Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, or any of the characters featured therein; they belong to Akira Toriyama and whoever he's decided to share them with.

Author's Notes: Happy Thanksgiving to the Canucks in the audience. My turkey is roasting away right now. I'd share, if you were here. And as always, thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed. Thank you so much for reading.

It's been awhile since we jumped backwards in time. I figured we were due. Please note that this chapter contains some content that you may find disturbing.

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TWO YEARS AGO

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Gohan sniffled and rubbed his running nose with the back of his bare hand. It was cold outside, what passed for winter here, he supposed, and his nose had long since lost feeling in the chilly air. Sniffing had become simply a reflex to the feeling of snot on his upper lip, though he was certain his nostrils were crusted with the stuff. He wiped the hand on his pants, not yet having overcome the aversion to snotty hands that his mother had instilled in him. He wished fervently for a pair of mittens or at least a long sleeve in lieu of a tissue, but neither was considered by the staff to be a necessary item.

The boy shivered, having stood still long enough for the sweat to turn cold on his skin. He rubbed his arms, briskly, before bending down again to take hold of a tough stalk of baida, a local root vegetable. He wrenched hard, pulling the woody thing up and out of the dirt, small clusters like tiny potatoes clinging to its roots. How baida grew in the cold, hard winter ground, he had no idea. He couldn't recall harvesting any vegetables in the middle of winter on Earth, and his mother had tended a massive garden, somehow forcing the poor, abused soil to give her family what it needed to survive.

Heaving a sigh, Gohan tossed the baida plant into his basket, shuffled two steps forward, and hunkered down to take hold of the next stalk. His hands were raw from the tough stems and chapped from the cold, but he knew that if he stopped or complained, trouble would be waiting for him. One of the newer boys had made that mistake, complaining brazenly about his cramped, sore hands, and had been beaten right there in the field, the other children forced to go about their work as though they couldn't hear the bloodcurdling screams, nor the thump of fists on tender body parts. The girl working the row next to Gohan, Lilavi was her name, had remarked baldly on the chilly day, thankful that at least when the boy vomited, it wasn't so hot as to bake the stink into the air.

Gohan shrugged, covertly glancing back to see that the boy, whose name he did not know, had righted himself and gone back to work, lagging slowly behind his neighbours. Lilavi, however callous, was right. Cold puke smelled a heck of a lot better than hot puke, and it was all down the boy's shirtfront. It was too cold out, laborious work notwithstanding, to take the shirt off, and of course there weren't clean ones to spare. There wasn't a lot of anything to spare at the orphanage, Gohan reflected.

The “orphanage” wasn't really an orphanage in the sense that Gohan had known them, but that was the closest translation that he could think of. It was a home for displaced children, but far from the caring surrogate he had imagined. It was rough. The children that lived there were not slaves, precisely, though they were essentially for sale to anyone who might be wishing to “adopt” them. What they became after that was up to the purchaser, which to be honest, was most likely to be some form of servitude.

Inside the orphanage they were more like prisoners, bending to their captor's will, doing all that was required of them, with the hopes of someday being released to a better life. It was a bleak and unlikely prospect, but some did make it. There were those still in Frieza's universe with heart and generosity, and still more suffering souls, looking to replace a child lost to war. Some of the older, stronger children were bought up by military squadrons looking to fill out their ranks; a violent future, but a relatively free one, so long as such children could stomach the thought of serving the master who'd annihilated their home worlds.

It was a sad fact that many could, in exchange for the illusion of autonomy. The orphanage was a violent place with its own internal government. There was a strict hierarchy which the staff not only tolerated, but encouraged. It made their jobs much easier if discipline was carried out without their ever having to step in. The stronger, meaner children, the ones who fantasized that they'd be adopted into Frieza's forces, practiced for the future they imagined as highly positioned officers by beating the weaker children, the gentler souls, into submission.

There were factions, of course. Such bullies were never satisfied with their position in the chain, always jockeying for more power, more influence. The staff betted regularly on which gangs would hold the upper hand; they watched with fascination the trades, the turncoats and the ever heaving, ever changing composition of groups, and delighted in watching the consequences unfold, like humans watching a television drama.

Gohan himself had no aspirations toward any sort of leadership position in the constant gang-war that he lived in; he had no aspirations whatsoever, except to stay alive and avoid hurting anyone else while doing so, but he was not so lucky. His physical strength and intelligence had singled him out almost immediately upon arrival, and those that did not view him as a threat were quick to try and entice him into their circles. He'd thus far refused, making him both a popular target and a popular shield to those trying to do the same. He was known among the other children as a defender of the weak and willowy, of those too pathetic to stand up for themselves, and many of them hated him for that. He was a constant reminder that there had been no one to stand up for them, during the destruction of their worlds. He was an uncomfortable oddity in a pattern of violence and hate.

