One Way Ticket
by PrismaKakkerra     More by this Writer
Once Future Gohan dies, the androids go on to destroy what's left of mankind. Seeing no future for her son in the dying world, Bulma forces a thirteen-year-old Trunks to use the time machine and escape this condemned world. Stuck in the new timeline with no opportunity to ever return, Trunks has to help train a younger Gohan, defeat the androids and think about his own happiness.

Based Upon : http://gohanxtrunks.net/nudity-gay-sex/posts/dbz-kai-owt
Deathfic



Chapter 01
Breath.

Gohan’s breath was uneven. Mingled with short rasps and coughs. Trunks could smell the blood. It was salty. It smelled of a tang, mixed with the gusts of smoke. He was so heavy; of all the times the young saiyan had imagined holding his teacher; he never thought he would be so heavy.

There was a solemn quiet on the battlefield. It was broken by the shifting, the dragging of feet over gravel. Without looking, without feeling, the teen knew it was bad. Gohan had been wounded, and it was all he could see. All he could taste or experience: the bitterness of the senzu, the cooling blood as it ran down his neck. He was broken inside, and it had all started the moment the mechanical monsters set foot on the battlefield. There would be no escape or ease for his mind.

Gohan was hurt and he could still taste the bitterness of senzu. Still smell the stench of blood. He could still hear gasps of breath.

He dragged him for what seemed like hours, and that in itself felt too human. The androids had reduced them, simplified their existence in the grief of this world. They had misshapen all that was good and all that was perfect in this life. They had hurt Gohan. Turned a god into something frail. Broken his conceptions of good and evil.

Lavender strands stuck thickly over his forehead as the young fighter struggled between the buildings. He paused to catch his breath behind a toppled garbage can and as he leaned against the wall he rocked the broken man in his arms.

He loved him.

It was the one—singular—inescapable truth that his heart could remember it that moment. He loved Son Gohan. He loved his optimism. He loved his determination. He loved the steep treks of his eyes. “We are almost there. Just hold on! Don’t give up…”

A tear escaped from the teen's lashes and he shook.

The rest of the journey was spent listening for tremors. Tremors meant battle, and battle meant the monsters were not far behind. Trunks found he could not stop the hate from burning in his soul. He hated them, and hated himself. He was not strong enough. He let Gohan down.

They were closer now. Closer to home. Still, the damage had been done. Gohan was immobile. Trunks could feel the blood soaking his back. Tears fell but they were lacking. He had settled into his horror a thousand times now, rested in his failings. They were sheltered by nothing in this life. As he got closer he felt fatigue and defeat brim in the pit of his stomach. Bloody hands reached for the door, trembling.

*See what I have done. I have fucked up...everything. *

He twisted the knob and groaned as he struggled to pull his mentor into the hallway. Dark eyes glazed over with pain. They gazed up at him. A hand weakly reached, but fell limply against the wall, and streaked blood over the walls.

Trunks made it to the lab doors. He looked into the eyes of his mother and watched horror drain her face. “Gohan… we did it! We made it home.”

***

Gohan was alone in the dark. Black lashes fluttered open and his eyes focused in attempts to find light in the bosom of the blackness, but there was nothing in the shapeless space. Pale fingers stretched out as he grasped, twisted in the smoke of murky mass. There was only one thing in he sought. One thing chanted in the ceaseless echo of his mind: Trunks.

But Trunks was not there. Trunks was just a fantasy. A hope in the hopelessness of his heart. How could he be anything but a dream? Lavender hair, eyes blue as the sky. With skin the color of coffee and cream. He was a fantasy, a sad dream of an even sadder man.

Thick tears spilled from the demis eyes and he wept openly for thay dream. He had lost it to demons. He allowed demons to steal his dream. “Trunks!!”

As if brought back from the dead, the short haired saiyan jerked awake and clutched the form in front of him. He sobbed and attempted to sit up against the protest of his injuries. “Trunks!!”

Trunks cried until his face was red and his soul was dampened. Gohan was awake, crying his name. “I'm here...its ok...we are safe…”

He gently pushed him down and tried not to look at the bandages as they soaked with blood. Tried not to look at the place where his arm was suppose to be. He stroked the tears around the older warriors bandaged cheek, and cood him like a child until his shaking eased. “Its ok….”

Gohan blinked through his tears and when they fell away he saw an angel hovering over him. He whispered for fear of frightening the beautiful creature. “Trunks…”

“I'm here….”

“Trunks…” Shaky hands gripped the teen and brown eyes lulled. “Run Trunks, run!”

