Dragonball Super Z
http://hometown.aol.com/juuhachigouda/dbszfic.html
By: Juuhachi-gou <juuhachigouda@aol.com> and MiraiBulma
Dragonball Z

Dead Souls:
Part One
"Someone Take These Dreams Away"


someone take these dreams away 
that point me to another day 

~*~

	The mid-morning sun shone dazzling light over the treetops. This 
was one of the few green places left on Earth, one of the few patches 
of woodland that hadn’t been burnt or blasted down when the 
jinzouningen rampaged over the face of the planet, killing everything 
in sight. In the nearly four years since young Trunks returned from the 
past, the scattered survivors of two decades of terror had been slowly 
rebuilding their lives. One of those survivors lived here, near the 
clustered treetops and rolling mountains that hid the broken skyline of 
the old city from view.
	Hanging her meager washing to dry in the early summer breeze, 
ChiChi paused in her work for a moment and looked back at the house 
Gokou had built for them both to live in. It’d never been attacked by 
the jinzouningen-- it stood the way Gokou had made it to stand, a 
cheerful little dome under the high vault of the heavens. It had always 
been sturdy enough to withstand the normal stresses of the elements; 
the interior was always cool in the summer, warm in the winter. It was 
a good home, even if it did seem horribly empty now.
	Her sight blurred, and ChiChi buried her face in the sheet she’d 
just hung on the line and let herself cry for a minute. She never let 
her father see her cry; he was getting so old, and she worked hard to 
make sure he would be comfortable in his last years. He was inside, 
sleeping late as he’d taken to doing; she was glad he couldn’t see her 
right now.
	"Gokou," she sobbed, "Go...Gohan-chan..." She’d done it again 
this morning--she’d made too much rice for just herself and her father. 
She was just too used to it; Gohan had had such a healthy appetite, 
just like Gokou’s...even after almost eight years, she still forgot 
occasionally and she found herself having to throw out most of what she 
cooked for the day’s use. She didn’t want her son--her baby--to be 
dead, and some part of her still couldn’t accept it. The sorrow she had 
carried for so many years, the shattering loss of Gokou--her husband, 
her love, her whole world--was compounded and sharpened by Gohan’s 
horrible death to the point that she could barely stand to be alive 
anymore. Only caring for her aging father kept her broken heart 
beating.
	She straightened up and wiped her eyes with the corner of the 
sheet, then picked up the basket of fresh-washed laundry to move 
farther down the clothesline. A hint of movement over the trees caught 
her eye, and she looked off to the west. Two specks hung in the sky; as 
ChiChi watched, she managed to determine that they were actually 
people, although still too distant to make out any details. Trunks and 
Juuhachi-gou? I hope so; maybe they can help me get rid of some of the 
extra food. Trunks-kun has always had a healthy appetite...I can’t 
really say I care much for the jinzouningen, but I’m trying so hard to 
be forgiving, even if she did kill...kill my...She blinked hard to 
forestall more tears. Bulma had patiently explained, numerous times, 
that Juuhachi-gou was no longer an enemy and only wanted to make up for 
what she had done. But can she bring back my Gohan? Can she make Gokou 
return?--No, Gokou wasn’t really her fault, and she was more or less 
insane when Gohan died...oh no I’m not going to cry again!!! She took a 
deep breath and scrubbed her sleeve across her eyes, looking up to 
greet her visitors.
	Strange...Juuhachi-gou’s much smaller than Trunks, but these two 
look about the same size. And--wait...they both have...dark hair...?!
	She blinked, again and again. At first she thought it must be a 
trick of the sunlight; then she thought her eyes must have been going 
bad. Finally, when the pair of too-familiar figures touched down in 
front of the house, ChiChi was absolutely convinced she had finally, 
mercifully, taken leave of her senses.
	"Ahh...we’re home!" Son Gokou stood tall in the morning sun, tall 
and magnificent as he’d been in the prime of his youth. The summer 
breeze stirred his unkempt black hair, tousling it over his wide, 
cheerful eyes. He looked at the house with a mixture of nostalgia and 
deep longing. "It’s been such a long time..."
	"Hai, Otou-san," Gohan agreed. As tall as his father, and nearly 
as muscular, the younger Son stepped up to stand beside Gokou. "It’s 
good to be home, na?"
	"Sou." Gokou’s eyes swept the yard, finally coming to rest on the 
woman who stood staring at them in blank disbelief. "ChiChi!" His face 
broke out into a delighted grin. 
	To her credit, for once in her life ChiChi didn’t faint. 	"Go...ko...u...???"
	Gokou opened his mouth to answer--but his stomach spoke first, 
growling so loud it almost echoed over the treetops. With a little 
scowl, Gokou rubbed his midsection. "Anou...ChiChi...are we too early 
for breakfast? I’m starving!"
	With a sound that was half laugh, half sob, ChiChi cast her 
laundry basket aside and ran headlong into her husband’s arms, sobbing 
against his chest. 
	Gokou, startled, patted her back clumsily. "ChiChi, I’m sorry...I 
didn’t mean to hurt your feelings! Do you want us to go out to get 
something to eat?"
	"I think she’s glad to see us, Otou-san." Gohan looked at his 
father with mild reproach. Out of the corner of his mouth he said, "I 
told you we should have called ahead."
	Gokou replied in similar fashion, "Maybe, but I wanted to 
surprise her!"
	"I think we did."
	"Gohan-chan!" ChiChi hurled herself at her son, still weeping 
mightily. "My baby! My baby!!!"
	Gohan hugged his mother tightly to him. "I missed you too, Okaa-
san," he said softly.
	The front window swung open and a large gray-bearded head 
appeared. "What’s all this noise? What’s going on--GOKOU!!!" The Ox 
King gaped at the two men in the yard being wept all over, each in 
turn, by his daughter. "Gokou! Gohan! How in the world--?! Is it really 
you?"
	"Hai, Oo-sama," Gokou grinned, raising his hand in greeting. 
"ChiChi, it’s okay, really! Please don’t cry anymore...you’ll make 
yourself sick if you keep this up!"
	The Ox King had lived entirely too long and had seen entirely too 
many strange things not to take the sudden unexplained resurrection of 
his son-in-law and grandson in his massive stride. He was surprised--
oh, yes, possibly even taken aback--but he held steady, as he always 
had. "Well, the things that happen these days...! Hurry, boys, bring 
ChiChi in before she floods the valley."
	Gohan nodded. "Come on, Otou-san...let’s go inside, hm?"
	"Yosh’!" Gokou agreed, scooping the weeping ChiChi up in his 
arms. Struggling for self-control, she clung to him as though afraid he 
might suddenly vanish. She wiped her tears away with a trembling hand 
and looked up into a face she’d only seen in photographs for twenty 
long, lonely years.
	Gokou smiled down at her, his wide dark eyes tender and loving. 
It didn’t matter at that moment that he was as young and handsome as 
he’d been the last day of his life. It didn’t matter that she’d gone on 
aging without him, almost an old woman now, nearly fifty. It didn’t 
even matter that even in her youth she’d never been a great beauty--not 
like Bulma. None of that mattered to Gokou. He looked at her now with 
the tenderest expression of longing fulfilled, drinking in the sight of 
her, treasuring her presence as though she were the most precious thing 
on Earth. He had missed her. That sudden, shocking revelation was 
almost enough to break her mending heart all over again. She had spent 
so many years missing him so terribly...it had never once occurred to 
her that, wherever his restless spirit was, he might be missing her 
every bit as much. In his eyes, she wasn’t an old woman at all. In his 
eyes, she was beautiful, as in his eyes she had always been. Because he 
loved her as much as she loved him, and always had, and always would.
	"I’m hungry," he said softly. "Let’s go in and have breakfast, 
okay?"
	Smiling shakily, ChiChi nodded and wrapped her arms securely 
around his neck. "I think I made just enough this morning."

