Welcome to DBZ Love Garden

Water was essential to life just as much as training is to mine, Son Gohan thought, fighting the urge to wipe sweat from his brow. His shadow glided with the movements of another, longer but at the same angle. Son Gohan’s dark brows furrowed in intense concentration, locking with those of his younger opponent. Oddly, the roles of years past were reversed with a lifetime of choreography entrusted to him by Piccolo. Now his pupil upraised hands at forty-five degree angles, hunching his shoulders with his head tipped back to compensate for being shorter then Son Gohan. Tendrils of lavender hair stuck to the sweat that blistered from his forehead.

“Think fast, and don’t hesitate!” Gohan barked, before he accelerated his entire body. Narrowed blue eyes stared shortly to track his movement, and Gohan arched around behind his student.

For miles around stretched spires of rock, jutting out of sand that had crumbled and eroded under years of weathering. Far from any of the ruined cities of the Androids, but closer to Gohan’s mountain home they continued to train. In the distance the extending bands of brown turning to dark green indicated the change in landscape that preceded a half hour flight to the Son residence. At times their training grounds changed, in order to keep one step ahead of possible ambush, Gohan reasoned.

Fortunately, this time as Gohan’s fist flashed out, he impacted Trunks slender upraised wrist. Tilting his torso back a slight bit, he avoided Trunks’ counterpunch. This time only inches from his nose the clenched hand passed, pleasing him. Indeed Trunks was getting closer to actually tagging him. So focused were the blue eyes on the attack, that Gohan then thrust his leg out, his thigh crashing into those of Trunks.

Knocked off balance Trunks quickly recovered, just in time for Gohan to pivot his body on one foot and lash out with a kick. Fumbling Trunks tucked his body inwards and raised one knee to block. His face clenched in pain with the near solid crack, but Gohan felt the resistance through his entire leg. Arching backwards, Trunks landed on his back, and then rolled over out of the way of Gohan’s downward facing elbow as he pounced. Sand flew up into his face, but Gohan ignored it, excited to see that Trunks speed had slowly increased.

Back of his capsule T-shirt and sweats coated with a layer of sand, Trunks rolled halfway on his back to regain his footing. This time he leaned back again to dodge the next two kicks and punches thrown by Gohan. This time Trunks spun and shot out with his own punches. Gohan felt the impact of the right fist on his forearm, but then felt the pressure of Trunks shoulder and other fist slamming into his gut. It was a bit sloppy, Gohan had to admit, but forceful enough because he found himself grunting from some of the wind knocked from his belly. It sent him back, but he snapped around once more for another try. This time Trunks dodged under his next punch, and his body blurred into navy blue, white, and lavender before Gohan’s eyes. However, Gohan automatically swept out his arm, feeling the solidness of Trunks belly yielding against his sharp elbow. He steeled himself against the frustrated grunt and sound of his student’s body thudding to the sand.

“Dammit,” Trunks gritted, his eyes squeezed shut. Hair fanned out to the side, and doubled up with knees pressed into his chest Trunks wrapped his arms around his injured midsection. At that moment, he seemed much smaller and younger, triggering a split second deluge of memories.

Two years ago a peculiarly nasty assault on North City as the deadly duo of Androids had smashed apart the central shopping complex. The local hospital of North city was far too ruined to accommodate all the disaster victims. Some of her employees had piloted a rescue craft to pick up whatever survivors there were. Then Bulma’s local Capsule plant there had set up dozens of palates for the refugees. Capsule more often than not function as a field hospital more than a technological factory. Bulma’s bots and medical teams had tried to set up as much machinery as possible. Not to mention enough pieces of equipment to keep the people alive long enough for their city to rebuild suitable shelters. Several hundred souls needed food and drink, and medical care. At times, like that he helped Bulma keep the water purification system or the hydroponic bots control units.

As always Trunks was right there helping wrap bandages or staunch heavy bleeding when there weren’t enough medical volunteers. By the time, they all had returned to Capsule, Bulma had offered them all places to sleep and recover. Gohan had taken the room down the hall from Trunks, and remembered tossing and turning in the borrowed bed only to hear that bloodcurdling scream. A soft cry of fear turned into outrage as Trunks had burst out of fitful sleep and hurled aside covers. Gohan had remembered the sheer force and anguish in that voice, and had found himself rushing from the place he had slept that night at capsule two years ago.

“Trunks, come on, I know I didn’t hit you that hard! Get up!” he couldn’t stop himself from shouting. Damn it he was getting too soft, all because he couldn’t help wincing from the pain he guessed Trunks must have been feeling. Despite his better impulse, he stepped forwards, leaning over the huddled lad. Slowly Trunks rolled over onto his back, teeth gritted and graceful lavender brow knitted in pain.

Gohan’s brows knit, confused and concerned because he was certain there was enough force in his punch not to cause so much damage. Surely, Trunks had taken more solid punches then this, so why was he shuddering so much without rolling again to his feet?

“Trunks?” Gohan lowered his voice, bending his knee more firmly. Yet two sky blue eyes popped wide open, and sand hissed with the sudden movement of the once curled body. A loud shout accompanied the forward thrust of two legs at Gohan. Pain erupted, and he drew his abdomen tight, seeing through the pain that was little in magnitude to many injuries, but struggling to process what he’d seen. He had just glimpsed Trunks pressing the flats of both hands planted in the sand behind him, then levering his entire body upwards and landed his feet in the pit of Gohan’s stomach. The clever smirk covering Trunks face at that moment infuriated and invigorated Gohan as he glided back, still curling in on his own body.

“Nasty trick, but not too bad,” Gohan wheezed. Piccolo’s voice ran in Gohan’s mind, reprimanding him for a moment of weakness. Yet Gohan couldn’t help hesitating a mere second to see the boy curled up on himself. It reminded Gohan of how vulnerable after Trunks was, after days of calmly sorting out the damaged bodies pouring in. In sleep, his mind processed the afterimages. More and more people each day would seek refuge inside the huge cracked done of their corporation, and fewer scientists remained alive to keep the company running smoothly. Trunks had seen progressively more death and destruction at close hand since that night, and Gohan knew exactly what the substance was that comprised his nightmares. For he had seen such horrors himself.