quite yet.

*****

Gohan renewed his squirming; shaking his ass this way and that before feeling Trunks move from him.

He hadn’t said a single word to explain his actions. All he did was just pulled out.

As he was blindfolded and lying down on the floor, there was no way he could be sure that he hadn’t done something wrong to cause his ‘master’ to halt. One of his worst fears was that perhaps the night hadn’t gone as well as Trunks planned for it to be. His second was that it wasn’t anything he did, but Trunks was just simply… done.

Whatever the case, Gohan felt that it was much too early and if they didn’t do something to replace their pleasure with, their fun would be ruined.

“Gohan, stand.”

The order came behind him again, expressing no anger or distaste, just… commanding.

Obeying his lover, Gohan struggled to stand up, almost letting out a soft cry as the sensations inside – and out – of his ass became sensitive.

This is… unbearable… but God, does this feel good! What I wouldn’t give to be the bitch forever… Trunks, please, make this permanent. If one was to say that Gohan was ‘turned on’, it’d definitely win understatement for the year.

Trunks smirked, stepping forward with a second toy hidden in hand. He took a moment to note Gohan’s predicament and his odd movements. It seemed like he was struggling with the balls in his ass, which only meant that they were ready to move on to the next step. The purple haired master had something else in his arsenal to distract Gohan.

He slipped his hands in between Gohan’s arms and hugged him from behind, looking over the black haired slave’s shoulder to rub the already pert nipples before moving to add tight metal clamps before removing his hold and walking around the other, watching his reaction.

Gohan let out a cry, hid head falling back and then slipping forward again as he bit his lip to prevent it from happening again. He tried to pull away from Trunks at first, but felt more pain for all his work.

Somehow, he’d managed to keep himself standing, legs still rather spread, thinking better of any future movements.

Trunks let out a low chuckle, running his finger over the long chain before pulling it and hearing a musical-like groan escape from his slave. His smile was pulled ear to ear, entirely pleased that Gohan was such a vocal man. No, pleased would be the right way to explain such an emotion. Elated.

“Tell me, Gohan, what do you think? Is that better?”

“Oh… God, yes…” Gohan softly let out another cry.

His lover had to be a chemist, combining a perfect mixture of sexual frustration, balls tantalizing his anus, and now these clamps pinching his nipples that were just enough to make him feel truly helpless and under his master’s command.

This whole night had been absolutely perfect, from Gohan’s point of view, especially as his master’s palm ran along his face and down to rest on his chest. The hand soon returned up and gripped the other’s cheekbones, pulling him closer before taking the blindfold and slipping it down to rest around the slave’s neck.

There never seemed to be a moment where they just stood still, which suited the both of them quite well, never being able to just sit still for more than two seconds.

Trunks gripped the chain connected to the clamps and pulled it roughly as if telling Gohan to follow.

Gohan let out a soft moan, stumbling forward to make sure that his nipples were torn from his body.

“I’m feeling rather tense. Gohan, give me a massage.”

It wasn’t as if he weren’t used to giving his lover a massage when he wanted it in a week, but now, here? He certainly had to keep on his toes. Gohan nodded obediently and climbed onto the bed the best that he could, keeping in mind the pain from his nipples and the sensations shooting up from his anus.

He blinked for a moment, getting used to the light as Trunks moved to lay on his stomach, resting his head on his arms.

Gohan used his newfound sight to place his hands on the other’s shoulders, blinking more to clear the black dots plaguing his vision. He started between Trunks’ shoulder blades, using his thumbs to run along the smooth tanned skin.

The point of this was to relieve all of his lover’s tension, like he said, while struggling from his own.

Sexual lust was taking over Gohan as he used his hands and elbow to push out the kinks and sore muscles that he came across, inwardly begging that he could lean down and kiss along the skin like they would when they had their vanilla time. Yet, he had to act like a slave, and Trunks, the master.

Trunks let out a soft, quiet sigh. “Lower.”

“Yes, sir.” Gohan nodded, despite Trunks being unable to see him, and moved his hands lower as ordered, noting Trunks’ reaction when he moved the muscles around his lover’s sides.

This went on for a good number of minutes, Gohan just trying to focus on what he was told to do and not the other things currently plaguing his body or give into the urge to kiss the glistening skin before him.

“That’s enough,” Trunks said, starting to sit up without warning and moving to stand. “Come.” He pulled Gohan’s chain and just like the loyal pup he was, he came.

Trunks forced Gohan back onto his knees, smiling slyly as he slowly unbuckled his leather pants and removed his cock, wagging it in the air expectantly.

Gohan understood what this meant, as he pulled in and took the head into his mouth, playing with the most sensitive part with just the tip of his tongue and lips. As it was pushed further inside, he obediently opened his lips, taking in the entire organ, even gagging a little as it began to do something more beyond his control.

The cock began to shove itself deeper inside, pulling out and shoving in, knowing that if Gohan cut him with his teeth that there would be punishment beyond what Gohan could ever imagine.

This was what Gohan was waiting for.

Over and over again, Trunks fucked Gohan’s mouth, running his cock straight through the moist cavern and into the back of his lover’s throat. He couldn’t ignore the feeling of Gohan’s tongue running all along the base and to head of his penis when it entered the domain.

He closed his eyes, tangling his fingers in the black hair, keeping a tight grip on it to control the other’s head and the thrusts into his mouth perfectly

Gohan’s eyes shut as well, letting out a moan as he felt a twitch of the manhood in his mouth, knowing – from experience – that Trunks was almost ready to come.

Trunks said nothing, but simply moved in and out a few more times, getting more and more rough with each thrust as the thought of releasing inside his lover’s mouth became too much for him to bear, but, he managed to get his wits about him and decided at last minute to pull out, coming right onto Gohan’s face.

Not expecting Trunks to pull out once again, Gohan had mentally prepared himself to swallow all of the semen, but found that it was all over his face instead. And without an order, Gohan didn’t dare try to clean himself up, but he did lick his lips tantalizingly, looking up at his lover with a lustful gaze and his own member twitching lustfully as he tasted the remnants of his master.

Trunks’ eyes opened slowly, moving to stare down at his lover. “Jack-off for me, Gohan.”

“A-ah… yes, master.” Gohan took hold of his cock with his right hand and began to pump the already rock hard manhood in his fingers. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back as he kept the slow and steady motion, torturing himself with all his control. The whole night passed before him through his closed eyelids, which only made him more horny. T-trunks…

He imagined Trunks playing with his body like he had the entire night, and in a matter of seconds, his semen shot from him, falling onto the carpet and Trunks’ boot.

Almost immediately – or perhaps, more instinctively -, Gohan bent down on all fours and proceeded to lick up the mess he’d made on the other’s outfit.

Trunks watched, smirking happily at the reaction and nodding approvingly. Gohan is really getting into this. Yes… he must like his position better this way.

As his boots were licked clean, Trunks bent down, pulling out the balls one at a time and hearing a soft grading moan from his slave; watching as the balls came out completely wet. They wouldn’t stop the stinging resounding in the other’s anus for quite some time, but that was going according to plan.

Trunks’ hand rest on Gohan’s cheek, forcing the other to look up into his eyes.

Gohan stood a little, kissing Trunks gently on the lips.

They both knew that the night was over. It usually was when they were both satisfied. That was the best thing about having Trunks as a lover. Even if he moved into selfish bouts, he still thought of Gohan’s well-being and his needs.

“Hey… T-trunks… can… can we make this… permanent?”

A small chuckle escaped the light haired boy, nodding his head. “If you enjoy it this much, yes.”

They both looked down to see that Gohan’s manhood was still prodding the air in need.

“Perhaps you really like this little change, hm?” Trunks reached out and flicked the other’s cock in a teasing sort of way.

The other’s much needed touch had Gohan groan, closing his eyes and then smiling as he kissed Trunks once more.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, close your eyes.”

Gohan obeyed, as he had done the entire night, as Trunks walked over to the dresser and pulled out a drawer, moving around the items inside it before pulling out a bright silver chastity belt.

The belt would really be the change that would affect the both of them the most. The pure fact that Trunks had the power to release Gohan’s pleasure and lock it simply placed the title of master to Trunks.

He walked back over, kneeling down and forcing the cold metal object around Gohan’s groin and waist.

A resounding lock echoed through the room as Trunks stood, kissing Gohan softly.

“You must wear this for ten days, and then I’ll let you pleasure yourself.”

Gohan blushed, nodding his head. “Yes, master.”

Author’s Notes: This story is done as a tribute to the novel Mysterious Island by Jules Verne, and is written in collaboration with Lord Truhan.


“Les héros imaginaires de Daniel de Foé ou de Wyss, aussi bien que les Selkirk et les Raynal, naufragés à Juan-Fernandez ou à l’archipel des Auckland, ne furent jamais dans un dénuement aussi absolu. Ou ils tiraient des ressources abondantes de leur navire échoué, soit en graines, en bestiaux, en outils, en munitions, ou bien quelque épave arrivait à la côte qui leur permettait de subvenir aux premiers besoins de la vie. Ils ne se trouvaient pas tout d’abord absolument désarmés en face de la nature. Mais ici, pas un instrument quelconque, pas un ustensile. De rien, il leur faudrait arriver à tout !”

“The imaginary heroes of Daniel Defoe or of Wyss, as well as Selkirk and Raynal shipwrecked on Juan Fernandez and on the archipelago of the Aucklands, were never in such absolute destitution. Either they had abundant resources from their stranded vessels, in grain, cattle, tools, ammunition, or else some things were thrown up on the coast which supplied them with all the first necessities of life. But here, not any instrument whatever, not a utensil. From nothing they must supply themselves with everything.”

-Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island (1874)

If one were to observe the colonists the last period of hours they would notice the five striding under a now clear sky. Disheveled they were extremely grateful to see the elements had cleared they now trekked back towards the Grotto. Glad for their number had increased from four to five. With Gohan in the middle of the group, they marched with Trunks and Yamcha towards the front, followed by 17, then brought up in the rear by Satan.

This was a sharp contrast to their plight of earlier. Pummeled mercilessly by rain for two days they had remained in the cave where they found their engineer. At that time, the entire atmosphere seemed to conspire against them, saturating every square inch with wetness. Although the rain remained outside the dampness left them shivering and huddling together for warmth. According to Gohan’s advice they had stayed put and had prevented compromising their health. Following this principle had cost the colonists ample chances to find more provisions, considering the state of the weather.

For food they had only ate what was easily obtainable. When they had exhausted their supply of food, they brought the resorted to cave mosses and some species of mushroom within reach that Trunks deemed edible. The flesh of the mushrooms was pale and bland with just an aftertaste of that flavor most botanists could ascribe to members of the fungi family.

The colonists had given the engineer a larger share of what they found in proportion to their own of their fare in order to aid in his recovery. Phosphorescent moss on the walls steadily lit them with blue dim light, much like that of the pod long ago. It gave them a familiar sense of comfort in the memory because they had overcome that ordeal. This was far less of a problem then marking time in a search for the place they now called home, even with the uncertain weather. Air was charged with mist and tasted like stone for most of the time. Only grim grayness seemed to penetrate the angry clouds and battering wind that howled against the opening. To talk over the wind at times they would have to shout to be heard.

Again, the colonists entered a sort of semi hibernation as they waited out the storm. Until the grey at last went away and sun penetrated through the thinning clouds and its first rays actually reached the cave. They emerged blinking at it and delighted how it warmed their faces. That had been earlier this day when they began their trek back. All the way Gohan glanced at the features that were once hidden in darkness visible in the full light of day.

Narrowing brown eyes Gohan shaded them with one hand. He peered up at the branches of the trees they now walked under. Not necessarily for the purpose of knowing what they were but for minute breaks or scattered pieces of wood that would indicate disruption from the passage of a craft roaring down to a possible crash. He scanned for bits of metallic debris or plastic that could have happened to rain down if there was a crash.

Beside him, Trunks also examined the species under daylight for a different purpose than Gohan, appreciative of their reveal and aspects for confirmation of identification. Yamcha glanced back to see Gohan’s intent perusal of the landscape, suspecting at first he was surveying their route.

As time moved on he had the feeling that the engineer was surveying things with a far more critical eye. He would come to know that probing look on Gohan’s face that hinted that something else was there. However, he said nothing because he knew Gohan would reveal to them what the reason was in time.

Gohan then murmured quietly, “No pieces of debris, gentlemen. My question of crash or explosion still remains unanswered for the time being.”

17’s blue eyes gleamed in understanding as he patted the place where he had normally kept notebook and pencil. He said, “Doubtless if we saw any material the position should be noted duly…”
“Only proves that the trajectory may not be this way till we go further,” Yamcha nodded to Gohan’s slight incline of the head.

“There’s dozens of possible ways it could have gone,” commented 17.

“Something for Gohan to cogitate on. I for one am curious to know how our cave weathered the storm,” Satan said.

“That’s very true, and I don’t like thinking about what we might find when we get back…” Yamcha muttered.

“We won’t know till we get there, so it’s pointless to speculate,” said 17.

“Regardless of what we find, it’s good to be in open air again. It smells wonderful!” Satan pronounced.

“Just with a hint of ozone,” said Gohan.

“Which is natural for after a storm,” said Trunks. “But I also smell the trees overhead. They have a spicy resinous scent.”

“Spicy?” asked Gohan. “Elaborate.”

“The rain must have caused their flowers to open wider,” Trunks indicated. Gohan nodded. As he peered up into the tree, he saw a few branches broken and wood chips scattered on the ground when he looked back down.

“What would cause that?” asked Yamcha as he moved to see what the other two were so intrigued by. Reaching down Gohan picked up a branch and stared at it carefully. Sticks crackled a bit under their feet, some drying, some still wet and green.

“Termites possibly,” Gohan muttered after taking a closer look back up at the tree.

“Exactly,” Trunks confirmed. “This chewing pattern is characteristic…”

He reached down and another branch with hollowed out centers that had fallen from the storm. Gohan knocked on the tree and it gave a hollow sound. 17 and Yamcha moved as well, looking at the other trees around it.

“Once we reach the grove we’ll rest,” Gohan said.

Nodding Satan’s blue eyes gleamed. “Got that right. We’ll rest, and feast…”

“When we get back we’ll continue our search for the ship,” 17 commented.

“Once we know where it is you mean,” said Yamcha.

“Just a matter of time before we track it down, right Gohan?” said Satan. “I’m not so worried because I know it’s a case of when, not if.”

“We’ve still got to find any significant signs that indicate where it crashed, and so far…” Trunks trailed off.

“Very true. Could very well be a lethal place riddled with radiation… depending on how it crashed…” Yamcha muttered, shivering.

“No protective suits would make that rather tough to handle,” Satan said, rubbing his bearded chin.

“Indeed,” Gohan said thoughtfully, rubbing his own chin. “But that is still IF it crashed. This discussion is academic because we lack sufficient shelter, food, and means of defense. One can’t search properly without the right needs being met.”

“But still…” 17 said.

“Maslow’s hierarchy of needs,” said Trunks.

“Correct,” Gohan nodded, smiling at Trunks.

“Uh?” said 17. “Come again?”

“Yeah, my brain’s rusty on that,” said Yamcha. “Just WHAT it states…”

“The basic needs have to be met first,” Trunks continued.

“In the army we have a different name for it but that name rings a bell,” Satan nodded.

IN the ensuing silence a distinctive croaking growl was heard. The culprit slowly glanced up with blue eyes. 17 gave a slight chuckle accompanying the upswept corners of his lips. Trunks smirked and commented, “And one of those basic needs is naturally food.”

Satan patted 17 on the shoulder as they all exchanged humored grins. Gohan chuckled and asked, “How far is it the grove?”

“Approximately 5 to 10 minutes walk from here,” Trunks confirmed.

*****

The traveling party of colonists increased their pace, and an amount of time later the group noticed that the trees had a different form of bark. At the prospect of filling their growling stomachs their spirits were boosted. Just the mere idea of obtaining food made it much easier to put one foot in front of the other with greater vigor. In a series of steps further they had reached the grove they had noticed on the way in, and took the time to examine the strange fruit they had seen in shadows before. 17 heard branches crackling along with a tinny burbling chirp, and glanced up to see birds flittering among branches. Their feathers seemed metallic almost copper green and turquoise with more than the usual iridescence. Excitedly Trunks moved forwards and slid along a tree trunk to get a better look up into the canopy.

“Ferrous iridescence,” Trunks said.

“The birds?” asked Yamcha. Trunks nodded to his guardian.

“We should look for their nests further along. They don’t tend to nest in this species of conifer, but in deciduous trees,” said Trunks. He moved towards the front of the group near Yamcha, so Gohan now was second to the back with Satan. 17 moved in the middle, his blue eyes flickering back and forth, as he memorized every detail of what was around him, just as the others were doing.

“There’s the grove of fruit trees,” Yamcha said, pointing as his sharp eyesight spotted small spheres littering the ground. Each colonist hastened towards them, smelling a sweet tinge to the air that increased as they neared.

Gohan bent down to pick up one of the striped fruits. Satan and 17 did as well, turning the bruised produce over. “It’s gone rotten unfortunately,” Gohan said.

“I’ll climb up and get more,” Trunks said.

“I think I will as well,” 17 said, moving towards the tree near the first.

“I think that would be wise,” Gohan agreed. “You two are the lightest among us.”

“The issue is how to get the fruit down so it won’t spoil,” Satan said, shading his eyes with one hand.

“Hold out your jacket Satan, and let the fruit drop into it. You too, 17,” Gohan suggested. Satan removed his jacket.

“Sure,” 17 replied, approaching another tree nearby. He stripped off his jacket and handed it to Gohan.

“Let’s give you a leg up,” Satan said as he moved over and bent over, making a stirrup with his hands. Yamcha helped as well, steadying Trunks so he could use Satan’s hand. Trunks reached up with nimble fingers and grabbed the nearest branch. Almost like a monkey he shimmied up hand over hand. Then the aide-de-camp and the pilot assisted 17 in scrambling up his tree.

Trunks began to harvest the fruits, letting them fall into the cloth of Satan’s opened jacket held underneath. 17’s fruits dropped into his coat, held out by Yamcha. Soon they had a good number in each of the two coats, preserved from bruising. Then 17 and Trunks slid down the trees to join the others in sitting quietly in the grove. Each man enjoyed the sweet taste of the fruit’s flesh wetting their tongues and nourishing their bodies that had eaten more meager fare.

“This is the food of the gods,” 17 commented.

“You’re just so hungry anything would taste good,” Yamcha answered.

“I say that hunger’s the best seasoning for any food, but conventional spices never hurt either,” Satan chimed in.

“This should provide us with enough calories and vitamins for the time being,” Gohan added. “Though we need to continue to gather what we can. So we have to replenish our strength for the hard work that awaits us in colonizing the valley.”

“There are bird eggs,” Trunks said, glancing around for any sign of the feathered friends he had seen earlier. “They usually contain essential proteins, vitamins as well as nutrients vital to muscle strength and many vital functions.”

“Never mind the eggs, how about one of those birds roasted on a spit. That’s protein for you,” Yamcha chuckled.

“So you’d rather not eat termites then?” 17 teased.

“They ARE rather tasty,” Trunks said. “Though it takes a good deal to add up to a large amount of nourishment.”

“There’s stuff to eat like the mushrooms in the cave, and then there’s real food,” Yamcha clarified. Mouth full of succulent fruit he added in a muffled tone, “This is FOOD.”

“And you’re this planet’s first gourmand?” Satan chuckled. “I’d say this would go great on a piece of toast… when we have bread of course.”

To his aide de camp’s comment, Gohan grinned as he squeezed Satan’s shoulder. With a note of enthusiasm and joy in his voice he replied, “Sooner or later we’ll manage a flour substitute so you can make toast and even brioche.”
The engineer’s dark brown eyes sparkled with the same enthusiasm his aide de camp shared. Turning to Trunks he then asked, “However for now, is there anything else to add to the food category?”

Trunks pointed to a clump of trees further over from the fruit trees they sheltered under against the warm sun. “I was noticing that there are other trees nearby that appear to be a species of almondine. The nuts have a good amount of protein content…”

“Easy or hard to open?” asked 17.

“We won’t know till we actually harvest them,” said Trunks.

“We might as well since we don’t know if the food at the grotto might be rotten,” Satan suggested.

As they had assisted Trunks before to harvest fruits, the colonists similarly aided him in climbing up one of the trees containing a nest.17 too shimmied up halfway so Trunks could pass down a nest containing the eggs. Nestled together were four ovoid shapes possessing an iridescent green shell with darker green blotches. They were at least three inches in length and two inches in breadth.

“With that color of shell,” murmured 17, taking in the opalescent sheen. “I wonder what the insides will contain.”

Satan set his eyes upon them commenting, “That has the makings of a good sized omelet.”

“We don’t have a pan to cook one though,” Yamcha lamented. The nest served as a container to carry them since they had only their pockets and garments available. Once several other nests had been harvested, the attention was turned to the obtaining of more fruits for the trip back.

*****

Conversation petered out for a time while they continued to take in the surroundings. That sweet smell hung in the air, such a vast contrast from the dank stone stench of the grotto. In fact, the air seemed heavier with something that tickled their throats, along with an ozone smell. The atmosphere seemed charged with a freshness that resulted from two straight days of cleansing rain.

“The stone smell’s truly gone,” Trunks noticed.

“I won’t be sorry for that,” Satan said with a shake of his head. He seemed to want to dismiss it from his mind entirely.

“We’ll soon smell stone when we get back to our cave,” 17 said.

Satan then said, “Since we’re on the subject we’ve still got that river to cross.”

“Mmm,” Gohan agreed. “And we need a means to do so safely.”

“Wading like we did before would be trickier… since the increased rain and flooding,” Satan pointed out, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

“I don’t like fighting that current anymore than you do,” agreed 17, shrugging.

“Tree branches slung together to make a raft maybe?” Yamcha suggested, mulling over ideas in his mind.

Gohan glanced around, nodding. He said, “There are plenty because of the storm blowing them down.”

Already Trunks and Satan glanced towards where Gohan pointed. “Over here, and here,” Trunks said.

“Let’s build a raft, shall we?” said Yamcha rubbing his hands together.

“Unfortunately that’s Robinson Crusoe’s mistake,” Gohan said shaking his head. “He first built his boat in the middle of the forest and was unable to move it later…”

“That… could be a problem,” said Yamcha a bit sheepishly.

“Not to worry,” said Satan patting him on the back. “Each of us can add to the other’s collective knowledge.”

“Then build it closer to the river,” 17 acknowledged with a bob of his head. Gohan confirmed this with a nod. All five colonists then proceeded to a place closer to the riverbank so it was well within eyesight as well as earshot.

Yamcha had suggested dragging any raft they created, but Satan had mentioned such a thing would be just as difficult. None of them wanted to risk snagging a craft they built on a root or feature in their path that would undo a good few hour’s work. As it stood, they still had a ways to hike to reach the river in question. In the distance, the sounds of crackling wood along with the fluctuating whistle tone were soon joined by that of the river’s rush. It grew ever louder until it eclipsed the other ambient noises and they had to raise their voices again to be heard over its cacophony.