~*~

	High above the surface of the Earth, at the top of the sky, Dende 
nodded once, sight beyond sight watching the reunion of the Son family. 
"The healing continues," he said softly. Thrust unready and unwilling 
into the role of God for this one small world among many, he’d accepted 
his destiny, as was his nature, but he had never rested easily with 
it...at least not before now. Now was a time of recovery, of 
restoration, of reconciliation, and for that Dende was glad. 
	He sighed and opened his eyes and wondered for a moment what the 
Elders on New Namek-sei were thinking and doing. Best not to wonder, he 
supposed; most Namekseijin were born to a single task, their entire 
being revolving around that singular purpose, never swerving from it. 
They couldn’t conceive of being called upon to do anything different 
than their lives’ chosen path. Only a rare few could change course and 
explore new avenues of thinking, acting, living. The previous Kami had 
been such a one; Piccolo was one now; and he, Dende....well...uneasy as 
he felt sometimes, he was still able to carry out the sacred duty of 
Kami-sama. 
	"Perhaps it isn’t so very different from what you were born to 
do," a deep voice commented. "You are a healer by nature, and Earth has 
needed a healing for many years."
	"Mr. Popo." Dende turned with a slight smile. "Are my thoughts 
that transparent, or obtrusive?"
	"No." The small round black figure smiled a bit. "But I know the 
doubts you carry about yourself. All of us do. In our own eyes we’re 
often not enough to meet a challenge, but really the strength is in us 
all along." Mr. Popo waved a hand at the small green world below them. 
"Already you’ve accomplished more than anyone expected--most of all 
you."
	"Hai, hontou ni. You’re absolutely right." Dende turned to look 
earthward again. "But there’s so much left to be done."
	"If there wasn’t," Mr. Popo observed, "the worlds wouldn’t need 
guardians. Or great heroes like the Z Senshi."

