Best Left Forgotten
Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z belongs to Funimation and Bird Studios, not me, and I make no money from this whatsoever. This will eventually become a yaoi story, and it will have a rape scene. Nothing to graphic, I hope. Then again, my muses can get frisky.
// It was terrifyingly familiar//
// Pain shot through him//
//Why was this any different? He had been hurting already//
//But that had been battle- not like this, seeing, smelling, feeling every excruciating//
Goku awoke, panting, feeling sweat drip down his face, and off his nose. His eyes stung with it, and he licked his dry lips, tasting the salty liquid. His throat was parched.
Chi-Chi stirred beside him. He held his breath, hoping he hadn’t woken her, when she sighed a little and rolled over. He let out a relieved breath.
He staggered to the kitchen to get some water, letting to cool night air dry out his soaked pajamas.
That dream. Again. It haunted him; it had for years. Since coming back after killing Furiza. The only thing that had relieved the terror of it was turning SSJ, and experiencing the heady rush of power and rage that wiped away the pain.
“But,” he whispered to himself, as he walked outside, listening for anyone he might have woken. “why does it scare me… like that? I can’t remember what I saw. Just- being scared.”
It was the night before the Cell Games. He already knew that Gohan would be the one to win, but doubted that he would survive. So, he had said his goodbyes to Chi-Chi, and left her with all he could give; another son, someone to love when he was gone.
The thought of dying again wasn’t as scary as the dream.
He wished he knew why.
Goku sighed, and took off to a hidden area of the forest, one that seemed hidden from everything. It was beautiful, serene. It also helped calm his nerves as he exploded with golden power.
“What are you doing out here, Son?” asked a familiar, raspy voice, and Goku turned to see a white turban and cape heading towards him.
Of course, it was really Piccolo, but in the dark, all that could be seen in the glow off his body was the brilliant white of those two garments. For some reason, he calmed even further, feeling inexplicably safe now that the huge Namek was there.
Changing back to his normal self, Goku tried to give his famous grin, but it fell flat.
“I had a nightmare,” he muttered, and looked away.
He could tell that Piccolo was amused. “You, the most powerful being in the universe, are afraid of a little dream? That seems hardly like you. You haven’t acted nervous about the games at all.”
Goku let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Its not the games. I’ve been having these dreams for a long time. Since Yardrat.”
Piccolo didn’t say anything, but his silence became expectant.
In a rambling voice, Goku began to spill his dreams to his sparring partner. It came out in a rush- the confusion, pain, terror, and the only things that relieved it. How it was only images, no words.
Goku stopped, when the world spun suddenly. A flood of pictures presented themselves, making even less sense than his dreams.
He whimpered at the mental overload, as the second assault started. It wasn’t images; it was feelings.
“Son- Son, calm do- GOKU?” he heard a voice say, and he shook for a moment, but again, the feeling of safety that had come from being around Piccolo steadied him, as he felt arms catch him before he fell.
“Piccolo?” Goku whispered. “What’s happening to me?”
Piccolo shook his head. He had an idea- but now was not the time.
The feelings and images stopped abruptly, having continued beyond the pain this time. There was a whirl of vertigo, as one scene became painfully clear in his mind. He was looking down, and holding a child.
His mind barely registered the soothing words and touches coming from Piccolo, and focused entirely on the child he could see only in his mind’s eye.
A name popped through his head.
He went completely limp, falling unconscious, thinking about the feeling of utter peace that had settled through him when he saw her. He had felt that before, the first time he had held Gohan.
Piccolo cradled the unconscious Goku as he took the smaller man home.
“He doesn’t remember- that’s not good,” he muttered to himself as he silently stalked through the house.
Piccolo stopped, as he placed the man back in his bed, next to his oblivious wife.
“Or is it? Being raped by Furiza would be something best left forgotten.”
Twitching the covers over the Saiya-jin, he remembered finding Goku during a break in his battle with Furiza. Vegeta had died, and the Spirit bomb had yet to be made.
The man had been broken and crying, then when Piccolo had tried to help him, had gone totally silent, as went on with the battle, like he had completely blocked the memory.
Nodding to himself, Piccolo walked out of the room.
If nothing had come of it, Furiza was dead, and they needed to focus all their attention on the Cell Games, he would let Goku be.
Some things were best left forgotten.
To be continued.