A smell of mist and tiny droplets hit their noses once they reached the bank. Gohan and Yamcha raised their hands over to shield their eyes to see if this was the best point at which to cross. Up and down Yamcha saw the movement pattern of the water, reporting to the others if he could see any protruding rocks further down. Gohan analyzed the pattern of the whitecaps crashing over smooth and rough stones while Trunks eyed fish sliding under the varying fluid surface on their way along the current.

“Time to gather supplies for building our conveyance across the river,” Gohan stated with a definitive tone.

17, Satan, Trunks, and Yamcha each rose from where they sat and fanned out from their location in search of downed trees. Trunks noticed they were of varying species while Satan judged they had with diameters ranging from two inches across to six inches across.

Satan had his own classification. He chuckled, “this size is good for kindling, this here for burning, and this for building.”

Trunks spotted the characteristic creeping vines of the species Rhinitis parisita and was quick to point them out to the others.

Yamcha nodded and muttered to himself what Trunks had just said. “Moderate tensile strength and varying length, shouldn’t snap apart.”

As Trunks collected vines, Satan and Yamcha began hefting the first of the downed trees. 17 and the Engineer carried a log between them. He and Gohan let their wood clatter into the communal pile the others were adding to. Trunks wound out the lengths of vine he harvested and set it down near where Gohan genuflected on one knee, examining each piece of wood.

“Guess it won’t have to be pretty as long as it keeps us afloat,” joked Satan. He imagined Gohan already piecing together the trees in his mind into the most strategic and sound configuration an engineer of his caliber could envisage.

“I’m not sure I’m crazy about the stability of this,” 17 commented. “Though it’s better than fighting that current.”

“It only needs to hold together long enough for us to get across,” Yamcha reminded him.

“Something large enough to steady ourselves while wading, or something we can actually float on?” Trunks asked.

“Far better to keep above the water and save our energies,” 17 suggested.

“Correct,” said Gohan. “Let me see the vines and how we can best secure the limbs.”

17 knelt next to Trunks straightening out the lengths of vine for Gohan to look at while Yamcha and Satan positioned the downed trees. They had several short ones and a few long ones. They worked under Gohan’s directive, placing the logs side by side while Satan twisted lengths of vine to lash them together.

“Shouldn’t be too heavy to port there,” murmured Yamcha.

“All of us will be carrying it that can. You sound as if you’re going to carry me with it,” Satan joked. Yamcha grinned.

“Then you owe us one of your best cooked meals as a porter fee,” 17 wittily quipped.

“Fair price indeed,” Gohan further teased. Trunks and Satan chuckled at this, adding another strand of vine to further reinforce what logs they had lashed together. Yamcha and 17 had found two long limbs sufficient to guide the raft gondola style from the back and front, breaking off excess side branches to smooth them out. Once Gohan checked the raft again and nodded that it was complete, he directed Satan and Yamcha to take one end while Trunks, he and 17 took the other end. Guiding poles were set on top and the conveyance was ported among the five colonists to the riverbank.

With Satan and Yamcha steadying the raft, Gohan directed 17 and Trunks to help him guide it onto the bank. He then instructed Trunks to carefully climb on it with a helping hand from 17 and kneel in the exact center. At this point the provisions of eggs and fruits they had gathered into bundles made from broad leaves were loaded onto the raft. Once this was done, Trunks held the ends of the long poles while 17 settled kneeling behind him. Gohan instructed Yamcha to sit on it next, calling for 17 to lift one pole and push its end down to the bottom of the river. Only Satan and he were left to hold the corner as Yamcha grabbed the other pole and balanced the weight in front. Satan climbed on next in the left rear quadrant, waiting for the others to shift so Trunks moved closer to 17 in the middle, and Yamcha took a station on the front right quadrant to balance.

“Cast off?” Satan asked, waiting for Gohan to shimmy onto the raft. Now balanced with their various weights the craft shifted, drops of water soaking and splashing up.

“Easy now. Yamcha, Satan, guide us slowly,” Gohan instructed. “Trunks, 17, push off with the shorter branches if we turn about in the current…”

“Right,” both said as the raft shifted to the right slightly. A quick push from a shorter branch from Gohan’s side righted them, and they gingerly poled their way across. They drifted diagonally down the river at least ten feet, the strain of holding the raft steady evident on Satan and Yamcha’s faces from the front and rear of the craft. Knees were partly soaked from water dribbling between the gaps in some of the branches but each of them focused on watching straight ahead.

The raft twisted yet again, but 17’s nudge against a large submerged log kept them righted as Trunks added his strength to Yamcha’s pole to keep it steady. Gohan added his might to Satan’s pushing from the rear, their hands almost meshed on the long pole. Little by little, they edged across the river, their ears filled with the roaring noise. Trunks spotted two brown fish with silver spots pass under their raft without even looking up, to emerge on the other side near Gohan’s knee.

When Yamcha’s end of the raft finally touched the shore, 17 and Trunks grabbed his pole so he could reach out with a shorter branch and stab into the muddy banks. Shifting their weight, Gohan and Satan shoved their pole thrusting the raft forwards onto the dark earth and rocks. Yamcha leapt off, motioning for 17 and Trunks to clamber off while Satan and Gohan shifted along the raft and swung it around from perpendicular to parallel with the bank. Hearts still pounded in everyone’s throats by the time Yamcha scrabbled far enough up to wrap one arm around the trunk of a small tree and reach down for 17’s extended hand. As their fingers touched Yamcha’s hand gripped the reporter’s tightly, their eyes meeting in relief. He pressed the toes of his boots into the earth and grabbed the tree himself, both extending their hands to Trunks to scramble up after them.

Satan and Gohan managed to get clear of the raft, leaving it behind once they used it as footing on the muddy shore. Yamcha anchored by 17 and Trunks holding his left arm reached for the pole end that Satan held out towards him. Together the three pulled Satan along it so he could grab another tree trunk with his arm. Last was Gohan who gripped the end of the pole Yamcha and Satan held. Trunks brushed the sweat darkened lavender locks from his face to look towards Gohan, leaning next to Satan by the tree he held to for support.

“Made it,” 17 chuckled in relief.

“All in one piece, which is more than I can say for the raft,” Yamcha quipped.

“She was a good piece of work and did her job well, for such a short lived craft,” Satan observed. Trunks made a noise of assent.

Gohan watched as it slid down the bank and drifted partway down the river. His blue uniform tunic rose and fell as he caught his breath and smiled at his friends, saying, “Well done everyone. The raft is yet another example of what we can achieve together with the works of our hands.”

“Amen to that,” Trunks piped in.

“Indeed,” said Satan.

“Best to secure it with a vine in case we need it later,” Gohan then instructed.

“Good thought,” murmured Yamcha, immediately seeing the convenience in lashing it to a nearby tree for another trip across in the future. Both he and Trunks then set out to gather lengths of vine so Satan could help Gohan secure the raft so it would not break free and drift downriver.

*****

Once all five would-be-colonists had cleared the river, they followed the trail of a few days before through the thickening tree cover. Holes through the canopy of leaves they recalled before let in shafts of sunlight almost spotlighting their path. At the front of the group walked Gohan, next to Trunks. Yamcha and Satan walked behind, flanked from the rear by 17. Every once in a while Gohan almost came to a stop examining the trees overhead or bending to pick up a small dislodged branch.

“Looking at the damage from the storm I bet,” murmured Yamcha to Satan.

“Looking for landmarks more like and memorizing them for himself,” Satan whispered back.

“You smell the different saps too, Gohan?” Trunks commented at the latest stop Gohan made by one of the twisted trunk trees with gnarled bark. “This species has a more acrid odor.”

“Indeed,” Gohan agreed, examining the broken bits of branches as he reached up to grab one barely dangling from its fresh split.

17 remained silent while the group paused; his own mind occupied with the reasons for Gohan has continued examination of the trees. He agreed it could be a combination of Satan and Yamcha’s theories with an added twist. “Most likely thinking like an engineer, taking in all our resources,” he whispered to Satan and Yamcha.

“As well as we all are at this moment,” Satan agreed. He did not question much what Gohan’s motives were from any suspicion, rather from curiosity borne of admiration for his Captain. 17 noticed the sense of awe gleaming Trunks eyes mirrored that in those of the aid de camp’s eyes. Yamcha’s dark brown gaze held a similar gleam, guarded as it was with mild skepticism. He was the sort who trusted it was for a greater cause, but was waiting for the evidence of his own eyes.

They each depended on one another, but each laid the extra burden of hope upon their leader Gohan. As they had noticed throughout the last few days, the sunlight even seemed brighter with the engineer among them like a torch held before a spelunking group in an uncharted cavern.

*****

Further, on they wended their way on the reverse course of the trail that had led them to the grotto. Periodically Gohan continued to examine the trees and fallen branches for the untold part of the story they had not witnessed being confined to the cave. Although Trunks, 17 and Yamcha suspected continually there was a greater motive they still whispered it among themselves if they bothered to voice it aloud.

“It will be good to get back and see…” Yamcha trailed off as the entrance to the cave came into sight. Words stopped in his throat seeing bits of branches and other debris scattered before the front. He immediately rushed forward from the group, his heart sinking.

“Yamcha, a moment please, we want to make sure it’s safe, together first,” said Gohan, moving up to gently take hold of his shoulder. Yamcha stopped short knowing he was right, his heart pounding in anticipation just like everyone’s was.

“We’ll know soon enough,” Satan said as he laid a hand on Yamcha’s arm along with Gohan. 17 uttered only a noise of affirmation, right on his heels with Satan, then Trunks and Gohan behind them. With Gohan next to him, Yamcha rounded the bend to the entrance.

A loud cry of disappointment echoed in the cavern at the moment they stood just outside the cave mouth. Four sets of eyes beheld the scene before four hearts sank. Heavy silence descended, only broken by Gohan suggesting, “Let’s see what we can salvage.”

“Not a hell of a lot by the looks of it,” Yamcha muttered gloomily.

Yamcha’s eyes wandered a few paces into the space, walls spattered and plastered with splotches of mud. Walking in after him Satan bent down and picked up scattered broken bits of firewood that had been strewn about like a box of matches that he sometimes dropped at the office. Fine cracks at intervals and the wall and ceiling were the result of various sized rocks tossed about in the tempest. 17 paced slowly around various rocks piled in the muddy damp floor. Trunks helped him pick up various string bags that were pressed into the mud in the floor or draped over a flat boulder.

“Damn,” muttered 17, brushing a lock of straight black hair out of his face tucking it behind one ear.

“We can still use them,” Trunks said, running his fingers along the fibers. The bags were still intact.

“Firewood here, here and here,” murmured Satan, staring at pieces of it that he piled in front of the cavern to dry in the sunlight where Gohan directed.

Presenting the engineer with the meager stock of possessions, they gathered just inside the mouth of the cave. Gohan looked at each disappointment-shadowed face with a sympathetic nod. “Here are our priorities. First is a secure place for shelter. Also suitable wood for a fire must be collected as this is damp and won’t be dry.”

Yamcha swallowed back his urge to ask just how they were going to start a fire. Although it was on the tip of his tongue Satan’s reassuring gaze at Gohan held his tongue, along with the hand gently squeezing Yamcha’s shoulder in reassurance. He glanced up from the damp piles and focused fully on the engineer ticking off on his fingers.

“We require more nourishing food as well as tools to help obtain it,” he finished. Each of the colonists nodded, glad to have an outlet for their frustration at the elements hand that had scattered their previous work. 17 felt as if they were back to square one, and was sure the other three had similar thoughts on the matter. Oddly Gohan seemed very confident as if unaffected by their setbacks.

*****

Gohan then said, “Satan, you will gather firewood and continue to supervise what useable wood has dried. When you have done that, you will assist me with shoring up the walls and making this place more habitable. I will assess what resources we have to make food. ”

The aid de camp nodded, blue eyes shining with purpose. Next to him, Gohan then looked to the other three. Looking toward Trunks, 17 and Yamcha he said, “Your team will take the string bags and gather what foodstuffs you can find and bring back from the immediate area.”

“Should we bother to find anything that can be cooked on a fire we’ll bring it back?” Yamcha said halfheartedly.

“Always good to hope for the best,” Satan said.

“Then we’ll bring you a fair assortment to challenge your culinary preparation skills,” 17 chimed in, causing Yamcha and the others to smile a bit. Satan’s beaming smile was contagious and lifted the mood considerably along with Gohan’s assigned tasks. Carving definite pieces out of uncertainty helped deal with the morass of frustration stewing inside each of them.

Satan wiped sweat from his forehead with one hand, the other resting on a branch that served as a handle. Two feet lower down the branch multiple small twigs were lashed to the end of it, gathered into a bundle. After he had caught his breath, Satan dragged the item over the cave floor to serve as a crude broom.

Yamcha and 17 meanwhile selected a few pieces of wood of the right size and shape to serve as clubs. These they thrust into their belts or tied there with a length of vine to secure them. The occasional thump of a rock dropping to the ground caught Yamcha’s ear. He glanced up from carrying a string bag he had fetched from inside to see Gohan picking up pieces of rocks. Thoughtfully the engineer turned one over in between thumb and finger, then held it up to see better in the light of the sun. Then he genuflected down casting a shadow across the small piles of similar grouped stones to his immediate left.

Trunks had stopped to kneel next to Gohan, peering for a moment at the rock that Gohan was perusing. His own eyes looked over Gohan’s shoulder as if trying to see what the engineer was possibly noticing. A dry scraping of twigs across the cave floor filled the silence between the thumps of rock made by Gohan’s sorting.

Yamcha wondered why he was looking at rocks so diligently. He shrugged, straightening up to a standing position. Various joints cracked a bit from thrusting his hips forward to work the kinks out of his back. 17 moved into view on his right, holding a string bag of his own.

“You all right?” he asked softly.

“Oh, sorry… was just wondering something,” Yamcha commented, as he watched Satan walking back to the outside of the cave where the last pile of branches left there to dry were sitting. Crouching in a squat, Satan gathered them into a bundle over his other arm.

“Wondering what?” 17 asked Yamcha.

Returning to the cave mouth Satan noticed them staring at Gohan’s examination of the various rocks. “Am I missing something?” he teased.

“Well, nothing much. Just wondering why Gohan’s looking at rocks,” Yamcha said, watching Satan merely smile in response. He returned to the cave mouth and added to the woodpile. Puzzled at Satan’s response to this Yamcha nudged 17.

The reporter shrugged, whispering, “If Satan seems pleased then I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”

For a brief minute, the duo turned again at another few thumps. Now Gohan turned over a grey stone riddled with tiny holes he then tossed to the left. He murmured, “Pumice.”

“Porous volcanic stone that floats on water,” Trunks murmured. Reaching over Gohan took hold of another rock.

“Agate,” Gohan said to Trunks who still knelt next to him.

“And that’s feldspar isn’t it?” Trunks said, indicating another small pile.

“Geology lesson perhaps,” 17 said with a smile.

Accepting this explanation for now, Yamcha then said, “You ready Trunks?”

“Yes Yamcha,” he said, grabbing the string bag he had set down. Yamcha moved over and reached down to help haul his charge to his feet and dust off his shirt. 17 picked up his string bag as well, and then nodded towards the other two. Waving to Gohan and Satan the trio set off on their gathering expedition, hoping to find a reasonable larder instead of depleting the immediate area.

*****

At the bottom of a tree, Yamcha and 17 made a stirrup of their hands. Trunks stepped into it, balancing on Yamcha’s shoulder then levering himself up with 17’s help. Once Yamcha straightened up Trunks caught hold of the lowest overhanging branch. His feet swung only for a second until he pulled up and hooked one knee over the branch.

“You okay?” Yamcha asked.

“Fine…” Trunks called down, a few sticks and leaves showering down on 17 and Yamcha. They could peer up and see his shape shifting against the meshwork of branches that blocked their view of him.

17 bent down and picked up a few scattered feathers that fluttered down, noting their reddish brown hue. Yamcha bent his head back keeping one hand partly shading his eyes to monitor Trunks progress. He squinted at the pinpoints of light sifting through the branches trying to discern Trunks shape reaching over to a crook in the branches.

17 held onto a string bag containing a few eggs wrapped in leaves to keep them from breaking. He precariously held them out from him while glancing around for other trees with the birds. Trunks soon called down then swung by one hand. His feet dropped into place. 17 and Yamcha reached up so he could step on their shoulders and steady himself. One hand bore another nest handed to 17, the other still clinging to the branch. It was up to 17 to set the nest to the side and help Yamcha bring Trunks the rest of the way down to the ground again.

Inside the nest, they all peered at four greenish spheres clustered. 17 remarked, “Just like the other tree before us… quiet a unique shade.”

“Calcina Ferrous,” said Trunks. “The reddish brown feathers you have there are iron rich, and the shells have a green color from the iron content in them.”

17 opened the string bag of eggs they already gathered. Yamcha wrapped leaves around them and added the feathers scattered as packing material to collect the eggs. A light blue metallic shell graced some of the other eggs, harvested from birds of the variety Calcina cuprous. Cousin species to one another, they were of similar size and diameter.

*****

Further, along the trail Trunks spotted a two-legged bird skittering into the brush. 17 caught a hold of Yamcha and 17’s arms, whispering, “Look there…”

“Ah, let’s follow…” Trunks whispered. “That’s a terrestrial…”

“You mean as in flightless,” Yamcha muttered.

“Well they fly in short sporadic bursts…” Trunks explained.

Yamcha asked, “If that’s the case, where do they normally roost, or gather?”

“By the edge of a marshy area, like storks or geese,” murmured Trunks. Creeping carefully the three scavengers made their way as silently as they could after their unexpected sighting. Sure enough, they arrived in a marshy area flanked by shrubs and mandrake like trees. Creeping vines sidled up some of the trunks while others hung down like some strange garland.

“Huh,” Yamcha said as he looked towards a length of vine. “Gives me an idea. 17 help me get some more vines… Trunks you let us know if you see the birds or not.”

“Right,” Trunks said.

17 reached up carefully to do just that, while Yamcha did the same, figuring Yamcha wanted to string the birds up if they happened to be lucky enough to catch one. However, he did point out, “We don’t have proper weapons to shoot yet, so we’ll just have to be patient enough to club them on the head, and approach them stealthily.”

“Yeah I know, but I was thinking we could make a net to catch them first, and then club them on the head,” Yamcha said.

17’s eyes widened a bit as he nodded. He murmured, “That’s a bit unusual but sounds worth a try.”

Reaching into his pocket Yamcha brought out a small sharp bit of metal, battered along one edge to make a cutting surface. Small raised letters indicated it had served as one of two dog tags Satan had used. Out of his own pocket, 17 retrieved a second one, fashioned from a dog tag bearing Gohan’s name, rank, and serial number. Requiring a set of knives for basic tasks, the engineer had requested Satan to remove the twin metal tags from around his neck. Removing his own as well the engineer had used one of the rocks he collected to batter the edge into a sharpened bit. One of them he left with Satan while he had given two for the hunting party.

Both men harvested enough vines to twist together, commencing their project by the time Trunks tiptoed back. “I’ve found their nests on the ground. You’re making a net?”

“It’s going to take a bit more time than I thought,” Yamcha murmured.

17 however cast him a reassuring glance, saying, “Not to worry.”

Trunks murmured, settling down to help them, “I’ll keep an eye out for them returning.”

Creepers and vines were twisted at right angles to one another. Working steadily between them 17 and Yamcha soon had a large enough and loose enough net to toss over a six-foot square area. All the while Trunks watched for the return of their quarry, hoping they would be fortunate enough to catch them off guard. Sure enough once they were done, he held a finger to his lips and motioned for them to follow him.

Several of the bluish iridescent birds clustered about, their scaly feet spindly like stilts as they milled about. The bright eyes were red, beaks showing tiny sharp teeth while the blunt wings allowed them to flutter just about from one place to another. Net in their hands 17 and Yamcha moved in unison while Trunks watched the position of the birds. Hearts pounded in their throats one second until Yamcha jerked his head at 17. With a hissing swish, the net sailed over some of the birds, others managing to duck out of the way. Feathers batted at the air along with the squeaking yelp. Necks and legs tangled in the wide mesh. In a flurry of yelps, Yamcha and 17 along with Trunks applied their makeshift clubs to knock them senseless.

“Woo hoo! We’re eating tonight!” Yamcha proclaimed, untangling several of the caught specimens.

“Very clever! I’ll have to add this to my list of catching methods for birds,” said 17, assisting Yamcha.

“Definitely resembling the archaeopteryx of prehistoric Earth,” Trunks observed, examining the claw like hands on the corners of the wing. Two fingers protruded while the other two fingers had extended through evolution into the pinions of the blunt wings. Scaly feathers along the neck ended in rough skin. Immediately around the eyes, there were no feathers, and those on the top of the head extended a half inch into a sort of crest.

“What we need are some herbs to prepare these birds with,” Trunks then mentioned, his face reflecting the exuberating of the pilot and the reporter. While Yamcha and 17 twined vines around the feet of their quarry, Trunks bent down and commenced scanning the immediate area for his goal.

“Let’s just hope there’s a fire to roast them when we get back,” murmured 17.

“Seems that if there’s a way then Gohan will have found it. Whether or not he does it by the time we get back is something that I’m wondering,” Yamcha murmured.

“At any rate we’ll know,” 17 remarked, slinging one of the strings of birds over his shoulder. Yamcha grabbed the other, amounting to about six between them.

*****

Carrying their acquisitions, the trio wended their way back towards their shelter. Legs were weary with their trek yet their string bags were full of their harvest. Somehow, the aching muscles would be worth it if their faith bore out in the accomplishments of the other team. 17 and Trunks both held great admiration for Yamcha’s clever decision to use a net to capture the birds they now carried over the reporter and the pilot’s left shoulders.

As for the string bags of eggs, Trunks carried those. In the right hands, the party carried other string bags containing fruits and more of the silex nuts. Improvised clubs were tucked into their belts as they had been on the outward journey, yet were now tested in the field. They spoke little, preferring to save as much energy as they could for hiking and silent reflection of their accomplishments and fortune.
Nervous anticipation mounted the closer the group approached. Narrowing his eyes as he scanned the skies through the trees, Yamcha wondered if he was imagining a grey curl of cloud whishing up from the distance. They had seen mists rising from the trees in the morning sun’s action to evaporate the dew, but this was different. Noticing Yamcha’s puzzled stance and slowing pace, 17 and Trunks appropriately reduced their step rate.

“Not mist, but something else…” Yamcha trailed off.

“Not evapotranspiration?” Trunks asked with a frown, focusing his own eyes as well.

“From the direction of the shelter,” 17 murmured. Yamcha grunted, increasing his pace once more. A renewed burst of energy rose in all three companions, intent on solving this new mystery.

With each passing minute, the wisp took on a grey appearance, curling steadily upwards proving it was not a cloud or a transient phenomenon. Hearts pounding more rapidly they approached ever closer, hearts daring to lift at what they all hoped it would really be. Something that filled one of the basic needs on the rung of human existence, making other advances possible. Had the other party actually achieved that goal, or would it be another false hope?

