Wow, seems like everyones writing something now and I gotta say I'm really impressed. So impressed, in fact, that I've been inspired to resurrect something thats been gathering dust for a while now. In this fic I'm going to try and answer a couple of questions that DBZ never answered; namely why did it take a whole year for Goku to learn Instant Transmission, what affect did SSJ truly have on Goku and why did Chi-Chi agree to take him back after the all grief he put her through.
Maybe I'm reading too much into it but I tend to think thats what Fan-Fics are all about.
Anyway, without further ado, I present my Fic:
Control: Chapter One
Earth red spires, towering over the landscape of an alien planet. Hundreds of ancient needles, created by rain, wind and the changing of climate. Thousands of years in the making.
"HELP ME!"
Seconds in the breaking.
Artificial lightning danced from spire to spire, stonework shattering as the chaotic energy tore through them. A whirlwind of power carried the rocks, swirling them around and around one miniscule figure in the centre; bathed in gold, a tormented soul.
Horrified aquamarine eyes watched as an outstretched hand released a tiny sphere of energy, toppling three of the gargantuan towers that he had been admiring. A clenched fist swung around, a spasm swinging it so forcibly that the very wind blasted another monument to pieces.
"I CAN'T STOP!"
In the midst of the storm several figures danced. While not appearing to move, they would disappear and reappear for seemingly no reason. However, if watched closely, the pattern could be divulged. Every spot left was - no more than a second later - filled by a torn piece of earth; every spot entered safe for the time being. And out of the dancers emerged one man, alien but still human enough for features to be made out.
An elderly man, skin wrinkled from time and experience. His eyes wide and calm; arms reaching through the golden aura, ignoring the burning of flesh, to hold the rampaging warrior.
"Be at peace, Son Goku. You have the will to gain control, you need only call upon it."
The figure writhed in agony, limbs jerking as he sought for control. For a practiced Martial Artist - someone who had come to understand long ago that his body could be depended upon - the experience was more terrifying than words could describe. To not have control was unthinkable and Goku fought against it as he did everything - with the strength of his heart and soul.
And still the old man held him, sparks rolling across his old bones and searing his flesh. The wounds would heal, the pain could be ignored but the sacrifice was understood. The sacrifice was important; it gave Goku focus. If he was trying to help himself he might have difficulties but, whether intentional or not, his very being forced him to help those who suffered.
So the shaking slowed, the clods of earth dropped, the wind fell down to its normal breeze and slowly, but surely, the two descended towards the ground. A few feet before they were grounded Goku collapsed, golden hair fading back to black as he slumped against the old man who handled the extra weight easily.
Glancing backwards, Pascal waved one of his students forwards and gently passed the large warrior to her.
"Take him back to the temple, I'll be back before the sun sets."
The old man turned and stared into the sky, his face frozen in concentration for a second, then he was gone. The wounds would be healed, the pain had been ignored but a sacrifice had still been made.
That would be the thing he remembered most about Pascal; the sacrifices.
* * *
Standing at the front door, Son Goku was about to make his own kind of sacrifice. Not his first in the past year, he thought with bitterness that would have surprised his friends. He hadn't been home in a year; actually it was more like two years as he had gone straight from heaven to the hospital.
Had the door always been so forbidding?
Gohan had escaped as soon as they had arrived home, using the excuse of checking up on Icarus. Goku wasn't surprised that fear of Chi-Chi's reaction overpowered even the joy of having his father back; she was, of course, an intimidating woman. He was glad Gohan had left for the moment; he wouldn't want Chi-Chi to hold anything back in case their son heard.
After years of constant training and battles that he had welcomed with open arms, Goku found himself dreading the future for what seemed to be the first time in his life.
What would he say?
The truth was completely out of the question, she wouldn't understand. He could, he supposed, use the excuse he had given his friends. Chi-Chi was sharp though, sometimes it seemed like she knew him better than he knew himself. He was absent minded, naïve, sometimes a bit slow on the uptake but he was incredible at learning fighting techniques. She'd never believe that it took him a whole year.
The trouble was that he didn't think she'd jump to the right conclusion either, that would be too much to ask for.
Goku, saviour of the Earth, never asked for anything in return for what he did. He had all that he needed; a wife, a child, good friends and the strength of his own two hands. Was it too much to expect that he be able to keep those things?
What would she say?
