Lucid
by Chayron     More by this Writer
It’s written in Gohan’s POV. The plot is set four years after the Buu fight. Now about the content itself: Oh yeah, a big baddie came and destruction was his name. Mirai Trunks is too late to warn his friends in the other dimension, and things get fucked up as badly as only they can (though, I could have made them even worse), and only several persons are left alive. age: Gohan 22; Mirai Trunks 26.
Deathfic



Chapter 01
I am surrounded by a sticky, cold mass. I’m in some pitch-black space that is filled with hot, stuffy air. It doesn’t even feel like air, but it doesn’t feel like water either. It feels as if I’m breathing hot molten lava. I can’t see anything at all except blackness. I can’t even see my own nose.

I flounce my arms and kick my legs, trying to push myself off of this boggy mass and finally break to the surface. But there isn’t any hard substance under my feet and I can’t find leverage. I’m losing. I’m drowning. For some reason, I have a feeling that the more I squirm and shift, the deeper I sink. And I can feel my lungs burn. It’s hot. I’m freezing.

Why am I not flying? I wonder for some time. And then I cease, because I’m both too cold and too hot. Why am I not panicking? Don’t know. Have no idea. Though, I suppose it’s because of that something, which is boiling in my lungs, keeping me calm. Never before in my life have I felt as ruthlessly determined as I feel right now. The heat in my lungs and throat keeps me on edge. I’m cold too. In fact it’s freezing down here, and I have some unfinished business out there.

But I feel my calmness slip away from me. As my throat and lungs burn worse and worse, my sanity begins to falter. I’m not cold anymore. This, for some reason I feel, is a good thing. I just burn now. I burn with rage and fury.

I splash around, trying to get away from the now warm mass. I succeed. I tear myself away. I leave the surface and, with all the power I can muster, I slam myself into the dome of this accursed place.

***

Pain. Intense and unyielding. I wince and shift then finally open my eyes. There’s something soft under my back, which for some unknown reason feels inadequate compared to what I should feel.

I’m in bed.

It’s eerie in this room. I blink several times while focusing on the room and trying to understand where I am. Capsule house. Designed by Bulma. At least it looks like one of them: pink walls, purple curtains and a faint smell of new paint. I don’t remember how I got into this house.

I feel pain everywhere. I try to toss the covers away and wince at the pain in my right arm. It’s bandaged. What? How? I remove the covers with my left arm and frown at myself. I’m all black and blue; bruises, scratches and cuts cover my half-naked body. I have never seen my body so colorful. At least now I know why I hurt so much. But I don’t have time to wonder. If I look like this, something serious must have happened; it’s not every day a Saiyan gets beaten like this. At least not on Earth.

After five minutes of wincing, turning and staggering, I finally stand on my feet. Almost. I hold onto the nightstand, which sits next to the bed, make several steps in the direction of the door then exchange the nightstand for the wall and I’m almost there.

But, before I can open the door, the knob turns and the door opens abruptly.

“Oh, Gohan, you’re already up.”

Mirai Trunks looks surprised but smiles. It’s a weird smile: tense and nervous. Mirai closes the door behind him, and suddenly I’m pushed back into the middle of the room. I stagger and almost land on the floor, but he catches me before I hit the floor with my butt and carefully seats me on the bed.

What is Mirai doing here? Last time I saw him I was eleven years old. Mirai looks the same as he looked back then. He even wears the same clothes: the navy jacket with Capsule Corp logo, sleeveless black t-shirt, black pants and orange boots. I suppose there’s no difference, if he is ten or even twenty years older: the Saiyan physiology. My father is over thirty and still looks no older than a teenager.

“What’s going on?” I ask. Surely, having in mind my buzzing head, burning half-naked body and Mirai’s appearance, I want to know what the heck is going on. I squirm as Trunks stares at me with those blue eyes of his for longer than is necessary.

“What do you remember?” he asks nervously, and I wonder what should I remember. Then the realization hits me – I don’t remember anything from several days ago. There’s only a strange blur in my head. I look at Trunks with questioning eyes, and I don’t know how it’s possible, but he seems to become even more nervous. He tugs at his long lavender hair then sits down at my side. NOW I become worried.

“Do you want something to eat?”

I blink. Well, yes, I do want to eat. In fact I’m starving. Any normal Saiyan would want to eat after his body had been mutilated like mine. But first I want to know what happened. “Why are you here?” I ask. “And where am I?”