Yamcha figured they had batted a good average so far, however remained skeptical until he saw firsthand the source of the smoke plume. It could be natural, near the cave or beyond it. So far, none of the five had seen any source of civilization or life at the sentience level of themselves or those capable of producing the art of fire. 17 craned his neck examining the path of the smoke spewing upwards into the sky glowing almost pink in the rays of the late afternoon sun. Trunks own faith had been constant, not questioning the possibility, but just the mere timing of such a probable miracle.

Three pounding hearts pumped blood to three sets of legs trying not to stumble over each other in their haste to return to their temporary home. The diameter of the smoke plume had increased, emanating from the vicinity of their cave, confirming the reality ever more succinctly. As elusive as smoke hope was sometimes, though the presence of a bright spark coming into view soon after their eyes beheld the mouth of their cave and two figures squatting beside it.

One was Satan, emerging from the shelter to crouch opposite the other. Gohan crouched over the licking yellow dancers of light creeping up from wood set pieces of wood upon them. Breathes were held for only a long instant when their eyes registered fully what they were seeing. Both the engineer and the aide de camp were stoking a fire, the source of the plume of smoke that had been a beacon home.

“It was a question of when!” Yamcha exclaimed, wanting to burst into a run, but somehow his legs did not want to violate the sanctity of such a defining moment in their existence as colonists.

“Prometheus gift to humankind now lies before us,” 17 murmured.

“Given by Gohan, as we hoped, they’ve achieved what they had set out to do… and in a time that couldn’t be more appropriate,” Trunks agreed.

“I’ll be damned,” Yamcha laughed aloud, whooping. 17 saw his beaming smile melting out of astonishment, and could not stop the corners of his lips from curling up as well. Trunks stood on Yamcha’s other side taking a long moment to take in the beauty of the sight. He wanted to take a picture of this and frame it forever in his mind. Glancing at 17, he realized that was just what the reporter was doing with his almost perfect memory. Waiting and taking in all the sights of the immediate time to write later in the journal he was keeping. Once the silent reverence and awe wore off all three broke into a near run to cover the last distance between them and their miracle worker.

Gohan spotted them first, rising from his crouch with his own smile. Satan’s blue eyes fell upon them first, and then the bounty the trio carried, his own face filled with wonder that almost equaled that of the hunting party. In separate ways, the two teams had achieved their goals, which were essential for human existence.

*****

Satan quickly divided the labor among the colonists. 17 and Yamcha assisted with plucking the feathers from the birds on the string. In a small pile, the feathers were collected and saved for a future project while Trunks and Satan sliced the fruit. Among them, the four makeshift knives were again put to good use.

“We’ve brought some herbs to season the birds,” Trunks had said.

“I could also season them with some salt that Gohan’s found,” Satan announced. A quick look among the colonists was born of excitement at another accessory to the aid-de camp’s spice cabinet.

While preparations were made to roast, the bounty of the hunting and gathering Gohan removed two rocks that Yamcha recognized from the ones he had gathered earlier in the day. The entrails of the birds were also collected in the shell of a silex nut to be used later in a stew. Every bit of their quarry would be utilized to its fullest extent.

“Gentlemen if I may have your attention briefly, I’ve something to show you,” The engineer announced. Three heads popped up and swiveled towards his voice. As if in a classroom Gohan selected two of the rocks and showed them to the other four colonists as they glanced up from their tasks once he called them to attention. Bending over on one knee Gohan then placed the handful of vegetative material and positioned it into a small pile. Yamcha looked at 17 in question yet again, but merely shrugged rather than question it.

Trunks blue eyes narrowed in curiosity watching him strike one rock against another repeatedly. Small yellow sparks flew between the two surfaces, landing on the vegetation. After he had done this a few times a tiny glow transferred to the gathered small mass of what appeared to be moss. Yamcha stifled the question in his throat seeing Gohan cup both hands together and blow ever so carefully as if coaxing life into the inanimate objects.

“That moss, where did you find it?” Yamcha asked.

“It appears to be the species Hispanica inflammibus,” said Trunks nodding slowly in understanding. “Capable of igniting at the proper temperature after being dried in the sun for two hours.”

“Those two stones… one of them would be possibly silex?” asked 17.

“Correct,” Gohan said as he passed one of them around for them all to see.

“The other being a ferrous mineral I take it?” Trunks asked, to which Gohan merely nodded.

“So… by striking one against the other, you get sparks which is obvious. But it has to be those two materials to create the right conditions for the sparks,” Yamcha asked. Again a nod.

“You couldn’t use any other replacements for those minerals, except maybe flint in place of the non ferrous rock,” said 17.

“The ancient caveman’s fire kit,” Yamcha quipped.

“Indeed,” Gohan finally said with the gleam in his eyes of a teacher pleased their students had caught onto their example.

*****

Five spirits again soared smelling the aroma of roasting meat curling through the cavern. A small hissing sizzle of the juices dripping off the meat joined the crackling pops of the fire dancing merrily in its ring of rocks. Each of them sat on broad flat rocks or a cleared clean area of the cave floor spread with conifer needles to observe and assess what had transpired.

Closest to the fire tending it carefully was Satan, occasionally turning the spit to check the progress of their roasts. It was decided that due to the abundance of meat it would do best to roast it all, which would keep for a small period until the leftovers could be consumed for breakfast. 17 sat on the other side near the fire, holding a long stick he had sharpened the point of. Slowly he hardened its point in the fire fashioning the most basic of spears. He could not do this till now without a fire. A few other sharpened spears had already been made in the same way.

Munching on a piece of tiger fruit, which was what they christened the striped fruit, Satan commented, “I could eat the smell of those birds alone and be a happy man, couldn’t you, my friends?”

“If you bottled it and wafted it under our noses while we ate paste, I’d die a happy man all right and not care,” joked 17.

“I am certain we will remember this night for a great deal of time to come,” Trunks also added.

“I’ll be an extremely happier man when I actually tear off a few chunks of those birds myself,” Yamcha chuckled.

“Which will happen in due course,” Satan said. “I know it’s hard to wait.”

“I’ve waited days, a few hours is little more,” 17 commented.

“Still,” Yamcha murmured looking at the cleanly plucked carcasses slowly rotating as well as 17’s spears. “Just spearing and netting things isn’t the best way to go about this. We were lucky today with what we caught.”

“Luck was only a small component of it. You knew how to catch an opportunity,” said Trunks appreciatively.

“Though he is right,” said 17. “Conditions happened to be just right. We can’t be so lucky that all quarries will be so obliging.”

“Very true, which is why we’ll talk more about how to address that problem,” Gohan said.

“It’s ready,” Satan announced.
Waiting with bated breath the colonists gathered around their cooked abundance. Satan helped to serve out portions for each of them, using broad leaves as rough plates. Each of them lifted a leg or piece of cooked flesh to their lips. Yamcha’s teeth sunk into soft meat that melted off the bone. A blissed-out look came over his face as his taste buds exploded.

17 watched and a second later took a bite of his portion. The full aroma mingled with the satiation of solid food was ambrosia. Next to him Satan already sampled his meat and proclaimed, “This is a feast fit for a king…”

“The food of the gods,” Trunks murmured, biting into a drumstick. Drops of juice dripped down his chin that he licked away eagerly. Gohan himself took slow measured but ecstatic bites of each morsel. To know it was caught by their own hands and prepared with labor and sweat.

“Much better than that dried up space ration I’ll say,” Yamcha murmured blissfully between bites.

“I’d prefer to forget that,” Satan chuckled, reaching for another piece of meat.

“Almost better than sex,” 17 absently said, his eyes meeting Yamcha’s and the two were silent.

“Satan you’ve outdone yourself,” Gohan commented, his eyes half shut as he swallowed each bit of deliciously grilled food.

“I’m glad I climbed those trees,” whispered Trunks, reaching for a slice of the tiger fruit. Sweetness washed away the roasted game, complementing their first feast.

“It’s our own thanksgiving, I’d say,” Satan decided.

“Note the date 17, we’ll celebrate this day hereafter as our own feast day,” Gohan suggested.

“Amen to that,” Yamcha cheered, slapping them all on the back. Smiles abounded among the five as they continued to stuff their bellies with their hard gotten gain. A few hours later they lounged about; experiencing a sensation they hadn’t for months. Fullness almost to bursting of good solid food.

Trunks leaned against his guardian’s shoulder, letting the blood rush to his stomach to digest its contents while Yamcha sat with his back braced against a sturdy rock. 17 sat Indian style, finishing a portion of tiger fruit. Satan rested comfortably while Gohan sighed in pleasure. All savored the moment for they knew it would be motivation for gathering more provisions.

Once they had finished their feast, Yamcha commented to Gohan, “You mentioned something before dinner about taking care of our food needs problem.”

“Which is exactly why we will become more efficient hunter gatherers after we master the art of making stone tools,” Gohan announced.

“Like cavemen?” Yamcha asked, cocking a brow.

“Quite,” Gohan said. Satan merely smiled, nodding having been privy to perhaps some of this or having extreme confidence taking Gohan’s word prima facia for so many years.

“And the materials for the tool making,” Trunks nodded, anticipating what the next subject would be.

“Are at hand. I have made a survey of the minerals available to us. Those that are good for later usage I have noted and those for immediate usage are the obsidian, flint, and chert I have encountered. This is characteristic for its ability to conically fracture when the right percussive force is applied.”

Familiar with the history of hunting weapons, 17 nodded knowingly. He murmured, “As used first in the Clovis points discovered on the north American continent employed by paleo Indians.”

“Correct. The advantages of obsidian and chert are not only their workability but also their cutting properties. Even the flakes we discard can be used as a cutting edge.”

“Most scalpels we use now are ceramic in the emergency kits,” 17 nodded.

“So, knowing all this, how long exactly did it take to make one of these projectile points?” Yamcha asked. “To fracture a material as brittle as obsidian–like glass–you’d presumably use a mallet of some kind. We’ve got wood for that, or another stone?”

“Quite. Let us become flint-knappers, gentlemen,” Gohan said as he motioned to Satan. He brought over a few woven mats and broad flat leaves, as well as a rounded stone, a shaped bit of hard wood, and other pieces of varying sizes.

Gohan then sat down and placed the broad flat leaf over one knee. He grasped a fist-sized piece of striated red and brown chert, standing it up on end. Then grasping the rounded rock, he hit the edge of the top. A loud cracking sound followed by a hollow clink resulted with a curved bit that had fractured from the core.

“The first of many such blows,” Gohan said. “Now we will learn step by step.”

*****

17, Trunks and Yamcha sat on flat boulders, each bent slightly with various pieces of rock positioned on their knees. The scent of stone dust hung in the air palpably mingling with the sweat so it formed a fine grit that clung to their clothes. It was damp in the cave despite the fire they had going, from the efforts of their new construct.

Their first works had been crude and unsteady. Due to Gohan’s prospecting, they had a good supply of raw materials in the form of pieces of flint, chert and obsidian as well as silex. Each started out with a rough shape balanced on the knee. Holding it at the top end a quick blow with a wood hammer to the lateral side caused the first pieces to fracture. Once large pieces were scaled down, then each flint-knapper picked the most likely candidate to apply smaller blows to. Resting the rock flat on the crafter’s hip next, a blow from a rock was applied perpendicularly. Then a long edge flaked off and clinked to the floor. Along this, the knapper could make smaller more blows that are precise from the hammer stone making a notched series of conical fractures. A serrated edge would result.

A definitive crack reached 17’s ears. His slender hands creased with a few solitary cuts from the sharp core of rock he positioned standing up. It had started as a flat piece of obsidian. He swung the solid branch at the thin edge he had flaked off. Small cracks formed into a conical fracture producing a chip that dropped to the cave floor seconds later. It joined small pieces that already scattered about 17’s feet.

The back of Yamcha’s neck was one tight knot formed over the last few hours he hunched over the piece of obsidian he created. A bleached solid bone with a hammer end and a prong end served as his tool. Along the thin edge swirled with black in transparent glass, he pressed small notches. Tiny pieces of dust coated the leg of his pant, covered in a broad flat leaf. A small drop of blood dripped along the axis of the flake.

“Shit, didn’t even feel that cut,” Yamcha mumbled. 17 glimpsed the blood and shook his head. Yamcha set down his tool after 17 did, extending his hand for 17 to examine the clean slice.

“Technology and modern materials couldn’t craft a sharper blade with such a clean cut,” Trunks murmured.

“Nor let you not realize you’ve hurt yourself making them,” joked Yamcha as 17 bandaged his cut with a flexible leaf secured with a thin twisted fiber. The reporter also had a few similarly bandaged cuts on his own hands. Trunks only had one such makeshift dressing.

Trunks tapped his leaf shaped rock, opaque mostly with little translucence. Reds, blues and greens swirled together in its mineral structure resembling flint or the red cherts. Under his fingers, the stone felt refreshingly cool and smooth. He could run a finger over the conical fractures knowing he made each one deliberately. It struck him how something so naturally beautiful could perform such a vital function once completed. Nevertheless, in crafting it himself he imbued his own thoughts and design into it. If he reexamined the marked he had made he could almost remember what he was thinking at the time.

*****

17 missed his long black coat for what seemed the hundredth time since they landed. It would have made such a useful multipurpose garment. He could not keep from mourning its loss like an old friend even though he knew it was not good to obsess over it. Things you discard in a second’s thought to survive had a habit of haunting you later in their absence.

At first, he figured it was a way to hide his true body size. Among the other colonists, there was no longer the need for such barriers. They had forged friendships that were true and strong, a foundation upon which they could build their colony. Now another reason dawned to 17 just why he missed the long coat. As they walked towards the part of the river with a more gentle current, he pondered just why his heart pounded more quickly.

They had not bathed since arriving. Now caked with stone tool dust and faces streaked with mud, Gohan announced the need for personal toilet. Satan remarked that it would be nice to have soap but he would welcome the natural cleansing power of a cold stream. Yamcha had seconded that while Trunks quipped his hair was starting to look prematurely gray instead of its usual lavender.

“Let’s not grow up TOO fast shall we,” Yamcha joked.

“Plenty of time for gray hairs later,” Satan teased. “I’ve enough for Gohan and myself.”

“Let’s remove our clothes and wash them as we wash ourselves, then hang them to try on these tree branches in the sun,” said Gohan. Lifting his hands to his uniform tunic, he stepped over towards the bushes. Trunks moved over towards where Yamcha stood, while Satan began to disrobe near Gohan. 17 felt a bit awkward reaching tentatively for the buttons of his shirt, loosening them one by one. He shrugged off the jacket and hooked it over the end of a branch.

Already he saw the pale cloth of Yamcha’s suit shirt now that the pilot had removed his blazer and hung it to the side. Trunks pale olive back became visible to him as the boy pulled off his green turtleneck shirt. Yamcha took the garment and placed it with the others on the bush nearby.
He heard Gohan remark, “Without soap it’s still quite refreshing to excavate the dust from my face.”

17 turned slightly seeing Satan’s bare shoulders and slightly budging belly covered in coarse dark hair. He stood in more immediate view with his side partly facing 17. “And the others are making stone tools. I’m sure that will confuse any archeologists digging our remains up eh?”

“By that time maybe they’ll be digging up our fire pits, and our huts, as well as our spaceship’s remains,” Yamcha chimed in. Quickly 17 swiveled his head towards Yamcha’s direction, seeing a bare back streaked with a few scars. His pulse quickened at the sight of Yamcha’s muscles twitching under that firm skin.

“They’ll call it ‘technolithic society’ when they see we’ve got circuit panels with the stone chips,” said 17 as he tried to distract his hands from fumbling at pushing the halves of his shirt aside. He tugged it out of his pants waistband and bent to unbutton and shed them.

“Nice one,” said Gohan.

“Technolithic, not Paleolithic?” questioned Yamcha.

“Techno as in technology alongside stone aged tools, denoted by the word lithic,” Trunks voice piped in.

“Oi, 17, come on. I know the water’s going to be cold. Or do you want a dunking?” joked Satan.

“Nearly there,” 17 said as he swallowed his cracking voice. It was not the others he was nervous about stripping in front of it was that pilot.

Yamcha. Whose dark hair rippled down his back almost to the middle of his shoulder blades now he had undone that ponytail? Droplets of water slid down the sculpted muscles to just above a nicely toned ass. 17 stepped into frigid water, glad for one fact that none of them would show any evidence of arousal because of the temperature. He felt as if his skin would be pasty and pale in comparison. Strange for him normally considered a handsome specimen of the human race, close to genetic perfection, to feel as if he fell short of a standard. One set by a rugged scarred pilot whose features were natural and rough, unperfected by a genetics lab.

In addition, he was plastic. Not LITERALLY plastic but sculpted to perfection like a doll. A male Galatea to a societal Pygmalion obsessed with ridding oneself of any defects.

Little did he suspect that Yamcha’s dark brown eyes were making a similar appraisal of his slender nude body. To the level of their waists the water lapped, obscuring what was below most of their bellybuttons in rippling currents. As 17 bent over Yamcha swallowed hard at a lump in his throat. For a split second, he saw the curve of the reporter’s ass surface from the river. It vanished as he straightened up and shook his long straight hair out of his face. It plastered to the front.

He’s perfect. Damn perfect. Not a scar anywhere. Just look at me though. Compared to him I’m littered with them, Yamcha thought quietly. That soft skin seemed worshipped by the water drops trickling down it. Slender arms knotted with a bit of muscle extending from graceful long fingers that examined everyone’s wounds precisely. Two blue eyes that observed every detail around them, and which seemed to flicker in his direction. Yamcha steeled himself for a critical look, but saw instead saw admiration.

He likes what he sees. Yamcha thought in surprise and delight. He gave a slight smile to the reporter, turning around so his chest was visible. Being the taller of the colonists his groin was submerged just below the water level enough that a black trail of hair started midway below his belly button. His chest and arms had a slight covering of hair, in comparison to the thick dense hairs coating Satan’s body. Gohan’s body hair was moderate, but 17 barely had any. Much like Trunks.

“Nice…” muttered 17 to himself.

Yamcha turned his head, shifting just enough to let 17 get a tantalizing glimpse of an inch lower down. Just as he bent down to soak his hair. “Yeah it is nice to get clean. Even if it’s fucking freezing…”

“You said it, Yamcha,” laughed Satan in that rolling tone that started from his belly, which was quivering a bit. “F… ff freezing! But it’s good for the nerves.”

Gohan’s chest was graced with a fine sheen of soft dark hair. So was Yamcha’s, along the lines of his chest and down the middle. Along the arms and top of the legs as well. Dark hair atop muscular flesh. Satan seemed perfectly comfortable with himself naked, not averting his gaze. Trunks however seemed to be looking anywhere but at Gohan. One other fortunate side effect of bathing in frigid water was the suppression of any blushing. When damp Trunks hair was a deeper shade of lavender, his arms and young body devoid of anything but the same light dusting as 17’s.

“I shouldn’t look,” Trunks thought as he kept his head down. Yamcha was no issue because he was Trunks parent. Being naked in front of your parents or friends was no issue. Yet he sensed 17’s awkwardness. Reaching over he splashed 17.

“It’s cold!” 17 yelped, squinting as droplets collided with his face feeling like tiny pricks of ice. His whole body twitched and he could feel the weight of Yamcha’s gaze watching.

“But it’s good for the nerves right Satan?” Trunks joked.

“That I did,” Satan chuckled.

“Then have some on me… or rather on you!” 17 joked, pushing the surface of the water with his hands as he shoved it towards the Aide de camp. Satan laughed as he stepped back, almost falling over in the water. Tension broke for a few minutes at the innocent exchange of splashes after Gohan grabbed Satan’s arm to steady him and they both crashed into the water together. More droplets flew up, pelting Yamcha, Trunks and 17.

“Better then a shower,” Yamcha whooped, slapping his hands down to propel water into their faces once Gohan and Satan’s heads and shoulders surfaced.

*****

On the morning after their first day as flint-knappers, Yamcha and 17 continued with their craft of making more stone tools while Satan continued with making breakfast. Once served in the mouth of the cave, the meal consisted of the remains of the flightless birds, some fruits and more of the eggs. 17 and Yamcha then set off with the first of their stone spears to put them to the test and gather more prey.

Satan, Trunks, and Gohan remained behind at the cave to achieve other goals. While Satan continued with stoking the fire and reinforcing the cave, Gohan took Trunks a small distance outside the cave mouth. Stretching up for hundreds of meters was the stonewall of the formation the cave was hollowed out from. At one point it was easier to tell the stratigraphy of the rocky layers, and Gohan showed Trunks exactly where he’d found this from his rock hunting the day before.

“We need to determine what season we are in, and the length of them,” Gohan had said earlier as they stood there.

“And we need ways to put the pieces together from more than just one method,” Trunks had agreed. So now in each other’s company they searched for the various methods that came to mind, and brainstormed. After the meeting of minds, they separated not very much more than a few paces to begin compiling their evidence.

Trunks had gathered various accessible pieces of branch and noted the position of a rotted tree broken up into fragments by the storm they had endured. He called this to Gohan’s attention, and the engineer had nodded in eagerness.

“The strata are more distinct here,” Gohan observed, shielding his brown eyes with his left hand peering up. What small sparse vines could get a foothold in bare rock curled up and clung precariously to the face of the cliff. The break in the canopy afforded the bright morning light plenty of space to beam down and make trunks blink and squint in its rays.

Using a piece of string of a certain length, the length of his arm that he knew to be a precise length Gohan was measuring the height of each of the layers. Once he and Trunks had done so for about as high as they could reach realistically they strode over to the rotted tree to examine it more closely. Peeling away bark and repositioning bits of broken wood, they found a way to see deep into it to get a gist of the cross section of its rings. Together they counted the number of dark and light rings while trying to note the thickness of each and thinness of others. A pattern began to emerge that the engineer committed to his memory.

Together they communed in the collection of collaborative data, both complete comfortable in the other’s presence. The ease at which they communicated and fitted the pieces together encouraged Trunks to be as generous as he could with his thoughts and suggestions. To be taken seriously and feel that he was part of the team. Theirs was a bond of a student and teacher akin to researcher and mentor that developed in the confines of graduate school, not a large classroom with dozens of students to distract the teacher’s attention.

“If we are in spring, we can afford to have a week or two to answer some questions. But if it were summer, then our priorities would be different,” Gohan murmured.

“Leaving a precarious window of time that you need to know, for a margin of error for what we must plan,” Trunks confirmed. “Just like any ancient civilization that had to keep precise calendars for the purpose of planning, harvesting, and hunting.”

“Indeed,” said Gohan, still on one knee next to Trunks, their notes mentally taken because of the scarcity of paper. Except for the small notebook that Gohan had removed from his pocket and marked what evidence, they had on it in as compressed a form as possible to conserve the tablet.

Trunks then realized that ancient civilizations often put things to oral tradition. Repeated many times over many nights without the distractions of other information bombarding a person through computers, TV, holography and subspace broadcasts a human was free to allot memory for other things. Remembering information in the form of chants, rhymes or other methods. Written word was reserved for the purpose of astronomical observations while culture, history and other information relevant for other needs passed down to successive generations. The elders were the treasure house of knowledge and here Gohan was such a repository.

