Chapter Text
This wasn’t how the story of his life was supposed to end. Not like this, dragged away from a battlefield, a deep hole on the left side of his gut, dirt and grime and dust caking his fingers and his lungs. But like most of his life thus far, Vegeta had no say in this decision. Not because he was afraid to speak up due to his mother’s ire or his father’s stern looks, nor because he was punched into silence by Frieza’s strong fist, but because the blood in his throat choked back his protests, pushing past his gritted teeth and the sides of his cut lips.
His vision blacked out at certain points. So did his mind. One moment, Vegeta watched the ground and the bodies of their enemy floating by. The next moment, Raditz covered him from above, yelling at Nappa for something or another. He tried multiple times to stop them from running away like cowards, to have them fight to the last breath as Saiyans would. He even tried yelling out for their other Saiyan comrades, his mouth forming their names, but on each attempt, Vegeta remembered their dead faces and mangled bodies, and the memory hurt. Not because that meant there were less Saiyans in the universe, but because that meant his body was truly dying.
Control wasn’t his anymore. Raditz, of all people, had more power than he did. Nappa too. He felt their bodies flanking his sides. Nappa yelling at Raditz, at his scouter. Raditz yelling back, holding Vegeta tighter to his side. Their shouts and screams mixed with the laser blasts and exploding mines and collapsing buildings all around him, a cacophony of sounds that signaled an end Vegeta wanted to face head on. Not like this. Not hiding away behind a slab of stone like a weakling.
His lips curled up into a smirk at the sound of Nappa’s curse and his subsequent shout of, “Fucking Pui!”
Raditz sounded so pathetic when he mumbled, “They aren’t coming.”
He wanted to snarl, Of course they aren’t. All that came out instead was a garbled mess of blood and spit down his chin.
A stream of Sadalan curses spilled out from Nappa’s guttural voice, words that amused as well as comforted Vegeta’s fading consciousness. Words like ‘shit’ and ‘move’ and ‘over there.’ Words like ‘careful’ and ‘faster’ and ‘now.’
Dirt and explosions. Blood and curses. Raditz’s strong arms. Nappa’s shouts and commands.
Behind the darkness of his lids, an image of Queen Cassava—his cold-hearted, strong-willed mother—appeared before Vegeta, consuming his attention. The last image of his mother, before he lost her and the planet forever.
“Kuwa, m’yo nyana.”
Fight, my son.
An explosion went off too close to Raditz, their bodies flying in the air for too long until they slammed and skidded into the ground.
“Amandla, imbeko, ikratshi.”
Strength, honor, pride.
A long, jarring, ringing sound filled up Vegeta’s mind, overpowering every other sound around him.
“M’kubula oku’ka’le.”
Remember this well.
Vegeta hissed through his bloodied teeth, rising to his feet, Nappa flanking one side, Raditz on the other.
The memory of his mother’s grip on his shoulder. The power behind her gloved hand. The rage, the fire and the pride in her glare, all for him.
He hissed under his breath her last command to him.
“Vu’kuwa.”
Fight.
Beside him, Nappa growled, “Aiii, m’yo ve’ho’ti.” Yes, my prince.
On the other side, Raditz grunted, “Vu’kuwa.” Fight.
Dirt and blood. Screams of the dying. The ground shaking and giving way. His vision blacking out. His mind too. All he smelled and tasted was too much blood and it soon hurt to breathe.
A hissing noise overpowered all of his senses. A familiar hissing noise.
Arms under his legs and torso. Soft cushions surrounding his weak frame. A plastic mask secured around his mouth, tied behind his head with elastic.
Raditz’s voice sounded underwater. “... stay alive…”
Nappa’s voice too. “... Vegeta…”
The hissing noise returned, accompanied by a robotic creak and a wrr .
With the last of his strength, he found the outline of Raditz and Nappa’s bodies beyond the red glass of the pod. The stasis gas soon filled up his mask, and Vegeta succumbed to the darkness of his lids, his head flopping to the side.
He stayed asleep the entire time he lifted up and zoomed out of the raging planet’s atmosphere. Even when a stray laser shot from the planet below hit the pod and knocked it off course, the stasis remained.