“It’s a capsule house.” He answers much faster than I expect. I nod at him; that much I noticed. I raise my eyebrows at him, wanting to hear the rest. “I came to warn you about a new threat. I was too late. ” His voice is soft and he isn’t looking at me. His lavender hair is covering his face and I can’t see his eyes.

“Too late?” I ask. “What the hell happened?!” I’m almost shouting now. My breathing is uneven and sweat is gathering on my forehead.

“As far as I know, Datano probably attacked several days ago. He destroyed half of the Earth’s population before you all found him and started to fight. His first target was Capsule Corp. Bulma and Trunks were killed in their sleep. I didn’t manage to find my fa…” Trunks faltered, “Vegeta’s body. Though, I couldn’t sense him anywhere.”

I stare at him. No, at his mouth. At his moving lips. Bulma, Trunks and Vegeta.

“And I can’t sense Krillin, Yamcha, Piccolo, Dende or Tien. I found Eighteen’s broken body on the field where the main fight had taken place. I think the others simply were disintegrated and that’s why I didn’t manage to find their bodies,” Trunks falls silent. He suddenly raises his head to look at me. He’s crying. “Gohan, I’m sorry. Your mother and brother… They are dead too.

“Gohan?”

I suddenly exhale the breath I was holding. I think I’m in some sort of shock. I hear Trunks’ words, but they don’t reach me. I don’t even know what I feel. Probably nothing. Various emotions are floating around me as colorful balloons, but I can’t manage to grasp any of their strands. I sense that it would be better if I could.

I turn to look at Trunks. “A-and m-my father?” I can’t see Trunks. I suppose that I’m crying too. It’s catchy, those tears, I suppose.

“He’s alive. I think it was he, who killed Datano,” I hear Trunks’ soft voice. I probably should be glad, but I can’t feel anything. “He’s in the other room,” he says finally, motioning with his head to the door. I stare at his mouth for some time then stand up, intending to go to see my father. “Gohan,” he grabs my arm and I wince in pain. Trunks holds me in place. He looks into my eyes again. “He’s…” I see that he’s struggling for words. “He was holding Goten’s body when I found him. He’s…” I don’t listen. I stagger away from the room.

I found the door to the room where my father’s located, almost immediately. I enter then stand for some time while staring at the bed in there. He’s sitting on the bed. He’s half covered, his upper body naked. There are some scratches and bruises on his chest and arms. He’s nowhere near as bad as me, but he got his share.

I don’t know why I’m not panicking. I’m probably still in shock. I understand now what Trunks meant: my father is sitting on the bed with his face calm and staring at the wall in front of him. His eyes are empty and unfocused. He’s softly rocking back and forth. I slowly approach him and sit on the bed. He doesn’t react.

***

“Gohan?”

I turn around to see Mirai standing at my door. I stare at him wondering what he’s doing here, and when I remember, I truly wish I hadn’t. A whimper escapes my lips and I snuggle into the covers again hoping I can hide from this reality. I know I’m shaking and my eyes sting with unshed tears. But then it’s all gone; I have duties. Can’t waste precious time whining like a child.

“How is my father?” I ask with a voice that I can hardly recognize. It’s not broken, but it has its own story now. I see relief pass over Mirai’s face. Sure he’s relieved. He’d already had enough of my catatonic father. He has no wish to deal with a crazed Gohan now.

“The same,” Mirai nods, and I want to smash his head against the wall. Don’t know why, but the violence I suddenly feel, makes me grit my teeth. I’m desperate. I want to kill. Though, not Mirai, and it doesn’t change anything at all.

I notice Mirai becoming wary. He must have noticed the sparks flying in my eyes. His face becomes unreadable and he slowly approaches my bed. He carefully extends his hand, holding some clothes. “Here, take them. Found them several miles away.”

As soon as I take the clothes, he quickly retracts his arm as if he’s afraid that I’d bite his arm off. I snort at him, but he just shakes his head. And then I feel the urge to bash his head in again. “What kept you? Why weren’t you here?” I see his eyes widen and I see something flash past them. Pain. He feels guilty. As if I give a damn. My family is destroyed, only my catatonic father and me are left. Everyone else is dead. And everything’s gone because some fucking purple-haired youth was too late to warn us.

“Don’t know,” Trunks shakes his head. While I watch his long hair flounce around his face, anger engulfs me again. “I calculated everything to the last second. I just don’t know what went wrong.”