~*~

	The morning light shining off the white ceiling finally 
brightened enough to make Bulma groan and turn over in bed. When she 
did a myriad of small aches and pains coupled with a throb of protest 
from her arm brought her all the way awake. Blinking, she stared at the 
cast for a second; then memory slammed into place and she looked to the 
other side of the mattress.
	Empty, but there was an impression of a head still on the pillow, 
and when she picked it up and brought to her face, inhaled, tears 
pricked at the back of her eyes. His scent; Vegeta’s. He had been here 
last night, his arms drawing her in and wrapping around her as she 
faded into sleep...
	But where was he now?
	She looked at the bedside clock and gasped-- it was almost eight 
in the morning, almost an hour and a half later than she usually slept 
in. Instantly she got up, staggered a little as her legs wobbled, and 
found a dressing gown, wrapped it around herself. Now that she was a 
little more awake, she could hear something from outside; the sound of 
flesh on flesh, blows exchanged and dodged. Walking to the balcony 
window, she opened it and looked down.
	In the side yard, where her mother had once had a garden, Vegeta 
and Trunks were sparring. Trunks had his sword out and was lashing at 
his father, forcing him back. Almost, almost, Bulma called down to 
them, wanting them to stop before someone got hurt...but she didn’t. 
Instead, she watched quietly. If she’d learned nothing else in her life 
among the Saiyajin, she’d learned that fighting was more than a skill 
or even an art with them. It shaped everything they did, said, felt, 
thought and believed, one way or another. *They’re bonding*, she 
thought. *Finding the common ground where they can meet and understand 
each other--where Vegeta can accept Trunks as the son he’s never known, 
and Trunks can learn his father’s as mortal and fault-filled as the 
rest of us...* One corner of Bulma’s mouth turned up. *Okay...maybe 
Vegeta is overloaded when it comes to faults.*
	With a blur of speed, Vegeta ran in at Trunks, throwing himself 
into a slide and passing under an arc of the blade to come up inside 
the young man’s guard. With a snarling laugh he rammed an elbow into 
Trunks’ midriff, the other hand grabbing at the hilt of the sword. 
Trunks grunted and half-crumpled, but doggedly clung to his weapon, 
bringing a knee up at Vegeta’s groin. The older Saiyajin sidestepped, 
but changing stance weakened his grip on the sword, and Trunks wrenched 
free, jumped backwards. Undeterred, Vegeta shot up into the air, then 
barreled down at Trunks out of the morning sun. Trunks dove forward 
into a tuck and roll to avoid the attack and came up, throwing his 
sword up at the same instant and leaning to let it fall into the sheath 
as his hands wove a pattern in the air. "BURNING ATTACK!" 
	Vegeta rolled in midair, the ki blast grazing along his side and 
scorching through his armor, and thrust his own hands out in a back-
and-forth motion, punching the air in front of him. "RENZOKU ENERGY 
DAAAAN!" Hundreds of small ki shots leapt forward, chewing up the 
ground around Trunks as he dodged and leapt and rolled to avoid them. 
Choosing his moment, the Saiyajin prince lunged forward and slammed a 
fist hard into Trunks’ stomach, followed with an uppercut that sent the 
boy skidding along the ground into a chunk of fallen masonry.
	As Trunks tried to sit up, a booted foot descended and drove him 
flat on his back. He looked up into his father’s face, gasping. Vegeta 
was smirking down at him, arms folded. "Is that the best you can do?" 
he said mockingly.
	By way of answer Trunks grabbed at Vegeta’s ankle and rolled, 
summoning his ki as he wrenched Vegeta off balance. Gold fire exploded 
around him as he tossed the other man to the ground and came to his 
feet, pouncing at Vegeta, fist cocked back for a punch.
	Vegeta also went Super Saiyajin and caught the blow; for a moment 
the two of them stood there, snarling into each other’s faces, hands 
locked as they jockeyed for position and leverage. Then Vegeta fell 
backwards, hooking one leg around the back of Trunks’ leg as he did, 
and flipped his son into the side of Capsule Corporation hard. Bulma 
winced as she felt the impact through her feet. "More repairs," she 
muttered crossly. 
	As Trunks struggled up out of the wrecked wall he felt a hand 
catch his shirtfront and haul him out. Panting, he looked at Vegeta, 
waiting for the next blow. 
	It didn’t fall.
	Instead, with a strange care, Vegeta set him on his feet, nodded 
once. "You’ll do," he said. "Kakarott’s brat didn’t do too bad a job 
teaching you to fight. I’m surprised."
	"It wasn’t all Gohan-san’s doing," Trunks said, wiping the blood 
from his mouth as he powered down.
	One dark eyebrow rose. "Nani?"
	For a moment Trunks didn’t answer, not knowing quite what to say. 
"In...the Past Time, where Gokou-san didn’t die...I spent a while 
there. Someone...trained me. In Kami-sama’s Room of Space and Time. He 
insisted on it." He looked his father in the eye. "You insisted on it."
	The other eyebrow rose. Then a faint smile crept into the 
Saiyajin’s eyes. "Did I now," he said softly, voice amused. "Good to 
see I had enough sense to correct any flaws Kakarott’s boy left in your 
training. I’m sure there were plenty." The amusement faded, replaced by 
a long measuring stare. Finally Vegeta’s hand rose; hesitated; then 
came to rest on Trunks’s shoulder. "Well, now it’s my turn to train 
you, and don’t think I’ll go easy on you--" his voice lowered until 
Trunks could barely hear it-- "ore no musuko."
	*My son.*
	Trunks fisted both hands, hard, feeling heat come into his eyes 
and seeing the world mist-waver for a moment as he blinked fiercely. 
"Hai, Papa," he said, proud of his voice for not shaking. "I’ll train 
hard."
	"Of Course you will." Vegeta released his hold and folded his 
arms, looking up at Trunks. "Every day, first thing in the morning, and 
every night before you sleep. With and without that pigsticker on your 
back." One fingertip flicked at the swordhilt. "Weapons can be taken 
away. You’ll learn to rely on your fists and feet first." Turning away, 
he jerked his head. "Training’s over for now. If she knows what’s good 
for her, that lazy mother of yours will get breakfast ready while we 
clean up." Vegeta looked up right into Bulma’s face and smirked. 
"Better get started, too, woman. I don’t plan to spend all day in the 
bath."
	"And just what do I look like, your servant?" Bulma started to 
put both hands on her hips, reconsidered, and settled for one.
	Vegeta looked her up and down. "Of course you’re not my servant. 
I’d never have such a stupid, stubborn, ugly wench serving me. However, 
since I’m stuck with you, I might as well get a decent day’s work out 
of your fat butt."
	"My...I’m....FAT BUTT?!?!" Bulma screamed and grabbed the nearest 
object (a pot of flowers) and hurled it at the Saiyajin’s head. He 
calmly tipped it to one side just enough to let the falling pot miss 
him without moving from where he was standing. "Your aim’s no better 
either, I see," he remarked calmly. "Just as I expected. You never 
could get anything right."
	"OOOooh!" Gritting her teeth, Bulma launched into a litany of the 
worst abuse she could manage--which was just about enough to take the 
paint off a battleship at 500 yards. Trunks’s eyes got progressively 
wider as his mother’s furious tirade continued, covering Vegeta, his 
ancestry, his personal qualities, and the interestingly painful things 
she planned to do to her mate given a reasonable amount of time and the 
proper equipment (including, but not limited to, fire ants, red-hot 
pokers, and a good quality kitchen cleaver).
	"--And NAIL IT TO THE WALL!" Bulma concluded, shaking a fist at 
Vegeta.
	"You’re wasting time," Vegeta replied, floating up to the balcony 
to stand at eye level with her. "The longer you stand out here and 
screech like a harridan, the hungrier I get. Better get moving before I 
have to...chastise you."
	"You and what army?!?" 
	"I don’t need an army to handle you, woman." One hand shot out 
and cupped Bulma’s chin, and before she could react Vegeta had leaned 
in and closed her mouth with his own. Even from where he stood Trunks 
could see Bulma’s eyes widen in surprise, then slide slowly shut as she 
returned the kiss. Then he half turned away, trying to give them the 
moment to themselves, but curiosity won out; a second or two later he 
glanced back over his shoulder. By this time Vegeta had drawn back and 
was looking directly into Bulma’s eyes, hands resting on the edge of 
the balcony, face unreadable. Bulma’s expression, on the other hand, 
was full of a shy, delicate wonder that gave her the illusion of being 
the girl she had been, years ago, when this man first walked into her 
life. *He’s never kissed her like that before*, Trunks thought. *Not so 
openly, where anyone could see. I think... I think things are going to 
be very different in this lifetime, for them both.*
	With a snort Vegeta broke the tableau by taking Bulma’s 
shoulders, turning her around, and whacking her backside lightly. 
"Breakfast, woman," he ordered. "Now. I’m tired of waiting for your 
feeble brain to kick in."
	"Hmph!" Rubbing where he’d swatted, Bulma headed inside to get 
dressed and go downstairs, pausing at the doorway long enough to fling 
one final insult before she vanished: "Beast!"
	Putting one hand behind his head, Trunks drew a long, long 
breath. It looks like things are going to get a lot noisier around 
here, too. "Ah...Papa...does Mamma always carry on like that when 
you’re around?"
	Vegeta considered the question. "No. Sometimes she’s worse." His 
lips curled mockingly. "But I always win."