If he had been awake, Vegeta might’ve been able to course correct himself for the nearest Frieza Force station, just like all their pods were programmed to do in emergency situations. The chance of him succumbing to his injuries before that happened though were high.
Instead, Vegeta had no idea that he was not heading in the direction pre-programmed, but to an entirely different world. A planet unknown to the Frieza Force. A planet only Raditz knew of, that he had programmed in his own pod for a future expedition when the timing was right.
A planet with a strange name called ‘Earth.’
***
Three months. Three very long, very boring months spent on the Lookout thus far, and Goku felt like he wasn’t doing much at all. Kami spent most of his time away, saying he wasn’t ready yet to learn from him, so Goku spent most of his time either training with Popo, or meditating. Most of the time, Goku performed the latter, as that proved the most challenging aspect of his time thus far. He couldn’t figure out how to stay still and clear his mind like Kami and Mr. Popo said he had to. Not when he could feel all the ki of the Earth around him, the wind blowing, his body fidgeting in place every five or so minutes. But that was the challenge, and it passed the time well enough.
Being up here away from his friends proved a bit lonely at times. He had Mr. Popo, and occasionally, Kami let him use Kintoun to fly down to Korin’s Tower to say hello and spend time there. But most of the time, Goku either practiced katas, practiced techniques with Mr. Popo, or he meditated alone outside or in one of the many rooms of the Lookout. Sometimes he checked in on the ki of his friends down below, grinning from ear-to-ear at how their ki fluctuated from time to time, obviously training hard for the battle ahead. It especially felt nice making out Krillin’s ki. Goku still had bad memories of holding Krillin’s dead body in his arms, the life gone from his small frame, the rage and anguish Goku felt in that moment still haunting his mind—a time way, way before he could even sense ki to begin with.
Meditating helped with his emotions, at least. When he could focus well enough to meditate. But it was hard staying still like Kami told him to do. He felt like he was closer to gaining a meditative state when he moved through his katas, but Kami promised there was value in stillness. Every day that passed, Goku found himself falling into a meditative state easier, which was a nice positive. The hard part was still holding onto that state, in stillness.
He evened out his breath, counting out his inhales—one, two, three—and his exhales—five, four, three, two, one. Kami told him to aim for a count of eight on his exhales eventually, but he didn’t have the control for that just yet. Counting helped a lot in maintaining focus, easing his mind into a lull, but that was it. Eventually, the counting irritated him as usual, and Goku would have to try again, just like he was now. Another big inhale. Counting to three. Another big exhale through the mouth. Counting to five.
Behind the darkness of his lids, the memories of his last fight appeared in little glimpses. King Piccolo’s evil smirk. Krillin’s dead gaze. Tien’s too. Blood everywhere. The massive amounts of pain Goku endured from every single strike to his body. The pain in his tail that shot up his spine. The need to survive, to achieve the impossible, to make King Piccolo pay, to save everyone, to right these wrongs—
“Goku!”
He shook his head, blinking his eyes open.
Before him stood Mr. Popo, frowning. “You’re doing it again.”
“Huh?”
“Look beneath you.”
He did—and his cheeks flushed a light pink at the sight of the Lookout’s tile, cracked and caved in around his crossed-legged body. Goku glanced back up, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry.”
Mr. Popo sighed. “This is the fifth time you’ve done this.”
“I know…”
“You have to calm yourself.”
“I’m trying, Mr. Popo! I am!” Goku slowly came to his feet, wiping away at the broken tile stuck to his butt. “I don’t know why it’s happening.”
“You do.” Mr. Popo walked around him, conjuring a broom in his hand with a small poof. “Kami spoke to you about this.”
“But I’m not angry?”
“Mm.”
“I’m not!” Goku stepped away a good distance to let Mr. Popo sweep the floor of the dust and broken tile. “I just get… I dunno. I think about what happened and…” He gestured to the floor. “I do that.”
Mid-sweep, Mr. Popo asked, “What do you feel when that happens?”
Goku pondered for a moment before answering, “Sad.”
“Only sad?”
“Yeah?” He shrugged. “What else should I feel?”