He knew where she was as easily as if the walls were no more substantial than paper; he could feel her anger and suspicion as she washed the dishes; hear the smash of plates too fragile for such a strong woman to hold; smell the aroma of cooking dinner on the wind.
Can't stand here forever..
Slowly, hands shaking, Goku reached towards the door.
Maybe I'm reading too much into it but I tend to think thats what Fan-Fics are all about.
Anyway, without further ado, I present my Fic:
Control: Chapter One
Earth red spires, towering over the landscape of an alien planet. Hundreds of ancient needles, created by rain, wind and the changing of climate. Thousands of years in the making.
"HELP ME!"
Seconds in the breaking.
Artificial lightning danced from spire to spire, stonework shattering as the chaotic energy tore through them. A whirlwind of power carried the rocks, swirling them around and around one miniscule figure in the centre; bathed in gold, a tormented soul.
Horrified aquamarine eyes watched as an outstretched hand released a tiny sphere of energy, toppling three of the gargantuan towers that he had been admiring. A clenched fist swung around, a spasm swinging it so forcibly that the very wind blasted another monument to pieces.
"I CAN'T STOP!"
In the midst of the storm several figures danced. While not appearing to move, they would disappear and reappear for seemingly no reason. However, if watched closely, the pattern could be divulged. Every spot left was - no more than a second later - filled by a torn piece of earth; every spot entered safe for the time being. And out of the dancers emerged one man, alien but still human enough for features to be made out.
An elderly man, skin wrinkled from time and experience. His eyes wide and calm; arms reaching through the golden aura, ignoring the burning of flesh, to hold the rampaging warrior.
"Be at peace, Son Goku. You have the will to gain control, you need only call upon it."
The figure writhed in agony, limbs jerking as he sought for control. For a practiced Martial Artist - someone who had come to understand long ago that his body could be depended upon - the experience was more terrifying than words could describe. To not have control was unthinkable and Goku fought against it as he did everything - with the strength of his heart and soul.
And still the old man held him, sparks rolling across his old bones and searing his flesh. The wounds would heal, the pain could be ignored but the sacrifice was understood. The sacrifice was important; it gave Goku focus. If he was trying to help himself he might have difficulties but, whether intentional or not, his very being forced him to help those who suffered.
So the shaking slowed, the clods of earth dropped, the wind fell down to its normal breeze and slowly, but surely, the two descended towards the ground. A few feet before they were grounded Goku collapsed, golden hair fading back to black as he slumped against the old man who handled the extra weight easily.
Glancing backwards, Pascal waved one of his students forwards and gently passed the large warrior to her.
"Take him back to the temple, I'll be back before the sun sets."
The old man turned and stared into the sky, his face frozen in concentration for a second, then he was gone. The wounds would be healed, the pain had been ignored but a sacrifice had still been made.
That would be the thing he remembered most about Pascal; the sacrifices.
* * *
Standing at the front door, Son Goku was about to make his own kind of sacrifice. Not his first in the past year, he thought with bitterness that would have surprised his friends. He hadn't been home in a year; actually it was more like two years as he had gone straight from heaven to the hospital.
Had the door always been so forbidding?
Gohan had escaped as soon as they had arrived home, using the excuse of checking up on Icarus. Goku wasn't surprised that fear of Chi-Chi's reaction overpowered even the joy of having his father back; she was, of course, an intimidating woman. He was glad Gohan had left for the moment; he wouldn't want Chi-Chi to hold anything back in case their son heard.
After years of constant training and battles that he had welcomed with open arms, Goku found himself dreading the future for what seemed to be the first time in his life.
What would he say?
The truth was completely out of the question, she wouldn't understand. He could, he supposed, use the excuse he had given his friends. Chi-Chi was sharp though, sometimes it seemed like she knew him better than he knew himself. He was absent minded, naïve, sometimes a bit slow on the uptake but he was incredible at learning fighting techniques. She'd never believe that it took him a whole year.
The trouble was that he didn't think she'd jump to the right conclusion either, that would be too much to ask for.
Goku, saviour of the Earth, never asked for anything in return for what he did. He had all that he needed; a wife, a child, good friends and the strength of his own two hands. Was it too much to expect that he be able to keep those things?
What would she say?
He knew where she was as easily as if the walls were no more substantial than paper; he could feel her anger and suspicion as she washed the dishes; hear the smash of plates too fragile for such a strong woman to hold; smell the aroma of cooking dinner on the wind.
Can't stand here forever..
Slowly, hands shaking, Goku reached towards the door.