Despite his best efforts, Gohan had become a leader of sorts; how could he not have? His parents had taught him to always do the right and moral thing, and if that meant standing up for a bruised, bloody victim, then that was what he was going to do. Oftentimes it ended in two bruised and bloody victims rather than one, but Gohan felt that a few cuts and scrapes were worth it, if it meant doing the right thing. He hadn't been banking on black eyes and broken bones, but in the end they, too, seemed a small price to pay. It didn't hurt that the orphanage had a regeneration tank, either. Some of the other children, knowing how much such things cost, were surprised at the expense, but Gohan reasoned that damaged merchandise didn't do anyone any good. They could get a high price for an experienced and relatively healthy young brawler. Let him die and all the money spent feeding him went to waste.

*

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Vegeta tapped his fingers on the desk, frowning at the correspondence he'd received. One of his contacts in low places - and he had many - had sent him a most interesting note, regarding the potential existence of a Saiyan child. The woman was unsure, but suspicious enough that she'd sent the letter, and those who knew the side of him that dealt in the underworld knew not to waste his time. Records stated that the boy was from Earth, where Kakarott had been sent. Was the child a Halfling? Was that even possible?

Vegeta narrowed his eyes, glancing at the calendar. A year since Earth's destruction, give or take a few months. Radditz had remembered the data on Earth; it was impossible for a human child of that age to have survived conditions like those he was certainly living in. Human cubs were especially vulnerable; soft, stupid little creatures who depended solely on their parents to rear them. Vegeta scoffed. A Saiyan baby was capable of taking care of itself from birth, and was often required to.

The letter mentioned the tail, but also the brat's unseemly disposition, which was the given excuse as to why Vegeta's contact had delayed so long in telling him. Simply put, the boy looked saiyan, but had the attitude of a pacifist monk. He championed the weaker children, the letter said, and in his earliest days with them, had cried constantly for his mother and father. Vegeta wondered if it was possible that the human side had ruined him. Even the strongest man, if he held no desire to fight, would be as useless in a brawl as a dead corpse; perhaps more useless still, as a live man often protests to the indignity of being used as a shield.

The prince considered the situation carefully before calling his men and issuing the order to take flight. A weak, useless half-breed the brat might be, but if saiyan blood pumped through his veins, then there was no choice but to take him, even if he spent the rest of his life wasting away with that useless clod, Tarble. Vegeta's brother, five years his junior and infinitely lower in power, had somehow been secreted away while Vegeta himself had been handed over to a sick madman, and it was no secret that Vegeta was more than a little bitter over the fact. This, coupled with the fact that Tarble was a pacifist weakling, meant that the brothers did not speak often, nor did the three `true' saiyans speak of him much. They'd also kept the youngest saiyan royal a secret from Frieza - Vegeta hadn't even known that his brother survived, save the secret knowledge that Nappa had been entrusted with on the eve of Vegetasei's demise.

Tarble lived his own life, peacefully sequestered in a galaxy yet untouched but the Cold Family's rule, idly wasting his days with that strange little creature that was his wife. Vegeta was, in his weaker moments, a little jealous of that life, but he thought his brother a fool for failing to realize that his peace could not last. The Colds were greedy, power hungry sons of bitches, ever looking to expand their empires and unless they were stopped, the entire universe would fall beneath their scaly feet. Now, the fact that Tarble suspected that Vegeta simply wanted to topple the tyrants in order to take their place was a moot point, of course.

*

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Gohan stood in the doorway with the orphanage worker's legs pressed flat against his back, staring up at the three beasts who were going to `adopt' him. “No.” He shook his head, bracing his arms against the doorframe as he resisted the worker's attempts to shove him into the room. He could feel the wood splintering in his fingers, knew that it would give out soon and he would tumble forward onto the floor, laying on his belly at the mercy of these strangers, and finally gave up. He had his pride, at least.

The worker tumbled forward, not having expected his charge to suddenly release his death grip on the walls, sending both of them into a flying heap anyway. Gohan's nose hit the floor hard and he cried out as he felt the crunch of bone and the instant sickness that so often accompanies a broken limb. One of the monsters hauled the worker off him; Gohan wasn't sure which one, as he was too busy curling into a miserable little ball, trying to stop the flow of tears as every sniffle sent a bolt of pain through his nose.

