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.
//
Laughter-//
// 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.
He gasped.
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.
Gaea.
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.