I snort again. I look at the clothes in my lap. Where the fuck did he find them? A dark blue sleeveless T-shirt with a black panther, and orange, baggy sweatpants. Orange. I snort again, but decide not to protest – there is no better option anyway. I dig deeper into the bundle and find underwear. With small ducks and bears. I raise it in the air on my finger and look at Trunks. He looks at it then looks back at me. He cracks a smile. But it turns into a worried frown as I bare my canines at him. I want to kill the fucker.

“I only managed to find this,” he waves his hands against him as if trying to ward me off.

“You think it’s funny?!” I suddenly yell, jumping from the bed and throwing the underwear to the ground. I just want to smash his head through the wall. Gods, how I hate this purple haired sucker! “You think it’s damn funny?!”

Purple meets pink.

“Gohan, stop it!” he yells back at me after he staggers out of the ruins of the opposite pink wall.

As if. I punch him in the face and purple meets pink once again. I feel like an artist.

I try to improvise with my right foot too. I can use only my left fist, but it feels damn good anyway. But then it doesn’t feel good anymore, because suddenly I’m thrown on my back and pain shoots up my spine and stars shine in my eyes as I hit my head on the leg of the bed. My hands are held and I’m pinned to the wooden floor. I thrash around, but his hold is firm and my right hand is burning like a bitch. I had been angry, but now I’m going insane. Sure, if I were at my full health and power, I’d crush him like a bug. Today, though, he’s much stronger than me. Both, physically and psychologically. And I admit that. Though, not straight away. No, the idea to finally give up comes to my head after some fifteen minutes of thrashing, cursing and growling.

He’s tired. I can see that. He pants above me while trying to keep me in place. Trunks’ forehead is covered in small beads of sweat. His face is surrounded by that stupid purple mass of hair. His eyes are pleadingly staring at me.

I give up. I stop writhing under him and show no resistance. We stare at each other for some time like idiots. “Tie your hair up, you look awful,” I say then. “And you stink horribly,” I add. Though, I’m pretty sure that I smell worse than he does.

He nods and then lets go of my hands and squats next to me. “I haven’t had a shower in five days and I’m covered in dust and sweat.”

I just snort. “No need to recite anything to me; I can fucking smell that. You know, you always smell of a disaster. All the time.”

He frowns at me but doesn’t say anything. I just ignore him then. I get up and go back to my bed to find the damn clothes. I take the bluish underwear. Now, I’m not sure why I freaked out so much at those stupid yellow ducks on it.

“Get out,” I say. “I want to dress.” I always have been shy.

“Yes, of course,” he says, and I can perfectly hear that reconciled tone in his voice again. That tone is driving me crazy. He’s speaking to me like I’m a child!

“Get out!” I yell at him, although, I perfectly see that he’s already halfway out of the room. “Get the fuck out!” He doesn’t say anything only closes the door softly behind him. I hate it.

Finally! Alone. I sit on the bed and stare at the stupid ducks and bears. There’s some tension running up and down my spine, my stomach is churning and I can hardly control my hands. I feel the urge to smash something again. Though, I decide not to; I’m wasting time. After my mind’s small bout of clarity, I look at myself and realize that I’m almost naked. My body still reminds me of a rainbow. Well, nothing’s changed much since yesterday. Though, I probably shouldn’t have been flouncing around while only in my raggedy underwear. I chuckle and then feel the urge to slap myself on the forehead. I realize I’m being hysterical. Took me long enough.

With my mind set on one particular task, such as dressing, I finish this task in several minutes. I can hardly use my right arm, and my left is numb and shaky, but soon I’m dressed. The dark blue T-shirt is a bit tight across my chest, but the sweatpants are perfect. I turn to the door and open it.

The hall is small, and those pink walls are everywhere. I can almost smell Bulma. After Trunks had shown me around yesterday, I’m able to recognize the door to the bathroom, the door to my father’s room, the door to the kitchen and the door to Trunks’ room. Actually I don’t remember much from yesterday, everything’s hazy. I just know that Trunks gave me some food and I fell asleep again. I don’t remember if I had asked him anything or not. I just remember that everyone is dead. That is easy to remember.

At first I go to the bathroom. I’m bursting. After relieving myself, I look at the mirror that is hanging over the sink. Hmm… My face is covered in gashes, cuts and bruises. So that’s why it hurt to bare canines at Mirai… I wonder how I looked yesterday – we, Saiyans, heal fast. I shortly wonder if I’m going to have scars, but then realize that I don’t really care. I carefully wash my face then dry it with the towel that is hanging on a hook. It may be Mirai’s, but now I hardly care about manners. Actually, I should take a shower, but I think that I don’t have time for that.

