Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Weakness ❯ Weakness ( Chapter 1 )

 

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z. I don't own Vegeta! {Goes into a corner and cries} and I don't own Trunks {crying increases}. So go away, and leave me to my misery!

 

Author's note: yes, alright, so I wrote a Final Atonement fic! So shoot me! I'll have you know that I was asked to by one of the reviewers for Who Was That on Fanfiction.net, so there! It gives me permission. And I tried to make this fic interesting and original, but I haven't actually bothered reading many other Final Atonement fics, so I don't know if I succeeded. It may be horribly clichéd and done so many times even the parodies have gotten boring, but you won't know unless you read it, will you?

 

 

 

I Am Weak

 

“Dad?”

“It's alright now, we're here.”

Voices…familiar ones at that…someone shaking me, pleading with me to wake up.

“Come on Dad! Wake up!”

So it'll be my son then.

“Please, wake up! Dad! Dad! Dad! Come on, wake up!”

Yes, definitely my son. Stop begging brat, haven't I taught you anything? From the way you're making grunting, gasping noises, I'd say you're holding back tears too. Oh, go away brat; can't you see I don't want to get up? I don't want to do this anymore; I don't want to be strong. I've been strong all my life, all the time. Please brat, just this once, let me be weak for just a little longer.

“Is he alive?”

“Of course he is!” I heard Trunks snap back at this truly tactless question from Kakarot's youngest brat. If I could move, I'd have nodded my head in approval. Of course I'm alive! To think that I, Vegeta, prince of all Saiyans, could be taken out by that big pink blob is simply laughable. Much to my great surprise, Trunks continues with words to that effect. I didn't think he cared that much.

“My dad's the toughest guy in the whole world!”

“Yeah, but…he got hurt real bad,” Kakarot's brat sounds confused. I can tell he doesn't really like being yelled at by his best friend. Curious, I used to shout at Nappa all the time and he never complained. But I suppose that was because even if he was the closest thing, he still wasn't my friend. I didn't allow myself the luxury of getting close to anyone on Frieza's ship, and by the time he was killed, it had just become second nature.

“Hey Goten! Clean out your ears and listen to me, okay!”

I wonder what Trunks is about to say that he thinks is so important. It won't be that spectacular; he's only eight years old, and doesn't understand about world yet, as my mate constantly reminds me. I did when I was that age, but then again, I had to, to survive. The woman thinks Trunks should spend more time being a child. She doesn't think he needs to know about life just yet.

“My mum told me, my dad…” I would frown f my face weren't so battered. What had the woman been telling him? “He used to be the prince of every single Saiyan!”

“Ah! He's a…prince?” Kakarot's brat is suitably startled and impressed, but that doesn't concern me. What shocks me to the very core is the statement Trunks has just made. How long has he known that? It can't have been very long, or I'm certain he would have said something. If there's one thing I know with absolute certainty, that's my son, and I know Trunks wouldn't have kept quiet about something like that. He would have boasted about it to everyone and anyone. So why didn't he…?

Maybe I don't know him as well as I thought.

“That's right!” Trunks is talking again. I'd better listen; maybe this will provide me with an insight as to why he kept so quiet, “he's a prince, Goten! As prince! And there's no way a prince could lose to a stupid monster!”

This jolts me out of my self-pity. He's right, or course he is! What the hell do I think I'm doing, lying here and feeling sorry for myself? I am the prince of Saiyans and I have a battle to finish!

…And I have my son's expectations to live up to.

Groaning, I open my eyes, to make out two blurry shapes towering over me. As my eyes adjust, the fuzzy shapes come into sharper focus. I can make out two pairs of green eyes, two manes of spiky blonde hair, a teal gi, and an orange one. That's familiar, that's-

“Trunks…my son.”

Both boys' faces break into wide grins as I push myself into a sitting position, only just managing to halt the moan of pain I want to release. I can feel Trunks' hand on my back as I lift a hand to my brow. There's something I need to-

“Wait! Where is Majin Buu?” I push the brat away, and he stumbles back, startled.

Slowly, I stand up and turn my eyes upwards. The three of us watch as the Namekian slices the wizard in half. Good riddance. Unfortunately my pleasure in seeing him get what's coming to him is short lived, as a simply tremendous power, along with rocks and dust being blown every way, lets us know that Majin Buu is back. And the blob's petulant, childish cries of “Buu mad! Buu make pow pow POW!” tell us that he is less than thrilled with my son's entrance. I turn my attention back to the boy at my side.

“Trunks,” I begin, not sure what to say, but certain I need to say something, “listen. You need…to take good care of your mother.”

Trunks starts, and looks up at me in surprise, and, perhaps, a little trepidation. I turn my head away slightly and smile ruefully. Yes. That was exactly what I wanted to say.