“Oi,” One of them prodded him with a stiff finger. Gohan cracked an eye to see the long-haired one crouched down beside him. He felt faint: the man's thighs were as big around as his whole body. “Shaab'a sorrin Rak?” Oh man. He must've hit his head harder than he'd thought.

“He doesn't speak any Saiyan?” The tallest one asked aloud in Standard, seeing the look of bewilderment on the child's face.

“I'm beginning to doubt that he's Saiyan at all.” The smallest one said, disgust audible in his voice. Gohan cringed, ashamed to be the target of such disdain, even though he'd no idea what a Saiyan was, or whether he even wanted to be one.

“Hey brat,” the long-haired one poked him again. “You don't understand?” Gohan shook his head. “I asked you what your name was.”

“G...Gohan.” He replied, haltingly. The throbbing in his nose had dulled enough that he was able to focus on something other than the pain, and what he saw was very disturbing. The long haired man wasn't his father, not even close but...but...

“Gohan? What a shitty name.” The beast stood from his crouch and grinned down, baring sharp teeth. “Anyway, I'm Radditz. We're pretty sure I'm your uncle.”

*

*

Gohan couldn't recall the details of the conversation following that wholly unexpected and completely undeniable statement, nor the conversation after that, nor the subsequent five or six, at least. He recalled the hotel where they'd stayed and the soft bed that he'd slept on - his first since the one in his Earth bedroom - and he remembered the pleasant ache of a fully belly and the subsequent attack of bowel shattering diarrhea that had resulted from stuffing himself after going malnourished for so long. Totally worth it.

He knew what they'd told him and completely believed that it was the truth - he resembled Radditz quite strongly, there was no denying it - though when asked to recall how they'd broken the news and how he'd reacted, he could not say. He had a strong suspicion that he'd been quite numb throughout the ordeal, though if someone had told him that he'd thrown a screaming, kicking, biting fit he'd just as easily have believed t hat.

It was a lot to take in, after all. His father was an alien, sent to massacre the people of Earth, and a lucky bump to the head, or so the three adult Saiyans surmised, had saved humanity from destruction...well, until Frieza's arrival, at least. So that made him half-alien and a member of a dead race, well maybe not completely defunct yet but definitely in the throes as there were no known Saiyan females. The three adult males had been interested to learn that creating half-breeds was possible and even more interested to learn that Gohan suspected that at least some human females were alive to potentially breed with. He'd then had to explain to them the concept of boyfriends and husbands and why those females might not be so willing to breed. That conversation, he remembered. It had been awkward. None of them seemed to want `mates' and Gohan didn't suppose that his mother, Bulma, or Mrs. Briefs would be willing to breed half-Saiyans without some sort of romantic commitment.

“Brat!” It was Radditz's voice, coming through the com-link by his door. “Hurry the fuck up! Vegeta will be here any second and he'll be pissed if we're not ready to go!”

“On my way!” Gohan squeaked, hurriedly stepping into his boots and clipping the scouter over his ear. He'd been with the Saiyans for two months now, time which they'd spent almost entirely at a small outpost on a planet called Farrad, reasonably close to Planet Yessig, where the orphanage had been. It still amazed Gohan that interstellar travel was so quick and easy. Why, he'd been on three different planets in the span of a year, plus a few space stations in between. In the five years he'd lived on Earth, he hadn't even visited that many different towns!

After nearly two months straight of training with Radditz and Nappa - which consisted mostly of getting beat up by said trainers - they were finally leaving Farrad. Vegeta had deemed him worthy of accompanying them on a mission, and boy was he excited. He did a quick double take in the mirror to make sure that his uniform was all in place before darting from the room, legs pumping with newfound strength to carry him to the loading bay. He grinned at the power in his muscles and knew that the training sessions had done the trick, even though he sometimes thought he'd spent more time in the regeneration tank than out since his arrival. He felt a hundred times stronger than he had at the orphanage and knew that there was only more power to be gained.

Gohan turned the corner, neatly dodging a technician running a systems check, and skidded to a halt beside Radditz, who nodded in welcome. Gohan nodded back, quickly growing used to the ways in which his new `family' interacted. They were not cuddly nor coddling, like his own parents had been. They rarely praised him and he'd been punched, kicked, and blasted by them more times than he could count, but there was some degree of affection there. More often than not he felt like a puppy in training - his new masters were lenient, but piss on the floor one too many times and it's out the door. Radditz was his favourite, of course. Being an uncle seemed to have an effect on the weakest of the full-blooded Saiyans, and he was often quick to defend his nephew from Nappa, whose rearing tactics tended toward outright bullying. Gohan was treated like a foot soldier more than a child, and disobeying orders was not tolerated by the biggest Saiyan.