I close the bathroom door behind me and turn to my father’s room. My father is sitting on the bed, sitting exactly the same as he was yesterday. Half-covered and probably in only his underwear also. There’s almost no change, except that the smallest cuts on Goku’s arms are almost healed. I shortly wonder if Trunks gave him something to eat. Then I wonder if Goku can eat at all. Then I wonder if Goku can go to the bathroom on his own. Then I wonder how much time Trunks has spent with my father.

Mirai is sitting at my father’s side and gazing at my face. His hair is tied up.

“Has he eaten anything?” I ask.

Mirai shakes his head in denial. Figures. I stare at my father for some time. “Where in the hell are we?” I finally ask. I see Mirai tense. Get on with it, Mirai.

“We are two miles away from the main battle field. After I found you and Goku, I didn’t want to carry you around too much only to hurt you more. So decided to setup the capsule house nearby,” he explains.

I just nod. I approach the window, brush the white curtain away and look out of the window for the first time in these past two days. I close the curtain back as I don’t see anything more, only vast emptiness. Dried mud, some stuff tossed here and there, nothing important.

“What did you say that creature was called?” I ask, coming to sit at my father’s side, close to Mirai.

“Datano,” he answers. He’s watching me with a wary expression. “He’s…was a God.”

Ah. Nice. A God. “My father killed him?” I ask once again. I want to be sure.

“Yes,” he nods.

“Who fried everything?” I turn to him a bit too abruptly. I notice him lean away from me. He’s a little worried. “My father or that Datano?”

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head. “I came after.”

“What the fuck did he want?”

“To rule the universe.”

Ah. How predictable. All baddies with a grain of power try to rule the universe. “Dende is dead?”

“Yes,” he nods. “I think so.”

“No Dragon Balls then,” I mutter. “How about the Namekians?”

“New Namek doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Oh my fucking god,” I exhale. I lean on the headboard next to my oblivious father. I stare at the pink wall before my eyes. “So…” I drawl then. “Do we have anything to eat?”

Trunks is watching me close now. My right fist is itching to punch him in the eye. Sadly, I know that probably I’d break my arm, and wouldn’t manage to reach his face with my left before he’d catch it. Damn.

Mirai finally nods. He gets up and walks over to the door. He’s trying to keep his front to me. I follow him close and can feel his nervousness.

We enter the kitchen. I’m relieved; it’s the only room where the walls are white. Here’s a huge fridge and I feel even hungrier than I was a minute ago.

I watch Mirai ransack the fridge. While watching his bobbing ponytail, I try to outline another possibility, but after musing more, I have to decline it; while traveling back in time we’d simply create another dimension. Here we wouldn’t change anything, we would only create another dimension, another universe where the same shit would happen. Sure, we would warn and save my family and all other people, but actually we ourselves would be the cause of creating the new universe and we would be saving the people from the situation we ourselves would have created and put those people in.

When Mirai finally faces me, I have already considered and lost interest in all time traveling theories. I watch him spread the food next to me on the big wooden table. I watch him put a huge pot of something onto the stove and turn it on. He then sits down opposite me.

“Did you try giving food to my father?” I ask him.

“Yes,” he takes a huge piece of salami and starts cutting it into slices. “He doesn’t react. And I can’t force-feed him.”

With my left hand I take the bread from the table and look around for another knife.

“Err… I’ll cut it myself,” he says suddenly smiling at me with that weird smile of his again.

I lower my head to my shoulder. I smile back at him. I see his smile slowly fading to be replaced by a true look of worry.

“Give me the fucking knife,” I say. I stare at his slightly pale face, then finally he hands over the knife. I take it, put the bread back on the table and start slicing it. From the corner of my eye I watch him lean on the cabinet that is standing near the fridge. He opens the drawer and retrieves another knife.

After slicing the bread I watch him slice cucumbers. Then I start making sandwiches. “What’s on the stove?” I ask.

“Some chicken stew,” he says, watching the knife that for some reason I still hold in my hand. “I love chicken stew,” I nod and put the knife back on the table. “My father likes it too.” I continue making the sandwiches. “Did Datano attack your world too?”

