Future Trunks is such a great character - I just had to do something about him. This takes place right when he returns to his timeline in the Cell Saga, and it's a bit of an AU where his mother is indeed killed by the androids while he is away. Now, don't judge me too harshly on this. I wrote this during a night with no sleep, which is when I write both my best and my worst fics. So judge all you want (and I will warn that it's a bit more intimate than my normal fics); I just want you to enjoy.

West City was parched, sending gales of dust to skirt its deteriorated roads with each humid gust of wind brought by the south. Pebbles skidded down the deserted pavement and were lost in the dry tempest, beat upon by the sun's scorching rays. It was this red sun that shone with hatred that had suffocated the city and all surrounding lands, and the androids had left their mark with their irrevocable decimation of the world's greatest civilizations.

The future was bleak, and the Capsule Corporation's building's many windows shuddered as wind whistled through the broken shards, sweeping important documents off of their respective desks and tipping half-full trash cans over in their whirls of enthusiasm. The outermost rooms were disheveled with constant contact with these breezy visitors, whereas those innermost remained untouched with only ghosts of past employees haunting their walls and cobwebs gracing their every corner. It seemed to have been abandoned, but there had most definitely been life in the cellar below only a few hours earlier. There had been the beating heart of a scientist caught in a struggle against two mechanical monsters with only a crowbar in hand to defend herself, though that had been a few hours earlier.

Now, much as how her capsules had fallen out of her back pocket and spilled against the shabby, tiled floor with one last blow, her blood pooled beneath her lifeless form, pouring out of her skull as cold arms hoisted her on to her bed.

Trunks remained oblivious to such an event, considering he had just finished his matters with Cell and the others in the previous time line. All that was left was to defeat the androids of his own timeline, which was something he felt confident in as he saw a considerably younger version of his mother catch eye contact with him. A tentative smile appeared on his tan face as he gave a small wave with one hand to all of those he was leaving, and his other hand was placed in anticipation on the lever he needed to pull to return to his own time. But the twinkle in his mother's blue eyes as she gazed at him caught him off-guard and was the cause of all of this hesitation. How much easier would it be to stay in this timeline rather than to return to one in which the burden of rebuilding the world would fall on his young shoulders?

But those eyes were the same reason in which he pulled the lever in his grasp, jerking his face away so as to lose all visual contact with this livelier version of Bulma Briefs, his mother and owner of Capsule Corp. It served as a reminder that he had his own Bulma Briefs to look after, one who was bravely enduring every day without a living soul of her haunted past to aid her. He had already made a habit of constantly abandoning her so as to help this other timeline in their efforts against Cell, though he wondered if perhaps there was something hidden in that glossy look she would give him whenever he was prepared to leave, her hair tucked messily into a ponytail resting at the base of her neck. Perhaps she didn't approve of his abandoning her at all.

And that was something that he feared, as if knowing that something would go terribly wrong should he leave her for even a night. But he had been gone for far longer than that - it had been weeks of his absence, and so much could have happened in such a period of time.

His confidence was revived, however, as he imagined his father's face hardened with his own brutal past. He had managed to live through every obstacle thrown in his direction under the Frieza regime, and with how obstinate even his more passive version of Bulma Briefs was, he knew that she, too, could survive. She always had an electrifying spark in her gaze, one that offered consolation in even the darkest of times. Should the androids decide to pay a visit to Capsule Corp., he reassured himself that his mother would readily arm herself with the most advanced weaponry and follow proper measures to ensure her own well-being.

This was false hope, however. What use was advanced weaponry and proper measures against ruthless killing machines?

Trunks shut his eyes and breathed in deeply as he made this inter-dimensional leap between the past and future for the last time in his life, not even noting this accomplishment as he did so. Instead, he focused on how he would make those wretched androids, Seventeen and Eighteen, pay for their wicked deeds they'd cast upon the world he'd been forced to grow up in. Then he would help to aid his world that was wallowing in its desperation.

After feeling the legs of his time machine land firmly on ground, he opened his eyes and gave an involuntary twitch, immediately shielding his vision from the stark contrast of sandy wasteland to the dry, blue sky. He blinked several times to wet his eyes as opened the hatch and stood up, and he muttered 'Oh Kami' under his breath before finally pulling the sleeve of his jacket away from his face. The rough wind danced playfully across his placid face as he maintained a steady frown, reminded of just how dire these circumstances were. It would be up to him to complete his mission, and there would be no father to point out his many flaws and help to clean up behind his sloppy work.