Just in time, Gohan thought, as he heard the telltale sound of Vegeta's boots on the floor. The man had a signature walk, military like a drum beat, when he wanted to be heard. When he didn't, you'd hear nothing until his breath hit the back of your neck, and likely wouldn't be alive long enough to hear much after that. Quickly, all three waiting Saiyans lined up and adopted the straight-backed military stance that was customary in Frieza's army. Had they been alone, they would all have taken a knee in Saiyan fashion, but as it was, word would get back to the tyrant. The Saiyans were all kept under a close watch.

Gohan hadn't met Frieza yet, and he didn't particularly want to. He knew the lizard king had been in charge of Earth's execution. Joining his ranks had been hard enough, even knowing that the Saiyans had not been involved. Serving under Vegeta was somehow different than serving under Frieza, according to Radditz and Nappa, and Gohan was slowly coming to terms with the concept of it all. Looking back later in life, he would realize that the simple relief of having proper food and attentive guardians had overshadowed the more murky concerns of ethics and morality, but at the moment he was content. Funny what a fully belly will do for a man.

“Ahh, good, you're all here.” Vegeta said, in a voice that clearly stated what would have happened had they not been around. Gohan guessed that this meant the prince was in a bad mood, though it was hard to tell. Vegeta's disposition could change rapidly and without warning. He was impossible to read and he had a poker face that made his thoughts about as easy to discern as a rock's. Gohan never knew where he stood with the Vegeta, and that made him nervous. Radditz and Nappa were easy. If they were mad they yelled. If they were really mad, they booted him. Easy. Vegeta, on the other hand, was often at his most cordial when furious. A deadly calm would come over him, and the uninitiated man would think nothing of his sleight until he felt the burn of a blast through his heart.

“Sir, we are ready to deploy at your command.” Nappa spoke up, and Vegeta grunted, climbing into his own open pod.

“We launch in two minutes.” Vegeta said, strapping in as the door hissed shut. “I recommend you get in your damn pods.”

*

*

Gohan braced himself for impact as his pod careened toward the planet's surface, and was surprised to find the jarring crash he expected did not materialize, despite the crater formed by his landing. He got out slowly, shielding his eyes against the dust cloud kicked up by Radditz's pod, which hit the ground a few minutes later. He reached up and flicked his scouter on, locking immediately onto Vegeta's power signature. The prince was a few hundred feet away, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for his men to gather. Nappa's pod was the last to land, and while they waited for him, Gohan took the opportunity to look around. They were in a fairly isolated mountainous region; he couldn't see any houses nearby, though he did spot what looked to be the entrance to a mining shaft, so he thought there must be people somewhere close.

“What kind of mission is this?” Gohan asked, not having been briefed before take off. “What are we doing here?”

“Purging, of course.” Radditz answered, cocking his head at the child as if to say what else? and Gohan felt his stomach drop. Before he had a chance to ask any further questions, Nappa was climbing out of his pod and they were all in the air, Gohan's lungs burning as he raced to keep up.

Vegeta stopped abruptly over a small village and remained floating, as though standing on thin air, as he waited for the other three to catch up. They were at his side in a matter of seconds. “I will go into the center of this town,” he said, uncrossing his arms to point with two fingers, “Nappa, you will take the north end, Radditz the south. Drive all that you can toward me. Gohan, you will remain high to catch any who attempt to escape.” Without another word he dove, Nappa and Radditz quickly descending to follow, leaving Gohan all alone.

He heard the first scream and felt bile rise in his throat, saw people pouring out of their homes as they attempted to escape the sudden barrage of heat and flames that had engulfed them. Vegeta was making quick work of his victims, if the falling buildings were any indication. He heard Nappa laugh and the scent of blood hit him, thick in the air. He swallowed the bile, watching wide eyed and frozen as a mother and her child ran for the woods, managing to bypass Radditz, who was distracted. That made them his job, did it not?

Quickly, Gohan swooped down and followed them into the brush, his heart pounding and his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. He was certain that he was crying - the tears grew quickly cold on his cheeks, whipped away in seconds as he sped along. They could hear him crashing through the trees and brush, for he could smell the sudden tang of panicked sweat as they stopped, scrabbling in the dirt for the secret hiding place. He landed behind them, his boots thumping on the hard-packed dirt path, and the woman turned and gasped. He was no older than her son, to be sure.