Mr. Popo conjured up a dust bin. “What do you think you should feel?”
“I dunno, more sad?” Goku looked away, down to the floor, scratching the back of his head. “I really don’t think about these things much.”
“This is why you need to meditate.” Mr. Popo swept the pieces into the bin. A clap of his hands, and the bin and the broom disappeared in a poof of air. “You’ll understand why eventually.” He smiled at Goku, gesturing to his nearby flower garden. “How about you take a break and help me plant some new flowers?”
“Sure, Mr. Popo!”
He barely took a step forward towards the garden when he froze in place, his mouth falling wide open, his tail bristling behind him, becoming taut and straight.
A brand new ki registered to his senses—an extremely high ki. Astronomically high ki.
Stronger than his own. Stronger than King Piccolo’s.
Goku trembled from head to toe.
In front of him, Mr. Popo looked the same way he felt: absolutely terrified, gasping for air that couldn’t come, shaking like a miniature earthquake.
The sound of incoming footsteps from the inside of the Lookout increased in volume. Out from the interior emerged Kami, who didn’t look as terrified as Goku felt, but he could see it in his eyes. The unbridled fear.
He heard that fear in his voice too. “M-My gods.” Kami stared out into the distance, in the direction of that incoming ki. “What is that?”
Goku swallowed against the lump in his throat, rasping out, “Is… could it be… Piccolo?”
“No. Gods, no.” Kami took a few steps forward, his staff clinking against the ground. “He’s still a child by all accounts. He cannot be that powerful yet.” His eyes narrowed. “And this ki… it’s not on Earth. It’s from… elsewhere. Coming—” He gasped, pointing his staff out into the sky, far ahead. “There!”
Goku whipped around to face the end of the Lookout, following the staff. He focused his energy in that direction and gasped aloud the moment he felt it. “I sense it, Kami! I sense it!” His teeth chattered. “It’s… it’s huge!”
A loud boom rang throughout the Lookout. A boom that came from the Earth below.
The trio ran towards the edge of the Lookout, staring down at the world beneath them. Goku made out nothing discernible, but he could still sense that insanely strong ki. It didn’t move, didn’t grow in power—thankfully—didn’t do much of anything, really. It just stayed there in place on Earth.
Then the ki dropped.
Goku’s eyes bugged out.
And dropped .
It kept dropping with every passing second. The bright, powerful ki that matched nothing Goku ever felt in his life, that terrified him to the bone, was slipping away, little by little.
But the more he focused on that ki, the more he noticed one distinct aspect to it. Whatever possessed that terrifying ki… it fought the dips. It viscerally fought the descent of power. There were spikes in that ki, as if punching away a monster that threatened its life, determined not to go down without a fight, and Goku couldn’t stop focusing on that fight, couldn’t get his mind off of it.
This ki wanted to live. It wanted to go on.
Goku’s tail started to relax.
The person, the thing with this ki—it didn’t want to stop. It wanted to fight. It demanded to fight, to its last breath.
Just like he would do. Just like he did, every time.
Beside him, Kami said, “Don’t.”
Goku turned to him.
Kami didn’t look away from the world below them. He said, “Anything with a ki that powerful is no good. Let it be. It won’t be long now.”
He didn’t recognize his own voice when he whispered, “But…”
“No, Goku.”
“Kami—”
“If you leave—” Kami turned to him, his face impassive. “—I will not allow you to come back.”
Goku took a step back away from him.
The ki from below spiked again—a visceral punch to Goku’s gut—and then dipped again, much weaker than before.
He slowly returned his attention back down to the Earth, to that weakening ki.
Beside his hips, Goku’s hands turned into tight fists.
That ki spiked one last time, as if it was a final battle cry. A final plea for help.
The moment Goku lost a sense of that ki, he flung his head to the sky and cried out, “Kintoun!!”
As the flying cloud zoomed into his view, Kami shouted, “Goku, don’t!”
“I don’t care if it ends up being a bad guy!” He hopped onto the cloud the moment it was leveled with the Lookout’s edge, shouting, “I can’t let another person die when I can stop it! Not again!”
“Goku!”
“Let’s go!” He pointed down to the Earth. “Hurry!”
