Chapter Text
Vegeta walked.
Perhaps he should have run but once he was away from the cluster of noise that was the others, he found himself drifting. As tempting as it was to plow through the temple, bursting through walls, tearing through dirt and wood and grime, he had no idea where he needed to go. Not directly in any event.
The three-eyed human said the energy cluster had moved back, withdrawn. Perhaps to where the boys had ventured in the first place. There was nothing definite about that but at least with such an option, Vegeta could make a reasonable guess.
Even if his brat was trying to help someone, he would take the most dangerous road. The pathways that seemed most likely to bring him danger and excitement. It was a very Saiyan trait and Vegeta had engaged in it often as a child himself. Even among Freeza’s forces.
Darkness took his eyes. Freeza.
There was no end to the bastard. No matter how many times he was defeated, killed. When Vegeta thought he was free of the creature—where the only place he could haunt him was in the dark shadows of his dreams, he emerged again.
And went after a child. HIS child.
Let the bastard come for him. Let him come for him with all his power. Vegeta would take it, no complaint. He would restrain himself. He would let the bastard take his shots, take every blow he had to.
But no. Freeza was never satisfied with that. He was never satisfied. Go harder. Go darker. Go deeper. Cut and burn and plunder. Not for any purpose. As much as Saiyans might enjoy plundering, enjoy a good fight, there was always some kind of justice behind it—to protect, to defend, to grow, to expand their strength.
Freeza didn’t operate that way. Nothing would be gained for him in attacking their children. Aside from a sick form of revenge. But the way he was doing it—the calculated, meticulous approach to make the boys feel as helpless as possible.
That was just because he could.
Vegeta had grown used to being a target. Growing up in Freeza’s army, it was a natural position. That was one reason he was so obsessed with personal strength. If you were strong and powerful, it was less likely for you to be selected for a victim for one of Freeza or Dodoria’s little games.
But now, Freeza had targeted his son.
And Vegeta knew all too well what Freeza was capable of doing. And if he could enter his son’s mind---that was all that monster needed to do untold amounts of damage. He wouldn’t stop there. If they even had a sampling of mind link, the things Freeza could show his son.
Trunks had lost most of his innocence with Buu. Vegeta couldn’t stomach the thought of his losing the rest.
Couldn’t stomach…since when did the thought of anything turn his stomach?!
Yet it did. Picturing the things he had seen Freeza do. The things he knew of more intently than others. Things Freeza did deliberately to try and break the little bit of spirit Vegeta maintained, even amid his servitude. Torture. Death. Everything and anything the mind both could and could not imagine. Vegeta had grown up well accustomed to people pleading for their lives. Or in the worst cases, begging for death to take them. And being denied it as Freeza cackled and laughed to himself.
He’d grown up with those echoes in his ears. He had endured. He had survived.
But those would break his son.
It was a feeling Vegeta still wasn’t used to. He’d meant it when he told Kakarot that he couldn’t focus. Against Buu, he had thrust his son and Goten out of the path of battle before he tried to take out Buu. And he and Kakarot, once they had merged into one, despite the conflicting emotions and thoughts that came with becoming someone else entirely, there had always been a compelling single thought—save the boys first. And when they’d….failed…to save the boys before Kid Buu blew up the earth, it was almost a bit of silver lining because then they were out of the direct line of fire.
Putting others before himself made battles all the more difficult and to be frank, Vegeta hated it.
So much to think about. So many thoughts that rushed through his mind and distracted him. How did Kakarot do it? He didn’t understand. He would never admit such a thing but he didn’t understand it. How could he fight and fight so damn well with so much on his mind? Now that Vegeta was older, wiser, he pondered how Kakarot had accomplished ANYTHING with his brat next to him on the battlefield. How did he ignore the throbbing that had recently taken Vegeta’s heart and refused to be silenced?
Damn emotions. Bothersome, annoying things.
“Shut up.” His voice hissed. “I can’t focus with you annoying me.”
Every step Vegeta took felt weighted. The temple halls around him felt restricted. Condensed.
Most Saiyans had a hint of claustrophobia. Not severe and the necessity of the pod spacecraft often chased it out of most. But being able to move, to fight, to be able to dodge and assess a situation was what kept them alive. Being unable—or at least restrictive in that—was not something any of them liked.
Taking a breath, a scowl settled on the Saiyan’s face.
This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Track down Freeza, kill him—again—and be done with this.
Simple. Cause and effect. Point A to Point B.
Passing around a corner, Vegeta paused, the shadows decorating the wall slipped past him, leaving a sense of heaviness to the air. Nothing noteworthy. A long corridor, simple rooms that were half caved in with time. Dust and the remains of animals, mostly insects, that had crept into the halls. A set of rickety stairs leading to a lower level creaked as he approached, weaving around the left side.
Make it stop, Dad!
He froze mid step and cursed his mind, creatively.
Make it stop, Dad! Make it stop!
His brat’s plea—with all its poor, pathetic intensity—flooded his consciousness again. The utter panic. The desperation. The way he…looked at him…for answers, for reassurance, for absolution that Vegeta did not possess.
A sense of failure flooded him, overwhelming his senses and for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut, all he could see was his son’s limp form, literally destroying itself. The way he looked at him, begging with only his eyes for relief, for something—anything—to make the pain stop.
“Damn it, this isn’t helping!” Vegeta slammed his fist into the wall, as if physical outrage would force the image from his mind. If anything, it only made it more intense, an afterimage that lingered behind his sight, always taunting and pestering him.
He’d come here to save the brat and save him he would but having that image always within his grasp caused a sense of anxiety in him that was alien, unfamiliar and unwelcomed. Focus became increasingly difficult.
And he needed focus right now.
“It’s this damn place, isn’t it?” He spoke aloud, if only to have something else to place his center on. Hearing the light echo of his own voice created stimuli, something he could give weight to aside from the illusions of his own mind. “This damned place is messing with me. Show me the way to my enemy and I’ll be out of your way,” He sneered lightly. “Unless you’d prefer me to force my way through, punch by punch.”
He wasn’t sure what to expect. Ki he understood, at least as much as most warriors. Definitely more so than when he first arrived on earth. But spiritual energy? Power? That was something else. Had he not been through as much as he had, he would have thought it foolishness initially but no. There was too much abound in this universe that he could not understand or had not been exposed to. It was ridiculous to dismiss something just because HE didn’t comprehend it.
And that damn monk had done something to help his son. He still couldn’t quite fathom what but it had worked to bring him back down to normal state. And to idea of Freeza and Cell being able to reach out to touch his son without even being on the same plane.
He didn’t understand it but that didn’t mean it wasn’t happening.
A shadow…no, less than that, more like a wisp of air and color slipped by his side and the coldness that came with it filled him with dread. Not fear, but something deeper. Something felt within the body. Within the spirit.
It was his son.
But…not his son. Yet still his son. A visage of Trunks—the same size, the same face, the same coloring but covered in a white silky mist, more reflection than flesh. When he turned and moved, he left slivers of himself behind. It was like watching video slowed down or a hologram with bad connection.
But he looked at Vegeta with his son’s eyes.
Without a word, he leapt down the stairwell to the floor below.
Vegeta gave chase.