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part: 1, ch 1
Blood-scent lingered on the back of his tongue, a trick of the mind making it seem stronger than the prevailing stench of feces and urine. No amount of swallowing could take it away. Goten had stopped outright screaming awhile ago, falling into broken sobs and finally, a fitful doze. His tiny body burned with fever in Gohan's arms, the milk-sweet smell of a healthy baby harshly fouled with the reek of sickness, distress, and defecation. Gohan turned his nose up away from it, into the force of the wind as he flew. He wanted to plunge them both into the nearest river, wash away the filth, the blood, the tears, but he doubted cold water would be very good for Goten right now. Besides, the baby needed food and fresh clothing too, and Gohan had only the clothes on his back. He wouldn't go back to the house---not for the supplies he needed, not for anything. So, he flew. Flew to the second best place he could think of. Capsule Corporation and Bulma. She had a kid; she would know how to take care of Goten. His first best place would have been straight to Piccolo, but while his beloved mentor had many talents, Gohan doubted baby-care was one of them. The splotchy greenness of the forest swiftly gave way to the geometrical patchwork of fields and farms. Soon, buildings appeared over the stretch of the horizon, black and white and glittering, like piles of broken glass. Gohan kicked out an extra burst of ki, shooting closer to his goal. As he approached, the city resolved itself into an ordered collection of rectangles and domes and tubes, all of it milling and seething and *reeking* of the boundless masses of humanity. Few of whom did more than blink as he flashed overhead. The sprawling properties of Capsule Corp were easy to spot amid the tight clutter of buildings. He searched the area for Bulma's ki, locating it in the interior garden of the main structure. Relief rose sluggishly through the heavy blanket of numbness that had settled over him several miles back. He didn't land as so much as strike the ground in front of the compound, not bothering to slow himself down enough for a proper landing. The earth crumbled beneath his feet, cascading inward. He called out his password to the door. Even with his voice cracking, the system recognized him and the door slid open, the moist warmth of the climate controlled garden spilling out. Gohan rushed inside. He found Bulma seated in an insanely complicated looking lawn chair in one of the many alcoves that pocketed the lush garden space. Trunks was there too; taking apart what had once been the small generator of his specially designed force-field playpen. Bulma didn't seem to notice or care. She did notice, however, when Gohan flashed to a sudden stop in front of her, plant life flattened and shredded in the wake of his passage. "Gohan," she yelped, sitting up, "What on earth...whew! What's that smell? Somebody needs a..." She stopped abruptly, taking in the sight of her young friend. He was in his school uniform, the knees stained by some dark fluid, cradling the still, blanket bound form of what could only be his baby brother. That in itself was odd enough; Chichi rarely ever let Gohan take Goten out flying and when she did, little Goten never slept through it. But the distinctive stench of a soiled diaper only compounded the wrongness. The last time she'd visited them, Gohan had smelled Goten's dirty diaper from half-way across the house and had insisted on taking care of it 'right now, because his skin is so sensitive, especially around the base of his tail'. "Gohan, what's wrong, what happened?" Bulma asked fearfully, surging to her feet. Gohan looked at her and said in a hoarse voice, "Mama's dead. She cut her belly open and bled out over the carpet. Do you have any baby bottles? Goten's hungry." After snappishly correcting Vegeta's assumption, Bulma took advantage of his presence to dump the now fussy and squirmy Trunks on him. Vegeta instantly held the toddler at arms-length, staring at his son in surprise edged with stark terror. Bulma ignored his furious yells of "damnit woman, this is not my responsibility!" and continued to lead the silent Gohan deeper into the building. It would be best to get Goten clean first and fed next, before his skin was irritated further. Once in the washroom, Bulma went to the shower and set the water temperature with shaking hands. Oh, Chichi, why? How could you do this to yourself, to your children? It just doesn't seem possible. Sure, you had been depressed after Goku's death, we were all depressed ---especially since he's not coming back this time---but I'd never in a million years