Summary: AU in which Theon returns to Robb instead of attacking Winterfell. Things don’t go much better for him.
Apparently Northerners didn’t learn to not kill the messenger– especially when Theon himself was taken as ward for a situation just like this. When Robb refuses to behead Theon for his father’s betrayal, nobody is pleased. As the men march back North to fight off the assaulting Ironborn, Theon finds himself stuck with guard duty of perhaps the only man hated more by the Northerners than himself–- Jaime Lannister.
“Theon betrayed the Starks! He should’ve gone back to Robb and fought against the Ironborn what a traitor!!!"
…to all those who said this, I offer this fic. What I imagine would happen if Theon were to disregard his father’s choice, and instead return to the Stark host with news that the Greyjoys are in open rebellion and plan to attack the North while the Starks proceed south to King’s Landing. I also wanted an excuse to write a full interaction between two of my favourite characters, Theon and Jaime.
“The isles will only remember me as Theon Turncloak. Every commoner will learn to curse the very mention of my name.”
“Aye, they may. But it is your father who has broken his treaty. He is the traitor, not you.”
“I’ll still be son of a traitor, then.” And who would trust a man who turned on his own father?
The Inquisitor is struggling. Or, more accurately, dying, and struggling with the burden of what that means. Cole wants to help.
Chapter: 1 / ?
Post-Trespasser. Dorian Pavus / Male Trevelyan Inquisitor
Other Tags: Cole & Inquisitor, Cole & Solas, Templar Inquisitor, Spirit Cole, Angst, Hurt / Comfort, Lyrium Use, Canon Compliant, for the most part, DA4 speculations, some headcanons about the anchor and lyrium and other magic stuff
I can’t think of anything fancy to say no matter how hard I try. I hope I don’t creep you out by coming at you like this. I’m just so happy I’m not the only person who loves Theon. When I have the time, I’m going to read your work. Thank you for making me feel a little less alone.
Hey, no not creepy at all! There are quite a few of us who really love Theon, so I’m glad you found us and don’t feel so alone. He might not be the most popular, but I would say those of us who are fans of Theon are very passionate and active.
Let me knoww what you think of anything you do read! I want to get around to finishing my AU one of these... years. But life kinda does that sometimes sadly.
Summary: If striking out with the ladies of Venice wasn't enough to put Ezio is a bad mood, Leonardo is a procrastinator when it comes to deciphering codex pages too. While begrudgingly getting back to work, Leonardo stumbles onto a hidden insecurity of Ezio's, and the reason why he often hides his face under his hood.
Inspired by fanart by Rebelflet.
At first it seemed as if Ezio was looking out the window, but Leonardo realized he was looking at his reflection when he raised a hand to his lips, drawing his thumb across the scar there.
“Is that what this about?” Leonardo sighed. “Come now Ezio, it is such a tiny little thing. I’m sure none of them notice it.”
Found the beginning of an unfinished Theon Greyjoy Fanfic, circa 2012
It had felt like months. Years, maybe. The units and numbers had become meaningless words, so there was barely any difference, really. It didn’t matter how much, how often, or how many times—it never mattered. He could have pleaded and begged and sobbed and whimpered and wailed and cried until the end of time, and it still would not have made a difference. It would always be the same. There would always be the pain, there would always be the torment, there would always be the inescapable blade. There would always be him. That was all there was, all there is, and all there ever would be.
That was, until Theon Greyjoy woke up.
It was in the still of the night when he came to, and all he was aware of at first was that everything was completely and utterly wrong. His first few conscious moments had him gasping and hyperventilating to the point where he nearly fell out of consciousness once again. Every fibre of his being, both sub and fully conscious, join in one terrified agreement that things were not safe, and everything terrible that he could imagine were the consequences that lay in wait.
In his frantic scramble to leave, to get elsewhere, anywhere, his legs reacted more slowly than his torso, and thus tumbled off of what he discovered was a bed in a terrible mess of furs and blankets. They twisted and curled and pulled and fought against him, until their soft folds had wringed their way around his neck and began to gently squeeze the life from his writhing body. The panic only caused him to struggle more, and he was rewarded with only a tightening grasp.
His thrashing and initial tumble had not gone unheard, as three cloaked men came into the room to watch his petty flailing—flails that intensified as the figures drew near.
“No… no, no, please!” He whimpered almost automatically, very much aware that neither word nor action would save him. He knew that he should try to cooperate, but his arms and legs still tried to jerk free of the strangers’ grasps… with no success. His whimpering had turned into a fully-formed cry now, eyes clanking and shifting in every and all direction as the men returned him to the now barren bed. Two worked on fastening his involuntarily violent limbs to the bed, while the third forced a piece of cloth into his mouth, effectively silencing his pleas. The man’s large and engulfing shadow settled over Theon’s face, forcing his terror-saturated pupils to dilate to try to make out the man’s features.
But he could not find the courage or will to look upon the man’s face—instead, his eyes fell to the chain about the man’s neck.
I also really liked Sterile Conditions and. I was kinda wondering whether you would consider a sequel of sorts set after Battle of Gods? Because. I mean, I think Gohan being sorta over the moon what with the fact that they basically managed a miracle would be cute. Apparently there have actually been a handful of cases of mules being fertile it's just really rare and unlikely and difficult, so. Being one in a million would be special.
I’m so sorry it took so long for me to respond! I uhm, kinda just dropped tumblr entirely heh. I should say that I haven’t kept up to date with new DBZ content in terms of Battle of Gods and new movies, and I do think the idea would be cute but I don’t think I could actually write that myself heh. Thank you for the kind message nonetheless anon, and sorry for being several years late ;v;
Summary: AU in which Theon returns to Robb instead of attacking Winterfell. Things don't go much better for him.
Apparently Northerners didn't learn to not kill the messenger-- especially when Theon himself was taken as ward for a situation just like this. When Robb refuses to behead Theon for his father's betrayal, nobody is pleased. As the men march back North to fight off the assaulting Ironborn, Theon finds himself stuck with guard duty of perhaps the only man hated more by the Northerners than himself–- Jaime Lannister.
"Theon betrayed the Starks! He should've gone back to Robb and fought against the Ironborn what a traitor!!!"
...to all those who said this, I offer this fic. What I imagine would happen if Theon were to disregard his father's choice, and instead return to the Stark host with news that the Greyjoys are in open rebellion and plan to attack the North while the Starks proceed south to King's Landing. I also wanted an excuse to write a full interaction between two of my favourite characters, Theon and Jaime.
“The isles will only remember me as Theon Turncloak. Every commoner will learn to curse the very mention of my name.”
“Aye, they may. But it is your father who has broken his treaty. He is the traitor, not you.”
“I’ll still be son of a traitor, then.” And who would trust a man who turned on his own father?
Summary: An Alternate Ending to Xenoblade Chronicles, so spoiler warnings for that.
"Arrogance is it?" That seemed to catch Zanza’s attention. "Hm. Perhaps you are not so far from the truth. You see, in every way that the High Entia were a mistake, I corrected in my creation of the Homs. For I fashioned them after myself more than any other being on Bionis. And my, what arrogant little insects you turned out to be.”
Summary: Mid-AGoT/Season 1. After saving Bran's life, Theon's more than a little bitter about the scolding that Robb gave him. When finally approached about the incident, both Robb and Theon realize that there is far more to the matter than just 'what could have gone wrong'.
So I didn’t consider the possibilities. What does it matter? I had only a moment to act, and Bran is alive because of it. Had I taken any longer to think he would’ve been killed or taken hostage. What's done is done, and the Stark whelp is barely even hurt. Things couldn’t have gone much better than they did–– so why was this bothering him so much?
Theon pushed his hair out of his eyes as he trudged off to retrieve the arrows from the target, tapping his thumb agitatedly against the wood of his bow. It’s because Stark has a damned point, and I don’t want to admit it.
Notes: Rather heavy on the Throbb undertones, but if you squint it could go either way. Kind of like canon, really. At least that's the intention.
Summary: Theon once believed he was kept alive as a punishment for his crimes-- now he believed he was only alive as Ramsay's personal play-thing, doomed for a lifetime of satisfying the bastard's sick desires. However, Theon soon learns that Roose has much larger things planned for him, and a scheme larger than anyone in Westeros could possibly imagine...
Notes: For inktrap, part of the boltonficxchange
Prompt:
Any/Every BoltonxTheon (faves: Roose/Theon and Domeric/Theon, but Ramsay/Theon is super ultra cool too!). Gross guro, AUs and "what if" situations that deviate from canon are super cool. Maybe something involving ghosts/"the ghost of winterfell"? Or a complete AU where the creepy house where Theon is dared to spend the night in belongs to the Bolton family. Or the Boltons are actually ghouls or so??? Lore is fun. Plot is fun. Porn is excellent but also not mandatory.
Summary: Alternate take on the events of R2 Episode 7 of the same name. What if Kallen had arrived a little too late in Shinjuku? With Lelouch out of happily hallucinating and completely out of commission, Kallen will have to make quick allies with his self-proclaimed brother if Zero is ever to return to the battlefront.