“Please,” she begged, her halting standard indicating the lack of a chip. “Please don't kill us.”

“I...” Gohan stepped forward, and she shoved the boy behind her, shielding him with her own body. “I don't want to kill you.” He whispered desperately, anguish in his voice. “Please go. Run!” He shooed her with his hands and she whirled, crouching once more to find the entryway she was searching for.

“Leave us.” She said, confusion and apprehension on her face. The boy seemed sincere, but many of Frieza's men had a reputation for cruelty that did not rule out toying with their prey. “We will hide.”

“I...you need to get out of here. You need to get off this planet!” Gohan hissed, recalling in detail the way Earth had looked as it collapsed in upon itself, cracking and crumbling into nothing more than rocks and dust. He took two urgent steps toward her, but stopped himself as a look of abject terror spread itself across her pretty features. He gulped, realizing that her gaze did not rest upon him, but on something behind him, and turned to see Vegeta, standing leisurely in the path.

“Well, well, well.” The prince sauntered forward.

“Don't kill them!” Gohan shouted, then snapped his mouth shut as he realized who he was talking to. He shrank back a little, fully expecting to be punished for such insolence. He was surprised to see Vegeta stop in his tracks.

“Why not?” He asked simply, and Gohan swallowed.

“They...they don't deserve to die.” He whispered, knees shaking as Vegeta's eyes bored into his.

“Oh? And what horrible deeds have they committed that they deserve to live?” Vegeta had walked closer, and was examining the frightened pair. The woman was bold, she met his eyes as her son tried to bury himself within her skirts.

“I...I don't...understand.” Gohan stuttered, his muscles tense as Vegeta's tail uncoiled to sway lazily behind him.

“Think hard, cub.” Vegeta cocked his head and studied the woman, obviously looking her over. “What do you think happens to people who live, hmm? To women as pretty as this one?” He turned his gaze, unfeeling to Gohan. “And this boy-child, so small and tender still. They'll be torn apart.” He snarled.

“No...” Gohan whispered.

“Yes.” Vegeta hissed. “You think always that life is better than death.” He advanced on the trembling young warrior, fists balled at his sides. “I can tell you, brat, you believe in pretty lies, painted by your sappy parents.”

“No...it's better to live, to fight and survive!”

“For you, perhaps.” Vegeta countered. “For the strong, of course. But for the weak? For the ones who will be raped and beaten, and left to die in shame and misery? Who are you to take their deaths from them?”

“I won't kill her!” Gohan stamped his foot, bringing one arm up to wipe snot on his sleeve, and Vegeta sneered.

“Such a pathetic little child. You shame your Saiyan blood.” The prince spat.

“We can let her go!” Gohan pleaded.

“To where?” Vegeta laughed, a harsh, unpleasant sound. “To be caught up by some soul less benevolent than you or I?” Gohan cringed, his stomach curdling at the idea of this murder as benevolence. “You would turn her loose and see her raped and killed?” Vegeta shook his head. “That is cruelty, boy.”

“No...” Gohan repeated, unable to find any other words. He felt as though he was choking, sick with the knowledge that he would not be able to stop this from coming. “Let her live.”

“Fine,” Vegeta shrugged, “come on then, girl, we'll take you back to camp and let the other squads have at you.”

“NO!” Gohan shouted, scrambling to put himself between Vegeta and the frightened pair.

“If she lives, she goes back to camp.” Vegeta said, his voice iron. “It will be a better fate than to be cut down running by a pack soldiers rabid with bloodlust. The ones in camp will at least be calmer.” He said to the girl, by way of explanation. Gohan watched her consider this, nodding. She looked at her son, his sniffling face having emerged briefly from her skirts.

“And him?” She asked, placing one hand on his head.

“There are undoubtedly men there with such predilections. If he survives camp, he's like to be conscripted.”

“Well if it's all the same to you then, I'd prefer you just kill us now.” She said, rather matter of factly, and squared her shoulders. “Though if I could have a moment?” Vegeta nodded as though he had all the time in the world, and she crouched down, murmuring to her son in a language they did not understand. When she stood again to face them, she nodded her readiness. “Well, go ahead then.”

“Well?” Vegeta turned to Gohan, expectantly. “Go ahead.” He stared impassively back as Gohan turned wide, betrayed eyes upon him.

“I can't.”

“Of course you can.” Vegeta rolled his eyes.