~*~

	"Ahhhhhh!" Gokou leaned back, drew an arm over his mouth, and 
rubbed his stomach. "Oishii!"
	"Hai," Gohan agreed, pushing back from the table himself. "I feel 
so full, I can’t even think about eating!"
	"I can," his father answered, then added, "but not any more right 
now!"
	"You’re sure? I can make some more you know. It won’t be any 
problem. I can make you all the food you want!" ChiChi caught herself, 
shook her head. "Oh, goodness, I’m babbling aren’t I?"
	"Just a little, ChiChi." Ox King smiled at his daughter. "But 
that’s okay, you know, this is a very happy day!"
	"It’s the happiest day of my life..." ChiChi wrapped her arms 
around one of Gokou’s and rested her head on his shoulder. He blinked, 
then smiled and leaned his cheek into her hair. 
	"What I want to know is how did you two get back?" Ox King 
continued. "I mean, we heard Piccolo had returned from the dead, but it 
couldn’t have been the Dragon Balls--you’ve been gone too long."
	"Well, Ojii-san, it was Bulma-san’s doing mostly," Gohan said. 
"She had some help from Kami-sama, but without her nothing would’ve 
come of it. Oh, and, um... Juuhachi-gou... she helped too. I think." 
	"Bulma... and Juuhachi-gou?" ChiChi straightened, eyes wide. "We 
heard she’d--the jinzouningen, I mean--had come back and was a friend 
instead of an enemy now... I personally wasn’t too sure, mind you, but 
if you say she helped, Gohan-chan, then--EEE!" Letting go of Gokou’s 
arm, ChiChi swatted at her leg, then stopped, reached down and grabbed 
something. She stared at it for a moment, then shrilled, "G-G-GOKOU!"
	"Hm?" The Saiyajin looked down also. "Oh! Hai, gomen ne, 
ChiChi." Neatly his tail whisked itself out of her grip and curled back 
around his waist. "I guess it’s as happy to see you as I am."
	"That...was...your...tail," ChiChi forced out, still staring.
	"Hai. When we came back, we all had our tails again."
	ChiChi reached out, touched the furry length where it lay coiled 
around her husband’s midriff. It unrolled and rose up at her touch, 
waving gently in the air, and before she could react the very tip end 
flickered under her chin, tickling it. She gasped, then got a good look 
at the mischief in Gokou’s eyes, and laughed. "Oh, Gokou! You’re 
teasing me!"
	"Sukoshi," Gokou admitted, then laughed as well.
	"Well, I guess I’d better get into the kitchen and start washing 
up." ChiChi sighed, looking at the sink, piled high with dishes. 
Somehow, she didn’t even mind the mess in there, she decided. Then a 
second thought occurred and she gasped, one hand covering her mouth. 
"Whatever am I going to fix for dinner? I don’t have nearly enough food 
in the pantry for all four of us! I need to go shopping right away."
	"I can go for you, Okaa-san," Gohan volunteered. "I want to get 
out and see what everything looks like, anyway."
	"That’s a good idea, Gohan," Gokou said, nodding. "Take Oo-sama 
with you to show you around. –You’ve still got plenty of money, ne, 
ChiChi?"
	"Hai. I saved every zenni you made from the Budokai. Not that it 
was ever very much, since somehow things always happened to keep you 
from getting the winner’s purse... but never mind, there’s still enough 
left. Hold on, Gohan-chan, I’ll get you some." ChiChi bustled off to 
the front room, where she knelt by the little fireplace and drew out a 
loosened stone, revealing a small metal box from which she drew a 
handful of bills. She counted them over carefully and gave half to 
Gohan. "Now, you know what I need," she said. "I know I can trust you 
to remember that, Gohan-chan. And you two be careful! Just because that 
wicked Juunana-gou is gone doesn’t mean the roads are safe. Don’t talk 
to strangers and watch out for bandits!"
	Gohan smiled at his mother, remembering all the times he’d run 
this very same errand, and all the times she’d given him almost the 
exact same warning. "Hai."
	ChiChi stood at the door to watch them off, then turned to find 
Gokou standing almost directly behind her. "Oh! Gokou, what did you 
want?"
	Gokou didn’t say anything at first. Instead, his hands cradled 
her cheeks and tipped her face up so he could study it. ChiChi 
swallowed, suddenly nervous, wondering what he was thinking. 
"Go..Gokou?" she asked softly.
	"ChiChi." Gokou’s eyes crinkled as he grinned. "I need a bath, 
will you scrub my back?"
	"What?"
	"Course, I splash a lot, so you might want to change into 
something that won’t get hurt if it’s wet. Your birthday suit would be 
okay I think."
	"My birthday suit? But, Gokou, that’s--" Abruptly ChiChi realized 
what her husband was really asking, and exactly why he’d suggested 
Gohan take her father along on the trip to town. She promptly blushed 
clear up to the roots of her hair. "GoKOU! In the middle of the day?!"
	"Yeah." In one swift move Gokou picked ChiChi up and headed up 
the stairs towards the bath.