believe you'd go so far as to. . .damnit. It just isn't right. Perfectly heated water began to gush out of the spigot, slowly filling the tub. Bulma turned from it to help Gohan---only to find him already lifting Goten out of his diaper. She flinched at the sight. Shit ran down the baby's legs, matted into the soft fur of his slender tail, clinging vilely to his tender skin. There was defiantly going to be a rash, a bad one, but hopefully there wasn't any infection. He must have been trapped in that diaper for hours. Her too fertile imagination could easily paint the scene---Chichi laid out on the floor like a broken doll while Goten screamed and screamed for attention that would never come. "Gohan, let me take him," Bulma said, holding out her arms and repressing her tears. She could cry later. Gohan carried Goten over to her, holding the stocky little body close and not seeming to care about the mess it was leaving on his uniform. When Bulma tried to take the baby however, Goten let a coarse sounding wail, twisting away from her towards his brother. "Hey now, shhh, its alright," she said, trying to soothe him, "You know me, your Auntie Bulma, it's okay. . ." He refused to placated, crying louder though his throat was obviously sore. In the end, Gohan ended up holding and bathing Goten while Bulma directed him. The older boy was silent through out most of the procedure. Bulma kept up a steady stream of meaningless reassurances, mostly to hold back the questions that wanted to bubble up instead. Her quick mind was wrapped up in remembering the last few months, looking for signs, for triggers that could have caused Chichi's unthinkable act. Always one for drama, Chichi had spent the fist month or so after Goku's death either sobbing her heart out or raging like a demon. She'd thrown curses at Goku, for getting killed, at his friends, for letting him get killed, at the universe in general, for coming up with enemies strong enough to kill him. Even Gohan wasn't entirely exempt from her rage. Kuririn, Yamacha, and the other Z senshi had taken this as their cue to bail; scattering to the four corners of the world and the lives that awaited them there. Bulma herself had only put up with the woman out of fondness for Gohan. But that was pretty normal, for her. When Chichi found out she was pregnant, things took a turn for the better. She was too involved in preparing for the baby and keeping Gohan on his studies to fuss too much over anything else. The depression had returned after the birth, but it hadn't been anything serious, as far as Bulma had been able to tell. She'd put it down as simple baby blues and stopped worrying about it. A frown crossed Bulma's face. Had it been worse then that? Could Chichi have been postpartum? Bulma herself hadn't suffered from it and her knowledge of the subject was fairly limited, but she'd heard of instances where women afflicted with severe cases of the condition had hurt themselves or their children. So, it was entirely possible. Hmm. She would have to do further research. She was distracted from her thoughts and mental planning by Gohan pulling the now clean Goten from the tub. She handed him a soft towel and smiled as warmly as she knew how. "There, that's much better. You get him dry and I'll go get some ointment and clean clothes. Then we'll see about getting both of you fed." Bulma stood up to leave, when a deceptively gentle hand on her wrist stopped her. "Bulma-san," Gohan said softly, looking up at her with growing hope, "We can wish her back, can't we? With the Dragon Balls?" Bulma's smile came a little more easily. "That's right, we can! Good thinking Gohan. We'll just wish her back and everything will be just the way it was. . ." Piccolo unfolded himself from his meditative position, brows turned downward in a fierce scowl. He reached mentally for Gohan, probing carefully down the small but substantial link they shared, seeing if he could determine the source of the problem through Gohan's emotions… //GRIEFdenial confusion guilthurtguilt anger (inward) anger (outward) loveworryconcern (tied up with one person) CONFUSION// Piccolo pulled himself from the flood emotion with difficulty, grimacing. Yes Gohan was in pain, but it was mental rather than physical and there was none of the fear or apprehension that would indicate an outside threat. A part of Piccolo relaxed at that, even as his stomach twisted in response to the boy's suffering. He cursed under his breath. All this time and he still couldn't control or comprehend the myriad of feelings that Gohan inspired in him. The boy was flying now, away from his home, accompanied by the smaller ki of his little brother. Setting aside his