Notes: Not pairing heavy, but features the dynamics of Kallen/Lelouch and Rolo/Lelouch along the lines of what was shown in the anime. Some minor headcanons concerning Refrain and its effects. Some lucky coincidences. Could be canon if you squinted.
[ AO3 ]
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Lelouch wasn’t sure why he was laughing. The sight of the Britannian and his hired Japanese muscle was hardly amusing— if anything, it was a disturbingly surreal sight, the dark alleyway filled with unnatural smiles, fanatical counting, howling, and Lelouch’s laughter rising above all else. It was a terrible sound, accompanied by a feeling that writhed and twisted in his stomach, partially painful and suffocating, partially blissful in the fact that it smothered away the other, hollow pain that had been slowly swallowing everything it could reach. Perhaps he was laughing because nothing about the scene was funny in the slightest.
After his laughter subsided, Lelouch finally looked down upon the bruised and bloodied man, a small grin remaining on his face as he ignored the questions. “So you’re still here? You should have escaped while you had the chance. That’s most unfortunate…”
He crossed his arms in thought as he approached the man, one finger tapping on his arm in a disjointed rhythm.
“Do you know why you are down there right now? It’s because our society values power above all else. These men all had power. The Britannian had wealth and status to control the low-ranking Japanese men, who in turn had the physical strength and stature to control you. A hierarchy of power in rank and body, a cruel pyramid that puts people like you at the bottom. In this society, those with power are the ones who control and shape the world, while the weak must bow their heads and accept what they are given. Does having power make you right? Does being weak make you wrong? It’s an illogical system, if power determines our ethics. But perhaps logic and ethics aren’t meant to mix…”
Despite standing directly above the Eleven, Lelouch denied the man eye contact, curling his hands into fists.
“Ethics are just full of contradictions and paradoxes. If someone commits murder, we deal justice by murdering them in return… two identical actions, and yet one is immoral while the other is just. If we destroy evil with more evil, do we succeed in removing evil in the world? Or do we only propagate an endless cycle of suffering and pain?” He gave a small, cheerless laugh. “Logic has no place in ethics. There is no logic to this disaster of a world we live in… create a system intended to serve the people, and you just have to wait for corruption and greed to turn it into a trap of oppression and abuse.”
He stared down at his left hand, examining the palm and fingers as if they were pages of a book.
“Attempt to destroy those that would hurt and betray others, and all you’ll succeed in doing is replacing them as the new evil in the world.”
Lelouch’s voice began to break as he spoke, raising the shaking hand to his face. The Eleven seemed to have finally regained some of his senses as he stood himself up, turning to leave with one eye remained on the Britannian school boy.
“Wait,” Lelouch called out calmly despite his physically shaken appearance. The man froze in place. “I’m afraid I’ve been a little careless tonight… these men may not remember me, but that also means they won’t have learned their lesson tonight. And, unfortunately… I’ve left a witness to my little display here.”
In an instant, the man clearly new who was being referenced. Alas, he did not have time to move before Lelouch lowered his hand from his face, locking his gaze on the man.
“Kill all of these men. You will then forget everything that happened here.”
A wave of relief filled the man’s face, a pale red glow encircling his relaxed eyes. “Of course. Right away.”
He walked right past Lelouch without so much as a second glance, pulling a knife from his jacket pocket as he approached the first of the six Elevens. It slid quickly across the man’s throat, a narrow stream of red flashing in the air, soaking the newfound murder’s hands and arms.
“So you had that knife on you this whole time, huh…” Lelouch watched vacantly as the first body fell to the ground. The Britannian was next on the knife, who somehow managed a few more push-ups before he felt the effects of the blood loss. “I suppose pulling it when you were outnumbered would have been rather stupid. Still… I wonder how you would have killed them if you didn’t have a weapon. Would you have smothered them? Tried to break their neck? You don't look like you have the strength to pull that off…”
Two more bodies were down. Lelouch did not really want to be around when the Eleven had finished his job and found seven dead bodies around him, bloody knife in hand and no memory of how or why. He stepped carefully around the pool of blood growing from the Britannian’s body, bending down to pick up the syringe that lay forgotten beside his head.
“I’ll be taking this, if you don’t mind. I don’t think any of you will be needing it anyways.”
Lelouch had only made it a block away before he heard the horrified scream; he was tempted to laugh again.
* * *
It hardly seemed possible, but the Shinjuku Ghetto looked even more depressing than Kallen remembered it. Various signboards declared the area as a ‘Redevelopment Zone’, but there was no sign of construction workers or their tools to be found anywhere. It had been several months since the redevelopment was halted for the completion of ‘more pressing’ projects-- all of which, conveniently, benefitted the Britannian public rather than the Japanese still awaiting for their homes to be rebuilt.
Kallen navigated the area carefully, one hand firmly grasping the hidden blade that she had stashed in her sweater; the few sulking shadows she saw wandering around didn’t look particularly threatening, but it was always better to be on guard. It wouldn’t be the first time she was attacked by another former Japanese citizen— her Britannian appearance was meant to help protect her from unwanted attention, but at times it felt more like a cruel curse when her own people looked at her with such contempt and hatred. She didn’t blame them. Why did she deserve to live a comfortable life while others struggled to even survive?
Going by Stadtfeld made her feel like a traitor. It felt good to get rid of the name. Every time she heard her friends and comrades call out Kozuki, she felt a little closer to retribution. Stadtfeld was just another complacent Britannian student; Kozuki was fighting for a better future. She would see their Japan returned to them as one of the Black Knights.
But the Black Knights were nothing without Zero. None of the others knew his true identity, and so none of them would be able to guess why he fell off the map so suddenly. That meant it fell to Kallen to find him and figure a way to get him back in the game.
Shinjuku was the birthplace of Zero, and so Kallen had no doubt that he would return there now. He had nowhere else to go— he wouldn’t go to HQ, and he certainly wouldn’t be returning to the painful innocence of school. If she knew anything about Zero — about Lelouch — it was that he took significance in everything. At such a difficult time, he could only go somewhere important to do… well, to do whatever it was he had to do.
Before Kallen knew Zero’s identity, he had always seemed above human limitations, above emotions and weakness and even defeat. He was a leader; a symbol of hope for a dying rebel faction. It was a different feeling now that she knew there was a human face behind that stoic mask. Zero was an unstoppable force and perfect leader. Lelouch was just another human being, with weaknesses and flaws. As much as the brilliance of his planning and strategic skills was undeniable, he still was just one person. And every person had weak points.
But by the same token, humans could be motivated. Ever since his first appearance, Zero had pushed and driven the Black Knights from simple terrorists to the most well-known revolutionists in existence. It was time to return the favour. Kallen wasn't entirely sure how she was going to do it, but she mentally prepared a few things to say, trying to remember the words of motivation that Zero had given her before.
During her search, she almost missed Lelouch entirely, at first mistaking him for another sulking shadow of some homeless Japanese person looking for somewhere to sleep. It wasn't until she heard a faint, familiar laugh that she recognized the silhouette strewn across a stack of disused construction material.
What a way to see the mighty Zero… “I'd knew I'd find you here. This is where it all began…”
But Lelouch wasn't listening. He didn't even turn to face Kallen as she made her approach; he continued laughing to himself, hands folded contentedly across his chest.
“I really need to talk to you, Lelouch. Everybody's looking for you. For Zero.” Kallen took a few more steps closer, positioning herself directly ahead of Lelouch so he'd have no choice but to look at her, but he kept his head bowed and eyes hidden. He's got some nerve, after I came all the way out here to find him. “This is no time to be sitting around in self-pity. We need to regroup and think of another plan, that's all! Tell us what to do. We're ready to fight for you. We just need orders.”
His head swayed lightly from side to side, mouth curled into an innocent smile. Is he mocking me? Kallen wasn't in the mood for games. She grabbed one of Lelouch's arms from his chest, pulling him upright and forcing his eyes to meet her own. “Hey! Are you listening to me?”
She knew she wasn't going to get an answer when she saw the hazy, distant look in Lelouch's eyes. Her voice caught in her throat as she looked down at his raised arm, instantly recognizing the small dimples that punctured the exposed skin. Impulse forced her to take a step back, her heel jolting as it knocked against the empty injector on the ground with a noisy clatter.
“No…” Kallen shook her head, Lelouch’s hand dropping from her grasp and swinging at his side like a lop-sided pendulum. “You… you idiot—!”
Lelouch flopped his head to one side, eyes still glazed and unseeing. “How does that song go again, Nunnally…? Sakura, sakura… hana zakari…”
His voice trailed off, but his head continued to nod in rhythm to the unheard melody, and his smile only grew in size.
