Chapter 7

A gentle rain had begun to fall as the dust cleared from his arrival. Vegeta dropped to kneel in the dirt of Kakarott's favourite hilltop, spent, torn, bloody, physically satisfied. His primal Saiyan instincts were sated: yet the mighty prince was not content.

Placing his weight on his forearms, he knelt forward, the high altitude mist cooling his super heated body. It collected in the contours of his frame, dripped from the ends of his drooping hair.

It mingled with his tears.

Kakarott was gone.

He'd teleported into Otherworld in a rush of adrenaline and excitement, only to be met with looks of both fear and sorrow. His heart in his throat, he hadn't asked. He didn't need to, Enma had quietly given him the news.

He honestly didn't know how to carry on anymore. So much of his life had been spent around Kakarott, either trying to best him, kill him, or befriend him. He didn't even really remember what life was like before he had met the carefree Saiyan. Yes, he remembered his purging days, and his slavery to Frieza, but all that seemed like a distant memory. Yet the day he met Kakarott, that fateful day his life was turned upside down, he remembered it like it was yesterday, even though it had been decades ago. Remembering how his then rival had stood up to him so proudly, even though Kakarott knew he was heavily outmatched. How the thrill of their fight made the blood roar in their ears, a pulsing song attuned to the heart and soul of a true Saiyan.

He knew that he should be reacting more than this; in fact, he should be about the stage of a super nova by now. Half of the planet would be obliterated before he paused to think of the consequences. And then he would continue until nothing was left, not even himself.

Yet here he was instead on the cliff where he and Kakarott had spent their first night, their only night, together, utterly defeated mere hours after his biggest victory, feeling numb and absolutely empty. He wanted to collapse here, waste away into nothing. Simple truth was, he wanted to die.

A true Saiyan would never do such a thing as suicide, however. A warrior never chose the easy way out, they had their pride. Plus, even if he did kill himself, it wasn't like his lover would be there waiting for him. His Kakarott was nothing but a memory now, his existence wiped out while no one raised a hand in his defence.

And why the fuck not? Because the mighty Saiyan was the strongest in the universe? Because of that he should have been able to pull himself out of a situation built for failure? A low growl started in his throat, but his couldn't grasp the effort to make it come forth. If breathing weren't automatic, he would have quit that long ago.

He'd had the chance to completely destroy the Otherworld Checkin station. It had been, in fact, strangely expected. Everything that inhabited the area when Vegeta was given the terrible news had held their collective breaths, even Enma. They had expected an outburst; hell they had expected anything but the look of profound loss in the Prince's charcoal eyes as he faded from view.

Vegeta groaned and bit back a sob, cursing himself for such a emotional breakdown. While his race didn't spurn the need for an outlet for their feelings, this was another matter. A Prince should be ashamed that his will to carry on was shattered so easily.

When his mother died when he was but a cub, his father, King Vegeta, had mourned; indeed, the entire kingdom had done so. His father had secluded himself in the royal chambers for days, refusing to see anyone. But before a week had passed, the king had regained his calm and cool demeanour, and acted like nothing had happened. He had had a kingdom to rule after all.

Vegeta had no such luxury. He didn't have anything to keep his attention away from the fact that he felt like half of his soul was missing, like it had been literally ripped from his chest. He had his son of course, but Trunks was a teenager, and had the attention span of a gnat. The boy thought only of school, and his best friend Goten. A boy the spitting image of his father.

A chuckle almost escaped him. The Son men were certainly a weakness for the royalty of Vegetasei.

A chill settled over him as the rain settled its cold into his bones. This high up the air was so much colder. Flopping over onto his side, a sliver of color caught his eye. His and Kakarott's sleeping bags were still here, left in the heat of a promised hunt and forgotten.

Crawling closer, he saw the color was in fact a blue shirt that his friend worn that night. With trembling fingers, he reached out, almost fearing that touching the precious fabric would make it disappear, just like its owner had. He could smell the earthiness of Kakarott's scent, and almost imagine his lover were there with him.

He choked back a sob and doubled over, clutching the garment close to his chest. He never imagined he could feel pain like this. It really felt like someone had torn his heart right out of his chest, crushed it in front of his eyes, and shoved it back in the empty socket.

The Namek was nearby. Vegeta could sense him trying to be unobtrusive, keeping almost out of sight, yet near at hand. He knew the green man was there as a protective measure. He clearly thought Vegeta was about to do something decidedly foolish. A thought which the Prince admitted had crossed his mind.