irritation to be evaluated later, Piccolo took off after his young protégé. The warm afternoon air turned chill and biting as he rose higher into the sky, frightening nearby birds into flight with his sudden departure. Gravity dragged hard on him briefly, before loosening its grip and he sailed easily through the thin air. It didn't take long to figure out where Gohan was heading. Capsule Corp? Well, the boy did like Bulma well enough, though Piccolo couldn't imagine him being around Vegeta willingly, regardless of how reformed the Saiyajin was. Certainly not while he was in emotional distress. Gohan was always far more likely to come wailing to Kuririn or Piccolo for reassurance. Another unpleasant sensation coiled through his gut at the thought of Gohan choosing Bulma over him. Piccolo bared his teeth to the wind in self-directed disgust. Gohan arrived at Capsule Corp long before Piccolo had a chance to catch up with him. Shortly thereafter, the torrent of tangled emotions in the young boy's mind eased some, much to Piccolo's relief. He maintained his current speed and touched down on the Capsule Corp grounds little more than half an hour later. Ignoring the bemused looks of some laboratory assistants, Piccolo walked around to a private side entrance and pressed the door chime. Sharply pointed ears twitched as he listened to the chime echo inside various rooms of the complex. A very familiar curse drifted out, followed by familiar footsteps heading toward the entrance. Piccolo smirked, folding his arms. The door swung open. "I was wondering when you were going to show your ugly face," Vegeta said, customary sneer firmly in place. Piccolo blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the strange image the prince was currently providing. He was dressed in his usual workout suit, a sandwich in one hand, but what stopped Piccolo was the sight of Trunks riding high on his shoulders like a monkey. The toddler's round features were set in a distrustful scowl as he stared down the invader, chubby legs clutching tightly to either side of Vegeta's strong neck. Piccolo's mouth curled higher as his smirk deepened and he allowed a slight chuckle. "Monkey on your back, Vegeta?" Father and son assumed nearly identical looks of surprise, before Vegeta growled in warning. "Watch yourself, green bean." "What monkey?" Trunks demanded, twisting to look below himself at Vegeta's back, "I don't see a monkey." Articulate, Piccolo thought, if not particularly bright. "I'm here to see Gohan." "Obviously," Vegeta spat in disgust, stepping back into the hallway to allow Piccolo entrance, "He and the woman are in the nursery." "And that would be. . .where?" Piccolo asked as he walked through the doorway and into the wide hall. Vegeta growled at him again and slammed the door closed, just clipping the edge of the Namekjin's cape. Before he could answer, Trunks broke in shrilly, "Papa! What monkey? I wanna know!" He curled pudgy hands into dark spikes and pulled. Hard. Vegeta cursed explosively and hauled the child off his shoulders. Piccolo half expected him to throw Trunks into the nearest wall, but Vegeta simply braced the brat on one hip and stuffed the sandwich into his mouth. Instantly mollified, Trunks settled down to devouring his impromptu snack. Vegeta glared at Piccolo, daring him to say something. The taller being simply folded his arms and waited, frowning. Much as he normally enjoyed baiting Vegeta, there were more important things for him to attend to. "Find it yourself, asshole," said Vegeta sharply, turning on his heel and stomping off in the direction of the gravity room. Trunks looked over his father's shoulder and pulled the sandwich from his mouth long enough to stick out his tongue. Piccolo shook his head and began concentrating on narrowing down Gohan's position. Down toward the right, one floor above him. With a bit of wandering, he was able to locate some stairs, which lead to a confusing series of door lined corridors that seemed to wrap around each other, following the curvature of the outer structure. Piccolo could hear Bulma and Gohan talking not too far away, but the trick was actually getting to them. After getting turned around a couple times and finding Bulma's private bedroom and two rooms whose purpose was beyond his ken, Piccolo finally located the nursery. Gohan was seated in a frill-covered chair, Goten reclining in his lap and furiously draining a bottle. He looked up as a Piccolo entered, face brightening visibly. "Piccolo-san!" "Hello, Gohan," rumbled the tall Namekjin, noticing the tension in the boy's shoulders. Piccolo nodded in response to Bulma's nervous greeting from where she stood near the closet, and