“You’ve got such a great singing voice. You should have Sayoko teach you more songs…”
Kallen had never seen Lelouch act so sweetly, nor had she seen him look so happy. Her stomach was growing weaker the longer she looked at him. What sort of coward are you, Lelouch?! Zero would never… he’d never…
For a while, Lelouch fell quiet again, giving no signs of what visions he saw other than the pleased smirk on his face and the occasional soft twitch of his fingers.
“So is this it? Is this the end of Zero?” Kallen took a few steps back, looking over the pathetic image of the man she had once admired above all others. “This is how you give up on me? And the Black Knights? And Japan?! You just let yourself rot away in some dark place, giggling to yourself like a dead-brained idiot?”’
Lelouch’s voice was a half-whisper, “…h-hey-! Slow down… not all of us can read Braille so quickly…”
The heat that grew in Kallen’s face was almost unbearable. Her jaw drew tight involuntarily, and with only half a thought she found herself stepping towards the mumbling body, fist striking across his cheek and nose with an audible crack. Lelouch toppled over happily without any attempt to break his fall, opting instead to let his head bounce off the pavement. After a moment of bated silence, Lelouch gave a friendly huff of discomfort to the ground.
“…ow…! C’mon Suzaku, go easy on me…” His words were partially absorbed by the pavement and partially slurred by the thick lines of blood that sprayed messily across his face, focused around his nose. “Y’gotta at least gimme a chance… ‘m not a samurai…”
“Suzaku-?!”Kallen’s memory flashed back to Kamine Island, when Suzaku and Lelouch had guns aimed at each other’s heads, matching the venomous glares in each others’ eyes. It was an image well-fixed in her memory— she couldn’t count how many times she replayed the scene in her head, kicking herself over and over again for her cowardice in running away. Maybe I could have saved you, Lelouch… I could have helped you escape, like we always did…
It was Suzaku who captured Lelouch, but Kallen had forgotten that the two had once been close friends. Back at Ashford they spoke like they’d known each other half a lifetime… and then they find themselves on opposite sides of a war they want to end. The son of the Japanese Prime Minster fighting for the Britannian Army… and a Britannian citizen leading the Black Knights against that army…
Perhaps more than a mere citizen. Nunnally was Lelouch’s sister, and now she was hailed as a princess of Britannia, acting as Viceroy of Area 11. Did that make Lelouch a prince? Or had he been trusted to act as her brother to protect her identity? Were the Britannians just lying about Nunnally’s status to keep her as a public hostage, extra insurance against Zero attacking them? Even if they weren’t lying about her status, it meant there had to be more people than just Kallen and Suzaku who knew Lelouch’s secret; there was no other logical reason for Nunnally’s sudden rise to fame and power. How many people know who Zero really is?
Whatever the case, it was clear that Lelouch had deep affection for the new Viceroy. Refrain brings him back to his time together with Nunnally… and Suzaku. What role did Suzaku play in everything? If he knew Lelouch as a child, he probably knew the truth about his and Nunnally’s status as Britannians, and he’d also know about Zero’s conflict of interest with Viceroy Nunnally. Knowing meant nothing, though— it wasn’t as if Suzaku could help Zero abduct the new Viceroy, or was like to join the Black Knights after having spent most his life becoming an honourary Britannian. Even if they had been good friends, they’re sworn enemies now.
For a moment, Kallen began to feel a thrum of pity for the Lelouch she saw blissfully hallucinating in front of her; however, it didn’t take long for that pity to transform back into anger.
“Do you think you’re the only one who’s lost friends and family in this war? That your feelings are more important, or more real than ours?” She stared down at Lelouch with disgust, considering how good it would feel to kick him while he couldn’t defend himself. “Some of us have lost everything we hold dear! Our country is gone. Our identities are gone— we're barely considered human anymore! I lost my brother. I’d lost you and Zero, too. The Black Knights nearly fell apart…”
Kallen felt the tears begin to escape from her eyes. She brushed them away angrily. “They won’t survive losing you again. I lost my mother to this damned drug, I’m not going to lose you too!”
It certainly wasn’t the way she had intended to say the speech, but circumstance left her with little choice. She knelt down beside Lelouch, pulling one of his arms around her shoulder and supporting him upright by his waist. Unfortunately, Lelouch was less cooperative than most conscious people in the fact that he did not adjust his weight with Kallen’s support, but was less compliant than an unconscious person in the fact that he still shifted on occasion unpredictably, several times almost forcing Kallen to drop him as she lead him out of the abandoned ghetto.
She wasn’t entirely sure where she was taking him, or what she was going to do with him after that, but she knew that she sure as hell wasn’t going to leave him in Shinjuku by himself. She couldn’t take him back to the Black Knights— that’d mean then she’d have to explain who the random Britannian student was. She couldn’t go back to school, since too many people knew who she was. If anything, Lelouch needed to go to the hospital— but if she did that, he’d suffer the same fate as her mother. I could go to an illegal facility… but it’d be idiotic to go alone. They’d just take my money and kill us both. If only I could trust a few Black Knights with Zero's identity; then I could go in with backup ready. Maybe Ohgi…?
Kallen didn’t have time to consider the matter further. As if out of nowhere, she found herself face-to-face with another young Britannian, complete in his school uniform. Ashford-? I don’t remember him. The look of horror on his face made Kallen realize that having a bloody-faced boy slung across her shoulders was not one of the best positions in which to be found.
“What did you do to him?!” There was a noticeable degree of authority in the boy’s voice, despite his age.
Kallen found herself fumbling at her words, taken off-guard by the whole situation. “I-I can explain! This isn’t what it looks—"
“—wait, aren’t you the Guren’s pilot?”
Kallen switched immediately from her innocent, embarrassed expression to a grave, threatened look. “Who the hell are you? What do you know?”
“What did you do to my brother?” The stranger advanced angrily towards Kallen, prompting her to take a startled step backwards.
“Your brother—?!” Lelouch never mentioned that he had a younger brother. Then again, he failed to mention that his sister was a Britannian Princess, either. “I didn’t do anything to him. He’s hallucinating from the Refrain he took.”
As if on queue, Lelouch turned his head skyward, breathing in deeply, as if the ghetto air smelled of the ocean and flowers, not fuel and smog. “Ah, doesn’t that sun feel nice, Nunnally…?”
The boy’s eyes loosened, almost appearing hurt. “He… he wouldn’t…”
That’s what I thought too. Apparently neither of us know him as well as we thought. “I answered your questions, so you answer mine. Who are you? Why are you here? How much do you know about Lelouch?”
“I’m Rolo, his brother. I know everything about him— certainly more than you. Give him to me.”
Kallen scowled at that. “Yeah, that’s easy enough for you to say. He’s never mentioned a brother before— how do I know you aren’t just lying to me? I’m not trusting him to a complete stranger. Besides, do you even know what the Refrain is doing to him? How do you plan on treating him— taking him to the hospital, where they’ll arrest him for illegal drug use?”
Rolo’s eyes narrowed again, this time with angry thought— for a moment, it looked as if he was considering attacking Kallen. As if he could take me on. He’s clearly a lightweight— if he knows I pilot the Guren, he should also know that I’m no pushover. After a moment, though, he gave an irritated sound of defeat, conceding that Kallen had a point.
“You know that I pilot the Guren. I assume that means that you know who Lelouch really is then, right? His other identity?”
Rolo paused, frowned, and finally nodded.
“That makes both of us. So you know that I’m on Lelouch’s side. If you want to gain my trust, help me help him. He needs medical attention, but we can’t take him to a public hospital. He’ll be thrown in jail as soon as he’s admitted, and we won’t have his miracles to pull him out of there.” I wonder if this Rolo knows about Geass… I’d better not mention it either way. “Ever since Refrain’s hit the streets, there’ve been a lot of illicit medical care centres popping up. Most of them are run by the same corrupt bastards that sell the drugs to the public…”
“You want to take him to a bunch of money-grabbing creeps working out of back alleyways?”
“Yes. Going alone would just be foolish, though— there’s nothing to stop these sort of criminals from just killing you and taking your money. They don’t have any honour. You have to deal with guns pointed at each other’s heads… but it’s the only option there is.” Kallen made a noise of effort as Lelouch began to chortle to himself again and struggled against her support, wriggling the fingers on his free hand in some bizarre pattern. “It’s that, or we let the drugs do as they want and leave Lelouch an invalid.”
It was obvious that Rolo disliked the situation as much as Kallen did, but he did not argue with her logic. “…do you even know where we’d find one of these centres?”
“I know how we’d find one easily. That’s no problem. Knowing who I could trust to go into one is the problem…”
“I’ll help you.”
Kallen scoffed. “I’m going to need more than just one student if things get nasty. They could outnumber us ten to one, and we’d be limited in what weapons we could bring… no Knightmares to guard us either.”
“I’ll help you. Don’t worry about that,” Rolo said calmly. “Lelouch isn’t the only one who can work miracles.”
Kallen had to use all her self-control to not change her expression. Geass-?! “You can’t be serious. If things go wrong, we’re all as good as dead— you and Lelouch included.”
With an alarming snap, Lelouch lifted his head and focused his unseeing gaze ahead, expression urgent but not unsmiling. “Q1, come in.”