Trunks stands up to stir the stew. Although it’s uncomfortable, he stands facing me while stirring the stew. “Yes,” he gives a nod.

“And how did you kill it?” I ask.

“I didn’t,” he answers.

I frown at him. “You didn’t?” I gaze at him still frowning. And then it hits me. “You ran away?”

“Yes,” he nods. His hand is absently stirring the pot.

“We have to kill it,” I declare.

“How?” he sighs.

I frown again. He’s right. He’s too weak, and I’m probably not strong enough either. Even at my full power. I also lack skill. “Does your Time Machine accommodate two persons?”

Trunks shakes his head in denial. “No. Only one.”

“So, my father is the only hope for your world…”

“There is no hope for my world,” Trunks takes the pot off the stove and puts it on a piece of newspaper before me. “He killed everyone.”

I look at Mirai for some time. Dammit.

“Senzu Beans,” he says sighing. “I had some. Used one after the fight.” He turns to the cupboard to get the plates and forks.

I lower my gaze. Clear then. I wonder at how quickly I can start thinking clearly, when I’m not thinking about my situation. “He needs to be stopped.”

Mirai nods at me. “Yes. But currently I can’t do anything. I’m not strong enough. And…”

“…And I’m not strong enough either,” I finish for him. “My father…well, we’ll see,” I shrug. Though, I really do not burn to put my last family member under the guillotine. “I will try giving him this,” I say, taking the already filled plate then a spoon.

The plate lay on the nightstand, the spoon in my left hand and I try to feed my father. What could go wrong? Well, numerous things: first, my father doesn’t show any intent to eat. Second, my left hand is too shaky and I have already spilled the stew all over my father. Third, I’m getting angry again.

Finally I give up and eat what’s left of the stew myself. I can feel Mirai watching me from the doorway and feel the urge to throw the plate at him. I joyously consider the idea, but then realize that I’m still hungry and I’m not sure if he has another spare plate.

I leave my father’s side and go back to the kitchen. Mirai is following me close. I sit at the table and start consuming the food. My body needs to replenish the missing energy. After about five minutes I notice that Mirai is just sitting and staring out of the window. I shift my eyes there too, but, besides vast nothingness, I can’t see anything more.

“Eat,” I say.

He turns back to me. Probably my face fits my voice because he picks up a sandwich and starts chewing on it. His hands are a bit shaky.

We eat quietly for some time. In two minutes of silence I have another theory.

“So, you programmed the Time Machine to appear before Datano struck,” I say. He nods. “In your world there’s only you who was strong enough to present a challenge to him. Here we have more Saiyans. I think that here Datano’s battle plan had been influenced by different circumstances which resulted in a different time of the attack.”

His eyes are fixed on me then he gives a nod. “Perhaps you are right.”

I shrug. Fuck knows.

We continue our meal, and I feel how my head is starting to burst with questions. “This house has a water recycling system?” He nods. “How many people survived?”

“About half of the population,” he stands up to make something to drink. I know that because I feel thirsty. He must feel thirsty too.

“Did you find more bodies?”

He nods. I watch him open the fridge and remove a pack of apple juice. He retrieves two glasses out of the same cupboard where spoons and forks and more plates are stored. I notice some pots there too.

“Whose?”

He slowly fills the two glasses. “Chichi’s, Krillin’s, Yamcha’s, Piccolo’s and Dende’s.”

I watch him approach the table with the glasses in his hands. He stops then. He seems a bit unsure. He manages to duck the plate not spilling the drinks. I watch the plate shatter on the counter behind his back. I smile at him. Good reaction.

“Gohan, will you stop this?” His voice is worried, but it sounds more tired than worried.

I look at the breakage of the dish behind his back. “Where are they?” I ask.

“I buried them several miles away from here.” He carefully approaches the table and reaches the glass of juice to me.

I stare at him for some time. Then I realize something. “Have you slept at all?” I wonder.

He shakes his head in denial. He’s been busy. Yeah, he has been looking for any possible signatures of ki; for my dead relatives and friends; for clothes for me and for my father; he had been watching over my father and me; he had been digging the graves. I feel the urge to finish the painting: I think there’s still some purple and white missing.

“Gohan…” He’s backing away from me.

“Give me the fucking juice,” I spit, reaching my hand out.

Somehow the cool glass in my left hand calms me down. “How long have you been on your feet?” I ask. I wonder if it’s a genuine care or a spark of joyous sadism. I see that he’s not sure either.