went to his knees in front of the two children, cape billowing around him. "What happened?" he asked bluntly. Gohan's face tightened and he looked to the side. "Kaasan killed herself," he said quietly. Piccolo jumped and barely stopped from falling over in disbelief. *Chichi*? The screaming hellion? Composing himself, Piccolo folded his legs and arms in his usual meditation pose on the cushy floor, and fixed his student with a steady gaze. "Tell me." "I---" Gohan began, confused. "From the beginning," Piccolo clarified, "If you feel up to it." Gohan nodded, then looked uneasily over Piccolo's shoulder. Piccolo glanced behind himself as well. Bulma realized she was being stared at and forced a cheerful laugh. "Oh, I better go check on Trunks! Call me if you need anything." She grabbed up the two empty bottles that Goten had finished earlier and rushed out the door. Piccolo grunted in satisfaction. Gohan relaxed slightly at losing the audience and adjusted Goten in his lap. The baby demi-Saiyajin finished his currently bottle and let it go, dark lashes coming to rest on flushed cheeks as the little one dropped almost instantly into sleep. Gohan caught the empty bottle and set it on a nearby stand. He turned his full attention to Piccolo, took a shaky breath, and began to speak. Not normally one to laze about in bed, he felt strangely reluctant to rise this morning. The bed was soft, the breeze coming in through the open window was gentle, the door stood as barrier between him and the rest of the world. He sighed and rolled over, blinking up at the ceiling. He would have to get up sometime to go to school. As boring as school could be, he was almost grateful to be going there instead of studying at home like he used to. It got him out from under the oppressive aura of his mother, away from the emptiness that used to be filled by his father's warmth. "Gohan-chan! Breakfast!" His mother's strident yelled carried all the way down the hall from the kitchen. With a huff, Gohan pushed himself out of bed, leaving the blankets a messy tangle on the mattress. "Coming kaasan!" Gohan yawned and stretched, trying to shake off his lingering fatigue. It was hard to sleep at night with his mother sobbing herself to bed. Even harder now that the five-month-old Goten was sharing his room. He glanced at the empty crib. Chichi had come earlier to get the baby; Gohan had buried his face in the pillow, pretending to be asleep to avoid dealing with her. The move had been mostly her idea, but Gohan hadn't complained too loudly. Granted, it meant that most of the time, *he* was the one getting up to change diapers and prepare bottles, but it was better than laying there, listening to his baby brother cry and cry before Chichi finally got up to tend to him. He didn't know what was wrong with her. Usually she was fine. Sure, she pushed the books on him harder than before and her temper was even more hair trigger than ever, but as long as he bowed to her requests, life was quiet. But every now and again, this heaviness seemed to settle over her. She would go through her chores slowly, like every move was an effort, not singing or smiling like she normally did. There was a sort of...hopelessness to her that scared him far more than her anger. Sometimes when she was like that, he would catch her just standing there, staring down at Goten as if he were some alien monster rather than her son. That bothered him like nothing else and was part of why he didn't mind having the little ankle biter in his room. "Gohan-chan, you'll be late!" "Just a minute!" Gohan liberated his school uniform from its drawer and shook out the creases before padding into the bathroom. After dressing, washing his face, and making a vague attempt to tame his spikes, he followed the welcome scents of breakfast to the kitchen. Chichi was by the stove, putting the finishing touches on Gohan's large bento. She looked up and smiled when her eldest walked in. He smiled back with more warmth than he really felt. Goten was in his playpen, tail wrapped firmly around a rattle he was using to whack the floor with. "Hurry up and eat, you're already running late," Chichi urged her son, piling food in front of him soon as he sat down. "Relax kaasan, I have time," said Gohan, attacking the considerable portion of food. He restrained the urge to sigh in annoyance when she tried styling his hair. You'd think she'd know better by now. "We'll have to cut it short again," she said, mostly to herself, "Gohan-chan, you know you *have* to impress your teachers. It's vital for your future success. They'll be your references when you're ready to go to High School, so you should arrive early each day and always look