“Zero?” The word escaped Kallen’s mouth without her permission; it was hard to ignore habit when Zero’s voice called her by that name, even knowing that he was on a hallucinatory trip. Ignoring the scathing look Rolo gave her was much easier.
“Q1, lead a feint behind the warehouse at point alpha. Try to push them back towards their rear defence; neutralize them if you can. R4, R5— flank the enemy’s counterattack as they try to encircle N2. N2 will fall back and regroup with the rest of R team; use the subway line if they try to follow you, we’ll trap them in a bottleneck…”
He’s… he’s remembering battle?! She knew that Zero came alive on the battlefield, but she’d hardly considered the times she’d spent in combat as overly fond memories. Refrain just exposes all of our secrets, doesn’t it…?
“Let’s get going right away. There’s no time to waste.” Rolo took his position on Lelouch’s opposite side, wiping some of the blood from his face with a handkerchief before mirroring Kallen’s supportive stance. “Don’t worry big brother… everything’s going to be alright. I’ll make sure of it.”
Kallen was sure to keep a careful eye on Rolo as they continued on their way out of the ghetto. Refrain made Lelouch remember Nunnally and Suzaku… me, the Black Knights… but nothing about a brother.
* * *
Rolo was glad he didn’t kill Kallen at first sight; she was more useful than he had anticipated. Even before they managed to haul Lelouch to the Shinjuku station, she had already begun listing things they had to prepare. They first had to make sure Lelouch didn’t draw too much attention to the three of them before the hallucinations wore off— that meant keeping his movements subdued, and his voice quiet. Thankfully, his memories had been rather unexciting for the most part, aside from the occasional outburst of frantic orders and attack plans, but Kallen pointed out that it would only take one simple mention of Zero or the Black Knights for that to all change.
“If things start going badly, act like he’s drunk.” Kallen pulled out a pair of sunglasses and used them to hide Lelouch’s blanched gaze. “People will think they’ve figured out our secret and be happy to ignore us. We’re young enough that a drunk friend seems reason enough to be acting suspicious.”
It wasn’t a foolproof plan, but it did manage to get them through the crowded train ride. They had been partially successful in feigning whispered conversation with Lelouch’s sporadic mumbling, but there were times when his hallucinations became intense and his voice grew loud and commanding. It drew a few scornful eyes, but Kallen was quick to clamp Lelouch’s mouth closed and give him a reprimanding “shush” before he said anything incriminating. At one point, Rolo was certain that a particularly stern-eyed Britannian was going to approach and uncover them after several minutes of suspicious glances in their directions, but before Rolo felt jeopardized enough to use his Geass and silence the man, he got off at one of the stops in the Toshima district without turning for a final glance. People may judge and scorn everyone around them, but they’re far too content to stay nestled in their own little worlds.
They stayed on the Yamanote all the way to Ueno. By that point, Lelouch had fallen silent for the most part, his abnormally innocent smile slowly disappearing from his face. Dawn was already breaking upon the narrow streets and alleyways when they stumbled off the platform, and Rolo took note of the heavy shadows under Kallen’s eyes as she scanned their surroundings left and right.
“Alright Rolo,” She said his name with an edge of contempt, as if questioning if it were really his, “it’s time to put you to the test.”
She spoke without looking at him, instead leading their strange six-legged ensemble to a vacant bench beside a fresh-air fruit stand that hadn’t opened for the day yet.
“Prove yourself trustworthy. Stay here with Lelouch while I find out where one of these places are.”
“Stay here?” Rolo asked slowly, his tone insulted. With only two of them, it did make sense for one of them to keep an eye on Lelouch while the other searched for the invisible medical centre, and Kallen was less conspicuous in the Eleven-dominated area, but Rolo still wasn’t fond of the idea of sitting like a paperweight while his brother’s brains slowly deteriorated. “I thought the whole point of this was to have someone else with you. What if you get attacked?”
“I'm not completely defenceless, you know.” Kallen freed herself from Lelouch’s limp arm, leaving Rolo with the full weight of his body as they plopped down into the cement seat. “I'll also make sure I only deal near the well-populated streets. No one should want to make a scene if they don't want to be heard and found. We’ll go in together, but for now I’ll draw less attention alone.”
“Alright, fine. Just get moving. Don’t waste any time.”
Kallen gave a curt nod before disappearing down one of the roads. Rolo closely watched the area for a while, eyeing each passerby with suspicious caution, but after several minutes of silence his focus wavered and his guard dropped, unimpressed by the threats that Ueno had to offer him.
He turned his attention instead to his brother— or rather, the shell of a body that hopefully still contained his brother. Rolo had heard the horror stories of Refrain’s affects on the mind, but some of the more popular gruesome details could be mere sensationalism intended to frighten the public and discourage new users. At the very least, Rolo found it a more comforting thought to attribute the stories to that than accepting the possibility of them becoming reality.
Rolo needed all the comforting thoughts he could— his mind was operating in a rather unhealthy place. Even aside from the obvious danger of the situation and his annoyance at being forced to take orders from one of Zero’s lackeys, he hadn't failed to notice that his brother’s hallucinations held no mention of him. He spoke of Kallen, Suzaku, Shirley, even Rivalz and Milly, but not a single mention of his own name, nor the existence of a brother at all. Worse yet, Lelouch mumbled and laughed more about Nunnally than all the others combined. With his memories back to their former state, Lelouch was more than well aware that the majority of his memories of Rolo were fabrications and alterations of his times with his sister.
It could be that the memories that returned to him are the ones that he values most for the moment. It wasn’t that long ago that they all suddenly returned to him — it only makes sense that those are the ones that affect him the most right now. It doesn’t necessarily mean that he doesn’t care about me…
Yet there was no denying what Rolo was: the figure that the Emperor chose as a stand-in for Nunnally, the sister for whom Lelouch was willing to jeopardize his entire revolution. Rolo was a walking reminder of the punishment that Lelouch was forced to endure, a lie intended to take away that which meant most to him. It wasn’t hard to believe that there was some part of him that hated Rolo’s very existence, meaning the memories of him were hated just as equally.
When an unknown object met Rolo’s head with a soft thud, his heart faltered and hand shot up in reflex to strike it away. He managed to stop himself before doing so, though, when he realized that the supposed attack was actually Lelouch’s head tilting over to rest on his own, as if he was some kind of pillow. Rolo was uncertain how to react to the gesture— his brother had never really been one for excessive physical displays of affection. Of course, the action was likely only due to his loss of muscle control—
“Don’t worry… I’m right here…” Lelouch spoke so softly that, even in such close proximity, Rolo almost didn’t hear him; were it not for the soft tickle of breath he felt, warm on his cheek, he might have thought himself imagining the words. “I’m here for you. Your big brother will always be there for you…”
Rolo knew that if he turned to look at his brother, he risked upsetting the delicate position that they shared. All the same, a part of him could still see one last smile lingered on Lelouch’s face as his breathing drew shallow and subdued. Even after several minutes of considering his brother’s words, Rolo was unable to tell if the tears that stained his face were formed out of some sort of naïve happiness or as a manifestation of the sharp, cynical envy he felt stabbing inside him.
Those words were meant for Nunnally, weren’t they? Just like the locket you gave me. Just like the feelings you had for me. Everything you've ever given me, you meant to give to Nunnally first. I’ve been nothing but a placeholder to you, haven't I? A temporary substitute to be disposed of once you take Nunnally back…
And why was that a surprise? Both Rolo and Lelouch knew the truth; they weren’t actually brothers. Lelouch was Zero, and Rolo was a spy meant to report on his actions, ordered to kill him if he began acting as Zero again. Why should -- rather, why would either feel anything even remotely resembling fondness for the other? What sort of logic was there in childishly hoping that Lelouch didn’t hate him?
Simple, Rolo acknowledged quickly enough, my entire life has consisted only of people exploiting me, using me for my powers, in hopes of benefitting themselves and never once thinking of me as anything more than a tool. Just once… just this one time, I wanted someone to think of me as an actual human being-- care for me as a person, not a weapon. For someone to have concern for me not because I’m useful, but because they care about my life.
Exactly like how Lelouch felt about Nunnally. The young princess was just about the poster child for a living hindrance -- if her paralysis wasn't already enough of a challenge, her blindness made her completely helpless to the world. And yet she still had the utter love and devotion of her older brother. Why was that? She had no objective value that made her worth keeping around, even as a Princess of Britannia. There was no logical reasoning for Lelouch going to such drastic ends for her sake, aside, of course, from the fact that they were siblings. But that was hardly sufficient reason; there were plenty of other siblings who wouldn’t give each other so much as the time of day. What made Nunnally so special? What was it that made Lelouch so fiercely loyal to her? It didn’t make any sense. How could Rolo hope to even come close to achieving the same thing if he couldn’t even understand it?
It took a great amount of effort to suppress the swelling gnaw of frustration in his thoughts. No. I can’t let myself think this way. I won’t accomplish anything by dwelling on it like this.