“Why would you say that?” he's started with the questions. There'll be no stopping him now, “Dad? Why d'you want me to take care of Mum? Are you going somewhere?” he says the last part almost accusatorily, but I understand. Brat's too like me. When I'm confused or, god forbid, scared, I get defensive and accusatory. He doesn't understand why I'm saying this, but I'm sure he has a hunch where it's going, and he doesn't like it. He's a smart kid, my son.

“I want you two to leave and get far away from here.” I don't answer his questions. We really don't have time, “as for Buu, I'll fight him alone.”

“Don't do that!” Kakarot's brat cries, although why he would care what happens to me is beyond me.

“Goten's right!” Trunks puts in, “we'll fight with you! You don't wanna get killed, do you? You've got to let us help you, Dad!”

if this were any other time, any other situation, I'd have punished the boy for ordering me about. But I know he's only saying that because he truly believes he can be of some help. Ignorant brat. This is what comes of not allowing him to understand the world. I half wish the woman was here, so I could point out what happens when you shelter a child.

“Are you in?” he asks of Goten, who nods in affirmation, “see!” Trunks says triumphantly, “we're with you!”

“Stop it,” I order, “it's too dangerous for you two. I will finish this by myself.”

“Come on!” Goten insists, “It'll be easier to beat him with me and Trunks,” another deluded, sheltered child. Not that it's a surprise with this one, considering what Kakarot's narcotic mate is like.

“We'll gang up on him!” Trunks suggests happily, “he won't know what hit him!”

“Yeah! We're tough! We could even beat that blob without your help, right Trunks?”

“You net!”

“We might even do better than you did!” the minute these last words are said, both boy's clasp their hands to their mouths and stare up at me, wide-eyed and fearful. I hear Goten mumble “uh-oh” through his hands, and Trunks is actually shaking slightly. They're truly afraid of me, of what I might do to them. This is good, isn't it? I am the Saiyan prince; by rights they should be terrified of me. Everyone should, my own son included. So why do I feel so…so bad? Like I've done something wrong?

“Trunks…” I have to continue what I was going to say now I've started. The Saiyan prince does not back down from anything, not even words, “you are my only son and yet I haven't held you once since you were a baby, have I?” he lowers his hand and continues to stare up at me, although now the gaze is less scared and more bemused. He blinks several times, the universal sign for incomprehension. I finally turn around to face him and hold out a hand, “come here, son.”

He takes a step back as I advance on him. So the fear hasn't completely dissipated then.

“Dad, what's wrong?” he asks as I put my hand on his shoulder and pull him into a one armed embrace, “aw Dad, this is embarrassing,” he says, but I can tell he's just attempting to save face in front of his friend. I can sense he's smiling, “Dad, come on. Cut it out.”

I ignore his feeble, half-hearted protests, and don't let go. The prince of the Saiyans, hugging his son. My race must be laughing so hard we can hear them all the way from Hell. But here's the funny bit:

I don't care. I truly don't give a damn whether I'm acting the way a Saiyan prince should. Why should I try so hard to please a race that has been dead for thirty years? When I was under Frieza's command, there was still Nappa ad Radditz, but now, all there is left is Kakarot, and he knows nothing of Saiyan traditions and customs. Hell, he thinks I'm odd for behaving the way I do. And when I was under Frieza's command, even for some time after I rebelled, I still had to avenge my people. But they have been avenged now, by that clown, and I need to accept that. I've spent so long clinging desperately onto the life I had for only the first five years of my life that I've been completely ignoring the one I have now.

There's something that needs to be said, something that's hung in the air between my son and I since the day he was born, but never been voiced.

“Trunks. There's something you must know,” I look down at him and smile, not a smirk, but a true smile, of pride and happiness. I've never smiled before, not properly, and who'd have thought my brat would be the one to bring it out of me?

“You've made me proud, my son.”

He stares up at me, eyes wide, eliciting a small gasp at this statement. I train my eyes on his face for a spilt second, memorising every detail, before bringing the side of my hand onto his neck, hard, causing him to gasp in pain. He falls, almost in slow motion, his hair changing from gold to lavender, his eyes from green to blue.

“Why did you do that to him?!” Goten is angry now. I can't blame him, if I'd just watched my best friend knocked out by his own father, I'd probably feel the same way. I can't be absolutely certain because, as I've said, I've never had a friend before, so I don't know what kind of emotions it would evoke, “why'd you do that?” Goten cries, running up to me, clenching his fists, squaring his shoulders and looking disturbingly like Kakarot when I killed all those people at the World Martial Arts stadium, “what's wrong with you, why did you do that to Trunks? You might have killed him! Why? Are you crazy, why?”

of course I haven't killed him, idiotic brat, have you so little faith in your friends strength? As if a blow like that was enough to kill him. He is my son, after all. I don't mention any of this, though, but allow the boy to grab me and shake me as he continues to shout, “why did you do it?! Tell me! why did you do that to Trunks?! You're his dad, dad's aren't supposed to do bad things to their sons, why did you hit him, why did you hurt him like that, why, WHY?!”