and do your best. Did you finish your homework?" "Yes, yes, and the extra assignments," Gohan said between bites, his boredom of the well-known speech making itself clear. He winced when she gave his hair a hard pull. It was one of the few places where she could actually cause him pain and they both knew it. "Don't take that tone with me," she warned him sharply, "I don't work so hard taking care of you to be treated with disrespect." "Sorry kaasan," he said quickly. Her still tight grip on his hair loosened and her eyes took on that tell tale glimmer. Gohan's stomach lurched at the thought of having to endure his mother's wailing self-pity this early in the morning. Goten let out a suddenly happy squall, distracting them. As they watched, he rolled onto his back and in the process accidentally whapped himself in the nose with his rattle. A startled look crossed his features, before his face turned red and his forehead wrinkled. He let out a furious little kitten-squeak of a growl, flinging the evil rattle halfway across the playpen. The sight cheered Gohan instantly and he rose from his seat to go comfort the aggravated baby. Firm pressure on his arm stopped him. "Gohan-chan, finish your breakfast." "Kaasan..." "NOW!" Gohan flinched and settled back in his chair, returning meekly to his meal. "Okay, okay." Chichi stood over him for a long while, arms folded and expression stony. It somewhat ruined his enjoyment in the meal, but thankfully failed to kill his appetite. Goten fussed briefly, then went quiet, apparently distracted by something else. Chichi let out a long sigh and finally turned back to the counter, covering and wrapping the bento in a bright orange cloth. "You'd rather be out fighting than going to school, wouldn't you Gohan-chan?" she said softly. He paused, burdened chopsticks halfway to his mouth, and wondered if he was supposed to answer that or not. "Causing trouble with those hooligan friends of your father. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, it's never enough. You would always rather be away from me." A wavering, pained tone. "I must be a horrible mother." "No you aren't," Gohan said dutifully, in much the same voice he used when reciting multiplication tables. He didn't say anything more, because he was tired of repeating himself without effect and because it was starting to feel like a lie. He finished up the remainder of his breakfast as quickly as neatness allowed and wiped his face. "Thank you for breakfast, kaasan, it was wonderful," he said, standing and sliding his arm around her shoulder. Pushing up on his toes slightly to remove their slowly diminishing difference in height, he gave her a solid kiss on the cheek. Theirs wasn't an overly expressive family; hugs and kisses were special tokens of comfort and praise. He was more than a little startled when she abruptly turned and folded him in a tight hug. "I've found a way to solve all our problems," she said, her face lit up with delight, "It'll all be better, you'll see!" She released him enough to kiss the end of his nose. His gut twisted. "That's, ah, great," he said, smiling uncertainly and pulling out of her loose grip, "I should get going. I'll see you after school." He gathered up his lunch and supplies, gave Goten a goodbye tickle, and flew off toward the city. The day marched on in a round of dull hours intersected with brief moments of interest. He already knew most of what his sensei were trying to teach him and what little he didn't know, he picked up fast, ready to move on to the next chapter, the next book, while the rest of the class was struggling with the basics. He was uncomfortable around the other children, who spoke with daunting casualness about things that were way out of the realm of his experience. He had no idea who the sports teams, rock groups, and super stars they talked about so adoringly were. He could care less about clothing or cars or video games. Conversely, most of them found his lifestyle equally baffling. Gohan soon found himself being regarded as something of the country idiot. His classmates weren't mean, exactly, but sort of...humored him. He'd piloted spaceships, saved worlds, could out reason the best of them, and had met beings so frightening any ordinary human would pee their pants. And a school of eleven- to thirteen-year-olds treated him like a lamebrain. It filled him with a profound sense of sympathy for his father. But Gohan was a fast learner. He already had the basics of this strange culture down; a few more weeks of study and he'd be able to emulate the best of them. Chichi was thrilled with his progress. That lunch period, he set his lunch out on his desk and talked about things