“The growing cycle of the tiger fruit, and the abundance of Calcina ferrous eggs indicate sometime in spring,” Trunks said. As confirmatory tests and observations, Trunks also recounted the growing season and life cycle of the plants they had observed and their stages of germination. While the year length on planets varied greatly, those with a roughly earthlike climate had some commonalities. What fauna and species resembled one another genetically would adapt to their world of origin, but the cycles were inherently similar to deduce the length of time between germination, flowering, palliation, and dormancy.

“The deposition of strata’s pattern seems pretty regular. From the position of such sediment storms seem to be prevalent once a season in the form of what we’ve seen,” Gohan also mused.

“And there is the pattern of alternating dark and light bands, some thinner during years with a variation in climate towards cold indicating less growth. While those that are wider show a more temperate clime,” Trunks added.

“And judging this planet has more of an earthlike biosphere and chemical conditions, as well as a similar geological morphology and process akin to plate tectonics from the volcano we’ve observed and the data I gathered before we landed,” Gohan continued, tapping his chin. More small scribbles resulted on his notebook from the pencil he had sharpened with a bit of obsidian flake.

“Not summer,” Trunks murmured with a slight question present in his voice.

“But spring. Giving us a week to play with,” Gohan said. Trunks initially opened his lips to ask why, but then hesitated seeing the engineer’s faraway look.

Trunks blue eyes often moved to linger a time on Gohan, admiring the carriage of his confident posture. Such an occurrence was hardly a new thing in the last few weeks they had worked closely together. Inside there was no doubt that he though youngest of the five was every bit as valuable to their cause. Slowly and gradually Gohan had come to rely upon him and impart his wisdom to the teenager’s experience. The bond between mentor and student was also two way for Trunks often saw how Gohan’s face lit up in delight when he asked a certain question that challenged what he’d been taught.

The two continued their enterprise collaborating and comparing notes. Once all the data was compiled Gohan interpreted the results in a final synthesis to pinpoint just what season they were now experiencing. Trunks noticed the smile across his mentor’s face and felt confident in his contribution to the enterprise. He could barely restrain his anticipation of the results when announced to the others.

*****

Over the next forty eight hours, more stone tools took shape and form of the basis for human Paleolithic civilization. Projectile points were lashed to firm shafts of hard wood with strung plant fiber, while smaller flakers were shaped into arrowheads. Trunks identified a species of tree similar to the yew on earth, noting its exceptional tensile strength and ability to snap back.

Small pieces of flake were not discarded but put into service as cutting implements ideal for Satan to skin whatever prey that would be brought home as well as peel the rinds of the foraged fruits. On the day that the first projectile points and arrowheads were finally attached to their pieces of wood and the bows were fashioned, 17, Trunks and Yamcha spent some time in target practice. Trunks proved to be quite adept at the wielding of his bow to the surprise and pride of the other colonists.

Gohan then presented the hunting party with a carved piece of wood he had fashioned, and showed them how to fit the hollowed out shaft of one of the projectiles. Then walking out of the cave he held the doubled back bit of wood with the spear fitted and charged forward, before jerking his hand back. Propelled by the conveyance, the spear shot up and arced through the trees to the amazement of the others.

Gohan then revealed the device’s name; the spear thrower, another means to launch missile weapons towards a larger target when arrows alone may not suffice. Excitedly the others had then found means of making another to add to their roster of equipment. Later that afternoon the atlatls and bows were employed officially as part of the hunting party’s equipment kit.

The haul of the day were more of the flightless birds, and smaller mammals that had the penchant to scurry away. Yet a well-placed arrow felled them with little difficultly. These mammals were strung up on fibers and thrown over the shoulder of Yamcha. Wading into the river, 17 waited patiently at the gleaming bellies of fishes milling along the currant. A jab of the spear with a practiced eye and hand added a piscatorial mode to their diet.

As bands of orange painted across the skies in the distance along with shades of pink and red, the party sat around their fire. Satan and Trunks turned spits of meat while watching the progress of fish roasting on coals. Broad leaves made good plates for the fishes laid before each of the hungry colonists who balanced them on their laps.

Midway through his fish dinner Gohan then leaned forwards, signaling his intent to speak. Immediately the other four glanced up as well, listening over the popping hiss of the fire to hear Gohan’s words. The engineer cleared his throat and said, “After due consideration, I have found that we should mount our expedition. With Trunks assistance I have determined that we are indeed in early spring giving us time to undertake a survey of our valley and its resources.”

The others nodded slowly, the mentions of this idea having been made gradually over the time of their settling into their cave. It was not news to them exactly, but the matter had not been discussed at great length because of the degree of their industry just trying to provide the necessities of living. Conversation had been limited to the means of stone tool fashioning or better hunting techniques as well as species identification.

“That means the next few days will be spent in preparation, gathering surplus food, and fashioning baskets and ropes,” Gohan continued.

“So we become coopers and weavers in addition to flintknappers,” Yamcha whispered knowingly to 17, who also nodded.

Gohan shifted his posture and continued, “Now that we can provide for daily needs, we must acquire a surplus of food that is non perishable. To carry the food we’ll need to fashion baskets, and to tackle the possible terrain we’ll need sufficient ropes for climbing.”

“We’ve already our weapons,” murmured 17, nodding but reflecting in a low voice.

“Only one step on our check off list but a significant one,” Gohan responded. Four murmurs of assent answered his reply.

“Over the next few days I’ll divide you into teams for the making of such items and the purveyance of more food,” Gohan continued. He turned his gaze towards each person as he announced their names and their duties.

“Trunks, you will scout for a surplus of fiber suitable for fashioning at least fifty meters of ropes in tomorrow’s hunting party. Satan, you and I will gather fibers for the making of baskets and commence fashioning them here. When the party returns, we will all learn the craft and take our turns.”

“The fibers of the Yuccan fibrosious bush make good nets,” Trunks murmured.

“If you catch a good deal more of the fishes they can be dried and salted,” Satan also murmured. Gohan and the others nodded at this. These lines were the start of the details of the preparations Gohan mentioned. Each soon learned their respective role for the following day.

*****

Yuccan fibers were harvested from the cacti like plants along with more of the vines similar to those that Yamcha fashioned his bird snaring net from. Using weights of dense stones tied to the bottoms of the lengths of fiber, they were hung from the higher branches of nearby trees. Then Yamcha and Satan twisted the fibers into plats of three ply. Once the triple plies were plaited, Yamcha twisted three cords of three ply by means of stretching with the weighted rocks.

Trunks and 17 meanwhile sliced long pieces of broad leaves into strips. Rushes gathered from the river’s marshy area were harvested and dried partly in the sun on broad flat rocks in front of the cave. Then the ends of a bundle were secured into a radial pattern. Ends of the broad leaf strips were interwoven with the rushes and pushed tightly together. From these the two fashioned conical shaped baskets.

Gohan spent parts of the next few days assisting in the rope and basket preparation, substituting for members of the party who moved to hunt more provisions or gather more fruits that were within reach of the cave. Satan’s fish salting project yielded preserved strips of meat that could be wrapped in broad leaves tied with lengths of reed. Any of the colonists could switch after Gohan’s approval so they could benefit from experience with any of the other projects.

17 noticed for a good time through the whole experience how his smooth fingered hands were now callused and crisscrossed with fine cuts from flint knapping. While Yamcha’s hands were already rough from the rigors of piloting and repairs, they shared the same sets of calluses blossoming on Trunks and Yamcha’s hands. Multiple cuts from stray pieces of reed or bruises from collisions with rocks were commonplace. Nevertheless, the speed at which they healed from the injuries bore witness to the health of their now varied diet.

Their immune systems seemed to have rebounded sufficiently that a clean slice from a bit of flint treated and cleaned carefully in the morning would have healed enough by the following day leaving only a fine red line where the skin had closed. All the unguents and creams of greater technology only assisted a natural healing process that worked well in far more robust settings.

Baskets took shape and were set aside in groupings once completed. Gohan noticed the ready production of the items and the increase in each pile with satisfaction. At the end of each day, the five colonists lay down for exhausted and dreamless sleep, content in their day’s hard labors. Gohan varied each person’s duties in order that each would learn the individual skills so all would be cross-trained in every skill for the benefit of their collective workforce.

*****

At the conclusion of a week, the colonists woke up early, as was their custom. Few words were exchanged but each of them was filled with the excitement of their new undertaking. Satan supervised the packaging of their provisions, assisted by Trunks. 17 and Yamcha secured the weapons and ropes in bundles for each of them to carry, making certain there were spare arrowheads and repair kits for the bows and spears in case of breakage. In addition, they divvied up portable flint knapping kits wrapped in broad leaves, secured with twine.

Yamcha and Satan exchanged many a smile, their wisecracks and jokes increasing in levity now their energy was not totally consumed in industry. Running a hand over a length of rope Yamcha commented, “Every time you use this you’re bound to remember me, Satan.”

“Likewise you remember me each time you munch on a grilled fish,” Satan joked back.

“How would anyone forget either of you is beyond me,” 17 quipped, lifting up a bundle of baskets as he grabbed his quiver of arrows.

“We’ve left our mark on this world in so many ways already,” Trunks reflected.

“And are about to see the true dimensions of it upon which we can continue to make our mark in a wider sense,” Gohan agreed, reaching to adjust the strap on Trunks bundle of possessions.

Gohan helped each of them secure their respective burdens, and took a last survey of the cave. They had secured it as best they could in anticipation of a return. Long poles were driven into the ground to act as a sort of barrier to keep out larger wildlife that may get in and disturb their dwelling. Mats of leaves were hung over the front to conceal the poles and make a sort of doorway.

Satan glanced around their abode one last time and grinned. “I’m going to miss this place, even though I know we’re coming back.”

“We won’t miss it TOO much when we find a better place to live,” Yamcha chuckled.

“Don’t speak too loud or you might hurt the cave’s feelings,” teased 17.

“Pooh, it’s been here without us and it’ll still be here when we come back,” Yamcha jibbed in return, patting 17’s shoulder. !7 returned the pat and both felt their faces flush with a slight pink they tried to hide from the others.

“Shall we be off now?” asked Gohan.

Satan laughed, “Lead on then, Gohan! Let’s see what else this world has to offer!”

Then with Gohan leading the way, they wended their path down the slope of the hillside. At the rear was Satan, with Yamcha beside him. At the middle walked Trunks next to 17.

In calm companionship, they trekked, shouldering their various possessions. Each of them carried a weight proportionate to his strength and ability, and none carried less then they volunteered to, knowing that their burdens would be increased with what they would retrieve.

Each of them had unanswered questions they could have posed to Gohan, but chose to allow the Engineer to continue showing them the way without much protest for they were all confident of his abilities. Still even though he was their guiding light, each knew the importance of their own roles was every bit as vital for they all had their skills necessary for the future of a thriving colony.

Authors’ Notes: OoC is not a major part of the story and it is explained later.

thoughts
.+++. time/scene skip
.xxx. perspective change

*****

Beep. Beep.

His nose was filled with the overly clean and bleach-like smell that was often associated with hospitals.

Beep. Beep.

His head felt heavy, it felt like there was a needle stuck in his arm and something was clamping on his index finger.

Beep. Beep.

Trunks pushed himself up with his right – and free – hand and opened his eyes to glare at the noisy machine. The walls were an off-white and he saw his heart rate being monitored on a machine that was hooked to the clamp on his finger. He was in a hospital alright.

He glanced around to get his bearings. On a table near him there was food and the bottle of pills his mother prescribed him. To his left was another bed – already filled by…

Wait was that – “Chibi!” Trunks yelled out and flung off his covers and ran over to the child, ignoring that he had wires connected to him. He glanced over all of the visible wounds – his head was bandaged, his left arm was in a cast, there were bruises on his face, neck and shoulders, and probably much more under the covers.

How could he have let Chibi go! How could he have just allowed the androids to beat and bruise this child! He was supposed to be the defender!

Beep. Beep. Beep! Beep!

What had he done! This was Gohan’s child! He was supposed to be the boy’s protector! Not the other way around! Trunks fell to his knees and slammed his fists down on the guardrails of Chibi’s bed, denting them in the process. How could he have been so stupid! So careless! So useless!

Beep beep! Beep beep!

People rushed in, and among them was his mother. “Trunks!” She yelled and held him. “Settle down!”

He looked at her with guilty eyes. How could he? How could he just simply calm down after realizing his own incompetence. He was no better than Goku right now – rendered useless by some stupid ailment!

Beep beep! Beep beep!

“It wasn’t your fault baby.” His mother soothingly told him. “Goha– Chibi just wanted to help you, and he’s fine. He just needs rest and food. He’ll be fine in no time.”

Trunks blinked back the tears he never knew were there. Chibi would be fine… nothing serious…

Beep! Beep. Beep.

The sound quietly faded into the background as his pulse stabilized. “Now come along and back to your bed. You, or Chibi, won’t be going anywhere until you two are better.”

Trunks silently let his mother guide him back to the bed and he ate the food he was given. “Mother, what happened?”

“Well you charged out, screaming something about Chibi. A few hours later, he’s at my door, carrying you – unconscious – before he passed out.” Bulma sighed and looked over at Chibi. “I think he was running on pure adrenaline.”

“I see…” He said before looking over at the unconscious boy. He remembered flying towards the village, or town, that the androids had or were attacking, the place that Chibi had collapsed. He remembered thinking about the boy’s childhood and… “Ouch…” Trunks brought a hand to his head and winced.

“Trunks? Are you alright?”

“Yeah Mother, I’m fine.” Trunks said and looked back at Chibi. What did Chibi have to do about his forgotten memories? What was that scene with the child that looked just like Chibi with long hair, that looked like Gohan at the boy’s age…

A yellow ship. His mother smiling at him and waving goodbye. Arriving. Frieza.

Trunks eyes widened, and his head was throbbing – but that didn’t matter. Why was Frieza in his memories? Why did he know who Frieza and his father were? Why could he remember their faces when he clearly never met them before – they died before he was born, his mother never took pictures, Gohan never transferred the images into his head. What was going on here, and what did it have to do with Chibi?

“Mother?”

“Yes Trunks?” Bulma responded with a smile.

“How old was Gohan when Frieza attacked?”

“He was seven, why?” His mother said a bit uneasily.

Something wasn’t right here. His mind was drawing blanks and even though it shouldn’t be… even though he shouldn’t be second guessing things, something had to be up and it had to do with his memories. “What month did Frieza attack?”

“Why are you curious about Frieza Trunks?” Bulma said after hesitating. “He’s dead now…”

Why was his mother trying to dodge around his question? She only did that when she was worried that he would have another seizure…

What did Frieza have to do with his seizure – his…forgotten…memories…

His… trip… No, it couldn’t be! It was impossible! Frieza was dead before he was even a glimmer in his parents’ eyes! Especially since Chibi was supposedly involved with those memories. There couldn’t be any connection! Things just weren’t making any sense and his head was killing him. “Wake me when Chibi wakes up.” Trunks said and pulled up the covers. Blissful oblivion was preferred over a splitting headache.

Gohan could hear murmuring to his right and his eyes twitched. What was going on? Where was he? What happened? He moved his neck, but his whole body felt heavy. He just wanted to sleep… Why did he want to sleep? What happened? How long has he been sleeping? He left out a quiet groan as he tried to lift his eyelids – but even they felt heavy.

“Gohan? Err… Chibi?”

Was that Bulma’s voice? Why was she calling him kid? She was right the first time. “Uhnn?” Gohan grunted out and turned his head as his eyes slowly opened. Bulma’s hair was long? “Since when did you get so old Bulma?” He slurred, not really realizing that he spoke aloud.

“Gohan!” Bulma scolded him. “Uhh… I mean… Chibi!”

“What? You’re noisy and my head hurts. Where am I?” He complained and blinked a few times.

“Um… you’re in West City Hospital G-Chibi. I brought you here after you arrived at my doorstep.”

“Hospital?” Gohan wondered. Why was he in a hospital, sure his head hurt, and his stomach felt like he just ate a bomb or something, but why was he in a hospital? Were there not any more senzu beans left? Why did his stomach hurt anyway? Why was the feeling familiar? Sure, it hurt more than when Seventeen… Oh… right. “Oh.” Gohan said with a bit more composure and tried to sit up. However a flare of pain stopped him in his tracks and he brought his right arm (his left arm felt too heavy right now, and it was connected to something) down to hold his stomach as he curled in. “Ahhh!” He moaned out in pain.

“Gohan! Are you alright?”

“Chibi!”

Gohan glanced up to see both Bulma and Trunks at the side of his bed… why were his bedrails all dented… starting down worriedly at him. With a grin he laughed lightly, trying not to aggravate his stomach. “Heh, heh…. Ya know Bulma, you’ve really got to stop calling me that.” However he glanced at Trunks again before he smiled. “How are you feeling Trunks?” Trunks didn’t look hurt… why did he collapse then? Why did his ki drop?

“I’m fine Chibi, I just overexerted myself, and I thought of things that I shouldn’t have. But I think that question should be directed at you, don’t you think?”

Gohan offered a weak smile. “Well, I feel like I ate a bomb that exploded in my stomach and I’m in a spaceship with five times Earth’s normal gravity, but otherwise I’m fine.”

Gohan wasn’t too sure how to respond to Trunks’ expression. Was it disbelief? Was it worry? When he glanced at Bulma, there was a sort of dread. Uhh… he wasn’t supposed to know about that, was he? Oops…

“Chibi… where did you learn about gravity and spaceships?” Trunks asked him cautiously.

“Uh…. Well my mom kinda taught me about them?” Whoops… It seemed like that wasn’t the best option he could have chosen, because now the look on Trunks’ face was angry. Then again, I suppose it’s alright for him to be angry… since he thinks my mom stole me away from him. Kami that sounded weird! “And, and uh… when I saw Chi-Chi a couple weeks ago…. Well I was told some stories of the past…” This was not going good at all! Soon Gohan would run out of half-truths to tell Trunks! He glanced up at Bulma, silently asking for help. Did she know that Trunks and him… the future him… were in a relationship?

“I… see…” The gears seemed to be turning in Trunks’ head, but thankfully Bulma intervened.

“Trunks, why don’t we leave Chibi alone to rest? He won’t heal as fast as his father since he has more human blood in him.” She said as she pushed Trunks over to the bed on his right.

‘Thank you.’ Gohan mouthed to Bulma. Rest did seem like a good option, and one that wouldn’t incriminate him any further.

Trunks continued to stare at Chibi, even after he fell asleep. Something really wasn’t right with Chibi… what seven year old knew about gravity these days? And spaceships? Especially spaceships with the ability to increase gravity?

And he thought about what else was suspicious about Chibi: He could fly, he had access to Kinto’un, he could meditate, do battle projections, ki blasts, he was an adept fighter, he seemed to have an excellent knowledge – something that only schooling could do (whether at home or public, although the likelihood of the latter was virtually impossible) and the list seemed endless! In fact, Bulma usually insisted upon others calling her by her last name, and it seemed that Chibi had the manners that would agree to, or desire to call strangers by polite names. Yet, Chibi called his mother by her name while he was still groggy, and he even called her old – nothing somebody would call a stranger! There was also the case of his own name – how did Chibi know who he was? Did Chi-Chi tell Chibi that too? Why did Chibi know to look under the rock at the training grounds? How did Chibi know where he was? And… how did Chibi know where the androids were, how did he know to look for Trunks? Did the kid know how to sense ki as well?

Everything about Chibi spoke of formal training, it spoke of a life no child could get in these times anymore.

These times… why did those words draw him in?

“Fuck!” Trunks cursed as another rage surged through his head. His arms held his head tightly and he squeezed his eyes shut. Images were flashing through his mind, they were settling in, solving a puzzle that he’d been trying to figure out with only a few pieces. And everything was starting to make sense with the exception of one single piece but perhaps that was forcefully placed in and didn’t truly belong there in the first place…

Authors’ Notes: OoC is not a major part of the story and it is explained later.

thoughts
.+++. time/scene skip
.xxx. perspective change

*****

Gohan didn’t know why Trunks said nothing in context to the avoidance he was giving the prince all week. Perhaps the other thought he had scared Gohan off, but that was not the case. No, Gohan didn’t go near Trunks because it was he who felt guilty, he who felt ashamed – and most likely Trunks would not know his reason (nor the reason he apologized), since Trunks didn’t know who Gohan was.

The child now knew why lying was bad – it hurt people – and while he didn’t lie per se, what he was doing wasn’t much better. He was letting Trunks believe that the future Gohan had cheated on him, (Gohan knew the basics of reproduction) he was letting Trunks be pained by that knowledge, and yet if he told the truth it would hurt Trunks – physically.

Bulma had hypothesized that the blood clot was suppressing Trunks’ memory, and once she talked with her son, he had just lent more support to the cause.

But lying was not the real, main reason he couldn’t face Trunks. No, it was because of what he was going to do. He was going to leave his future love alone in this world, and that just wasn’t right. How could he face the man with that knowledge? How could he face the man whom he would hurt?

Was this how Piccolo felt when he sacrificed his body for Gohan’s? No, it couldn’t be… Piccolo knew that Gohan would revive him, Piccolo knew that he was going to live again.

Why did he do that? It was a question that frequented the child’s mind. Was it because Trunks’ life was in danger? Was it because he was protecting his pupil? Did he just run out of luck? Was he too stupid to realize? Or was it for a darker reason?

Gohan shook his head. It couldn’t be that. Although, he didn’t know how this world would change him over the process of ten plus years. Already, he was changing. Fear – something that seemed to be just a trickle before – had exploded into his life, it broke the dam and he flowed with it, he went where it took him. The rapids were raging, and every time he thought of overcoming the hasty, dangerous waters, he was driven back by another wave of fright. Here he didn’t just fear for his life. No, he already knew that he would die, and that was more terrifying than a ki blast aimed for his heart with a possibility to dodge the deadly blast. No, it was because he knew that he would never dodge that blast in the end, that his death was inevitable, that his time really was limited, that he had the knowledge of where the clock stopped.

And that fear was not the only change – no he had become what he never thought he would become: he became a liar, he became a ghost of the past, he became a toy for the enemy.

So… it wasn’t all that inconceivable that he could walk a darker path…

Ki’s beginning to vanish and weaken off in the distance distracted Gohan from his thoughts and he looked up, towards the source. The androids! He thought and shot up.

Next, Trunks’ ki became to rise, and Gohan rushed over to where the still-sick demi was. “You’re not going Trunks.” He said firmly.

“Like hell!” The Saiyajin prince objected.

“Trunks, you’re in no shape to fight them, you still haven’t recovered from the last battle!” Bulma added.

“What about those people Mother? Am I just going to let them die over a stupid blood clot? I think not!”

And if you die, there will be no fighter that is a natural part of this world Trunks. Gohan thought and turned around. “I’ll go. They won’t kill me.”

“Chibi!” Trunks called after him.

“No.” Gohan turned, determination in his eyes as he stood at the door. “You stay here.” It’s the least that I can do. The child took off in flight and towards the disappearance of ki.

