Characters– Pan, Piccolo
Summary– Pan has returned from a year long journey through space, feeling now alone and forgotten. Her Saiyajin blood drives her to try and obtain what is unobtainable for her. With the training of Piccolo, a man she despises, can Pan become a Super Saiyajin? Entirely Pan's POV.
I think I hate my life.
Ever since I returned from space my parents had been smothering me. They were always prodding me to tell them of my adventures: the aliens I had seen, the planets we had gone to. They asked me about the little scrapes on my arm, insignificant things that I had gotten while training in the woods years before that they had never taken the time to notice. I didn't show them the real scars I had gotten. The battle scars, while they hurt then, I was proud to have. I don't know why I didn't show them – I just didn't. The raw pink circle below my left breast from an energy blast, the thick white line that ran diagonal from my shoulder to mid-back; my right ear was missing its tip because of a particularly vicious, metal-clawed alien. I made sure either my bandana or my hair hid that at all times – My parents would freak if they knew I was missing a part of a body part.
I shouted at them when I had finally had enough of their pestering. If I wanted to tell them what happened, then I would; but I didn't want to. I told them to stop bothering me and left. They yelled when I slammed the door and I thought they might follow after me – they didn't, which I was grateful for. I wanted them to leave me be.
It was nice to fly through familiar territory. Completely unchanged, the area was just how I remembered it. I had expected it to be changes, to see something new. I saw nothing exciting. Dull treetops were the only things that graced my vision. I was comfortable in an area I knew well, I was able to ease back into living as I had done for the thirteen years before my trip, but something was wrong with that.
The air was different here; it was less fresh and more polluted. I had gotten used to the various airs of other planets, all of which were more pure. Those planets had no air cars or factories to pollute the air they inhaled. I wonder if they were breathing the oxygen, or if some needed the nitrogen, carbon-oxide, or some other gas in the air.
A week had gone by and I was already restless. I missed the traveling, the fighting. I knew it was something that I would not easily forget about. Different worlds, dangerous battles, exciting travels and unpredictable aliens – I loved it. If I had the opportunity to take a ship and leave this planet for space travel, for fighting, I would take it without hesitation.
My parents had re-enrolled me in school. It was a waste. School was in session and I had yet to attend a lesson, but I was never going to need to know about the parts of speech or how to pick apart a book – Learning to fight is all I really cared about. I dreamt of being able to fight like mom and dad, like Vegeta, Trunks and Grandpa Goku.
Grandpa Goku had promised to teach me. He was the only one who was willing to take me on as a pupil, no one else offered. Even Grandpa Hercule refused to train me, which I think was really mom's doing. Goku had always been good to me, always kind and full of energy. Until he abandoned me. He left with Shenlong, that great ugly dragon, to go and protect its world. I know he meant well, but I was still hurt. He had forgotten about me; he had broken his promise to me. Had he made any other promise, anything!, I would have understood and forgiven him. But this was my training! The thing that meant the most to me, that was more important than traveling the universe. Gone. The chance to get stronger and improve was all gone because Goku was a helpful, forgetful man.
I wouldn't feel so negative towards him if I could just go on training myself as I always had. I had nothing left to teach myself. Without instructions I could learn nothing more. Without a sparring partner I would never get stronger, faster or better. My power was at a standstill and my abilities were limited. So far away from where I desired to be.
Dad said that since I was only a quarter Saiyajin that I would never be able to go Super. When I asked Goku he said I could with enough training. I took Goku's answer to heart - I disregarded Gohan and Trunks' doubt, and put all of my trust in what Goku had told me. I was determined to prove them wrong, to show them that I was strong enough. That I could be just as strong as Trunks and Goten, who didn't even train and were still stronger than me!
The mass of trees cut off, leaving a vast expanse of grassy field, which extended farther into a rocky land littered with dunes and raised elevations. I descended toward the lowest level of ground and began my routine of stretches. When finished, I moved on to my usual warm-ups: punches, basic kicks, speed and agility exercises. I needed to work on my speed and reflexes, the proof of that was my tip-less ear. My form needed some work too, as it was easy to spar with an invisible opponent. A real person was actually capable of hitting back and dealing unpredictable, painful blows. I resembled a tyrannosaur trying to swim in water according to Trunks.
