Note: This is my
second DBZ story, and its Vegeta stream of consciousness, thinking about his
son, in both the past/future-that-never-was, and the GT present. Mostly though, this is Vegeta's observations
of Mirai Trunks. I was stuck for a long
time for the name, but my buddy carpetbutt helped me out. It was, if I say so myself, a somewhat
grueling experience. I hope you all
DBZ is not my property… or we'd have at least one topless longhaired
Trunks scene in every episode of the Cell saga.
Dual Life Refraction Memory
look at my son and I marvel. To see
what he has become raised in, if not exactly a *loving* family, at least a
complete one, and on a world where he has a relatively peaceful life. And in doing so I can't help but contrast
him to the much different Trunks of so many years ago, the son of Bulma who
chased down the past, not to save his own world—which was already beyond
salvation—but to create a new one with barest more chance of living. It stings a little, but when I think back on
that Trunks, the young man from the future, I must admit that he was Bulma's
son, not mine. I died, and she raised
And yet, he
was far more like me than the man I know now.
Both are handsome with strange violet hair, both are decisive and
adaptable, both are clever and strong.
But this man that I helped raise, my son, is more like his mother. Her scheming mind, her unfathomable (me
anyway) ability to win over people unconditionally, her independence, her
dislike of real fighting—all reside now in him. He runs her company, he invests and amasses her money, he builds
his power in the world of humans and Terrans, not the worlds of galactic warriors.
The boy from
the dead future, although, the boy Bulma raised… he was more like me than I am
comfortable thinking about. Yes, he was
kind, and yes, he was painfully honest—both things I am not—but every time I
looked at him, behind the sadness and the shy smiles there was mad desperation
in his eyes, a cold, calculating drive that made him every bit as unpredictable
as I had been when I served Frieza. I
saw, but I didn't believe, couldn't believe that he could be the same as
I. I had to learn the hard way,
unfortunately; first when he blasted the Android's lair, and second when he
damn near blew me out of the atmosphere to get to the half-finished Cell. If I had been anything less than a
SuperSayan myself, I would been stardust.
I could tell from beginning he was impressed with me, the father he
never knew. But when in my arrogance I
blocked him from Cell—in that moment—I became nothing but an obstacle to
him. I stood between him and his
overwhelming desire, his obsession, to ensure the safety of our world when he
could not find safety in his own. This
was another hard lesson to stomach; the young man I had assumed was an
emotional weakling due to tainted blood was willing to lethally attack his own
father to do what he thought needed doing.
All my early life I would have done exactly the same, without thought or
regret, maybe even with relish.
I stop a
moment and re-examine my last thoughts.
Just moments ago in my own mind, I had referred to earth as 'our world'. I included myself. That is… well… I don't know what that is. But it is a first, I think.
Then, in the
days that followed as we counted down to Cell's tournament, when we each
awaited our turns in Kami's time displacement room, I was able to observe Trunks
Vegeta Brief, this familiar stranger, on another level. You see, more than his power, shocking
though it was for one his age, more than his emphatic warnings to anyone would
even half-listen, it was scrutinizing his sleep that finally made me accept the
truth. The third night at Capsule
Corps, staying up late to watch the television for possible news of Cell,
Trunks fell asleep on the couch. He lay
there, tense as leather across a drum barrel, but still managing to get some
little rest. Then from my place on the
wall, I watched that midget Krillin make one of the worst mistakes of his
short, human life.
The baldy leaned over and rapped Trunks on
The young man
dropped his slumber like rain falls and before either knew what was happening Trunks'
5 fingers had already closed around the monk's throat, ready to crush his
windpipe next. I suppose they all can be
thankful that he opened his eyes first, and realized who he had caught with one
iron-gripped hand. Trunks let Krillin
go again before any of the other idiots had even figured out what was going on,
but the damage was done. They all knew
then never to wake him up, and never to surprise him.
mildly, and snapped at Krillin never to touch him while he slept again. The frightened human nodded frantically. The fool, maybe he would learn caution after
that. Still, Trunks had finally, in
that single-minded reflexive reaction, proved to me the truth of his proclaimed
future. The midget had done what you
learned in wartime never to do: he had touched a vulnerable, yet dangerous
fighter without announcing himself. I
could remember my time in the field with my comrades, destroying world after
world, population after population.
When you were on assignment you lived, breathed, and slept the
battle. One lesson was a rule of
soldiers and warriors that you were warned of from the first time you were sent
out: never surprise a fellow fighter. It
was the quickest way to die, even faster than an enemy blast. In a situation as intense as a battle, you
kept your guard up as you slept, and anyone who approached you by surprise—friend
or foe—was like to get a knife in the eye, or his neck in a stranglehold. He'd probably
be dead before you even were awake enough to realize you had killed him.
Trunks, that my son had reached that point of battle-wariness, meant that where
he normally slept, in his time, relaxation was death. His world truly had become the hell he described.
This also led me, at the time, to believe
that not only had he obviously aged since his first visit to the past, but that
he was alone as well. There was no way
he would have reacted like that to being woken up if Bulma still lived with him
in the future. And the only reason they
wouldn't be living together in such a dangerous world would have been if she
was dead. That thought disturbs me even
now, years later, but then again, if I bring to mind the Bulma that I am with
now, and it's hard to imagine her dead somewhere else.
The Trunks of my world has had his own share
of trials, but he had never known the true, stark, continuous horror that he
did in that other life. Though it may
be uncharacteristic of me, I do hope that that other Trunks is doing, if not
well, at least ok with his world. I did
not even consider that back then, of course, but after nearly three decades of
being around these overly-emotional humans, I have gained slight compassion for
those I am closely connected to. After
all, in this time or the other, Trunks is my son. And as my son, remains my blood, and my legacy.