“Oh?” Gohan said with a glare. Control it Gohan! Don’t let the rage control you! He forced down the building anger, pushed it down and tried to hone it. Then, he took the key and unlocked his powers, letting it envelope him – but not dominate him. “Disappointed are you?”

“I don’t want to fight blind rage. Directed rage, yes. Now that’s amusing.”

Gohan appeared behind the android and threw a punch. He could do this! Focus! Focus! “I’m not as wild as before.”

He saw Seventeen smirk as he caught the fist. “We’ll see how long that lasts.” He challenged and returned the punch, but Gohan caught it – and almost winced.

The man – cyborg – was still playing with him, but he owed this to Trunks. He hurt the other, he left the other, and now, he would play hero for the man whom he was destined to love.

Feet and arms were aimed, dodged, caught, and connected. They had only damaged one party though – Gohan could not land a single blow on the artificial human. And while two blue-coloured eyes often met, confidence and amusement were only in one pair, while the green-tinted ones began to droop in exhaustion and pain.

Seventeen was just playing, he didn’t put any effort, and here Gohan was, slowing and weakening. How could he be so strong? Gohan was a Super Saiyajin… and yet!

“Sorry to interrupt Seventeen, but I think you’ve played with your dolly long enough. This town is getting boring.”

And yet… he couldn’t even hinder the other sibling while she went on her own personal rampage! He was pathetic! He was weak! He was useless! Then, he heard what she referred to him by and it was the final spark that lit his already-short fuse. “D-Dolly?” His eyes narrowed and he charged at Eighteen.

But she was already ahead of him as she dodged his raging fists.

“Blind rage.” She simply stated before letting her fist connect with Gohan’s stomach – why was it always there – and knocking him out with a new surge of pain.

Sure Chibi said that the androids wouldn’t kill him, but Eighteen was the more logical and persuasive one of the pair. If she got it in her head that Chibi – Gohan’s child – had to die, sooner or later the boy wouldn’t have a chance.

“Trunks?” His mother asked at his lack of movement and exclamation. “Did something happen to G-Chibi?”

Trunks was accustomed to his mother’s slipups. Apparently even Chibi confused his mother with his appearance. The teen nodded though. “Yeah, his ki just plummeted.” He couldn’t stay here! He needed to go and help Chibi! “I’ve got to go! Chibi needs me!”

“Oh no you–” Bulma protested as her son bolted for the door and she shook her head. “You never listen when it comes to those androids…”

Trunks sped toward the place that the androids were. Even while Chibi was busy with one, there still were ki’s vanishing. Chibi didn’t know, he was too weak to battle both and too boring to watch.

The boy just didn’t know what the androids were capable of, what their actions were focused on, what their supposed emotions were. They were cruel, sadistic, bored. Their definition of fun was torture, and a game was somebody who had the strength of a Super Saiyajin. Chibi was just a child, how could he possibly know? How could he…

No, there was no such thing as a child anymore was there? Gohan had lost his childhood just before he turned ten and Trunks couldn’t remember when he was last fearless, carefree, and amused by the simple things. What was Chibi’s experience? Did he still remember when he ran around without a care in the world, when he giggled at a butterfly on his nose, when an android was just a big scary monster that never really mattered to him but it scared those who took care of him?

Trunk’s body halted in mid-flight as another rage surged through his head. What did Chibi’s life have to do with his forgotten memories? The prince glanced down at the desolated rocky plains and the image of the strangers and the Gohan-Chibi-persona flashed again. The pressure and pain in his head only increased as he closed his eyes. It had just made everything worse though since the picture became real. He felt like he was a person watching them, that he was sitting and waving at them and they were waving back. He was smiling at a younger version of his mother before he glanced at the Gohan-Chibi-person – who was approaching him slowly – with a thought: I will save you.

STOP! Trunks demanded, and that’s exactly what his body did.

It was the last thing that had really disheartened Gohan. Twenty years ago, people would not be cowering behind corners but running around frantically for children, siblings, parents, friends… but now life was so valuable one couldn’t risk it for another. This world was just so sad…

How could Trunks bear seeing this each time he was defeated by the androids, how could he continue to do this?

Wait… where was Trunks’ ki? Back at Capsule Corporation Bulma was alone, and he couldn’t find the other’s ki anywhere! Sure, Trunks normally hid it and he had it toned down, but it was never like this! Gohan could always feel the slightest hint! There were only two possible things: Trunks was dead, or he was close to it.

No! No! Not him too! Not again! This couldn’t be! This world needed a warrior! Trunks was the sole carrier of the Saiyajin genes, he was the only who could hope to rival the androids! Gohan wasn’t from here, he couldn’t… he didn’t want to…

Did this mean he had to stay here?

Did this mean that he could never go home?

Did this mean he could never see his mom?

His Dad?

Piccolo?

Gohan’s body trembled with emotion. No! No! Calm down! Calm down! Look for Trunks! Find him! He told himself as he held his head and muted out the sounds of terror that those around him were making. He had to find Trunks! Find Trunks and figure out what to do then.

Gohan stood up and raised his ki. He flew the route that was the shortest, and the most direct to Capsule Corporation and he watched the ground.

Trunks had to have left the building – from what he could tell about the man’s attitude – towards the androids. Especially after he would have felt Gohan’s ki drop… If he had flown towards the city, Gohan had to ensure that he kept an eye on his surroundings. Especially if the other had run into the androids…

A thought occurred to Gohan: what if Trunks had gone else where and he was wasting his time here? What if the time he used dawdling along the route here could have been used in saving Trunks’ life elsewhere? What if he lingered here while Trunks died…

Gohan bit his bottom lip. He still… he still had to go to Bulma and ask her where Trunks went, and if, if he somehow missed Trunks here, Gohan didn’t think he could live with that guilt-free. He already killed Trunks’ heart, he couldn’t kill the man’s body too…

No! He had to check! He had to make sure! He had to hope! He had to hope that if Trunks ran into the androids, they left him hanging to life, that they created enough observable damage. It was perhaps depressing that he wanted that fate for Trunks, yet it would be easier. Even if it was so, Trunks would have significant wounds to for his ki to drop this low. But, in case that wasn’t, Gohan kept his eyes and senses peels for any sign of Trunks and his ki.

The only thing that mattered to Gohan now was that Trunks was alright. Nothing else fazed him. Gohan could barely feel the wind against his face as he flew, nonetheless anything else. Trunks was the only thing in his world. Trunks had to be found, Trunks had to be alive.

If he wasn’t, well Gohan didn’t know – to both scenarios.

He looked for purple, for black, for blue, for yellow. Where was the man who defeated Frieza? Where was the last Saiyajin? Where was their prince – King? Where was Trunks?

“Trunks!” Gohan yelled, praying the man was still conscious out there and could respond in some way. “Trunks!”

Why wasn’t he responding! Didn’t he know that he was Earth’s only hope! Sure he thought Gohan was his own son but wouldn’t that mean he’d need to train Gohan? Stupid Trunks! Just stay at home! Just get better! Just live! “Trunks!”

What was that? Gohan turned his head as he felt a very faint and very low ki off to his left. “Trunks!” Gohan called, but this time out of hope instead of desolation, and flew towards it.

He found the man, lying almost peacefully by a river. Gohan panicked and flew down. He placed his ear against the other’s chest and heard the heart beating, the lungs inhaling.

But both were shallow. He glanced around a gauged the distance towards the Capsule Corporation. Kinto’un would be too slow. He had to fly.

The boy closed his eyes and concentrated on his box before opening it and letting out the power, dying his locks, tinting his eyes.

He picked up Trunks and gently slung the older man over his shoulder. “Hang on Trunks.” He said as he floated up into the air. “I’ll get you home.”

He flew full speed to Capsule Corporation and kept his senses honed in on the other’s ki.

When he got to the door, he let out a sigh and knocked. Gently he moved Trunks into his arms. Bulma, she would take care of – Gohan’s eyes widened as his body finally caught up to him. The pain hit him in another wave, the exhaustion took over, and he was lucky that the door opened because he couldn’t control his body as it collapsed in rebellion against his recent actions.

Authors’ Notes: OoC is not a major part of the story and it is explained later.

thoughts
.+++. time/scene skip
.xxx. perspective change

*****

Gohan yelled as Trunks’ body started convulsing and ran towards the man. What was wrong? What was wrong! “Kinto’un!” Gohan screamed out. What was he supposed to do! Why was Trunks twitching! He shouldn’t be twitching right? Gohan jumped on top of Trunks and moved his hands and legs to hold down the flailing limbs, but the man was too strong. In his panic, he charged up and he transformed into a Super Saiyajin and it worked! He held down Trunks firmly, that was until Trunks’ body had the same idea and his hair turned golden and he threw Gohan off. Then, the prince’s ki began to rapidly flash on and off and his hair had yellow and purple pulsing through it in horizontal streaks.

And Gohan watched with wide, horrified eyes. What was he supposed to do? Was Trunks going to be alright? The single minute that it took for Trunks’ body to calm down seemed to take forever and when the moments of stillness started Gohan finally approached Trunks again. “Trunks? Trunks?” He asked quietly.

And the prince did respond, but nothing coherently. The words were slurred and half formed. Gohan bit his lips. I need to take him to Bulma… she would know what happened to him. “Hold on Trunks, stay awake, I’ll be right back!” He said and ran around, tidying up their camp before he ran back over to Trunks. “Trunks, you still with me?”

“Who? What?”

Gohan sighed in relief. At least he’s forming words again. He moved and picked up Trunks – whose hair had reverted back to its natural lavender colour. “I’m taking you home.” He explained and floated up onto the orange cloud that had come down from the skies. “To Capsule Corp Kinto’un.” Gohan said and held Trunks against him just like when he carried Trunks on the cloud before. Even though he had the strength to fly, he was too small to carry Trunks the entire way – in a way that wouldn’t possibly damage the other anyway.

“Gohan? Why’re yousmall?” Trunks said, but his words were slurring together. Still, it was much better than before. “Why’reyou Super Saiyaji-?”

“You call me Chibi, Trunks.” Gohan reminded him.

“WhydoI call yaChibi? You’re older denme.” The lavender-haired man giggled. “You’re my sensei, why call yaChibi?”

There most definitely was something wrong with Trunks. He was giddy – an emotion that Gohan had never seen in the man before. Then within that pair of blue a look, that look, reappeared and it froze the younger demi. It didn’t seem to matter to Trunks though, as he leaned up, his face approached, and his lips’ target was becoming obvious. Gohan snapped out of his reaction quick enough to avoid the touching of their lips.

Instead, Trunks kissed his cheek, and it seemed that he wouldn’t give up. He leaned up again, tilted his head, but Gohan avoided it again. Then, Trunks’ lower lip stuck out as he pouted. “Oh com’on Gohan! Why wuncha let me kissya?”

Let him kiss me? What…? W-Why? The idea confused Gohan. The man that was half on his lap and half on the cloud was intent on an answer though, and Gohan did not have an answer that he could give. Perhaps he could state a fact and make it seem like an answer? He didn’t want to but… “You’re sick.” He said. “Or I think so. I’m taking you home so Bulma can make sure.”

“Aww…” Trunks whined. “Fine!”

And Gohan’s arms had to secure their grasp on the older demi as Kinto’un suddenly decided it wouldn’t support the son of Vegeta anymore. “Kinto’un!” Gohan whined. This was going to be a long trip.

“Bulma.” Gohan said as he supported Trunks at the door. He knocked again. “Bulma…”

When the woman – complaining at the impatience of kids these days – opened the door Gohan almost had to support another person but she caught herself on the doorframe.

“G-Gohan?” Her voice shook in fear, disbelief, and shock.

“I’ll um… explain later, but something is wrong with Trunks. I think the androids did something bad to him this time.”

Why did the words this time seem so depressing to Gohan?

“Okay, just come on in you two, we’ll run some tests on him.” Bulma said and lit a cigarette.

“But I don’t wanna have tests run Mother!” Trunks whined.

She almost lost her smoke as she gaped with wide eyes at her son and then at a child Gohan.

“He only started acting like this after he started twitching.” Gohan supplied the answer to the question that she was more than likely wondering.

“He had a seizure! Kami!” She exclaimed before pulling Trunks along behind her.

A seizure? I’ve heard of those… was that what that was? Gohan wondered as he followed Bulma into her lab.

When all the tests were run and done, Bulma sighed with a puff of smoke. “He still has signs of a concussion – however that isn’t what directly caused the seizure. Trunks has a blood clot in an artery in the brain. The damage to his head probably caused both the concussion and the blood clot. All I can do is give him some medication to help wear it down. I don’t see anything too serious with it unless it doesn’t wear down but hopefully it will – it shouldn’t take too long. We just need to let his Saiyajin blood kick in and he’ll be fine.” Then, she turned over to Gohan. “Now, could you perhaps explain who you are? You’re a dead-knock for Gohan when he was a kid, and you’ve even got the Saiyajin blood.” She said and touched a golden lock.

“Oops… I guess I forgot about that.” Gohan said before he returned to his powered down. Then he looked over to the unconscious Trunks before back up at Bulma. “I suppose I can tell you. I look like a kid Gohan because I am a kid Gohan.”

“What? That’s impossible! The dragon balls are just rocks unless – did the Namekseijins revive you? No, that can’t be. Did you confuse your words, that would mean that Gohan…”

Gohan slapped his hand to his face. “I know what I said Bulma. I’m a seven year old Gohan. I… I think I got caught in the time portal Trunks made when he came back here.”

Bulma ran a hand through her hair. “That klutz…”

“Is there… is there any way I can go back?” Gohan asked quietly.

“I’m sorry to say, but not at this moment. However, in about five months you will be able to. The time machine requires a lot of energy to charge.”

Gohan’s eyes widened. Five months? Five months! He had to wait another one hundred and fifty days? In this time? In this world? No… He didn’t want to be here any longer! He wanted to go home! He wanted to go back to the time where it was safe, to where his mother yelled at him for getting twelve-times-twelve wrong, to where she forced him to do calligraphy instead of train, to where Piccolo was alive, to where his dad was! Gohan hugged himself as he slid down the wall. Would he live that long?

If he hadn’t met the androids, Gohan may have lasted that long, but now they knew who he was (or so they thought) and he knew who they were. How could he last that long, knowing that they were looking forward to their next meeting, that they wanted to beat him to an inch of his life only to toss him away, just so they could do it all over again?

How did the people of Earth live this way? How did Trunks? Perhaps what had scared him the most though was that in five months and three years, he’d have to meet them again, meet them for the first time, and watch them kill everybody he loved. And then start everything all over again…

Kami, his head was killing him. At least he was on a bed. Wait, a bed? Trunks shot up and glanced around. He was in his room but why? The last thing he could remember was being in the training grounds with Chibi. No… that wasn’t it. Trunks flushed slightly as he remembered that he treated Chibi like Gohan again, that he tried to kiss the child, that he acted like a child. Why did he act like that? He had to apologize.

As the prince got out of bed, he noticed a glass of water, a bottle of pills and a note with instructions and an explanation.

I have a blood clot in my brain? I had a seizure? Kami… no wonder why my head won’t stop hurting. Trunks sighed but took the mediation and downed the water. He then sensed for Chibi, and noticed that he was in the kitchen while his mother was in the workshop. The prince headed towards the kitchen – he was hungry anyway.

“Chibi… I’m uh… sorry…” He said awkwardly at the doorway, not really looking at Gohan’s son. He heard nothing, no shuffling, no grunts. Was the boy asleep? Trunks glanced over to the mini-Gohan to see him staring off into space. Yet, his facial expression seemed torn, lost, sad, and fearful. Trunks understood. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone. I can understand–”

“No.” Chibi said firmly but continued off into a murmur. “It’s not that. You don’t have to go.”

If it wasn’t him, then what exactly had Chibi so down? What made his voice sound so monotonously sad? The lavender-haired man sat down next to the boy who looked at him with those big black Son eyes. They were filled with a lost hope – fear – and Trunks just wanted to hold Chibi close and tell him that everything would be fine.

“The…” The boy hesitated. “The way you phrased things Trunks, were you and Gohan… together?”

The man stared at Chibi. How could he tell the boy that his father was in a relationship with another man, that he had loved another person who was not his mother? “W-Wha? Oh, no, there’s–”

“The truth Trunks.” Why did Chibi sound so much like his father when he found Trunks lying? Why did he seem to have the same grip Gohan had on him?

The prince looked down. “Yes, Chibi, yes we were together. I loved him, I still love him.”

“What about Gohan?”

Here Trunks flinched. “I-I don’t know anymore…” Yet at the look Chibi had on his face, that would not be enough – he wanted facts, not opinions. Well, kid deserved to know… “He told me he loved me.”

The boy looked down at his hands again in what seemed contemplation, although instead of on his lap, they were chest level and palm up. “I’m sorry Trunks.” He said solemnly and walked away.

It all made sense now – why Trunks seemed to hate him, why Trunks looked him at the way he did, why Trunks did the things he did… but Gohan didn’t know what to think of it. Gohan was only seven years old, and yet his life’s story was being laid out right in front of him. He was being told that he would lose his father, his friends, his limb, and his life; he was being told whom he would battle, train and love. And now, Gohan didn’t know who he was. Was he the Gohan who slept beside his father in eternal sleep? If not… then who was he? He was the Gohan who stepped into the future, the Gohan who achieved Super Saiyajin earlier – yet was he also connected to the Gohan here? Did what he do now change the future – the present – the past? Was he going to be the Gohan of this now? Kami, Gohan didn’t even know how to refer to time anymore and this was that but also that over there! What was what? Gohan just didn’t – couldn’t – know anymore…

Authors’ Notes: The Mpreg label is an optional point to the story, I shall warn beforehand if it is not your thing.

Thoughts
//Flashback//
.+++. Time/scene skip
.xxx. Perspective/Time(Backwards or forwards) change

*****

While Mirai was shocked, Gohan had already realized that possibility – it had not lessened the shock, just the impact – and it wasn’t his predominant emotion. No, the expression on his face resembled anger and the ki that dancing off of him just further supported that claim.

“We’re engaged…” Mirai repeated in a whisper. He couldn’t believe it – or at least that’s what Gohan hoped from the disbelief in his voice and his slowly shaking head. (Sure, the younger half-Saiyajin wasn’t exactly prepared for engagement, but he didn’t want to believe Mirai was opposed to marrying him.)

“Yeah.” Gohan tried to say calmly, tried not to snap, tried not to lace the anger in his voice and he barely succeeded. Instead of his voice raising or lowering into a dangerous pitch, it quivered with the suppressed emotion. His voice didn’t break with emotion, but there were audible cracks in the tremors that shook it. He would kill the chibis!

“Gohan?” However much Gohan tried to withhold his emotional response, once Mirai got over his initial shock he picked up on it. Then again, it was rolling off of him in waves, so he supposed it was hard not to notice. “Are you alright? I mean I can–” The words were said quietly, as if Mirai didn’t agree with what he was saying but they were also said with the concern the man from the future had for his boyfriend.

“We’ll sort that out later Mirai, first I need to teach some chibis some manners.” His voice danced slightly with the anger that was slipping from his vault. He smirked and glanced at Mirai – who had finally tore his gaze from the four-star ball before continuing. “Of course I wouldn’t deny you that privilege so you can join if you wish.” He said and tossed the ball over to Mirai and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

It wasn’t just Mirai who glanced at Gohan incredulously, for both Namekseijins looked at their friend and student in the same manner. But only Mirai took Gohan’s outstretched hand before both half-Saiyajins left instantly.

“G-Gohan?” Goten stuttered and looked over at Chibi Trunks with worry.

Mirai had a Vegeta-smirk on his face as he tossed the dragon ball in the air. When he made eye contact with his younger counterpart, dread filled the chibis’ faces.

“Oh shit…” Chibi said before the four disappeared.

“You forgot about me Gohan!” Mirai added innocently.

“G-Gohan swore!” Goten accused with a finger before Chibi hit him over the head.

“Nine. Eight.” Gohan began to count down.

“That’ll be the least of our worries if you don’t raise your ki idiot!” Chibi scolded and charged up.

“Seven. Six.”

“R-Right” Goten stuttered as he did the same.

“Five. Four.”

The chibis positioned themselves.

“Three. Two.”

“Fusion…”

“One.”

“Hah!”

Only after Goten’s head was hit by Gohan did the younger half-Saiyajins give in. “Okay! Okay! We’re sorry!” Twin voices rang out as both covered their heads in defence.

Gohan let out a small sigh and glanced up at Mirai who nodded at the eye contact. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and looked sternly at the boys. “And?”

“We won’t do it again?” Goten tried before Chibi Trunks flew over and hit Goten over the head again.

“You dumbie! We can’t do it again!”

“Trunks!” Goten whined.

Mirai raised an eyebrow and looked at Gohan through the corner of his eyes at the nostalgic sound.

Gohan caught the gaze with a smile before the two of them burst out with laughter.

Chibi looked at Goten and was met with a matching, curious gaze.

When both Mirai and Gohan calmed their laughter, their expressions were lighter but were still tinged with firmness.

It was Mirai who spoke next. “So you knew what the ball was for?”

Guiltily, the chibis nodded together.

“And you intentionally did this?” Gohan continued. It seemed that the two adults were taking turns speaking.

Again, twin nods.

“Could you perhaps give us a reason for your actions?” Mirai asked as he took his turn.

This time the two boys had different reactions: Goten looked down with guilt while Chibi looked away with burning cheeks.

“Chibi?” Gohan prompted warningly.

“I-I-um…” The young prince stuttered as his face darkened even more than it originally was.

“TrunkssaidsomethingaboutpantsandthatheandbigTrunkshavethesameonesand–” Goten blurted out before gasping for breath and continuing, “andhesaidsomethingaboutmaybelikingGohanandthatwedidntwantthatandandand–”

Gohan knelt down and put his hands on Goten’s shoulders, breaking both his and Mirai’s pattern at his little brother’s state of duress. “Goten, slow down. What’s this about Chibi liking me and what does it have to do with Mirai’s pants?”

“Idiot!” Chibi shouted. “Genes! Get it right!” His face was still scarlet and he crossed his arms before looking away again.

Goten fiddled his thumbs. “W-Well um… you and Trunks – the big one – are dating right?”

“My dad, Videl, my friends, Piccolo, and now the chibis? Are we that obvious?”

Mirai put a hand on Gohan’s shoulder in mock support. “Look at it this way – with the exception of Goku – they all had help along the way. Videl saw us, I showed you off to our friends, Piccolo saw the dragon ball and Chibi here is essentially me. Although, I always did say that you’re flaming.”

“T-Trunks!” Gohan yelled, his cheeks darkening.

“Gohan… you haven’t answered my question yet.” Goten added in meekly.

The older Son mentally face palmed. Isn’t it obvious, I virtually admitted to it already! “Yes Goten.” He said drolly.

“Well, um… that’s kinda why…. We don’t want Trunks to like you!” Goten stuttered before exclaiming the point that he’d been trying to make for awhile.

Gohan blinked, rather confused by that logic.

Mirai, however, nodded. “I think I know what these two are getting at and, although the approach to the conclusion isn’t exactly correct, it isn’t too far from the truth.”