A deep sigh escaped from his mouth before he jumped down and allowed the soles of his boots to gently land on the barren earth. He coughed as the wind carried the dregs of the earth down his trachea, though he continued trudging towards the broken Capsule Corp. building with its faded yellow paint and crumbling facade. He pulled himself into a hastened jog to escape the wind's thrashing, not minding as he trampled a few of the remaining patches of grass. His grip only tightened on the black briefcase he held in hand, eager to return into his mother's arms. He was too eager.

The pair of rusted doors leading into the cellar were left open, and as Trunks peered down the concrete stairwell, he was surprised to not find his mother sitting at her computer, the usual spot she could be found regardless of whether the internet was connected or not. Sometimes she would simply slump back in that seat for an effort to relax in this mad world, though it wasn't rare to find her drinking a cup of coffee or leaning over a few sketches she'd made for her next big project. But for her to not be in that uncomfortable wooden chair was rare - so rare, indeed, that Trunks' heart leapt to his throat, and he hurriedly stumbled down the concrete steps.

But halfway down, he reminded himself that it would be impossible for his mother to always be there. After all, she had to eat and sleep and go to the restroom. As smart as she may have been, it was impossible to be a scientist every second of every day.

His heartbeat eased as he glided down the rest of the way respectably, smirking as he saw two mugs of coffee laying on the pine table they ate their meals on. He could smell the warm brew and couldn't help but have been touched by the fact that his mother was still expecting him, seeing as there was nobody else she would have laid coffee out for. There was nobody else who would come and visit.

He proceeded to the table, though before he could pick up his coffee and take a sip of it, he heard a door shut in his mother's bedroom. The boyish smile blossomed on his face and, in his enthusiasm of seeing this version of his mother and her tired face again, he set the briefcase in his hand down and followed the sound without a doubting thought.

"Mom?" he called uncertainly, wondering just whether she would really be in her room at this time of day. There was no anxiety in his voice, only the keenness in seeing his mother for the first time in what felt to be years after his two days in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. He cracked open the wooden door that led to her room, as though uncertain of whether he had permission to actually come in or not. So in an attempt to clarify this matter, he called again, "Mom? You in there?"

When nobody answered, he dared to push open the door that squeaked on its old hinges, though he ignored that particular sound. Instead, he found himself to only concentrate on the whirling wind that sounded from behind him as he caught sight of his mother curled up on her cot with her back facing him. Again, he tried, "Mom?" though this time, it was in an attempt to see whether she was awake or not.

She didn't answer again, and he assumed that the lack of power was due to her being asleep. He normally would have left her alone at this point, but after having gone so long without seeing her, he couldn't resist the temptation to at least check on how she was doing. And so he crept across the room slowly with that playful smile tugging his lips.

Once he reached her, he placed a bare hand on her arm and gave her a single shake, standing in the very place that her red blood had been cleaned only moments before. But he had no idea of that, or at least not until his sensitive nose picked up that peculiar smell that had grown so familiar to him every since his childhood, a parasite that had invaded his every day. It was the smell of death.

With panic seizing the demi-Saiyan, he pulled his mother on to her back, and her face jerked towards him as he did so. The air evacuated his deflated lungs as he did so, his eyes roving over the blood that covered her face and crept on to the tendrils of hair that framed it. The left side of her skull had been bashed in, splintering the bone in the concave wound and only revealing an endless puddle of red. Trunks' facial features twitched violently as he stared at the sight, horrified by just what had been done, and yet he could not pull himself away. Instead, he pulled himself closer and brought his face down to his mother's level by kneeling over.

He grabbed her violently around the torso and pulled his arms around her, unable to give her spirit up to King Yemma's record book. His eyes alighted with confusion, and his chest heaved for air, only to collapse with disappointment. There were no coherent words that raced through his mind, and yet he found the focus to utter, "I... I can't... believe it..." His word trailed breathlessly through the room.

Never again would he be able to look into those vivid eyes and be filled with encouragement. Never again would he be able to feel relief with the twinkle in his mother's laughing eyes or feel safety when they shone with concern. His time machine was drained. The Guardian of Earth was dead. The Dragon Balls were gone. His past had disappeared, as well as his present. And, surely enough, his future would disappear, too.

His chest shuddered as he held her in the sleeves of his denim jacket, burying his face into her bosom as he used to when he had only been a child. His safety net was gone, and now he was truly all alone with only his mission to haunt him. And that scared him, as it had been because of the androids' lack of love and their sole mission that they had gone around, destroying innocents. Perhaps he wouldn't be much better. Perhaps he would be weaker than the androids and succumb to the hatred that now coursed through his veins and the loneliness that seared his heart.