I was over my crush on him. On Trunks. He had been sweet and considerate in the beginning, and always gorgeous, but then he got the idea that I required constant protection like a toddler. All because of one little incident where I had needed saving. It was one when of those bastards sliced me with their claws, they had caught me off guard and my reflexes weren't fast enough. Trunks ended up saving me, or thinking he had saved me because, although I was bleeding steadily, I could have still fought. I remember he kept on interfering with my battles until I finally decked him once after a battle for it. He looked confused and openly expressed it, but he was too dense to realize why I had done it and I was too angry to offer him a reason.
I realize I had been too caught up in my dreams to think he would return my affections. It was so simple to let him go that I knew I had just been pining over someone I would never have.
Although I learned that my fighting technique needed improvement in many aspects – There was one thing I was good at. Energy blasts. Energy balls - Anything that involved bringing energy out of my hands and using it as a destructive force. It was so simple to do now that I wanted to try extracting it from elsewhere: mouth, eyes, chest, stomach, toes. Something that not even Goku could do. I really wanted to be better than him in some prospect since he forgot that he promised to train me, just to spite him.
I wasted part of my afternoon running laps around a course imagined around several dunes, going at my fastest. I was exhausted with that quickly and settled on trying to quicken my physical attacks.
As the day progressed, I was reminded of how hot summers were. I knew I would have very red skin and that tomorrow it would burn, yet I continued training. However, I had abandoned my speed training and took up shade underneath a stretch of plateau. I sat, seeking relaxation and concentration.
My mind willed my energy outward. It automatically tried to get out through my hands and I forced it to stay in. I tried to imagine it going back through my arms and upwards, towards my mouth, trying to push it in that direction. The energy only went to my hands and I withheld it until it made my limbs tingle with a numbing sensation, which I finally released and watched fizzle. Without instructions, I had no idea what to do. I was entirely clueless.
After many failed attempts, none cooperating with my efforts or giving me an idea as to how to direct my energy anywhere other than my hands, I ended my exercise exasperatedly.
Since I had gotten such a late start, the sun was already setting behind the treetops and the air was cooling. I stood, not yet ready to go home, but parched and famished. I flew off towards the forest, knowing that there was a waterfall somewhere that I would drink at rather than return home for it. Usually I brought my own jug of water for convenience, so I had never really needed to know exactly where the waterfall was. I just flew over it, noticing it absently, when I was flying laps over the area. Mentally, I went over the route I always took, trying to imagine as I scoured the air when I concluded that I was going to have to follow it around until I spotted it.
The sun had set by the time I found the waterfall. Before I had never noticed how big this territory was. I knelt at the edge of the steam that branched from the fall, looked at my sand and clay-sodden hands, and dipped them into the water. I scrubbed away the dirt thoroughly before I cupped some water in my hands to drink. It tasted better than the purified water that had been on the ship and better than the well water at home.
I took off my headband and dunked my head under the water, just because I knew it would feel good since I was hot and sweaty from my activities. The odor I was giving off was unpleasant, but since it was my own, I could cope.
I lifted my head out of the water, flipping my hair back out of my eyes. I was rubbing the water from my eyes when I felt something; a surge of energy behind me, springing from nothingness. Surprised, I turned, still on my knees, a ball of energy within my fist.
When I saw the man behind me, my energy ball grew. Light was escaping through my fingers, but was not bright enough to illuminate his features. My father knew this man, but I did not. His name was Piccolo and, honestly, he made me uneasy. I never knew why he was there when, in the times I had seen him, he had been living with Dende on the Lookout. I did, though, swallow my shock and hesitation and found myself very angry because he had crept up on me and I didn't know him.
"What do you want?" I spat vehemently.
I wanted him to know I had no hear of him. Piccolo was big and certainly looked nasty, but I found myself looking to where I imagined his eyes were in the darkness, to look him in the eyes and I prove I wasn't scared of him. I did feel very uncomfortable, feeling his dark eyes glaring intently at me. I did not know what his intentions were and that only added to my discomfort.
His arms, even in the nighttime dark, I could see were folded in an intimidating manner. I was not intimidated.
"Put that away."