Both Sons turned toward Mirai in question.

“Seeing that Chibi and myself are essentially the same person we both like guys – that’s what the two of you figured, right Goten?” When the youngest nodded, Mirai continued. “So you thought we might like the same people.” Another nod, and Mirai knelt down. “Well where you two went wrong were focusing on genes – however the fact that Chibi and I are two different versions of Trunks is where you two are correct.”

“So Trunks will like Gohan?” Goten said with worry and dread, his eyes widening.

Mirai laughed and shook his head. “That we don’t know. You see, there never was a Goten in my life, I never really had a father, I just had my mother and Gohan – and sometimes Chi-Chi. Here, things are still unknown, nobody knows the future.” Mirai grinned next. “Is that why you two set us up – so there’d be no competition?”

Goten’s face lit up as did Chibi’s reignite once more.

“H-H-How’d you know?”

Mirai had a turn at hitting Goten over the head now as he laughed. “First of all you told us when you said ‘we don’t want Trunks to like Gohan’. Second – well we saw you two kissing behind the tree.” Still with the grin on his face, Mirai pinched Goten’s cheeks teasingly.

“Trunks! Help me! The big you is being mean!”

“He’s not me! As if I’d go out with Gohan! I’ve got you!” Chibi Trunks protested but ran towards Mirai anyway.

Gohan joined in on the laughter that started as Chibi tackled Mirai with the power of a super Saiyajin. The future looked interesting with these two relationships in tow…

“It’s alright Dad, me and Trunks deserved it.” Goten admitted quietly.

“You did? What’d you do?” Goku asked curiously.

Gohan’s cheeks darkened. “Oh Dad, Bora and Upa say hi!” He interjected. Hopefully that’d distract his father. Goku only knew that Gohan liked Mirai, not that they were dating and now… engaged.

“Bora and Upa…” Goku said as he put his fingers to his chin and glanced up thoughtfully. “Oh Bora and Upa!” A smile appeared on the innocent face as he recalled the father and son. “I should visit them.”

“Well you’re staying right here for now Goku. Supper is ready.” Chi-Chi scolded as she shook a batter-covered spoon. “Goten!” The woman acknowledged the many bruises on her youngest. “What ha-” Before Chi-Chi could even ask, a gust of air blew by her and the clank of dishes filled the kitchen.

Really, Chi-Chi should already know better to say what needed to be said before mentioning food around Saiyajins.

“Videl, have you ever thought of going on your own?” Gohan asked quietly. He wasn’t being selfish either, it was quite the opposite, he was concerned for the future. If Videl couldn’t handle the criminals on her own… he worried for her.

“But I can’t withstand bullets, blow them away with ki, or make ki blasts like you do!” Videl pointed out.

Gohan sighed. Videl’s dependence was deeper than he thought. “Videl how did you become as strong as you are today?”

The daughter of Mr. Satan looked off to the side. “I trained, I practiced…” She listed quietly.

“Then why do you not work on ki instead of martial arts? Why don’t you learn your own style? I can’t teach you everything… I’ve taught you the basics: how to gather your ki in your palm, how to channel it to your feet, how to expand it into a shield to protect you against the wind as you fly. Build on those – strengthen and enlarge that little ball of ki, channel the ki elsewhere, turn the shield against elements into one against bullets… There are endless possibilities you can do with that energy.” Gohan let out another sigh, hopefully Videl would finally realize her own potential. She had surpassed her father long ago and if only she embraced something that she thought was tricks and lightshows her entire life could she become even stronger. “One day, I may not be in or near Satan City to defend it, and you will need to do it alone.”

“Alone…” Videl whispered. “To fight alone again, I never thought about that possibility.” She smiled and gave a soft laugh. “I guess I always thought you’d be here, that you’d help, but I guess things really have changed.”

Gohan smiled softly at her. They had been together for two years after all – he could give her a few months of leeway. “Well, nobody knows what the future will bring, but it’s best to be prepared. I know you have the potential to do it; you just have to unlock it. But enough of this, let’s go save Satan City from its villains.” With that, their smiles widened before they took off.

But he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about marriage right now, he was just supposed to worry about making Mirai happy, how to make them happy, never mind what his mother wanted. Marriage could wait, it should wait. Perhaps Mirai would keep the ball because, in a way they always were engaged. Physical proof of that didn’t change matter… did it?

The Son let out a sigh, he still wanted to know what Mirai felt about this. It seemed that they’d have to have that talk after all.

“We shouldn’t even be doing this.” The other, taller man responded quietly. “I mean, they’ve only just started to accept you…”

“They’ll learn to accept this as well!” He argued. “Since when did you worry what others thought anyway?”

“There was that incident when Buu attacked… even I am not really sure that we should be doing this.” The tall one reasoned, ignoring the latter half of his companion’s statement.

“For fuck sakes! I go as low as to… and yet you still have qualms about it! I put away my damn pride, isn’t that enough for you?” The short man’s already small fuse was at its limits. “Just fucking do it already.”

“But if anyone finds out that we’re doing this…” The quieter man whispered.

“The fucking brats do it all the fucking time! If they can do it then why can’t–”

“That’s because they only have a limited time anyway.” The tall one interrupted. “Us on the other hand… I don’t want anything bad to happen.”

“You already know what I did!” The loud one’s temper snapped. “How can you doubt after that!”

“But don’t you remember what you did before!” The once-seemingly meek man grabbed the crass one by his shirt. “How can I, after that!”

“If only you had honestly accepted my offer, that would have never happened! It was the only way to get you to react dammit!”

A sigh escaped the kinder male as he let the other go. “And that’s why I can’t do this. You’re addicted enough and you’ll abuse what you’ll get. I’m sorry Vegeta, but I can’t.” With two fingers at his forehead, he teleported both of them back to Earth before leaving by transmission himself.

Vegeta clenched his fists and glared at where the other had stood a moment before. “Damn you to Hell Kakkarot! Damn you to Hell!”

—

Chapter 8: Fault

—

The plane blasted across the clear sky, making a hideous noise of it. Bulma wished now that she had chosen something better to get her to Roshi’s island, but she couldn’t deny that this prototype was a fast son of a bitch. It was designed to fly faster than the speed of sound, which she had assumed would be a silent flight. Apparently not. At least, not inside the cockpit.

Hopefully this way she wouldn’t get left behind when everyone else started flying off, though. If she could actually keep up and not need to be carried for once it would be worth the busted ear drums.

She had known all of those guys long enough to know that was exactly what they were going to do—fly off as soon as she showed them the picture from her fax machine. The vehicle that had clearly been lying abandoned for a few years, which was identical to the time machine Trunks had used.

This was all starting to seem like a script from a sci-fi movie. Androids, time travel, talking heads and—Bulma almost laughed out loud—aliens. It was too perfect. She should write a book or something. The main character could be a stunningly beautiful young woman trying to balance her obligations as the heiress of a global corporation with the stresses of occasionally saving the world with her alien friends. “Hey, I’m on to something here.”

But first things first. There was Roshi’s island. Bulma disengaged the autopilot—she preferred to land manually—and did a circle around it, aiming for what passed as the old man’s front lawn. Her plane kicked sand up everywhere, but it wasn’t like anyone was outside to be bothered by it.

The plane was as horrifically noisy about landing as it had been for everything else. By the time she opened the top and climbed out of the cockpit, everyone had come outside to greet her. Well, everyone except for Gohan. Maybe they had left before he got home? She hoped not, poor kid.

“Finally!” Krillin called as she climbed down. “We’ve been waiting for you, Bulma.”

What? How? Nevermind. “Hi. I’ve got something to show Trunks. It’s important.” And upon saying that she realized that she had left the picture on the seat. Sighing, Bulma climbed back up into the plane. “Hold on.”

“‘Kay, but listen. We have a plan to beat the androids. We just need…”

“Hold on, will you? I said this is important.” The stupid picture had fallen under the seat somehow, but she managed to get it without having to do anything that would require her to punch Roshi after.

“Bulma! I think the end of the world is…”

“Ah!” Bulma lost her balance—heels may have been a bad idea—and fell from the top of the plane. After a few seconds she realized that her neck wasn’t broken and that she hadn’t actually hit the ground. Opening her eyes, she saw the face of her future son looking down at her. “Thanks, sweetie. Here, take a look at this.”

—

How many impossible things needed to happen in one fucking day?

Trunks stared down at the picture while Bulma explained to everyone how she had gotten it. What the Hell? Another time machine meant that he wasn’t the only one here from the future…and worse, it meant that whoever it was had to be from further in the future than he was.

That was definitely the time machine his mother had built, or at least the same model. And his was the first one. So when had this one come from?

He had to assume it wasn’t a friend, either. Clearly it had been here for some time, and nobody had come to give him helpful advice. Which meant that someone was trying to stop him from saving the world.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” It was a blindingly obvious thing to say, but he did anyway. “Who…” Trunks trailed off, looking up at the group. “I have to go check this out.”

“I’m going with you.” His mother announced. “Otherwise the curiosity will drive me crazy.”

“Wait, Bulma.” Krillin broke in. “What about the Dragonballs, and the controller? Don’t you have stuff to do?”

But Bulma would not be deterred. “Whatever, we don’t need both, do we? You and Yamcha go to my place and get the radar. You can look for the Dragonballs yourself. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“I…”

“Come on, Krillin. There’s no point in arguing with her.” Yamcha smacked Krillin’s shoulder as he walked past to the water’s edge. “Besides, it’s better than sitting here doing nothing, right? Let’s go.”

Krillin sighed, defeated. “Fine. See you guys.”

“Be careful, boys.” Roshi called as the two lifted into the air and were gone. “Alright. We’ll stay here with Goku. You two get going too.”

Chi-Chi sniffed. “Couldn’t have waited ten more minutes? Lunch is almost ready, and now I made way too much.”

“Sorry, Chi-Chi. Maybe when we get back.” Trunks said. “Let’s go.” Bulma was climbing into her noisy plane again. He prepared to take off himself.

“You never said goodbye to me.”

Shit. He couldn’t very well leave without telling Gohan, not after earlier. “Hold on, I’ve just got something quick to do.” And he took off behind the house, ignoring Roshi’s cries that there was a bathroom inside.

“Gohan? I just wanted to…Gohan!” The boy was curled up at the edge of the water, waves lapping his face. Trunks quite literally flew to his side. There was no way he was sleeping. He wouldn’t have fallen asleep here, almost in the water.

His hand clutched to his chest and the fact that he was barely breathing were enough for Trunks to leap to a conclusion. Trunks hadn’t ever seen this himself, but there was no question what it meant.

I did this. What exactly he meant by that Trunks wasn’t sure. But he knew it was true, somehow. This was his fault. Now Gohan would die, because there wasn’t enough medicine. He had only brought back enough for Goku. For one person. If he tried to give some to Gohan, both of them would die. “Gohan…”

Wait. It came to Trunks suddenly, and he cursed himself for taking so long to remember. There was more medicine! He stood up, Gohan in his arms. The boy cried out as he was moved, a sound that made Trunks wish he was deaf. Reaching into his coat pocket was a bit of a pain, but he managed to get his capsule case.

“Trunks, what’s…oh my goodness, Gohan!” Bulma had come around the house, and was now running towards him. From her face, she seemed to have an idea of what was happening.

He fumbled the case open and seized the right capsule, letting everything else fall to the ground. “It’s okay.” It really wasn’t, but he had to say something. “I’m going get him help.”

“Trunks, are you sure that…”

“There’s no time to be sure!” Trunks clicked the capsule and tossed it behind him, his time machine emerging in a puff of smoke, the top open and waiting for him.

To Bulma’s credit, she either saw that there was nothing she could do or decided that there was no other way. Both were true. “Be careful.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Gohan let out another cry of pain as Trunks leapt into the time machine, clutching his chest even tighter. He closed the top, punched the machine to life and coaxed it up into the air and, with one last look down at his mother, hit the buttons that would take him home.

Maybe there would be consequences to taking someone to the future with him. Trunks didn’t care. There was no point in saving the world if Gohan had to die for it again.

—

The best part of time travel was that it was instant. Bulma didn’t have to sit around worrying for days or weeks about whether Trunks would come back injured, or come back at all. He could travel forward to three seconds after he’d left and that would be the end of that.

But that was also the worst part of time travel. After a full minute had gone by with no return of her son, Bulma was already starting to fear the worst.

She forced herself to go inside and put coffee on. Standing in the doorway and fainting from hunger and low blood sugar would do nothing. At the very least she needed breakfast. She was getting too old to be staying up all night like that. She pulled the carton of eggs from the fridge and set it carefully on the counter. It was hard to get real eggs these days, but it was one thing that she just couldn’t eat the synthesized version of.

Trunks had probably just made a mistake programming the machine to return. Hit a five instead of a four, maybe. Or maybe he’d entered PM instead of AM. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to go get him. She’d built a second time machine, just in case something happened to the first; maybe she should plug it in and start charging it after all. Just in case.

Bulma didn’t realize that her hands were shaking until she dropped an egg. “Damn.” Seizing a cloth from the countertop, she crouched down to clean up the mess. She was being silly. It had only been a few minutes. Gohan and Trunks had used to disappear for days fighting the androids. Everything was fine; she just needed to be more patient.

Trunks had better be ready with a good reason for being so late when he got back.

A sudden banging from outside made Bulma jump. “What was that?” She asked nobody in particular. Then her brain caught up. Outside, where the time machine had left from. She scrambled to her feet and ran from the house. As she did it crossed Bulma’s mind that there shouldn’t have been a banging sound. The time machine was noisy, but not that loud. Something must be wrong with it.

Expecting to see a flaming ruin, Bulma was almost disappointed when she emerged from the house. The time machine was intact, though judging by the way it was skewed on the ground it had fallen from the sky. Smoke was billowing out from the inside, but it certainly wasn’t totalled.

So preoccupied with the machine was Bulma that at first she didn’t see her son climbing out. When her attention shifted to him and she the expression on his face, the need with which he was looking at her, and then what was cradled in his arms, Bulma felt cold.

“Oh, Trunks, what have we done?”

—

“I’m home.” Gohan called out as he came into the house. Nobody answered. “Mom? Dad? I’m home.” Where had he been? Gohan didn’t remember. But he was home now, and that was what mattered. “Hello?”

The house was silent as a grave. Wondering what was going on, Gohan wandered down the hall and turned the corner into the kitchen. “Mom?”

Chi-Chi was sitting on the floor beside an overturned chair, smiling down at a bundle of blankets in her arms. “Shh, Gohan. You’ll wake up the baby.”

“Mom, why are you on the floor?” Gohan approached her, stopping just a few feet away. The baby was wrapped up so tightly that he couldn’t see anything but blankets. “Come on, get up.” She needed to get up. Gohan didn’t know why, but she couldn’t sit on the floor, that was bad. That was…

“Alright, here, take the baby for a minute.” Gohan instinctively cradles his arms as the bundle of blankets was thrust towards him, and staggered forward a bit when he felt…nothing. He looked down. The blankets were empty. There was no baby.

Chi-Chi clicked her tongue. “Now look at what you’ve done, Gohan. You go out all day and then come home to make a big mess all over my clean floor!” She was still sitting down, and when Gohan looked down past his empty arms at her, he saw the puddle of blood that she was sitting in, slowly spreading outward.

“Mom! What’s wrong?” He dropped the blankets and crouched downward to help her. Chi-Chi smacked him.

“Gohan! How could you do that? You killed the baby! Now I’m alone again and it’s all your fault!”

“What? No, I didn’t…Mom, there wasn’t a baby…”

“All your fault!” Chi-Chi screeched. “I only want what’s best for you and you ignore me every chance you get. Get out! Out!”

“Mom, I’m not…”

“OUT!”

Gohan ran from the kitchen. What was going on? He was scared, and he didn’t know why. He stopped in the doorway, turned back. Chi-Chi was picking up the blankets that he had dropped, now soaked in her blood, and was whispering, “It’s okay, mommy’s here now. I won’t let them hurt you again. It’s okay.”

He raced the short length to his room, yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind him. His breath came in short, fitful gasps. Something was wrong. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.

“Gohan?” Goku was sitting on Gohan’s bed, holding the jacket Trunks had given to him. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be out training.”

“Dad! Something’s wrong with Mom! She’s…”

“Shh, Gohan.” His dad said in that reassuring voice he used. “Don’t worry about your mother. She’ll be fine. You need to go out and train or else you’ll just be in everyone’s way when the androids come, like always.”

“What…Dad, you need to listen to me!”

The sound of tearing fabric filled the room as Goku rent the jacket into pieces. “You’re not doing what you’re supposed to, Gohan. Put it in the box. Here, there should be room in this one now that it’s empty.” He tossed the scraps of fabric that had one been a coat aside and pulled from somewhere the little cardboard box that it had been kept in. “Go ahead, just put it all in here. It’ll fit, don’t worry.”

An explosion rocked the house. “What was that?”

“The androids. I told you that you needed to train, didn’t I? Now it’s too late.”

“No!” Gohan ran from the room into the hallway. It was filled with smoke and he couldn’t see anything. He thought he heard the sound of fire somewhere.

He tore down the hall and ran outside. Gohan’s front yard, the surrounding fields, the forest and even the mountains were all gone. He was standing in a rocky canyon littered with the bodies.

Piccolo, Vegeta, Krillin, Yamcha, Tien, Chiaotzu, Dende, Master Roshi, Bulma, his parents…everyone he had ever met in his life was lying dead on the ground. Directly in front of him stood the androids, Seventeen holding up one more body. Trunks.

“Ah, he finally shows up.” Eighteen said, putting her hands in her pockets and sauntering forward. “And here I thought he was just going to hide until we went away.”

Seventeen threw Trunks down; the other half-Saiyan landed immediately in front of Gohan, his body completely broken. “Just what does he think he’s going to do, do you think? There’s no one to die for him this time. They all already have.”

Gohan backed up involuntarily as Eighteen took another step. His heart raced so hard he thought it would fly from his chest. He was going to die. His hands flew behind him, searching for the doorknob back into the house, where he would be safe. Nothing. The knob, the door, the house were gone. “Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Eighteen asked playfully.

“No…” Tears and snot ran down Gohan’s face as she got closer and closer. If she caught him…if she caught him he was sure he would die. He had to get away. “Don’t hurt me…”

“You can’t get away, little boy. There’s nowhere for you to run.” Both androids laughed.

“No!” She was right, but Gohan ran anyway. He had to get away. He didn’t want to die. He was scared. He ran as fast as he could, until the canyon and the androids and even the world were behind him. He ran until he was running through darkness, and even then he kept running. He had to keep running. It was the only thing he could do.

But even in the darkness he knew they could find him. He could hear their laughter, echoing everywhere.

Gohan ran, waiting for the darkness to swallow him.

—

“He’s not getting better.”

Bulma tightened the cap on the bottle of medicine and put it and the syringe she had used to get the liquid into Gohan’s mouth on the bedside table. “It’s not magic, Trunks. The medicine will take a few days to work.” She looked down at Gohan and pursed her lips. “Now, tell me what’s going on. I wasn’t there when they fought the androids the first time, so I don’t know all the details. But I’m pretty damn sure I would have heard about this if it had happened.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.” Trunks took a second to try and calm himself. For all the help that did with Gohan laying in bed dying right beside him. “He just got sick. I guess I should have known. He was acting weird. I should have known he wasn’t feeling well. But I didn’t.” But he hadn’t. All that had happened, and it hadn’t once occurred to him that it was because Gohan was sick that he was feeling so awful. So stupid.

“Trunks, stop. You couldn’t have known this would happen. We don’t really understand how time works. Maybe saving Goku made this happen, or…”

“Goku!” Trunks stood. “Goku never got the heart virus!” All of the sudden, this seemed important.

“What? What do you mean he never got it?”

“Until this morning. That morning, I mean.” It was hard to get used to the idea that everything he had done that day was almost two decades in the past again. “It didn’t attack him until he started fighting.”

Now Bulma stood as well, started pacing the room. “You told him to train. Maybe doing that held it off for a year? Gohan must have picked it up then. They were training together?” Trunks nodded, though he couldn’t remember if Gohan had said anything about that. Of course they had trained together. “Hm. That’s probably what happened. It would have needed prolonged contact to get through a Saiyan’s immune system. To be honest, I still don’t understand how it ever got to Goku in the first place.”

“Should…” Gohan made a soft whimpering noise and Trunks had to sit down beside him again. “Should I bring back more medicine? For everyone else? They’ve been around Goku now, and they’re just human, except for Dad and Piccolo.”

“No, the virus isn’t contagious anymore by the time it gets to this point.” Bulma waved a hand at Gohan. “The only one to worry about would be Chi-Chi, but we tested her after Goku died; she has a natural immunity to the virus.”

“She’s immune to it?”

“Most people are.” Bulma paused and smiled very briefly. “We were all terrified of this virus when we first heard of it, but it’s actually not that impressive. Ninety percent of the population is immune to it. The reason why it was so scary was that there was no cure for it back then and anybody who did get it died.” Now she frowned in thought. “Maybe I will give you another bottle, just in case Yamcha or one of them is susceptible. Most people with immunity are also carriers, so Chi-Chi might give it to one of them. You’re immune to it, though. So am I.”

“Okay.” Trunks didn’t really care if he was immune to the virus. He would rather he got it a thousand times than Gohan. He was way to young to suffer this much. To suffer at all.

“Oh!” Bulma snapped her fingers at Trunks, face creasing in sudden worry. “How’s Goku doing with the medicine, do you know?”

“Fine, I think.” Gohan was squirming in the bed, as if in pain. Which he probably was. “I think Chi-Chi said he was feeling better.”

“Thank heavens.” Bulma whispered. Trunks heard her, though, and turned his head. “I gave you the wrong bottle.” She explained. “An experimental version of the medicine. It was made to work faster, but…”

“But?” Trunks had a feeling he knew what the ‘but’ was.

“But it might also just not work at all. It’s experimental, like I said. But if Goku was feeling better with it…it’s probably okay.” She sounded uncertain, but Trunks let it drop. He had more important things to worry about right this instant, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t made bigger mistakes than handing out the wrong bottle.

“I’m going to go make breakfast.” His mother announced. “Are you hungry?”

“No, thanks. I’ll sit up here with Gohan for a while.” He shouldn’t have to be alone like this.

“I’ll bring something up for you.” The door opened and closed quietly, and Trunks was left with Gohan.

He reached out and took the boy’s hand. It was sweaty and Gohan tried unconsciously to pull away, but Trunks held on. “You’re going to be okay. You’ll be fine. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re not dying again.”

—

Bulma got all the way to the top of the staircase before she had to sit down and rest, to let the adrenaline fade from her system. What the Hell was going on? Sometimes it was hard not to feel as though the universe was conspiring against the two of them.

As awful as she felt for poor little Gohan, she was more worried for her son. Trunks had loved Gohan, their Gohan, more than anything. That love seemed to still exist for his younger counterpart.

Truthfully, that concerned Bulma more than the heart virus, even with the fact that she was guessing about the dosage of Gohan’s medication since it wasn’t designed to be given to children. She hoped that Trunks would be able to realize emotionally what he knew intellectually—that this Gohan wasn’t his, and just as important, that this Gohan was just a child.