"Mother..." he whimpered, feeling like a fourteen-year-old with his mentor in his hands once again, though this feeling was so much more. Mentors came, and though Gohan had altered his life in more ways than one and had also served as a friend, Trunks also knew that mentors went, as well. But a mother was once in a lifetime. He had already lost his father. Now he had been deserted by both parents, and he possessed no friend or comforter to lean on, none but the corpse of his deceased mother.

His breathing shallowed as he leaned his face against her chest, and the tears forming in his eyes disappeared as he noted just how pale she was. There was no heart beat coming from within, and that lively spirit had finally been subdued and caught for transport out of this world and into the next. Without keeping his eyes off of the dull, lifeless eyes on her disfigured face, he reached for her hands with one of his own and was shocked to feel an iron bar hanging loosely in her grasp. He lifted his face from her breast as he examined it in one hand, taking care to stroke a blood-dyed lock of hair with the other. And, before he knew it, he heard the door click shut behind him.

He leapt to his feet, pulling himself away from his mother and spinning around as a calm male's voice said, "Finally, I was getting bored of watching you cry over her. It's pitiful, really." And Trunks blinked several times and backed against his mother's cold body as he saw Seventeen watching him with indifference in his dark eyes.

"You... you monster!" Trunks choked, and he was filled with fear of these creatures again. In the other time line, he had felt so invincible against these two androids after all of his training. But now, even though he knew these ones were considerably weaker than their counterparts, the knowledge that they could so easily harm his loved ones frightened him. Had he contemplated this matter further, however, he would have realized that there were no more loved ones they could harm.

"Now, now," Seventeen said, waving a hand nonchalantly as though to dismiss this anger. "There's no need to call names. You hadn't visited us in a few weeks and we had become worried, so we decided we would drop by. Isn't that right, Eighteen?"

And right on cue, Eighteen appeared from the bathroom door, carried a blood-soaked rag in hand. She cocked her head as she stared at Trunks and replied in a voice as lifeless as that of her twin brother's, "It's true."

"No!" Trunks yelled, unable to comprehend this. He continued backing up, though he found there to be no more space to back up as the two enclosed on him as he kicked back a few capsules that had fallen from his mother's pocket before her death. And he raised the crowbar in his hand as though it could defend him, though he knew that it would do no such thing.

It did, however, manage to provide a distraction. Eighteen stopped advancing upon him and stared at the piece of metal thoughtfully before saying, "You know, your mother wasn't very welcoming. She tried hitting Seventeen with that bar you're holding."

And at this, Seventeen also paused. With a look of reflection on his face, he added, "She seemed angry that we hadn't called ahead, but we taught her how to treat her house guests. After all, we were just looking for some fun. It does get boring around here, and as I already said, you'd so rudely stopped visiting. Been busy lately? Your mother's not, or at least not anymore."

"Shut up!" Trunks seethed, and his hair immediately flared up into its golden horns as his eyes flickered with green malice. The two androids remained rather unimpressed as he gritted his teeth and tossed the crowbar effortlessly aside, continuing, "Stop talking about her!" It was too much to bear for the unstable Super Saiyan.

But Seventeen didn't comply with his wishes and taunted, "You going to try that old trick again? You'll have to try a lot harder than that if you're going to beat us."

"It seems as though you do this every single time, and you never win," Eighteen said, her voice conveying her boredom as she brought a delicate hand up to her mouth to stifle a yawn. "You really don't have a chance, kid, though I think Seventeen will agree to let you go. You're too much fun to kill right away."

"I'm fine with that," Seventeen offered his consent, rolling his shoulders as he moved aside and cleared the pathway to the door exiting the small bedroom. "It'll be a lot more fun to have you alive and angry than to kill you immediately. We'll be awaiting eagerly for your next pathetic attempt at revenge." And the smirk that accompanied this comment only pushed Trunks further to the brink of relentless fury as he locked his fingers on his right hand into a threatening grip and the muscles on that particular arm bulged dangerously.

Eighteen pulled the rag in her hands up to her face, feeling the soft cloth with which she had cleaned up the majority of Bulma's spilled blood. She eyed it with vague interest before allowing it to vaporize with a ball of ki in her palm, listening with pleasure to the assaulted gasp that escaped the demi-Saiyan's lips. She turned her bright eyes upon him and gave a jingle of hollow laughter from her throat, flouncing her blond hair with her wrist as she watched him peer down at his own hands, short of breath.

The android glanced towards her brother, though a slight shock pulled her gaze back towards the Super Saiyan as he released an invigorating scream from his throat, raising the hairs on the back of her neck as she darted her eyes about warily, feeling the compound shake with force. Bits of rubble from the cellar's ceiling began to fall upon them as Trunks hunched over, his fists clenched tightly and his blond hair wriggling uncertainly through the stagnant air of the basement. Both androids watched curiously as the earsplitting screaming continued, intrigued by this new query.