“Maybe you do hate me, brother. And I probably deserve that, for all that I’ve done. Maybe you are just using me, just like everyone else I've ever known.” Rolo found his teeth gritting involuntarily as he spoke. “That just means I'll just have to earn your feelings. I'll prove myself worthy of them-- I'll use my actions to show that you can count on me, rather than just counting on the memories you were given. I'll be as loyal and useful as possible. Even if you hate me now... I'll just have to prove to you that I am worth keeping.”
Lelouch did not react to the commitment he was promised. His torso rose and fell as he inhaled and exhaled soundlessly, the rhythm rocking him into what seemed like a restful sleep. Rolo found his brother's hand laying disused at his side; he took it into a tight grasp, interlacing the two sets of fingers together to ensure his contact was felt and his intentions were clear.
Hey! I just read your fic Sterile Conditions, and I love it. The headcanon that half-Saiyans are sterile is really neat, and would make a lot of sense. I just had a question though. You used Mules as an example of a hybrid species that can't reproduce, and that got me thinking. Another hybrid animal that was thought to not reproduce are Ligers, however the females are capable of reproducing, at least. Is it possible that this is the situation for Half-Saiyans as well?
That’s an interesting idea! I could see it going either way, really— part of the reason I enjoy the thought of all half-Saiyans being sterile is the way that it kind of dooms their race to finally dying off after so many years of terrorizing the galaxy and subjecting planets to general unpleasant occurrences. Rather than being destroyed by some super powerful bad guy, they meet their end through basic biology. Ironic science is the best science.
But on the other hand, if what you suggest is true, that means that the continuation of the Saiyan race will persist only in the female offspring. While I know that this means that they will have male offspring, I can only think about the next-gen Saiyan families being Saiyan-blooded mommies and their Earthling spouses. Some of the Saiyan gals take on traditional DBZ mommy roles, while others are more like 'to hell with that' and live life like Goku and Vegeta, just training all day to be stronger than their cousins and nieces/nephews and uncles/aunts. Then there would be the others who just want to go to school and get normal jobs as scientists or artists and — for the most part — they succeed in blending in but sometimes someone tries to rough them up or they’re nearby when someone’s committing a crime and their natural instincting kick in and then it’s ass-whooping time.
Maybe a few of them, when they’re young (or just really embarrassingly tasted like Gohan) form a vigilante group, complete with costumes reflecting their personalities and magical-girl transformations. The other family members try to ignore these habits. Regardless, the family ties still persist throughout the generations, even as some families move off from the traditional Son and Briefs values. Even as the Saiyan blood dilutes off to negligible quantities, you'll still have that occasional family member with the insatiable appetite and inhuman fighting skills pre-built into their brains.
All I’d know for sure is that, regardless of her abilities to reproduce, when Bra was born Bulma was just over the moon because (aside from having another healthy baby and a GIRL too!) she could finally continue unfolding the mysteries of Saiyans and half-Saiyans and examine a female with Saiyan blood and all she can think is 'how young is too young to subject my daughter to just a bit of biological testing? It's not like I'm hurting her or anything…'
There'd probably turn out to be a whole bunch of other biological goodies tucked into the female Saiyan/Human hybrids versus their male counterparts— things like improved hearing and hand-eye coordination as well as a stronger mental intuition, improved liver efficiency (turns out the females can out-drink the males by a long shot) et cetera.
Thank you so much for the praise, my dear anon, and for the new thoughts! I hope to see you around here again.
Absolutely love your DBZ fanfic. I'm glad your stories so far center around Gohan, as he is my favorite character. Please please write more in the near future.
Well thank you! I appreciate the love. Gohan is also a favourite character, so writing about him comes easy. There is definitely more to come in the future, but by no means only DBZ work. Hopefully something else will pique your fancy!
Summary: Post-Cell saga. Bulma invites Gohan over for a chat-- innocent enough, right? Unfortunately, the half-Saiyan quickly discovers that Bulma has a new hobby, and has uncovered a few facts of her own.
Based on one of stupidoomdoodles' headcanons (this one particularly) as well as one of my own (which would be this one). Lots of science mumbo jumbo (since it's fun to write).
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Gohan stared down at his legs swinging from the couch, mentally searching for some sort of conversation he could start to break the silence. Bulma sat opposite to him, still garbed in the lab coat and goggles she had worn when she greeted him into Capsule Corp. Normally, Gohan did not feel so awkward around her, but Bulma Briefs did not normally ask Gohan to personally come see her without explanation. It’s probably a favour, since she’s asking in person. But what could I do for her?
Whatever it was, Bulma’s face did not betray her intentions. “So tell me, how’s little Goten doing? Keeping you and Chi-Chi busy enough?”
At least Gohan didn’t have to initiate the small talk. “It’s a lot of work, for sure. Mom takes care of him for the most part, but… he sure does cry a lot.”
He expected a laugh or at least a smile from Bulma— after all, she probably knew the feeling even better than he did — but instead her face remained unchanged. “Interesting. Were you a big crier when you were young? Above average, would you say?”
“Uh…” Gohan flushed a little at the question, not really wanting to discuss himself as a baby. “I don’t… think so? I can’t say I remember….”
“Trunks sure was! The kid would never pipe down. Not too many complaints otherwise, though — he’s got the appetite to match his daddy for sure. Always eats his vegetables! Some babies like to throw around or play with their food, y’know? Did you ever do that?”
Did she bring me over here just to talk about babies…? “I’m sorry Bulma, I don’t remember much rom when I was that young.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it! It’s not that important. It’s just be interesting if it was the same for you, y’know? As Goten gets older, you should keep an eye our for stuff like that.”
“His… baby habits?”
“Not just as a baby— when he gets older too! See if he’s a lot like you when you were his age.”
Gohan doubted that Goten would be abducted by Piccolo to train in the wild for year when he was four. “Right. I’ll… do that. But, uhm, is there a reason why?”
The glint in Bulma’s eyes said ‘I’d thought you’d never ask’ as she pulled out a rigid-spined binder filled to bursting with pages and documents, some loose and threatening to fall out.
Has she had that on her this whole time?
“Fort the past few months I’ve been collecting and compiling as much information and data about the Saiyan species as I can. I’ve conducted test and trails, analyzed samples from Vegeta, and even had him tell me as much as he knows when he’s in a talkative mood.”
I didn’t know he had a talkative mood. But Gohan had heard of Bulma’s recent obsession before from Krillin. They way he described it suddenly made Gohan feel like he was sitting across from Dr. Frankenstein raving about his greatest creation.
“You see, I’ve always been curious about where Saiyans differ from humans. We’ve always known about the tail thing, but what about the rest? They can pass as a human on appearance alone… could it be a possible common ancestor? Darwinian Evolution has never been updated to consider other planetary life forms. I’ve found out so many interesting things!” Bulma began flipping through the pages of the binder, stopping on hand-drawn diagrams, microscope images, experiments results, and tables directly comparing human processes to their Saiyan equivalents. “For example, Saiyan digestive systems appear to operate nearly identically to our own, except for a few changes in the digestive enzymes that appear in their stomachs. Most of them are far more powerful than our own, and need a far more acidic environment to survive. I suspect it’s part of the reason for those huge appetites— that, and the larger stomach capacity. They have a vastly different endocrine system, though. Fundamentally, they operate the same way, but the time, dose, and duration of hormones are all different! From what Vegeta’s told me, puberty can as start as young as two and as late as eight years — our years, of course — and continues until well past twenty years.”
The more Bulma spoke, the more intrigued Gohan became. He had thought about the differences between humans and Saiyans before, but never in such details. I wonder how many of my biology textbooks don’t apply…
“Probably the most interesting and extraordinary difference is— well, of course the incredible strength and power was of interest to me, so I wanted to know just what the fundamental difference was. At first, I saw a lot of muscle power coming from an incredible circulatory system, with unthinkable oxygen delivery efficiency from what looks a lot of allosteric binding on the hemoglobin and myoglobin proteins from ligands that I don’t think even exist on earth.
“But it was even deeper than that! It turns out, Saiyans have a different cellular respiration mechanism! It’s amazing— they’re capable of aerobic and anaerobic respiration like everyone else, but under certain conditions a third type begins. I call it nitrobic respiration here, but really that doesn’t begin to describe it fully. It’s another sort of anaerobic respiration. I’ve seen evidence of what I think can only be nitrogenase enzymes— the first time I’ve ever heard of mulitcellular organisms having them — and I firmly believe that Saiyans have somehow evolved to perform their own nitrogen fixation!