~*~

	"...A menace! We all know what they did, how they destroyed our 
world! Look around! Our homes, our families, everything we held 
special, it’s all been ruined! How do we know we can trust her? This 
could all be some kind of trick to take us off our guard..."
	Gohan paused outside the grocery store and leaned on the handle 
of the shopping cart, watching the young dark-haired woman as she 
alternately pleaded with and lectured the people moving down the 
sidewalks of New Hope City. Although some stopped to listen, most only 
gave her a cursory glance, and of those who listened not one seemed to 
pay her any real heed. As he continued to watch, she sat down 
dejectedly on a bit of broken stone from one of the buildings and put 
her face in her hands. When her shoulders started shaking Gohan 
couldn’t bear it any more. "Oo-sama, who’s that?" he asked softly. 
"That girl."
	"Hm? Oh, that’s Videl. You remember Mr. Satan, don’t you?"
	"The World’s Champion? Hai, who wouldn’t?"
	"That’s his daughter."
	"D-D-Daughter?!" Gohan’s eyes tripled in size momentarily. 
	The Ox King laughed. "Don’t ask me who the poor woman who married 
him was!" Then he sobered. "They’re both dead now, from what I hear. 
It’s said he died fighting the androids."
	Slowly Gohan nodded. "Would, would you take the groceries to the 
aircar? I want to talk to her for a minute."
	"Of course."
	Wandering over, Gohan knelt by Videl. "Uh... o-jama desho ga, 
demo..."
	"Oh!" Videl sat up, hastily wiping her eyes, and glanced at the 
young man, then looked again. He was about her own age, with a sweet, 
open face and wise eyes. Something about him was so reassuring, so 
calming that she immediately relaxed. "It’s okay, you’re not bothering 
me." She tilted her head, looking at him. "I’m Videl...Do, do I know 
you?"
	"I don’t think so." Gohan bobbed a hasty bow. "Please let me 
introduce myself. I’m Gohan, Son Gohan. I couldn’t help noticing you 
looked very sad..."
	"Hai." The young woman gave a bitter little laugh. "More 
discouraged, really. No one will listen to me, and it’s so 
frustrating." She slammed her fists down on her knees hard. "No one 
wants to disagree with their meal ticket--" she jerked her chin in the 
general direction of Capsule Corporation.
	"Meal ticket? I don’t understand."
	"Bulma." Videl almost made it a curse, then stopped and shook her 
head. "No, I can’t blame her for being taken in too. It’s just, I 
thought, she’s so smart and everything, you would think she’d 
understand we can’t take that... that thing’s word about anything." She 
looked at Gohan helplessly. "People around here have a lot to thank her 
for, and so they’re only too happy to pay attention to what Bulma says, 
and when someone comes along to contradict her, of course they’re 
troublemakers."
	"Thing..." Gohan glanced in the direction of Capsule Corporation 
too. "You mean the jinzouningen, Juuhachi-gou?"
	"What else?" Videl’s eyes flashed anger. "That witch killed my 
father. It and its devil of a ‘brother’. Now it’s living up there. And 
they don’t even mind, Bulma or her son! They even seem to like it!"
	"Well, you know, people change," Gohan ventured cautiously.
	"That’s just it! The jinzouningen’s not a person. It’s just a 
clockwork mannequin. There’s nothing real or human about it. How could 
there be? Look at all the terrible things the jinzouningen did. 
Wouldn’t a human being have had even a little conscience or 
compassion?" Videl held up her hands. "Nothing stopped them, they cared 
about nothing and no one. As long as Juuhachi-gou’s here, we’re all in 
danger. Any day now it’ll drop the act and mow us down like so many 
blind, trusting rabbits. Gohan-san, you believe me, don’t you?"
	"I...." Gohan shook his head. "I haven’t seen her do anything 
like that."
	With a little start Videl drew back. "You’ve been around her? A 
lot?"
	"Well, Bulma-san is sort of a family friend. She’s known my Otou-
san for a long time."
	"Then it’s useless." Videl turned her face away, but not before 
Gohan caught a hint of the despair in her eyes. "You really won’t 
listen to me."
	"That’s not true! I--" Gohan broke off as the Ox King honked the 
horn of the car and leaned out, waving, "Oi, Gohan!" he bellowed. "Some 
of this stuff needs refrigeration, you know! We need to get back before 
it spoils."
	"You go on." Mustering a smile, Videl stood and bowed. "You were 
nice to me, anyway... arigatou, Gohan-san."
	"Listen..." Gohan fidgeted, then burst out, "listen, Videl-chan, 
I’d like to talk to you some more sometime. I promise I’ll listen, I’m 
a really good listener." 
	"That’s a lot of ‘listening’ you did just now in that last 
sentence," Videl teased, one brow arching.
	Gohan groaned and whapped himself in the forehead with one palm. 
"Baka na," he growled at himself.
	"Gohan-san.... Nanimo. Wakatta." Videl’s smile brightened a bit 
as she added, softly, "I’d like to talk to you some more too."
	"Sou ka?! Yosh’!" 
	"Gohaaaaan!" Another beep of the horn. Gohan impulsively reached 
out and took Videl’s hands, held them a second. "Where can I meet 
you?" he asked.
	"Um... oh... I don’t know--wait! You’re from around here, ne?" At 
Gohan’s nod she added, "Do you remember the old Lion Park? Down near 
the Orange Star High School?"
	"Hai!"
	"We’ll meet there!" Hastily Videl dug around in her pockets, came 
up with a scrap of paper and scribbled something on it, pushed it into 
Gohan’s hands. "This is my phone number--call me and let’s work out a 
day to meet!"
	"I will! –Oi, oi, Oo-sama, I’m coming!" Gohan raced to the car, 
hopped in, and waved out the side window as they drove away. To her 
surprise, Videl caught herself waving back... and hoping very much that 
the young man would keep his word.