“Five days.”

Hmm… He looks better than I look after one day of not sleeping. “Go to sleep,” I order. “I’ll watch over my father myself. And apparently I’m better at finding ki than you.”

I see that he wants to protest. I wish I had more plates. Or knives.

“Yes,” he suddenly agrees. He quickly downs the juice and then leaves the kitchen even quicker.

Okay. I’m alone again. Now I have to set my mind to some tasks, otherwise I’m not going to manage to do anything. Okay. First take care of what’s left of the food.

I put the rest of the sandwiches away in the fridge. The stew is finished and I put the pot in the sink, fill it with water and leave it for later. I toss all the dirty spoons and forks and Trunks’ plate into the same water filled pot. Okay.

Now check the food supplies.

I again open the fridge and observe the empty shelves. Okay. Almost no food. Done.

Go to check on your father.

I leave the kitchen. I almost wince at the pink walls in the corridor. I open the door to my father’s room and see that nothing has changed: my father sits on the bed and stares at the wall. Done.

Go look outside and try to find some ki.

While passing Trunk’s door I feel his ki slowly lower and then fade to nothing. He’s asleep. He must be deadly tired. I wouldn’t sleep with myself in the house…

I leave the house. The heat hits me right into the face. I blink for some time while trying to adjust to the direct rays of sun and heat. Damn, it’s really hot here.

I close the door behind me. I levitate up into the sky, give a look at the mangled dirt all around the house, and stretch my senses as far as I can. I search and look for about ten minutes. Nothing. Nothing at all. I can’t even sense any ki higher than that of a rat. Datano did a great job in solving Earth’s overpopulation. Really.

Okay. Now I should do something more. The problem is that I don’t know what. I can’t sense any ki around, and I have no idea where the main battlefield was or how far it reached, or where Mirai buried my mother and brother and others. So while looking for the “cemetery” on my own I’d waste time. Yes, I still don’t know why I need that time, but I know that I have to think about something or hell knows what will happen.

Finally I’m back on the ground. I return to the house and go to my father. While looking at him I wonder where Mirai found adult diapers. There must be a store somewhere. Only I have no idea where. I’ll have to wait until Trunks wakes up.

I’m not sure for how long I sit at my father’s side, but then I notice that my right arm is stinging. I look down at it and see the fresh blood soak the bandages. I unclench my fist. At this rate I’m not going be able to use my arm for quite some time.

I desperately need to do something more.

I get up and go to wash dishes. It’s a very silly task for me; I have only one good hand. Though, it’s okay – it takes longer. Now time’s turned into my enemy.

When the dishes are done, I decide to take a shower and get rid of all that curdled blood, sweat and dust. I go into the bathroom and start filling the bath. I prefer showers to baths, but I doubt that a shower can deal with the amount of dirt I have.

The bath is full almost at the same time I finally mange to remove all clothes. I put my left foot into the bath and have to clench my teeth. It stings horribly. My eyes water when I climb into the bath and sit down. I take a sponge from a small shelf that is fitted into a corner above my head. I sniff at several shower gels and choose one that smells of citrus. I don’t bother to tend all the cuts I have – too many of them, besides I really need to wash the dirt and sweat away to help those cuts to heal. So I wash my hair with my left hand and then start gingerly brushing with the sponge over my body until I think I’m not able to stand that stinging anymore. Then, slipping and almost breaking my left leg, I finally climb out of the bath.

I watch the drain swallow pinkish-muddy water then turn to the towels. As I still don’t know which towel I should use, I take a red one that is folded on a small bathroom cabinet. I put the clothes that Trunks gave me back on, and go back to my father. Actually I don’t have anywhere else to go.

I wake up with a stiff neck and sore butt. I fell asleep in the chair. Finally acknowledging the situation, I gasp and quickly look around: my father is still staring at the pink wall; the sun is setting outside and it’s much darker than it was; my nose crunches at the smell. This is the situation my senses show me.

My father stinks. I need to change him. I think he could use a bath too. I wonder if I could manage to bring him to the bathroom. Possibly, I’d… I just need to leave all doors open.

I almost carry him to the bathroom. I struggle with getting him into the bathtub, but finally he’s in. I take the diaper off and clean him. Luckily the bathroom is one of those that consist of the bathtub and the toilet, so I have plenty of toilet paper at my disposal.