Whatever Kami said fell on deaf ears. Wind consumed his hearing, his senses focused only on that dying ki—it was dying, it wasn’t going to last long now—and to get there in time, before it was too late.
Images of Krillin’s dead body, Tien’s, every person he cared for, every person he failed to save, they all floated past his vision as he dove past the clouds and saw the ground come closer and closer.
“Not again,” he mumbled, pointing Kintoun in the direction of the ki. “I’m not failing someone again!” He fought a sudden wetness that hit his vision, blinking it away as he hissed, “Hold on. Please, hold on, whatever you are… please...”
His voice echoed throughout the mountains Kintoun zoomed through, screaming on top of his lungs:
“ Just hold on! ”
***
Sunlight. Cool, brisk air. A breeze. The smell of dry dirt. The too bright sky above. A blue sky, from what Vegeta could make out. White things in that sky. Clouds. A bright star shining light and heat above him, similar to the one he once saw on Planet Vegeta, back when he had something called a life and a future.
With a shaky hand, he ripped away the mask from his clammy face, flinging it to the side. He wheezed for air, blood gurgling in his mouth, his heartbeat slamming against his chest.
His fingers touched the edges of his scouter, pressing lightly.
Static.
No voices. No registered power levels.
Nothing but static, and silence.
His bloodied lips curled into a smirk.
Not a Frieza Force station nearby whatsoever.
Nothing but himself, and imminent death.
A laugh bubbled out of him, the same time blood bubbled out of his mouth, down his chin and throat.
His vision blacked in and out as he unfastened the straps around his body. He collapsed onto all fours, using the last of his energy to crawl out of the pod and into the crater it made on landing.
Dirt caked to his bloodied, torn gloves. His own blood turned patches of dirt into red-colored mud, sticking to his spandex and boots.
With a grunt of pain, Vegeta rolled onto his back, still laughing, weaker than before. In between the patches of blackness over his vision, he stared up at the pretty blue sky, listening to the wind, the sound of his own labored breathing, the occasional sound of rustling leaves.
A fitting grave for a prince.
He lifted one of his broken hands to his heart, creating a fist over it. The Saiyan greeting and farewell. The formal showing of respect.
In between his flashes of darkness, he saw his mother’s cold visage, as well as his father’s. Standing side by side. Watching him leave with Frieza. Watching him with their heads held high and their arms by their sides. Their tails gave away their emotions, though, emotions Vegeta still found belittling to this day, how they brushed one another’s as Vegeta watched their bodies and the palace and the planet become smaller and smaller in the red-tinted window.
Vegeta sighed, staring at the sky above.
His own tail laid limp by his side, in the dirt.
Na’ma…
Vegeta’s eyes slowly closed.
Ja’ta…
A big gust of wind kicked up dirt around him, flecks of it landing on his prone form.
Something hitting the ground. Dirt sliding down the crater.
Warmth beside him. Warmth on him—around his head. Under his torso.
A gasp. A gentle touch to his arm.
Vegeta forced his eyes to open, managing only to lift his lids into a small, tiny amount.
In the blurriness of his vision, he made out orange clothes, pale skin, black spiky hair—and he almost gasped at the sight of a brown furry tail wagging behind this warm body.
A Saiyan. Here. In this place.
The warmth held him closer. Warmth that must’ve come from this Saiyan beside him. A Saiyan that stared down at him with the kindest black eyes Vegeta ever saw in his life. Eyes that were not befitting of any Saiyan he ever met. Eyes that gazed down at him as if he was the most precious thing in the universe.
This Saiyan didn’t even sound normal too. “It’s okay,” he said, with a gentleness that matched the warmth surrounding Vegeta. “You’re safe now.” The Saiyan smiled—a reassuring, sweet smile—and Vegeta knew he was real, not a figment of his imagination, when he said, “I promise.” Because he could hear it, and see it, right in front of him, that this Saiyan meant every single word. He truly meant it.
Vegeta succumbed to the inviting warmth, collapsing his head against the gentle Saiyan’s chest.
He passed out to the sensation of the Saiyan’s arms lifting him with ease out of the crater and into the sky.