“I won't.”

“Oh, you won't?” Vegeta mocked his stuttering speech, his voice nasty. “Then don't trust me to make it painless, boy. She wants a clean death; you'll give it to her, or you'll watch her suffer.”

“N..no...I...I...” Gohan sniffled, tears pouring from his eyes now. He wiped them just in time to see Vegeta shrug and stalk toward the pair. Roughly, he shoved the woman to the ground, twisting her arm behind her till she cried out with pain. “Please!” Gohan cried, and Vegeta released the pressure a little bit.

“Last chance, boy. I'll break every bone in her body before I put her out of her misery, and I'll do the same to her spawn.”

“It's okay.” The woman said gently, her pleading eyes catching Gohan's. “I'll forgive you.” She said, and Gohan found himself nodding, numbly. Vegeta stepped back and Gohan stood for a moment, gathering his power. It was cruel to force her to live, wasn't it? It was cruel to force her to die of brutality, when he could give her quick, clean salvation. That's what Vegeta said, and she was agreeing, wasn't she? Did that make it okay? He felt sick. He felt wrong and evil and sick to his stomach, and before he knew it, he was bent against a tree for support, heaving his guts out. When he was finished, the woman gave him a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe his mouth.

“What are your names?” Gohan asked, awkwardly pocketing the soiled cloth.

“Oh, him? He doesn't have a name yet.” She smiled kindly, then explained further, seeing his puzzled look. “We don't get names until our fifth years. This one is just beyond four.” Gohan swallowed, sickly. Not even as old as he'd been, when Earth was destroyed. “And me, I'm Pan.”

“Pan...” Gohan nodded, committing her face to memory. “That's a nice name. I'll remember it.”

“Please do.” She said, and fell silent as he powered up. Her death was quick and clean, as was her son's. The fact that Gohan took out half of the forest while doing it had no effect on Pan or her nameless child, but it sure made the young Saiyan feel better.

When it was done, Gohan stood shaking in the middle of the clearing he had made, panting and trying very hard not to vomit again. He turned, feeling Vegeta's presence next to him, and looked up as the prince placed his hand on the young warrior's shoulder. Quickly, before Gohan could react, Vegeta jerked his knee upward, connecting squarely with the boy's gut and knocking the wind out of him. Red faced and wheezing, Gohan fell to the ground at Vegeta's feet, his arms curled protectively around his middle as though expecting another blow.

“Don't fucking disobey me again.” Vegeta snarled, turning on his heel and stalking away, not sparing another glance for the boy who lay writhing in the dirt.

*

*

“He hasn't eaten anything for three days.” Radditz growled as he threw the dish into the sink. It shattered, sending globs of congealed stew to splatter the wall and counter. He'd just been to see Gohan, only to find the child still laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the day's worth of untouched food slowly rotting on his bedside table. “Goddamned waste, is what this is!” Radditz gestured explosively at the unsightly splatter as a hunk of meat slid down the wall to land with a wet plop on the counter. Nappa frowned worriedly. It was a bad sign when a Saiyan - half breed or not - was refusing food. “All he did was kill some bitch and her brat. No reason to go comatose on us!” Radditz was pacing now, obviously concerned beneath his frustration.

They were in their own private apartments aboard one of Frieza's transport ships, they and their pods having been safely picked up and stowed after the purge was complete. Word of Gohan's existence had gotten back to the tyrant, and they'd been summoned to his home base so that the boy could be properly inspected and scrutinized.

“When we are finished with Frieza,” Vegeta spoke up between bites of his meal, “we will send the boy to Tarble, and falsify a death report. His human blood has obviously tainted him.”

“But,” Radditz stopped himself at Vegeta's glare. He was getting used to having the kid around; with Gohan there, Radditz wasn't the weakest one anymore.

“He will go to Tarble.” Vegeta repeated, steel in his voice. “And we will carry on as though he never existed.”

*

*

In the end, this plan did not pan out, for Frieza's intervention proved a powerful turning point to the young half-Saiyan. He stayed quite silent during the month of travel aboard the transport ship, listlessly participating in whatever training or lessons he was required. At first, he'd belligerently refused to cooperate with his superiors' orders, but a vicious ass-kicking from an irritated Vegeta had left him with a three-day soak in the regeneration tank, and a brand new outlook on standing up for one's beliefs. If they would only just kill him, it would be alright, he often thought, but instead they revived him every time, prolonged his suffering.