His limbs gained considerable mass, as did his chest and neck, and Eighteen looked on with a certain surprise with this new-found muscle as Seventeen remained stoic. The denim jacket ripped with the size of his dense arms, and to complete this transformation from the average Super Saiyan to beyond, his short hair stood up in solid spikes. This certainly wasn't good, he noted, feeling his speed limited even before budging an inch. The last time he had become an Ultimate Super Saiyan had been when he had faced Perfect Cell in an attempt to avenge his fallen, albeit foolish, father.

Now, he had assumed this form to avenge his mother, the rage inebriating his ability to correctly transform so that he had gone the step further he always tried to avoid due to its speed disadvantage.

But there was no time to think as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, leaving the pupil-less whites to be shown with Eighteen arching a thin eyebrow. She placed her hands on her hips thoughtfully and wondered briefly whether or not she was reading his power level correctly, which was far beyond their own. A glance towards confident Seventeen, however, relieved her, and she simply dismissed the unusually high power level as an error in her own calculation. It was impossible for anybody to be this strong, Saiyan or not.

As soon as his irises reappeared, Seventeen cockily huffed, "You know, we don't have all day. We already told you that you could leave. What are you waiting for?"

Eighteen arrogantly smirked alongside her brother and, as Trunks panted with the intensity of this transformation, she said, "If you're trying to impress me, you can forget it. I'm not the type to fall for muscle-bound freaks like you." Though her eyes betrayed her as she allowed them to trail down his torso curiously and towards his pelvic region, the latter now filling his baggy pants, and wondered vaguely just how matters could have gone had she not been an android. But she shook her head of that thought and vowed to herself that she would never allow herself to be seduced by a mere living being. The thought disgusted her as much as it interested her, and against her android computations, she couldn't help but think of how unfortunate it was that she was going to obliterate a face as attractive as his. If she talked with Seventeen, perhaps she could keep him as a pet.

She was interrupted of this amusing consideration as she heard her brother say, "Fine, if you won't accept our offer, I suppose you can prepare to die." But before she could resume a fighting stance as her brother had, she felt a calloused hand roughly tug her in this distracted state. She gave a startled gasp as the demi-Saiyan pulled her closer to him, one unbreakable grip around each of her relatively brittle arms. She was nothing compared to his immense bulk, and Seventeen relented from his preparation to attack as he curiously watched his sister struggle, unable to detach herself from him.

Trunks pulled the female android closer against him, his thick arms wrapping around her to contain her limbs, and he contented himself with tightening his grip around her slender neck. Before her human side could begin to enjoy this proximity to his body, particularly being pressed against his enlarged groin, he bent down and whispered harshly in her ear, "I'm going to kill you for everything you've done."

An astonished groan was released from her throat as his hand inched up and wrapped around her jaw, paralyzing her as she realized that those fingers could easily crush her robotic skull in the same manner with which Seventeen had crushed the demi-Saiyan's mother's skull. But she remained silent in this hold as she was unable to budge her mouth, feeling her top and bottom teeth crunch against one another painfully as his hand fixed itself. She could only process oxygen through her nose now, and thus the only signs of panic Seventeen could see were the dilation of her nostrils and her eyes glancing towards him mechanically with a plea of help written in them.

The enraged demi-Saiyan held her in this position, with one hand around her lower jaw and the other around her legs. It took only another moment before he could find his voice again, and he muttered, jerking her head so that his mouth was at her ear, "You and your brother have killed everything I have. You've killed my father, his friends, my mentor, and now my mother. Now I have nothing, and it's all because of you." His lips brushed against the edges of her ear, careful to avoid contact with her hair as his nose nuzzled the tender skin on her flawless face. And her body stiffened as he repeated, "Now I'm going to kill you."

The arm restraining her legs brutally clenched her thigh, shattering the bone with a cry of anguish from her lips accompanying the act. She collapsed in his grip from the paroxysm of discomfort that shot through her body, and before Trunks knew it, he was his father. The vivid spirit of his mother's eyes had faded from his mind to be replaced by that unsuppressed rage, and with his fingers wrapped around that tiny jaw bone, he tightened his grip and effectively broke it.

He tossed her on to the ground, leaving her as a pile of scrap and out of commission. The sneer on Seventeen's face faded into horror at seeing his sister killed in such a terrifying manner. The muscles that characterized this new form of Super Saiyan were more than just for show, it seemed, and the android was lost for breath. But before he could turn and make his escape through the very door that he had encouraged this insane Saiyan to flee, he felt one of those over-sized hands on the back of his shirt, pulling him back into the recesses of his grave.