Finally I lower him into the bathtub and start filling it with water. I choose another shower gel for him. A bit sweeter, it smells like cherries. I just don’t want us both smelling the same. I don’t know why.

First I wash his hair, and then start washing his back. It’s hard having only one hand. I rub his back noticing that my father’s skin doesn’t have any scratches. Actually this whole thing reminds me of the time when father used to give me baths when I still was a boy. Even that cherry smell seems so similar to the soap he had been using to rub my back. We had a big brown metallic barrel outside the house, and taking the baths was one of many things that made my life perfect then. I love baths. The barrel was big enough to accommodate three people. We used to take baths together. He’d rub my back, I’d rub his. We’d sit in the barrel, talk about this and that. I loved to listen to his stories. He was my hero. All the time. We would sit warmly until the stars came out. We would be all wrinkled, but still wouldn’t want to get out. His scent always worked on me serenely: it would wrap around me as a warm blanket, and I felt safe beside him all the time. And the soap. Cherries. Why did we always have that soap with the smell of cherries?

I suddenly retch. The scent of cherries is overloading my senses.

“Gohan?”

I don’t have time to look around because the next moment I have the worst spasm I have ever had in all my life. I’m at the toilet already. And I’m happy again that the toilet is connected to the bathroom.

“Here, some water.”

I still don’t dare turn around. My body is still heaving. Though, after a minute I’m calm again. I flush the toilet and turn to Mirai and shakily take the glass from his hand. I rinse my mouth several times then drink the rest of the glass.

I can still feel cherries in the air.

“I’ll finish bathing him,” Trunks says.

I just nod. Have no energy left to protest. I shakily stand up, intending to get away from that scent.

“And you need your bandages changed.”

I look at my right arm. True. The bandages are so soaked in blood and water that it’s almost dripping. “What’s actually wrong with my hand?” I ask then. It had never occurred to me to ask this before.

“The wrist is broken,” Trunks answers. There’s the sponge in his hand, and I leave the bathroom, not wanting to see him bathe my father.

I go to the kitchen and sit down at the table. I’m not hungry, but the pink color is driving me crazy. After about fifteen minutes I can hear that Mirai is done. He enters the kitchen carrying a white box with a red cross on top. Trunks sits next to me and opens the box. I spread out my right hand for him. I watch him carefully unwrap the bandages. I feel strange.

“How old are you?” I ask. It just feels strange. I want to know his age, because suddenly I realize that I don’t know how to behave myself anymore. For some reason I think that knowing his age would help.

“Twenty six.”

“Oh,” I blink. Then I laugh. For some reason I thought that he was younger than me. Appears that he’s four years older than me. Not much, but still. “Then actually you must be better with sensing ki than I,” I laugh again. I somehow manage to remember that I told him to go to sleep and said that I’m probably better than he is with his ki. Suddenly I feel a bit silly.

“Yes, I probably am,” he nods reservedly. “Gohan, you’re running a fever. You need to sleep it off.”

I have a fever? I wonder for some time while watching my now bare mutilated wrist. The fracture must have been open because I can still see blood and torn flesh. Mirai must have put the bones back together.

“You became aggressive, and I’m worried that you’ll do something very…” he trails off. He looks around then takes a fork from the table, puts it on my wrist. He takes a new bandage and starts wrapping it on my wrist and fork.

I became aggressive? I have never been an aggressive type. “Why did you get up?” I ask. I know he still needs to sleep, and badly.

“I felt your ki rise. Thought that something bad happened,” he explains.

I shake my head. “It was just that smell. Cherries. I got sick.”

“Cherries?” he wonders. “You don’t like that smell?”

“No, I like that smell,” I shake my head again. “It just made me sick.”

Mirai looks at me from the corner of his eye, but doesn’t say anything. Damn. And I feel such an urge to talk!

“Gohan, please, go to sleep?”

I watch him bandage my wrist then I nod. Yeah, I should go to sleep. I don’t feel very well. I’m still a bit dizzy and my thoughts are fuzzy.

I can sense that he’s relieved.

I go back to the room that currently is used as my bedroom. Mirai helps me undress, and I slip under the covers. Actually I don’t feel sleepy, just heavy. But Mirai sits down next to my bed, and somehow I feel that it’s my duty to sleep now. I watch the hole in the wall for some time. I think it’s leading into Trunks’ room. I wonder if Trunks’ head hurt, when I sent him through the wall. It must have hurt.

My eyes leave the hole and debris, and I snuggle into the covers even tighter.



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