~*~

	With a long sigh Bulma stared at the wreck and ruin of the 
evening meal. *One Saiyajin makes a mess. Two make a disaster*, she 
thought wryly. *I managed to teach Trunks some manners, but I might as 
well forget it where Vegeta’s concerned.* She stood, wincing a bit--she 
was so stiff and sore, and little wonder; Juunana-gou had worked her 
over pretty well the day before.
	"Are you all right?"
	Bulma turned and gave the speaker a smile. "A bit more achy than 
usual, but I’ll be fine. Though this arm’s going to give me twice as 
much misery from now on when it rains--" she gestured at the cast. "I 
already had a touch of bursitis in the shoulder." She tipped her head. 
"Any particular reason you avoided breakfast, or should I ask?"
	"Your husband." Juuhachi-gou folded her arms and leaned against 
the wall. "He doesn’t like me."
	"That’s an understatement." Bulma shook her head. "He’ll get over 
it."
	"Will he, Bulma? Men like Vegeta hold grudges a long time."
	Bulma’s mouth tightened. "He’ll get over it if I have to take a 
LAW rocket and tattoo the news that you’re on our side now on it, then 
fire it point-blank into his ear."
	"He’d probably just complain of a mild earache." The cyborg 
sighed. "Bursitis, you said? Are you taking anything for it?"
	"Not much of anything to take for it, Juu-chan. Just part of 
growing old." Bulma began gathering the myriad of plates and bowls 
scattered over the table into neat stacks. "I’m in my fifties, you 
know."
	Juuhachi-gou permitted herself a faint smile. "You don’t look 
it."
	"Flatterer." The other woman also smiled. "Well, my family has a 
penchant for looking pretty good as they get older, but it’s the inside 
that counts at this point." She slowed and stopped, staring down at the 
table but not seeing it, a sadness stealing into her expression. "I 
always wanted a little girl," she said, almost to herself. "A sister 
for Trunks. He was such a perfect baby."
	"Is it too late already?" Juuhachi-gou moved over and began to 
stack dishes also, watching Bulma as she did.
	Bulma nodded slowly. "Hai. About a year, year and a half ago. No 
more children." Suddenly she sat down. "We’ve lost so much time, Juu-
chan..." One hand crept up to cover her eyes, hide the moisture 
gathering there. "It used to be we were a year, maybe two, apart in 
age. At least that’s what we figured out once. He’s about five years 
older than Gokou, you know, Vegeta is."
	"Sou ka?" Juuhachi-gou blinked.
	"Hai. Now I’m not just old enough to be Trunks’ mother; I’m old 
enough to be Vegeta’s mother. How will he deal with it, when... when I 
really start showing and feeling my age?"
	Juuhachi-gou put down the handful of china she’d picked up and 
moved over to put her hands on Bulma’s shoulders. "That won’t be for 
several years yet, ne?" she said softly. "It’s not as if you’re 
tottering on the edge of the grave. Are you that afraid of growing old, 
Bulma?"
	"N... No..." Bulma looked up, trying to pull herself together. 
"Just... of growing old before Vegeta does. Half my life’s over 
already. I’ll never have that time back again, never be able to share 
it with him."
	Unseen and unnoticed by either woman, a shadow moved in the 
hallway. Drawing back from the edge of the door, Vegeta scowled. He’d 
felt the jinzouningen’s presence in the dining area after he and Trunks 
had departed, and had sent the boy off on some pretext while he circled 
round to watch her. He’d half hoped she would try something with Bulma 
so he would have a ready excuse to kill her, but she wasn’t harming his 
mate... for now anyway... so he’d dismissed the pleasant idea of 
dismantling the wind-up toy till another day. 
	It was the subject of conversation that held his full attention 
now. What did Bulma mean, half her life was over? The scowl turned more 
thoughtful as Vegeta remembered Kamesennin making remarks about being 
‘a frail old man’. Was that what age meant to humans? Saiyajin didn’t 
become weaker as their years advanced; those who outlived their enemies 
usually just stopped breathing in their sleep one day when their lives 
were done. But this ‘age’ business, now... 
	Would that, was that, happening to Bulma now?
	He growled softly under his breath, irritated (and, on some 
deeper level that he wouldn’t admit but had to acknowledge, worried). 
*One more thing humans can’t get right. What complete and monumental 
idiot thought it made sense for them to wither away with the years? I 
won’t have it. I didn’t suffer through a decade without a body, then 
put up with Kakarott in Heaven for another decade, just to have Bulma 
dry up and blow away on me. I refuse to let it happen. There must be a 
solution, somewhere, if I have to beat it out of Kaiou-sama or Kami-
sama or Enma-sama themselves.*
	Turning on his heel, Vegeta paced away. 