“Remember Gohan, just shut up unless he asks you a question. Stay quiet.” Radditz said under his breath to the boy in front of him. They were making their way toward the control room, Frieza's seat at the top of the universe, and it was clear to the young Halfling that the three full-bloods were extremely agitated by the prospect of seeing their overlord.

“The brat, be quiet?” Nappa snorted, looking backward over his shoulder at Radditz to roll his eyes. “Never.” He faced forward again, dutifully following behind their leader. Vegeta, stalking purposefully down the hallways in the lead of their little conga line, had said nothing all morning, easily having communicated his every desire with a few well executed glares. The message was clear: Stay down, shut up, I'll handle it.

Frankly, Gohan was a little surprised at the prince's attitude. He'd always thought of Vegeta as the fearless one, the all powerful master of the little universe that the four of them existed in. To see him so irritated and twitchy was actually a little bit frightening. Gohan was not looking forward to meeting the man who could unnerve the stoic Vegeta. As it turned out, upon first sighting the lizard tyrant, `man' was perhaps not the right word. The other Saiyans referred always to it as `him' or `he', and they saluted and addressed him as `my Lord' but Gohan was not convinced.

“Tell me again, how you found him?” Frieza was saying, and Gohan found himself drifting away as Vegeta answered. His heart was hammering so heard in his chest, he found it difficult to concentrate on much else. Lub-a-dub, lub-a-dub, lub-a-dub. On it went and he grimaced, pained as though it was slamming back and forth inside him. He began to sweat, his palms slick and tingly with growing heat, despite the fact that he could see his breath in the air. His shoulders began to shake, though he was not shivering. A bubbled formed in his belly, and like gas it travelled upward, pushed up with all its might, swelling the young boy's esophagus as it did so, trapped briefly behind clamped lips before it burst outward in a rush of sound.

“MURDERER!” Gohan screamed, unable to stop the rush of words that followed in the silence of his outburst. “You filthy murderer!” He was stepping forward before he knew it, shaking off Radditz's belated attempts to restrain him. “You destroyed Earth! You killed everyone!” Tears streamed down his face and he had the oddest sensation of disconnection from his body, as though he were in a dream, watching as he flung himself at the pale-skinned creature, howling with all his might. There was glory in that moment, that release of so much pent up hate and anger, but it was short lived, as most such moments are. The diminutive emperor's face grew sour, black lips twisting downward in an ugly grimace as he stretched an arm out to deflect the path of the little living missile, sending Gohan crashing bodily into the icy metal wall. It was then that Gohan felt himself returned to his body, reunited with his senses by the pain of a cracked skull and a dislocated shoulder. Had the beast been prepared, the damage would have been much worse. Fuzzily, he watched the lizard step down from his floating throne - shorter than expected - and shuddered at the click of tri-clawed feet on the floor panels. His death was coming, and the thought did not seem so appealing as it had once been.

“Frieza.” Vegeta's voice cut through the icy air, stopping the lizard in his tracks. Frieza turned and waited as Vegeta stepped forward, inclined his head in that almost-but-not-quite-respectful manner of his and said, “I believe I reserve the right to the punishment of my troops, according to our agreement.”

Frieza smiled, that sickly sweet abomination that was his expression of happiness, and took a step back from the trembling child. “Of course,” he said slowly, drawing his words out as though he was savouring each one, reluctant to let the taste of it fade from his mouth. “How could I forget?” He advanced upon Vegeta, thick pink tail dragging across the floor like some obscene rodent's appendage. His grin widened, and through the mud in his brain, Gohan watched the creature's hand fly up to slap the prince full across the face, hair whipping as his head snapped sideways. Vegeta didn't make a sound as he brought one hand up and wiped it across the back of his mouth, blood staining his pristine white glove.

“Get up.” Radditz was suddenly there, hauling Gohan to his feet and dragging him back to where Nappa still stood, silent and ramrod straight. Gohan struggled to stand upright, dizziness making the room spin. He was certain he had a concussion, though neither of his kinsmen seemed to care in the slightest.

“Open your eyes.” Nappa commanded and Gohan blinked, unaware that he had closed them. He turned to watch as Vegeta was slammed into the floor, his head bouncing off the metal tiles like a doll's. Gohan closed his eyes and tried to turn away, only to be grabbed and swung roughly back into place by his uncle. “You will understand the consequences of your actions.” Nappa hissed. Gohan squirmed, feeling bile rise as he heard the sickening crack of bone, the squelching sound of torn flesh. Radditz let out a growl and clamped Gohan tightly to his chest, forcing the boy to face the brutality. Nappa's fingers pulled mercilessly at his eyelids from behind, forcing them open so far he literally could not blink. He sobbed and wriggled, desperately trying not to watch as Frieza pushed down on Vegeta's broken leg, slowly forcing broken bone to tear its way through to open air. Gohan gagged and vomited, the thin contents of his stomach left to dribble down his chin, dripping onto an uncaring Radditz's bare arm. The smell was enough to make him want to vomit again, but both of his Saiyan tormentors stood like rocks, eyes focused on the bloody, broken mess that was being made of their prince.