“It’s brilliant; most planets have high nitrogen content in their atmosphere, just like earth. When aerobic respiration just doesn’t cut it for energy quota, oxygen stops being the primary molecule used for cellular respiration, and this fixed nitrogen from the atmosphere takes over! I’ll spare you the details of just how they manage it, but their proteins, enzymes, catalytic pathways.. they’re all capable of both the tradition oxygen-based aerobic/anaerobic respiration and the nitrogen based one! It is quicker and more efficient than our anaerobic respiration, and produces insane amounts of energy— and it doesn’t even produce lactic acid! It’s better in every way possible, and it’s why they are so good at what they do. Long after a human has switched to normal, boring anaerobic respiration and is all out of breath, Saiyans are still switched into overdrive. It’s not until their nitrogenase enzymes are past capacity that they start to stall, and then the regular anaerobic pathway starts. It’s almost infuriating — even if we knew every step in the process, humans would never be able to do the same, we’re just not built with the right tools…”
Gohan studied the pages as she spoke, only grasping half of what he heard and half of what he read. It does certainly explain a lot. When he finally looked up from the binder. Bulma looked at him with the joy and excitement of a child presenting their heartfelt painting to a parent. “This is… really amazing, Bulma.”
Her eyes lit up faster than her hands flew up into the air, capturing Gohan in a lung-squeezing hug. “Oh, I just knew you’d understand! Everyone else had just made fun of me and called it ‘creepy’, but you’re a smart kid— you know hard work when you see it…”
Gohan didn’t have the heart to tell her that hard work and astounding results didn’t make it any less creepy. Still, he kind of understood her curiosity about it. It wasn’t everyday that you got to study the biologies of an alien species. Unless you’re married to one. But was that the only reason she brought him over? For compliments on her work?
Once he was released from her hug, Bulma pulled her goggled down from atop her head and back over her eyes, striking an authoritative pose not as Mrs. Bulma Briefs, but as pseudo-Professor Bulma Briefs of Capsule Corp. “Then of course you’d have no problem in helping me out, right?”
“H-help out? What do you mean…?” Gohan already had a suspicion.
“I’ve already got more than enough information and data from Vegeta, a pure-blooded Saiyan born and raised on his home planet. What I want to see is just how similar he is to you Gohan! After all, you’re a h—“ Bulma stuttered, fumbling at her words. “—what I mean, of course, is that you’re a… a…”
“…half-breed?" Gohan offered with some amusement. That’s what Vegeta always calls me, anyways.
“No! No you’re like a… a hybrid!” Bulma spoke carefully, growing a little pink in her cheeks. “The fact that humans and Saiyans can reproduce at all is astounding — I’ve just been awake all night wondering what their offspring’s anatomy was like.”
The newly-dubbed ‘hybrid’ stood a little straighter, swallowing hard. “A-anatomy?”
“Now that I know most of the differences between humans and Saiyans, I’ll know exactly what to look for — we’ll see if your physiological systems are human, Saiyan, or maybe even a mix of both!” The last option clearly made Professor Briefs giddy with excitement. Gohan became uncomfortably aware that Professor Briefs was not looking at him in the same way Bulma was— really, it was closer to ‘examine’ than ‘look’. “The only unfortunately thing is that it will be hard to tell what exactly in due to the species combination, and what is from Mendelonian Genetics— maybe tails are a dominant trait! Clearly the hair colour isn’t, otherwise Trunks wouldn’t have mommy’s flawless silky hair! And we’ll never be able to figure out what traits are sex-linked… it’s too bad your mom didn’t give you a little sister…”
Gohan was turning paler by the moment. What are we, monkeys in a lab? “I don’t know about this, Bulma…”
That put a pout on her face quickly. “Oh Gohan, please? I can’t ask this of anyone else— Trunks is way too young, it wouldn’t feel right. You’re one of a kind— well, one of three. This is for the pursuit of knowledge! What if you or your brother ever got really sick? Trunks too! Maybe human medicine wouldn’t work— or maybe it would! Better to be prepared, right?”
Gohan gave a sigh of defeat. She did have a point. “Well… okay. I’ll do my best.”
The goggles nearly fell from Bulma’s face as she gave a small leap for joy. “We’ll get started right away— I’ve had the machines warming up while we’ve been talking. I hope you don’t mind if there’s another person there— he’s just a grad student from North City, the nephew of one of dad’s old friends. He’s nice, don’t worry. He’s volunteering with us to get some real lab experience under his belt. Nothing stands out on a résumé like Capsule Corporation!”
“But won’t it be weird for him to be hearing all about Saiyans? Not everybody knows about them.” Gohan pictured the judgemental glances; he could almost hear a foreign voice hissing the word ‘freak’.
“I’m sure he’ll be alright. It’s not like we’ve exactly been hiding the existence of aliens these past few years.”
Gohan gave her a desperate look.
“Well… alright. I’ll just have him do some of the data analysis afterwards. I won’t use your name, or the word ‘Saiyan’ anywhere. He’s on a contract of confidentiality, anyways— if he doesn’t want to be slapped with a lawsuit he’ll be sure to keep quiet.”
Bulma had turned Gohan around by the shoulders and was pushing him out towards the laboratories when Vegeta crossed their path, towel thrown across his shoulder, and sweat soaking through shirt and towel alike.
“Ugh, Vegeta, haven’t I told you to take your showers in the GR? They aren’t there for the feng shui, y’know.”
“Yeah. I wanted a drink first.” He lifted the frosted metal can in example. “What’s the half-breed doing here?”
Bulma crossed her arms, dropping her gaze at the remark. “He does have a name. You can stop calling him that. Your own son is a ‘half-breed’ too, if you’d care to remember.”
“He may be, but at least he’s the son of a Saiyan elite, not some third-rate like Kakarott.”
Bulma rolled her eyes. “Everything’s a competition with you, isn’t it? I would have thought you’d respect Gohan at least a little for defeating Cell for all of you.”
A tangible air of unease followed her words— Gohan decided to focus his gaze down at the hardwood floor he stood upon, while Vegeta found similar interest in the ceiling. Bulma watched in amusement at their silence, finally giving a laugh as she leaned down to whisper in Gohan’s ear.
“He’ll never admit it, but that’s as close to respect that you’ll probably get from him.”
That earned a scowl from Vegeta. “I heard that.”
“Then we’re all settled! Now get along to your shower, mister. We have places to be, and you’re stinking up the entire building standing there.”
“Hmph. The brat would be better off training than subjecting himself to your poking and prodding. A true Saiyan knows that a time of peace does not mean a time of rest. It would be interesting to finally have a worthy sparring partner…”
Bulma shook her head as she walked away, keeping her hand on Gohan’s shoulder as she pushed him forward. “And any sane person knows that there’s no such thing as a ‘time of peace’ with a Saiyan in the house…”
* * *
There were more needles than Gohan had wagered, and while he could not claim to dislike them as much as his father, he doubted that many people annoyed having multiple vials of blood drawn, or repeated injections of nano-sized sensors into their body. The part that really made him squirm, though, were all of the questions Bulma asked during the whole ordeal. He didn’t much like having to talk about his own body’s growth when he was younger — especially considering that Bulma was a girl, and he wasn’t. Yet even that wasn’t as bad when she started asking about his emotional development over the years. Perhaps she didn't really consider the repeated loss of his father and constant threat of universal annihilation unusual in her world, but Gohan was still uncertain of how to respond when asked about ‘abnormal feelings of despair or anxiety’.
Thankfully, only one day’s worth of testing and interrogation had satiated the doctor’s curiosity, and Gohan was free to go with a red face and sore arm. When Bulma called their house two weeks later, his first frightened thought expected her to want to do more tests. To his relief, she asked to speak with his mother, and was invited to come over for lunch.
She brought Trunks with her, and dropped him off in Goten’s playpen before sitting down for tea with her friend. Before Gohan went back up to his room, he couldn’t help but watch the two crawl and acquaint with each other. We’re three of a kind… mind if I join you in there? The bizarre image brought a smile to his face.
“Hey Gohan, care to stick around? I was actually about to tell your mom some of the results from the tests.”
“Tests?” Chi-Chi stared at Bulma, turning to face Gohan, looking back to Bulma, before finally directing the question at her son. “What tests?”
Bulma looked nearly as surprised, but not as worried. “You mean you didn’t tell her?”
The floor suddenly became incredibly interesting again. Gohan hoped the warmth in his cheeks wasn’t as visible as it felt. “I just… didn’t really think to mention it…”
Chi-Chi began to look rather upset, but Bulma spoke before she had a chance to reprimand her son. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong with him. I ran a few little tests— with his permission of course— to help with a bit of research I’ve been doing.”
Bulma took out a capsule from the pocket of her jacket, clearing space enough on the table for the computer that soon poofed out of it. She began pulling up documents and data files on the screen as Gohan and Chi-Chi pled up chairs behind her, watching the computer with silence curiosity.
“I’ll try to keep on track with only relevant information for the two of you, but things just get more interesting the more I learn. If Saiyans were an unexplored cave of mysteries, then half-Saiyans are entire unexplored planets!”
“Is that what this is about…?” Despite the lack of enthusiasm in her voice, Chi-Chi listened patiently to the report. Mom must have heard about Bulma’s new hobby too.