~*~

	Somewhere beyond space and time, something stirred.
	It had only a shadow of form, no real substance at all; nothing 
but will. Yet, even without a body, burning eyes studied a tall cliff 
with a thin cleft down the middle, currently being watched by two 
horned figures. 
	For years it no longer remembered it’d sought a way out of its 
current imprisonment, striving to return to the material world. There 
was so much left unfinished... destiny’s cruelty couldn’t be forgiven 
or forgotten. Not even Hell could banish those memories.
	It’d despaired of ever leaving until one day it’d overheard two 
oni talking, discussing a mortal, a soul that had fallen into Hell and 
escaped again. How, they didn’t say, but the mere idea had sparked a 
savage hope. Over time without time information had been gathered, 
stories sifted through and rejected, until finally, finally...
	No prayers; the heavens had rejected its prayers once. Only 
patience.
	"So what’s the word from up top?" one oni asked, scratching his 
arm idly and letting his club drop to the ground.
	"Enma-sama’s finally getting his backlog of souls from Chikyu 
cleared up a little, my cousin says," the other oni answered. "Though I 
hear it’s still standing room only in the Palace."
	"About time! Things are so crowded down here already it’s a 
wonder we can keep our eyes on everything." The oni paused, glared over 
at a small group of drifting clouds that were squeaking among 
themselves. "Hey, you losers! Move on! This is Hell, not a holiday 
tour!"
	The ‘clouds’--in reality, souls--drew back a bit, one smaller one 
nudging into a larger one. The larger squeaked more loudly and promptly 
launched itself at the smaller. A furious tussle broke out, with the 
two souls rapidly joined by more, seemingly from nowhere, until half 
the air seemed filled with furiously roiling spirits.
	"Hey! Cut that out! Ah, look at that, we better go break this 
up!"
	"Wait a second, wait a second, Enma-sama told us to guard this 
passage back up to his antechamber--"
	"He also told us to keep things orderly and calm down here. YOU 
want to explain to him why we let a riot go on?"
	As the oni argued, the watcher slipped from its hiding place and 
shot silent and low over the ground, flattened as much as possible for 
concealment. It reached the crack and darted in, never slowing. The 
others had bought it the time it needed. Everything else was up to it.
	This time, nothing would stand in its way.
	Nothing.

~*~

	The ruined streets stretched out in all directions, a maze 
without end or beginning. He wandered down them, looking, listening. 
Nothing moved but papers in the wind. 
	Where were all the people?
	A few spatters of rain gusted down; he ignored them. There was a 
cold feeling in the pit of his stomach as every sense told him he was 
alone. 
	Where were all the people?!
	As he rounded a corner, a splash of color against the gray 
rubble, brilliant, fresh... red.
	Blood red.
	He sprinted forward and knelt to touch the wet crimson blotch, 
felt its slippery stickiness on his fingers. The dread inside became a 
fist, clenching on his heart. "Is anyone here?" he shouted. "Oi! 
Please, answer me!"
	No answer. Standing, he looked around, saw another patch of 
blood, and another... and another... leading to a crumpled form on the 
sidewalk. He ran to it, turned it over.
	*Piccolo.*
	Beyond that, a form draped over a shattered lamppost: *Vegeta.*
	Impaled on the broken glass of a storefront window: *Bulma.*
	Lying on his back, sightlessly staring up into the gathering 
clouds: *Trunks.*
	Half crushed under a chunk of masonry: *ChiChi.*
	And in the middle of the street, with a hole where his heart had 
been... *Gokou.*
	Slowly Gohan turned in a circle, eyes taking in the horror even 
as his soul screamed in protest. "No," he choked, falling to his knees 
beside Trunks. The thirteen-year-old’s eyes accused him wordlessly: 
*Where were you, Gohan-san? Why didn’t you help us?*
	"Welcome home."
	In one motion Gohan was on his feet, whirling to face the 
speaker. She smiled and stepped off the rooftop, smoothing her blonde 
hair back as she drifted to the ground. "Juu... Juuhachi-gou..." he 
stammered.
	"Sorry I left you out." The cyborg waved a negligent hand at the 
bodies. "If you’d been here earlier, you could’ve taken your place with 
them. As it is, I’m afraid I’ll just have to kill you all by 
yourself." She smiled. "You really didn’t believe me when I said I’d 
changed, did you? Machines don’t have consciences, Gohan-san. And I’m 
Dr. Gero’s best model." She made a face, looking at Trunks. "Though 
it’s a pity-- he’s a cute little boy, he would’ve been bishonen when he 
finished growing up."
	With a howl of rage, tears half-blinding him, Gohan raised his 
hands, cupping them to focus his will for a Kamehameha that would take 
that horrible, poison-sweet look off the jinzouningen’s face forever.
	But though he felt both hands there... only one appeared.
	Nothing but an empty sleeve flapped on the other side.
	Stunned, Gohan clutched at his shoulder, feeling the stump where 
his arm had been blasted away, and turned to Juuhachi-gou. "Doush'te?" 
he screamed. "WHY?!"
	"Silly." Juuhachi-gou giggled and leveled an arm at him. "Because 
Videl was right." 
	The light leapt at him, tearing into him, searing white pain 
everywhere--
	