Crushing something, even killing, was becoming a preferred idea to this depression that was swallowing him whole. He needed some sort of respite.

"Go home, Vegeta," Piccolo's rough voice cut into his thoughts. It seemed the Namek had come closer to him than he thought. "Staying up here and freezing to death isn't going to help you."

"Oh yeah?" He spat back, sitting up and roughly rubbing at his eyes, as if doing so would make it seem like he hadn't been crying in the first place. "What the fuck do you know green bean? Maybe I want to become a bloody popsicle."

The Namek snorted. "I can tell you that you would make a horrible one. Way too sour, and I doubt you would melt. " He paused a minute, an almost embarrassed look on his face. "On second thought, that last bit would make a good one, wouldn't't it?"

Vegeta pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his tail around them, failing to see the humour. "I'm melting into a fucking puddle now, if you couldn't tell. What the fuck do I do now? I failed in every way possible, a goddamn pitiful excuse for a Saiyan."

The Namek snorted and crossed his arms. "If saving the world numerous times is a failure, I almost shudder to think what a successful monkey would look like."

From anyone else, the term 'monkey' would make the Prince lash out in anger. Frieza used that term when referring to him, and him alone. His race were ape to the ice-jin, but Vegeta was always a monkey. But Piccolo used it more as a teasing nickname, one he had grudgingly earned the right to use.

"You know the only reason I can say I had any part of saving anything was because of Kakarott."

"Spare me the pity party, Vegeta. You don't even believe that tripe yourself."

The Prince managed a glare. "Kakarott wouldn't have been wiped from existence had I done my duty. I am the Saiya-jin prince, and I couldn't even protect the last full blooded member of my race. I am all there is left now. " His heart constricted thinking about it. He was the last one. And when he died, which would be decades from now if he were truly unlucky, his proud race would fade into obscurity, become something of a child's tale.

Like Kakarott had.

Piccolo's frown softened a little as he saw how much Vegeta was struggling. "We both know he had the deck stacked against him. It was like he was set up to fail."

Vegeta surged to his feet, fists balled, tail ramrod straight and puffed in anger. "And why the fuck is that, eh Namek?" The Saiyan was aware he was crying again, but he didn't care. He was past caring at this point. "The best of all of us, the fucking universal protector, and the Gods themselves wouldn't lift a goddamn finger to help him when it was their mistake that landed him in Hell in the first place! It's because of me and my people, we ruined everything by following that lizard, throwing our pride to the winds and becoming slaves to that freak."

"You all didn't have a choice," Piccolo began.

"We always have a fucking choice!" Vegeta spat, cutting him off. "Saiyans went along with Frieza because we always believed that it would suit our needs. That, if the time came, we could easily liberate ourselves before the shit hit the fan. An entire race obliterated, because of our goddamn pride!"

Piccolos teeth gritted as he watched the energy around his friend gather, and the Saiyan wasn't even aware of it. Even now, Vegeta's hair was flickering to gold.

"The entire time I was hunting that bastard," Vegeta continued, staring at his hands, oblivious of his mounting rage, "I wasn't even thinking that anything could happen to Kakarott. I had hidden him myself after all, and who could best me?" He looked up and tapped his temple. "I have a strategic mind everyone envies. And yet, I was so goddamn full of myself I didn't think of the consequences. I figured I would just hop to where the Kaitou was, and that would be that. A week tops. After all, if Kakarott could master IT so easily, why couldn't I?!"

Vegetas chest was heaving, and he found he couldn't catch his breath. Panic was quickly gaining control over him. "I've had people depend on me my entire life, and I've done nothing but let every single one of them down. Who the hell am I, to have this much weighing on me? I should never have been born a prince, I'm not cut of the same cloth my father was." Dimly, he was aware he'd gone Super at some point, and had already flared to level two. He felt like he couldn't stop, like everything he was feeling was building up, and this was the only way to let it go without hurting anyone.

"Kakarott is everything I ever wanted to be. Proud and brave, loyal, and fuck, the strength! He was so strong even when he was doing nothing but cracking a grin. Why couldn't I be like that? Why couldn't I pull through when others expected it? I fucking blew myself up to save the world, and it did nothing but slow that goddamn pink blob Buu down a little bit."

Things were balancing on the edge again, that precarious feeling Piccolo hated so much. Vegeta was on such thin ice right now, it wasn't going to take much to push him over the edge. "You know as well as I do, that anything any of this saving the world crap would not have been possible without you. Sure, you may not have been the one with the killing blow, but seeing you fight always drove us to push just a little bit harder. If you always gave it your all, why couldn't we?"