that meant nothing to him with the rest of his class. He felt worried for some reason; an unhappy, niggling sensation like an itch he couldn't scratch. The boy on his right scooped up another mouthful of school issued mush. "Did you hear about the new movie they're making?" he said. "Which one?" Gohan supplied helpfully, finishing his last rice ball with a sense of disappointment. Chichi never packed enough food. He suspected it was to keep him from looking like pig in front of his classmates. "It's about Mr. Satan, when he fought that whatitsname green thing," the boy said. "Cell," said the girl sitting the desk in front of them, "It was called Cell. My sister said that that nasty creature sucked up her co-worker's brother's ex-girlfriend's father. Said he flattened out just like a pierced blow-up doll!" "Ewww!" said another girl with more red freckles than white skin, "Don't talk about that! I had nightmares for weeks!" She clapped speckled hands to equally speckled cheeks and shook dramatically. "Everyone's okay though," Gohan said, smiling to reassure her, "It turned out all right in the end." She wrinkled her nose at him and giggled. "Well, the movie is supposed to be great," said the boy on Gohan's right, steering the conversation back to him, "Really gory and violent and like *awesome* special affects." He began gesturing wildly to illustrate his point. "I can't wait to see it!" Gohan agreed eagerly along with the rest of his 'group', though it would be a cold day in otherworld before he watched anything like that. They went on to speculate about what actors would be playing what rolls; he nodded and made of a lot of "uh-huh" and "yeah" noises. The nagging feeling got worse, making him fidgety and agitated. The only big ki signatures he could feel where local and familiar, so it wasn't some approaching threat. Strangely, his mother's last words kept on running through his head. All he could think of was her disturbingly bright smile as she waved him out the door. The sick feeling it gave him. Something was very wrong. He gathered up his belongings with quick hands. "Excuse me," he mumbled, standing up and weaving between the desks to the door. He needed to make sure everything was all right at home. It would only take an hour or so; he'd be back in time for sixth period. Hopefully he wouldn't get into too much trouble. Guilt combined with his growing distress as he dashed through the school, grateful it was lunchtime and no one would think to stop him before it was too late. He took to the air the moment he was outside the building, ignoring the squeals of shock from behind him. Even before he'd left the city, his worry sparked into an unreasoning panic; he flashed into Super Saiyajin and flew faster. He reached the house in less than half the time it normally took him. Danger sense jangling, he burst through the front door and skidded down the hall to his and Goten's room. The door was closed. He twisted the handle with a sweating hand and flung it open---- ----- ---wetness soaked into the knees of his pants from where knelt next to his mother, staring at her pale, twisted face. Gohan blinked in confusion. What. . .when did he. . . Then his mind connected with what he was seeing. Chichi was curled on her side. One arm was held against her stomach, the fabric of the sleeve black with moisture. Her other arm stretched out beside her, white fingers loosely coiled around the handle of a kitchen knife. Dark scarlet spread out from around her in a thick puddle. The smell was like a slap. Blood. Death. Shock closed his throat and froze his body. No, no, no! He lunged forward, fingers pressing desperately at her throat for a pulse. The effort was pointless. She was very much dead. A howl ripped free from his throat, hair and aura flaming gold as his ki rose. No, not his kaasan! Not so soon after losing his father! How could this happen? It wasn't *right*! He jerked to his feet, staggering back from the body. Goten, he had to make sure Goten was all right. The baby was in his crib, crying brokenly in his own distress or in response to Gohan's pain. As soon as he was close enough to pick him up, Gohan realized that Goten hadn't been cared for in a long while. She hasn't been dead that long, whispered some corner of his mind. She had to have been ignoring him while she was *still alive*! He fought the sudden urge to vomit, not sure if it was from the all-pervasive stench or the stray thought. Batting away the pillow that had been near Goten's head, Gohan wrapped his brother in the nearest blanket, clutched him against his chest, and fled the room without a single backwards glance.
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