I watched WALL-E and somehow got inspired for this depressing shit. I guess this is what would have happened if Vegeta got his wish for immortality and immortal youth. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go cry my eyes out in peace. Review please.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
The air stank.
It was putrid, so disgusting that it often made bile rise in his throat. It smelled of spoiled food and sometimes of decaying life forms, and when it rained you could catch a hint of vomit if you walked in the right places. The earth was dry and cracked more often than not, however, so his senses were spared of at least that last scent.
The air was coated in a fine, thin layer of dust, which latched on to the putrid scents and made them seem stale. He did not know which was worse; the staleness, or when the scents had been fresh.
If one could call it fresh.
His footsteps made loud, audible crunches as he walked, his boots making the gravelly dirt and trash shuffle ever so slightly. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his dusty jeans, his tail wrapped around his waist, and looked up at the sky. It had not been blue for a very long time. Instead, it was a sickly, dead brown, the same color as the dirt, but with the remnants of a blueish tint peeking out from under the thinnest of clouds. The sun peaked up from over the horizon – he'd guess 10:00 AM, but no clocks had worked for many, many years, so he couldn't really know – but it too seemed dull, not the vibrant yellow it had been when he first arrived.
That thought brought back many harsh memories, and he blinked as tears stuck his eyes. A single tear ran down his cheek, and he let it, because there was no one there to see it. No one at all. The tear felt strange against his face; he'd been fighting it for a long time. It gathered the dust from his cheek as it fell, and when it hit the corner of his mouth, it tasted salty and dirty.
His face was expressionless. He did not remember the last time he had given any time of expression, and he was certain that he'd forgotten how too. Perhaps he had forgotten how to speak as well. There was no one to talk to, so he had not used his voice in a long time.
It was quiet. Any noise he made was echoed, even though the space was cluttered. The air only moved where he did; everywhere else it was settled. No people spoke. They were all dead. Sometimes, when he was bored and cared to look, he could find fossilized remains of certain species. He didn't have anything to do anyway.
There was ivy growing up the buildings in thick, braided tangles that weaved in and out of each other. Trees that were once nothing but shrubs grew taller than any trees would ever grow in the city, their big, thick roots stretching under the concrete and then growing upwards again until they cracked and broke the surface. The chemicals that had polluted the Earth were gone, filtered away by Mother Nature, though it's been too late for the humans. The weak culture had just started dying away, until they were all gone. The few animals that had survived multiplied like rabbits, since there was no man to hunt them but him. Even with his diet, their populations grew. Not a day went by that he didn't see a herd of deer or a wild boar or a fox or a coyote. He'd eat whatever he pleased. He knew which plants were poisonous. He only had to just barely taste a berry or a root to know that it wasn't to be eaten. He could stroll casually and pick random plants off the bushes, and he could throw away the poisonous ones without looking. Whenever he felt like it (whenever he remembered his female yelling at him to do so) he would bathe in those thick streams of clear water that ran down buildings like waterfalls. It mattered not that the plants would shade him; there was no one there to see him naked. Still, no matter how many times he bathed, he would be covered in dust again the next morning.
Some places had turned into rain forest. He liked those. The air was too damp to harbor much dust that was always falling from the cluttered atmosphere like rain. There was a problem though…it was far away from Capsule Corp.
The building that used to be his home was all but useless. The things his woman had built were long gone, gone to the grave with her. The offspring of his offspring had lived there for generations, but none of them were as smart as her. None of them could have made a gravity room like she did or made Saiyan armor like she did or find a way to grow his tail back permanently like she did. The machinery had crumbled and faded after being used so much. He had left when she passed. Her lingering scent pained him to his core. But now, no one lived there at all. Sometimes he could go back to where their room used to be, and he could shift through the smell of others and catch the remnants of their mingled scent. How he missed that scent, her scent.
Sometimes, if he was lucky, he could wander the city for a while and find a TV that worked, and he would pull out the tape that he kept in his pocket and play it. It was an old family tape, so very old, and it could barely play anymore. He would sit there and fight to see through the fuzzy lines that jolted the screen, and he would watch his children playing, and his wife smiling, and sometimes even himself scowling. Sometimes the Z Gang would be there, and when that happened, Kakarot was always there, grinning and smiling. He could remember certain conversations that he'd had before, ones that weren't on the tape.
"Vegeta! Long time no see! How's life treating you?"
"The same, Kakarot. Always the same."
Hands behind his messy head of hair, a small smile. "Yeah, I hear ya. Peaceful times get like that, but I sure am grateful for 'em."
"Up for a spar?" a friendly grin, a secret challenge hidden underneath dark brown eyes.
A devilish smirk, an acceptance of both the challenge and the opponent. "Always."
He could remember the simplest things. He had learned to appreciate them.
"Goddammit!" a phone thrown against the wall.
"Pick that up, boy. What's your problem now?"
"Katie, that's what! I swear, women!" A scowl that they both possessed.
A deep, rumbling chuckle. "I've been telling you that for years, brat."
A soft "hmph".
The stupidest little things…he could remember them. He wouldn't dare forget.
"Vegeta, you'll kill yourself." A sigh.
A strong chin is lifted in the air defiantly. "I'd do no such thing, Woman."
"You'd better not." A frown, a shuffling of gauze and tape.
"I told you I'd defeat those tin cans. I'm a man of my word."
A soft, gentle kiss, a soft flutter in his stomach. "You can't do that if you're dead, now can you?"
He wouldn't dare forget, no matter how long he lived…
"How come you look as young as Trunks?" Soft pats as a tiny girl climbs in his lap.
A moment of silence, then, "I made a mistake once, Bra."
Innocent eyes widen. "You, Daddy?"
"What kinda mistake?" She had the notion that he was somehow perfect.
A sigh. "I made a wish Bra. I regret it. I can't age."
Complete awe washes over tiny, delicate features. "So you'll stay young and handsome forever and ever?"
He gives a small, small smile at how innocently she looks at it, as though it is part of a fairytale with a deceivingly blessed prince. "Yes, Half-pint."
"Cool!" She smiles at the nickname.
He wanted to go back home and lie in his bed, but he can't, because it was thrown out hundreds of years ago. Thousands maybe. He'd lost track of time. He walked alone, silently, and the animals either ignored him or they fled, because some know he's a predator, and some do not. They have no need to fear, though, because he isn't hungry. A man gets tired of eating sometimes, even a Saiyan.
He has thinned.
He glanced at the fallen spaceship that landed decades ago. They had invaded the planet, thinking it was empty. They did not expect a single Saiyan to be there, willing to defend his home. The empty planet had been invaded many times. Sometimes he needed his Super Saiyan and sometimes he needed his Super Saiyan 4. Other times he didn't need anything at all. But he protected his home.
He was tired.
His fingers found their way to his flame hair, tugging. He stopped walking and reached out to rub the dust from a crumbled shop's window, and looked at himself in his makeshift mirror. Not a single grey hair.
He sighed disappointedly and kept walking. He never had a destination. He wished he could just get into heaven and see his woman once more. He wished he would stop seeing her in his dreams, and see her for real.
He walked for a very long time before he reached a big tree, and he sat down in between two large roots that had grown like a seat. He drew his knees to his chest and buried his face in his arms. His tail thumped against the ground, and he said nothing.
Perhaps he had forgotten how to speak.