Vegeta sneered. "All you've ever seen was me getting my ass handed to me in new and exciting ways."

The Namek pursed his lips. "Without you, the Kaitou would still be running around wreaking havoc. The brats and I couldn't get it done."

If Piccolo had expected Vegeta to back down with that statement, he was dead wrong.

The Prince smiled, but it was more like baring his teeth. "I was fucking killed by that bastard, Namek, or had you forgotten? I had one foot in Hell when you dragged me back. Sure, I killed that abomination, but in the end it didn't fucking matter, did it?" He raised the shirt gripped in his tail to his nose and closed his eyes. "Kakarott is still dead," he murmured into the fabric. "And nothing is going to bring him back." His teal eyes were wild when he looked back up. "What the hell is the point of anything anymore? We all owe everything to Kakarott. Every goddamn breath we take is because of him, because he fought with every ounce of his being. This life is nothing without him. "

Piccolo inadvertently took a step back as Vegeta's energy rose higher, buffeting him and throwing his cape wildly around. He was quickly realizing that he wasn't going to be able to do anything to stop Vegeta if the Saiyan went nuclear. Which seemed the likely case. A quick scan proved the Son kids and Trunks too far away to help. He mentally slapped himself. He'd told the brats to leave the Prince alone when he'd returned, that any flares in energy would just be Vegeta blowing off steam with Goku when they returned. Worst of all, he told them he would handle whatever happened, if anything did. As usual, he had been wrong. He had told no one when Dende had given him the upsetting news of Goku's demise.

"Vegeta!" He yelled over the sudden roaring wind. "You need to calm down! We aren't far enough away from civilization for you to be pulling this shit!"

The Prince didn't hear him. He collapsed to his knees again, hugging Kakarott's shirt to his chest. It was all he had left of the man who had been the center of his universe. Life was so unfair, to give him something so perfect, and rip it out of his hands so callously. And then, give him the opportunity to right the wrong, only to have time run out because of his inadequacies.

He had thought he was beyond caring. From the searing pain racing through his veins from the energy he was producing, it seemed the truth was the exact opposite. He cared too much.

He wanted to burn, and it didn't matter if he took the whole world with him.

Vegeta looked up at Piccolo, shooting the Namek a glare intended as a warning to get the hell out of the vicinity. He couldn't control the rising fire, and he didn't want to. He wanted to feel the scalding agony racing through every fibre of his being. He wanted something, anything, other than this loss.

The Gods in their world beyond the veil cursed all Saiyans to Hell for the sins they committed, and for the powers they feared would be loosed on the universe.

The Otherworld was about to see what a grieving Super Saiyan was capable of.

The heat rose, higher and higher, until he swore flames danced around him in a whirlwind of red and orange, green and blue. The fire didn't burn him, because he was the flames, he was their core, their life, their breath.

The vortex rose around him, a giant pillar of anger and pain and grief, expanding ever outward.

Swearing violently, Piccolo took to the air, as the heat pushed him away from Vegeta. He didn't know how the Prince wasn't being consumed by the flames. The Saiyan stood intact, head down, Goku's shirt still clenched in his fist. The fire danced around him, leaping on his form like children playing tag. Yet none of it touched him.

At least not yet. Piccolo had no doubt that when the time came, nothing would be left of the Prince but ash. Even now, the trees around him were all aflame, the rocky ground starting to melt from the heat.

"Vegeta, stop this!" he yelled, cursing to himself as the Prince ignored him. In desperation, he fired off an energy beam, into the center of the cyclone, hoping to at least break Vegeta's concentration.

What he got instead was a shockwave blast, as the epicentre exploded outwards, sending him reeling backwards.

He briefly considered diving into the maelstrom; while he wasn't scared of the certain death that awaited such a move, he knew undoubtedly that he would never reach the Saiyan before the flames consumed him.

The ground started to rumble in protest Already he could see a long line of cars far below heading their way, the headlights looking like little ants. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of helicopters as well.

Piccolo growled to himself. Didn't these humans realize what a folly it was, to head into what looked like a perilous situation? What could possibly look more dangerous than an goddamn giant pillar of flame rising out of a cliff face? Who could possibly look at that, and think that it was something exciting enough to go and see first hand?

At this point, he couldn't see the Saiyan anymore. There was nothing but liquid flames all around him. They were like a living thing, spiralling and dancing fluidly around, the feeling of grief and rage emanating from it.