Dads aren't supposed to do bad things to their sons? I have to admit, before coming to Earth, that idea was alien to me. My father was always very strict with me, punishing me if I even displeased him a fraction. But then, he didn't love me, didn't care about me the way I care about my own son. I heard him say as much after he'd promised to give me over to Frieza. I'd been listening in on the conversation from behind a door to the side of my father's Throne Room. I did that a lot, even though I knew the consequences should I be caught/ I heard one of my father's advisors question whether he was really going to hand me over, and upon my father's response, ask, “are you not concerned for the prince's life?”

“I do not care about such things as my son's life.”

That one simple sentence completely shattered any positive views on family life that I may have had, even though I'd already known as much. But then I came to Earth, and was expected to love my son. And my mate.

And to my great astonishment, I found that I did. I'm not sure when the realisation finally hit me, but one day I woke up, rolled over to glance at the woman, and it dawned on me how much I loved her and the brat.

As it can be imagined, I refused to get out of bed that day.

Kakarot's brat is still shaking me, still shouting “WHY!” at me, but I don't have time to answer him. I crouch down so I am eye level with him, and punch him in the stomach. That shuts him up effectively as he gasps, falls to his knees, clutching his stomach, hair turned black before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

I straighten up as the Namekian lands gracefully and walks towards me. We stare at each other for a moment, before he gasps, and our attention is drawn to the merrily humming Majin Buu strolling towards us. He reminds me unpleasantly of Dodoria for a second, but I shake it off. I need to concentrate on now, not dwell in the past. It's all I ever seem to do.

“Me big mad! Which guy hit Buu?”

without taking my eyes off him, I say to Piccolo, “Take the two boys as far away from here as possible. Go now.”

“Of course,” he scoops the two under his arms, as I walk away a bit.

“It's time,” I state simply, “hurry.”

You need to get my son out of here before he gets really hurt. And Kakarot's brat too, although I don't admit that even to myself.

Piccolo stops and turns to face me, “you'll die,” he states seriously, “you know that.”

I smirk what the woman calls my `Vegeta-smirk'. I've been dead before.

“There is one thing I'd like to know. Tell me. Will I meet that clown Kakarot in the other world?” it's the one thing I really want to know.

“I'm not going to lie to you Vegeta, although the answer may be difficult for you to hear,” I know what's coming, but I'll let him tell me anyway, “this is the truth. Goku devoted his life to protecting the lives of others. Because of his selflessness, when he died he was allowed to keep his body and travel to King Kai's planet. You, on the other hand, have spent your life in pursuit of your own selfish desires; you've caused too much pain. When you die, you will not receive the same reward.”

“Oh well,” I sound like I don't care and truthfully, I don't. Of course I don't want to go to Hell or wherever, but it's not going to stop me from doing what I've decided to do, “so be it.”

Buu is almost right in front of us now, still humming obnoxiously.

“That will be all. Get out of here. And hurry!”

Piccolo blasts off, taking my son away from me for the final time, as Majin Buu reaches me and comes to a halt.

“you stay!” he commands, “you fight Buu!”

“Yes!” I agree, “that's right! Your fight is with me! The others are of no concern to you! Got it? You big bloated balloon freak!”

Buu makes an angry wail, steam coming out of the holes in his head, making whistling noises and putting me in mind of a fat, pink kettle.

“Me no like you!” he informs me, “Buu angry!”

I snigger, and ore steam comes out of his head.

“You talk mean to Buu? Me make you hurt bad!”

Another chuckle, more steam.

“Buu get big mad now! Me want fight!”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I vaguely register how ridiculous this conversation is, but that's of no concern to me now. I need to give Piccolo time to escape.

“I think I finally understand you,” I say to the creature in front of me, “let's go!”

He looks nonplussed. Obviously, this wasn't the answer he was expecting. Evidently, he doesn't know Saiyans very well.

I power up, my golden aura flaring, sending dust flying everywhere. Rocks and boulders shatter, sending fractures everywhere.

Buu grins, “you look tasty! Me make you chocolate! Or maybe make you cracker and cheese!”

I chuckle again, smirking. It seems the fitting expression right now. It seems the way I should be remembered.

“You are a fool. I am going to crush you…and throw you into the wind!”

Buu looks at his hands in confusion, but I keep on smirking.

Trunks, Bulma, I do this for you…and yes, even for you, Kakarot. I do it for everyone on this pathetic little mudball.

All my life, I've been selfish. I have never thought of others, only ever, as Piccolo put it, `pursued my own selfish desires'. And I know what that makes me. It makes me weak. I am weak, and have been my whole life.

I roar as I extend my power, raising it as high as it will go, allowing it to engulf both me and Majin Buu. I feel the heat from my blast; feel my organs roasting, my hair burning, my skin frying, my eyeballs melting in their sockets. Yet, surprisingly, I feel no pain. Because for the first time, I am fighting for someone other than myself.

For the first time in my whole goddamned life, I am strong.