The tears that the prince cried that day lacked nothing. They racked his entire form. They poured from his soul and ripped from his gut.

Gohan fell back asleep, but three days later, Trunks was still sobbing. The haunting in those eyes, they fueled his nightmares. Tortured his waking state .

Bulma watched it eat him alive; it reminded her of the day Goku died. Of how long Vegeta cried. How wasted he appeared. Defeated. That sorrow ate the very essence of her husband. It was love; she knew it immediately, but her pride would not allow her to help him through it. She swore that she would not let Trunks follow that path. She slowly crept into the room and touched his head. “We need to change his bandages…”

Trunks sat up sharply. “I can do it…”

She nodded and they walked over with the supplies. She gave him the scissors, and as Trunks reached for the bandage over the unconscious man's cheek, he trembled.

Bulma bit her lip. “It was a brave thing you did, bringing him back the way you did…”

Trunks looked away. “He only got hurt because of me!”

“Sometimes, you get hurt, protecting the ones you love. Sometimes you hurt helping them too. That is why love so powerful. It stands through the pain of all that.”

Blue eyes looked over to her and she smiled. Trunks blushed darkly, and then started cutting the bandages. “He doesn't know…”

Bulma unrolled the new bandages. “He knows, you are showing him right now.”

Trunks bit his lip as he peeled the bandage from Gohan's cheek. “It looks bad.”

The scientist shook her head. “It's just that color because its healing. Put this ointment on it, then wrap the bandage over his head first, then we will put the gauze on.”

“Ok…”

***

Taking care of Gohan gave him purpose. Gave his mind something to focus on. He felt his heart lighten with the fading of bruises. He wanted revenge, but mostly, he wanted to know why.

Why did Gohan do that? Didn't he know he wasn't important? That he meant nothing and that he was everything, everything good in life. Between caring for his mentor, he watched him and puzzled. Wondered what he did to make Gohan sacrifice his life for him. He couldn't think of anything. At night he would sit against the window sill like a sentinel, gazing out at the moonlight as if it had the answers he seeked.

Weeks had passed since the attack. It had humbled them both. Trunks had lost hope that Gohan would recover, so he sat with him and held his hand, hoping his presence soothed him. It was on a warm afternoon that he sat next to the bed and brushed his mentors hair. He brushed his hair upwards and gasped as his wrist was grabbed. “Trunks…”

“Gohan!! You're awake!!”

Gohan smiled weakly and stroked down his wrist. It was a simple action, but to Trunks it felt like magic. He pulled his wrist to his chest and blushed darkly. “Are you… here now?”

Dark eyes turned to him, and the famous Son smirk etched the warriors cheeks. Trunks was not a dream. Trunks was real; strong; beautiful.

He was awakened by the scent of his shampoo. By the small strokes of his fingers against his forehead. They had made it home. “I'm here now. How long was I out?”

Trunks looked down. Now that Gohan was awake he felt pressured to ask him. Felt guilt for allowing it to happen in the first place. “Weeks…”

The black haired saiyan blushed. “Oh man, guess I over shot it. Why the long face? You can keep being my nurse if you liked it. It was nice for me too.”

Trunks groaned. “Idiot! Why… why did you do that?!” He trembled and clenched his fist. “Why did you save me?! I'm the one who should be in bed hurt!”

Gohan felt his heart echo those words and looked away. “I did it… because I have lost too much Trunks. I lost Piccolo… my family… you… You are all the hope I have left… the last ray of it in this life…”

The teen sobbed and kicked the chair beside the bed. “That's stupid! Don't you know you are the one that has to defeat them?! You are stronger than me!”

Dark eyes turned to him and a sad smile was laced with falling tears. It was a sight which broke the young warrior, for he had never seen something so beautiful and yet so sad. His form shook as he heard his mentor whisper. “You… are my hope Trunks… without you… I can't… I will never be… strong enough… you are precious to me…”

Trunks stepped back, clutching his chest less his heart give him away. Who did he think he was? How dare he make him love him any more! “I—I’m not precious!! I wasn't even that wounded!!” The teen fell to his knees and sobbed. “I'm not!!”

Gohan rubbed tears from his eye and smiled sadly. “You are precious to me. If you really want to know why… it's because... I-I-I love you Trunks… so much…”

Blue eyes widened and slowly the prince lifted his head to behold all which he loved with shock. Sunlight haloed black spikes, and it was at this time Trunks knew he was more than just their only hope for freedom. He was an angel. “I-love you Gohan… so much…”



Check the One Way Ticket Art Project :

001 : The Day My World Ended 001 : The Day My World Ended
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