He honestly didn't know what to do. There was no way anyone or anything was going to be able to stop what Vegeta was doing. The Saiyan's mind was stuck in a loop of pain and anger, and all it was doing was feeding logs into the fire, raising it higher and higher.

And then suddenly, time seemed to stop. The helicopters in the distance froze in midair, the cars below halted. There was a flash of light, and Piccolo sucked in a breath...

-0-

Wrapped in a cocoon of heat and light, Vegeta knelt on the ground, enjoying the rage spiralling around him. He loved fire, always had. Loved the way it hated unconditionally, how it loved in the same way. It always gave everything it was. And always destroyed. He felt kin to the flames, because, after all, he always destroyed everything he loved as well. It was his folly that killed Kakarott. It was his arrogance that eradicated his existence from the plane of the living.

Somehow, amidst all the heat around him, he still felt the gentle fall of rain. It hissed as it touched his heated skin, yet cooled him slightly upon contact. He had to wonder if that was the only reason he hadn't been burnt alive by now.

The Prince was actually disappointed by that fact. He was determined to keep this vortex burning until it did actually consume him. He honestly wasn't sure how far it had expanded, as it wasn't his intention to hurt anyone else. While it was true that the rest of the godforsaken planet deserved to rot in hell with him for taking Kakarott for granted, he really couldn't justify it. Kakarott's death really fell upon his shoulders, and he was prepared to atone. His suicide would be frowned upon, a scar upon the story of Vegeta's life, but he didn't care, because by this point his tale had been dragged through the mud enough that it would be almost indiscernible.

He raised Kakarott's shirt to his nose again, saddened by the fact that both the rain and smoke had made his lovers scent almost untraceable. He could feel the heat pressing in on him oppressively, and he knew it wouldn't be long now.

Vegeta smiled to himself as he recalled the grin on his lovers face as the Prince had detailed Saiyan constellations to him as best he could, while staring up at the night sky one time after a spar. It was before they knew what they meant to each other, but that didn't diminish the pleasure Vegeta gotten from the experience. Kakarott had listened intently, his brow scrunched in thought as he no doubt tried to imagine the figures Vegeta was describing.

Kakarott had raised a thumb into the air, blotting out a bunch of stars, and squinted. His tail remained loose between them, the tip twitching back and forth from concentration. Vegeta had chuckled to himself quietly, amused by his companion. That had been one of the first times he had felt comfortable enough around the other Saiyan to let down his barriers and just relax.

Gone, gone, gone. Kakarott's easy grace was gone, his smile, his beauty.

His throat constricted painfully at the thought. He was never going to see Kakarott again. And though the last time they parted had been better than the one before where Kakarott had been killed, Vegeta couldn't forget the ring of bruises around his lovers neck, nor the hiss of pain when the Prince had caressed his cheek.

His vision started to dim, and he could only hear the roaring of the fire in his ears. He didn't think he had any control over the firestorm now raging around him, and he could only hope his end would come soon.

He had plans upon reaching Hell. Plans that involved eradicating every creature that had ever dared raise a hand against Kakarott. Anything that had joined the hunt against him. And most certainly those who were involved with his demise.

He would spend his Afterlife in a cycle of death and destruction. It was one thing he knew how to do well.

It felt like the air was thickening, like it was closing in around him oppressively. It laid upon his skin like a blanket, coated his throat like a balm. He fought to keep Kakarott's image in his mind. He wanted his final thoughts among the living to be of the one Saiyan he would have loved for eternity.

As he fought to take in breath, a familiar scent wafted through his nose. Kakarott's scent, stronger than it had been on his shirt. Vegeta was pleased that his mind was allowing him this final salve for his soul.

"Vegeta."

The Prince's head snapped up, yet he could see nothing but the black acrid smoke, the flames flickering dully beyond. Was he hallucinating? Had he actually heard Kakarott's voice?

As he heard his name again, Vegeta summoned his strength and stood as best he could, back hunched, tail limp. His energy was expended maintaining the firestorm. If the fire was going to take the form of his dead lover, he would embrace it with open arms.

The smoke swirled in front of him, and he caught the movement of the corner of what looked to be a cape. He blinked his stinging eyes, convinced his fading mind was playing tricks on him.

A foot came into view next, followed by a pair of black clad legs. Vegeta sank down again with a sob, realizing that he just wanted this life over as soon as possible. He suddenly thought that seeing Kakarott again, even though he were a spirit, or a figment of his imagination, was simply too much for him to handle.

He closed his eyes, feeling his throat tighten in both sorrow and lack of oxygen, and prayed for the end.