As overcome by anger as he was, Trunks found it difficult holding Seventeen for even the moment necessary for him to mutter with repugnance, "You're the one who murdered my mother. I can smell you on her. So I murdered your sister the same way, though I didn't punch her and allow her to bleed to death. No, your sister died quickly, and you will, too."

And the crackle of bones could be heard as he shoved Seventeen against the wall to his left, breaking several ribs in his chest and bringing the dark-haired android to wheeze with utter discomfort. Trunks then grabbed the android's body in one hand and, with the other on his opponent's forehead, he pushed the skull backwards on its neck base like a cloth doll's, waiting until Seventeen screeched with the pain, yelling hoarsely, "Stop!" Red veins appeared in the whites of his eyes as the two looked one another in the face, and desperation mutilated the android's face as he fear grabbed hold of him for the first time in twenty years.

"You're going to pay," Trunks growled, and after rearing back his arm, he brought his over-sized fist in full force towards Seventeen's abdomen, tearing a hole straight through it with his bloodied hand appearing through the android's backside. The shock was so evident on Seventeen's face that Trunks couldn't help but release him, pulling his arm through the same hole he had created and backing away. He blinked several times with that lasting image of Seventeen's piercing blue eyes, reminding him that he was not alone in this room with two dead androids.

His jaw clenched as he turned around to face his mother, still lying on her back rather pitifully. He breathed heavily before walking calmly into the bathroom with one eye kept on his mother, taking care to rinse off his bloodied fist with care. And as he felt both his adrenaline and his energy abandon him, his muscles deflated so that he was back in his base Super Saiyan form with his hair hanging in its limp crown. It gave him a jolt to have suddenly lost all of that strength, but with it, he seemed to have lost the anger that had blinded him.

He lifted his head to stare at his reflection in the mirror, seeing the effects that these last ten minutes alone had done on his character. He scrutinized the weariness in his features, though there was something that did remain. Instead of possessing his father's dark eyes that burned with rage and hatred, his eyes were the typical cool blue they had always been. He was his mother's son. He was not supposed to be a killing machine as he had just proven himself to be, something that now disgusted him.

With a splash of water on his face after rinsing the blood off of his hands, he strolled out of the bathroom with shame. He could hardly dare to glance at either android lying pathetically on the ground, and he definitely could not bring himself to look at his mother, who he knew would never have wanted him to have so brutally killed anybody. That was his father in him that encouraged that similar loathing and love of the sport of murder.

Before he could change his mind, he settled on at least bringing his mother's body out from this grave and giving her a proper burial, seeing as he didn't want to touch the accursed androids again. Thus, he scooped up his mother's small frame into his arms and, without ever looking down, walked out of the bedroom door, past the two cups of coffee that the androids had poured for themselves while awaiting his arrival, and up the concrete stairs that led to the desolate, outside world.

The harsh wind beat at his raw face and yet did nothing to bother his golden hair standing up on end. He carried her out in his strong arms and, after walking a short distance away to a park nearby he remember playing in when he had been younger, he bent down on the sparse grass in his loose, grey pants. He set her down carefully and pulled the hairband from her ponytail, allowing the wind to whip the bloody strands of blue about in its flurry. Half of her face was gone from the deadly blow that Seventeen had dealt to her left side, though Trunks ignored it at that moment to note the thin, parted lips and flushed color from her face. There was an eerie feeling that crept over Trunks' skin as he saw how beautiful his mother was even in death, though it wasn't the disfiguring blow to the side of her head what disturbed Trunks.

He would never see that lively gaze of hers again, cast with all of the colors of the world when hit with the perfect light. He wouldn't be able to see those eyes laugh or cry, as they had been left with this lackluster sheen that kept her staring at nothing, whether it be the stark blue sky or the soft dirt he was determined to bury her in. But he couldn't find the will to do it. Instead, he pulled her up into his bare arms and hugged her as he used to so long ago, as he had the last time he had seen her years before. He placed his chin into the crook of her neck on the side opposite the blow to the head, allowing his blond hair to fall into place with its purple hue.

In that moment of self-criticism, he wished he could have given up his Saiyan heritage. He didn't want to be a vicious killer who played with his enemies before destroying them. He didn't want to carry on the legacy of a brutal race. He didn't want to be his father at that moment, a father who had bonded with him but also transformed him into an anger-ravaging beast. Instead, he wanted to look at himself and see his mother's kind features and playful, yet determined, spirit.

He wanted his blue eyes to shine as his mother's once had.