	Gohan sat up in bed, both hands slamming over his mouth to hold 
in a shout, a cold sweat making him shudder in the early morning breeze 
from the open window. For a moment he had no idea where he was--how had 
he gotten inside from the street? Who had brought him inside, when 
everyone was dead?
	Hands. Hands over his mouth. 
	Slowly he removed them, glanced from one to the other. Both his. 
Swallowing, he collapsed back against the pillows, dragged an arm over 
his forehead. A dream, a nightmare. That was all.
	(Because Videl was right)
	"I guess part of me does believe her," he whispered aloud. 
Suddenly his bedroom seemed too close, almost stifling. Throwing off 
the bedcovers, Gohan moved over to his writing desk, scribbled a hasty 
note: ‘Gone for a walk. Couldn’t sleep. Back soon’ and taped it to his 
pillow, then pulled on his gi and stepped out the window. 
	The sky was still mostly dark, but towards the east a soft gold 
light had begun to bleach a blue streak across the night. Gohan flew 
slowly along, letting the wind whip the last tatters of the dream from 
his mind. 
	*But Videl has a point*, part of him said silently. *What if 
Juuhachi-gou is just waiting until we all lower our guard? She’s alone 
now. How much easier to have a little patience and take us all by 
surprise!...I need to talk to someone... but who? I can’t worry Okaa-
san or Otou-san with this. Vegeta-san already hates Juuhachi-gou-san 
enough, I don’t need to give him an excuse to kill her if she’s 
innocent. Trunks... Trunks-kun is too close to the problem. So is 
Bulma-san. Who does that leave?*
	A smile spread across his face. *It leaves someone I trust with 
my life.* Pausing in mid-flight, Gohan closed his eyes and reached out, 
feeling for one particular spirit among the many scattered over the 
face of the planet. It wasn’t hard to find the one he sought; almost as 
soon as he reached out, he felt someone reaching back, answering his 
call before it had time to grow a second old. He turned and headed in 
that direction at his best speed.
	Over the mountains Gohan slowed, coming to a stop beside a figure 
sitting cross-legged in the air, arms folded, eyes closed, head lowered 
slightly. "Piccolo-san," he said softly.
	"Gohan." The Namekseijin opened his eyes and fixed a piercing 
gaze on the young man. "You’re up early."
	"Anou...I... I couldn’t sleep."
	"Mm." Piccolo mulled that over, then shook his head. "Come on, 
kid. Spill it. What’s the real reason you’re out here?"
	"It’s that plain?"
	"You might as well be wearing a sign: ‘Piccolo, I’ve got a 
problem. Please fix.’"
	Gohan laughed. "You always did know me better than I knew 
myself." He also sat on nothing and stared down at the ground far 
below. "It’s Juuhachi-gou," he said finally. "Piccolo-san... how can we 
know? I mean, how can we really trust her after all the things that’ve 
happened?"
	"Oh, he’s asking me, the Demon King, who can be trusted."
	"Piccolo-san! You gave that up a long time ago. Besides, that was 
the you before you...I think...you know, I never really understood 
that--"
	"Never mind," interrupted Piccolo. "We’re talking about the 
jinzouningen, not me."
	"Hai."
	Piccolo turned to look at Gohan, and something in his expression 
softened, as it did for no other living being in all the universe. "Bad 
dream, I take it. Shook you up pretty bad, huh?" he murmured.
	Gohan nodded slowly.
	"Okay. On the level now. If you’re worried about Juuhachi-gou, 
don’t. Take it from me, there’s no evil in her. Never was, really. But 
the feel of her’s different now."
	"How can you say she wasn’t evil?!"
	"Is a rock evil, Gohan?"
	"Nani?"
	"Answer the question." Piccolo leaned over and thwapped Gohan 
solidly across the back of the head, hard enough to rock him forward a 
bit but nowhere near harming him.
	"Um...." Gohan frowned. "No."
	"Not even when it falls on you and crushes your foot?"
	"No, that’s just the way it’s..." the young man trailed off. 
"Ahhh..."
	"Now you’ve got the idea." Piccolo nodded. "The Artificial Humans 
were created to do what they did. That’s the way they were." 
	"Wakatta." Gohan chewed his lower lip. "They weren’t given a 
choice between doing right and wrong. To them, anything they did was 
right, and anyone trying to stop them was wrong, because that’s the 
only reference they had, the only life and purpose they knew. But now, 
now Juuhachi-gou-san knows the human ideas of right and wrong, good and 
evil, is that it?"
	"Right." The Namekseijin smirked. "About time. You’ve got a 
better brain than your dad’s, Gohan, you should’ve picked up on that 
one right away."
	Gohan laughed again, then nodded respectfully. 
	"You’re probably still pretty wired. Felt like you were about two 
heartbeats from Super Saiyajin a little while ago--must’ve been when 
you first woke up. Why don’t you settle down somewhere quiet and 
meditate for a while to get yourself calm, then head on back to bed?"
	"I’ll do that, Piccolo-san." Gohan nodded, paused. "Sankyuu..."
	"Go on, get out of here, I’m tired of seeing your face." But the 
corners of the Namkese-jin’s mouth were turning up fractionally even as 
he said the harsh words, and Gohan smiled back, waved, and flew away.
	Somewhere over the mountains close to home Gohan stopped, lowered 
himself to a ledge, and closed his eyes, tucking his legs up under him. 
He concentrated first on his breathing, making it slow and even, paying 
attention to its rhythm. Bit by bit the tension drained out of him and 
his mind became an empty pool, undisturbed by the outside world, 
focussed entirely on the inner calm he sought.
	As he let his thoughts drift, Gohan felt something brush across 
them, like a breeze. Startled, he opened his eyes, not recognizing the 
touch, and found himself surrounded by a mist that eddied and swirled 
against the sky like something alive.
	No, not like something alive--it was alive--
	In a heartbeat of time the cloud closed on him, and 
simultaneously Gohan convulsed, a cry choked off in his throat before 
it began. After a few moments, the violent trembling stopped and the 
young man’s body relaxed, then righted itself. The dark eyes opened and 
scanned the world around him as a slow, triumphant smile crossed the 
Saiyajin’s features.
	Gohan’s body, Gohan’s eyes... but not Gohan.

End Chapter Five