Bulma frowned. She was not a stupid woman. Trunks might think that she was in the dark about just how far his relationship with the other half-Saiyan had progressed, but she was perfectly aware. She had realized pretty quickly that Gohan’s feelings for Trunks went far beyond fondness, and it had always been obvious that the feeling was more than mutual.

She couldn’t pretend to have been happy when she discovered that their relationship had been sexual—not hard; she had washed both of their laundry, after all—and when Trunks was barely twelve, to boot. But she had moved past her initial motherly desire to dismember Gohan and feed him to the androids and seen that her son was happier than he had ever been. If there had to be someone who she would let Trunks play child molester with, she supposed Gohan was the best person; someone she knew would never hurt him. Besides, Trunks had grown up far too fast in so many other ways, it was almost unfair, in a way, to force him to stay a child in that respect.

But Trunks couldn’t have that again with this Gohan, and was dangerous for him to think he could. Bulma had known Gohan at that age. He’d been smart, independent and caring, but still very much a child. Not at all as grown up as Trunks had been at ten, despite all of his battles.

She just hoped that Trunks realized that he wouldn’t be able to reforge that bond with someone else, even if it was the same person. If he hadn’t yet figured that out he would eventually, and having Gohan yanked away from him after being dangled in front of his face would devastate him all over again.

And there was nothing she could do about any of it, at least not without making things between her and her son very uncomfortable.

Sighing, Bulma stood. Breakfast. She needed food, and coffee. It would take several days, at least, for Gohan to recover, and maybe another week after that before he would be ready to go home. Some time before she could expect things to go back to normal, or her version of it, anyway.

“The trials of being the smartest woman left alive…” Bulma sighed to herself as she made her way down to the kitchen. “And here I used to think space travel was hard…”

—

Gohan ran through darkness for hours, or maybe days. Maybe minutes. He had no idea. He didn’t get hungry, or tired, nor did he stop being scared. He just ran into infinity.

Abruptly, after some endless time, Gohan became aware that he was coming up on something in the dark. He slowed down as he approached. The darkness didn’t get any less dark, but suddenly there was just another person there, clear as day, sitting on the nonexistent ground in front of him. “Trunks? What are you doing here?”

The baby babbled and started to crawl away. The darkness melted around them both, leaving them in the little clearing they had sat together in not long ago in front of the ocean. “No, Trunks! Don’t move, it isn’t safe!”

Trunks ignored him and kept crawling, right to the edge of cliff they had sat on. If he went over…”Trunks, stop!”

He did, turning his little head to look back at Gohan and smile. And as soon as Gohan took another step toward him, Trunks raced forward and plunged into the air. “Trunks!” Gohan raced over to where he had been, but the landscape vanished and the darkness came back; Gohan wound up leaping at nothing, smashing into a ground that didn’t exist. “Trunks!” He pounded at the invisible barrier, willing it to shatter again, so he could get the baby, but the darkness remained resolutely solid.

“Wow, Gohan. Is that the only thing you’re good at? Letting people die?” Gohan started and snapped around to stare at Trunks, not five feet from him. His Trunks. Gohan coloured when he realized he had thought of the man that way. He was holding baby Trunks on his hip, which it took Gohan a second to notice. What he did see right away was the expression on his face, the sneer that matched the tone of his voice perfectly. Trunks had never looked at him like that before.

“Well, are you going to answer or just sit there like a baby?” Little Trunks raised a pudgy hand and hit the air in Gohan’s direction as big Trunks spoke. Even the baby was looking at him accusingly.

“I…” Gohan didn’t know what to say. Somehow, that this was coming from Trunks made his brain freeze up. “I didn’t…” This was all wrong. “I didn’t mean to.” Completely wrong.

“You didn’t mean to let your dad die? You didn’t mean to let Nappa kill Piccolo? You didn’t mean to sit there while Frieza killed Dende and not even try to help? You didn’t mean to pretend that Goku was healthy when you knew he was sick? You didn’t mean to wait until we were all on the verge of death before coming to ‘help?’” Trunks looked down at him just as coldly as the androids had done. “You were hoping you’d get to watch us all die, weren’t you? You wanted to see me die.”

“No! I don’t…I don’t want anyone to die.” The tear tracks on his face felt like fire. Why was Trunks doing this to him? He was the one person who was supposed to…supposed to…supposed to love him.

“But you never try to stop it.”

“I did!” He had tried, on the highway. He had done the best he could. The androids had been too strong.

“You didn’t. You could be strong enough to stop the androids by yourself. You know that, but you didn’t try to be. You didn’t train hard enough to be able to stop them. You never let yourself get stronger than them, in all those years we fought them.”

“I-I…” What? That hadn’t been him, had it? He hadn’t fought the androids with Trunks. He…

“You didn’t really want to stop them. You want the world to end, don’t you? You want him to grow up in Hell, just so you don’t have to fight.” Trunks lifted his baby self off his hip and held him out in front. “You even want him to die. A baby.”

“I…I’m sorry.” What else could he say? Gohan felt utterly defeated. Maybe Trunks was right.

“And I’m sure all the people who have died because of you are happy to hear that you’re sorry! That doesn’t make them any less dead!”

“I’m sorry! I’ll try harder. I’ll get strong enough to fight. I’ll save…”

“It’s too late. You can’t fix it now.” The darkness disappeared for just a moment. They were standing in the ruins of what had used to be a city, the skeletons of buildings barely standing upright, cars flipped over and burning, bodies everywhere…

Scrambling to his feet, Gohan looked around wildly. It looked like the city the androids had attacked on the island. But there was nobody anywhere, at least not anyone alive. People and…parts of people were everywhere, not moving. “What…why are you doing this?”

“Because you need to see. This is the world you’re making, Gohan. The world you want.”

“I don’t want this!” He spun to face Trunks—he didn’t remember turning—and the destroyed city, the fires, the corpses, all vanished. They were in darkness again. Baby Trunks was gone. “Where did he go?”

“He’s dead, just like you wanted.”

“Trunks? Trunks, where are you?” Bulma’s voice was faint in the void, but her footsteps echoed loudly.

Trunks smiled in a way that made Gohan step back. “Oh, there’s his mother. Time for you to explain why you let her son die.”

“No, Trunks!” The man vanished just as so suddenly he might never have been there. “Trunks! Trunks! I’m sorry! I don’t want—”

“Gohan? Have you seen Trunks?” He still couldn’t see Bulma, not properly, but a shape was starting to become clear, as though she were on the other side of a screen.

Gohan couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take any more people hating him. He needed to go…needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere safe. Somewhere where nobody could find him, ever again. He wasn’t aware of starting, but soon he was running even faster than before, away from Bulma’s voice and the spot where Trunks had been, away from everything. Away from himself.

“Trunks, I’m sorry.”

—

Gohan was moaning. Trunks would rather have gouged his own eardrums out than listen to that, but he sat beside the bed and held Gohan’s hand. “It’s alright, Gohan. You’ll be okay.” His words were useless and weren’t even convincing himself, but he said them anyway. He wanted to give Gohan more medicine, but his mother had forbade him from touching the bottle, saying that it would be too easy to overdose Gohan and kill him.

He had expected some improvement after five days. Expected that, at the very least, Gohan wouldn’t sound like he was in such terrible pain anymore. Wouldn’t sound like he was dying. Bulma had told him not to worry, that the medicine took some time. Trying not to worry was like trying not to exist.

He would die if he lost Gohan again, Trunks knew. He just wouldn’t be able to live with that pain again. If he died, at least he would be with Gohan again…

“Trunks…” His heart nearly leapt out of his chest; he knocked the chair over standing up. He was waking up!

“Gohan! Gohan, it’s okay. I’m right here! You’re okay!” Finally. That Gohan was finally going to be okay, finally stop being in pain, made Trunks want to jump right through the ceiling with happiness. Or kiss Gohan until he couldn’t breathe, but he had more sense than that, sadly.

A moment’s waiting and observation, however, killed his joy. Gohan didn’t wake up, didn’t really change at all. In fact, just as Trunks sat back down under the weight of his own disappointment, Gohan let out his loudest cry yet and clutched at his chest hard enough that Trunks was worried he might break his own ribs.

He was just on the edge of going to the door to yell for his mom to come when the boy just seemed to collapse into the bed, falling back into a more normal, and Trunks hoped less painful, sleep. The long white shirt they had put on him—Bulma didn’t think he should be wearing his only set of clothes for days on end, even if he was in bed, and the clothes Gohan had been wearing when Trunks brought him to the future were folded neatly on the beside table—was wrinkled and sweaty from being gripped so hard.

Closing his eyes to stop himself from crying, Trunks stood again and turned to face the room. Gohan’s room. It just wasn’t fair. Why did everything have to happen to Gohan? Why couldn’t he ever just be a kid? Just be a person?

He didn’t bemoan the loss of a regular life in himself; even without it, he’d gotten to grow up with his best friend, his big brother and the love of his life. But Gohan didn’t like fighting, even when it wasn’t life and death. Trunks opened his eyes and looked around the room. There was hardly anything in it; they hadn’t changed anything after Gohan had died, the older had just not had much to begin with.

The only personal touches Gohan had had were some pictures hanging on the wall or sitting in frames on the small table in the corner. One was his parents’ wedding picture, one of him and his family before Goku had died, there were a few group shots with all of Goku’s friends before the androids had attacked, and the rest were all of Gohan and Trunks, or just Trunks by himself. He was so young in all of the pictures, just a kid. It just wasn’t fair.

Not that it was coming as news to him that the world was unfair, either. Trunks turned to sit back down with Gohan.

And leapt to his feet before hitting the chair at the sound of an explosion from outside. Another one followed a few seconds after.

“No, not now.” Trunks leaned over the bed to peer out the window. He could see smoke rising just on the edge of his vision. In theory, there were a dozen reasons for an explosion to happen in a city. In reality…”Why does it have to be now?”

“Trunks.” The door banged open and his mother walked in, sounding out of breath. “They’re in the city.”

“I know.” His voice hitched and he looked down at Gohan. Somehow, miraculously, the androids had never attacked Capsule Corp. But if they chose to today…”I’m going.”

“I’ll sit with him.” Bulma came over put her hands over his. “He won’t be alone, I promise.”

“Okay.” Trunks shook his head. “Right, okay.” One last look at Gohan and he turned away. Even if they didn’t attack Capsule Corp., he still couldn’t just let them destroy the city. “I’ll be back as soon as…”

“We’ll be okay until then.”

“Yeah.” Realizing his was stalling, Trunks made himself walk to the door. “Bye.” He didn’t wait for an answer, took the hallway at a run to get his sword and left the house as fast as he could.

He had to stop them from destroying the city. From hurting anybody. “Be safe, Gohan.”

—

Sighing, Bulma sat. She hoped Trunks would be okay. He wasn’t in the right place mentally to go off and fight, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. She looked down at the reason for her son’s distraction. He was laying there peacefully, oblivious to everything.

He wasn’t getting any better. After all this time, the medicine should be starting to have some effect on him. The experimental version of the drug she’d accidentally had Trunks give to Goku would work—if it worked at all—in a few days, but she was giving Gohan the stable version. Yes, it took up to two weeks to work on a human, but even then there was a steady increase in the condition. For a Saiyan, even a half-Saiyan, it should work faster, in less than a week. Gohan should have been, if not cured, at least conscious by now.

A sudden cry from the boy tore through the silence in the room, punctuated by an explosion outside. Gohan writhed in obvious pain, clutching at his chest as though he wanted to grab his heart to stop it from hurting him anymore.

Bulma glanced at the clock. It was too early for him to have more medicine. But…he wasn’t getting better. She grabbed the bottle from the bedside table and twisted the cap off.

Gohan cried out again as she worked the syringe into the bottle, but it wasn’t just a shout of pain this time. “Trunks…I’m sorry…”

Freezing inside, Bulma squirted the medicine into Gohan’s mouth. “Drink this, Gohan. You’ll feel better.” She wondered why everyone did that, talked to sick people who couldn’t hear them. Almost as though they thought words could change what would happen.

Maybe it was true, she thought. Words were powerful things, able to wound and heal. She thought it was better that Trunks hadn’t heard the ones Gohan had just said. The last thing he needed was something else to blame himself over, and if he knew that Gohan was dreaming about him, that was exactly what he would do, whether Gohan died or not.

Bulma almost dropped the bottle when she realized what she had just thought so casually. She wasn’t that horrible a person, was she?

Sitting on the bed beside him, Bulma took Gohan’s hand. He was so small. Just like he had been at his father’s funeral, and when the androids had attacked. So young. “You need to get better, kiddo. You fought the Saiyans, you flew through space with me and fought Frieza. You fought so much. You have to fight some more, Gohan. You can’t die. You just can’t.” If he died, Trunks would die. She was sure of that. The words hung there uselessly, and Bulma certainly didn’t feel them changing the course of the future.

For a long time she sat, until long after the explosions had stopped, until after night had fallen, staring hard at Gohan, willing him to live. He had to get better soon. If he didn’t in the next day, she knew, chances were he wouldn’t get better at all.

—

“I’m bored.” Eighteen announced, casually kicking Trunks in the ribs and sending him flying into a nearby car.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Eighteen. We’ve only been here for twenty minutes.” Seventeen watched Trunks pull himself to his feet. “And I let you go first and everything.”

“I don’t care. It’s not fun to kick him around anymore. He’s not even trying to beat us.”

Trunks was having about as much luck as usual in fighting the androids. That was to say, neither of them had broken a sweat and he was covered in cuts and bruises. As they talked, he moved in an attack that he knew was futile, disappearing and reappearing to the left of Seventeen, blasting the android with as much energy as he could.

Before the energy could even make contact with Seventeen, Eighteen was there knocking it away. She responded with an energy wave of her own that sent Trunks flying into the only building that was still standing on the street. At least he had bought enough time for the people to escape.

He heard nothing but crashing for a few seconds, but when it finally settled, Eighteen’s voice reached him again. “…wish we hadn’t killed Gohan. At least he was fun to hit.”

“Hey, Eighteen, you were the one who wanted to kill him, remember? I told you.” Rage stirred in some part of his mind, but most of Trunks was focused right now on not losing consciousness.

“Shut up.” Eighteen strode over to where Trunks lay in the remains of the building and put a foot on his chest. Trunks coughed in response. “Listen, prettyboy. I don’t want to play with you anymore. Next time I see you I’m going to kill you, so if you want to keep that pathetic little life of yours, I suggest you get stronger before then, you hear me?”

Trunks tried hard to ignore her, but she just stood there with one foot on his ribcage, looking down at him like she was expecting an answer. Gohan, Trunks knew, would have said something clever in this situation. Trunks could only nod his head weakly.

“Good.” She stepped off his chest and took to the air. “Let’s go, Seventeen. I’m tired.”

“Whatever you say, sister.”

He had done it; gotten them to leave the city. Well, they were leaving, anyway. Trunks felt so useless right then that he didn’t even try to get up, just lay there in the rubble while everything got dark around him. Gohan, I can’t do this without you.

Thinking that made him remember that Gohan was lying in bed waiting for him to come back. Trunks tried to get up, but he couldn’t, and the effort of it brought him the rest of the way to unconsciousness.

—

He was tired; couldn’t run any more. Gohan lay on his stomach in the darkness, trying to breathe. He fallen down some time ago and not bothered to get up. He couldn’t do it. It didn’t matter how far he ran, he would never get far enough away. So he just lay there.

If he stayed in one spot long enough, Gohan was sure, he would just disappear, and then nobody would be able to find him. That idea scared him, but maybe it was for the best. Better than always having to run from everyone, that was for sure.

For the first time it occurred to Gohan to wonder where this place was, how he had gotten here. He remembered fighting the androids by the highway, doing his homework with Trunks and then yelling at him later, and then going home and…wait. He had gone home? Gohan didn’t think so. His parents were at Roshi’s house. Then, that hadn’t really happened? But he remembered it, more clearly than any of the other things. Maybe going to Roshi’s had been a dream.

Something about the his recent memories just didn’t add up for Gohan, but he was interrupted before he could figure it out.

“Giving up? I’m not surprised.”

“Go away; you’re not real.” He didn’t know what made him say that, but as soon as he did Gohan realized it was true. Trunks wasn’t really here talking to him. But that meant…

“I don’t need to be real to tell the truth.” Not-Trunks knelt beside him. “And I won’t go away until you do. None of us will.”

Gohan found the energy to look up and saw that they were in his front yard. His mom was there standing beside an empty cradle and his dad was lying under a tree clutching at his chest. All his friends were laying around the yard, all injured and dying.

He made himself stand and look around at all of them. It should have been awful, terrifying, but Gohan hardly felt anything seeing the whole thing . “This isn’t real.” He said quietly to himself. It was true, he was sure of that. Everything was fake.

“Does it make you feel better to say that?” Chi-Chi demanded, turning away from the cradle to face him. Blood dripped down the front of her skirt and her face was white as death. Gohan flinched and shrunk back despite himself as she glared at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Your brother is still dead!”

Gohan felt his resolve melt away. He took a step back, away from his mother, and he bumped right into someone else. “S-sorry.” He stuttered, turning.

“Sorry doesn’t bring me back to life.” Dende said, a hole burned clear through his heart. “It doesn’t make it stop hurting.” The little Namek boy didn’t sound any different than his usual cheerful self. That somehow made it worse.

“B-but, you’re alive! You came back!”

“But I didn’t forget. Who didn’t save me. Who didn’t even try.” Piccolo came from somewhere to join them, unhurt but with a halo over his head, and Dende smiled up at Gohan’s teacher. “Neither of us has.”

“I didn’t…I couldn’t do anything…”

A scream tore Gohan’s attention from the Nameks. Goku was writhing under his tree, clutching at himself as though to pull his own heart out. “Dad!”

He ran to his father, but Trunks grabbed his shoulder halfway there. “There’s nothing you can do for him now; it’s too late.”

“No, I have to help…”

“You don’t want to help. You want to stay home and hide under your bed until everything is safe. Well, guess what? You can’t. You dad’s going to die, and it’s your fault.”

“No…I…don’t want…”

“It doesn’t matter what you want. Your mom didn’t want your brother to die before he was born. Your dad doesn’t want his own heart to kill him. None of your so-called ‘friends’ wanted to die protecting you. It’s time for you to accept responsibility.” The hand on his shoulder was painful, like ice.

“I didn’t want any of that!” Gohan sobbed. Tears forced his eyes shut and his breath hitched as he tried to catch it. “I don’t want anyone to die! I don’t want…”

“I didn’t want you to leave me alone!” Trunks snarled, pulling him around. “But you did anyway! Do you know how much that hurt me?”

“I’m sorry! I’m—” Why wouldn’t Trunks just let him talk? Let him explain?

“I don’t want you to be sorry! Look at what you’ve done to everyone you know! All of them hurt because of you! If it wasn’t for you, they’d all be happy! They’d all be alive! If it wasn’t for you, the androids wouldn’t have killed everyone! If it wasn’t—”

“It isn’t my fault!” Gohan screamed, falling to his hands and knees. His shout seemed to silence the world and he drew in his first clear breath in what seemed like years. “It isn’t my fault.” He repeated, just to hear it again. Blinking the tears from his eyes, Gohan looked around the yard.

Like a hammer it had hit him. He couldn’t control pregnancy, or diseases or alien tyrants or androids. He couldn’t control battles and evil and alternate universes that he didn’t live in. He couldn’t control what happened to other people. “It isn’t my fault.”

Suddenly wanting to laugh, Gohan climbed to his feet again, faced Trunks, but spoke loud enough to let everyone hear. “You can’t blame me for things I didn’t do. You can’t make me blame myself.” Trunks was almost smiling, now.

“Ah, how nice. Gohan had a grown-up moment.” A voice like winter drifted towards him and he spun around to face Seventeen, Eighteen right behind him. “Too bad it came too late.”

Gohan squared his shoulders and glared right at the androids. “Go away.”

“Oh, you poor boy.” Eighteen said, coming around from behind the other android and walking right up to him. “You think you can control us just because this is your dream? We control you, in here.” She poked him in the chest. “Through your fear.”

“I’m afraid of you.” Gohan admitted. He could feel it in his whole body, creeping through him like worms under his skin. Every fibre of his being just wanted to be away, somewhere safe. But he stood there, unmoving. “You scare me a lot. But I won’t let you hurt me anymore.” And he punched, his fist smashing right through the android’s stomach like it was made of water. “I won’t let you hurt them again. Get out of my head!” Eighteen gasped and exploded all at once, and Gohan let shot an energy wave at Seventeen, who was destroyed just as immediately.

In fact, the whole world suddenly seemed to be exploding. The yard disappeared in pieces, like someone ripping up a drawing. Everyone just faded away, and in few seconds he was alone with Trunks as everything disappeared. The other half-Saiyan just knelt in front of him, tears shining on his face. “I knew you would figure it out, Gohan.” And Gohan felt himself pulled into a hug that ended almost as soon as it began; Trunks vanishing with the rest of the world, leaving Gohan alone in…

His bedroom. He was standing in his bedroom as though nothing had happened. His bed, dresser, desk, everything was just like it had been that morning.

Except for one new thing: a big standing mirror in the middle of the room, which Gohan was not reflected in. His image was there, but it wasn’t his reflection. Where Gohan was standing, the him in the mirror was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a small box in front of him and a cracked glass bottle beside him.

The not-reflection broke the mirror rules even more by speaking. “You did it.”

“Did what? Wait.” Something occurred to Gohan, the only solution. “You made all of that, didn’t you?”

Mirror-Gohan looked up from the box at him and nodded his head. “It was your dream; who did you think made it?” He looked younger than Gohan actually was, maybe like he had looked a few years ago. “I’m sorry.” He added.  ”Are you mad?”

He felt like he should be, but he couldn’t summon the anger. “Why?”

“I had to see if it was safe.” He looked back down at the box again. “To open this.”

Gohan sat in front of the mirror; it didn’t seem polite to keep looming over the other him. “What’s in it?”

“Only what you put there.” And Mirror-Gohan reached down and pulled the top off.

“It’s empty.”

“That’s ’cause you took everything out of it. You can’t hide everything in here, you know. Look, it’s not that big.” Mirror-Gohan lifted the box to demonstrate. It was indeed pretty small, maybe big enough for one of the Dragonballs to fit inside.

“Okay.” Gohan found himself at a loss for words, but his not-reflection smiled at him and suddenly looked much older. “What’s in there?” He pointed at the bottle sitting to Mirror-Gohan’s right.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll keep it safe for you until you need it.”

“But…what is it?”

“You already know.” Mirror-Gohan stood, and a door appeared behind him. “It’s time for you to go.”

Gohan looked behind himself at his own door. “But…”

“Go. It’s waiting for you.” Mirror-Gohan made a shooing motion with his hands.

He did as he was told and headed for the door. With his hand on the knob, he stopped again and looked back. “What’s waiting for me?”

Mirror-Gohan tilted his head and smiled. “The world. Well, and him.”

With a return smile that Gohan thought used his whole body, he pulled the door open.