Gohan didn't understand it. He'd seen people beaten and killed, he'd seen crowds boil with the urge to tear someone apart, but never had he seen such methodical cruelty, such cold eagerness to cause pain. And yet Vegeta refused to scream, a fact which seemed to make the sadistic beast more frustrated, more cruel with every movement, determined to draw sound beyond the prince's laboured breaths.

He felt Radditz's arms tighten around him, the tension in his uncle's frame belying the calm expression on his face. Was it the same for Nappa, Gohan wondered as Frieza raised one foot, aiming a kick to the prince's jaw that sent a tooth flying, landing with a plink to skitter across the floor, slick with blood. “Have you had enough?!” Frieza shrieked, fury radiating from his every muscle, all tense and shaking with the strain of control. Vegeta looked impassively back, the right side of his jaw already purple and beginning to swell, likely shattered. “You fucking piece of trash! Monkey!” He shouted, nasal voice growing higher and higher. He kicked again, this time aiming for the ribs. Vegeta wheezed and gurgled as a broken rib punctured his lung, the tender organ quickly filling with blood. He hacked and coughed and Frieza stepped back, disgusted with the body on the floor at his feet.

“Get him out of here before he drowns.” The lizard ordered, deigning to look at the other two adult Saiyans for the first time since they'd entered the room. “And take that fucking tooth with you.”

*

*

Radditz and Nappa had beaten him, of course, after seeing Vegeta safely ensconced within the protective womb of a regeneration tank. Gohan had barely recognized the prince's face, bruised and blotched as it was. His jaw was a mottled, swollen black, and his nose had been neatly smashed so that it was no more than a lump of pulpy flesh. A clump of his hair was gone from the right side of his head, just above his temple. His left femur had been snapped in half, jagged bone gleaming whitely before the med tech had forced it back beneath torn flesh, attempting to reset the alignment before depositing the broken body into the tank. His right ankle and foot were crushed. His lungs were badly torn from the jagged ends of broken ribs, and the staff in the medical bay would have been surprised to see him draw breath, had they not been witness to the same scene many times before.

Willingly, numbly, knowing what was to come, Gohan had followed his kin to the training rooms of the mothership where they'd gone at him with all they had. He'd let it come, though he'd been nowhere near as stoic and prideful as his prince. He'd howled and bawled, he'd fought back, kicking and biting and punching till the end, but facing down two full-grown, angry Saiyans had been a task doomed to fail from the start. At the time, he'd thought that perhaps they meant to kill him.

When it was over, when he was hovering on the brink of unconsciousness, gentle arms scooped him up, cradling him as though he were but a baby. Radditz carried him to the medical bay where the two of them scared away the technicians, instead leaning in to hook him up themselves, Nappa murmuring quiet direction.

“Do you understand all this?” He asked, as he slipped the breathing mask over Gohan's head, carefully tightening its straps. “Do you get it now?”

Gohan nodded. He thought he did, at least.

“Vegeta is our saviour.” Radditz insisted, his voice quiet but firm. “In this world where we live as slaves, he is our shield and our sword. We must be the hands that hold them, the arms that support them.” Gohan nodded again. “You will obey him?” Another nod.

“He will ask you to kill again.” Nappa said, gravely. Gohan closed his eyes tight, trying to quell the tears that squeezed out from between tightly shut eyelids. When he opened them again, both his uncle and his tutor were staring back, rather than the beasts of punishment that they had been. Unable to speak, he brought his right hand slowly across his chest, mindful of the tubes and wires connected to his skin, and fisted his hand over his heart. Nappa nodded back, satisfied, and swung the glass bubble down in place, cutting off all sound between them. He and Radditz stood together, watching as their young charge was slowly submerged in the cold, thick jelly that would heal his wounds.

He would not be going to Tarble after all.

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Writing this chapter was difficult. I'm sure you can imagine why. I'm not entirely sure that it's what I imagined, but I think I've stared at it long enough. Please let me know what you thought. I would love some feedback.