He meant my energy blast, since that was the only thing I had. I wasn't going to give up my only defense in this position.
"Make me!" I said, loudly.
"You really don't want me to, brat. Now get rid of it," he said with an eerie calm.
Piccolo's demand only gave me more incentive to keep the energy in my hand, even as it become more difficult to hold onto.
"I won't hurt you, if that's what you think."
"Right." I had no reason to believe him.
"I won't hurt you out of respect for your father," he clarified, "but I will drag you home if I have to."
I could tell he was getting annoyed. I was as well.
I stood up and let go of the energy in my hand gratefully, my forehead moist with the beginnings of sweat from the effort. Without direction or momentum, the energy simply withered into nothing. The stars offered little light and I was temporarily unable to see as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
I was irked.
"Just try and drag me home, freak!"
I crossed my arms and tilted my chin up defiantly. The silence that followed was unexpected and allowed my anger to rise; seething and focused solely on Piccolo.
"How did Gohan end up with a brat like you? You selfish little bitch, you don't care about anyone but yourself," he hissed accusingly.
I stared, gaping at him, taken aback by his accusation. He didn't know me. How dare he try to judge me!
"You don't know anything about me! You have no right to insult me when you don't even know me! What I want to know is how my dad ended up with a friend like you," I screamed.
What had Grandma ChiChi always referred to Piccolo as?
"You demon," I rampaged on, "go back to Hell where you came from."
I don't want to be here! I'm only here because I wanted Goku to train me like he promised. I just want to go back into space and I don't want to come back!
My voice screamed in my head, clear and powerful, but I said none of it aloud. I was not about to scream my personal problems at a stranger. Of all the things I wanted, Piccolo's pity was not on that list. My sight was blurry suddenly and I blinked rapidly to clear my vision.
I wondered why I was still standing there. I didn't want to hear Piccolo's response. I was upset, drained of my anger; I flew off just to get away. I wiped unshed tears from my eyes, but not before Piccolo appeared in front of me. I could see him now. He was furious – his fangs were bared, his eyes were wide with rage and he had an energy ball ready to throw.
"I should make you eat this," he growled.
Instantly I regretted getting this man angry.
"But," Piccolo continued, "I'm going to train you first. I don't want a weak victim."
Again, I stared agape. I was going to tell him to shove it. That I wasn't weak. That I didn't need his training. Didn't want it. But I did want training, any kind of training. Just not any from him.
"I'm not weak," I said.
I tried to sound imposing. I tried to defy him. I wanted to be trained, but not by this man. I despised him. I loathed him.
"Is that so?"
Piccolo hurled his ball of energy at me. I had enough time to dodge it; impulse tried to make me move out of the way, but I now had something to prove. I shoved my own energy out, creating a shield that I hoped was strong enough to protect me and covered my face with my arms. I had no idea how powerful his energy would be and I was mildly surprised when I felt the heat go around me, hot but harmless.
I lowered my arms, smirking, but he had disappeared. I felt him behind me too late to react and he clobbered me in the neck. It hurt.
I was ready to shoot him with an energy blast, but Piccolo drove a knee into my chest before I even got the energy out. He elbowed me in the spine and I was helpless to stop my plummet to the ground. I put a hasty shield and prepared for the painful, ground-breaking impact.
When I opened my eyes, he was standing over me. His arms were folded over his chest, he was engulfed by shadows and looked exactly as he had earlier. It was as if there had been no skirmish at all.
"I-" I coughed, lacking oxygen in my lungs. I gasped desperately, trying to be discreet, for air several times before my lungs were willing to accept it.
"You won't train me."
"You don't have a choice, brat."
I didn't want to be trained by him, by Piccolo. I hated him.
Author's Notes– I would like to thank Ly for beta-reading this for me! XD
Also, I would like to clarify something so as not to confuse readers too much. This is written entirely from Pan's point of view, which means she will not always be perceptive or know exactly what the other's motivation is. Her outlooks will be more biased, seen through her eyes only. (She's a proud, stubborn brat, ain't she?)
Planned Update– Trying to give myself a time frame with this, I shall try to have the next chapter posted 12/13/02. Unless something goes horribly wrong, that is the planned date. *waves cheerily and points erratically at the review button*