It was dark when he opened his eyes, and the shock of going from dream to reality made Gohan take a huge breath when he opened them. Where was he?

He sat up, saw the form of a person, half-lying on the bottom of the bed just under his feet. “Trunks?” He whispered. No, it looked like…”Bulma?” But she was older, way older.

Gohan got up on his knees look out the window beside the bed, the only source of light in the room. A city stretched out in front of him, but something seemed wrong about it. As he watched, the sunrise crested at the far end of the cityscape, lighting up the world. Gohan’s breath caught all over again. The buildings…they were all destroyed. What was going on?

Trunks. Some irrational part of his brain told him that he needed to find Trunks, to make sure he was okay. He climbed carefully out of the bed, trying not to wake up Bulma, and realized that, for the first time in what seemed like days, he didn’t hurt at all, anywhere. Looking down at himself in wonder, Gohan couldn’t help but notice that he was only wearing a long white shirt. Oh, well, he could find clothes later. He had to find Trunks first.

He could feel the man’s energy. Just had to go to him. Crossing the room slowly in the dark, Gohan eased the door open and stepped out into a hallway. This was definitely not his house, but it did seem familiar.

No matter. He had to find Trunks. As long as he could do that, he would be fine.

—

Grey darkness, the kind that came just before dawn, hung over the city when Trunks woke up with a coughing fit. Almost every part of him was on fire, and the spasming of his larynx wasn’t helping.

After he finished inhaling a few pounds of dust and then hacking them back out again. Trunks opened his eyes, saw the sky. He was alive.

“Gohan!” Sitting bolt upright—bad idea; it made the rubble shift underneath him and threw up more dust—Trunks looked around at the pre-dawn greyness and tired to figure out how long he’d been laying there. All night, at least. Maybe even all day after that. He had to get home, get to Gohan. He shouldn’t be alone.

It was a whole battle to get to his feet, but once Trunks managed that, the rest wasn’t too hard. After taking a minute to orient himself—he didn’t think he had a concussion, fortunately—he took off at a run that turned into flight as soon as he could manage it.

The sun just started to come up as he reached Capsule Corp. Seeing that his window was open, Trunks headed for it rather than wasting time with the door and stairs. His room was just down the hall from Gohan’s.

He did pause for just a second to toss his sword on the bed and strip his bloody jacket off, but before he had time to decide if he should change or not, Trunks heard the door creak open.

He turned—and his heart nearly stopped. The little silhouette in the doorway could only belong to one person. Trunks felt his insides freeze over. What was going on? Was this a ghost, a hallucination? Was Gohan…

And then the form was running towards him and Trunks dropped to one knee instinctively. Gohan leapt at him, wrapping small arms around his torso, face pressed right up to his chest. Trunks hugged back just as hard, his head resting on top of Gohan’s. He was awake. He was alive.

Gohan pulled away from his just a little bit to look up at him, and as Trunks looked down, the whole world caught fire.

It may just have been the sunrise coming through the window, painting the room all red and gold, but more likely it was Gohan, pushing himself up on tiptoes to press their mouths together. Everything seemed just so much more real all of the sudden, but at the same time it was all completely insignificant.

He kissed Gohan back and for the first time in a long, long time, Trunks truly believed that everything was going to be alright.

—

End chapter

—

Authors’ Notes: OoC is not a major part of the story and it is explained later.

thoughts
.+++. time/scene skip
.xxx. perspective change

*****

Gohan woke up to the sound of somebody vomiting and the fresh stench of stomach acid. Why was it that Gohan always woke up to the scent of blood, bile, or other bodily fluids? The sad thing was that he was accustomed to it. The seven-year old pushed himself up and glanced over at the lavender-haired prince who was puking yet again.

The sun said it was about noon and Gohan noticed that he was on his make-shift bed. His stomach growled and he glanced over to his surely-cold bowl of soup.

Wait a minute! Gohan thought and glanced back at Trunks. “You moved me?” He realized.

The man turned around to look at Gohan apologetically before nausea took over and he turned back to vomit.

Is my cooking that bad? Gohan thought with worry. As Trunks continued to be sick, the younger boy thought back to the reason why he passed out. It was almost as if he had changed into a Super Saiyajin again. But why? Was it because he was angry? That made no sense, it wasn’t even really angry, it was nothing compared to what had unlocked the ability.

“Chibi, I apologize.”

Gohan turned back to Trunks again. He what?

“I’m sorry for treating you like that, it wasn’t fair. I was just taking my anger out on you.”

Gohan smiled. How could he stay mad at that? It was mean, and it wasn’t fair, and Gohan didn’t know why Trunks got mad, but he apologized so it was fine. “It’s alright.” Gohan said and his stomach growled again.

Trunks stood up with a wince and he walked over to his jacket before he pulled out the capsule cases and tossed a capsule over to Gohan. “Catch. Mother gave me about a month’s worth of food. I was supposed to go training after I battled the androids.”

Gohan caught the capsule before activating it, “Why do you continually fight with them even though you know you’re going to lose?” He asked sadly, walking over to a fridge that looked very similar to the one Trunks used in the past for drinks.

The man tossed another capsule over to a nearby rock and walked over to it and opened the fridge that appeared. His head tilted at the contents before he moaned in pain and a hand clenched at his head. Quickly, Trunks closed his eyes, grabbed a drink at what seemed to be random and slammed the door of the fridge shut. He sat down and leaned against the rock before he responded, his voice a bit strained. “If I can distract the androids enough for even a child to run away, if I can amuse them enough to stop them for a few hours, days, or even weeks, it’s worth it. I can buy time.

Gohan had his own reaction to the appearance and contents of the fridge so he did not really notice Trunks’ reaction. He remembered reaching into that same fridge, grabbing one of those cans, and knocking another over accidentally. His eyes zoned in and low-and-behold it was there, on its side like Gohan left it. Yet before he could think on it, the man had responded to his question.

And the words spoken dampened Gohan’s spirits. How could Trunks live like this? How could the world have come to this? One day, Trunks would not be so lucky, one day the androids would become bored of him and they’d kill him. Just as they killed Gohan – his persona in this time. “That’s… That’s just so sad…” Gohan muttered. This world was so sad, so dangerous, so scary.

“But it’s the only thing that I can do.” Trunks said and winced before he clutched his head again. “Hopefully this training will make me stronger, and maybe I’ll be able to destroy them at last.”

Gohan looked at Trunks. How he wanted to help him, but… but… if he could prevent it would it not change Trunks’ time as well? Did it work that way? If so… right now nothing is changing, then I have to get stronger if that is the case, and I have to get back to my own time to change it!

“Chibi, I’ve noticed that you can change – that you have obtained Super Saiyajin. I did not think that was possible, yet you proved me wrong. However, you cannot control it right now.”

As Gohan grabbed a meal kit from the fridge, he sat down and looked at Trunks in curiosity. “I can’t control it?” He asked. Seventeen said something similar – blind rage. Yet that was all he learned from Piccolo, he learned how to use it. Wasn’t that enough? “What do you mean?”

“Once you unlock the ability you must be able to lock it in a box, you must be able to open it at will, use it and direct it. You cannot let the rage control you.” Here, Trunks opened his can and took a sip out of it. “This morning, when you were mad at me, you triggered it. Yet, you were not prepared, you were exhausted, and so you fainted. Master Gohan had told me that once you reached Super Saiyajin you have surpassed your limits. In order to control these limits, in order to make new limits you must train. He also said that even if you train, there still are drawbacks: you become emotional, there is an increased desire to fight, however I think our human blood dilutes that…”

Gohan didn’t even have to hear what Trunks said next, he already knew, The Son could never forget his father’s expression, his blue-green eyes, his voice on Namek. They were harsher, almost angry. It was as if his dad was a completely different person. Even though Goku had worn his heart on his sleeve, even though his father was a happy person, he wasn’t an emotional one. While Vegeta displayed anger and pride, Goku displayed happiness and humour. All other emotions seemed to be nonexistent – fear, sorrow, disappointment…

“So Chibi.” Trunks continued. “You must learn to direct that anger, that rage, you need to channel it. Mediation helps.” Here, the prince smiled. “It is perhaps the only thing I can show you right now in my state. Once my ribs heal I can help some more.”

Gohan shook his head. “I already know, and I also know battle simulations. So tell me, Trunks, what must I do?”

“Trunks?” Chibi asked him. “Are you sure you’re fine? I mean even your ribs healed but you’re still puking.”

The child was still a mystery to him. He knew so many things that he shouldn’t have learned without training and schooling, he knew a lot of terms and knowledge that would be almost impossible for somebody his age to attain now, and it mystified the prince. After another lurch of his stomach, Trunks rinsed his mouth out with water. “My concussion hasn’t healed yet, that’s all. Brain matter probably takes longer to heal.”

For the most part, Chibi was quiet. Often, however, he stared at Trunks, and it was starting to unnerve the man. Did he… did he scare Gohan’s kid when he mistook Chibi for his father? He hoped not!

“My d-” Chibi started but shook his head. “Never mind, I forgot about that.”

Trunks dismissed the child’s slipup. Instead, he sighed and glanced up at the sky. Trunks could feel Gohan’s ki in the child as he mediated. It was unnerving. How could their ki be almost identical? If Trunks didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that ki was Gohan’s.

He knew that he could not push himself too hard with the concussion still unhealed – especially since his symptoms didn’t seem to let up. The androids must have gotten him good. His memory had not returned either – the memory of where he went last month. His partially empty fridge of drinks also seemed to be connected to those memories, because whenever he thought about where those drinks went…

Ouch! Why was his vision swimming? Trunks glanced over at Chibi and an image was superimposed over and around the boy. His hair was longer and looked just like Gohan’s when it wasn’t cut for awhile. There were people whom he didn’t know personally standing around the boy, ones that he knew the names of but only because of the pictures in his living room. There was Goku, Krillin, Tenshihan, Chiaotzu, Piccolo, Yamcha, Puar and even his father – Vegeta. His mother was there too, and her hairstyle was like how his grandmother used to have her hair and she was standing near Yamcha. Oh Kami! It felt like his head was splitting in two, it felt like his body was on fire! Then he felt, and saw nothing.

Authors’ Notes: The Mpreg label is an optional point to the story, I shall warn beforehand if it is not your thing.

Thoughts
//Flashback//
.+++. Time/scene skip
.xxx. Perspective/Time(Backwards or forwards) change

*****

Over the next few days, Gohan wondered whether or not he should ask about the previous times when Mirai had shut him out. However, that action seemed a bit too invasive. Perhaps he’d ask if there was any place that Mirai would rather not go to. (He knew that amusement parks were definitely a no-no.) He didn’t want to accidently upset Mirai.

“What’cha thinking about loverboy?” Videl asked him with a knowing smirk as she nudged him.

Gohan rolled his eyes at his ex. “Just about Trunks and my relationship.”

Videl raised her eyebrow at that. “You really like him don’t you?”

“Huh? Well yeah, but where’d that come from?” Gohan replied with some surprise.

“Well you’re really trying to keep it together, you don’t want to let this one fall apart.” She said before taking a sip of her smoothie.

“Why Videl, you sound almost jealous!” Gohan acknowledged.

There was small bit of guilt on her face as she laughed. “Okay, I admit that I kinda still wanted you to come back to me, but now I see that’s never going to happen – you like the boys too much. But enough about me, you never did tell me the full story about Mirai.”

Gohan sighed softly. “Alright, well if it weren’t for Mirai, right now I’d be training Chibi Trunks and rapidly approaching my death. When he came back twelve years ago, he changed fate drastically…”

After his post-Saiyaman-hangout with Videl, Gohan headed over to Capsule Corporation to meet up with Mirai. They were on a sparring date today, although how much of a date it would be Gohan didn’t know since Vegeta and the chibis were there as well. Hopefully the chibis would fuse and keep Vegeta occupied.

When he touched down he was greeted by Goten.

“Hey big brother!” He said with an impish grin on his face.

What are those two up to? He wondered cautiously. Hopefully it wasn’t anything too bad, but then again it was Trunks… “Hey Goten.” Gohan responded with a smile and ruffled his little brother’s hair. “Where’s Mirai?”

Goten giggled. “Oh, he’s with Trunks.”

“He is?” Gohan asked. “I see.”

“Ne, big brother.” Goten said and grabbed on his shirt, stopping him from going to Mirai. “Why’d you break up with big sis Videl?”

“Wh-What’d brung that up?” He stuttered in shock.

“You didn’t answer Gohan.” Goten said with a smirk.

Apparently Goten was learning a lot from Chibi Trunks. It seemed he couldn’t deflect. “Well, uhh… I kinda misread my feelings for her – it wasn’t the love I thought.”

Goten tilted his head. “What do you mean? There are different kinds of love?”

Gohan laughed softly. “Yeah, there’s the love you have for your friends, your family, and for your boyfriend or girlfriend. And, the love I had for Videl was that for a sister.”

“Eww!” Goten said, “I don’t want you to date me!”

Gohan laughed harder. “Neither do I Goten, neither do I, but that’s one of the reasons why I broke up with Videl. When I realized it was the wrong kind of love, I knew I had to stop it. I couldn’t do it to her – or to myself.

“I see, that’s good – I think.” His little brother leaned in next with a smirk. “So what made you realize Gohan?”

Gohan’s cheeked darkened. “Uh…” He looked down. “I just kinda remembered when I had a crush as a kid.” Why was Goten asking these things anyway? He was going to kill Chibi Trunks once he could get the boy alone.

“Oh? Who was it big brother? Do I know them?” Goten’s voice was filled with mischief.

Well two could play that game! “Don’t you have a crush of your own to worry about Goten? Perhaps if you tell me who it is, I’ll tell you about mine.” Gohan recoiled.

Shock filled the young Son face before it was replaced with red. “Eeep!” Goten squealed and ran off coincidentally – no expectantly – in the same direction Mirai came from.

Mirai turned his head to follow the chibi curiously and when he turned back to Gohan there was an amused smile on his face. “Now, what did the evil big brother do this time?”

Gohan laughed. “Goten was prodding into areas that weren’t his concer,n and so I turned the table on him.

Mirai just raised an eyebrow.

“Relationships.” Gohan clarified.

“Ah.” Mirai said with a nod.

“So how about we get going now and talk along the way – before your dad finds us.” Gohan suggested.

Mirai nodded and the two flew off promptly.

“So what exactly did you say to Goten?” The Saiyajin prince asked once they started moving.

“Oh, I just hinted that I knew Goten had a crush on somebody. I don’t think I ever told you, but a few weeks ago he came up and asked me about sexuality – the day after we saw them kissing nonetheless.” Gohan responded.

“Ah, so that hinted at you knowing from the question.” Mirai concluded.

“Yeah, and he probably ran off to tell Chibi.” Gohan chuckled. “Speaking of Chibi, what’d he want with you?”

“Oh to give me a belated birthday gift.” Mirai gave a soft chuckle. “Mother probably gave him the money to buy it.”

“But it’s the thought that counts right?” The younger half-Saiyajin added.

“Yeah, and that’s why I like yours the most.” The lavender-haired time traveler said sweetly before he stopped Gohan with his arm and pulled him in for a close embrace.

Gohan wrapped his arms around the other’s waist as well and stared into those deep blue depths.

“Trunks…” He whispered and met the incoming lips halfway.

Each and every one of Mirai’s kisses were exquisite, they would always make his pulse race, his heart clench, and his stomach queasy. Nothing felt so right and pleasant. He just closed his eyes and lost himself in the feelings.

In the following week, Mirai glanced around in the city as banners were put up and preparations were begun. “What’s going on Gohan?” He asked curiously.

Gohan laughed. “Next week, on the day Cell was killed, the city holds a celebration in honour of Mr. Satan.”

There was a hidden look of disgust on Mriai’s face. “Gohan…”

Gohan gave a soft laugh. “It’s fine. I couldn’t be famous. Too much work I say.”

“Yet, you have quite an interesting pastime Gohan.” The prince said with a knowing grin.

Fearfully and frantically, Gohan glanced around and put a finger to Mirai’s lips. “Shh!” He hushed loudly. “Nobody knows it’s me, and I’d rather keep it that way!” He hissed quietly.

Mirai laughed and slapped his friend on the back. “Oh Gohan. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

Gohan glanced at Mirai slyly. “Well it better be, or it’ll be you whose secret is revealed. Unlike you, I don’t need to change my hair to power up.”

Mirai scoffed. “You never did go Super Saiyajin when we trained, did you?”

“Actually, I did, but it’s a bit different now. It’s called Mystic. Remember the Z-sword? There’s an old Kai stuck in it and he unlocked my powers.”

“What really? Oh shit!” Mirai realized.

“Mirai?”

“I uhh… still have the Z-sword in my room, the one from my time!”

“Oh dear…. Well why don’t we go to the land of the Kais this weekend? We can break the sword and maybe he’ll improve your powers for getting him out.” Gohan suggested.

“Oh no you don’t!” Mirai accused. “The old Kai can wait a week, because you’re not missing your birthday for my sake!”

Gohan laughed the stereotypical Son-laugh. “Alright, alright.”

Then, a Vegeta-smirk appeared on the royal features. “Now, how shall I punish you for your suggestion?”

Gohan took a step back in dread.

“Alrighty.” Mirai said evilly. “You’re going to have to go to Piccolo and ask him for a pink frilly apron and matching kitchen utensils and you need to make me lunch for the next week in those – excluding your birthday of course.”

Gohan turned ‘tomato-red.’ “B-B-B-But… why Piccolo?”

“Well he seems to be adept at creating clothes out of thin air, but I suppose you can use the dragon balls instead and wish for it.” Mirai offered sarcastically.

Still red, Gohan took the latter option. “To Capsule Corp it is…” He mumbled.

“Hey Bulma, Can I have the dragon radar?” Gohan asked, trying to suppress his blush. Thankfully, Mirai had decided to wait for Gohan on Kami’s lookout. If the other was with him, he didn’t know how successful he’d be…

“Huh, why do you need it Gohan?” Bulma asked him.

He couldn’t tell Bulma the exact reason why – it was too embarrassing! He’d tell her that he was looking for the four-star ball, yes that’ll do. “Well, I remembered about the four-star ball.” He said.

“Oh! Right! Grandpa Gohan’s ball! One minute!” After some searching, Bulma exclaimed. “Ahah! Here it is! There you go Gohan and good luck!”

Gohan took the radar with a shaky nod. Why did Mirai get a kick out of teasing him, and why was he obeying him? Perhaps what Master Roshi said was right – the strongest being in the universe was not the person themselves, but their love.

…Did that mean he loved Mirai now, or did it mean he was on his way to loving him? Gohan shook his head. Mirai made him happy – really happy – and that’s all that mattered right? Their relationship was different than Videl and his, it wasn’t just about happiness, it was about all of the feelings. Being with Mirai made him feel, and Gohan wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world. If he had to trade in some dignity, then he would. Besides, even if he would never admit it aloud, he liked Mirai’s relentless teasing.

The first four balls he found were suspiciously easy to find. They seemed rather displaced, but he supposed animals could have done that, so he dismissed it. When he found the sixth ball, he looked at them all. There was something ironic about how his reason that he provided to Bulma was looking for the four-star ball, and it was the last one that he needed. Gohan pressed the button to zoom out and he found the sole light blinking on the screen. Hm, it was in the direction of Kami’s lookout. Interesting, but convenient. He thought and flew over there.

When he reached the tower, he checked the radar again, and it said something funny. It said he was in the exact spot. Tilting his head, he floated down, only to realize there were people living around the pole. Odd that he never realized that before.

“Goku?” A man called from below. “Is that you?”

Gohan blinked. These people knew his dad. Curious, he landed. “No, I’m not Goku. My name is Gohan, I’m his son. How do you know my dad?”

“Goku’s son!” A tall, built man exclaimed. “My name is Bora and this is my Son Upa. Goku saved our lives years ago. Tell me, how does he fair? Last I heard of him was two years ago, when Buu attacked.”

“Hm, it seems the dragon balls trusted you to remember, but Father is fine. By the way, have any of you seen one of these?” Gohan said and pulled out a dragon ball. “Except it would have four stars.”

“A dragon ball huh? I’ll ask around.” Bora said and five minutes later he returned and shook his head. “I’m sorry but nobody has seen it. May I ask why you are collecting them? Did somebody die?”

Gohan shook his head. “No, it’s just the four star ball runs in our family. But that’s odd, it says there’s one right here, unless…” The Son pulled out the radar and zoomed in. He saw the ball moving – almost pacing – and he glanced skyward. “Hmm…” He said thoughtfully. “Thank you for your help and I’ll give Father your regards.” Gohan said before bursting up with a blast of ki. He stopped at Korin’s level and peaked his head in. “Hey, do you two have the four-star ball?” He asked the cat and Yajirobe.

“Uh… no?” Yajirobe said. “How about you Whiskers?”

Korin clubbed Yajirobe over the head with his staff. “No I don’t, maybe check upstairs. Kami and his acquaintances may have it – or even maybe the kid from the future.”

At first, Gohan blinked at the suggestion before it fully hit him. No way! His face flamed up. Mirai better not have the four-star ball! In a panic, he rushed up to the lookout and saw that Mirai had halted in mid-pace. With a blush, he activated the radar and turned around, watching as the ball moved in correspondence to Mirai’s position. “M-Mirai? You wouldn’t happen to have a dragon ball on you, now would you?” He asked nervously.

“Huh? No, I left the searching up to you.” The prince simply stated.

“W-Well, uhh, then can you explain why the radar says differently?”

“What?” Mirai asked in surprise and came closer to see – and the blinking light also approached. When Mirai leaned over to look, a necklace came out from under his shirt.

Gohan glanced back at it. “Hey, where’d you get this?” He asked.

“Oh this?” The time-traveller acknowledged and lifted the necklace in question. “Chibi gave it to me as a belated gift last week. Why?”

Wait a minute… Suddenly the misplaced dragon balls made sense. “Can I see it for a second?”

“Huh? Oh sure.” Mirai said as he handed the necklace to Gohan.

“Hey, Piccolo! Catch!” The black-haired man yelled before tossing the silver jewellery over to his mentor, who caught it promptly. Gohan turned back to the radar before muttering. “I’m going to kill them!”

“Gohan?” Mirai asked warily.

“Piccolo, toss it back.” And as the necklace came flying back, he caught it before inspecting the ornament on the chain. Next he pressed a button and the four-star dragon ball poofed into existence. Gohan’s cheeks immediately darkened.

“G-Gohan?” This time, Mirai’s voice was worried.

And an awkward cough escaped Piccolo as he approached the couple and he placed a hand on Mirai’s shoulder. “Take good care of him, or you’re in for a beating – half-Saiyajin or not.”

Mirai glanced back at the green-skinned man with confusion. “Wait? What? Sure, we’re dating but why are you so serious?”

Piccolo glared at Mirai. “You mean you don’t know?” His voice was dangerous.

“Uhh…”

Finally, Gohan decided to speak up. “The four-star ball is like an engagement ring in my family – no more important than that – and since it was rightfully mine…” He mumbled.

“We’re engaged?!” Mirai exclaimed in surprise.