“It seems that the mixing of human and Saiyan genes complicates a lot more things than you might think. Even things as fundamental as amino acid sequences in proteins are affected. Your immune system seems to be superior to ours and the Saiyans’, with a completely new set of antibodies you can’t find in either. You have decreased hormone activity as well, and fewer synapses required during basic thought and motor skills. Some things are exactly like a Saiyan— that addition of a third type of cellular respiration is still there, but I think the protein and enzyme activity is a bit messier — while nerve activity and brain patterns resembles far more closely to that of a human.”
So think like a human, breathe like a Saiyan, huh…?
“From what I can tell, your growth and puberty are a mix of the two again. You started maturing physically and emotionally at an earlier age, much like Saiyans do, but so far your experience doesn’t resemble a lot of what Vegeta described Saiyan development to be like.”
Gohan nodded, but mentally regretted understating the unpleasant details when asked about growth spurts and mood swings.
“For the most par, you actually got the best traits from each parent, and even improved in some areas. I think we can all be grateful that you missed out on that crazy Saiyan personality.” Bulma shared a knowing smirk with Chi-Chi, but her tone grew solemn as she continued. “However… there were a few details that I noticed that might not be so great. They’re probably good things to keep in mind for the future, if things seem… off.”
Gohan didn’t expect this conversation to get him so anxious. His mother’s expression suggested she had similar feelings.
“The first bad news is… puberty’s not done yet. And probably won’t be for a while. If your internal calendar keeps on course, you’re likely to reach your full growth in your early to mid-twenties.”
Well that’s something to look forward to… It was far from encouraging news, but Gohan tried to tell himself that it wasn’t exactly terrible news. Better to know than to expect an early finish.
“The next is just a hunch, because physically there is absolutely nothing wrong now, but you… might have some loss of vision in the future.”
Chi-Chi looked faint. “Gohan could go blind?!”
“No!” Bulma assured quickly, laughing awkwardly, “Not unless he’s really unlucky. I mean that he might have some shortsightedness when he gets older. I noticed quite a few indicators resembling known genes for vision loss. Luckily, even if my hunch is right, you probably won’t even begin to notice it until well after puberty is finished.”
Chi-Chi bit her lip, but nodded calmly in acknowledgment. At least that means it’s nothing to worry about now. Gohan tried to imagine what he’d look like in glasses, and then how he’d look in his mid-twenties.
The last point seemed to be a difficult one for Bulma to articulate, as she took her time searching through folders and files on the computer to find the data she wanted, cautiously keeping an eye on Chi-Chi at the same time. “Now uh… unfortunately, this last one I’m almost sure of. I re-did the tests multiple times, to be sure, and you can see they all came back with the same results. I’m not entirely sure why, but it seems to be a biological incompatibility with mixing two dissimilar species. Fortunately, it doesn’t look like it will affect Gohan’s health at all but… I don’t think that Gohan’s body is capable of producing viable gamete cells.”
The words hung on the air like adhesive, and Chi-Chi clung to them in the unhelpful silence, clearly aware that it wasn’t good news. “What does that mean?”
A sudden dryness filled Gohan’s mouth. “It means that I won’t be able to have kids of my own.”
His mother stared at him, horror-struck.
“It’s remarkable that Gohan exists at all, Chi-Chi,” Bulma started quickly, attempting some consolation. “Most attempts at biological hybridization result in resounding failures— miscarriages or high infant morality. It’s absolutely wonder to think that even with such odds, all three of our boys will be able to live long, healthy lives—“
“—but I’ll never be a grandmother.” Chi-Chi stifled a sob, a few tears shivering down her face. “Will Goten be the same? And Trunks?”
Bulma looked down, nodding slowly. “I haven’t looked at Trunks yet, but I see too many contributing factors for this just to be an anomaly. I didn’t find any signs of gamete-producing hormones that both the Saiyan and human glands produces, as well as indications of an abnormally low libido and some other lack of developments, despite Gohan’s age. Even fundamentally— I’ve taken some of Gohan’s cells and attempted to induce meiosis, but any daughter cells produced immediately began apoptosis and died.”
“That makes sense,” said Gohan. “The cells of healthy mules can’t conduct meiosis either. I think it has something to do with the odd pairing of chromosomes from the horse and donkey parents.”
“You’re not a mule, Gohan!” Chi-Chi was having difficulty keeping her voice calm. “You’re my baby boy! You were supposed to grow up, get a job, get married, have children— live a happy life!”
What did Bulma mean by ‘other lack of developments’…? Gohan placed an arm around his despairing mother. “Don’t be upset— it’s not like I can’t still have that. Not all family has to be blood!”
“But… but they wouldn’t be your own kids.”
Gohan shrugged, giving her a comforting smile. “So? Would you love me any less if I wasn’t actually your son?”
“Of course not!” Chi-Chi offered a small smile in return as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I suppose… it’s a pretty silly thing to get upset over. Especially since I’m the luckiest mom in the world to have such a strong, smart boy!”
“Mom…” Gohan whined as his mother pulled him into a tight cuddle, but he decided against squirming since her voice betrayed her heartbroken thoughts.
“Well, she took that a lot better than I expected,” said Bulma. “Vegeta was absolutely floored when he found out.”
Are you planning on writing/posting more fanfiction? You're a really good writer! I hope to see more of your work. Do you have a fanfiction page? Keep up the good work! -Kari
Ah! Thank you so much for the kind words. Of course I shall be posting more here— I’ve actually got a couple things in the works right now that I’ll (hopefully) have ready to post for this weekend. I’ve had both the time and desire to write recently, so it’s a good combination to have if writing is what you’re looking for. I do have a fairly disused fanfiction page that I posted some fics a few years back— maybe I’ll post the ones I share there as well? I haven’t decided yet. I did also have one back in high school that… I’ll probably keep to myself.
I hope to see you sticking around for future updates!
Summary: Piccolo and Gohan are sparring during the three-year wait for the androids, and have brief discussions on Android Ethics, the kamehameha vs the masenkō, and other matters.
I couldn't sleep one night and kind of wanted some regular ol' Piccolo and Gohan interactions. No surprises here. Could be canon if you squinted.
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Piccolo watched carefully as Gohan attempted a barrage of punches carefully aimed around the Namekian’s torso and limbs, attempting to avoid his typical blocking manoeuvres. The boy was far too familiar with his fighting for his on sake— while Piccolo may have still been deflecting and matching the blows, Gohan was learning only how to face Piccolo, and not how to face a new opponent. This isn’t a memory test, kid. You can’t just study for this one.
When Piccolo felt Gohan’s arm bend with a particularly mislaid punch, he scowled and slapped the vulnerable limb away, following up with a knee in the boy’s stomach as a reward for the negligence. The yelp of discomfort as Gohan backed away, clutching his injury, was more than enough of a response for Piccolo. He allotted the boy a few moments to recompose, straightening and coughing, before he began his lecture.
“I’m beginning to wonder if maybe you shouldn’t be training with me so much.”
Gohan’s eyes widened slightly, loosing them from his focused, fighting gaze. “Huh? But I like training with you, Piccolo!”
“That’s the problem. This shouldn’t be something you ‘like’ doing. You should be focused and paying attention to your opponent, learning and gauging their abilities, exposing their habits as you fight them. You can’t learn that if you keep relying on information you already know about me.”
“Oh…” Gohan looking down with a nod. “I understand.”
“Good.”
“It’ll be hard to not think about now, but I’ll try.” He crouched down into a wide stance, open hand taught ahead of him. “Let’s go!”
There was undoubtedly an initial sluggishness to his movements as he tried to ignore habit and approach his mentor with a clean memory, but as he grew more frantic and desperate in his dodging Piccolo saw him begin to move in anticipation rather than response. Piccolo wasn’t rue what upset him more— his student’s bad habits, or the fact that Gohan was so capable of reading him. Maybe my own habits will be my downfall.
This time, Piccolo disciplined by side-stepped one of Gohan’s punches, meeting his secondary kick with a bent forearm, upsetting the other leg to leave his student bruised and winded on the grass. “No! When the androids come you won’t know their style. They might not fight like anything you’ve ever seen before. You won’t be able to rely on habits to defeat them— you’ll have to watch, assess, and adapt.”
“These androids…” Gohan’s face turned solemn as he picked himself up off the ground, brushing off the grass that clung to his gi. ”I wonder if they’ll be more human or machine. Robots don’t fight the same way people do.”
“They break in more ways.”
Piccolo’s smile didn’t console him. “My dad said he used to fight a lot of robots, back when the Red Ribbon Army was still around. He never had any trouble with them before, and yet… these two are supposed to kill everyone. How could they be so strong?”
“We probably underestimated our opponent. Like you said, the only machines we’ve ever fought have been walking buckets of bolts. We probably never took them as real threats… and paid for our quick judgment.”
“You’re probably right,” said Gohan. “We won’t be caught off-guard this time!”
“We can’t let up our training, either. We have to make sure we are prepared for anything these androids could throw at us. Now, come at me!”
