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All alone.

For the first time in his life, Trunks sat alone at the foot of Gohan’s grave. Years had passed – he had lost count of how many exactly – but he knew the visit was long overdue. It was also the first time he had been there without the company of his mother.

The headstone looked exactly as he remembered, and just the same as the others that surrounded it. Flowers had begun to bloom alongside the blades of grass, clashing with the dead color of grey and, ironically, giving it life. Knees bent to his chest, Trunks sat and reached forward, plucking a dandelion from its root. He spun the stem between his fingers, examining the white, fluffy ends and brushed them against the tip of his nose as he delicately inhaled the scent.

With a soft breath he closed his eyes and blew the seeds off, watching them scatter as the wind caught them in its grasp and they danced along the light of day like tiny, lost clouds. As Trunks looked on his mind was filled with questions that demanded answers, but there had been no one to give him what he sought.

Gohan had told him stories of angels as a child on nights he was too restless to sleep. He painted the image in his head of glowing, perfect humans that had fulfilled their duty in life and were granted gorgeous wings of soft, pristine feathers. Trunks recalled asking him once if he would be an angel one day, and he had been confused by his answer.

“I hope you’ll never become an angel in my lifetime.”

Back then he didn’t understand, but now he knew full well what he had meant. A deep frown tugged on his lips as he wondered if Gohan had become one of the angels he had always talked about.

“Are you happy?” His voice was rough as he spoke, unused for another lapse in time that he couldn’t quite remember. “Did you get your wings?” An image of Gohan, dressed in the blue and orange gi he wore in memory of his late father began forming in his head. He took time etching the details, eventually drawing the soft edges of glorious wings springing from between his broad shoulders.

“…yeah. Of course you did, even though you don’t need them.” Trunks traced his fingers along the engraving on the stone, his eyes sad as he rested his head atop his knees. “I thought you were perfect the way you were.”

The realization that he had been crying didn’t hit him until he lifted his head again, the light wind leaving his warm face feeling cool on his cheeks and his bangs sticking to the moisture. He heaved a long, shuddering sigh and ran a hand through his long, lavender mess of hair. How long had it been since he cried? It was just another time that had been lost on him, but he knew it had been a long time.
Time had ruined Trunks. He had seen too much of what should have happened, both for better and for worse. He had been in the past for so long that he couldn’t remember which was his reality, and now he had been forced to accept that there was no Gohan for him. No matter how far back he went or how far he jumped forward, decades of searching left him nothing but older and emptier than he could ever remember feeling.

So many questions left unanswered…no one to ever answer them.

He stood after a while and placed the tips of fingers to his lips, kissing them gently before touching them to the carved name on the headstone. Standing slowly, Trunks took several steps away from the small cemetery. He still had so many questions, and all of time to search for the one that burned in his mind more than anything else.

‘Would you have loved me when we were older?’