The half-Saiyan obeyed the command, beginning a volley of attacks and feints as he danced around Piccolo, remaining vigilant and aggressive even as the majority of his blows failed to connect. The boy’s got speed, but he presents himself too plainly. A patient fighter can read him far too easily… unless he taps into that anger of his.
It had long been a quest for Piccolo discover a way to summon and control the immense power that Gohan had hidden, but the years had left him convinced that only involuntary emotion could trigger it— and it was a temperamental trigger at best. Thankfully handy as it was when things were turning bleak, it was wholly unreliable. At least the boy had an undeniably strong fighting instinct that he could develop with hard training and practice.
Piccolo was already responding with his own attacks when Gohan suddenly snapped to attention, simultaneously dodging one of Piccolo’s punches and inadvertently causing him to stumble forward slightly. “That’s right! My dad has fought androids before!”
Gah… I’d better watch my own habits…
“They were in some tower built by the Red Ribbon Army. I think they had stolen a Dragon Ball or something, and so dad had to climb to the top to get it. There were the usual guys and machines with guns, but apparently also a whole bunch of these weird things that looked and fought like humans, but were made of metal and wires. Dad fought ‘em, and beat ‘em all— except for one! He was too strong and too fast for him, and dad just couldn’t beat him. Luckily, the thing actually didn’t want to hurt or kill anybody— he just wanted a friend!”
The story sounded too much like a child’s fairy tale for Piccolo’s taste. Makes for a good bedtime story. “I don’t think these machines were programmed with friendship and love in mind, kid. They are designed for ruthless, cold-blooded killing.”
“I think dad said one of the Red Ribbon guys got really mad when the android refused to fight, and threatened to blow him up! Dad stopped him before he had the chance, though.”
Always the hero. “It was a logical thing for him to do. A machine that doesn’t follow orders is worthless.”
Gohan frowned indignantly at that. “But he had feelings! And he never wanted to hurt people, so why kill him? If something that has free will… we should respect what it chooses to do!”
“And what if it suddenly ‘chooses’ to start killing everything it sees, and doesn’t obey when it’s told to stop?”
The question seemed to catch Gohan by surprise; he decided to remain in an embarrassed silence, eyes directed at the ground.
“You better not start feeling bad for the other androids when they show up. When a machine goes haywire and stops following protocol, in can start doing anything. They can not be trusted. They were built with a conscience or guilt.”
“Some of them might be…” Gohan said softly, more to himself than Piccolo.
There are a lot of things with consciences that still choose to ignore them, kid. “Alright, enough chit-chat. No holding back now!”
Piccolo was good to his word— as he pressed his assault, he took careful notice of the strain that came to the half-Saiyan’s face as he ducked, jumped, and wiped to dodge or block the attacks. Piccolo made sure to keep his movements as sporadic and wild as possible, and while it did leave his technique unrefined, he succeeded in keeping Gohan on-edge and hasty with his movements. But that wasn’t all that had changed in the half-Saiyan’s fighting— there was an addition degree of ferocity in his movements, and a harsher look about his face. All this talk about androids has got him upset. I could probably push him a little harder…
Piccolo retreated backwards, kicking off the ground, continuing upwards until he was ten metres above his student. Gohan paused a moment, as if considering his options, before springing upwards in pursuit, fist draw back behind his head to punctuate the charge. His hand never made contact, though— Piccolo took care to leap out of the way only a moment before it would make contact. He found himself smirking somewhat as he saw Gohan’s focused eyes follow him in his rapid escape. The kid’s come a long way from not being able to follow someone’s ki. At least he now knows that sight shouldn’t be the first sense he trusts.
Piccolo stopped another ten metres above Gohan, arms folded against his chest. “Your attacks are no good if I see them coming. Do we need to go over basics? You’ll have to be smarter than your opponent if you want to hit him.”
Gohan made no sign of acknowledgement at the words, only launching himself upwards again with another fist drawn back. This time, Piccolo did not retreat from the threat, nor did he move to doge the punch headed his way. But once again, he chose to make his move at the last opportunity, turning to grab his student’s leg before it caught him in the ribs, savouring the look of surprise on Gohan’s face.
“Nice feint, kid. You’ve gotten fast. But a feint’s no good if I’m expecting it.” He spun Gohan around by his leg, tossing him away with a less-than-gentle heave. He continued his lecture as the half-Saiyan flew across the sky, taking several seconds to stop himself mid-fall. “Your ki will betray your intentions, no matter your tactic! You’ve got to make your opponent reacts too late— always wait until the last possible second to make your move! Keep your attacks varied and unpredictable. If you only ever feint your opponent you might as well be only throwing punches. Now, try again! See if you can hit me!”
The process repeated itself several more times, each time with Gohan charging Piccolo and attempting to land a blow either directly from his charge or through a feint, and each time Piccolo either responded by dashing out of reach or by disarming Gohan and throwing him back to try again. While he was successfully varying and randomizing his mode of attack, Gohan was making no visible effort to sharpen his feinting technique. Piccolo could still sense the boy’s intention to feint moments before he made his move.
You’ve still got a lot to learn. Piccolo adjusted his weight as he anticipated another direct assault. You’re letting yourself be read like a book—
Piccolo caught the shift in ki almost an instant too late, only having time to half-turn to meet the true attack at his back. But the kick he faced there also vanished before it made contact, forcing him to leap back from an overhead punch, watching the third appearance of Gohan sail downwards after his missed attack. A double feint, huh…
Yet that Gohan disappeared before Piccolo’s eyes as well. His ki slipped away from the immediate surroundings, and so too Piccolo’s ability to sense his location. The Namekian didn’t have the time to look around, though, before he heard the cry from the grass.
“Masenkō… HA!”
Piccolo didn’t need to see the boy’s stance to recognize that attack. Leaping out of the path of the energy beam, he immediately dropped his gaze back to the ground, staring at the empty field below him.
It was during this moment that Gohan swept Piccolo’s legs out from under him with a wide drop-kick, flashing his teacher a victorious smile as he watched him stumble in the air. “Gotcha!”
Piccolo caught himself with as much dignity a bested fighter could muster. “That was.. well done, Gohan.”
The praise widened the half-Saiyan’s grin.
“Why did you spend so much time with your lazy attacks if you already knew how to feint like that?” And when did you learn to feint like that?
“Dad helped me with those! We worked hard on ‘em. I was waiting so I could see how you dodged and countered me. I wanted to make sure I would know what to expect… y’know, from my opponent.”
“That’s right. You have to observe and understand your opponent during a battle if you hope to pull off a stunt like that… but remember you can spend too much time watching. You wear yourself out spending time gauging someone in a real battle. Don’t overdo it. Every second counts.”
“Right. I know.”
“I must say though… the blast was a nice touch. Good to see you haven’t forgotten my techniques.”
Gohan nodded proudly. “Dad’s been having me practice the kamehameha, but it’s… hard. I like the masenkō a lot better.”
“The kamehameha is a very different technique from the masenkō. It is one of the Turtle Hermit’s techniques, who your father studied and trained under. Mastering it won’t be as easy for you as one of mine.”
“…to be honest, training with dad in general can be really tough. I mean, I like training with him too, but at times he can be really hard to understand. It’s almost like a different language… he doesn’t approach fighting the same way you do, Piccolo.”
“Like I said, it’s good for you to learn from different teachers. You’ll be able to take the best things from each style, and could become a better warrior than either of us. I can already see a lot of your father’s style in your fighting already.”
That made Gohan light up. “Really?”
“…but that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to forget anything I taught you, understand? I don’t want to see any old flaws coming out against because your father told you something different.”
“Yes sir!” Gohan called back.
“Good. If you think your father’s training is tough, maybe that means mine isn’t tough enough. Next time won’t be so easy.” Piccolo allowed himself to slowly float back down to the ground, taking note of the thick beads of sweat lining Gohan’s brow and neck. “Let’s call it a day for now. I don’t need another lecture from your mother about ‘proper study habits’.”
Gohan chuckled. “Why don’t you come over for dinner, Piccolo? You don’t always have to be out here alone.”
“…like I said kid, I’m not interested in getting another lecture right now. Anyway, conversation isn’t one of my best skills.”
“I wouldn’t say that!” Gohan started some cool-down stretches as he spoke. “And besides, how are you gonna get better without some practice?”
Piccolo stared down at his student’s earnest smile. This kid is something else. “Maybe next time. For now, you get yourself home. You did good today.”
After a few more bends and squats, Gohan nodded and took off to the sky again, shouting back as he headed off towards the mountains. “It’s because I have a good teacher!”
His small dot soon disappeared on the horizon, and Piccolo drew his legs up into a folded position, keeping himself floating in the air, closing his eyes with a prolonged exhale.
A series of Pre-Reichenbach vignettes, recalled by a post-Reichenbach John whilst sharing some tea with Mrs. Hudson- some serious, some light-hearted. Memories have taught John the truth behind the idiom, “Hindsight is 20-20 vision.” Third Person.
